#hypersexual reader

Parfums de Marly Layton. You’d once caught a glimpse of the deep navy bottle on the edge of his hotel bathroom sink while reviewing his itinerary, and you cursed yourself for ever learning the name. Now, you knew exactly what it was each time it hit you: that heady swirl of green apple and vanilla spice, warm cardamom softened by the heat of his skin, all wrapped in something darker—amber, maybe. Something that clung to the cotton of his shirts and refused to leave even after he did.

You never asked about it. You wouldn’t dare. But every time you leaned over his desk to drop off his briefing binder or hover by the door to confirm his next flight to D.C., that scent latched onto you like it had hands.

And he didn’t know. Of course he didn’t.

You were just his scheduler. The woman in black slacks and button-downs who kept his life running in military-level precision. You booked his appearances, called in favors with lobbyists’ assistants, negotiated down overbooked town halls, and sometimes—God help you—had to step inside his hotel room to lay out the next day’s itinerary when he was too buried in calls to read his own calendar.

Those were the worst. When he’d answer the door in a fitted T-shirt, damp hair curling at his nape, Layton now mingling with sweat and steam, and you’d have to act like your knees weren’t about to buckle. You’d linger by the desk, pretending to triple-check the flight number. He’d pace behind you, reading notes off his phone, totally unaware you were trying not to moan like some harlequin heroine because of the way his scent swirled in the air-conditioned quiet.

You knew your place. And you played it well.

But God, if he ever caught on—if he ever looked at you the way you sometimes caught yourself looking at him—this whole operation would go to hell.

──

Your morning began, as it usually did, in his suite.

A quiet knock. A barely audible “Come in.” Then the ritual began.

You stood by the small conference table in his living area, tablet in hand, while Congressman James Buchanan Barnes moved with military-grade precision behind you. He never rushed. Never wasted a single second. His routine was something sacred—ironed shirt, gold cufflinks, navy suit freshly pressed and waiting on the valet hook by the door. You glanced at the clock. Right on time.

Then came the part that always undid you.

Three spritzes.

You didn’t have to look to know the bottle—Parfums de Marly Layton. He passed by you on his way to the mirror, the scent trailing him like a shadow: apple-spice and something almost resinous beneath. One spray around the base of his neck. Two on the insides of his wrists, which he then tapped against his collarbone in fluid, practiced motions.

Everything about Bucky was deliberate. Disciplined. Controlled.

You hated that it turned you on.

The ten minutes you spent inside that room felt like a test. You spoke as little as possible, eyes fixed on the screen while your body vibrated with restraint. The scent of his cologne—warmed by his skin and the faint trace of post-shower steam—curled through the suite, wrapping around you like velvet shackles. Your thighs pressed together more tightly the longer you stood still.

You reminded yourself—again—that this was your decision. You were maintaining abstinence. You’d been attending therapy. Learning to manage what had once consumed you. Learning how not to chase every high your body demanded. You hadn’t slipped in over six months.

But today…

Today something broke.

──

You shouldn’t be doing this.

You repeated that over and over again in your head, even as your thighs pressed together, even as you turned toward his chair—the one still warm from where he’d last sat—and let your body sink into it. The scent of him was stronger here. Thick in the upholstery, clinging to the wool of his blazer draped over the back. You exhaled shakily, nostrils flaring as Layton wrapped around you, pushed into every breath like it knew exactly what it was doing to you.

Your body throbbed with need, the ache long suppressed now boiling over. Your self-constraint screamed at you to leave. To remember your progress. To walk away.

But then your hand slid between your thighs.

And it was already over.

You felt the heat there—wet and pulsing—before you even touched yourself. Just the press of your palm over your panties made you gasp, the friction igniting a tremor that rolled through your whole body. The skirt you’d worn today—a rare choice—suddenly felt like a divine mistake. Or maybe it was fate. No slacks to fight with. No belt to undo. Just a soft fabric bunched around your hips as you slipped your fingers down the front of your underwear and found the desperate pulse of your clit.

“Fuck—” you hissed, biting down on your lip. One finger circled slowly, teasing and taunting, while the other hand gripped the armrest of his chair. Your head lolled back, the sharp scent of Layton clinging to your hair, your skin, sinking deeper with every ragged breath.

You didn’t realize how loud your breathing had gotten. The moans that had broken free weren’t whispers—they were real. Hungry. Shamefully sweet. And they drifted into the room like incense, thick and lingering.

What you didn’t know—what you couldn’t possibly know—was that your voice wasn’t just trapped in the still air of Bucky’s office.

It was in his ear.

──

Bucky stood behind the curtain of the press hall, one hand on the mic clipped to his tie, the other curled into a tight fist behind his back. He was half-listening to the event organizer briefing him when something flickered in his earpiece. Static. Then—

“F-Fuck—Bucky…”

His name.

Moaned.

Soft and strangled and real.

His spine straightened like he’d been struck.

The voice was unmistakable. Yours.

The sound came again, clearer this time, riding a breathy whimper. His brow furrowed, sharp gaze shifting toward the assistant speaking in front of him—but he wasn’t hearing a word she said anymore.

He tapped the mic, subtly. The connection flickered. He recognized the signal.

It was from his office. From the hidden mic—one of several—planted into the base of his desk lamp. A holdover from another life. Not politics, but fieldwork. Survival. The kind of instinct that gets carved into your bones when you’ve spent years as a ghost, a weapon, an Avenger—an assassin. Even now, walking corridors of Capitol Hill instead of war zones, Bucky Barnes never truly relaxed. The security team had given him the green light to keep those recordings in place, citing precautionary measures. But really, they were for him. A way to feel safe, to control the perimeter, to know what was coming before it came.

But what he was hearing now had nothing to do with politics.

Your moans filtered through the line again, closer this time. As if you were leaning over the desk. As if your mouth was right beside the mic.

And suddenly he was hard. Painfully so.

The assistant cleared her throat. “Congressman? They’re ready for you.”

He blinked, nodded slowly, forcing a polite smile. But his mind was miles away.

Still in that room.

With you.

Bucky didn’t remember half of what was said onstage.

He answered questions. Shook hands. Smiled for the cameras. But his mind was nowhere near the press hall. It was still up in his office—haunted by the sound of you panting his name in gasping, breathless fragments.

He lasted exactly twenty-two minutes.

When the moderator thanked him for his presence, Bucky slipped away with the practiced grace of someone who knew how to disappear without making it a scene. He brushed off staff with a tight-lipped smile and a dismissive wave. “I’m taking a break. I need a few minutes,” he said. “Thinking about my mom. It’s her birthday today.”

A lie. One he hated using. But it worked.

No one followed.

No one asked questions.

And he made sure—damn sure—his guards knew to stay posted far from the east wing of the building. His office sat in the corner of a quiet conference suite, tucked behind a frosted glass door that bore his name and seal. No scheduled meetings for the rest of the afternoon. No assistants buzzing in. No unexpected interns to stumble through.

Just you.

Still in there.

Still moaning like you didn’t know your voice was crawling into his earpiece like the world’s most dangerous prayer.

He locked the door behind him the moment he stepped inside.

The click echoed through the room like a gunshot.

Bucky leaned back against the wood, hand still at the latch, jaw tight and eyes closed as your voice spilled through the earpiece—raw, needy, filthy in a way that peeled his self-control back layer by layer.

You hadn’t noticed him yet.

You were still in his chair.

One leg slung over the armrest, the other foot planted on the floor for leverage. Skirt pushed up, blouse half-open, hair mussed and falling out of its usual neat tie. Your fingers were buried between your thighs, moving in tight, desperate circles. His name fell from your lips in gasps, more broken each time. Whimpering. Pleading. Ruined.

He exhaled harshly through his nose, blood roaring in his ears.

“Christ,” he muttered.

What the fuck were you thinking?

He should’ve been furious. Should’ve been offended. Professional boundaries, and all that. But instead, something primal settled in his gut. A slow, molten heat that spread into his chest and pulled tight behind his zipper. Not just lust. Not just arousal. Possession.

You had no idea how close you were to being caught.

To being taken.

You didn’t even check the door.

Didn’t think about cameras or recordings or someone else walking in before him. You just trusted you’d be alone. Trusted that you were safe in his space. And instead of hating you for it, instead of calling it foolish—

Bucky felt proud.

Protective.

Turned on beyond belief.

Bucky stepped forward quietly, his boots making no sound against the polished floor.

You were close.

He could tell.

Your moans had gone breathless—rushed, rising in pitch. Each gasp of his name now came through the earpiece like a desperate confession. Faster. Wetter. Louder. He could see the way your hand moved beneath the hem of your skirt, the way your hips rolled against your own touch. That tension in your thighs. That flutter in your lashes. Your head thrown back like the chair was your altar and you were about to come in his fucking name.

He exhaled—slowly. Quietly.

You were so absorbed in your pleasure, so lost in that hazy world you’d escaped to, that you didn’t even hear the subtle swish of the door behind his desk opening. You hadn’t noticed that he wasn’t just in your head anymore—he was in the room. Close enough now to smell everything.

And God, he did.

He could smell the sweat on your skin, the arousal soaking through your underwear, the lingering trails of your perfume—the one you always wore on days you wore your hair up like that. Professional days, you called them. If only you knew how that messy bun was driving him wild now, the loose strands stuck to your damp neck, the little whimpers you didn’t even know you were letting out.

You made it so easy.

Too easy.

His jaw clenched as he watched you, throat dry with something that wasn’t just lust—it was fear. Fear of what could’ve happened if someone else had come up here. If a reporter had slipped in to snoop. If a staffer came to clean. If it hadn’t been him.

He was protective by nature. Obsessive by consequence. He didn’t trust easily, didn’t let people in, but you—

You were different.

You were the soft place in his otherwise brutal life.

And now, like a loaded gun left on the wrong table, you were vulnerable in the worst way imaginable.

Bucky’s fingers twitched at his side. He wanted to touch you. To pull your hand away and replace it with his mouth, his fingers, his everything. But he didn’t move. Not yet.

Because even with all that hunger burning in his blood, the soldier in him still wanted to study. Still wanted to watch.

Your breathing picked up again. Your body began to tremble, pleasure peaking. He could see it—feel it—in every breath.

And then you whispered it. “Bucky—please—” like you needed him to save you from drowning in your own ecstasy.

That did it.

He couldn’t let you finish—not without knowing he was there.

So he cleared his throat. Just once.

A low, deliberate cough.

──

Your whole body jolted.

Eyes flew open.

You froze mid-motion, thighs snapping together as if you could undo the last ten minutes by sheer panic alone. Heart hammering. Lungs stuck in your chest. The shame—white-hot and paralyzing—poured down your spine like ice water.

Then you saw him.

Leaning against the wall, suit jacket still buttoned. Tie loosened just slightly at the collar. His expression unreadable—but his eyes? Burning. Steady. Watching you like a man who had seen everything.

Because he had.

He’d heard everything.

And he didn’t look away.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t even blink.

“You didn’t lock the door.”

His voice was low. Calm. But it carried—like a blade sliding from a sheath. Controlled. Dangerous. Precise.

Your whole body jerked upright in the chair, eyes wide, legs snapping closed so fast it made the chair squeak beneath you. You could barely breathe. Heart pounding, cheeks burning, hand yanking your skirt down in frantic, fumbling motions.

“I—I didn’t know anyone—God, I didn’t think—” you stammered, horrified. “I swear, I thought you’d be down there for hours—I didn’t mean—”

“Stop,” Bucky said gently.

Your mouth clamped shut.

He didn’t move toward you, yet. He stood just inside the office door, back against the wall, arms loose at his sides. But there was no mistaking the heat behind his eyes. That slow, burning intensity you’d only ever caught glimpses of in passing. Behind podiums. In briefings. When he leaned just a little too close with that cologne on and your legs would go weak for reasons you never wanted to admit.

“I’m not pressing charges,” he said. “You’re not losing your job.”

You blinked, speechless, heart still galloping like a terrified animal.

“But…” he continued, pushing off from the wall, walking toward you now with the same deliberate, panther-smooth grace that reminded you exactly who he used to be. Not just the golden boy congressman. Not just the tailored suit. But him. The assassin. The Avenger. The man who moved like a weapon and looked at you like he already knew what you tasted like when you came.

“You are in trouble,” he said, voice lowering with each step. “Just… not the kind you’re thinking of.”

Your lips parted. Breath caught.

Bucky stopped a few feet in front of you.

And that’s when you saw it.

The outline pressing hard against his slacks, thick and demanding, straining against the zipper like it was fighting to be free. Your throat went dry.

“Do you know what it’s been like?” he said quietly, almost like he was talking to himself. “Having to walk around with this—” he gestured to his head, his chest, his body “—with these senses. With you.”

Your brows knit in confusion, still trying to process the way he looked at you—like he’d already had this conversation with himself a hundred times and finally stopped trying to argue against it.

“I can hear your heartbeat spike when I walk by. Smell how wet you get when I lean too close.” His nostrils flared just slightly, steel blue eyes darkening. “You flinch like you hate me, but baby…” he chuckled, quiet and sharp, “your thighs say otherwise.”

Your apology died on your tongue.

Bucky took another step, now within arm’s reach.

“I know I shouldn’t have left that mic on,” he murmured. “Old habit. Leftover paranoia. I didn’t expect anything from it.”

His vibranium fingers flexed slowly at his side, gleaming under the low light of the office.

“But hearing you like that? Saying my name? Touching yourself in my chair? You’ve no idea what that did to me.”

He leaned down slightly, voice dropping to a rasp near your ear.

“Would’ve come up here sooner if I’d known you were hungry for me, sweetheart.”

Your whole body pulsed with heat.

And then, almost teasingly, he stepped back just enough for you to see his gaze drop to your lap—your thighs still trembling, your breathing still ragged.

“Now,” he said softly, eyes dragging back up to yours, “you’re going to help me.”

He glanced down at the ache visibly straining against the front of his pants.

“Fix the mess you started,” Bucky murmured again, voice low and rough.

You swallowed hard, eyes darting between his face and the bulge still straining beneath those expensive navy slacks. Your breath caught, your lips parted—but you didn’t move.

So Bucky did.

He reached out, warm hand cupping the back of your head, thumb brushing against your jaw—tender, but firm. Guiding. His vibranium fingers brushed your shoulder, trailing a cold path down your arm as he coaxed you out of the chair and down to your knees, right between his legs.

You looked up at him. The tie still loose at his collar. His jaw locked, blue eyes burning down at you like you were something sacred. Something he’d wanted for far too long.

“Atta girl,” he muttered, unfastening his belt slowly. “Show me what you’ve been dreaming about.”

You took him in hand, heard his sharp inhale. He was heavy, hot, twitching in your grip—already leaking from how long he’d been holding back. You kissed the head gently, teasing your tongue over the slit, and felt him shudder above you.

“Fuck, sweetheart…”

But something changed.

As soon as you tasted him—salty and masculine, laced with the lingering warmth of that cologne—you snapped. Your restraint, your therapy, your rules—shattered. Your hyper-sensitive body surged with heat and hunger. You gripped him tighter, sucked him deeper, harder, hungry for it—starved for the man who haunted every dark corner of your fantasies.

Bucky hissed. His hand flew to your bun—not to guide you, but to steady himself.

You were taking control.

And he was losing it.

“Shit—slow down, baby—” he grunted, legs bracing, muscles twitching. “Fuck—gonna—”

He didn’t finish the warning.

With a stifled groan and a muttered curse, he came fast and hard, head tipped back, hand fisting in your hair as his body jolted. You swallowed, breathless, the taste of him still on your tongue as he staggered slightly—off balance, caught completely off-guard by just how fast you’d undone him.

He looked down at you with wide eyes, chest rising and falling. Then he gave a breathless laugh—soft, almost reverent.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “You’re trying to kill me?”

You licked your lips and looked up through your lashes. “You told me to fix it.”

Bucky’s pupils dilated.

He was far from done.

“Get up,” he rasped, voice hoarse with need. “Lay down. Table.”

You rose—hands trembling, heart pounding—and climbed onto the edge of his desk, pushing aside the neat stack of folders and your own open planner. You laid back, thighs parting as his hands found your waist. He looked like a man possessed, hungry and undone, all that political polish burned away.

He pushed up your blouse, exposing your bra, then unclasped it with practiced ease—lucky for him (and unlucky for you) that you’d chosen the kind that fastened in the front. Your breasts spilled free into his waiting hands, and his breath hitched like he hadn’t just imagined this a hundred times over.

He didn’t hesitate.

He leaned down, biting softly at the swell of your chest, leaving wet kisses and deep bruising marks as his vibranium fingers slid down—cool and deliberate—between your legs. You gasped at the contrast of metal and heat, moaning as they slid through your slick folds with expert precision.

You writhed. He growled.

Then, when you were panting and shaking again, he pulled back—stroking himself once, slowly—then slid his length between your breasts, pressing them together with his hands as you lifted your chin to tease your tongue against the head of his cock.

“Hold still for me,” he groaned. “Just like that.”

The heat in the room swelled—his cologne thick in the air, your arousal coating his fingers, his taste still lingering on your lips. He rocked into your chest slowly, hips rolling, your mouth chasing every pass like it was your last breath.

And for Bucky?

It might as well have been.

“Just like that,” Bucky groaned again, thrusting slowly between your breasts, your tongue flicking over his tip with every pass. His hands pressed them tighter, his jaw clenched like he was fighting himself—like he was trying to savor this, even as every nerve in his body screamed for release.

You watched him from below—eyes blown wide, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from sucking him dry just moments ago. There was pride in your gaze now. Power. Your legs shifted, thighs rubbing together with desperate friction as you moaned softly, loving how undone he looked. This man—former assassin, super soldier, now walking the floors of Congress like he didn’t have blood on his hands—was losing himself for you.

And he didn’t even try to hide it.

He pulled back, eyes raking over your body like he wanted to mark every inch of it. “Turn over,” he said hoarsely. “Hands flat on the desk. Skirt up. Now.”

Your breath caught.

You obeyed.

The desk was cool under your palms as you turned, bent forward, and arched your back—cheeks exposed, thighs glistening. You heard the rustle of his slacks, the low hitch of his breath as he took you in. Then—metal and flesh—his hands gripped your hips, pulling you back against him.

“Fuck, doll,” he groaned, dragging his cock through your folds slowly, teasing. “You’re soaking. All this just from my scent, huh?”

You whimpered.

He leaned over you, the scent of his cologne wrapped in heat and sweat now, curling around your senses like a drug. His mouth found your neck—kissing, biting, panting against your skin.

“Do you know how many times I wanted to take you like this?” he whispered, teeth grazing your ear. “Every time you walked into my office, pretending you didn’t notice how hard I was. You think I didn’t know?”

Then—without warning—he slammed into you.

You gasped. Loud. Fingers splayed on the desk for support as he filled you in one hard, deliberate thrust.

Bucky groaned behind you, one hand gripping your hip, the other sliding up your back—vibranium palm splayed flat between your shoulder blades to keep you down. Pinned. Controlled. Possessed.

“You like this,” he growled, voice thick with filth and hunger. “You like knowing I can’t fucking hold back with you.”

He rolled his hips again, deep and slow, and your whole body shuddered from the inside out.

And then he lost the last of his restraint.

The thrusts turned punishing—each one knocking the breath from your lungs as his fingers dug into your skin, anchoring you in place. He was relentless. The desk creaked beneath you. Your moans echoed off the walls. His name fell from your lips like prayer.

“Say it again,” he gritted. “Say my fucking name.”

“Bucky—oh God—Bucky—”

“That’s it, baby. That’s mine.”

You felt him everywhere—his cologne clinging to your skin, his heat against your back, the cold snap of vibranium fingers sliding back between your thighs to stroke you just right as he kept slamming into you.

And just as you were about to fall apart, just as your vision blurred and your moans turned breathless and broken—

He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulled you back against his chest, and growled into your ear:

“You’re coming with me.”

You didn’t stand a chance.

Not when he had your back arched, your hips bucking, your moans punched out of you with every ruthless thrust.

And definitely not when his mouth returned to your neck—nipping, dragging, claiming.

“Gotta warn you, sweetheart,” he panted, voice gone gravel-deep, sweat slicking his chest against your spine. “Cleanup’s gonna be hell.”

You gasped, eyes fluttering as he slid his vibranium fingers back between your legs, stroking where he knew you needed it—circling, pressing, dragging you up toward the edge again. Your thighs trembled. His cock dragged deep inside you, heavy and thick, already swelling again despite how hard he’d come earlier.

He was insatiable.

“You’re dripping down my thighs,” he groaned, cock twitching inside you. “Gonna soak this desk. The carpet.”

“I—I can’t,” you whimpered, dizzy from overstimulation, from the scent of him still curling through the room like a trap.

“Yes, you can,” he hissed, fucking into you harder. “C’mon, doll. One more. I need it.”

He wanted to feel it. Hear it. Your body breaking apart for him like it was made to.

And when your orgasm tore through you again—loud, shaking, guttural—he cursed and pulled out just in time to see the way your release shuddered down your thighs, messy and obscene and perfect.

“Fucking hell,” he growled, grabbing his cock and stroking it hard, fast, as he stared at the wreckage of you—your thighs spread, your mouth open, your body twitching from the aftershocks.

He didn’t last long.

One sharp exhale—your name on his lips—and he came again, painting your lower back and ass with hot, thick ropes of it. The kind of mess that would take more than tissues to fix.

Bucky stumbled back a step, chest heaving, hands braced on his thighs as he tried to catch his breath. A beat passed.

Then he chuckled, dark and low.

“I told you we’d need time for cleanup.”

You groaned, still face-down on the desk. “That’s… not my department, Congressman.”

Another breathless laugh. “Lucky for us, I’ve got some experience erasing evidence.”

He moved toward the far wall of his office, tapped a hidden panel under a shelf, and revealed a small screen linked to the CCTV system. A few taps, and he was deep into the security matrix—something no one but Bucky Barnes had access to.

His fingers hovered over the delete command… then paused.

A wicked smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Or…” he murmured, glancing back at you, still sprawled across his desk, flushed and glistening. “I keep this one. File it under inappropriate.”

Your breath caught.

Then his voice softened—still low, still dark—but careful now. “Only if you’re okay with that.”

You looked at him, cheeks burning, chest still rising and falling in uneven gasps. And then you smiled—slow and shameless.

“Only if I get a copy too.”

He chuckled, full and rich, before locking the footage away behind a new encrypted file. His name. Today’s date.

And a folder labeled simply: INAPPROPRIATE

He turned back to you, still drinking in the sight—hickeys blooming across your chest like war paint, lips kiss-bitten and eyes half-lidded in the aftermath.

If anyone asked why the door had been locked for so long…

“I’ll tell ’em I needed a moment,” he muttered, tucking his shirt back in with a wry twist of his mouth. “Missing my mother. Or some bullshit like that.”

You snorted through the heat still burning on your skin. “You’re a menace.”

He stepped back toward you, buttoning his shirt halfway, not even bothering to fix the tie. “You have no idea.”

Then he leaned down, kissed the curve of your shoulder—warm, slow, almost reverent—and whispered:

“We’re not done, by the way.”

You blinked up at him, still trembling. “We’re not?”

“Nope.” He slid two vibranium fingers through your slick folds again, slow and deliberate, and smirked at your sharp gasp.

Whore

Honestly you were so used to that comment. That's what everyone thought, even yourself most of the time.

Logically, you knew why you were like this. You had enough Psychology knowledge to understand the way trauma responses worked, and you knew full well that that's what this was.

But it was so much easier to just call yourself a slut and move on. You just liked it, you would tell yourself, It has nothing to do with anything they did to you.

So what if you wished you were innocent and naïve? So what if you wished you could just wear comfortable clothes? So what if you wished you weren't always thinking about sleeping with someone? So what if you wished you could erase every trace of porn from your memory? You were a whore, you couldn't change it, you couldn't excuse it.

Your roommate Spencer knew what people thought of you. He knew the rumors and he saw the glances. He didn't quite believe it all when he first moved in with you into your small shared apartment, but he quickly picked up on some of the signs.

There was that time when he offered to wash your clothes for you when you were sick. He didn't try to look, if anything he was putting them in the wash with his eyes half closed, but he couldn't help but notice that every one of your undergarments were frilly and lacey. Certainly you would get tired of wearing cute bras or own some underwear that wasn't a thong? Or maybe he just didn't know women as well as he thought? He brushed off that incident, until there were more.

Like when he looked through your bookshelf only to find every spicy scene highlighted or bookmarked. It wasn't his place to judge, and he didn't, but he could have sworn you said your favorite books were classic novels, and these certainly weren't.

Or when he found porn on your laptop. He, again, didn't judge, but he was confused. You would shutter at any sex scene on TV, and you couldn't stand the subject. Sure, people called you every name under the sun, but not Spencer. Spencer didn't think you were a slut, but he did think you were in pain. He just didn’t know how to bring it up to you, it certainly wasn’t roomate or coworker appropriate, it was barely even friend appropriate. There was a line he didn’t ever want to cross with you, in fear of making you uncomfortable, but he wanted nothing more than to help you.

I was a random friday when he somehow found the confidence, and audacity, to bring it up. You just got back from your afternoon run, in shorts that definetly showed more than you liked, and Spencer was cooking dinner for the two of you.

You untied your running shoes and placed them on the shoe rack near the door like you always do. You walked to the kitchen and basked in the lovely arauma, if their was anything you loved about being Reid’s roomate, it was definetly his cooking.

He told himself to be gentle, to not bring it up when it wasn’t the right time, but when has he ever held something important back?

“Do you like having sex?”

Woah, wow. That’s not how he meant that, but now it’s too far to go back. So he put the timer on for his water to come to a boil and he turned to face you and wait for your answer.

You were nothing less than taken aback by his question. You never discussed sex with Spencer, there was always a silent boundary on the subject. It wasn’t his business, you both knew that, so why did you want to answer honestly? You didn’t, you couldn’t. That’s a can or worms for a different day, with a therapist, who you didn’t live with. So you simply laughed it off.

“I mean, you’ve heard the rumors, I’m sure you’re smart enough to figure that out.” You said it as a joke, Spencer didn’t laugh, he simply shifted his feet a bit.

“I am smart enough to figure it out. Except the answer I came up with, is that you don’t like it.”

You laughed again, this time shifting your eyes to the ground. Two psycho-analyzers living together had it’s quirks, such as exposing each other’s darkest secrets on accident.

“Come on Spencer, I’m like, a slut. Of course I do.” You were still smiling, mostly to deflect.

“Don’t say that.” He was serious. You certainly wish he wasn’t, but fine. If he wanted to be serious, you would be serious.

“It’s true.” You were surrounded by criminals on a daily basis, lying was second nature to you.

Reid wasn’t having it, “No, y/n, it’s not. You’re not a slut, you’re not a whore, you’re not just some sex toy to be traded from person to person.”

“My sex life is none of your business. I can sleep with whoever I want to-”

“That’s the thing! You don’t want to sleep with them. You don’t want to be looked at like that. You don’t want to consume any of the content that you’ve been looking at. I know you don’t.” He kept a steady voice, but a dominate one nonetheless. He let everything just roll of his tongue, as though he didn’t just send a wrecking ball through every wall you’ve built up since you were a child.

You couldn’t find words, you couldn’t come up with a lie or excuse, you couldn’t figure out how to let out the truth, you simply stood in your astonished silence. 

Spencer looked at your face, searching for any sign of emotion, but you stood still as a statue. 

“Look, y/n, I didn’t mean to-”

“I’m a slut.” Your voice cracked when you spoke, almost like Reid’s heart when he heard it.

“No, no my love you aren’t.”

“No. That’s what I am. That’s what I do, that’s what I’m good at. I-It’s what I’m good at. I’m good for sex, that’s what I’m good at.” Your gaze fell back to the floor as you spoke, your words quickly becoming muddled and rambled. Your body started shaking as you spoke, causing Spencer to quickly make his way to your side.

“Slut, I’m a slut Spence, it’s what I’m good at. It’s okay, I’m okay with it, I promise. I know, I know I am. It doesn’t bother me-”

“Shhh, Breathe honey. Come on, deep breath in-” Spencer breathed with you until you steadied yourself. You gathered your thoughts and your feelings. You tried to gather the pieces of the wall Reid broke, desperate to put it back together, but when you looked back up at Spencer, you let it all go again. He made you feel safe, that’s all that you wanted.

“I can’t stop it Spence.” Your voice was soft. You were letting go of something you held onto for so long. Soemthing you hid behind, something you felt comfort in, you just placed it down in front of him. You felt bare, naked, and yet somehow felt more comfortable than you ever have before. You could breathe easier. Someone knew now, someone knew you.

“We’re gonna get you some help. Okay?” You replied with a nod before wrapping your arms around him. He placed a kiss on your head before speaking again, 

The end of highschool was smooth, you finished with a decent amount of credits not enough to be seen as the smartest person ever but just enough to pass highschool as an average. Your skin shivered as your mind held the flashback of sitting in a cold classroom, clutching onto your jacket while you disassociated from what the professor was saying as a few tears hit the paper from how cold you were. Could you blame your eyes from watering? No, but it didn’t help either the tears ran down your cold cheeks, stringing your skin as you sighed out. 

You shook your memories away as you laid in bed, your roommate had nagged you on to do something exciting for summer instead of rotting away in your room like the lazy bum you were, wait ouch, that’s too harsh you just didn’t wanna leave the comfort of your home for your own sake. You rather lay in your room with the air down to a reasonable temperature while your laptop was open to some random smut, sketchbooks open on the bed, half naked in bed with one of your legs out on top of the covers. Ass out and everything who cares it’s the comfort of your own home. But nooo, you had to do something to occupy yourself or you’d wake up at 3:15AM listening to your roomates loud moans, as the bed smacked against the wall while you the smell of sex flowed through your vents and made you cringe in your sheets.

You hated listening to the loud “I love you’s” while the sound of bed banging got louder, sometimes you’d hear your walls crack wondering if one day they’ll fuck the bed through the wall, it made you sick. You had been single for the longest time. You'd tried to stay in relationships but they always left you because you were “too much” for them to handle. Whatever the fuck that meant as you harshly grabbed one of your comfortable pillows and pulled it over your face as you yelled into it, the muffled sounds of screaming only ringing through your ears, taking the pillow off your face you looked at the ceiling. When would you find your true love, you could really use a shining night and armor in your bed right now maybe not even having sex with you just kissing your neck to your collarbone, sweet love you’s. 

That’s all you ask for, why is it so hard to achieve that? Who fucking knows dude.

Picking your phone up off the night dresser as it was charged up as you yanked the charger out, the stupid thing only worked at an angle anyways and it pissed you off so much. As you opened up you saw Laura and Max on your feed, you had been with them during your highschool days thanks to late study nights with Laura you passed the scieney part of your report with flying colors. Seeing them making dancing tiktoks and enjoying their life made you fucking sick, seeing them feed each other food and then a quick peck made you shut yout phone down and toss it as you sat up quickly to inspect it and make you didn’t break it as you let a harsh breath.

Your lovely best friend Emma posted about working at the Hackett’s Quarry this summer and you gulped you had heard all kinds of crazy shit about that place, the lady who haunted the place looking for her lost son and turning anyone she saw fit into her son. The mysterious fire, the saviors, everything. You’ll never forget the day your friend said she’d plow Travis Hackett and oh my gee, you’d have to agree with them. He was on campus one day and my friend and I wanted to drop dread when we saw him. Telling his heroic story that was life changing for the name “Hackett’s Quarry”.

Omg, I should tell the story of how I met Emma. Eh, that’s a side story but some crazy shit happens between you two that can be told later on cause you’re too tired to talk about it in your mind. You bundle yourself into your covers and close your laptop as you yawn and lay your head into your soft pillow, looking at the ceiling as your eyes get too heavy for your own body as they shut close and you black out into a deep slumber before your eyes burst open and you grab your phone with a painful grip to mankind as you stare at the time “2:06AM” lovely.

 You could read some smut until you fall asleep, as you open your browser and switch to incognito mode typing in your favorite characters name before clicking enter and scrolling through the fics to read. “F!vampire reader x (insert character) NSFW!!” ugh, why is it female reader always and she’s always described as a basic white girl, blonde straight hair, ocean like blue eyes and plump ass kylie jenner lips. You don’t mind female readers but you don't consider yourself female, you consider yourself as just an agender human being in the world.

Gender neutral smuts were cool but they always had female genitals but here’s the thing: your genitals were just genitals, something that could suck in a cock and grip it forever could be your ass or your pussy who knows? You clicked onto the smut anyways and read through the author’s long ass notes before continuing” “He ran his fingers through her brown silk locs while gripping her plump white hips, thrusting his cock between them while she flashed her fangs in surprise biting into his shoulder as he groaned out as the precum slipped onto his milky white thighs” 

Exactly what I mean, like are we even the reader or is this just smut for YOURSELF. Like cmon now, you shut your phone as you weren't horny anymore and more frustrated than anything, forcing yourself back into anger slumber.

“Wakey wakey (name)..it’s 8AM”

You groaned as drool was on the side of your face and you looked rough as fuck, you gulped as your throat was dry and itchy as you coughed out. “G-Goodmorning Kuron” Her curls tickled her face as the rest of her was pulled back into a silk headwrap, a satin pajama set covered her body as her beautiful black features stood tall and strong in the morning sun. “Goodmorning, (Name) !!” you said in a sing-song voice as she headed for the door “When you’re cleaned up, my darling made you some of your favorite pancakes” You nodded and cracked a small smile as the door closed and you sighed out.  They are perfect for each other, if they aren’t like Jaiden then you don’t want them. You laugh to yourself as you know you’ll take anything you can get well not just anything you’re kinda picky, maybe.

You let your cold feet hit the ice cold floor as your entire body freezes and you open your door to tiptoe to the bathroom, slamming the door gently behind you as you start the water, listening to it hit the sink as you pick up your toothbrush and begin your morning routine, wash your face, brush your teeth and floss (to be safe.). You also check if you should shave to also be safe you

never know when you’re gonna get laid I guess. Making your way out the bathroom to the kitchen as you wave at them “Goodmorning (Name)” Jaiden says to you as they have a warm smile on their face. You smile back before muttering a good morning and sitting down and grabbing the fork as you dip into the pancakes of pancakes, sticking the knife inside and cutting a piece of a taking a bite of the delicious stack of pancakes you’ve ever eaten. 

You mutter “so goods” you continue to eat the stack of flapjacks until they’re completely gone and the plate is nothing but a few drops of leftover syrup drops. “That’s was so good Jaiden, thank you so much” you hum out as you kick your legs back in n fourth as it was a habitat you had as a child, as they could only chuckle out and reply with a thank you. You got up and waved to them as you made your way back to your room as you grabbed your phone and checked to see a few texts from Emma. 

Okay so one of the pics was Emma in a bikini top, water dripping down the suit and glowing on her perfectly shaped breast as you gulped and looked at the caption “Super Fun beach day!! Streaming later for my emmanation <33” You giggled at the name “emmanation” it was such a cheesy name for her followers but you were glad she was happy,you scrolled through the messages once more before settling on “You should sign up to be a Counselor at Hackett’s Quarry with us.” Your heart hit the floorboards as you gasped out for air and looked back out the message “Hackett’s Quarry”?! Was she out of her damned mind!! But then again, you should really get out the house cause Jaiden and Kuron's honeymoon was soon and they said they were ready for and- you don’t wanna say anymore.

You texted her back…

YOU!! ; I’m down..

     READ AT 9:15AM

Emmii; Yay yay! I’m so glad you’ll be joining me this summer here’s the number to talk to Chris Hackett (XXX-XXX-XXXX) <3

YOU: Thanks Em, you’re a trooper heh get it?

READ AT 9:17 + EMMII HEARTED YOUR MESSAGE

You crack a smirk at the short conversation you two exchanged as you click from social media to your phone app, as you enter the number the exact way Emma sent it as you click the call button and let the phone ring, as you got hesitant you wanted to hang out. What if you didn’t make the cut, Emma would laugh at you for days on days. You almost clicked the end call button before a cheery males voice connected to your ears, “Hello! This is Chris Hackett, owner of Hackett’s Quarry. How may I assist you today!”. 

You froze in your tracks, trying to figure out what to say to Mr. Hackett “We-ll, M-Mr, m–my name is n-nAmE!!” you say it is broken with low soft parts, mixed with loud excited parts. He hums over the phone “Well, name, how may I assist you?”

“I was wondering if you were still accepting camp counselors” He tapped the desk as he looked at the list and smiled before returning back to you “Yes, we are! Are you interested?” “Yes. Yes I am” you responded way faster than you thought you would, “I’m gonna ask you a series of questions and then I’II see if you quantify “Yes sir.”

After being quizzed on for what felt like hours, he was finally done. “Well Name, I’m gonna have to say…” your head filled with possible answers ‘you didn't make the cut” “sorry kid, you don’t fit it” but his response shocked you. “Welcome to the Team.” Your body eased at the response, still tense but more at ease as you nodded “Thank you Sir, I’II see you in 2 days then.” “See you then kiddo”

You flopped onto the bed letting out a sigh of relief as your body reacted differently you were in relief and pure shock, you couldn't believe you had got the position, your first reaction was to calm down and then text Emma the news but instead you just decided to straight away text away, which backfired because of your anxiety and shit grammar. 

YOU!! ; I gotfj the jobd1!1!

 Read 10:24

Emma; that’s good to hear, I’m so excited to spend this summer with you.

You: same <3

 Read 10:25

Smiling as you place the floor down, you stare at the ceiling, you have 2 days to get some nice clothing, get your messy hair situated and get packed. You better head out now and oh– you get paid later today, your paycheck should hit around 6pm since the systems are down. What could you do for 5 hours until 5:30? Walking around you step on your gaming controller and you pick it up and click your tongue, maybe play some skullgirls or Detroit becomes human. You really need to get all the dbh endings so you’ll settle on that for now. Walking over to your PS4 and beginning the start it up and you drop onto the bed and flick through the small amount of games before loading up dbh, as the story progresses so does the day as the day shifts from all sunny to a beautiful orangy, yellow color with hints of red in the sky.

. ～ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) - uh oh..name..run while you can..

Your phone dings when the timer goes off as it’s 5:30 and you decide to get off the couch, saving the game and powering off the game system as you get and stretch your body followed by a loud yawn. Making your way over to your dresser you pick out something light and simple to put on, it’s still hot and moist out and you wouldn't wanna risk it, a tank top (with a picture or not, your preference)  and some pants fit this category. You slide on your cozy shoes and grab your belongings off the night dresser and make your way out the room, Jaiden and K are sleeping on the couch while a cheesy romcom plays with the fake laughter in the background.

You open the door and step out as the cool air hits your body sending chills down your entire body as you make your way to your car, opening the door, climbing inside and starting up the vehicle. While on your way to the store, your payment was processed and it already hit your card while you were driving and humming to the tunes of your favorite song. 

As you pulled into the parking lot of the store. You step outside the car and make your way to the store, something feels off as the chilly weather blows paper bags in the wind as you walk into the store. This takes you a while to pick out clothes going through the many aisles, picking out outfits you find amazing outfits to wear as you place them in your handbasket. Making your way to the front of the store you pay for the items and making your way out stepping outside something feels extremely wrong.

As you walk to your car, open the passenger door and place your bags inside you hear a woman scream you flinch at the sound as you quickly shut the car door, now normally you wouldn't check it out but the help me and save me gets to you and before opening your door you bolt into the woods. It’s dark, wet and quiet. The sun is basically gone and it's nothing but darkness. You crunch the leaves and continue running before slowing down to catch a breath and listen to heavy breathing, seeing the corpse in front of you , you freeze but bolt something running behind you in a quiet fluid motion, something you’ve never seen before.

You don't stop, you won’t stop, you can't stop. Your body is pushing beyond it limits for your safety as you can see the lights, you push yourself faster to get into the lights of the parking lot as you drop your phone out your jacket pocket, fuck fuck fuck. Forget it, your life is more important right now. You continue to pace yourself and run. It hasn't stopped chasing you yet and it attacks you from a tree branch, gripping your hair and pushing your face into the dirty ground as you watch the little worm wiggle across the leaves as your head is hit into the ground, again and again. Blood dribbles down your nose as the vicious thing opens its mouth and licks at your bruised bloody nose, before retracting and biting you– hard.

You can do nothing but scream out for help as it muffles you by pushing your face into the pile of leaves, you can feel the teeth ripping your skin away as the blood runs down and then the cold wetness of this monster's tongue follows the trail. You can't breathe, you’re in shock and you don't know how it’s gonna get out of you. Gripping at the ground, you make your way to the rock as the monster claws at your hand, you yell out and grab the rock bashing it into the monster's head as it hits the ground running in the opposite direction while grabbing your phone before bolting off.

Your screen protector is cracked but you can't worry about that now, the only thing you can worry about is calling someone and getting help. Your lungs feel tight and like they’re on fire as you finally make it to the other side of the parking lot running to your car and unlocking it and getting inside, closing the door and locking it behind you. You want to dial the police, your roommate, anyone but people would think you’d gone crazy so what could you really do. You felt your neck as you hissed out in pure agony as it hit like hell to touch bringing your hand to the face to see the dark red crimson blood on your hands as you began to cry, you had got

attacked and barely made it out alive, All cause you wanted to be a hero, how stupid. You start up the car and get away from the store and forest, you need a story and goodnight of rest to put your panicked mind at ease. The car was pure silent as you looked into the rear mirror of your car, gulping as your body was warm and your hands trembled while you were driving, quickly getting off the road as you parked into the driveway, got the bags and went inside you sighed out as the house was dark and moaning could be heard from the other room as you let out a louder annoyed sigh. 

After a warm shower and getting the first aid kit, you're patting at the bite with some rubbing alcohol, yes it fucking burns but it’s for the better. You don't need this nasty ass bite getting infected right?? You put the bandage over the bite and lay down as you look at the ceiling once more, you're so drained out of energy it only takes one breath and you're out like a light. Little did you know, your downfall has only began,, over the course of the 1 day you spent packing, you were insanely weak, too weak for your own good as you struggled to get outside the house,getting into the car and making your way to your reversed hotel room for the night as you thought it would be a better idea to be there so you could be closer to Hackett’s Quarry.

You made your way into the hotel with your small baggage and took the key from the ladies hand as you made your way to the elevator and went to the 6th floor of the building walking through the cool halls as you unlocked the doors and walked into the fairly nice sized room. Tonight, you would rest and in the morning it's off to Hackett's Quarry Summer camp.

"Your words, eyes, and hands only belong to me My dreams, smiles, and daydreams are solely for you As I couldn't find you, I am getting lost in the sky now I find myself dancing with your own hands"

You have a new message from Caleb!

We'll only say hello from now on, there won't be any goodbyes

You woke up to the embrace of warm sheets surrounding you. You didn’t want to get up, not really. Not when the bed was so warm. You lay under the covers lazily for a while until you heard your name being called.

You sat up with a groan, stretching your arms. Picking up the cup of coffee placed on the bedside table. You woke up just in time; it was still warm. You stood up, taking a few sips of the warm drink. That felt so much better. Coffee always made waking up a little bit better.

Walking outside of the room, you saw Caleb already standing in the kitchen. He was making breakfast, leaning against the kitchen counter, the morning paper held in his hands.

“Morning, sunshine. It’s 8:45 in the morning. That’s a new record for you on the weekends, isn’t it?” He asked, a smile on his face. You just rolled your eyes in response, walking over to the kitchen, sipping on your morning coffee.

“That’s rich coming from someone who wakes up at 1:30 in the afternoon.” You said, walking up to him and resting your head on his arm, letting him press soft kisses on your forehead.

“Not really since that was a one-time thing, and you never wake up before 10 on the weekends, 9:30 if I’m being generous.” Caleb said, watching you put your empty coffee cup in the sink.

“Mhm… Good morning to you too.” You said, walking over to the bathroom. He could be so annoying sometimes. You picked up your toothbrush. The sound of plates clicking from the kitchen echoed through the apartment.

When you walked out of the bathroom, the breakfast was already set on the small coffee table in infront of your couch. You sat down in infront of him, muttering a small thanks as you picked up your plate, glancing at the newspaper that he had placed beside your usual seat.

“What’s your schedule this month?” You muttered, focusing on your breakfast. His cooking was always so good. Fluffy and soft pancakes that are not too sweet. Just how you liked them.

Caleb was a good cook, a great cook, in fact, but sometimes the things he’d give you would almost make you question his sanity and taste buds.

“You know, the usual.” Caleb said in reply, his brown eyes looking at you. Both of you could get so caught up in work that sometimes you couldn’t find time to spend with each other. “You want me to take a few days off?”

“No, it’s fine… Besides, my schedule is full. I have a few cases lined up, so it wouldn’t really be a wise decision to take days off when I’m still going to be working.” You said, chewing on the pancakes in your mouth, leaning forward to take a blueberry off of his plate with your fork. “Unless you want to spend it on yourself.”

Caleb shook his head, his warm brown eyes finding yours. “Was that something you did in your past relationships?”

“Not really. I mean, my dad used to. He is really fond of traveling, and my mom isn’t. So, he’d usually plan trips with his friends, and sometimes they’d fight about it, but in the end, he would get his way and go whenever he and his friends decided they wanted to visit.”

“And how did that feel? Didn’t you want to travel around with your dad, or did you prefer staying at home like your mom?”

“It was fine, I guess. Sometimes I wanted to go, but I knew he wouldn’t take me with him, so I just never said anything. And the house was always slightly calm compared to the usual whenever he would be away... That honestly sounds so horrible to say.” You said with a small chuckle. You didn’t even know why you told him that.

“Hmm... well, would you prefer traveling with me?”

“Yeah, I’d like it a lot…but in the future—just not now.”

Hours later, you and Caleb were lying on the couch together. His head lay on your stomach, his fingers tapping your thigh as your fingers ran through his hair.

Honestly, you both preferred this over usual dates. Of course, dates were always amazing, but sometimes you just want to stay in bed and relax and binge-watch some TV, which was perfectly fine.

Caleb’s hair was really soft. That thought had crossed your mind multiple times since you had started watching this Netflix series with him, The Crown.

You glanced down at him, and he looked completely focused on the series. “You know, I don’t really get it.” You said, shrugging as you shifted your gaze to watch the episode playing on the screen.

“Get what?”

“I don’t know why you watch all this. I mean, there is no monarchy in your world, and it’s just a bunch of people’s lives being played up for drama. Why is this interesting to you?”

“Should I ask you the same question when you’ll eventually sit down and watch those crime documentaries?”

“That’s different.”

“It really isn’t. Besides, it’s something new, isn’t that a good enough reason?”

“I guess…”

Slowly, you and Caleb had built a home with each other. Saved up money together and bought an apartment together. Though it was more about the feeling of being safe and being together that made this apartment a home for you two.

Even though everything was like a fairy tale most of the time, every relationship has its own flaws.

It was nothing you both couldn’t handle together.

But it did worry you, especially his nightmares.

He had been getting them almost every night.

You groaned, pulling the sheets over yourself, your hand reaching out to touch Caleb, but your hands found cold sheets instead. He wasn’t here. You yawned, sitting up on the bed. One of your eyes closed, trying to cling to the comfort of sleep.

Caleb was there, sitting on the edge of the bed, one of his hands resting on your ankle. He didn’t even turn to look at you. “Go back to sleep, honey.” He said, his voice sent shivers down your spine. It sounded... scared.

You rubbed your eyes, disregarding his words and crawling up to him. You wrapped your arms around his torso, pressing your cheek against his back. “You should’ve woken me up. I don’t mind…”

“I know… I was just—I didn’t want to worry you.” He said, with a sigh, his hands reaching up to hold yours. He leaned down, pressing soft kisses on your fingertips.

“You want to go back to sleep… or we could go to the kitchen and eat something. Maybe watch a small movie if you want?” You said, your free hand rubbing the side of his arm gently.

“Don’t you have work tomorrow?” Caleb asked, intertwining your fingers, squeezing your hand gently.

“I can take a day off; it won’t kill anyone… hopefully.” You asked with a smile, yet Caleb didn’t reply, just letting out a hum in response. “It was a joke…”

“A really bad one.” Caleb replied, letting go of your hand. His hand found your ankle, pulling you closer against his back. His hands held your thighs, picking you up in a piggyback style. Your hands are wrapping around his neck.

“I found it funny.”

“Of course you would.” He replied. Walking out of the bedroom towards the kitchen. He gently sat you down on the kitchen counter before letting go. “What do you want to eat?”

“There is chocolate ice cream in the freezer.” You replied, picking up two spoons, watching Caleb open the freezer and take out a tub of chocolate ice cream. He handed it to you, taking one of the spoons from your hands as you opened the tub of ice cream.

You scooped up the ice cream, putting it in your mouth—it was rich and sweet but so, so cold. Making your face curl up. Caleb chuckled, looking at you as he put a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth. “Too cold?” He asked, smiling when he saw you nod.

He stared at you for a minute, letting out a sigh. He couldn’t stop having nightmares. It terrified him because every time he slept, all he could dream about was you dying. Something happened to you when he wasn’t here, when he wasn’t holding you close.

You could take care of yourself, he knew. And if that wasn’t enough, he can teach you how to.

A nudge broke him out of his thoughts, looking at you to see a spoonful of ice cream in your hands, near his mouth, your other hand hovering under the spoon to make sure nothing would spill.

Caleb smiled, leaning forward and taking the spoon in his mouth, letting himself savor the taste of the dessert.

He wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close.

He was happy like this.

With you.

It’ll be fine. You’ll be fine and he’ll be fine.

Because at the end of the day;

you were together.

A/N: Wow, this is the last chapter of the series. I don't have a lot to say right now but there will be a (probably) long author's note about this series posted in a few days. Please leave any comments you might have about this series in the comments and I'm gonna answer it to the best of my abilities in the Author's note.

There is gonna be a spin off series. I'll talk to you all properly in that post, answer any questions you might have so stay tuned. Have a nice day!

"I get that this life of mine is bereft of your presence, but then my heart doesn't know any other way to live."

You were sitting at your desk looking through another case file. Your eyes were starting to burn at this point. Ugh… God, you hated divorce cases, especially the ones with kids in them.

Just terrible… Both of the parents were clearly neglectful in their own ways—the problem was, who was the kid going to go with? It could unnecessarily complicate everything.

If you were being honest, you didn’t want the kid to go with either of the parents, but everyone knows just how great foster care is, and it’s not like your personal feelings matter. You were just doing your job.

The sound of nails tapping against your desk broke you out of your thoughts. You glanced up to see your friend and coworker, Madison. There was a smile on her face, a slight pitiful look in her eyes as she looked down at your hunched figure.

“Hey, Giggles. It’s almost lunch... Do you want to go grab a bite, or are you going to sulk all day, staring at that file?” She asked, gesturing for you to hurry up with her finger as she stood, leaning on your desk, waiting for you. “Up, come on.”

“Just a second.” You said, opening the notes app on your phone. Your fingers type quick words because of habit.

It’s been a tiring day today, Caleb. I’m going to go get lunch with Madison.

You wrote in your notes app. You couldn’t let go of that habit you had built up. Writing down mundane everyday events as if Caleb could still see and reply back.

How long has it been again? Around 4 years now…?

You sighed, getting up from your chair and fixing your shirt. “Let’s go…” You said, walking beside her.

Giggles, that’s what she called you. You both had properly met in your last year of college. Even though you shared classes, neither of you got around to talking to each other before. The conversations between you never ended without your laughter filling the space around you, earning you that nickname.

You were both lucky enough to get into a good and the same law firm in the city. Honestly, things had been much better with her around. Her presence helped your heart glue the broken pieces you had picked up yourself.

Both of your steps fell into synched paces as you walked beside each other; the sound of chatter, heels clicking, and typing of keys filled your ears until her voice forced its way inside your head. “There’s going to be a mock trial in a few days. Are you playing a part in it?” She asked, earning a shrug from you.

“No, not really. I’d rather watch; it’s interesting to see. I can learn something from watching. Besides, I doubt I can play the part of a money-hungry CEO.”

“Fair enough… Did you hear about the Honor Oil scandal?”

“The money laundering…? Yeah, allegedly there is a lot of hush money passed around. The CEO might just lose the company if he is not careful.”

“Is that case assigned to someone in our firm?” You asked, turning your head to look up at Madison.

“Nope, it's Smiths and Devane. It’s a shame, really; I would’ve loved to know more about it behind the scenes.” She said as you both stepped inside the elevator, pressing the button of the ground floor.

Neither of you said anything, hearing the small ding of the elevator, watching the door open. You both walked out of the elevator and out of the firm.

You sat down in front of Madison, sitting in the small café near the law firm you worked at. Quickly giving your orders, you just stared at Madison. There was something going on.

Madison was never this quiet… And it seemed like you spoke too soon before her green eyes caught yours and a sly smile formed on her face. “So, how do you like it in the firm so far…?”

The tone of her voice made you raise your eyebrows. Yep, something was definitely going on. “It’s alright… Just get to the point, Maddy.” You said, turning your head to look at the waitress who walked up to your table to serve your food. You gave her a smile and muttered a small ‘thank you,’ shifting your gaze to look at Madison.

“You know Spencer?” She asked, taking a sip of her coffee and looking at you with raised eyebrows. “Uh, yeah—he is very good with contracts and stuff, helpful guy.” You replied you felt like you knew where this was going.

“Well, he thinks you are cute and wanted me to give you his number if you want. He’s pretty nice, just a shy lad.” Madison said, looking up at you hopefully.

You knew the reason for that look in her eyes. Madison is a sweet woman; she is gorgeous and full of life. In the years you have known her, she’s been in relationships. And at one point, she probably didn’t want you to feel lonely watching from the sidelines. It was sweet, but no way you’d accept.

“Uh… that’s… thoughtful? I don’t know. I...just—it’s not…uh. I am not—“ You said, stumbling over your words. What do you even say, that you have a boyfriend who has no signs of existing?

“There is… someone I like, and I think it’s mutual… so you know.” You said, giving her a tight-lipped smile.

She reached her hand out, holding yours gently and giving you a smile. She understood and wouldn’t ask until you were ready.

It’s alright, sunshine. I can wait if you don’t want to tell me. You can take it at your own pace.

It’s best to keep things vague when it comes to dating. Besides, you said you’d wait, and you weren’t going to go back on your promise. You’ll wait forever if it means you’ll meet him at the end of time.

The next few days passed as a blur; somehow the only thing you were looking forward to was the mock court trial. It was a tense atmosphere in the mock trial, so fascinating to see how the mood kept changing instantly. This was supposed to be a quick trial, but everything was really dragging out.

You were trying to soak everything in when one of the receptionists walked inside the room and called for you. Apparently, there was someone looking for you.

Maybe it was a client or a member of their family... You’ll try and make it quick and easy for yourself, that is. These new cases were really stressing you out.

You took the elevator to the ground floor, glancing around the entrance. There were a few people there. One guy you had seen around the office, talking on his phone, and a few people talking to the receptionists.

There was also this guy… standing around near the couches with his back turned towards you.

He was really tall, with black hair, just standing around with his hands in his pockets. Wearing a leather jacket, black jeans, platform boots…? Just the way he stood reminds you so much of…

Caleb

You stood there for a few more seconds, the light metal chain around your neck feeling uncomfortably warm all of a sudden. You let out a shaky sigh, taking in a few breaths, trying to compose yourself.

Stop imagining things.

“Excuse me?” You said, walking over to him. Putting on your best professional smile you could muster up. The guy turned his head to look at you when he heard your voice, his warm brown eyes meeting yours, and it was as if the world stopped.

Maybe the world didn’t stop, but your mind certainly did—your smile fell as quickly as it appeared. You felt your knees growing weak the longer you stared at him.

Caleb Caleb Caleb Caleb Caleb

There was no way, right? You were just dreaming—your sick mind was just playing tricks on you. You didn’t want to believe it… you did want to believe it. You knew it was him. You just… you wouldn’t be able to handle it if the sound of an alarm woke you up like countless times before, when you had the solace of meeting him in your dreams.

“What… Are you surprised? Sure, it’s been a while, but you already forgot about me?” The pretty stranger asked, his voice shaking slightly as if he was trying to contain himself.

It was him; it was really him.

The voice you let out was almost inexplicable. Stepping towards him with shaky legs as you slowly wrapped your arms around him. Feeling his embrace. Your face was pressed against his chest, opening and closing your mouth as no words came out. Your mind is just trying to process it.

You could feel his arms around him, his cheek pressed against your hair, and his hand placed on the small of your back. The smell of his perfume clinging to the leather jacket—it was subtle but smelled good.

For three and a half years, you had forced yourself to live without him. Mourning his presence like a ghost. So far away, never in your sight but always in the back of your mind.

Now he was here… alive.

He was here.

“Oh god…” You choked out, tears streaming down your face as you buried your face in his shirt, staining the shirt with your tears—trying not to sob in the lobby of your office. He was here… Oh God, he was here.

It wasn’t a hallucination.

You weren't dreaming.

“Shh… It’s okay—I’m here now. Don’t cry, sunshine…” Caleb said, rubbing your back in small circles. “Can you take the rest of the day off, baby?”

You nodded without thinking; you could get Madison to cover your work today. Only a few hours were left, but you’d be able to go home.

You took your phone out of your pocket with shaky hands, tears blurring your vision as you felt Caleb’s hand wiping away your tears. You sniffled, quickly texting Madison.

Caleb was already looking at you when you turned to look at him. His hand wrapping around yours and leading you out of the law firm. He picked you up the second you stepped out of the firm.

“Caleb, what are you doing!?” You squealed, looking at him, and he just smiled back. “You weigh nothing to me, and I don’t care about what people think,” he said, knowing exactly what you would ask.

“Do you want to go back to your place?” He asked, and you nodded along. Before you could get another word out, he started walking. “I know how to drive, and I have a driving license, sweetie. You don’t need to worry.”

He always knew what to say, didn’t he?

“Mhm…” You just hummed in return. Leaning to put your head on his shoulder, shifting to nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck. You could feel his heartbeat. You wished this wasn’t a dream, but if the gods were playing games on you again and this was a dream, at least you could wish it would last a lifetime.