#dark!chris

Even with a paper map, it’s too dark to read the tiny lines and letters. You pull over to turn on the cabin light and pore over the unfamiliar roads and ways and points. It’s not any help when you lost yourself an hour ago. The signs out here don’t have the same reflective coating as the main highways and are often hidden behind overgrown leaves.

You sigh and squint closer, hoping that you miraculously find yourself in the print. You fold it up haphazardly and drop it in the passenger seat, next to the empty bottle of water and wrappers. It’s not like you want to get where you’re going. Family reunions aren’t always happy reconciliations.

All you can do is keep driving and hope for a beacon of life. You grip the wheel tight as you roll steady but cautiously down the dusty backroad. Your intent to avoid the chaos of busy highways has backfired. You were prepared for a few extra hours of driving but not for the intense void of the country night.

Ahead, you spot a dull glow. You can’t quite make it out until you’re nearly right beside it. You stop and blink at the lit sign of the bar. Only two of the bulbs on the moniker flicker and shadows flood the lot outside the grim windows.

You pull in. If there’s life inside, they have to at least know where you are. You run your hands over your head and exhale out your anxiety. You shut the engine off and grab the map. As you get out, you tuck your keys in your pocket. It’s only then, you notice the line of motorcycles propped up closer to the walls.

You sniff as your soles crunch over the gravel. As you near the door, it opens from the other side. A man stumbles out, barely missing you as you catch the door and sidestep him. He grumbles and struggles to catch a flame on his lighter as he clamps a cigarette between his lips.

You slide inside before he can notice you. Inside, the low drone of classic rock wafts in the air and the clack of pool balls bounce. Glasses clink and bottles thump onto the bar. You glance around at the leather vests and tattooed arms. Oh boy.

You clear your throat and unfold the map as you approach the bar, using the paper to calm yourself. You look at the bar tender on the other side, a grey handlebar drooping around his lips. You lay down the map.

“Hi, er…” you pause and resist the urge to glance around a second time. “I was hoping you could help me out with some direction… please.”

You try not to let your paranoia get the best of you. Besides, you’re not some Cali blond or college girl waltzing in. You’re a grown woman with time creased in her forehead and nestled above her jeans. Your faded denim and loose tea suggest soccer mom more than bombshell.

The bartender scowls and leans in. He curls his lip as he eyes the map. You shift uneasily.

“Goin’ north or south?”

“South,” you answer. “Just trying to find my way back to the highway.”

“Quite the detour,” he growls.

“Right. Well, I’d appreciate it if you could send me off in the right direction or even help me backtrack. I just need to know where I am.”

He lifts his head and his eyes flit side to side. His lips slant. “You’re in the wrong place, honey.”

A chill runs up your spine as you sense a presence behind you. You turn and face a man glaring you down. You swallow tightly. His head is shaved, he has a thick goatee, and deep blue eyes. He wears a faded leather vest over a sleeveless flannel with the top three buttons undone, exposing tattoos over his chest, neck, and arms.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He puts his hands on his hips. A rabble of men chuckle as they watch. “Looking for a hotel? I got somewhere you can sleep.”

You stiffen and feel along the hem of your shirt. Shit. You push two fingers into your pocket, feeling your keys. They’re sharp enough… you just need to move fast.

“Now, you don’t want to be reaching like that,” he warns as he steps closer.

“I’m just looking to go. I’m passing through. That’s it.” You say.

It’s then that you realise the stillness of the place. The music is gone and everyone sits, unmoving, intent on you and that man.

“If you want to leave, go ahead and see how far you get.” He crosses his arms, his shoulders bulging.

You stare at him. Your chest flutters and your fingers tingle coldly. Adrenaline flows through you as your heart hammers.

He smirks and leans in. “Trust me, I’m the nicest guy in the place so be happy it’s not these other bastards in your face.”

Your lip quivers. “Please… I just want to go.”

He snickers and steps closer. He uncrosses his arms and puts his hands on your sides. You latch onto his wrists and squirm.

"Well?" You ask him nervously, playing with the hem of your dress. "Is everything okay, Doctor?"

This is your first visit to the hospital in a long time. In fact, you don't think you've seen the inside of a medical building since you moved to New York just over a year ago. All your life, you've been relatively lucky in terms of your physical health and wellbeing, but the way Doctor Rogers is frowning makes you wonder whether that luck has run out.

"No," He utters, thinking on his feet. "Unfortunately, Miss Y/N, I can see some hormonal imbalances in your blood work."

His words confuse you. "Oh?" You ask, tilting your head. "But I feel fine. I have no symptoms or anything."

Steve pushes himself off the desk, leaving behind the lab results before walking over to where you're sitting on the bed. A small, polite smile grows on his lips. "The issues that this specific imbalance causes are insidious, and undetectable. But they can cause you problems in the future if they're not treated." His hand rests on your bare knee and he gently squeezes it. "Right now, you're still young. Energetic. Flexible."

A soft laugh leaves your mouth. "I don't know about that."

He shakes his head, looking you up and down. "Oh, no. I can tell just from looking at you. You're a very healthy young woman, as long as we work on properly balancing your hormones."

"Okay," You mumble, feeling a little warm under his gaze. "Will I need medication?"

Steve swallows thickly. Fuck. He's got free reign over your body. He can prescribe you with whatever the fuck he wants to.

"Absolutely," He replies calmly, his fingers grazing higher up your leg. "I'll need to take a closer look at your blood work and consult with some of my colleagues before writing your prescription."

"Of course," You say with a nod, your skin tingling under his touch.

Steve lightly taps your thigh, purposely doing so because he knows his actions are sending soft vibrations right to your cunt. "I want you back here next week," He tells you sternly, his kind eyes darkening. "We'll have a further discussion about your medication."

"Okay," You agree, your hips bucking up slightly when he taps a little harder, making your pussy throb.

"Anything else you have concerns about?" He asks you, placing his free hand on the back of your head. From his standing position, he towers over you, his broad and tall stature almost daunting.

You shake your head, keeping your eyes on his. "I just hope the imbalance doesn't cause me any big problems, Doctor Rogers."

The way you're looking up at him combined with the way you say his name immediately makes his cock harden, and he doesn't give a fuck if you notice. What are you gonna do? Point out his boner?

"You have nothing to worry about, angel," He assures you, stroking your hair to distract you from the way his hand has completely disappeared under your dress. "You're safe in my hands."

You smile at his words, pure innocence and trust oozing from you. Steve has to hold back his groans. Fuck. He's gonna have fun with this.

It has been two months since you've been on the medication Doctor Rogers prescribed you, and you're not feeling well.

You can't pinpoint what it is.

"It doesn't just feel... medical," You tell him while he takes down notes with a concerned look. "I feel frustrated, and unsatisfied all the time. Desperate to-" You cut yourself off short, not wanting to expose your true feelings to him.

Steve stops writing and looks up at you, raising a brow. "Desperate to what, Y/N?"

The smug fucker already knows. He just wants to hear you say it.

You shake your head, your cheeks heating up. "N- nothing."

He gives you a stern look and pits down his pen before wrapping his hand around the leg of your chair and dragging you closer, causing a slight screech to sound out. "Y/N, I'm your Doctor. Please don't hold anything back. If you're having adverse side effects from the medication, I need to know exactly what they are."

You say nothing, terrified.

Steve tuts softly, cupping your cheek in his big hand. "You can trust me, Y/N. I'm here to help you, not to hurt or judge you. It is vital that you tell me all of your symptoms, so that I can help you."

You know he's right. You know you can trust him. With a deep breath, you look down, unable to meet his eyes. "I feel... desperate to orgasm."

Steve swallows, his cock pushing against his trousers. "And have you been trying to alleviate that feeling yourself?"

"Yes, many times," You admit with more comfort now that you don't sense any judgement.

He has to hold back from fucking you then and there. The image of you desperately playing with yourself, crying out with frustration, almost gives him a brain aneurysm.

"But I just can't seem to finish," You say with annoyance, tightly fisting the hem of your skirt.

"I see," Steve mutters, rubbing his mouth. "Do you perhaps have a partner you could ask for help?"

You don't. He already knows you don't. If you did, Steve would've already killed them by now.

"Not really," You admit bashfully, shrugging. "I've tried so many things. I watched porn, and bought myself some... toys... but nothing works."

He lets out a long breath, close to cumming in his pants as he imagines you fucking yourself with a dildo, rubbing your clit with a vibrator, watching filthy porn as your innocent eyes are permanently tainted.

"As your doctor, I'm obliged to help you in any way that I can," Steve prefaces, resting his hand on your leg. "If you'd like, I can do my best to help you with this symptom."

Your eyes widen slightly. "What do you mean?"

Doing his best to remain professional, he keeps his face straight and his tone curt. "I can bring you to orgasm, Y/N."

You almost choke on air at his proposition. "I- I'm not sure that that's appropriate, Doctor Rogers."

He leans forward and gives you a warm smile. "You have nothing to worry about, angel. You know you're safe in my hands. Let me help you feel better. It's my job, after all."

With a shaky breath, you nod. "Okay." Your heart is racing, but your need to cum overtakes your fear. The medication has driven you insane, and you aren't sure you can go much longer feeling so unsatisfied.

Steve stands up before taking your hand and pulling you up to your feet. He leads you over to the bed and sits you down, his eyes drinking in your body.

"Just relax for me, angel," He says, placing his hands on your knees and forcing your legs apart. He pulls you to the edge of the bed and wraps your legs around his waist. With his eyes hooked to yours, he brings his fingers to your panties, rubbing your damp pussy over the cotton.

A small feeling of dread pools in your stomach as all the kindness and friendliness slowly disappears from his face. His jaw clenches when he feels your clit throb under his fingers, and without wasting any more time, he moves your panties to the side.

The second his skin makes contact with your soaking pussy, you know it's wrong. You clamp your hand around his wrist and shake your head. "You shouldn't be doing this."

To your utter dismay, Steve glares at you and begins rubbing harsh circles onto your clit, making you cry out. "Just relax," He repeats lowly, slightly pissed off that you're being ungrateful. "You'll feel so much better once you cum."

You whimper, your body betraying you as you drown in pleasure. But you can't ignore the voice of doubt. "This is wrong," You say louder, desperately pushing on his chest but barely even moving him. "We shouldn't be-"

"Shut the fuck up," Steve growls, plunging his fingers into your soppy cunt with no warning. "You told me you're desperate to cum, like the little fucking whore I always knew you were, so now you're gonna cum for me, no matter what you say."

His dirty words make you feel lightheaded. Your head falls forward and rests against his chest as he fingers you hard and fast, the room filling with the sound of your pussy squelching around his digits. He curls them inside you, holding your head close to his body and pressing kisses to your hair.

"That's it; good girl. Nice and quiet for me," He says soothingly, stroking your hair as you let out soft whimpers. "I knew you'd be perfect. Just stay quiet and take what Doctor Rogers gives you. You know you'll feel so much better."

You can't believe how good he's making you feel. You hate that you're enjoying it this much. You're glad your face is hidden against his chest, so he can't see the pleasure on it.

"Your pussy is so wet and warm for me," He groans, going faster. "Can feel her pulsing around my fingers. Is my angel gonna cum?"

His words push you to the edge, elevating your joy as he fingers you harder. He brings his thumb up to rub against your clit, stealing your breath as your orgasm rushes to the surface.

Your cry of ecstasy is muffled against his shirt as you cum onto his fingers, your hands digging into his biceps. Steve chuckles darkly, never once slowing down.

Now incredibly sensitive, you attempt to move backwards and away from him, but his fingers stay buried in your cunt.

"Please, I can't," You cry loudly, shaking your head as tears gather in your eyes. "No more, please-"

Steve cuts you off with a harsh slap to your face, making you gasp as a tear rolls down your cheek. "Didn't I tell you to shut the fuck up?" He grunts, pummelling his fingers in and out of you harshly. "You wanted this. You wanted to cum."

Incoherent babbles are all that you can let out as he stuffs his free hand into your mouth to stop you from yelling. He doesn't need anyone to overhear what's going on, and you could fuck up his whole life if he got caught.

"My sweet girl," Steve praises you softly, contrasting to his rough treatment of your pussy. "All you gotta do is listen to what I fucking say, and I'll make you feel better than you ever have before. Happier than you've ever thought possible." He brings his face closer to yours, his eyes cold. "Just be my obedient little angel, and you can have anything you want."

You feel your second orgasm build up and your eyes roll back.

Steve pulls his fingers out of your mouth and grabs your chin. "Tell me. Say it out loud," He orders you gravely. "Tell me you'll be my good little angel forever."

Feeling weak, your voice is low. "I- I'll be your angel-"

"Say it properly," He says with a growl.

You take in a shaky breath and meet his emotionless eyes. "I'll be your good little angel forever, Doctor Rogers."

A smirk grows on his lips and he pulls up your skirt, wanting to see your pussy throbbing while you cum. He rubs his fingers over your clit hard and fast, forcing you to cum for the second time. Your legs shake and you squirt all over his forearm, making him groan.

"Fuck, angel," He whispers, resting his forehead against yours. "You did so fucking well for me. How do you feel?"

Meeting his eyes, you know you're done for. You're officially and irrevocably under his spell. "So much better," You answer weakly with a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Doctor Rogers."

"Oh, pretty baby," Steve chuckles, stroking your cheeks. "That's what I'm here for."

thank you for reading the first ever part of the kinanabinks general hospital! if you have a medical prompt for me (doesn't have to be for steve!), just send me an ask.

i no longer use a taglist, but if you follow @kinanabinksupdates and turn on notifications, you'll know when i post! 🥰

You were starring in the upcoming movie, “Secret of the College Dorm” with the one and only Chris Evans, both of you the protagnists. Being relatively new, you were excited to make your debut with the talented artist and to be in a movie whose storyline you actually liked.

For the plot, you were both University students whose worlds collided when your common tormentor, his douchebag competitor and your sexually frustrated, not-so-secret admirer committed suicide. The whole campus fell for the staged letter and crime scene but not you two who somehow came together and solved the mystery but not without romance blossoming between you two.

You had refused to do any nude scenes for the relationship development scenes, aware of the never-ending repercussions of the internet, especially for a female. However, the plot the audience would require the steamy romance and so, there was really heavy making-out and under the sheets stuff between you and Evans, a lot of it actually.

Evans was such a good actor and you swore he got lost in the feels, in the moment so very often that you might have believed him to be your lover from the third person’s POV if you didn’t know the truth yourself. A little harmless touching even went under the sheets, off camera but it was all acting, right?

However, with each new release of a still of the steamy scenes, the media went outrageous. And when a behind the scenes photo of him blowing air into your burning eyes went viral, the people went crazy over the photo that looked like a kiss to your forehead when taken from behind him and without any context. The support for the beloved actor’s love life was overwhelming, and despite the hate some people had to give, you were actually surprised by the appreciation of his large fan base. However, you had to correct the media and every attempt of yours to do so was seen as deflection to avoid questions about the relationship.

Your worry about the issue which surprisingly did not bother Chris, was solved by your director who told you to go along with it and use it as an advertising tool, about how people and the critics actually loved to see established couples in romance movies, how people could feel the chemistry through the screen. When he argued that your acting was off-the-charts and so unbelievably real, you gave in to both the men, mind a stuttering mess.

Chris was built like a Greek God, had the manners of one and was so supportive the entire time. Hearing praise from such an esteemed artist made your mind go haywire, and the fact you got such a beautiful and charming man as your make -believe boyfriend was cherry on top. You see, you had to give in when this polite hunk of muscle asked.

Then began the media spotting and some PDA; you didn’t overfeed the media with content, just enough that it was believable and how you were just being caught off-guard every time.

Chris loved to spoil you with gifts and dates and you were worried about the lengths he went to and how much money he spent for a PR stunt. Dare you say, you felt slightly jealous of his future significant other. If he crossed oceans just for you, he might travel through planets for them.

But this is where you drew the line. Getting gifts from him was one thing, it was another thing to get presents as expensive as fourteen times your housekeeper’s salary. Diamonds? Diamonds? You surely weren’t worth that, the movie might not even be worth that.

Making note of giving the expensive piece of jewelry back to him at one of your next interviews, you took your phone and dialed his number to thank him and scold him as well. As you mindlessly hummed and put things to their places, you could hear the soothing tune of Chris's ringtone, as if it came from up the stairs, faint but present. You shook your head and it stopped, making you question if you had been spending too much time with the handsome man.

Pulling you out of your reverie, he picked up and greeted you sarcastically as he always did, “How's my ‘girlfriend’ doing today?” You could picture him smiling at the other end, probably playing with Dodger.

“I’m doing alright. Just received your package, that’s all.”

“I know. And?” You could again picture his eyebrows raised in question, awaiting a thanks he would never accept.

“You know?” Your eyebrows furrowed.

“Yes darling, I know what time the delivery was supposed to reach. And you called me immediately after, didn’t you? Interesting.” The smugness in his voice made your cheeks heat as you stuttered over your next set of words. A lot of the times when he did things like these, you wondered if he knew of your attraction to him or If your attraction was reciprocated.

“It isn’t like I just sit ready to talk to you, you goofball! I-I am sort of bound to when, when you keep sending me these expensive gifts. We agreed Chris, no more extravagance. You honestly do more than what’s required already.” You sighed, hoping you’d get your point across the gold-hearted prankster.

“Is it so wrong to want the absolute best for my best girl?” Your heart skipped a beat at ‘his best girl’, the sincerity in his voice making your heart ache for something that wasn’t there, almost believing his genuineness for affection.

You sighed and answered after gathering your wits, “But I’m not your best girl, am I?”

His release of breath could easily be misinterpreted as longing if you weren’t sure that you had made the atmosphere gauche. The absolute silence for 30 seconds made you reflect on what you said, if you had offended him. Not wanting things to end awkwardly, you continued, “I’m bringing the necklace back to you at the next conference, it might be costlier than my house Evans! And that’s final.” You chuckled and he hummed slightly as well and you took that as your cue to end the call.

“Okay I need to shower, talk to you tomorrow and pet Dodger for me, will you?” You cut the call with that, and made you way upstairs to your bedroom, overthinking the entire way there as you did.

There’s no way he’s interested in you, is he? And why would you even wonder that. You just had an immature crush on the guy, that too because you associated intimacy with feelings and this being your first time acting. You convinced yourself that everything will be the same when you returned to the conferences, your friendship dynamics still the same and ever nasty.

You reached your room, put your playlist on shuffle and sang your worries away. Seriously, people who didn’t have a concert in the shower were psychopaths.

The hot shower relaxed your muscles and after putting your silk bathrobe on, switching the songs off and applying creams, you moved outside. You were definitely new to skincare, doing it on demand of your make-up artist now.  

You stopped dead in your tracks as you saw an all too familiar face sitting on your king size bed, his eyes ever so blue and skin ever so smooth.

Seeing Chris, you squealed, your hand immediately going to your heart. Embarrassment came later, first came suspicion. Your mind still grasping seeing your coworker in your house, in your room, in your bed, uninvited. You didn’t bid him inside the main door, how was he inside?

You believed Chris was a nice guy, yet doubt filled your head. You couldn’t blatantly ignore the creepiness of the situation. How was one supposed to handle a situation such as this?

“Hey honey, you sure do take your sweet time in the shower.” He chuckled, his boisterous laugh in heavy in the otherwise silent air.

“Chris, what are you doing here? How did you get in?” You inquired; your face serious as your hands crossed over your cleavage.

“Well, we are ‘dating’ aren’t we? The media needs to believe the story we are selling. It’s only normal I drop by here sometimes.” He used air-quotes, still not seeing his erroneous ways.

“Chris, I didn’t give you a key. How are you inside? You need to get out.”

“You seriously think I’d not have a key to my girlfriend’s house?” He looked offended, but still joyful to say the least.

“You have a key to my house?! I never gave you one! You of all people know we aren’t actually dating, this excuse is bullshit and this, this is highly inappropriate, I suggest you leave. You are making me uncomfortable.” You stared the man down, agitated by his antics and still perplexed what to make of this situation. What was even happening?

Before you could even register, your back slammed to the wall near the bathroom door, Chris’s bulky biceps delivering force to his palms that held you there. You had never been on the receiving end of his strength and you could feel it bruising.

“What the fu-”

“I didn’t like the tone you just used, wanna try again?”

“This isn’t funny Evans. If this is one of your pranks, stop! I’m calling security otherwise.”

The menace in your glare was countered by sheer mischievousness in his blue orbs. “I’ve already dismissed them for the night. They know I’m here and how I don’t plant to leave until tomorrow. They were more than happy to give the ‘star’ couple some privacy.” He wiggled his eyebrows and you grew stiff, were you in a bad dream? This wasn’t really happening, was it? A guy you adored and respected, assaulting your boundaries and maybe you as well. You shook your head at that, scared shitless.

“Chris, you are hurting me. Please stop and we can talk it out. I’m scared.” You confessed honestly, a part of you, an infinitesimal part of you hoping it was a prank. However, his grip didn’t relent, rather it tightened holding your shoulders captive.

“And what about how you hurt me?” His hand went to pocket to take out the necklace you put maybe an hour ago into its velvet box. The diamonds shone even more brightly than they did downstairs; the sapphire of his eyes sparkly as dazzlingly and blazingly as the blue of the diamonds.

Your mind was slow to register the fact that he had been long enough in the house to find that, maybe even longer if he had himself witnessed you put that away.

“My sister helped me pick it out.” He grinned at the mention of his family but it was soon replaced by a scowl when he looked at you. “And you showed such blatant disrespect to it, kinda offensive you know?”

“I’m sorry Chris, I didn’t know. Is that why you are mad?” You couldn’t for the life of you grasp his sudden change in demeanor. The golden retriever for whatever reason had turned into an aggressive pit bull.

Had this provoked him? It was still no excuse for the lengths he was going to, the boundaries he was imposing.

“Well, part of the reason, yes. Why don’t you wear it?” His eyes showed hopefulness, maybe glee? Had he always been this deranged and you this oblivious?

His grip intensified and you shrieked out. “Okay, okay! Can you allow me some time and space to change, please? I don’t think I-”

He slammed you again, not enough to hurt but sufficient to shut you up and growled out, “Now. And I mean it. Turn around.”

You whimpered and tuned around, Chris’s hands snaking around and clasping the string of overpriced jewels at the nape of your neck. He rotated you back to face him, his sapphire eyes lighting up akin to the diamonds.

“See, so pretty.” You eyed his hands toying with the gems and his lips caught you off-guard. Kissing his velvety soft blush pink lips was different today; the emotions you always felt even while being into character were intensified tenfold this time. There was passion, frustration and dare you say, even affection. Was paparazzi outside?

You groaned and turned your face away, done with the kiss but he wasn’t. Soft kisses were placed soothingly on your neck, the collarbone and then the top of your breasts. You jerked in his grip and pushed him away; the immediacy caught him off guard as he stumbled and you made your way to the door.

Unfortunately, luck wasn’t on your side, his hands pulling at your bathrobe and sending you bouncing on your bed, face first. He was quick to straddle you, his hands pining your wrist as you cried out.

“You were doing so good, sweetheart, why did you ruin it?”

“Chris, stop. You are hurting me-”

“Shhh, you are making no sense, honey, blabbering like this. You know that we belong together, our directors knew that and now I made sure even the world knows that.”

“You are delusional! It was fake, al-”

“You are lying to yourself if you didn’t feel the sparks when we kissed. I fell for you on the set, hard, and you are lying if you disagree.” His insanity, his assurance and his acceptance scared you and rightfully so. Chris was an affluent man, wealthy and had the world at his feet. If he really wanted to hurt you bad, he could. Although bidding his love wasn’t something you planned on doing, you knew that if push came to shove, it would be the better way out.

He turned you around, his beefy hand still holding your wrists as his other hand opened your already slipping bathrobe. His azure eyes drank your glowing skin in, moisturized and smooth; his free hand groping your fleshy arcs. He leaned to take one of your nipples in his mouth, suckling and biting like a little toddler.

His hand slid down and reached your warm heat, your skin supple and your folds fleshy. He pressed down on the bud there, you jolted and your back involuntarily arched.

“If I knew you this underneath back on the set, my hands would have ventured further under the sheets.” His skilled fingers circled your clit, and as you grew damp, two entered your cavern, prodding at angles and points you had failed to find yourself countless times.

Your protests came out as whimpers, eyes glistening with tears at the pleasure you were being enforced to, your mind mushy and thoughts a mess. You were inexperienced in the bed department, a sheer amateur in comparison to the sculpted man, who commanded your bliss in ways you could only hope.

His lips left no skin on your torso unkissed, and his soft bites and nibbling someone were aimed just right in amplifying every stroke of his fingers. Your hands twisted and body arched even more as you neared your cliff, the waterfall of ecstasy just below. As you rode out the blissful journey, his fingers didn’t cease even once, burrowing themselves in the tight heat pushing you.

As you came out and about, your struggles ceased, the orgasm washing over and tiring out your limbs in the process. Your eyes traced Chris’s wicked eyes and his sculpted cheekbones that gave way to his smirking pink lips. This would have been your best experience in intimacy if it was not forced on you.

“Having fun, aren’t you baby?” Your hands jerked again, itching to slap the bastard but your unexpected abruptness was unable to overpower his brawns.

“I’ve never seen you this frantic, kinda hot honestly.” His lips descended on yours again and there was a new fire to this caress, a new appreciation in every movement. You hated the way you were able to read him, the numerous nights you spent drunk together watching Youtube a bittersweet memory now. It was an irony in itself, knowing him well to read him but not enough to have avoided this.

You thrashed, your head trying to headbutt his but it was shameful how your entire was overpowered by half his strength. The jingling of a belt buckle, his belt buckle opening made your eyes widen more, your face becoming wet with tears again real fast.

“No Chris, don’t do this. You need to stop, I can’t-” You cried out, determined to stop his actions but got silenced just as quickly by the intrusion in your worked pussy.

Your fingers curled into your palms, the slightly overgrown nails leaving crescent marks there as his length split you apart inch by inch. The pain and the leisure provided by his still cock rivaled any other sexual experienced you had had, your eyes bleary and red and mind incapable of thinking. The deed was done, it could now not be undid.

He left kisses in the column of your neck, soothing you as your walls snuggled him close. He started moving again with praises leaving his lips every thrust, the pace increasing periodically. You resisted the onslaught of excitement they brought but were ultimately defeated when his cock hit all the spots his fingers had nudged minutes ago. Each snap of his made you putty in his hands as you literally lost your composure, being pushed towards the dangerous cliff again.

His hands left yours and instead cradled your face as he kissed the ever-loving fuck out of you, a kiss that left your breathless and incapable of coherent thought when coupled with his thrusts hitting you just right. You bit down on his luscious lips as you tumbled down the peak, your core clenching around him in a similar way. Chris swore it was the best feeling ever.

With your body fatigued perfectly beneath his, you both knew he wasn’t far anymore. Your heavy breathing brushing your chest against his and your dazed eyes staring into his only prompted him more, his orbs never leaving your face, relishing in your beauty as emotions drowned him. He couldn’t believe you were finally his, that this moment existed in the sphere of reality. The longing and yearning in his azure eyes scared you, this was definitely no act he was putting on.

As his thrusts became slower, your exhausted mind realized something. “Chris, not inside, please! I’m not on anything! Please!”

You feebly pushed him, that doing absolutely nothing to deter him and soon after you felt warmth coating your inside, his seed also smothering out the fire in the pit of your belly. You hated the way you kept crying, as if the tears would sojourn your helplessness. His nose skimming your neck and inhaling your sent made you close your eyes; your distraught self having no strength to face your assaulter, a former confidante of yours.

You could feel his stare burning your skin but you refused to glance at him, give him any sense of acknowledgement. You only opened your eyes when you felt something on your fingers as he took your hands from between you both.

“It is only fair if the set is complete.” Your heart ached at the smile on his face; how could the Gods let such a flawed man have a flawless face? His eyes twinkled as he stared adoringly between you both and your eyes trailed down to find a huge diamond ring on your finger. The hoop matched the necklace you wore on your otherwise naked body, the white diamonds surrounding a beautiful blue one in the middle, its shine complementing Chris’s eyes.

“Chris, I hate you! You’ve gone mad.” You sobbed loudly as he cradled you, a quite ‘why me?’ escaping your lips which surprisingly Chris heard and chose to answer.

“Because it’s time for me to settle down, time for us.” He smiled staring into your soul as you hiccupped, body sweaty and tired and sticky. He intertwined both your hands together and kissed your knuckles lovingly.

“Besides didn’t you see my last interview; Chris wants to be daddy.” His voiced dropped and so did your non existent panties hope.

+ BONUS

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HKRwg9M3vkA

Breanna is beside you, with Mike. Again. They have this cycle and you get to hear about it every time it inevitably runs its course. You could draw a chart showing the stages of the toxic on-again, off-again disaster.

“Hey,” you poke her arm as Mike extends his arm over her shoulder and loom above her. “You wanna get some air?”

“Babe,” she doesn’t look away from Mike. “You go. I’ll find you later.” She chews the brim of her red cup as she eye fucks him and he feels up her side. Alright, you’re really not into voyeurism.

You quickly dash away and barely dodge out of the way of three guys you recognise from Rusty’s; the local bar where Breanna loves to drink and dance. Those seem to be her only hobbies. Everyone here is vaguely familiar. That’s just how small towns are.

You wait for the path to clear then head for the door. Shit. Breanna still has your keys. You look back and groan. No way you’re getting them right now and with Mike all over her, you’re not entirely sure when you will.

Whatever.

You turn back and a lukewarm splash soaks your front. You look down as the beer stains your flannel and you gasp. You look up at the culprit as he gapes at you through thick lenses. You know him. You sat next to him in calculus years ago.

“Jake!” You hiss.

He grins and wobbles. “Oops. Sorry.” He’s drunk. You’ll be hard up to find one person here who isn’t. “Want me… clean it up?”

He reaches and you barely avoid his reach as he nearly gets a handful of your chest. What the hell? You shove his arm away and growl.

“Get away.” You snarl and quickly scurry by him.

You escape through the door and into the night air. The breeze chills you as the beer cools on the flannel and the smell makes you nauseous. Goddammit. 

You hate this stupid town. What luck that you were born here. That alone is enough to guarantee you’ll die there.

You tramp up to the top step and sit. You look down and pull the fabric away from your chest. You’d love to go home and get a clean one. Better yet, stay there, but Breanna entrapped you. She’s a sneaky one and you need to start being less trusting. You should’ve learned that lesson well before this.

You grumble and shift, letting the shirt hang damply on your torso. At least it’s not a nice shirt. Do you really have any of those?

The screen door whines on it hinges. You don’t look back. That would just be an invitation for conversation. You keep your arms crossed over your knees and stare at the street.

Footsteps near and a shadow rolls over you. A figure stops on the top step and steps down one. They sit and nudge you with their elbow.

“‘Ere you go.” He holds out a folded tee shirt.

You know by the rings who it is. That man who greeted you on the porch and caught you as an accessory to Breanna’s crime. You sigh.

“Don’t worry about it,” you shrug.

“Saw what happened. You want me to drag that idiot out?” He offers as he lays the shirt on your folded arms. 

You growl. “Don’t care. It’s your place.”

He snorts. “I would. For you. Say the word.”

You sigh. You look at the shirt. The wet flannel chafes on your skin.

“I should go.” You stand up and turn. You put the shirt on his knee. “I gotta find Breanna.”

“Good luck, here and Mike just snuck out back.” He chuckles. “They’ll find somewhere to… reunite.”

You huff again and stare at the glowing windows. You really don’t want to go back inside. You sniff and scowl.

“You don’t wanna be here, so why don’t you leave?” He stands.

You shake your head and roll your eyes. “She has my keys.”

He laughs again. “Ah, yep. She’s got her little tricks, doesn’t she? Last time she came to one of these things, she got more than the tequila.” He drapes the shirt on your shoulder. “You see her with a silver chain with a little piece of onyx on it, tell her I want it back.”

“I’m not her keeper.” You snip.

“Oh no. You keep to yourself. Don’t ya?” He drags his fingers down the shirt, tickling you through it.

You recoil and face him. He tilts his head.

“Look, the beer’s gonna make that scratchy as hell. And you smell like a brewery floor. It’s just a shirt.”

You stare at him.

“I’ll even escort you, all gentleman like to the bathroom. You can change in there… or out here. I’m open to either.” He clicks his tongue and the porch light catches his wink.

“Ugh. Whatever.” You snatch the shirt off your shoulder. “Thanks.”

You stomp across the porch and he follows. He opens the door before you can and waves you inside. He points you down the hall. He stays close, shoving away a few clumsy guests.

“In there.” He directs you to the closed door.

You knock but there’s no answer. You turn the handle and push inside. You’re greeted by the sight of a bare ass above denim, long legs splayed around the man’s hips. As he ruts, you get a glimpse of Breanna’s open mouth as she clings to his shoulders. Jesus!

You snap the door shut and back up, pressing against Chris as he stands right behind you. He cackles.

“Oops, guess they found somewhere…”

You pull away from him. You spin and glare. “Is there somewhere else I can change?”

“Sure, baby girl.” He points with his thumb. “I’ll take you to the luxury suite.”

You furrow your nose. He smirks. He leads you to the stairs and points you upward. He waits for you to go first. You have a bad feeling as you ascend. He could easily corner you up there, away from everyone. No one would hear it, either.

You stop sharply at the top and he collides with you. He grabs your hips to steady himself and exhales over you. His voice rumbles in his throat and chest.

“Straight ahead, baby girl.”

“Stop calling me that,” you tear away from him.

He laughs again. Loudly. You stomp ahead and push through the door at the end of the hall. You slam the door before he can catch up. He’s still laughing.

“You no good fucking bitch,” she spits beside you. “How many times I gotta tell you to get out!” 

You turn over and look up at her. She snarls and puffs like a rabid beast. Her glare scalds. She hates you so much. She always has. 

She slams the screen door, then the inside one. You sit up and fix the backless sneakers on your feet. You check the scrapes on your knees and sigh. It’s not the first time, it won’t be the last time. 

How could you know she had someone over? You didn’t hear them. You thought she’d be happy to see the dishes done but that chore only riled her. She broke three plates before she latched onto you. Scratches blaze on your head. 

You get up and look across the street. Leah watches from her front porch, shaking her head as she puffs on a menthol. No one does anything. They only judge. Around here, it’s not exactly unusual. 

Your purse is inside, your phone too. Shoot. You’ll have to wait her out. Whoever she’s got in her room probably gave her some pills. She’ll be out of it soon. 

You’re not proud of that thought. You should be concerned. You used to be. Now you just accept what she is. You rely on it. Her addiction keeps her weak; keeps her from hurting you worse. 

You turn and trod along the street. You could go down to the corner shop and ask Darren to spot you a gatorade. He’s usually pretty understanding. He knows your mom and that you always come to pay for whatever she wanders out with. 

Twenty-one years. It doesn’t feel that long, yet it’s still an eternity. Things never change, they only get worse. Your mom’s hair turns gray and the lines in her face get deeper and her speech more slurred. You only get weaker, more tired, more passive. It’s just the way is. Why fight? Fighting only gets you hurt. 

A truck rolls by and the tires dust up dirt. You cough at the tan paint above the silver bumper. You watch the exhaust chuff out down the street and veer around the corner, just past the corner shop. 

You approach the Penny Mart and shield your eyes against the sun. The truck idles further down the street. You shrug and continue inside. 

Darren pop gum between his teeth. You wave and head for the fridges. You take out a red gatorade and come back to the counter. 

“Can I come back later?” You ask. “Mom locked me out again.” 

He gnaws on the gum and shakes his head, “uh uh.” 

“Oh?” The door chimes as another customer enters. “You know I’m good for it.” 

“Manny says no,” he shrugs. “Your mom threw a box of cereal at him.” 

“She... did?” You’re overly aware of the man behind. He clears his throat. “Alright then, guess I’ll put this back.” 

“Well, you know... I could bend the rules,” he smirks and winks. “Come in the back...” 

You grimace. “I’ll put it back.” 

You turn and march away, skin crawling at his suggestion. It’s not the first time but for him to do it in front of someone else, that’s humiliating. You open the fridge as the man steps up to the counter. 

“I’ll take a pack of lites and twenty on the pump. Throw in a red gatorade,” he says. 

You shut the door and drag your feet across the unmopped tile. This place matches the neighbourhood. You’re sure the prices help distract from the expiry dates, too. 

Footsteps circle around the shelves. The fridge opens. A whistle keeps you from leaving. “Girl, come get your drink.” 

You stop and turn to face the man. His head is shaved close but he sports a thick goatee. He wears a sleeveless flannel, the peek of a chain shimmering around his neck. 

“Um, me?” 

“Come on,” he beckons you. “Hot day out.” 

You hesitate and cross the store. People aren’t all rotten around here. Mrs. Haggin fed you more times than you can count and Ted let you hang around his garage on the hotter days. Still, strangers aren’t common and aren’t often friendly. 

“Thanks, uh, you didn’t have to do that.” 

“Two bucks,” he clucks. 

“Right.” 

Two bucks you don’t have. Pathetic. He holds the door open and you retrieve the same bottle of Gatorade. 

“Thanks again,” you say. 

“Never know. One day, someone might help me out,” he sniffs. 

He lets the door fall shut. You turn and walk away. He follows. You have a bad feeling as he stays close. He pushes the door open above your shoulder before you can. 

Stupid. He probably expects the same thing Darren wanted. You step out and to the side. 

“I can’t pay you back,” you offer the bottle. 

“Keep it,” he waves you off and drops off the pavement ledge onto the tarmac. “Have a good one.” 

“Oh, uh...” 

He walks away. Not a look back at you. You watch him approach the truck by the pumps. Tan with a silver bumper. They must’ve needed the top-up. 

You kick off the curb and drag your feet away. You’ll go down to the park and find a table in the shade. It’s swelter. The sun beats down on you mercilessly. 

You peel away the wrapper and twist the nozzle on the bottle. You drink thirstily as you step on the cracks in the pavement. ‘Step on a crack, break your mother’s back...’ 

The truck rumbles back at the shop and you hear it rolling toward you. It passes slowly and you pretend to examine the label of the bottle. As nice as it was, you’re not stupid. It’s pity. Everyone feels bad for you, but they don’t really care. 

You follow the trail through the tall grasses behind the condemned donut shop down to Smith’s Park. It’s not much of one. Mosquitoes buzz over a pond not much bigger than a puddle, tadpoles swirling in the shallows, and the trees sway over splintering benches and rotting picnic tables. 

You sit and suck on the bottle. Couple of hours and you can go home. Home... not really where you belong, just always where you’ve been. 

The brush rustles but you don’t pay any mind to it. There are coyotes around here but they’re skittish. Squirrels too but you don’t have much for them to steal. 

You put your elbows on the table and peel off the label on the bottle as the condensation soaks through. You lay it out flat on the wood. The dingy smell of the neglected boards clings in the air. 

A twig snaps. You look up as a shadow passes between the bushes. Some kids will come down to catch tadpoles. You did when you were young. Your mom dumped the toads down the toilet once they grew.  

Another crack. You twitch and look over your shoulder. You grip the bottle and turn straight. Your voice catches as you’re face with an unexpected best. A man in a ski mask. 

It’s so absurd, you think it’s a joke. Some of the hunters like to mess around but this isn’t the area for them. It’s not thick enough. They go up north. 

He’s big. The epitome of burly. He wears a grey tee shirt damp with sweat and cargo pants. He stares at you through the slits of his mask. 

“Um,” you stand. “Sorry, I was just...” 

You step over the bench and turn to head back down the trail. There’s another man. He’s in all black. He must be melting in this heat. You reel back. 

“Oh...” the back of your knees hit the bench. “I think...” you sidle along. “I’ll just...” 

You turn and run towards the thicket of wiry bushes. Before you can reach them, another man in another mask pops out. He wears a sleeveless flannel... 

You throw the gatorade at him and spin back. You’re caught by the other two men. 

“Shhh,” the one behind you hushes. 

You struggle with them, kicking the dirty, writhing as they twist your arms behind you. The man at your back secures your wrists together as the peel of duct tape tears through the hum of insects. 

“Please, who are you? Stop!” You whine. This can’t be happening. What the hell is this? 

The man in black keeps hold of your upper arm and signals with his other hand. A cloth covers your eyes. You whimper as it’s knotted behind your head. Another is shoved into your mouth. You gag. You’re shushed again. 

“It’s alright, darlin’,” you think the bigger man says. It comes from his direction as the man behind you pets your hair. “We ain’t gonna hurt you.” 

“Quiet,” another warns. “Get her legs.” 

You fight to evade their grasp blindly. You kick out and your ankles are seized and forced together. The duct tape winds around your ankles. 

Your eyes water behind the cloth. It’s more than fear, it’s realisation. You’re not going to go home, but worse, you don’t think anyone will care. They won’t even notice. 

You babble around the fabric in your mouth. You choke as you’re taken off your feet, carried between two men like luggage. You’re just a thing. Why is this happening to you? 

You squirm and shake, trying to break away from the arms hooked around your torso and legs. A hinge creaks, a car door, then another metallic whine. No, it’s not a car.  

You’re loaded into the truck bed and strapped down to the ridge metal. You blink as your eyes burn. You quiver in horror as you sense a deep darkness cast over you and the truck lurches. The door of the bed snaps shut and closes you in. 

Weight shifts in the axel as the muffled noise of the doors opening seep through. You whimper as the engine rumbles to life. You try to roll one way or the other. You can’t. 

The way they worked, so methodical, it assures you that there is no escape. There’s no loophole for you to find. You’re stuck. That suffocating realisation constricts in your chest. No, no, no. It can’t be real. 

You shudder and replay the scene in your head. It happened so fast yet as you relive it, it feels like slow motion. The large man, the man in black, the third one in his...sleeveless flannel. 

The cloying flavour of sugary electrolytes stick to your tongue. You shudder. The man in the store. He followed you? Why? 

Think about it. What did he see? A woman with no money. A woman alone. A woman wandering off into the shadows. 

How stupid. You would never expect it. Never think that anyone would bother. You always just stay out of the way and no one bothers you. Only Darren and his gross leers. Only Rob next door when his wife’s not talking to him. 

The truck bounces over the road. You can hear the other cars around you as they head into the city. Right through the mid-afternoon rush. How many people are driving by completely unaware of you hidden in the back. 

The pit in your stomach deepens and you whine. You try to scream. You can’t. You try to kick. You can’t.