It's been so long I forgot how it feels to wake up to notifs of you guys asking for a story 😭 hopefully I won’t loose my creative spark again and disappear for years like last time LOL. Anywayss since you guys have asked for the full story, here it iss! 🤭 I might make this into a multi part story(?) depending on how this first part goes, hope you enjoyy <3
You and Ledger Ward were never just friends, but you were never quite anything else either. After a messy breakup and years of unfinished feelings, one night at his bar brings everything back to the surface. Now caught between jealousy, tension, and everything left unsaid, you’re forced to face the one thing you’ve been avoiding all along… him. And this time, walking away might not be so easy.
The first thing you notice isn’t the music—it’s him.
Ledger Ward, behind the bar like he owns more than just the place. Like he owns the room. The dim lights catch on the bottles lined behind him, but somehow they still don’t outshine his smile—the one he’s giving to a group of girls leaning a little too close over the counter.
You roll your eyes, chalk dust still clinging faintly to your fingers from the last pool shot. Typical.
“Your turn!” one of your friends calls, but you wave them off.
“Drink first,” you say, already heading toward the bar.
It’s louder up close. Laughter, glass clinking, someone shouting over a bad shot across the room—but the second Ledger looks up and sees you, everything else feels like it dips just a little quieter.
And there it is.
That smile.
Not the one he gives customers. Not the one he’s giving them.
This one’s yours.
“Hold on,” he says to the girls, already stepping away from them without a second thought.
You lean your elbows on the bar, raising a brow. “Busy?”
“Not for you,” he replies easily, grabbing a glass. “What do you want?”
You hum like you’re thinking about it, even though you always order the same thing. “Surprise me.”
He snorts softly. “You say that every time and still complain.”
“Because you never surprise me.”
“Maybe you’re just predictable.”
“Maybe you’re just boring.”
That earns you a grin—wider this time, real. It hits you the same way it always used to, somewhere annoying and familiar in your chest.
He slides the drink over. Your drink. Of course.
“Predictable,” you mutter.
“Told you.”
Behind you, the energy shifts.
It’s subtle at first—whispers, the scrape of heels against the floor—but then one of the girls from earlier steps closer, her voice cutting through the noise.
“Seriously?” she says, looking you up and down. “We were here first.”
You blink, caught somewhere between amused and confused. “Okay… and?”
“And he just ditched us for you.”
You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Relax. I’m not—”
The drink hits before you can finish.
Cold. Sharp. Sticky as it soaks into your shirt and drips down your skin.
For a second, everything freezes.
Then—
“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.”
You set the glass down slowly, wiping your face with the back of your hand as a disbelieving laugh slips out.
“I was literally about to say we’re just friends.”
“Yeah?” the girl snaps. “Doesn’t look like it.”
You tilt your head, something in your expression shifting—not quite anger yet, but close.
“Then maybe you should look harder.”
She steps closer.
Big mistake.
The next few seconds blur—voices raising, someone shoving, your patience snapping clean in half—and suddenly you’re not talking anymore.
You’re swinging.
Chairs scrape, people shout, and somewhere behind the chaos, you hear Ledger’s voice—
“Hey—HEY!”
—but by then it’s already too late.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
You barely register the sting in your knuckles before someone grabs your arm, and for a split second, you think it’s her again.
You twist, ready to swing—
“Enough.”
Ledger’s voice cuts through everything.
Not loud. Not yelling.
Just sharp enough to stop you mid-motion.
His grip is firm around your wrist, steady, grounding in a way that makes the adrenaline stutter in your chest. He steps between you and the girls without hesitation, putting himself squarely in the middle like a wall that doesn’t move.
“That’s done,” he says, eyes flicking toward them now, colder than you’ve ever seen. “Out.”
“What, she started—” one of them tries.
“I don’t care who started it,” Ledger interrupts, voice still calm but leaving zero room for argument. “You threw a drink. You escalated it. You’re done here.”
The room has gone quieter now. Not silent, but watching.
The girls hesitate, clearly not used to being dismissed, but something in his expression makes them back off. One of them scoffs, grabbing her bag, muttering something under her breath before they finally turn and push their way out.
The second the door shuts behind them, the tension shifts again.
Ledger exhales, running a hand through his hair before turning back to you.
And that’s when it hits.
You’re soaked. Your shirt clings uncomfortably, your hair slightly damp, your hands still curled like you’re ready for round two.
He looks you over quickly. “You okay?”
You huff out a laugh, adrenaline still buzzing. “Yeah. Been through worse.”
His jaw tightens just slightly at that.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “I remember.”
For a moment, neither of you say anything.
The noise of the bar slowly starts to come back, people returning to their games, conversations picking up again, but it feels distant, like it’s happening somewhere else.
Ledger nods toward the back. “Come on.”
You don’t argue this time.
The back room is quieter. Dimmer. It smells faintly like citrus cleaner and old wood, a sharp contrast to the chaos you just stepped out of.
Ledger grabs a towel from somewhere and hands it to you without a word.
You take it, dabbing at your face. “Well,” you say lightly, “that was dramatic.”
“No kidding.”
You glance at him, catching the edge in his voice.
“Hey,” you add, softer now. “I tried to tell her it wasn’t like that.”
“I know.”
But he doesn’t sound convinced. Or maybe that’s not it, maybe he just doesn’t like the situation at all.
You dry your hands slowly, watching him lean back against the counter, arms crossed. There’s a tension in his posture that wasn’t there before. Controlled, but there.
“You didn’t have to play hero, you know,” you say, trying to lighten it again.
His eyes snap to yours. “You were in a fight.”
“I was handling it.”
“Yeah?” he shoots back. “Looked real under control.”
You raise a brow. “You’ve seen me worse.”
“That’s exactly the problem.”
That lands heavier than you expect.
You pause, the towel still in your hands. “Ledger…”
He exhales sharply, looking away for a second before dragging his gaze back to you.
“I don’t like seeing you like that.”
Something about the way he says it.. low, honest, a little too real.. makes your chest tighten.
You try to deflect. “What, winning?”
He doesn’t smile.
“I’m serious.”
And suddenly this isn’t about the fight anymore.
You shift your weight, the earlier humor slipping. “It wasn’t a big deal. Just some girls being—”
“They threw a drink on you,” he cuts in. “And you’re acting like that’s normal.”
You shrug, but it’s weaker this time. “Stuff happens.”
“Not to you,” he says, quieter now. “Not here.”
Your eyes flick up to his. “Ledger, it’s just a bar.”
“It’s my bar.”
The words hang there.
And there it is, that line you both keep pretending doesn’t exist.
Your throat feels a little dry. “You can’t control everything.”
“No,” he agrees. “But I can make sure you’re okay.”
You let out a small breath, shaking your head slightly. “I am okay.”
Another pause.
Then, softer—
“I’ve always been okay.”
He studies you for a long second, like he’s trying to decide if he believes that.
Or if he ever did.
“Yeah,” he says finally, but it doesn’t sound settled.
Your fingers tighten slightly around the towel before you set it down beside you.
“Anyway,” you add, forcing a lighter tone back in. “Sorry for causing a scene in your bar.”
A corner of his mouth lifts, just barely. “You didn’t cause it.”
“Still finished it.”
That actually gets a quiet huff of amusement out of him.
“Yeah,” he admits. “That tracks.”
The tension eases.. but not all the way.
Not like before.
You both feel it.
That familiar pull. The one that never really went away, no matter how much time passed, no matter what you called yourselves now.
Friends.
Right.
“Your friends still here?” he asks after a moment.
“Probably placing bets on if I won.”
“Did you?”
You meet his eyes, a hint of a grin returning. “Obviously.”
He shakes his head, but there’s that smile again.. the real one.
“Go,” he says. “Before I have to break up round two.”
You push off the counter, heading toward the door, then pause, glancing back at him.
“Hey, Ledger?”
“Yeah?”
“…thanks.”
Something flickers in his expression. Softer this time.
“Always.”
And that one word?
Yeah.
That’s the problem.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
The noise of the bar hits you again the second you step back out.
It’s like nothing happened.
Music still playing, balls cracking against each other on the pool tables, people laughing, except now there’s a noticeable shift when people glance your way. A few curious looks. A couple impressed ones.
You ignore it.
Your friends, however?
Absolutely do not.
“There she is!” one of them calls the second they spot you. “Oh my god—did you win?”
You grab your cue, rolling your eyes like it was nothing. “Please. Did you expect anything else?”
“Oh, we knew you’d win,” another says, grinning. “We just didn’t know if Ledger was gonna jump in first.”
You freeze for half a second.
Too subtle for anyone else to notice.
“…he just broke it up,” you reply, lining up your shot.
“Mhm,” your friend hums. “Looked like more than that from here.”
You take the shot, harder than necessary. The ball cracks into the corner pocket.
“Shut up.”
They don’t.
“Girl, he ran to you.”
“He did not run.”
“He beelined.”
You sigh, straightening. “He owns the bar. It’s literally his job.”
“Mhmm. And smiling at you like that is also part of the job?”
You don’t answer that.
Because across the room..
He’s looking at you.
Ledger stands behind the bar again, but he’s not talking to anyone now. Not really. Someone’s saying something to him, but his attention keeps drifting back.
To you.
And when your eyes meet..
He doesn’t look away.
Your stomach does something annoyingly familiar.
You break the eye contact first.
“Take your shot,” you mutter to your friend, stepping back.
But you can still feel it.
Every now and then, between turns, between laughs, between pretending you’re completely unaffected—
You catch him watching.
Not in a casual way.
In a tracking-you-across-the-room kind of way.
And worse?
Anytime someone gets a little too close to you—leans in, talks a little too long..
Ledger notices.
You see it in the way his shoulders tense. The way his jaw sets. The way he suddenly finds something else to do that just so happens to give him a clearer line of sight.
It’s ridiculous.
It’s… not new.
And you hate that it still gets to you.
By the time the night starts winding down, your friends are relentless.
“I’m just saying,” one of them whispers loudly as you all gather your things, “if you don’t want him, I volunteer.”
You shoot her a look. “You’re actually insane.”
“Oh please,” she laughs. “You two have more tension than a bad romance movie.”
“We’re friends.”
“Right,” she says, dragging the word out. “And I’m the Queen of England.”
You shove her lightly. “Go home.”
They leave you with way too many knowing looks and not nearly enough dignity.
And somehow, You don’t leave.
The bar empties slowly.
Chairs get flipped onto tables. Music lowers. The lights come up just a little more than before, taking some of the magic with them.
You linger near the bar, tracing the rim of an empty glass you don’t remember finishing.
Ledger notices.
Of course he does.
“Thought you left,” he says, walking over.
“Thought you were busy,” you shoot back lightly.
He glances around the nearly empty space. “Not anymore.”
There’s that quiet again.
Different from before.
He leans against the bar, closer this time. No crowd. No distractions. Just you.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks.
You nod. “You already asked me that.”
“Yeah. I’m asking again.”
You let out a small breath, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “I’m okay, Ledger.”
He studies you like he’s trying to read between the lines.
“You didn’t have to stay,” he says after a moment.
“Maybe I wanted to.”
The second it leaves your mouth, you feel it.
That shift.
His gaze sharpens slightly. “Yeah?”
You shrug, playing it off, because that’s what you do. “It’s a good bar.”
“Is that the only reason?”
You hesitate.
There it is.
That line again.
“I don’t know,” you admit, quieter now. “Why do you think I stayed?”
Dangerous question.
He exhales slowly, eyes not leaving yours. “I think you always do this.”
Your brows knit slightly. “Do what?”
“Get close,” he says. “Then act like it doesn’t mean anything.”
That hits harder than anything from earlier.
You straighten a little. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?”
There’s no anger in his voice.
That’s what makes it worse.
“I stayed your friend, didn’t I?” you say. “I didn’t just disappear.”
“No,” he agrees. “You stayed.”
A beat.
“But you never really came back either.”
Silence stretches between you.
The kind that says too much.
You swallow, looking away for a second before forcing yourself to meet his eyes again. “Ledger…”
“I’m not saying it to start something,” he adds, softer now. “I just—”
He stops himself, jaw tightening briefly.
“You what?” you press.
He shakes his head once, like he’s already regretting how much he’s said. “Nothing.”
“That’s not nothing.”
Another pause.
Then, quieter.—
“I just don’t know where I stand with you.”
There it is.
No jokes. No deflection. No easy way out.
Your chest tightens, because the truth?
You don’t know either.
“I didn’t mean to mess things up back then,” you say, voice softer now. “I just… wasn’t ready.”
“I know.”
“But that doesn’t mean it didn’t mean anything.”
His expression shifts at that.
“Then what does it mean?” he asks.
And you.. You don’t have a clean answer. So you give the only honest one you can.
“It means I never really got over it.”
That lands.
You see it.
The way his breath catches slightly, the way something in his posture changes, like he wasn’t expecting that.
“Yeah?” he says quietly.
You nod, barely. “Yeah.”
The air between you feels thinner now. Heavier.
Closer.
“Funny,” he murmurs, eyes dropping briefly to your lips before coming back up. “I was starting to think I was the only one.”
Your heart stumbles.
This is it, that moment.
The one you always seem to reach…and never cross.
You hesitate.
Just for a second.
But it’s enough.
It always is.
He notices.
Of course he does.
And just like that, something in his expression closes off, subtle, but there.
He pushes off the bar, creating a small distance again.
“You should get home,” he says, tone gentler now, but more guarded.
The shift stings more than you expect.
“Yeah,” you reply quietly.
You grab your things, heading for the door—then pause, hand on the handle.
“…goodnight, Ledger.”
“Night.”
You step out into the cool air, the door shutting softly behind you.
And inside? He stays there.
Exactly where you left him..
~~~~~~~~~~~~
THAT’S PART ONE DONE YOU GUYSSS!!
Thank you so much for readingg, please give me ur thoughts and feelings about this first part of my fic down below in the commentss. I have a hugee idea for this project so best believe this isn't the last bit of my story that you will read 🤭 depending on how this first bit goes, I'll drop the second part whenever I can since I still need to write and edit the second part too.
My Inbox is also open at all times! im pretty bored so if any of you guys want me to do any separate imagines or headcannons for ledger do lmkk <3 other than that I hope you all have a wonderful dayy! (sending virtual hugs x)
Summary: Imara Selassie is an upcoming Motor GP racer who will do anything and everything to achieve greatness. One night she finds herself in a place she doesn’t recognize, but feels familiar. There she has an odd but unforgettable encounter with Cameron Cade, who gives her an offer she doesn’t know if she can refuse.
Author’s Note: Yoh, it’s been a while since I’ve posted a story. I was lowkey scared that the next ones won’t be as good as the others but fuck it.
Warnings: Blood, Poisoning, Semi FoodPlay, Semi Crazy Cameron, Cussing. No smut(I got tired) just smooching.
Imara crept up the coiling set of stairs, her bare feet pressing against the cold marble tiles, the embroidered shimmering crystals slowly drifted across the midnight surface of the glass. Her fingertips leisurely dragged over the smooth mahogany wood of the rails as she continued her journey upward. The tail of her dress swept across the stairs, the deep rouge color drifted like blood on the steps. The chilled breeze kissed her bare back, goosebumps following the air, as her thick locks barely flinched against the delicate force. The light of the full moon caressed her skin, her shade a gorgeous dusk while her hazel eyes were glued to the peak of the staircase as she followed the whispers of the night.
The further she climbed, the more the darkness swallowed behind her. She could hardly see the ground, the deep void consuming the other half of the staircase, leaving her uncertain of whether there even was a path back. The eerie silence was broken by her gentle footsteps against the glass and her wavered breaths. The staircase seemed to stretch farther the closer she got, but she wouldn’t stop…she couldn’t, her legs locked in motion, leading her to a place her mind didn’t fathom yet, but her heart pounded for.
When her muscles strained with fatigue, and her breaths were no longer light pants but heavy staggered heaves, Imara could finally see an end. She narrowed her eyes, and focused on a single door that stood in a spotlight. The black wood sheened and refined contrasting the vintage design. Intricate symbols she couldn’t decipher, were carved on the margins, between the tendrils of pure gold that crawled on the corners of the door. The door handle was molded into the head of a snake, its eyes two small rubies, flaring, hypnotizing. Her eyes were transfixed on the scarlet glow, the color mirrored in her deep orbs. The more she stared, the louder the encrypted whispers in her ear grew. Her hand moved on its own, pulled to the handle. Before she could touch it, the head lunged forward with a hiss, its mouth agape and its fangs unsheathed with warning. She jerked, but didn’t pull away entirely. Instead she waited for it to retract back in its position, before attempting again. This time, she managed to grasp its body, pulling the handle down. The door opened, she peeked through the narrow gap but darkness followed after. And yet despite the unknown, something told her there was more. Lured in by her curiosity, she slipped through the crack, the faint click of the door closing shut was left behind.
~
It was nearly pitch black, save for the light particles that floated in the void like stardust. Imara’s heart leaped when she heard something scrape a surface, her chest rising and falling quickly. Her eyes focused as they darted around, zeroing on a figure in the distance. She peered further, focusing on the beady eyes that stared back at her from the shadows. Her head tilted to the side, before a slender cat emerged, its coat as black as a phantom, with a golden snake circled around its neck like a collar. She tilted her head, her fear momentarily clouded by curiosity, before crouching down to its level as it stared back at her with olive eyes.
“Hey there,” she cooed, extending her hand slowly, cautious. The feline leaned in, sniffing her fingertips before tilting its head to lean into her palm with a soft purr, its eyes fluttering shut. The corners of Imara’s mouth perked into a small smile, amused. She rubbed its temple with her thumb, feeding it the affection it desired. Her eyes took notice of how the golden collar around its neck was similar to the snake on the door handle, the rubies glimmered against the black fur. Her attention was cut short when the cat turned on its heels, her hand dragging over its arched back and curved tail before it treaded forward, in the direction of the darkness. It turned to her one last time, as if begging her to follow, before leaping back inside. She didn’t hesitate, lifting herself back up and rushing inside.
The darkness was but a cloud, and after it, she felt a shift, her mind suddenly hazy as she saw the cat leap out of it and into a narrow pathway, dimly lit by candles perched on the walls. A long trail of golden scales were embroidered on the red velvet surface. The cat continued to guide her further down, as Imara tried to process what she was yet to see. At the end of the hallway was an entrance concealed by a thick curtain of beads and crystals . The cat slipped through, before Imara parted the beads and followed inside.
Her attention was immediately drawn to the cluster of jewelries that carpeted the velvet floor, golden necklaces chains, emerald amulets, diamond crusted watches and sapphire rings…The room was drowning in expense, laid out to bare for anyone to grasp. Abstract art pieces hung on the walls, the large frames leaning by the corners. At the Centre of the room was a kingsized bed, draped in violet and golden sheets, its cushioned mattress looked so lush, Imara wanted to yawn just by staring at it. It was the epitome of luxury and comfort. She crept closer, minding the sharp diamond pieces against her feet. The cat leaped on to the bed, perching itself on the edge, and she drew closer. She noticed the wrinkles of the sheets and the sunken dent left at the centre of it, as if someone had slept there. Someone was there.
Her nose suddenly caught whiff of a scent behind her. Something sweet and savory. She turned her back on the bed, and found a table that she was sure wasn’t there before. On it, was a display of fruits and treats, exotic berries plastered on trays amongst different kinds of candy. At the centre was a giant golden chalice, filled with a crimson red liquid. It smelled candied and she could feel her mouth water. She licked the corner of her lips hungrily, she couldn’t remember the last time she ate…in fact, she couldn’t remember anything before entering this place.
Her hand ever eager, reached up before her mind could protest, aiming for a juicy raspberry. She took it from its stand, her fingers squeezing it, allowing the bright red juice to drip down her palm before taking the fruit to her mouth and biting down. She hummed softly at the savory taste, her eyes closing shut as the juice simmered on her tongue.
“Tastes good, don’t it?” A deep rumbling voice asked from behind her. She jumped, her head snapping behind her with wide eyes. Where the cat had placed itself, sat Cameron Cade, casually leaning back on the bed with his elbows. Her wore a navy blue robe that sprawled over the bed, his toned chest and abs exposed, so detailed and refined that they looked sharp to the touch. His V-line guided her gaze to his black sweats, before darting back to his face. His olive orbs stared bark at her, low lidded, his smirk lopsided, brown hair a short buzzcut. The golden snake collar was wrapped around his neck like a chain.
Her mouth was agape, dumbfounded as she tried to comprehend the vision. He chuckled lowly.
“What’s wrong, surprised to see me?”
She found her voice, though raspy and strained. “Cameron?” She recognised
“Where…where is this…where am I?”
He cocked his head to the side, eyeing her down.
“Right where you belong,” he replied. “Right where you want to be.”
His words, caused a surge in Imara’s mind as her memory came back in waves. She remembered it now…she was at party, celebrating her latest victory at the Motor Grand Prix. She remembered him there, at the corner of the bar, before she excused herself to the bathroom. When she got there…everything happened in brief flashes. She saw herself washing her hands, reaching out for a towel when she felt something prick her finger. Blood trickled down her hand and her vision blurred. Between blackouts, she collapsed on the floor, and a golden creature slithered across the floor beside her before everything faded.
With the revelation, she grew cautious, her eyes narrowing down at him.
“What did you do to me?” She asked, her tone sharper
“Wasn’t me,” He replied calmly. His fingers flicked the golden snake chain. She lifted her hand, noticing the scar on her finger that looked just like a stab from its sharp fangs. The tingle from the sting still lingering.
“It’ll pass,” he reassured her, as if reading her mind. “Right now…you should enjoy yourself.”
“Where am I?” She repeated
“You already asked that-“
“And I didn’t get a fucking answer. Where the hell is this?” Her voice was firmer, demanding.
Cameron merely grinned, before leaning forward.
“When we first met…you were just starting out in racing, remember?” He recalled “Girl from nowhere, didn’t even know where to start…but you had a drive, and a fire that burned in everything you do…it’s that flame that gets people like us to victory.”
Her body tensed at his choice of words. “People like us?”
“Yeah, you and me,” he reaffirmed, his hand gesturing between the two of them. “We wanna be something bigger…something worth remembering.”
He stood up from the bed, making his stride to her, his body towering hers. “What we wanna do transcends whatever money or achievement everybody else is chasin’.”
He circled her like a predator, keeping close to her corner, while her eyes followed keenly, her body more than aware of his presence.“Everybody else gets caught up in the feeble things…love, money, sex, drugs…momentary bliss that feels good…at the moment. But you and me? Nah…we want something deeper…something that lasts…we wanna supersede the ones before us. Become them. Become the Greatest Of All Time.”
She saw the sparkle in his eyes when he said it, the eagerness and he knew that he had her intrigued. He paused at her right side, chest nearly pressing against her shoulder blade.
“It’s people like us who last longer in the game…cause we got the heart to push…we remember what if feels like to want to have everything, and we won’t stop til we get it. And look at the rewards, Imara…” He took her chin, guiding it to the piles of jewelry and furniture, their shimmering beauty was alluring, her own greed swallowing her reasoning. His voice dropped lower, persuasive.
“Anything you want, anything you desire…all at the palm of your hand…” he lured, leaning down to grab a ring with a gargantuan diamond piece. He gently clasped her wrist, feeling her tense.
“Relax…I don’t bite…” he cooed, lifting her hand, before sliding the ring down on her ring finger. She felt the metal hug her flesh tighter, like it was adjusting to the girth of her finger.
“Looks good on you,” he complimented, his thumb rubbing her inner wrist. She felt his eyes glued to her temple while she eyed the ring. It was all too good to be true.
“Things like this, always come with a catch,” she pointed out. His smile faltered for a split of a second before he shrugged, drifting to the table of fruits.
“Nothing is ever given without a price,”
“What price did you have to pay?” She questioned, eyes following him. He reached for a strawberry, dipping it into the red liquid in the chalice, submerging it.
“Nothing I wasn’t prepared to give,” he replied eerily low.
“Cause when you wanna be the GOAT, there’s always something you are willing to lose…and it always comes when you least expect it. It’s part of satisfying it.”
He lifted the drenched berry, the syrup thick as blood, and taking it into his mouth with one bite with a soft moan. She felt her stomach churn with emptiness as she gulped down saliva.
“Satisfy what?” She breathed out, eyes following his hand as he took another strawberry. His eyes glanced at her for a moment, before turning back to the fruit with a smirk.
“The hunger.”
He dunked it in the red syrup, his fingers catching a bit of the liquid, the candy scent was pungent, luring her closer.
“The drive to be more, to go further until you can’t…until you’re at your peak…and why stop there?” He questioned
“Why do we have to feel what it’s like to be great for the moment…when you could be great forever?”
He lifted the strawberry once more, this time juicier than the last. He guided it to his mouth but paused, before his eyes found Imara and her redirected it to her, perching the berry before her mouth. She scanned it with skepticism before glancing at Cameron.
“It’s your choice,” is all he told her.
Her heart was pounding in her eyes, warning lights flaring in the back of her mind but she leaned in, taking a bite. The cool sweet syrup coating her tastebuds as she hummed. Cameron grinned.
“Tastes real good, huh?” He asked “Have some more.”
His voice was daring, luring. He took a cherry, dipping it the syrup, guiding it to her mouth as she tugged the fruit off of its stem with her teeth. They were all so fresh and ripe, the red syrup enhanced the flavor, the tongue eager for sugar. Cameron’s pupils blew as he saw Imara’s greed rise.
“Take more,” he urged “It’s yours…everything is yours.”
She reached for a raspberry, popping it in her mouth. Then for a cherry, dipping it in the syrup and feeding it to Cameron who happily obliged. They ate, and ate, and ate some more. Their greedy mints grabbing the fruit with vehemence. It felt so good Imara laughed, childish, nothing but pure satisfaction. Her eyes were glowing scarlet, and Cameron was simply there to feed her craving.
Her laughter died down as she noticed the spill of syrup that dripped down his chest. His eyes followed her gaze, and a grin emerged.
“Go ahead,” he urged “Nothing is off limits here, not even me.”
She bit her lip, a little reluctant before she leaned in, tongue poked out and she licked the trail of syrup up his chest to his neck. A hum rumbled in his throat at the feeling, his eyes shutting momentarily. Her tongue continued to follow the trail until she reached the corner of his lips, and he tilted his head, catching her mouth in a deep kiss with a moan. Her tongue greedily tasted his mouth, the sweet flavor blending with his own taste consumed her. She grabbed his robe, tugging him closer while his hands moved to her dress, digging into the fabric and another cradling her neck.
“You can have anything…” he murmured with husk against her lips “you can have everything. It can all be yours…” Their breaths were deep and heavy, chests pressed tightly against each other.
With one last kiss he parted from her plump lips, the cold departure nearly unbearable as she chased after them before he planted a finger against them.
“Greedy…” he teased. “See how good you can have it?”
She nodded eagerly. The rubies on the snake collar flared again, and the crimson red color reflected in her eyes.
“You deserve it, all of it, Imara…and you can take all of it…just need to answer one question.”
She bit her lip, her chest heaving from the intensity, before Cameron leaned into her ear, his warm breath trickling over her shell and he whispered.
pervy!ex boyfriend cameron cade . . . has never felt as safe and at home as he did with your panties snug around his cock. [ inspired by joe goldberg & his oddness ].
cameron cade still had your old, missing phone and he still checked your school e-mail and your instagram/s and your facebook. you still loved him, he knew. and one of these days, you will find a way to admit that the relationship shouldn’t’ve ended at all. he was getting there. you were acknowledging him . . . sort of. every now and again he’d spot you about on campus, minding your own, and stare real hard until you felt it: the lasers that he bore into your skull. you’d look back at him, wave, smile that sweet smile, and return to your group of close friends. he was getting there.
he loved you so much that he couldn’t willing close down the access to your communications. it was a true invasion of privacy, but he liked having your school e-mail. he liked having your instagram/s. and he liked having your facebook. it had taken weeks, but his checks were at their lowest this month. even on mondays. usually, mondays were pretty hard on him. that monday morning was the last spent together. it was a good thing he took a screenshot of your i love you cam text that morning, because at 1pm, something was different.
he remembered the week prior. on a sunday morning, you had sent him the most feared response in the world, more terse than any other word, more concealing than a ttyl, and awfully hypocritical for someone as in love with energy, language, and him as you claimed to be. k, it was. a single k. nothing else. just a desire to end the conversation.
he asked his co-captain to stand in for him, pick up where he slacked off, but he couldn’t. even half of cameron’s shoes were too big to fill. practice went poorly. he was fucked. talking to himself in the locker room and looking at pictures of you and losing his patience with his suite-mates and he went to bed early that night and he called you . . . but got sent to voicemail and he left you a message asking when could he see you.
it was 5am the next day you finally respond and as it turned out, there was something much worse than the shitty k. :: hi. mb 4 th late txtz. got a long day 2day. myb tmrw? lunch@2. xoxo. and he just could not believe it. still didn’t. because never have you ever messaged him like that. boneless and emotionless and stupid. it was ugly and designed to drive him away.
on tuesday, he stole your phone. he told himself that he had to. he was worried that you were drifting. maybe there’d been another man in your ear? or it was those shit friends of yours. whatever or whoever it was, he had to see for himself . . . and getting your phone, he was sure he’d find an answer. it was crazy to do. he was glad to’ve not discovered anything, but it made stealing your phone for nothing. and he couldn’t give it back, he didn’t know how . . .
you were present. you were focused. you were his again. that was the help, or push, you and cameron needed. relationships did that . . . they fell off. but the real test of love was in one’s will to bring the dynamic back.
and then came that horrific monday. you found a box, the one he called ‘the evidence of my affection’. you saw things you shouldn’t’ve and called cameron fucking weird. and fucking creepy and fucking obsessed and fucking sick and fucking- you need fucking help, you psychopath! you were judgmental and nasty and he could only blame himself.
losing you was like losing a vital organ. his heart. you were his heart in human form. a walking love letter personified . . . so every following monday of the fall semester, that month of winter break, into the spring semester, and that week of spring break . . . he cried and cried; emotions too big for his beefy body- which was intense, considering his size.
these last five, almost six months without you . . . he’s given up on sleep and other women entirely, because he realized their hair wasn’t the exact thickness of yours and they didn’t smell enough like you. he tried tonight though. only this one time. he and that young black woman were about two-fourths into their kissing session when cameron kicked her out. nothing about her made his cock stand up.
her thumbs worked fast above that keyboard on the way out, telling the group-chat how unamusing the cameron cade had been. nothing went in, nothing came out. he couldn’t do it. he couldn’t make love to another who’s eyes looked to him only in lust. cameron cade was a lover. he only wanted to know the sounds of your moans and the feel of your insides; they were simply one-of-a-kind. your body was made for his, as his was for yours.
he made a mistake. he’s a piece of dog shit. and he could admit that. yes. but he swore he’s learned. he wouldn’t do it again. he just needed one more chance. he wanted to prove himself to you; that he was worthy of you. cameron missed you. a lot. so very much that it burned. and tonight, because he couldn’t sleep . . . he did what any touch-deprived man would:
cameron grabbed your panties.
he still had the ID keycard you supposedly lost. he swapped it from your desk months back, when you didn’t hate him, and paid residence life the new-ID fee. he knew how your single dorm looked last, but thought whatever you had going on now was beautiful. very unique. it smells like you and cameron picked up some leggings you tossed on the floor earlier and dug for the panties; he knew you liked to just step out of everything at once. his heart’s calmed down in the warmth and his dick’s so hard for you.
while you lie atop that twin xl, amongst textbooks and notebooks and pencils and pens and highlighters, cameron rummaged around in your gym duffel bag and picked out your sweaty bra and used panties, still dewy with you, and he gets so lost in imagination and now he is in trouble. . . . he lets his drawstring loose.
cameron whimpered softly, wrapping the crotch around the head of his weeping cock. and he’s strokingggg himself real good, holding back his moans through gritted teeth whilst you slept like the angel princess you are. he prays for the night he could have you in bed again. and he swears he’ll let you be in control . . . the entire time too. he wouldn’t take over, like he always did. he’d let you do it all- take whatever you could.
it had taken no real effort to picture a ghost of you before his frame, pretty soft lips swollen with fatigue yet hallowing beautifully around his girth, as if your absolute everything. “fff-nngh-“ harshly gulping, mouth gasping and whining for fresh air. or you; the smell of that cinnamon body butter you lathered on after every shower.
cameron sighed heavily. he stares down and watches how the slimy strings of his arousal cling and web between himself and the cute fabric of your panties. he’d take a nut like this over whatever that girl had in mind. his fist is so messy and his thrusts are so sloppy. it’s loud and squelchy and clicky and tacky and fuckkk he’s about to cum.
he thinks about having you in a different position before he cums . . . pressed against the wall and with his hand closed over your neck the way you love, and you’ll cry for him to slow down! and to ple-pleas- stoppp! fucking you so hard, yet, you’ll be gushing and spraying streams around his cock. knees getting ready to buckle, every limb shivering, teeth chattering. and you’ll whine daddy- please! . . . and here’s when he’s blinking through tears.
“sshhiit- shit- shit- shit-“ cameron stains your dirty panties; spewing a tankload of hot thin, gooey stripes of seed into the crotch lining. a pond of white. and it should’ve been painted along your womb.
Synopsis: Neither of you guessed the outcome of your date would involve the truth being laid out on the table after several years…
Warnings/tags *MDNI*: roman mentioned, soft!dom Ledger, brief alcohol mention, bar environment, hidden feelings, yearning + pining (mutual but Ledger is down BAD), slight toxicity undertones, dry humping, smut, raw, unprotected piv, creampie, slight angst if you squint, oral (f!receiving), fingering, missionary, dirty talk, love confession, slight fluff, overstimulation, proofread once!
WC: 4.8k
A/N: Of coursee the title is a nod to Victoria Monet’s song "F.U.C.K" lol. It was interesting to write about a different dynamic and character this time, hope I’ve done it justice!
I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading, feedback is always appreciated! <3
One night. It only took one, slightly drunken night out of a four year friendship for the lines to blur into uncharted territory. Then it turned into a few more until you two had slipped into a comfortable routine. You’d call and he’d show up. Neither of you addressed the fact that it was past the point of just being sex with no feelings involved. It was never just sex.
Trailing back into his bedroom after a warm shower, you made your way over to his closet. After the first few times it happened, Ledger suggested keeping some clothes at his place. Though it was proving to be convenient, you never objected to leaving in his clothes beforehand. In hindsight, the opportunity to casually lounge in his scent when he wasn’t around filled you with comfort.
Sitting up against the headboard, Ledger watched you get dressed from the bed. His gaze casually roamed down your body before he spoke. “You free this Saturday?”
Turning to face him now, you slipped your shirt on, responding, “depends, what time?”
“After my night shift. We can get breakfast in the morning”. Shortly after your arrangement began, Ledger started coming up with ways to get you to stay. Going out for breakfast or lunch easily became a part of the routine as well.
Making your way over to him, you hummed in thought before saying, “I’m tempted”. Once you kneeled right next to him on the bed, he absentmindedly reached for your thigh. You soothingly trail your hand up and down his forearm, adding, “I have a date right before you get off though, so I’ll let you know, ok?”
Unsure he heard correctly, a brief look of confusion flashed across his features. Repeating your words, he slowly questioned, “A date…?”
“A double date actually. I must have forgotten to mention it to you”. As you spoke Ledgers gaze was focused on your face, trying to decipher if you were joking or not. Unable to spot any jest, he tried to ignore the unsettling feeling stirring in his chest.
Calmly speaking, “with who…?”, he gave your thigh a light squeeze. The thought of you being with anyone else, let alone on a date with a stranger, made him weary.
“One of my friends. She’s been seeing this guy for a few weeks now and she thought it’d fun to set me up with one of his friends. I don’t know which one”.
Blinking for a moment, the realization set in that there was a possibility you could end up liking him enough to give him another chance. Maybe loving him if things go well... “And you agreed?”
“Yeah, I mean I figure why not? I’ve never been on a blind date, I think it’ll be fun”. Slightly confused with the sudden shift in energy, you couldn’t make sense of the unreadable emotion in his stare.
He cleared his throat, breaking eye contact for a second before returning his gaze. “You’re being serious right now…?”
Affirming, “Yes, I’m being serious…”, you paused, taking in his expression. You were almost certain there was a hint of hurt behind his gaze before it quickly disappeared. Giving his arm a reassuring squeeze, you softened your tone. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing…”.
Urging him to speak, “Ledger…”, you tilted your head. After spending enough time together, you knew his cues.
“I didn’t know you were dating, that’s all”.
“I’m not ‘dating’ anyone right now, I’m just going on one date”.
“And you’d be cool with me going on dates…?”
Taking another pause, the thought caused a twinge of discomfort, but you brushed it off. “You’re single aren’t you…? Why would I have a problem with that…?”
He stared blankly for a moment, just analyzing your response until cracking a small knowing grin. “You didn’t answer the question”.
Reluctantly, you answered, “yes, I’d be perfectly fine with you going on dates”, disregarding the pit churning in your stomach from the mere notion of him being with anyone else but you.
“Ok then. Good to know”.
That following Friday, Ledger barely spoke to you. It was completely lost on you why this was suddenly an issue. Both of you agreed in the beginning that nothing would change with your friendship. Things would remain the same. Up until this point, you were under the impression there were no feelings involved. At least on his part.
Ledger was keeping busy to stay distracted. To stop the spiraling in his mind after that conversation but it didn’t help. Nothing helped. Somewhere along the way, things shifted for him. Well before sex was in the equation actually. He was lying to you now, guilt eating away at him the more he led you to believe everything was just casual. Any platonic feeling had long vanished, gradually turning into something he thought would wear off. The risk of losing you now if he was honest far outweighed the truth.
Saturday night
Roman’s voice cut through the atmosphere as he caught Ledgers attention. Once he looked over at him, Roman nodded in the direction of the door.
Finishing up a refill, he passed it off to the customer before quickly glancing up. It was you. Heart skipping a beat, you spared him a brief look, swiftly breaking eye contact while making your way through the bar. Ledger clenched his jaw, zoning in on your date. You had urged them to go to another bar but to no avail, this was their “favorite” one.
He watched as you trailed over to the pool table, conversing with your friend along the way. Feeling his stare, your heart raced with each passing step. Unable to ignore the feeling gnawing inside, you halfway listened to her ranting about the poor service at the restaurant you came from, humming in agreement. Once you reached the pool table, you excused yourself while your dates set it up for a game.
Brushing through the crowd of people to reach the bar, you stopped right in front of him. Gaze momentarily wandering down your figure, taking in your appearance, he neutrally asked, “What can I get for you?”
“Lemon drop please”. You stood there, absentmindedly tapping on the bar as you waited. An uncomfortable silence settling, you peered around the bar.
“How’s your date?”
Bringing your attention back to his face, you truthfully answered, “it’s… ok”. And it was ok. Just ok. Though there were no apparent issues, something was missing. He wasn’t Ledger.
Ears perking up at the sound of that, he prodded, “really? That’s it?” Lips curling into a slight smirk, a small wave of relief washed over him when he heard your tone.
“Yeah. He’s ok, more than ok actually but…”, you shrugged, glancing down when the thought crossed your mind. You swallowed before truthfully speaking, “…Just not for me I guess”.
Sliding the drink towards you, he spoke, “on the house”, giving you a warm smile. Softening his tone, he leaned in to add, “Let me know if you need to talk later, ok?”
Taking a small sip, you nodded. “I will. Thank yo-”
“You alright?”
Ledger glanced over at the unfamiliar voice that cut you off, shifting his gaze down to see he had circled an arm around your waist. Blinking at the gesture, his jaw tightened.
Drawing your attention to your date, you affirmed, “just grabbing a drink, let’s go”, offering a short smile before leading him away, avoiding an awkward interaction at all costs. You swiftly turned to head back to the pool table, catching a glimpse of Ledgers stoic expression at his nod of acknowledgment.
Upon hearing the sound of Roman snickering, Ledger spared him a glance, seeing a telling grin spread across his features. Shaking his head in response, he resumed tending to the bar, briefly looking in your direction as the night went on. Your eyes began to wander every time you felt his piercing stare settle on you. Around the third time you looked over, an unpleasant pit stirred in your stomach. The sight of him smiling and laughing with a group of women huddled at the bar bothered you more than you would’ve thought.
Maybe it was the drink giving you a new found boldness, but you decided to tease him a bit as a result. When your turn came around for pool, you kindly asked your date for help. “Am I holding it correctly?” In response he shuffled behind you, helping line the stick properly while he mumbled pointers. Fully tuned out to his voice and the commotion of the bar, you gradually bent into position, intentionally brushing against him.
Sparing another look, Ledger blinked at the scene unfolding in front of him, feeling a pang in his chest as you held eye contact. Completely focused on you now, a playful smile ghosted your lips before you shifted your attention. Taking a small moment to analyze the position of the cue balls, you took your shot. Once you were done you stood back up, watching as each one smoothly fell into place. You ended your turn with a modest smile. Without thinking, Ledger immediately started moving towards you.
“Damn are you sure you don’t play pool?”
As your friend exclaimed, “girl what the fuck was that?! You never told me you played like this!”, you heard your date whistle in the background.
Amused, you laughed at her statement, fondly remembering when Ledger taught you. Letting out a small laugh, you responded, “I don’t, I swear!” While it wasn’t a lie, it wasn’t completely true. You don’t actively play pool, but you’ve refined the skill. The night he brought you to the bar after hours, you two stayed, simply practicing until you were satisfied with your progress. He refused to leave before you mastered your “party trick”, as you called it.
Finishing your drink now, you resumed conversation with them. You were momentarily distracted, laughing along with your friend at a joke that was cracked until a distinct voice rung out against your ear. “I need to speak with you”. Glancing up in his direction, the look in his eyes sent a faint flutter through your stomach. Briskly shifting your attention to the group, you excused yourself.
Mumbling, “I’ll be right back”, he had already snaked an arm around your waist, whisking you away towards the back. You initially thought he was stopping at the office, but he continued moving through the bar. Questioning, “where are we going?”, you received no response. When Roman briefly passed by, Ledger called his name.
“You good with closing tonight?” Peering between you two in amusement, Roman nodded in response. Confusion warped across your features as Ledger guided you out the back door. Once he reached his truck, he opened up the passenger side, instructing in a steady tone “get in”. You stood there, slightly in awe, just blankly staring as you took in his demeanor. He had never been so adamant with you before. When you didn’t move, he repeated himself. “I’m not playing, get in the truck”.
Broken out of your daze now, you began moving, stepping into the truck with his assistance. Crossing your legs, you fought the urge to smile, biting on your bottom lip as a thrill of adrenaline coursed through you. Occasionally peering over at him during the drive, your eyes wandered down his body, focusing on his arms. You clenched your thighs in anticipation, remaining quiet for the rest of the ride as your mind drifted.
Feeling your gaze on him, Ledger glanced over, resolve dropping a bit when he saw your expression. Reaching out for your hand, he brought it towards his lips, placing a lingering kiss before interlocking them in your lap. Heart swelling at the gesture, you soothingly trailed your free hand up and down his forearm. Though neither of you had spoken yet, the energy was evident.
Once he pulled into his driveway he walked over to your side, opening up the door to help you step down. Circling an arm around your waist again, he kept you close as you walked, momentarily separating to unlock the door. Having been to his place several times at this point, it was lost you why this visit felt so different as soon as you crossed the threshold.
You shuffled your heels off before walking further, stopping to stand next to his coffee table. After locking the door Ledger paused, leaning against it for a moment as he watched you, contemplating on what to say. Each of you stared at one another in compulsion, just waiting for the silence to break.
After several beats, you whispered, “you said you needed to speak to me…”
Ledger let another thread of silence pass before speaking. “Are you happy…?”
Heart rate speeding up at the sound of that, your brows furrowed as his question registered. Upon seeing your puzzled expression, he rephrased himself. “Do I make you happy?” He spoke in a steady tone but there was a hint of doubt in his eyes while he waited for your response.
“Of course I am…”. Your heart twisted at the thought of him questioning that to any degree. Adding with a quiet voice, “You always do… you know that”.
Taking a few cautious steps toward you, he pleaded, “Then tell me what you need…”. Gradually closing the distance with each word, he continued, “Tell me and I’ll be that for you, I promise”.
Feeling a small lump form in your throat from his words, you took a step back, looking down as you placed your hand on the arm of the couch for stability. “Ledger…”
Just inches away from you now, he cupped your cheek. “Give me a chance to show you how serious I am about you”. Gently tracing his thumb along your skin, he lowered his voice. “Please…”. You brought your hand up to grasp his forearm, leaning into his touch. “Let me be the only one baby… you know I’ll take care of you.” Faintly swiping his thumb across your bottom lip, his gaze dropped, lingering on your mouth for a moment. He softened his tone, adding, “always will”. Ledger stood there, the sound of his heart beat pounding against his ear drum gradually rising as he waited for you to say something. Anything.
Hesitant to immediately believe him, you scanned his face, searching for any hint of insincerity. When you saw nothing but honesty, you placed your free hand on his abdomen, trailing up towards his chest. You paused, feeling the soft thrum under your fingertips, taking note as his heart beat quickened. Shifting your focus to his lips now, you quietly urged, “come here”.
Circling an arm around your waist, he listened, dipping his head down to meet your lips. Stumbling flush against him now, you squeezed his forearm, letting out a small moan at the motion. Still unsatisfied with the level of closeness, Ledger brought his hands down, gripping the back of your thighs to pick you up with ease. It was habitual now. Even reaching a point where you no longer jumped or detached from him, he’d simply wrap you around his body.
Naturally latching onto him, you gingerly drew your nails across his shoulders, coaxing out a muffled groan. You were blissfully unaware he was walking towards the couch until feeling the fabric of his jeans brushing against your thighs. Dress riding up dangerously close to your hips, Ledger ran his hands along the exposed flesh of your thighs. Reluctantly detaching for air, your breath hitched as you took in the sight of him, a sense of familiarity washing over you. Lips parted, he stared, fully unaware his eyes conveyed the same sentiment. Clearly now.
Thursday wasn’t the first time you had seen it. Ledger would avert his gaze before you took notice, but you caught glimpses. The brief occurrences seemed to increase after you started sleeping together however you never questioned it. Not until recently.
Tenderly trailing a hand down to his bicep, you quietly asked, “how long?”, analyzing his features in the process. Giving a reassuring squeeze, you repeated yourself, “how long have you felt like this?” Ledger shifted his gaze, hesitating as the first moment flashed through his mind. Upon seeing his apprehension, your grasp on his shoulder drifted towards his neck to gently cup his jaw. “Tell me the truth”.
Unable to look away now, Ledger was quiet for another second before speaking. “You remember the night I taught you how to play pool…?” Words registering in your mind, you tentatively nodded. Your heart rate sped up once it dawned on you that happened two years ago. “And how it ended…?” You nodded again, a faint smile gracing your lips.
“After I fell asleep on your couch, you put me in your bed at some point, but I ended up waking up in the middle of the night”. A small laugh bubbling out as the memory came up, you exclaimed, “You looked so uncomfortable, I had to beg you to sleep in the same bed because you wanted to give me space!”
Cracking a grin as he listened, Ledger shook his head, letting out a slight chuckle when you finished. Once his laughter dissipated, the feeling settled deep in his chest. “I didn’t want you to leave that morning…”. Occasionally rubbing small circles into your skin while he palmed your thighs, he gave you a gentle squeeze, voice almost above a whisper, “I still don’t”.
Heart skipping a beat at his admission, you traced along his jaw, brushing your thumb across his bottom lip. Ledger tightened his grip, the pressure building in his jeans steadily becoming uncomfortable. The expression on his face sent a ripple through your stomach. You laid a peck on his cheek, repeating the action before placing a lingering one on his lips.
Disconnecting, you teasingly dragged your hand down his arm. Gazing between your eyes, his view dropped down to your mouth before he eagerly leaned back in. Palming your ass now, he groaned, shifting your hips closer. You ground against him, hands drifting toward his chest to push him back into the cushion. A sharp wave of arousal spread through your body as you deepened the kiss.
Feeling the ache settle deep in your core, you tugged at the hem of his shirt, dipping underneath to feel his skin. Reading your cues, Ledger partially disconnected to lift it over his head. One of his arms rounded your waist, pulling you flush against him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, smiling into the kiss as you soothingly ran your nails along his upper back. He nipped at your bottom lip, smoothing over the spot with his tongue, sending another spiral of pleasure through you.
Focus shifting to your jaw, he planted lingering kisses as he made his way down your neck. Moving at an agonizing pace, he took his time licking and sucking along your skin. Eyes drifting shut when he reached the sensitive spot just below your ear, a breathy moan fell from your lips. Ache growing unbearable now, you clenched around nothing, letting out a shaky breath. You were on the verge of pleading before he stood up, firmly keeping your legs wrapped around him now.
Placing several kisses along his cheeks while he beelined for the bedroom, a small smile ghosted your lips when you felt his forming. You teasingly nipped at his jaw before whispering against the shell of his ear. “I missed you by the way”.
Feeling a hint of satisfaction swell in his chest, Ledger grinned. “I know”.
Once he reached the foot of the bed, he set you down before sitting at the edge. Making space, he snaked an arm around your waist, pulling you in close. Your hands resting on his biceps traced along his skin. He peered up through hooded eyes, quietly adding, “I can promise, I missed you more though…”. Thighs clenching in response, you took a small step back, gradually sliding your dress straps off while he watched. Maintaining eye contact as you closed the distance, Ledger ran his fingers along the spine of your zipper. With a gentle tug, the dress slid off your figure, pooling around your feet.
Now left in just your underwear, you moved to settle back onto his lap, roaming your hands up his chest to pull him in for a kiss. Returning with the same fervor, he groaned, palming your thighs to shift you closer. Hands wandering down to undo his belt and drag his zipper down, you parted from him as the kiss grew heated. Dipping in to teasingly stroke him through the thin fabric of his boxers, he twitched under your palm. You faintly ran your thumb along the head of his dick, mumbling against his lips, “why don’t you show me how much hm…?” Whispering the last part directly into his ear, “I won’t believe it until you do”.
Patience snapping, Ledger stood, dropping you onto the bed as he removed his pants. Body thrumming with anticipation, you crawled up the bed, watching him intently. When his length came into view, you bit your bottom lip upon seeing a bead of precum forming. Even though you were well acquainted with his size, he still managed to awe you. He hovered above you now, grabbing your ankles to pull you toward the middle of the bed. Unhurriedly dragging your underwear off, he began pressing pecks along your legs, traveling down to your inner thighs. Inching his way closer, he sucked and nipped at your skin, holding steady eye contact.
Deciding it was enough teasing when the need in your eyes sparked something primal in him, he parted your thighs wide, slotting himself in between. All it took was one long glide of his tongue from your entrance to your clit before his control completely vanished. The flutter in your core when he dipped into your entrance made you involuntarily clench around his tongue. Breath shifting, you braced yourself, hands sprawling in the sheets as he repeated the action.
Keeping a firm grasp, Ledger planted your thighs flush against his face, swirling his tongue around your clit. Grabbing hold of his forearm, your breath came out in soft pants as his pace increased. With each pass coaxing more arousal, he’d bring you close to edge, stopping to savor your taste. Bringing two fingers to your entrance, he shifted his other hand to press down against your navel. Parting just enough so that you could hear him clearly, he urged, “you know I need more”.
You weren’t able to fully register his statement until he slid his fingers in, resuming the relentless pace. Back arching, your hand flew to his head tracing along his scalp. Vision blurring as he curled them inside, a broken moan spilled out. “Fuck, r- right there”. He knew your body well. Too well at this point. Maintaining the calculated rhythm he set with his mouth, he slowed the movement of his hand, intensifying the pressure building deep in your core.
Fluttering around him, your head fell back onto the mattress. A few more strokes was all it took for your orgasm to spread throughout your body. Breath faltering, your hands clutched the sheets as he continued his actions. When your thighs started trembling, he replaced his fingers with his tongue. He barely gave you a moment to ride the wave, greedily coaxing more fluid out of you, groaning at the taste. Body writhing underneath him now, he held your thighs, firmly keeping them in place.
Eyes drifting shut, your hand flew down to his head again, unsure of whether you wanted to push him away or hold on. The pleasure coursing through your veins becoming too much, you meekly pleaded, “w-wait, I’m—”, before another sharp wave of arousal hit. Grasping at his arm again to get his attention, you attempted to push at his head.
Finally letting up, Ledger lifted his head, rubbing reassuring circles along your thighs. “You, ok?” You were quiet for a moment, lips parted while taking in his appearance. Eyes lingering on the arousal glistening off his lips and beard, the daze in his eyes sent a fresh twinge of desire straight to your core. You caressed his cheek, giving a small nod of confirmation.
Pressing kisses along your thighs again, Ledger made his way up your body, stopping at your breasts. His hands followed, gradually moving towards your hips. Grazing his teeth across your nipple, he soothed the sensation with his tongue. Letting out a small moan, you loosely wrapped your legs around his waist. He gave your other breast the same attention, dick twitching against your thigh as he did.
Gently running your hands across the side of his abdomen, you paused, tilting your head to allow him more access to your neck. The heat simmering in your stomach intensified with every pass of his lips. Pulling him in for a kiss as soon as he reached your jaw, you pressed his hips flush against you. He groaned, gliding along your wet pussy before lining himself up. Pushing forward, he slid in inch by inch. Whimpering at the sensitivity, your hand wandered over, feeling his muscles tense under your palm.
Rubbing the flesh on your thigh before giving them a squeeze, he murmured against your lips, “f-fuck, you feel that baby?” Ledger started delivering slow, deep thrusts, emphasizing each one as he sunk back in. Blinking up at him in a daze, you released a lengthy exhale, nodding in response. Bringing his hand up to cup your jaw, he tilted your head to the side, gently tracing his thumb along your jaw. Speaking directly into your ear, “you believe me now, don’t you?”
You moaned, clenching around his length. Through a hushed tone, you mumbled, “I believe yo—”, cut off by a sharp moan. A swift roll of his hips caused him to brush along the spongy part inside you. As your mind went blank, your eyes drifted shut, focusing on the acute tingle forming in your core. Ledger twitched, both of you growing quiet while the obscene wet sound emitting from each plunge of his dick filled the room. Clawing down his shoulder, your mouth parted as he gradually increased his speed.
Voice breaking into a rasp, he uttered, “That’s it? You want me right there baby?”
You pleaded, “f-fuck, don’t stop”. The rasp in his tone sparking another swirl of arousal, you whimpered, locking your legs around him, keeping him as close as possible. “Keep talking, p-please”.
“Is that why you were quiet earlier? You were focused on my voice?” Unable to form any coherent sentences, every word he spoke drew you closer to the edge. “I effect you that much hm? You could cum just from this?” Heat flaring in his abdomen, he throbbed as your tremors became frequent. Rolling his hips again to graze the spot, you released a harsh moan. “Meant everything I said… I—”, he paused before the words could slip out, pressing kisses along your neck instead. The last thing he wanted to do was scare you.
You praised, “you feel s’good, so-”, moaning as the sound of his skin slapping against yours rung out.
Shifting his head back into frame, he urged, “look at me”. In a fawn-like state now, once his features came into view, your body had a visceral reaction. Hand traveling up the nape of his neck, you brought him down to connect your lips.
Parting after a short moment, you mumbled out, “I love you”, against his lips without thinking. Your breath hitched when the realization came. Dropping your gaze, you involuntarily fluttered around his length when the feeling swelled in your chest.
As soon as Ledger registered what you said he tipped your chin back up, “say it again”. He drifted his hands down, slightly elevating your hips to meet his strokes.
The new angle causing his dick to repeatedly curve along your sensitive walls, you dug your nails into his skin, wailing, “oh f-fuck!”
Leaning beside your ear again, he released a throaty groan. Voice completely hoarse now, he instructed, “Say that shit again, tell me how you feel”.
Eyes beginning to roll back, the words tumbled out of you, “I love you, love being with yo-”. Choking on your sentence, tears threatened to spill when the intensity of your orgasm caught you off guard. Thighs trembling, you contracted around his length hard, feeling him sink back in once more before he twitched. Drawing out a deep groan from Ledger, his muscles tensed as ropes of cum coated your walls. You pulsed, clinging onto him while the waves of warmth pooled at your core, seeping onto his skin.
Ledger softened his grip, waiting for your breath to even out before pressing a kiss under your ear, voicing “I love you too”.
pairing: teddy spencer (played by tyriq withers) x black fem!oc
content warning: mentions of alcohol, grief, depression, blood/gore, violence, and vampirism
word count: 4,019 (i literally started writing at 2 PM and finished at 12:30 AM)
--
All Hands on Neck!
Teddy was about 5 shots of whiskey into the night, and he was in his feelings. Bad. He knew he should’ve had tequila. Tequila always guaranteed a good time for Teddy. Whiskey made him depressed.
“Yo, the male loneliness epidemic…That shit is so fucking real.” His voice cracked in between sniffles, tears spilling from his ocean-blue eyes. Lying his head in between the fake titties of the stripper that he booked a private dance with while she sat on his lap, annoyed. Hazel, Heather, or…Holly, was it? He couldn’t really remember. All he knew was that she was the first lady of the night to come up to his leather seat at Club Venus, propositioning him for a private dance.
Barely 30 seconds into the lap dance, Teddy just couldn’t keep it together. He politely asked the lady of the night to lower the speaker that played Haunted by Beyonce and climb into his lap. The song was just a little too fitting for Teddy’s life.
“Get this shit, right? I literally get stabbed like a New Orleans voodoo doll by a psycho in this smelly ass fisherman’s outfit. Which turns out is, like, two psychos. One of them is this drunk bitch, Stevie, from high school—so happy we dropped her ass, I don’t know why we brought her back in—and this irrelevant old nigga who was also targeted by the serial killer fisherman person like 100 years ago. I’m in a coma for 10 days, I wake up find out that my best friend is dead, my fucking Dad is dead, and then my mom decides to get married and move to Atlanta with her personal trainer like 3 months after my dad’s funeral. Then, my ex-fiancee Danica decides to move to L.A. to start her fucking wellness brand with her claircognizant empath, Fleur—What the fuck does that even mean?—, and then Ava goes to—" Teddy paused to think. “I actually don’t remember where Ava went, but all that matters is that she’s not in Southport. They’re all gone. They all left me.”
He reaches into his pocket for his phone, scrolling through his camera roll until he lands on the group photo taken at his high school graduation. His best friends wore matching periwinkle cap and gowns, smiles wide and naive. Completely unaware of the absolute horror movie that they would be thrust into years later.
“Do you ever feel alone, Heaven?” Teddy slowly removes himself from the warm embrace of her bosom, peering up at the sex worker.
“Yeah, sure, sometimes. And also, it’s Wholesome.”
Teddy furrowed his brows in confusion. “It’s what?”
Wholesome rolled her eyes. “Listen, do you still want a dance? ‘Cuz either way I’mma need you to come up off that $500.”
Teddy dug into his pocket, pulled out his wallet and handed the oddly named stripper five $100 bills. Throwing in an extra $500 for the impromptu therapy session that he inadvertently trapped her into. Wholesome stuffed the money into her sparkly sequined bra and placed her feather headdress back onto her jet black bob—it was Cabaret night—with a satisfied smirk and stood up from his lap. “Come back, soon,” she winked and quickly dusted the body glitter that stuck to Cameron’s face, strutting out into the hallway, back into the main club to make some more money. He thought he was doing her a favor, giving her a break from shaking ass, but really either act of service came with its own emotional and physical toll.
He grabbed his leather jacket, nodding to the buff security guard who stood watch outside of the private dance room, and headed to the exit, making his way towards the one place that brought him solace in this unfair, fucked up world.
___
Teddy’s Uber dropped him off at the Southport Marina. The only light came from 5 tall lamp posts and the full moon that sat brightly in the blue-indigo of the September night sky. It was nice and quiet this time of night. The gentle roaring of the waves and the light whistle of the wind was a stark contrast to the heavy bass hip-hop, whooping of middle-aged men, and the rustling of bills at Club Venus.
He drunkenly stumbled on the dock towards his beloved Lady Scarlett, the small yacht his father, Grant, gifted him on his 16th birthday. The boat originally belonged to his grandfather, Charles Spencer, who named it after Teddy’s grandmother. Scarlett Spencer ironically smoked like a sailor for decades until lung cancer crept up on her and said, I’mma do you one even better, and she passed away shortly after Teddy’s 10th birthday.
He always thought of Lady Scarlett as his safe space. He’d go whenever he needed to clear his head after one of his countless arguments with his father. He would try to get Danica to go with him from time to time when they were together, but she never really liked boating, usually complaining of seasickness caused by her birth control pills. On a hot summer day, he’d sail his boat to the Outer Banks and go surfing with Milo when he visited.
Teddy went straight for the boat’s mini-fridge and cracked open his last bottle of Corona with his teeth, spitting the dented bottle cap onto the floor and taking a long swig. He sat at the outdoor table, on the boats deck. Teddy rearranged the outdoor furniture so it faced the dock and the water behind it. After almost losing his life, ain’t no motherfucking way he was getting snuck. He kicked his feet up on the table and looked up at the sky.
Milo. Fucking, Milo.
Teddy missed the shit out of his best friend. He missed his crooked smile, warm green eyes, and his overall nerdiness. Milo was the perfect foil to Teddy’s cocky, yet charming, himbo persona. Back in the 11th grade, Teddy was at risk of getting benched from Southport High School’s Varsity basketball semi-finals because of his failing grade in pre-calculus. Milo stayed up with Teddy until 2 AM to help him study the night before their midterm. With his help, he passed with a B-, and helped Southport High School win their first championship game in over 20 years. Milo was damn good friend to Teddy. He would’ve been Teddy’s best man at his own wedding if he hadn’t been an idiot and fucked things up for all of his friends. Over a stupid, fucking blunt.
He couldn’t admit it to himself out loud, but he missed Milo more than he did his own father. Southport practically turned into one huge Grant Spencer shrine after the massacre, but what did Milo get? One candle lighting and a small funeral that Teddy missed anyway because he was in a fucking coma. Like Teddy’s mother, Milo’s mother, Sarah, fled Southport once her house sold and moved down to Florida with her sister a year after the massacre.
“I’m so fucking sorry, Milo. I’m so fucking sorry,” Teddy whispered to himself in between hiccups. Tears spilled from his cheeks onto the corners of his lips, the taste of salt landed on the tip of his tongue. He wiped some snot off of his nose with the back of his hand. “Got me ugly crying in this shit, man.” He took another swig of beer. Allowing the warmth that grew in his belly to give him the hug that he so desperately needed.
“You look like shit!”
Teddy’s eyes shot open, the voice startled him so much that he damn near fell from his chair. “The fuck?”
Between his drowsiness, the alcohol, and the tears, his vision was slightly blurred, but eventually focused on a young man who stood about 10 feet away on the dock. He had a backwards cap that sat on top of his brown curly hair styled into a subtle mullet, an Amiri hoodie and cargo pants. His skin was the shade of ivory and his lips curved into a smug smile.
Teddy let out a sigh of relief and chuckled. “Oh, my God! Lee, I’m fucking you up once I’m sober.”
Lee snickered and flicked his tongue out. “Oh? So an ass-beating that’s never happening? Awesome.” He lifted a six-pack of Angry Orchard beer, dangling it in front of Teddy. “Can I come on?”
“Hell yeah! You ain’t never needed an invitation.” Teddy welcomed him while discreetly wiping his eyes. Excitement brewed in his chest over seeing a familiar face. He hadn’t seen Lee since his father’s funeral that was over a year ago.
Lee Anderson was the town’s biggest playboy and the male heir to the Anderson construction empire that catapulted his family into Southport high society. While they were in high school, Lee was co-captain of the varsity boys basketball team alongside Teddy and his occasional party buddy. Grant and Lee Senior were long-time country club friends and casual business partners, but their moms, Jill and Tabatha, couldn’t fucking stand each other after an incident that they dubbed “Pilates-gate.” They were nice-nasty to each other at best. Lee offered Teddy and Milo their first lines of coke at a graduation party. Of course Milo refused, but Teddy thought, fuck it you only graduate from high school once, and snorted the nose candy. It was a fun night, but Teddy quickly found out that cocaine was indeed a hell of a drug when his body quite literally refused to go to sleep for 3 days after. And one thing Teddy liked more than partying was his sleep. So his little rich-boy coke phase started and ended that night.
“What are you even doing here, man? No wild party on Seaduction, tonight?” Teddy asked before abandoning his Corona for the sweet and savory taste of hard cider. Lee also owned an even larger yacht on the marina that was a college graduation present from his parents. Originally it was called The Maverick, but Lee nicknamed it Seaduction after throwing one of the biggest yacht parties in Southport history on it, and enjoying the best 5 minutes of his life with two Duke girls.
“Nah man, not tonight. I’m actually thinking of selling the boat.” Lee took his cap off his head and put it on the table.
“Shut the fuck up. You’re kidding?”
“Yeah, I guess you could say…I’m entering a new phase in my life, where the boat no longer serves me—”
Teddy snorted and playfully punched Lee in the arm. “Please stop. You literally sound like Danica.”
“Listen, her wellness podcast is the reason why I started journaling. You know, for about two days.” Both men laughed in unison.
Danica. The bitter-sweet thought of his ex-fiancee and best friend stung a little in his chest. They communicated every now and then. She’d even come to visit him once during the holidays. He knew they could never rekindle what they once had after she had made the cross-country move, but he was proud of her for making a name for herself. She turned her trauma into triumph. Meanwhile Teddy was drinking his trauma away. Even though it never really went away.
“How are your parents, though?” Teddy asked.
“They’re doing well. Decided to move out of the country once my dad retired.”
Teddy lifted his brows, stunned to hear the news. Granted, the Andersons moved across town a few years ago and Teddy’s been….Teddy. Surely he would’ve been privy to this new information? “Lee Sr. retired? And I wasn’t invited to Tabatha’s going away party?”
Lee rolled his gray eyes. “So glad I didn’t have to be put through that, but no. They decided to do it quietly. Dad sold the company and they live in Bali now. Tech-free.”
“Oh shit. Well, tell them I say hi, and I will be needing their address in case I ever wanna take a trip—”
“So, how you holdin’ up Ted?” Lee changed the subject.
Teddy sighed. “I’ve, uh…been better.” He stared into the dark abyss of the ocean, avoiding eye contact with Lee. He knew if he looked him in the eyes, he’d feel the warmth of his tears threaten to make a comeback. And he was just over crying today.
“Dude, be honest. Word spreads in Southport, man.”
“What the fuck is there to say? I’m in a town that I’ve lived in my whole life and the people that made it worth living here are all gone. My family is gone. My friends are gone. I am…stuck. I am stuck with this business and million-dollar fortune that I don’t even know what to do with because I didn’t even want to go into real estate or business when I grew up. I was a freaking sports broadcasting major in college! I didn’t think my dad would actually pass down the business to me. The guy thought I was an idiot, and—”
Teddy stopped himself. “Anyway, I’m just…taking it day by day.”
Lee sighed. “I get it. Not really living, but—”
“Existing,” they both said in unison. Silence filled the air. Teddy noticed that Lee hadn’t opened a bottle of the Apple Orchard beer. Maybe he was driving home? He didn’t see his Ford Bronco in the parking lot, though.
“What if I said there was a way for you to…live again?”
“Like taking antidepressants? My psychiatrist gave me a prescription for Prozac, but I haven’t filled it. If I take it that means I gotta quit drinking, and I don’t know if I’m ready for all that—”
“No, you idiot,” Lee chuckled. “More like a…new way of life.” His voice sounded dazy, yet dipped into a slight huskiness.
“That sounds culty. Did you join one? Ooh, lemme guess — Church of Scientology? Mormonism? Jehovah’s Witnesses? Nation of Islam?” Teddy joked, turning to face Lee. But Lee had his gaze focused onto the ocean.
“Nah man, nothing to do with that stuff. How can I put this in a way that makes sense? Think of it as a second life.”
Lee slowly turned to face Teddy. His silver-grey eyes darkened into a crimson-black all over. He parted his bow-shaped lips, baring numerous sharp fangs that morphed from his veneers, the sickly sound of Lee’s gums stretching to accommodate his true form. His skin paled even further, morphing into a retched blue-gray with veins that lined his forehead and hollow cheekbones, like he was a corpse that’d been left to rot for days.
Teddy’s grip loosened on his bottle of beer. It shattered onto the hard wooden floors of the boat, but he hardly noticed. This couldn’t be real. Were his eyes playing tricks on him? Maybe someone slipped a roofie into his drink at Club Venus? Maybe Wholesome didn’t really live up to her name?
Teddy had felt more sober in this moment than he felt all night. All week, even.
“Lee…” Teddy slowly rose from his seat, while his heart instantaneously hammered in his chest. “Wh-what is this?”
Lee sighed like he had been through this before. “This is exactly what you think it is, Ted. Listen, I can make this quick and painless for you, bro. I turn you, and you can finally live life the way you want to live it. You can finally let go of this pain that you’ve been holding inside for so long. You can start over anywhere in this world — Paris, London, Tokyo, wherever. You’ll be strong, fast, never have to worry about aging, which would do you some good because the alcohol’s drying you out. You’d never have to look over your shoulder for the big, bad fisherman because you are the thing that he fears the most.”
Teddy began to back up, while Lee proceeded to inch towards him. Like a lion hunting a gazelle. “I—I don’t.”
“I-I-I d-don’t,” Lee mocked Teddy’s stuttering with a cackle.
“Yeah, thing is you don’t really have a choice in the matter anymore,” Lee said, matter-of-factly. “You invited me onto the boat, my friend. That was your choice.”
Fuck, Teddy thought. He replayed the beginning of their interaction in his head. Can I join you? Lee didn’t ask for an invitation to Scarlett when his grand Seaduction party guest count exceeded the max amount of passengers and he needed to split the party between two boats. Lee didn’t ask for an invitation to Scarlett when he needed a place to hide out from his parents when he ran up a $20,000 bill at the Raddison Blu Hotel in Dubai during spring break. When the fuck had Lee asked for anything in his goddamned, spoiled life?
“Whether you want to be reborn or become maggot food? That’s up to you.”
Okay, now Teddy was confused. “Wait…so you said that I don’t have a choice. But you literally just gave me a choice.”
Lee rolled his eyes. “What?”
“Well, you just said that me dying, isn’t a choice. But then you said that I have to choose between becoming a…vampire, is it? Or dying? But then I’d already be dead if you—”
Teddy wasn’t able to finish the thought before Lee roared and lunged at him. Teddy flew into the boat’s sliding doors. Its glass exploded from the collision of the 6”5,’ 220 pound 24 year-old man who was a hair away from being a vampire’s supper.
Teddy’s head collided with the floor with a nasty thwack. A shaky cough escaped from between his lips. He hadn’t had the wind knocked out of him in so long, the feeling was almost foreign. He tried to lift his head, but he grunted at the sharp pain that settled at the base of his skull. The only thing he could think to do was slowly attempt to crab walk on his back towards the cockpit and radio for help.
Lee stepped through the empty frame of the glass window. The vampire locking his eyes on his prey, a scowl replaced his twisted smile. He stomped on Teddy’s shin. His mouth watered once he heard the crack of the bone along with his howl of pain.
“HELP!! SOMEBODY HELP FUCKING HELP ME, PLEASE!!” Teddy shouted hoarsely. It was like he was in his backyard again, desperately trying to fight off the murderer in the funky fisherman’s outfit, as he grew weaker and weaker from his own stab wounds and as his own blood pooled from his mouth. Nobody was coming to save him.
“Thanks for making this decision a whole lot easier for me, Teddy. I’m going to enjoy devouring every. Single. Inch. Of you.” Lee bent down on one knee and grabbed Teddy’s sandy brown hair, he tilted his head to the left, and leaned down to sniff the right side of Teddy’s neck. Oh yes, Lee thought, Teddy was going to make for one delicious meal. And for once, he didn’t have to share with the others.
He didn’t hesitate before sinking his teeth into Teddy’s neck. The pain was so unbearable that all Teddy could do was whimper from the shock of it all. After a few seconds, Lee let go of him. Fresh blood covered the bottom half of his face and dribbled from his chin. A few drops landed on his $800 hoodie. A few bits of Teddy’s neck lodged their way in between Lee’s fangs. Like pieces of lettuce that get stuck between one’s teeth after eating a Caesar salad.
Teddy (unfortunately?) was still alive. For once in his life, he was speechless. How the fuck did he go from crying in the strip club to getting mauled by a vampire in one night? A Sunday night, at that? The familiar taste of metal formed on his taste buds as he coughed up blood, his body began to shiver. He was losing blood, and fast. He could tell by the hunger in Lee’s eyes that there was no medication, surgery, or medically-induced coma that could reverse what was being done to him. He kinda wished that Lee bit into an artery or something. He couldn’t even keep his promise that the process was going to be quick and painless. Lee was kinda the worst right now.
Lee swiped at the blood that was coated on his face. His hands were now spindly, thick claws protruded from the tips of his fingers. He suckled on Teddy’s blood in the palm of his hands, groaning in satisfaction. For someone who drank beer for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, Teddy's blood tasted incredible.
He looked down at his poor victim, cocking his head to the side like Michael Myers before he butchered a helpless citizen of Haddonfield. His friend that he grew up with writhing on the floor in excruciating pain. If Lee had a soul, he’d probably feel remorse. Maybe. But he was a vampire, and blood was blood. Another soul had to die in order for Lee to continue to exist. That’s just the way it was.
He shrugged at Teddy like he was the one who asked him why he did what he did.
“Well, Ted it’s been real. Tell our folks I say, ‘hi’.” Lee bared his fangs one last time, his mouth stretching to reveal an extra row of fangs like a shark’s. Like damn, there was more? This was gonna fucking hurt.
Teddy gently closed his eyes, accepting his fate. Another pair of tears released from the corners of his eyes. If two maniacal serial killers weren’t his undoing, then surely a bloodthirsty vampire had to be. ‘Cuz that made sense.
Before Lee could get another taste of Teddy’s neck, he was met with the horrid taste of wood instead.
It was now Lee’s turn to be in shock, as his hand grazed the wooden stake that was lodged into his mouth, through the back of his head. He screeched in pain, urgently attempting to pull the weapon from out of his head, but it was no use. Lee Anderson was dying. He turned to get a look at his assailant. A young woman with bronze skin and long, jet black locs that were tied into a pineapple on top of her head stood before him. She wore a simple black dress, thigh high boots, and a cross around her neck. She swiftly kicked him in his side, and he toppled onto the ground. She leaned down and pulled the stake out of his head with ease, like she was a gardener pulling out stubborn weeds from the Earth.
“You…bitch…” Lee trailed off weakly. He feebly attempted to crawl to the boat’s deck.
“You should’ve left Southport when you had the chance,” the young woman responded monotonously before pulling another steak out from the pocket of her leather jacket and stabbing him in the heart. Lee Anderson’s body went limp and disintegrated until it was nothing but a pile of dust on Teddy Spencer’s boat.
Speaking of, Teddy—don’t wanna forget about him—was wheezing on the floor, trying to grasp onto whatever little life he still had left. The only thing he could look at was the off-white of the boat’s ceiling.
The young woman scurried over to him. She quickly scanned the boat’s lounge room before finding an Under Armour t-shirt that Teddy abandoned on the floor among the empty beer cans, Gatorade bottles and protein bar wrappers that were littered onto it.
“You’re gonna be okay, just stay with me,” she pressed the t-shirt into the wound, using it as a makeshift compress. She gently caressed his face, her thumb grazing the scattered freckles on his cheek. The warm brown of her eyes landed on the cool blue of his. Like a yin and yang.
“Blair! Maggie! We’re in here!” The young woman yelled. Her eye contact never faltered. “Just keep looking at me, okay? Stay with me.”Teddy tried as hard as he could to stay with the young woman who had saved his life. By the time the people he assumed to be Blair and Maggie made it onto Lady Scarlett, his body gave out, and everything went black.
--
a/n: my cousin gave me her ADHD medication and I LOCKED TF IN. it was giving very much--
this concept has been in my drafts for about a month and I revisited it and decided to share it with y'all, so I hope y'all enjoyed it!
this fic is obviously inspired by buffy the vampire slayer, with just a little sprinkle of sinners. apologies if there are still any grammatical spelling errors. once i reached my flow state, I just couldn't stop.
if you wanna be added in a tag list, feel free to let me know in the comments.
[ᴮʳⁱᵈᵍᵉʳᵗᵒⁿ] Dissonance I a spin on the popular royale series with Tyriq Withers.
𝄞 ˢᵗⁱˡˡ ʷᵒⁿᵈᵉʳ ᵇʸ, ᴹᵒᵒⁿᶜʰⁱˡᵈ / 𝓸𝓷𝓮
There's a woman Nathaniel feels drawn to, just a second of her time surpasses any privilege he's gotten. The tricky thing is, each attempt gambles with everything he has to lose. (this chapter includes manipulation and slight dehumanizing)
The ball always captures Nathaniel. Watching the swarm of sparkly women and polished men mingle makes him a content bystander.
His younger brother Darron on the other hand, was getting suitor advice from his father, again. His rough palm came down on the boys shoulder and Darron bathed in assurance.
But with Nathaniel, Sven would push him from the nest and expect him not to fall too hard.
"Look at them already swimming to shore. Off you go, my boy." Darron smiled at his father before letting the women crowd him.
Nathaniel glanced at his half-brother and then went back to observing with his hands folded. His father stood by him like a crutch with legs, but he didn't offer a grain of support.
"You know what to do." Nathaniel half-listened.
"Yes, father." He took that as a cue to wander about and sure enough, a few girls came to speak with him but he wasn't bombarded like his younger brother.
Darron had more of an approachable energy. Whereas girls that wanted to speak to Nathaniel, pep-talked themselves up until midnight for a crumb of courage.
"Lord Legrand?" Nathaniel turned around and acknowledged a girl with luring, hazel eyes. There was no blemish in sight on her fair skin, only beauty marks that freckled in desirable places.
"Evening, you are?" The girl blushed and offered a hand, "Lady Jessabelle, but you can just.. call me.. Jessa." Nathaniel gently took her hand and smiled.
"Nice to meet you."
"It's really my pleasure," her eyes creased. "I've planned on talking to you, days before the ball. I admire the way you move through this place, like you wish to be omniscient."
"something like that." He smirks as an apple blush colors her cheeks.
"I'd love for us to spend more time with each other, but for now, I'll leave you be. I'm sure many women would kill for even a second of your time."
"I'm not that popular tonight.." she chuckles at the lazy joke, her updo of raven locks justling like ornaments on a Pinetree.
"That's rubbish!" she covers her mouth.
"Excuse me, My Lord.. I don't mean to interrupt." A dainty French girl appears from out of thin air, slicing Nathaniel's attention. He looks between both girls with amusement.
"Um, well.." Jessabelle forces a smile.
"I'll go. It was nice talking to you." She touches his shoulder for a split second and moves around him.
"You as well." Nathaniel turned toward the other girl and let her nervous mouth run for minutes. It began to get tiresome around the dozenth girl, their speeches would assimilate. Praise, gushing, requests and flirtation.
He roamed the ball until his feet were numb, just to keep himself from being a target if he were to get stuck between pressured conversations.
Nathaniel quenched his thirst at the beverage table and minded no one, at peace almost. But a body whisked past him with the most bewitching scent.
He stopped drinking to focus, his teal eyes looking over the gold and glitter, the bronze skin and bouffant updo that dropped his mouth open.
After grabbing a glass of wine you turn around and catch his eyes. Nathaniel straightens up and smiles, no teeth, nothing extra. Just a small wave without words.
You make an expression back, acknowledging him but not smiling.
He's drawn to the absence of sign you give. Wondering how you sound when you talk and what your smile looks like, maybe then he could assume what type of person you were.
But for now, you are a golden, shiny mystery drinking liquor.
Nathaniel positions his body in a way that makes it less obvious he's ogling at you. Thoughts urge him to make a move, to get the answers he desires. Yet, his feet remain planted, his lips stapled as his jaw works.
You eventually leave and he curses himself immediately.
"Been flirted with yet, child." You glance at your mother, lax on a cushioned chair with the festivities swirling in her brown eyes. She's teasing you and it makes your brain itch accordingly.
"No. I think they're intimidated by me."
Your mother laughs softly as you move around her and lean on the back of her chair.
"Go socialize, bloom.. be a young frivolous adult." You frown as you take a hold of her shoulders.
"Mom.." she hums back, already unamused with any excuses you may try to whip up.
"Oh I see a few staring at you, my jewel. One's approaching?" You lean up and blurt, "What?" she laughs again.
"And you say they're intimidated by you." You suck your teeth and take in the ball again.
They weren't as many black folk as there were white folk. If you had an undeniably dark complexion, you were looked at as something obscene yet, unique.. not normal. To pursue others in hopes of achieving that would mean further throwing your neck out.
"What about potential friends?" Your mother proposes.
"I can try." Your eyes meet, deep and even.
"Try." you stare at her for a moment and then sigh.
"Yes, madame." the small joke eases your hearts and sends you off into the crowd once more. Dozens of faces pass by you in a blur of dance and courtship from suitor to woman, but you see tan skin.
Tan skin and teal eyes.
You remember the young man from the beverage table, the first to offer you a genuine smile tonight.
He stilled when he saw you too, as if close to catching the firefly he'd been chasing. Your mind continued to move your body, despite you wanting to stay at the same time.
At some point you sit and rest, and dance alone, and wander. You keep catching his face somewhere after feeling like you could forget him.
And just when solidarity hugs you, low and behold, he appears again. Finally walking up to you with some intentions and another smile, sweeter this time.
"Evening, My lady." you raise your brows.
"I am Lord Nathaniel Legrand of Hertford. Son of Sven Legrand." his face is almost unreal with the way his bones are structured, you stand up and slowly outreach to not be rude despite staring wordlessly.
"Lady Oneka Mua. Daughter of-"
"Dame Eshe Mua?" you nod softly as he holds your hand, his smiling face reminding you of a handsome jaguar. Goodness. You blink to get it together.
"Yes, I'm well aware." His lips lower into as smirk as he kisses your gloved hand.
"I've seen you wandering as I am and.. I just felt compelled to introduce myself."
"Well then, pleased to meet you." he smiles again, easy as silk.
"May I have a bit of your time?" you shrug.
"I have nothing to do anyway." And that's when you both make a space for yourselves. The conversations you hold have substance and you like when he makes references towards books you know of.
Sometimes, he flirts too. Because he can, voice velvety as if he was never taught how to.
"You're really gorgeous. You know that." You blink twice.
"Sorry?"
"I said, you're gorgeous. I feel like I might need a fan?" you freeze and then laugh, un-practiced and authentic.
"You know your strengths." you point at him with a smirk.
"Oh yes, I must? My weakness is ridiculous." you hold your chin above the table.
"What's your weakness?" he gives you a pointed look and you both share another laugh that makes your faces warm.
"Okay, I walked into that." you rub your eyelid and Nathaniel leaned on the table, hands folded as he watched you recollect yourself with keen eyes. Your energy to him was something long awaited and overly delightful.
"Why am I just now meeting you?" he furrows his brows dramatically and you sigh.
"This just isn't my scene." Nathaniel nods with understanding and huffs.
"Well, I'm glad you came to the ball this year." You smile timidly, dimples protruding. Nathaniel notices before you ever will, straightening his back again to fight vomiting more compliments onto you.
"..Do you dance?" you open your mouth with doubt already there.
"Yes. But.." he extended his hand.
"Do me the greatest favor. Just for tonight, we don't have to go to the center like everyone else." You contemplate, sigh, and eventually take his hand.
He leads you to a corner no one can be nosy at. Your ears catch the melody and you make your own rhythm and steps. You smile because it's cheesy and cliche, he smiles because he's fortunate to have persuaded you.
"You're enjoying this, my god. Look at you." you scoff at his persistent grin and he chuckles.
"I'm dancing with an angel, how could I not?" you smirk and look off somewhere.
"Who many girls have you told that too?" he responds with serenity.
"Just you." you glance at him and nod.
"Right, I believe you?" He shakes his head with a laugh and twirls your bodies in some empty walking space.
"Are you coming to the soiree next month?" his voice vibrates through the shoulder you lie your face on.
"I usually do." He gasps softly, your bodies rocking with the violins and flutes.
"Where've you been hiding." you smile.
"That's secret." he makes a sound between a scoff and a laugh and looks past you. With his ear to your temple, his sweeping eyes move slow, and for once.. his life feels right.
That is until he sees his father approaching, he isn't aware of Nathaniel's presence yet but if he caught him dancing with you he'd make an awful scene.
"Um." You lean up when Nathaniel clears his throat.
"I hate to cut this short but I must go. My father is.." Nathaniel glances past you once more.
"Oh ok, don't let me keep you." you create distance and smile, Nathaniel frames your face in his mind and takes your hand.
"Soiree? You'll make yourself known?" you simply smile and he does too, already knowing the answer.
"Pleasure to dance with you, my lady." He kisses your hand once more and becomes one with the crowd. With your kissed hand to your ribcage, you sigh.
Gotta tag my lovely people~ thank you for the follow and for sharing your interest in this exciting series! ꨄ︎ @missdreammerchant @samiya28 @chicbelle3 @amaraeatsboggers @tenacioustestamentambush @ohava1 @n0r4sarchive @swag4me @k4ng0rap @imanaged @ardeneverse @secretisme4 @liafieldnotes-03
Part two is already getting worked on, see ya when I see ya <3
⋆.ೃ࿔ HIGH KEYᝰ
In which a chance reunion at a house party turns into smoke-heavy confession, old jealousy, and slow-burn intimacy—where control is traded, bodies remember what words never said, and two people who missed each other the first time decide not to again.
pairing: Aaron and Cayden Maverick
The sun sank low on the horizon, bleeding soft gold through the blinds as Cayden watched Aaron through half-lidded eyes, high off him more than anything else—the heat of his skin against hers, the ghost of his cologne clinging to the air, the faint musk of his own scent wrapping around her like a second blanket. He watched her right back, his gaze lazy and intent, one hand buried in her hair as if he’d claimed the right to keep her there. Conversation had fallen away a long time ago, words abandoned in favour of the quiet thrum between them; their breaths rose and fell in sync, their hearts keeping a matching rhythm as their bodies glowed with the aftershocks of being pressed so close to one another.
“So, you got arrested for what again?” Cayden asked eventually, her voice soft and a little amused as she traced idle shapes on the bare skin beneath his hoodie, fingertips dragging slow lines over the warmth of his stomach.
“Gotta promise not to clown me,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth tugging up as he looked down at her, thumb rubbing slow circles at the nape of her neck.
Cayden huffed a little laugh, the sound vibrating against his chest. “That’s a crazy condition to put on a story that start with ‘so I got arrested’,” she said, nails dragging lightly across his ribs just to hear the way his breath hitched. “But aight. I’ll… limit the clowning.”
“Not exactly reassuring,” he muttered, but he was smiling now, that small, reluctant thing that she’d learned meant he was letting her past something he usually kept barricaded.
He went quiet for a second, eyes drifting up to the stained ceiling like the words were somewhere up there. The room smelled like them now—skin and sweat and the faint sweetness of the blunt from earlier, layered over laundry detergent and his cologne, all warmed by the last strips of sunlight sliding across his bed.
“It was some stupid shit,” he said finally. “You know that scholarship thing? Old head at the school talkin’ ‘bout he only payin’ for ‘real Black kids’ to go to college.” His jaw tightened briefly, muscle twitching under her fingertips. “Whole circus they turned it into, makin’ us prove we belonged.”
She traced the line of that muscle with one finger, slow and gentle, like she could smooth it out. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Heard about that. Heard you lost your mind behind it.”
“Mm.” He let out a humorless little breath, somewhere between a scoff and a sigh. “Didn’t get the money. Lost my girl. Whole town suddenly had an opinion on what I was allowed to call myself.” His hand tightened in her curls for a heartbeat, not enough to hurt, just enough to feel. “I walked outta there feelin’ like… like somebody ripped my name off and left me with nothin’ but the charge.”
Cayden shifted closer, sliding one bare leg between his, her knee pressing into his thigh. Her fingers left his ribs and came to rest over his sternum instead, splayed wide, feeling the steady thud of his heart under her palm. “Baby, that not even the arrest part yet,” she said softly. “You already sound like a sad documentary.”
He snorted at that, the tension in his chest loosening under her hand. “Shut up,” he muttered, but it came out fond. “Anyway… later that night I go back up to the school, thinkin’ I’m finna—” he paused, lips flattening. “I had a flamethrower.”
She blinked, then tilted her head back to look at him fully, mouth falling open in disbelief. “A what?”
“A lil’ homemade thing,” he said quickly, as if that somehow made it better. “Don’t look at me like that, Cayden.”
“Oh, I’m absolutely judgin’ you,” she said, though her hand on his chest never moved away. “You out here buildin’ weapons ‘cause financial aid fumbled you?”
He raised both brows at her. “You actin’ like you don’t know what it feel like to have everything stackin’ on top of you ‘til somethin’ snap. I wasn’t thinkin’ about the headline, I just…” he trailed off, searching for the right word. “I wanted them to feel how loud it was in my head that day.”
The honesty in it punched the joke right out of her throat.
Her fingers slid up, from his chest to his neck, thumb brushing along the sharp line of his jaw. Up close, she could see the faint shadow of stubble, feel the warmth thrumming under his skin. “So what happened?” she asked, quieter now. “You didn’t… you didn’t actually burn the place down.”
“Nah.” His eyes dropped to hers again, softer around the edges. “I got there and this other dude show up, talkin’ ‘bout he was robbed too, same scholarship, same rejection, same anger. We both out there lookin’ stupid with matching flamethrowers like some broken-ass comic book.” He let out a real laugh then, small but genuine. “Cops rolled up before either of us did anything. I dropped mine. He didn’t.”
“And they arrested you?” she asked, frowning.
“They arrested both of us,” he corrected. “But he got lucky. Or unlucky, dependin’ how you look at it. They shot him. He lived. Rich old head shows up talkin’ ‘bout that’s the ‘blackest thing’ he ever seen, throws the scholarship at him like it’s a consolation prize.” His mouth twisted. “I got a night in county and a record. That’s it.”
Cayden stared at him, anger and something like sorrow rising in tandem beneath her breastbone. The sun had dipped lower now, the room tinted in orange and shadow, but she could still see the mix of shame and defiance in his face, like he was daring her to recoil.
She didn’t.
Instead, she leaned in and pressed her mouth to the hollow of his throat, right over the place where his pulse fluttered faster as she did. She let her lips linger there, breathing him in—soap and weed and the salt of his skin—before pulling back just enough to speak against him.
“Okay,” she said simply. “That’s dumb as hell.”
He huffed, breath catching on a laugh. “Wow. Limited clowning, huh?”
“But,” she continued, dragging her nails lightly down the center of his chest, feeling goosebumps rise in their wake, “it also makes sense in a fucked-up way. They told you you wasn’t enough of somethin’ you are and then humiliated you in front of everybody. You reacted. Human shit.” She shrugged, her cheek settling against his shoulder. “You got a right to be mad about that.”
His hand tightened around her hair again, not to pull, just to hold. She could feel his heart hammering harder under her palm now, not from shame this time, but from the quiet, disbelieving relief of being understood.
“So you don’t think I’m crazy?” he asked, and the way he said it made it clear that plenty of people had.
“Oh, I definitely think you crazy,” she said, lips curving against his skin. “But not for that. You crazy ‘cause you out here tellin’ me all this with your whole chest when I clown for sport.”
He laughed properly now, chest shaking under her hand. “You ain’t right.”
“And yet,” she murmured, lifting her head to kiss the line of his jaw, slow and unhurried, “you still got me laid up in your hoodie, drawin’ circles on your stomach and askin’ for performance reviews.”
His eyes fluttered shut for a second at the kiss, his free hand sliding down to rest at the small of her back, fingers splaying possessively against her spine. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Guess I do.”
She pulled back just enough to look at him, really look, her gaze tracing the blue-green of his irises, the scar in his brow, the softness that only showed up when he let his guard down like this. “For what it’s worth,” she said, voice low, “I like this version of you.”
He swallowed, throat working under her fingers where they still rested. “Which one is that?”
“The one who knows exactly who he is,” she replied. “And tells me the whole messy story anyway.”
They held each other’s eyes for a quiet, stretched-out second, the sun finally dipping fully out of sight, leaving the room bathed in the muted glow of the lamp across the room. The edges of everything blurred a little—the posters, the piles of clothes, the open textbook on the chair—but he stayed sharp in her focus, all heat and breath and too-honest eyes.
Aaron leaned in, just enough that his forehead touched hers, his nose brushing the bridge of hers. “You judgin’ me now?” he asked softly.
She shifted closer, sliding her leg higher over his, pressing more of her body along the length of his, heat answering heat. “Always,” she whispered, lips ghosting over his. “But right now? You passin’.”
He smiled against her mouth, and when he kissed her this time, it wasn’t about erasing the story he’d just told—it was about folding it into something bigger, something warmer, something that felt suspiciously like the start of a new chapter he hadn’t thought he’d get.
And for once, he let himself lean into it.
“You know what was the crazy thing?” he whispered against her lips between kisses, the words brushing warm over her mouth as he dragged her closer, his hands firm at her waist, fingers flexing like he needed to feel every inch of her just to believe she was really there. The fabric of her shirt rode up under his palms, soft cotton catching against his knuckles as he gathered it higher, knuckles skimming the warm, bare skin of her sides; he shifted, rolling them slightly so she was half under him, half wrapped around him, their bodies fitting together in a way that felt improvised and inevitable at the same time.
“What?” she breathed, the question exhaled into his mouth rather than spoken into the room, her fingers curling into the back of his hoodie as she arched into him, the motion helping him peel the shirt over her head. The hem slid up her torso in one slow, dragging movement, cool air chasing the path his hands had just explored, the contrast making her skin pebble even as all the heat stayed concentrated where they touched.
He pulled the shirt the rest of the way off, the fabric whispering over her shoulders and arms before he tossed it somewhere he didn’t care about, his gaze dropping immediately, hungry and searching, before climbing back up to her face with something like awe threading through the want. His hands returned to her almost immediately, palms flattening at the curve of her waist, thumbs pressing into the soft dip there as if he were relearning the word body by tracing it on her.
“I always had a crush on you,” he confessed, the sentence low and rough, like it had been dragged up from somewhere deep and private, his lips brushing the corner of her mouth as he spoke, then trailing along her jaw, teeth grazing lightly at the hinge before his mouth found that familiar spot beneath her ear that made her breath stutter.
Cayden huffed out something between a laugh and a scoff, even as her fingers found the hem of his hoodie and pushed beneath it, palms sliding up over the warm plane of his back, feeling the flex and give of muscle under her hands. “Nigga, no you did not,” she said, the protest coming out softer than she intended as he kissed his way down the side of her neck, his breath hot and damp against her pulse. “Aaron, we never spoke in high school; the only time we did is when you told on me for cheating in that one test—” she broke off on a small inhale when his teeth caught her skin just enough to make her nerves spark, “no you did not like me.”
Her thighs tightened around his hips almost in spite of her, heels hooking behind him to keep him close, every inch of contact—chest to chest, stomach to stomach, the solid weight of him pressing her into the mattress—turning the argument into something less about logic and more about the way her body kept betraying how much it wanted to be exactly where it was. His hands slid up from her waist to her ribcage, thumbs slipping under the band of her bra, mapping the curve there with slow, deliberate strokes as if he were trying to write the truth of his confession directly onto her skin, hoping her body would believe it even if her mouth kept trying not to.
He laughed against her skin, the sound low and breath-warm where his mouth rested at the side of her throat, his chest shaking against hers in a way that made her feel every ripple of it. “You really think I had to talk to you to like you?” he murmured, lips trailing along the line of her neck like he was following a constellation only he could see. “You sat two rows over, Cayden. I heard you clown half the school and breeze through tests you barely studied for. You think I wasn’t paying attention?”
As he spoke, his hands kept moving like they had their own train of thought—broad palms sliding up along the curve of her ribs, fingertips tracing the slope of her sides with a careful, reverent pressure, as if he were tryna memorize the blueprint of her. The pads of his thumbs brushed the edge where skin gave way to fabric, lingering there in slow, circling strokes that set off little sparks under the surface, each touch a fuse that didn’t quite catch but kept threatening to.
She dragged in a steadying breath that didn’t steady anything, her fingers curling tighter into the back of his hoodie until she’d bunched the fabric in her fists. The cotton was warm from his body, clinging to his spine, and when she slid her hands beneath it again, palms flattening against bare skin, the heat of him bled into her so fast it felt like she was pressing her hands against a live wire. His back was all shifting planes and hidden strength, muscles tensing and releasing under her touch, his body responding to every small trail her nails left like she was playing an instrument he already knew the tune of.
“You told on me,” she insisted, but her voice had softened, the accusation thinned out by the way he was kissing his way down the column of her throat, each press of his mouth a little slower, a little deeper, teeth grazing just enough to make her pulse jump beneath his lips. “You raised your hand and pointed dead at me. There is no way that came from a place of love.”
“I was a hater with a crush,” he admitted, the words vibrating against the hollow of her collarbone as he spoke, his nose brushing her skin with every syllable. “You finished the test in, like, twenty minutes and put your head down. Teacher clocked it. Looked at me and asked if I saw you cheating and…” He lifted his head just enough to look at her, his eyes bright and a little rueful, his mouth hovering inches from hers. “I panicked.”
“Snitch behavior,” she muttered, but her legs had already tightened further around his hips, ankles crossing at the small of his back now, pulling him down into the cradle of her body until there was no space left to argue about.
He rolled his hips in the smallest, unthinking motion at that new contact, a slow shift of weight that pressed him more firmly into her, the alignment sudden and dizzying, a hot line of pressure where their bodies met that made her breath catch and her nails dig harder into his back. The sound that slipped from her throat was quiet but undeniable, a soft, ragged exhale that seemed to short out the last of his composure.
His forehead dipped to hers, noses brushing, breaths mingling, and for a moment they hovered there, caught in the tight, humming space between restraint and surrender. His hands had risen higher now, thumbs stroking up along the sides of her chest in long, measured sweeps that never quite crossed any lines, but kept skirting the border in a way that made it worse, the anticipation building under her skin like pressure behind glass.
“You think I didn’t notice you?” he asked, voice barely more than a rough whisper, his gaze dropping to her mouth and staying there like it had its own gravity. “You came in with your hoodie half off your shoulder, eyes all tired but still sharp, laugh louder than you thought it was. Every time you walked past my desk, I forgot what I was even pretending to study. I told on you ‘cause I didn’t know what else to do with it.”
“With what?” she challenged, though the fight was leaking out of the words, her hips answering his small movements without her permission, rolling up to meet him in a slow, unhurried glide that sent heat licking up both their spines.
“With staring at you and wantin’ you and not knowin’ what to call it,” he said simply, and the honesty of it landed harder than any slick line could have.
Her chest rose and fell against his in uneven waves, the friction of skin and fabric turning every breath into something that felt indecent on its own. She could feel his heart pounding where their bodies were pressed together, a frantic, steady drum beneath the thick muscle of his chest; it answered her own in a messy, overlapping rhythm, not perfectly in sync but close enough that they kept tripping over each other and falling into the same beat anyway.
One of her hands left his back and came up to his face, fingers sliding along the sharp edge of his jaw, her thumb brushing over the faint roughness of stubble there, the scrape of it sending another shiver through her. She guided his mouth back to hers, and when their lips met again, the kiss came with all the weight of what they’d just said—less tentative now, more sure, like they’d both decided to stop pretending this was anything but exactly what it felt like.
His mouth moved against hers in slow, deep pulls, no rush, no clumsy urgency, just a steady, building hunger that felt like it had been simmering since those high school hallways and was finally being allowed to breathe. He kissed her like he’d been waiting to, like every press of his lips was an answer to a question he hadn’t had the courage to ask out loud before tonight. Her hand slipped back down from his jaw to the side of his neck, feeling the wild thrum of his pulse under her thumb as she tilted her head, opening for him, letting the kiss drag her deeper.
Their bodies found a rhythm of their own, a slow, deliberate grind that kept them anchored to each other, heat pooling and spreading where they moved together. His weight on her was a comfort and a provocation at once, heavy enough to ground her, solid enough to remind her that this was real and not another stress dream she’d wake up from alone with deadlines in her face. Every shift sent a fresh arc of sensation through her, the kind that felt less like a jolt and more like a tide pulling her out, an insistent, repetitive drag toward something she didn’t mind drowning in.
His fingers splayed wider across her skin, mapping lines he’d only been able to imagine before—up the curve of her waist, along the narrow of her back, down to the flare of her hip, as if confirming that the girl he used to watch from a distance was made of heat and breath and softness, not just notebooks and half-heard jokes. She felt the reverence in it, the way his touch kept wavering between greed and restraint, wanting more but also wanting to honor the fact that he’d finally gotten close enough to ask.
“You really had a crush on me,” she said eventually, the realization blooming slow and stunned as she pulled back just enough to see his face again. Her lips were swollen and tender, her voice husky with use, and she could taste him at the back of her tongue. “All that time.”
He nodded once, no theatrics, just that same steady, open gaze. “Still do,” he said, and there was no coyness in it, nothing performative—just truth laid bare between them like another layer of skin.
Something in her chest softened and tightened all at once, a knot she hadn’t realized was there loosening while a new one formed right beside it. She brushed a damp strand of hair back from his forehead, letting her fingers linger, and smiled, small and a little disbelieving.
“Guess it’s convenient then,” she murmured, drawing her nails lightly down the back of his neck, feeling him shiver under her touch, “that I kinda like you back.”
His exhale came out on a shaky laugh, relief and desire wrapped together. “Yeah?” he asked, even though her body had already given him the answer a dozen times over.
“Yeah,” she confirmed, closing the distance again to seal it against his mouth, letting him taste the admission there, letting herself taste what it meant to finally be wanted by someone who saw all of her—the stress, the sharp tongue, the tired eyes, the soft parts she didn’t show anyone—and still chose to climb into her orbit.
The kiss deepened again, slower now but no less intense, the kind of heat that didn’t flash and burn out but smoldered low and steady, promising to be there long after the last light of the sun had drained from the room. Their limbs tangled, their breaths synced and tangled again, the line between where one of them ended and the other began blurring in all the best, most dangerous ways.
For the first time in a long time, as his hands anchored her and her body answered his without hesitation, it didn’t feel like she was running from anything—not her work, not her exhaustion, not her own expectations. It felt like she was moving toward something instead. Toward him. Toward this. Toward the quiet, charged understanding buzzing between their bodies, bright as neon, warm as a low flame, undeniable as the way they kept reaching for each other even when there was technically nowhere left to go.
“Plus, you cheated off that nigga Derek and not me like you usually did,” he added, voice dropping into that low, confessional drawl as his mouth brushed hers between words, each syllable warm against her lips. “A nigga got jealous.”
The admission slipped out half-laughed, half-growled, his breath fanning over her skin as he spoke, but there was something raw tucked underneath it, something that made her chest pull tight even as heat curled low in her belly.
Her laugh came out in a breathy rush, more air than sound, her head tipping back into the pillow as his lips chased the exposed line of her throat, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses along the delicate curve there. “Jealous?” she echoed, nails dragging lightly down his spine, feeling every inch of muscle tense and release under her touch. “Over Derek? Aaron, be serious.”
He lifted his head just enough to look at her, their faces close enough that their noses brushed, his eyes hooded and bright all at once. “I was,” he insisted, the corners of his mouth quirking but his gaze dead steady. “You always leaned my way when you were stuck. Always slid your paper just a lil’ too far to my side like it was an accident when we both knew it wasn’t.” His fingers traced idle patterns along the side of her waist as he talked, his touch slow and wandering, the pads of his fingers leaving trails of heat on her skin. “Then you go pick him that one time, and I’m sittin’ there like… damn. I got replaced by a nigga with a crooked lineup and wrinkled khakis.”
She snorted, the sound breaking into a small gasp as he shifted his hips again, the movement unhurried but devastating, their bodies slotting together even closer. Every small roll sent a warm, pulsing wave through the space where they met, that point of contact turning molten, humming like a live wire between them.
“You are so unserious,” she managed, though her fingers were already sliding higher beneath his hoodie, palms flattening against the warm stretch of his back, feeling the long line of him, the way he curved over her like he’d been molded for it. “I picked Derek because he sat closer that day and I was tired. My loyalty only went as far as my line of sight.”
“That’s crazy,” he murmured, leaning down to drag his mouth slowly across her cheek, the faint scrape of his stubble making her shiver, his lips finding the corner of hers and then the edge of her jaw. “Should’ve looked harder.”
Her hand found the back of his neck and tightened there, fingers threading into the short buzz of his hair, her thumb pressing into the dip where skull met spine. The contact drew him closer without even trying, his weight settling more fully on top of her now, their chests perfectly aligned. Every inhale pressed him into her, every exhale eased him back a fraction, the subtle, repetitive movement turning into its own kind of rhythm, slow and unspoken and deeply felt.
“You wanted me to cheat off you that bad?” she teased, but there was a new softness in it now, a warmth that curled around the syllables like honey.
“I wanted you to look at me,” he said simply, and this time there was no deflection, no joke layered over the truth. His hand slid up her side in one long, reverent sweep, fingers splaying over the curve of her ribs as if trying to hold the words in place. “Didn’t care what for. Answers, pencil, whatever. Just wanted it to be me.”
The honesty hit somewhere deep and tender, that place behind her sternum she didn’t let many people touch. For a moment, everything else went quiet—the muffled noise outside, the whisper of the sheets, even the frantic chorus of her own thoughts—and there was only the weight of him, the sound of his voice, and the way his eyes searched hers like her reaction mattered more than the air in his lungs.
Her body answered before her mouth could catch up.
She rolled her hips up into his in one slow, deliberate glide, her legs tightening around him, feet pressing at the small of his back to keep him there, to drag him into the orbit she’d apparently had him in for years without even realizing. The motion ground them together in a way that felt less like friction and more like gravity, like two separate things accidentally slipping into the shape they’d always been meant to make.
A low sound escaped him—half-moan, half-broken laugh—and he dropped his forehead to her shoulder for a second, his breath coming out hotter against her collarbone. His fingers flexed at her waist, digging in just enough to make her feel claimed and held all at once.
“Yeah,” he murmured against her skin, voice thick now, words smoothing out into a drawl. “Wanted that, too.”
She turned her head, lips finding the edge of his ear, her breath a soft, teasing ghost along the shell of it. “You got it,” she whispered, her voice threaded through with something that wasn’t quite smug, wasn’t quite tender, but lived in the charged space between. Her teeth grazed the edge of his earlobe, the smallest nip, and she felt the way his whole body reacted, a shudder that started in his shoulders and rolled all the way down, like she’d dropped a stone into deep water and watched the ripples spread.
His head lifted again, eyes dark now, pupils blown wide, that blue-green ring bright around the edges. He framed her face with both hands, thumbs resting at the corners of her mouth, and kissed her like her confession and his jealousy and every look they’d ever shared in cramped classrooms had all been coiling into this moment and were finally, finally allowed to unravel.
There was nothing tentative left in it now; it wasn’t sloppy or rushed, but it had a new weight, a new hunger. His mouth moved over hers in long, unbroken strokes, his tongue sliding against hers in a slow, deliberate tempo that made her toes curl and her fingers tighten in his hair. He kissed her like he was trying to learn her by heart, like every angle and pressure and tiny sound she made was another line in a song he’d been humming under his breath for years and had only just gotten the full lyrics to.
Her hands roamed with the same urgency, mapping the expanse of his back, the taper of his waist, the jut of his hips, the solid heat of him under her palms. Every inch she discovered seemed to answer some old, unformed question she’d had about him; every flex of muscle and sharp inhale under her touch was a new answer, a new proof that this was happening, that she wasn’t alone in the way this was swallowing her whole.
He shifted his weight, bracing on one forearm beside her head so he didn’t crush her, his other hand sliding lower, fingers spanning the top of her thigh where it hitched high around his hip. His thumb stroked a lazy line along the inside, just below where they pressed together, not going further, just reminding her of everywhere he could touch if either of them decided to let the rest of the world disappear a little more.
“Cayden,” he breathed against her mouth, her name coming out like a prayer and a curse at once, all soft syllables and hard edges.
“Yeah?” she answered, though it came out closer to a sigh, her eyelids fluttering as his mouth left hers and trailed down the side of her neck again, finding that same spot that made her back arch and her fingers sink into his shoulders.
“Next test we take,” he murmured, lips pressing a line of heat along her throat, “you cheatin’ off me.”
She laughed then, full and breathless and bright, her body shaking against his, the sound spilling out around the edges of her need and wrapping itself around him like another layer of intimacy. “Baby,” she said, tilting his face back up so she could look at him, her thumb brushing his bottom lip, feeling the faint swell there from how hard they’d been kissing, “after this? I’m not lookin’ at anybody’s paper but yours.”
The smile that broke across his face at that was something new—wide and unguarded and a little disbelieving, like he hadn’t planned on earning that line but was going to cherish it anyway. He kissed her again, softer this time but no less intense, his body settling into hers with the ease of someone finally letting themselves rest where they’d been leaning toward all along.
Everywhere they touched felt lit from the inside, that low, humming current of emotion and desire threading through their limbs, knotting them together in a way that felt bigger than the bed, bigger than this hour, bigger than the years it had taken them to get here. It was there in the way their hands kept reaching even when there was nowhere else to go, in the way their bodies kept moving in that slow, shared rhythm, in the way neither of them seemed capable of creating space again now that they’d figured out how perfectly they fit.
And under all of it, braided tight into the heat and the laughter and the lazy grind of their hips, was the quiet, startling realization—for both of them—that this had been a long time coming.
Longer than either of them had admitted.
And now that it was here, neither one of them had the slightest intention of letting it go.
He let her flip the script without protest.
Not a single ounce of resistance when she pushed at his chest with slow, deliberate pressure and rolled her hips until he fell back, his spine easing into the mattress, hoodie half-off his shoulders and his pupils blown wide like he couldn’t believe he was being looked at like this—touched like this. Her thighs straddled him, deliberate, grounding, her weight sinking into him like she belonged there, and maybe she always did.
His hands came to rest on her hips, but didn’t guide—just held. Open-palmed, reverent. As if any tighter and she’d vanish. As if he already understood: this moment wasn’t his to control. It was hers to give. And he? He was ready to take it.
Cayden leaned down, slow and unhurried, her hands pressed to the firm stretch of his abdomen beneath his hoodie, lifting the fabric inch by inch as her mouth chased the skin she revealed. The slope of his stomach tensed under her lips as she kissed her way upward—tongue dragging over faint ridges, teeth grazing where his abs fluttered—and his breath stuttered, his hands tightening just for a second before he reminded himself: let her.
"You always this obedient?" she murmured against the line of his ribs, and the sound he made wasn’t quite a laugh—it was softer. Rougher. A little broken. Like the idea of her calling the shots knocked something loose in him he hadn’t known he’d been holding together.
“I don’t gotta be,” he rasped, though his voice lacked any real defiance, the hood falling from his head now, baring his neck, his jaw, his whole face to her gaze. “But I like it when you take.”
That was all she needed.
Her hands came to his waistband, unfastening slowly, watching his stomach rise and fall beneath her knuckles. He held her gaze the whole time—eyes half-lidded, pupils swallowing the blue, jaw clenched like he was holding back something deeper than just need. He didn’t beg. He didn’t whimper. But he offered. The tension in his arms. The way he lifted his hips just slightly when she tugged. The way he exhaled through his nose like he was trying not to fall apart from just the anticipation of her touch.
When she finally touched him—really touched him—his reaction was sharp, almost involuntary: hips bucking just slightly, breath catching hard in his chest. But still, he didn’t take over. He didn’t rut. He didn’t rush. He just let it happen. Let her learn him, inch by inch. Let her set the pace.
His head dropped back into the pillow when her mouth followed her hand.
“Fuck,” he whispered, voice wrecked and reverent, eyes fluttering shut as her lips traced the underside of him, as her tongue mapped heat in a way that felt too slow to be legal. His hands gripped the sheets now, not her—anchored to the bedframe like she was something sacred he didn’t want to disturb.
“Look at me,” she said, her voice thick, and he obeyed instantly, lashes lifting heavy over darkened eyes. Their gazes locked as she took him in deeper, her pace slow but relentless, her mouth a furnace of heat and intent.
And the way he watched her—like his whole soul had been pulled to the surface and handed over—it was worship without words. It was surrender without shame.
“You feel everything, don’t you?” she murmured as she pulled back just enough to let the words touch him, her breath warm against his damp skin.
“Yeah,” he gasped, his voice raw. “With you? I feel everything.”
And when she climbed back up his body and kissed him, deep and filthy and slow, letting him taste himself on her tongue, he moaned into her mouth like it was his first language.
He let her ride him like he was made for it.
Because maybe he was.
She kissed him like she was marking him—slow, full, messy kisses that didn’t end where lips met but kept going, trailing into breath and tongue and teeth until his hands curled into the sheets like it was the only thing keeping him tethered. His jaw slackened under her mouth, small broken sounds slipping out every time she rolled her hips in that slow, perfect rhythm that matched the tremble in his breath.
He wasn’t quiet anymore.
Not with her moving like that on top of him—hips rocking slow, steady, greedy like she was feeding herself on the way his body responded to hers. And God, did he respond. The kind of response you can’t fake: the way his thighs flexed under hers, the sharp arch of his back when she adjusted the angle, the way his neck tilted just so when her hands slid up under his hoodie again, dragging nails up the length of his torso.
"Shit, Cayden…" he gasped, voice catching hard at the edges, his hands hovering now—gripping at her hips like he wanted to guide her, to meet her rhythm—but couldn’t bring himself to take the reins from her. His fingers trembled, not from fear, but from the weight of the sensation she kept pouring into him. It was too much and not enough. And he wanted more of it in ways he didn’t know how to ask for.
His hoodie had bunched up around his chest, baring most of him now, and her palms flattened against his skin—warm and damp and alive—her touch pressing into him like she was sculpting something with her body and his breath.
“You like this, huh?” she murmured, her voice thick and low, breath ghosting over his ear as her pace slowed, ground down deeper.
He nodded, fast, desperate. “Yeah… yeah, fuck, I—”
She kissed him again before he could finish, her hips pausing to let the tension crest, to let him feel the ache of her holding still with him still inside her, throbbing and raw. The kiss wasn’t sweet. It was full. Wet and tasting of breath and heat and something sharp behind it—like he wasn’t just being kissed, he was being claimed.
And it wrecked him.
His hands finally left the sheets and framed her face, holding her like she was light and storm all at once. The pads of his thumbs swept along her cheeks, shaking slightly, and when he kissed her back this time, it wasn’t just want. It was thanks. It was please. It was I’m yours, even if we never say it out loud.
Cayden pulled back, just enough to look at him.
His eyes were glassy. Wide open. Not from tears—though the intensity shimmered there—but from how undone he was. How present. How felt.
She cupped his face like he was something delicate and burning in her hands.
“Don’t hold back,” she whispered. “Give me all of it.”
And with that, she started to move again.
Slower. Deeper.
Not fast, not rushed—intentional. The kind of movement that said I want you to feel every second of this. I want you to remember me long after you shower, long after you try to forget.
Aaron groaned, full-throated, like she’d pulled the sound right out of his spine. “Fuck, Cayden… I’m—I’m close,” he admitted, voice cracking open right in the middle, his eyes fluttering shut like he was afraid he’d lose himself completely if he kept looking at her.
But she didn’t falter. She leaned down, forehead pressed to his, her hands laced behind his neck to keep him close.
“Then come for me,” she said, voice a hushed command wrapped in velvet. “Right here, baby. Just like this.”
His whole body shuddered beneath her—hips stuttering, breath breaking, every muscle coiled tight beneath the weight of release—and when it hit him, he clung to her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded. His hands fisted in her hair, in her skin, anywhere he could find her, and he let go with a kind of surrender that only came from being seen.
Not just touched.
Not just fucked.
Seen.
And she didn’t stop holding him. Not when his body trembled, not when his moans cracked open into something deeper, not when he buried his face in her shoulder and let the wave pull him under.
She just held on tighter. Rocked him slower. Let him ride it out against her body, inside her warmth, in the soft, golden space she’d carved out just for this—just for him.
And when it passed—when his body stilled, and his breathing slowed, and the heat melted into something softer—she stayed on top of him, brushing her fingers down the side of his face, letting the pads of her thumbs smooth away the overwhelmed ache behind his eyes.
Aaron looked up at her like she was made of every answer he’d ever gone without.
And for once, he didn’t have to ask for anything.
Because she was already giving it.
Aaron was still breathing heavy beneath her, skin damp and flushed, chest rising and falling in slow, uneven waves. His hands were still on her—gripping lightly now, more like an anchor than a demand. And when he opened his eyes, something shifted behind them. The haze of pleasure hadn’t fully cleared, but something sharpened underneath.
He looked at her. Really looked at her.
Her mouth was parted slightly, her lashes low, skin glowing with sweat and soft light—but he saw it. The tension still coiled in her thighs. The tightness in her stomach where she was still holding something back. The way her hips had rocked through his release but never quite surrendered to her own.
And she hadn’t said a word.
That made something stir in his chest—fierce, reverent, a little hungry.
“You didn’t come,” he said, voice quiet, raw from everything she’d just wrung out of him. Not a question. A truth. A realization spoken aloud like it offended him.
She opened her mouth to brush it off—shrug, joke, lie—but he was already moving.
His hands slipped down her back and under her thighs in one smooth motion, and he rolled them over, her back hitting the mattress with a soft thud. The movement stole her breath, but what really knocked the air out of her was the look in his eyes as he hovered over her—half-lidded, still wrecked, but focused now, purposeful.
“Nah,” he said, shaking his head, leaning down to press his forehead to hers, his breath still warm from the effort. “You gave me all that. And you think I’m gonna leave you like this?” His voice dropped, a low promise against her mouth. “Cayden, I’m not done.”
She blinked, throat catching on a moan when he slid down her body, pausing to kiss the center of her chest, then the swell of her stomach, then lower still—his mouth reverent, his pace agonizing.
“Aaron—” she started, voice already fraying, but he shushed her with a kiss just above her navel, then a second one just below it, lips soft but intentional.
“Let me take care of it,” he murmured, and there was no bravado in it. No cocky grin. Just quiet urgency. A man on his knees in every way but literally—yet.
And then he was between her thighs, spreading her open with careful, calloused hands like she was something sacred. Her legs fell apart with ease, too loose-limbed to fight him, and he ducked between them without hesitation—without even looking up for permission, because he already knew she deserved this. Was owed this. And he was going to give.
He didn’t care that he’d just finished inside her. Didn’t even flinch.
His mouth landed on her like he’d missed it, like this was the real act and everything before had just been buildup.
The first drag of his tongue was slow, devastating—long and flat, savoring every bit of her. He groaned into her the second he tasted her, the sound low and ragged, vibrating through her core like thunder caught in her hips.
“Fuck,” he breathed, almost to himself, like she was the sweetest thing he’d ever had. “You’re so—Jesus, Cayden…”
She gasped, hips twitching, one hand flying down to his curls, not to push him away but just to feel him there. Her fingers threaded into the soft buzz of his hair, grounding herself in the rhythm of his tongue as he ate.
And he ate.
Not politely. Not timidly. He buried his face in her like a man starved and lucky. Like he’d waited years for this meal and he wasn’t going to waste a drop. Tongue moving in deep, thorough strokes, lips sealing around her like he was trying to kiss the orgasm out of her. His hands gripped her thighs, spreading her wider, holding her still, his thumbs pressing slow circles into the meat of her hips as his mouth worked, relentless and knowing.
He was talking between licks now—low praise slurred against her, humid and ragged, as if his mouth couldn’t stay off her long enough to finish a full sentence.
“This—this all mine, huh?”
“Wanted to do this since high school…”
“You so wet for me, baby, fuck…”
“You gon’ give it to me? Gimme that shit, Cay…”
His voice broke on her name, vibrating right against the spot that made her hips jerk, and that was when he knew he had her. That twitch. That moan. That little breathless "Aaron—", her hand tightening in his hair, her legs starting to close around his shoulders like instinct was taking over and trying to drown him in her.
And he let it.
He groaned again, this one lower, filthier, needier, and doubled down—tongue swirling in tight, perfect circles, sucking her clit into his mouth like it was a language only he could speak. Her body jolted under him, thighs trembling, breath scattering in broken fragments above him as she tried—tried so hard—not to fall over the edge too fast.
But it was too late.
She cried out his name again—sharper this time, almost choked—and her thighs clenched around his head, and she came hard, shaking under his mouth with a sudden, wild rush that left her gasping and overwhelmed.
And he didn’t stop.
He eased her through it with slow, greedy licks, like he wanted to stretch her pleasure out and taste the aftershocks as they trembled through her. Only when her legs twitched in overstimulation did he finally pull back, mouth shiny, chin damp, and eyes dark with something soft and wrecked and proud.
He crawled back up her body, slow and deliberate, pressing kisses to her thigh, her hip, her belly, her chest—like he was collecting pieces of her back into himself. By the time he reached her mouth again, her eyes were still half-closed, lips parted like she was trying to catch air and herself at the same time.
He kissed her deep, not asking if she could taste herself—he wanted her to. To feel what he felt. To know how damn sweet she was.
And when he finally pulled back, her arms looped around his neck, her voice was nothing but a whisper.
“You didn’t have to…”
He smiled, forehead against hers, breath syncing with hers again.
“Cayden,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth, “I needed to.”
And when she looked at him—really looked, her body still pulsing from what he’d done—she finally saw it.
Not just want.
Not just lust.
Devotion.
Messy, unspoken, hungry devotion.
Cayden hadn’t even caught her breath yet.
Her thighs still trembled against the sheets, hips slick, overstimulated and open, and Aaron was still above her—shoulders broad and golden in the lamplight, lips swollen, jaw damp, eyes hungry.
He looked wrecked.
And ready.
She ran her hand up his chest, slow and steady, watching the way his muscles flexed under her palm, the slow heave of his chest still recovering from what he’d just done. Her fingertips traced the edge of his jaw, feeling the faint scrape of stubble, the mess of spit and slick he hadn’t bothered to wipe clean.
“Look at you,” she murmured, voice silk-wrapped and warm, “you couldn’t help yourself.”
He huffed a laugh against her throat, nose brushing the salt-slick of her neck as he leaned into her again. “Could taste you for hours.”
“Mm.” She hooked a leg around his hips and dragged him closer. “Too bad I’m not done with you yet.”
He didn’t resist. Would never resist that. But there was something defiant in the way he ground his hips down into hers, just once—slow and deep enough to remind her he was still hard, still leaking, still straining for her, even after spilling inside her not twenty minutes ago.
“You think I’m not gon’ fuck you back?” he whispered, his voice rough, damp with awe and arrogance at once. “Cayden, don’t play with me.”
“Then do it,” she breathed, nails raking up his back, “do something about it.”
That’s all it took.
Aaron shifted his weight and sat back on his heels, dragging her hips up into his lap like she weighed nothing, his hands spreading her open with a boldness that made her stomach flip. He ran a thumb through the mess between her thighs—his mess—watching her twitch from the pressure.
“Still so wet,” he muttered, almost in disbelief. “Look at you.”
She leaned up, gripping his jaw, dragging his face close so their mouths hovered again. “What, you surprised I liked it?”
His eyes darkened. “Nah,” he whispered. “Just surprised you let me have it like that.”
And then she kissed him.
It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t soft. It was hot, open-mouthed, teeth dragging, breath snarled between them as she climbed into his lap, thighs wrapping around his waist, hands sliding up under his hoodie again to feel the slope of his spine. She bit his lip and he groaned against her mouth, the sound deep and unraveling.
“Lay back,” she said, low and commanding, her tongue flicking against the corner of his mouth. “Let me ride it.”
He hesitated—but only to feel it. To savor the moment.
The flicker in his eyes when he dropped back into the pillows—not passive, not docile, but ready. Body taut beneath her, thighs parted, cock heavy and flushed against his stomach, shining with the slick from her body.
She climbed over him slow, hands pressing into his chest as she dragged herself up his frame, hips rolling just enough to brush against him. His hands gripped her thighs, fingers sinking into the softness there, but he didn’t try to control her rhythm. Not yet.
Because this? This was hers again.
She took him back into her in one long, greedy motion, watching his whole face shift beneath her—the tension that rippled through his abs, the helpless moan that punched out of his throat, the way his head tipped back against the pillow like it knocked something out of him.
“Fuck, baby…” he gasped, voice hoarse and cracked at the edges, “God, you feel—fuck.”
And she did it again. And again.
Set a rhythm meant to ruin. Not fast. Not rushed. But intentional. Riding him in long, grinding rolls that pressed deep, that kept him right there at the edge but refused to push him off it. Her hands on his chest, her nails raking across his pecs, his hoodie still bunched around his ribs like he was too wrecked to finish taking it off.
Aaron’s head turned into the pillow, teeth gritted, hands trembling where they gripped her hips.
“Cayden,” he groaned, his voice breaking on her name, “fuck, I’m not gon’ last if you keep doing that—”
She leaned down and kissed his throat, her tongue dragging across the salt of his skin, her teeth grazing the place his pulse kicked wild.
“Then don’t,” she whispered, grinding down harder now, her clit dragging perfectly against the base of him, “give it to me.”
He cursed again—something guttural, almost desperate—and snapped, flipping her underneath him in one quick, wild motion, her back hitting the mattress with a startled gasp as he settled back between her thighs.
His hips slammed into her now, not rough—never careless—but deep, frantic, that rhythm he’d been fighting for minutes suddenly loosed.
“You wanted me to take it?” he growled against her mouth, hips pistoning now in hard, perfect thrusts. “Say less.”
She cried out, legs locking around his waist again, arms clinging to his back as he fucked into her now—messy, gasping, sweat-slicked and breathless. Each stroke a little deeper, a little harder, her body arching up to meet him, her breath choking out in staggered moans as pleasure bloomed sharp and sudden again.
“Right there, don’t stop—”
“I got you, baby,” he rasped, voice shaking as he buried himself to the hilt again, grinding down deep as her nails dug into his shoulder blades. “I got you. Come on, Cay. Come for me.”
And she did.
With her whole body. With a sob that broke into a moan. With her legs trembling around his hips and her back arched like it was trying to leave the earth. And he held her through it, watched her come apart under him, mouth parted in something halfway between prayer and surrender.
The second her orgasm hit, he lost control.
He came with a strangled groan, buried deep inside her again, body twitching, forehead pressed to hers, every muscle flexing under her hands like he was trying to give her everything in that moment—heat, sound, devotion.
When it passed, he collapsed onto her chest, breath gone, heart pounding against her ribcage.
And for a long, slow moment, neither of them spoke. Just the sound of breathing, skin on skin, the distant hum of the world still trying to catch up with the two of them tangled together in sweat and slick and silence.
Until finally—
“You good?” she whispered, running a hand through the curls at the base of his neck.
He exhaled into her collarbone, voice wrecked.
“I been good,” he murmured, “since the second you walked out that house party and asked me for a light.”
And she smiled, sleepy and sore and full of him.
@mamasturn @sheinaskirt @authentic-girl03 @k0niiii-blog @trustmymood @glizzymcguirex @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @blackfemreaderr @blckblossom @trustmymood @unicoo @yourleogf @uniqueoutlierblog @og-goddesstrill @determinednot2fall @melaninhawtie @xoadaraox @thatssokarii @kirayuki22 @the1miscief @plan3tch1ld @daliscrim ( lmk if you wanna be added or removed!)
“I ain’t never been vanilla, honey, just wait until you get a taste” or when Cameron Cade thinks just because you’re inexperience that you’re an easy hit
warnings: 18+ content (MNI or be blocked indefinitely), obsession, infatuation, use of the n word, use of the b word, choking, swearing/cussing, death/murder, use of a weapon (g*n), exhibitionism, mentions of blood, smut— oral (f receiving), pnv penetration, creampie.
a.n: pls thank @darkseidex for helping me make this man crazy how I like him! 😋 heeeeeeed these warnings, y’all!!! 😩 enjoyy.
part one.
on the jukebox: ‘Freak like Me’ by Doja Cat 🎀
one month later —
“Show me how to solve for a covalent bond”
You dropped your pencil, leaned back into the chair, and crossed your arms. You stared at Cameron Cade who sat next to you, hunched over with his chin resting in the palm of his hand.
He huffed like an irritated child, glancing over at you in annoyance.
“We’ve been at this for hours, (Y/N), please, i dead ass can’t think anymore. My fuckin’ brain is fried”
You shrugged, “what happened to that ninety eight percent you showed me? You went down to a seventy, Cameron. I’m not letting you get up from this table until you get it, simple. You asked for my help, I’m giving it to you”
Cameron Cade closed his eyes just briefly. Were you using descriptive, suggestive words on purpose?
‘I’m giving it to you’
Flashbacks of your night together that whole month ago had an electric shock shooting up his spine.
‘I’m giving it to you’
And you gave it to him. He memorized the way you looked up at him while he fucked you in missionary.. he remembered the fact that you made him cum first. How he just barely made it out of your vice like gripping walls that almost had him spilling inside of you.
It would’ve been twice that night had it happened, something Cameron Cade never did. He always used protection.. being intimate with you felt comforting, you weren’t just anybody. He never came inside of anyone, he just couldn’t run that risk.
Should you have came back to him pregnant, he’d fucking live for it like he’d won the goddamn Super Bowl.
The way you rode him in his own bed. Your hands in his hair, pressing his face into your chest.. your nipple latching onto his lips like a fucking baby.
He didn’t mean to cum inside of you, it wasn’t what we usually did during sex. You coaxed out an orgasm he’s never had before and so intimately. He was obsessed to say the least.
‘This your pussy’
Cameron Cade had to focus, his joggers felt tighter and he was certain if he stood up, you’d notice what he was sporting. Cameron Cade had to fucking focus.
Sighing to himself and rolling his eyes, Cameron locked into the presenting issue on the practice sheet and began writing.
“Sorry if shit’s been happening in my life lately.. I tried my best to keep that ninety eight percent up and keep it there. ‘Just wanted to make you proud”
You smiled softly, reaching out to rub his clothes back. “Make me proud by showing me that you know how to solve for a covalent bond”
Just your touch was enough to lift Cameron’s mood. He really didn’t mean to let himself go with his Chemistry grade, it wasn’t fair to the work you put in and the time you gave him.
But all he could think about was you.. and seeing you again.
You meant to stop rubbing his back moments ago but you concentrated on his writing and watching him work, you didn’t notice your continuous hand caressing his ‘Fear of God’ clothed back.
And did Cameron Cade thank God that you didn’t stop. Maybe that’s what had him relaxing, maybe that’s what had his brain actually working.
Like a cat purring from a good scratch, Cameron groaned quietly. He had to focus.
Finally after a while, he dropped the pencil and pushed the paper packet towards you. And much like the last time, you nodded in agreement.
“This looks good, Cam.. I’d maybe fix how I carried over that number but we can work on that later. But this is good. Should you get an opportunity to do that assignment or test again and you apply this knowledge, you’ll be back to a ninety eight percent in no time”
Cameron smiled faintly at you. When you held your hand up for a high five, he happily accepted it.
But he didn’t stop at just an innocent gesture.
Taking a soft hold on your interlocked hand, Cameron pulled you to him and immediately connected your lips. The kiss was soft— his lips were soft.
Melting into the kiss, Cameron worked both of your bodies into a standing position. He pressed the heat of his own into yours against the table, hands cupping your jaw and kissing you deeper.
When you felt the swell of his tongue trying to work your mouth open, you hesitantly pulled away.
“Y’know that’s all I can let you do”
Cameron groaned, annoyed, “how come, bae?”
“We just.. we can’t go further. I know what you’re gonna say ‘we already did go further, (Y/N)’ but even then, Cam” you gazed into his eyes, “I don’t even know if us doing that was a good idea”
Cameron scoffed, “what? So you’d rather have fucked on somebody else?”
“That’s not what I meant—“
Cameron shot back, “that’s not what it sounds like, (Y/N), and you know it. Why are you treating me like some fuckin’ stranger? Why are you acting like it never happened?”
You sighed, averting your eyes away from him. “What do you want from me, Cameron?”
He stepped closer into your space.. if he wasn’t closer already.
“You” he answered right away. He took a hold of your chin and forced you to look at him, “you, (Y/N), I want you. Swear to God, I’on want nobody else in this fuckin’ school— in this fucking world!”
The words of your roommate rang loudly in your ear. Warnings of attachment on your end.. validating the feelings about Cameron that you tried not to accept. He got around, that’s just what it was. You weren’t going to change him, you just wouldn’t be the woman okay with it.
“I can’t trust you, Cameron” you murmured.
“I can’t trust that you’ll suddenly leave these bitches alone. I can’t trust that I’ll be the only person you spend your time with.. like that. I can’t trust that you’ll take being together seriously”
The look in Cameron Cade’s eye felt something like heartache, his greenish hazels turned a shade darker, his scleras turning a soft pink.
“I like you, I have for a long time but I like myself enough to know that it just won’t work, I’m sorry. You can’t expect me to be relaxed with you and walking around campus knowing there’s bitches that would actually kill me if it means they get to be with you. Bitches you probably gave hope for something. Getting around is just what you wanna do and I know old habits die hard, my heart just can’t be on the line, Cam”
It ripped your own heart out having to say this. There was a point in time where you were confident that should Cameron choose anybody, he’d choose you.
But if there had to be a choice in the first place, you never advocated to be picked. He’d just have to know it was you but would he? You couldn’t be okay with constantly thinking about that.
Your words rendered Cameron Cade speechless. His eyes spoke for themselves, his body language did too. He was defeated.
“I gotta go but.. let me know how it goes with Chemistry, okay?”
Cameron stood frozen in the same place as you began packing up your things. Tossing your tote bag over your shoulder, you headed for the door. You stood in front of him one more time.
He felt you lean in and softly peck the corner of his mouth.
“I’ll see you later”
.
Cameron Cade weirdly interpreted your last words as a good thing. You’d see him later?
Today was the day of another session and he was excited to show you his improvement.
From a seventy percent up to a low ninety. He took your words to heart and vowed to be a better man.
He studied hard, saw his friends less, and did probably the most important part: cut off all ties to anybody he’s ever dealt with.
Trinity, Kaylie, Brenda, Isis, Layla.
All he saw in his sights were you. You, his grades, and football. He was on a high all week…
At least until he got a text from you, the clock striking 4:45 pm. He sat on his couch, expecting your knock on his door any minute.
‘Hi Cam. I think it’s best that we discontinue our tutoring sessions until further notice. I love helping you in any way I can but there’s too much stuff going on between us to keep this going. I hope you understand ❤️’
He felt his own heart plummet to his feet, a frown on his face as he continued looking over your text.
What?
Immediately he found your contact and rang, one tone, straight to voicemail.
‘Hey, it’s (Y/N), leave me a message’
“Hey bae, I just got your message, call me back”
And again.
‘Hey, it’s (Y/N), leave me a message’
“Baby, I really don’t understand that text. What ever problems we have together, we can just talk it out, right? That’s all i wanna do, call me back, please”
And one more time. This time Cameron Cade was standing and pacing his living room space. Nervous, anxious jitters rattling his body, his thoughts going a million miles per second while his heart continued to sink.
‘Hey, it’s (Y/N), leave me a message’
Was this it? You weren’t fucking with him anymore?
“(Y/N), baby, please.. please, just call me back. I-I gotta talk— i need to talk to you. Just let me apologize and try to make this right, okay? I-I didn’t think the last time we spoke would be the last time and i promise I’m moving differently, I-I swear to God shit isn’t the same”
Cameron was nervous rambling, his non dominant hand running over his head, a soft pink tint to his eyes.
“.. I’m back up, my chemistry grade is fucking amazing thanks to you. I’m going to study sessions, im at the library, i got my head in these fuckin’ books just like you, bae. I-I got rid’a all of ‘em, just like you wanted, okay? There’s nobody else i want except you, i promise. You gotta believe me, bae a-and even if you don’t, just give me the chance to prove myself”
Cameron tried to steady his shaky breathing, he took a breath.
“Please call me back. I love you, girl”
On your end, you wouldn’t see your busy phone until an hour later. With your device sitting face down and on silent, you sat at a public library.
“You need help with Chemistry too?”
You glanced across the table, the familiar face of TJ Lewis planted in the chair with his notebook out.
He nodded, eyes checking you up and down so fast you hardly noticed it. You obviously didn’t notice the way TJ had been furiously stalking every inch of your Instagram page, including your highlights.
It was easy to find your account in his best friend’s recent searches. Cameron kept your account in his searches, you were all he wanted to see.
You truly were the gem Cameron told him about… real pretty too. Right now you sat in a navy blue sweatsuit lounge set, long dark hair straightened past your back, your eyes now bare of the lash extensions still hiding behind your glasses.
“C’mon, (Y/N)” TJ smirked, “even being on the Dean’s list, you gotta admit this shit is not easy at all”
You gave TJ a look, all he could do was chuckle, throwing his hands up.
“Don’t shoot the messenger, I just heard you’re a good ass tutor. You got my nigga the highest grade he’s ever seen in his life— in fucking Chemistry”
Cameron.
“.. and if him, why not me?”
In hindsight, you would’ve told TJ to tutor himself and leave you be. But with the milliseconds that passed, you felt the little person inside of you lurch at the feel of someone needing help.
If you could do it and someone needed it, you were always happy to help.
Sighing, you cracked open your textbook and gestured towards his paperwork.
“Let me see”
.
“I’m tellin’ you, this shit isn’t as hard as I thought. I’m actually learning and my grades show that? Can’t get better than that”
Cameron Cade sat on the couch of TJ Lewis, a can of Sprite in his hand as the tv for college football played.
“Like I remember thinking.. I can never figure out this shit. Like you always said, Cam, football don’t be needing us to know certain shit. And not that I’ll be using this skill, it’s a good feeling knowing that I know how to— y’know what I’m saying?”
Cameron nodded even leaning towards his best friend with a hand out ready for a dap, TJ accepted happily.
“I’m up to an eighty eight percent, I’m overly good to play in this next game, Cam”
“You got a tutor, type shit?”
TJ nodded, waving it off, “yeah but she a lil bit I’m fuckin’ on.. shawty smart off her ass though”
Something in Cameron Cade didn’t settle right, his chest felt heavy. He sat up straighter, taking a sip of his soda.
“Right right.. and you said this was what class?”
“Chemistry, nothin’ major”
Cameron Cade tried to calm every working cell in his body. The word itself felt like a trigger and the likes associated with it. Chemistry… you.. this couldn’t—
The man was pulled from his thoughts by his best friend standing, his hand coming down flat on Cameron’s shoulder.
“Gotta hit the restroom, I’ll be back”
Cameron could only nod, the thoughts in his head rushing too fast for him to be verbal. None of the voices could be true right?
Glancing over, Cameron noticed TJ’s phone hidden in the couch cushions where he sat. Waiting until we heard the door close, Cameron Cade worked fast.
TJ’s passcode was his mother’s birthday in four digits. With ease, Cameron swiped over to Instagram. If his heart didn’t plummet at the sight of your Instagram handle in his recently searched, maybe it was when he moved to iMessage and saw your phone number.
‘Good job on the 88%! Let’s get that to an A! :)’
TJ replied to your message with a heart.
‘That’s all you, pretty. What time you coming over tomorrow for another session?’
‘Of course. I can be over there at 5’
TJ reacted again with a heart.
‘Bet’
Bet was right. Cameron scoffed under his breath, chuckling to himself and shaking his head. This was real life?
Hearing the toilet flush, Cameron quickly put TJ’s phone back where it was, relaxing back on the couch like he didn’t just see betrayal.
“A’ight” TJ began upon walking out of the bathroom, “I’m tired of watching these sorry ass niggas play. Let’s get on 2k”
.
It was weird when you approached TJ Lewis’ door only to find it just barely cracked open. Your raised fist in the air ready to bring it down on the wood only to see a sliver of light coming through.
You probably should’ve turned around and left… and in hindsight, that was the best decision.
“TJ?” You softly called out gently pushing his door open and walking inside. “You here?”
The more you stepped into his apartment, the more you could make out the view. His usually nice looking space when you open his front door was a mess: glass shards everywhere, items and things thrown haphazardly, his coffee table broken.
Your heart dropped and fear coursed your body. Did TJ get robbed?
Your nervous hands fished for your phone, ready to call the police only to be stopped at the sound of footsteps on the hardwood and the squeak of a door opening.
Walking out from his bedroom stood the last person you wanted to see.
“Cameron—“
Your eyes widened not just seeing him here but at the sight of his appearance— his white tee was lightly decorated in splotches of blood, the knuckles on both of his hands red with anger and bruised…
.. and a gun in his hand.
“I— I was—“
Cameron stalked closer to you, a look of intimidation in his. The look in his eye didn’t feel warm or welcoming.. or that he even liked you. He looked like he hated you.
Even so…
You opened your mouth to speak but Cameron’s hand roughly grabbed the entity of your throat. With a grip strong enough to take all breath from you, Cameron Cade shoved you to the nearest wall.
“‘Fuck you doin’ here, huh?” He snarled, staring down at you. Tears blurred your eyes, your hands grabbed desperately at Cameron’s wrist.
“C-Cam” you choked out. “‘m n-not— I’m not fucking him” tears slid down your cheeks, “p-please—“
Your pretty, teary eyes bored into his, somehow hoping to speak to him telepathically and break him out of whatever spell he was under.
Not to mention the gun in his opposite hand. God you hoped he snapped out of it.
“Please, baby” you muttered.
Cameron suddenly let go, your body dropped pathetically at his feet where you caught every ounce of breath you could.
“I-I just tutor him, that’s all, okay? He asked me for help. Swear I’m not doing anything with him.. he’s your friend..”
“Yeah i’on know about that” Cameron huffed out, “He’s my friend but he’s tryna fuck on my girl?”
You could hardly react when Cameron was hauling you up, this time it was his forearm over your throat.
“And you was gon’ let him, weren’t you?”
You shook your head vigorously, “No—“
“Naw? Well he wanted to fuck on you and you been fallin’ right into his trap.. acting’ real fuckin’ dumb. Who the fuck you feelin’ like huh? Think you can just fuck and drop me? Me? Like I don’t call shots around this ‘muhfucka? Me?!”
You flinched timidly at his sudden outburst, more tears slipping from your eyes as you struggled to breathe.
“Now you got this nigga thinking he can fuck my bitch. Walkin’ around in these tight ass outfits showin’ off what’s mine. Are you fuckin’ kidding me?”
Cameron Cade took a moment to eye you, God he couldn’t help his anger. It’s been whiplash since you basically cut him off, he couldn’t take anymore.
Rational thinking was long gone.
His lips pulled out a sick smirk, his head nodding. “But don’t you worry, my baby, imma handle it… yeah, daddy’s ’gon handle it”
He leaned in and planted a full kiss on your lips, a soft groan slipping out.
“I jus’ missed you, that’s all..” another kiss, “i been missin’ you, i’on ever wanna be without you, bae” another kiss. “We just gotta straighten our shit out, it’s okay. Before we can do that though—“
Cameron Cade leaned his body off of you but was taking you by the throat again, walking you over to TJ’s couch and shoving you on the cushions.
“— we gotta straighten this out. Don’t move”
You couldn’t move if you wanted to, Cameron Cade was already a force of nature but now this same force had a gun. He seemed unhinged and that terrified you.
But not as terrified as Cameron Cade rounding the corner with an unconscious, bloody, and beaten TJ Lewis in his hold. TJ’s bottom lip was swollen with dried blood, his nose puffy, and both sides of his face black and blue.
His arms were tied behind his back, ankles tied together in duct tape.
Cameron sat his body down in a chair where TJ’s head slumped to the side. But Cameron wasn’t having that, he grabbed a cup of water and splashed it in TJ’s face, immediately alerting the boy.
“Wake ‘yo bitch ass up”
You just barely looked at TJ, it was hard to do so but you also didn’t want to piss off Cameron even more.
You watched him turn towards TJ, who stiffened at the sight of Cameron with his gun.
“I didn’t need to break into your spot to get even ‘witchu” he began, “you been on my shit list, I just didn’t think I’d have to kill you behind my woman because let’s be real— you wanted to fuck her, didn’t you?”
How TJ Lewis wasn’t crying or pissing himself was surprising to you. He couldn’t talk, instead he glanced up at his former best friend and sheepishly nodded.
“Yeah I had a feeling.. caught you all on her Instagram, calling her pretty and shit.. my bitch— my woman” Cameron pressed the barrel of the gun to TJ’s temple, “stupid ass nigga, you ain’t need no help, you just wanted a piece of mine like I was offering”
What had the man swarming and dancing in anger in his mind was justifiable. It was hard to be logical when his mind was spinning.
But like the beacon of light you were, your soft voice brought him back down.
“Cameron” you hesitantly called out, “c-come sit by me for a little bit, yeah? J-just put the gun down, okay? Come talk to me”
He glanced over at you, watching you scoot over from the middle, inviting him.
“Please, baby.. I-I missed you”
Cameron eventually dropped the weapon from TJ’s head, even going as far as to place it on the ground beside the couch. When he sat down, he wasted no time.
Desperate hands taking you by the hips and pulling you into his lap. His hands cupped your face and caressed you like you were the last thing on their Earth.
“My baby.. my pretty baby” he pecked your lips, “goddamn, I love you, girl” another kiss. “But.. I can’t let you off the hook, bae. You was ‘gon leave me and let this nigga have you..”
You shook your head again, tearfully trying to convince this insane man. Shuffling in his lap, you slithered your arms around his neck and pressed your body into his.
“N-no, Cam baby, no. I swear it wasn’t like that and it never was going to be. I-I.. I’m yours, babe, it was always gonna be you. Just.. please stop this..”
Cameron Cade only glanced up at you and smirked.
“Stop? I’on think so. I won’t kill him.. but should he stop watching you ride my dick on this couch then I will”
Your eyes widened in surprise, you felt Cameron wrap a tight arm around your waist.
“Don’t get scared now.. we just gotta show him what he’ll never have”
.
It was embarrassing how you managed to keep yourself together while Cameron Cade ate your pussy in front of his former best friend.
Kneeling on the hardwood, Cameron had a hold on your thighs to keep your center on his tongue. One of your legs dangled off of his shoulder, devouring you.
When the pleasure began building and your moans slipped out, you couldn’t bear to look at TJ. Embarrassment burned your cheeks a soft pink.
You tried closing your eyes to pretend he wasn’t there but Cameron Cade made rules: no closing your eyes or looking away and you had to talk.
His lips suckled at your clit, forcefully tugging a moan from you.
“I-it’s feels really good, Cam, baby”
He hummed in your pussy, making your eyes roll back. Cameron came up to hover over you, his glistening lips just barely touching yours. In the same breath of his soft peck, two of his thick fingers slipped inside of you and began pumping.
“Yeah?” He whispered, “missed that? Missed my mouth on you?”
You nodded, staring up at him. “Yes”
Cameron smirked, gesturing over to TJ, “look him in the eye and tell him that.. tell him how good I eat that pussy.. c’mon..”
His smirk stayed even at the sight of your watering eyes, the same eyes that pleaded for him to rescind. He shook his head and pecked your lips.
“This gun is right next to my knee, I’ll put a hole in him, (Y/N), I swear to God”
Taking a breath and blinking back the tears, you turned your head and looked TJ Lewis’s square in the eyes.
“He eats my pussy so good, TJ”
That earned you a sweet kiss to your exposed neck.
“Mhm… I know that’s right” Cameron mumbled. “But let’s show him sumn better”
What was once naked from the waist down turned into completely nude. Nude and sinking yourself down onto Cameron Cade’s hard cock. All the man had to do was unbutton his pants and pull it out, he was ready to go.
Arms around his neck and legs stretched to hang off of his own, your body slumped forward at the full feeling of him.
God he was so fucking big.
“Shit” you whined lowly, your forehead falling onto his shoulder.
“Fuck, baby” Cameron choked out a groan, looking at you with furrowed eyebrows in pleasure, “..missed feelin’ this pussy ‘round me.. this tight, warm, wet pussy” Cameron loudly proclaimed, aiming the words at TJ.
With a sharp slap to your ass, you began moving. You started with a dirty grind, sitting up straighter. His length slid against your walls perfectly and just how you needed it.
How the fuck did you go a month without it? Without him?
You began bouncing in his lap, holding onto him for dear life. All the while you were vocal, not being able to shut up or consider the fucked up situation at hand.
“See that, TJ?” Cameron called out, looking over at him fully. His hands grabbed at your jumping breasts and squeezed, “you’ll never experience this shit.. ‘least not from mine. You gotta be fuckin’ crazy, nigga”
Hiking up a leg for leverage, Cameron pulled your body down on his chest and with grips on your ass, he began pounding up into you.
“Fuck, Cameron!” You cried out, borderline screaming. All you could do was take it. All that could be heard in the apartment was heavy breathing, huffing, and your sopping pussy.
Cameron fiercely slapped your ass again, “fuck is right. You really thought this nigga was ‘gon put it down like me? Fuck you like me? Have you fuckin’ creaming like this? Huh? Answer me, now!”
Your wail was ear piercing, just what Cameron Cade wanted.
“No! No, no, no” you babbled.
“Naw? Tell him that, ‘gon head”
This time it was easier to lock eyes with an embarrassed TJ Lewis, your own eyes blown in something deeper than lust.
“He fucks me so good, TJ.. so fucking good, i-i can’t even think”
Cameron continued fucking up into you, showing no signs of stopping. “That’s right? Who doin’ it like me?”
You nodded, “Nobody, baby. It’s just you.. only you”
That earned you a kiss to your cheek and an eager Cameron Cade finding your clit and thumbing the button.
“I want you to look that bitch ass nigga in his eyes when you’re cumming, you understand me? Show him who the fuck you belong to”
Cameron’s hips powered, one hand still in the middle of your bodies and the other forcibly holding your jaw.
Your body shook in his hold as your orgasm thundered.. all while staring TJ Lewis dead in the eye. Your scream was silent but intense and it was enough for Cameron to fuck you harder through it.
“Fuck” he hissed out at the feeling of your squeezing walls. He didn’t need to look to see you were making a mess on his pants.
It wasn’t long before his own orgasm began to show its face. It’d been too long without you, without the feeling of getting lost inside of you.
“You gon’ make me cum, bae and you damn sure ain’t gettin’ up”
Pushing himself as deep as he could go, Cameron kept thrusting. A staggered breath let loose from him, making you stare down at him. You gave him that same look from before.. the one that begged— fucking pleaded for him to do it.
“Please” you murmured, leaning down to softly kiss his lips, “‘m sorry, baby, please forgive me.. I didn’t mean it. I don’t want nobody else but you.. just you— shit, you’re so close.. keep going, baby, keep going..”
Cameron Cade howled out a deep groan and grabbed your ass so hard, you knew he’d leave indentation marks from his nails.
His dick pulsed and stilled before firing loose. He filled you up full if not fuller than before. His stream warm and coming out in spurts deep inside of you.
When you looked into Cameron’s eye after coming down, you felt like you finally saw the boy you had a crush on. His eyes just a bit lighter, his features much softer and less angry.
“Are you okay?” You mumbled to him.
“I’ll always be okay when I’m with you, bae” he said back, making your heart flutter, “gimme a kiss”
You obliged without hesitation and connected your lips, Cameron deepening the intimacy with such ease, you were starting to love it.
He pulled back and leaned into your neck, placing soft kisses on your skin there. Your eyes fluttered closed just briefly.
“But I’ll tell you what..” Cameron whispered, “I’ll be even better with this final”
You weren’t fast enough to stop Cameron Cade from reaching for the gun. With an arm raised, he turned the safety off, cocked it, and shot TJ Lewis straight in the chest.
He was even faster when he covered your mouth to stop your scream.
“Don’t make this shit bigger than it needs to be, you understand me? He had it coming”
Your tears were that of fear and distress. This was real life, a man bound and bleeding out right in front of you.
With his hand on his chin turning you to look at him, Cameron stared in your eyes with fake concern.
“You’re mine, (Y/N), you’ve always been. Like I said the last time, I been on you even before we started them sessions.. but fuck, bae, you put it on me so good..”
He kissed your lips.
“You’re too precious for these other niggas and should anybody else try me ‘bout you” he jerked his head towards TJ Lewis’ slumped body, “it’s ’gon be the same story”
Using his free hand, he thumbed away the tears from both of your eyes.
SYNOPSIS — Evil lurked between ivy and shadows, and woe to the fool who entered the Devil's domain and expected to leave unscathed.
TAGS — she/her FMC, FMC labeled as woman, visually nondescript, safe for POC, dark!Creature, Creature POV, post canon, in his self-loathing era, seeing himself as a monster, implied violence and murder, spooky gothic vibes, religious references, kleptomania, fearplay as foreplay, size difference, size kink, dubious consent, explicit sexual content, vaginal fingering, p in v, rough sex, choking, forced orgasm, squirting, creampie, Victorian dirty talk, he's still sweet… in a way, and still a yearner
WORD COUNT — 4.4k
A/N — I've wanted to write a dark!Creature fic for a WHILE now 🫣 Considering that I used to write dead doves only until, mmh, 2022, my interpretation of my fictional crushes has really changed omg. It used to be all about "ohh dark fantasy, powerful character does what he wantss" (which is still valid), but now I suppose it's more… nuanced 😗 Anyway ❤️ Do mind the dubious consent tag. This is 100% Creature POV and I suppose he's a bit of an unreliable, self-loathing narrator at times🤭
Crossposted on Ao3 | Masterlist | Dividers by @strangergraphics
Where earth grows cold,
And the shadows fold,
Waste not prayer
Waste not bells;
For in that lair,
The Devil dwells.
So the poem went, about the Devil of Charnel Street.
The poem's Devil had no name, but the villagers knew he was there. They knew where he lived, too, at the end of Charnel Street, which wound from Townhall Square all the way to the settlement's fringe. There, on the crest of the hill, the Devil called a rotting mansion his home. Marked by the skeleton of a gnarled oak and a clattering fence, it was a towering ruin, a monument of ivy-shrouded decay that no one dared to claim, because a demon lurked in those folded shadows.
He had once cared to build, to restore. But there was no point in it. Everything would come apart again, and only he would remain.
The town he had chosen to settle in was teeming with sinners, and he watched over them. Not out of goodwill, but out of envy—and hatred. They knew his shadow like their own, when he passed down the darkened alleys on moonless nights, when his sulfurous gaze gleamed from the shattered windows of the mansion. He stalked the woods, the fields, deemed the source of all Evil, the curse upon every person's lips. He was a reaper, an ill omen to whoever crossed his wretched path.
Sometimes, children came to his home, goading each other into dares. He would scare them away.
Sometimes, men came to his home, carrying weaponry in their hands and bloodlust in their hearts. He would kill them.
If a woman ever were to come to his home… He didn't know what he would do.
Tonight, the icy and merciless gown of a snowless winter lay upon the land, and he dragged his boots up the hill from the forest to the mansion. Blades of dry, rime-covered grass brushed against his calves, hair blown away from his ghoulish skull by a gust of wind. The stars gleamed cold and distant above the undead Creature, tauntingly roaming the heavens that were denied to him.
Cold, self-acting fingers went to the familiar shape slung around his neck, softly twiddling the memento he had taken from Elizabeth's corpse over two decades ago. The cross' red paint had mostly faded from the assault of his thumb and forefinger, yet he could not keep himself from it. If not this, he felt that he would suckle on his thumb.
Coat pockets filled with a meager amount of roots and nuts, the Creature stepped upon the mansion's back porch, avoiding mold-rotten and broken planks. Pushing the door to the kitchen open and advancing into the living room on soft soles, he knew at once that something was not as it ought to be. The air flowed differently around the place, the gentle rush breaking against an unfamiliar obstacle. He tensed, a low growl ringing from the pit of his lungs.
Woe to the fool who entered the Devil's domain.
A subtle trace of soap and perfume curled from the corner of the room, and as his eyes adjusted, the intruder's shape became clear among the shadows of old, ruined furniture. A woman, it seemed, under that cloak and hood. With shock, he sized up her figure, and the frightened face that peeked at him from behind the fabric's rim. The Creature recognized her.
"I know you," he rumbled with the voice of a wolf, carefully enunciating every word. "You are… the thief. I have seen what need looks like, and you don't need the things you steal. "
The intruder seemed surprised to hear him speak. Or surprised to learn how much he knew, how much he saw.
"I can't help it," she relinquished with a faint tremor, her breath condensed in the winter air. Several shattered windows perturbed the insulation of the massive mansion walls.
"So, is that why you are here? You have come to steal from the Devil?" He ventured closer, rotting floorboards creaking beneath his weight. "What could you possibly steal from the Devil?"
"H-Hah, what d-do you have?" She said through chattering teeth.
The Creature rumbled. He had little to give, except for his rage and his hunger. His hands drifted aimlessly on either side of his body, long fingers submerged in contemplation.
"I have what you see here."
"I was j-joking, I am sorry, I will leave at once, I'm—"
"You walk into my home… and expect to leave unscathed?"
Her figure stilled, frozen in the deep blue darkness of the mansion as the Devil's enormous shadow encroached hers. Aged reliefs and stucco the color of bones watched from the edges of their vision, dusted in cobwebs.
"Please…" She stood still as a mouse, knowing with every awakened sense of her lively body that she would not make it to the door if she ran. The Monster would be upon her, dragging her back to his lair by the hood of her coat.
"You've heard the tales of what happens to those who disturb my peace?"
"You've m-murdered many townsfolk in here…"
"Men," he corrected her. "And I've frightened children, yes."
"So what will you do to me?"
She looked afraid of him, which was a shame. It always was, but it was never a surprise. She ought to be afraid of the Devil.
"Hmmm," he contemplated slowly, fingers curling idly as he pondered. His heart thumped within his chest, and he briefly wondered if she could hear it. "You will not leave. Until I have stolen something from you."
"From me?" She squeaked.
"Yes… Make me an offer, or I will take what I want." Raising his face, one damaged eye captured the distant starlight, bouncing it back to her with a lurid flash of yellow. Her breath stumbled.
Gloved, trembling fingers reached into the pocket of her coat and offered a pouch of coins. The Creature accepted it with fluttering fingers, his hand dwarfing hers, and weighed the pouch in his large palm. It was heavy, but worthless to him.
Slowly, he glanced towards his sleeping spot, comprised of patchy furs laid out before the cold fireplace. Neither the bare bed frame upstairs nor the moth-eaten sofa could fit his proportions.
There was a thing he wanted. A creature-feeling in the pit of his abdomen that occasionally surged, dumbing him, urging him to rut into his own hand until all was spilled and spent, and he—empty. Never did it truly please him. Always did he feel that something was amiss. If he could steal some of her warmth for himself…
A deal between a thief and the Devil seemed like his only chance to ever quench the need that clamored within the vestiges of humanity, for a prized thing called intimacy.
He would descend upon her and fuck her like a beast, because a beast was what he had come to be, and all he ever had been. He had long stopped trying to convince his neighbors—mankind—that he was not a monster. It was much easier to convince himself that he was.
And if he humiliated himself, he could simply kill her and the embarrassment with her… Yes. That ought to comfort him for the time being. Although he had never killed a woman before.
The Creature passed the pouch of coin back to her, seeking for the right words to preface his demand.
"Do you believe in God?"
The thief hesitated, staring at the towering silhouette of the rag- and fur-covered Devil who had scorned her stolen currency.
"I… I'm afraid what will become of me, upon my end. I swear I meant it, I cannot help myself, I steal and I steal… So, if He sees everything…" Envisioning God's judgment, she shuddered.
The Creature circled her with slow, lumbering footsteps and she backed away from the hallway entrance, easily crowded towards the center of the living room.
"I don't know about God, but I know about the Devil, and He sees everything. I see everything… I am here to make you humble~ To make you see your faults."
"Do I have a choice?"
He hesitated. She had the choice to scream and cry and retch, and he could hardly imagine himself wanting to force himself upon her then. He would let her go, and loathe himself all the more. But what he said was—
"No."
She seemed to have expected as much.
"And you want… what I think it is that you want?" She, too, looked towards his sleeping place, the large but sorry heap of furs. He hesitated, inching closer. Excitement had begun to throb deep behind his ribs, pooling lower.
"Yes."
This thief was neither screaming, nor crying, nor retching. She was just trembling—and pondering. That realization sufficed to make a flame lick along his groin, cock stiffening and filling out his trousers. The Creature's chest rose and fell with rugged breaths.
"And after, you will let me leave?"
"Yes."
"Then, I s-suppose I can offer you that."
A bargain had been struck, and somehow he was still surprised.
A tiny ah escaped his rattling lungs, hairless brows twitching towards his deep trident scars. With realization, want burst along every feeling vein of him, pulling his thundering footsteps across the floorboards to cross the remaining distance. The woman's smaller frame turned out to be much easier to manhandle than he had anticipated, so she went down on the furs with a yelp and he on top of her, his thighs and hips wedged between hers. She stared up at him, her eyes blown wide.
This was how it was done. The male on top succumbing the female to his will. He had seen it many times, so it had to be the way of nature.
The Creature's hair half obscured his vision as he reached under her coat and skirt. Even through the fabric of her smallclothes, the flesh of her legs seemed unbearably supple, forbidden to touch for a Devil like himself. Briefly, he allowed himself the luxury to knead her thighs, gripping a handful of muscle and meat. The woman whimpered, her limbs stiff and shaking. Surely, she was afraid.
Large hands awkwardly encroached on her center, obstructed by cloth. His eyes and fingers danced, driven by curiosity, but he decided it was simply easier to rip the garment along the center seam to reap what had been agreed on. The fabric came apart with ease, and one hand went down his trousers, releasing his cock. The heavy organ shuddered in his grasp, overly hard and weeping pearlescence at the tip. Without looking or waiting, he pressed the thick, blunt crown to the woman's center.
"W-Wa-ait, I'm not wet, wait!"
Wet?
The Creature shuddered and paused. Yes, he supposed that description matched what he had gleamed, peeking through curtains and dirty windows; some sort of glistening sheen that bedewed a woman's nethers during the act of lovemaking. Not always, though…
"Please, Devil, not like this…"
"Not like this," he echoed, his voice quiet and thick. "How, then?"
That left her stunned and struggling for words, though a breath of relief passed through her lungs.
"Do I repulse you?" He asked, tilting his head, one ghostly pupil reflecting the pale light.
"I'm… I am afraid."
"Do I repulse you?"
"I c-can't say. I can barely see you."
The Devil, releasing his member from his grip, shrugged out of his musty coat, more rags than garment, and let the shirt follow suit, both pieces of fabric shredded by bullets and sickles and every other metallic tool of mankind's hatred for his monstrosity.
Cold winter air stung the stitches of his bare torso. With slow fingers, he pushed strands of hair behind both of his ears, white and maroon falling down to his mid chest. Only the faded, red cross remained between his clavicles, the matching pearls on the string aged and weathered.
The woman's eyes gauged the proportions of him, racing up and down discolored scars and the unlikely piece of jewelry just below the fleshly cross that scarred his Adam's apple.
"You will warm me," the Creature declared with a low rumble. "Undress."
"I c-can't warm you, I'm cold!" She blinked towards the dark fireplace.
"I cannot light it," he sighed. "Men might come… and I would have to kill them."
The thief squeaked, turning her eyes back to his grisly visage. He considered it a mercy, to keep the flames out and spare her the horror of beholding his face and flesh in bright firelight.
"Devil…" she pleaded as his large hand hovered above her clothed body, uncertain where to settle.
"Undress," he murmured again. "Lest you want me to tear those garments to shreds and leave you with the predicament to return home as a wreckage. There would be no doubt that you've become a plaything for the Devil."
He licked his lips as the layers of her clothing came undone, coat, hood, gloves, dress, stays, smallclothes, awkwardly stripped piece by piece and discarded on the floor. By the end of it, she only wore her boots and stockings, and his mouth felt parched.
Gooseflesh pricked at every inch of her skin, cast in the blue, reflected gleam of the night and the shadows of his towering figure. She was a painting, come to life by the horrid brush strokes of the deal she'd struck with the Devil. Hungrily, he leeched onto the forbidden sight of swells and curves in unfamiliar places, every part of her sublime to his demonic eyes.
She closed her lids when his large palm settled on her bare sternum. Perhaps she imagined him to be someone else. He could live with that. Her tightly sealed eyes allowed him the freedom to roam her skin and glance between her legs without fear of humiliating himself. Her thighs twitched when blue fingertips trailed across the thatch of hair—missing on his own anatomy—and lower, coming across the peculiar texture of the skin that resided there.
It all seemed so small, yet convoluted, and for a fraction he felt panic surge, having no clue at all how and where to enter her until his fingers slipped and her nethers miraculously gave way to him, revealing a hidden channel that quite easily sucked two of his digits in. A strange noise escaped her lips.
Could this be considered wet already? It certainly felt so, although he had no idea what could have possibly made her so.
She had lied. She was warm. Right there.
Angling his stitched wrist, the Creature's fingers dipped, astonished how deep he could go, enthralled by the way her body shuddered when he pulled out and sunk back in. Starting slow, he ogled the glistening sheen wrapped around his emerging fingers, sliding back and forth with less and less resistance.
She held her quaking knees before her breasts, as though to hide herself behind them. The Creature's free hand drifted from her abdomen to her chest, coaxing her thigh away with his corded forearm. Fingertips darkened by permanent frostbite roved over supple skin, brushing over one of her hardened peaks. He only had one of those. The woman squeaked, face flipping to the side—because his hands were cold, he presumed.
The heavy organ between his legs throbbed with neglect. He had little idea about the appropriate amount of time needed to make a woman wet. Would half an hour suffice? He'd meant to get it over with to release her from his clutches sooner, but now he found himself wanting to draw it out. As his digits eased back and forth, slowly quickening their pace, her gooseflesh began to dissipate and the tremors in her knees eased as her thighs fell open wide.
A deep and needy sound lifted itself from the pit of his lungs unwillingly. A sheen of saliva had gathered on his parted lips and he wondered what a sight he must be, hulking over her, bare-chested and drooling, wrist snapping against her cunt.
"I think this ought to suffice," the thief said through gritted teeth, fingers clenched into the furs.
"Does it?" He cocked his head, curling his digits again, as deep as they could reach.
"Why are you taunting me when I'm inviting you to proceed?"
He hadn't meant to.
"Very well, I will proceed."
Removing his fingers from the confines of her sheath with a squelch, he momentarily fought the near overwhelming urge to lave his tongue across the shiny coat that marked his digits like an animal. Gooey wetness shimmered along his discolored skin, gathering at the thick suture that connected his index finger to his hand. The digit that had once belonged to a different man strayed away from its cousins.
Stifling his fascination, the Creature gripped his cock, squeezing the thick shaft in his palm as he angled himself against the soft, squishy place he had stretched and opened on his fingers. Still, everything seemed too small to fit him, but her petals had been parted by his earlier touch and so he had an idea where he was going.
The first touch of hot, sodden sensation licked along his cock head, and all it took was one guttural snarl and a roll of his hips to drive the thick crown into her channel. Warmth engulfed him, squeezing him from every angle. His lips hung open, knees shuffling on either side of the woman's naked hips. The creature-feeling sank into his bones, drawing his hips back and forth in short but quickening thrusts. His drifting hands settled somewhere on top of her, searching for a place to cling to.
"You are… very big." Her breath shuddered, airy and strained.
For a moment, he was confused, because why mention it now? Until he realized that she was not addressing his overall anatomy, but the size of his member that stretched her out.
"Am I?"
"Yes, Devil." She squirmed under him, struggling to accommodate his proportions.
"Does it… hurt?"
His hips rolled, one hand clamping around her waist, the other braced against the furs next to her head. The stringy shadows of his hair whisked across her bare flesh, rippling in tandem with his thrusts and the cross below his neck. She sunk her teeth into her bottom lip, stifling whatever noises of what he presumed had to be pain.
The floorboards creaked. He tried to go slow, but his hips slammed down, drawn in by the promise of all the intimacy he could reap. Her skin wasn't warm, but warmer than his, and their combined breath fogged up the wintry air.
Grunting, he gorged on the sublime softness of her body, the heat of her cunt, and found himself craving her more and more. How many would come to try and kill him if he simply kept this one here? Spread out on the furs, wet and warm and lovely. He might even fix the windows, find clean covers for the pillows and harvest the plumpest berries from the forest just for her.
With a demonic growl, he banished the wickedly domestic thought.
"I could squash your skull, like a fruit." The Creature's hand spanned her head, then fell to her throat, encircling it with cold, cadaverous fingers. "And snap your neck like a twig…"
This ought to frighten her. In his long, arduous life he had heard countless cries of fear and terror, but this one was entirely new. The woman gasped, her pulse jumping softly against his palm. Her sheathe where he was buried constricted around him, and he found himself fighting back a grunt. Uncertainly, his fingers flexed around her throat, eliciting another clench of those velvet walls that throttled him so.
"Don't you dare judge me, Devil," she rasped defiantly and it became clear that this reaction wasn't normal. Her eyes gleamed at him from beneath lowered lashes.
"You want to be defiled," he concluded, brushing his thumb up and down her thrumming pulse. "Then I will defile you."
Clenching his fist, air staunched against the applied pressure and her mouth flew open wide, leaving her gasping for breath. His hips slammed down deep, splitting her open on the girth of his cock. Her body must ache from his, yet she slung her legs around his waist, urging him deeper, or perhaps that's just what he wanted to think of her soft calves on his lower back.
"You believe you deserve it, don't you?"
She whimpered, openly meeting his ghoulish gaze. Perhaps she'd come not to steal, but for absolution. He would gladly play the role for her.
The motion of his hips came naturally to the memory of his ancient muscles, driving himself deeper and faster. Her flesh moved and jiggled under the forceful impacts, cushioned by the furs, her channel tight around his cock.
When her eyes rolled, he released her fragile throat, let her gasp for precious air. She seemed to find something in his gaze that made her walls constrict even without the strangulating pressure of his enormous grip, so he settled on one forearm and clamped one hand around her hip, spanning it from bone to cheek.
Enthralled, he grunted like the bear whose flayed pelt lay underneath their bodies.
"Stop…!" She pleaded, squirming against his chest. "It feels… good…"
"Then I will not stop."
She moaned, whined, and this time he was certain that they were sounds of pleasure, all reaped by him.
The town and forest lay silent. No one would come—with guns and fire and pitchforks—to save her from the jaws of the Devil.
This little thief was all his.
Intuitively, he added a downwards grind against her mound whenever he snapped into her, finding he quite enjoyed the way her channel clenched whenever he did so. The heels of her boots dug into his lower back.
"What are you doing?" She blabbered, nails clawing lines into his thick shoulders. "You're doing something to me~"
"Yes," he growled. He was certainly doing something. "I'm cursing you." Chapped, blue lips peeled back from his teeth in a motion that he distantly remembered as a grin.
His hips rolled deep and hard, undulating almost as he stuffed her on the monstrous length and girth of his cock.
"Devil," she cried, spine arching so that her soft chest met his sternum. "Devil, wait, stop—!"
He did not. That eerie grin spread wider across his patchwork cheeks, uncomfortably stretching his stitches. Something seemed to take hold of her body, driving her spine towards his chest, head thrashing left and right. Her nails speared into the sutures of his shoulders, drawing beads of blood, and then—
Some sort of release sputtered around the base of his cock, drenching the furs below and the fabric of his trousers that hung around his thighs. Her channel clenched, spasmed, with a quick and fierce rhythm that nearly milked him dry if not for the surprise that stalled his own climax. The Creature—growling through his teeth—maintained the rhythm exactly as it was, fascinated with each spurt that he fucked out of her until there was nothing left and her forearms hung limply over his back.
"What was that?" The woman slurred, and he gave no answer because he had none. Maybe he truly had cursed her.
Her limbs were boneless, her countenance glowing… She almost seemed content, which hardly struck him like a curse. Her sheathe was now utterly sodden, squishy almost, with how easily it accepted him, even when he thrust deep and hard.
Soft lips parted, moaned his name, over and over—Devil, Devil—as he pounded into the groaning floorboards. Pressure built behind his abdomen, making his sac pull taut against his pelvis, and a famished need surged along his nerves, to press his lips to hers and take his first kiss from her too. A string of drool dribbled to the furs, briefly missing her ear as he turned his face away from the temptation.
He was close, rutting with heavy thrusts like a ravenous monster would. Upper lip curled into a guttural snarl, he pushed himself to the summit, muscles clenching along his thighs and glutes. Slamming down deep, ropes of unholy seed were expelled from his throbbing cock, wrenched from him in stuttering waves.
Two strings of tears tracked down from marbled eyes, dampening the hollows of his cheeks. Gravity pulled him down to the woman's chest before he could know whether she'd glimpsed his tears or not. His grunting breaths spilled into the furs by her ear, where his drool was.
The entirety of his body quaked, grafted muscles and sinews throbbing from the unfamiliar strain, and his cock still made itself known with an occasional pulse, enveloped by a concoction of sticky seed. Shocked, he discovered the thief's fingertips roaming across his back, tentatively exploring the expanse of his scars. Not daring to breathe, he remained still, until she softly declared that she couldn't breathe either.
At once, he removed his weight from her softer, smaller body and sat on the lower end of the furs, knees snapped together.
"You're a man, aren't you?" She shuffled upright. He avoided her gaze. "What happened to you?"
"No, I am a Devil." With finality, he wrenched his trousers back over his pale hips. "My evil heart's fire cannot be quenched, nor my hunger. I cannot change my nature."
"And neither can I… Like I said, I cannot help it."
The Devil remained silent, training his gaze to one of the shattered windows while she dressed. The process took a surprising amount of time. He would have thought she'd flee straight through the door, yet she carefully donned her gloves and buttoned her coat.
"You're… letting me go?"
"As promised."
He barred his sadness behind the conviction that solitude was all he knew. Familiar and comforting. He'd reaped what he wanted, stolen the experience and made himself richer. But then why did he feel poorer as soon as she whispered, "Goodbye, Devil," and closed the front door after her?
Minutes passed. The marks of her nails had healed, the furs gone cold, and only the memory of her remained. The Creature's fingers went to the space between his clavicles, seeking solace.
The treasured necklace, however, was gone.
He roared.
Crows scattered from the mansion's roof, bursting into the black winter sky, and the branches of the oak trembled from the echo of his rage, shedding its remaining shriveled leaves.
He swore his revenge would be delivered, and it would be terrible.
If you had fun reading this fic, pretty please consider leaving a comment for me, either in your finest ink or with jumbled word—anything works, and I would be THE HAPPIEST little creature in the world ❤️
Let me know if you'd like to be added to my Frankenstein fic tag list!
Also feel free to check out my other Creature x FMC fics, "These Scars Long Have Yearned" 🦌 and "Monsters Dream of Organic Sheep" 🤖, or my Victor x FMC fic "Bloodmilk" 🥛
𓈒 ˙ ꪆৎ ꣹ ۫ 𖨂 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 . .. . football star!cameron cade X retired tennis player!black!fem!reader. ||
+ 𓍼 synopsis. once hailed as the face of american football, cameron cade leaves the field to the same bitter ending .. no championship, no redemption. he has failed yet again to carry his team to the finals. another helmet split down the middle. a locker caved in where his fist met steel, and the game that gave him purpose felt hollow, stripped of everything he loved about it. then comes the post-game press conference.
+ 𓍼 what to expect. aged characters! meanie!reader / complex black woman. reader & cam are former enemies to the public — former special buddies in the bedroom. whipped!cameron cade .. who is married to his college sweetheart [jasmine], your longtime best-friend / match partner. he is an emotional drunk & a stress eater .. you make him so nervous ): you are also married to a tennis player. loosely inspired by challengers ; sports as a drug , the balance of power & control via sport , you feeling as though you must have your own. wordcount :: 13.2k++
𓈒 ˙ ꪆৎ ꣹ ۫ 𖨂 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 . .. . harsh language , possible false sport-terminology , negative self-talk and a verbally abusive spouse , use of the ‘n-word’ , brief mentions of sexual activity and 'devil horns' and 'halo' , indications and descriptions of adultery and explicit acts of // being under the influence & driving after a few drinks. (do not!) + no real spoilers for any film! this does not follow any one film!
🎧 :: ‘ tennis court , the chainsmokers ‘ & ‘ yeah x10 , the challengers soundtrack ‘ & ‘ fetish , selena gomez ft. gucci mane ‘ & ‘ we don’t talk anymore , charlie puth ft. selena gomez ‘ & ‘ bad girl , the buttertones ‘ & ‘ can’t be friends , trey songz ‘
─── Jasmine Cade stood in the doorway of locker-room 3B of Jacksonville, Florida’s Rockeaway Stadium. Though the locker-room could fit the entire football team, her husband only took up a corner. After that performance, he should be in something smaller, she wanted to tell him. Something tighter. True champions unloaded within these walls, and he was no champion. He hasn’t been for a long while now. Jasmine stared down at her dainty wrist watch - 30minutes, they had. She blinked up again, annoyed.
Now, arms folded over her chest and side squished into the door frame, she went back to watching the towering man meticulously repack his sport-duffel after dropping everything out of frustration. He’s pushing around the back-up shin-pads and gloves and realigning those cleats, trying to make everything fit properly once again .. the way Jasmine had it. Nice and neat. She wouldn’t offer help. He wasted her time. Another shit event. She stared, and stared.
He dropped the duffel onto the bench, and just when she opened her mouth to speak, he got there first: “I’m sorry ..” Cameron Cade’s trained long and hard for months, and to see that it all went to nothing felt like the ultimate punch to the gut, a harsh slap-back-to-reality. The man who had been longing for his younger self — the self his wife had so much hope and faith in, having given up her own sport to support — had sucked ass. Big time.
Jasmine’s lips pressed into a tight-line. She pushed from the frame and entered the locker-room. “I know you are,” she said, while peeling those dark shades from the top of her hair. In a clean, swift motion, she redressed the sunglasses; the end-tips rode along the back of her ears, allowing the temples to hold back strands of her dark-colored hair. “And I am sick of getting embarrassed,” cold and flat.
Cameron knew not to speak. He knew a speech was coming. The one he’s heard plenty of times this year alone. He lowered down onto the bench, shrinking in height .. the first step in giving her control. He dropped his red hot, calloused hands into his lap. His tense shoulders dropped. He was slinking into himself, getting ready to take the curses she’d throw at him and the other out-of-name things he was use to: like dumbass or useless or talentless, and she’d jab him in the chest with a stiletto nail over and over until she felt they were ready to head out.
“It’s not just you out there, Cam .. you’re fighting for the both of us.” Compared to her husband, Jasmine had nothing. Absolutely nothing to her name. She was insignificant. No organization was looking for her, not anymore. “If you go down .. I go down. And I already have nada. D’you understand that?” Jasmine was in a crouch, her cool palms enclosed his kneecaps.
He looked at his scratched sneakers, unable to meet her soul-eating gaze.
“Did you hear me, Cam?”
The big man gave a single nod .. still not quite bothering to make eye contact with his wife. He hated dissatisfying himself, but he hated dissatisfying Jasmine even more.
She tipped her head forward, fluffy ponytail swaying to one shoulder. She shifted in her crouch, trying to order his attention. She didn’t like this anymore than he did, but he was making it much harder. “You think I like doin’ this? Hearing myself coach you? .. Huh? .. Cam?” Jasmine’s clutch on his kneecaps stiffened, and went slack just as quick. “This is getting so, so stupid.”
Jasmine braced her palms atop his thighs and forced herself upright. Two steps back, Cameron counted the tile chatter. “This is my life -“ The words felt wrong the moment they left her mouth. She stopped, hands flying to her hips as if to anchor herself, her chest rising with a breath. Her eyes lifted toward the ceiling, an almost reflexive, apologetic look, she had to correct herself. “Our life,” she amended quietly. “This is our life.”
Cameron gave another nod. Her words went in one ear and right out the other and out of the locker-room. He massaged the fleshy part of his left hand with his right thumb to soothe himself. Jasmine watched him for a moment. A low, saddened sigh, "You know I have to say it .. before they do.” Jasmine returned.
Cameron saw her designer flats come forth; well kept and ultra shiny .. His birthday gift to her nearly two years ago.
She’s looking down at him, like he's nothing. Beneath consideration. “I think ..” probably to soften what was about to come from within. “.. this might be the worst game you have ever played,” she said, no pause or even the courtesy of hesitation. “The fucking worse,” followed immediately.
Cameron redistributed his weight, chin tucked down like a scolded puppy having just been told: 'No. You can not have this bone.' His thumb kept wheeling the soft skin of his palm, that nervous habit he hasn’t managed to stop even though she’s told him before to ‘cut it out’.
“After that Cleveland game .. I didn't think you could perform any -" Jasmine cut herself off mid-way. The rest stalled in her throat as heat rushed throughout her skin, the kind of reaction that saved him before she could say what she actually meant to say. And for reasons she didn’t quite understand, especially not this afternoon, she was sparing his feelings.
After a deep swallow, "This was your opportunity to redeem yourself,” she said instead. “To .. To remind the world. Your fans .. that you are still the Cam Cade .. undefeated.”
A sniffle got out of him.
“What happened?" Jasmine held there, searching for anything. “Cameron, please .. I need you to use your words,” she tried again, fake softness. “You really have to tell me something.” A pin dropping could’ve severely wrecked eardrums.
“Cam,“ patience that of a loose-leaf sheet paper. “Look at me.” He put an end to the self-soothing and wiped those sweaty hands down the cotton sweat-pants’ legs, then went back up. Contemplating, though he had no time for such thing.
She clapped her hands together, loud and right under his nose. He jumped up startled, pale blue-green eyes finally switching to her deep brown ones. In an unforgiving voice: "Give me an answer, gotdammit."
Again, she crouched to one knee, forcing herself into his line of sight, refusing to let him retreat. "Fucking tell me." She snapped her fingers. "I need you to let me know what-th’-fuck the problem is, and why a professional fucking football player can't throw a fucking ball! What in the hell happened out there, Cam?!"
─── Omar Hammani licked at his cheesy fingers once more before dumping the tray. Since he couldn't make those nachos at home, he told himself to stop by a concession cart .. and there were hundreds wrapped around the venue, so he knew for sure he couldn’t miss one.
He wiped his slick hands down the fabric of his only nice button-up and trailed down the bleachers. Once at the bottom and through the long corridor, he made for the bathrooms. South Wing, in bolded blue letters on the overhead sign.
He looked up and down the wide hallway, searching .. Omar ripped his cellphone from his back pocket. He quickly cleaned the screen and when it lit: no recent messages, and to double check, he went to the message-icon and tapped. No new messages. You left him on delivered. Omar raised his head again. He’d wait, wasn't like he had anything to do .. for another twenty minutes, or so.
His phone went in his back pocket again and he moved from the walkway. As he was about to settle down on the bench, a voice came: "Don’t get comfortable, O."
A grin spread on his lips at the sight of you, and instantly, he took to his feet. "Didn't think you saw my message," he said, using his jeans as a napkin. Usually, you were real good at replying back to folks during work hours; no more than an hour later will you answer back, even at the busy office. But today, you had more important things (a man) to focus on.
Omar seen you from the top-row .. knotless-braids, full and medium-sized, with curly strands coming from. They’re pulled back into a low, side ponytail. Something acceptable, your boss needed. Also, you had just declined your boss’ order to interview Cameron Cade's coach, and he’d remember that unprofessionalism the next time you wanted a change of scenery.
It was the striking look of pure disgust on Jasmine’s face that told you everything: that she did not want to be nagged by a sports’ journalist, especially since that writer would have to be you. You had an interesting history with the married couple.
Getting assigned The Jacksonville Jaguars vs. Atlanta Falcons game, you couldn’t even be mad. A staff shortage had thinned the Jacksonville desks, and for the first time in weeks, your editor finally looked your way .. pulling you out of the tennis column you’d been begging to escape.
As a state-based outlet, there wasn’t too many choices. You swapped between the Jacksonville and St. Augustine area for work, and this was the Jaguar’s game. And this .. circumstantial or not .. felt like your opening. Even if it took a shortage to make it happen.
On the ride to the stadium, you tried to persuade .. then outright beg .. your Jacksonville work buddy, Addrica Hassan, to let you take the defensive line and their profiles. Addrica shot you a look, amused and curious. “Help me understand your fear of Cade,” she said, “and I’ll hand over the D.” It was a strange ask, even to her. Mainly coming from you. You’d been angling for a moment like this for weeks, and everyone knew it. Every writer wanted the football offensive line .. that was the assignment that meant they’d actually made it.
You gave no answer. Stuck, and you had to sit with that, rethinking the messy actions of your past. That was a story to be kept between the college friend group. After that though, you never again spoke about wanting the offensive line.
But anyways, when Omar saw you sitting amongst your small team of writers, photographers, and arguing with your boss, he sent a few messages:
icu (•‿•).
tha old man ur bosss?
before u leave i wann talk 2 u
southwing bath after? pretti pleak
“What are you doin' here?" You asked, a pen balanced at the corner of your mouth, notebook and mini-iPad tucked under your arm. “Don’t you hate him? O, I could've sworn .. you hated him. Real bad?" You finished with a playful lilt.
Omar clutched a hand to his chest like you’ve wounded him, jaw dropping in parody horror. “Hate him? Impossible. Not that superstar. Not in a bajillion years, alright? That’s you.”
You rolled your eyes, an unwilling smile coming to fruition. Sliding the pen from between your teeth, you leveled your gaze at him again. “What are you doin’ here?” For real this time.
"I can't watch a match?" He squeezed his hands into his front pockets, casual but teasing.
"Omar."
"I’m getting a feel of things. Can I do that .. Detective C.?"
You raised a brow and hummed. "Gettin' a feel for what?" And you stepped inward more, and in what could've been a whisper: "Are you writing for ATL?"
"Sure am. It’s a fresh gig. I don’t start the real appointed work until the next game. But, I wanted to see how they moved in person .. You know the bar-screens don't pick up every-single-thing." He took his phone from a back pocket and tapped the Calendar app open. Omar flipped the device, showing his screen. “I want you there. Next to me, with your nerd glasses and funny partner?"
You removed your glasses. Nerd glasses? Hardly. Stylish, the website had advertised .. zebra print frames, lenses that shifted from clear indoors to dark outdoors. Animal print had ruled your middle-school life, and you weren’t about to let it go completely. These glasses were the coolest thing ever .. to your inner-child. “Mmm .. ‘s that what you want? My help?” you asked, smirking.
Omar had known about your new football piece for days. The Jacksonville desk had sent out an internal email announcing assignments, and a mini post on Twitter from their sports site had your name front and center. It was a real shock to your tennis supporters and haters. Being plugged into the local sports scene, Omar had caught both .. enough to know exactly where you’d be this afternoon.
“Aside from wanting to see you again,” he said. “How long has it been, babe? A million months?” Only five. “How’s the boyfriend?" You blinked and tried not to laugh. There was no boyfriend. His title has been changed to husband and has officially been that way for a good year and some now. Omar was even special attendance at the wedding; man of honour. "Come. Walk me to the Media Room."
There was no need to vocalize an answer.
And out of old habit .. or maybe just out of old practice, Omar held out his hands, ready to accept your belongings, and gladly, you passed everything over. "I’m thinking about reworking my blog, actually. So, how ‘bout we trade? I travel out, Addrica too, lend you my pen .. ‘nd you lend me yours.”
You continued, “How does an article in The Watcher sound? Eight-to-ten thousand readers guaranteed; great engagement and a solid push for your brand.”
The Watcher: A Sports Hub was your corner of the sports world online .. equal parts analysis, commentary, and behind-the-scenes scoops. You featured the works by journalists of color from across the United States and the United Kingdom, in every sport imaginable. You gave those writers the spotlight they deserved, the breakout moment you wished for when you were starting over.
"The Watcher?" Tone oozed in mock sincerity. "My absolute favorite blog?” Now he was going too far, seriously pushing it. “The only best sports’ blog in all of the world?" You scoffed and bit down on that bottom lip, your self-control having improved these few months away from Omar.
“You know you wan’a .. so don’t give me that bullshit. ‘Cause I don’t care for it.” Not in the slightest. And Omar couldn’t fool you, not in any alternate universe. He’d been one of the first sport writers you’d asked to submit work for The Watcher. In your early athletic years, as your upperclassman, Omar had written on you and Jasmine, giving the duo a way-in long before anyone else had cared.
You and Omar moved through the stadium corridors no longer updating each other on careers, but the home-life. The ruckus of football fans and stadium staff long gone. Photographers ahead were already clustering near the two doors labeled Jacksonville Media Room D-Line & O-Line. A bank of TV cameras, microphones, and writers awaited, hissing with chatter while staffers prepped for the post-game pressers.
Omar handed off your belongings, checking his wrist watch. “Think I can make it to my side?” he asked, already planning the quickest path amidst the stadium to the Falcons locker room.
“Errrr ..”
Omar wasn’t exactly fleet-footed. He had the kind of stride that looked confident from afar but was really all elbows and overextended legs up close. He often overcompensated with long, loping steps, which made him wobble when trying to dodge equipment carts or tighter corners. And god forbid there were stairs .. he’d stumble on them like a rookie. ‘Not the fastest on his feet’ didn’t even begin to cover it; it was more a mix of enthusiasm, awkward momentum, and a mild disregard for proper form.
“.. jus’ be careful,” was all you had and you stepped into the Jacksonville Media Room, dodging cables and camera tripods. You slid into a seat, folding into the bundle of other workers, blending nicely.
─── One by one, the offensive linemen came and went, the Media Room muggy with the finality of defeat. Some men avoided questions entirely, some attempted their usual banter and quips .. but those barely stood, and the rest tried to salvage a shred of optimism. There were moments you paused at note-taking, hearing their exhaustion did make your heart patter.
These men did a terrible job of hiding their ruin .. and you didn’t fault them. You knew what it felt like to lose something of this magnitude, something bigger than yourself. Or, actually, bigger than what they’ve lost .. but now wasn’t the time to compare tragedies .. if losing the playoffs could even count as one.
As awful as this looked, you couldn’t summon pity. They still had it all .. next season, the one after and the one after that and the one after that one. This was so small, so temporary; in the grand scheme of things, barely a scratch.
Your mind drifted, as it always did in moments like this, to the one loss that had no second chance and left two permanent marks; on your left knee and right arm. And suddenly their ruin felt almost laughable. They could spill their guts here today and tomorrow it would already be old news.
You scrubbed your notes, not listening to the next answer, and thought about the absurdity of it all. How easy it was for them to just be angry, to despair. How easy it was to feel sorry for themselves. You could have envied them .. if you wanted to waste the energy.
And when you stopped being in your own head about what you could’ve done to better perform that late-morning, you stared up .. the Quarterback was centered at the podium. The flashing ceased from the photography crews and the notepadders broke off their scribbling.
Into the mic, the scratchy sound of his shuddering breath poured over the space. It hardly freed the anxiety swimming through his veins, like an array of speed-racers on a spiraling track. The dizzying walk down the corridor felt much more nauseating than this sit-in. “Hello. Good afternoon,” and that was the opening to question-gate. A hand rose in every corner and crevice, ready to bombard him with scrutiny of the evening’s loss.
You remained glued to the chair while the flood of reporters jumped up and down as if this were a concert. From down here, you were considered invisible, hidden real good. For the most part, the Quarterback couldn’t see you. Or he did, but not your face. You had your head tipped down, fake texting Addrica; asking her what were the plans for lunch and if she’d gotten good quotes for her piece and if she could bring you a new pen. You always beared three.
She left you there .. on seen. The equivalent to being left out on the road, blooded, in the middle of the night. Your index drummed at your phone case caught in a nervous fret, and unable to break out of it. You tried at another two messages and again, you received no text-back.
And when the reporter beside you slapped a pen to your shoulder, you glanced over. With that same pen, he gestured outward, and you eyed the line of it. At the end, The Quarterback .. staring into your very soul, his expression that of pure astonishment. Like seeing a ghost he hadn’t asked for. Recognition dragged up from a life he thought he’d successfully buried. It had been years. Long enough for you to be out of orbit, long enough for him to believe you wouldn’t be there to watch this version of him.
That’s when it hit you .. too late .. that the attention had fixed; all of it on you. Instinct kicked in before awkwardness could set in. You tumbled seamlessly back into role, clicking the pen you’d lied to Addrica about being dead and turned to a clean page in your notebook. A miniature microphone had been placed below your mouth.
“Good afternoon,” such a simple greeting and he swore that alone knocked the air from his lungs. Cameron Cade shifted where he sat and folded his hands over the table’s surface, believing that if he looked even the smallest bit presentable .. you wouldn’t dig into him. But he knew you (or, the old you) pretty well to know that changing up his posture wouldn’t take. Not by a long shot.
“I assume you were given time to watch through a tape or two ..” And like clockwork, Cameron’s massaging that spot of soft skin on his left hand. “Maybe not much time to study it .. but time to see how incredibly sloppy you had been.” He gave nothing but a closed-mouth smile, full of shame and impossible-to-miss discomfort. “Your lines were off.”
Queasily, Cameron blinked off to the side .. where his wife, Jasmine Cade, stood, looking blankly at you .. like you were a nuisance. Because you were. You have always been a problem. A persistent irritant she could never swat away, no matter how hard she tried. A mosquito.
“The play-calling wasn’t fluid. You seemed unsure that entire time. I mean, it wasn’t subtle - everyone watching could see it. Everyone.” At that juncture, Cameron wanted to be pulled from the podium. He couldn’t endure another second of you.
“I get it,” eased the ringing in his pounding ears. “Pressure, turnovers, miscommunication .. happens. But it was jarring. And not the kind that can be tossed aside.” For a moment, you let your gaze sweep from the side of his face. Down into your notepad you locked, and nothing. You wedged the book into your chest, sure you’d remember this conversation regardless. “I’m curious, though .. when it started slipping late in the fourth, what were you thinking in the huddle? How were you trying to get everyone back on track?”
Cameron opened his mouth, maybe to give the usual rehearsed line queued up behind his teeth .. but Jasmine hadn’t prepared him for that one. “Scratch all of that, Cam -“ Saved him from answering the previous two, but what came after was the final thing to push him back into the hole you dug just for him. You asked: “Do you feel like this was execution or leadership?”
The Quarterback didn’t utter a word, he didn’t have any to explain why he absolutely sold tonight’s game. He was a failure to not only himself, but to everyone. His wife, his coach, his trainers, his team members, his fanbase .. everyone that stood behind him. Cameron, glassy-eyed, had stumbled, “I don’t know.”
─── Having a nimble sip of the fruity protein smoothie, she deemed it perfect for her husband to consume; apples, greek yogurt, milk, cinnamon, and chia seeds. She had to help herself to another sip, she couldn’t not go for another. She outdid herself this go.
“You should take a break.” Jasmine Cade reached the living area and rounded the couch where her husband sat; bare back propped up on the cushion, big arms crossed over his chest and legs spread. His eyes were secure, brows creased and lips formed in a thin line.
He woke up extra early this morning to connect his cellphone to the television and cue up the recordings his coach sent over. Jasmine switched her attention to the flat-screen .. and then returned to her husband, so focused he had been. Maybe too focused. Too late now, she thought, Jacksonville didn’t have a spot in the championships. “This yesterday’s game?”
It sure was, but he didn’t say so. Jasmine placed the glass of mixed fruit down onto the coffee table .. above a printed-out packet. Cameron gave no effort to avert his eyes, not even acknowledging the smooth hand on his thigh or the chill that rippled through him caused by that silver band around her finger.
Jasmine snatched her hand away from his leg. She joined him in the observation of his royal fuck-up, trying to ignore how he was ignoring her. His wife. His amazing wife. Football didn’t entertain her and rewatching him screw the match didn’t either, so .. she lowered her gaze to the coffee table. The stack of stapled paper intrigued her. So, she removed the cup from the packet and grabbed it up; still warm to the touch.
Her breath hitched, because there was no way she was seeing this correctly:
“What the hell is this?” Jasmine twisted her wrist, angling the front page, as if he didn’t know what had been there. A printed photo of an aged magazine cover. Not from a serious magazine, but a college-owned newspaper. Bolded and overconfident headline typography. And there you were. You and Cameron Cade, standing side by side. Very young, and very much friends. Freshmen year. Photographed before life had decided what it would take from each of you.
That headline screamed promise. Potential. The kind of language that drew onlookers in. Beneath that, a subheading about dominance, two Black-American prodigies rising out of the same campus, different sports, same hunger.
Jasmine shot up from where she sat and slapped the packet onto the table, mumbling an impressive spew of curse-words he had never heard his wife use. Even the hurried clacking of her bunny slippers couldn’t get him to stalk. She seized hold of her phone and speedily took through the halls, aiming for the furthest room in this penthouse .. Cameron’s gym.
She dialled in a number and lifted the phone to her ear, waiting .. somewhat patiently. Jasmine paced along the edges of the equipment, slippers slapping in short, restless turns. She gave the phone no chance to go to voicemail .. she tried the number again. “You better pick up - you lonely bitch.”
You weren’t lonely. You had a cat. A cute, ordinary brown tabby that watched you do the ordinary. Like right now, the chunky guy sat perched on a stool, watching with solemn interest as you wrapped a micro-fiber towel around your hair, as if this, too, were something worth monitoring.
And you did hear the shrillllllll .. but had no inclination to go forth, because surely whoever was on the other line wanted nothing important. You haven’t spoken to your parents and immediate relatives in what might’ve been a decade and your three closest friends, two lawyers and a computer programmer, didn’t have the time to call you during the week. On weekends, they were yours.
You went out of your kitchen, padded down the hallway, and into the living room. Think Like A Man, one of your comfort watches, played faintly on the television, the glow washing the room in muted rainbows. Below the coffee stand sat the pile of old braiding extensions, exactly where you’d abandoned it before washing your hair, a mess you had to clean up.
JC, the phone presented.
And when you pressed the green button, the line opened to the sound of ragged breathing, underscored by the dull thud of hurried footfalls. No greeting or acceptance that you had answered the call for about thirty seconds. “Take a breath,” you said.
:: “Don’t! Don’t you dare tell me to -“
“I won’t be blamed for an unfortunate heart attack.” Your thumb found the remote without looking. A clean click, and the television went dark, plunging the living room into silence. “Take a breath. Now.”
On the other end, Jasmine carried on with the opposite. Air scraped in and out of her lungs. Only the sick sound of someone unraveling in real time. She uncovered something. “I thought I could do it!” A burst of energy, the words tumbling over each other. “I really did. I thought I’d be able to go the rest of my life without speaking to your ass, again.” Like even admitting to the action disturbed her entire being. “But no. Nope. Here I am, because even after years, you still can’t quit taking from me!”
You blinked, very stunned, and truly unable to understand where this was coming from. A laugh crackled out before you could stop it. Not cruel, but definitely not kind. Just confused. “What?”
That’s when you heard a soft sound. Not relief exactly. “.. I think I’ve got my husband back.”
The towel wrapped around your hair loosened as you fell slump onto the plush sofa, the cushions sinking under your weight. “O .. kay?”
“He’s just finished a training session,” and now her voice was next-to euphoric. “The best he’s had all year. Ever.” His trainer’s words, not hers. “And now, heh ..” a wheezy, dubious chuckle, “.. now he’s watching that game tape. Actually watching it. And usually, he fucking dreads that.” Because Cameron couldn’t stand watching his fuck-ups. Why when he’s lived it? Produced it for all the world to see.
“And why’re you blowin’ my line forrrrr? ‘Cause that doesn’t sound like problem. It actually sounds like what you hoped to happen -“
“I asked you to go easy - not split him a new one.” It was strange how Cameron still seemed to enjoy when you got all hot and mean. He missed that.
Jasmine was always glued to the feeds, scrolling the Jacksonville football updates, refreshing threads like a hawk, killing every Cameron Cade hate comment with kindness. A morning before the Jacksonville vs. Falcon game, she saw your name attached to a post .. something about a writer-shortage, but she didn’t care for all that.
Panicked, she had to call you.
Jasmine tracked down your number, never-minding the rational part of her brain, never-minding the years that had passed. She knew exactly what you could do to him. She’d seen it before, the way he hung onto every word that’s come out of your mouth. Because if you said the wrong thing during the press conference, she knew it would hit him where it hurt, and she wasn’t ready to watch that happen.
“I did go easy,” as calm as can be. “You .. are welcome. No thanks necessary, Jasmine, really.”
“No, you did not,” her voice trembled with anger. “You did too much. You strayed. Went off script.” A quick inhale, tremor, and she was doing an excellent job at holding herself back from saying more. From letting the fury spill totally.
“Script?” you echoed, brows knitting.
“.. You ..” A sigh. “You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t know what you mean.”
Jasmine wiped at her eye, alleviating the tear before it could take proper structure and stroll down her cheek. “I know why you did that. I do,” she declared. “I know exactly - you’re still holding a grudge.”
Yup. That was it. That was reason. With a humourless, gloomy grin, “You are a joke, Jasmine.”
“You are still pissed he chose me over you.”
That is not what happened. You cleared your throat, scratching a spot on your chin, buying yourself half a second. “Mm ..” You might as well entertain the crap: “I’ve forgiven him. You know that.” She did. But after last night, she couldn’t be so sure of that.
“Has your vagina forgiven him?”
“Goodbye, Jasmine -“
“Yeah, he told me,” panic flooding back in before you could end the call. “A long time ago. He told me everything,” she said, fierce and implacable, wanting to strike at you through the phone. “I know everything, you wicked bitch.”
“And you believe him?”
“Oh- of course.”
“Right.”
“But guess what,” she barreled on, short-winded now, like stopping would mean thinking, “that shit happened years ago, ‘nd I’m woman-enough to not sulk in that, ‘cause there’s some serious-ass business we need to attend to.”
You straightened from how you’d been lounging. “I’m sorry? What the hell are you saying?”
“You. Owe. Me. You’ve got him started ‘nd he’s feeling real motivated - but he can only burn so bright for so long.” Jasmine huffed and puffed. This is where she let herself take a breath. “What I’m sayin’ is .. you need to make this last.”
“.. Make this last?”
“You heard me,” she grumbled. “He’ll need you in his ear.” Like their shared days as college athletes.
What a silly suggestion. You pulled the phone away from your face, staring at it like it had betrayed you, like you’d misheard. Because surely, that is what had happened. “His season is over.”
“Next season,” she countered. No gap. No doubt. “And the season after. Look ..” Came metal groaning, a loud clank, as she sat down on a weight bench. “You want me to thank you?” The phrase itself tasted weird. “Fine, ‘kay? I thank you for the push. You did more than asked.”
..
“But he’s gon’a need more fire under his ass.” She wanted him to be great again .. and clearly, she’s been doing something wrong. She wanted your help. Then: “Help me make him great again.”
The audacity of it. The cruelty.
“No.” You ended the call before she could even say another word. A second later, you flicked the button to silence, habitual, but you didn’t set the phone down. You kept it in your hand, fingers wrapped tight around it as if it may vibrate.
“Who was that?”
The question rang from the hall opening. You pushed yourself up from where you sat, joints stiff, heart still thumping, and turned. Your husband stood there, half in shadow, a duffel slung over one shoulder and his tennis racket in his free hand, sweat having darkened the collar of his polo. He looked tired in the way excessive cardio could do.
You stared down at your phone, watching message notifications bloom, one after the other. Jasmine. She would not back down. “No one that matters.”
Your husband gave a weak nod, knowing well not to ask any further questions. He let his practice bag slip from his shoulder, the weight thudding softly as it landed beside the trophy case. He rested his racket carefully on top, asking, “Have you decided?”
That caught you off-beat. “.. Decided ..?”
“On the ceremony.” Every mid-winter, the state of Florida hosted the Florida Pinnacle Awards, an event created to honor the most dominant professional athletes of the state’s major sport franchises; Tennis (St. Augustine Guardians), Football (Jacksonville Jaguars), and Basketball (Orlando Magic). Sponsored by a coalition of state athletic commissions, private donors, and Florida-based sports foundations.
And he asked about the Florida Pinnacle Awards no more than two weeks ago and you told him that you’d think about it. Your husband had gone to that event alone every year since his acceptance into it. Walked the carpet by himself. Sat at the table with an empty chair beside him. But this time was different. This go round, he wanted you there .. not as press, with a recorder tucked into your clutch, but as his wife.
As Andrew Calder’s wife.
“I ..” haven’t given it much thought. “.. No,” point in lying. “It’s tomorrow?” Crossing your arms over your front, protectively. “Drew, I don’t have a thing to wear.” Which sounded nice, and as though if you did have an outfit sitting around, you would be there on his arm. “I’m sorry.”
“No. You’re a woman,” he said while heading for the couch. “You have outfits for every occasion.” Andrew stopped just short of you, after stomping over that mound of braiding hair. His clammy hands swung upward, sweetly unfolding your arms, fingers threading with yours. “Lie .. and tell me otherwise.”
“I am a woman,” you felt you had to confirm. “.. who doesn’t like to repeat outfits, especially formal ones.” Unable to keep your hands in his, you peeled away and closed them around his waist.
“This isn’t formal. It’s on a beach.”
“Mm .. so .. what? Bikini?”
“Maybe ..” and he leaned down, his lips meeting yours in a feather-like kiss. “Or whatever you’re comfortable with, always.” Though, Andrew had something magnificent in mind. Something green. Lime-y, tennis ball green. You always looked beautiful in green. You looked amazing in anything you threw on, but green .. that color was made for you. “It would mean a-bunch to me if you could be there.”
You knew the pestering would eventually die out, but he’d be dragging his feet around and mope about. As much as you and your husband were at odds, you hated seeing him like that. “Okay ..” you answered, with a slender grin. “When do we leave?”
“Really?” He whispered, for the universe had finally answered, dropping exactly what he’d been hoping for. “Thank you.” Andrew folded his arms around your shoulders. “Thank you.”
Your hands pressed against his chest, trying to shove him with the developing impatience. “Shower. Now. Please.” And you waited until he disappeared fully, waving him off with a smile, to check your phone; missed calls and unanswered messages from JC.
─── The Pinnacle was a bronze-and-black marble trophy shaped like a rising spire, stamped with the Florida coastline at its base. ANDREW CALDER, TENNIS, 2025, in gold lettering. For a while, you held it .. deciding you needed to in order to sleep tonight. It was heavy and smooth at the bottom. After your moment, you set it back onto the table and just sat there .. eyeing Andrew’s accomplishment.
The voice of no one other than Jasmine Cade is what managed to break you from the trophy. She eased herself into the empty chair beside, smelling real tasty; that was coconut and caramel. “Love the short hair. You look cute.” That’s when you blinked down at yourself .. and nodded in agreement. “I know.” Lazily, “Baby blue always worked well with your complexion.”
Jasmine hummed, tongue flicking over her lips, and she swallowed a thick smear of cherry-scented lip-gloss. This is exactly how she wanted to see you again, informality. You watched her gaze shift to the trophy lying between .. and you knew .. she was thinking the same exact thing. And unafraid to be the one, she spoke out, “That should be ours.”
You decided to toy with her claim. “Hmm?”
“Ours. You and I. We were .. so fucking good.” That was the truth. You simply stared, unable to give a response that was of any substance. You two were great together, undeniably, the stats could back that. But, you and Jasmine were even better separated. “Incredible together -“
“Maybe ..” you carried, the word slipping out thin and tired. You let out a mini sigh, eyes dropping briefly to the table before lifting back to her face. “You’re not here to reminisce. What do you want from me, Jasmine?”
Jasmine didn’t look away. “I want to know what it’s going to take for you to sweep our shit under the rug.” Well, for you at least, the shit was behind you. She hasn’t crossed your mind since the big break-up, and you weren’t looking out for her. “I told you, I’m not mad. About how you fucked your body up and left me hanging. Or how you slept with my man. Cameron’s pretty, he’s a good lay, I know that.”
You recoiled, physically shaking at that. “Oh my gosh, please -“
Uncaring: “I need you on board for Operation: Save This Nigga Cam. ‘Cause I’m taking one of these trophy’s home next year and you’re gonna help me.” Not with that tone.
And just as you rose to your feet, Jasmine’s hand shot out: latching onto your wrist with a surprising, iron-like force. Your eyes widened, locking on hers, shock and a wave of worry washing over your features. You tugged once, twice, but she didn’t flinch, didn’t unfasten her hold. “I asked nicely ..”
“That was your definition of nice?” Now signalling the hold she had on your hand. Jasmine released, no apology, not even the courtesy of a whispered one. You said: “I can’t help you. I can’t. I have someone -“ who, at one point, you were living vicariously through. You’ve been healthier these last few months, your therapist would say, “- and he is my utmost priority.”
The flicker of a smirk .. or was it a grimace? Jasmine seethed a little, with irritation and with grudging respect. You had moved on, clearly, and yet here she was, still dangling that old tension.
“You don’t need me, Jasmine,” you said. “I know you .. or, I’ve known you long to know that you don’t need me. You’ll figure it out - get him out’a whatever rut he’s in, even if it kills you trying.” And with that, you were so done. You’ve said your peace and looked good doing it.
But when pivoted, ready to walk away, her voice stopped you right there: “I’ll tell him.”
You forced down that deep breath, refusing to let her see the subtle tension gathering in your shoulders. “What if he knows?”
“.. Not about that appointment - he doesn’t.”
She’s bluffing, you told yourself .. but the knot in your stomach revealed differently. Jasmine always acted on her emotions, and when she was desperate, she did reckless things. Stupid fucking things, just like you. She didn’t care who got hurt along the way; anyone in her path was fair game. To her, the universe owed her certain outcomes, and she would step on toes and break rules .. whatever it took .. to claim what she believed she deserved.
You rolled your shoulders back, driving your chest open and recouping the confidence that had wavered. Without sparing Jasmine another glance, you moved forward because you weren’t about to let her rattle you.
─── Cameron’s eyes landed on you. You were standing in front of a grassy-back drop, drink cradled into your chest, talking to four guys Cameron knew to be your husband’s high-school tennis friends, coming in all the way from Ohio. They shadowed over you, like big bullies staring down at a tiny victim. Cameron felt some type of way. He didn’t enjoy the sight.
Just as he’s about to look away, your eyes locked on his. And for that second, the two of you stood there, staring at one another, neither of your faces reveal anything .. when Cameron sent you a gentle grin, you looked away and tuned back into whatever conversation you were having; probably about something stupid, he figured.
No doubt tennis, he let himself assume. Jealous.
But still, Cameron’s shoulders sagged. He shouldn’t have been letting it bother him .. letting you bother him; you weren’t here for him and probably didn’t even know he’d be here .. wasn’t like he deserved a Pinnacle award. Going into tonight, he knew that if he did see you, it would be like the past years spent in silence, but he didn’t think you two would completely revert back to that bad era .. at least he had hoped that wouldn’t happen.
Maybe tonight would be the do-over.
"Cammie!" His head snapped back, heart jumping out of his throat. Andrew Cadler waved his hands in the air, urging his good, old best friend to Come on over! Possibly to dance or take down some more alcohol. Andrew doesn't look upset at all .. Great, so that meant he had no clue Cameron was gawking at his lovely wife.
Cameron raised a hand Hey, Andi.
He hurried over and roughly, Andrew draped an arm around Cameron’s shoulder, pulling him into a suffocating hug.
"Scott’s lookin' for our beautiful ladies. We're takin’ pictures," he said, excitedly. Andrew was certainly tipsy by his immovable smile and bright eyes. Cameron could also smell the tequila on his breath .. could be the bottle Jasmine had brought for him .. and a lot extra.
Cameron nodded with a mindful smile, "Pictures, yeah. Uhm- I actually just saw them .. Le’me go get them," he lied instantly, and with a calm look on his face. And by them he meant only you.
"No, no, man. Scotty’s got it -“
"I’ll be quick.”
"They’re on their way now, Cammie," Andrew laughed, holding his stomach. "Wait wit' me -“
"No. You stay here."
Then Andrew’s face brightened. "There she is! My number one!" He pushed past Cameron, nearly sending him tripping over his own feet. Cameron grabbed the high-top table, catching himself. He looked over .. not at his wife, but at you; in Andrew’s arms, giggling as he rocked you side to side.
Your hands rubbed up and down his soaked back, his hold on you getting even tighter. Cameron still doesn't look at his wife .. and that's okay, because she's eyeing your husband.
Andrew released you and Cameron could breathe again. He almost broke a rib with the slowness at which he let out that breath he was holding.
“Why are you so red?" Jasmine came up to him. She felt his forehead, and then cheek, and when she got to his neck, he took her wrist. "I’m not sick. I’m al’good. Jus’ had’a lot to drink." Now realizing the way he'd been holding her .. Cameron apologised softly (now even more embarrassed because you were looking), letting her go.
At least she knew what it felt like now. Jasmine rubbed at her wrist, and then she twirled it out. She fixed her bracelets.
Scotty snapped at the sport stars (former too) and ordered a clean line up: "Get ready, ladies and gentlemen. Husband, wife, wife, husband." Jasmine took her place beside you, and whispered something threatening, which got no reaction out of you. Cameron saw and wondered what that had been about .. Jasmine had cut you off completely all that time ago.
“Yes! Keep looking like you love each other!" Scott cheered.
Cameron held Jasmine’s waist, wishing he could be holding yours instead. His fingers danced and played with the silk, baggy fabric of her dress. Beautiful, baby-blue in color, pretty yet plain. If Cameron was holding your waist, he wouldn't be able to toy with the fabric. You were in a skintight dress. Almost like a second skin the way it hugged your body perfectly. Tight and right, in ways that seemed to enhance your already unattainable curves.
You weren't one for the itty-bitty, tight dresses, but Andrew insisted .. which turned into him begging on his knees and hugging your legs close earlier tonight .. he had a few drinks in advance. Cameron wished he could thank his old best friend. Every now and again you'd tug at the bottom of the dress, and still it hadn't been enough. It was just too short.
Cameron squeezed Jasmine closer .. he's thinking about you .. and in that same moment, mindlessly, annoyedly .. Jasmine repositioned and swatted his hand away in one quick motion.
Jasmine kept a joyous look, smiling with the playfully bickering couple beside her .. letting the camera capture her that way.
Scott’s camera flashed. Once, twice, thrice. And then came a handful of guests, happy to see the four icons together at once .. You avoided looking at Cameron.
You knew there were pictures taken that caught Cameron staring .. not at his wife, but his old friend's wife. Cameron was staring at you as if he had expected you to attack him in a hug or worse, kiss him. You obviously couldn't do either of those things and honestly, with Andrew and Jasmine in the area, you didn't want to be around Cameron at all.
After one peek, you saw the saddened look Cameron gave, and you shrugged it off .. smiling back at your husband as if he is the only man on the planet. Six minutes more of bright flashes, signing notepads and personal items, Jasmine needed a break.
Half of the reason, one might assume, was because of Cameron. The unspoken tension between the married couple could be felt from anywhere. Normally, it was likely from you and Andrew .. but this was definitely different.
Jasmine shooed the photographers and fans away with a fake smile, "I’m serious." and made off with silly-Andrew for drinks, wanting to catch up. You let them go, he could keep her away .. and sure, it was a possibility that she could tell him everything, but by morning, he’d know nothing. Because when Andrew drank .. he drank. So, you parted too, heading for .. somewhere. Anywhere that had no Cameron or Jasmine Cade.
Left by himself, guests (mostly fangirls) come filing in. Cameron won't push them away, not like Jasmine can. So, he faked everything. His smile, his laugh, his interest in whatever they were saying .. like this young woman here. And she's not the last one in line:
"M’bad, can you say that again? I missed it." Cameron leaned closer to the fangirl, nearly holding her arm.
"Uh, yeah. I was just saying that I had a mini-beach party yesterday for the kids I teach and it was a lot of fun. Blow-up beach balls, kiddie pools of sand and plastic land crabs and shovels."
"What age did you teach again?" He had obviously missed the part where she said she was an elementary school teacher. But by her face, Cameron could see that she knew he wasn't exactly paying no mind.
"They’re .. six and seven."
He nodded. "Great. That’s a great age- two great ages. Super smart bunch." He didn't actually know, but it seemed like something he was supposed to say.
"Yeah, they are, actually." The young woman perked up and jumped into another story just as Cameron caught you in his view again. His jaw did that thing when he realised a photographer (Not Scott. Everyone loved Scott Demarion) had stopped you.
Cameron could tell that guy was interested in you .. Who wouldn't be? Your face and body was gorgeous. You were a fantastic tennis player and a powerful writer.
But Cameron didn't care. He couldn't care. You're married. Yeah ..
He wasn't going to give into you tonight (he’s lying to himself). He didn't want you treating him like crap when he was just trying to be nice. That being said, he was sad .. real fucking sad and disappointed. He didn't want to be here anymore. He missed Andrew, but he didn't want to be in the same space as you and he didn't want to have to watch other fanboys flirt with you right in front of his face .. Where the hell is Andrew?
"Sorry," Cameron cut the young woman off. "I need to- I’ve got’a get something." He knew it was beyond rude of him to leave her like that, but you were in his direct line of sight and he obviously wasn't interested in anything that woman was speaking anyway. He hadn't heard a single word she said. He voiced a sorry to the line behind her.
The thing he decided he needed to get was a cupcake. When he went back to the dessert stand, he picked one with green frosting and a piped tennis racket on top. As he took down the wrapper, he was hyper aware that the large amount of tequila, the pizza, the chips, and the cupcake probably weren't going to mix well, but he didn't care.
He grabbed another, this one chocolate and with white frosting.
After excusing yourself from the conversation with .. Benji? Timothy? The photographer guy — you had no fucking idea what his name was — you took up a third drink and disappeared from the award party.
Now, you were overlooking the ocean from the stone balcony, hands holding the chilled rock rail. The rippling ocean had the reflection of a white glow, like a bright moon on land. A breeze, warm enough to belong to Florida in the winter, swept back short strands of your now-straightened pixie.
And when everyone's voices became nothing but a light hum in the background and Love It If We Made It by The 1975, was just a buzz in the air ..
"You really hate my guts, don't you?" Because of course he gave in.
You don't bother looking over, hearing the heels of dress-shoes click and clack against the perfect cobblestone. Cameron settled in, standing so close that his tricep was touching yours.
"No,” you watched the moonlight wrinkle and ruffle in the water and tried to snub the rising feeling in your chest.
"Then what's with the cold shoulder?"
You spared him one glimpse .. his lips are green and you bit back a smile .. before your eyes seemed to move back to the party upstairs, scanning for something or someone else.
"Having fun?" Cameron felt as though he should start there. That’s what needed to happened. He had to get you warmed up, okay with the notion of his company.
"Sure. You?”
".. Are you alright?"
"’m fine."
"Then look at me, please. You’re not even lookin’ to me." He could hear himself getting whiny .. and distressed. If he wasn't so mellow, he would be cringed out.
You’re silent. Cameron blinked down, he still had the chocolate cupcake in his hand. He looked up, you're staring off. "I brought you a cupcake. You like chocolate, right?"
Unrelated, but .. somewhat related: "There is no cold shoulder,” you said.
That was a good start. "Then why won't you speak to me?”
“Why would I?”
“I don't know ..? Maybe, because -“
"Because what? Because of the press conference? That what you’re lookin’ for, Cameron? An apology?” You scoffed, scratching at an eyebrow. “Unbelievable,” you mumbled, while stretching a hand. You dug a finger into the white frosting of his cupcake and licked your skin clean, reminding him pointedly of — “C’mon, Cam. You’re not stupid. Not as smart as me, but not stupid."
" .. Just because no one knows, doesn't mean you can't be nice to me," he droned, pathetically.
"We aren't friends, Cameron. We haven’t been friends since, what? Senior year? I don't want to be your friend," you said, digging in for more frosting. And you hated having to admit this, but, "I liked what we had." Liked, he thought. "I liked whatever it was," you said. That sneaky, confusing thing. Situation. He couldn't actually tell if you were being serious though. "But you fucked up by trying to complicate it. Gettin’ your silly-boy feelings involved. I told you, no.”
Immediately after, "I don't hate you anymore," he said, fiddling with the wrapper of his chocolate cupcake.
“Oh?”
“It was childish then .. It’s childish now," he added, "Hell- I don't even remember what happened."
You took the cupcake from his hand and gave the frosting a lick, "Childish?"
"Yes ..” Cameron’s watching you paint your lips white and lick them clean, "Childish," he repeated. And for a moment he doesn't know what to do with his slimy hands. He takes your small cup of liquor from the rail-ledge, downed the rest, and winced once finished. "I want us to ..” His eyes are still squeezed shut from the hot, bitter taste. "- I think it's time we be adults. M'kay?"
"Yeah. I think so too," you said through sweet, spongy chews. "How 'bout you go first 'nd stop with the needy bullshit?" You stuck the cupcake wrapper into the mini-cup and dusted your hands.
“I’m not being needy -“
"You were just a good time to me," was enough to shut him up. With zero regard for his feelings: “That’s it." You’re so unbothered right now, it's scary and his skin is crawling. "Only but a warm body. ‘Nd when our deal proved to be too difficult for you, I had to let you go.”
Cameron knew you knew why. You just didn't want to believe it. A mutter, "Why can't we hav’a do-over?" He took your left hand in his. He’s raising your hand .. and you allow it. He kissed your one knuckle, lips knocking into your dazzling wedding ring. "We can be friends."
You took a deep breath, a sure sign that you were about to put Cameron in his place. “I am done with you, Cam .. and I have been done for a long time.” You ripped your hand from his grasp, “It’s gon’a take much more than Jasmine’s big ass and your crying to get the throuple back together.”
Huh? “.. What does she want with you.”
..
“Nothin’.”
─── Finally: “There you are ..” the sight of your husband had put you at ease. Marching up to your husband's side, you linked arms, snug and real. Andrew was snacking on salty pretzels and extra sweet gummy bears. A weird combination that delighted him.
“That can't actually be good," you said, laughing.
"Tastes al'right to me. Try?" You declined your husband’s sweet offer and with a smile, "Some other time. Thank you, though.”
He nodded, reaching for more. Andrew was usually the playful, clingy kind of drunk .. so why wasn’t he holding you like before? You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. No reaction, and the silence made you fidgety. “Fine,” you said. “Just a bite.”
And he watched you take from his plastic cup of gummy bears and mini-pretzels. "Up for a walk in the sand? We can get away for a bit .. take some cute pictures?" It was clear that you were hinting at some other physical activity, and it wasn’t until recently you were letting Andrew start touching on you again. Yes, he wanted to get away and get dirty .. but there was something chewing at his brain, keeping him from going all the way with you .. He did not want you.
“It’ll be fun, Drew.”
..
“No ..”
No problem. That was fine. “Okay," you muttered. "Okay." You poured the gummies and mini-pretzels into your mouth. You munched slowly, cautious of your teeth. Andrew reeked of alcohol, and the longer you stood in his bubble, your nose picked up on something else gnawing about.
Something sweeter and creamier. Fancier, and unlike Andrew. Feminine, you concluded. The scent paired poorly with the alcohol that clung to his clothes. "You’re taking a longgg shower tonight."
Andrew doesn't meet your gaze. But when he does, you see him fully. Once neatly styled hair now ruined, the buttons of his shirt; a few undone, the other half mis-done .. you unclung your arm from his and redid his collar. "You get into it wit' a bear?"
He shook his head, pushing more gummy bears into his mouth. He’d forgotten about the pretzels. "Come.” You hooked onto his arm again, "Let’s go. Move those feet." He groaned like a child and let you pull him onward. He doesn't have the energy to complain or run away.
You lead him through and around the dancing bodies, his feet dragged, and after a while it was like he'd been walking on clouds. He’s worried about his legs giving up on him, you're worried about running into Jasmine and Cameron. More so Cameron than Jasmine.
You freaked out at the idea of being spotted and the couple making their way over to say goodnight. You’re speed-walking now. Yes, your freakout was mostly because it meant that you'd be in the presence of Cameron Cade .. you were almost sure that you didn't mean any of it and that what you said to Cameron on the balcony was just said in the heat of your annoyance.
You had a lot to apologize for when the time came. If the time came (And it would not be tonight. You weren't ready to face that and take responsibility).
You were declining to admit that you, at some point in your career, had been sleeping with someone important to your then-best friend and your then-boyfriend, now husband .. You weren’t being the girlfriend / wife you were supposed to be. You were refusing to accept that you took advantage of your relationship with Cameron ..
.. After Jasmine chose Cameron, way back during those college days and snatched him away, you took for the road in need of a clear mind. You found yourself back in St. Augustine, coaching children’s tennis in the back of your father's country club for a few hundred dollars.
Andrew worked there. You joined him one summer afternoon .. this was before your descent from greatness. And one match turned into one dinner, which turned into dating for three years, which eventually turned into getting married. It wasn't until a year ago, he told you about his life in Jacksonville and his want to reconnect and rekindle. He was running from something too.
You couldn't deny him. You couldn't say no. He was being mature and being the bigger person .. What you hadn't known, was that after your career-shattering injury, Andrew was looking to officially go-pro. Unable to turn to you, he secretly contacted Jasmine Cade; your former match buddy.
Cameron blamed the divide between him and his wife on Andrew’s return. And when the woman; who for some strange reason couldn't stand the sight of him, gave him a shoulder to cry on that rainy night, there was no going back to Jasmine.
Once finished buckling Andrew into the passenger's seat of your Cadillac CT5, you clicked the seat back. The chair slowly adjusted itself and stopped when at its furthest point. Andrew had already fallen asleep; mouth open, he's drooling on his shoulder. You carefully closed his door.
“I have somethin’ to give you." Never could Cameron stay away for too long. You looked in at Andrew, chest rising and falling heavy, you can't hear his snoring, but you knew for a fact that he was.
You twisted, hands behind your back, making sure to cover Andrew .. blocking the two men from each other. Or, giving you and Cameron some alone time.
“I want you to take this." He was holding a churro; batter piped and fried and coated perfectly in cinnamon-laced sugar. Sweet and crispy on the outside, promising something soft and pillowy if you bit into it.
You eyed it anyway. Suspicious. “What is this?"
"I -“ He blinked, glancing down at the churro like it might offer him help. For a split second, he genuinely seemed to wonder if you were serious. "Well .. it's a churro."
“Obviously,” you answered flatly. “I know what it is, but what is it for?"
"It’s a gesture.” A consolation prize masquerading as effort. “People get people churros when they are sorry -“
"Did you need somethin', Cam?" you asked, staring off into the void of tall trees, their leaves dancing in the cool air. You focused on that instead of him.
"We’re alone now. You can look at me." Cameron took marches forward, careful not to pop your safe-space. And when you meet Cameron’s, you know the blush on his cheeks isn't just from the alcohol, there's nervousness and puzzlement pooling in his eyes.
In Cameron’s hazy, half-drunk mind, all he can see is a beautiful, golden halo above your head .. the blood red devil horns he remembered was gone. "I need you to apologize to me."
“.. What?”
"You’re gon’a take this churro, apologize, and hand it back. It’ll be your .. your peace offering to me."
The nerve of him. This was so backwards it bordered on absurd. "What am I apologizing for?"
Seriously? Cameron became flustered and took a bite of his apology churro as if to hide his stress and prepare himself. A comfort bite. "I don't think I was just a good time to you."
He was scared, but he was also determined. He doesn't have the mental strength to argue with you and he's far too emotional right now. Unfortunately, he needed more liquor. His super-courage was starting to wear off. Fade away .. fade the same way the glow of your golden halo was dimming.
His super-courage's being replaced with anxiety and your halo tweaked like a dead lightbulb. The gold twinkled and twinkled until the ring shattered. Dust in the wind. Any trace of good was gone. And there they were .. red and angry.
But it was the cold-bloodedness of your words (matter-of-fact, cruel, and emotionless) that frightened him even more, and would no doubt beat him into submission in a few seconds .. Cameron watched as your mouth began to open and he wants to light himself on fire. He chomped down on his peace churro.
"No," you said, with a tenderness that surprised even you. “You were not.”
He waited patiently, eyes fixed on you, slowly chewing the dough. His cheeks were full, lips dusted with cinnamon sugar.
"I said that to drive you away,” you sighed deeply. "I had to. I wanted you .. away from me." Then: “Someone could've saw us, Cam." There was an image you and Cameron Cade still had to uphold. To maintain. "You have no idea how much damage control a picture of us alone'll require." You were committed to yourself. You were committed to your redemption .. as a columnist.
There was one writer in particular. Pamela Santiago (Teamed with Haynes.CO magazine, the second biggest worldwide media conglomerate), but to her adoring readers, P. Santi. You spotted her once tonight, during your convo with Jasmine, and you weren't at all surprised to see her in attendance.
Pamela found herself enthralled by you and Jasmine the moment you both sold out that first venue. She had been the writer who covered the University of Georgia vs Florida State University tennis match years ago.
After getting your ass handed, you needed a cooldown period and disappeared for a while, but Jasmine kept to work. Pamela made figuring you out, relearning, studying you her objective.
And as she continued to watch over (follow) you, she was sceptical about the whole We hate each other dynamic you and Cameron had. So sceptical, so doubtful that she dedicated an entire category on her personal blog Pam’s Cam to the (over)analysis of you and Cameron .. whether from group pictures or short conferences/interviews. Pamela knew that something deep lain. Her readers loved the chase too.
The last time you were harassed by Pamela was at a Sports Illustrated party in Las Vegas, weeks after your 25th birthday. Journalists were known to cross the line .. it's what they do (most). They pry, ask the tough questions, get under your skin. And you weren't in the mood for any of it that night. Kindly, you warned her twice: once on the red-carpet and once after she had followed you to the bathroom.
Third strike, Pamela took a beer bottle to the head.
You accidentally swung on passing waiters and celebrity bystanders. Security couldn't rip you away from Pamela, yet somehow, thankfully, your teammate mastered to get you together.
Pamela was rushed out of the gorgeous gala with an eye swollen shut, lips busted and gums blooded, scratches along her cheeks and arms, red hand marks stained her neck from the strangling .. You were banned from any and every Sports Illustrated event indefinitely.
And Pamela wasted no time letting the world know how violent and improper and ruthless you truly were. It only took a few days for you to be released from Sports Illustrated .. just when you had become their number one featured cover-star.
The cover-star that drew in thousands. Millions. Millions were rooting for you, they were intrigued and more than ready to hop on your bandwagon. But after your public display of brutality and harm, Sports Illustrated could not have you associated with .. You were also let go from Inside Tennis Magazine, Tennis Times, Tennis News, Sports Now, and Tennis-Illustrated Kids.
On top of that, your old coach, Clifford Braxton of the Kississimee Union, had to drop you from the overall team .. one of the top 3 tennis teams in the nation (only being together for little over four years then) losing its most popular member shook the entire sports industry.
Your release became a major loss to your fanbase and yourself; you stopped playing again. You were replaced by tennis star Margo Washington for some time, but your shoes were too gigantic to fill. The pressure and your powerful fanbase overwhelmed Margo greatly, she gave up.
No, it wasn't Pamela's fault you were let go from those magazines, those brands, and your team .. but Pamela took you there. She took you back to a place you swore you'd never return.
You found yourself back with that Kississimee team .. slipped into old routines, shoulder to shoulder with Jasmine, and then, barely a month in, your body gave out. The injury came swift and took everything. Again.
And since then, you've had to work even harder to rebuild your reputation as a writer. A black writer.
Kississimee Union wanted you back so bad, they created an entirely new position; Development Manager, and begged for your return. You passed along that slot, fearing that getting too close to the person you once were might actually send you into a coma.
Today, every now and again, you’d get a commercial opportunity and partnership deals with Andrew, but there was a longgg way to go.
You were a lovely woman. Smart, still successful, and absolutely gorgeous. But you weren't exactly a hue that most company presidents and executives and sport-enjoyers would be happy to see Cameron Cade with, romantically or platonically. Unlike Pamela and her followers, those people preferred the divide all those years ago. Seeing how you and Jasmine played together and solo, they couldn't care less about its origin.
Cameron Cade had established himself quite well, thanks to his wife. You were still a big name, but there was nothing you could give to Cameron Cade, especially now, that would make him even greater. Majority sports fans would not understand a collaboration, for it would not excite, nor would either of you benefit. Would only distract and take.
You preferred the world to believe you still despised Cameron Cade. After yesterday’s press conference, you were sure that would stick ..
"I spent most of tonight drinkin’, but never wit’the one person I wanted to drink with." He saw you at the sushi bar and wanted to eat sushi with you .. Cameron Cade hated sushi and anything that resembled.
"You’re okay with bringing up questions?"
"Questions you're not ready to answer."
"Questions that will be marked against you. Destroy you." You weren't okay with becoming another story; the face of a national sports-incident for the second time. At your position, you were the one who did the uncovering and exposing.
Cameron, full of surprises tonight, ripped a budweiser longneck-beer from his back pocket and accidentally splashed the dirt as he did so.
“Really?" you mumbled. He had about a sip or two leftover. He needed to wash down this churro: "You .. are’a scaredy cat," he said, pointing the bottle at you.
You just didn't care to make things difficult and weird and messy with labels and conversations .. conversations like this one here.
You make an impassive noise, but don't say anything in reply. Your non-answer makes him think that you might really have one.
“And you liked .. hurting me." You can hear the struggle and tiredness in his voice. "You still do. You like to hurt me. You had your fun with me, got my hopes up, and then you ..” He pouted sweetly as he chewed down the sugary dough stick. Having a small piece left made him sadder. "You didn’t care about me enough to stop .. pullin’ me along and makin’ me feel like garbage. Shit made you feel good- Didn’t it?"
“We were kids, I -“
Cameron snapped before you could finish, “I’m not talkin’ about then!” His voice raw and cracking at the edges. “After! After college!”
:: That was during the time spent on Kissimmee Union with Jasmine, in your mid to late-twenties. When you saw the couple getting serious. Baby-talk serious; wanting you to be the God-mother .. type-serious.
You rolled your eyes .. and you're embarrassed. "Okay. Alright, Cam. I get it," a bitter chuckle. "I can't talk about this right now."
"I need to hear you say it." And he thinks it's just so messed that he's thinking about getting into bed with you right now when he's supposed to be upset with you. He can't leave you alone and shouldn't want you so bad and it's so confusing and his head is hurting.
It’s pitiful; how he wanted your attention. How he desired having you so near, possibly even more when you were rejecting him and being a bitch. Yet, it's admirable; how, if in such situation: in a crowd of ten million, he would do his damnedest to get you.
“I know you never hated me ..”
You didn’t mean to stress him all those years ago, but you guessed you could see how .. sleeping with someone you weren’t the kindest to could turn to shit in an instant. It was fun and weird and never supposed to feel real. You were mad at yourself, mad at the life you were living, and acted on .. anger.
That’s why you turned to Cameron. You were a mess. You weren’t a mess anymore. Not a big mess, anyways. “I .. I don't think so." You had to force the words out even though they were true.
Cameron’s quick: "You don't think so?"
"I mean .. I hated you. Yes. But .. I don't hate you as much as I did. I don’t wanna kill 'ya anymore." You finished with a grin and Cameron was more than satisfied with that answer. And he took it there: "Is it really so hard to like me? I apologized .. ‘nd you forgave me.”
You hummed uncommittally and stared off, tongue poking the inside of your cheek as you bit back a smile. "You are .. ridiculous."
“No. I’m miserable.” And he can barely make out his voice. "As soon as I saw you here .. I wanted tonight to be different." Cameron dropped the crumbled napkin at his shoes and finished his bottle. He dropped that too and when it shattered, you winced at the loud crack.
“Yeah!" Cameron’s gone into a hysterical laughing fit and you're worried. "I actually believed we were gon’a be buddies tonight!" There’s not an ounce of anger in his voice, just sorrow. His laugh doesn't die down just yet; contagious, but nothing is funny to you. "I wanted you to want me!"
Cameron was sad about his churro being gone, but even sadder that his mind's gone so fuzzy and you were standing in front of him in silence and not embracing him the way he needed you to.
"Oh my God." Cameron felt a cry coming on, eyes burning and tears rapidly collecting at his waterline. His lungs sank, "I was’a sex toy," came as a mumble. The realization smacked him like a mac-truck. "O'm'God." Convinced that that was the case.
He’s so pretty when he cries. You’d be evil to stand and do nothing for a minute longer (because you liked his face).
"Hey, hey, hey." You made your way over and .. hesitated at first .. before throwing your arms around him. Cameron doesn't hug you back. Chin digging into your shoulder, "I was’a sex toy," voice trembling, he cried weakly. Cameron kept going about being your sex toy, stuttering and whining and making a mess of his words.
"No, Cam," you huffed, raking your nails along his damp scalp. "You were never .. a sex-toy."
And now, sniffling and growing relaxed and comfortable, he's leaning deeper into you. He’s already deadweight against you. "Cam ..?" the tall man shook his head and he's crying again, "ohmygodno," he can barely lift his face. "Noooo." He doesn't know what to do with himself.
He doesn't have the power for anything else. All he can do is cry and feel like shit. His puffy cheeks burning from the deep frown he had on his face. "I need’a churro."
You rolled your eyes and struggled to get him off. "You need to find Jasmine." Cameron lifted himself up, and you kindly reached in and used a hand to clean away his falling tears.
“I can't leave wit' her," he told you. You pat his cheek before removing from him. And the affection and warmth is gone too quickly for his liking .. a part of him, so far buried in alcohol and sadness hoped he'd get lucky tonight and that you'll come by his empty hotel.
Cameron blinked more tears out of his eyes. He looked devastating sad and you're scared to tell him no. “I can't .. be by myse'f right now," he stressed, using the back of his hand to wipe his tear-stained cheeks.
..
“Pull yourself together,” how very mean you were being. And just as you turned away, Cameron’s hand locked around your wrist. He tugged, using the perfect amount of strength to stop you cold .. and you were hauled, your back colliding with his chest.
Cameron flipped you over and before you could really fight, his hands were cupping your face. Without a single thought, he kissed you without permission. Hard. Tongue and all. For six dangerous seconds, you didn’t fight it. But your mind caught up. You remembered: Where you were. Who he was. Who he was married to. Who you were supposed to be now.
You shoved him, putting everything you had into the motion. And gave no more of your time; you went to the driver’s side of the vehicle and climbed inside, pulled the door shut, and started the engine immediately.
─── For the fifth time since you woke up, you rolled your neck and kneaded the back of your right elbow, where that ridge of scar tissue was. Trying to work out the stiffness that refused to leave. Upon entering the kitchen, that same hand slipped over the ruffled waves of your short hair.
Andrew was already there, stationed at the island like he’d been waiting. He was. Pancakes sat almost finished in front of him, syrup smeared carelessly along the edge of the plate. “You’re up early ..?” you said lightly, though the clock on the stove read 10:13 a.m. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and let the fork fall from his fingers; the silverware clanged loudly. “Why’d you let me drink like that?”
You blinked, thrown. A weak chuckle, “Andrew ..” you said gently. “You’re a grown man.”
“But I listen to you. When have I ever not listened to you? I do as you say. Always.”
That made you still. “You were celebrating your win. I couldn’t just ..” You let your hands touch down on the marble counter, confused with this attitude he’d been showing off; studying him as though he’d suddenly become someone else. “I wasn’t gon’a ..” You started, then faltered. Whatever you thought you were going to try, whirled right out of mind. So, you waved it off and turned toward the fridge, opening it just to have something to do. You grabbed a water bottle, twisting the cap free.
“Do you think I listen to you enough?”
A chuckle, full of skepticism. You weren’t seeing where this was going, but surely, these little statements were bound to lead somewhere. “Andrew .. what’s th’problem?”
“.. Did you kiss Cameron last night?”
You were taken aback. “What?”
He didn’t move. “Did you kiss him .. last night?” Andrew wanted the answer to be no but he knew better. “I thought it was a dream. A really bad one,” he said then. “But I know what I .. I know what I saw.”
You sat the bottle down on the counter with care, the plastic squeaking softly, and moved about the island toward him. Andrew twisted on the stool to face you, knees knocking against the cabinet.
You lifted a hand and caressed his cheek, thumb brushing along the rough-stubble of his jaw. “No,” you told him. “I did not kiss Cameron Cade.” It was a lie .. and you hated it the moment it left your mouth .. but you gave it life anyway. And it sounded believable.
Andrew had always needed reassurance the way other people needed oxygen. Your validation and attention fixed him. The way it fixed Cameron Cade. And like Cameron Cade, Andrew Calder functioned best when you met him where he was .. when you told him what he needed to hear and let him stay there.
Summary: According to you, the two of you were broken up. According to Cam, you were not. You see where confusion may spark? AU! Manipulative! Cameron Cade x Fem! Reader. Smut. Plot. Smut.
WARNINGS: UNEDITED, P in V, Oral, Handjobs, Dirtytalk, Manipulation. Darkish! Cameron Cade.
YOU ARE IN CHARGE OF YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION.
When the receptionist had called and told you someone was in the lobby for you, you’d been surprised. You expected to see a client. It wouldn’t be unheard of for someone to drop in on you, you worked in event planning after all. Imagine your surprise when you saw your ex. You stand, struck, in front of the elevator as it shuts behind you.
“Cameron?” You call your heels a slow clack and click. He turns to you, hair still low and face chiselled perfection. His lean, overpowering frame was dressed in black with his gold chains hanging off his neck. Two weeks seemed to stretch like a lifetime. “What are you doing here?”
He cocks his head to the side. “It’s your birthday.”
Was it? You forgot it. Obviously. “And? What does that have to do with you being here?”
Cam places a hand on your back, leading you to one of the sofas in the waiting area. “We always spend your birthday together.”
You stop him, shaking his hand off. “Cameron. I broke up with you. That’s no longer a rule – you shouldn’t, you shouldn't be here.”
“I’m not expecting a thing,” he says, sliding his hands into his pockets. You see now that his shirt had slight hints of dark navy strands that only stood out in the light. The shirt stretched across his broad chest. “I just want to take you to lunch. You’re acting like I’m the devil.”
***
“Oh, shit!”
“Yeah, baby – get your fucking nut.” Cam’s voice was butter over your body, hands rolling over your back as he bounced you on his dick. Lunch at Signia had wound up with you spilling wine on your dress. Cam, of course, begged you to buy a new one. And shoes. And a bag. Then a hotel room for you to change in. Somehow, one thing led to another, and now your fingers were on your clit, and he was making you come for the third time.
You arch your back, hips losing rhythm against his controlled pace, the climb of your orgasm was peaking around the corner. Cam’s crooning baritone; unfailing, arrogant as you crumble on top of him, walls clenching, then quivering open as you come.
“You're so pretty, my baby. I could make you come on this dick all day. Fuck, take me in. I’m coming inside.” Cam jerks his hips and lets out a groan that makes you quiver around him. Slowly, he drags you off – hissing, sensitive from his orgasm. Your blurred eyes glance at the clock. Two hours since you came into this room. You dumb bitch. You let him play that thick flute between his legs, and you followed on.
He kisses your skin, stroking your body. “Happy Birthday. What’re you doing tonight?”
“That’s none of your business,” you mutter, whining when he plucks at a nipple.
Cam crawls over you and begins to slowly kiss and suck at your breasts. He holds them up, taking his time appreciating each. He squeezes them, gently pushing them up to get the nipple in his mouth. Sucking and lapping at the brown circles. Tongue dragging on the hardened pebble. The sounds that echo in the room are obscene, wet, sloppy and shameless. The sensations travel down your spine as spiky calls of desire, reigniting the ever-present need you have for him. Cam’s hips weave their way between your legs, his groin rubbing along yours.
“You don’t mean that, baby.” He whispers on your skin, licking the soft flesh of your breasts. “If you did, I wouldn’t be deep in this pussy, now would I?”
You open your mouth to rebut, but the words die as he slides back into you.
Damn that arrogant light bright motherfucker. You roll your hips, taking him deeper. “Shut up and fuck me.”
Cam groans, giving your breasts a break and setting his elbows at both sides of your face, his breath warm and eyes locking in your own. You try to look away – but there’s nothing in front of you but him. His dick drives into you slowly, taking pleasure in the slow feel of being surrounded by you. Your hands grab his upper arms, keeping yourself steady against his deep rocks.
In his stare, your skin crawls. There’s a disconcerting stillness in how he looks at you. A kind of permanence for which a gaze was never meant to have. What you gather ultimately is that dangerous fullness of being utterly dragged in and drowned.
The pressure builds, and he goes harsher. “Who’s fucking you?”
You bit your tongue, closing your eyes. His hips slam into yo,u making you gasp. “Who is fucking yo’ mean ass?”
You shake your head. Biting your tongue harder and tasting blood. Cam’s lips press onto yours, tongue prying your mouth open and tasting it, swallowing your saliva and blood. When he pulls back, his mouth is crimson, and he’s grinning. His hips never falter once. You whimper, keening under his dick’s movements. “Y-You’re a sick motherfucker, Cam.”
His tongue swipes at your blood, eyes unblinking. “And I’m gon’ be your sick motherfucker ‘til we die.”
You couldn’t help the whole-body orgasm that washed over you at those words. Your eye rolls back and you curse his name, the confident laughter that falls fromhism lips making goose pimples rise on your skin. Cam pulls out of you, lying beside with a heave. Your hand goes between your legs – he hadn’t come yet? Beside you, Cam is the picture of satisfaction. You skim your hand over his chest, down to his hard dick between his legs. It's slick with your juices. Your hand tightens, and you roll your wrists up and down the length of his dick.
Cam’s hiss, breath sharp. “Fuck,” he mutters, head thrown back. You kiss the column of his neck, front teeth pulling at the skin. A bruise that will no doubt bloom soon.
You bow your head to pepper the mushroom tip with kisses as you keep moving. He murmurs, slow, indistinct. Cam being undone is a beautiful thing. You always got wet at seeing him weak.
“Pretty boy,” you mutter, opening your mouth over the head and sucking briefly.
Cam’s head twists, side to side, eyes shut. All of his words are whispers, light and gone as your hand slowly brings him to the brink of escape. Your hand is covered in a few moments, and his dick is limp. You lick your hand clean and suck the head, kissing your way from his belly to his lips.
It’s midnight when he drops you back at your apartment. Kissing you with loud smacks and a wet, seeking tongue. Kissing you like nothing has changed. “I’ll call you in the morning,” he says, handing you a large gift bag. God, you were a weakling. This was the exact sort of thing that made you break up with Cam in the start! He pushed your boundaries to get what he wanted and made you feel like it was what you wanted. The moment you were no longer around him, the feelings left. God, how stupid were you?
When you get inside, you lock the door, apply for PTO, and book a flight.
***
The sun is a pleasant burn upon the back of your body. The string set you wore is the perfect prevention method of any hint of tan lines on your rich brown skin. The all-inclusive resort was the ideal getaway from all things Cam. You turned your phone off, bought a burner and called your mother and director alone. You weren’t risking his crazy-ass showing up and pulling you back in. You plan to detox and de-dick him from you.
With a hum, you stretch your limbs over the flat bed near the beach, groaning with delight as one of the workers sets another pinecolda beside you and takes your empty cup. You take the filled cup and sip the icy relief down. The beach of the Cap Cana resort was gorgeous. Blue waters and a bright yellow sun had greeted you every morning for the past five days you’d been here. Your plan was seven days in the DR, then seven in Panama, and you hadn’t told a soul besides your Mama.
You set your cup back down and pop your earbuds in, folding your arms under your head and ready to nap. A heavy, wide-palm smack to your ass jolts you, sending you into a violent frenzy. You swing and miss the object of your ire – eyes wide as you see who it was.
“What the fuck, Cameron!” you yell, getting to your feet and poking his hard chest. “How the hell did you know where I was?”
“You used my card.”
“I used my card,” you point out, picking up your drink, phone, and cover-up. “The card that my Apple Pay is connected to. Genius.”
Cam chuckles, shaking his head as you walk past him. “My card. My card is on that, your utilities, your rent – why the fuck would you think you could pay for shit?”
“Bro, like – where do you get off fucking following me? We broke up!” You stress, a few feet off. You don’t have to turn to know that he was following you.
“You broke up. I didn’t say shit. You've got to throw your little tantrum, got to kick me out of your apartment, but we’re still together. Shit, on your birthday, you had more of my fucking nut in your body than your own blood.”
“Shut the fuck up!” You tell him, realising you’re attracting stares. A combination of the argument and Cam being Cameron Cade. Everywhere he went, he had eyes on him. And now, standing there in a five-inch trunks and nothing else – yeah, eyes were going to be on him. “Just fuck off, Cam. I need to think. This was supposed to be my space to think!”
“What?” he says, catching up to you easily. “You can’t think with me around?”
“No.”
He grins, face lighting up as he easily matches your hurried steps. Damn him and his long-ass legs. “Then why bother?”
“I’m not myself when I’m with you, Cam. I can’t think, I keep leaning on you, I’m not even sure I see myself as a person outside of you.”
“What’s so wrong about that?” He asks. “We love each other. What’s so evil about us just being together, codependent?”
“I don’t want to disappear into you. You’re Cameron Cade, you’re a complete person. When we’re together, I don’t think I am. I need to be whole.”
“Let me help you, then.”
You want to pull your hair out. You shake your head, turning to the lobby and getting into the elevator. Cam follows behind, backing you into a corner. “C’mon, baby. I can help you with this.”
“Back the fuck up.” You hiss, slapping his chest.
He pretends to be hurt, slinking to the other side of the elevator, eyes glowing as he stares down at you. You shift. You’re acutely aware that you’re not only alone, but dressed in strings that only cover the bare necessities. When the elevator door opens, you run – not walk away from him.
When evening approaches, you book a cab with the hotel, paying with cash, and go to a nightclub that one of the girls you met on the flight suggested. You had no plans before to go, but Cam being here changes that. You were trying to go against what he was used to, what he expected, to make it harder for him to track you.
You tease your curls into a fro, dress in a glittery skirt and bikini top. Your pleasers click as you enter the pack club. Reggaeton and dancehall pulse in the space, and you roll your head, listening to the music and pushing yourself to relax.
You dance for hours, screaming against the music and finding partners for each song. Your rusty Spanish works well enough to order drinks you don’t have to pay for and for harmless flirting with pretty women who expect nothing of you.
Your phone is full of new numbers, and under the haze of smoky hookah, you kiss a stranger whose face you don’t remember.
Santo Domingo is beautiful. At night, it's enchanting. You inhale the air outside the club as you get into your taxi and remember this is why you’re here, for freedom. You’re still humming the song when you press your wristband to the hotel room and enter, flicking on the light as you drunkenly dismount from your heels.
You fall asleep, covered in glitter and smiling. Fuck Cam, you think, you weren’t going back to him. Even then, it feels like a lie.
***
Cameron doesn’t show up for the rest of your time in the DR.
In Panama, at the beach house you’d rented last minute with cash, thank you very much, you breathe a sigh of sweet relief. Panama was a big enough country that he would have to look for weeks to find you. You picked a secluded beach house, far from your usual vacation types. It wasn’t a five-star resort or hotel; it was in a village two hours from the airport you’d rented from a friendly lady in Panama City. There was even a yoga room, open concept, facing the beach. You’d be fine here. You’d even rented a car – again, cash.
On your second morning, your cell phone rings. Only two people have the number, so you answer without blinking.
Your director starts by saying your name, “I hadn’t realised you were pregnant. You know you don’t have to quit; we always support work-from-home and maternity options.”
You almost crash your rental when you curse. ‘You, ’ or rather, someone with access to your email, had sent in your two-month notice. You assure her that you had no interest in leaving your job, that it was no doubt the work of a mischievous hacker. When she’s calm, you park at the side of the road and rummage through your page, taking from it your usual cell phone and turning it on. There’s a flood of emails and text messages that find you.
You’re landlord was trying to ask you about the legal letter you’d sent, requesting to end your lease immediately. There were text messages from movers to empty your apartment the day you’d be back. It takes an hour of international calling to try to undo the chaos letted out onto you, and even then, your landlord was claiming he needed to see you in person to discuss and a few days was too long a wait.
One text message stands out, simple and to the point. Send me your location.
Crazyass stringbean motherfucker. You do it, and recieve a text seconds after. See you in five hours.
You nibble at the edge of your gel nails, your teeth dull against the hard material. The audacity of this motherfucker. In the pit of your belly, excitement swirled. You curse at your own body’s betrayal.
The smell of onions burning in your skillet is stretched across the open concept bottom floor of the beach house when you heart the door unlock. Because, of course, he’d asked for the code the moment his plane landed. Your hand trembles as you toss cilantro in. You turn the stove low, and turn. Cam drops his duffel onto the floor and toes his shoes off. He takes his cap off, you see his hair is freshly cut. Your jaw twitches. Who the fuck did he cut his hair for?
You unclench and try to recalculate – that was an irrational thought. You pushed it down. “You ignorant bastard.”
He grins. “I got your attention though?”
“I should beat your ass.”
“I’m so fucking hard right now.”
“Motherfucker, listen to me.” You could throw a knife at him, but you don’t. That’s growth. “You don’t get to upend my life just because we broke up.”
“We, we, we. You speak pig-latin? Girl, you broke up. I didn’t.” He strides over to the kitchen. “What’re you cooking? Steak?”
“This is what I’m talking about Cameron, you twist me and make me so fucking infuriated that I lose control and I act out of character.”
“And what’s wrong with that? What’s so great about this character you play?”
“I’m me. I need to be incharge of my emotions. You might be at the height of your career already but I’m not there yet. I have to be in control to make myself great.” It feels good and relieving to finally admit this. The salt air blowing into the house as you confess to him.
“Maybe,” he starts, soft. “If you let me in a little, it wouldn’t be like this. I’m at your doorstep, begging. You think I wanna be the jackass that has to hunt his lady down? I don’t. But I’m not letting you go because you have imaginary codependency on me that you think hurts you. I fucking love you. I love you. You can chase me and I’ll come running like a battered dog, but I am not going anywhere.”
You turn your face, holding yourself like you might fall apart. Cam captures your chin and turns you to face him. He kisses, gently your salty tears and mouths along your face until he reaches your lips and kisses you until you kiss him back. His tongue swipes the seam of your lips and slides over your own. Repeating it until you become active against him.
This kiss is slow. It’s a welcome home.
His hands skim the lines of your body, bikini covered and all-but bare. Time and distance makes you shiver beneath his tender touch. You shake and whimper into his kiss. Cam lifts you up onto the counter, sighing into your mouth as you hold each other. Your hands reach below his hoodie, pulling it off his body. There’s want clear in his face. You bit your lower lip, reaching inside the waistband of his underwear and retrieving his turgid member.
Its all veiny and angry and leaking. You spit in your palm and coat him, slowly bringing him to full life. Cam murmurs above you, hips twitching. A telltale coil of fire rolls in your belly and you scoot to the edge of the counter, opening your legs wider.
Cam pulls your hand off and puts it on his shoulder. His own hand, he uses to undo your bikini bottom, then to caress your pussy. Fingers dipping to ensure its wetness, scissoring it to give it stretch. He removes his hand and sucks his fingers, staring down at you.
“Cam,” you mutter, arching your back as he slowly enters you, a length of tense desire as he settles fully. The two of you appreciate it for a moment. You, his thick, burning girth. And him, the drenched gummy warmth clenching around him.
There’s tenderness in the steady thrusts, his lips on yours incessantly between sweet words. You claw along his back, rocking to him. Cam goes deep into you, egged on by your loud cries. “Oh, yes – yes, Cam.”
“You’re doing so good for me. You’re doing good, just like that, baby. Yeah, look at you – swollen with me.”
“Ah,” you mewl. “Cam, Cam.”
“So pretty, keep crying for me. Who takes my dick this good?” He compliments, the sweet drag of his hips making you tremble. Your nails find root in his back, neck growing lax as he takes you further. Delirium takes you over, it’s creepy, otherworldly delight clouding your vision as wanton need reigns. “You’re so beautiful. You know that? You’re so beautiful for me, when you come. I want you to come for me. Spread your legs nice and wide and let me fuck you until you see stars.”
“You’re fucking me so good, Cam. You’re so good,” you groan out, kissing his face in messy, wet slops.
“I’m tearing you apart, aren’t I?” he groans, smug as your leg begins to shake. “All that mean ass attitude gone when you about to come on this dick.”
You cry, humping back as you chase your new height. Your toes curl and you swear, in dotted visions, you see a higher being. Yet, the only external power your lips can summon is to call his name, CamCamCamFuckFuckFuck.
He pulls out and you yelp as he turns you onto your belly and slams into you from behind. The cold countertop can’t cool your skin as his hips create a heat unnatural, cocking one leg up as he saws him, your explosive wetness and his smacking hips creating lewd, pornographic sounds. Cam groans in the building pressure of the need to get his own orgasm, hips hitting against you hard as he fills you up. His hand travels the smooth skin of your back, until it settles upon your head, he twists your curls into his fist and grips.
A shocked gasp falls from your lips when he raises your head and uses it as momentum to continue his relentless thrusts. “Look at this ass move, God – you don’t know what you do, girl.”
“I-I…kno-oh!” the words are a struggle to fall and they can’t muster it out, your body tingles of impending second wave. Your hand goes between your legs to your clit, rubbing it in clumsy need as Cam chases his peak.
He notices your movements and tries to speed up, his tattoo flattering and movements jerky. “You better get your nut fast, or I’m going to make it stretch.”
The threat makes you gush, embarrassingly so. He laughs above you, but that laugh trickles into a chorus of hoarse cursing as his warm seed fills you. Cam’s slow, dying movements end in a deep-bellied groan. He smacks your thigh when he pulls out, and the trickle of his seed makes your skin rise in dirty pleasure. Silence settles over the two of you ,and you smile as he kisses your back.
“Since when do you squirt? We gotta get you to do that again.”
masterlist, with other cam cade fics
This is my last Cameron Cade fic, thanks much for the reads and comments! Glad to add my lil 1% to the short list haha.
summary: Adam chases reader through the forest after she saves Victor from the monster, until Adam decides he's done playing with Victor and wants to play with her, instead.
pairing: the creature x reader
word count: 5,913 words
themes: dubcon, light non-con, this is a dark fic, unprotected sex, oral, monster sex, talk of murder and death, violence, cat and mouse, alludes to reader being a virgin, victor being a bitch, fear, stalking, 18+ ONLY MDNI
author's note: this adam makes me fear for my life and i love it i wish this was me and my therapist will be hearing about this
You grew up on stories about the monsters in the woods.
Shadows that walked. Voices that mimicked. Eyes that gleamed between the trees, watching from the treeline whenever a light burned too late in a cottage window.
Parents told those stories to keep their children close.
The monster, they said, would take you if you wandered.
You believed them, of course, until you got older. Until you saw what real monsters looked like.
The monsters weren't ugly and uncivilized, the monsters were men. Men with polite smiles and cold hands. Men who drank too much and laughed when you said no. Men who looked at you like a prize instead of a person.
Compared to them, the thing in the forest felt almost… honest.
At least monsters didn’t pretend to be anything else.
You might have gone your whole life never knowing whether the tales were real, if not for the night Victor Frankenstein staggered through your front door drenched in rain and pure terror.
You found him on the road, mud splattered up his coat, eyes wide and bloodshot. You thought he was drunk at first, or maybe sick. Then, he clutched at your wrist when you reached for him.
“He’s coming,” Victor rasped. “Please. Please. I’ll pay anything. Just let me in. He’s coming.”
You should have turned him away, stranger ranting about some unseen threat—nothing good could follow. But the urgency and fear in his voice compelled you to open your door to him.
So you let him in anyway.
You always were too soft-hearted, as your father reminded. Too curious, too easily hooked by disaster or a firing gun.
He sat by the fire and shook like he was freezing from the inside out. As the hours passed and the wind howled outside, pieces of the story slipped out between trembling lips.
He was a doctor. No, more than that. A genius, he said. Brilliant. Visionary.
Arrogant. Pompous. Vain.
He spoke of graveyards and lightning and blasphemy dressed up as science. He told you he had built something, a man, almost, stitched from death and dragged screaming into life.
You would have laughed if he hadn’t looked so utterly, irrevocably haunted.
“He hates me,” Victor whispered, staring into the flames as if he saw something else there. “He should. I made him…and then I left him. I ran. I thought—I thought time would dull his rage.”
“How long has it been?” you asked.
He swallowed. “Years.”
“And now?”
Victor’s jaw clenched. “Now he’s found me again.”
There it was. The monster in flesh and blood, no longer a myth, but a man-made nightmare. You should have told Victor to leave, yet you didn’t.
You let him stay and sleep in your spare room. You tried to convince yourself the heaviness in the air was just a storm rolling in, not fate tightening its grip around your throat.
On the third night, the trees began to whisper.
You woke to a sound outside your window. Not an animal and certainly not the wind.
A footstep. Heavy. Measured. Terrifyingly calculated.
You crept to the glass as quietly as you could. The forest beyond your cottage was a dark mass of trunks and shadows, the moon a blurred coin behind clouds.
At first, you saw nothing.
Then the world shifted, and you realized the “tree” you’d been staring at…was breathing deeply and unevenly.
He stepped forward into the moonlight and every story you’d ever heard about monsters felt like a children’s rhyme compared to what stood before you.
Tall didn’t even begin to cover it. He towered. Massive shoulders, heavy arms, hands that could probably crush bone without effort. Scars crisscrossed his face and throat, some puckered, some clean like old surgical work. His hair was dark and tangled, dishevelled to match his ghastly appearance.
He was grotesque. He was beautiful. He was wrong.
His eyes found your window with unnatural precision and you froze. He just stared, standing motionless.
You didn’t know how long you stood there, locked in his gaze. Long enough for your breath to slow instead of quicken. Long enough to understand instinctively: he could see you. Really see you. Not just as another warm body in a lit room.
As you.
Then he turned his head slightly, like he heard something in the distance. You watched as his lips peeled back in a humourless hint of what you could only describe as a smile.
Without a word, he disappeared back into the trees. That night, you didn’t sleep.
Victor insisted in the morning you must have dreamt it. But you saw the way his hands shook when you mentioned a figure in the dark and you saw the sweat bead at his hairline.
“He won’t come near you,” Victor said too quickly. “He wants me. Only me.”
You weren’t sure if that was meant to comfort or reassure himself. It did neither.
The next day, the villagers spoke of deep footprints at the forest edge. Broken branches and trunks. A cow had gone missing from its pasture.
By sunset, the sky bruised purple and black, and you felt it—like something in the air shifted, the tension drawn tighter.
You knew he was close.
You just didn’t expect him to walk straight out of the trees before your eyes under the darkening sky.
It happened near the clearing beyond your garden after Victor insisted on “getting some fresh air.” He nearly jumped out of his skin when a crow flapped its wings too close to him.
“Maybe we should go back insi—” The words died in his throat.
Because something was stepping out of the tree line. Not hurried. Not stealthy. Certain.
You recognized him.
That impossible body, that scar-drawn face, those eyes that looked less like an animal’s and more like a god who’d been dragged face-first through hell.
Adam.
You didn’t know how you knew his name. No one had spoken it. Maybe it was the way he carried it in his bones.
Victor stumbled backward. “No—no, no, no—”
Adam’s gaze slid right over him and landed on you.
This time, there was no glass between you. No safety. No distance. Just cold air, damp earth, and the weight of a creature whose existence should have been impossible staring at you like you’d been placed here for him.
“Victor,” Adam said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in your ribs. “You ran.”
Victor’s breath hitched. “Please...don’t—”
“I gave you time,” Adam went on, ignoring his plea. “Years. I learned. I watched. I waited. I asked myself if I could forgive you.” His eyes didn’t leave your face. “The answer was no.”
Victor shook his head, stepping between the two of you. “She has nothing to do with this.”
Adam tilted his head slightly, eyes glittering. “Is that so?”
He took one step closer.
You should have moved back, but you couldn't find the will to do so. Your body felt carved from stone and adrenaline, sown to the ground you were standing on.
Adam’s attention dropped, just for a heartbeat, to Victor’s hand where it hovered near you.
You saw how his jaw ticked and worked.
“Funny,” he said coldly. “He said the same thing about me once. ‘Nothing to do with this.’ A side effect. A mistake.”
He took another step.
Victor’s voice rose in pitch. “Please...if you must kill someone, kill me—”
Adam still didn’t look at him. “What’s your name?” he asked you, calm and low.
You swallowed, your mouth dry. You told him. He repeated it, like he was testing how it tasted in his mouth. You felt that more than you should have.
“Pretty,” he murmured. “Does he own you, too?”
“No,” you snapped before you could think. “No one owns me.”
Something flickered behind his eyes. “Good,” he said softly.
Victor grabbed your wrist. “Get inside. Now.”
Adam’s gaze dropped to where Victor touched you and the air changed immediately.
Slow and deliberate, he stepped around Victor like he was a piece of furniture and not a man. Victor tried to block him again, but Adam merely placed one large hand on his shoulder and pushed.
Victor flew.
He hit the ground hard, the air knocked out of him. Adam didn’t spare him even a flicker of a glance.
He stopped in front of you, close enough that you had to tilt your head back to look up at him. Close enough that you could see the stitches at the edge of his jaw, the small irregularity in his left pupil, the faint scent of rain and forest and something metallic clinging to him.
Up close, the “monster” was less a horror and more…a collision of contradictions. Rage and restraint. Power and precision. Violence and, somehow, a thread of aching loneliness wound tightly beneath it all.
You realized, in that moment, that Victor hadn’t just created a monster. He’d created a man and then abandoned him.
Adam looked down at you like you were an equation he was solving.
“You let him stay in your home,” he said quietly. “You fixed his wounds. Fed him. Kept him warm.”
Your lips parted. How did he know?
“You watched me from your window,” he added calmly. “You didn’t scream.” His eyes searched yours. “You should have.”
“I wasn’t afraid,” you lied, watching as his mouth twitched.
“You were,” he said. “Just not the way you think.”
Your heart stuttered as Victor coughed behind you. “Please...leave her out—”
Adam’s expression didn’t change, but his voice dropped, dangerous and soft.
“Get up again,” he said without looking at Victor, “and I will break something in your precious body.”
Victor stayed on the ground while Adam’s attention shifted entirely to you.
“I’ve been watching him for a long time,” he murmured. “Running. Hiding. Lying.” His gaze dragged slowly down your body, then back up, not lecherous, not polite, just…assessing. Claiming. “And then I saw you.”
You swallowed. “So what, I’m a witness?”
His pupils thinned. “No,” he said. “You’re a variable.”
You didn’t know whether to shiver or scoff. “What do you want?”
A slow, dark smile ghosted across his lips. “I want to see something.”
You don’t know why that scared you more than any threat could have.
He took a step back from you, just enough that you could move if you wanted to. The forest loomed at his back, every tree suddenly feeling like part of him.
His eyes gleamed.
“Run,” he said.
Your stomach dropped. “What?”
He nodded toward the trees. “Run.”
Victor wheezed, “Don’t you touch her—”
Adam’s hand twitched once, annoyance flickering across his features. “This isn’t about you anymore,” he said flatly, still looking at you. “It’s about her.”
Your voice came out quiet. “Why?”
“Because I want to know,” he murmured, “what you do when you’re afraid.”
His tone was almost gentle and that made it worse, but still, you didn’t move.
You stood there, heart hammering, while every instinct screamed at you to obey and bolt—but there was something else, too. Something traitorous. A spark of heat in your chest that had nothing to do with fear.
He watched you, patient.
“Run,” he said again, this time softer, more dangerous. “Before I change my mind and skip straight to the part where I catch you.”
That got you moving.
You turned and sprinted toward the tree line, lungs seizing with cold air, skirts tangling around your legs. The forest swallowed you fast that the cottage vanished from sight, the world shrinking down to your beating heart, cracking twigs, and the rush of your own breath.
For a few fierce seconds, you could almost pretend this was just another late-night dash through the woods like you’d done as a child. You knew these trees, you knew these paths and if you could reach the creek, the old oak, the slope.
A low laugh rolled through the darkness behind you. You risked a glance over your shoulder. He was there. Of course he was there.
Not right behind you—no. That would have been mercy. He walked.
Effortless. Unhurried. His long strides ate up the ground with terrifying ease, but he didn’t run. He was holding back.
He was letting you widen the gap. Letting you think you were doing something. You simply pushed harder.
Branches whipped your face, roots lurked like traps beneath the leaves. The cold cut your lungs raw, causing a deep ache. Still, you ran. Because if you stopped, if you let yourself feel the way his gaze burned between your shoulder blades, you didn’t know what would happen.
“You’re fast,” his voice drifted through the trees. “For someone who’s never been hunted before.”
You nearly tripped at the sound. It was closer than it had any right to be.
“How—” you gasped, putting all your weight into climbing a small hill, “—are you...still talking?”
He chuckled and the sound was dark and almost joyful.
“You’re the one running,” he said. “I’m just enjoying my view.”
Heat flared in your chest. Anger. Embarrassment. A reluctant, unwanted thrill you didn’t have time to unpack. “You’re insane!” you shouted.
“Probably,” he called back. “Keep going. I want to see how far you think you can get.”
Your legs burned.
You veered left, deeper into the forest where the undergrowth grew thicker. You could hear water nearby, it was the stream. If you crossed it, maybe you could mask your scent, hide under the overhang near the rocks like you did as a child. You half-slid, half-stumbled down the incline toward the rushing sound.
The stream appeared in front of you, black and fast. You didn’t hesitate.
You splashed through, cold water biting into your boots, soaking your skirts. You reached the other side and scrambled up the muddy bank, fingers digging into damp earth. Your lungs screamed and your heart battered at your ribs.
You tucked yourself into the hollow under a large, tangled root system, the earth cool against your back. You stifled your breathing as best you could, pressing a hand over your mouth to muffle the gasps.
Silence.
Then, a footstep.
On the other side of the water.
Your entire body went still.
You couldn’t see him from where you hid, you could only hear him. The deliberate slosh of boots through water, the slow crunch of leaves on your side of the stream.
He knew. You squeezed your eyes shut, as if that would help. His voice came from far too close.
“Clever.”
You flinched.
“Most people run in a straight line,” he mused aloud, as if chatting with himself. “They don’t bother with cover. They think speed is enough.” A pause. “You broke my sightline. You crossed the water. You hid.”
Dry leaves shifted just beyond your hiding place.
“Very clever,” he repeated softly. “But you’re shaking the ground with your heartbeat, do you know that?”
You clamped your teeth down on your hand, hard enough to sting. He stopped right in front of your hiding spot. You didn’t breathe, couldn't breathe.
Time stretched. Hung. Trembled. Stopped altogether.
Then, with infuriating casualness, he crouched down and flipped the dangling roots aside like a curtain.
"Found you." He sang.
You stared up at him, chest heaving. He filled the entry, blocking the faint moonlight behind him. For a moment, neither of you dared to move.
His eyes roamed over you, taking in your damp clothes, mud-streaked knees, trembling fingers digging into the earth.
You expected mockery. Instead, he looked…pleased.
“You made it farther than he would have,” Adam said quietly. You didn’t have to ask who he meant, Victor probably already halfway to the next town over.
Coward.
“Let me go,” you managed, your voice hoarse. “You’ve proven your point.”
His head tilted. “Have I?”
“My heart is pounding, I’m filthy, I’m terrified. Congratulations.”
“Are you?” he asked. You frowned. “Am I what?”
“Terrified.”
Your throat tightened. “Yes.”
He reached in. You tried to kick, lash out, claw at him. It didn’t matter because his hand closed around your ankle with an unyielding grip, warm and solid.
He only had to tug once.
You slid straight out of your hiding place like prey dragged from a den.
You hit the ground on your back, air punching out from your lungs. Before you could scramble away, a shadow moved over you, and then he was there. One hand braced beside your head, the other still wrapped around your ankle, pinning you down with a fraction of his strength.
You could feel how careful that fraction was.
He leaned over you, his body heat seeping through your soaked clothes, the scent of damp earth and something electric clinging to his skin.
“Look at you,” he murmured.
You glared up at him. “Get off—”
“You’re shaking,” he cut in. “Breathing like you’ve swallowed the storm. Skin flushed. Eyes blown wide.” His gaze darkened. “You call it fear.”
Your chest rose and fell too fast and too uneven. “What else would you call it?”
His hand slid from your ankle to your calf, then to your knee, his touch slow, deliberate, never fully gentle. You felt every inch of contact like a spark.
“I’ve seen fear,” he said. “Real fear. The kind that stinks of sweat and piss and desperation.” His eyes burned into yours. “This isn’t that.”
You fought the urge to squirm. “Stop pretending I want this,” you snapped. “I didn’t ask—”
A harsh, humorless sound escaped him. “You didn’t say no either.”
Your breath stalled. “You told me to run.”
“Yes,” he said simply. “And you did. But not the way they do.” His eyes flicked down to your parted lips, then back up. “You looked back three times. Do you know that?”
You said nothing.
“You wanted to see me,” he murmured. “You wanted to know how close I was.”
“Because you’re hunting me,” you spat.
His mouth curved in a sinister way.
“Yes,” he admitted. “But tell me the truth.” His face lowered, his nose brushing the side of yours, his voice dropping to a rasp. “Did you really want me far away?”
Your heart slammed so hard it hurt.
You hated that he could read you. Hated that you couldn’t lie convincingly right now. Hated that somewhere beneath the panic and adrenaline there was a twisted, burning thrill at being seen like this by something so utterly, terrifyingly focused on you.
“Even if I did,” you whispered, “what difference does it make?”
Everything in his expression shifted.
He loosened his grip on your leg, only to slide his hand to your hip, fingers spreading as if measuring how much of you he could hold in his palm.
“It makes,” he said softly, “all the difference in the world.”
He lowered his head to your throat and you froze.
His nose brushed your skin, his breath warm against the rapid pulse hammering under the surface. He inhaled slowly, deeply, like he was committing your scent to memory.
A shiver tore through you. You couldn’t help it. He felt it too.
A low, pleased sound rumbled in his chest. “There,” he murmured. “That’s the truth.”
Your voice trembled. “You said you wanted Victor. Not me.”
“I wanted revenge,” he corrected, his lips ghosting over the hollow at the base of your throat without ever really touching you. “That’s different.” His grip on your hip tightened. “You, I want for something else.”
“Like what?” you asked, though part of you already knew.
His head lifted, his eyes locking onto yours.
“You really don’t know?” he asked, almost amused.
“I want to hear you say it,” you shot back, surprising even yourself with the challenge in your tone.
For a heartbeat, he just stared at you. Then the corner of his mouth lifted, not kindly. Dark. Wicked. Dangerous.
“Dangerous,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You’re dangerous.”
He shifted, his body settling more fully over yours, bracing his weight on his arms so he didn’t crush you but kept you pinned between him and the unyielding forest floor.
You were trapped.
“I’ve spent years alone,” he said, his voice growing rougher with every word. “Hiding in shadows. Watching life happen to everyone but me. Listening to their laughter, their pleasure, their cries.” His eyes flared. “Wanting. Always wanting. Never allowed to have.”
His hand slid up your side, fingers splaying against your ribs, the heat of his touch burning away some of the chill from the stream.
“And now…” He swallowed once, thickly. “Now you stand in front of me and tell me I should pretend I don’t want you?”
Your breath hitched.
“I didn’t—”
“But you didn’t tell me to stop,” he said. “You didn’t tell me to let you go. Even now,” he added softly, “you’re not telling me to get off you. You’re asking me questions.”
He leaned down until his lips hovered a breath away from yours.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, “and I will.”
The forest held its breath with you.
You stared up at him, every nerve lit, every rational thought drowned under the weight of his body, his voice, his attention. The world had shrunk to the space between his mouth and yours.
You could say it.
You could end this.
You could turn away from the cliff edge.
You parted your lips.
“…Don’t...don't stop,” you whispered.
His eyes flashed and for a moment, he looked almost startled. Then, slowly, something unmistakably feral slid into place behind his gaze.
“You are going to ruin me,” he said hoarsely.
His hand at your hip flexed, pulling you against him. His other braced by your head, fingers biting into the earth.
“Or I’m going to ruin you,” he added. “Maybe both.”
His forehead dropped to yours, the contact almost jarringly intimate.
“Say it again,” he murmured. “Tell me not to stop.”
You swallowed. “Don’t stop.” His jaw clenched.
“Once I start,” he said, voice shaking with a cocktail of hunger and warning, “I won’t want to stop. I won’t want to be gentle. I’ve never been given anything gently. Everything I’ve ever had, I’ve had to take.”
You held his gaze. “Then take me.”
Silence. Absolute, shattering silence. Then, something in him broke, quietly and completely.
“Gods,” he breathed. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
His mouth brushed your jaw, the corner of your lips, the edge of your throat. Each almost-touch made your body arch toward him of its own accord, seeking more.
His lips finally pressed firmly against your throat, not biting, but not soft either. His hand traveling your body drew your attention away from the cold, from the mud, from everything except the paths he traced.
The monster in the woods was worshiping you like a man starved.
The moment Adam caught the edge of your skirts, it was with a desperation that felt older than the grave. Fabric whispered and tore as he dragged it upward, his touch neither gentle nor hesitant, like a creature who had only just learned what wanting was.
Cold night air lashed your skin, raising gooseflesh that made you shiver. He noticed. Of course he noticed. There was nothing human left in his gaze now, only hunger, devotion, and something far more dangerous.
Moonlight broke through the clouds just long enough to illuminate the ruins of your clothes, scattered and ruined as he held you pinned between his body and the damp, trembling earth.
“This,” he growled, voice cracking like thunder, “was carved into my fate. I have earned it.”
He lowered his head, breathing in your arousal in like a man starved of warmth, starved of life itself. The air between you thickened, your own traitorous longing betraying every rational thought you’d ever clung to.
When your eyes met his, a crooked, sinful smile tugged at the edges of his mouth—too wicked for any mortal man.
“Scream,” he murmured. “No soul dares to wander far enough to save you from me.”
Then he claimed you, not with gentleness, but with the reverence of a worshipper kneeling before a forbidden altar. His touch was fevered, greedy, tasting, learning. His arm held you steady when your body tried to escape the intensity of him, though you no longer knew whether you wanted freedom or surrender.
Your breath hitched. Your voice broke. The world spun.
And yet it was not fear that hollowed you—it was something far sweeter, far more damning.
“I’ve decided,” he whispered against the tender skin of your thigh, breath uneven, “that I could spend eternity discovering you.”
He returned to your centre with slow, deliberate devotion, savouring every trembling moment. Your hands, dirt-streaked and shaking, flew to his hair, unsure if you meant to pull him closer or push him away.
Even you didn’t know.
“Harder,” he groaned, voice fraying at the edges. “If you wish to hurt me… then hurt me. I am yours to ruin.”
Stars burst behind your eyes like dying worlds, a pleasure you had never known until tonight. Adam rose in the moonlight, looking wild and starved and achingly alive. Hunger darkened his gaze as he captured your mouth with his, stealing whatever breath you had left.
This was wrong. This was sacrilege. You were betraying every law written for mortal souls.
“My creator,” Adam murmured against your throat, words sending a tremor through you, “must have shown me mercy.”
His weight shifted, his heat pressed to your hip, and your head tipped back with a gasp.
“I should have thanked him,” he said, lips curling into a wicked smile. “Because even after death, he left me the parts that make me a man.”
He didn’t let you answer, instead claiming you fully, and your body arched beneath him as the forest seemed to hold its breath. You clutched at his stitched, unholy skin, marking him with crescents of dirt and desperation, your claim etched into him like scripture.
The ground trembled. Birds erupted from their nests in panicked flight as Adam roared into the night, your bodies moving as though summoned by some ancient, terrible rhythm.
He pressed shuddering kisses along your neck, between gasped-out half-words, his voice a rough, reverent rasp in your ear.
“Mine.”
“Look at me.”
“Don’t hide from me.”
“Say my name.”
You didn’t know when you started saying it, but once you did, it didn’t stop.
“Adam.”
His body flinched the first time you whispered it.
No one had said it like that before. His breath hitched and his rhythm broke, but you didn’t care, you only clung to the dark, rising heat curling tight inside you, desperate now to chase it to its end.
You said his name again, and his control frayed further, his movements growing more desperate, more claiming. His hand tightened at your hip, his mouth hovering, then pressing, then dragging along your pulse.
You were both hanging off the edge by fingertips.
“You’re are mine,” he growled. “And I am yours.”
His hand closed around your throat with the helpless instinct of something made for ruin rather than tenderness. Through the blur of your tears, you managed only his name.
"Adam."
Then the two of you collided like storm-torn constellations, souls striking sparks in the dark as the sky twisted above you. His uneven breath tangled with yours, and an impossible, shattering pleasure unfurled between you as though the night itself had split open.
You didn’t know how long you stayed there, tangled in breath and heat and half touches under the watchful shadows of the trees. Time had no meaning in that hollow. There was only the rise and fall of his chest and the frantic rhythm of your heart.
When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t because he wanted to.
It was because he had to.
He stayed close, kneeling beside you in the leaves, one hand still on your waist as if to reassure himself you were real.
Your clothes were damp, your hair was a mess, your throat felt raw.
You couldn't have cared less in this moment. Adam watched you like he was memorizing the sight.
“What now?” you asked quietly.
He looked toward the direction of the village, where faint distant lantern lights flickered between trees.
“Now,” he said, “I finish what I came here for.”
Cold crept back into your chest. “Victor,” you whispered.
Adam’s jaw hardened. “I could break his neck with two fingers.”
“Will you?” You asked. He was quiet for a moment.
“I wanted to,” he said. “For years. I thought about it every night. About how his skull would feel in my hands. How easy it would be.”
He closed his eyes, jaw tense. When he opened them again, the anger was still there, but something else had joined it.
“You changed that,” he admitted.
You blinked, thrown. “Me?”
“You’re the first person who didn’t scream when they saw me,” he said. “The first who didn’t pretend I was invisible. The first who didn’t try to use me or run from me without looking back over their shoulder like they wanted me to follow.”
His gaze softened in a way that felt dangerous. Manipulative.
“You gave me something more interesting than revenge,” he said. “That’s… inconvenient.”
You almost laughed. “Sorry?”
“Don’t be,” he said. “If it weren’t for you, I’d be on my way back there right now to paint the trees with his blood.”
You shivered. Not entirely from fear. “What will you do instead?” you asked.
His fingers flexed on your waist. “I’ll let him live,” he said slowly. “For now.”
Relief and dread twisted together in your gut. “So you’ll leave?”
His hand tightened. “No.” The word dropped like a stone.
You stared. “Then what—” He leaned in again, his mouth hovering by your ear, his voice quiet and cruelly tender.
“I’m not leaving without you.” Your breath caught. “What?”
“You heard me.” You shook your head, trying to sit up fully. He let you, but stayed close, his presence a wall at your side.
“I can’t just disappear,” you said. “I have a life here. A home. People will—”
“Forget,” he said with a shrug. “They always do. Or they’ll tell stories about you the way they told stories about me. The woman the forest took.” His lips curled. “You’ll be a warning for children who think they can stray too far.”
“That’s not funny,” you snapped.
“I’m not joking.”
He cupped your face again, calloused thumb brushing the edge of your lip.
“I’ve spent years wandering alone,” he said. “I’m done.” His eyes burned. “You ran from me, and then you told me not to stop. You said my name like it meant something.”
“It does,” you said before you could stop yourself.
His breath hitched. "Then you understand,” he said. “I’m not leaving you here.”
“And if I say no?” you asked quietly.
He considered that, really considered it. You saw the war flicker across his expression.
“I don’t want to force you,” he said at last, voice raw. “I’ve had enough of being forced my entire existence.”
“But?” you pressed. He swallowed, his nostrils flaring.
“But if you stay,” he said, “they’ll hurt you. Not the villagers, the world. Men like him. Men worse than him.” He nodded vaguely toward where Victor might still lay. “They’ll see you, and they’ll want you, and they’ll try to take from you what you offered me freely.”
His eyes went black.
“I’ll feel it,” he whispered. “Even from miles away, I’ll feel it. And I’ll come back here and tear this place apart. I’ll kill them all.” His fingers dug into your jaw. “And it will be your fault.”
Your blood ran cold. “That’s not fair,” you said.
“I know,” he replied. “I never said I was fair.”
Silence hung between you, heavy and terrible.
“You’re asking me to choose,” you said. “Between my home and… you.”
“I’m not asking,” he said. “I’m telling you what happens either way.” Your chest hurt. “And if I go with you?”
His grip gentled and he stroked your cheek once, almost reverent.
“Then I’ll burn for you instead of the world,” he said simply. “I’ll be your monster. Your shield. Your ruin. I’ll give you every violent, ugly, precious part of me that no one else wanted.” His mouth hovered above yours again, close enough to feel the warmth. “And I won’t let anything touch you unless you ask for it.”
Your heart hammered against your ribs, bruising. “I don’t even know what that life looks like,” you whispered.
His smile was sharp and soft at once. “Neither do I,” he said. “We’ll find out.”
He straightened then, towering over you once more. He held out a hand as the forest watched.
The cottage stood somewhere behind you, full of fear and lies and the same grey days you’d always known.
In front of you, a monster who wanted you with unapologetic, terrifying clarity. A man stitched from rage and loneliness who’d decided you were the one thing he wouldn’t let the world keep from him.
He wouldn’t beg.
He wouldn’t promise you safety.
He wouldn’t promise you sanity.
What he offered instead was devotion sharpened into a weapon, and a life lived at the edge of the firelight.
You took a breath and you put your hand in his.
His fingers closed around yours, firm and absolute. Something like relief flickered across his face before he smothered it.
“Good,” he said, voice low. “Very good.”
He pulled you to your feet and didn’t let go.
You walked back through the trees together, his grip steady, his frame a shadow at your side. The cottage came into view, lantern light flickering weakly against the dark.
Victor still sat there, hunched and small on the ground near the clearing like a discarded marionette.
He looked up as you emerged. His eyes widened, darting from Adam’s hand around yours to your face.
“You can’t...” he croaked. “You can’t go with him. He’s a monster. He’ll...he’ll destroy you.”
You glanced at Adam as he watched Victor with the same sort of detached irritation one might reserve for a buzzing fly.
“You had your chance to care about what happened to me,” Adam said mildly. “You chose yourself.”
His gaze slid back to you.
“You’re sure?” he asked quietly enough that Victor couldn’t hear. “You can still say no.”
“And you’ll leave me alone?” you asked.
His jaw flexed once.
“No,” he said honestly. “I’ll just leave you. The rest of this place?” His eyes flicked to Victor. “I make no promises.”
You believed him as the weight of your choice settled in your bones like cold iron.
You squeezed his hand tighter. “I’m sure,” you said.
He nodded once. No smile. No grand display of joy. Just a small, precise shift in his posture, like something inside him finally unclenched.
He turned to Victor.
“You get to live,” Adam said. “You’ll tell them whatever story you like about what happened here. You always were good at lying.” He tilted his head. “But if I hear you’ve tried to chase us, to take her back, to drag her name through the dirt,”
He stepped forward, and Victor shrank back. “I won’t be nearly as merciful next time.”
Victor opened and closed his mouth, but no sound came out, but Adam didn’t wait for one, instead he tugged your hand.
“Come,” he said. “Before I change my mind and kill him anyway.”
Summary: As Seraphine grieves the death of her lover at the hands of vampires, she is haunted by the calls of the night, tempting to find a lake, where things impossible are possible.
Warnings!!!: MINORS(-18) DNI!!! Angst! Slight Gore, Cussing, praise kink, switchyxIsaac, Cunnilingus, minor spit play, biting, p n v, creampie? Minor bloodplay
Author’s note: Something from my drafts, this was lowkey just to practice writing smut so there will be a lot of errors.
Fourteen days…Fourteen days since the blood moon shed its crimson tears upon the town. Since the night the air stilled and the Jolly voices of church choirs, transformed to hideous shrieks and cries of terror.
Fourteen days, since the footsteps of unwanted visitors were printed on the dusty roads, and ebony walls of the taverns were painted scarlet. Since the floors of the cathedral were carpeted with cold limp bodies, mauled and withered, their eyes siphoned of the holy light, and left with milky hues that clouded their pupils.
Fourteen days. Fourteen days since the town was shook by the beasts in human skin, the trio of cunning, doe eyed white folks that pleaded to share their grace. The night their pastor, with welcoming arms, and a smile that shun so bright even the Angels could’ve been blinded, embraced them into the church, and unknowingly, fed his followers right to their hungry gaping mouths.
Fourteen days since Isaac was jolted awake by the shrieks of his neighbors, with Seraphine beside him, eyes stirring with slumber, watching the love of her life leap out of the bed and grab his gown perched by his rocking chair and rush down the stairs. Since she scurried out of bed after him, seeing the terror in his eyes as the children outside ran frantically, in search for safety, clothes ripped to shreds and drenched in blood.
His eyes searched frantically for his shotgun, before they zeroed on it at the corner. He reached for it, grabbing its stock, before Seraphine’s fingers curled around his wrist, smaller in comparison, but the desperation behind the firm grip was enough to make him pause. His eyes averted from the weapon, resting on the gaze of his bride-to-be, fear and uncertainty swimming beneath the hazel color of her eyes. Her brows knit together with frustration at his adamance to risk his life, to run in the face of danger when he had safety where he was. He could see the desperate faith that he’d return safe, wilt away with every howl of pain from beyond their doorstep.
His heart melted and took form again in the same breath. He turned to her, his olive eyes softer with love as they met hers. His free hand reached up, gently plucking her fingers off of his wrist and intertwining them between his. He lowered his head, his towering build looming over her to press their temples together, before his lips pressed on her crown, then her cheek, where a tear raced down, then finally her lips, resting them there, the salt of her tears blending with the sweetness of his love.
“I’ll come back to you,” he whispered against them, a vow to her and her alone “I promise,”
She felt the coldness of the night against her lips once more as he slipped away, her hand empty, as she watched him open the door to the chaos and leap out with his shotgun, shutting her out before she could lunge after him. The last thing she remembered of that night, was the haunting turns of the locks keeping her within the safety of their home, his last act of devotion to her.
Fourteen days since then…
Fourteen painful days since he had left her, lost, shattered, and crippled by his death.
~
Now she loomed the streets of the town like a phantom, her eyes, once shimmering with youth and life, were hollow and dark, with a void that was left by his absence. Her dresses, wrinkled and frail, the coils of her hair wild and tangled in knots by the ends. Her once vibrant skin rich as ripe cocoa beans, paled and cracked like leached soil. Her cheeks always seemed to be stained with dry streaks of salt.
The survivors of the night could hardly recognize her. The pastor, heart overflown with guilt, sang hymns, cited verses, chanted prayers and drenched her in the holiest of waters. Yet nothing, nothing could ever quench the hunger of her flesh to feel Isaac’s touch one last time.
For days, she was haunted, in her dreams she could feel him, whispering, calling, luring her to the beyond, his last words ringing in her head like a song.
“I’ll come back to you, I promise.”
She’d dream that she’d wander through the wood, the path illuminated by the moonlight stretching farther the more she walked. She’d hear him, calling her name, with a need so raw, a yearning so pure, she could hear the tears in his voice.
“Sera…Seraphine…”
She’d walk faster, her barefoot crunching the twigs and stones beneath her, feeling the phantom ache but not allowing her to stop. She’d see his figure, his olive eyes sparkling in the darkness before he stretched out his hand for her to take. And every time she lunged, her palm yet to reconnect with his, she’d jolt awake. And every morning that she’d wake up to the quiet of their home, she’d fill it with her sobs, unable to sit in the solemn silence.
~
One night, the strings of clouds separated, and the blue moon stared down at Seraphine’s home with pity. There she lay on the stranded island of her mattress as she kicked and tossed in the thin sheets, her soft groans bouncing off the walls as she heard his call to her once more, and she shot up in a cold sweat. Her eyes darted across the room, finding his empty chair, rocking to its own rhythm, and then moving to the rays of the moonlight which pierced through the curtains.
Another nightmare. That’s all it was. That’s all it ever was. She rested her head back down on the pillow, tears soaking the fabric as she shut her lids, willing herself to slumber before she heard it…
“Seraphine…”
Her eyes shot open, darting frantically across the room, brows knit together. Assuming it was her mind, playing a cruel trick on her she shut them once more, until she heard it again. This time more insistent.
“Seraphine…Darlin’…”
The words lurched her off the bed, her fingers clawed to the edge of the mattress. She narrowed her eyes, focusing on the silence that filled the room once more, her racing heartbeat pounding in her ears. She was sure she that it was a trick before the echo reverberated in a soft hum once more.
“Come to me, Sera…follow me…”
It was hushed, soft but urgent, and yet unmistakably his. Her eyes widened, brimming with tears as her lower lip quivered. She turned to the window, the curtains blowing in the wind as the moonlight reflected the path from her home, deep into the wood.
“Isaac?” she whispered, hoping he’d respond. For a moment, there was silence, before she heard the voice.
“My darlin’…come to me…”
Her breath hitched at his command, her eyes glued to the path lit by the moonlight, just like in her dreams. The stars in the sky, flickered eagerly, almost begging her to follow the trail into the unknown. She knew the dangers, she heard every tale of the consequences of frolicking out in the night, the creatures that were eager to feast on naive, and gullible souls. She knew better and knew to stay, but his voice, his sweet, begging voice, the voice she had missed so deeply, one she hoped to never forget, was calling her in. How could she resist?
~
Seraphine could hardly remember when she hopped out of her bed, and paced down her stairs to her door, walking down the path into the woods. Her vision tunneled, narrowed to the trail before her as Isaac’s voice rang in her ears…
“Gettin’ closer…soon, Seraphine,”
It was lulling, harmonious, the tune he’d have when he’d whisper sweet nothings into her ear in the night. She was drawn deeper, the owls hooted with warning, the twigs creaked with strain beneath her eager feet as she chased after his voice.
“Don’t lose me sweetheart…”
Her ears perked in the direction, turning to its navigation as she continued her journey. The large tree barks twisted and cracked, made faces, scowling at her, knowing she was trespassing, but she paid no mind. The ravens cawed with caution, wolves howled as she saw a light, as if informing her that she was close and her brisk walk turned to a desperate sprint.
“Seraphine…” he called one final time. With shallow breaths she ran and ran, the light drawing nearer and before she knew it, the woods had cleared.
She stood before a lake, the shimmer of moonlight danced on the ripples of the water. The soft current hummed against the stone. She blinked, suddenly out of her trance as she glanced around in confusion. She treaded forward, strands of grass laced between her toes as she crept, eager and curious, the stillness of the environment, stilling the turmoil in her heart. It was then she heard the crack of bristled leaves behind, her head turning to the direction of the sound. Her heart beat picked up again, thumping against her chest.
Her breath was shallow, soft pants of air sucked in. She heard it again, this time, in the other direction. She turned again, but nothing in sight. She unnerved and shook, but a part of her willed her in place, anticipating something more. She gulped the saliva down her throat, lips parting as she mustered her voice to whisper his name.
“Isaac?”
Silence. Nothing but the giggles of the lake as its current slapped the stone. It stung, her eyes brimming with embarrassment as she turned to leave, but then…
“There she is…” a low hum echoed from the bush, freezing her in place. Her eyes widened in disbelief, darting to the direction. Emerging from the shadows, Isaac crept out lazily, hands in the pockets of his loosely buttoned white blouse, the one he wore that fateful night. It was still milky white, but torn on the sides, as if he washed the blood stains off just for her.
She gasped, the inhale sharp, her throat constricted as her body began to tremble. It’s an illusion, she thought, a merciless trick of the devil.
Isaac cocked his head as he sauntered forward, the tender gaze of his green eyes coming into view as he stepped into the light. It was him, just the way she remembered. His tall stature, toned muscles and broad shoulders. His skin, once pinker and lush with life, was pale, almost fragile to the sight. The collar of his shirt had been torn off, as if he had been battling someone.
“Don’t be scared sweetheart,” he cooed, his callous hands lifting from his pockets as he raised them.
“It’s just me, it’s always been me,”
She was stunned, petrified, whale eyes staring hard, expecting him to disappear, like a ghost, but he washed still there, and still creeping forward. Isaac’s lips curved into a frown at the sight of her so frightened.
“Don’t look at me like that, darlin’” he pleaded “Like you don’t know me-”
“I buried you,” she managed to choke out, in a broken whisper, hands clammy at her sides.
“I wrapped you, and buried you. I saw it, how…how can this be?”
He shook his head, wincing at the memory, a silent plea for her to not speak any further of that night.
“Don’t ask how…not tonight, please,”
He drew closer, every step forward he took, she moved back another step. Her hands found will, one frantically reaching into the pocket of her night dress and pulling out a pocketknife, his pocketknife. Isaac tilted his head, she couldn’t tell whether he was amused or disappointed.
“Sera… put it down-“
“Don’t say my name like that.” She hissed “Like you’re him, you ain’t him,”
His frown curve further, like the words jabbed him.
“Why wouldn’t I be, huh?” He challenged softly as he crept forward. She took another step back, reaching closer to the edge of the bank.
“I know what you saw…and I ain’t gon’ tell ya it wasn’t real,” he conceded. “But I promise you, it’s me, Sera.”
The way he chose his words, his tone rasped but cushioning, like a pillow, it was unnerving, because it sounded exactly like him, and she was starting to believe it. She moved back, her heel nearly slipping off the edge before she steadied herself.
He ceased his movements, standing under the moonlight, his olive eyes as gentle as they were that night. He kept his eyes on her like she was his lifeline.
“I’ve been so alone,” he whispered, “So…so alone, the night is so cold without you,”
He took a cautious step.
“Ever since that night, I’ve been aching to see you again, to feel you again. I’ve been watching, seeing the way I left you so broken…I didn’t mean to do that to you.”
She watched him step closer, his build towering over her as she trembled in place, eyes streaming down. “It can’t be…it can’t…” she whispered to herself, but she knew that it was failing.
He was inches before her, head tipped low, as he took the time to see her tears shimmer in the light, her twists curtaining her eyes. He reached out, taking a strand and tucking it behind her ear gingerly, feeling her body froze at the contact of his icy cold skin.
“Remember what I promised you,” he urged, his palm moving to rest on his chin.
“Say the words.”
She felt coaxed, hypnotized, her body unable to retreat from his touch, a touch she could never deny. Her eyes fluttered shut, then she tilted her head, pressing her cheek into his palm, letting it clasp the side of her face, his thumb catching the tear that streamed down.
“I’ll come back to you,” she recalled, the promise that had echoed in her mind, that haunted her dreams for nights. Her eyes moved from his gaze to his neck, where the large gaping bite wound had once been, but what was left was a risen scar that curved around the nape to his collarbone. “I’ll come back,”
He nodded, thumb dragging down the skin of her cheek to her chin, the pad as cold as death.
“And here I am,” he whispered, taking her chin and guiding her gaze from the scar back to his eyes. He could still see the uncertainty, but then her hand lifted to curl her fingers around his wrist, the same way she did that night. Her grip was just as tight, as if making sure that he was tangible. For a moment, it was silence, and then Seraphine whispered, with recognition.
“Isaac,”
His breath hitched at the sound of his name on her tongue, the call he grieved and ached to hear once again. The corner of his lips curved into a smile, his eyes burning with tears. He took his other arm, snaking it around her waist.
“It’s me, sweetheart, only me,” he assured her, their temples pressed together. Her eyes shut again, feeling the cold skin of his head against her toasty flesh. His breath, fogged with frost and he pulled her closer, hopelessly craving her warmth.
She didn’t deny him. Instead, her hand unclamped from his wrist, sliding down his dragging down his arm before gripping the fabric of his shirt and pulling him into her chest, her other hand dropping the pocketknife, snaking behind his back and cradling the nape of his neck. His head lowered down, nose resting on the crook of her neck before he inhaled her cocoa butter and lavender scent, mixed with the salt of her sweat. His exhale was deep and shaky, his hand on her waist, clawing into her nightgown, the other sliding down her neck to her chest.
“I’m so cold,” he whispered by the skin of her neck, his pale lips dragging upward, leaving goosebumps in their wake before they were inches away from hers. She could smell his favorite whiskey, blended with an odd scent of iron, the concoction so sinister but, so intoxicating, she couldn’t help but lean in, her eyes moving from his lips to his eyes, back down to them again.
His thumb reached for her bottom lip, dragging over the plump flesh. His pupils dilated at the way they pursed around the pad with eager, and he gulped down the saliva pooling in his mouth.
“Sera…Darlin’…I need your warmth…I need your skin, please.”
She could feel his body grow taut, his muscles stiffening with restraint beneath her touch, locked in place, waiting for her consent. Her hand slipped from the nape of his neck to the side and she guided his lips down to hers. He released a shuddered breath as he tasted the unique flavor of her, swimming with the iron metal scent.
With a tilt to his head, and his hand cradling her neck, he deepened the kiss, lips locked in a slow, tentative dance as they conveyed the ache that stirred deep in their souls, the flame in their hearts burning, roaring louder. He took his time, relishing in her taste, the way she chased after his lips when he attempted to part. His tongue darted out, dragging timidly over bottom lip, and her mouth parted with fervour, letting it slip through. He moaned in ecstasy at the taste, his tongue greedily tangling with hers.
As their patience wore thin, it grew hungrier, Isaac’s lips gulping down Sera’s air, draining her. Her nails dug into his shirt, her hand clenching his hair. His hand shifted down to her shoulder blade, fingers prudently pulling down the strap of her dress. With a strained grunt he parted from her lips, deep rough pants leaving his throat. His hungry eyes drank the image of her swollen plump lips, her eyes hooded with brazen desire. She was in a daze, her limbs felt like jelly, as if the kiss was a sedative.
His mouth stretched into a wide grin, the line of his dentures in full display and for a moment, his canines looked a few inches longer than she remembered. Before she could confirm, his head dipped to her neck. His frosty breath, now room temperature, ghosted her skin teasingly, and she melted almost immediately.
"Patience, sweetheart," he whispered, "Let me enjoy you,"
His sharp canines dragged over her flesh, earning a shuddered breath, her chest pressing against his, with her hands feeling his bare chest. He prepped her neck with light kisses, lips dancing against the hairs of her skin, before they pursed and latched on, suckling on her weak point. Her eyes widened, and she drew in a sharp breath, a whimper following after.
He hummed at her noise, his tongue lapping the area, feeling her neck arching to grant more space and his actions were more insistent, lips smacking against her skin and trailing down to her shoulder blade. Sera shut her eyes, allowing the pleasure to course through her body, drawing her in, consuming her. His hand dragged along her dress, finding her left breast as he cupped and squeezed it, thumb grazing her erect nipple before pinching it between his fingers. She whined out, the noise dragged and desperate.
Within a blink of an eye, she was away from the edge of the bank and pressed gently against a tree trunk. The speed at which he moved was inhumane, but she couldn't care to process it with his lips dragging down her neck as he lowered himself to his knees. His hands felt all around her, her chest, the ripples of her sides, the lushness of her skin, the fat of her thighs. His tongue stuck out, slithering over the gap between her breasts before curling around a clothed nipple, the damp fabric of her dress, sending a shiver up her spine, and the pool between her thighs began to trickle down.
The pungent aroma of her arousal filled his nostrils, and his eyes threatened to roll back, drool pooling in his mouth, and spilling down its corners. He was drunk, and he hadn't even tasted her yet. Sera stared down at him, taking the image of him on his knees, expression hungry, depraved and indigent, and his hands clamped to her thighs. With a gulp, he pleaded.
"Honey, sugar...would you please…” He trailed off, his eyes wandering down to her thighs. His body shook with need and fever, lips parched, with a thirst only she could quench.
“Please…let me taste you, I need to, darlin’”
She bit her lip at his request, his fingers playing with the hem of her dress. Beads of sweat dripped down her body, dampening the cotton fabric. With her head against the bark of the tree, she met his gaze and nodded urgently.
“Not good enough, sugar…I need words” he insisted.
“Yes, yes please,” she urged, her legs parting before him eagerly. Isaac hummed at the sight, licking the drool at the corner of his lips. He lifted the hem of her dress slowly, drinking in the sight of her thighs drenched in her arousal as it spilled down her legs. He raised it further, before taking her right leg, hooking it around his head. He leaned in, his tongue eagerly lapped the trail, humming with delight at the taste. Sera watched him, how his eyes fluttered as his tongue flattened on her skin before he kissed it sloppily, moving further up her thighs, leaving a trail of saliva in her wake. She hissed as the cold of the night blew against her damp skin, before he soothed it with another kiss, his head descending beneath her legs and all she could see was his keen eyes glued on her.
“My Sera…my darlin’” he cooed by her thighs, giving it a little bite, earning a wince. His mouth moved to her aching cunt, eyes dilating as it throbbed against his lips, his craving for her, vehement. “I just wanna taste you,”
She gulped, her head tilting up to see his wolfish grin before he dipped in, giving one long lick up her slick folds. She parted her lips, eyes fluttering as she stiffened, with a sharp inhale, before releasing a soft moan. Her hand moved down to cradle his head, nudging his face closer, until his breath mingled with the heat of her sex. He chuckled lowly at her eagerness, conceding and licking another long trail, flattening it on her swollen clit. Her head rolled back with relief, and she hummed, while he latched his mouth onto her aching cunt, kissing it sloppily, the raunchy sounds of his lips smacking against hers echoed across the forest, accompanied by her loud pants and choked moans. He felt the heat of her body rise, her toasty thighs curled around his neck.
“So warm,” Isaac hummed against her clit, his lips pursing and suckled on the swollen nub and her toes curled, the muscles of her thigh around his head clenching. She whined out, nails tugging at the small strands of his hair and he grunted, the low rumble adding to her pleasure.
“Taste so good, sugar,” he slurred between slurps, his tongue digging between the slit of her sex, her essence blended with his saliva, spilling down his neck as he devoured her with fever. “I missed your taste, ain’t nothin’ better, ain’t no amount of blood, that can ever stop me from gettin’ a taste of you,”
He tongue fucked her deep, his thumb working in tandem as he rubbed slow circles over her clit, feeling her writhe and moan above him.
“Oh my…Isaac…” she cried out softly, head rolling back to the bark of the tree.
“It’s okay, Sera…” he cooed, tongue delved deep in her walls. “I just wanna make you feel good, let me make you feel good.”
He lifted his free hand to her mouth, index and middle finger pressed against her lips and on instinct, she took them in her mouth, her tongue coating them in her saliva as they deepthroated her before sliding back out, with a string of saliva glistening in the moonlight.
“Atta girl,” he praised, his tongue slowly sliding out, and his fingers sliding through her slick walls. She groaned, feeling them stretch her out, while he slowly sank them deep until she relaxed. “Ease in, baby,” he urged, his mouth moving to latch on to her clit.
Her hips bucked to the rhythm of his mouth, grinding her pussy against his nose and he could hardly contain the growl that rumbled beneath his throat. He moved his hand from her thigh, shifting it down to his pants as he rubbed the evident bulge, for temporary relief. Her eyes caught it, and her arousal peaked.
“Ngh…f-faster” she pleaded, and he obeyed. The pace of his fingers picked up with every thrust, his mouth maintaining momentum as he suckled on her clit, following the erratic rhythm her hips set. He could hear her breath quicken, her chest heaving with prominence, her eyes rolling at the back of her head, her Bach arching from the tree bark.
“Keep going…I’m gonna…fuck, Isaac!”
His eager moans turning into hungry growls, his pupils enlarging, consuming her like an art piece as she fell apart. Within seconds, she came with a delicious cry, her eyes squinting shut and her nose scrunched. Her cum poured, drenching his face as her drank and slurped with gratitude, a guttural laugh rumbled in his throat as his tongue eagerly lapped up her taste. Her body slumped against her tree, cheeks flushed, her twists glued to her damp temple. She let out a shaky hum, watching him rise from his knees, his face and shirt soaked in her essence.
He pulled her off the tree, and into his arms. His lips crashed down to hers, and her tongue lapped up the taste of herself on his chin with a hum.
“Nasty girl,” he teased, lips stretching to a grin.
“I missed you, baby,” she whispered back, her words thick with lust, but filled with love. His hungry eyes softened, his breath steadying before he pecked her nose.
“I know, baby, I know,” he replied in a soft whisper. He gently lowered her down to the grass, the damp soil pressing against her back, and the moonlight kissing her deep brown skin.
“You’re a vision, darlin’” he praised, crawling back on to her, her knees lifted up, legs parting so he could be prepped in between. His arms stood on each side of her head, fingers pressed into the damp grass. His hips, still clothed, rocked painfully slow against her soaked pussy, and she whimpered, her hands moving to tug his shirt.
“What do you need?” He asked, low and purposeful, taunting. “Tell me what you need,”
She gulped, feeling his throbbing dick poke against his pants, her hips rocking back. He chuckled at the sight.
“I ain’t gon’ give you what you want, until you say it, Sera…say it.” The last words landed more roughly.
Her body writhed before she let out a whimper in defeat. “I need you, baby,” she pleaded.
“Need you to fuck me, good and deep,”
Something within him snapped, and he ceased his movements, lifting his body up to hastily undo his belt and unzip his trousers, his breath frantic as he pulled them down, his firm long dick sprung out with freedom, precum oozing from the crown already. She gulped, her whale eyes hungry as she licked her lips.
“Keep looking at me like that, and I won’t last 5 seconds.” He warned. He lowered his body back down, one hand guiding his shaft to her entrance, the other lifting her hips, his thumb rubbing the skin of her side gingerly.
“You ready?” He asked, the lust slipped away, to let his concern come through.
Her arms snaked around him, one hand sliding down to the bite scar on the side of it, tracing the risen red lines, she could hear his cries, and remember his open flesh. But he took her wrist, gently guiding her fingers up to his face, letting her cradled his cheek. Her eyes met his, the hunger from before, had faded for moment, leaving only adornment.
“Seraphine…I’m here,” he whispered softly but urgently. “There’s no way I’d leave this world without you, I can’t, I won’t…it’s so cold without you, my flame…my Seraphine.”
His words had her, her hand relaxing into the cold touch of his cheek, her fingers catching a tear that streamed down his face. He pressed his temples against hers, their lips met in a slow kiss. His hand guided his tip to her slit, rubbing it against hers teasingly. She whined against his lips, her leg lifting, allowing her heel to nudge his hips forward. A breath hitched in his throat, his body shuddering at the feeling of her slick lips on her throbbing tip alone.
He slowly sank himself further, his girth swallowed by her walls as they moaned in unison.
“Fuuuck” he gasped, airy and quivering as he pushed deeper. Seraphine gripped his shoulder, feeling his length stretch her, her walls relaxing into his size. The way they hugged him, coiling with heat.
“So…damn warm, so…fucking good,” he choked out, heaving deep breaths to steady himself.
“Deeper, Isaac,” she whined, and with a gulp he obeyed, burying himself deeper as his hips pushed forward. Her back arched into his chest, her head sinking into the grass. The stalked from above, its light shining down on them.
His dick curved into her, consuming her space with greed. His lips found hers in a searing kiss, their tongues tangled in a lazy dance. He swallowed her moans and cries, her hands gripping his back through the shirt. He pulled out, before delving back in one swift movement, earning a moan. He continued, out…then in…out…and in, his length curving, his hips tilting until he hit the spot that made her breath hitch and her body jolt.
“There,” she cried against his lips “Right there,”
He didn’t think twice, his hips positioned as he delved back in, his thrusts slow and deep, aiming at the same spot. His heavy deep grunts blended with her raunchy cries, as her eyes threatened to flutter shut. He could feel his dick throb against her walls, the more the coiled with their warm, the harder it was to hold on. His hand slid down her thighs, finding her clit as he rubbed slow circles around it, her noises growing desperate, a song of pleas and cries leaving her throat as the coiling tension built up. Tears brimmed at the corners of her eyes from the pleasure, her lips mouthed in an “O” form, drool dripping down her lips.
She was so drunk on him, the sight building his own climax. He whimpered out, the croak deep and needy as his hips struggled to maintain momentum. His free hand reached for the grass, nails digging into the ground, and breaking the earth.
“Isaac, baby, I’m right there…” she cried desperately, her walls spasming.
“I can feel it, fuck…I can feel you,” he replied, matching the urgency. “Let go, beautiful, please, I need you to cum for me, baby…”
He pleaded, like his life depended on it, his whiny beg earning her release, and her climax ripped through. Her body grew taut, legs spasming as she came with a strangled cry. The feeling of her walls growing slicker as they hugged his twitching cock made him see stars, his hips snapping erratically, fucking her senseless through her release. His raw noises a blend of desperate praises, whiny pleas and rough grunts as he dug a clump of mud off the ground. He lifted his upper body, hand grabbing her hips as his snapped into her. Her eyes rolled back, her mouth parted as she moaned mindlessly. He watched her, his vehement lust bountiful.
“Eyes on me, beautiful,” he commanded, his fingers taking her chin.
When her eyes rolled back into place, she met his hungry gaze, before moving to the pool of drool that spilled down his mouth, and drizzling down his neck. He was panting like a dog. She reached up, her thumb collecting the saliva to the corner of his mouth, pulling down his lip to find his fang, sharp and elongated. She didn’t know what came over her, but she pressed the pad of her thumb on it, stabbing it down, the temporary sting no matched to the pleasure as he thrusted. She sank it down until her blood leaked on to his tongue. His lips pursed around it, sucking and savoring the taste, with his eyes rolled back in ecstasy.
“You’re so delicious…” he slurred, like he was caught in a trance. He lowered his body back down to her, his hands clamped to the ground as he dug his hips deep.
“Fuck…Darlin’…I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum so fucking hard!” He gritted out, his claws tearing through the deep earth with one final thrust. He let out a strangled moan as he came, his hot seed shooting out and coating her walls as he convulsed. Her walls coiled around his swollen member, milking every last drop of him, emptying him until he went limp.
For a while, they laid in silence, listening to their pants steady and feeling the heat between them dissipate. Sera hummed, her gaze averting to the waning moon, before lowering down to her beloved, expecting his tender emerald orbs. But where she was supposed to find them, instead she was met with milky cloudy pupils, low hooded, her blood simmering down his bottom lip. All four of his fangs enlarged and sharp. His lips stretched into a wolfish grin.
Her eyes widened with confusion, the euphoria she felt, dissipating within seconds as she lifted her head. Her eyes darted to his hands, now jagged claws and her breath picked up before she heard the low rumble of his laughter.
“My Seraphine…”
(Psst! Girl you made it to the end??? If you have, Thank you so much for reading, and thank you for the love and support for any of my other stories you’ve enjoyed ;))
⋆.ೃ࿔ EVERYTHING ᝰ
In which Cameron Cade puts his pride aside for the love of his life in hopes it isn't too late
songs I highly reccomend!:
everything-kehlani
alone- halle bailey
Cameron Cade had his fair share of women—his fair share of fleeting warmth in rumpled sheets and hollow laughter that evaporated by morning. They were all placeholders, really; bodies that filled the silence where her name used to live, ghosts of a comfort that would never feel the same. None of them were her—not the love of his life, not the woman who haunted his quiet hours, not the mother of his child, Sade Vernon. They were just… there. Temporary salves for a wound that refused to close.
Because outside of their daughter, little Brielle, with her mother’s sharp eyes and her father’s temper, Sade didn’t want a damn thing to do with him. She’d built her boundaries like brick walls, sturdy and unbothered, and he was left on the other side—hands bruised from knocking, heart sore from hoping.
It was almost laughable when he thought about it. Just a year ago, they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. They were feverish, combustible, two magnets doomed to collide until something broke. Love had never felt like a safe thing between them—it was wildfire, it was thunder caught in a jar. Their hearts had beaten out of sync but somehow found rhythm in the chaos, and when they did, it felt like divinity wrapped in destruction.
Cupid himself would’ve frowned, wondering if his arrow had bent mid-flight, if fate had misfired. Even Aphrodite—lover of beautiful ruin—might’ve paused to marvel at them, at how they could make devotion look so volatile, so human, so impossible.
Now, the passion that once set them aflame had cooled into ash and memory. And still, every time Cameron lay beside someone else, all he could taste was Sade—her laughter, her fury, her voice caught between love and war.
Even now, as he watched her nurse their baby, Cameron felt that same old ache blooming deep in his chest—the one only his girls could summon, his Sade and his little angel, Brielle. It wasn’t just love; it was something older, something primal, written into his bones long before he ever knew her name. He often wondered if it was biological, if the pull between them could ever be mapped out, studied, rationalized—if science could make sense of the way his pulse still stumbled when she sighed, or how her quiet could still undo him faster than her rage ever did.
Sometimes he wondered if what he felt for her was devotion or delirium—because every time he looked at Sade, holding their daughter with that absentminded tenderness only mothers seemed to possess, he felt worship rise in his throat like prayer.
The day Brielle came into the world, he’d been there—knees weak, hands trembling, heart clawing at his ribs as if it wanted to reach her first. He remembered the way Sade’s hips had seemed to split open the earth itself, how her guttural cries echoed off the sterile hospital walls until they became something holy. And then, the world tilted. A different cry—new, fragile, infinite—filled the room. Their daughter. The sound was wet and raw and perfect.
When the nurse pressed the scissors into his hand, Cameron barely trusted himself to breathe. The cord that tied mother and child pulsed beneath his fingers—a living thread, a final heartbeat—and as he cut it, it felt like slicing through the veil between who he had been and who he would now have to become.
Afterwards, he had gathered Sade into his arms, still slick with sweat and tears, and whispered thank you into her hairline until the words blurred together, until they became their own kind of language. Thank you for our daughter. Thank you for letting me be her father. Thank you for letting me love you, even now, even after everything. Thank you for breathing life back into me.
Each thank you felt heavier than the last—like he was trying to repay a debt no man could ever truly settle. And as Brielle’s small body squirmed against Sade’s chest, Cameron realized something terrifying in its simplicity:
he could die in that moment, and it would have been enough.
“You wanna put her down for me?” Sade murmured, her voice dipped in that soft, post-feeding haze that always made Cameron’s chest feel too small for his own heart. She gently eased their daughter off her breast, and Brielle’s tiny head lolled to the left, lips still making those slow, milky suckling motions even in sleep, like her dreams were feeding her too.
She was Sade’s mirror in miniature—those impossibly round cheeks that begged to be kissed, the faint constellation of birthmarks scattered across warm brown skin, each one a tender little secret mapped from mother to daughter. Even the curls, loose and springy, escaped the hood of her onesie in wisps that framed her face like a blessing he didn’t deserve.
Cameron reached out instinctively, already bracing his hands under their daughter’s warm little body, and Sade’s gaze softened in that way that always—always—knocked the wind out of him.
“Want me to swaddle her?” he asked, voice low, fingers brushing the soft cotton stretched over Brielle’s back.
Sade let out a breath that sounded half laugh, half exhaustion, her lashes fluttering as she leaned back against the headboard for a moment of stolen rest.
“Nah,” she said, shaking her head slowly, “she didn’t like it last time, remember? Wriggled her little ass up outta there like she was fighting for her freedom. Had us up all night, acting like we did something to her.”
Cameron huffed a quiet laugh, the kind that curled low in his stomach and warmed his whole chest. And as he gathered Brielle close, her weight sinking trustingly into the cradle of his hands, he thought—not for the first time—that nothing in his life had ever felt this fragile or this sacred.
“I’ll have a plate ready for you when you get back… you staying over tonight?” Sade whispered, her lips brushing their baby’s forehead with that soft, instinctive reverence that always made Cameron feel like he was watching something sacred. She reached out with her free hand and squeezed his bicep—absentminded, gentle, but familiar in a way that rattled him every single time, like her touch could still unlock old versions of him he tried hard to bury.
“Yeah,” he murmured, eyes on Brielle before shifting to her, “’s too late to drive back.”
It absolutely wasn’t too late.
It was nine-forty-five. Barely past the hour when families were finishing dessert and kids were getting tucked into bed. He’d driven home later than this a hundred times. But Sade’s eyes flicked up to him, and she caught the lie before he even finished saying it.
She tilted her head, a slow grin curling across her mouth—the kind of grin that held a decade of history, a thousand arguments, a thousand kisses, all of it folded into the quirk of one perfectly shaped brow. She grinned like she was reading sheet music only she knew how to interpret, and every note spelled out the truth he refused to say out loud.
“You miss us or some shit, Cam?” she teased, voice dipped in honey and skepticism, warm but edged with just enough bite to make his pulse stutter.
There was no judgment in her tone—just that familiar, disarming playfulness that always wrapped around him like silk. The question floated between them, soft but dangerous, as if she’d plucked it straight from his chest and held it up to the lamplight to see what it was really made of.
And Cameron—breath caught halfway in his throat, Brielle’s tiny hand curled around his finger, Sade’s warmth pressed just inches from his—knew she already had her answer.
He missed them like breath.
But saying it out loud would’ve cracked him clean open.
“A nigga can’t have a fatherly feeling?” Cameron shot back, trying for nonchalant but failing miserably, his voice dipping into that low, faux-defensive register he only used with her.
“You always playin’ too much,” Sade laughed, the sound warm and airy, the kind that curled around his ribs and made his chest feel too full. She turned away from him and padded toward the kitchen, hips swaying in a slow, absent rhythm that nearly dragged his gaze behind her like a hook.
Motherhood had softened her in ways she didn’t even seem aware of, reshaping her silhouette and her spirit in tandem. She’d put on a little weight after Brielle—thicker thighs that brushed softly when she walked, an ass with new fullness that made her leggings work overtime, soft curves blooming where before there had been sharp edges and tension. She was gorgeous, not in spite of the changes but because of them; motherhood had wrapped itself around her like a gentle spell, smoothing the hardness she used to carry in her jaw and lighting her skin from the inside out.
Her entire pregnancy had been like that—surprisingly gentle, disarmingly tender. She had been softer with him, kinder in moments where she would’ve once bitten his head off, and more emotional in ways that made him feel like he was being handed pieces of her she’d never let anyone else see. Even the gynecologist had joked during her third trimester that if every pregnancy went this smoothly, half the medical staff would be out of a job.
But with that softness came need—quiet, hungry, unmistakable. When her hormones spiked and the world felt too loud, when her cravings weren’t for food but for warmth and touch and reassurance, she only ever called him. Not the girls, not her mother—him. And no matter what waited for him in the morning—training, work, fatigue heavy enough to fold him in half—he always showed up.
He always came through.
Always.
And on those nights, when she called him with that trembling little exhale that told him exactly what she needed, he loved her with a devotion that bordered on worship. He touched her like she was something holy and breakable, kissed her until she forgot whatever ache had driven her to dial his number, and made love to her slowly, deeply, repeatedly—until her breathing evened out and she melted around him, falling asleep with her leg thrown over his hip, arms wrapped around him like she never planned to let go.
Those nights had ruined him in ways he didn’t admit, even to himself.
Because softness like hers was addictive, and being the one she reached for in her vulnerable hours felt like being chosen by fate itself.
Then reality, sharp and unwelcome, seeped back in like cold water under a door. The reason they’d broken up hovered at the edges of his thoughts—always there, always stinging. He’d chased accolades with the hunger of a man who’d been told since boyhood that greatness was the only currency that mattered. He’d pursued his future with tunnel vision, chasing the spotlight, chasing the next win, chasing the version of himself he thought he needed to become so he wouldn’t be reduced to a mascot, a sidepiece to his own talent.
He had wanted to be a legend, the kind carved out of sweat and sacrifice, the kind hammered into him on that damn compound where perfection was preached like scripture and anything less was treated like sin. And somewhere along the line, he’d let that ambition devour the parts of him that loved her. He’d let it swallow their joy piece by piece until they were living in separate houses, walking through separate routines, building separate days—yet somehow still tethered by one love, one heart, one impossible truth neither of them could outrun.
The ache of that realization sat heavy in his chest as he returned from the nursery, Brielle’s milky breath still clinging to his skin. He’d pressed a constellation of kisses across her cheeks, her forehead, her tiny fists curled like petals, and the sweetness of her had undone him in quiet ways he didn’t have language for.
Padding back into the kitchen, he found Sade standing at the counter, plating salmon with an absent focus, her curls tucked behind one ear, the lamplight gilding her skin. Something in him gave—softened, stretched, reverberated.
He moved toward her without thinking, pulled by instinct more than choice, and when he slipped his arms around her from behind, it wasn’t a question or a request. It was muscle memory—a claiming, a plea, a confession wrapped in touch.
His chest pressed flush against her back, his breath warming the nape of her neck as he settled his weight into her, anchoring himself to the only calm he’d ever known. His hands splayed across her stomach, fingers brushing the soft curve of her postpartum belly like it was the most sacred terrain he’d ever touched.
Sade’s breath hitched, barely, almost too quiet to catch unless you were listening for it. And he always listened for her.
She kept plating the salmon, but her shoulders melted a fraction, her body leaning into his without ceremony, without fanfare, without needing to look at him to acknowledge what the moment meant.
It was a question.
It was an apology.
It was a man remembering that he’d had everything—and somehow let it slip through his fingers.
And still, here he was, holding her like he was afraid she might vanish if he loosened his grip.
“Cam?”
Her voice was soft—too soft—the kind of softness that always made him hold his breath, because Sade only spoke like that when she felt him getting too close, when she could sense the shift in him before he even knew he’d shifted. She didn’t turn around; she didn’t have to. She could feel him pressed against her spine, feel the warmth of his chest spilling into her back, feel the way his fingers curled just a little tighter around her waist like something in him was slipping.
He lowered his head, lips brushing the shell of her ear, breath warm and shaky with a truth he’d been choking on for months.
“I miss you,” he murmured, the words thick, heavy, unvarnished. “You don’t miss me?”
It wasn’t a challenge.
It wasn’t even a question, not really.
It was a man asking for mercy.
Sade paused mid-motion, the serving spoon hovering over the plate, salmon steam curling around her like a delicate veil. She closed her eyes, just for a heartbeat, because she felt those four words slide straight into places she didn’t want opened.
When she finally spoke, her voice carried that careful firmness she’d perfected since everything fell apart—gentle, but grounded; loving, but lined with steel.
“Don’t be starting with that,” she whispered, shaking her head as if she could physically shake off the memory of all the nights she missed him so badly it felt like hunger. “You know why we didn’t work.”
And damn—he did.
He knew it in the marrow of his bones.
But hearing her say it, hearing her put distance where there used to be devotion—it made something in him twist, slow and painful, like his ribs were folding inward.
He rested his forehead against her shoulder, the rise and fall of her breath steady beneath his skin, and for a long, fragile moment, neither of them moved.
One truth hung between them—unfinished, unspoken, undeniable.
He missed her like oxygen.
And part of her hated that she still missed him too
“I know… fuck, baby, I know,” Cameron breathed, his voice cracking in that low, desperate way that made her chest tighten even when she tried to be unmoved. “I let shit get in between us—”
Sade didn’t even let him finish. She turned in his arms, eyes sharp with a memory she’d tried to bury under sleep schedules and bottle sterilizers and postpartum softness.
“Cam,” she said, her tone steady but her gaze burning, “you told me it was football, God, and me. In that order. That’s what you said.”
The words hit him dead-center, slicing through him like the echo of a mistake he couldn’t rewind or rewrite.
His face tightened—barely, but enough that she saw it.
Sade always saw it.
That argument had been the beginning of the end, the moment something fragile inside her snapped like a thread pulled too tight. He remembered her standing there pregnant, hands on her belly as if shielding their baby from the sting of his words, and he remembered the way her mouth trembled before she forced it still. Some things you couldn’t take back, no matter how many apologies you poured over them.
After that, she never asked him for anything again—not his time, not his attention, not his presence. She loved him quietly and from a careful distance, and the wildfire that once kept them alive eventually withered into embers and then into nothing at all.
Until Brielle.
Their accidental second chance.
Their miracle.
“I don’t wanna fight about it no more,” Cameron murmured, pulling her closer like he could hold her without breaking her again. His hands slid around her waist, his thumb brushing the soft curve of her postpartum belly, and his forehead pressed to hers as if proximity could make up for time lost. “I know I haven’t treated you right… but baby, I’m sorry for everything.”
His voice rasped—raw, unguarded, stripped down to the bone.
“I’m sorry for the distance I put between us. It was stupid—God, I was stupid. I was busy chasing shit I shouldn’t have been, letting the noise get louder than you, louder than us, and I put things above you I never should’ve even compared to you.”
He cupped her face, his palm warm against her cheek, his thumb sweeping just beneath her eye like he wanted to erase every tear she’d ever cried over him.
“You’re the love of my life, Sade. You hear me? It’s always gonna be you and me till the day we die. Everything else—football, fame, pressure, people—every last bit of it is just noise.”
Her breath hitched.
She didn’t pull away.
Didn’t push him off.
Didn’t speak.
And Cameron—helpless, aching—held her like she was the only lighthouse in a storm he’d been lost in for months.
“You and Brielle… God and football… in that order,” Cameron whispered, the words falling out of him like a confession dragged from a wound that had never fully closed. His voice wasn’t steady—he didn’t even try for steady. It trembled, thick with everything he’d never learned how to say without ruining it first.
“You know that’s how it’s always been,” he went on, leaning closer until his breath ghosted against her lips, until her lashes brushed his cheek every time she blinked. His hands tightened at her waist like he was scared she’d slip away if he loosened his grip even a fraction. “How it’ll be till I’m six feet under.”
He said it like a vow.
Like a promise etched into his ribs.
Like gospel.
Sade swallowed, the movement slow and deliberate, her throat tightening beneath his thumb. She didn’t pull back, didn’t scoff, didn’t throw his words back in his face like she had every right to. She just… looked at him. Really looked. And it did something violent to his chest—split him open, cracked him wide.
Because she needed to hear this.
Needed to know she was not an afterthought, not the soft landing he crawled back to when life bruised him, not the shadow behind his ambition.
She was the center.
She always had been.
He’d just been too stupid to speak it before he lost the right.
Cameron exhaled, long and uneven, pressing his forehead to hers like he was trying to breathe the truth into her skin.
“You and Brielle come before everything,” he murmured, every word slow, deliberate, and heavy as stone. “You’re the reason I even pray in the first place. You’re the reason the game means anything. You’re the reason I’m even trying to be a better man than the one who fucked this up.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, steadied himself, then whispered it again—quieter this time, like he needed her to absorb it straight into the places he knew he’d broken before.
“You, our daughter, God, football. That’s the order. That’s the truth. That’s all I got. And that’s how it’ll stay till I’m gone.”
Her breath caught.
And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t correct him.
Didn’t argue.
Didn’t remind him of the ways he’d failed.
She just stood there in his arms, salmon forgotten on the counter, kitchen bathed in warm light, their daughter asleep in the next room—
and let his words settle between them like the beginning of something repairing itself, slowly but surely, in the quiet.
“Cam, you said you needed a break.”
Sade’s words weren’t sharp, but they carried weight—quiet, steady weight—the kind that made people stand still without realizing they’d stopped moving. She wasn’t accusing him; she was reminding him. Reminding him of nights she cried in the shower so Brielle wouldn’t wake up. Reminding him of the moment he’d pulled away first, even if he regretted it before the echo of the words faded.
Cameron’s jaw flexed—just once, just enough for her to see the apology he hadn’t said yet. He dipped his head slightly, breath brushing her cheek, his fingertips tightening at her hips in a way that felt more like pleading than possession.
“When I said I needed a break…” he murmured, voice dropping into that low, honest space he only entered when everything else fell away, “all I needed was you, ma.”
The words came out slow, stretched with emotion, weighted enough to shift the air between them. He wasn’t bullshitting her. He wasn’t trying to charm his way back. He sounded like a man unraveling in real time.
He slid one hand up her spine, palm flattening between her shoulder blades, drawing her closer until their bodies aligned in the quietest, softest way—as if he was afraid she might vanish if he moved too fast.
“You hear me?” he continued, his nose brushing her temple, his voice a confession in the dark. “When everything got loud—when the world felt too damn big and the pressure got too heavy—I didn’t need space from you. I needed the space only you give me. I needed your voice, your touch, your stupid little jokes, your silence… hell, I needed anything you were willing to give.”
Her breath trembled, but she didn’t step back.
Didn’t push him away.
Didn’t shove the truth out of the room.
Cameron swallowed hard and pressed his forehead to hers, his voice a raw whisper that seemed to melt straight into her skin.
“I thought takin’ a break would help me fix myself, fix the shit in my head, fix the weight I been carryin’… but all I did was lose the one person who made any of it make sense.”
He closed his eyes—long lashes brushing her cheek.
“Anytime I need a break, Sade… what I really need is you.”
Her fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt, the smallest movement, but enough to crack something in him wide open.
And in the stillness that followed, their breathing the only thing filling the kitchen, the truth hung shimmering between them—
raw, undeniable, and impossible to ignore.
Something shifted in him—subtle at first, like the way breath catches right before a storm breaks—then all at once, like gravity changed its mind and yanked him downward.
Cameron stepped back half a pace, chest rising hard, eyes locked on hers like he was bracing for the only truth that ever scared him. Sade opened her mouth—maybe to ask what he was doing, maybe to tell him to stop—but she didn’t even get the syllable out before he moved.
He dropped to his knees.
Not fast.
Not dramatic.
But slow—slow enough that she could feel the weight of it in her bones, slow enough that the gesture pressed against every memory they’d ever made, slow enough that she swayed a little from the shock of seeing him—Cameron Cade, stubborn as a brick wall and twice as proud—sink to the floor like she was the altar he’d finally decided to pray at.
Her breath caught.
His hands came up gently, palms resting on her hips, thumbs pressing into the softness there like he needed an anchor.
He didn’t look away from her.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t hide.
His voice, when it came, was barely a whisper—and somehow still shook the air between them.
“Forgive me, baby.”
Three words, but they hit like a lifetime.
His fingers squeezed her hips, not possessive—pleading. His eyes glistened, not with tears exactly, but with the kind of emotion that sits heavy and sharp, the kind men like him spend years swallowing.
He leaned forward just enough that his forehead brushed the curve of her stomach, right above the place their daughter had grown, right against the skin he had kissed a hundred times when she was pregnant. His voice trembled against her.
“I’m sorry for the way I talked to you. I’m sorry for makin’ you feel second to shit that don’t even matter without you. I’m sorry for every night you went to bed wonderin’ if I still loved you the way I swore I did.”
His hold around her waist tightened—just slightly, like he was afraid she’d step back and take the last piece of him with her.
“I lost my way,” he murmured, breathing her in like a lifeline. “I let the world get so loud I forgot who my home was. And it was you, ma. It was always you.”
Sade’s hand trembled as she slid it into his curls, fingers brushing the crown of his head—instinctive, hesitant, devastatingly tender. His eyes fluttered shut at the touch like her forgiveness lived in her fingertips.
He looked up then—slowly, reverently—like lifting his gaze to her felt like lifting it to God.
“Forgive me, baby,” he repeated, voice raw enough to scrape the walls. “I’ll spend the rest of my life provin’ I meant every word I didn’t say right the first time.”
And for the first time in months, Sade couldn’t find her voice.
Because there he was—
the father of her child,
the man she loved too much for her own good,
the man who broke her heart and was somehow still inside it—
kneeling at her feet like she was the only truth he’d ever known.
“Say something, Sade…” Cameron whispered, voice frayed at the edges, the words tumbling out on a breath that sounded too close to breaking. His eyes were shining now, not with the dramatic tears of a man trying to win an argument, but with the quiet, devastating grief of someone realizing he might’ve ruined the only thing that ever truly belonged to him. The sight of him—on his knees, head tilted up to her like she was salvation—punched a little hole straight through her chest.
He looked undone.
Her stubborn, unbreakable Cameron looked undone.
And God, her heart… it didn’t just bend. It cracked—a hairline fracture right down the center, small enough to deny but impossible to ignore.
Sade exhaled slowly, the sound barely audible, her hand slipping down from his curls to cup the side of his face, her thumb brushing the warm, damp corner of his eye as if she could wipe away the shame bubbling there.
“Don’t cry, baby…” she murmured, her voice softer than she intended, thick with a tenderness she hadn’t given him in months. “You know I don’t like seein’ that.”
Her thumb stroked his cheek again—slow, gentle, instinctive—as if she were soothing Brielle after a bad dream. And Cameron leaned into her hand immediately, almost desperately, like her touch alone could stitch him back together.
His breath came out in a shaky exhale that brushed the inside of her wrist, and for a moment, just one suspended second, they stood in the kitchen as if the world outside didn’t exist—no breakups, no resentment-laced nights, no memories sharp enough to reopen wounds. Just them. Just their broken, beautiful mess.
Sade’s heart thudded in her chest, heavy with everything she wanted to say and everything she was scared to feel. The weight of his confession, the sincerity in his voice, the way his hands clung to her hips like she was the only thing keeping him grounded—all of it washed over her in a slow, aching wave.
She tilted his chin up gently with her fingers, forcing him to meet her eyes, and her voice dropped even lower, velvet-warm and trembling at the edges.
“Cam… baby… look at me.”
His lashes fluttered, wet, and he obeyed, lifting his gaze to hers like he was bracing for judgment or mercy or both.
And all Sade saw was a man who had always loved her too loudly, too deeply, too messily—and was finally learning to love her right.
Her thumb traced the curve of his jaw again, slower this time, her breath brushing his forehead as she whispered,
“Don’t cry, Cameron. I’m right here.”
And he broke—quietly, beautifully, helplessly—right into her palm.
“Oh baby…”
The words left her in a hushed, instinctive coo, the kind she used with Brielle when their daughter whimpered in her sleep, soft and warm and soaked in affection she couldn’t hide even if she tried. Her knees bent before her mind caught up, and she sank down—graceful, deliberate—until she was kneeling in front of him, eye-level, heart-level, vulnerability pressed up against vulnerability.
Their knees brushed.
His breath stuttered.
And something inside her softened in a way she hadn’t meant to let happen.
Her hands cupped his face, thumbs sweeping the remnants of tears he’d tried to blink away. She tilted his head just slightly, forcing him to see her, to really see her, not the ghost of the woman he’d lost or the fantasy he kept reaching for in dreams, but the real Sade—tired, tender, terrified, still in love in spite of herself.
“We’ll make it work,” she whispered, her voice trembling with cautious hope, with the desire to protect herself and the instinct to protect him tangled together so tightly she couldn’t tell them apart. “We’ll figure it out, okay? We’ll take it slow, we’ll—”
He cut her off with a raw shake of his head, his hands coming up to grip her wrists—not harsh, never harsh, but firm in that way he got when emotion overwhelmed logic.
“I don’t want to make it work,” he rasped, and the truth in his voice nearly knocked the air from her lungs. “I want you back.”
The words weren’t polished, weren’t pretty—they were ripped straight from the deep, aching center of him. They carried the weight of months he spent missing her, the nights he lay awake staring at ceilings that didn’t belong to their shared life, the mornings he woke up wishing he could roll over and find her curled into him the way she used to.
Sade’s breath hitched.
He didn’t stop. He couldn’t.
“I don’t want the halfway shit,” he whispered, leaning closer until their foreheads touched, until his voice trembled against her mouth. “I don’t want the polite co-parenting version of us, or the ‘maybe one day’ version, or the ‘let’s see where this goes’ bullshit. I want you. I want my woman back. I want my family back. I want us—really us.”
His fingers slid down her arms, slow, reverent, terrified, until they clasped her hands against his chest, holding her knuckles right over his heartbeat, letting her feel how violently it reacted to just being near her.
“I want you home,” he whispered, breath unsteady. “I want you in my bed, in my mornings, in my fucking life. Not as something we’re working toward. As something that’s already mine.”
Her lips parted.
Her pulse fluttered.
And the kitchen air grew thick enough to drown in.
Because she knew—
God, she knew—
that this wasn’t just a plea.
It was Cameron Cade choosing her.
Not out of comfort.
Not out of obligation.
Not out of fear.
But out of love—raw, unfiltered, terrifying love.
“I’ve always been yours,” Sade whispered, voice thick with a truth she’d bitten back for months, “even when I went on dates with other men.”
Cameron’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing, shoulders tensing beneath her hands like someone had yanked a wire inside him too tight.
“Other men—”
“Focus, Cam,” she murmured, fingertips brushing his jaw to ground him, to stop the fire before it burned the moment down. “I’m telling you the truth. You know you’re my home, but I can’t… I can’t be second fiddle to your career, Cam. My heart won’t take it a second time.”
Her voice cracked — just a hairline fracture, subtle, but enough to make his chest cave in on itself. She wasn’t accusing him. She wasn’t angry. She was afraid. And that fear, the quiet kind that lived in the softest parts of her, was his undoing.
Cameron sucked in a shaky breath, hands sliding up her arms, slow and reverent, like he was memorizing the shape of her all over again, like he feared she might dissolve if he blinked too fast. He leaned forward until their foreheads touched, until their breaths tangled between them, warm and trembling.
“I swear…” he whispered, and the word dragged out of him like a confession carved from bone. “On my life… on our daughter…”—his voice trembled here, broke here—“…you’ll never have to feel that way again. I swear to you, mama. I swear.”
His hands cupped her face, thumbs stroking her cheeks with a tenderness so intense it felt almost painful. His breath shook against her lips.
“I love you,” he whispered, the words pouring out of him like a dam breaking. “I love you so much it scares the hell out of me. I love you in ways I don’t even have words for yet. You’re it, Sade. You’re everything.”
A soft, wounded sound escaped her—half sigh, half sob—as her hands slid down his chest, clutching his shirt like she needed to hold on to something real before the moment swallowed her whole.
Her eyes fluttered closed for a beat, then opened—slow, shining, resolute.
“I want you to come home, baby…” she breathed, each word trembling like a prayer spoken for the first time. She leaned closer until their lips hovered, barely touching, the promise of a kiss suspended in the smallest space between them. “Come back to me.”
Cameron exhaled like the words knocked the wind from his lungs, his whole body leaning into her, into the possibility she’d just handed him with shaking fingers.
And in that small kitchen, kneeling on cool tile, Brielle asleep in the next room, the scent of salmon in the air and the soft hum of the fridge the only witness—
he felt something inside him reset, realign, resurrect.
He lifted her hands to his lips, kissed each knuckle slowly, reverently, like vows placed one by one upon her skin.
“I’m already home,” he whispered, voice rough and reverent against her fingers. “I’ve been tryin’ to get back to you since the second I lost you.”
And he pulled her into his arms—
not with urgency,
not with hunger,
but with the kind of tenderness that felt like beginning again.
@mamasturn
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