DAYDREAM: FOREVER BE MINE
Summary: You visit your boyfriend and get invited to his mentor's compound. You begin to question reality; the only thing you know for certain is Cameron. AU! Cameron Cade x Fem! Reader.
Warnings/AN: bit of a horror piece. canonical violence, smut, oral, p in v, rough sex, creepiness. The limited plot is basically an excuse for smut. Dark! Characters.
You stand, frozen with tension as you wait behind the ornate wall divider of the hotel room. Bare feet shivering against the cool floor. You slide, silent, eyeing the hotel’s balcony from where you are. The sounds of him entering the room are everything you hear–the heat of your phone in the side pocket of your dress is a push forward. When you hear his sigh, heavy and deep, you take it as a sign.
From beyond the wall divider, you jump out and yell.
Cameron leaps, almost hitting the bedside table. His hand goes to his chest as he shakes his head, looking at you softly. “What the fuck, Honey?”
You giggle, lifting the box you’d packed filled with his favourite things and gifts you’d been saving up on your Media Internship pay. Cameron sits at the edge of his bed, looking up at you with his deep blues, which look darker in the shadows of the amber lamplight of the hotel. The smile that had spread across his lips widens as he takes you in. It had been weeks since you last saw each other, so now, you couldn’t wait to spend some time with him.
Cameron takes the box, setting it aside before pulling you down to his lap. He kisses you, slow, tongue and lips seeking comfort in your mouth. His hands sprawl against your hips, fists opening and closing, gripping and lifting the polyester material of the dress you’d worn on your drive over. He pulls back, and neither of you mean to do the next thing, but both yawn into each other’s mouths. The two of you jolt apart, eyes wide into each other, before falling back into the bed laughing.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” he says, laughing, burying his nose in your hair. You laugh into his chest, inhaling the musk of the Gucci perfume you’d bought him for Christmas.
“It’s okay. I’m super tired too.” While you weren’t at training camp for the past few weeks like him, you’d just started your Master’s degree and were juggling three jobs to manage loan repayments and personal upkeep. Not that Cameron knew, he’d been under the assumption that you were on scholarship and that your parents were still paying for your apartment and upkeep. As far as he was concerned, your freelancing and Internship were all for resume-building.
Cameron strokes your arm and tells you about his new team – the excitement of signing his contract and his success bleeding through his voice. You admired and loved his dedication to his career, the sacrifices he’d made to get to where he is. How could you go to him now and complain about the sacrifices you had to make for your own dreams? That wasn’t fair. That wasn’t the partner you wanted to be for him. It wasn’t that Cameron demanded anything of you. In fact, he kept saying how you didn’t have to do your Master’s if you didn’t want to. That he had sacrificed enough for both of you, he’d insisted on taking care of you.
But you’d felt guilty about it. A feeling you’d been trying to get over back when you could’ve afforded the $200 an hour for a therapist. You’d made progress, though; you’ve let him take over all your utilities. That was something. Right?
Hours later, you awake in the dark, with your silk bonnet on your head and your face dry of product. You ran your hand over the front of your body, the feel of a too-big t-shirt on your skin. Warmth filled you at the knowledge that Cameron had taken care of you, but guilt at the fact that your first night reunited was not as sexy as you’d wanted it to be. You slither out of his hold and tiptoe to the bathroom. Rubbing your face, you stretch your worn limbs to the ceiling and breathe slowly. Fully. When you’re finished, you flick the light back on and wash your face with a dollop of Cervae. When you raise your head and look into the mirror, you leap almost a foot into the air at the shadowy figure of Cameron standing at the doorway, boring into you with intensity.
“Jesus, Cam.” You curse, snatching the small towel from the hook to dab your face. You throw the towel at him. “That’s not fucking funny.”
He doesn’t say anything, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed and looking down at you. You stare back at him for a moment. Then it blossoms into a minute. Then ten. You shiver before turning to the side, facing the shower. You pull the t-shirt off, not surprised to be naked beneath it. You take a hanging shower cap, something Cameron always keeps in his hotel rooms in case you come by, and carefully tuck the inches of silk-pressed hair inside.
There is a chill down your spine as you turn on the water. Feeling his gaze on your skin. Not in the usual appreciative way, but in a colder, distant gaze. Your hand trembles as you set the water to warm, palm out to feel the change of the droplets from cold to warm. You glance over at him. Still there, unblinking. You step in, closing the sliding door – but his hand shoots out to stop you. Cameron pushes the door open, and the gaze that made your skin crawl ebbs away into his usual hunger when he looks at your naked form. You relax. It must have all been in your head. Right?
“You know, there’s a drought right now.” He tosses out, slowly sliding out his sweatpants. “We need to conserve water.”
“Uh-huh,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “I could’ve sworn it rained yesterday here.”
Cameron huffs, kicking his pants to the side and throwing his socks off, “Fake news.”
You smile, back hitting the tile, and he crowds you. Your joke falls flat, “God damn, CNN.”
With some rest on you, you feel the press of his lips and the searching push of his tongue. His hand rested at the base of your neck, thumb and index forming a V and applying the softest of pressure as he kissed you. You wrap an arm around his neck, fingers scratching the scalp made available from his buzzcut. The other, you feel his chest, abs – the muscles rippling under your gentle touch. You taste the intake of his breath; a hushed, harsh thing between the two pairs of lips. Cameron pulls away, then crashes back in, taking and taking. His hand leaves your throat and goes to your waist, gripping the dip between the fat of your hips and the slender curve of your waist. In this way, he covers the water from getting to you. He stops it from purifying you of filth.
Cameron lifts you against the shower wall. The slap of your back to it only stings for a moment until he’s kissing you again. Hungry. Sloppy. Your hand goes between the two of you, you grasp the base of his stiff dick, hand tight as you give it a stroke.
His lips pull away, hoarse, he whispers in your ear, “Spit on it.”
Never one for obedience, you dip your fingers inside yourself, coating them before returning to his dick. Covering it in your own essence as you tugged him. Cameron flattered, for a moment, looking down as you rubbed him from base to mushroom tip, tight around the nestle of curls before using his own leaking fluids to coat it all over again.
“Put me in,” he murmurs, kissing your neck. “I know you miss this dick, baby.”
You shiver, guiding his tip into the velvet moisture between your legs – trembling as he groans. “Agh!” you yell, startled as your hand falls away and he goes to the hilt within you. You throw your head back, the hand not gripping his muscular shoulder, making sure your shower cap doesn’t slide off.
Cameron is thick and long as he piles into you, his hands moving quickly to your round buttocks to grip, to touch, possessing. His groans resonate deep within your belly, making your toes curl as he stamps his mark – as if you could ever forget.
“You’re being so good for me, baby,” he mutters, dick hitting deep within, making you almost cry. “Look how you look at me. Pussy is as good as ever. Rub your clit for me, baby. Yes, yes – just like that. You want me to make this pussy come? C’mon, baby. Baby. Baby.”
“Cam,” you whisper, releasing his shoulder and rubbing your clit. Your arms feel weak, but you don’t need to be strong right now. Cameron balances you against the wall of the tile, using it to drive into you at this punishing pace that sends delicious desire all through you – your fingers can’t compare to the good wellness of thorough fucking. You wrap your legs at the ankle, pulling him closer. You want to melt together. You want to become a mutated oneness, one thing in the heat of lovemaking.
His dick goes deep into the shallow, pulling until only the head remains, then sheathing himself completely until his pubic hair grounds against your working fingers. Cameron’s mouth finds your own tongue sliding over your own, then pulling away to suckle at your skin. Biting your skin, nipping, then kissing.
You whimper, feeling the rise of your impending collapse. “Cam, Cam, C-Cam!”
He snarls, mean-looking as he continues. Blue eyes, black in your desire-blurred vision. Even when your hand falls in your peak, he releases one of your butt cheeks, to continue, pressing circles into your overworked clit. It's pain seeking wonderful pleasure against your weeping. The thrust of his hips builds into something more hurtful. Cameron's moans grow in decibels, trembling inside and around you. He whimpers, as if in pain. “Gimme one more, baby.”
You shake your head, but you’re already building up to a second, quick pulse of overwhelming pleasure. Cameron whispers, doing short, deep slams into you. “Fuck.”
He presses you against the wall, impossible to be separate as he jerks against and into you. His own release is a warm, overflowing thing into you. You blink, looking at his face that is already staring into you, eyes brighter than cornflower blossoms.
You kiss him and try to ignore the pit forming in your stomach.
“You’re going to love it, Honey,” he says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as the two of you enter the hotel’s elevator. His mentor had invited the two of you over for some drinks, sent a car and all. Isaiah White had retired over a year ago, and since then, Cameron had seemingly taken over as the star player of the ‘Saviours’. You didn’t pay much attention to football, but you’d never missed a game your boyfriend played.
Cameron is dressed, head-to-toe, in expensive brands. More gold than you’d ever seen on anyone but him was draping all around him like it was something casual. He’d bought you diamonds – and even a minidress. When you ask him how he knew to have this prepared for you, he smiles. “I just had a gut feeling.”
Your gut was telling you to run. But you stifled the feeling and slid into the backseat of the Escalade, warm as Cameron presses himself against you. You look at him, in the dark, and he looks like a stranger. “I missed you,” he says, and you shiver as his mouth covers your own.
“I miss you too,” you say, cause it's true. You miss Cameron. This person, changed by fame, differs from the man you adored. But in these moments, you see them as one. You tried to vanish this feeling of thinking him different and reconnect with the fact that people were allowed to change, everything changes. This does not make them less or more. You kiss him again, hand sliding up his soft sweater to the smooth, bare skin.
Cameron hums, dropping his hands to your shoulders. From the deep cut of the dress’s bosom, he feels the braless softness of your breast. Long fingers tweak your nipple, tugging it and pinching, rolling it between the digits. He was so easy to set off these days; a touch and his greed sent him wanting you. You tried to blame the distance, the time apart, but this feels like a kind of desperate want. Cameron pulls you to his lap, rising his hips to grind against yours, desperate as he seeks release. The car jerks, stopping abruptly and almost sending you flying if not for his grip on you.
Cameron curses, setting you aside and rapping the roof of the car. “What the fuck was that man? Do your fucking job!”
“I’m sorry!” the driver responds. “A deer came out of nowhere.”
Cameron exits the car, and so does the driver. You roll the window down slightly and peer out into the dark. Cameron towers over the guy – pointing at him and squaring himself above him. The driver nods, obviously terrified. You feel cold.
Cameron shoves the guy, almost sending him off-balance. The man falls and raises a hand. You grab the door to go outside, but stop when his face turns to you, staring into your eyes. He mouths at you, Close the door.
Three minutes later, Cameron climbs into the car. Then the driver. In the reflection of the rearview as he looks back at you, he smiles with a swollen eye before returning his gaze to the road and revving the vehicle.
“Why are you so far away?” he says, reaching for you.
You shake your head, turning your face to the window. “What the fuck was that, Cam?”
“Oh, baby,” he whispers, gentle as he pulls you on top of him. He kisses the back of your neck and the curve of your shoulder. “That’s nothing. It’s just how things are done.”
Isaiah White’s home is a monument. When his wife, Elsie, opens the door, it in a glittery dress, and you try to stifle the pressure building in your stomach.
Run, your very bones seem to whisper. But you step forward and shake her hand. Isaiah comes after, a handsome older man whom you’d met a few times, but never his wife. They move in sync, but still – there is a distance between them. A chill.
Elsie hooks her arm with your own, guiding you away from Cameron. “Let’s let the boys talk shop. Let me give you a tour.”
You turn and see Cameron and Isaiah standing beside each other, Isaiah’s back turned while explaining something on the wall – Cameron’s eyes are on you, though. Intense. Burning. The mammoth size of the home dwarfs you. Your childhood house could fit here, ten times over. Your YSL heels burn your feet by the time Elsie leads you to the pinnacle of the tour. At least, in her opinion.
She has her own ‘quarters’ in the house. The space in which she dresses is about the size of your two-bed apartment. There are hanging garments that could pay off your student loans, and standing here makes you sick at the excess – the decadence.
Elsie mistakes your concentration on a Balenciaga gown as admiration, resting her slender hand on your upper arm, “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” you lie. Gaze turning to a mirror nearby. Elsie has an ethereal look about her. An uncanniness. You feel mortal, petty, and small beside her. You turn your gaze, ready to leave, when you hear a ripping sound and feel a rip in the material of your dress. In horror, you turn your back to the mirror and see the dress ruined.
“Oh, no.” Elsie says, “My bracelet must have gotten caught in it. Don’t worry, I’ve got something you can wear in here.”
Shame burns you. You step out of the ruined dress and watch as Elsie disappears into the dark caverns between the many aisles of her clothing. She brings something out. Something linen and flowy. “It’s quite big on me, maybe snug for you with those hips and breasts.”
“Oh, okay,” you say, you hold the white dress up, and it falls to your feet. It looks thin, guazy, but feels expensive. She helps you put it on, her hands lingering over you as she hums and mutters strange words to herself. When the dress is finally on, you are startled by how you look in the mirror. The diamonds Cam had given you earlier sparkle in the light. Your thong is a hint beneath the semi-sheer material, and each curve of your body is dipped and highlighted beneath the linen. You look like a bacchnal goddess, a deity of excess and sin. Elsie appears behind you, with black-eyes and hands upon your body.
Dinner is held beneath the desert sky. Waiters stand by a buffet of plenty, Cameron and Isaiah sit at a long table, at two different ends. Cameron looks up, standing as you step down into the courtyard. He captures your hand, kissing the ringed knuckles. “You look amazing, baby.”
Isaiah smirks. Folding his arms as Elsie stands beside him. “How are you finding the city?”
“It’s beautiful,” you say, feeling cold. “Your home is lovely too.”
“Look at her,” he says, eyes on Cameron and not you. “All mannerly. All trained. Are you going to be staying with him?”
“For the weekend. I have a job to get back to on Monday.”
“A job?” he says to you, by the way, looking at Cameron. “You not handling that, youngblood?”
“I like her independence.” He says, hard.
No one else speaks for the remainder of the meal. Not when served, not until the dessert plates are taken away.
Isaiah breaks the silence. “Why don’t you guys stay the night? Late as hell to ride back in the night.”
“Sure,” Cameron says before you can protest. “We’re beat. Gonna turn in early.”
Isaiah smirks. “Beat? Well, try not to beat that pussy too much, you gotta tighten up that game. You guys barely won last time.”
“It was a ten-point gap.”
The tension bleeds into the red wine of your glass. You set it down and take his hand, feeling him soften as your thumb rubs his own. Cameron looks at you and nods. “We’ll head in now.”
Isaiah raises his glass and gestures for one of the helpers to show you guys your room. It’s not far from the courtyard, just a few well-calculated turns. The room is grander than any hotel you’ve ever been to. There are sleeping clothes on the bed, toothbrushes and a silk wrap for your hair. You take a seat at the edge of the King-sized bed, dragging yourself up and resting on your elbows. You eye the ceiling and look back at him.
Cameron is locking the door and already removing his jewellery. When he gets to his chain, you stop him. “Keep that on.”
He removes his sweater and slowly removes his pants and briefs. You touch the clasps of the dress, prepared to remove them. “No,” he growls. “Keep that on, take the panties off.”
You obey, sliding the thong off and hiking the skirt of the dress up to reveal yourself to him. The turgid member bounces as he walks up to you; you shiver in anticipation of being filled, but are not disappointed as he drops to his knees and plants his mouth on you.
Your hand cups the back of his head, rising and grinding against his mouth as his lips smack and tongue licks. His thumb presses and circles your clit, nose nozzling as he licks and kisses, mouth wide open against you.
Cameron feasts. He’s greedy between your legs, relentless as he demolishes your senses and leads you close, then pulls back, pushing, pulling, tugging, rolling until you scream into the space of the room, dark spots dotting your gaze as you grow weak.
He stands up, mouth wet, tongue cleaning your fluids. His thumb trails over the nub and lips, sinking inside you, whirling in slow, circular motions.
“You look like a goddess, Honey,” he says with veneration. Cameron pulls you until your ass hangs off the bed, removing his thumb from your wetness and replacing it with his dick in one swift thrust that makes you howl.
He hooks your legs, keeping them wide as he moves his hips. You cup your breasts, pinching your hardened nipples between your fingers. The diamonds are brushing against your tender skin as you rub them through the sheer.
Cameron leers at you, staring with unabashed want and hunger. So very hungry. He ducks his head, capturing your fingers and nipple into his mouth, the diamond clashing against his teeth as he bites on your nipple, tongue flat and lips suckling it all.
When his head raises, he grins at you – in the light, clouded by utter pleasure, you see diamonds in his teeth, but it's gone in a moment. He kisses you and keeps fucking you so hard you claw at his back to race against the mounting pressure. You try to close your legs, but he keeps them open, fucking you without reprieve. In, out, deep, deeper, hard, harder. He pistons into you until his gait falters a little.
You whimper at the change, but his hand relinquishes a thigh to add pressure to your clit. He stops moving, just presses full into you. The width and weight, heavy and burning, as he chases an orgasm with his thumb. You shiver, eyes rolling back as you cum. While you scream, he releases and starts again, letting go of your thigh and simply crowding you, humping into you like a feverish beast, violent and hot.
Through tears, you feel him stop and pull out, dick no longer plugging the thick cum that drops onto the expensive dress. Cameron tries to tuck it back in with his thumb, smearing it all over your pussy.
“Turn over,” he says, crawling off of you.
You shake your head, kissing him and flipping him onto his back. “Let me make you feel good.”
He bites his lip and nods.
You turn yourself around, backing him as you lower yourself to his hard dick. There’s a mirror facing you that you had not seen before. In its reflection, you are ruined. You are desire personified. You are divine. You lean forward and grab his ankles and start to slowly ride him. Your hips move back and forth, then up and down.
Behind you, his hands molest your moving cheeks – groping and smacking them, muttering dirty, dirty things.
“You like this pussy, Papa,” you whisper at him, looking back to see his concentrated face. “You make me feel so full, this big, fat dick.”
He raises his hips, in an attempt to make you lose balance, but you keep him still – squeezing your walls around him and slamming your ass down. “Fuck.” you hear him curse, big hands on your hips, begging for you to go faster.
You turn back to the mirror and freeze. At the door of the room is Cameron, not the one beneath and inside you, a separate one. He appears darker – face shadowed by an unnatural growl. He is covered in blood and diamonds. You scream. The Cameron below you doesn’t understand and mistakes it for you wanting to switch, he turns you onto your belly and presses a hand onto your head, fucking you into the mattress. Dick pistoning and hips slapping against the meat of your round ass, whispering how good your pussy was, how tight, how warm, how he could die surrounded by you.
Your eyes don’t leave this other Cameron.
Not when your Cameron cums deep inside you and smacks your ass sore; how good you are, how perfect his lady is, how he knows you want more, how you feel best filled with his cum. Not when your orgasm makes you shiver and scream Cameron’s name and your hips move to reach his own, craving more of him always, as the bloodied one grins. Not when he massages your breasts and thrusts anew until both of you reach your heights.
You stare until the bloodied Cameron disappears into the closed door, like some terrible apparition.
You’re alone. But there’s a note at the bedside, in Cameron’s scrawl – gone to train, be back by 5. Rubbing your face, you look around the room, empty and cold. The night runs through your mind, and it doesn’t take much for you to make your next decision. You were getting the fuck out of there. Getting up, your head spins when you get up too fast. That didn’t make sense; you’d only drunk one glass of wine and a shot of Bailey’s.
Holding your head, you try to stand upright for even a moment. Straightening, you dizzily walk to the connected bathroom – throw some water onto your face and drink some. The water eases some of the spinning, and you don’t even bother looking into the mirror. You pack whatever things you’d brought with you – your purse, your panties, your phone. You pack whatever belongs to Cameron as well; his phone is notably missing, determined that both of you will leave.
Dialling Cameron’s number, you bite your nails as it rings and rings. You stumble out of the room. The hallways are awash in red light as you stumble. You lean against the wall until you stumble into the courtyard. Elsie is sitting at the table, taking seeds from a pomegranate, her pale face lit by candlelight.
Your words choke, “Where is Cam?”
She looks up at you, eyeliner so thick and eyes so black, it looks like two abysses staring back at you. Her ruby lips spread into a wide, stretched smile, like her skin was being pulled back. “Why don’t you join me for breakfast?”
“No.” You snarl, barely maintaining the facade of politeness. “Tell me where Cameron is and call us a fucking car. Please.”
Elsie doesn’t respond. Instead, she laughs. Your skin chills. You turn and see, not a few feet behind you – Cameron. Not your Cam. This blood-soaked, black-eyed one stalks towards you. You heave, racing away towards the table. You drag your arm over it, grabbing a bronze candle holder and hitting him in the face with the heavy metal. You do this over and over, Elsie laughing in the background as you kill the spectre of the man you love. As you flatten his face, you hear his voice call your name, urgent and repetitive.
When a splash of blood coats your eyes, you wipe it away and see – not the courtyard, not the blood, not the laughter, but the foyer of Isaiah’s home. Elsie and Isaiah are staring at you. Cameron’s arm around your waist.
“I don’t think she heard you,” Cameron laughs, hand patting your waist. “They asked you if you’d like a bottle of the wine you enjoyed last night, baby?”
You lick your lips, dry beneath the slither of your tongue. “I, uh – no, no thank you.”
“Oh, c’mon,” Elsie says, smiling. She hands you a dusty, aged bottle of no doubt expensive wine. “It’s a gift.”
You accept it, feeling sick. “Thank you.”
The car does not with the same driver as last night. The two of you leave the compound, the ice in your skin does not retreat, and the sickening feeling in your stomach remains leadlike and heavy. Cameron wraps himself around you, nose in your hair. “Did you have a good time?”
You eye him, searching in his eyes, cornflower in the daylight. “I don’t ever want to come here again. I think I need to move closer to you, at least a state closer. I don't like this.”
Cameron’s brow quirks, but he doesn’t say anything, kissing you before laughing. The laughter is unrestrained and vicious like Elsie’s. You hold him tight, nails digging into his flesh – afraid that if you let go of him, you’d let go of reality.
Beneath you, Cameron’s heart blooms at the success of your clinging to him. Now, all he needed was to get you to move out to San Antonio. "Whatever you want, Honey."
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