now playing: "I put a spell on you/Because you're mine" - I Put A Spell On You by Annie Lennox
masterpost | ao3
You check, double check and triple check your emails again, just to make sure you’re not mistaken. Nope. It says there, in black and white:
Y/N Y/L/N, interview at 12pm, Jan 30th @ Kent Industries, Metropolis.
Phew, you are in the right place, in the lobby of the most luxurious corporate building you have ever seen. Nervous butterflies turn in your stomach. You check the time on your phone screen. 11:51. Not long to go now.
You clutch your bag to your chest, running over your preprepared answers in your head.
Why do you best fit the role? Because you’re eager to challenge yourself with a new role in a new industry.
What skills do you possess? You’re extremely organised, driven, and know your way around a mean spreadsheet.
Why should we hire you? Because you have a proven track record as a great employee, and you are willing to do whatever it takes to succeed in the role.
You pick at a hangnail you have, biting your lip as you think about what lies ahead of you.
In truth, you aren’t massively bothered about the company or the role. Being someone’s secretary seems okay but it’s not exactly your dream role, your passion. Although, after the past few months, you aren’t entirely sure what your passion is anymore.
You sigh.
You’ve been pushed in the direction of the role by Cat, your close friend and literal boulder in the recent chaos. The pay seems good, and you’ll be working in the same company as your bestie. Plus, you now have rent to pay - and a fair bit of it, too. Turns out Metropolis isn’t exactly cheap to live in.
But, most importantly, you need something to take your mind off of things, to prove to yourself you haven’t just fucked your life up completely.
You really, really need to nail this today.
You smooth the material of your pants once, twice. You haven’t been for a job interview in years, so you had to make-do with what you had from your very limited wardrobe. A white blouse, long-dress pants that make your legs look a lot longer than they actually are, and heeled black boots. The extra platform helps you feel professional, and not like a deer looking into headlights.
You feel a buzz in your pocket. You slide your phone out to see a message from Cat.
Good luck today bitchhh <3 seriously you’ve got this in the bag! Let me know how it goes and if you slay it (which you obvs will) I’ll take you to that nice noodle bar for dinner (my treat!)
Who needs men when you can have a piping hot bowl of ramen with your bestie x
You love Cat, and you genuinely don’t think you’d still be sane without her help. She’s let you move into her apartment, and now she’s finding you a job?! You should be the one buying her dinner!
As you’re in the middle of typing your reply, something comes to you. A distant voice, yelling something; something that sounds suspiciously like your name…
Oh shit, the interview!
You stand up quickly, throw your phone into your bag, and make your way over to an attractive blonde woman who has been trying to get your attention.
She smiles at you as you approach her. “Are you Y/N Y/L/N?”
“Yes, sorry,” you reply, your cheeks slightly flaming. “I was a bit distracted.”
“Not to worry,” she taps the tablet in her hands, “they’ve only just finished with the last candidate. If you just go down the corridor,” she gestures down a flashy hallway, “they’ll be in the room on your right.”
“Amazing, thank you!”
You depart quickly, still embarrassed by your behaviour. You can’t believe you almost missed it - and after everything Cat has done for you. Now you definitely need to be on your A-game.
They’ll be in the room on your right.
You look up at the myriad of doors until you find the one that reads INTERVIEW ROOM 1. This must be it.
You knock softly but with purpose. No answer comes from within.
Maybe they just didn’t hear you?
Taking a deep breath, you turn the handle and step inside.
The room clearly also acts as a meeting room, with a long table in the centre and chairs on either side. Large windows line the outside walls, giving view to Metropolis’ skyline. It’s sprawling and gorgeous. But that’s not what you’re focusing on.
Your eyes are caught on the man in the middle.
He is big, towering even, his back muscles rippling under his light blue dress shirt. The width of his shoulders are practically double the size of you, his broad torso tapering into long, thick legs. Dark, fluffy hair sits atop his head, slightly quiffed at the front.
And he sounds pissed.
“That’s not fucking good enough, Steve!” He yells into the phone he’s holding up to his ear. His hand makes it look miniscule.
When he turns to the side, your breath catches in your throat.
A chiselled jaw gives way to a defined nose, dark eyebrows furrowed. His nostrils flare and he pushes a hand through his hair as he listens to whoever’s on the phone’s response.
He looks more like he belongs in the pages of a magazine, not in some office building.
“No, you listen to me. What I’m saying is-” The big guy stops mid-sentence when his eyes finally land on you. You give him a small smile but he doesn’t return the gesture. “What do you want?”
He’s talking to you. And now he sounds extra angry.
Your heart hammers in your ears as you find your words. “I- I’m here for an interview.”
“Interview?” The guy snaps, curling his lips in clear disgust. “I didn’t agree to speak to any press today.”
Press? “Oh, I’m not press. I’m here for a job interview, the secretary job.”
At your explanation, you see something pass over his face. Intrigue? Understanding? His features soften, his gaze running over you from head to toe. You’re suddenly very aware of the rate of your heartbeat.
He still hasn’t said anything so you grip your bag strap. “If this isn’t a good time, I can come back-”
“No,” he says, and you feel like it’s a command. You wait in place as he turns back to the phone. “Steve, I’ll call you back.” Sliding the device into the pocket of his pants, he gestures at the seat across the table from his MacBook. “Please, take a seat, Miss…?”
“Y/L/N,” you answer as you sit down. “Sorry, I never caught your name.”
The man takes the seat across from you. He engulfs his side of the table, the breadth of his arms and shoulders rather intimidating. You find yourself wondering what they would feel like beneath your fingers.
You squirm, ridding the thought from your mind. You definitely shouldn’t be thinking like that about the guy that’s about to give you a job interview.
He gives you a wide smile, resting his arm over the back of the chair beside him. “You can call me Clark.”
“Okay,” Clark. What a hot name. “I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything. I don’t want you to get into trouble.”
Clark licks his lips. “I can assure you, Miss. Y/L/N, I won’t be getting into any trouble.” He crosses his arms over his chest, fixing you with a unreadable expression. “I suppose I should start asking you some questions.”
To your surprise, he closes the lid of his laptop.
You pull your lower lip between your teeth. “Are you not going to make notes?”
Clark raises an eyebrow. You notice how his gaze has fallen to your lips, so you relax them. He comes back to your eyes.
“I find it quite rude to make notes in situations like these. It’s much more enjoyable for both parties if everyone is completely present. Don’t you agree?”
You run warm.
“Yes, I suppose that’s true,” you agree, playing with the hem of your skirt.
Clark’s eyes falter downwards again. “Are you nervous, Miss. Y/L/N?”
“A little.”
He gives you a soft smile. “There’s no need to be nervous. You’ll do fine. Would you mind putting your hands on the table for me?”
It’s a strange request, but you weirdly find yourself wanting to please him. You splay your hands on the table.
“Now, tell me about yourself.”
Rolling your shoulders, you quickly run through your answers in your mind. “So, I’ve worked as-”
“No,” Clark states, a commanding tone to his voice.
You hesitate. “Sorry?”
“I don’t want you to tell me about your career. Anyone can learn how to write and send emails,” Clark brings up a hand and rubs his thumb over his bottom lip. You feel like you should be more offended by what he’s said, but you just find yourself enraptured by him. “I want to know your story.”
Your mind empties. You hadn’t planned for this type of question. These were the things you spoke about with your friends, your family. Not with a future employer.
“My story?”
“Yes. I want to know about you. Your hopes. Your fears,” Clark relaxes in his seat again. “You’ve got a family, haven’t you?”
You nod.
“Great,” he says, “why don’t we start there?”
You nod again. Your family? This feels more like a date than a job interview.
You rid the thought from your mind as soon as it comes up. That is the last thing you should be thinking about right now, especially when every single part of you is on edge.
“Okay,” you breathe, “I was born in Las Vegas to my mom and dad. Pretty standard, really. I’m the youngest of two brothers.”
Clark cocks his head to the side. “So you’re the baby of the family?”
“Yes. The youngest, and the best, obviously,” you immediately flush as you say these words. What were you thinking? Your nerves are definitely getting the better of you. “Do you have any siblings?”
Clark chuckles. The sound rumbles through your chest. “I don’t think you’re supposed to ask me questions in a job interview.”
“This doesn’t feel like a normal job interview.” The words leave your mouth before you can stop them.
Clark is silent for a moment, watching you, before answering. “I have a sister. Older.”
“Are you close?”
“Yes, very. I didn’t spend a lot of time with her when I was younger. I felt more like an only child, so I wanted to actually feel like I had a sibling.”
“That’s fair. How come you didn’t spend a lot of time together?”
“She was already at college. Did you go to college?”
You nod. “Yep. Went to law school.”
“Wow,” Clark raises his eyebrows, and a wave of something rushes through you. Pleasure? You feel giddy at the thought that you’ve impressed him. “Law school. Why are you here then? A secretarial job seems quite beneath your skill set.”
You shake your head. “I’ve had some life changes recently. I need something good, consistent; full of reliable processes,” You shrug. “An administrative job seemed like the perfect fit.”
Something changes on Clark’s face again. He seems to darken. He leans forward. “I have heard the boss is quite demanding. You’d be expected to work very closely with him. Does that sound like something you could do?”
You take a breath. Is he flirting with you? “Yes. I put my all into whatever is required of me. I like to think it’s one of my strong suits.”
“Oh, really? What about short deadlines, high pressure situations?”
“That won’t be an issue.”
Clark smirks. “And what about control? Does a high level of control bother you?”
The air between you is heavy. Clark is practically holding your gaze hostage, and you can’t bring yourself to try to look away either.
“I don’t mind being told what to do,” you say, keeping your voice low. “Do you like control, Clark?”
“Oh, yes,” he replies, licking his lips. “I do love getting my own way.”
Your mind swims. You’ve never met anyone like Clark before, someone who is able to have this much of an effect on you. You feel completely exposed in front of him, and you don’t mind. If anything, you want him to delve deeper, opening you up in ways you’ve never thought of before. In more ways than one.
Who is this man?
Before you can give the idea anymore thought, the door you came through bursts open, slamming into the wall beside it. You glance over your shoulder. It’s the receptionist from earlier, and she’s been joined by a larger man in glasses. They both look flustered, with wide eyes and wild expressions.
“Mr. Kent, I’m so sorry! I gave Miss. Y/L/N the wrong directions!” The receptionist exclaims.
“I’ll take over from here,” the man in glasses adds.
You go to grab your bag. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise-”
But, as you sneak a final glance at the man opposite you, you hesitate. His attention is still completely on you, unbothered by the sudden interruption. It’s as though no one else is in the room with the two of you.
It unnerves you.
It excites you.
“No need to panic, everyone,” Clark says cooly. He finally looks away, directing his gaze behind you. “Perry, Eve, cancel all remaining interviews. Miss. Y/L/N has the job.”
Your eyes widen. What the fuck? “Th- thank you.”
“My pleasure,” Clark says politely, as though he hasn’t been mind-fucking you for the last ten minutes. “How soon can you start?”
“Whenever. Tomorrow?”
“Perfect. Eve, please take Miss. Y/L/N to sign her onboarding forms and get her an all-access keycard.”
“Yes, Mr. Kent.”
“And add her name to the list of people with access to the company credit card.”
“Of course, Mr. Kent.”
You feel like you’re in a fever dream. You need to get out of here.
Sliding your bag strap onto your shoulder, you stand, muttering another “Thank you” as you head towards the waiting blonde.
But when you get to the door, something dawns on you. You sneak a peek over your shoulder as Eve starts to lead you out.
Clark.
His last name. The panic on Eve and Perry’s faces. The power he just had to give you the job on the spot.
Lightheadedness washes over you.
Did you just have an accidental job interview with your new boss?
Summary : A waitress living an ordinary life with her ordinary boyfriend never expected a regular customer to change everything. As debt, desperation, and impossible choices begin to close in around her, the line between kindness and obsession starts to blur.
Some people save you. Some people ruin you.
Sometimes they're the same person.
Pairing : Travis × Fem!Reader
Warnings/Tags : Smut, MDNI, Angst, Dark Romance, Criminal Underworld, Gangster Travis, Drug Dealer Travis, Drug References, Debt, Loan Sharks, Emotional Manipulation, Gaslighting, Possessive Travis, Obsessive Love, Corruption Arc, Cheating, Infidelity, Financial Struggles, Mutual Attraction, Life-Changing Decisions, Emotional Damage, Toxic Relationships, The Villain Gets The Girl, Pure Chaos, Morally Grey (let me know if I missed anything!)
Word Count : 6.4k
Working as a waitress at a restaurant on the outskirts of LA, the words I heard most often weren't "Excuse me" or "Check, please." It was, "What do you even see in your boyfriend?" To those who knew about my relationship with Jake, we were asked this question countless times. Every time, I gave the same answer: "He’s nice." It was a cliché answer, but it was the truth.
I didn't have any traumatizing guy problems or daddy issues, but as someone who utterly loathed men who were overbearing and despised the weak, my boyfriend was the best man I could ask for. If I had to describe him in colors and scents, he was closer to colorless and odorless. He had a name so common that if you called it out on any LA street, one in three guys would turn around, and most people found him downright boring. There wasn't much excitement in our life together, even in bed. Whenever I had to explain our relationship to someone, the word that always came to mind was ordinary. We dreamed of a very ordinary future. Though I only started the part-time job to make a living, as my hourly wage went up, the extra cash steadily piled up in my bank account under the guise of our wedding fund. We would probably live a life where we raised a single dog in a small house, holding hands as we went grocery shopping every weekend. That kind of future was more than enough for me. I always believed that happiness was never anything grand anyway.
As usual, I was serving tables, thinking about what my boyfriend and I would do later. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a man standing like a massive tree near the restaurant entrance. Seeing the front stand empty, it looked like the maître d' had stepped away for a moment. I hurried toward the entrance to greet him.
While it wasn't an ultra-luxury fine dining spot, the customers who came here usually had a specific purpose—a business meeting, an anniversary, or a date. Naturally, everyone tended to dress neatly and look a bit uncomfortable. Because of that, the man standing at the entrance stood out even more. He wore a black sweatshirt, moderately baggy black pants, and worn-out sneakers. Beneath his handsome face, a thin gold chain necklace gleamed casually, and his neck and exposed backs of his hands were covered in tattoos. The man glanced around, and the moment our eyes met, I flinched involuntarily. Showing any raw emotion while greeting a guest was practically a sin in this industry, but before I could even apologize, the man smiled as if he was entirely used to this or didn't mind at all. It was a charming, endearing smile that you couldn't help but like, but the gaze looking down at me felt oddly chilling.
"Hi. Sorry about that. Do you have a reservation?"
"No, I'm just waiting for someone."
The man's voice matched his boyish, playful face perfectly. I gave a slight nod and walked away. That was how my connection with Travis began. After that day, he started showing up at the restaurant frequently. It turned out he was the older brother of Zee, who worked as a kitchen hand. The reason everyone except me—who had been working there for a year—already knew about him was because he had just been released after serving an 18-month prison sentence.
The fact that he had done time, along with his handsome face and the heavy tattoos covering his thick neck, made it obvious he was no ordinary character. Yet, seeing how well he got along with the staff here and his occasional gentle demeanor, I began to think I had just been viewing him through a prejudiced lens. Travis melted right through my walls, which were usually quite strict when it came to letting people in, and he did it so effortlessly. "That's the third time today," he said, picking up an order sheet I had dropped. When I looked at him in surprise and asked if he had been watching, he replied, "I've been watching you the whole time." For some reason, my face flushed with embarrassment, and he just laughed. Despite the noticeable age gap between us, within just a few weeks, we were acting like childhood friends who had known each other forever.
"So you have a clumsy side too, huh?"
"I hear that a lot. Didn't you know? Even after over a year, I still do this sometimes."
"But you always work so hard." Praise makes a person weak, and I was no exception. His subtle, well-timed compliments and playful words strangely put me in a great mood. As the frequency of our conversations increased, I felt myself opening my eyes to a completely new world. I used to think there could be no better man than my boyfriend, but it didn't take long to realize that belief came from living in a very small world. Travis wasn't as stubborn as my boyfriend, and he was an incredible listener. Since he was older than both me and my boyfriend, it might have been a natural dynamic, but he was far more mature than he looked. Travis and I shared almost identical opinions on everything, and on the rare occasions we disagreed, he was almost always the wiser one. Whenever I couldn't hide my amazement, he would simply shrug and say, "I'm a lot older than you. When you get to my age, you'll be way wiser and smarter than me." Before I knew it, I was looking forward to every conversation we had.
He was a man who didn't talk much about himself, and I was a woman who didn't pry. Everyone has their reasons, and everyone has things they'd rather keep private. Despite his intimidating impression, I genuinely thought he was a good person. Someone who looked terrifying but was surprisingly gentle; someone who had clearly lived a rough life but wasn't fundamentally bad. Before I knew it, he had read right through me, and strangely, I liked the fact that he knew me so well.
Looking back, that was the moment everything started to unravel. I was sitting behind the restaurant with Travis, eating a burrito bowl he had bought for me. In the middle of laughing over some trivial chat, he quietly called my name and asked if I had a boyfriend. I paused, trying to remember if I had ever mentioned Jake to him before, and then replied that I did. He lifted his head and stared at me for a moment. It was only a fleeting second, but oddly, that moment felt stretched out and heavy. "I see," he said.
"I figured you did."
He smiled innocently, and I laughed along with him. Just then, Jake came bursting through the restaurant's back door. He was supposed to be off today and meeting a friend, but there wasn't a single trace of ease on his face. He rushed over, urgently saying we needed to talk alone for a moment. It was Travis, not my boyfriend, who defused the awkward tension of the sudden situation. Shrugging, Travis coolly picked up my empty bowl along with his and stepped away without hesitation, leaving me stranded in confusion with a visibly panicked Jake. His hands were shaking as he grabbed my shoulders.
The story was that Jake had co-signed a loan for a business started by a close friend from middle school, but the friend had vanished into thin air, leaving Jake with a staggering amount of debt. What Jake hadn't known when he signed the papers was that his friend had been borrowing money from far more than banks. Hearing these revelations for the first time from the man I had planned to marry was utterly shocking, and it shattered everything I thought I knew. I asked him why on earth he hadn't consulted me sooner, but there was no use crying over spilled milk now. The arrow had already left the bow, and it was hurtling straight toward us.
Jake was being hounded by collection calls dozens of times a day. At first, we thought it was just banks and lenders. Then we learned some of the debt had changed hands more than once, eventually ending up with people who weren't exactly in the lending business. After that, Jake started acting like a dead man walking.
We tried to scrape together every penny we had to clear the debt quickly. But the sheer scale of his liability was too massive; even draining the entire wedding fund we had saved wasn't anywhere near enough. It didn't take long to realize that the boyfriend I had thought was just nice was actually incredibly foolish and reckless. To put out the immediate fire, he went behind my back again and took out money from loan sharks, causing the situation to spiral entirely out of control. By the time I snapped out of it, I had lost the man I loved, all the money we had ever saved, and now, even his personal safety was under imminent threat.
Even though I felt heartbroken and resentful, seeing him break down and hold me while sobbing apologies made it impossible for me to push him away. Maybe I had a savior complex. I wanted to drag him out of this hellhole at all costs, and that agony was laid bare across my face and my daily life.
My coworkers, who knew about the mess Jake and I were in, looked at the deep dark circles carving under my eyes and offered some advice. "Ask Travis for help." Hearing those words, I finally realized just how naively innocent I had been all along. Travis was involved in things just as dangerous as the aura he exuded, and his prison stint was closely tied to his line of work. When I eventually found out that he was a notorious, high-ranking member of a local gang and a big-time drug dealer, I was seized by a cocktail of terror and a bizarre curiosity. The reason he always acted so relaxed, as if he had absolutely nothing to fear, was because he was the apex predator of this territory. While everyone who knew Travis described him as a terrifying figure, their voices didn't carry dread or hostility; instead, they held affection, comfort, and deep trust. It was as if the brutal world he inhabited had absolutely no bearing on ordinary people like us.
Clutching at straws, I finally reached out to Travis. He readily agreed that he could introduce us to people who could help, but he hesitated. He wasn't worried about his own position; he was genuinely worried about me and my boyfriend. He explained that there were people who could restructure the debt under far better conditions and stability than our current nightmare, but because they operated entirely outside the law, failing to pay them back properly would guarantee a future far worse than this one. I claimed to believe in Jake’s work ethic, but Travis didn't. While admitting he didn't know Jake well, he confessed with brutal honesty that among the men who let things get this disastrously bad, he had never once seen one successfully clear their debt without a horrific catch. Travis was sincerely worried about what would happen to me if I stayed by Jake's side, but I simply couldn't let go of his hand.
Once he heard the whole proposition, Jake bit the hook without a second thought. I connected him with Travis, and for a while, Jake could actually sleep with his legs stretched out for the first time in months. But the fragile peace we'd borrowed began to crumble again within months. Jake began to struggle with repaying even the vastly reduced loan amounts, and the discovery that he had turned to gambling for a quick fix entirely shattered me.
Now, because of this foolish man's actions, the safety of everyone around him—including his family and myself—was actively threatened. I knew it was incredibly shameless, but as a friend, I wanted to beg Travis one last time. To tell him I was so sorry for failing to live up to the precious lifeline he had thrown us, but to please help just once more. In response, he told me to come over to his house.
Listening to the whole sordid story, Travis didn't reprimand or mock me for treating his warnings so lightly. Instead, he simply dialed a number. He asked the person on the other end exactly how much my boyfriend owed, and after hanging up, he rubbed his jaw in thought. He coolly stated that while Jake's debt was an astronomical figure, he could pay off the entire balance, interest included, out of his own pocket. But then he delivered a sharp reality check: even between friends, there has to be a quid pro quo—a give and take. Since any money I had would rightfully go toward bailing out my boyfriend, he threw the ball back into my court, asking what I was willing to offer. It was then that he laid bare the romantic, carnal interest he had been harboring all this time, proposing that I spend the night with him.
The revelation that he'd wanted me for a long time, coupled with the calculating method and timing of his confession, left me thoroughly shaken. But what unhinged me the most was that while he completely respected and understood my relationship with my boyfriend, he was deliberately offering me a choice to betray him to save him. "I have no intention of forcing a woman I like," Travis said.
"Some people only wake up when they have nowhere left to turn and get hit hard. You've done more than enough. Stop torturing yourself and reclaim your life. It's not a peaceful death, but dying like this might actually be the only way to preserve whatever dignity he has left."
Travis was utterly convinced that the loan sharks would end up killing Jake, and I was so overwhelmed I didn't know what to do.
"Maybe it's only one night. Maybe you walk away tomorrow and never look back. But I really need you to stop destroying yourself for a man who's determined to destroy himself."
Hearing his tone, which sounded so genuinely concerned for my well-being, I began to get confused. Was he making this offer because he wanted me, or was it a desperate, heavy-handed move to stop me as a friend? Untangling these emotions brought an inexplicable rush of tears to my eyes, and he reached out, gently wiping them away. His hot, tender fingers brushed across my cheek.
The moment his hand fell away, I pulled my t-shirt over my head, leaving me in nothing but my bra. Travis fell utterly silent. He was staring at me, but I couldn't bring myself to look him in the eye. I stood up, unbuckled my jeans, and finally sat back down, perched awkwardly on the edge of the bed in nothing but my underwear. Unable to control the violent trembling of my body, I stared fixedly at the floor and whispered that I could go wash up first if he wanted. The words had barely left my mouth before he took a commanding step toward me.
His mouth violently slammed into mine, swallowing my lips whole. Seized by a bizarre obstinacy that I absolutely couldn't kiss a man I didn't love, I jerked my head aside and clamped my mouth shut. Travis didn't force the kiss; instead, he dragged his mouth down my neck, lingering at my collarbone and shoulders as though he couldn't get enough of me. Driven back until I hit the bed, I fell backward onto the mattress. While he pulled his layered t-shirts over his head, I dropped to my knees before him, unbuckling his belt to pleasure him. My hands were shaking so violently that a completely bare-chested Travis immediately halted my movements, pulling me back up to sit on the bed. If anyone saw the state of my face right then, they would think I hadn't consented to this encounter at all. Travis gently stroked my hair.
"Hey, hey. You just need to enjoy it."
I could feel his breath hitch into a dry chuckle at my stubborn refusal to let him kiss me. He smoothly worked his way down my body, mapping every inch with soft touches, unhooking my bra with one hand and sliding my panties off, leaving me entirely defenseless. Settling between my thighs, his face moved without a shred of hesitation to press against my most intimate flesh. The gentle foreplay that felt so incongruous with the situation instantly shifted into something predatory and primal. At first, I endured it by lying back and gripping the crumpled sheets, but soon, while my toes curled reflexively, I found myself desperately trying to push his head away. As his tongue aggressively sucked at my tenderest skin and swirled deep inside me, my thoughts scattered. Even after I shattered into two consecutive orgasms, he showed absolutely no intention of pulling away. The sheer pleasure—something I had never once experienced with my boyfriend—only amplified my suffocating guilt. Along with a slick, filthy sound, something far thicker and harder than his tongue suddenly pushed inside. Startled, I forced my eyes open, locking eyes with Travis, who was driving two fingers into me while keeping his mouth clamped onto my clitoris. From there, the situation spiraled into something far worse. It wasn't just the physical stimulation; the raw, possessive intensity of Travis’s gaze triggered a massive, violent climax, tearing a scream from my throat that I had never uttered in my entire life.
Utterly shell-shocked by the intensity, I stared blankly at the ceiling, gasping for air, barely aware that Travis was stripping out of the rest of his clothes. I had never imagined a human body could experience that level of sheer ecstasy. My scattered consciousness only snapped back when something thick and rigid, feeling like carved hardwood, pressed firmly against my opening. Travis was hovering over me, looking down at my flushed form, and only then did I realize that the weight resting against my entrance was his length. I wasn't a virgin, but the sheer size of the head alone caused a stretching, alien ache that made me feel like my body was tearing apart. His shaft was vastly thicker than the head. Despite how heavily wet I was, his penis was so disproportionately massive compared to what I was used to accommodating with Jake that it struggled to make entry. Right then, the crushing guilt of betraying my boyfriend and coupling with Travis finally flared back to life. Tears spilled uncontrollably down my face, and I brokenly begged him to put on a condom. I had absolutely no right to make demands, and I knew I was in no position to negotiate, but I pleaded desperately, praying he would show a shred of mercy.
I kept acting selfishly, like throwing a tantrum at him, but his reaction was stunning. He rained soft, tender kisses all over my wrecked face, pulled his hips back from me, and wrapped his arms around me, soothingly patting my back. Instead of getting angry, he actually whispered apologies, trying his best to comfort and calm me down. As my sobbing subsided, he stroked my hair, got up from the bed, and walked back over holding a condom. I knew it was completely delusional given our transaction, but for a split second, it felt as though he and I were lovers deeply in love. For one reckless second, it felt less like a transaction and more like being held by someone who genuinely cared.
Yet, even though I wept and begged, he had no intention of actually stopping. Travis tore open the wrapper, rolled the condom onto his length, and pinned me back down. The messy way he tossed the wrapper onto the floor betrayed a sudden, dark impatience. He aligned his body with mine again, preparing to drive inside. Terrified by the sensation that my lower half was about to be split clean in two, I trembled violently, crying out that it wouldn't fit, but he just let out a relaxed laugh, murmuring that it was fine as he relentlessly forced his weight forward. His patience had finally hit its limit. "I'll go slow," he whispered. His voice was incredibly tender, but the brute force of his penis wedging itself between my thighs felt terrifyingly dominant, sending a jolt of raw fear through me. Despite this not being my first time, welcoming him inside felt utterly terrifying and painful. Ignoring my frantic writhing, he set his hips and plunged deep, forcing me to take him all the way to the very root.
Though my slickness eventually allowed his penis to move smoothly, I remained paralyzed by the shock of being forcefully stretched. He looked down at me with eyes entirely stripped of amusement, and out of sheer humiliation and fear, I did everything I could to avoid his gaze. Soon, Travis’s thumb began to aggressively rub against my clitoris. As his touch moved in heavy, deliberate circles, controlling the pressure, my whimpers began to pitch into high, breathless keens.
Unlike with Jake, where I could easily fake or control my reactions, my body was violently slipping out of my command. Before long, every single time his pelvis slammed flush against my ass, blinding white sparks exploded behind my eyelids, tearing loud, unbidden moans from my throat. Feeling a completely foreign type of climax washing over me, panic set in—I felt myself slipping further and further out of my own control. As his tip repeatedly battered a deep, sensitive spot inside my womb, orgasms crashed over me like tidal waves, shattering my sanity. Through the haze, I caught a glimpse of Travis smiling brightly down at me, but my brain was too foggy to process it.
Once the threshold was crossed, shattering it again was effortless. Having experienced a deep, internal orgasm for the very first time in my life, I was tossed from one climax straight into another, and Travis watched my unraveling with pure, dark amusement. The encounter, which I thought would end after one or two rounds, stretched on endlessly until I completely lost count of how many times I had come.
He growled a few filthy strings of dirty talk in my ear, but my mind was too far gone to comprehend the words. Travis didn't care; he simply kept consuming me. What little consciousness I had left was entirely spent frantically jerking my head away from his invading mouth, desperate to avoid a kiss. "Why do you keep avoiding my mouth?" Finally, his words registered clearly. I felt an absolute, desperate need to answer that specific question. Because a kiss belonged only to someone you loved. As I mumbled my broken explanation, he answered smoothly.
"But we're making love right now, aren't we? Just let it happen. Yeah? I love you."
He kept coaxing me like a needy child, persistently trying to capture my lips. I refused to surrender the absolute last shred of my pride. When I continuously thrashed my head from side to side, rejecting him, he abruptly stopped coaxing. Instead, he flipped our positions, pulling me on top of him just as I was on the precipice of another climax. Though I had peaked in this exact position just minutes prior, after a few thrusts, I realized something had drastically changed. Unlike before, Travis was merely grinding his hips in a slow, agonizingly lazy circle, and my fiercely overheated body began to rapidly cool down.
Already utterly addicted to the pleasure he provided, I desperately began to ride him, violently rolling my hips on his shaft. I frantically squeezed my own breasts and rubbed my clitoris, but it only made me feel wretched. His face bore the coldest, most detached expression I had seen since meeting him. I desperately wanted him to take control again, to violently drag my soul back up to that peak. No matter how hard I worked my hips on my own, I couldn't even get close to the mind-numbing ecstasy he had just been delivering. By now, Jake and any lingering moral code were entirely wiped from my mind. Everything else faded into the background until only Travis remained. Seized by a sudden, terrifying panic that I had angered him with my arrogant, stubborn attitude, tears spilled from my eyes again, but his demeanor remained utterly indifferent. The thought of him looking at me that way again made my chest tighten.
I had no choice but to surrender. I wanted to capitulate, to submit completely to him. When I placed both of my hands against his cheeks, he tilted his head slightly, perfectly mirroring my previous rejection. He was definitely smiling, but that small, mocking gesture—the exact replication of how I had treated him—sliced through me, making me feel deeply wounded and filled with regret. Desperate, I pulled his face down, pressing my lips firmly against his. Travis kept his mouth tightly shut, but I pathetically sucked at his lips, sliding the tip of my tongue along the seam, begging to enter his mouth. He stared at me with an unreadable, piercing gaze, refusing to open up, until I was forced to pull away in utter defeat. Just as the horrific, suffocating realization that I had ruined everything with him began to crush me, Travis let out a bright, dazzling laugh, wrapped a hand around the back of my head, and violently pulled me into a deep kiss.
Our lips parted seamlessly, greedily tangling our tongues together, and the familiar sensation of his mouth wrapping around mine sent me spinning back into oblivion. His hand anchored firmly at the back of my head, his fingers burying into my hair to massage my scalp. The elusive peak that I couldn't reach on my own no matter what I tried was handed back to me instantly, delivered by nothing more than the glide of his tongue and the pressure of his fingertips.
I buckled, twitching and arching against him with shallow, broken whines. "You're so incredibly filthy, you know that?" He pinned me back down to the mattress, violently claiming me all over again. As he drove his hips into me in a relentless rhythm, he continuously whispered into my ear that we were doing these dirty things because we loved each other. Given his initial casual stance of a mere one-night stand, his words made absolutely no sense, but I was completely conquered, utterly incapable of mounting a single defense.
*****
When I finally regained proper consciousness, it was around noon. Waking up to an unfamiliar environment startled me for a brief second, but ridiculously enough, the plush comfort of the blanket tucked securely up to my neck and the familiar, distinct scent of Travis lingering in the sheets instantly grounded me. I sat up and surveyed the room. The space was pristine and organized, but the clothes I had stripped out of the night before were nowhere to be seen.
I called out Travis’s name, but there was no response, not even a rustle of movement. Left with no choice, I allowed myself a quiet moment to look around his bedroom. Hip-hop artist posters in sleek frames dominated one wall, while rows of sneakers, a skateboard, and a surfboard were immaculately arranged on shelves and wall mounts. Along with the profound relief that the nightmare was finally over, a delusional sensation that I had somehow become his girlfriend washed over me—and only then did the crushing reality of Jake’s existence smash back into my brain.
The bizarre tranquility I had been basking in vanished, instantly replaced by a wave of anxiety and dread. I desperately hoped Jake would never find out about last night, terrified for him and knowing he must have been sick with worry about me all night. Hurrying to check my phone, I grabbed the device resting on a nearby side table, and the moment I looked at the screen, my entire world shattered.
There was a single text from Jake. The message was a venomous tirade, branding me a worthless, cheap whore and telling me to never, ever look for him again. I collapsed inward. I didn't even know how to name the tangled web of emotions tearing through me, but I was grieving. Liberation, agony, and suffocating guilt bled into one another. How he had discovered what happened between me and Travis didn't even matter. While I understood the profound betrayal and agony he must be feeling, a fierce, white-hot anger flared up inside me because all the selfless sacrifices and struggles I had endured by his side had been reduced to absolute garbage. Had I really made such a horrific choice? Did he ever stop to think about what my heart was going through? I knew I could never justify my actions, but the sheer sense of injustice and resentment was unbearable.
Right then, the sound of the front door unlocking echoed through the apartment, followed by heavy footsteps. It didn't take long to realize who it was. Travis walked in, looking absolutely immaculate from head to toe, holding takeout bags adorned with a cute franchise mascot in both hands. There I was, sitting exposed on the bed, pathetically clawing the blanket around my naked body, weeping hysterically. The faint, easy smile on his face vanished instantly. One look at my face, and it was clear he already knew exactly what had happened.
He dropped the bags onto the counter and rushed over to the bed. Carefully, he gathered me into his arms, pulling me flush against his solid chest. The sweet, distinct aroma of his vape instantly flooded my lungs. Terrified that my tears and mucus might ruin his clothes, I tried to sniffle back, but he didn't seem to care about that at all.
"I wanted to get back before you woke up so I could tell you myself, but I guess I was too late."
He softly apologized, murmuring that his own greed had ruined everything. Dropping to his knees beside the bed to bring himself to my eye level, he began to gently explain the truth behind the chaos.
Travis confessed that from the exact moment I had begged him for help, he had already decided to clear Jake's debt himself. Even if I had refused to sleep with him, Jake's loan was going to be paid off regardless. He explained that the sole reason behind his benevolence was because he loved me. He knew that no matter what, I would never let go of Jake's hand, and he realized that as long as that debt remained, my destruction was guaranteed. He wanted to end my suffering, even if it meant I would never choose him. In fact, the funds had cleared before I even arrived at his apartment last night, but that was exactly where the wires got crossed. While I was tangled in his sheets, Jake had gone to meet the loan sharks to make his monthly payment. The collectors simply informed him that his entire debt had been erased, told him to clean up his act, and handed him Travis’s address, telling him to go thank the man who had bailed him out. Travis let out a bitter, helpless huff, admitting he had been so completely blinded by the prospect of finally having the woman of his dreams in his bed that he hadn't foreseen the fallout. Travis gripped both of my hands even tighter. His hands were visibly trembling.
He acknowledged that the order of operations was disastrously messed up, but swore his feelings for me were entirely pure and real, begging for the chance to be my actual boyfriend. He added that he didn't expect an answer right away, but amid my profound shock, a fierce instinct to protect him from hurt flared up inside me. It was a slightly twisted realization, but his dangerous presence suddenly felt like a grand prize, a twisted blessing from God himself. Reaching out, I pressed my lips to his in a quiet vow of acceptance, and he smiled against my mouth, eagerly drinking in the kiss. Our tongues tangled deeper, and when my hands reached down to pull at his shirt, he gently caught my wrists.
"You haven't eaten anything since yesterday afternoon."
He murmured that we had all the time in the world now, suggesting we take things slow. I couldn't help but smile.
*****
Travis stared down at the woman deeply asleep on the mattress, her body utterly drained from the consecutive climaxes, her soft whimpers finally silenced by exhaustion. He rolled the used condom off his length, tied it in a knot, and tossed it into the trash. After a careless wipe with a piece of tissue, he pulled his pants back on without bothering with underwear. Grabbing his vape, he let it preheat, took a few heavy drags, and casually strolled out into the living room.
In the dimly lit space, Jake was sitting on the couch. There was no telling exactly how long he had been sitting there. His fists were clenched so hard against his thighs that all the blood had drained from his knuckles, and he was weeping silently, tears and snot streaming down his face. He kept his eyes locked on the floor in pure, unadulterated humiliation, but Travis noticed the distinct, pathetic bulge straining against the crotch of his jeans. Travis let out a contemptuous click of his tongue. On the coffee table lay the messy stacks of cash Jake had practically broken his bones to scrape together through various odd jobs. Walking with the slow, heavy stride of a sated lion, Travis sank into the single-seater armchair across from him. The quiet living room was filled only with the sound of Jake sniffling, the soft hiss of Travis exhaling sweet vapor, and the rhythmic rustle of paper as Travis casually counted the cash.
Tossing the counted stacks onto the table one by one, Travis openly mocked the broken man across from him.
"You actually got a hard-on listening to me slide in and out of my girlfriend? Jesus, man. For a guy who looks so plain, you've got a seriously sick kink."
The bold, casual declaration of ownership over the woman sleeping in the next room made Jake flinch violently. "She's my girlfriend," he choked out, every syllable requiring a monumental effort against the paralyzing terror gripping his throat. He desperately wanted to push back. Travis merely smiled wider, shaking his head with mock pity. "You gonna talk like that when you can't even take care of your own woman?" The words sounded casually thrown out, but they were laced with pure venom.
"What kind of man can't even clean up his own fucking mess, to the point where he lets his woman sell her body to fix it?"
Travis couldn't contain his amusement, letting out a dark laugh, while Jake ground his teeth so hard he could taste blood.
"...I know you engineered this entire thing. You ruined our lives."
The accusation made Travis's fingers pause over the bills. "Our?" Travis snorted. Lifting his gaze from the money, he locked eyes with Jake, whose eyes were bloodshot and wild with fury. But regardless of the rage consuming him, even if Jake had a knife or a loaded gun in his hands right this second, he stood absolutely zero chance against the predator sitting across from him. "So what?" Travis asked, his face melting into his signature boyish, innocent expression.
"Even if I did, what the fuck are you going to do about it? Call the cops? Or maybe go tell her the truth? Want to run to her and admit you're so fucking incompetent that you walked right into a trap laid by a bad guy? Tell me, what exactly can you provide for her that I can't do better?"
The brutal truth of his words instantly broke Jake's spirit, and his gaze slid helplessly back to the floor. "And honestly, everything else aside, you're the dumb fuck who ran straight to a gambling den the second you wanted a few quick bucks. You couldn't fix a single thing with this pathetic pile, yet you sure know how to run your mouth." Finished with the money, Travis casually tossed a single thick stack of bills right at Jake's chest, telling him to use it for cab fare and to never show his face around here again. When Jake weakly protested that he couldn't just abandon the woman sleeping in the bedroom, it finally wore through the last of Travis's amusement.
"I guess you don't appreciate the fact that you're still breathing with all your limbs intact, courtesy of her."
The cold certainty in Travis's stare made sweat break out across Jake’s neck, his eyelids fluttering with terror. The invisible threat materialized into a suffocating, physical dread. Travis had granted a singular mercy by allowing Jake to close the curtain on his relationship with the girl—even if that mercy meant severing their bond with the most vicious, hateful words imaginable. Like a beaten dog getting kicked out of its owner's yard, Jake had lost everything and was being violently pushed out of the territory. The moment he pulled the front door open, two massive, heavily built men were standing like brick walls in the hallway. Recognizing exactly who they were, Jake’s knees nearly buckled, but the enforcers paid him absolutely no mind. Pushing past him into the apartment, they gave Travis a respectful, disciplined bow.
"Pass along my apologies to the Old Man for letting a small spark fly his way," Travis said easily. "It's a bit short, but as soon as the sun is fully up, I'll wire the rest with interest. Tell him to call off his hounds regarding this idiot."
"Actually, sir, the Boss explicitly stated that the money isn't necessary. He simply asked us to convey his regards and hopes for a prosperous relationship moving forward."
"Can't do that. Business is business, keep it clean. Take it now, before I change my mind."
Travis offered a casual wave of his hand, and the men quickly swept the cash into their duffel bags. Once the intruders cleared out, the apartment fell dead silent once more. Travis walked back into the bedroom, looking down at the woman sleeping peacefully, entirely oblivious to the world. He reached out, gently stroking her hair, a faint smile carving into his lips.
imagine college student! sae itoshi calmly walking to his first class of the day after morning soccer practice, annoyed that it was a mandatory public speaking class. then comes you, college student! reader who’s rushing to a cafe, balancing your bag, phone, and your first iced coffee of the day.
you hear one of your friends call your name opposite of the direction in which you’re walking, so being the bubbly person you are, you turn around and greet them back. but as soon as you turn back forward on your path, you’re colliding with someone, drenching his ironed white-collared long sleeve shirt in coffee.
embarrassed, you do the normal thing: apologize profusely, taking out a spare hand towel from your backpack to help him clean up the mess. however, since you’re in a rush, you don’t even think about taking it back until he says, “your hand towel?”
“oh yes, that’s right!” you turn back around, still apologizing earnestly, when you accidentally step on your own untied shoelace and an uneven part of the sidewalk. as you stumble forward, your knee accidentally collides with his crotch at full force. it gets worse: your heavy bag swings forward and also hits him.
college student! sae itoshi is crumpling to the ground in agony. you’re mortified, trying to help while apologizing all over again. he’s too pained to respond, just staring at you in disbelief. but after hearing “i’m so sorry!” over ten times, the corner of his lips turn upward into a smile, and a soft chuckle escapes him. is he actually amused by this?
snapping out of your thoughts, you hear someone nearby throw out a sarcastic remark at the scene you two caused. “what a way to meet.”
