*°You Can Call Me Evil°*
Adam Stanheight x plus-sized reader
Warnings: blood, gore, saw things, Jon Kramer, Amanda Young, depictions of bullet wounds and blood, missing limbs, prosthetics, Stockholm syndrome, nipple sucking, PiV, depictions of male anatomy, depictions of female anatomy, sex.
Genre: horror, gore, smut, fluff, semi enemies to lovers, Stockholm syndrome.
The moment you enter the room itâs cold, sending goosebumps down your arms and shivers down your spine, it is impossibly dark, so much so you can barely see in front of yourself. But you can hear his desperate whimpers, long past screaming help me, he just sits there, chained to the wall somewhere in the room and crying. You reach out, searching the wall for the overhead light switch, which you find after a moment of struggle, they switch on with a buzzing noise and they are impossibly bright. He sees you immediately and begins to back up against the wall, almost like he is trying to shrink in on himself to get away from you.
âStay back!â You stop in your tracks at his panicked command, putting your hands up in a placating manner, âDonât worry Adam, I am not here to hurt you, I promise.â You speak quietly, taking a cautionary step forward, hoping to not scare him any further than he already is. âWho are you? How do you know my name?â He asks, still trying to move backwards, only to be stopped by the white stained tile wall behind him. âI will tell you, but first let me help you, okay?â
You take a few more steps forward until you stop right in front of him, you pull a bag off of your back and kneel down, pulling a few items out, water, antiseptic, bandages, and a hammer, which only proves to worry him further but you give him a reassuring look, hoping to calm him down even by a little bit.
You move back a bit and lift the hammer above your head, initially he shrieks, begging you not to hurt him, that is until you use the hammer to break the lock holding the chain around his ankle in place. It comes apart with a lot of effort on your part, shattering into two or three different pieces onto the tiled floor. He immediately puts down his hands which were covering his face and head, looking at the now broken lock and for the first time in days he feels something other than helplessness and fear, hope.
You toss the hammer to the side, it clatters against the ground loudly, something you both flinch at, but you move on, knowing you have to move fast before John gets back and sees you defying his orders. âClean up the loose end.â He had told you, which meant he wanted you to kill Adam, to âtie up the loose endsâ, everything in you told you to obey himâŠ.but you couldnât. So here you are, uncapping a water bottle and holding it up to Adamâs mouth, which he gratefully takes, gulping it down in just a few sips, which would have made you giggle had the circumstances been different.
Next you bring your hands forward, slowly and gently and lift his shirt, something that despite the situation, makes him blush. You wince at the bullet wound in his shoulder, it is still partially bleeding and red and inflamed around the wound, with any luck it is only a mild infection and has not set deep into his skin tissue. You reach for the antiseptic, it's in a clear condiment bottle of some kind, the only thing you had on hand when packing your bag. âThis is going to sting a bit.â
You warn before you take the bottle and begin pouring it onto his bullet wound, he immediately howls in pain, a loud shriek, one that makes you reach out and cover his mouth with your free hand, a hand that he can't help but notice feels almostâŠplastic, It is then when he realizes where he had seen you, you had been on the news, a survivor of one of the infamous âsaw trapsâ, you had lost your hand, back the on the news it was still wrapped and bandaged, now it was replaced with a prosthetic. This revelation only proves to draw up more questions in Adamâs mind, why were you here and most importantly why were you helping him, His head was reeling so much he hadnât even noticed you had bandaged his wound and were now trying to help him off of the floor.
âCome on, we have to get out of here before John comes back.â John? He doesnât even have time to ask a question before youâre pulling him up with a strength that surprises him, you let him lean on you as you begin walking out of the building together. It is winding corridors and dark rooms before you finally find yourselves outside, walking up to your car, a grey 1999 Toyota Celica, nothing special but it gets you from place to place,
The minute he hits the backseats his eyelids feel heavy, he doesnât know if it the previous blood loss, or his exhaustion finally kicking in, but it weighs heavily on him and then he is asleep on your stained back seats. He doesnât wake up until nearly ten hours later, he almost thinks the rescue was just some fever dream from the infection, that is until he feels softness beneath him and a cool rag on his forehead.
Then he hears itâsoft humming from the kitchen.
He lifts the cloth, eyes adjusting slowly as he sits up. His shoulder throbs but itâs been wrapped neatly, the pain dulled by somethingâpainkillers maybe? He follows the sound, dragging himself toward the narrow doorway, blinking blearily.
Youâre standing at the stove, back turned to him, stirring something in a battered old pot. Youâre in a hoodie now, sleeves pushed up. Your prosthetic hand clinks faintly as it brushes the side of the pot. You havenât noticed him yet.
âHey,â Adam croaks, voice raw from disuse. You flinch, nearly dropping the ladle, and spin around. But instead of fear or guilt in your expression, thereâs relief.
âYouâre awake,â you say softly, walking toward him. âHow are you feeling?â
âTired,â he mutters, eyes narrowing. âConfused. And, uh⊠alive, I guess. So thatâs something.â
You smile faintly. âYeah⊠it is.â
He watches you, unease settling in. âWhere are we?â
âMy apartment. Itâs safe, for now.â
He notices something thenâon a nearby table, slightly tucked beneath a newspaper: a red spiral drawn on a scrap of paper. His stomach turns.
He walks over to it, hand trembling as he lifts it. âWhat the hell is this?â
âDonât freak out,â you say quickly, stepping closer.
His heart starts racing. âIs this Jigsawâs symbol?â he snaps. âWhy is it here? Why do you have it?â
You sigh, gently setting the ladle down, rubbing your temple with your good hand. âBecause I used to work with him.â
The words hit like a punch.
âI was like Amanda,â you continue, eyes pleading. âI survived a trap. I⊠I was weak. I thought I deserved it. And when I survived, he offered me a way outâtold me I had a purpose. That I could help people see the truth. For a while, I believed him.â
Adam is backing away slowly now, anger boiling beneath his skin. âSo what, you kidnapped people? Watched them die?â
âI didnât want to!â you shout, breath catching. âI never wanted this! But once you're in, thereâs no walking away. The minute you hesitate, he turns on you. That's what happened last night. He told me to kill you. âClean up the loose end.â But I couldnât. I couldnât let him win again.â
He stares, jaw clenched. âSo what now? You just expect me to trust you? After everything? Youâre just like him, a monster.â At that declaration you snap, throwing the wooden cooking spoon to the side, âDonât say that! I am NOTHING like him, he is the worst society has to offer, he is truly a monster. I was told to kill you and I didnât, I saved you, despite every bone in my body I have left telling me not to, that it will only cause John to come after me. Call me evil all you want, but I am nothing like John Kramer.â
Adam flinches at your outburst, eyes wide, lips parting like heâs about to argue backâbut the fury in your voice silences him. For a moment, the room is dead quiet except for the low bubbling of whateverâs on the stove and the distant hum of traffic beyond the apartmentâs grimy window.
Youâre shaking, fists clenched at your sides, breathing hard like the words physically tore out of you. You turn your back to him, trying to collect yourself, but your shoulders trembleânot from anger now, but something deeper. Guilt. Fear. Exhaustion.
âI didnât ask for this,â you mutter. âI didnât ask to be part of his games. I didnât want to help him. But when youâre broken and desperate, and someone offers you a reason to keep breathing⊠you take it. Even if itâs wrong.â
Adam swallows thickly, his initial rage dulling into something more conflicted. He looks down at the spiral symbol still crumpled in his hand, then back at you.
âWhy me?â he asks quietly. âWhy save me?â
You let out a bitter breath and glance over your shoulder.
âBecause I saw myself in you,â you admit. âAlone. Terrified. Forgotten. I knew what John was going to do to you. And I couldnât let it happen againânot to someone who didnât deserve it.â
Adam lets the paper fall from his fingers.
âI donât know if I can forgive you,â he says, not unkindly, but honest. âBut⊠I donât think I want to see you dead either.â
You nod, as if thatâs the best you could hope for. âThatâs fair.â
He sits slowly on the arm of the couch, cradling his bandaged shoulder.
It had been four days since you rescued Adam from the bathroomâthe rot-stained tomb that had almost become his grave.
In that time, your small apartment had transformed into something of a sanctuary. The kind that wasnât perfectâpeeling walls, creaky floors, constant hum of a fridge that sounded like it might die at any momentâbut still⊠safe. Quiet.
And for Adam, safety felt foreign.
He hadnât trusted you, not at first. Even now, he still woke in the middle of the night, heart pounding, expecting chains around his ankle or John Kramerâs rasping voice echoing from the shadows. But every time, it was your voice he heard instead. Soft. Calm. Real.
Now, as he sat curled on the edge of your lumpy couch, a throw blanket draped over his legs, he watched you move around the kitchen like it was the most natural thing in the world. You were humming something under your breath again, that same faint, nameless tune you always fell back on when your hands were busy.
You were always doing somethingâboiling tea, fussing over his bandages, writing in that little black journal you never let him see.
He shouldnât have started to care.
He shouldnât be looking at you the way he did now.
But over the last few days⊠he had.
The anger hadnât vanished, not completely. But it had dulled, replaced by a quiet confusion every time you sat beside him, every time your prosthetic hand brushed his arm and he didnât flinch. Every time you looked at him like he wasnât broken.
âStaringâs free, yâknow,â you said suddenly, glancing at him with a smirk over your shoulder. âBut itâs polite to say something.â
He startled, then laughed despite himself. âYou always know when Iâm watching you?â
âI was in survival mode for three years,â you said, turning back to the stove. âYou learn to feel eyes on you.â
A pause settled between you. Comfortable, almost.
âHowâs the shoulder?â you asked, softer now.
He moved it experimentally, rolling it in its sling. âTight. Still sore. But better.â
You nodded once. âGood. Youâre healing faster than I expected.â
He rose slowly from the couch and crossed to the kitchen, leaning against the counter beside you. Closer than he usually stood. You noticed itâhe saw the flicker in your eyesâbut you didnât step away.
âIâve been thinking,â he said, voice low. âAbout what you told me. About John. About⊠why you saved me.â
You didnât say anything, but your stirring slowed.
âI wanted to hate you,â he went on. âYou know that, right? I wanted to scream at you, accuse you, run. But I didnât. I havenât.â
Finally, you turned, brows lifted but cautious. âWhy not?â
Adam stared at you for a long beat. He could lie. Pretend it was the painkillers. The Stockholm Syndrome. The trauma bonding. But deep down, he knew better.
âI donât know when it happened,â he admitted. âBut somewhere between the tea, and the bandages, and that awful humming of yoursââ
ââI started feeling safer around you than Iâve ever felt in my whole damn life.â
âI know who you were,â he said. âBut I also know what you didnât do. You didnât kill me. You didnât lie to me. You stayed.â
He stepped even closer, close enough now that you could feel the heat off his skin. âI donât think youâre a monster. I think youâre someone who survived hell and came out with enough of your soul left to help someone else survive it too.â
You looked up at him then, eyes glassy and wide.
âI donât know what this is,â he whispered. âBut I know I want to find out.â
For a second, you said nothingâyour face unreadable.
And then he kissed you. .
It was hesitant, almost frightenedâlike if either of you acknowledged the spark between you, it might burn everything down. But he didnât pull away. He leaned in, breathing against your mouth, letting the warmth seep in like the first rays of sun after a long winter.
When you parted, your voice trembled. âYou really mean that?â
Adam nodded, resting his forehead against yours. âYeah. I do.â
You nodded once, so slight he mightâve missed it if he hadnât been so close.
Then you reached upâyour good hand curling gently around the back of his neckâand pulled him back down to kiss you again. Slower this time. More certain. Like you were giving him permission. Like you needed this just as badly as he did.
The second kiss deepened, your bodies drawing closer like theyâd been trying to all along. For a moment, neither of you were survivors. You werenât victims or test subjects or ghosts clawing your way out of trauma. You were just two people clinging to somethingâsomeoneâreal.
When you finally pulled back, your breath mingled in the narrow space between you.
âYou sure youâre not just drunk on antibiotics?â you asked, voice low but teasing.
Adam smiled. âIf I was, I think Iâd still want to kiss you.â
You huffed a laugh, your expression softening.
âCâmon,â you said, slipping your hand into his. âYou shouldnât be on your feet this long.â
You led him gently to your bedroom. He didnât protest. The couch was fine, but it always left him aching. Here, at least, the mattress gave under his weight as he sat, watching as you moved around, shutting off lights, checking the front door lock like always.
âI can take the floor,â you offered. âOr the couch, if youâd rather be alone.â
âNo,â he said quicklyâtoo quickly. âI mean⊠stay.â
Your brows lifted slightly.
âI sleep better when youâre there,â Adam added, quieter now. âWhen I know youâre close.â
You nodded once, then crossed the room, slipping beneath the covers beside him. He turned slightly to face you, careful of his shoulder, and you reached out instinctively, resting your hand lightly over his chestâsteady, warm.
You kiss him again, more sure this time. His eyes flutter shut as your lips press against his, your bodies shifting closer on the soft mattress as you both lose yourselves in the kiss. He reaches out, his hands finding their way to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. Your good hand moves up from his chest to his jaw, tilting his chin to deepen the kiss. You can feel his tongue prod at the seam of your lips, begging for entry, which you grant him as his tongue enters your waiting mouth.
His tongue delves deeper as he explores your mouth with a mix of hunger and need, his grip on your waist tightening as he pulls you impossibly closer. His body is a furnace against yours, heat radiating from every point of contact. He shifts again, maneuvering you onto your back as his body covers yours, his knee slipping between your legs.
He breaks the kiss momentarily, both of you gasping for air in the dark. His lips move to your neck, trailing kisses and soft bites along the sensitive skin there. You arch in response, a small sound catching in your throat as his mouth finds the spot just below your ear, his teeth grazing your earlobe.
His hand slips beneath your shirt, calloused fingers dancing across your stomach as he slowly begins to push the fabric up, his touch burning against your bare skin. His mouth follows suit, trailing kisses down your jawline and to your collarbone, where he lingers, nipping and sucking at the sensitive flesh until he leaves a mark there.
He can feel the rapid rise and fall of your chest beneath his touch, the quickened thump of your heartbeat in time with his own. He lifts his head, meeting your gaze in the low light, his eyes dark with a mixture of desire and something deeper.
His hand continues its ascent underneath your shirt, his palm flattening against your rib cage, his thumb tracing small circles on your skin. "Is this, okay?" he murmurs, his voice raspier than usual.
You can only nod in response; your words lost in the haze of sensations he's awakening in you. His touch is so gentle yet possessive, igniting a fire deep inside you that only he seems to be able to stoke. As his hand moves up further, tracing the underside of your breast, you arch against him, a soft moan escaping your lips.
His touch becomes more assured as he squeezes your breast, rolling your nipple underneath his calloused thumb. You arch into his touch, head falling back against the pillows as his fingers find your nipple, rolling and teasing the sensitive bud until it hardens under his ministrations. His other hand is busy tugging your shirt up and over your head, breaking contact for only a moment before his lips are back on your skin, trailing hot kisses down your chest.
Adam's mouth closes around one nipple, his tongue flicking out to circle it before drawing it between his lips and sucking. The sensation sends sparks of pleasure straight to your core and you gasp, hands flying to his hair, gripping the short strands. His teeth graze the sensitive peak, and you cry out, hips bucking up against him instinctively.
"You're so responsive," he murmurs against your skin, switching to your other breast, giving it the same treatment until you're writhing beneath him. "I love watching you come undone."
His hand trails down your stomach, popping the button on your jeans before slowly lowering the zipper. His fingers slip beneath the waistband of your panties, teasing through the coarse hair there before finding your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that have you seeing stars.
"Oh god," you whimper, head thrashing on the pillow. "Adam, please..."
He chuckles darkly, the vibrations rumbling through you. "Please what, baby? Tell me what you need."
"I need you," you manage to gasp out, eyes fluttering open to meet his heated gaze. "Inside me. Now."
Adam doesn't hesitate, stripping off your jeans and panties in record time before climbing out of his own pants. You take a moment to appreciate the sight of him, all lean muscle and tan skin, before he's back on top of you, settling between your thighs.
He notches the head of his cock at your entrance, pausing to look into your eyes. "I want to make you feel good," he whispers, leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. "I want to worship this body of yours until you're screaming my name."
With that, he surges forward, sheathing himself fully inside you in one smooth thrust. You both moan at the sensation, your inner walls clenching around him. He starts to move, setting a deep, slow rhythm that has you arching into him with each thrust.
"Yes, just like that," you pant, nails raking down his back. "Harder, Adam. I can take it."
He complies eagerly, snapping his hips forward and burying himself to the hilt. The new angle has him hitting that perfect spot inside you and you cry out, legs coming up to wrap around his waist. He sets a brutal pace then, skin slapping against skin as he pounds into you.
Pressure begins to build low in your belly, winding tighter and tighter with each thrust. You can feel Adam getting close too, his rhythm faltering slightly as he chases his release. He leans down, capturing one of your nipples between his teeth and biting down just hard enough to make you see white.
"Come for me," he demands, hand snaking between your bodies to find your clit. "I want to feel you fall apart on my cock."
A few more flicks of his fingers is all it takes and you're flying apart with a scream, your inner muscles clamping down around him like a vice. Adam follows right behind you with a hoarse shout, hips stuttering as he fills you with his seed.
They collapse together in a sweaty heap, both panting heavily as they come down from their high. Adam presses tender kisses along your jawline, murmuring soft praises into your skin.
"That was... wow," you manage to gasp out, running your fingers through his damp hair.
Adam just hums in agreement, shifting to the side so he's not crushing you but keeping you pressed close to his chest. "Stay with me tonight?" he asks quietly.
You nod against him, nuzzling into his neck. "I thought you'd never ask."
You drift off like that, twined together in a tangle of limbs, both content and safe in each other's arms.
