#even swap Two Time would kill him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

outtathisworld-imagines · 1 month ago

Text

Runs warm

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Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Warning: Here we go againnnnnnn! Smut! MDNI 18+. Just pure filth. Unprotected sex, Oral (M&F rec), threesome (MMF), cum-swapping, Bob is a lil slutty submissive mess, and of course he has a praise kink, dirty talk, double penetration, teasing, eating out, swearing, overstimulation. You name it, it’s probably got it. Not proofread!

A.N: A continuation of this fic! Two of our faves again, just as filthy as the first part 🥲 Happy reading!

Please let me know what else you guys would like! I do have a few other fics on the back-burner (for now!) that I'll start to post soon and just let me know if you'd liked to be tagged in further works too ✨

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Bob almost came in front of everyone in the living room when you and Bucky walked past.

Dressed in tight tactical gear, the two of you in deep conversation meant you didn’t notice. Bob swallowed hard seeing the outfits perfectly cling to all the curves of your bodies that he practically begged over a week ago. How the zippers came up to your necks that he kissed, and how tight the material was over your breasts that he moaned into.

The pair of you looking like goddamn models who could kill more with their looks than their knives and guns.

“We’re going to practice in the training room guys,” Bucky spoke up.

“Thanks for warning in advance!” Yelena called out. Everyone knew what training meant for the two of you.

“Yeah, and remember to clean up after yourselves after your ‘training’.” John chuckled, using his fingers as quotation marks. You rolled your eyes at his sly dig of a comment.

“Can’t help it if training gets us all hot and bothered, Walker.” You shot back at him but your eyes were locked onto Bob who was practically drooling at this point. “Knock before you enter next time.” You smirked and his face contorted before a shudder took over his body remembering the sight he saw the first time he accidently walked in.

Bob’s nostrils flared in jealously that John got to witness that.

He watched as the two of you walked away, perfectly synchronised with the most perfect view of that tight suit showing off the curve of your asses as you disappeared down the hall.

“You got that boy wrapped around your little finger, baby.” Bucky squeezed your hip, pulling you close. “Goddamn world, if we weren’t so busy with being sent out onto the field-“

You cupped his cheek “Don’t worry sweetie, we’ll have him again soon. We’ve got a few break days, and the party too.” You kissed him gently “We’ll have our fun with him again.” Bucky held onto the hope you had as the two of you reached the training room.

You grabbed a couple of pieces from the training equipment cabinet, your back facing Bucky. He mischievously smirked, twisting his fingers over the handle of his mock training knife and threw it at you. You quickly turned and caught it, surprising him. “You shouldn’t have turned your back,” he finally said in a teasing tone.

You walked towards him with a small frown on your face, reaching it out to hand him it back. “You shouldn’t have done that.” Your eyes were sad but the rest of you was begging for trouble. Bucky took the knife from you and as soon as he did, your calf met his neck and he fell to the floor with a groan. You lowly chuckled and walked away, not before he grabbed both your ankles and you hit the ground. “So this is how it’s gonna be today…” you huffed out and wound the rope you grabbed over your hand and between your fingers. “Game on, Barnes.”

Bob played his cool for at least 30 minutes.

Even then it was 30 minutes too long for him.

He made an excuse of going for an afternoon nap to get him out of the shared living space and then made his way to the training room. He watched from the door the two of you throw each other about, flipping the other to the ground, how one of you sat on top before being expertly pushed off and then pinned down. It was like he was watching foreplay but with more fly kicks.

“Hey cutie,” his ears pricked up at the mention of his nickname you had given him. He peered in a little more and saw you on one side of the room with Bucky on the other, both of you panting laboured breaths and stars of sweat droplets scattered over your foreheads. “What’s up?”

He cleared his throat, his fingers twitching against each other, something he always did when he was nervous. “Can I train with you guys?”

You and Bucky shared a glance. “Train or watch?” Bucky asked licking is his lips as if Bob was his next meal, slowly approaching him.

“Watch…” he lowly breathed out with a nervy smile.

Bucky pulled him into the room and shut the door. “You hear that, Y/N. He wants to watch.” Bucky’s hands found Bob’s shoulders and rubbed them “You like watching us?” He nodded with a gulp “I know how much you love it when we give you a show.” He kissed his cheek and you approached the two men twirling a mock-knife which somehow turned Bob on even more watching your slender fingers in action. “We’ve missed you.”

“So much,” you added. “Missed having my boys,” you squeezed yourself in the middle between them both, your free hand moving up and down Bob’s side whereas your other pressed the fake knife to Bucky’s neck, reminding him your little session wasn’t over until someone won. The two men gasped seeing you remain so composed but so willing at the same time. “Excuse us, Bob. We have a show to perform.” Bucky grabbed your arm and flung you to the middle of the training mat, remarkably landing on your feet. “Now he’s just showboating!” You told Bob, teasing Bucky who playfully growled.

He ran towards you and you leaped into the air, your legs wrapping around his torso as you spun and flipped him to the floor. You let out a laugh and Bob didn’t know what to do so clapped instead of what he wanted to do which was whipping off his sweats and touching himself at the scene unfolding before him. “Fuck!” Bucky groaned and tried standing back up but you turned him over and grabbed your rope. He knew he had lost now. You placed his hands behind his back and Bob watched in awe effortlessly you bound Bucky.

And just how much he would have loved that.

“I win,” you rolled Bucky back over and stuck your tongue out at him, your legs strangling his waist.

However, Bucky wasn’t backing down quite yet and thrusted his hips up making you moan in surprise and suddenly you were now on your back with him on top. He smirked, shooting a wink to Bob before taking your zipper that was near your neck between his teeth and slowly dragging it down beyond your cleavage and to your bellybutton. Showing enough skin to really rile both them up.

Bob thought the show in the kitchen you gave him was hot, but this was like he was thrown into a pool of lava.

You darkly laughed at the two of them and then used your strength in your legs to flip him back over. You left your suit unopened “Nuh uh, I always come out on top.” You were now straddling his chest. “You hear that Bob. Always on top.”

“Sometimes you cum on the bottom,” Bucky added and you smirked knowing that could be one of two options.

“Or in between…” Bob said which caught you both off guard.

You looked up to Bob “Well, since I’ve won, how do you think I should celebrate, Cutie?”

Bob looked between you and Bucky, a newfound, almost authoritative confidence surging through his veins.

“I think you should sit on his face.”

His straight to the point answer made both you and Bucky gawk.

“You heard me. Take off that hot as fuck suit and sit that pussy on his face.” He practically commanded. You quickly and wobbly stood up and removed your suit and underwear, both men groaning in pleasure at the sight. You felt very exposed especially with the two of them still fully dressed but a wave of excitement crashed over you.

You did as Bob asked as sat your pussy over Bucky’s eagerly awaiting opened mouth. You moaned feeling his hot tongue explore every inch of your wet folds. Your hands found his hair as you gripped onto him, he tried to free his own hands but with no luck from your tightly wound bound. “Oh fuck,” you groaned.

“That’s it, Bucky. Eat her out.” Bob stepped forward a little. “Ride his face, Y/N, rub that pussy all over his face. Get it nice and wet for me.” You were on the verge of cumming already from Bob’s words and Bucky’s talent.

You moved a little, doing a 180 turn to hold onto Bucky’s sides. Bucky’s mouth gasping for air at the opportunity. “Are you joining us or not?” He asked before you sat on him once more.

“Sor-sorry for watching. Again.” He near enough skipped forward, his palms sweating and being reminded that he always ran warm, even more so now.

“You like watching us, Bob?” You asked, toying with your breasts for him.

He let out a choke disguised as a laugh. “Can’t you tell…? Got a fucking boner from you guys just fighting. Anything you both do is hot as fuck.”

You giggled, his authoritative mask slipping a little to reveal the slutty little mess you both got to enjoy the week before. “Well you wanna practice fighting still or you wanna fuck? Although I think your dick has spoken for you.” You nodded towards his crotch with a smile.

He came over and kissed you, his hands roaming all over your body, his fingertips gently pinching your nipples and making you moan into his mouth. His lips trailed down your chest, his tongue now replacing his fingertips as it swirled over your nipples, leaving sloppy kisses in his path. You felt Bucky struggle under you, how much he wanted his arms to be free to embrace the pair of you. You saw the struggle his cock had too against the tight material. When your eyes locked onto it, Bob’s gaze then followed.

“You should give him a hand…or a mouth.” You grinned between moans.

Bob gulped and nodded, moving down Bucky’s body, his shaky hands undid his belt and with a deep breath, pulled down his tactical gear to his knees. “Fuck…” he breathed out. No matter how many times he saw you both, you were as fucking gorgeous as the last.

You saw him hesitating. “Cutie?” You called out for him. “Everything alright?” You and Bucky both slowed too, wanting to make sure he was okay.

He lowly laughed and ran his hand through his hair. “It’s just…I’ve never sucked anyone off before.” He shrugged.

His innocent inexperience made your heart burst. “Aww,” you cupped his cheek and stroked your thumb over his skin. “That’s alright! Bucky loves a first timer, don’t you sweetie?”

“I sure fucking do, honey.” He said once you moved allowing him to answer and catch his breath. “Don’t worry Bob, she’ll tell you everything I love. There’s no wrong, just wanna feel your mouth on me.”

Bob felt the nerves ease, something he now realised the two of you always effortlessly did. You moved from Bucky’s mouth and Bob watched as you hovered over him. “Don’t worry, Bob, I’ll get him warmed him up for you.” Your lips met his as you sat yourself on Bucky’s cock. The two of you moaning at the sensation. You didn’t move, you kissed Bob as Bucky’s cock twitched inside you. “Oh he’s so excited for you,” you moaned against his lips and then moved off him, taking your rightful place on a throne otherwise known as Bucky’s mouth.

Bob bent down, his lips meeting Bucky’s head before biting the bullet and almost swallowing him whole. He moaned tasting the remains of you on him mixed with his salty pre-cum. “Fuck! Fucking fuck!” Bucky roared into your folds which made you cry out in pleasure.

“Just like that Bob, use your tongue to lick him too, he loves that so much.” He responded to your guidance, moaning against Bucky’s cock and feeling it hit the back of his throat when it twitched with pleasure. Bob gagged and you both let out a gruff at the gorgeous noise, you could feel yourself about to cum on Bucky’s face, that tightening coil in your stomach only wound more from the sight of Bob pleasuring Bucky with his mouth and continuing to gag on his cock. Bob looked up to you through his eyelashes and that was enough to send you over the edge. You came with an almighty scream, Bucky frantically eating you to the point where you had to roll off from sheer overstimulation. You lay on the floor catching your breath before finding enough strength to crawl to Bob.

Bucky’s head fell back, his jaw tight and his eyes closed, Bob’s pace quickened, eager to please him all while mentally wishing he had done this sooner. Your trembling fingers reached to the waistband of his sweats and you reached in, pulling them down as you did before finding his hardened cock and stroking it. Bob moaned against Bucky and the vibration that ran through his body made him groan loudly, cumming in Bob’s mouth. “Sh-shit! Oh god, yes! Fucking yes!” He yelled as he came.

“Swallow, as much as you can, Bob” you practically begged on Bucky’s behalf. “He loves it. He’ll always give you such a big load.” You watched as Bob’s Adams apple moved as he did as you asked, moaning loudly at the taste of Bucky and the fact you were touching him. “Good boy,” you praised and he let out a whimper from his lungs. “Such a good boy for us. You wanna cum on Bucky’s cock? Huh?” You asked batting your eyelashes. “When do we can both lick it all up and let him taste.” Bob struggled to nod.

“Y-y-yeah. Want that so much,” he struggled to speak even more than nodding.

You smiled watching him become undone by your hand, white ribbons of his cum decorated Bucky’s cock. The winter soldier found enough strength to moan again at the feeling. When Bob finished you both licked Bucky clean with your tongues before both going to his mouth and decanting a mixture of spit and Bob’s cum into his open mouth.

The three of you lay panting and catching your breaths on the floor, the boys keeping your naked frame warm with their bodies wrapped around it.

“You sure you never done that before?” Bucky tiredly chuckled asking Bob.

He breathlessly laughed. “Never. But fuck, I can’t wait to do it to you again.” He groaned.

You stood with a smile, pulling on your tactical gear again and helping Bob up when he reached out his hand. “Well after all that fun and excitement, I’m starved and in dire need of a shower.” You turned to Bob “You should join the team soon so they don’t get too suspicious,” you pecked his cheek.

“Uh what about-“ Bob looked to Bucky, still tied up on the floor with his pants to his knees.

“Nope!” You cut him off. “I won so he needs to figure his own way out of this very big, sweaty, cum soaked mess before anyone else comes in here…” you laughed walking away, leaving him struggling. Bucky looked at Bob pleadingly and he went to bend down to help, just having the chance to pull up his tactical gear and cover him more modestly before you came back, grabbed him by the neck of his sweatshirt and pulling him away. “I told you I won.”

Bucky groaned “I yield Y/N! I yield!”

—•—

“I hate these things.” You complained, trying to fasten your necklace.

“The necklace or the party…?” Bucky laughed and helped your struggling hands, his own brushing against the back of your neck. “There you go,” he kissed the spot above the clasp.

“The party, so pointless, just a bunch of people flaunting about how influential they are- pisses me off.” You huffed, now organising your clutch.

Bucky breathily chuckled “You’re so hot when you’re pissed.” You swatted away his flirty tone, he came up and hugged you from behind, kissing your exposed shoulder and melting away the stresses inside you. “I don’t like them either but seeing you like this always makes them better, doll.”

Bucky walked away to grab his suit jacket, you had stopped fidgeting with your bag and blinked at the nickname. It was one you hadn’t heard in years.

“What?” You quietly said.

“What do you mean what?”

“You called me doll again.”

The room fell silent, a ghost of a smile appearing and then vanishing over his face. “Huh, guess I did.” He left the room before you could further question it, both of you unsure of what just happened.

You made your way to meet up with the rest of the team who were all gawking and gushing over outfits. Then all eyes fell to you and soft gasps filled the room, Bucky looked at you with a proud smile, Bob’s jaw dropped to the floor and your lover subtly nudged him to ensure he kept his cool around your other teammates. You looked him up and down, his crooked bow tie and his converse peeking out under the hem of his suit pants. He was a far cry from Bucky, but that’s what you liked.

“Hoo boy!” Alexei yelled whilst clapping. “Our lineup is beautifully complete with stunning Y/N!” You playfully rolled your eyes and lightly pushed his arm before twirling in your black, one shoulder dress with a cut exposing your leg to the world. “Let’s go! The red chariot awaits!”

You raised a brow “Will we all fit in the limo?” Alexei looked at you as if to say of course. “I mean between the half bottle of vodka and the Cheeto packets I’m sure we will all be as snug as bugs.” Bucky chuckled.

“There will be plenty of room!” He insisted.

“There will be if we all sat on top of each other,” Bucky quickly added. You and the two men you had your way with the day before sent each other a glance, holding back a smile.

“What else do you suggest we do? We all ride Bob?” John joked.

“Hmm could you imagine riding Bob? What a funny thought...” Bucky said in a dry tone looking at you and causing your face to become stoic.

Alexei waved his arms dramatically, not noticing the bubbling tension. “Ah she is robust enough to handle all of us!”

You laughed “As much as I’d love the limo, I’ll drive some of us in my car.”

Bobs hand flew up “I’ll go with Y/N.”

Bucky smirked “Going to have to change your shoes first, bud. Pretty sure they won’t let you in with converse on. He can ride with us, guys. You can go ahead, we will meet you there.”

Bob lightly jogged to fetch his smarter shoes, Alexei pleading with him. He turned around, still keeping his pace and using his hands to weigh up options. “Hmm….Sexy sports car versus a red limo with bullet holes in it…yeah. Sports car it is. Sorry Alexei! Besides my nights are never boring.” He winked to the group and everyone looked at him shocked. You and Bucky sent a side-eye glance to one another wondering just what you had unlocked within him.

You met with Bob in the garage, you and Bucky greeting him with a smile. You fixed his tie, straightening it out for him. “Ready?” You asked and he nodded, jumping in the back of the car as Bucky opened your door and then made his way to the passenger side.

“GPS says seven minutes away,” you started pulling out from the basement of the watchtower.

“Seven minutes in heaven…?” Bucky suggestively said while feeling up your exposed leg, Bob watching the two of you interact from the back seat, his palms already becoming clammy at the sight.

“You wish,” you mumbled under your breath, concentrating on the road. You looked to Bob in your rearview mirror, noticing he now had a book in his hand which he was engrossed in. “Whatcha reading, cutie?”

“Kama Sutra.”

You almost crashed the car at his nonchalant tone combined with his admission. Bucky choked on thin air.

Bob laughed “I’m kidding! I’m kidding you guys.” He mischievously giggled. “It’s just a booklet about the gala party we are going to tonight.” You tried to catch your breath and haphazardly laughed along with Bucky at his little prank. “Although I should probably read it. Might come in handy with the two of you.” His voice suddenly turned dark.

Your hands tightened around the steering wheel, trying to focus and concentrate on the streets of New York.

“We did it right where you’re sitting.” Bucky’s voice broke the silence.

Bob groaned, his hands feeling the soft leather that surrounded him, picturing your softer bodies there. ��Fuck. That’s fucking hot. Can the two of you do me back here?”

You and Bucky both smirked “Anything you want, Bobby.” He replied.

When you arrived to the party Bucky helped you out of the car, supporting you by linking your arm in his. Bob walked behind you both intently watching as your hips perfectly swayed up the stairs. You glanced behind your shoulder noticing Bob’s eyes fixated on you both and whispered to Bucky who then looked too, smiling to himself noticing Bob’s entranced stare.

The team mingled with others throughout the evening, you found yourself on your own at one point looking at all the information plates that were tied to your past. You walked up to one, Steve’s original suit and sighed, your fingers discreetly touching the glass. “I still miss him too.” Bucky’s voice snapped you back to reality. “We can’t change the past.”

“Why’d you call me ‘doll’ again?” You quietly asked. “It’s been so long I almost forgot it,” you dryly laughed, not an ounce of humour in it. The nickname still played on your mind, one that he only dedicated to using around you with Steve all those years ago.

You watched as he tried to search for the right answer, his mouth gaping and then shutting. “I suppose I’m just really happy again.” He said reaching for your hand “I was always really happy before, with you, I always am. But having someone like Bob for us…I dunno feels like those old times that I didn’t know how much I missed until it happened.” His soft confessions in the quiet corner of the room made your heart swell.

“Bob reminds me of Steve in lots of ways.” You said, looking at the suit again.

“Hmm, me too.” He smiled to himself. “You okay?” He asked, always wanting to check in with you. You nodded your head and he placed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You wanna go home?” You nodded again. Bucky looked up, seeing Bob there. “Think someone wants to go home with us too…” you turned and saw him, you could see him mentally picturing you both with him again already.

“I think we should try something on him tonight. I noticed him get very excited when I used the ropes.” Bucky raised a brow at what you had said. “Maybe since he likes watching so much we tease him with that too…” your plan was vocally coming alive. “You up for that sweetie?” You asked Bucky in an angelic voice. He responded by practically dragging you and Bob back to the car.

The second the three of you arrived back to the tower and into your room your mouths were latched onto one another. Arms everywhere as you all tried to remove your clothing as quickly as possible.

“You both looked so fucking sexy tonight,” Bob moaned against Bucky’s lips.

“So did you, cutie. We just couldn’t wait to get you home.” You said with a smile, slipping out of your dress. “Fuck you senseless.” He loudly moaned into the air at your words. “We wanna play a little game with you tonight if you’re up for it?”

He nodded, willing to agree to anything, he just wanted to have you both again. Not even meth got him this high. “Everything, told you guys I wanted to do everything.”

You climbed off the bed and fished around in the drawer while the two men kissed and groped one another on the bed, shedding their clothes with each kiss until they were just in their underwear like you. You faced the bed, Bucky directing Bob’s attention to you. He saw you twisting a rope in your hand “I saw how much it got you excited. We wanna tie you up and have some fun with you.”

Bob was fairly certain he already came at your words with the noise he made. He usually ran warm, but he felt like he was on fire. “You done this before?” Bucky asked and he shook his head no. You and Bucky shared a look one of excited arousal and concern. “Let’s make a safe word, just incase.” He pecked his lips. You and Bob both agreed and pondered until he came up with one.

“Cucumber?” He said and you and Bucky chuckled.

“Cucumber it is,” you said wrapping the rope even tighter around your hand and throwing yourself on the bed. Bucky brought Bob’s arms to the bed frame and you wrapped the rope around his hands and wrists, tying him to the bed.

“Fuck…” he groaned as Bucky removed his underwear and then his own along with yours. You and Bucky lay either side of him and kissed every inch of his body before meeting at his cock. The two of you dragged your tongues across either side of his shaft, his hips involuntary jolting and rising up at the sensation. Bucky smirked and held them back down again, his tongue brushing against your own every so often as Bob’s moans reached the walls of your room. Bucky’s mouth surrounded his cock as you moved to Bob’s face.

“Open wide, cutie,” you demanded and his tongue eagerly awaited your dripping pussy. His arms shook, almost forgetting what state he was in. He just wanted to grab you both, hold you both, but the denial you had bestowed upon him was settling in. “Oh, oh fuck, Bob.” You moaned, Bucky’s eyes looking up and catching you sitting on Bob’s face.

“So fucking hot,” he moaned against Bob’s cock, now using his hand along with his mouth.

“He takes it like such a good boy doesn’t he, Buck?” You whined, jutting your hips against his head. “Such a good boy, Bob.” He moaned against you, always being so willing and eager to please. His throat became hoarse as he felt a rush through his body. “Shit, Buck he’s gonna cum already.”

Bucky pulled back with a gasp, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand while Bob practically screamed into your pussy as the sensation was suddenly taken away from him. You and Bucky laughed “Not that quick, Bobby.” Bucky warned “We want to play with you more.”

Bucky pulled you from his mouth and kissed you, Bob struggled against the rope. “You guys,” he whined “Please, please! Fuck!” He cried out as you and Bucky made out in front of him, your hands roaming all over each other suddenly making him feel a little left out. “Fuck me, god, please!” He begged.

“So needy,” you teased “So desperate to cum for us are you?” You and Bucky moved to either side of him and peppered kisses all over his face. Bob tried his best not to burst into tears from the fact he was about to burst in another way any moment now. “Hey Bucky?”

“Yes honey?”

Bob didn’t like the sound of this.

It was the sound of your plotting coming to its crescendo. “Since Bob loves watching us so much, let’s make him watch us fuck. Leave him on the bed, we’ll fuck over the top of him.”

Bucky wickedly smirked “Sure thing, doll.” He winked and your heart skipped a beat at the nickname again.

“Y/N please don’t do this! I’ve been so good! Do whatever you want but just do me right now too!” He pleaded, fully submitting himself to you both. You ignored him as you got on all fours above him. “Bucky! I’ll let you give me a facial or whatever you want! Just don’t listen to her! Just fucking touch me!”

Bucky barked out a laugh. “What makes you think I won’t do that anyway?” He said “Gonna fuck my Y/N and then coat you in my cum, let her clean it up.”

You pressed a kiss to Bobs lips as Bucky brought his hips forward, fucking you from behind. “Oh god! Fuck! So good. So. Fucking. Good!” You moaned, Bob struggled under you both. “You love watching us don’t you, cutie? Bet you wish it was you doing or getting this.” He frantically nodded “Bucky might even fuck you soon if you’re a good boy and if that’s what you want. You gotta prove that to him though. Takes him a little while to warm up to someone,” he forcefully spanked your ass. “FUCK!” The slapping of your two bodies almost made a tear slip from Bob’s eye. He wanted to break free from your bounds and reach you both. His hips levitated off the bed and you giggled at the sight of him being so desperate.

“Gonna cum so- shit! So fucking soon!” Bucky panted out, hands firmly gripping your hips. “Love having you on all fours for me, baby, so fucking hot! Ain’t she Bobby?”

“Fuck!” He let out a gritty scream “I’m gonna cum just like this,” he was on the verge of imploding, especially watching you cum above him, your eyes shutting, swears dripping from your lips and then your mouth forming the most perfect smile after you did.

“Shit, I’m gonna fucking cum too.” Bucky gently pushed you to the side, you placed your face with your tongue out beside Bob’s desperately wincing one as Bucky came over the two of you. “God, so fucking stunning with my cum on your faces. Clean him up Y/N.” You dragged your tongue over Bob’s features, licking up and savouring every last drop. Bob watched as Bucky licked yours, then hovering over him commanding that he opened his mouth which allowed him to spit his cum down Bobs throat. “Let’s finish him off together, Y/N. He’s gonna cum before we even touch him again.” You both chuckled at the sight of him wriggling and writhing with his arms above his head.

You and Bucky both brought your hands around his cock and watched him bathe in relieved pleasure. “Thank you so, so much,” he cried out “Oh god I’m gonna cum so fucking fast because of you guys.”

“Then be a good boy and cum,” your sultry tone made him release a feral moan.

“And then when you do, we won’t stop until we make you cum again. Gonna milk you dry, Bob.” Bucky darkly laughed as he watched the man on the bed let out a loud roar, his body almost fully lifted off the bed as he finally came over your hands. His cum lubricated your hands more, making a slick noise that filled the room between his moans.

His chest pulsating as you both kept pumping, his hands frantically trying to untie the rope. “Guys, I don’t know if I can again!” His voice was starting to pitch.

“Not with that attitude you won’t,” Bucky said, intently watching Bob’s twitching cock.

“Yeah, cutie, thought you wanted to cum for us so badly…” your sweet voice sent Bob over the edge again, his cock suddenly spilling out again as tears of pure pleasure slipped from his eyes. “Good boy!” You praised “Let’s get him all cleaned up, Buck.”

You unraveled his hands, his arms having no strength to move as he desperately caught his breath again. Bucky brought a wet flannel to cool him down. Bob was shaking as shockwaves of pleasure continued pulsating throughout his body. “The two of you…something else. Something…so fucking perfect.” He said with each breath.

You gently placed back on his underwear before you grabbed yours and Bucky’s, crawling into the bed together with Bob. “You okay, doll?” He asked you and you nodded with a smile, asking him the same and getting a nod and wink in response.

The three of you closed your eyes, limbs lazily draped over each other as Bob enjoyed being sandwiched between you both as the three of you caught your composure again. “What are we?” Bob suddenly asked you and Bucky.

Your eyes met with Bucky’s and you blinked, not ever being asked that question before. “What do you mean?” Bucky asked.

“The three of us.” Bob replied.

You turned, looking up to him and resting your chin on his shoulder. “What would you like us to be?”

“I like this. I like all of us. I like you both.” He softly admitted.

Bucky mirrored your actions. “Then that’s what we’ll be.” He said “It will be us three.”

—•—

It was raining in New York, a dreary wet day with no sign of clearing up.

Everyone was lazing about in the living room, you were reading with a cover tossed over you, Yelena was on her phone, Bucky and John were arguing about something, Ava and Bob engrossed in a conversation about New York’s best pizza and Alexei was on his tablet, trying to get bookings for his limo service.

“Maybe we should all go on vacation?” Yelena suggested out of the blue. Your ears all perked up and smiles dashed across your faces.

“That sounds good!” You sat up a little more “Somewhere warm.”

“With a pool!” Ava requested.

“All you can eat buffet!” Alexei added. You all looked at him with a raised brow.

“Vacation sounds nice.” Bob spoke up, his fingers twiddling together, it made you and Bucky smile. He was wearing one of Bucky’s tight black tops which you were on the verge of ripping off, seeing the two boys matching. You had a feeling they planned that just for you.

“Is anyone bringing anyone along?” John asked “I could maybe ask Olivia and she can bring the baby. Could be my chance to reconnect and get another opportunity with them again.”

“Sure, why not?” Alexei said before smiling to himself. “Maybe I can bring one of my many fancy lady friends…”

You rolled your eyes with a smirk “Any number times zero is still zero…” you playfully jibed and Alexei sent you a deadpanned glare before standing up and rushing towards you, throwing you over his shoulder causing you to scream and laugh in response. “Put me down!” You giggled and he tossed your back on the sofa as the others laughed with you both.

Ava turned to Bob again. “Who would you take Bob?” She asked and he shrugged a shoulder. “Girlfriend? Boyfriend? Any friend?”

He nervously smiled and played with the hem of his gifted top. “You guys are my friends. I’ll go with you guys, wouldn’t want to go with anyone else.” He said, eyes darting between you and Bucky. The team felt a rush of content at his kind words.

You and Bucky felt something different entirely.

Bucky bit down on his lip and suddenly stood up, looking at both you and Bob. “Well, I’ll start looking out my speedos.”

—•—

PART 3- ‘cumming’ soon 😉

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hyperfixating-rn-brb · 2 years ago

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The Good Omens Fandom has had a lot of fun recently with the knowledge of Aziraphale and Crowley holding hands on the bus at the end of season 1.

Soo here's everything that went through my head as I learned of it for the first time.

For that entire scene, Aziraphale is really far gone. He's dissociating so hard he can't even realize he's been sitting on a sword. Crowley is probably the only thing keeping him grounded.

They just narrowly stopped Armageddon after a showdown with literally Satan, and still can't let their guard down. For the first time ever, they're completely on their own side. Now they have to orchestrate a body swap to save both of them. They wouldn't just be killed, they'd be completely destroyed. Everything must go exactly according to plan, but how often does that actually happen?

And on top of that, his bookshop, his home, his safe place with the demon he has to pretend not to love is burned and gone.

Crowley is so incredibly gentle and reassuring this entire scene. He's been through so much trauma himself and has spent a lot of his existence shielding the angel from it, hoping to protect some of his innocence and naivete. Crowley is absolutely familiar with every symptom of PTSD and anxiety.

Now he has to see his sweet angel see such a small bit of the horrors of heaven and hell and start to crumble inside. He's going to do his dam best to try and help Aziraphale through it. Speaking softly, ("the bookshop burned down... remember?) slowly and carefully, gradually helping to pull the angel back to reality, reminding him that he's there and will help ground him.

They get on the bus, and sit next to each other. 11 years ago, they sat nearby but separated while Crowley begs Aziraphale to help him prevent the Apocalypse. Now they are sitting together. Both an act of reassurance and unity.

Crowley sits first, Aziraphale could so easily just sit across from him, behind or in front. But he chooses to sit right next to him. And hold his hand. Aziraphale desperately needs to be near to the *former* demon he loves, to hold him, to make sure they won't be separated.

In the book, their famous lines of "none of this would have worked out if you weren't, deep down, just a bit of a good person" and "just enough of a b*stard to be worth liking" came as Satan rose from the earth, as a goodbye in case they were destroyed.

Luckily, that didn't happen and they survived. Armaggedon was stopped. But the angel is still so anxious of losing Crowley. So he chooses to reach out, to anchor himself and reassure himself that Crowley is still there beside him and that they are okay, at least for a few minutes.

And Crowley let him. He knows how badly Aziraphale needs him, he needs the angel just as much. He knows how badly he craved an anchor and support system as he was first abused and traumatized by his Fall, then further by Hell. So he's going to continue being there for Aziraphale, doing everything he can to make his angel feel safe and comfortable.

Over the next few years, Aziraphale would become so much more comfortable reaching out and touching Crowley. Leaning into him, resting a hand on his shoulder or briefly touching his chest. Somehow both reassuring himself that the former demon was still there, and reminding Crowley that he's still there for him at the same time.

Then Crowley becomes more comfortable with the touch, leaning into the angel by himself. No longer flinching at a sudden graze of a hand or reassuring squeeze.

That one moment of the two holding hands on the bus cemented so much of their relationship. "The last few years, not really..." all started on that bus the moment Aziraphale chose to sit down next to Crowley.

edited: at first this said "new knowledge" because I just found out about this all the other day, and wrote this up at 3 AM, and didn't really fact check when this knowledge became well known. I've only really been a GO fan since maybe 2021, and only really started being active in the fandom during the last few months, so a lot of info that is fairly well known is still generally new to me. soo yeah this was edited :)

source for anyone asking for it!

#good omens spoilers #crowley #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #good omens #go2 #bus scene #they like holding hands #neil gaiman #david tennant #michael sheen

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vibelladonna · 3 months ago

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❛ 𝒽𝒾𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓇𝓊𝓃 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝓉𝑜𝒷𝓎 𝓇𝑜𝑔𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝓍 𝒶𝒻𝒶𝒷!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: It all started at a frat party [ 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝓃𝑒 ], where a guy with a cigarette dangling from his lips decided to make the balcony a little more interesting. What was supposed to be a one-time encounter—just another hazy college memory—ended up being anything but forgettable.

You were never supposed to see him again, let alone get caught up in his world, but fate—or maybe something much darker—had other plans. Now, you're stuck in a twisted game. The secrets pile up faster than the lies, and the college town you thought you knew becomes a never-ending game.

And you? You never sleep. Because when you chase a monster, you better pray it doesn't decide you’re worth keeping. But hey, if you’re playing in a game,

…you better be prepared for the hit-and-run.

𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉: Bruh, my roommate hit me with this request right in the middle of midterms. It’s been sitting in my drafts for a minute because I was trying to figure out the decent ending. Finally got around to finishing it because midterms ended (spring break baby), so here you go.

Art by shatteredankles (above) on Instagram

Hope it doesn’t come off too corny—y’all let me know.

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: toby x afab!reader, OC! Mention, proxies gang (Kate, Tim, and Brian mentioned), enemies to lovers, smut, toxic relationship, stalking on both sides, cat and mouse dynamics, obsession & possession, dubious morality, crime duo (??), found family (sort of), power play, manipulation & mind games, blood & gore, criminal activity, femme fatale vibes and unhinged ass characters.

There are only two rules you need to survive college:

Watch your back. Don’t get caught.

Sounds dramatic, right? You might be wondering why anyone would need rules like that in a sleepy little college town, where the biggest crime should be freshmen sneaking out past curfew or someone getting caught swapping answers on an exam. But when you're stuck in a place like this—one that feels just a little too small, a little too quiet—well, strange things start to happen.

The rules started as whispers, traded between students like secret currency, slipping from jittery hands to hushed lips over coffee-stained textbooks. They were nothing more than cautionary tales at first—just another way for the usual college gossip to get a little bite. The kind of thing you'd hear in a dimly lit dorm room at 2 AM, passed off as just another urban legend.

But rules just don’t come from nowhere.

The red-brick buildings lining the main street give the town a picture-perfect charm like something ripped straight from an old postcard. The local coffee shop, the one with the overpriced lattes and disappointingly stale muffins is where you go to pretend the world outside doesn’t exist for a little while.

It all feels safe. Too safe. Like a town frozen in time, where people still leave their doors unlocked and the worst thing that could happen is a bad grade on a midterm.

But something had to happen, right? There’s a reason for all of it—the security guards, who once spent their shifts scrolling through their phones near the dining hall, now walk the campus in pairs. Their radios crackle more than they used to, static-laced whispers punctuated by clipped voices, urgent and low. Their footsteps aren’t just footsteps anymore; they’re warnings, rhythmic echoes against the pavement, reminders that something is lurking just beneath the surface.

The campus police? They’re not parked outside the student center anymore, killing time over lukewarm coffee and half-hearted conversations. No, now they circle the parking lots at night, their headlights slicing through the darkness like something predatory. The beams sweep over empty spaces, catching glimpses of movement that might not even be there—but you can’t shake the feeling that someone, or something, is watching.

Even the professors have changed. The ones who used to hold open-door office hours, always ready to debate a thesis or chat about weekend plans? They’ve started locking their doors. Their smiles don’t reach their eyes anymore, and when they talk, there’s something hesitant in their voices, like they’re choosing their words too carefully. You’ve caught them glancing over their shoulders, eyes darting toward windows as if expecting to see something—or someone—on the other side.

At first, you told yourself it was just paranoia. College kids have a way of spinning stories, of turning stress into superstition.

But then the change settled in.

Your college used to be the kind of place that only felt alive on weekends, the streets overflowing with students, their laughter mingling with cigarette smoke and the sour scent of cheap beer. Not anymore.

Now, the streets clear out before dark. The dining hall is quieter, conversations hushed, as if speaking too loudly might draw the wrong kind of attention.

And the woods—the shortcut everyone once used, the one that shaved minutes off the walk between the dorms and the off-campus bars? The one where people used to sneak away for stolen kisses or drunken dares?

Nobody walks through there anymore.

Not after the body was found at that frat party.

Not an overdose. Not a bad batch of pills passed between sweaty palms in a dark corner of the party. Not too many shots, not a drunken stumble down the rickety-ass staircase that everyone always joked was a lawsuit waiting to happen. No. This was different.

The university scrambled to keep up appearances, like slapping a fresh coat of paint over a crumbling wall and hoping no one noticed the rot underneath. They made their statements, rolled out the usual ‘tragedy counseling’ emails, and stationed security around campus like poorly placed scarecrows—useless, ineffective, just there to make it look like they were doing something.

But it was all for show. Because if the administration was rattled, if the people in charge were nervous, then everyone else had a damn good reason to be terrified. And yet, despite the whispers creeping through every hallway, the paranoia threading itself into every conversation, one thought kept clawing at the back of your mind, an itch you couldn’t quite reach:

Why the hell can’t you remember what happened?

Because while the rest of that frat house was losing their collective shit over the body sprawled out on the sticky floor, you?

You were too busy getting your brains fucked out.

Funny how that worked out, isn’t it? How you were the first to leave that party before the cops even had a chance to step through the front door. While everyone else was panicking, screams cutting through the pounding bass, whispers catching like dry brushfire, you were nowhere near the chaos.

You were upstairs. Pressed against the balcony railing, fingers gripping softwood, breath stolen by the heat of a so-called one-night stand. Drunk—not on alcohol, maybe a little high too, but on adrenaline, on the way your pulse thrummed beneath your skin, on the way the world blurred into nothing but the rush of the moment. By the time sirens painted streaks of red and blue across the night, you were already gone, slipping through the cracks like a ghost.

And for the past two weeks, you’ve played your role flawlessly.

You’ve gone to class and nodded along to lectures as if your mind wasn’t stuck on a loop, replaying that night in fragments, trying to remember what refuses to be remembered. You’ve turned in your assignments, smiled at the right moments, and laughed when it was expected. You’ve answered your parents’ calls, your voice steady, and words practiced.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“No, I’m not drinking.”

“Yes, I’ll be careful.”

But it’s all bullshit. Because deep down, you don’t feel fine.

And you’re not scared like everyone else. Your hands don’t tremble when you pass the flyers—the ones with their vacant-eyed face frozen in ink, the desperate pleas for information scrawled underneath. You don’t flinch at the whispers that slither through the halls, the ones warning that whoever did it might still be out there.

Because you've been looking for him.

Toby.

It should have ended that night. Just another random hookup at a frat party—one more mistake swallowed up by cheap beer, loud music, and the aftermath of too many bad decisions. But it didn’t. It couldn’t.

Truth be told, you don’t even know why you’re looking for him. Maybe it’s because that night is a haze of alcohol, smoke, and adrenaline—a blurry, fragmented memory. But there’s one thing you can’t shake: the way his hands felt on your skin—rough, confident as if he’d already figured you out, mapped out every inch of you without even trying.

It should’ve been forgettable.

But something about him lingered.

Maybe it’s because he vanished after the party, like a ghost—gone without a trace, like he was never even there. Just a shadow that flickered in the background and then disappeared when you weren’t paying attention. Maybe it’s because a part of you, the one you don’t even want to acknowledge, needs to know if he had anything to do with what happened that night.

Because here’s the thing—

Toby was the last person you saw before everything went to hell.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. Just some reckless, drunk hook-up who disappeared before the sun came up. It happens all the time, right? One night, a mess of bad decisions, and then—poof. People vanish.

But the memory of that night won’t leave you alone. It lingers in your head like a half-finished song, the details slipping in and out of focus. The pulsing neon lights. The bass rattling your bones. The press of bodies, the stench of sweat and liquor thick in the air.

And Toby—always just outside the chaos. Leaning against the balcony railing with that lazy smirk, eyes sharp and unreadable. Watching you. Like he already knew how this was going to end. But now? Nothing. No social media. No mutuals. No whispers in the usual circles. Every time you ask, you get the same response—confusion, shrugs, blank stares.

It’s like he never existed.

And that pisses you off more than anything.

So, like any completely normal, rational, well-adjusted person, you do the only thing that makes sense.

So you start digging.

At first, it’s casual. A name-drop here, a lazy, “Hey, you know that guy from the party?” there. You don’t expect a full-blown biography, just something—anything—to prove he was real. A scrap of recognition. A passing mention. A sign that you didn’t just imagine him in the haze of cheap vodka and adrenaline.

But the deeper you dig, the stranger it gets.

People remember the party. They remember the chaos, the flashing lights, the sirens wailing in the distance. They remember the whispers about the dead kid found in the upstairs bathroom. But Toby?

Nothing. No one knows him. Not even a hint of recognition.

And that’s when the obsession starts to claw its way under your skin.

Because most people? They just shrug it off. A few tilt their heads, brows furrowing in concentration, trying to pull a face from the fog of a booze-soaked night, but coming up with nothing. It doesn’t add up. Toby wasn’t some invisible figure standing in the corner, just another face in the crowd. He wasn’t some wallflower you might’ve missed in the blur of the night.

No, he was there. You saw him. You were with him.

But the more you ask, the more you realize how wrong it all feels. No one remembers him. Not in the casual, "Oh, I was too wasted to notice" way. No, this is something else entirely. This is the "He wasn’t there at all" way.

One girl insists she saw you alone on the balcony that night. Another swears she’s never had a cute guy at a frat party before, and then there’s the guy—the guy—who looks at you like you’re crazy. He gives you that pitying look, the one that makes you feel like you’re the one who’s lost touch with reality, and says:

"You sure you weren’t just imagining things?"

That one sticks. It lodges itself deep in your chest, cold and jagged, like a splinter that you can’t pull out. It burrows in, nagging at you. At first, you laugh it off—this can’t be happening. They’re just clueless, or maybe they’re messing with you. Or maybe they’re lying. But when you look in their eyes, you realize they’re not. They’re dead serious.

And that’s when the panic starts to creep in.

Because you know he was real.

You remember the sound of his voice, low and teasing as it wrapped around your name. You remember the roughness of his hands, the way they gripped your skin like he owned it. You remember the sharp, smoky scent of his cologne, the heat of his body pressed against yours, grounding you. You remember the way his breath hitched when he laughed, that faint, dangerous edge to it.

You remember Toby.

So why doesn’t anyone else?

Like, you still have that hickey he gave you at the frat party.

The last time you saw him—besides that night—was when he somehow managed to swipe your black lace underwear without you noticing. A cocky little stunt, one you didn’t even realize had happened until you stood outside the frat house, skin still buzzing from the aftershocks of the hookup, your dress smoothed back into place.

The way his lips dragged over your skin, slow and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. The way his teeth scraped against your neck, the warmth of his breath right before he bit down—just hard enough to make you gasp. Then he laughed, that low, satisfied sound that sent a shiver down your spine, and murmured something about how he hoped it bruised.

It did. Badly. To the point where you had to cover the damn thing with concealer before class like people don’t need to know your business.

But that shouldn’t be your main issue right now.

Your main worry should be your phone. Wait a minute. Your phone?

You’re currently sitting in a study room at the library with your roommate, and you can’t find your phone. It should’ve been buzzing by now—messages, notifications, something. But there’s nothing.

You swear you had it when you left class earlier. Or was it when you and your roommate sat down to study in the library? Either way, it’s gone now. Vanished without a trace.

You check your bag. Nothing. Then your pockets, just to make sure you didn’t slip it in there absentmindedly. Nothing. You check your bag again—maybe, just maybe, reality will bend in your favor, and the damn thing will reappear. But it doesn’t.

Did you drop it in the lecture hall? Like, you don’t remember being that careless, but the last few days have been a blur—so many distractions, so many things happening on campus, it’s hard to keep track of anything, let alone your phone.

But right now, none of that matters. Because your phone is missing, and you’re crawling through the library like a raccoon ransacking a trash can.

You check under chairs. Between the rows of bookshelves. Even behind a vending machine because you’re getting desperate. Nothing.

With an exhausted sigh, you press your hands to your face and let your forehead thunk against the corner of a bookshelf. “I swear to God—”

"Looking for this?"

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST—"

You nearly knock over an entire shelf. Your soul, your lifespan, and your dignity all seem to leave your body at once. And there she is. Your roommate. Vidia. Standing way too close, holding your phone between two fingers like it’s some lost artifact.

Your heart is still violently tap-dancing in your chest, and it takes a moment for your brain to catch up with the chaos. “Why do you do that?” you demand, trying to piece yourself back together, but the words are shaky, and your palms are slick with sweat.

She just shrugs, completely unbothered, like she didn’t just almost give you a heart attack. “You make it so easy. It’s like scaring a sleep-deprived squirrel.”

You grab your phone from her with an exaggerated roll of your eyes, glaring at her like she just ruined the rest of your day. "I hope you trip down the library stairs."

Vidia raises an eyebrow, unphased. “Bold of you to assume I’d go down alone,” she quips, already moving on with that air of indifference she’s perfected. “Anyway, I found it by the restroom.”

Your fingers tighten around the phone, the words hitting you like a punch to the gut. “The bathroom?” you repeat, your voice shaky, confusion and anxiety mixing in an odd cocktail.

Vidia nods casually like it’s no big deal. “Yup. Just chillin’ on the counter. I figured, ‘Wow, what an absolute dumbass move. Leaving your phone for any psycho to snatch.’”

Your stomach twists, a sudden heaviness filling the space in your chest. The air around you thickens, your breathing shallow, and that tight, suffocating coil of unease winds tighter in your gut.

You don’t remember going to the bathroom.

You don’t remember leaving your phone there.

But you were just in class, right? You just finished your exams—finally, that was over. All you wanted now was to breathe, chill, and hang out with Vidia around campus like any normal student should after a hellish week.

You bring the phone up to your face, hoping the screen will make sense of all this. It doesn’t.

“Was anyone else in the restroom with you?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, but the tension seeps through. You can feel it—there’s an edge to your words now, sharp and frayed.

Vidia thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “Not that I saw. Just me, when I went in to wash my hands. Don’t know if someone left it or if it fell, but it was just there. Weird, right?”

Weird doesn’t even begin to cover it. Your mind whirls, trying to piece together what’s happening. You’d been in the middle of your exam haze—just trying to power through—and now this? The last thing you remember is walking out of the lecture hall, not a bathroom.

The more you try to think, the more everything becomes a blur. So much had been happening lately, and you had tried to shut it all out—taking a hit from your pen here and there to avoid overthinking. But now? The thought of your phone, lying abandoned on a bathroom counter, starts to fester in your mind.

“You’re just lucky I didn’t steal it,” Vidia quips with a grin, oblivious to the fact that you’re teetering on the edge of something that feels much darker than a misplaced phone.

But you’re not laughing. You’re staring at the device in your hand, gripping it like it might disappear if you don’t hold on tight enough.

You don’t remember leaving it there.

And that fact? It sends a cold shiver crawling up your spine.

Your thumb hovers over the power button, almost as if your body knows it shouldn’t make the decision. The screen lights up with a cold, blue glow, harsh against the dim library lights. You squint at the familiar lock screen, but the unease slithers in before your brain even registers it.

It’s subtle at first, just a gnawing feeling deep in your gut—a flicker of something wrong. A creeping whisper at the back of your mind urging you to put the phone down. But before you can think it through, your eyes catch the notification on the call log.

Unknown Number.

No name. No details. Just there, sitting at the top of your contact list like it’s always belonged. Like it’s always been waiting for you to see it.

You freeze. Your pulse stutters, your heart skipping a beat. The silence in the library feels suffocating now like the walls are closing in. You don’t know how long you’ve been staring at that name—or rather, the lack of it—but it feels like an eternity before the first message pings through.

Ding.

The sharp chime shatters the stillness, and your breath catches in your throat. Your hand goes cold, and you stare at the screen.

Unknown Number: “You ask about me like you miss me.”

Your stomach drops, cold dread crawling up your spine. Your mind races, trying to connect dots, to make sense of this. You want to swipe the screen away, to forget this moment, but you can’t.

You can’t look away.

Another message appears before you have the chance to react. Your fingers tremble as you read it.

Unknown Number: “You look cute when you’re desperate.”

You can feel the room shrinking around you, the air thick with tension. It feels like you’re drowning in it, and the phone is suddenly too heavy in your hand.

Everything starts to feel wrong. The world tilts on its axis. A creeping sense of violation, of being watched, wraps around you like a suffocating fog. You try to steady your breath, but it’s like the whole library is closing in on you. And then, just as you think you can’t take any more, the last message comes in.

No words this time. Just an image file.

You hesitate, your fingers hovering over the screen as a cold dread settles deep in your stomach. Every instinct screams at you to stop—to put the phone down, to close your eyes and pretend it isn’t happening. But something keeps you rooted in place, some twisted part of you that needs to know, that craves the truth, no matter how sickening it might be. Maybe you're hoping it's a mistake. A glitch. Some absurd error. Or maybe you're just too far gone to walk away from this now.

With a shaky breath, you press the image.

The photo loads with agonizing slowness, each second stretching out like an eternity. Your heart pounds in your chest, the sound deafening in your ears as you watch the image unfold before you. The sense of wrongness, of violation, begins to seep into your bones.

And then you see it.

Your stolen black lace underwear.

The sight hits you like a punch to the gut. It’s your underwear, unmistakably. But it’s... different. The fabric is wrinkled and crumpled in a way that doesn’t make sense. It’s sitting there, in the photo, folded neatly—almost too neatly—on some unfamiliar surface.

And then the weight of it crashes into you. This isn’t some coincidence. This isn’t an innocent mistake.

Toby’s been watching.

He’s been tracking you. Watching your every move.

And now, he’s making sure you know it.

You stare at the underwear again, your breath caught in your throat. And that’s when it hits you. It’s not just that they’re there, it’s how they look. The lace, once pristine, now looks... ruined. Tattered, in places. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but it doesn’t look like something that’s just been forgotten. No, something about it feels off. Like it’s been used.

The realization slams into you with the force of a freight train.

This motherfucker has been jacking off to your underwear.

For a split second, your body goes rigid, a sickening wave of disgust crashing over you, twisting your stomach in ways you didn’t think were possible. It’s enough to make you feel like you need to throw the phone across the room as if you can somehow purge the image from your mind. But, you can’t. It’s already burned into you, like an indelible mark that won’t fade.

And then, strangely, you can’t help but laugh on the inside. It’s a dark, twisted laugh, almost like you can’t even believe how fucking sick this is, but the absurdity of it all hits you all at once. Toby—of all people—using your underwear. A weird, sick trophy. It almost feels like a joke, doesn’t it?

Of course, he’d do something like this. Why not? Toby’s always been a little off, a little too twisted. But this? This takes the cake. And it’s almost funny how fucked up it all is.

A shiver crawls up your spine, and the dark humor you felt moments ago fades into something colder. The laughter dies in your throat as the full weight of what this means finally settles in. Toby’s not just some background stalker anymore. He’s not some random hook-up that you can brush off.

No, now, he’s something else entirely. He’s toying with you. He’s playing a game, and you’re the unwilling toy in his twisted little scenario.

But you? You’re no toy.

Does he think he can play games with you?

Well, then, let’s play. After all, two can play this game. And you’re going to make him regret ever thinking he could fuck with you.

The tension gnaws at you as you stand before the same frat house once again, but something’s different. It’s too quiet. Not the kind of silence that comes with a hangover or the weight of exams looming shortly. No, this silence is heavier. More oppressive. The air feels thick, stagnant—almost suffocating.

Something is festering beneath the surface, something unspoken that makes your skin crawl. Because, let’s not forget, someone did die here.

And not just any random partygoer—one of theirs. A freshman who had just crossed over into their brotherhood.

At first, the cops called it hazing. A tragic case of initiation gone wrong. That would’ve been bad enough, something dark and twisted that the university could still pretend was just a mistake. But then the body showed up with two hatchets buried deep in his back.

And suddenly, that story didn’t make sense.

Like yeah, the frat guys might be assholes. But they’re not that creative.

Still, the university isn’t convinced. Neither are the cops. Whispers slip between students like a sickness, each theory worse than the last. Some say the frat is covering something up. That they know more than they’re letting on. And if that’s true—then maybe, just maybe, they know something about Toby.

You don’t want to be here. Every bone in your body tells you to turn around, to forget about this. But that’s the thing about you.

You don’t let things go.

So you lift your hand and knock. Twice. Sharp, firm. A few seconds later, the door cracks open just enough to reveal a guy with messy brown hair, the kind of unshaven face that says he’s been too busy—or too stressed—to care. His eyes flick over you, full of mild irritation, like you’re already wasting his time.

“What?” No frat boy charm. No lazy grin. Just tired.

“I need to ask you about this white dude at the party,” you say smoothly. There’s something just beneath your voice, a sharpness, like a blade hidden under silk. “The one with the gash on the left side of his face. Orange yellow-tinted goggles.”

The guy hesitates. Just for a second.

It’s small—barely noticeable—but you see it. The way his fingers twitch. The way his jaw tightens. The way his eyes dart to the guys on the couch behind him. A silent conversation flickers between them, and you know, you know, that they recognize the description.

But then, just as quickly, he fixed his expression into something unreadable. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says flatly, and before you can call him on his bullshit, he moves to shut the door in your face.

Your foot slides into the gap, firm and unmoving, keeping the door from closing. His eyes snap down to it, then back up to you, realization dawning that you’re not leaving.

You smirk. Slow. Sharp. “Oh, come on,” you say, voice dropping just enough to be dangerous. “You really wanna make me report you guys for the little stash you had at the party? Alcohol, drugs, minors—you know, all the fun stuff that could get your charter revoked?”

His throat bobs. Behind him, one of the guys on the couch mutters, “Dude, just—just let her in.” After a long pause, he exhales through his nose, “All right, all right, chill. I’ll tell you what I know.” He reluctantly steps back. “But if anyone asks, this conversation never happened.”

You step inside, and just like that, the game shifts. Eyes flicking between you and the frat dude that let you in. They weren’t expecting this. You see the moment they realize you’re not some naive young woman who can be shrugged off, and the power shifts. The dude in front of you swallows, his posture shifting from cocky to uncomfortable.

The others stay silent, watching you like you’re a predator who’s already got them cornered. “…yeah, we know him,” he starts, his voice lowering like he’s deciding just how much to let slip. “He’s been our dealer for about four months now. We’ve been buying from him since the fall semester. The dude’s smooth runs a tight game. Don’t ask questions, just deliver.”

You raise an eyebrow but don’t say anything.

“Then the spring semester hit, and things started to get weird,” the guy continues, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “Prices went up. A lot. Like, from $10 a hit to $25, and that’s when he started bringing in freshmen, getting them to pay even to be part of the circle. Made ‘em think they needed the ‘in’ to get good stuff.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, disgust curling in your stomach. Freshmen are getting scammed for some easy cash. Classic. Desperate kids want a taste of the so-called ‘college experience,’ only to get wrung dry by a bunch of losers who think running a glorified middleman operation makes them untouchable.

But the pieces are falling into place now, slotting together in a way that makes your skin prickle.

Toby’s been keeping a low profile—not just from you, but from everyone. The sudden price hikes, the freshmen he’s been pulling in, the way he’s moved from just dealing to controlling access altogether… That’s not just business. That’s survival. He’s hiding.

And whatever he’s running from? It’s bad, of course, as you figure.

You exhale, shaking off the lingering sense of unease. You got what you came for—at least for now. “All right,” you say, turning toward the door. You pause just long enough to glance back at the frat guy still lingering there, relief evident in his slack posture. Like he’s just barely dodged getting torn apart. You let the silence stretch for just a second too long, enjoying the way it makes him shift uncomfortably. “And thank God you let me in for free, huh?”

Your lips curl into a smirk, playful, but with that signature sharpness laced beneath it. “Guess I just look hot enough to get the VIP treatment.”

He snorts, trying to play it cool, but you can tell you’ve gotten under his skin. “Yeah, sure, whatever you say…”

You turn away, stepping off the porch, but just as you hit the sidewalk, you pause. There’s still something sour in your mouth, a lingering irritation. You glance back at them, the group of them still loitering near the doorway, watching you leave.

And then, just for the hell of it, you bark at them.

Loud. Sudden. Sharp. The reaction is instant. One of them flinches so hard he almost drops his drink, another curses under his breath, and the frat guy in the doorway? He just stares at you, stunned into silence. You laugh under your breath, shaking your head as you walk away, hands in your pockets.

Cowards. But whatever.

They gave you what you needed.

You return to your dorm, pushing your personal room door and clicking shut behind you as you toss your leather bag onto your bed, the skull keychain and grey fox fur charm swaying with the movement. The weight in your chest hasn’t eased—not after what you just found out. Or, more accurately, what you didn’t find out. You have enough information to find Toby.

And that thought alone is enough to make you grin.

The reflection in the mirror barely feels like you as you move with practiced ease, wiping away the remnants of the day and replacing it with something sharper, something darker. You smear a deep shade of lipstick across your lips, press them together, and watch as your own gaze hardens. There. That’s better.

With quick, fluid movements, you strip off your casual clothes and slip into something more fitting for the night ahead. A loose off-the-shoulder black top drapes over your frame, half-tucked into studded short shorts that sit snug on your hips. Your ripped black tights cling to your legs, the delicate fabric holding on by threads, a look of controlled chaos.

You lace up your boots—low-heeled, ribbons threaded through the worn-out lace holes, their weight familiar as they clunk softly against the floor. Every piece you put on is intentional. The studded bracelets stacked high on your wrists, the layered silver chains hanging low against your collarbone, the rings that glint under the dim light of your vanity. Finally, you grab your leather jacket, the soft fur lining brushing against your neck as you shrug it on. It’s more than just a piece of clothing—it’s armor.

With a steadying breath, you shove your phone into your bag, along with your skull-emblazoned pocket knife, a lighter, and a few other essentials. The night is unpredictable, but you’ve learned to prepare for anything.

You’re just finishing the last swipe of your eyeliner when the door swings open, making you jump slightly.

Vidia.

She steps into your room like she owns it, moving with that effortless, almost grace of hers. Dressed in an oversized shirt and short shorts, her hair bundled into a bonnet, she looks almost too casual—except for the sharp amusement in her eyes as she takes you in.

“Well, well, well.” She sidles up behind you, her arms draping lazily around your shoulders, chin propped against your head as she watches you in the mirror. “And where exactly is my dear, morally-questionable roommate running off to tonight?”

You don’t answer immediately, fixing the last touches on your mascara. Vidia hums, like she’s already forming a dozen theories in her head, each more ridiculous than the last.

“Lemme guess,” she continues, her voice playful but prying, “you’re off to summon a demon, break into a museum, or—oh, oh—are we robbing a bank now? Because, bitch, I need a cut if we are.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Just out.”

Vidia rolls her eyes. “Yeah, no shit. Out where?”

You sling your bag over your shoulder, glancing at her through the mirror. “Following up on something.”

That wipes some of the amusement from her face. She straightens slightly, arms loosening around your neck. “Following up?” she repeats, voice dipping in suspicion. “You’ve been acting weird as hell since that party. And considering what happened…”

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Weirder than usual?”

She points at you, toothbrush still clutched in her hand like a weapon. “Yes. And that’s saying something.”

For a moment, you debate brushing her off, but the truth sits heavy on your tongue. If things go sideways tonight, someone should at least know you went looking.

You meet her gaze in the mirror. “If I’m not back by ten…” You hesitate, then smirk, voice dropping into something more deliberate. “Hit and run.”

The playful glint in Vidia’s eyes vanishes. Her grip on your shoulders tightens.

“Wait—”

But you don’t give her time to press. You step past her, boots heavy against the floor as you move straight for the door.

Because tonight, you’re finally getting some real answers.

Outside, you lean against the cool brick of a nearby building, the faint glow of the streetlights flickering like distant stars in the late-night quiet. The cigarette between your fingers burns slowly, the smoke curling up in delicate tendrils, dissolving into the night air.

It’s a small comfort in everything—something familiar, something that lets you breathe, even if just for a moment.

The gas station across the street hums with the low buzz of neon lights. The smell of gasoline mixes with the stale scent of the night air, and for a brief second, everything feels so… normal. Like this town hasn’t been tainted by whatever's been happening, by all the things you've discovered. But you know that’s a lie. It’s not normal anymore.

It hasn’t been for days.

The events at the frat house hang over the entire campus like a cloud, casting a long, dark shadow over everyone. Most students have retreated to their dorms, staying inside, clutching whatever comfort they can. The usual buzz of parties and late-night drinking is absent. No one is passing around bottles of cheap liquor. It’s like the very air is holding its breath, waiting for something to break.

And you’re waiting for something, too. You're waiting for Toby. Because you’re starting to put the pieces together.

You crush the cigarette under your heel and pull out your phone, staring at the screen, still haunted by the last message, the photo. The stolen underwear. The message that told you exactly what kind of game he’s playing.

And now you need to find him.

You turn your head, casting a glance at the nearby woods that border the edge of the college town, the trees silhouetted against the dim glow of the horizon. You’ve heard rumors about the woods. About the things that go on there when the sun sets, when the air goes still and thick with the promise of secrets.

With a quick decision, you push off from the wall, the gravel beneath your shoes crunching as you move toward the shadows. You cross the street and head down a narrow alley, passing the broken-down bar where students used to hang out, now practically deserted. The air feels thicker here as if the whole town has been holding its breath.

As you walk, your mind races. You’ve been hearing whispers. People at the library. Students in the dining hall. They’ve been talking about Toby, but never in any serious way. Just in passing. But that’s when you hear it—the mention of the frat house again. Drug dealer. Secret deals. Low-key operation.

The pieces click together.

It’s not just about sex, about teasing. Toby’s deeper into something darker than you could’ve imagined. The whole thing with your underwear wasn’t just some sick little game. No, that was the warning shot.

You stop, your gaze scanning the area. A couple of drunk students stumble out of a nearby building, laughing too loudly for this hour, but they stop when they notice you standing in the shadows, eyes narrowed in your direction. You don’t care about them, though. You care about one thing, and one thing only.

You walk up to the group, forcing your voice to sound casual. “You guys know a dealer around here?”

The two guys exchange a look, clearly uncertain. “Dealer?” one of them repeats, scratching his head. “Uh… don’t know him well. He’s a quiet guy, always hanging around with the frat boys. You know, that one? He deals… stuff.” He waves his hand vaguely in the air.

“Stuff?” you push.

The guy stares at you, trying to gauge your seriousness. “Yeah. Drugs, I think. Not sure what, though. I heard he’s got connections, really low-key. But it’s all hush-hush. Don’t mess with that guy. Trust me.”

You keep your voice steady, suppressing the surge of adrenaline coursing through you. "Do you know where he deals? Where I can find him?" you ask, looking directly at the guy. He hesitates for a second, clearly trying to figure out if you're bluffing or genuinely looking for trouble.

His eyes flicker around, checking the quiet street, before he leans in a little closer, lowering his voice. “I heard he does most of his deals out by the old abandoned warehouse on the south side of off-campus. Not many people go there anymore, but... yeah, that's where he usually pops in and out..”

A thrill runs through you at the mention of the warehouse. That was exactly the kind of place Toby would hide in, away from prying eyes. You give the guy a quick nod of thanks, not waiting for any more unnecessary chatter.

You don’t have time to waste.

Your feet crunch against the gravel as you walk away, quickly but quietly, the cool night air tugging at your jacket. You’ve got one thing on your mind—finding Toby.

Whatever game he thinks he’s playing with you, it ends tonight.

You cross the street, your pulse quickening as you head toward the path that leads to the empty south side of campus. The abandoned warehouse is just beyond it, tucked away behind a cluster of trees. It’s so quiet now. No drunken crowds. No obnoxious parties.

Just the occasional sound of a car passing, its tires humming against the road. The further you get from campus, the more desolate it feels, as if you're stepping into a place where no one belongs.

A chill creeps up your spine, but you push it down. You’re not scared. You’re pissed. As you round a corner, you stop in your tracks.

Up ahead, parked near the back of the warehouse, is a sleek black truck. The engine is still running, and the low growl of it vibrates in the air. The driver’s side door swings open, and out steps a man in an orange jacket, his movements swift and purposeful. He’s followed by another guy in a mustard-yellow hoodie, his head tilted down, hiding his face.

You squint, trying to make out more, but they’re too far, too blurry in the darkness. But then—

There he is. Toby.

He steps out from the other side of the truck, his silhouette cutting through the dim light like a blade. Even from this distance, you recognize him immediately. The way he moves—calm, unhurried, carrying that same cocky arrogance in every step. Like he has nothing to fear. Like he’s in control.

The bastard has been playing games with you. The messages, the pictures, the feeling of always being watched—it all leads back to him. And now? Now you finally have him in your sights.

He doesn’t even glance your way as he walks toward the warehouse, his focus elsewhere. The two men follow close behind, their presence just as unsettling. Older, more seasoned. You can tell by the way they move, the way they keep close but slightly behind Toby. Like they’re equals in whatever the hell this is. Or maybe they’re watching him just as much as he’s watching them.

The truck’s engine rumbles softly, headlights flickering as the warehouse door clicks shut behind them.

You should be back at your dorm.

You should be calling the police.

But instead, you’re here—standing at the edge of something dangerous, heart-pounding but mind-sharp. You exhale slowly, steadying yourself. “Don’t rush this.” You keep to the darkness, moving low and careful, each step precise. Recklessness gets people killed. You’re not stupid enough to charge in blindly, not when you don’t know what’s waiting on the other side of that door.

No, you’re going to do this right. You settle into position, hidden in the dark, eyes locked on the building. Watching. Listening. Calculating.

If Toby wants to play games, then fine.

You’ll play too.

But on your terms.

You look down at your phone for a sec before looking at the two men. They’re clearly not college students or even people your age—these guys are at least in their mid-30s, their grizzled features giving them away. One of them has a sharp jaw and a slight scar across his chin, while the other’s got graying hair at his temples, making him look out of place in the shady world they’re operating in.

Toby, on the other hand, still looks like he’s in his early 20s—too young for this, you think, but there’s no doubt in your mind he’s right in the thick of it. He’s standing with his back to the truck, a smirk playing on his lips as he talks to the two men.

You squint, listening carefully as their conversation drifts your way, just low enough that you can’t make out every word, but enough to catch fragments.

“Everything’s across campus now,” one of the older men says, his voice rough, sounding almost too calm for what’s being discussed. “Gotta keep it clean. The cops are getting nosy.”

Toby responds with a quiet laugh, the cockiness in his tone clear even from this distance. “Yeah, we’ve been laying low. Nobody’s really looking in the right places. But I’ll admit, the pressure’s on, especially with all the weird shit happening on campus.”

The other guy in the mustard hoodie just grunts, tugging at his sleeves. “Our job’s done, yeah? Clean up’s all that’s left, then we’re out.”

Job? What job are they talking about?

You frown, trying to piece it all together. “Clean up” sounds like something more than just dealing. Were they cleaning up a mess? You don’t know what kind of mess it would be, but it doesn’t sit right with you. Not at all.

Could it be... connected to the student who died in the frat house?

Your thoughts are interrupted by a faint rustle behind you. The hairs on your neck stand up. The night feels too quiet all of a sudden. And then, out of nowhere, you feel a pair of hands slam into your neck, pinning you harshly to the dirt floor beneath you.

You try to gasp, your lungs seizing, but it’s impossible. You’re trapped—held down with frightening strength, unable to fight back. The pressure around your neck tightens, and your head spins. You can’t see who it is at first, everything happening too fast, too violently. But then, you hear the sound of fabric rustling, the force of weight pressing down on you.

Your phone’s flashlight flickers weakly, its glow barely enough to cut through the darkness. But it’s enough to make out the figure above you.

A woman.

Her face is hidden behind a white mask, blank and haunting, its surface smeared with dirt and something darker, something crusted into the fabric of her hoodie like dried blood. The hoodie’s sleeves are shoved up, exposing lean, sinewy arms, the muscles tensed with barely contained energy. Her dark wash jeans are loose, but nothing about her posture is. She’s coiled like a live wire, electric with something feral. Something unhinged.

Before you can react, her hands snap around your throat.

It’s not just a grip—it’s a full-body attack, her weight slamming you into the dirt like a predator taking down prey. The ground is cold beneath you, damp with the earth’s decay, but the pressure around your throat burns. Her fingers dig in, nails biting into your skin as she squeezes, tighter and tighter, cutting off everything—your breath, your voice, your control.

Panic surges. You try to pry her hands off, but she’s stronger than she looks. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. It’s like she wants you to suffer. Like she lives for the fight.

You thrash, legs kicking up dirt, arms scrambling for anything—her wrists, her face, a rock—something. But she doesn’t budge. She leans in closer, her breath ragged through the mask, and you can feel the violent tremors in her body, the sheer force she’s pouring into this.

The world around you starts to shrink. Your lungs burn, your vision swims with dark spots, and the muffled roar of your own pulse drowns out everything else. It’s a slow, suffocating descent, the kind where time stretches and your body knows—knows you’re running out of seconds.

But then—flash.

The beam from your phone flickers, catching the mask again. The light hits her dead-on, exposing the stains, the dirt, and the eerie emptiness of the featureless face.

She jerks.

Like an animal recoiling from fire, she flinches, her whole body shuddering with something violent. And then—just as suddenly as she attacked—she lets go.

Air rushes back into your lungs, burning like acid as you gasp, choking on relief. You cough, your whole body trembling from the shock of it, your vision blurred with tears. Your hands clutch at the dirt beneath you, desperate for something solid, something real.

The woman stumbles back, her breathing frantic. But she isn’t running. Not yet.

She raises her hands—not in defense, but in shame. Covering her face. Clutching at the fabric of her hoodie like she can somehow disappear into it. Like she needs to.

“Don’t…” Her voice is hoarse, unsteady. “Don’t look at me.”

Her words hit like ice in your veins.

She’s not just hiding. She’s terrified.

Your flashlight flickers again, throwing a shaky, erratic glow across her body. She cowers from it, shrinking into herself, the bloodstains on her hoodie almost glowing in the dim light.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

Her voice cracks, the desperation threading through her words almost unhinged. She’s backing away now, dropping to her knees as if the weight of her own body is too much to bear.

Your head spins, the world still tilting from the lack of oxygen, but your mind clings to the words.

What the hell does that mean? Who is she?

And why did she try to kill you?

None of it made sense. You tried to move, to push yourself up, but your body refused to listen. The weight of everything—the fight, the fear, the lack of oxygen—dragged you down like an anchor, pulling you deeper into the abyss.

Your vision blurred, flickering between the dim glow of your phone and the swallowing darkness. Your body tingled, a numbing sensation creeping into your limbs, making them heavy—too heavy. Every breath was a struggle, each inhale weaker than the last.

The world tilted the edges of your perception distorting like ripples in water.

And then—nothing.

It was as if the air itself had thickened, pressing down on you, suffocating your senses into a muted void. Your mind drifted, untethered from reality, sinking into unconsciousness as the last traces of awareness slipped through your fingers.

When you woke up, it felt like you were underwater.

The world was sluggish, muffled. Your head pounded with a dull, relentless ache, and your limbs felt impossibly heavy, as if they weren’t your own. It took a moment for your senses to return—to realize that something was wrong.

The cold, hard surface beneath you wasn’t the forest floor. It was rough, and industrial, the vibrations beneath you sending small jolts through your aching bones. The scent of stale air and gasoline clung to your nose, mixing with something metallic—blood?

Your thoughts were a mess, tangled and sluggish, but the first thing you knew for certain was this: You were moving.

Not by choice.

Your eyes flickered open, disoriented by the dim lighting. It was cramped, the space too small to stand, too enclosed to be anything but—

A van.

Panic surged through your veins like ice. You tried to move, to sit up, but something pulled at your wrists. Tight. Restrictive. The unmistakable bite of zip ties dug into your skin, keeping your hands wrenched behind your back. A second struggle confirmed your legs were just as bound.

Trapped.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to breathe, to think. The low hum of the van’s engine filled the silence, steady and rhythmic. But then—voices.

Two men.

Their words were distant at first, muffled by the barrier separating you from the front seats, but the more you strained your ears, the clearer they became.

“I had a feeling this was gonna bite us in the ass,” one of them muttered, his voice rough and edged with frustration. “Who would’ve figured she’d track us down just to find him?”

A tense pause. Then, the second man grunted. “Yeah. They’ve been sniffing around for a while now. Too much digging.”

Your breath hitched. They were talking about you.

Your pulse roared in your ears, drowning out the sound of the tires grinding against asphalt. Every nerve in your body screamed at you to move, to run, but you were trapped, bound, and helpless in the back of a moving van with no idea where you were being taken.

And worse?

You weren’t alone.

Your gaze shifted, and that’s when you saw him.

Sitting right in front of you, as if he were just another passenger—as if nothing had happened—was Toby.

The man you’d been chasing. The one you couldn’t forget.

Toby sat there with unsettling ease; his posture relaxed as if this were just another casual meetup instead of a kidnapping. His hoodie—multi-colored in faded shades of beige and dark blue—looked worn, like it had seen its fair share of seasons. The orange-yellow goggles resting on his face caught the dim interior light of the van, casting eerie reflections that masked his expression. A dark bandana covered his mouth, but it did nothing to hide the weight of his gaze.

His eyes—cold, dark brown, and unwavering—locked onto yours with no fear, no hesitation. He wasn’t nervous. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even amused. He was just... watching.

Like he already knew exactly what was running through your mind.

The silence between you stretched, thick, and suffocating. Your heart pounded in your chest, but your body remained frozen, still bound and helpless.

You swallowed, your throat dry and tight, before shifting against the restraints, your lips fumbling to pull the dumb cloth from your mouth. When you finally spoke, your voice came out shaking but determined.

“Why are you doing this?”

For a second, he didn’t answer. He just kept watching you, head tilted slightly, the way someone might study an animal in a trap. Then, slowly, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips—not a full grin, just a ghost of one, something cold and distant that never reached his eyes.

“You were getting too close to the truth,” Toby said simply, his tone void of any real emotion. Like he was explaining the most obvious thing in the world. “Thought you could dig around, ask questions, play little Miss Detective.”

Your breath hitched, and your mind scrambled to piece it together. “That frat guy…” you started, but Toby cut you off.

His eyes flickered away for the briefest moment before he spoke again. “It wasn’t about him,” he said, voice low and controlled.

You furrowed your brow, confusion twisting in your gut. The pounding headache still clawed at your skull, but you pushed through it, grasping for understanding. “What? Then why—why was everyone acting like it was related to him?”

Toby shrugged, casual as ever, as if none of this truly mattered to him. “Because it’s easier that way,” he said. “People hear ‘frat party death’ and assume it’s some overdose, some accident. They don’t think to look deeper. They don’t think to ask the real questions.”

Your stomach twisted. You’d been asking those questions.

That’s why you were here.

Toby’s gaze flickered back to you, sharper now. More focused. “You were poking your nose where it didn’t belong,” he continued, his voice quiet but firm. “Digging into my deals, my business. Asking around about me and my crew.” His fingers tapped idly against his knee, rhythmic and steady.

“And I didn’t like it.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears, the pieces slowly clicking into place—but something still didn’t fit. “You’re just a dealer,” you said, though the words felt hollow even as they left your lips. “You—”

Toby let out a short, humorless chuckle. “Just a dealer?” He tilted his head as if he were genuinely considering it. Then, slowly, deliberately, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You never really thought about what else I could be, did you?”

His words sent a cold shiver down your spine.

What else he could be?

Your breath stalled, your mind reeling as you stared at him, searching his face for some kind of answer, or denial. But he gave you nothing—just that same quiet, unwavering look.

And then, he gave you something worse.

A slow, creeping grin stretched beneath his bandana, the faintest glint of amusement flickering in his dark eyes. His voice dipped into a hushed whisper as if savoring the moment, drawing it out like a cat playing with a wounded mouse.

“You got lucky, y’know,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “Most people who figure me out? They don’t live long enough to be warned.”

Your breath hitched.

A serial killer.

The words burned into your mind, branding themselves deep in your consciousness. He wasn’t just some dealer, some criminal lurking in the shadows of frat parties and campus gossip. He was something far worse.

He killed that guy at the party.

Before you could fully process the horror unraveling before you, Toby moved. Fast. Too fast. He was on his feet in an instant, boots thudding against the metal floor of the van as he closed the distance between you.

A sharp yank. Pain exploded across your scalp as he grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled it, dragging you up with brutal force.

A muffled cry tore from your throat, but the gag kept it from escaping beyond the walls of your prison. Your body jerked against the binds, instinctively trying to recoil, but his grip was unrelenting, like iron chains wrapped around your skull. He studied you, his head tilting slightly to the side. Amusement flickered across his face—sick, entertained amusement.

“Pretty enough to sell off,” he muttered to himself, as if considering his options, as if you weren’t even human, just another item to be weighed, evaluated, discarded at will. A cold, twisted smile tugged at his lips, but before he could revel in his own depraved thoughts any further, something inside you snapped.

The terror, the panic, the helplessness—it all boiled over into something sharp, something furious. Your eyes burned with a mix of rage and defiance as you wrenched against his grasp, a snarl ripping from your throat. “Don’t you dare touch me!” Your voice was raw, cutting through the air like a blade. “You stay the hell away from me!”

For a moment—a split second—Toby actually paused.

His grip on your hair loosened just slightly, his head tilting as though intrigued. Those goggles hid his full expression, but you swore you saw something flicker behind them. Surprise? Curiosity? Annoyance?

But then, just as quickly, the smirk returned.

“Maybe I won’t,” he mused his voice light, teasing as if the thought genuinely amused him. Then, his head tilted the other way, and his fingers curled just a bit tighter around your hair. “But then again… what are you gonna do about it?”

The weight of his words settled deep in your chest, pressing against your ribs like a vice.

This was all a game.

That’s what this was to him.

Toby wasn’t some reckless criminal stumbling through a crime spree. He was precise. Calculated. He had planned this, orchestrated every moment, every step, every mistake you had made.

And you had walked right into it.

The van lurched to a sudden stop, the force jerking your body forward before slamming you back against the cold metal interior. The low hum of the engine faded into silence, replaced by the eerie creak of the back doors swinging open. A rush of crisp night air hit your face, sharp and unforgiving, sending a shiver down your spine.

Then, the silhouettes appeared.

The same two men stood in the doorway, their forms backlit by the pale glow of distant headlights. The first wore an orange hoodie, its fabric stained with deep, dark smudges—blood? The longer you stared, the more it looked like a grotesque, distorted face staring back at you.

The second man was more unnerving. He donned a mustard-colored jacket, his face hidden behind a white, doll-like mask. The featureless stare was somehow worse than if he had been sneering at you. The lifeless gaze made your stomach twist into knots.

Who the hell are these people?

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, your mind racing through every possible outcome. Were they here to help Toby? To kill you? To take you somewhere even worse?

Toby stepped forward, his boots crunching against gravel as he moved toward the open doors. He gave the two men a slight nod—wordless confirmation. The tension in the air thickened, choking you like an invisible hand around your throat.

Think. Think.

“Wait!” The word shot out of your mouth before you even realized you had said it.

Toby’s head tilted, his goggles catching the dim light as he looked at you. He didn’t say anything, but his body language told you everything—you had exactly three seconds to say something that would interest him.

“Let’s make a deal,” you forced out, your voice steady despite the sheer terror pounding against your ribs.

Toby’s posture relaxed slightly. He rolled his shoulders back, amusement flickering beneath his bandana. “A deal?” His voice was smooth, deceptively light, but there was a razor-sharp edge just beneath the surface.

You swallowed hard, trying to read his expression through the obscurity of his mask. “Yeah… like a game?”

The moment the words left your mouth, you regretted it. You had no idea what kind of sick, twisted shit Toby and his so-called friends were involved in, but you knew one thing—people like him loved games. And the ones they played? They were never fair.

Toby considered you for a long, agonizing moment. The air between you both felt charged, the weight of the unknown pressing heavily on your shoulders. Then, without looking away, he reached up and adjusted the bandana covering his mouth.

“All right,” he murmured. “I’ll play a game.”

Your stomach dropped. The two men in the doorway exchanged glances, one of them chuckling under his breath. Toby stepped back, motioning toward the open doors of the van. “It’s simple. If you win, you get to leave. You go back to your lame little college life, pretend none of this ever happened.” He paused, letting the silence stretch long enough for dread to seep deep into your bones.

“And if I lose?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Toby’s grin was slow, smirking.

“Well… you know what happens to you.”

The answer was obvious. Your blood ran ice cold, but you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral. You couldn’t let him see the fear creeping in, couldn’t give him the satisfaction. You had no idea what kind of game he was about to throw you into, but one thing was certain—losing wasn’t an option.

Toby’s voice cut through the thick night air like a blade, sharp and taunting.

“Still wanna do it, babe?” His tone was almost mocking, daring you to back out, to admit you had made a mistake. But you weren’t going to give him that satisfaction.

“Yes,” you said, forcing steel into your voice. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” The words tasted like a death sentence the moment they left your lips.

Toby’s grin stretched wide beneath his bandana, amusement flickering in his eyes. Without warning, he slammed his fist against the van’s metal frame. The impact sent a deep, resonating thud through the vehicle, reverberating in your bones. The sudden noise made you flinch, but Toby? He was enjoying this. The tension, the fear—it fed him.

What the hell had you just agreed to?

Before you could process it, he moved. Toby approached with a slow, deliberate stride, each step uncomfortably calculated. His presence loomed over you, suffocating in its intensity. Even in the dim light, you could see the way his shoulders were relaxed, the slight tilt of his head—it was all a game to him, and he was playing for keeps.

You barely had time to react before his fingers reached for the gag tied around your mouth.

For a fleeting second, hope sparked. Maybe he was giving you some form of freedom, maybe he wanted to hear you speak, maybe—

The thought was ripped away when, instead of removing it, he shoved the cloth deeper into your mouth, pulling the knot tighter with a cruel yank. A muffled grunt of pain escaped you as the rough fabric cut into the corners of your lips.

“Good,” he murmured, the word dripping with satisfaction. He turned his head toward the two men outside the van, motioning lazily with his hand. “Stay put.”

They didn’t move, didn’t speak—just stood there, their masked faces as unreadable as before. Silent sentinels in the dark.

Toby’s fingers wrapped around your shoulder, his grip firm, cold, and unyielding as he yanked you forward. The ropes binding your wrists dug deep into your skin, burning against every movement. You winced but bit down the noise. You weren’t going to let him see your pain.

“Just me and you,” he said, voice quiet, like he was savoring it.

Something about those words made your stomach twist.

The two men hung back as Toby shoved you out of the van and into the creepy woods like the world was just one big horror movie set and you were the unsuspecting victim. The cold air slapped you in the face, and the ground beneath your feet was a minefield of rocks and loose gravel, making you feel like a baby giraffe trying to walk for the first time.

Toby gave you a lazy push forward like he wasn’t even trying, just enjoying the show. He stayed just behind you, his footsteps light—almost like he was walking on air. It was creepy as hell. Not only did you know he was right there, but it was also the fact that he wasn’t saying anything.

Silence was his weapon, and he was wielding it like a pro. You could feel his gaze on your back like he was tattooing his presence into your skin.

But honestly, it wasn’t even just Toby that had you on edge. It was the whole damn woods. You couldn't shake the feeling that the trees had eyes, like they were watching you. They creaked and groaned in the wind, casting creepy-ass shadows that danced around you. Every time you dared look away from the path, the darkness seemed to creep closer, like it was alive and hungry for a snack.

And your brain? Oh, it was having a panic attack. Thoughts scattered everywhere, like someone knocked over a jigsaw puzzle and you had to put it all back together while trying not to piss yourself.

What the hell kind of game will this be?

What the hell is Toby even trying to do?

Toby’s grip on your arm tightened, and for a second, you thought he was going to snap it like a twig. He dug his fingers into your skin, the pressure like a vice, and then—without warning—he shoved you to the ground.

The earth was cold, hard, and unwelcoming, and your knees hit it with a sickening thud. You gasped, trying to push yourself up, but no dice. Toby was already on top of you, like a bad dream you couldn’t escape from.

You barely had time to even process what was happening before his hands were all over you again—rough, unrelenting. He yanked your arms behind your back like he was trying to turn you into a pretzel, and the pain shot through your shoulders.

You winced as the rope bit into your skin, tight and unforgiving, leaving you gasping for air, your wrists already burning. Every instinct screamed to fight, but your body was just… not cooperating. All you could do was brace yourself for whatever new hell Toby was planning to unleash.

Then, just when you thought things couldn’t get worse, he yanked the half-undone cloth out of your mouth, like it was some kind of prize. The sudden rush of cold night air on your face hit you like a punch, and you nearly choked on the wind as you sucked in a desperate breath.

Your chest burned as your lungs tried to catch up, and for a second, all you could do was breathe, focusing on just that—breathing. The shock of air hitting your lungs made everything feel a little too real like you had just woken up from a bad dream and had no idea where you were.

Toby stood over you, watching you like a damn predator, his eyes cold and calculating. He looked like he was enjoying every second of your struggle, his grin twisted into something that made your stomach turn. The silence between you two felt thick, almost suffocating, and with every second that passed, your heartbeat hammered louder in your chest.

You could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on you, that gut-deep dread clawing its way up your throat. Then, finally, he broke the silence, his voice low and rough, dripping with venom. “You wanted a game, right?” His grin stretched wider, almost too wide like he was relishing every second of your discomfort. “Here it is.”

Toby moved slowly like he was savoring the moment, circling you. The sound of his boots against the ground felt like a reminder that you were trapped—nowhere to run. When he finally came back around to face you, he crouched down, his face just inches from yours.

The moonlight caught his features in a way that made him look even worse, like the shadows themselves were twisting his face into something monstrous. The light bent around his features, turning him into something almost unrecognizable like he wasn't even human anymore.

Then, without warning, his hand shot forward, grabbing your chin with a grip that felt like iron. He jerked your head up, forcing you to look at him, his fingers digging into your skin so hard it hurt. You winced, a sickening shudder crawling up your spine as he held you there.

His eyes locked onto yours, dark and unblinking, and for a second, you thought you might just drown in them. He was too close—too close—and you could feel his breath on your face, the faint smell of smoke mixed with something metallic, like blood, lingering in the air.

“Don’t even think about it,” he hissed, his voice cold as ice, a warning in the way his eyes bore into yours, daring you to even try something.

Your throat tightened, and you swallowed hard, your pulse racing. You could feel the full weight of the situation now—whatever sick game he had in mind, you weren’t walking away from this easily.

Toby let out a sharp, breathy chuckle, tilting his head as he watched the fear settle into your bones. He was drinking it in, savoring it like a fine wine. His fingers twitched at his sides, restless, eager.

“The rules are simple,” he repeated, slower this time as if speaking to a child. “Cat chases mouse. Mouse runs. If the mouse is fast enough—” his voice lifted slightly, playful, mocking, “maybe it gets away.” He took a slow step forward, boots crunching against the dirt, his gaze never leaving yours.

“But if the mouse loses…” His grin stretched wider, a grotesque, gleeful thing that made your stomach churn. “Well—” He lifted his hand, thumb dragging across his throat in a slow, deliberate slice.

Your breath stilled.

“F-Fuckin’ simple, right?” Toby let out a sharp cackle, rocking back on his heels like this was the funniest thing in the world. “B-But, uh—here’s the fun part—” His voice dipped lower, almost conspiratorial. He leaned in slightly, just enough that you could catch the scent of blood and oil clinging to him.

“I’m the cat, babe.” He tilted his head, his grin twitching at the edges.

“And you?” Toby reached and pulled something from behind his back, the glint of metal catching in the dim moonlight. You couldn’t help but stare as he brandished the hatchet, its blade sharp and gleaming—ready to cut down whatever stood in its way.

“You’re the mouse.”

You closed your eyes as you felt something cold and sharp slid against your wrists, and suddenly, the ropes fell away. Your hands trembled as you realized what he’d done.

He was letting you go.

The ropes fell away with a dull thud, and you flexed your fingers, the circulation rushing back into your hands with a painful sting. But before you could even take a breath, Toby stood up, towering over you, his cold eyes boring into yours.

“Run.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. It wasn’t a taunt. It was a demand.

And you didn’t need him to tell you twice. You didn’t need to be told anything. Every instinct in your body screamed at you to run—to get the hell out of there before things got any worse. You pushed yourself to your feet, stumbling slightly. But you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t hesitate.

You took off into the woods, your feet pounding against the earth, heart racing, breath coming in sharp, frantic bursts. The trees blurred past you in the darkness, the dense underbrush grabbing at your legs as you pushed forward, not daring to look back.

Behind you, you heard Toby’s voice cut through the silence like a razor, a countdown, slow and deliberate.

"Ten..."

The words hung in the air, each one a cold reminder of what was waiting for you.

"Nine..."

Your feet slipped in the dirt, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t afford to. Not when your life depended on it.

"Eight..."

The rustling of the trees, the soft whisper of the wind, it all felt like a trap. The woods were alive, closing in around you, the darkness suffocating. But you pushed on, adrenaline giving you the strength to run faster than you ever thought possible.

"Seven..."

Your pulse hammered in your ears, drowning out the sound of your surroundings. You couldn’t think about the shadows that moved just beyond the corner of your vision. You couldn’t think about the suffocating fear creeping up your spine.

"Six..."

The air was thick with the scent of earth and pine, but all you could taste was the bitter tang of panic in the back of your throat.

"Five..."

A sudden crack of a branch behind you made your heart jump into your throat. You didn’t dare look back. You couldn’t afford to.

"Four..."

The path ahead was unclear, but you kept running. You knew where the black van was, knew what it meant to get there. It was the only way out. It was the only chance you had.

"Three..."

You could hear him now, the heavy sound of Toby’s footsteps growing louder, closer. The rustle of leaves underfoot. The sharp sound of the hatchet slicing through the air.

"Two..."

The woods were a maze, but you didn’t care. You had no choice but to trust your instincts. Keep running. Keep going.

"One..."

The final countdown echoed in the night, the sharpness of the moment making your skin prickle. And just like that, the sound of Toby’s footsteps stopped.

For a moment, the woods fell into an eerie silence. You could feel the weight of the night pressing in, the darkness stretching out before you. You weren’t sure if Toby was still following, or if he had somehow disappeared into the shadows. But you didn’t dare stop to find out.

You kept running, faster now, your breath ragged, heart hammering in your chest.

You had to make it.

You had to survive.

The adrenaline coursing through your veins was enough to keep you moving, but Toby was right on your heels. You could hear him getting closer, his heavy footsteps pounding the ground as he pursued you. Your breath came out in ragged gasps, your heart pounding in your chest as you fought to stay ahead.

Suddenly, you felt a cold breeze sweep past your ear, and a horrifying whoosh followed by a sharp, metallic slice through the air. Toby’s hatchet missed you by inches, but the force of it scared the hell out of you, causing you to stumble.

Without thinking, you darted sideways, narrowly avoiding the swing of the blade as Toby's arm cut through the air where you had just been. Your heart skipped a beat, terror coiling in your gut.

But it was enough. You had a moment—a split second of reprieve.

Instinct kicked in.

You pushed yourself forward, launching yourself into a desperate sprint, but as you did, you pivoted, whirling around and slamming your fist right into Toby’s face.

His head snapped back with the force of your punch, and you could hear the sickening crunch as his mouth guard went flying off. Blood sprayed from his lips as he staggered back, spitting out crimson between ragged breaths.

“Shit!” you hissed, realizing you might have just made a serious mistake.

You didn't wait to see his next move. You turned and ran, faster than ever, knowing that you couldn’t let him catch up again. Thank God your parents forced you into sports when you were younger. You needed that conditioning now more than ever, every muscle screaming as you pushed yourself harder through the thick underbrush of the forest.

But just as you thought you might have a chance to escape, you felt something like a vice grip on the back of your head. A hand twisted into your hair, jerking you backward with brutal force.

“Ah, playing dirty, huh?” Toby’s voice was a low, mocking growl in your ear as he yanked you back, his breath hot against your skin. “You think you’re faster than me? You think you’re clever?”

You struggled, but his grip on your hair was unrelenting, a fistful of pain and control that yanked your head back until you were nearly off balance. You let out a strangled gasp, trying to push him off, but his laugh sent chills crawling up your spine.

“Sweetheart,” he cooed, dragging you further away from where you had been running. “You’re playing dirty, but I don’t mind. I like a girl who can fight back.”

“Sweet Cheeks, Pretty Girl,” he teased, his voice sickly sweet as his hand moved from your hair to your shoulder, the grip tightening as if he were savoring every second of this. “I can’t get enough of you.” His breath stank and you recoiled, but before you could react, he shoved you down to the ground.

Then your lungs burned as you gasped for air, and you suddenly felt the crushing weight of Toby pressing you deeper into the forest floor. The damp earth clung to your skin, its scent thick and suffocating. You twisted beneath him, your muscles straining as you tried to break free, but it was useless. He was stronger, faster, and, worst of all, he had planned this.

Toby let out a sharp, breathy laugh, the sound laced with something sickeningly satisfied. His grip on your wrists was vice-like, his fingers pressing so hard into your skin you could feel the dull throb of your pulse against them.

“Y’know, you actually did pretty well,” he murmured, his voice low, amused—like he was humoring you. “But, uh—” His knee pressed harder into your ribs, knocking the breath right out of you. “Not good enough.”

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, drowning out the rustling trees, the distant chirp of insects—everything except him.

You bucked your body, jerking against his grip, but Toby barely flinched. If anything, he enjoyed it. He tsked softly, shifting just enough to slide one hand up to your throat, his fingers curling around the delicate skin. He wasn’t squeezing—not yet—but the threat was clear.

“You really thought you could outrun me?” His voice dipped lower, the words edged with a dark amusement. “Me?”

His breathing was steady, almost too calm for someone who had just chased you down like a damn animal. His thumb brushed idly against your pulse, feeling how it hammered beneath his touch, drinking in every ounce of fear rolling off of you in waves.

“You should’ve known better,” he purred, his face lowering until his masked mouth was mere inches from your ear. “B-but, hey! No hard feelings, right?”

He tilted his head, his grip tightening just enough to remind you that, even now, he controlled everything.

“After all…” His voice was almost playful, but the sadistic edge beneath it made your stomach twist. “Game’s over.”

Your breath came in ragged, uneven gasps, every fiber of your being screaming at you to fight—to do something—but his grip was unrelenting, his presence suffocating. Toby had you right where he wanted you, and he fucking loved it.

The smirk on his face was infuriating, smug, and teasing like he was just toying with you, seeing how far he could push before you broke.

“Now thinking about it, you’re just like the rest of them,” he taunted, voice dripping with mock disappointment. “Man, and here I thought you were better.”

Wait. He thought you were better?

No. No, fuck that.

Rage boiled up, cutting through the fear clawing at your throat. You grit your teeth, something sharp and bitter twisting in your chest. Your body burned with frustration, your muscles aching from the struggle, but you weren’t about to just lay down and take this.

Toby’s fingers skimmed along your skin again, and something in you snapped.

“Get the fuck off me!” you snarled, your voice raw with fury. You thrashed, your body surging against his hold, but he only laughed, his grip tightening, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

“Oh-ho,” he hummed, tilting his head like a curious animal, his grin splitting wider. “There she is.”

His voice was dark, teasing, but there was something else there, something unreadable flickering in his gaze.

You sucked in a breath, eyes blazing as you glared up at him. “I am not some fucking plaything,” you spat, fury twisting your features. “And I sure as hell am not like the rest of them.”

Toby let out a sharp breath of laughter, shaking his head. “Really? ‘Cause from where I’m sitting—” He pressed down harder, just enough to remind you who was in control. “You look pretty helpless to me.”

You bit down the growl rising in your throat, every muscle in your body coiled tight with frustration. His smugness was unbearable, his amusement dripping from every word like venom.

Then he sighed, like this was all some mild inconvenience. “Shame, really,” he mused, tilting his head in mock contemplation. “I actually liked you. Thought you were… different.” His fingers brushed your cheek, deceptively gentle, and your stomach churned with disgust.

That did it.

You jerked your head back violently, breaking free of his touch. Your voice came out like a hiss, venomous and sharp.

“Fuck you, Toby.”

His grin widened, eyes sparking with something wild and hungry. “Ohh,” he drawled, his tone downright delighted. “Now that’s more like it.” Toby’s lips curled into a smirk as his eyes gleamed with something far from kind. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, his voice smooth as silk, but with an edge that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

“You just gave me a great idea.” His words dripped with mischief, the kind that made you question your reality. His gaze never wavered, almost as if he were savoring the moment, letting the silence stretch between you like a taut wire.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he added, though the way he said it, with a tone that was too casual, was anything but reassuring. He leaned in closer, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath against your skin.

"I’m just gonna fuck you."

Your mind went blank, the shock of his words leaving you speechless. You blinked, trying to wrap your head around what he just said. “Wait… what did you just say?” you stammered, your voice shaky. “You… you’re gonna what?”

This couldn’t be real. It had to be some kind of joke, some twisted misunderstanding. But the look in his eyes told you otherwise.

Toby raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk that was equal parts amused and condescending. His expression was one of exaggerated confusion, as if you were the one being unreasonable as if you were the one who had missed something obvious.

“Did you not hear me?” he asked, his tone dripping with mockery. It was as if he were toying with you, enjoying the way your confusion only seemed to fuel his confidence.

Then, without warning, he bit his lower lip, a playful gesture that felt completely out of place given the tension in the air. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your skin, and his voice dropped to a low, almost teasing whisper.

“I said... fuck you.”

The words hit you like a slap to the face, delivered with such casual confidence that it left you reeling. It wasn’t just the words themselves—it was the way he said them, the way he looked at you as if he knew exactly how much power he held at that moment.

You swallowed, your mouth dry. His words were a sickening blend of challenge and threat, and you weren’t sure if you should be terrified—or curious.

Toby leaned in even closer, his face mere inches from yours, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. He was close enough for you to feel the weight of his presence, heavy and undeniable.

“Let’s see if you can last,” he said, his voice thick with an unsettling promise.

The situation you found yourself in was far more dangerous and complicated than you had ever anticipated. The air was thick with tension, a mix of fear, desire, and something darker you couldn’t quite name. You were in deep—way deeper than you had ever imagined you’d be. And yet, despite the danger, even though you should have been screaming for help or fighting back, you weren’t.

A part of you wasn’t complaining at all. Was that wrong? Maybe.

But this wasn’t your first time with him, and that twisted familiarity made the situation feel almost… thrilling.

His lips were on yours again, rough and demanding, moving with a hunger that sent a shiver down your spine. You could feel the heat of his body pressing against you, his hands roaming freely, gripping and pulling at your skin like he owned you. And maybe, in some twisted way, he did. He had always been possessive, hadn’t he?

From the moment he stole your underwear, to the way he seemed to always know where you were—stalkerish tendencies that should have sent you running. But here you were, letting him manhandle you, letting him take control.

The forest floor was cold and unforgiving beneath your knees, the damp earth seeping into your skin as he forced you down. His hands were tangled in your hair, gripping tightly as he pushed himself into your mouth, his cock sliding deep, almost to the back of your throat.

You gagged, tears welling up at the corners of your eyes, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you looked up at him, your vision blurred but still able to make out the expression on his face. It wasn’t the usual cocky smirk you were used to seeing. No, this time it was different—softer, almost guilty like he knew exactly how wrong this was but couldn’t help himself.

“F-Fuck…” he groaned, his voice low and strained, his hips moving rhythmically as he used your mouth for his pleasure.

You could feel every inch of him, the way his cock hit the back of your throat, the way his hands tightened in your hair, pulling just enough to make you whimper. It was overwhelming, the mix of pain and pleasure, the way your body reacted to him despite the danger.

You were choking, struggling to breathe, but there was a part of you that didn’t want it to stop. Maybe it was the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered at that moment. Or maybe it was the way his touch, rough as it was, still sent sparks of electricity through your body.

The tears welled up in your eyes, glistening like fragile crystals before they spilled over, tracing delicate paths down your flushed cheeks. You kept your gaze locked on him, your lips stretched wide around him, your throat flexing and contracting as you struggled to take him deeper, to accommodate the fullness of him.

The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of suffocation and surrender, as your body fought to adjust to his presence. His breath came in ragged, uneven bursts, each hitch and gasp betraying the intensity of his pleasure. His hands, strong and possessive, gripped you tighter, fingers digging into your skin as if to anchor himself in the moment, to ensure you couldn’t pull away even if you wanted to.

“Fuck, I’ve been wanting to try this,” Toby groaned, his voice low and rough, almost a growl. His hips shifted, pushing himself deeper, and you choked slightly, tears streaming faster as your throat worked to take him. “God, your mouth—shit, it’s even better than I thought.” He let out a shaky laugh, his fingers tangling in your hair, guiding you with a firmness that left no room for hesitation.

“Should’ve done this at the frat party. Hell, I should’ve skipped the whole damn mission and just fucked you instead. Would’ve been way more fun.”His words sent a jolt through you, a mix of humiliation and something darker, something that made your stomach twist and your pulse race.

You tried to pull back, but his grip tightened, holding you in place. “Nuh-uh, sweetheart,” he murmured, his tone playful but edged with something sharper. “You’re not going anywhere. Not when you’re doing such a good job.” His hips rolled again, and you gagged, your nails digging into his thighs as you fought to keep up. “Yeah, just like that. Take it. You’re gonna swallow every damn drop.”

And you? You were suspended in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, a storm of fear and exhilaration that left you trembling. There was danger in this—danger in the way he loomed over you, in the way his control felt absolute, in the way your body was being used for his pleasure. It was wrong, you knew that, and yet the thrill of it was undeniable.

The powerlessness, the vulnerability, the sheer audacity of what you were doing—it was intoxicating. Your mind raced, torn between the instinct to resist and the dark, forbidden desire to give in completely.

He was lost in the moment, his movements becoming more urgent, more primal. The playfulness that had been there earlier—the teasing, the testing of limits—had given way to something raw and unrestrained. He was no longer holding back, and you could feel it in the way he thrust deeper, in the way his grip on you tightened almost painfully. It was as if he had crossed some invisible line, surrendering to the heat of the moment, to the pleasure you were giving him.

“Damn, you’re perfect,” he muttered, his voice strained, his breathing uneven. “Should’ve done this sooner. Should’ve had you on your knees for me every damn night.” His words were crude, almost careless, but they sent a shiver down your spine.

And when he finally released, it was with a guttural groan that seemed to come from the very depths of him. His release was hot and insistent, flooding your mouth, and you had no choice but to swallow, to take all of him in.

Toby’s laughter rang in your ears, a low, satisfied hum that sent a shiver down your spine. His fingers traced the line of your jaw, deceptively gentle as he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. “Good job, pretty,” he murmured, his voice dripping with approval, thick with something smug. “Knew you had it in you.”

You barely had a second to process the praise before his grip shifted, hands curling around your wrists as he yanked you forward, dragging you off your knees with an ease that made your stomach twist.

“I’m sooo lucky my buddies in there didn’t put a bullet in you,” he mused, his tone lighthearted, almost playful—like he was joking. But the way his fingers tightened around your wrist?

That was anything but a joke.

“For real,” he continued, grinning as he spun you around, shoving you back against the nearest tree. “They don’t like loose ends.”

The impact sent a rough jolt through your spine, the bark biting into your skin as Toby moved in closer, eliminating any space you might’ve used to slip away. His body radiated heat, wild energy rolling off him in waves as he caged you in, arms braced on either side of your head.

His brown eyes flickered, sharp and unreadable, scanning your face like he was drinking in every flicker of emotion—every sharp breath, every slight tremor. Amusement curled in the corners of his lips, but there was something else lurking beneath it. Something darker. Something he wasn’t saying.

Still, he kept the act up, tilting his head with a dramatic pout. “Aw, don’t look so tense,” he teased, his voice lilting, full of that familiar, chaotic charm. “I didn’t let ‘em kill you, did I? Kinda sweet of me, if you think about it.”

His fingers ghosted over your hip, a barely-there touch that sent sparks shooting up your spine. “Could’ve been long gone by now,” he went on, his voice dipping lower, smoother. “Next town, few states down, fresh start. But nah.”

His grin faded, just a little, and somehow, that made your pulse quicken even more.

“Truth is, I didn’t wanna leave you.”

The weight of those words settled between you, heavy and certain, laced with something Toby wasn’t quite willing to admit outright. Instead, he let the silence stretch, watching the way you swallowed hard, the way your breath hitched just enough for him to notice. His lips curled into that smirk that drove you insane. "I’m a little sentimental, y’know? Didn’t really wanna see you go out like that.”

You scoffed, trying to ignore the way your pulse spiked at his words. “Oh, so I should be thanking you?”

He tilted his head as if considering it. “Yeah, actually. A lil’ gratitude wouldn’t hurt.” His fingers ghosted over your waist before gripping your hip, holding you there.

You swallowed hard. “That’s funny. ‘Cause all I remember is you disappearing and turning me into some kind of ghost-hunting idiot trying to track you down.”

His smirk returned, sharp as ever. “C’mon, you liked the chase.” His free hand reached up, brushing a stray hair from your face before tracing the line of your jaw, slow and deliberate. “Knew you’d miss me, too. And even if you didn’t—” He pulled back just enough to reach into his pocket, fishing out his phone. With a flick, he brought up the messages.

“Remind me who kept opening my texts, huh?”

Your stomach twisted. Shit.

Toby’s lips curled into something smug, something hungry as he kissed you—slow and deliberate like he was savoring the way you tensed beneath him. His grip on your wrists loosened just enough to let them fall, giving you the briefest moment of freedom before he took hold of something else—your leather jacket.

His fingers curled around the fabric, tugging it away from your shoulders with an ease that sent a chill creeping down your spine. He didn’t rush. He didn’t need to. There was something almost methodical in the way he worked, his hands slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, fingertips ghosting over the sensitive skin of your waist.

“Don’t act like you didn’t want me to find you,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. His lips hovered near your face, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. Then he chuckled, soft but knowing, like he was in on a secret you weren’t ready to admit.

“I’ve been watchin’, babe.”

Your breath hitched.

“Kinda cute, honestly. You goin’ about your lil’ college life, actin’ like you ain’t got me in the back of your head.”

His hands slid higher, trailing over your ribs, up to your chest—slow, teasing, like he was memorizing every inch of you with his touch alone. His thumbs brushed the underside of your tits, a deliberate squeeze following the motion, like he was testing just how much he could get away with.

That snapped you out of it.

You grit your teeth, shoving at his chest, trying to push him off. But he barely budged.

If anything, the struggle just seemed to amuse him.

His knee slotted between your legs, pressing just enough to keep you still, just enough to make it clear who was in control here. His grip tightened ever so slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that he was still calling the shots.

“But now I’m here,” he murmured, his eyes locking onto yours with a quiet intensity. That wild, unpredictable edge still lurked beneath the surface, simmering just beneath the cocky smirk he wore. “And I gotta ask…” He leaned in, so close you could feel his words against your lips.

“You still think you can run?”

Toby hummed against your skin, his lips dragging along your jaw before pressing open-mouthed kisses up to your ear. His breath was warm, teasing, each word dripping with smug amusement as he whispered, “…Fuck, you smell good, y’know that?” His nose brushed against your neck as he inhaled, slow and deep, like he was trying to commit your scent to memory. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout this for weeks.”

His hands didn’t stop moving, fingers sliding up, grazing your bare skin under your shirt, feeling you—possessive, yet unhurried. He squeezed your tits again, thumbs flicking over your nipples through the thin fabric of your bra, like he was testing your reaction.

You clenched your jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a sound.

Toby just laughed, his lips pressing against your pulse, right where he’d left those marks last time. His tongue flicked out, just enough to send a shiver through you, before he sank his teeth in, nipping at the already-sensitive skin.

“Mm, nah,” he murmured, voice muffled against your throat, “bet this wasn’t enough for you either, huh? You were feelin’ it, weren’t you?” Another bite, sharper this time, as if to prove his point. “Bet you were touchin’ these, thinkin’ about me.”

Your breath hitched. “Fuck off.”

Toby grinned against your skin. “Oh, sweetheart, don’t start lyin’ to me now.” He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his own flickering with something dark, something utterly pleased with himself. “You wanna know why I sent those messages? Why I didn’t just let you go?”

You swallowed hard, saying nothing.

He kissed you again, deep and slow, before pulling back just enough to speak.

“Your panties weren’t enough.”

Your stomach twisted.

His lips twitched into a smirk. “Had ‘em for weeks, babe, but it wasn’t doin’ it for me. I thought it would, y’know? Thought maybe I’d get you outta my system, maybe I’d move on…” He tilted his head, watching your reaction closely. “But nah. I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you.”

Toby’s fingers dug in just a little, his touch becoming firmer, more demanding.

“Every time I closed my eyes, I saw you.” He kissed the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then back down to your neck, inhaling deeply as he did. “Every time I touched myself, it wasn’t enough.”

Your breath stuttered, but he only grinned, eating up every reaction.

“So, I figured… why the hell would I leave?” Toby leaned in again, his nose brushing yours, his voice dipping lower, more intimate. “Why would I go when I could just… take you with me?”

Your thoughts were spiraling, torn between the weight of what he was saying and the undeniable pull of him—of this.

Leaving town? Leaving everything behind? Your classes, your plans, your family? What would you even become? Some run away, tangled up in Toby’s mess? A ghost of who you were, trailing after a killer with no real future? The idea sent a sharp pang through your chest.

But then again… what the hell were you planning to do after finding him?

Because, deep down, you knew. Toby was right. You liked the chase. The obsession. The thrill of it all.

You had no clue what came next.

But before the panic could take hold, before you could wrestle with the consequences of what he was offering—what he was taking—Toby’s lips crashed into yours again, drowning you in the taste of him. It was rough, and consuming, leaving no space for doubt.

The world around you blurred into a haze of sensation and sound as Toby’s hands gripped your thighs, lifting you effortlessly off the ground. Your back pressed against the rough bark of the tree, the jagged edges scraping against your skin, but the discomfort was a distant echo compared to the heat of his body against yours.

His strength was undeniable, his movements deliberate and commanding as he pinned you in place, leaving no room for escape—not that you wanted to. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, your body betraying the conflict in your mind.

His fingers moved with practiced ease, unbuttoning your shorts and yanking them down along with your tights and panties in one fluid motion. The cold air nipped at your exposed skin, sending a shiver through you, but it was quickly replaced by the searing heat of his body as he pressed into you, his weight anchoring you against the tree. His breath was hot against your neck, his lips brushing your ear as he spoke, his voice low and dripping with a dangerous charm.

“Y’know,” he mused, his hands sliding up your thighs, his touch both teasing and possessive, “you think too much, babe.” His fingers dug into your skin, pushing your legs apart just enough to make you gasp.

“You’re sittin’ here, goin’ back and forth about leavin’—what, you think you got a real shot at normal?” He laughed a dark, throaty sound that sent a thrill down your spine. “C’mon. You came lookin’ for me. You wanted this.”

His words were a challenge, a reminder of the choices you’d made, the line you’d crossed when you sought him out. There was no going back now, and deep down, you knew it. His grip tightened on your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh as if to imprint himself on you, to mark you as his.

“You don’t need to think, baby,” he murmured his voice a low growl that vibrated through you. “I’ll make the choice for you.”

And then he was inside you, his cock stretching you, filling you completely, his movements rough and unrelenting, each thrust driving you harder against the tree. The bark scraped and bit into your back, a sharp contrast to the searing heat of his body pressing into yours. But the pain only amplified the pleasure, the intensity of it all making your head spin.

Toby’s hands gripped your ass, lifting you slightly to meet him, his rhythm relentless, each stroke deeper, harder, more demanding. His breath came in ragged, uneven bursts, his forehead pressed against yours as he stared into your eyes, his gaze dark, unyielding, and utterly consuming.

“This is it, babe,” he panted, his voice thick with desire and something darker, something primal. “This is the life. No rules, no chains, just you and me and the open road. My buddies, they’ll take care of you too. We’ll keep you safe, keep you close. You’ll never wanna go back to that boring shit you called a life.”

His words were intoxicating, a dangerous promise that wrapped around you like a vice. But before you could even process them, his lips were on your neck, teeth sinking into your skin with a possessive hunger that made you gasp.

The sharp sting of his bite sent a jolt of electricity through you, your body arching against his as he sucked and nipped at your flesh, marking you as his. His hands tightened on your hips, his grip almost bruising as he held you in place, his thrusts growing more urgent, more desperate.

Then his hand slid up, his fingers wrapping around your throat, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make your breath hitch, your pulse racing under his touch. He loved the way you looked at him, completely dazed, your lips parted, your eyes glazed with a mix of pleasure and submission.

“That’s it,” he growled, his voice low and rough, his thumb brushing over your jaw as he tightened his grip just slightly. “Look at you, takin’ me so good, beggin’ for more without even sayin’ a word.”

And you were.

You were begging, your body trembling, your nails digging into his shoulders as you clung to him, your hips rocking against his, desperate for more. The way he controlled you, the way he owned you at that moment, it was overwhelming, intoxicating. His hand on your throat, his teeth on your skin, his cock buried deep inside you—it was too much, and yet you never wanted it to end.

“Please,” you finally gasped, the word slipping out before you could stop it, your voice shaky, broken. “More, Toby, please…”

He smirked, “That’s my girl,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. You could feel yourself being pulled deeper into his world, into the chaos and the thrill of it all. His hands moved to your hips, gripping you tightly as he thrust harder, his pace becoming almost frantic.

The sound of skin against skin, the feel of his body against yours, the way he filled you completely—it was overwhelming, consuming.

His breath was hot against your lips, the scent of sweat and something darker—something possessive—coiling between you like a silent promise. His hands gripped your hips, his body pressing you so deep into the mattress that it almost felt like he wanted to fuse you into it, to make sure you’d never leave.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered, voice rough and uneven, the words bleeding into a growl as he snapped his hips against you. His teeth grazed your jaw, your throat, a silent claim with every drag of his lips against your skin. “*Mine.* And I’m never lettin’ you go.”

His pace turned brutal, driven by something animalistic—something desperate. The bed creaked beneath you, the room thick with the sound of skin against skin, his breaths ragged as he pushed you closer to the edge. His fingers wrapped around your throat, not tight enough to scare, but *just* enough to make your pulse hammer beneath his grip.

Your vision blurred, pleasure winding tight in your core, your body shuddering beneath him as every thrust sent you spiraling higher. His grip tightened, his movements rougher, more erratic, until—

Heat. Pressure. His body stiffening against yours as his release tore through him. He groaned low in his throat, his grip faltering as he collapsed against you, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven gasps. And with that final push, that last overwhelming wave, you followed—your body trembling, pleasure wracking through you in waves so intense they left you breathless.

Toby didn’t move, didn’t speak. He just held you there, tangled in him, his face buried against the crook of your neck, his lips brushing your skin with every shaky breath. His arms curled around you, pulling you impossibly closer, as if afraid you’d slip away the second he let go.

And for a moment, you let him believe it. Let him believe you were his. Completely. Utterly. That you had fallen.

Well…

At least, that’s what he thought.

THWACK!

A sickening crack split the air.

Toby’s body jerked—then went completely still.

His breath hitched in his throat, the pressure in his skull overwhelming, disorienting. His vision swam, the world tilting violently as he tried to move, tried to make sense of what just happened—

But it was too late.

Darkness crashed over him like a tidal wave, sudden and absolute, drowning out every thought, every breath, every sound.

And just like that…

Toby went limp.

Somewhere in the haze of his mind, voices filtered in. Loud. Agitated. Familiar.

“What the fuck, Vidia? You knocked him out with a bat? A goddamn steel bat?”

“Oh, I’m sorry! Would you have rather let him keep going?” Vidia’s voice snapped back, breathless and full of righteous fury. “Because from where I was standing, you were real into it. And excuse me for not wanting to sit front-row for your ‘feral woodland creature fucks a serial killer’ special! You were supposed to grab him, not let him rearrange your spine against a tree!”

A snort. Amused. Disbelieving. “I’m not tackling a grown-ass man while he’s mid-stroke,” Vidia deadpanned, and you could practically hear the eyeroll. “You broke our two rules. Watch your back. Don’t get caught. And what do you do? Stalk a serial killer just to let him dick you down again? God, you’re not just stupid—you’re horny and stupid.”

You groaned, rubbing the back of your head as you sat up. “Can you not make this a whole thing?”

“Oh no, we are absolutely making this a thing.” Vidia’s voice was sharp and dripping with mockery, her presence looming over you like a judge about to pass a particularly scathing sentence. “You always go for the same type. The rugged, white boy rejects who aren’t even that cute.”

“First of all—shut the hell up,” you shot back, still breathless, still recovering from the sheer whiplash of events. “Second, you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I know exactly what I’m talking about,” Vidia said smugly, crouching beside you with an infuriating smirk. “You, my dear dumbass, are the worst decision-maker I have ever met. If your dumb choices were spells, I’d be throwing counter-charms every damn day.”

You gave her a flat look. “If my bad decisions were spells, you’d be out of fucking eye of newt by now.”

“And mandrake root,” she added, grinning.

You rolled your eyes, looking over at Toby’s unconscious body. He was completely knocked out, his body slumped in the dirt, mouth slightly open like a damn idiot. “Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah, yeah, Jesus indeed.” Vidia clapped her hands together, standing up. “So what’s the move, genius? Because from where I’m standing, it’s definitely not a hit-and-run anymore.” She nudged Toby’s foot with her boot. “Y’know, since you got dicked down and all.”

You shot her a glare. “Can we stop talking about that?”

“Oh, absolutely not.” She grinned wider. “I will be bringing this up at every possible opportunity.”

Suddenly, Toby’s eyelids fluttered, head still throbbing as reality rushed back to him. His limbs felt weird—weighted, restricted. His back pressed against something rough and solid. Slowly, blinking through the harsh glare of car headlights, his vision adjusted.

The first thing he saw?

You.

Still looking disheveled from before, your clothes hastily adjusted, but the evidence of what happened still lingered. Skin marked up, lips swollen, posture tense. You were standing next to a woman he didn’t recognize.

Toby’s gaze flicked to her—Vidia, was it?

Off-shoulder black long-sleeve top, purple maxi skirt swaying slightly as she shifted her weight, platform boots clicking against the pavement. Silver charms dangled in her hair, her twists framing her face in a way that made her annoyance look downright beautiful as well.

And then he realized—

His arms were tied up.

His expression darkened instantly, muscles tensing as he tugged against whatever was binding his wrists. “Oh, what the fuck?” His voice was rough, thick with irritation and leftover exhaustion.

Your head snapped toward him just as Vidia rolled her eyes. “Great, sleeping beauty’s awake.”

Toby’s lip curled into a smirk, eyes narrowing as he took both of you in. “Is this some freaky-ass threesome? ‘Cause, not gonna lie, this is not how I pictured it.”

Vidia made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. “Yeah, right.” She turned on her heel and started toward the car, shaking her head. “You better handle your little problem before I do, bitch.”

“Bet, I will.” You mumbled.

Toby’s gaze flicked back to you, the smirk never quite leaving his lips. His head still ached, and he was pissed about being restrained, but goddamn—if this wasn’t interesting. He flexed his fingers, testing the restraints again, but damn, whoever tied him up actually knew what they were doing. His head still pounded from the bat-to-the-skull special, but his focus was locked on you—your nonchalant stance, the way you checked your phone like this was just another Wednesday night.

“Well, well, babe,” he drawled, voice still hoarse but laced with amusement. “Looks like you got some explaining to do.”

You barely glanced at him before flipping your phone screen toward him.

Vidia Location, next to yours.

Toby’s eyebrow twitched. “Oh shit, I should’ve taken your phone, I mean that’s… uh, cute? Kinda stalker-ish, actually.”

“Yeah, I’m not the one to talk about stalking here, Rogers,” you deadpanned. “Besides, Vidia and I have a system. I take action, she’s the cleanup crew. Like an efficient crime duo, except, y’know, college edition.”

Toby blinked, his smirk faltering just a bit. “Wait—hold the fuck on. How do you know my last name?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out a thick folder, the edges worn like it had been flipped through more than once. You gave it a little shake, then let it fall open in your hands. The top page, in clear bold letters:

Tobias Erin ‘Toby’ Rogers

Also known as Ticci-Toby.

Toby’s stomach did a weird flip. Not fear—more like… baffled amusement. His eyes flicked from the file back to your smug little expression.

“Oh, no fucking way—”

“Oh, yes fucking way,” you cut him off, grinning as you flipped through the pages. “Shoutout to Vidia for this one. I told her about the creepy as fuck messages you were sending, and, well—turns out she’s kinda better at stalking than you are.”

Vidia, shouted and gave a lazy salute. “What can I say? I get bored.”

Toby stared, “You dug me up? Like, what—a full government background check? Social Security number, too? Jesus.”

You ignored him, scanning the file. “Mmm… childhood trauma, big surprise there… oh, look at that, arson! Fun stuff, love the classics—ah! Here we go.” You tapped the paper, eyes flicking up to him. “Nowadays, selling drugs for extra cash, and—oof, killing the buyer at the end if they don’t pay up. Real entrepreneur behavior.”

Toby rolled his eyes. “C’mon, it’s not that simple—”

“Frat boys disagree,” you sing-songed, tilting your head. “They told me all about you. How your prices just magically kept going up. That’s how I figured out where to find you, by the way. So, really, you played yourself.”

Toby groaned, tilting his head back. “God, I hate frat dudes.”

Vidia snickered out loud. “Bro, you literally sell to them.”

“Yeah, well, I’d rather kill them than talk to them.”

You smirked, snapping the file shut. “Guess that plan backfired, huh?”

Toby squinted at you, his smirk creeping back. “Yeah, okay, sure, whatever, you got me. But, uh—r-remind me again why you went through all this trouble? ‘Cause, like… not that I mind being stalked, but this is kinda giving crazy ex-girlfriend vibes.”

You clicked your tongue, stepping closer. “Because I was curious, Toby.”

He raised a brow, eyes gleaming as you leaned in.

“And,” you whispered, tapping his nose with your finger, “because I kinda like the chase.”

Toby inhaled sharply, and for the first time since waking up tied to a chair in a fucking parking lot, he actually felt a flicker of something close to thrill.

“Well, well, well,” he murmured, voice low, “aren’t you just full of surprises, babe.”

You shrugged, shoving your phone back in your pocket. “Boring-ass college town, might as well have some fun. Ruining dudes’ lives is kinda our extracurricular.”

Toby blinked. “You are so much worse than me, holy shit.”

Before he could argue further, the crunch of boots against gravel turned both your heads.

Vidia strolled back into the headlights’ glow, carrying a very concerning red gasoline canister in one hand and adjusting her leather gloves with the other. Her expression was deeply unbothered.

“Aight,” she said, tilting her head toward you, “so we killing him, or what?”

Toby choked on the air. “EX-FUCKING-SCUSE ME?”

You turned to Vidia, looking genuinely confused. “What? No? Who said anything about killing him? You always want to kill a dude after we are done.”

“Aww…” Vidia gestured lazily with the gasoline can. “I mean… it kinda felt like that was where we were going.”

Toby was fully invested in survival mode now, eyes darting between you and your disturbingly nonchalant roommate. “Okay, real quick, let’s all agree that murder? Not the move here. Like, I get it, I’m an asshole, I stalked you, I may or may not have terrorized a few people—”

“Understatement,” Vidia muttered.

“—BUT,” Toby pressed on, “if I suddenly go missing? That’s a huge problem for you.”

You folded your arms. “And why’s that?”

Toby’s smirk returned, though there was a flicker of actual warning in his eyes. “Because of my buddies—Kate, Brian, Tim? Yeah, they kinda like me. If I don’t come back, they will come looking. And trust me, babe, you don’t wanna be on their radar.”

Vidia exhaled through her nose, rolling her eyes as she very slowly put the gasoline down. “All right, fine. You got a point.”

Toby let out a relieved breath. “Oh, thank God—”

“But now what?” Vidia cut in, turning back to you. “Because this ain’t a hit-and-run anymore. We just kidnapped a dude, roughed him up, and now we’re in a very awkward hostage situation. So what’s the plan, genius?”

You pursed your lips, pretending to think.

Toby, still tied up, still half-dazed from the bat, muttered, “Oh, I hate where this is going.” He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “All right, babe, you gonna torture me? Maybe have your girl over there cut me up while you monologue about how you ‘won’?”

Vidia scoffed, adjusting the leather gloves on her hands. “Dude, I don’t have the patience for torture. And I don’t monologue—that’s her thing.”

You shot her a look, but she wasn’t wrong.

Toby watched the exchange, eyes flicking between you both before he spoke again. “Right, well. If y’all aren’t gonna kill me, what is the move here? ‘Cause lemme tell ya, leaving me alive? Probably not the smartest idea.”

You shrugged. “Never said we were smart.”

Vidia sighed, stepping up beside you. “Listen, I’m all for ruining men’s lives—”

“—she really is,” you muttered.

“—but,” she continued, “this is not just some dude. This is a serial killer with, like, friends in the business. Friends who will notice if he goes missing.” She jerked a thumb toward Toby. “And if we kill him, that’s just extra work for me.”

Toby grinned. “So, I live? That’s sweet of you.”

Vidia gave him the driest look imaginable. “Not what I said.”

You sighed, tapping your chin. This had started as just a game—track down the dangerous guy who thought he was in control, flip the script, and then… well. You hadn’t exactly thought past this part.

Dipping town with Toby? Leaving everything behind—college, your boring little life, your hard-earned reputation? That was a huge fucking leap. But at the same time, what else was there? You didn’t have a grand plan for your future. The closest thing you had to excitement was this—and the fact that you didn’t know what came next? Kinda thrilling.

You glanced down at Toby, who was watching you like he could see those gears turning in your head. His smirk was lazy, but there was something sharp in his eyes.

“Y’know, babe,” he murmured, voice dropping low, “I could help you figure it out.”

Your lips parted, but before you could speak—

“Absolutely not,” Vidia cut in, glaring at you. “Do not get wrapped up in this shit.”

Toby raised a brow. “Damn, you don’t trust your bestie to handle herself?”

“Oh, I do—I just don’t trust you to not be a psychotic little gremlin who drags her into some fucked-up murder cult.”

Toby made a face. “Wow. Hurtful.”

“Good.” Vidia sighed again, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Okay. New plan—we leave, he stays, and we pretend this never happened.”

Toby scoffed. “Yeah, like I’ll just let you walk away after all this.”

Vidia narrowed her eyes. “What are you gonna do, Rogers? Bark at us? Jitter threateningly?”

Toby’s smirk widened. “You are kinda funny. I get why she keeps you around.”

You bit back a laugh, and Vidia shot you a betrayed look. “Don’t encourage him.”

You shrugged, crossing your arms. “You did hit him in the head with a bat. I feel like we gotta let him have at least one-joke.”

Toby tilted his head, eyes glinting. “Y’know, babe, I’m real tempted to like you.”

“Yeah?” You leaned in just a little. “Then maybe you should prove it.”

His grin turned downright feral.

Vidia groaned. “Oh my god. I hate you both.” She turned her head to see the horizon was bleeding into a dull shade of orange, morning creeping over the city like a nosy neighbor. The distant hum of patrol cars still echoed through the streets, their searchlights carving through alleyways and abandoned lots.

They were looking for someone like him, no doubt.

Toby Rogers, Ticci-Toby, the boogeyman with a shit-eating grin. And yet, here he was, tied up, smirking like he held all the cards.

"Y'know, babe," he started, voice lazy, teasing, "technically, I'm supposed to kill you for all this."

You tilted your head, unconcerned. "Technically, you already tried to kill me once, and look where that got you."

Vidia snorted, arms crossed. "Yeah, tied up like a dumbass."

Toby just grinned wider. "See, that's exactly why you two should join us."

Your brows raised. "Join?"

"Yeah. I mean, you did hunt me down, crack me over the head, and nearly set me on fire," Toby said casually. "And, uh—no offense, but most people who try that shit end up dead."

Vidia scoffed. "Most people aren't us."

"Exactly," he said smoothly. "That’s why I’m offering—we could use people like you. Well, I could, at least." He glanced at you, then at Vidia. "You? Sharp, quick thinker. A little impulsive, but I dig it. And her?" He nodded toward Vidia. "Efficient as hell. Probably smarter than half the guys I work with."

Vidia rolled her eyes. "That’s a low bar."

Toby ignored that, his grin never faltering. "Look, there's only one chick in the group right now, and honestly? You two would be a perfect fit."

You and Vidia exchanged a look.

Vidia squinted at him. "Wait… you mean that same chick that deadass almost choked her out?" She jabbed a thumb toward you.

You sighed. "Yep. That's the one."

Vidia blinked. "Kate?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, no. Hard pass."

Toby laughed. "Okay, in her defense, she's a little on edge. But hey—she's got her quirks."

"Quirks?" Vidia repeated flatly. "Dude, she's scared of the flashlight on my phone."

Toby blinked. "…Oh. Yeah. She does hate that thing." He thought for a second, then shrugged. "Anyway, my bad about the whole choking thing. If it makes you feel better, I’ll tell Tim you guys are off-limits."

"Tim?" Vidia echoed. "And what? Do you think we're just gonna sign up for murder club? Like, 'Oh wow, what a great opportunity, where do we apply?'"

Toby smirked. "Hey, I get it. Big decision. Life-changing and all that. But let's be real—it's not like you guys got some grand future lined up. You're already playing with fire. Why not burn something down?"

You inhaled deeply, considering. It was a tempting offer.

A little murder. A little chaos. A little more of this.

Vidia sighed, rubbing her temple. "This is a terrible idea."

Toby grinned. "But you’re considering it, aren’t you?"

You exhaled through your nose, looking up at the sky. The night was fading, the real world creeping back in. But standing here, with Toby still tied up and grinning like a madman, with Vidia beside you rolling her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out—

You were starting to think… maybe the real world wasn’t where you belonged.

At the end of the day?

It was a hit or run.

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felassan · 7 months ago

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David Gaider on Kieran, under a cut for length:

"CHARACTERS - DAY TWO: Kieran (Technically this is an addendum to yesterday, but I make the rules here so nyah!) Heading into DAI, I had a bite-sized problem on my hands. I knew Morrigan would feature. I also knew we were importing previous choices. So now I had to contend with: the Old God Baby. Here's the thing about honouring previous game choices, from a design perspective: it's a sucker's game. What many fans picture, when you mention it, is divergent *plot* -- the story changes path based on those major choices. How exciting! But you will never be able to deliver divergent plot. You can deliver flavour differences (usually in the form of divergent dialogue), character swaps (character X appears instead of Y), and extra content (such as a side quest) -- but plot branching, particularly the critical path? It's a question of resources, and there's never enough to go around. "Here Lies the Abyss" in DAI was about as good as it gets, and even that was a far cry from how I originally pictured it (hello last-minute insert of Stroud when a DAO Warden import got cut). The Old God Baby was one of the main choices from DAO -- Morrigan has a baby? With the Archdemon's soul?! Most DAO players who flagged that choice surely expected *monumental* consequences. World-shaking consequences! And we talked about it. We did. There were, like, three different designs of the DAI ending where OGB Kieran could cause complete divergence: new path, cutscenes, the whole nine yards. But it wasn't going to happen. It was a decision from *two games ago* that only a small minority (hello telemetry) would even choose. To the rest, they probably neither knew about it nor cared... so how many resources could you invest? To do what? Set up an even bigger divergence for the NEXT game? The other writers acknowledged my anxiety with a grim nod every time it came up, but they had no solutions. Finally, I realized there WAS a solution, and that was changing how I thought about the choice: don't make it about Kieran. The players don't know him, never have. Make it about Morrigan. Thus began a feverish three days where I wrote probably the most complicated scene of my career: Morrigan's reckoning with Flemeth in DAI and the fallout after. Three different versions (OGB Kieran, non-OGB Kieran, and no Kieran), each with branching for other choices (like the Well of Sorrows). I did it all at once. There was no other way to wrap my head around the complexity of it. It was also a tough sell to the team, considering the amount of cinematics work, but they agreed we had to do *something*. And still it felt... underwhelming, insofar as divergence goes. But it was also good. I remember when I first spoke with Claudia, about how this was Morrigan's story. This was about how motherhood had changed her, how she'd grown up. Claudia got a bit teary-eyed. It was a journey she was familiar with, she said. Her first son, Odin, had been born in 2005 not long after DAO came out. And, man, she killed with that performance! Kate, too, but I'll get to her later. Claudia dug down, and that scene where Morrigan tells Flemeth she'll never be the mother Flemeth was to her? That came from someplace very raw. It was devastating to witness in the booth. There were tears all around. Not long after, Claudia called and asked if maybe - just maybe - Odin could play Kieran? He was a bit young (not yet 5, then), but it felt... right? We agreed. Claudia was in the booth, gently coaching him through his lines, and I think that was the first moment I felt I'd done the right thing."

[source thread]

User: "Do you find it an odd choice that Kieran hasn’t been mentioned at all in Veilguard?" David Gaider: "If there’s less reactivity in DATV, I’m unsurprised. Continuing choice from up to 3 games earlier is… unsupportable. Yet DA established the expectation they would so… damned if you do, damned if you don’t?" [source]

User: "EA is one of the biggest game companies ever. I don't think more complex diverging plots are impossible." David Gaider: "Well, if only more writing was all it took. Sadly, it's also cinematics. Art time for all those reappearing characters you probably want to look *just* right. And let's not forget we have to test all those permutations! So I don't disagree with you in spirit, but I don't think it's the answer here." [source]

User: "is there a possibility of future kieran appearances in a book or something similar outside of the games?" David Gaider: "I'd have no way of knowing that." [source]

User: "I’m actually shocked so little people chose the dark ritual. That was basically the main reason Flemeth sent Morrigan with the wardens, no?" David Gaider: "The impression you get of what "most" players do - in almost any game, not just DA - is very different if you're online a lot. Consider here that it's not just the % of DAO players who chose the Dark Ritual, it's the % of DAI players WHO PLAYED DAO and cared to import that choice 5 years later." [source]

User: "Is there anything you wish you had done differently, in hindsight?" David Gaider: "Probably just to not ever do importing choices between games in the first place." [source]

User: "Kieran only existed in my DAI state b/c Morrigan as a mother really appealed to me. I wasn't expecting to be devastated by those scenes 😭 I guess when we complain about lack of consequences from prev choices in DAV we must also ask how MUCH are we willing to pay for those branches to exist?" David Gaider: "That's indeed it. Content directed towards reactivity would have to come from somewhere else. So essentially a shorter game overall for the sake of those hardcore fans who'd import - who would, I imagine, REALLY enjoy that... but it's a tough cost/benefit analysis to make." [source]

User: "mr gaider im gonna keep it real with you if i had to choose between my hof and hawke i would've simply passed away" David Gaider: "Right? That was the ENTIRE idea! I was very excited, and for a while it seemed possible." [source]

User: "This has been a very interesting read but I have to ask why they decided to use Stroud instead of the HoF" David Gaider: "1) Complexity of providing means for a player to build a Warden (which they did in DATV for the Inquisitor). Also spoiled the surprise. 2) We’d have needed to give the Warden a voice. Add these to the cost and it was deemed not worth it." [source]

User: "Genuine question, not a critique - but what made the OGB decision one that couldn't be handwaved as canon no matter what was or wasn't chosen? Leliana and Flemeth being around no matter what come to mind. Was OGB simultaneously too major and too minor of a decision?" David Gaider: "Flemeth and Leliana being alive were easily explainable, and we knew we were doing it even back then. Circumventing the Dark Ritual… that would be too cheap. We did talk about it, but it just felt too dishonest. Too high a price for what we’d get in return." [source]

David Gaider: "If I’d known the Well of Sorrows would only see reactivity in the confrontation with Flemeth, I’d probably have made a much bigger deal of it." [source]

David Gaider: "We could maybe have gotten past the need to "reconstruct" the Warden, much like the Inquisitor was reconstructed in DATV (so I understand), but the need to give the Warden a voice was the final nail. Too potentially disappointing for the very people who'd be excited about it, aside from the cost." [source]

#dragon age #bioware #video games #morrigan #queen of my heart #long post #longpost #dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age the veilguard spoilers #dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4

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obsessedwrhys · 10 months ago

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ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ Wolverine x Deadpool x F!Reader

ᯓ★ Being in a polyamory relationship with these two. (A dream inspired this AHAHHA–) fluff, lots of bickering between the two, funny/goofy shit, bit of jealousy/possessiveness, reader is fem!!

This whole relationship is a mess.

I'm talking never getting a moment of peace kind of mess.

For example this one time you drove the Honda Civic.

Nobody understood why you were the one behind the wheels 'cause now you're ramming into everything with Logan grabbing on the handle for dear life while Wade is having the time of his life at the back.

"Stop the damn car before we crash, bub! Yer gonna kill someone!" Logan shouted and at the same time Wade was screaming out the lyrics to "Highway to Hell" by AC/DC.

Did I mention how different these two are with you?

Wade loves it when you run to hug him, he would swing you around a couple of times with your legs wrapped around his waist.

As for Logan, he prefers something less than that. A simple hug is enough and you can't complain much about it because the way he completely engulfs you in his embrace always made your chest flutter.

It's no surprise that they are protective over you.

Like when you were captured by some troops in the void. The fire guy, Johnny Storm, couldn't help but try to flirt with you. He figured why not shoot his shot right?

"Hey..." He'd say, flashing you a cheesy smile.

And seeing his attempt to charm you, you couldn't help but find it amusing and chuckle.

Clearly the two didn't like it.

Which is why that may or may not be the reason why Wade decided to out the man and get him killed 🤷‍♀️ I guess we'll never know 🤔

You and Wade enjoy pulling pranks on Logan.

The sight of him being pissed off pleases you both.

There was this one time you guys swapped his whiskey to a non-alcoholic drink and you can imagine his frustration.

"WADE!!" But he can never get mad at you. He just can't.

Even Wade complains about this privilege of yours.

"Seriously Lo?! You're gonna get mad at me and not our lovely prank partner here? Come on man, we're both guilty parties in this crime scene. If you wanna get angry, at least share the spotlight :("

Cue you sticking your tongue out at Wade as he pouts with puppy dog eyes.

All jokes aside, the two love and support you dearly.

I like to think Logan is more of an old romantic and Wade is the adventurous type.

That's why it can sometimes take a while for them to decide what to get as a present for you.

"Why the fuck would she want a pillowcase with our faces on it?" Logan asked with genuine disgust in his eyes.

"Why wouldn't she?! It's cute as fuck, and you can never have too many pictures of us together. Besides, it's a lot cheaper than buying a life-sized statue of me for her bedroom, although that's an option too, I hear Wolverine-shaped body pillows are all the rage these days" Without realising, he continued on muttering nonsense to himself which had Logan roll his eyes.

"I'm buying her the leather jacket and it's final" Not letting Wade say anything, he'd walk off to the cashier with him left behind. His action causing him to get irritated.

"What about the budget?!?!" He'd raise his voice but Logan simply ignored him. Fed up, he stomps on his feet as he points at his back.

"Fine, you big lug!! I'll let you have your way this time. But don't come crying to me when she dumps us for a pair of more decisive superheroes!!" He'd shout.

In the end you appreciated the gifts you got for your birthday. Each gift speaks for their character.

You guys definitely have lazy days.

Days where you'll lounge around in pajamas and watch cheesy romantic comedies together, complete with a pile of blankets and snacks.

Expect there to be lots of laughter, cringing, and the occasional eye rolling. Not to forget how you three would start making fun of the characters and the cliche plotlines.

Logan clearly struggles to sit through the entire movie marathon and you always have the to be the one to pull his arm to prevent him from leaving.

"Gimme a break, bub. It’s the same damn thing every time— the good guy wins, the bad guy loses. It’s like they think we got the emotional range of a rock"

"Gee, what a buzz kill. But are they wrong though? You practically live like a rock!!" Wade laughed with Logan letting out a scowl.

Thank goodness you're dating them or else they'd be fighting almost all the time.

In the relationship you're the peacemaker

No but seriously Wade calls you that and the nickname has stuck to you.

You enjoy sleeping in the middle with the two on either sides. Half of the time you always wake up with the two fighting over you.

Just imagine Logan pulling you closer to him but before he could even do that, Wade would be quick to pull you back to his embrace despite them both being asleep.

You like to think it's their reflexes. That even when sleeping they're still fighting with each other 😭

However you absolutely adore the two.

Logan will MELT when you kiss his knuckles. Especially when you do it with your eyes locked to his. He will literally go feral for you.

And Wade? He absolutely loveloveloves it when you baby him. It's his guilty pleasure. Hold him close with his face placed against your chest and he swears the voices in his head finally quiets down. That's why you're his angel.

Also, the two really enjoy showering you with kisses. You can barely ever hold back a smile with the two smooching every surface of your face.

Will do anything to get your praise.

The competitiveness is too much.

Oh Logan got you a bouquet? Well Wade got you a bouquet made of tacos. Who's the better one now huh? 😋

To be fair Wade is Wade. There's nothing you can do about it... but that doesn't mean Logan is ever gonna let him get his way.

"Where's Wade?" You'd ask, watching Logan sink on the sofa beside you.

"Don't know... could care less..." He'd say, wrapping an arm around you to snuggle with you. In the other room Wade has been stuffed inside the closet. Completely restrained and duck taped.

All I can say is that dating them is all fun and love. Literal baby girls.

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so-long-soldier-writes · 7 months ago

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Playing with fire's only gonna get you burned. Unless you're, like, into that kinda thing.

kai parker x reader

summary: things have been disappearing from your room lately, but never would you think kai is the one to blame.

tags: 1994 prison world, friends to lovers, snooping (it's very 'fuck around and find out'), mild argument, sexual tension, touch starved, kissing, touching, playful sex, teasing, fingering, vaginal sex, relatively mild smut, overstimulation, cuddling

word count: 5.5k

a/n: this fic is sponsored by wellbutrin... kidding. but that's the only reason i've actually been able to sit down and focus / write lately. this was requested eons ago, and with the greatest guilt, i'm just now posting it. also, i wrote it in a day. as in, today. i hope it's okay. <3

It started out innocently. A curious snoop in a big, almost-empty mansion, inhabited by two abandoned people left here by their families.

He hadn’t expected her to go digging around in his stuff, and she didn’t think he’d come home early. Both were wrong. And as the thin material slips from beneath her fingertips in shock, he gives her an indescribable look. His nails rap on the wood of the doorframe and she stands, speechless.

“Uh…”

“Hey, princess. Like what you see?”

-------------------------------------------------

The Salvatore Boarding House is where you found him. You wandered for some time before running into him and finding his company relieving.

Of course, getting to trust Kai took some time. You found common ground in the fact that you both were hated by the Gemini Coven. Both had been sent here by them; Kai, sixteen years ago, you, only one, and both had been frowned upon by their families. But while you shared the same enemy, you were afraid for a while that Kai would be an enemy, too, considering what he did to be sent to the prison world. Apparently, as reported by his own tongue and the daily paper, he had slaughtered four of his siblings in an attempt to kill the youngest two. He didn’t feel much sorrow, nor regret, over his actions, and explained his methods of killing with a rather monotone voice. When asked if he’d kill you, he shrugged.

“No point in doing that, really. It’s not like you can die, anyway.”

And that was that.

For weeks, you feared him, but he got better as the days passed. Kai’s actually pretty funny and can cook well. And though you’ve never said it out loud, he’s pretty cute, too. Over time, your companionship turns into a friendship. You swap stories about your past and come to understand each other better. As cold as life has made him, you don’t think he wasn’t always that way. The more you grow to trust him, you start to see a side you’re not sure he’s even seen in himself for years. Sometimes you forget you’re all alone in a prison together, save for the fact you’re the only ones there. Sometimes, it doesn’t feel like a sentence for a punishment you both may or may not deserve.

But lately, something’s been off.

It’s not that anything’s changed about Kai, but more so that it just feels… different. The young witch is the same playful, unserious boy you’ve known for months, but a few times, you’ve caught a glimmer in his eye you can’t quite decipher. He’s a troublemaker for sure, and though you’ve never seen malicious behavior, your head is filling with questions if he’s capable of some other kind of behavior you haven’t considered.

Basically, things have been disappearing from your closet. Your favorite bracelets, a few lip balms, and clothes, even some you know you threw in the laundry bin. For a bit of time, you blame it on the same-day repeating thing. Maybe the gloss you stole from the department store has just been returned to its original spot to be sold. Maybe yesterday’s pair of underwear went back to the bottom of your drawer. Maybe the shirt you wore when you entered the prison world got swept through some portal back to the real world, because you hadn’t worn it here yet, so it must not be able to exist.

One morning, ruminating thoughts swirl in your mind as you try to mentally explain the disappearances. It’s a rather new thing - within the last few weeks - and nothing like this had happened in the first couple months you were still roaming the empty earth.

At the kitchen counter, you must seem lost in thought, because Kai shuffles a pancake off his spatula and onto your plate then nods. “What’s up?”

“My clothes are disappearing.”

“What?”

“Have you ever had that happen to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Out of my room. I’ll toss a shirt in my hamper, and it’s gone. My favorite chapstick isn’t in my nightstand drawer anymore.”

“Weird.”

“You’ve never lost anything?”

“I mean… misplaced things, yeah. But I know I just put them somewhere where I can’t remember where I put them, y’know? Maybe that’s it.”

“Maybe.” You take a bite of the food and smile up at him. “Ooh, perfect! Thank you.”

He returns the smile with a wink that makes you shyly look down. You eat in a comfortable silence, omit the CD player beside you being just barely audible; Billie Joe Armstrong whispers uncharacteristically rather than shouting into your ear at nine in the morning.

He starts to speak again while gathering the dishes. “Hey, I need to take a quick trip to the store today, want to come?”

“Wait, why? We just went?” You ask, frowning.

“That house down the street had a cookbook I’m borrowing-” you chuckle at the word choice, “-and I’m gonna try one of the recipes in it, but we need, like, half the things in it.”

You think about it. Going grocery shopping with him is always an entertaining experience, but you were planning on flipping your room inside out to look for your stuff instead. The most recent thing to disappear was one of your favorite underwear sets, and if you don’t find it, it’ll drive you crazy. Explaining this, though, sounds ridiculous, so you make an excuse. With a shrug, “don’t really feel like being cold today.” Despite no one around to operate it, Bell’s refrigerator section stays cold.

“You have a jacket. Or you can borrow one.”

“You always take, like, ten years in there, and the cold seeps through eventually.”

He gives you a sassy look, but it’s true, so he knows he can’t really argue. “Alright.”

“Plus if you’re trying a new recipe, it’s going to take even longer for you to find everything you need. And then the recipe won’t have enough detail, so you’ll sit there for five minutes, debating if you should use brown sugar or light brown sugar.”

“Okay, you’ve made your point!” You smile in satisfaction. “I’ll go by myself. Won’t take more than an hour.”

“Two, maybe.”

He glares at you, but you only laugh. Kai, by now, is harmless to you. You can poke and prod him all you want and know he won’t hurt you. Maybe if his family put a little trust in him, they would’ve known that, too.

“I’m leaving in ten.”

“Okay. Be safe from any vortexes that could contain aliens coming to invade our planet.”

He stares at you, then gives a playful roll of his eyes. You laugh.

~~~~~~~~~~

It doesn’t make sense. You’ve flipped your room about a thousand times in the last hour and nothing, not a single one of your lost items have appeared. It’s actually driving you insane. On second thought, you might be going insane. You know internally that stuff doesn’t just disappear in this world. Some things might return to the way they were before - the Dookie album annoyingly starts at “Burnout” every morning that Kai presses play; the grocery store is always fully stocked, no matter how many bags of chips you take in a single day - but things don’t just get lost. The prison world has structure, in its own extremely aggravating way. If something’s missing, you lost it.

But you’ve flipped your room three times to no avail. If something’s missing, it must not be in your room at all. You sigh, sitting in the middle of your now-messy room, and think. It is possible that they got mixed up in the laundry with Kai’s stuff and neither of you noticed. Of course, that doesn’t account for your two missing chapsticks, but maybe those were in pockets that ended up in the laundry, too. You crinkle your nose at the thought. If that’s the case, that chapstick and the hoodie it’s in are definitely ruined.

With the new idea in your mind, you head to the laundry room to check it out. It’s a rather long walk down the hall and to your left, making you wonder, again, whose house - sorry, mansion - this is in the present day, and could they be living here now, in the real world? You and Kai have talked about it before, made bets on the residents’ identities and personalities. Kai thinks it’s the mayor’s, and that he’s some oldish rich guy with a trophy wife, who needed to live far away from his “village” to exude “dominance,” as if this were the middle ages. That, or a thousand year old witch who moved out here to never be bothered. You swear it’s vampires, but he always shakes his head, “that’s not a thing.” You think otherwise.

But regardless of who lives in the house, you can both agree it’s an insane amount of house for anyone. Though, neither can complain about the dungeon in the basement. It’s a nice touch. In fact, every house should have one.

The laundry room checks out to be clean. There’s not a single sign of anything missing or out of place, and by this point, you just feel like giving up. Maybe the laundry ate them in the way it always seems to eat one sock. Oh well, because the constant search is only stressing you out. You stand there bored for a moment while trying to think of something to do. You could read; the library downstairs must have a thousand different books. Or, you could snoop the mansion. Kai’s shown you tons of stuff he’s found over the years: diaries, letters, secrets. Whoever lived here has quite the story to tell, but those things aren’t always easily found. The letters had been hidden in books, and between closely stacked books, and the most telling diary he’s found was in the floorboard of the furthest room on the right. Surely there’s more that Kai hasn’t discovered yet.

You decide, then, that the best entertainment will be to snoop around the old Victorian home, because… why not? You can’t settle down enough to read, and when has anyone not had fun digging into other people’s business? After all, that’s what got you sent to the prison world in the first place.

A part of you is most curious about the dungeon, so you decide to start there when something in the corner of your eye makes you pause. A lock, uncharacteristically on Kai’s bedroom door. It’s odd, considering the openness between you two; you’ve never felt the need to hide things from each other, and you’re not sure when he started feeling differently. You stare at it, curious and a bit hurt, before inserting your nail into the hole on the bottom. Again, you ended up here by pissing off one Parker, what’s stopping you from egging on another? And what would Kai possibly do to you that would hurt you? Like you told yourself earlier, towards you, he’s completely harmless.

In a couple minutes’ time, you finally free the lock of its duty and push the door open. Inside, it looks normal. He’s always been clean and his room is no exception. You’ve seen it before, when he didn’t feel the need to put a suspicious lock on it, and it looks the same then as it does now. Still… that little weasel is hiding something, and you’ll be damned if you don’t at least peek. You step further inside, leaving the door wide open so you can hear if he comes back.

To your displeasure, a five minute search yields no secrets. You’ve looked under his bed, in his drawers, and everywhere else that’s definitely invading his privacy, but hey, you were under the impression that there was no privacy in the prison world. You start your way back to the door, but then open the closet you had previously ignored, just in case. It checks as normal, but then… up high, in the corner, sits a little box out of reach. And by out of reach, you mean even for Kai, who’s rather tall, meaning even he would need a stool to retrieve it. Curiosity quickly gets the better of you and you fetch the nearest stool to grab it. Something this well hidden must be fun. And who knows, maybe it’s the residents’ mystery box, and Kai doesn’t even know it’s there? At least, that’s what you tell yourself to excuse your nosiness.

Though, immediately upon opening it, that’s proven to definitely not be the case.

A whiff of perfume floods your nose the moment you take off the lid. It’s familiar, and warm, and quickly, you realize it’s yours. Then, your heart drops at the first thing inside - something he should not have, and frankly, shouldn’t even exist - which is a polaroid of you. Specifically, of you on your side, asleep, bare chested, with your comforter just barely covering your hips. Your spine is the main focus of the shot, but a little bit of your exposed breast shows. You drop it with a gasp. It flutters down and lands in a different place than where you had picked it up, revealing more. Each polaroid in the stack shows more and more of your body in every shot. Sometimes, your breasts are covered by a thin, lacy piece, but more often than not, your top is completely bare. Your comforter, luckily, stays at your hips, and the one or two times it slips further, you’re covered in your favorite floral set, but then you pause. That particular set disappeared a while ago, and now, you think you know why.

Dropping the polaroid, you remove all the photos from the box to reveal what’s hidden underneath, and oh, does it shock you. Instantly, you eye your favorite set, causing you to swallow hard. Your perfume’s also in the box, alongside all your missing items: your chapsticks, bracelets, and three more pieces of your clothes. That rat. He’s been taking your things the whole time! Then giving no more than a shrug when you bring it up. Kai has been sneaking into your room at night, taking pictures of you and stealing your things, then acting none the wiser in the day. You try to feel angry, but you’re more shocked than anything.

Hesitantly, you pick up a pair of your underwear, inspecting it as if you can’t believe it’s really there. You roll your eyes in disbelief as it slips off your finger, back down into the incriminating box.

A knock raps on the doorframe. You freeze; you hadn’t heard anyone come in.

“Hey, princess,” Kai says, standing there, “like what you see?”

Your mouth falls open, a thousand words rising up your throat, but none of them coming out. You were shocked before, but then his sudden entrance and his laidback reaction makes you angry, and when he stands there, waiting for your response, you only find yourself shocked again. Surprised, that he’s found you digging through your stuff, yet doesn’t seem to care.

That is, unless, the anger is bubbling underneath his fond smile. You know that Kai has an unpredictable edge to him. Sometimes, he’s quiet in his anger and lets it stew before exploding. You’ve only been on the receiving end of it once, ages ago, when you were still getting used to each others’ routines and you got too much in his way. You’ve seen it since then, but not directed at you: his father, mostly; his lack of magic; his misguidance about the world. But sometimes, oftentimes, he’s short in patience and snappy in reaction. He responds to disruption the same way his father does: suddenly, mercilessly. It’s all he knows, after all.

But the Kai standing in front of you now, watching you, is neither of those things. He doesn’t seem angry or agitated. Caught off guard, certainly, but while that look is interpreted through his eyes, a small smile counters it. You stare a bit longer. Amused is more like it. He’s amused by your reaction. By you finding your clothes in his room and having no idea how to react to it. Initially, his posture held some indignation, probably because you were going through his stuff and had picked the quite secure lock to do so, but any ill feeling dissipates at the look on your face you’re sure is amusing to him.

You try to replace your shocked look with a stern one. He only laughs.

“Want to tell me why my stuff is in a box in your room, which was locked, by the way, not sure if you’re aware. Since when do we lock our rooms, Kai?”

He looks surprised by your sudden snap. Good. Unfortunately, he recovers quickly.

“Want to tell me why you’re going through my stuff in the first place?”

You scoff. “I think the more pressing matter is the fact that you’ve been stealing my clothes! And- and- not only stealing, but look at this-” you toss a polaroid at him as if he hasn’t seen, taken, them himself- “how long have you been lurking in my room while I’m asleep?! Taking pictures of me sleeping? Not caring if I’m literally nude in half of them?!”

“I’d argue the nude ones are the best ones,” he says with a shrug.

You scoff again. “What would possess you to do this? Why are you taking my stuff?”

“Y’know, princess… What’s funny to me is that your questions are just questions.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“You’re asking questions simply to know the answers. A playful curiosity. There’s no anger in your tone, no spite in your words.”

“Oh, I’m angry, Kai. I’m pretty fucking pissed off right now.”

He only chuckles. “Still not hearing it. See, I know anger. Anger’s my father, who has a harsh bark but a nastier bite. You, my angel,” he crouches down in front of you now, “have no bite.”

“Fuck you.” You push his shoulder. He barely sways, but you were kind of hoping to knock him over. You wait a moment, then try again.

Kai, though, easily predicts your actions and grabs your wrist as soon as it comes within his reach. He holds on with a tight grip and you almost lose your balance.

“Let go,” you grumble, raising your other fist. It only makes it halfway before he grabs that one, too. “Kai.” You struggle in his hands. “What the fuck? Let go of me.”

“Ah, ah.” He tilts his head to the side, a look that means nothing but trouble. “You were a bad girl to go through my stuff.”

“It’s my stuff, actually.”

“It became mine the minute it crossed the threshold of this house. You became mine.”

“What the fuck does that mean? This isn’t even your house!”

“But it is my prison world. Built for me when I committed a crime so heinous, they felt the need to lock me up. But you… what are you in here for? Stealing a book?”

“It was a grimoire, you fuck. Your father’s. So clearly my crime was equally heinous and they sent me here, too. The moment I got dropped here, this no longer became just your world.”

“You raise a good point. But still, I was here first. And I’m the oldest of my siblings, so I can tell you what to do.”

“You have a twin,” you counter, “who’s probably older than you by now, considering neither of us have aged, and you’ve been here sixteen years already. She’s probably… thirty-eight by now? Probably married, has some kids, a nice house.”

“Stop talking,” he snaps, tightening his grip on your wrists. They burn, but it doesn’t bother you. Egging him on is more fun. The tight cord of his control is breaking.

“I’m just saying. Oh, and your younger twins, the two you didn’t get to kill. They’re, uh, twenty, now, I think. I saw them, actually, when I broke into your father’s house. They’re both blonde, wherever that gene came from.”

“Y/N-”

“Jo wasn’t there. Not sure where she went. Probably does have a house somewhere. Somewhere far, far, away from fucking Portland. Good for her, that place is a shithole.”

His grip tightens, his body almost shaking with anger now. “Stop. Talking.”

“Or what? Are you gonna attack me?” You put on your best puppy eyes. “Show me your bite’s worse than your bark? Because I’m just proving to you that I can bite. Don’t like it, do you? Yeah, well, I didn’t like finding my lingerie in a box in your room, but I guess we all can’t get what we want.”

Whether it was your words or the sass in your tone, he finally breaks. With a sudden force, Kai pushes your fists into your own chest, knocking you to the floor. You gasp a little as your head hits the wood, but you have no time to dwell on it as he climbs on top of you, pinning your fists now over your head.

“You want to see me bite, is that it? Don’t think I have it in me because you’ve never seen it for yourself? I can be ruthless, Y/N, I can make you regret-” he pauses, jaw dropping as he realizes you’re giggling.

“Regret what?” You urge. “Were you saying something?”

“You’re playing with fire, Y/N.” His eyes are dark, but not in a way that scares you. Instead, his pupils are dilated so much they look dark. He stares into you desperately, gaze fighting between your lips and your neck, as if unsure where to attack first.

“And yet I’m just a girl, laying under a boy, asking to get burned.”

He doesn’t get the quote. It’s after his time. But the message is clear: you’re under him and you’re not fighting to get up; you provoked him enough just to send him off the edge; you were never really that mad about the pictures or the clothes.

He pauses. Okay, maybe you were a little mad about it. He did go out of his own way to creep across your boundaries. But still… had he not, you would’ve never ended up in this position. You should probably thank him for that.

You swallow, with difficulty because of the way you’re laying, and his eyes drop to the bob in your throat. He snaps out of a daze.

It happens before you know it, his lips on yours. He starts soft, waiting for you to reciprocate, and the moment you do, he gets rougher, more confident, as if this is something he’s always wanted, but he’s so unfamiliar with being able to touch, that he holds back at first.

You’re much less hesitant, though. You offer kindness to him through your words, but you’ve never touched him much, knowing how foreign it is to him. You’ve wanted to give in, to hug and hold him and kiss his cheek before you go to bed, but you were never sure how to bring it up. He’s guarded in his emotions. They’re there, but they’re locked away with a key you haven’t been able to pick. But this, maybe, is the first step.

You’re not sure when you stood up, or if he picked you up, but in a second, you’re off the wood and plopped down on his bed. The pillow beneath you smells like your perfume and you raise an eyebrow at him. He tilts his head again - no comment. He’s kissing you again before you can say anything, effectively distracting you from the whole thing. One hand props himself up over you, while the other lightly grasps your neck. Both of your hands are tangled in his hair, scratching and pulling gently. You break the kiss, out of breath, and he trails his lips down your neck instead. Your back arches instinctively, and a giggle escapes your throat at a sweet spot. In a matter of seconds, he sucks a bruise into your skin before moving down further. Your shirt, very much in the way, is pulled up and off, followed by your shorts. You copy the action, pulling his own off him and immediately letting your hands explore his chest. It’s only fair, you think, considering all the times he’s welcomed himself to the sight of your body.

Distracted, you miss him pulling off your underwear until they’re dangling on one finger in your face. You tilt her own head in confusion, then feel your jaw drop as he throws them in the box.

“Mine.” He winks.

“No! Kai-”

You’re cut off by your own moan, provoked by the feeling of his touch on your bare body. He smiles, clearly pleased with himself, and touches again.

“Those are mine,” you try to argue.

“Are they?”

With a new bite, you lunge forward and surprise him, bringing him pause. You take control for thirty seconds, unbuckling his belt and sliding off his jeans and boxers. A gasp escapes his throat, the cold air hitting his cold, now exposed body, in addition to you seeing him for the first time.

“These are mine then.” You toss his jeans on the floor, but keep his boxers like a prize in your hands.

His look is unimpressed. “You wish.” He tackles you easily, prying the material out of your hands to ball up and throw, laying you back down, crawling over your body, licking his lips, eyeing you like prey. It happens too fast for you to react, and before you know it, you’re forced back into submission, him dominating easily.

“Y’know, for someone not used to touch,” you pant, relishing in the feeling of his lips around your nipple, “you sure seem to know what you’re doing.”

“Instinct, baby.”

“Oh, really?”

He shuts up any further remark by meeting his body to yours, erect cock rubbing against your clit in a way that turns your brain to mush. “Yeah, really.” You don’t fight back this time. “So easy to please,” he mutters, his fingers moving to your clit at the feeling of precum rising up.

“Stop teasing,” you whine, growing desperate.

“Not teasing, princess. Just getting you ready.”

Pressure builds like a coil low in your stomach. You squirm, arching your back and shivering in pleasure, at the same time you mutter, “don’t stop.”

“Don’t move, then, baby.”

You try your hardest to listen, but it’s almost impossible with the way he’s touching you. The long fingers you’ve always admired rubbing in perfect circles. The lust in his eyes as he draws you closer and closer. The wetness on your thigh where his aching cock drips with its own need.

“Kai-” you cry for a second as he stops. He spits on your clit, then laps it up with his tongue, sucking now, while his fingers open you up below. “Fuck.”

“You okay, princess?”

“Mhm,” you nod weakly.

The coil’s so close to snapping. You won’t survive much longer, not with the way his tongue works so beautifully against the sensitive spot, and especially not when he looks up at you from his position, eyes still dark with lust, yet focused, as if this is the most important thing in the world.

“Kai-”

“Mhm?” He asks without detaching. The vibration that it causes is what finally breaks you. With an eager moan, you finally come, the force of it shaking your legs and core. Kai sucks you through it and only lets up when you start begging, “please, please, please, I can’t-”

He ceases, and immediately crashes his lips onto yours, letting you taste yourself in his mouth.

“You okay?” He asks between wet, open-mouthed kisses.

“Mhm.”

“Alright, good girl. Ready?”

“Please.”

Of course he can’t deny you when you ask so politely.

With a deep kiss, he distracts you enough to push in. You take him well until you’re almost full, gasping into his mouth and sinking into the mattress. You squirm a bit more, body reacting to the sudden intrusion, but settle around him soon enough.

“We’re good?”

“Good.”

“Let me know if you need to stop.”

He starts slowly, pulling out a little ways and pushing back in, kissing you sweetly as he does. But then as your body adjusts and clenches around him, he picks up the pace to an even speed. His mouth drops from your lips to your neck, sucking more bruises into your delicate skin. You keep your hands tangled in his hair, pulling, grasping, moaning more as the pressure starts to build again.

“Y’know,” you stutter, trying to speak as he thrusts. “Making me come once isn’t going to make up for you stealing my underwear.”

You can feel his smile grow against your skin. “Oh really?” He presses a kiss to your neck. “How about twice? Three times? Four?”

The color drains from your face at the thought of coming four times in one day. You really need to learn to stop challenging him. “I-”

“Yeah, four sounds good. Let’s try for that.”

He has slowed down a little to make conversation, but as soon as his mind is made, he picks his pace back up. His troublemaking smirk stares into you, waiting to see if you’ll challenge him again, then falls back on your neck once he sees he’s won.

In the end, Kai holds true to his promise and coaxes three more orgasms out of you before his hips stutter. He pulls out and releases on your stomach, panting hard. You lay beside each other, completely exhausted and overstimulated, until he finally drags you up and into the bathroom. In a way, you do win, because he dresses you in his own clothes - boxers and a hoodie - before pulling you downstairs with him. You’re still determined to get your clothes back somehow, but as your eyes flutter sleepily still, you decide to table that for another day.

That evening, when you settle down for your usual nightly movie, you find yourself laying against his chest with his arm around your waist. He seems more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him, and the noticeable difference makes you smile.

“If you wanted to touch me, you could’ve just asked,” you half-tease.

“Hm.”

“I like you, too, y’know.” He finally looks away from the tv, eyes dropping to you instead. “Way before all of this. I’ve had a crush on you for ages.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Fear of losing you?” You shrug. “Not only are we the only people here, but… you’re also the only person I’ve felt ever close to in my life. I didn’t want to do something that would make you uncomfortable, or make you hate me.”

“I could never hate you,” he admits. He presses a gentle kiss to your lips. “And I think I’m the one who crossed the ‘uncomfortable’ boundary.”

You laugh. “Yeah, you did. You crossed a very big boundary.” You tilt your head and run your tongue across your lips. “But… it doesn’t make me uncomfortable with you. Nor angry. Maybe in the moment, but certainly not now. Actually… it’s kinda hot, now that I think about it.”

Despite his passing nervousness, he can’t help but laugh. “I did say you’d be playing with fire.”

“Guess I should’ve headed the warning.”

You curl closer into him, adoring the way he responds so quickly, running a hand through your hair and dancing his fingers on your skin. It’s easier than ever to relax around him. Right now, this prison world feels like anything but a prison.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the night, you sneak into his room, polaroid in hand. It’s rather easy, the lock is gone now and his door is cracked open, practically inviting you in. You tiptoe up to his bed, focusing the camera on Kai’s shirtless form and snap a quick photo, snickering to yourself. But then, as the old machine whirrs in action, your target opens an eye. You back up, glancing between the boy in the bed and the door. He groans, laughing on the tail end of the tired sound.

“Whatcha doing?”

“Karma, baby.”

“Mhm, good try.” He eyes you in a way that sends a shiver up your spine. “Y’know… the way I got so many of you is because I was quiet.”

“Uh-” You look at the door again - big mistake. The moment your eyes are off him, his arms around your waist. “Ah, Kai!” You screech, head hitting his pillow for the second time that day.

He positions himself on top of you, practically sitting on you, and takes the camera from your hands. “Tip number one, snap the picture and leave before the camera starts to sputter.” He sets it on the nightstand. “Tip number two, stalk someone who’s a little less obsessed with you. That way, they might not be able to hear your every move.” Before you can reply, he’s kissing you again, with as much passion as he had only hours ago.

#malachai parker x reader #kai parker x reader #kai parker smut #kai parker oneshot #tvd fanfiction

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joeldarling · 1 month ago

Text

The View Between Villages (Part I) - Oldman!Joel x F!reader

Summary: Based on a request I lost, you are immune and Oldman!Joel saves you.

Warnings: Glasses!Joel mentioned, no reader description at all, no smut on this part but there'll be on the next one, a bit of angst and slowburn, stubborn!reader x caring!Joel, Abby doesn't exist here. Mentions of violence but nothing graphic. Joel just want to fix things and make reader happy.

Word count: 3.6k

A/N: Anon, I lost your request and I know that wasn't what you asked but I promise I will make something else, I just wanted to say I got REALLY inspired and it turned out something totally different, your idea was amazing and IT WILL BE SOLID ON MY NEXT WRITING! English it’s not my first language, so I apologize in advance for any typos. I enjoyed so much this one and the next part will be out in two days with the smut! I just felt like writing some angst background was necessary. You can find more oldman!Joel in my masterlist as well. Feedbacks are utterly appreciated and my requests are always open. 💌

When you arrived in Jackson on a hurried, blood-covered night, carried by a stranger and utterly terrified, you never imagined the community could feel so familiar, so much like home, as if the end of the world wasn't a primary concern. Here, people arrived from all corners, given the chance to reinvent themselves.

And you did the same, leaving your old life behind and deciding that your new beginning wouldn't depend on anyone's help. You were born to be alone, and you were—and always would be—a lone wolf. That no longer bothered you as it did when you were younger and less experienced, almost a burden to those who carried you like unwanted baggage. You had sworn to yourself that you'd never count on anyone again, a vow made the moment an exorbitant number of clickers had chased your last group, decimating all of them except for you, for a peculiar reason.

You were immune—and of course, you had climbed the highest tree you could find and hidden for two entire nights, unsure if you would survive.

You'd always known you were different. As a child, you were left almost dead by a group of revolutionaries after being bitten, but two weeks later, you were still alive, hungry and alone. The wound seemed to heal at a snail's pace, but it didn't kill you. That seemed like a secret to keep, especially with radical scientists looking for a cure. And when one of them finally captured you, you thought it was the end of the line, thinking that maybe what you deserved after tricking death so many times.

Joel Miller was a skeptical man, but few knew the violence that had led him to be so gentle.

Tommy and him had been investigating the same group that had taken Ellie years ago. Even with the significant loss of that damned doctor that Joel had killed, the doctor who was willing to sacrifice a child for a cure he clearly couldn't provide, they hadn't rested. They continued searching for those immune to Cordyceps. When they discovered a part of the group's hideout, Joel was the first to question whether they were holding hostages—people who had a chance to survive and live full mediocre lives—for an almost impossible greater purpose.

It was obvious Tommy didn't approve of his decision. But Joel wanted to understand Ellie; he wanted her to live in a world where, if someone else like her existed, she might feel a little better within Jackson's fragile walls.

Perhaps then, she could forgive him.

He embarked on a journey alone in the middle of the night, giving the excuse that he had swapped his patrol shift with some young boy he couldn't even pronounce the name correctly. He rode all night until dawn when he reached what appeared to be an abandoned hospital, experiencing the same flashbacks of years earlier when his heart raced at the possibility of losing his daughter—again.

Because Ellie was his daughter; he couldn't deny it. Not to himself, not after so much effort and sacrifice had been made to ensure she was breathing safely miles away.

Joel heard loud screams, which sounded like a woman, a desperate one, and didn't hesitate to enter the location with his gun ready to kill whoever was necessary. The place was empty somehow, with only a female figure chained to a gurney, wearing little more than a hospital gown, though it seemed she still had on her underwear. She was scared, appeared injured, and still had two IV access points in her arms.

"Ain't here to hurt ya," he said, his accent echoing strong and gravelly. Despite being almost sixty, Joel was still in good shape, except perhaps for the prominent belly from all the beer he used to drink at Tipsy Bison with Tommy almost every night, and the knee pain he always ignored until he had to take a day or two off patrol to recover. "M'gonna take those access out of ya' and then I will give you m' jacket, okay?"

He slowly described everything he was doing to keep you from screaming, but your eyes were pure panic, as if you were completely dissociating, a way to make everything less painful. And well, the doctor and nurses weren't gentle at all; your arms would certainly be all bruised later if you made it out alive, and the wound around your waist had been roughly shaved so they could examine it. Gods, they didn't even have the right equipment for it. You screamed, begged for them to stop.

It was useless.

But as Joel tried, you nodded. It would be better to die by a bullet than slowly from pseudoscientific experiments.

Joel carefully removed the access points, adjusting the dirty piece of cotton as best he could to prevent any bleeding. Once he got you sitting on the gurney, he took off his own jacket and put it on you. It would be a long ride to Jackson, and you two hadn't much time before they returned. Joel had promised himself he wouldn't kill anyone unnecessarily, knowing how much Ellie would disapprove if she found out. He was tired of being a monster, but he wouldn't leave you to die to the whims of chance or fate.

You didn't say anything, no sound emitted except for a few moans of pain when your bare feet hit the cold, dirty floor. Joel agilely lifted your body and, even with his back aching, carried you with surprising gentleness to the back exit where his horse was tied. Getting onto the animal was a little difficult, but when he managed to adjust your body in front of his, trying as much as possible to keep your body warm in a respectful way, he didn't hesitate to move as fast as he could. Even during the small, breathless pause he took in the middle of the dark and silent woods, you refused the food he offered, not out of fear, but because you felt the horse's swaying would make you vomit at any moment, still groggy from the excessive amount of medicine they got you. Joel remained silent, his expression worried. He had briefly seen the wound that should prove your immunity when he put you on the horse, your body still trembling, but he said nothing. It was none of his business anyway.

You certainly didn't remember when you had fallen asleep, but when you did, you only woke to the sound of metal creaking and distant shouts. A group seemed to be on standby in case they needed to go looking for Joel, but they began to disperse when they saw the old man riding back to the gates, almost two days later, given his figure, holding a young woman in his arms, especially as she clung with all the firmness she could to his thick plaid flannel, which wasn't much, completely weak and hurt.

From that, you were taken to a doctor, received proper care and a new chance, without ever crossing paths with the man to whom you owed your life out of pure stubbornness.

He seemed hesitant whenever he saw you, always about to say something but never doing it. You gave no opening, afraid he would tell others about your secret or feel too intimate to be a regular part of your life.

However, Ellie Williams, or whatever her name was, seemed willing to break down all your walls effortlessly. She struck up conversations during lunch and all other meals, invaded your space, offered to walk you home even if she filled the silence the whole time with chatter and you couldn't even pay attention. It was more like she wanted to be listened to, and later you discovered that she was Joel's adopted daughter. He saved her just as he saved you.

It was one afternoon while she was skipping beside you that Ellie revealed Joel had told her about your immunity — you froze. It wasn't his secret to share. You opened your mouth and closed it, still unsure what to say to a teenager who genuinely seemed to want your friendship. You didn't want to hurt her feelings, but the anger was boiling your blood.

"I am like... this. No one knows it, of course, it's still dangerous even here but... Joel told me the day you guys arrived and made me promise I wouldn't act weird." Her voice was low, as if the two of you were sharing a secret, and in fact, you were. "I thought I was a monster but... You don't look like one. That just means I'm not alone."

A knot formed in your throat as you continued walking, your gaze fixed on your own feet. The wound, a constant reminder of your past, seemed to sting a thousand times more now, burning with shame. It was painfully clear that a girl like her, Ellie, was just lonely. And though you were still frustrated with Joel, you started to understand his perspective. It wasn't his fault, or yours, or hers. You simply didn't know how to handle it.

"I don't like talking about it." You cut the conversation short, something you'd never done before. Ellie looked upset, clearly taken aback by your sudden shift, but you didn't care. You'd reached your house anyway. Slowly, you climbed the steps, crossing your arms, your heart pounding against your ribs.

You stepped inside and slammed the door shut, unable to shake the annoyance. All of this felt like a curse, and honestly, you didn't care about a cure. Not when, after all these years, it clearly wasn't going to work. You were alone, and there was no reason for you to sacrifice yourself for anyone. Selfish tears streamed down your face as your body collapsed onto the sofa. You didn't even notice the fireplace was lit, as if someone had been there, not until you read the note left in rough letters on stained paper on the wooden coffee table.

"Figured ya'd could get cold. The house needs some fixing, let me know when you're available. — J"

You weren't alone; all those people wanted to help you. Still, the only thing you felt was rage, having spent so long surviving on your own that any display of affection felt like the end of the world. You didn't feel worthy; you felt dirty.

But you weren't the only one. You weren't a freak of nature. You could handle this.

You should.

You fell asleep right there, and when you woke, sunlight had already faded, giving way to the stars and the full moon, another cold night. You searched for Joel’s jacket, the only one you owned, and put it on, deciding to head outside. The clock read nine o'clock; dinner had barely begun.

The leather still carried his scent. You hadn't mustered enough courage to return it, and it was warm, lined inside, preventing the dampness from reaching your other layers of clothing. For the first few days in your new home, you even wore it to sleep, not because you were cold, but because it felt familiar, something you couldn't recall feeling throughout your entire life.

As you walked toward the community hall, shrinking further into the jacket, your mind drifted far away. You knew you should apologize to Ellie; after all, you were the adult, and despite everything, she deserved answers too. You understood more than anyone how lonely Jackson could be. Maybe if you found her there, you could tell her how sorry you were and start again.

Your dissociative state, however, shattered when your body collided with another, sending you sprawling to the ground, your tailbone protesting with a loud crack from the sheer lack of exercise.

“Jeez’, doll!” You'd recognize that voice even with your eyes closed, but staring at his worn and heavy boots was enough to confirm it was Joel offering his large, calloused hand to help you up, a worried look on his face. He was wearing another thick, dark jacket, a scarf, and his glasses seemed fogged by the cold. His curly, graying hair was slicked back as if he'd just stepped out of the shower. “Didn’t saw ya’, my bad. Was lookin’ for ya’ the other day and…”

His eyes lingered on your body as you stood, brushing dirt from the jacket. Joel would never admit how much his chest swelled with satisfaction seeing you still wearing his jacket. It was certainly too big, but even so, it looked better on you. His gaze softened on your rosy lips, on features he found so beautiful he almost forgot the years that separated you. You were certainly in your mid-twenties or so, but he was still sixty and could be your grandfather.

"I…" You started, trying to form a sentence, but since you'd arrived in town, you hadn't exchanged a single coherent phrase with him, stunned and scared. Joel seemed to understand. "Thank you, Joel. For everything."

That's what escaped your lips, and he nodded, the phrase heavy with meaning dissolving the earlier anger. Because above all, you understood he was just an old man who wanted the best for his daughter, who wanted to understand her world, and yet, he was generous enough for that to involve saving strangers in hospitals and risking his own life during the process.

"Ya' don't have to thank me," he mumbled back, realizing he was still holding your hand and making no move to let go. "Hope I didn't burn your house down with the fire today."

"No, you did not," you replied, pulling your hand from his and burying it in the jacket's pockets, feeling your cheeks burn with a shyness you didn't know still existed deep inside you.

Joel cleared his throat, sounding as awkward as you felt, but instead of moving on, just as he was about to take a step away, he looked at you again.

"Ellie told me ya' got a bit upset today. It was my fault, not hers. She likes you a lot. Don't be mad at her," Joel confessed, sounding somehow emotional. "It was the first time she really talked with me in months… When I rescued you, I told her the reason but… Today was the first time she…"

"I'm sorry about that. I didn't know she wasn't talking with you." You were sincere. "I was going to apologize to her. Maybe we could walk together? I… suppose you're heading to dinner?"

You stumbled over the words slowly, captivating Joel's attention with every second without even realizing it. He wasn't going to dinner, no. It was rare for Joel to have dinner; he usually spent his nights at the Tipsy Bison and ate whatever he found at home afterward since he hated all the chatter in the community hall and all the lines, the stress of choosing a group to interact with due to the lack of individual tables… Well, he was kinda a lone wolf too.

"Yes, sure," he grunted. It was funny how Joel's grumpy demeanor extended to everyone but you. How he seemed to ignore all the waves, especially from all the middle-aged women, as he walked silently beside you, hands in his pockets, toward the community hall.

Before you could even step inside, voices were already audible and you flinched. Joel seemed to notice, looking at you with a raised brow. You certainly hated the stares you attracted; it wasn't as if you'd arrived in Jackson as a refugee or anything. Joel had gone out on his own and returned with you, and whatever his reasons were, clear to you, they certainly weren't—and shouldn't be—to the rest of the community.

"I have sum' stuff at home I could cook for us. I know how… suffocating it can be," he offered gently, as gentle as his husky voice allowed, which sent shivers through your entire body. You knew you shouldn't accept, knew you should continue your life as alone as possible because you viewed all attachments as weaknesses.

That's what they had taught you your whole life. But here… here, affection was present in absolutely everything, and it made you long for something you couldn't have.

Even so.

"That would be nice…" You agreed, sighing in relief. The great food wouldn't compensate for the small talk that churned your stomach, all the filtered parts of your past during a thirty or forty-minute period.

You both began walking in the opposite direction. Joel had a long stride but seemed to make an effort not to let anxiety consume him, adjusting his pace to match yours.

"I saved ya' that day because I was looking for someone like Ellie. Maybe a child or a young man but… that wasn't… just fate. These damn so-called-doctors are stalking people down and treating them like a fuckin' experiment." He sounded almost angry, and you wondered if that's how his and Ellie's lives had crossed.

"I never stepped in to say thank you properly," you began, feeling utterly embarrassed. "I was alone since my last group left me to die, and I… Well, these people you rescued me from, whatever they are called, found and knocked me down. The last thing I remember was being tied and having my bruise scalped and…" Tears threatened to fall from your eyes, the air suddenly thin, and you couldn't finish your sentence, clearing your throat and looking up at the starry sky.

You rarely saw stars in the dense forest; they seemed almost a miracle, a gift.

"I just want you to know that I was alone my entire life, and it's hard for me to let people help… That doesn't mean I'm not immensely grateful for what you did for me. You saved my life, and I owe you forever." You said, your voice still thick with emotion.

"You owe me nothing, darlin', just be happy, and I'll be satisfied." He seemed sincere. Joel was difficult to decipher.

You walked for a bit longer before he pointed to his own house with his right hand. He lived at the end of the street, with a rather beautiful view of the surrounding fields and mountains. When he opened the door and let you in, it felt much more like a home than yours. The furniture was of the same worn standard, but picture frames were scattered about with the few photographs he had: an unknown girl in a purple shirt, placed directly above the fireplace in a photo where he was smiling and looked years younger, even before everything happened. A photo of Ellie and another one of Tommy beside a younger Joel. They weren't many things, but they felt personal.

The sofa held a beige blanket, and the fire in the fireplace was almost dead. He attentively switched on the lights and gestured for you to make yourself at home.

Joel wasn't good at small talk but neither were you and the silence felt comfortable. You settled into one of the chairs around the not-too-large table, entertained by what looked like a cube full of colors that never seemed to align correctly.

You hadn't seen much of the world, never even had the opportunity as you were born after everything had fallen apart. Deep down, you held onto the belief that you couldn't miss something you'd never experienced. Still, you knew life was about more than just surviving, eating rabbits, and leaving a trail of blood wherever you went.

"It's called a 'magic cube,' you have to match the colors right," Joel said, his tone almost playful, as he put pasta into a pot of water and searched for other ingredients to make what was presumably a sauce. "I never solved it; it's quite impossible."

"Indeed it is," you agreed, examining it with curiosity, trying to find a solution.

"How old are you?" he asked, using another pot and pouring ingredients into it.

"Twenty-four. I'll be twenty-five next spring. I just don't know the day, so I just assume it's the first one after that." You answered, still too focused on the cube, but deciding to put it aside the moment you realized it truly seemed to have no solution, letting out a single laugh to yourself. “It’s funny.”

“You can take them. Ellie has plenty of those. She lives in the garage.” He explained, seeming hopeful that maybe his relationship with his daughter could improve.

Joel continued to unravel the mysteries in his own kitchen and you started to feel slightly useless just standing there. Rising from that feeling, you moved to the sink, beginning to wash whatever he dirtied and set aside for more than three seconds. It was almost like a silent connection. You both seemed to function well, your bodies nearly touching, sharing the small space in synchrony with the warmth you both emanated.

You knew Joel was a broken man, and like you, he carried demons he'd never dared to face. Perhaps, that was the most beautiful part of him.

When everything was ready, and he set the food on the table, along with the plates and glasses filled with cold water, you moved towards your chair, bumping into him for the second time that night. This one, however, instead of letting you collide, Joel caught your waist, and your faces were forced to meet. His breathing seemed labored, and his strong arms were exposed by his moss-green t-shirt, having shed his outer layers minutes before for better mobility.

"Watch out, beautiful," was the only thing he said, making no move to release your waist, his touch deepening, as did the tension between you. He looked at you almost as if he were starving, and the confusion in your eyes didn't seem to be an impediment, because deep down, you felt the same thing.

Joel finally looked into your eyes, and all you knew was that the entire world had fallen silent, as if it were waiting for something.

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petew21-blog · 9 months ago

Text

Live to the fullest

Ethan and his dad, Cooper, got along quite nicely. Cooper had to take care of Ethan as a single father, since his wife left them and never came back. Ethan didn't mind to be brutally honest. He was always confused about his feelings towards men and women. He figured that out many years after that, but he realized he felt too old for dating now. On the other hand Ethan was raised to be an independent man. Because of the absence of his mother, he sometimes had to help out his father with the chores etc. making him feel more responsible then other adults. Maybe that was the reason, why he felt as if he didn't fit in with others. Everything felt too childish to him.

Ethan:"Dad, I don't wanna leave for some stupid party. All the guys wanna just drink and talk about sex with others. I'm sure I could use my time more effectively than that."

Cooper:"I know you were never really into this, but it's important to engage in these activities. Look at me and mum. We got together way too soon, having you in our teen years and we didn't do anything besides taking care of you and working"

Ethan:"Yeah and mom was too busy running away"

Cooper:"My point is. You should enjoy it while you can and not waste it like me"

Ethan:"I think you should go instead of me, dad"

Cooper:"Honestly. If I could, I would."

Ethan:"I would kill to swap lives with you, dad"

The following morning. After the initial shock, the two of them found out that they indeed swapped bodies. Ethan got his wish to be the responsible adult and Cooper could enjoy his newfound youth.

Ethan wasn't freaked out by the lack of hair on his head, or by the abundance of hairs all over his body, especially the private parts.

No, Ethan felt like home. He had a feeling tha he was finally the man he was raised to be and the man he had become

He enjoyed the view of his flexed dad body in the full length mirror

But more than that, he enjoyed his own bathroom and especially the shower that he now had for himself

And for himself only to enjoy... Or atleast until he would find someone to enjoy it with him

Cooper in Ethan's body couldn't be happier. He felt as if the weight of the world on his shoulders had been lifted by his son. He now could fully enjoy being a teenager as if he hadn't met Ethan's mother before.

He decied that he deffinitely should go to the party with Ethan's friends. They even came over to help him pack for the weekend

They talked about enjoying the weekend, the girls, the booze and Cooper showed off in his "new" clothes that his "father" bought him.

The boys made some jokes about seducing women wearing these shorts, but Cooper knew, that he wouldn't do any of that. He was about to enjoy the weekend as a young man once again

And Ethan? Well he had a date planned already. So it seems that it will be a funny weekend for both of them. Or maybe longer than a weekend?

#body swap #body switch #male body swap #straight to gay #gay to straight #family body swap #family swap #family switch #father and son #father and son body swap #son and father body swap

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luv-nikki · 2 months ago

Text

Scoring on and off the pitch ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

George Clarkey x fem. reader!!!

About: you are a video person for the sidemen charity match and you catch a certain player eye.

⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰

The energy at the Wembley was electric. The fans roared in anticipation, their voices blending into a deafening chorus of cheers, chants, and the occasional scream of excitement. The Sidemen Charity Match was about to begin, and among the many internet personalities on the pitch, there stood George Clarkey.

You stood at the sidelines, with your official staff jacket, camera slung around your neck. You had been given media access to the event, assigned to capture behind-the-scenes moments for a YouTube documentary. Though you were there for work, you couldn’t ignore the way your eyes drifted to George more often than not.

The two of you had known each other for a while—mutual friends, casual interactions, the occasional Twitter banter. But recently, your conversations had taken on a different edge. A flirt here, a lingering glance there. You weren’t sure what it was, but something about today felt different.

As the match began you found yourself cheering for him, even when you were supposed to remain neutral. Every time he had the ball, your camera lens found him. Every time he tripped or stumbled—because let’s face it, George wasn’t exactly prime Ronaldo—you couldn’t help but laugh. Midway through the match, he caught your gaze from the field, a smirk playing on his lips. Then, as if to impress you, he attempted a skillful pass… only to completely miss the ball and trip over his own feet.

After getting up, red-faced but still grinning, George jogged toward the sidelines where you stood. “Enjoying the show?” he panted, brushing sweat-soaked hair out of his face.

You bit your lip, suppressing a giggle. “Oh, absolutely. I think that was the most athletic thing I’ve ever seen.”

“You wound me, Y/N,” he said, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. “Stick around after the match—I’ll prove to you I can actually score.”

The double meaning wasn’t lost on you, and the blush on your face had nothing to do with the sun.

The match ended in a thrilling 9-9 victory, with the YouTube All-Stars barely edging out the Sidemen FC during the penalties. As the players cooled down and fans trickled out of the stadium, the real fun was about to begin: the afterparty.

The venue was packed with influencers, music thumping through the air as drinks flowed freely. You sat at the bar, nursing a cocktail, when George appeared beside you, still slightly sweaty but cleaned up, his jersey swapped for a sleek button-down.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he teased, nudging your shoulder.

“I could say the same,” you shot back, tilting your glass toward him. “How’s the ego holding up after that little… incident on the pitch?”

He groaned, rubbing his face. “Don’t remind me. I swear, I was trying to impress you.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Oh? And here I thought you were just naturally that graceful.”

He chuckled, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “You’re killing me, Y/N.”

You turned to face him fully, the tension between you crackling like the final moments of a penalty shootout. “Maybe you should try scoring off the pitch, then.”

For a second, he looked stunned—like he wasn’t sure if he actually heard you right. Then, a slow smirk spread across his face.

“Oh, Y/N,” he murmured, eyes locked onto yours. “I thought you’d never ask.”

And just like that, George Clarkey—content creator, and now, quite possibly, the man who would ruin you for anyone else—pulled you into a kiss that tasted like adrenaline, laughter, and just a hint of something more.

#george clarkey #british youtubers #sidemen #imagine #sidemen charity match #george clarke fics #george clarke fluff #george clarkey x reader

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godmadeaterribleerror · 4 months ago

Text

Where Do You End Pt. 3

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03! - Pt. 2

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, angst, body swap, mentions of smut, humor, horniness, very weird

Summary/Warnings: You and Dean have a talk.

Author's Note: Here we go. Dean about the be on his KNEES (for several reasons)

Word Count: 5.3k

A lot was happening.

Cold wind had filled Dean’s body—Her body—and then suddenly the bunker library was gone. Sammy was gone. Everything was gone, and he felt like he’d been flipped in and out, turned in a circle, and everything was spinning when the world came back into focus.

And he was so fucking confused.

He was back in his own body. Taller, easier to control, better to reach high things with, and less likely to accidentally move too fast and slam into something. He had his own legs and arms and feet and hands.

Dean had never really appreciated his hands before this. But son of a bitch, he’d missed them. One week without them, and he’d failed to open jars, had Her fancy, looping handwriting that he couldn’t even read, and dropped three guns. She could always hold a gun easily, but Dean had almost taken Sammy’s ear off.

He’d never take his hands for granted again.

He’d never take his body for granted. As fun as boobs had been for about two days—he’d never touched them, She would’ve killed him, but he’d liked watching them bounce—he’d quickly gotten sick of bras and how sometimes they just hurt. A lot of Her body had just hurt at random points through every single damn day. Dean was never going to be sure how She just did things, because he’d gotten a fresh wave of what Sammy had called post-menstrual syndrome, and he’d wanted to kill someone.

He’d missed being taller, missed having Little Dean, missed not needing to worry about walking through the gas station at night—he’d had to start taking Sammy every time he wanted some pie, and he was never going to leave Her alone in a bar again—and not having to keep track of his goddamn hair all the time.

Even now it was too long. He’d been ready for a cut by the time the curse had hit, and somehow over just one week of being unattended, Dean felt like he had a mane. When he rubbed a hand over his jaw he could feel stubble, and She hadn’t even left him a razor. Or scissors.

If fact, the room seemed to be mostly empty, save for a lot of books, some stray ritual materials on the floor, and the motel furniture. There wasn’t even food or beer, and the bed looked hardly slept in, and Dean had a feeling that all those books would have worn pages from Her attention.

He didn’t quite know what he’d expected, when they switched back. A warning would’ve been nice, or a heads up that he’d suddenly be transported to the middle of freakin’ nowhere. All he knew what that She’d spent the week somewhere rainy, with trees and a view of the ocean, crashing up in waves on the rocks. Somewhere where the motels had cabin-like furniture and a lot of photos of bird and moose.

This limited information told Dean that he was either on the upper East Coast, or the upper West Coast.

So if he called Sam and took a gamble, he had a fifty percent chance of getting rescued, along with an equal shot of being stranded even longer as Sammy fucked off in the wrong direction and Dean tried to work out where the hell She’d landed him.

But if Dean was here, She’d be back in the bunker with Sam. So, hopefully, She wouldn’t be so pissed that she’d just leave Dean to find his own way back.

Hopefully when Dean got back, She’d still be there.

He’d spent most of the week scowling at books and random points on the wall, trying to figure out how the hell he was going to fix this. He couldn’t lose this. He couldn’t lose Her.

And She did love him. She’d said she loved Dean, and she’d used the present tense, and there was still hope. He’d fix this. Dean had spent the whole week repeating to himself that he would fix this. He’d read a bunch on articles online, asked Sam what he did when Eileen was pissed—Sam had said Eileen never got that pissed at him, so Dean had thrown out all his lettuce—and tried to call Her over and over to fix this.

Dean had been worried She wasn’t getting his messages. He’d started to feel something heavy and sickening grow in his stomach, because She could have been in danger. Sam said She’d been emailing him about the curse, but maybe whoever had been hurting Her had gotten her laptop, and they’d been using the emails to throw Sam and Dean off the trail. Maybe She’d been waiting for Dean to come help Her, but he’d just been brooding so now she thought he didn’t care.

Her laptop was still open, and when Dean clicked on her inbox, his emails had been left unread. Her phone was on the bed, and he could still see all his messages on the notification screen. She hadn’t been in danger.

She’d just been ignoring him.

And he could feel his jaw clench—his hands fist and his brow draw—as anger began to settle in his muscles and throat, but he didn’t have the right to it.

Because Dean was pretty sure She thought he didn’t care.

About Her.

“She just needs space, dude.” Sam had looked up at him from across the war room table about a week ago, his voice dangerously close to a lecture tone. “She just found out you’ve been lying to her for years-“

“I lied for her.” Dean had snapped, glaring at his phone. “Why won’t she call me back-“

“Because as far as she’d concerned, you just lied. She doesn’t care that it was for her,” Sam had put quotation marks around those last words, and Dean had scowled. “She cares that you didn’t think about her at all-“

Dean head had snapped up, his eyes narrowing. “Shut the fuck up, Sammy, of course I care about her-“

“I know that.” Sam hadn’t wavered, crossing his arms over his chest. “Because you tell me. But all you’ve done with her is make her feel confused and dumb-“

“She’s not dumb-“

“I fucking know that Dean! I’m trying to tell you how she feels-“

“I wouldn’t need you to tell me,” Dean’s words had been pushed through his teeth, and he’d been damn near ready to punch Sam in the face or smash his phone on the table. “If she’d pick up the phone.”

Sam had given Dean a long, odd look, and then shaken his head. “Whatever, man. Not the love of my life who’s gonna hate my guts.”

Dean had felt the blood leave his face. He’d felt his whole world shatter just a little, felt his heart fucking stop. Just go dead in his chest, because She didn’t hate him. She loved him. Dean had decided that he’d be fine not being able to touch Her or hold Her as close as he wanted, because at least She’d be safe, and She’d never hate him. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to look in the mirror and see anything but a rotten, cracked pile of trash if She hated him.

But he’d looked in the mirror that same night, and he’d seen Her. Awesome, smart, funny Her.

He’d never known what he’d done to trick someone so beautiful into loving him. Dean had been satisfied knowing that possibly, maybe, hopefully, he could’ve been good enough.

That even if he’d never get to have Her, he’d been good enough for Her to trust him, to let him hold Her heart in his hands and keep it safe, just as he’d built his own heart to sit on an alter that was made of Her. An alter that tended to and existed only for Her, that would shatter and cave if he ever became something horrible enough to make Her not want him-

Son of a bitch.

He’d gotten it.

He’d stared at Her reflection, and he’d felt it, in Her chest. Worked out why he’d spent every moment in Her body trailing after himself, and moving to his will, leaning into his own touch. Why his eyes kept scanning around rooms for something he didn’t understand, but would know when he found it. Why when he’d taken a shower and the smell of his shampoo had drifted through the steam, everything in his body—Her body—had relaxed.

She’d built Her own alter.

To Dean.

Of all fucking people, She really did love him in the way he’d always refused to hope for. He’d wanted—for Her sake and his own painful reparation—for Her love to be strong and real, but fleeting.

He’d prayed that She did love him, and She’d always like him, but it would pass and Dean wouldn’t have to spend his life forcing himself a few steps back from grabbing Her and fusing Her love into his ribs until he could really fucking feel it.

He hadn’t wanted to feel it. He’d wanted Her love to wither, so Dean could tend to his own selfish desire in peace, and She could be happy.

A piece of him had hated the idea of Her being happy without him. But that had been part of the sacrifice. Dean would have to break himself down until he learned how to stop getting jealous when Her attention drifted, when he figured out how to lie to himself about not caring if She settled safely with some boring douchebag in a way that stuck on his body.

He’d told himself that one day She’d start flirting at a bar, and his legs would forget to chase after Her because he really did want Her to be happy.

But now he could feel it. He had been able to feel the part of Her that moved and rolled and hummed only for Dean.

He’d started rehearsing his speech that night.

He had a whole thing ready. He’d tell Her she was right. He’d stay he was sorry, and that he’d make the same choice a million times to keep Her safe but he’d never be able to live with himself She thought he didn’t care. He’d say he cared. He’d say it over and over until She understood that Dean could be reduced to ash and sand, and he’d still care. He was just bad at it. He was just bad in general. But he loved Her, and that made him feel okay.

He’d practiced in his head when he was in Her body—using Her voice to apologize to Her had felt strange and wrong—and he spent the time while he waited for Sammy to arrive going over it in the mirror. She’d forgive him. He’d run the speech by Sam, and Sam had rolled his eyes and called Dean a loser and an idiot, but he’d said it would probably be fine.

It would be fine.

Sam said Dean would be picked up in a day, and he’d get to back Her, apologize, and everything would be fine.

He packed Her things as he waited, running over the speech one last time as he heard the rumble of Baby’s engine outside.

But when there was a knock at the door, it wasn’t Sam standing on the other side.

——————

It’s raining.

It fucking raining.

You’re standing outside in the rain, your hair clinging to you brow and your clothing stuck to your bone, and Dean’s staring at you like he’s seen a ghost, and this is so dumb.

“Hi.” Your voice is flat and not as strong as you’d like, but you’d also been out here for a minute before he’d answered the door, and the cold is already sinking too deep into your skin.

“Uh,” Dean stares at you, a small line forming in his brow. “I thought you’d be Sam.”

“I’m not.” You raise your chin slightly, holding his gaze. “I’ve had enough of being someone else for a long, long time.”

“I- you- Uh,” he clears his throat, and there’s something shaken and slightly off in his gaze, something that makes him falter. “I’ve never been good at-“

“Am I allowed inside?”

Dean blinks at you, his brow fully drawing, and you roll your eyes.

“It’s raining, Dean.”

He frowns, scanning over the grass behind you and the pavement, and the sight of the mist and darkened concrete almost seems to shock him. He stands a little taller, almost stumbles back, and grabs your arm.

Yanking you right inside after him.

Forcing your body to fall right over his, keeping you there for a brief second as you regain your balance, and then just fucking moving away.

He’d been so warm. He hadn’t quite smelled right, but you’d smelled like him, and it had made up the difference. His strong, steady arm had wrapped around your back for a second, and then he’d left you standing in the center of the room as he shuffled away.

He’d left you standing alone.

Nothing had changed.

“I missed you.”

You glower at the air, turning to see that his voice had come from the bathroom. The door has been left ajar, and you can see him moving around inside, and you hate that you’re still listening. That it’s Dean’s voice—his real voice, with all that same gravity he always has and the deep sound almost a bass in your chest—so you’re clinging to it like it’s wood and you’ve been set adrift.

Dean set you adrift. He’s the one stranded you and threw you to the waves and lied. Then he’d always pulled you just close enough to the shore for you to foolishly believe he’d left you rest somewhere warm, and then he’d fucking left again.

“You missed me.” Your voice has a little more fire behind it, and you can feel it bubbling up in your neck and stomach. The explosion. “You fucking missed me?”

Dean’s head pokes through the door, and there’s a small frown on his face. “Of course I-“

“Did you really miss me? Or are you just saying that when you secretly want me gone?”

He flinches. Dean visibly recoils, like you’ve stabbed him, and you’d feel worse about that if he hadn’t broken your heart into pieces with the blunt end of a gun and then fused you back together a little more his than before. A little more devoted—because at least he’d cared enough to pay you any mind—and a little angrier.

Dean says your name slowly, you hold your hand up, and his mouth shuts closed in a second.

“We’re going to fight, Dean.” You let out a slow breath, scanning over his face. “We’re going to fight, and then I’m going to leave.”

His eyes widen, something wild and panicked flashing behind them. “You’re-“

“I’m leaving with you. Or without you. But I,” you sigh, squeezing your eyes shut because you can’t look at him. He looks wounded and smaller than he should be, and he can’t do that. Not now. “I need to know, now. I need to know why you lied, and why you just made me stay in love with you-“

“I didn’t mean to.” He mutters, and his voice is soft, and you still won’t look at him. “I didn’t- You had to be safe-“

“I was safe-“

“Yeah, you were. But you wouldn’t have been, with me.”

Something’s passed to your hands, and it’s soft and warm. You risk one eye open to stare at the fluffy towel in your hands, and Dean’s still talking.

“You woulda had a target, people with me and Sammy always get targets, and they always end up dead. And I-“ He chokes on something, and you’re staring at his knees. You still feel like you’re seeing too much. “I couldn’t lose you. I don’t- I won’t lose you. I needed to protect you, and I wanted you to be happy-“

You scoff, glowing at his thighs. “That’s a lie. You always stopped me from moving on-“

“I know-“

“You don’t know, Dean!” You’re shouting at his stomach, strangling the towel in your hands. “You have no idea how- It hurt! It hurt all the time that you’d say you didn’t love me, and then you’d turn around and tell me nobody was good enough for me, and I- I was confused, and lost, and lonely-“

He says your name, and you shake your head at his chest.

“No! I would’ve been safe! I’m always safe with you-“

Dean’s laugh is dry and humorless. “That’s not-“

“It is. You-“ You choke on the air, and the base of his neck tenses. “I don’t trust just anyone, Dean, and I trusted you with my life, I loved you-“

“Loved?”

You stare at him, and he’s never been so still. Like he thinks that if he even breathes a little too loud, you’ll bolt.

And he looks pained.

You can feel it. In your own chest there’s a phantom of something clenching at your heart, and there’s a wired tension in your muscles that you’d grown used to over the past week.

He’s shivering a little. It’s humid in the motel room, and he’s dry, but Dean’s shivering.

And it’s a little hard to breathe.

“Love.” You whisper. “I love you. But it hurts, Dean. It really fucking hurts.”

He bows his head, and only mutters, “I- I had to protect you-“

He keeps repeating that, like it’s a mantra or prayer. Like he can make it real, if he just says it over and over until the words are only sounds.

“You didn’t need to protect me Dean, and you know it.” You sigh, rubbing your neck with a hand as Dean seems to curl into himself. “You were just afraid.”

He flinches again. “I-“

“But you are not a coward, Dean Winchester.” You force your voice to be a little stronger, your spine moving to stand slightly taller as you watch him. “You are an asshole, and a masochist, and self-sacrificing dick, and the best man I know.”

He glances up at you, swallowing slightly, and you push on.

“You’re clever, and resilient, and loyal, and caring. You’d give your life in a second for anyone, and you’d give your happiness for the people you love because you are an idiot who can’t see how it kills us. I did not fall in love with you against my will. I am a smart woman, and I chose you.” You narrow your eyes at him, taking a firm step closer. You can feel something charged and bright moving between your bodies, and you don’t know if it starts in him or you, but it’s all the same. Right now, it’s only you and Dean in the whole world. “I chose you because you are brave, so stop being a coward and be fucking happy, Dean.”

“I-“

“Tell me you’ll be happy.”

Dean stares at you. “I- I’ll be happy.”

He frowns at the words, as if they taste odd on his tongue.

You’ll have to work on that.

You nod. “Tell me you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry.” He almost lurches forward, like he’s physically stopping himself from reaching out to hold you. “I’m so goddamn sorry, and I’m never gonna-“

“Tell me you love me. But,” You stand a little taller, and this could break you. “Only if you really fucking mean it-“

“I love you.” The words are fast. Firm.

They jumpstart your every nerve at once, and you’re going to be okay.

“I’m in love with you,” Dean says your name, his hands fisted at his side. “I love you, and I’m sorry, and I’ll be happy, and just- Don’t leave. Don’t leave, please. I love you, goddamnit, so don’t-“

“You can say it all you want.” You swallow, keeping your gaze locked on his. “I want to see you do something.”

There’s a long moment where he just stares at you, but there’s no sickening worry in your body. You didn’t push him too far, you said everything you had to, and Dean might be drawing ragged breathes you can feel tighten around your own lungs—might just be standing there and watching you—but if he does nothing at all you’ll know. You’ll finally know in a way that you can trust, and you’ll be able to walk away and relearn how to move and think in a world where Dean really doesn’t want you-

He moves so fast. One second Dean’s staring at you with a drawn brow and flared nostrils, and the next he’s on you. Bent over your body, his hands molded and perfectly fit on your waist and jaw, his lips slammed over yours and pulling every part of your soul out through your mouth.

And every bit of doubt evaporates without any suffering or pain.

Because Dean cares.

And you can feel it.

It’s not just in how he kisses you, like he’s returned from war and you’ve been a crumpled picture in his pocket, his kiss bruising and searching all at once, as every bit of his adoration and desire and hope—there’s something that’s still delicate in this kiss, because his hands stay on your body like you might be set adrift once more and he’s fighting against all the tides and rocks to keep you at his side—sinks from Dean’s lip into yours.

It’s in the lingering sensations you can still feel between your bodies. It’s in how when your arms wrap around Dean’s neck and you return the kiss with every bit of wrathful and determined love you’ve ever held for the man before you, you can feel the rush of relief in his body.

He pulls you closer, and groans against your skin when you squirm in his hold. Dean presses kisses over your collarbone and sucks a line up your neck that makes you fold into him like putty, and when you scratch at his arms a prickle runs over your own skin.

You think Dean’s feeling it too. He grabs at your hair and tugs it back to bite and kiss at your throat, and his own body jerks slightly. He falls over you on the mattress, and makes a low grunt that matches the weight of him that’s

been dropped on your chest. You reach a hand between your bodies as he nips at your lower lip—palming and squeezing at his bulge, feeling yourself melt into the sheets at his low groan—and when he swats you away he replaces the loss with his knee, his thighs tensing in that brief moment where you’re aching without relief.

Dean rises over you, and furrowed expression on his face.

“Got makin’ up to do.” He mutters, his eyes so dark on yours it feeds something in your gut that had been flickering and humming into an inferno. And you could get lost in that darkness. They’d be warm. “I just- I’m takin’ care of it, sweetheart. You need to trust me-“

You push up to kiss him, cupping your hand around his head and keeping it short and gentle.

“I trust you.” You whisper against his lips, running your thumb over his cheekbone. “I’m staying. Just- I-“

You don’t have the words. For how if this is it, if he’s going to love you and hold you, he can’t drop you. You can’t do this just to be left stranded once more.

But you don’t need the words.

Because there’s still a little bit of you that is Dean, and he understands.

Dean lays you back on the bed, pulls his shirt over his head, and now you have nothing but time and care. His hands trace and map over your body as he strips you out of your wet clothing, and lingering cold from the rain vanishes as Dean starts to touch you.

Really, properly touch you.

Rough, calloused hands squeezing and pulling at your breasts and hot, full lips wrapping around your nipple, sucking and pulling it between his teeth with low groans that vibrate through your body. By the time he’s trailing down your stomach—sucking dark marks all over your skin that make your back arch off the bed and your knees spread in a silent plea for him to move further down—you’re tugging at his hair and gasping his name in need.

Then Dean dives right past where you’re dripping and rolling the sheets for him, kissing down your thighs and up to your ankle, switching legs and keeping you pressed to the mattress with one firm hand.

You can see his own need, pushing against his jeans. You can feel it, throbbing and pulsing in your core.

“Dean,“ You moan as he nips at your knee, slowing working his way back up to your center. “Shit, Dean, please-“

His mouth moves to your inner thigh, sucking another, almost possessive spot right near your core before hiking your legs over his shoulders, his breath warm over you pussy and his mouth so close-

“Dean-“

“That’s my name, baby.” He hums. “Get ready to scream it.”

The asshole winks at you, and you barely have time to glare at him before he dives into your cunt, and everything in your body lights on fire.

It’s infuriating how everything Dean does, he’s good at. How even eating pussy feels like something artful when it’s Dean doing it, and he’s working you like clay with only his mouth. Turning you into a writhing, moaning mess on the bed as he licks and sucks and bites and kisses, and his scruff is just long enough to burn on your thighs in the best way, and his hands are drawing pattern on your thighs in perfect rhythm with his movement between your clit and clenching pussy, humming and growling against you in harmony and pushing his tongue into you right as your hips buck off the bed-

When you start to grind and moan a weak warning of your release—barreling towards you like a tidal wave—Dean keeps you on the edge with teeth on your clit and teasing movement of his tongue for just too long. Just until you’re whining and squirming and trying push your cunt right into his face, and then he pulls your clit into his mouth and flicks his tongue over you in almost a frenzy, and you unravel.

You might be screaming his name. Your heart feels like it’s filled with helium and your body feels a little bigger as Dean presses one calming kiss over your clit and draws away—keeping at least one part of his body pressed to yours as he sheds the remainder of his clothes—and you think he might be proud.

You’ll let him have this. Just for tonight, when all he’s done is eaten you out and you feeling like you’re glowing, you’ll let Dean be pleased with himself.

He settles back over your body, his gaze locked to yours as he bumps against your inner thigh, and every breath feels important.

“I-“ Dean clears his throat, scanning over your face. “I, uh- You didn’t happen to bring protection-“

“I’m clean.” You whisper, your fingers curling on his chest. “And on the pill.”

He swallows, nodding slowly. “And you’re okay-“

“Yeah.”

“You’re sure-“

“Dean.” Your voice gets a little more solid, your eyes firm on his. “If you don’t want to, we won’t, but I’m more than-“

You yelp as Dean slams his mouth down to yours, kissing you into the mattress and swallowing your high sound as he pushes his cock right into you without resistance.

He pulls back to watch you as he bottoms out, reaching down to trace a small circle on your clit, and his hips jerk with a grunt.

The movement make him press right against your g-spot, Dean groans and rolls his hips, you whine and start to grind against him as your own pleasure crest and vaults, and you both freeze as you realize what’s happening.

Dean pressed his thumb flat on your clit, the movement slow and careful, and lets out a hiss through his teeth. Still staring at him, you purposefully clench around him, and stars cloud your vision as need pools deeper in your gut.

Something snaps.

And you’ve never been higher.

Every movement is doubled, and everything seems to only carry you higher. Dean begins to slam into you at a brutal pace that grows sloppier and sloppier the more you grind and writhing beneath him, squeezing his cock whenever he hits that spongey, needy part deep inside of you, the feeling of practical euphoria doubled and practically intoxicating.

At some point Dean rolls onto his back, never removing himself inside of you and never breaking his pace. Your nails scratch at his chest as you ride his dick, rubbing your clit over his chest and reaching a hand behind you to play with his balls as he guides you up and down with a tight grip on your hips-

Dean almost roars when you squeeze his balls with light fingers, and you would’ve fallen forward if he didn’t hold you up. One of Dean’s thumbs move to furiously rub at your clit, and you’re not sure who cums first.

All you know is that it’s all an almost infinite high as you fuck yourself on his cock through your orgasm, and Dean pushes up to suck at your tits as his release drips down your thighs.

You could’ve stayed here forever. Basking in the little, electric aftershocks of your shared orgasm, squeezing around Dean when he twitches inside of each other, watching each other with open looks of wonder because you might have just found a backdoor to heaven.

But eventually, Dean has to roll you onto your back press a kiss to your brow before shuffling to the bathroom. He returns with a wet washcloth that gets tossed to a corner of the room once he’s cleaned you up, and wastes no time settling his body back over yours with a low groan.

“Sammy’s gonna have a field day.” He mutters against your skin, and you giggle, letting your fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Been telling me for years to just talk to you.”

You hum. “You should’ve listened. Sam can be wise beyond his years sometimes.”

He snorts. “You’re supposed to be on my side-“

“I am.” You tilt your head to kiss his cheek, smiling against his scruff. “Just not for this.”

“Whatever.” Dean grumbles, and he’s clinging to you like you’re a teddy bear. “Long as he shuts his big mouth about it-“

“We could make out in the war room. When we get home. Just to fuck with him.”

There’s a long pause, and when Dean speaks again, he sounds a little breathless. You feel a little lightheaded.

“You’re my dream girl.”

“I know.” You smile at the ceiling. “Dean, can you still feel-“

“Yeah.” He pinches at your waist, as if testing that the aftereffects are still there. “Kinda hot, though.”

“You wanna keep making it up to me?” You hold his gaze as he pushes up on his elbows, raising his brows at you. “Sam doesn’t know where we are, you still have about four years of missed sex to catch up on, and it is storming outside-“

Dean grunts your name, and you give him your best innocent pout.

“You forgive me?”

“Yeah.” You whisper. “But I’d like a few more apologies, please.”

He raises his brows. “Am I ever gonna get to stop apologizing-“

“No.” You offer him a small smile. “But mostly just because your apologies are amazing.”

Dean rolls his eyes, you open your mouth to tell him that you have forgiven him—so if he really doesn’t want to keep having sex, he by no means has to—but you don’t have to.

He knows.

And based on the fervor with which he kisses you back into the mattress, he wants nothing more than to try and fuck you until you’re turned inside out, and he’s gotten that lingering bit of the curse inside of him to stick.

End Note: Rare Dean Winchester dealing with emotions, spotted in the wild! Thank you so much for reading!! Shoutout to the anon who requested a body swap series, huge W for that idea <3, this one's for you.

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