#i have literally ten dollars to my name

[altarfates]

so, for anyone who saw my previous post tonight one of our pipes burst which has caused a great deal of damage to a lot of our house. we're doing all we can to try and clean up on our own but if anyone can help by donating that would be immensely appreciated. i spent the last few hours alternating between wanting to cry and scooping water into our bath to try and minimalize the damage.

i'll add the link here and some photos under the cut so people can see what has happened.

[husbandhoshi]

title: ghosted pairing: seungcheol x f!reader wc: 6.1k, mature/18+ only! tags: based on this drabble. porn with a considerable amount of plot, fwb to lovers, rich guy!cheol, yn is able to be picked up. horrible terrible excessive amounts of fluff. smut tags below the cut. everyone say thank you to @wuahae for reading this over :)

smut tags: softdom!cheol, unprotected sex, oral (m and f receiving), spanking/biting, yn has hair that can get pulled, mild ass play, boob stuff, fingers in mouth.

--

you think you have seungcheol's number memorized.

well, you definitely should have by now, with how many times you considered deleting it. instead you ended up changing his contact name, first to seungcheol club, which is where you met him. second time--rebound guy. the third iteration, your roommate had made it DO NOT TEXT, and you had left it like that because she was probably right anyway.

for better or for worse, you are not very good at following instructions. you're two and a half weeks fresh off of a heart-to-heart with your friends where you agreed that no, the best way to get over your ex was to not get under somebody else, and yes, you should absolutely stop sleeping with a guy who brags about being a playboy.

so you deleted his number and your text history, and everyone swore up and down that this was a good thing.

and you're sure you were on the same page as them until about five minutes ago, when you were doing your laundry and you had come across one of his white button-up shirts.

(he let you keep it because he said you looked better in it than he did. that morning, before you left his place, he had buttoned it all the way up for you--don't want anyone else looking at you the way i do, he had said. plus, the amount of hickies he had left behind were in no way presentable to the general public.)

the effect this has on you is instantaneous and humiliating.

"fuck. fuck," you groan, now scrolling through your camera roll to look for literally any screenshot with his number in it.

there's one from back when he was rebound guy--he had sent you ten dollars in apple cash so you could buy a coffee when you said you were too tired to fuck. you ended up coming over that night anyway, and you both watched four hours of law and order until you fell asleep on his couch.

there are a handful from when DO NOT TEXT had sexted you in the middle of the workday, which you kept for posterity and nights alone with your vibrator.

and then, finally, a few weeks before that, when things were simple and he was just an unsaved number in your phone--hey, i know you ran out this morning, but i wanted to let you know i had a great time last night, if you know what i mean. even with the winky face emoji, it was a strangely wholesome text from a first time hookup.

you favorite the screenshot and curse the fact that you have never had good impulse control.

you up? i miss you.

the words fly so fast out of your fingers, you have no time to consider whether or not this is a good idea. you vividly recall the time he told you he had never seen the point of putting a label on a relationship, which was the whole reason your friends staged an intervention in the first place.

still, the white shirt on your bed taunts you. even thinking about it makes your head spin.

yeah. let me send you an uber.

that too--he had money, and he wasn't ashamed to spend it on you. between that and the dick, you don't think you're willing to squander your luck.

besides, seungcheol is still rebound guy. you're still getting over your ex, and he's just a quick fix in the meantime. you tell yourself this, and you keep telling yourself this until you're out the door, without a second chance to tell yourself otherwise.

--

"can't go long without getting your back blown out, huh?"

this is the first thing seungcheol says to you, oblivious to the fact that you were planning on forever ghosting him less than an hour ago.

"as if you didn't answer my text almost immediately," you laugh, letting him help you take your coat off.

"never said i wasn't happy to provide," he replies. his gaze is hot, sticky, like he's forgotten what you've looked like already. "i think it's been almost a month. i thought you got tired of me or something, you know."

"of course not. i...i got busy."

it's a half lie. the other half? you wouldn't dare admit it, but you missed his apartment a little. partly because it's much nicer than your own, but the bachelor pad decor was starting to grow on you. (and maybe the bachelor, with it.)

"work was good today?" you ask, letting him draw you in by the waist. his hands are so warm as he draws them up and down your sides, underneath the cotton of the thin shirt you have on.

"oh, please," seungcheol says, his grin now hovering right over your lips. "don't play innocent. you didn't come here so i could talk about my job."

he's right, so you let him kiss you. it's hot and fast and it tastes like his twenty dollar mouthwash, which you take small pride in because it means he would have been sleeping if his hand wasn't on your ass right now.

seungcheol has never been slow nor patient. your shirt has come off, and he now thumbs at the waistband of your jeans, grasping at the button to undo them.

"i don't think i even know what you look like with pants on," he says, lips dragging against the shell of your ear. "you always dress up when you come here, and it all ends up on the floor. pity."

you feel all the heat in your body surge towards your core. somehow your jeans are already on the floor and seungcheol's palm is fanned over the thin lace of your panties.

"thought about me the whole way here, huh?" two fingers are meanly sat over the seam of your cunt, pressing the damp fabric to your skin. "let yourself get all wet for me on the car ride?"

"maybe," you manage, not wanting to betray the embarrassment in your voice. you don't need his hand there to know how wet you are, and yet you know he's doing it to tease you anyway. he finds the bump of your clit over the fabric, now clingy and warm over your skin, and runs his thumb over it. "what else was i supposed to think about?"

"no need to be shy. can't lie with such a needy pussy." he chuckles as your thighs squeeze helplessly around him. "it's cute."

before you can protest, he pushes your panties to the side, now undoubtably soaked through, and his fingers find your clit again. it just takes two, three, rough strokes to draw the pleasure out of you like a fire in your belly.

"cheol," you whine. somehow things always end up like this--you, almost fully naked, and him, still with all his clothes on. he likes reminding you of it too, now enjoying the way you press against him, searching for skin. instead, you feel his cock under his sweatpants, right up against your thigh, and it only turns you on further.

your hands find his waist, but between the new welt he's sucked into your neck and the paralyzing feeling of his thumb on your clit again and again, you falter. your fingertips hover on the downy hair peeking over the band of his sweats, and you've never ached more to have him inside you.

that's all seungcheol needs to yank you back in line. "bed. now," he says, and you listen.

his apartment is big, and the walk feels dizzying as he follows behind you. what's even worse is that you can feel his eyes rake over you--he loves it. the humiliating stumble of your two left feet, the glistening slick at the apex of your thighs, how your panties cling to your ass, now ruined.

even now, as you clamber onto the bed like you're learning to use your limbs for the first time, he loves how easy you are for him. but you can't help it--no one fucks you as good as he does, and that was the reason he was rebound guy in the first place.

"face me," is his next command. at the foot of the bed, first, he pulls off his shirt, and your eyes wander first to his chest, then to the trail he's got down his stomach, teasing you as he pushes down his sweats.

one of his hands, strong and veiny, disappears under his waistband to play with his cock. you watch the slow flick of his wrist and see the shape of his length underneath the fabric, and you almost start salivating.

you're sure he's punishing you by now.

"you're staring, pretty girl. use your words." a turn of his wrist, and he groans. he might just make himself cum like this, and the notion that it wouldn't be somewhere inside you absolutely shatters the last bit of pride you had left.

"need you in my mouth, cheol," you whine, now sitting up straight against the headboard, as if looking any more pitiful would persuade him to join you.

and he does, just not in the way you want him to. instead, you watch his sweats fall to the ground before he kneels on the edge of the bed, on the end furthest from you.

"what, you think i'm gonna give it to you easy? after you made me wait for you?" you are not thinking straight enough to decipher what this means. who knew ghosting a fuckboy would have actual consequences, but you watch his grip tighten around the fat base of his cock and decide this is not the time to play detective.

so you swallow your pride and all your questions and you crawl. you crawl all the way down the seemingly endless length of his king sized bed, feeling seungcheol's gaze swallow you whole, and you like it.

when you stop at the foot of the bed, you take pause to look at seungcheol, really look at him. his eyes are dark, almost unrecognizably so--maybe it's the way you so readily make yourself perfect for him, arching your back just how he likes and letting your swollen, wet mouth fall open like you've never wanted anything more than him.

"so pretty like this," he coos. he runs a thumb over your bottom lip, feeling it quiver under his skin. you feel the saliva pooling in your mouth; it's as humiliating as it is desperate but you can't help yourself. it feels so good to be touched, and seungcheol's clings to you like nothing else.

he pushes his fingers into your mouth, almost to the back so you choke. you're at the point where you'll take anything, so you suck. you let your tongue run all over the digits, long and calloused enough that you can only dream of having them inside the other half of you. he pushes onto your tongue, wanting you to taste him, and you whimper, the feeling harsh but not unwelcome.

"dumb mouth just needs something in it, huh? my girl will just suck anything?"

you can't talk, so you whine around his fingers, feeling your pussy clench around nothing. he's been playing with his cock with his free hand, forcing you to watch him trace every vein with his own skin instead of yours. you hollow out your cheeks and suck him nice and tight, trying to fool yourself otherwise.

then he laughs, low and quiet--as fun as it is to slut you out, he's never been patient. "open wide, darling." he slides his fingers out from your mouth before pulling your hair out of the way. thank you, you want to say, but it's quickly washed away by the shock of his cock between your lips, rough but never too much so.

god, you didn't even think you liked sucking dick that much, but sleeping with seungcheol for this long must have altered your brain chemistry for the worse. his familiar, heavy warmth sits on your tongue, and you can't help but moan around him. you love the stretch of your jaw, the way his eyes always wrench shut no matter how in control he is.

"fuck," he groans, carding a hand through his hair. "slutty little mouth's made for me."

you hum around him, taking him all the way to where your nose skims the dewy curls on his abdomen and all you know is the scent of his heat. you're drooling so much, thanks to all the fingers in your mouth not too long ago, but you don't care. you run your tongue on the veiny underside of his cock, back and forth, savoring the hurt in your cheeks and all the spit on your chin.

seungcheol makes a low-pitched, strangled noise, the first time you've seen him crack tonight, and it sends another gushy wave of heat to your cunt.

you toy with his slit, let the salt of his precum fill your mouth, and suck hard around his cockhead. your scalp stings wonderfully with how he pulls at your hair, and you lean into the feeling. a deep breath through your nose, and you sink down again. the way he hits the back of your throat makes you yelp pitifully, but you persist like a dog to a bone. again, again, and you're gagging on your own spit as your throat spasms around him and you go cross-eyed.

he's all about control, but he lets you have this--perhaps he likes seeing you give yourself to him without him asking. he doesn't have to lift a finger, and you'll still choke around him, bruise your own throat. surely that had to mean something, but you'll chalk it up to some astrological sexual compatibility you're unaware of at the moment.

"enough," seungcheol finally says, voice gravelly, and he pulls you off him by the hair. "fuck, you probably would've cummed from that alone, huh?"

meanly, he reaches over your back to grab at the strings of your underwear so it digs into your cunt. you cry out, feeling the warmth of arousal leak all over your twitching hole, even between your ass. he's right--any more, and you really might have cummed all over yourself.

" 'm so wet, cheol," you plead, toes curling as he pulls the elastic of your panties further back. "please, please, please."

he releases the band, and it snaps hard against your skin. it feels like electricity as it connects with you, and you cry out again, the noise high-pitched and whoreish.

"gonna need you to face the other way if you want me to fuck you, darling," he says. "my baby likes it best from behind, right?"

you have nothing left in you but insatiable desire. you turn around to face the headboard, still on your hands and knees. seungcheol runs a careful hand down the curve of your spine before landing a hard slap on your ass. your skin sings, and all the blood in your body feels like it's been turned to fire.

"cheol," you warble, pressing your face into the sheets. your pussy actually hurts from how neglected it is, and when the second slap comes down, your clit aches like a bruise. "need you so bad...can't believe i went so long without you."

the words just fall out of you but you think they're true regardless. you were really fooling yourself thinking you could go the rest of your life without this. somewhere deep inside you, in the working part of your brain, you wonder if he's come to the same conclusion. that underneath the show, all the greed and the meanness, he missed you too.

"you must really need to get fucked," seungcheol chuckles. "you've never been this nice to me."

"not true," you protest, muffled by the sheets, and he laughs again. then he peels your underwear down your thighs before spreading your ass underneath his palms, and the cool air makes you twitch under him.

"you smell so fucking good. fuck." he groans, low and desirous, and it's the last thing you register before you feel the swell of his nose, his lips, as he buries his face in your cunt.

it's all too much at once--it rips a squeal out from your chest, one of those slutty, loud ones he loves, and it spurs him on further. you feel the wet pressure of his tongue, first between your folds, then up to the tight ring of your asshole, still messy with your arousal.

"o-oh my god," you cry. the pressure in your belly is now wound tight; you're so, so close and he's barely even started. he seems to know this, and deprives you of his mouth in lieu of his two fingers. the change in sensation is instant and toe-curling. something, anything, is finally inside you, and it's better than anything you have ever known. he drags the pads of his fingers brutally over your g-spot, loving the way you cry and tremble beneath him as your orgasm builds.

"have you had enough, pretty girl?" seungcheol asks, voice cruel, teasing. it's a rhetorical question--before you know it, his fingers are gone, and you instead feel the length of his cock between the curve of your ass. he's got a hand between your shoulder blades, pinning you down, just so he can see you struggle to push yourself against him.

"n-no," you reply, voice catching in your throat. you feel the head of his cock against your slit, and your thighs tremble with anticipation. not good enough. it only takes him a few times, rocking against your cunt, for you to crumble. you ask for things you can't even remember, and it's then when he pushes into you, so meanly you really do forget what words mean.

seungcheol swears under his breath, and his grip on your ass feels tight enough to bruise. your cunt flutters around him, god, you forgot how fucking big he is, but he doesn't give you much time to get used to it. his pace is unforgiving, and his hips slam into your ass like he's trying to fuck the sound out of you.

"cheol," you hiccup, listening to your voice jolt with every thrust. " 'm so full...."

"yeah? you like how i fill you up?" he squeezes your ass hard, and you moan into the sheets. "better than anyone else?"

"o-only you," you reply, slack-jawed at the feeling of being split open so well and the delicious, unending drag of him against your walls. "just you."

this seems to satisfy him. he enters you, deeper still, until it feels like he's in your stomach.

"so fucking tight," he says, from somewhere deep in his chest. "you need me to stretch you out like this every once in a while, yeah? you take it so well, pretty girl."

all you can do is moan his name. it's what you've been doing, and at this point, it's the only word you know. he bottoms out again, and the pleasure is so white-hot it feels like it burns.

it only takes two, three, punches into your cunt for you to come undone. you're gushing, gushing around him, babbling something incoherent, and still he is unrelenting. you feel your mouth move in an attempt to tell him you're too sensitive, and he only shoves his cock deeper in you so he can feel you clench hard around it.

then he pushes your head into the sheets, deeper still so the neighbors won't write him up in the morning, and fucks you again. you foolishly think another orgasm will break you, but all it takes is for him to press his thumb into the dip of your asshole and tell you he's going to fuck you in both holes one day for you to fall apart again.

by the time he's done with you, your legs feel boneless and you don't even want to think about the situation between them. (you had asked him to cum in you, and he did. there was so much, he had to push some back into you with his fingers, and you cummed one more time.)

you feel seungcheol's dead weight slump onto the bed beside you. you're still face-down, but you turn as far as you can to look at him. it's unfair how he still looks good now--his bangs, dark and curly with sweat, crown his forehead, and you watch his long eyelashes flutter shut.

"fuck," he groans. "how does every time with you get better?"

somewhere inside you, in the parts that still work, you feel a small gleam of pride. it feels traitorous, in a way--the whole point of being friends with benefits was that it was supposed to be conditional, but you're running out of conditions. clearly, it didn't take much for you to come back and not regret it.

seungcheol laughs at your silence. "did i break you? no," he jokingly whines, and he rolls onto his side to return your gaze. he brings a hand up to brush the hair out of your eyes, as if that would somehow magically repair your body. but it does feel nice. "please speak."

"maybe broken. to be determined." seungcheol grins stupidly when you say this, and you watch how his eyes crinkle up at the sides.

usually, it's every man for himself at this point in the night. seungcheol will order takeout and draft some emails, and you hobble over to the bathroom so you can pee and use the shower. he leaves you alone for this part, which is the perfect opportunity to mix all his fancy shower gels together like you're a kid again.

but today seems different. you lie there for a beat in silence, watching each other blink. then seungcheol gets up, slowly then all at once, and walks over to your wrung-out body.

"i'm picking you up," he says, like a warning. "hopefully you're not afraid of heights."

you think he's joking until you feel the strong cords of his forearms--one around your middle and the other under your legs. you didn't even think you were able to be picked up at this point in your life, but somehow he's got you flush against his chest now, almost nose to nose with him.

"wait," you waver, suddenly feeling self conscious about literally everything. you're sticky and smelly and you're not curious to find out if your post-coital form will scare him away. "seungcheol."

"you really plan on walking yourself over to the bathroom? you couldn't make it to the bedroom earlier, and i hadn't even fucked you yet."

"hey!" you protest. he laughs, and you can feel his whole body shake. "wait, i can't laugh too much, or i'm gonna start leaking."

"you've got another thing coming if you think i'm afraid of a little body fluid."

seungcheol bumps the bathroom door open with his ass, which is somehow the funniest and most endearing thing to you. you flip on the light, and he sets you on the counter like it's just a normal friday night for the both of you.

he turns the shower on and turns back to look at you. "how hot do you want it?" then his eyes narrow playfully. "are you one of those freaks who likes getting their skin boiled off?"

"well, you can answer the first half of that question on your own."

"ok. freak."

while he messes with the shower knobs (he's got one of those showers with three separate showerheads), you take a moment to do some more snooping. the first time you were here, you did go through the various things he had on his counter. most of them are still there--the overpriced moisturizer you shamelessly use when you stay the night, a quarter-full bath and body works foaming soap, and a folded up hand towel with his initials on it.

there are some newer additions too. you don't miss how the little jar for your toothbrush is still there, or a small tube of lip gloss you had forgotten to take back a few months ago. he restocked the hand lotion that you said you liked, too.

you're starting to think that there is a small possibility that you are no longer friends with benefits. you're not dating either, but something somewhere in the middle. but how do you say something like that? how would you know, especially when seungcheol is a self-proclaimed forever bachelor who may never, ever date?

you have no time to think about this any further.

"sooo," seungcheol hums, wiping his hands with a bath towel. "i'll be in the bedroom. you want me to order chinese?" you watch him linger around, lamely, like a stray dog.

"wanna join me?"

he smiles, ear to ear.

"thought you'd never ask."

--

morning comes slowly.

you wake to birdsong and the quiet chatter of the city beneath you. the sun from the curtains is buttery and warm on your bare skin, and time seems to drag its feet. it feels perfect, which is a word you would have never used in relation to any of this, and yet nothing else seems more appropriate.

last night, after your shower (in which you learned that seungcheol always makes his hair into a shampoo mohawk, without fail), you talked for hours over the fattest spread of takeout you had ever seen.

the plan was to put on the office and dissociate like usual, but he finally answered your question about how his day at work was. (tumultuous and drama-filled--that was his first mistake. you love drama.) strangely, by the end of the night, you learned that you had more in common than you thought with a man whose watch collection was valued higher than your entire college education.

"you up?" seungcheol's morning voice comes out sounding like a croak from behind you. you're sure he's about to complain that his arm is asleep from your big head on it, but he doesn't. instead, he settles deeper into your warmth and pulls you closer by the waist.

"yeah," you reply, enjoying the feeling of his skin against your own.

you grab your phone from the nightstand, wondering if your roommate has discovered your betrayal and has blown up your phone. she has, so the two voice memos and twenty text messages in the group chat are no surprise to you.

what is a surprise is the text you get from your ex. can we talk? it reads. it's the first time you've heard from him in months--before that, he had broken up with you (over text) and then proceeded to block you on every platform possible.

your mind starts to spin. you'd be lying if you said you didn't want to text him back. just for closure's sake, you tell yourself, as if you haven't cried at least seven separate times about this. but you will admit, seungcheol has been a great diversion. you don't remember the last time you had a cry, and any progress was good progress to you.

complicating things, said diversion has slotted a leg between yours, and his hand has found its way to your ribcage, distractingly close to your chest. such are the consequences of only wearing a shirt to bed.

"you're so warm," he murmurs, right in the space where your neck meets your shoulder. his hand creeps up, now right over your heartbeat. it doesn't really take much for your body to respond--his fingertips find your nipple, and with a light squeeze, you're already arching back into him. "is this ok?"

"yeah," you breathe. you're distracted, but you figure the best way to un-distract yourself is with a new, better distraction.

now emboldened, he rolls the skin between his fingers, finding he loves the way you shudder underneath him. quickly, he moves out from behind you to hover over you instead, propping himself up by his forearms, and pushes your shirt up over the swell of your tits.

"you good?" seungcheol asks, lips flush to the skin over your heart. he presses another wet kiss to one of your nipples before taking it into his mouth.

"yeah, why?" you have half a mind to hold his head down so he can't ask more questions and ruin the point of being a distraction in the first place.

"dunno." he switches to the other side, licking over a mark he's bitten into your skin. "you looked at your phone and you seemed worried. also, you're frowning, and it's not a sex frown."

damn. you guess you're easier to read than you thought. you don't even have the heart to ask what the fuck a sex frown looks like.

seungcheol's mouth returns to your nipple, and he sucks hard, making you gasp into your palm.

"my ex," you tell him. there's no point in keeping it a secret. the first time you slept together, you had made it clear what your intentions were, which is what made this arrangement work so well in the first place. "he wants to talk or something."

"that asshole?" then another suck, and you keen into him. "you're too good for him."

it's literally one of the three appropriate responses he could have chosen from, but it still feels like a compliment to you. almost too much so.

"yeah. i guess." your voice sounds more wobbly than you'd like, but you chalk it up to the fact that he's now pressing his lips down your middle, all the way down to your core. "hey, i'm ticklish."

"i know." he kisses your belly button, and you smile in spite of yourself. "you smell good, by the way."

"it's your forty dollar body wash," you remind him.

"damn right it is." you feel his breath fan over your thighs, and your stomach flips with anticipation. "legs over my shoulders. you know the drill."

"you don't have to do this, you know," you say, before immediately regretting it. you have a spectacular knack of self-sabotage, which you think seungcheol knows by this point. "you've been really nice to me."

"am i not allowed to like being nice to you?" seungcheol jokes. "would you prefer me to be mean?"

"no," you laugh. you don't know how to ask what he meant. what made yesterday and today so different? it feels like you're on the edge of something, coming close to what you could only describe as more than casual affection, more than desire. "go back to being nice. forget i said anything."

you put your legs over his shoulders, like he asked. one good orgasm wouldn't solve the ex problem or this new seungcheol problem you are starting to discover, but it sure would help you think more clearly.

his lips are soft on you. he has none of the urgency or greed of yesterday; instead, he takes his time with you. his mouth skims over your inner thighs, lightly, drawing out all the breath from your lungs. you make a small noise of impatience, and you feel the stretch of his grin against you.

before you have a second chance to complain, you feel the heat of his open mouth over your cunt, as to drink your taste up. then his tongue, warm, insistent, on your clit, circling it before he sucks.

"o-oh, fuck," you whine, voice muffled by the back of your hand. it feels too early to be loud, and you're already embarrassed by how sensitive you are.

"don't text him back," seungcheol says. he's replaced his mouth with two fingers, now leisurely teasing you at your entrance.

"don't worry--" you manage to say this before he crooks the pads of his fingers into you, right at your sweet spot, and the words are stolen from you. "--about him."

"i'm serious." he laps at your cunt, and with his fingers still buried in you, the feeling makes you dizzy. "did he ever make you feel like this?"

"n-no," you whine, now with your palm shoved right against your mouth. he's added a third finger now, and the stretch is so good, you're going cross-eyed. "never ate me out."

"what?" you hear him tsk between your thighs as his fingers still. "he's missing out."

it's then that seungcheol must have resolved to give you the best head of your life, because you think you black out after that point.

his lips return to your clit, and the pleasure is so startling, you can feel your thighs squeeze shut around his head. unfazed, he continues to pump his fingers in and out of your hole, still fluttering, unused to the size.

"close, 'm so close," you mewl, hips now lifted to chase his tongue. he indulges you, gives you the flat of the muscle to grind against as he stuffs you full.

your other hand finds his hair, and it only takes a moment, a slight pull, for him to moan into your heat--the sound breaks something inside you, and you're gasping, crying out with your high. by now, there are marks from your teeth in your palm, but something about the sting only makes the feeling better.

seungcheol stays sealed to your cunt, removing his fingers only to replace them with his mouth, eager to taste you. he lingers until you're shaking and whimpering, spent from your orgasm and too sensitive to endure another.

he looks up at you, swollen lips and bedhead made worse, and a surge of affection overtakes you.

"kiss me," you tell him, and he does.

it's long, and it's slow, not even close to any of the ones you've had before. you wrap a hand around the back of his neck, and he sighs. you don't think he's ever done that before.

when he pulls back to look at you, it feels as though the air has changed. there are words pushing at your lips. this isn't casual anymore. it can't be, not with what just happened.

yeah, the sex is good, but the first thing you thought of this morning wasn't you or your saturday plans or how to endure the dismay of your entire friend group, it was about him. if didn't count for something, you don't know what did.

"seungcheol, i--" you pause. his eyes are so brown, it's distracting you, and you start to second guess yourself.

"is it about your ex?" he interrupts. "if he asked you to get back with him, would you?"

it's not his question, but his insistence that takes you by surprise.

"n-no." you watch his gaze flicker at your hesitance, and you don't like it. "no, i wouldn't."

"good, because--" he pauses, seeming to gather his thoughts. you try to read his expression, but he can't even meet your eyes right now. "look, i know i haven't had the best track record with dating. i don't even think i know how to date."

"what are you saying?" you ask softly. there's a part of your heart that feels like it's peeling itself back, in a good way.

"i'm saying i want to try." and when you still look confused, he continues. "dating you. if you'd let me."

against all odds, past all the swirling, terrible emotions in your chest, there's a bright surge of relief, of joy. the last time you saw him look so vulnerable was when he reached into his oven to pull out a tray of cookies and burned his hand because he forgot a glove. maybe this whole thing would crash and burn, but you like him enough (honestly more than enough) to try with him.

so you smile, and you watch him frown and pout and look unbearably terrified, and you smile harder.

"ok," you say, playfully feigning indifference. "you can try."

instead of replying, he kisses you again, and it's even better than the first one.

when you finally head out that morning, there's a lightness in your chest.

in the doorway, seungcheol pecks the top of your head before showing you his phone. "which emoji do you want?" he asks, completely seriously. "i want the blue heart."

you pull out your phone to find his contact, which still shows his plain number, just like old times.

"i'm unsaved?!" his jaw drops open like he's animated, and you laugh.

"gotta go," you tease. "see you later."

it's only in the uber home (that he called for you, of course), where you finally put in his real, government name, for the first time. finally, it feels a little more right.

choi seungcheol, it reads. with the blue heart.

[7s3ven]

Hear me out guys… retired soldiers now bodyguards! task force 141 x spoiled heiress! reader

( just an idea )

You’re like, a nutcase. Your father adores you but sometimes you can go out of control. Like for instance, the time you jumped off a cliff into the ocean below to impress a boy.

Yeah, your father wasn’t very impressed with your behaviour.

On top of your recklessness, your father has enemies who always seem to target you. You’re his obvious weakness and he can’t spend another moment of anxiously wondering if you’re okay while he’s working.

So, he hires the best bodyguards he can find. And they turn out to be retired soldiers from an elite unit known as Task Force 141. Perfect.

You don’t take kindly to being continuously followed by four large men who don’t even try to be subtle. It’s not like taking care of you is easy either. You’re a troublemaker, you always have been since your mother left you for another family (your reckless tendencies tend to stem from the fact that you’re causing trouble to get her to notice you again).

Task Force 141 has had enough when you attempt to sneak out of the house to a party on a Friday night. But it seems apart from shopping and acting like a brat, you aren’t good at anything else.

They hear a crash and someone swearing loudly before you roll off the roof, landing in the bushes right outside the window where the four men have a perfect view of you. They were watching a football came until you interrupted.

Jonny bursts into laughter, slapping Gaz out of amusement, while Price fetches you and forces you back inside.

“You know, your house has a back door for a reason.” Simon utters as he cleans your scratches but there’s a mocking indication to his tone.

“Yeah but like, going out the window felt more cool.” You argue back, furrowing your eyebrows.

“Was it cool when you face planted into the ground?”

You can only pout in annoyance.

From then on, they don’t leave you alone, especially not on Friday nights. You have to deal with being squished between Price and Simon as they watch a boring documentary on… fish? Jonny definitely chose that one.

But hey, you aren’t exactly complaining. Being stuck between the two men means being able to feel their muscles and smell their strong cologne. You tolerate the four men more after they cleaned your scratches from landing in a bush and carried you to your bed.

And so what if you catch feelings? Anybody else in your position would have done the same.

“We can’t date ya, lovie. We’re too old and we work for your dad.”

Do you care? Not really.

“My dad literally hired you because I was a troublemaker. Ya think I give a shit? ‘Sides, the older the better.”

Jonny jabs a thumb in Price’s direction, “Even the captain? You should’ve seen ‘im in his prime. Way better looking.” He hands you a picture that he just happens to have of Price.

You glance at it then lift your head to look at Price. Your lips curve into a teasing smile. “Yeah, you’re right. What happened, Captain?” You joke.

INCORRECT QUOTES FOR THE LAUGHS:

Kidnapper, negotiating with TF 141: We have the annoying heiress. Give us ten thousand dollars and they will be returned to you unharmed

Y/N: Whoa, whoa, wait, you think I’m only worth ten thousand dollars. MAKE IT ONE MILLION–

Price: Y/N, STOP

Simon: Can I be frank with you guys?

Jonny: Sure, but I don’t see how changing your name is gonna help.

Gaz: Can I still be Gaz?

Y/N: Shh, let Frank speak.

Gaz: In your opinion, what’s the height of stupidity?

Simon: *turning to Y/N* How tall are you?

Price: Where's Simon, Gaz, and Y/N?

Jonny: They're playing hide and seek.

Price: Where?

Jonny: I don't think you get how this game works.

Y/N: You really put aside everything and came all this way for me? How did you even get here so fast?

Simon: Several traffic violations.

Gaz: Three counts of resisting arrest.

Jonny: Roughly thirteen cans of energy drinks.

Price: Also, that’s not our car.

[astraystayyh]

please fall before i fall

jeongin x reader. best friends to lovers. they think it's unrequited love so a bit of angst. but they're just idiots. happy ending :))

summary : 3 times you saved jeongin's ass and the 1 time he saved yours (and ended up confessing along the way). holidays themed.

winter falls masterlist.

a.n. : i am very happy to finally post my first fic for the winter falls collab with my author xi hehehehhe i hope you'll enjoy this one <333 it's very light and fluffy she's the cute one!! oh and my song rec is i bet on losing dogs by mitski

One. 

Jeongin’s thumb hovers over your contact name, his rosy lip pulled tightly between his teeth. He hesitates for a few seconds before finally dialing your number. 

“What do you want?” you start which makes an incredulous snort escape his lips, a gust of powdery air materializing before his mouth from the cold. 

“How much do I have to pay you for you to come over?” 

“Ten thousand dollars. Cash,” you precise as he mouths along to what you say, already guessing what your next words would be. 

He's come to know you at an abhorrent speed these past few months; since you sat right next to him in your biology class, head buried in an oversized navy hoodie. Your perfume knocked into him like a gentle breeze— Sicilian lemon and white bouquet notes, nostalgic summer amid an unforgiven autumn. Memories of sticky fingers from molten ice cream and feet soles meeting the warm sand wafted in the air, alluring him to the kindness of a long-gone summer, you. 

That is why he talked to you at first, because you smelled nice, incredibly so. He tells you it's because he liked the pair of shoes you were wearing. 

“What if I brought you your favorite coffee?”

“Are you outside my dorm?” you squeal and he imagines you must be scrambling to get up, opening the curtains. He knows he's right as your figure materializes behind the window. “Hi,” you wave, a small giggle escaping your lips. He can't help the fond smile that draws upon his lips. 

He thinks he likes you a little. 

“Hey, please help me wrap my family’s gifts,” he pouts, waving the coffee in the air. Your order that he memorized by heart, not even meaning to, it was just natural for him to order you coffee every day, to remember your preferences as if they were his own. 

“Why are you here if we're going to your dorm anyways?” you laugh, leaning against the window. 

“Because I know I need to bribe you,” he sighs, angling his head to the side. “Are you not going to hang up and come downstairs? The coffee will grow cold.”

“I’m coming!”

An hour later, four gifts are resting beside Jeongin's figure, perfectly wrapped thanks to your skilled hands. He's lying on the warmed tiles, and you're right beside him, so close your knee brushes against his thigh now and then. 

He is keeping count, well, more so his heart, constricting in his lungs each time you touch. 

He's so aware of you, so much he's sure you’ve crawled into his skin, morphing him into nothing but a shell of you. 

Perhaps he likes you a lot. 

“You're an insane man. Who leaves gift wrapping to the last minute?”

“You're best friends with said insane man.” 

“Remind me how did that happen again?” you ask, propping your head on your elbow, and turning to the side to look at him. Jeongin has to pretend that the sight of you hovering over him doesn't affect him. That his eyes aren't drawn to your lips, heart dissolving at your feet, hoping to brush against your own. 

Please fall before I fall, he nearly pleads.

“Why are you so close,” he feigns disgust, pushing your face away with his pointer finger. 

“What? Does that fluster you?” you question, amused, bringing your face even closer to his. He scrambles away before a blush sprouts on his face, one he wouldn't be able to justify to your scrutinizing gaze. 

“As if. You're ugly,” his eyes squint, lips thinning into that particular smile he knows annoys you. He moves to the side swiftly, anticipating the shoe you throw at him.

“You're literally— remind me to never help you again, asshole.”

“I'm kidding. Thank you for today, seriously. I didn't know wrapping gifts could be this hard.” He falls back to the floor dramatically, banging his head against the tiles in the process.

“Well deserved,” you whisper. 

“I heard that.”

“Good,” you giggle, before gently massaging the spot where he has bumped his head. He purses his lips against one another, afraid of what words might escape the confines of his throat, vocal cords moving to the gentle rhythm of your touch. 

“Will you keep on being this clumsy, Innie? mm?” you muse, tone quieter. 

The nickname makes his insides churn, it is always so tender when it falls from your lips. No one has ever called him this softly before. No one has ever called his heart before you. 

He shouldn't be this clumsy with it. It is a fragile organ, akin to glass, easily breakable, so translucent— it'd be easy for anyone to peer inside and find you in it. 

“Yeah, I probably will.”

He'll stop liking you next year. He hopes. He'll try. 

Two.

Next year has come, familiar frigid winds pulling you to Jeongin’s heart, perhaps even more so than before, cementing your being into the nooks and crannies of his soul, perfectly so, as if it was destined for you alone to fill the emptiness inside him. 

Seasons have changed and yet summer remains, its essence stored safely within the notes of your perfume, it tickles his nose as you're seated on the countertop, legs swinging lazily while he scouts through his fridge. 

“Remind me why we're doing this again?”

“Because I made a bet with Yoon.”

“Your sixteen years old brother?”

“Yes.”

“You are in college.”

“I know.”

“Why are you taking it to heart?” 

“Because I have my pride,” he says solemnly, hand on his heart and you roll your eyes. 

“You literally begged at my feet fifteen minutes ago to help you.”

A year later, Jeongin stood beneath your window once again, phone brought up to his ear, hand hidden behind his back. You pick up on the first ring. 

“Look out the window,” he quickly says before you can even speak. 

“Hello, Y/n, how are you, Y/n, are you surviving with the cold—” you say sarcastically as you pull the curtains, the words dissolving in your tongue as he brings a single flower before him— you recognize its pink petals easily, Camellia, the rose of winter.

“I did not have time for coffee, but I plucked this off the sidewalk,” he offers, an amused grin on his face. “Help me bake cookies, pretty please, I'll be forever indebted to you. Forever and ever and ever and ever—”

“This is such a poor rendition of Romeo and Juliet, I'm afraid Shakespeare is suffering in his grave right now.”

“Do you think he knows of every theater play that was done to his story?” Jeongin muses.

“That's a good question actually. I hope he didn't see mine,” you shudder before your face pales. 

“You did not tell me you ever did that!”

“I'll bake your cookies and you'll never bring this up again.”

“Deal. My Juliet,” he smirks and you throw a middle finger aggressively to his face before hanging up. He shouldn't find it as endearing as he does.

“Because, my dear Y/n, this is my holiday reputation at stake. I kind of raised the bar last year with my gift wrapping.”

“You did?” you raise an eyebrow promptly at his words and he sighs, taking out the butter before leaning against the fridge.

“We did. Which is exactly why I need your help again. Imagine how embarrassing it would be if Yoon wins,” he shudders and a giggle finally escapes your lips.

The kitchen warms up at the sight of your smile.

“It's cute when you need me once in a while,” you say nonchalantly, hopping off the counter and moving to wash your hands. Jeongin freezes in his place.

“I always need you though,” he confesses quickly, swallowing the words, hoping that this way you wouldn't be able to taste the sincerity coating them, sticky honey dripping from his tongue whenever it speaks of you.

“Good thing you'll always have me then,” you beam, your words hanging into the air, oxygen suddenly harder to inhale.

“Gross,” he fakes a shiver, as his heart drops in his chest, breaks, and twists at the weight your words carry.

He'll always have you, but not in the way he wants to, your eyes would never soften at the mere mention of his name, and you won't think that a season blooms into every room he is in. He has you, but just a fragment of you, not how you have him, as a whole, heart, body, and soul. 

He's already fallen, a terrible, terrible fall.

“Will you help me or just stare off into the distance?” you ask, tilting your head to the side. He smiles bashfully, rolling his sleeves and sidling by your side to mix in the eggs, one by one, per your instructions. 

It smells nice in the kitchen, the caramelized fragrance of browned butter, sweetened by the sugar dissolving into the warm liquid. Tentative sunlight streams through the window, and it falls perfectly on Jeongin's face, highlighting his sharp features. 

Not that jeongin needs any additional light, he reminds you of spring, a flower blooming on his face each time he smiles, his dimples two youthful fountains the roots strive from, brightening his face even more. 

He tentatively glances at you as he adds the chocolate chips to the mix, only to find you staring forward. He misses the fond look on your face by a few seconds, the tinting of your features with soft hues of pink, of spring, of him. He always misses it, always misses you. 

Three.

"I can't believe you have 37 pairs of shoes but not one nice shirt.”

“It's 36, please count correctly,” Jeongin retaliates and you snort, flopping around in bed till you land on your stomach, chin propped up by your hand. Jeongin is still rummaging through his closet, head almost disappearing into the dark void of his wardrobe. 

“What do you need this for anyway?” you question, as you scroll through your phone mindlessly. Jeongin’s eerie silence causes you to look up. 

“Um. I have a date tonight.”

“Oh.” 

His words hang over the room like a heavy cloak soaked with rain, the oxygen sucked out of your lungs and ensnared within that singular gasp.

Jeongin swiftly turns around, before kneeling beside the bed, eyes brimming with a hopeless search— you are too focused on steadying your breathing to notice.

“Should I go?”

“I mean… Why are you asking me?”

“If you don't want me to, I won't,” he speaks in an overflowing sincerity, as though he'd willingly surrender the reins of his life for you to guide, should you only dare to ask. 

A breath, a pause, and he adds, “In case you'll be lonely tonight.” Your hope deflates in an instant, akin to a birthday balloon tossed into the careless hands of children. 

Pity, that's what he feels for someone who hasn't had a date in a year while he went on ones regularly. Although they never transcended beyond that first meeting, always a first date, never a second. He says none of the people he meets are his type. 

“I have a date too.” It was the truth, Suhoo had told you to meet him at the ice rink. You said you'd think about it. You knew deep down that your answer would be no, solely because he isn't Jeongin.

Perhaps it is too late for him to fall for you.  

“Really?” 

“Yeah, with Suhoo, you know, the guy in our Economics class.”

“He's nice.”

“Mm.” 

Could you lose something you never had in the first place?

“You should wear Seungmin’s white shirt.” 

“Yeah. That's what I thought too.”

“And bring them flowers. The rose of winter, maybe.” 

You had preserved the plucked flower he gave you in a vase. The pink of the petals liquefying and bleeding into the blush on Jeongin’s cheeks once he noticed. 

“That one's just for you.” 

Four. 

You're alone on the ice rink, the frigid winds assail your form, fingers numb from winter's cruel grasp. Suhoo didn't come after all, perhaps he was offended by you calling him at the last minute to confirm your date.

The chill of disappointment is more biting than the frost— you want to melt off the ice, you want your spring. You want your Jeongin. 

But he isn't yours, perhaps he will never be. He is too sought after, too captivated by the fleeting chase of someone new to spare a glance at you. 

But in this instant, you need him. You need him to hold your hands in his larger, warmer ones and get you off the ice rink. You need the sight of his familiar dimples and blooming smile. 

So, you call him. He picks up on the first ring. 

“Are you that bored on your date?” He playfully taunts, and his voice becomes a gentle breeze that stirs the emotions you struggle to contain. Tears cascade down your cheeks in an achingly familiar path. 

“I-Innie,” you hiccup, and you’re instantly met with the sound of scraping chairs against the floor, the hastening cadence of footsteps hurrying out into the street. 

“Did he do something to you?” He speaks so coldly, a tone so foreign to the warmth of your Jeongin. He shouldn't be tainted with winter too. 

“He didn't come. Can you p-please pick me up?” 

“I will. I'm coming in a bit, okay?” 

He finds you rather quickly on the ice rink, a sore thumb unmoving between the gliding bodies. He skates over to you, almost falling twice in the process. 

“You're so clumsy,” you snort as he stands before you, sobs racking through your body once more at the sight of him.

You weren't mad at Suhoo. You were heartbroken over Jeongin.

“I'll beat him up for you. I'll tell Changbin to help me too,” he smiles, hands fidgeting as they land upon your cheeks, trying their best to wipe away your tears.

“Please don't cry. I hate seeing you cry, Y/n, I really can't bear it." The tears only fall harder at his words, as if he's stringing them forth with each touch of his.

“Did he do something to you?” an unknown voice startles you and you turn to your right to find a girl looking at you then at Jeongin, a frown etched on her eyebrows.

“No, I'm her friend I didn't-”

“I wasn't talking to you,�� the girl cuts him off and you laugh despite you, as Jeongin’s jaw hangs open, before closing once more.

“It's not him, thank you so much though,” you smile gratefully and she nods, eyes wary as she glares at Jeongin one last time, before skating away.

“I can't believe that just happened,” He exhales, a breath tinged with bewilderment, before he delicately encircles a hand around your back. Gently, he guides your head to rest against the comforting refuge of his chest.

“What are you doing?” you mumble against his navy hoodie, the one he borrowed from you. You can still smell your perfume on him. 

“I'm comforting you.” 

“You don't like hugs.” 

“It's different when it comes to you.”

You close your eyes, allowing the tide of his warmth to envelop you like a cascade of spring petals.

“Where is your date?”

“I didn't go.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I love you. I'm tired of looking for you in other people,” he quickly says and you peel yourself away from him, feeling as if his clothes were suddenly made of fire. 

“What?” you whisper, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“I love you,” he repeats, each word drawn out, much slower this time, his hands cradling your face, tenderly, as though holding the sun between his delicate fingers. “I'm tired of pretending you're not my summer.”

“Don't say things you don't mean,” your voice wavers. 

“I mean it. I've always loved you. You complete me in ways I didn't know were possible, and I know you only see me as a friend but-”

Your lips press against his, a culmination of aching desires that have lingered for two years. Distant laughter echoes in the background, ice cream melting onto your fingers, a soft breeze ruffling your hair, flowers blooming under the soft caress of the sun— two seasons melting sweetly into the kiss.

“You're literally so blind,” you giggle against his lips, and his smile widens, your noses brushing against one another. “I love you too, idiot.”

“You love me?”

“You're my favorite season.” 

“Don't steal my lines.”

“Hey—” he kisses you this time, the winter is long forgotten. 

Was it ever a fall if you caught him in the end?

[therealcocoshady]

POV : You’re Marshall Mathers’s girlfriend and he worships you

Author’s Note : Hi guys ✨. I feel like it’s been a while since I last published something on here. Enjoy this little blurb I wrote. It’s kind of random but I think it’s kind of cute still 💕.

Marshall Mathers doesn’t really enjoy being treated like a king wherever he goes. He knows people give him special treatment out of respect, because he is a huge fucking superstar, but he doesn’t really care for it. He’s just a normal dude at heart, you know ? He likes it when things are kept simple. He’s not a huge fan of the deference, of people practically bowing and curtsying to him because he is Eminem. It’s weird.

But when it comes to you ? People better treat you like the absolute monarch that you are. This man will not accept anything less for the woman he loves. You are his sun. His days start and end with you. You are a deity he worships day and night and people better put some respect on his lady’s name.

He is not giving you the princess treatment. No. This would be good enough for any peasant. If he could, this man would build altars and monuments for you. You are his religion. Your birthday and the anniversary of your first date are holidays he refuse to work on. Doesn’t matter if he’s offered hundreds of thousands of dollars for a ten minutes performance, he simply refuses to be away from you on those days. And if you so much as utter an « I need you », this man will drop absolutely everything. He’s done it in the past and he absolutely has no regrets about flying for five hours on a day off from tour to be able to surprise you at work after you mentioned it was « so hard being away » from him. He is usually mindful about climate change but for you, this man will turn into Taylor « taking my jet for a ten minutes flight » Swift. He literally doesn’t care about the world burning as long as there is a smile on your face. Marshall is not a big spender but for you, he doesn’t care about numbers. His goddess deserves the very best and, thank God for that merch money, he is able to give it to you. He’s not a diva but he demands the very best for you. He couldn’t care less about the water brought to him in his dressing room before a performance. But he makes sure it’s your favorite brand. Same for snacks. If he has to fly someone to another country to get something for you, he absolutely will. In his mind, it’s the least he can do for the woman who blesses him with her presence. He is almost offended when someone fails to greet you properly and he absolutely is when someone straight up disrespects you. If he could, he would fight duels in your honor. Somehow, you managed to turn this stoic individual in the utmost gentleman. When he’s by your side, you will never be caught walking on the wrong side of the pavement, having to hold your own bags. He’d rather die than have that. But you’ll never be caught. Because he protects you like you’re the most precious treasure there is. He’s never caught in your presence, because he doesn’t want to have you plagued by the media and harassed by fans and, yet, he manages to show you off. In private, he doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he’s head over heels with you. Your name is on his lips constantly, and the way he talks about you shows just how devoted he is. At first, people close to him got a little worried. Who were you ? What were your intentions ? It seemed like you were out of nowhere. Walked into Marshall’s life one day and, from then on, he was addicted. They had every reason to be suspicious. And then, they met you. And they understood. They got to witness the genuineness of your interactions, how your eyes mirrored Marshall’s devotion, the way he leaned into your touch so naturally and just how you seemed to heal the parts of him that had been left raw. For the first time in forever, they saw him at peace. Not merely content. Happy. They expected to hate you, because what kind of high maintenance brat has the most stoic man they ever knew act like a puppy ? Only, they couldn’t. It wasn’t quite clear how things worked out between you and Marshall and, in hindsight, it was none of their business. But they couldn’t hate you when it was clear as day that « Em » as most call him, had finally found a safe space. So you won them over as well, and they gave you the princess treatment.

[laswells-ashtray]

I personally really like the idea of the Shadows being kinda like Phillip's lil family. So...

On an op before 141, the fucker gets injured pulling a Shadow away from a rotting patch of wooden floor while sweeping an old church. He lands himself a fractured ankle, splinters quite literally up the ass, and bruising like a bitch after falling through the floor himself.

So nothing too bad.

He comes off the comes off the painkillers to a hoard of puppy-eyed men in various stages of uniform dress.

Blah blah blah fluff happens

His ass hurts. It shouldn't be his first thought but his ass hurts. The same way it did when he took a drunken tumble down a flight of stairs as a teenager and bruised half of his damn body. He knows that after that shitshow of a job [that they'd been paid an abysmally low amount for given the conditions] he had showered, changed into sweatpants, taken some good quality fucking painkillers and he conked out on the closest surface.

Which he now realises is the old ass couch they all collectively refuse to get rid of despite its various stains and the knife stuck in one of its legs. He blinks before rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. There are at least five Shadows around him, maybe six. They might be multiplying.

Oz catches his eye and he looks far too amused for someone that still owes him ten dollars and a Costco hotdog, but he'll bring up that bet later.

"Feeling alright, commander?"

He stares back at the man with an unamused look, pushing himself up into a sitting position. He was being watched like he was holding a bag of fries and he'd just stepped into pigeon territory.

"Fuck are you starin' for? Oz, if there's a dick on my face-"

"There isn't, couldn't take one of the kids into doing it. Just wondering if you're hungry because you took those painkillers on an empty stomach then passed out half-dead."

Damn right, none of the younger Shadows would draw a dick on his face. They were too scared to, Oz? Not so much but he was stuck with the shithead at this point.

"Could go something. Mind telling me why you've got a small army of Shadows present for this conversation?"

"Well, Petrillo was here to look at your ankle while you were too unconscious to notice. Garfield is here to try and talk you into buying Chick-fil-A with company money. And-"

"My name isn't Garfield-"

"You hate Mondays. Anyway, and the kids are here because they've never seen you land on your ass like that before and wanted to check how you're doing but they're too scared to ask for themselves."

That checks. He looks around at the three younger Shadows who have all now decided to stop staring at him and instead at the floor.

"Christ, I'm fine. If you can't take a fall like that then you can't do the fucking job. And I'll pay for the Chick-fil-A but I ain't going to get it, drag your lazy ass to do it."

Only then does he notice the fact that there's a bag of frozen peas under his ankle.

[karajaynetoday]

and i'd give up forever to touch you, cause i know that you'd feel me somehow | jack hughes

Thank you for all the love on hey now, you're an all-star - i am honestly blown away by those notes!! here is a part two. let me know what you think, and what your predictions or desires are for a potential part three! xo

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings:  nothing major. uni stress again, jack being a bit of a dick. angst. all of the angst.

(This is a fem reader insert) read part one here read the part three here

More writing here | send thoughts/feedback/suggestions here | if you’d like to be on my taglist go here

Waking up was always slightly disorienting for you, and the next morning was no different.

Your dreams could be quite vivid, or you couldn’t remember them at all once you awoke; but the first thing you could sense on this particular morning was the strong scent of coffee wafting through the room. As your eyes adjusted to the morning light streaming in the windows, you became suddenly and painfully aware that you were alone on the couch. A blanket had been draped over you at some stage of your slumber, but Jack was nowhere to be seen.

You sat up slowly, rubbing your face, trying to ignore the anxiety that was building in your chest. You could hear a shower running, somewhere in the hotel suite, and hastily threw the blanket off your body as you scanned the room for your belongings.

Shoes. Where were your shoes? And phone? Keys? Did you bring a bag with you? What time was it? What time did your class start? Would you be able to get an Uber to Campus in time? Wait, was your class online or on campus this morning?

Your brain was churning out a thousand thoughts a minute, and your heart rate was starting to match it. You felt like a deer in headlights. Or a cat under a rocking chair. Or… just… lost. You were so lost.

Someone cleared their throat behind you and you jolted, whipping around to face Quinn, who was decked out in a brown leather jacket and grey pants, holding two steaming coffee mugs in his hands.

You must have looked distressed, because Quinn offered you a gentle smile and one of the mugs which you cautiously accepted.

“Thanks, Q. I really should get going soon, though. Get out of your hair before the big draft day circus arrives.” Your voice was still slightly groggy with sleep.

“Take as long as you need, sugarplum. Our call time isn’t for another two hours. Jack’s in the shower, and he’d hate it if you left without saying goodbye.” Quinn raised his eyebrows at you as you both took a sip of coffee.

“Watching Jack try and untangle himself from you on the couch did provide me with my morning entertainment though. Surprised he didn’t end up with another injury given how clumsy he usually is.” You felt your cheeks get warm at Quinn’s comment and the smirk on his face.

“He could’ve just woken me up…” You offered weakly, shrugging your shoulders in an attempt at nonchalance.

“No offence, but that was a risk that neither of us are willing to take. Not after last summer.” Quinn bit back a laugh as you narrowed your eyes at him.

Last summer at the lake house, you’d stayed up all night trying to finish the latest novel in your favourite fiction series. Jack had come into your room to wake you for the boat day you’d discussed the day before, but instead of a gentle approach to waking you up, he’d literally jumped onto your bed. Which caused you to sit bolt upright and “accidentally” punch him in the face. At least he thought the black eye made him look tough for a couple of weeks.

“Nice jacket, by the way.” You tried to change the subject.

Quinn stood up straight and puffed out his chest.

“You think so? Jack and I got to go down to Hermés and pick out our outfits yesterday. I felt suuuuper out of my league to be honest.”

Your eyes widened at the brand name Quinn just dropped, slightly choking on your coffee.

“Hermés? That’s proper designer, Q. Like, tens of thousands of dollars of jacket, right?”

Quinn didn’t answer you, but he didn’t have to. The look on his face told you that the jacket he was wearing was worth more than six months of your rent. Maybe more.

“Well, we have to do this red carpet thing, and I figured we should probably try a bit harder than team merch.” Quinn reached over and tugged playfully on the sleeve of your hoodie.

Well, Jack’s hoodie. That you happened to be wearing. Which was previously super comfortable, but now felt like your skin was on fire underneath it.

“What time is it, anyway?” There you go again, changing the subject.

“Like, 9.15?” Quinn offered, pulling his phone out of his pocket and showing you the time on his home screen.

9.15? Why was that important to you? What was at 9.15?

The test. In your economics class. Worth a decent chunk of your grade. It was at 9.30am. But was it online or on campus?

You downed the rest of your coffee in one gulp, ignoring how it burned your throat, and thrust your mug back at Quinn before tugging the hoodie over your head and throwing it on the floor. You turned around, searching wildly for your phone and spotting it on the couch where you’d been sleeping, not that long ago. You lunged for it, frantically unlocked and trying to find your university schedule in the calendar app.

“Oh thank god. It’s online. Holy fuck.” You closed your eyes and breathed deeply, trying to calm yourself down.

“Sugar? You okay?” Jack’s voice cut through your thoughts, and you looked up from your phone to see him standing in the doorway to his room.

Clad in black jeans, with a towel around his shoulders and his hair still damp from the shower. Shirtless. Of course he was shirtless. You squeezed your eyes shut out of instinct, and also to stop yourself from blatantly checking him out. When you opened them, Jack was striding towards you, his face etched in concern.

“What do you need?” Jack spoke quietly, but firmly, reaching out to rub your arms reassuringly. His touch sent a zap of electricity through you, which seemed to kick your brain back into gear.

“I need… Do you have a laptop I can borrow? I have an online test in 15 minutes that I forgot about, for a subject I’m almost failing, and if I miss the test then I don’t know that I’ll be able to recover my grade.” You half-whispered, almost wishing that Jack and Quinn couldn’t hear your confession out loud.

You were supposed to be the smart one. That’s what everyone said, when you were growing up. You were the brains, Jack was the beauty. You were the bookish one, he was the brutally athletic one. Talking about failing university out loud was suddenly terrifying, even though you’d known it was a possibility for a few weeks or more.

“Hey… hey.” Jack squeezed your arms, trying to centre you, and dropped his head down to your eye level. “It’s okay. I’ve got a laptop you can use, and you can stay here for as long as you need.”

All you could muster was a nod in response, and Jack leaned in to kiss your forehead before disappearing back into his room, presumably to find his laptop. You sat back down on the couch, suddenly unsure of what to do with yourself.

Quinn had briefly left to place your coffee mug in the kitchenette, but he was back and leaned over the back of the couch to squeeze your shoulder.

“You’ll smash it, kiddo. Make sure you ask Jack what his laptop password is though, I’d hate for you to get locked out during your test.” Quinn said quietly, before his phone rang and he stepped into his room to answer it.

“Here you go, sunshine. Fully charged, but the charger is in my room if you need it.” Jack was back in the living room, handing his laptop to you, already logged in and a web browser open for you.

You stood up from the couch and moved towards the dining table, setting the laptop down and pulling out a chair. It only took a minute to log into your university portal and navigate to the subject page you needed for the online test. You were about to click the start button, when Quinn’s comment flashed in your mind.

“Jack?” You squeaked, turning to face the couch where Jack had flopped down moments before. Still clad in black jeans, still fucking shirtless, absolutely ignorant of the effect he was having on your ability to breathe calming, mindlessly scrolling on his phone.

“What’s up?”

“What’s… what’s your password? In case I get locked out and you’re not here? Could you write it down for me please?”    You reached for the hotel notepad and complimentary pen that was on the table you were sitting at, waving them in Jack’s direction.

Jack rolled his bottom lip under his teeth as he stood up and took the notepad from you and began scribbling on it.

“I have to go downstairs and meet Bratter for some team social media stuff, but I’ll see you later, okay? Text me when you finish your test.” You’d never seen Jack move so quickly as he handed the notepad back to you, retrieved a shirt and jacket from his bedroom and disappeared out the hotel room door, all within a minute or two. 

You were confused, to say the least. You glanced down at the notepad Jack had thrust into your hands, and you could’ve sworn your heart stopped when you saw what he scrawled on it.

Password - SugarpluM2001Jh!

–

Quinn had headed out not long after Jack did, leaving you to complete your test in silence. Despite the disorienting start to your morning, and all of your revision notes being on your desk at home, you managed to scrape through with a 75% result which would supplement your final grade significantly. 

The waves of relief washed over you, as you clicked out of web page you were on. You reached for your phone and typed a quick message to Jack as promised, and you were confused when the laptop chimed with a notification noise. 

Oh. Oh. Jack’s laptop was linked to his phone, and his messages were suddenly popping up on the laptop screen in front of you. 

You shouldn’t pry. You knew that. Your logical brain was telling you to close the laptop screen and get going. But your anxiety brain was telling you that you should take a peek. Just a little one. 

Before your logical brain and anxiety brain could battle it out properly, the laptop notification chimed again, and a girl’s name that was not your own flashed up on the screen. 

What happened last night? I thought you were coming to my room after your dinner?? Xx

You felt your jaw drop, as you started to realise what was happening in this conversation you shouldn’t have been privy to. You froze, as the little bubble popped up in the chat, showing you that Jack was typing a reply.

Sorry babe i got caught up with some boring family bullshit, you know how it is. Would’ve rather have been with you obvs but i just couldn’t get away. Then today is crazy with media stuff anyway. I’ll see u at the drew house event tonight though? Go back to yours after that? Xo

Sounds great. I’ll be wearing this for you, J. *image attached*

You slammed the laptop shut when the image loaded, showing someone wearing a red and black lingerie set. 

You felt bad for snooping, but you felt worse knowing that Jack considered last night as “boring family bullshit”. Is that all it was? Were you stupid for thinking it was more? That it could ever be more between the two of you?

Or was that all you could ever hope to be? Like family. Forever intertwined, always floating in each other’s orbit, but never more than friends. Platonic soulmates at best, childhood acquaintances at worst. 

You were spiralling, yet again, and your phone buzzing with a notification provided a brief reprieve. Until you saw that it was a text from Jack.

Well done on your test, champ!! Knew u could do it. See you at the draft tonight? There’s two passes in your email for you and your dad to come visit. Might even get to meet bublé, if that’s your vibe lmao

Suddenly, there was a bitter taste in your mouth. Why was he pretending like he wanted to spend time with you? When surely all he actually wanted to do was sneak off with the girl he was texting just moments ago?

You swiped into check your email app, and there were the passes as promised. You quickly scanned the email to see if they were assigned to any particular name, and all you could see was “guest of Jack Hughes” rather than you or your dad specifically. You quickly hit the “forward” button, and sent them on to your dad and your cousin Tom, who had met Jack and Quinn a handful of times over the years, and was a massive hockey fan like your dad. You knew Tom would love to go, and your dad would be happy enough to have Tom join him.

You sent through a quick message to Tom saying you weren’t feeling well and that he’d be doing you a favour by taking your pass, to which he immediately replied with lots of exclamation points and thanks. 

Next, you typed a message back to Jack.

Thanks again for the laptop and for the passes. Something’s come up so i can’t come but dad will be there with tom, hope that is ok? Didn’t want the passes to go to waste. Good luck for the draft, don’t let quinn bully you too much lol

You were hoping that Jack wouldn’t question you, or pick up on the shift in tone. Well, maybe you wanted him to sense the tone a little bit. Jack’s typing bubble popped up in the text conversation, then disappeared, then popped up again, then suddenly your phone was vibrating with a call and Jack’s name was flashing across the top of your screen. Your fingers hovered over the answer/decline buttons, before you abandoned both and dropped your phone back onto the table, letting the call go to voicemail. 

You stood up from the table and began to gather your belongings. The bitter taste was still in your mouth, but otherwise you felt nothing. Just numb. You barely realised what you were doing when your body moved towards the hotel suite door, into the elevator, through the lobby and out onto the street. You waited a few minutes for your Uber, before slipping away through the streets of downtown, and as far away from Jack as you felt you needed to be. 

By the time you got home, Jack had called you twice, and sent you about ten text messages of various question marks and confusion, and a fair amount of concern. You plugged your phone into the charger on your bedside table before heading into your bathroom for a much-needed shower.

Your shower felt like it took about 3 hours, when in reality it was probably more like 20 minutes at most. You washed your hair, and spent some time sitting down on the shower floor staring into space, pondering the events of the last 24 hours. When you finally emerged, putting on your favourite sweatpants and an old Canucks hoodie you found on your bedroom floor, you realise your phone was flashing with more notifications.

You settled down in bed before picking up your phone and scrolling through the home screen. Jack had resorted to sending you photos of sad baby pandas to elicit a response, your dad had texted you to say thank you for the passes and to feel better soon, but it was a message from Quinn that caught your eye. 

Q: What did he do? He’s freaking out. Are you okay? I can beat him up if you want me to. Or give him a hug. Just let me know which is more appropriate based on whatever the fuck he did 

You hesitated, contemplating whether to tell Quinn the truth or not. But then you remembered that Quinn had literally known you since you were four. He could tell if you were lying in a heartbeat, even over text message. 

You: Maybe just remind Jack that his text messages pop up on his laptop. See if that helps him to figure it out lmao sorry to miss tonight quinny, hope you draft all the canucks you want xo

Q: He now looks like he’s going to throw up?? Still unsure if hugging or punching is required tbh

New message - Jack Hughes -

You sighed and rolled your eyes, before clicking on Jack’s message notification. 

I am an idiot. I’m so sorry, sugar. I swear i am.

Sorry for categorising me as “boring family bullshit” or sorry that you got caught trying to get your dick wet? Or sorry for pretending to be my friend when you apparently just tolerate me to be polite?

We have press for two more hours then i can call you. You’re my best friend, sugar. I love you.

You felt tears start to prick in your eyes as you read Jack’s message. Sure, he loved you. But not in the same way that you loved him. And right now, you felt like that would never change. 

You clicked out of your message thread with Jack without replying, and opened up your conversation with Quinn instead. 

I’ll come to the all-star game on saturday, but nothing else, if that’s okay with you? I just need some space for a bit, sorry x 

Whatever you need, kiddo. I’ll give the game passes to your dad tonight. I still don’t know what jack did, but i think not seeing you will be punishment enough for whatever it was??

You didn’t reply to Quinn’s message. You didn’t reply to any more calls or messages for the next day or so, switching between trying to catch up on study and catching up on some Netflix episodes. You were typing notes on your laptop on Saturday morning, when a New Jersey Devils Twitter alert popped up on the screen and caught your attention.

#NEWS: Jack went home to Jersey last night after participating in Thursday’s draft and Friday’s media hits. He was extremely honoured to be a part of All-Star Weekend, especially sharing it with his brother. He’s really close to returning and wanted to get back so he could continue to focus on the rest of the Devils season. 

The bitter taste you thought you’d gotten rid of suddenly returned with a vengeance. 

Jack went home to Jersey last night. You had no idea when you’d see him again. And to be completely honest, you weren’t even sure that you wanted to. Your laptop dinged again, this time with an email notification. You were confused to say the least when the new email appeared to be from an airline, with a voucher attached.

Your phone buzzed with a new text message.

I couldn’t stand being there knowing you’re mad at me, but i also don’t want to force you to talk to me when you’re not ready to talk yet either. Use the voucher to come to jersey whenever you want. I’m sorry. 

You rolled your bottom lip between your teeth, torn between accepting Jack’s offer and wanting to be stubborn and not let go of being mad at him just yet. You hated what Jack had done, but you also hated yourself for cutting short your time with him that was already in short supply as it was.

I’ll let you know. Might be a flight to Jersey, might be a flight to Michigan. We’ll see. Good luck getting back out there!

You knew the Michigan comment was a cheap shot, but Jack had hurt you, so you wanted to be childish and hurt him back. The idea of not seeing him for almost four months until the summer break, where you’d all gather at the Hughes lake house as you did every year, made you feel slightly ill. 

Whatever you want, sugar. Mac n cheese in michigan on me. Love you. 

The mac and cheese comment made you smile, and the love you comment made you want to cry. 

Love you too, J. Maybe too much. I don’t know. I need time. x

[spncvr]

waiting room | s. reid

summary: spencer can't seem to escape the girl in the waiting room

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of reid's addiction & tobias hankel, mentions of kidnapping and mass shootings (in, like, a joking way??) my terrible, terrible humour, ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE LMAO, this is deffo terrible, pls tell me if i missed anything!!

a/n: ok idk if i wanna continue this and make it a series so lmk lol (also im on writers block so i literally can't come up with SHIT)

SPENCER REID WAS a pessimist.

At least, that’s what he’d call himself. His colleague, Derek Morgan would most likely (and by most likely, he means, definitely already has) call him an overanalysing introvert. But in Spencer’s defense, there has never really been a good reason to go out and “live your life”. Consider this:

Go to the new coffee shop? Mass shooting.

Go to the mall? A child gets abducted.

Leave the apartment for a short while? A stalker finds out where he lives, kidnaps him in his sleep, and, in a nightmarish turn, auctions off his organs to the bidder in the black market.

Besides, his life isn’t some John Green book. There were no life-affirming adventures or poetic moments of self-discovery awaiting him. Carpe diem? A fanciful notion for others, but for him, not so much. Sorry, Mr. Keating.

Yet life—or more accurately, bureau protocol— had its own plans. Ever since the Tobias Hankel incident, a visit to the psychologist wasn’t just a request but rather (unfortunately for him) an order. Which meant, he’d have to risk his entire life to get up and walk for ten whole minutes just to sit and wait, in this glaringly bright waiting room, when he could have stayed at home and read the new books he’d gotten from his team as a get-well gift.

Speaking of which, why the gifts? He was fine. Physically, at least. But really, when have you ever seen get-well-soon cards in an asylum? Well, alright, maybe he was being a little bit dramatic. A visit to the psychologist doesn’t mean he’ll be institutionalised—but then again, Spencer Reid was never one to wear rose-tinted glasses. 

This is his third time in the waiting room, and she’s always there. He isn’t sure as to why she is, because, well, unlike himself, she was very clearly an optimist—and at least, from the looks of it, she hasn’t been kidnapped and drugged in the past month. But she's sitting there again, in the exact same chair for the past three weeks, along with a beacon of smiles where joy usually fears to trend. Maybe, he isn't as good of a profiler as he’d like to think he is.

“Dr. Reid?” the call of his name rips him out of his thoughts. He looks up to see the same kind woman he’s seen the past three weeks—not the one in the waiting room, no, he means his therapist.

Dr. Brown was easy to profile: She wore heels to make herself look taller, and she hated wearing glasses, apparent by how she would continuously place them atop her head instead of her nose. Her teeth were abnormally perfect, which meant, she’d had to wear braces when she was younger—which (from his humbling experience) means she wasn’t exactly the most popular at school. Perhaps, psychology felt appealing to her because she could help people like her. 

“How are you?” she asks, her pen clicking.

Usually, he’d offer her a meek shrug. The kind that could win awards for its commitment to non-commitment. Besides, he’s not one to talk about how he feels—there isn’t much to say, anyway. And let’s face it,  “How are you?” in the grand tapestry of human interaction is almost as genuine as a three-dollar bill. And, get this, the average person asks “How are you?” 6,739 times a year but only listens to the answer about half the time—well, okay, maybe those numbers might have been fabricated, but isn’t the sincerity behind the question also made up? But instead of telling her all this, he remembers what Hotch had told him, one, two, three weeks ago: that he ought to cooperate with Dr. Brown or the board won’t be happy. So, he kisses his teeth before he says:

“Fine. I’m fine.”

And the session went on.

PLS TELL ME IF I SHLD CONTIUE OR NOT LOLOLOL spam my inbox with ideas I BEG.

[tiramisuucakeee]

HOTLINE BLING ★

( reader x yang jungwon )

IN WHICH: on a boring day, jungwon decides to call an unknown number, wanting to prank them. but it backfires.

read more !

‘ hello? ’

‘ hi, is this the young maternity center? ’

‘ no it’s me. keeho stop fucking bothering me ’

‘ who’s keeho? ’

‘ oh ’

‘ hello?! amir, i need you to deliver food immediately, i’m in the ice age. if you get here in under ten minutes, i will give you two dollars tip ’

‘ okay, whoever you are, stop this prank calling, i’m literally not in the mood for this ’

��� do you not want your tip? ’

‘ goodbye ’

‘ hello bro, i’m travis scott-y, i need 200 dollars to get back to america ’

‘ oh really? how do i know you’re travis scott? ’

‘ fein fein fein fein fein ’

‘ shut up, stop calling me already, oh my god ’

‘ but you literally asked me to — ’

‘ hold on, listen! please don’t hang up on me! ’

‘ what do you want? ’

‘ to say hi, i’m jungwon, what’s your name? ’

‘ nunya ’

‘ nunya…? ’

‘ none of your business ’

‘ it’s four in the morning, what could you possibly want jungwon? ’

‘ …. ’

‘ hello? ’

‘ you remembered my name! — ’

‘ hey, i’m on my way to the east building on campus, giselle, are you sure macro is on class 2-B? ’

‘ now look who’s the one calling me ’

‘ oh, sorry, i got you mixed up with a friend from uni, didn’t realize ’

’ it’s okay, it happens… so, you’re an econ student? ’

‘ yeah, first year ’

‘ cool, cool. me too. well, not econ. i’m in art school. you know, i never got your name… ’

‘ yeah, because you don’t know who i am ’

‘ well, what’s your name? ’

‘ y/n ’

‘ now i know who you are ’

‘ takes more than that ’

‘ so. y/nnie, first year econ student, i have a preposition for you, one that you can’t deny ’

‘ don’t call me that… ’

‘ let me tell you something first ’

‘ what’s that? ’

‘ want to go out for coffee? ’

‘ …. ’

‘ hellooo ’

‘ are you dumb? you’re literally asking a stranger to meet you, what if i’m a criminal or something? you have absolutely no survival instincts ’

‘ so… do you wanna go? ’

‘ you’re paying? ’

‘ of course, i’ll make up for all the prank calls ’

‘ i don’t think anything will make up for that, but okay, maybe just a small part of it ’

‘ great. meet me at your uni’s entrance at 6 ’

‘ how would you know what uni i go to — ’

‘ i have my ways. maybe just a feeling ’

‘ you’re genuinely weird ’

‘ see you later y/nnie ’

‘ you’re impossible ’

‘ did you get back to your dorm safely? ’

‘ yeah, thanks for driving me back to the complex ’

‘ it’s nothing. thank you for accepting to meet up, i didn’t think you’d show up '

‘ why? ’

‘ survival instincts? ’

‘ right, well my survival instincts want me to go to sleep since i have classes all day tomorrow ’

‘ oh yeah, yeah, don’t let me keep you here ’

‘ wasn’t planning on it ’

‘ goodnight y/nnie ’

‘ goodnight… won ’

‘ hey, want to go out today? it’s been years ’

‘ you saw me last week, and we call every day ’

‘ so? ’

‘ alright, you’re coming shopping with me, i need some things for a project. all your calling made me start on it later than the rest, this is your fault ’

‘ eughh, i don’t wanna go do that ’

‘ fine, we can do whatever you want after ’

‘ that’s more like it, i’ll go ’

‘ okay ’

‘ so it’s a date? ’

‘ what? ’

‘ nothing — ’

‘no, i heard you. are you serious? ’

‘ uhhhhhhh, yes? maybe? i don’t know? ’

‘ good, so it’s a date ’

‘ wait, really?! ’

‘ unless you don’t want it to be ’

‘ no! i mean — yes! yes yes yes, okay, i’ll pick you up from your dorm, text me when you’re almost ready, i’m going to go get you flowers ’

‘ okay… see you, won — jungwon ’

‘ don’t act like that now, i can hear you smiling and grinning like crazy and kicking your feet ’

‘ no. you cannot ’

‘ uhuh, see ya ’

EXTRA:

masterlist.

[mediumgayitalian]

“Hello, twerp.”

Kayla grunts at him. She is focused, intently, on something small enough to be covered up by her hands and curtaining hair; Nico decides it is likely some kind of explosive. There is a reason she, Banned From Arts ‘n’ Crafts For Criminal Reasons, is sneaking into the Hermes’ cabin’s time slot and hiding behind Julia.

Instead of confirming that she is, indeed, planning to blow up at least one of her brothers’ bunks in their sleep tonight, because of Plausible Deniability, Nico swings a leg over the picnic table bench, settling in next to her. She spares a second of attention to blow a raspberry at him, seemingly unprovoked. Nico reaches calmly over, plucks a pair of scissors from Connor’s hands, which he allows because of who he is as a person, and snips a piece of her hair. In response she pulls a notebook from her pocket and puts a little tick mark next to Nico’s name.

“So,” Nico says, choosing to ignore that. “I have a Question.”

“Ten dollars.”

“I’m not paying you, you little shit.”

“Then wonder in silence.”

Nico digs two wrinkled fives from his shoe and slams them on the table, scowling. Kayla pockets them.

“Proceed.”

Nico glares at her, noting her twitching mouth, and remembers that he does, in fact, need her help, and her brother is, in fact, his best friend, so challenging her to a duel to the death is a bad idea on both counts.

(Nonwithstanding the part where she has deadly accuracy with any projectile from almost any semi-reasonable distance. And he has, like, a sword. So.)

“Your brother,” he starts, and he does not need to clarify which one, “is always trying to…feed me.”

“Yes,” she agrees, “he is internally a seventy year old Southern woman. He does that.”

“Fruits.”

“Hm.”

“Oranges, specifically. Like, every single meal.”

“…Ah.”

It is a very knowing ah, Kayla’s little noise, and in fact she sets her project aside. (It is, in fact, an explosive.) She turns slightly on the bench to face him, lips pursed, hands folded. She blinks at him for several moments. Nico holds her gaze, remembering he is out ten dollars.

“My dear brother,” she begins, “my lovely, kind-hearted, smiley, morning person brother, is neurotic.”

Nico waits. This is, apparently, the end of her sentence, as she does not continue.

“I am aware,” he says slowly. “I have been present during every rant about Hollywood inaccuracies about medical sciences.”

She nods sagely. “This is true. You have. You are, however, by virtue of his cripplingly low self esteem and fervent belief that his mere existence is a Literal Actual Curse, spared from much of his most…colourful…contingencies.”

“Contingencies,” Nico repeats.

Kayla nods again.

“Yes. You see, dear future brother-in-law —”

“Cease,” Nico snaps, reddening.

“— our lovely William, also known as your Special Guy, according to Nico With Severe Blood Loss.” continues Kayla, not ceasing, “is under the impression that you, like all people, have a Limit.”

“…A Limit.”

“Yes. A point or level beyond which something does not or may not extend or pass.”

“I know what a godsdamn limit is, Kayla.”

“You seemed confused.”

“I am going to strangle you.”

Openly snickering to herself, she moves on.

“He feeds you oranges because he regularly paces around the cabin in the middle of the night stressing about your vitamin levels,” she explains, finally. “He doesn’t know how to tell you that like a normal person because he’s afraid he’s going to weird you out. Ergo.” She makes a flippant gesture with her hands. “Citrus.”

“Why is he so godsdamn cute,” Nico mutters to himself, then remembers to throw out a hasty, “Thank you,” before scrambling away from the table, ignoring the gathered snickers, and beelining for the the Demeter cabin. “Gods.”

It is empty, thankfully, when he strolls in, except for Miranda in the front gardens, who holds up a finger as he gets closer and whispers to a struggling seedling.

“Hey,” she says after a moment, smiling up at him. “What’s up?”

“I need,” he starts. He purses his lips, rocking back on his heels. His hands make some kind of motion. He’s not sure what, exactly, he didn’t give them permission. “I need.”

Miranda, thankfully, has had years of experience communicating with non-speaking entities, and as such is relatively fluent in Nico. She dusts off her hands, patting the spot beside her. Nico sits as indicated.

“Try a deep breath first,” she instructs. “When your brain is back up and running, try again.”

“It’s running. It’s running a lot.”

“Oh. In that case, might I suggest a small shout of frustration?”

“You may.”

He clears his throat, resting his hands on his diaphragm to Maximize the Output, as he has been previously instructed, and yells. A passing satyr jumps a full five feet in the air and flees. Nico grimaces, calling apologies after them.

“They’re never going to like me,” he grumbles.

Miranda pats his head. “There, there. One issue at a time.”

“Solace,” he says at her invitation, gesturing again. “Oranges.”

“…Ah.”

“He is. You know. Right?”

“I must confess I do not.”

He takes a moment to collect himself. Or, well, he tries to. He’s had an easier time trying to wrangle errant souls surfing along the Styx, but whatever. He literally owns his brain. It Shall submit to him, or he’ll get a new one. Watch.

“Will is…intensely thoughtful.”

“He’s a sweetheart,” Miranda agrees. “Once he brushed past me on the way to dinner and felt that I was going to get a cold, so he took the food I got and exchanged it for soup and veggies and Gatorade and stuff. He forgot to actually tell me that I was about to get a cold, at the time, but it was really nice of him in hindsight.”

Nico makes another loud, strangled bleating noise. Thankfully, no satyrs are harmed.

“He is so!”

“There, there,” Miranda says again. “You’ll get to full sentences soon, I’m sure of it.”

He takes a few moments to have a minor crisis in the peace and tranquility of Friendship. It’s this new thing he’s been trying. Will tells him it’s usually called ‘trust’ and ‘vulnerability’. It is mortifying for the most part but in small doses is kind of cool. Mostly.

“Who takes care of Will?“

“He doesn’t really get sick. Apollo genes and all that.”

“No, like. Emotionally.”

“Oh.” Miranda frowns thoughtfully. “Um. Chiron, maybe? I’m not actually sure.”

“It needs to be me,” Nico stresses. “He always takes care of me, and I want to, like, repay him. Not transactionally,”Nico rushes to clarify, “but, like, mutual care-ily.”

“I see.”

“You see?”

“Yes,” Miranda says sagely. “You must Show Him. That you are Invested in your Relationship.”

“Yes!” Nico cries, gripping her by the elbows. She meets his gaze head on, eyes wide and wizened. “Yes, exactly. Relationship Investment. You’re so smart.”

Miranda preens. “Thank you.” She stands, brushing off her jeans — fruitlessly, she’s got grass stains on top of grass stains on every piece of clothing she owns — and offering Nico a hand. Together they stand and observe the various shrubs, trees, and vines surrounding the cabin, hands on their hips.

Nico narrows his eyes. “Should I just get him oranges?”

“I still don’t fully understand the orange thing. But Will likes peaches.” She leans up and plucks one off of the largest tree, holding it out to Nico. “They make him think of home.”

Nico takes the peach and inspects it. It is, of course, impeccable — thick and heavy, skin soft and unblemished, full enough with juice and flavour to be fragrant even from the arm’s length Nico holds it. This is the kind of peach that wins fairs. This is the kind of peach that sits, prized, in a market, watching as mothers and hipsters claw at each other. This is the kind of peach that immediately upon first touch strikes within you such an intense urge to chuck it at the nearest hard surface and watch it splat into a beautiful explosion of Squelch that Nico has to, hastily, set it down and out of immediate reach.

“It’s perfect,” he declares.

“Don’t throw it at him,” Miranda advises, eyeing the fruit herself.

“Shan’t,” Nico promises, and it doubles at a warning to his brain because he can’t lie to Miranda, obviously, so his brain better Check Itself. There will be no peach throwing. Peach holding, only, and peach giving.

He waves goodbye to Miranda as he hustles off, headed for the bustling infirmary. There have been no great emergencies today — there would be a lot more of Will’s echoed screeching if this were the case — and many people who have walked in have walked out, minutes later, scowling, so now is a good a time as any. He could of course wait until Will is done his shift and they meet by Cabin Seven, like usual, but this is a Pressing Issue. Will can no longer continue to believe that Nico has a Limit, as Kayla had so unhelpfully explained. Nico is Limitless. He is a sine function. He is an eternal abyss. He is the final end of Chiron’s patience, if the horse is to be believed.

Also, the peach is really really tempting and Nico honestly does not have all that much control over his brain. It usually kind of does as it pleases. That’s why he has so many Situations.

“Solace,” he shouts, banging open the screen door loud enough to make everyone inside jump, “GET the hell over here.”

“I. Am.” Will holds up a patient’s arm, which has been hastily butterfly-clamped closed and is now being stitched. “Um. Is it urgent?”

Nico snaps his mouth shut. “No.” He stalks over to where Will is sitting, still bewildered, on his favourite stool, and stands with his arms crossed behind him. He nods at the injured camper, clearing his throat. “Proceed.”

“…Okay.”

Because Will is a Professional, his gaze remains focused on the gaping wound he is fixing. Because no one else at this camp is, everyone else chooses to gawk. Nico lets the fires of Hell enter his eyes, like Father showed him, and glares them all into subservience.

“Alright,” Will says, several minutes later, patting the patient’s knee with a smile. “I’m gonna wrap this, Jen, and you gotta keep it dry, okay? Have ambrosia twice a day like I told you and come see me at the end of the week.”

“There’ll be no scar?” the young girl hedges.

“Not if you follow my instructions,” Will promises. “Although you’ll be just as beautiful with a scar, kiddo, I promise. Ask your mother.”

Jen looks at him doubtfully, but Will is one of those people who’s unbelievably hard to distrust. It’s infuriating, if you’re Nico and committed to the whole goth/emo lifestyle. Probably comforting if you’re a normal person.

She leaves, and it is abruptly very quiet in the infirmary, which is crazy because it is abruptly never quiet at camp unless people are dead, usually, but no one is dead, and people are too godsdamn nosy to flinch away from Nico’s glare, or maybe they’re not scared of him anymore, and hey, isn’t that something. The world is so busy, all the time. Things keep happening. Who’s fault is that, again?

“Nico?” Will asks, rocking back on his heels. His hands are suddenly clean of blood and grime and his scrubs have been swapped out. They stand, also, at the other end of the infirmary, right outside of the on-call room. He looks up, and conversations have resumed, and Will is watching him, intently, bright eyes slightly too wide, front teeth gnawing at his bottom lip, Ace bandage winding, unwinding, winding.

“This is for you,” Nico blurts, and shoves the peach at him.

Will blinks. “Oh.” He stares at the peach, a moment, before a smile erupts on his face. “Oh! Thank you!”

He takes the peach, gently, from Nico’s hands, and holds it close to his chest, wide hands gentle so as not to bruise, smile gone close-mouthed, giddy. The rocking gets every so slightly faster, and the slight breeze from the open screen door ruffles his frizzy hair, and his nose is scrunched, just slightly, enough to wrinkle his dotted feathers, and Nico’s mouth is very, very dry.

“I do not,” he tries, and it grinds along his paper-parched throat, near silent, “I do not have Limits, William.”

The rocking stills. Nico mourns it.

“…Sorry?”

“Limits,” Nico repeats. “I do not have them. I am Limitless. Purge the thought.”

“You have limits,” Will says, alarmed. “Um, we had that talk, right? About pushing yourself and why that is generally regarded as a bad plan.”

“That was you shouting at me in between nectar shots and frantic mothering, actually, but that’s not what I meant.”

Will doesn’t answer, only tilting his head.

“You’re neurotic,” Nico attempts to explain, and as could be expected by literally anyone with a brain this goes poorly, and he rushes to amend. “I mean! Well, you are neurotic — but! There is a but! Stop looking at me like that! You are neurotic but!”

“This is a very bad friendship break up if that is what you are trying,” says Will in a small voice, and Nico resolves to kick his own ass later tonight to Atone.

“I like it,” he hurries to explain. “You and your — neuroses. All of you, I like it. There is no Limit. Capital L. You’re groovy. On — point. Fleek? What do the kids say. I don’t —”

“Oh,” Will breathes, thankfully putting Nico out of his misery, “oh, this is about the oranges.”

Nico nods miserably.

“The oranges are —” Will cuts himself off, staring down at his shoes. “Um, scurvy freaks me out.”

“…Scurvy?”

“It — collagen synthesis is an active process? In your body? And scurvy makes it degrade really quickly. Which kind of tears your body apart by reopening scars. On top of other things. And you — were on a ship, you know. For a while. And you sweat a lot. And you don’t take the multivitamins I give you.”

“Because they’re gross,” Nico says, breathless, “and I’m not — sweaty.”

Wherever sunlight touches Will’s skin he tends to glow, slightly, and his freckles fluoresce the longer his hand takes to traverse the space between them, past the open window, resting, lightly, on Nico’s wrist.

“You are,” he says, gently. “You have — really low magnesium and potassium levels. Just, all the time.” He glances down at the inside of Nico’s wrist. “Right now, actually. Will you eat a banana if I go get you one?”

Will will go get a banana, and Nico will follow him, and they will sit, somewhere, probably the big rock by the lake, as Nico eats it, and Will will eat his peach, and Nico will watch his throat bob, and Will will talk, hands gesturing, peach juice everywhere, and they will stay there, probably, way past sunset, right till curfew, and then they will sprint, as they usually do, to avoid the harpies, and they will go to Nico’s cabin, first, because they always do, and Will will snag an orange as they run past the fruit trees by the Demeter cabin, and he will press it into Nico’s hands, firmly, smiling as he says goodnight, and running back to his own cabin. Where he will, according to Kayla, pace, and worry. Where he will rant about Limits, and how close Nico is to approaching them.

“Will,” says Nico seriously, grabbing his hands. Will’s eyes snap to his, wide, wider than usual, and they are so blue, so so blue, are things usually this blue? He’s startled by it every time. “Will, I am a sine function.”

“I don’t understand,” he admits.

Nico nods. “That’s okay! Just — peaches.” He reaches out and pats the fruit, curling Will’s fingers around them. “For you. Okay?”

Will glances down at the peach. He glances back up at Nico. He looks down, finally, at their hands, twined around the fruit, and holds there, one, two, three seconds.

“Oh,” he says, finally. “Oh, you don’t — oh.”

“Peaches,” Nico repeats, “oranges.” He pulls one hand free and draws a line between them. “You get it?”

“I get it,” Will says, softly. He looks up and smiles, small, private; too-big front teeth just barely peeling out. “You never reach your approached value.”

“I really don’t even get that close.”

“I’m kind of losing the metaphor, here.”

“Okay.”

Nico squeezes their hands together. Will squeezes back, shifting his weight.

“I’m still gonna — you still gotta get your vitamin C.”

“More oranges?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” He rubs his finger over the backs of Will’s knuckles; he shivers. Nico meets his eyes and he smiles, widely, hurting his cheeks, and Will smiles back, and he rocks, and Nico is an abyss, and he is falling, falling, falling. “I like oranges.”

[yourgentlegirlfriend]

Saw your post about writing, I love older Leon with a younger more naive reader, could you maybe do something along those lines? 👉👈

YES! I’m so glad somebody requested more older Leon, im in love with writing it. I whipped something up as fast as i could but i ended it on a little teaseeee if you guys REALLY like it i’ll finish it!!:))

DISCLAIMER!! this is 18+ ONLY, please do not interact with my blog if you are underaged or don’t have age indicator in your bio!! thank you!!

f!reader x much older Vendetta/ID Leon. Mentions of size difference, slight angst if you squint literally, VERY little smut but it is there. mentions of choking, biting lip. use of pet names (sweetheart, angel, etc.) BIKER LEON HELLO. Leon is obsessed with you, and you’re dumb.

Word count: 1.4k it’s small

Leon always says you were his saving grace. The two of you met during a time in his life where he really needed you. You were bubbly, happy, much younger but he pushed that aside. The only reason you guys met was because you went to go get your brothers bike fixed for him, standing waiting before the mechanic had told you a list of reasons as to why it would cost you almost ten thousand dollars in repairs. You knew enough about cars but nothing about motorcycles, your jaw dropped staring at the man in front of you as you shook your head.

“The tire went out? That was it-“

You cut yourself off, pulling out your check book with a frustrated sigh, before you can even sign on the line a man stepped next to you, squinting at the numbers on the paper then to the mechanic in front of the both of you.

“This what this business is about? Lying to women for no reason?”

The man grabbed the check book scoffing at the astonishing price you were about to pay, the mechanic stuttered over his words before the man once again cut him off.

“Just bring the bike back up front”

You stared at the man in awe. You knew that you were being scammed but you are the one who fucked up the bike so as long as it was fixed you didn’t care. He handed you back your check book and nodded his head towards the workers bringing the bike back up front.

“I’ll fix it for you, no cost too. Well, unless you let me take you to dinner.”

His smile was gorgeous. He was gorgeous. You felt red spread across your face as you nodded, shoving your check book back in your purse as the two of you walked out the front door.

Leon Kennedy was his name, he told you while he propped the bike up, leaning down before swatting his hand signaling you to stand over him and watch him. And he taught you more than you knew, maybe more than you needed to know. You couldn’t help but smile as he stood up, wiping his hands on his pants before looking at you.

“All done.”

And before he could even speak again you pulled your wallet out, grabbing at the cash you had stored. Leon let out a chuckle as he covered your hand with his, shaking his head.

——————

Leon was adamant about taking you to dinner, at least twice a week. Since the two of you met he would pick you up every Monday and Friday, and take you these outrageously fancy and expensive restaurants. Leon stopped his bike, stepping off before grabbing your hand to help you keep your balance as you swung your leg over. The two of you began your walk up the stairs as you rambled on about the girls at your work and how one of them was stealing produce, your words interrupted by Leon’s hand gripping the back of your skirt, pulling it down slightly so it would cover you up more because apparently your skirt rode up on the ride here. Did he just do that? A part of you wanted to yell at him, but physically, your throat went dry and your thighs squeezed together. There was no label on you two, you weren’t girlfriend and boyfriend, but you did spend to much time together. You bit at your cheek as Leon checked you in for your reservations, turning back to you as the waiter walked the two of you to your table. Your hand reached out for the chair but Leon- as smooth as ever he was- brushed beside you, pulling out your chair. You sighed softly, looking up at the man with a smile as you sat down, your ankles crossing over each other. The air was thick between you two but it had been for about the past week. Leon always ordered for you two, mainly because he knew what he was doing. The two of you sat silent as you stared at the menu before you placed yours down, staring at Leon with your eyebrows slightly frowned. He was scanning the menu, his attention not on you of course. He had to have felt the gaze because his eyes flicked up to meet yours, causing him to place down the menu.

“What’s up sweetheart, you seem bothered.”

Bothered was an understatement. Your eyes rolled as before you stared at your glass of water.

“Is it our age gap? Or what? I mean jesus Leon i’m sitting here wondering why I’m not good enough for you..”

Instead of comforting you, Leon let out a chuckle, taking a sip from the wine in his glass. Leon shrugged as he leaned back against the chair with a smug smile on his face.

“Angel, if i didn’t value you and want you to be mine why would i spend almost a thousand a week just to see that pretty smile?”

——————

“He’s what?”

Damien, your brother yelled as you and Leon sat at the table with him, Leon’s hand gripping at your thigh under the table at your brothers outburst. You knew he would react this way when finding out about yours and Leon’s very much prominent age gap of 9 (and a half) years.

“Leon takes care of me Dami.. you don’t have to be mad-“

Damien interrupted you, ranting on about how disappointed mom and dad would be with how you decided to play out your life. Leon lifting you from your seat and basically dragging you out the door made the anger building in your stomach stop.

“We are leaving.”

Leons voice was stern as the two of you walked down the steps of your brothers porch, Damien following behind, arms crossed as he watched Leon carefully place the helmet on your head before he swung his leg over his bike, you following him like a stray puppy, laying the side of your covered head on his back as you watched your brother look at you in disgust.

Leon was silent, but the way he sped down the street told you everything you needed to know. When the two of you finally arrived back at the house, even in his anger he still held the door open for you, when you stepped in he slammed it. sighing as he pulled his jacket off.

“Leon, Im so sorry.”

Leon shook his head watching you play with your fingers, a groan leaving his lips as you folded his jacket for him.

“You are just so..”

Leon grumbled as he grabbed your hips, squeezing them in his much larger hands. You frowned up at him, your hands slowly rubbing up his chest and past his shoulders.

“I love you, it’s not fair.”

Leon nodded down at you, pecking your nose softly before one of his hands left your hip to gently grab at your chin, he took in a deep inhale, he loved the way you smelled. With your strawberry lipgloss and vanilla lotion, he was obsessed with you. The way you would do anything for him, you were his and you knew that too. His lips pressed into yours, his hand that was at your hip sliding to hold your back pulling you closer into him.

Your hands went to pull away from him but he was much stronger, tilting his head into yours causing a soft whimper to fall from your lips as his teeth nipped at your now puffy bottom lip. He pulled back, smirking at the sight of you with your hooded eyes, looking at him like he was the only person in the world. You went to whine something to him but he shushed you immediately, dragging you over to the couch.

“Just don’t talk.”

He mumbled as he sat himself down on his sofa, pulling you between his legs. He admired your outfits more than you knew, the way you always wear cute little skirts for him, or when you guys go out to dinner and you wear that red dress that he fucking adores. Everything hugs your body so perfectly. Your fingertips grazed over his shoulder, your body pushing forward with a gasp as Leon yanked your skirt down your legs, a hum leaving his throat as he gripped at your thighs.

“Leon be careful clothes are expensive!”

You whined with a giggle as Leon dragged you down to the couch, this made you realize just how much stronger and bigger Leon really was, the shyness washing over you as he hovered over you, his hand grabbing at your throat gently, he didn’t want to hurt you (yet).

“I told you not to talk, you act like I don’t buy you all those skimpy little skirts anyways..”

[aimedis]

WORST KIND OF FLIRT (A TEASE) | WIP WEDNESDAY !!

vincent x lovely actors!au | happy new year everybody! i hope 2025 treats you all well. as my gift to you i shall present you with none other than the unedited version of chapter one of this idea that i talked about ages ago. i've had this chapter written for like about a month and a half but don't get your hopes up for the remaining chapters 😭 i'm gonna try but i honestly can't write for shit and i have no motivation. but if you guys like it, i'll try harder ig lmao

cw - actor au obvi, directors!angel and david, love at first sight but it's literally just lovely and vincent flirting immediately (they don't actually fall in love until later), lovely being a bit insecure, mainly lovely's pov (it switches to angel and david for a second), korean!vincent and lovely, mentions of vincent being adopted by william at ten years old for unspecified reasons, we're ignoring the drama going on between them rn okay, darlin shows up for half a second and sam for even less, says 'laughs' way too much, i know nothing about acting and auditions and whatnot okay 😭

wc - 3.6k

hope you enjoy!

“You’re going to be a star.”

Lovely’s been told that close to a billion times in their life. It used to make them really happy when they were a kid. They’d grin up at their mom when she would tell them about all the awesome movies and TV shows they would act in once they were older. They’d practice in front of a mirror for hours at a time, reciting the few lines they were expected to memorise as a little eight-year-old. Even at that age, they wanted more. More lines, more chances to prove themselves worthy of the big screen, more of the spotlight. They only wanted to shine as bright as possible, to make their family proud.

“You’re a star.”

It feels egotistical to them, to say that they’re a star. But it would be completely ignorant of them to pretend they hadn’t made it far. Getting recognized every time they stepped foot outside, having people stand in line for autographs, people using their name and face for school projects, and not to mention, getting thousands of dollars just to say the name of a brand. As much as it warmed their heart, it got to be quite disorienting at times. To think that they went from being a complete nobody outside of their school plays and small commercials to being so… well known.

It was also really privacy-invading. Paparazzi was going to be the death of them.

But that’s the price I pay, Lovely muses to themselves as they try their best to breeze past the flashing lights and cameras being shoved in their face while they try to walk into the studio.

“..they could be a little less obnoxious about it though. Can’t believe this shit’s legal.”

Lovely looks up and squints to regain steady vision from nearly being blinded. Belatedly, they snort when they see Darlin glaring at the door they had just walked through.

“Yeah,” They say breathlessly, slipping their jacket off.

Darlin pats them on the head, “You need anything before they call you in? They said in about half an hour.”

Lovely leans into their hand, “‘M okay. I’ll just play games on my phone. Did Sam go in already for Daniel?”

The (slightly) taller of the two nods and gently leads Lovely over to a few seats in a slightly secluded area, “He should be done a little while though. I already went so do you want us to wait with you before you go in? We can take you home.”

Lovely was tempted to say no, say that they don’t need to look after them. They wanted to say that they weren’t a baby (even though they were significantly younger than both Darlin and Sam) who needed to be coddled.

But when Darlin guides them to sit down, fixing their hair, they only exhale softly. As long as they don’t need to call an Uber.

“Yes please. If it’s not too much trouble.”

Darlin grins, “Never for you, spark.”

Lovely huffs and pouts up at them, “Don’t call me that, weirdo.”

They only laugh and sit next to Lovely, sliding their phone out of their back pocket.

They rest their head on Darlin’s shoulder, going to scroll on their own phone to kill time.

✩★✩★✩

Lovely inhales sharply when their name is called out along with someone else. They clear their throat, and stand up, “Wish me luck, I guess.”

It shouldn’t still make them so nervous to do auditions after doing so many of them in their life. And it usually doesn’t. However, not only was this film one of the bigger ones they were called in to audition for, their agent said this one was right up their alley. And after they read the summary and script, they agreed. This one was perfect for them. The character Kaia was perfect for them. They wanted this role more than they’ve wanted any role in their life.

The male lead Lucas also happened to be their ideal type but that was neither here nor there.

“Good luck,” Sam flashes them a smile, “This is easy work for you.”

Darlin nods, “Don’t stress, you’ve got this in the bag.”

But what if someone better comes around?

Lovely leaves that unsaid, now was not the time to be insecure. They needed to have confidence.

But really they couldn’t help themselves, they read a couple hate comments too. Of course, they tried to tell themselves that the positive outweighs the negative and that the good comments were always so much more detailed and substantial than just “they’re not pretty”.

They take a deep breath and nod once, hardly noticing the other actor who stood up at the same time, walking back into the audition room. They smile back at Sam and Darlin before turning around.

They’re a star.

✩★✩★✩

Lovely walks slowly into the backroom where the auditions were being held, seeing only one other person standing around the door. They were so stuck in their own head about the person they would be acting with that they failed to notice the person they would be acting with.

They’re going over their lines in their head as they step into the hallway, reminding themselves to breathe when a voice knocks them out of their train of thought.

“So, you’re my Kaia.”

Lovely’s face prematurely scrunches in disgust before they even turn to look at whoever this guy was, not registering his tone and utterly annoyed they had to act with one of those guys. Again. They’ve worked with people like him before, revolting middle-aged men who only looked younger and thought it was okay to touch and sleazily flirt with their young co-star because they played love interests. Every other film they’ve acted in since they were 18. They were sick and tired and really wanted to enjoy this one so they turned to face this supposed middle-aged man so they could tell him off and set some boundaries.

However, they were met with the most handsome face they’ve ever seen in their life. He was smiling, not smirking, at them, his eyes shimmered even in the bright fluorescent lights, and his face looked sculpted by the gods. Lovely couldn’t help but let their eyes trail further down, scanning his body that they could somehow tell was just perfect underneath his hoodie and baggy jeans.

He laughs and—holy shit, Lovely thinks they’ve died and gone to heaven, he was so beautiful. Lovely snaps out of their little trance and meets his eyes properly, his beautiful brown eyes, when it clicks.

Oh my god, this is Vincent Solaire.

They also hadn’t known him personally, they acted in very different genres. They hadn’t even been a fan, per say. But he was just as well-known as they were. William Solaire, his father and agent, was a director they had worked under and that was one of their favourites.

Lovely inhales when Vincent brushes his hair out of his face.

“I would say you match Kaia’s description perfectly but.. I think you’re better.”

“Oh yeah?” Lovely laughs breathily, “Do you flatter all of your co-stars like this, or am I special?”

Vincent looks them up and down slightly and Lovely swears he looks at their lips, “You’re definitely.. special, Lovely was it?”

They nod, “Vincent?”

“In the flesh,” He grins.

Lovely smiles back, not having it in them to feel ashamed at the blush spreading across their face, only because he was blushing too.

“You don’t usually act in rom-coms,” Lovely hums, leaning back against the wall, “Why this one?”

Vincent’s grin widens, “You keep tabs on what I act in?”

Lovely shrugs, “I mean you’re not a nobody, I’ve seen you around. And where you are, Sam is. Gotta support my best friend’s man, you know?”

Vincent breathes a laugh, “Ah, that’s right. You’re Darlin’s twin flame.”

“In the flesh,” They repeat with a matching smile.

Vincent scoffs playfully, “Copy cat.”

Lovely snorts.

“Well,” Vincent continues, “I just wanted to try something new, you know? You can only act in thrillers and shit like that for so long before you need to switch it up to something more lighthearted.” He says, still smiling.

Lovely senses that wasn’t the whole truth but they nod, “I see. I’ve only acted in a handful of horror movies but I get it. They’re a little draining.”

“Oh yeah, you were in Locked Down.” He recalls, “I love that movie, you were phenomenal in it. Your acting was so realistic.”

Lovely smiles slightly, they always got a little sheepish whenever they got praised for their acting or any skill at all. You’d think they’d be used to it by now.

“Yeah well,” They clear their throat, “Screaming so much made my head hurt for days so I would hope it was good.”

Vincent laughs a bit hesitantly, “I’d say it paid off.”

Lovely laughs as well, going to say something else but the door in front of them swings open a little. They glance over only to freeze at the familiar face of Angel Shaw themselves standing in front of them.

Not familiar on a personal level, of course not. Lovely had never met them personally, but they and their husband were some of the most famous actors turned directors in North America. Lovely grew up watching Angel on TV and they were part of the reason Lovely even wanted to act in the first place. But even as they rose in popularity, Lovely always admired Angel and David and any film they directed. It was another recent dream of theirs to act under them, and this was their chance.

Angel looks at the two actors standing around the door and they smile, stepping out to show their full body, “Good morning, you two! Good to see you again, Vincent. We’ll be right with you both in a moment.” They turn to look at Lovely specifically, “Hi, there. I know we talked over the phone once and I’ve spoken with your agent but it’s nice to see you in person.”

You wouldn’t believe how happy I am right now, Lovely cried internally, trying to hide the star struck look on their face.

They clear their throat, “I-It’s nice to see you too. I’m a really big fan of your and David’s work.”

Angel laughs softly, “Why, thank you! That means a lot. We also enjoy watching you act, it’s truly beautiful.”

Lovely nearly died on the spot and they prayed to whatever god was listening that it didn’t show on their face. They barely squeak out a ‘thank you’ before Angel settles back into their professionalism.

They look at their clipboard, “So, you’ve both been called in to play the main characters and love interests Kaia and Lucas obviously. This “audition” is mainly just to see how well you two act together. Your chemistry, if you will. You’ll have like five-ish minutes to talk with each other and introduce yourselves and then we’ll start, okay?”

They both nod and Angel looks back up.

“Okay!” They smile and peer back into the room, “David? Are we good to go?”

“Yeah, send ‘em in.”

Angel nods towards the inside of the room, “Come on in then.”

Lovely dazedly steps into the room.

The room was bigger than it looked from the outside. There was a long table with six seats, four of which were occupied, the one to the right of David Shaw was empty, Lovely assumes that’s Angel's seat.

Angel points to the small table, “You guys can sit over there and get to know each other a little better and we’ll call you over, alright?”

Lovely and Vincent both nod and step in sync over to the corner. They both sit down and smile at each other.

“So Vincent, where are you from?” Lovely asks.

Vincent grins, “Well, I think it’s common knowledge that I was adopted by William when I was 10. But my birth parents were Korean and so were most of my foster parents until William adopted me.”

Lovely’s eyes light up, “Oh same!” They pause with a small laugh, “Not that- not that I was adopted but my parents are both Korean immigrants.”

Vincent laughs as well, “Really? Do you speak Korean then?”

Lovely’s nose scrunches, “I’m like- fairly fluent. I’m not as well-spoken as I am in English. My dad dogs on me for it all the time. You?”

“God, I have the speaking ability of a fourth grader.” Vincent scoffs, “Obviously, since I was adopted at 10 by a non-Korean man, my Korean just stopped ageing with me once I stopped putting in effort.”

They nod with a smile, “I get it. Have you tried learning more now that you’re an adult?”

“Not really? I think I tried a couple times when I turned 21 but I got impatient. But hey, maybe you could teach me,” Vincent tilts his head to the side, smiling at them.

Lovely stops breathing as they glance down at his lips.

“Yeah… I could.”

They blink when Vincent laughs, focusing back on his eyes.

“Mesmerized, Lovely?” He hums, beaming from ear to ear.

Lovely scoffs playfully, “You wish, pretty boy.”

“Think I’m pretty, huh?”

“Yeah well,” They smile a little more shyly, “I’m not blind.”

They delight in seeing the slight pink tint that spreads across Vincent’s cheeks.

He grins slightly, returning the small glance down at Lovely’s lips, “Yeah? I think you’re pretty too. Gorgeous, even.”

Lovely breathes a short flustered laugh, “Jeez, is this a part of the script? This is a lot of flattery for getting to know my co-star for an audition.”

Vincent laughs a little louder, “I’m only getting into character, of course. My Kaia.” He reaches over to gently hold Lovely’s hand laying on the table.

And Lovely feels their entire stomach light up brighter than a Fourth of July night. They swallow, forcing themselves to keep their breathing stable. They sigh shakily, “Yeah…”

Neither of them realize how long they’ve been looking into each other’s eyes until David’s voice calls from the other side of the room.

“We’re ready to get started, you two. Are you ready?”

Neither of them flinch. Not at all.

Vincent looks away first and gently drops Lovely’s hand, nodding at the directors. The two stand and walk over to stand in front of the table.

“Alright,” Angel looks up from the papers in front of them and smiles, “You can start whenever you’re ready.”

Vincent and Lovely both nod at the directors and then at each other, settling themselves into their roles. By the light waltz music starts playing softly in the background, they are both fully immersed into another world.

Vincent smiles completely poised in a way that is unlike earlier, holding his hand out towards Lovely, “Kaia. I’ve heard a lot about you from your father.”

Lovely grins back at him hesitantly, taking his hand, “That so? Lucas, is it?”

He hums as he pulls them into a slow dance of swaying back and forth, holding onto their waist loosely with his free hand, “That’s me. Prince of the House of Solaire.”

Lovely rests their right hand on Vincent’s shoulder, “Not the typical name for a royal, hm? I saw a picture of you and assumed James or Alexander.”

Vincent laughs.

✩★✩★✩

David leans over to whisper in Angel’s ear as the other casting directors spoke to the two, “They’re really good at this. I could hardly tell they were reading off a script.”

Angel snorts, tapping their pen against their paper, “Uh huh.”

He furrows his brows, “What, you don’t think they’re good?”

“No, no, not that. They’re wonderful,” Angel shakes their head with a laugh, “They’re just uhh- it feels like a little more than acting, no?”

David shrugs with a small smile, “I don’t know, Angel, maybe they’re just good at their job.”

“Right.” They roll their eyes, “And they were eye-fucking over there without the script for fun.”

“You shouldn’t speak about your actors like that, Angel.” David breathes a laugh, “And you know how insane actors are these days when it comes to getting into character. Remember Milo and the FBI Agent Incident?”

Angel stifles a louder laugh, “Oh god. They weren’t even using real guns for the shoot, he didn’t need to go to a shooting range everyday for a month.”

David bites his tongue with a grin, turning back to the two once Babe had finished speaking. He writes something down on his sheet of paper, “That was great guys, thank you so much. That’ll be it. We’ll get back to you in the next week.”

Angel bids the two goodbye and rests their head on David’s shoulder once they’re out of the room, looking down at his papers and snorting, “Didn’t need any time to think about it, huh?

David shakes his head, “God, no. They’ve had the job since they walked in here.”

✩★✩★✩

Vincent holds the door open for Lovely as they leave, to which they snort.

“Thanks, prince charming.” They pat his shoulder playfully.

He laughs and closes it behind him. Lovely jerks their head to the side to indicate Vincent follow them back to the main part of the building with a confidence they did not feel.

Vincent sticks his hands in his pockets, “Not to sound too proud, but I think we nailed that.”

“Obviously,” Lovely nods with a smile,”You could have looked at my lips a little less though.”

His eyes scrunch up into those little half-moons again to emphasize his amusement, “Well, who could blame me? They’re very nice to look at.”

Lovely raises an eyebrow, stopping once they reach the end-of-hallway door, “Only to look at?”

Vincent, once again, glances down at their lips as they spin around to face him whilst leaning against the door. He breathes a barely there ghost of a laugh, “Maybe more. Who knows?”

Lovely can’t contain the wide smile that overtakes their features, squeezing a fist behind their back to attempt to contain their excitement. Vincent looks back up at their eyes after a moment, shifting back into focus.

His head tilts slightly and he smiles sincerely, “You have beautiful eyes, Lovely.”

How they didn’t collapse right then and there, they’ll never know. Feeling crimson creeping onto their cheeks, Lovely laughs lightly and scratches their nose.

They had never been able to take praise of any kind without feeling like their entire body was on fire. They always laughed the compliment off or redirected it out of pure embarrassment. Recently, that is. Being in the spotlight so often since the age of 17 had indirectly forced them to be better at accepting the praise. Being ‘The Star of the Big Screen’ meant being continuously lauded all over the internet and often to their face during interviews or fan-meetings. They had spent so many hours in their bedroom, in cars, or in hotel rooms practicing their “poker face” and willing themself to never show a single person outside of their close circle how much a little praise flustered them.

The way Vincent spoke to them undid all of that. The tone of his voice, his gaze, his fucking confidence. If their body was on fire when it came to anyone else, he made them feel like they had just been thrown into a volcano.

And they could only thank whoever was listening that their days of tripping over their feet, choking, or sometimes straight up running away were over. The only thing that would be more humiliating than being complimented by the most beautiful person they’ve ever seen would be fumbling themself in front of him.

Shaking off their inner-monologue, they grin at him again, “Thank you. All the compliments today, are you sure this is still ‘getting into character’?”

“Of course, I have to really step into Lucas’ shoes.”

“Uh huh,” Lovely shakes their head with a laugh, “Sure.”

“Really! In fact, I’ll do the most Lucas thing ever and ask for your number!” He grins again, reaching into his back pocket for his phone.

They stare at him with barely concealed mirth, “The most Lucas thing ever? Really?”

“Nah,” He snorts, unlocking his phone, “It’s a Vincent thing for sure.”

Lovely doesn’t think their heart is supposed to skip that many beats but they chuckle and accept the phone offered to them, typing in their number quickly.

“Thank you kindly,” Vincent says, taking his phone back. Lovely hums and leans off the door, swinging it open and stepping in time with Vincent back to the entrance.

They both wave to Sam and Darlin’ still sitting there in the corner. Sam stops talking when he sees the two of them, waving back and the two stand up.

“Hey.” Darlin says, stretching their arms, “How’d it go?”

Lovely and Vincent exchange a short look.

“Good,” They both say at the same time, sharing a smile.

Sam raises an intrigued eyebrow but he smiles back, “That’s good. Do you know when you’ll get the call back?”

“Ah, David said within the next week,” Vincent says.

The two in front of them nod and Sam glances to the door.

“Is William picking you up, Vincent?”

Vincent nods and takes a look at his phone, “And he’s already here.” He looks up with a little smile that was mostly directed at Lovely, “Bye, guys. See you later.”

Lovely waves back at him, letting their gaze linger a little longer than normal until Darlin’ clears their throat.

And whatever confidence Lovely had vanished the second they were alone with Darlin’ and Sam.

────────

so uh, i meant to post this before 12am where i am buttttttt.... it's surely still january 1st somewhere 😄

[magicalbuttertarts]

Part 1 ♥︎ Part 2 ♥︎ Part 3

Damian Priest x f/Reader (AU)

WWE Masterlist

Just like all my other stories, this has not been proofread, but please enjoy.

Warnings: no sex for now. Eventually smut. Blood drinking. Murder. A bit of swearing.

WC: 1316

Divider by @strangergraphics

©️magicalbuttertarts 2024: do not repost or translate my work. This is the only place I post my work.

"You want to do women's night?" Rhea asked me as I had a meeting with my friends who work at the club.

"Yes. We haven't had one in a while. Women pay half the price. A man who comes with any female can pay just ten dollars more than she is paying. No female companion, no discount."

"Okay. I'll make up the flyers. Send out the mass emails. Jey and Jimmy, you two put up the flyers around town." Rhea told them.

"Before you leave though, I want one of you to come to my office." I added before dismissing everyone.

◆

"You needed to see one of us?" Jey asked as he knocked on my open door, and I waved him in.

"Yes, I have a special invitation that I need personally delivered. Doesn't have to her, it can just be placed in her mailbox." I handed him the black envelope, even though he had a perplexed look on his face.

"Uh yeah, no problem." Jey responded as he looked at the envelope.

"I would say make that your first stop and then work your way back here."

"Sounds good." Jey said, perplexed.

Probably wondering why this person is so important that they have gotten their own personal invite.

It is women's night, and it is very successful in the terms of attendance and the cash rolling in. This is the place to be tonight, but she still hasn't shown up.

I watched the security cameras like a hawk until I had to do my usual rounds.

As I was walking past the VIP section, that is when I smelled her, lavender and peppermint.

I could see her laughing and smiling with her friends, getting bottle service from Bayley.

I decided to introduce myself, so I walked towards their table.

"Hello my name is Damian. I am the owner of this club. How is everyone doing tonight?" I could hear how their heartbeats picked up when I got close to them, and when I smiled.

They each talked over one another, but she still stayed quiet, as she looked at me.

"And how are you liking it?" I asked her. Her friends looked at her, waiting for her to answer.

"I am having a good time Damian, thank you." Her voice, oh her voice, and how she said my name.

I left the group alone, walking back up to my office and wondering how I can get her alone now.

I went outside, just to enjoy the nice, summer air, and to try and see if anyone wanted to help me quench his thirst.

I knew he could get someone inside to agree, but sometimes, but sometimes I just enjoy the hunt. Trying to persuade someone to let me have just a taste.

When I heard a scream and ran to where it came from.

I could smell you before I saw you, and that made me move even faster.

There you were, just a bit down the way, being pushed into a alley, a man has you walking against the wall, pointing a gun at you wish each step you took.

I could hear the lowlife, and how they were demanding you hand over everything you have, which you did, not wanting to get hurt.

You have tears in your eyes as you shook, hoping the man would just go away, but he looked you up and down, making you cringe.

I appeared behind the man, growling, "look away."

The gunman had no idea what happened before I snapped his neck and drank from his body.

He tasted bitter.

I spit out the last of his blood that was in my mouth, needing mouth wash to get rid of the bitter taste.

I called Rhea and told her what happened, and before I was even done telling her, Tama and Tonga were with me, getting rid of the body.

I could literally sense that she was shaking behind me.

I turned around slowly, wondering if she is going to run, but she didn't move.

She just kept her eyes on where the body once was.

"Are you okay?" I asked her, concerned she may go into shock.

"He was, he was." She kept repeating as tears ran freely down her face.

I pulled her into my chest as I rubbed her back, her body shaking as it fully dawned on her what could of happened.

"Thank you." I heard her mumble into my chest, making me smile.

"No problem at all." She pulled back suddenly and I dropped my arms.

"Shit, you're a vampire." She took a step back, looking me up and down.

"Yes." I hesitated. "Yes, I am a vampire."

"I always heard your kind was evil and ugly."

"Do I look ugly to you?" I playfully moved my hand up and down my body as she giggled.

"And we are not evil. Like your kind, we have our good and our bad. Most of us have our urges under control."

"Thank you Damian, but I must be going home."

"May I walk you home? After what happened, I would like to know you got home safe."

I knew she was hesitant, to be so alone with a vampire, but when she whispered okay, I could have jumped for joy as we walked off in the direction of her place.

I asked her questions about her, which she answered. We walked slow and just got to know one another.

"Now Damian, how old are you?"

"I am 42."

"Your real age." She gave me a look.

"Give or take a few years, 250."

"Holy shit." Was her reply.

"I know, I know. I look good." I said, playfully.

"May I ask when you were bit?" She stopped in front of a park bench, and we both sat down.

"I remember it being summer, and the American Colonies were on the cusp of war, but I was a trader, and I just sailed from what is now Puerto Rico. I was trying to sell as much as I could, but then I met a man by the name of Adam. Adam, like me was just trying to sell his products, or so I thought. On my last night here, I was drinking with him and he kept asking me what I thought was ridiculous questions at the time."

"And those were?" She asked me.

"Have you ever thought about being immortal?"

"Do you wish you could be better than you are now?"

"And you didn't think those were odd?" She questioned.

"I was drunk on ale and when I told him yes to those questions, and the others, he bit me, and he showed me how to control my urges."

"Oh. Where is this Adam now?"

"Somewhere in the mountains of North Carolina with his mate."

"I see."

I stood up, seeing how tired she was.

"Should get you home." I gently told her, as she stood up.

"So let me get this straight. Your kind can not be repelled by garlic, crosses, sunlight doesn't kill you."

"And we don't sparkle on the sunlight. Also, many vampires believe in God still, and they actively go to church."

"How interesting." She said as we stopped at the end of her pathway.

"This is me."

"And I should get back to deal with everything."

"Wait, Damian, can I see your phone?" I handed her my phone as she typed in it and handed it back to me.

I saw that she put her number in it, and quickly text the number. "My phone is dead, but once I have a charge and I get some sleep, I'll message you."

"Good night." I told her, wanting nothing more than for her invite me in.

"Good night Damian." She closed her front door, and locked it.

Now, time to go and deal with the mess of the man who I killed.

♥︎

Damian Priest Taglist: @madhatterbri @terrortwinunicorn @jstarr86

Tag list: @lghockey @nicoleveno14 @legit9thlunaticwarrior @hooks-martin @madhatterbri @wwenhlimagines @melissahausen @tahiri-veyla

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Nobody's Girl - Chapter Three.

Check your girl out over here like Oprah. YOU get another chapter, and YOU get another chapter, and so on! I am seriously so flattered by everyone loving the story so far, and watching you all so rabidly consuming it makes me so very happy :)

With the time off work I have had recently, it's meant the story has virtually written itself, I'm up to chapter eleven in the writing, so what I thought would originally be a shorter series has turned into a longer one, meaning I can update more regularly. Well, I can only hope you like this chapter just as much as the previous two, and if you do, remember to leave me a little comment, or a reblog. You would have my eternal gratitude for doing so!

Previous chapters - One Two

Taglist - In the comments, please DM to be added/removed

Words - 4,300

Warnings - Adult content throughout, minors DNI!

Conversation. With a woman he wasn’t involved with. Truly, Luca couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever enjoyed such, but there he was on an otherwise quiet Thursday night experiencing just that. A soft flurry of snow gently drifted down outside, his apartment the warm cocoon he and Emily sequestered themselves within, sitting on the couch, mostly her sharing stories of her life before she’d literally fallen into his.  

“I remember there was this one time, back when I first got caught up with them, I was taken for a game at this house in Queens. Joey had loaned me to his brother, Giacinto, but of course there was the issue of how he could get me in at the table. So, he made a bet on a bet, I guess you’d call it. Strode in there and announced that he bet each player two hundred bucks they couldn’t beat me in a game of seven card stud.  

“Of course, part of the point of poker is counting cards, but I can do it faster and better, and I did. I won Giacinto five grand in one night, and most of the guys were pissed as hell that I’d beaten them, except for one. He was an older guy, thick glasses, big birthmark on his cheek. He told me I was every man’s worst nightmare, a pretty blonde with a brain, and he respected that.”  

“That’s Jimmy Phelan, Irish mob from Philly,” Luca nodded, quite impressed that she’d grabbed his attention.  

She clicked her fingers in remembrance. “Yeah, Jimmy. That was his name. I’ve met so many wiseguys that it’s hard to keep up with all of the names. I remember the ones who have curious nicknames, like Carmine the Boots, and Duck Foot Silv. I never asked how they got them, though.” 

Luca knew, of course. “Carmine is the boots ‘cuz that’s what he does to those who earn it, fits ‘em with a nice set of concrete boots and sends ‘em off for a swim in the Hudson River. Silvio, they call him duck foot ‘cuz the guy was born with webbed toes.” 

Her eyes widened, leaning forward in her seat. “Have you seen the toes?” 

“I have,” he smirked, scratching his jaw,. “He does this trick, sticks a quarter on his big toe and flicks it about ten feet in the air.” 

She snorted with giggles, sipping her drink and catching an ice cube to chew upon. The sound of her cracking it between her teeth did something to his insides that he couldn’t explain, but was very, very pleasant. “I bet he’s a good swimmer too, huh?” 

“Guy don’t need no flippers, that’s for fuckin’ sure.” 

He looked at her for a long moment, enchanted as usual by her loveliness. It was so easy with her. She knew exactly who and what he was, and she just accepted it without fuss, acting unguarded with him, rather than either trying to work him out or shrink in intimidation. It made a nice change, to simply experience a slice of normality like that, and especially with a woman. Most only wanted him for his money or the association of who he was.  

Or his cock. He was famed for having one hell of a nice cock, after a woman he’d bedded had been very loud in her praise of it one time.  

“So yeah, back to Jimmy being nice to me. He gave me a hundred dollars, said I’d earned it, being such a good card player. I was amazed, and I thought the cash was mine to keep, but not according to Giacinto. Copped a huge beating for that assumption, ended up with this.”  

Hooking her finger into her mouth, she pulled her cheek back to reveal the empty gum space where her back teeth should have sat, Luca feeling caustic within. How hard must he have punched her to knock a both a double and fucking wisdom tooth out, he had to wonder, remembering how tough his own had been to have extracted by a dentist.  

“Bastardo,” he hissed, picking up his drink and knocking it back, refilling it. “Ain’t no big man’s game, sluggin’ a broad. You wanna prove you have cojones? Fuckin’ walk up to the biggest fella in the room and crack him in the mouth. S’what I used to do whenever I got thrown in Sing Sing as a kid, not long after I arrived here from England.”  

“Have you ever done serious time for your endeavours?” she asked, lifting the wool shawl where it had slipped from her shoulders, Luca wishing she’d left it. Any chance he got to view more of her beautiful, lily skin, and he shamelessly took it. It had been gnawing at him for the past fourteen days since she’d been there, chewing away at his resolve like a starving wolf.  

Usually, he’d have made his move by now on somebody he coveted. Hell, his record was ten seconds upon seeing a woman he desired, walking up to her and brashly asking a simple, three worded question. “Wanna fuck me?” No woman ever refused him. With Emily, though, because of her sheer loveliness, as tempting as it would be to corrupt, he held himself back.  

It was a fierce internal conflict he waged war with, his rampant libido dictating he simply take her to bed and bounce her on his cock until she screamed his name, the very little morality left within him castigating such, because of how innocent and sweet the girl was. He couldn’t tarnish something that lovely and pure with the infection of his darkness. Until he could come to some resolve, he supposed he’d have to simply deal with the juxtaposition of wanting to cherish her like a princess and fuck her like a whore.  

She was a billion miles away from the latter, though. Hence the conflict. 

Also, he got the distinct impression that she was still too scared of him. For the most part, she was settled around him, a little shy still, but definitely comfortable enough to open up to him and talk, just like she was doing on that particular evening. If he showed the weight of his desire for her, though, she’d surely bolt. The last thing he wanted was for her to flee.  

“I did a few years for theft, when I was eighteen,” he eventually replied, once he’d managed to finally pull himself back out of his thoughts. “Few times being locked up here and there in the time between, too.”  

“Don’t you mafia guys have the police on payroll, or something?” 

That was another reason why he held himself back. Would she truly want to remain in the world she’d been held prisoner in, should he instigate anything with her? Then again, at least this time she would have a choice. “We do now, yeah. Hence why I ain’t seen a cell in a while.”  

“I think I’d cry if I was ever arrested. Jail sounds scary,” she spoke, sipping her drink, her sweetness making his chest hurt. Why did she have to be the loveliest little thing he’d ever met? It was making him crazy, the want to protect her, the need to fuck her dirty, both colliding with the resolve that he’d solely keep here there until he knew all he wanted about the Calabrese family.  

It was a resolve that seemed to fracture away with every second that passed in her company.

She’d given him very useful information so far, too. Safe house locations his guys had duly gone in and looted, details of deals that she’d been made privy to that he’d been able to scupper before they’d had a chance to come to fruition. Because of Emily, he had the upper hand in the war against the family who – in his mind, at least – needed to show respect and fall back into line.  

What would happen when the well that was her information dried up, though? What, he was simply meant to let this beautiful little creature, this utter mythical princess of a woman unlike any others he’d encountered simply be on her way, and leave his life with a little less pure, iridescent sparkle in her wake? 

He was glad of the distraction when a heavy fist pounding the door below interrupted their evening, Emily nearly jumping out of her skin.  

“S’okay,” he assured her as he stood, resting a hand to her shoulder. “That’s Angelo, he has a habit of knocking like he’s the fuckin’ police.” He headed to the stairs, descending, opening the door but remaining out of her sight as he and Angelo exchanged hushed whispers. Luca appeared again after a few minutes, looking lamentable, but also angry as he pulled himself into his thick, black coat. 

“I have to go out, something I gotta attend to,” he spoke, Emily rising to her feet. 

“Oh, alright. When will you be back?” 

He shrugged, not looking pleased at all. “Hopefully not too long, but don’t wait on me, alright?” 

She nodded, and then completely on blind impulse, reached for his face, pulling him down to her tiny level and kissing his cheek. “Be careful.” 

His heart all but broke the ribs covering it with the force of its rapid thuds. He winked, thumb stroking the apple of her cheek. “I will, doll.”  

As he walked back down the stairs, he could still feel the soft press of her lips against his cheek, his pulse amped up from even the tiniest display of affection from his houseguest. He truly hadn’t expected it, and when he should have left the building with nothing but business on his mind, instead, it was only getting back to Emily again that occupied his thoughts.  

Meanwhile, the girl herself flopped back onto the couch, sighing as she covered her face with her hands. “Oh, god help me. I want that man so badly!” she grimaced, groaning with discomfort. Truly, she didn’t know how the hell to play it, either, feeling so conflicted.

Sometimes, he’d flirt with her, but she was too shy to reciprocate it, meaning he’d pull back and cool down with how he acted around her. Other times, she knew only too well he was trying to wheedle information regarding the Calabrese’s from her, information she found herself giving, getting herself furtherly wrapped up in a world she knew truly wasn’t any good for her.  

How much danger was she in, though, from her place beneath the albatross-like wings of Luca Changretta? Nobody would be fool enough to touch her. However, that was only if she became more to him than whatever she was, she supposed. Then again, he had told her several times already she was safe with him. 

Falling into a silly daydream, she imagined him taking her in his arms, kissing her, those big, tattooed hands laying worship upon her, that sultry voice of his speaking his wants and desires. She let her mind wander for so long that she was still partially in a daze when she heard a rapid knock at the door, followed by the creak of it opening, the music no longer playing.  

“Luca? It’s only me,” a female voice called, her heeled feet alighting the stairs. Before she could speak, a buxom looking redhead appeared, her face surprised as she took Emily in. “Oh, hi! I’m Maggie, and you are?”  

“Hi, Maggie. I’m Emily, and Luca is out,” she spoke, picking up her drink and finishing it. 

“Oh, oh alright. I must’a missed him leaving,” she muttered, holding two large jute bags in her hands. “I was just bringin’ up the takings to him, but I guess I can leave ‘em with you. You’re his new gal, right?” 

She shook her head. “No, just his, uh, his friend.”  

Maggie snorted, placing the takings down on the coffee table. “Luca don’t have gals who are just friends, sweetie pie.” She viewed her carefully, watching the way the young blonde blushed furiously, reaching for the vodka bottle. Only a tiny drizzle remained within.  

“Damn,” Emily pouted, “I drank it all.”  

“Hey, I gotta load of premixed cocktails I’d otherwise throw out. Fancy coming and helping me drink ‘em while I clean up for the night?” Maggie offered, suddenly feeling like she would be being rude to go and pour it all away, and leave the girl upstairs alone, waiting on a man who would likely be gone for hours. Especially too after she’d blatantly embarrassed the hell out of her by her assertion over her boss and his lack of female friends.  

Who was she to judge? Stranger things had happened, she guessed, although she had to admit, she was very curious. If Luca wasn’t giving her a good fucking on the regular, then just what was she doing there? She had noticed her boss not present down in the joint for the last two weeks, with none of his usual rotation of females making their way up to the apartment. Curiosity demanded an answer. 

Smiling, Emily rose to her feet, stuffing them into her shoes. “Sure, that’d be nice.”  Following Maggie back down, she was ushered over to the bar, taking a seat on one of the high stools, the clean up in full effect as people swept, tidied and mopped, the band disassembling their instruments and returning them to their respective cases.  

“Here, I hope you like Manhattan’s,” Maggie spoke, pouring a large measure into a copper mug and passing it over, topping off her own and holding it out. “Cheers, Emily.” 

“Cheers.” She took a swig, the alcohol hitting her throat so hard, she almost coughed, the redhead throwing her head back. 

“Sorry, sugar. I make ‘em potent!” she smirked, taking a soapy cloth and beginning to clean down the bar. “So, you and Luca. What’s the story, darl?”  

Emily didn’t really feel comfortable with revealing the whole truth to a perfect stranger, even though obviously she was a trusted person by the man himself. She wouldn’t have been working in his speakeasy if she wasn’t. “I’m staying with him for a little while.” 

“And you ain’t knockin’ boots with him?” she was then asked. 

“No, definitely not,” she replied, taking another sip of the rocket fuel in her grasp.  

Maggie raised an eyebrow, beginning to pick up liquor bottles from behind the bar and clean the runs and drips away with her cloth. “But you wanna, amirite? Everyone wants to fuck Luca, ‘cept me. I like ‘em a little prettier.”  

Watching her wink as a cute, almost angelic looking blonde saxophone player walked past and waved goodnight, Emily caught her drift immediately. Turning back to Maggie, she shrugged lightly. “I mean, I don’t know. I don’t think I’m his type.” By that point, she’d seen a picture of Filomena, his ex-wife when he’d shown her some photographs of his children. She was dark haired, buxom, Italian and glamorous. Everything she wasn’t.  

“True,” Maggie spoke, pausing to light a cigarette, her cleaning endeavours finished. “But men like somethin’ a lil’ different, they’ll find themselves urging for a taste of the unfamiliar when it’s presented to ‘em. You should give him a go, darl. I hear he’s good with his cock.”  

It was an unfortunate time to take a sip of the lethal Manhattan, Emily half spraying it back into the mug at her brazenness. Maggie couldn’t resist in teasing further. “One of the dancers here was fucking him a while back. Said he was hung like a bull and had the stamina of a guy half his age.”  

Emily felt herself shrinking with every word, Maggie throwing her head back and laughing hoarsely. “Oh, ain’t you a cutie! Gettin’ all shy. Sorry, I know I’m brash. I’ll behave.”  

Perhaps having a female perspective into her predicament might be helpful, she then pondered. Maggie seemed nice, friendly, too. It wasn’t like Emily had a whole lot in the way of friends, either, no gal pals to run her thoughts by. “Okay, so the truth is, I do want to,” she began, Maggie’s face lighting up as she leaned over the bar, huddling close. 

“Tell me more, sugar!” 

Pausing, she took another sip of her drink for courage. “I want to, but I never have before. With any man.”  

The barmaid’s eyes all but fell out of her skull. “Really?” 

She nodded.  

“But... why? Sex is amazing with the right guy!” 

Just then, a door flew open down at the other end of the room, one of the dancers striding out, mid-tirade. “It’s the fuckin’ same with all you fuckin’ Italian jerks!” she screamed, the guy following her looking nonchalant. “All of youse expect us to fuckin’ suck dick, but when it comes to returning it, nadda, nothin’, no sale! Would it fuckin’ kill you to eat me out just once, Luciano?” 

He shrugged, lighting a cigarette. “I ain’t about that.” 

“Yeah, me and my thirsty kitty cat know only too well, you two-bit fuck! We’re done!” She was out of the joint in a blur of sequins and fury, Emily and Maggie sharing a wide-eyed look at having front row seats to such a show. 

“Yeah, he ain’t the right guy,” the latter snorted, jerking her thumb in the direction where Luciano, one of Luca’s street guys had just walked in, softly cussing to himself in Italian.  

“To answer your question, I don’t know, really,” Emily confessed, thinning her lips momentarily. “I’ve never found anyone I like enough to do it with, I guess. It’s like I’m a beacon for shitty guys with bad intentions.”  

Her confidant didn’t truly know how to answer that, since Luca did seem to go through women like they were entering and exiting in a revolving door. However, there was a plus point. “Well, if you decided to, at least it wouldn’t be a lousy first experience for ya. He’s forty-three, the man has heaps of experience, so it wouldn’t be like my first. Two pumps and a squirt, baby. I was so disappointed,” 

The women both snorting laughing, Emily throwing her head back as she truly began to cackle loudly. Oh, she was funny, this brazen woman who had taken her under her wing and plied her with lethally potent cocktails. While she was beginning to relax and find herself making a new friend, the topic of their conversation was walking into a speakeasy in Bushwick, his crew around him.  

“Luca, glad you could join me,” Giacinto Calabrese spoke, leaning back in his seat. “Drink?”  

“No thanks,” he drawled through the chew on his toothpick, “won’t be stayin’ all that long. So, Angelo here tells me you gotta deal for me, huh?” 

His adversary gestured to a chair, Luca taking a seat, his eyes never leaving the man as he felt his mood darkening, looking at his hands. Those were the knuckles that had smashed the teeth out of her mouth. “I do, because you have somethin’ of ours we want returned to us, but I’m a fair man. I’m happy to exchange.” Lifting his chin, he pulled his cigarettes out, lighting one up. “Give me the girl, and I’ll walk away from the warehouses in Yonkers. You have my word.” 

He rolled his tongue against his cheek, chuckling a deadly hiss. “Your word is worth shit, and Emily ain’t for sale, pal.” 

“Oh!” The wise assed man laughed, entertained. “On first name terms with the little puttana now, huh? Wait, I can’t call her that, though. Bitch is more frigid than a fuckin’ nun!”  

Luca remained still, but his eyes moved with all the intent of a predator locking onto its target, slowly pulling the toothpick from between his lips. “The fuck you just call her, stronzo? A bitch?” 

“Yeah,” Giacinto laughed, “I called her a bitch, and...”  

That was as far as he got before the lion that was the head of the Changretta mob pounced, grabbing his collar and pounding his head down onto the table, their respective guys all drawing their weapons. 

“You’re outnumbered, fellas,” Angelo rumbled, tutting. “Put ‘em down.” The men fell back, all watching the scene unfold before them.  

Luca loomed like a shadow of death, his hand holding Giacinto fast against the smooth, dark wood. “Did you call her a bitch when you knocked her fuckin’ teeth out? Did ya? Tell me, how hard does a guy like you have to slug a tiny little thing like her to crack the goddamned teeth from her jaw? This hard?” His fist met his face in a sickeningly strong blow, the piece of shit beneath his grasp grunting in pain. “This hard?” He punched him again, this time loosening one of the teeth he was aiming for, Luca hauling him up and beginning to lay repetitive punches to his face, Giacinto flying back to the floor.  

With his rage pumping like water through a broken dam, Luca loomed over him, pulling a flick knife from his pocket and releasing the blade, holding it so hard against his cheek, his blood began to seep from beneath the press. “You ever speak her name again and I will cut your fuckin’ tongue from your head. The Yonkers warehouses are mine now, too, just for the fuckin’ gall of you. Give your fuckin’ father my goddamned regards, Giacinto.”  

“Fuck you, Luca!” he spat, shame and rage coiling through him.  

“Fuck me, huh?” he laughed, low and deadly. “Nah, kid. Tell me, you right-handed? You are, aren’t ya? It was your right hand you used to beat her, wasn’t it?” Wrenching his arm up, he grasped his wrist, bringing the knife down between his third and fourth fingers, beginning to slice through skin, sinew and tendons. Giacinto screamed, Luca holding the knife towards Angelo, needing both hands to grab the second and third, then fourth and fifth fingers, grasping hard before literally ripping his hand apart.  

“Can’t go punching little girls no longer now, can you?” Standing, he left him screaming on the floor, looking to his guys. “Step down from the warehouses as of tonight, or I do worse to all six of youse.” With that, Luca and his eight cohorts left the speakeasy, heading back to their cars, Brooklyn bound. Entering his apartment just under a half hour later, he made sure he was quiet, not wanting to wake the beauty in his bed.  

Hanging his coat and jacket, he unlaced his shoes, removing his tie as he walked over to the bed, just about able to see her outline there curled up, sleeping soundly. Reaching toward her face, he gently swept the platinum strands of hair that had fallen loose back behind her ear, tenderly stroking the apple of her cheek with the back of his fingers.  

He realised right there that she could never again utter anything about the Calabrese’s, and he wouldn’t care at all. He didn’t need her for information. He just needed her to be safe.  

The twisted irony wasn’t lost on him, though, that the very person she wasn’t safe from was the one whose bed she slept soundly in, but for very different reasons than what the Calabrese’s represented. He lingered there only a moment longer before going to the bathroom and undressing, pulling on his grey and white striped pyjama bottoms, heading for the couch.  

“Luca?”  

He actually jumped a little, hearing her soft voice suddenly sound through the dark. “Yeah, doll?” Turning, he watched her sit up, peeling the bed clothes back as she shuffled over, patting the mattress. “It’s freezing. You can’t keep sleeping on the couch. I don’t mind sharing.”  

He hesitated only a second before walking over, climbing in next to her, his heart beginning to race. Her warmth was the most alluring intoxication he’d ever felt near to him, wanting nothing but to wrap himself around her, meld his body to hers, tell her in no uncertain terms that Giacinto Calabrese would never dare touch her again.  

Lying there, Emily could feel the tension radiating from him, not knowing why he was in such a state, but sensing it all the same. Had something happened, while he was out, something to spark his temper, amp his ire? She felt him turn away from her, turning over herself and hesitating a moment before putting the advice she’d had from Maggie to good use. ‘Just move on him. You’re beautiful, sugar. He won’t turn you down.’  

It wasn’t necessarily a sexual advance, as Maggie had been specifically advocating, but it was a step in the right direction. Wrapping her arm around him, she pressed herself against his back, resting her hand to his chest. Her heart almost leapt into her throat when she felt him grasp her hand, thumb stroking, placing a kiss upon her fingers.  

He clutched her hand tight, feeling her breath flutter against his shoulder blades, his heart still hammering. If he turned to her, that would be it. He wouldn’t be able to hang onto the bull within him, goring against the very last of his soft flesh in a bid for freedom. Flesh that had softened for her. 

He remembered how he’d felt, punching Giacinto repeatedly in the face, until he had expelled blood with every groaned breath, all for her, because of her, because no man would ever make the sweet little darling curled against him feel less than all she was ever again.  

But still, he didn’t dare turn over. It’d be like Satan himself defiling the purest of angels. If only Luca knew, though, as he wrestled with the beast within, that the only thing the angel pressed against his back wanted was to feel the burn of his lust against her skin.  

[villainsview]

Chapter 1

All Stories Start Somewhere

<Prev | Masterlist | Next>

All stories start somewhere, but the beginning isn’t always as interesting, so let’s cut right to the chase. That’s also my name, Chase Fetcher, but you’ll find most people just call me Fetch. Now, let’s rush over the important stuff you need to know.

I got my medical degree in the army

I found out black market organ trade pays much better than a monthly salary

I got busted and lost everything, but people still wanted my services

I’m a quick study and expanded my expertise

Now I’m a modern-day mercenary specialised in kidnapping, “gentle” persuasion, organ harvesting and...waste disposal.

Now, to the interesting part. I thought it would just be a simple kidnapping. Peter Allard, a big shot in the Phoenix underworld, had some beef with Harrison James, a mediocre but strangely successful businessman. It was probably something about money. I didn’t really care. All I knew was that it was about a sum of three million dollars in ransom and my ten percent cut. All I had to do was snatch up James’ son and hold onto him until the ransom was paid. It would be simple, fast, and have a decent payoff in relation to the difficulty.

But of course it was too good to be true. I hit the first snag while I was stalking the target before abducting him. He was fifteen years old and attended a private school, which I preferred to stay away from. Snatching him at home would be unwise as well, which left me with his commute from home to school and back, because he didn’t come outside much besides that. It wouldn’t have been a problem, if it weren’t for his fucking friend. They were always together outside of school, playing around a bit before parting ways at James’ home. I almost considered just grabbing them both, especially upon finding out the friend would be worth a lot more money, but more money usually meant more trouble. In the end I decided to just eliminate the factor...literally.

It was the day to act. I had the two teens in my sight. I needed to get the blond one in my van, and I had to get rid of the redhead. The pair turned into the alley where they usually hung out after school to kick cans while the redhead secretly smoked. It was a quiet street and an even quieter alley, so all I had to do was park my van by the entrance, and carefully sneak up on them. They both had their backs turned. The redhead was poking a dead rat with a plastic tube he’d probably fished from the trash.

“Matt, stop that, it’s gross,” the blond teen said, holding his shirt over his mouth and nose to avoid having to smell anything.

“You’re not the least bit curious?” the redhead replied, poking a bit more.

“I think I’m going to throw up…”

That was my cue to act. I didn’t want to clean up vomit out of my van again, so I had to distract him from getting sick. The actual kidnapping ought to do the trick. I pulled my gun from its holster under my jacket, taking a couple quiet steps closer as I aimed at the redhead, before pulling the trigger.

BANG

“MATT?!”

The teen released a horrified shriek before I was able to silence him, slapping a hand over his mouth and pressing the gun against his back as I pulled him away from his bleeding friend.

“One more peep and you’ll join your friend in heaven,” I threatened. The boy whimpered, but other than that he settled down a bit, even as I dragged him towards my van, only weakly pulling at my hand which covered his mouth. Upon reaching my van, I swiftly opened the side door and shoved him inside, hopping in after and closing the door to conceal us from sight. The teen pulled himself from my grip and tried to crawl away, but I pulled him back by his ankle, reaching for a roll of tape.

“N-no—” 

It was a brief struggle, but by the end of it I had the boy silenced with a couple strips of tape and had him pinned against the floor of the van as I tightly cuffed his hands behind his back, before padlocking them to a ring in the floor so he couldn’t crawl anywhere else.

“Mmn!”

“Shut up!” I hissed.

I could hear sirens approach, probably alerted by the gunshot, but still added another strip of tape over his eyes for good measure. I gave him a warning slap when he made a little too much noise, before quickly getting behind the wheel and driving off, blending into traffic to avoid any suspicion. An ambulance did rush past me, but I didn’t really see where it went as I was trying to remember the way back to the hideout my client had arranged. North of the city there was a storage lot that had closed down a couple years ago after it went bankrupt. The new owner hadn’t done anything with it...as far as the city was concerned, but apparently Allard rented it out a lot for things like this.

“Mgh!”

“Keep quiet back there! Don’t make me pull over to beat some sense into you!”

I glared at the boy over my shoulder while I could permit it. He’d fallen to his side, pulling uselessly on the cuffs holding him in place. I rolled my eyes, deciding to ignore him for the rest of the drive as I turned the radio up so I could still enjoy some music over his muffled sobbing and snivelling.

When I arrived at the storage lot, I unlocked the fence with the key Allard had sent me and drove my van to the block of units in the back of the lot, the furthest from the road. Away from anyone that might try to play hero. I could park my van inside one of the larger units, making sure I had room to get out and open the side door as well, though not until I had closed the garage door, concealing everything from sight. When I opened the side door to get Erick out, he was still lying on his side, trying to stay quiet even though his breath picked up as he could hear me right in front of him. I slowly put my hand on his shoulder to keep him down, eliciting a terrified whimper. Music to my ears. I tried not to grin too much as I put a little pressure on him to lean over him and free him from the hook attached to his cuffs. I moved my hand to grab his arm and pull him upright, expecting a fight, but he stayed nice and quiet.

“Up!” I said, pushing his legs to the edge of the van’s floor so he could find his footing before I dragged him out.

I had prepared a couple things for him; a nice chair to tie him to, and the ropes to tie him with. I pushed him down into the chair, to which the boy finally seemed to wake up. He tried to get back to his feet, so I quickly grabbed him by his jaw to snuff out his little resistance.

“Give it up, kiddo, you’ve got nowhere to run,” I growled.

He sobbed defeated and settled down, allowing me to pick up a coil of rope and get to work. I tied his wrists behind his back before undoing the cuffs and putting them aside. I looped the leftover end of rope around the back of the chair twice, before tying it off in a tight knot. I moved to his ankles and tied each to a leg of the chair before ripping the tape off of his mouth. He winced, but didn’t dare to make any other sounds as he took a few ragged breaths. I found a blindfold in my bag before I ripped the tape off of his eyes too, drawing out a yelp. I tied the blindfold over his eyes before he had the chance to blink his eyes open.

“P-please,” he uttered in a soft voice, “l-let me go, please...I— I won’t tell anyone, I promise...please…”

I rolled my eyes, his pleads falling on deaf ears as I grumbled back at him.

“Shut up.”

Erick choked back a sob and held his breath until I stepped away. I had to call Allard to let him know I had the kid, and I could use a smoke.

“Very good, Fetch. I expected nothing less of you,” Allard said after I brought him the news over the phone, “my men will take care of the ransom, as per usual, in the meantime you try to keep yourself busy. I’m sure you can manage that much.”

“I’m confident I can,” I replied, looking back over my shoulder at Erick.

I wasn’t sure if he could hear me, but I didn’t really care if he could. He was fidgeting nervously, testing the strength of the ropes that held him in place, trying to reach the knot that kept the ligature around his wrists in place. But he couldn’t reach it. His breath picked up as a wave of panic took over him. I smirked, flicking the leftover butt of my cigarette aside as I hung up and quietly approached the teen. I slowly stepped behind him, and put my hand on his shoulder, to which he jumped and held his breath. I could see the cold sweat dripping down his neck as he was torn between staying absolutely still and wanting to pull away.

“W-who are you?” he suddenly choked out, “w-what do you want?”

“It’s not about what I want,” I replied, putting my other hand on his other shoulder, watching how his chest rose and fell faster with each breath.

I grinned to myself, squeezing his shoulders a bit as I thought about all the things I could do to him. Allard only paid me to keep him alive, he never said I couldn’t leave him with a couple…souvenirs. I detached myself from the boy and walked over to my van. Right behind the driver’s seat, stood a coolbox, filled with half-molten ice and bottles of water. I took a bottle from the cooler and walked back to Erick. I pressed the cold plastic against his cheek, eliciting a yelp of surprise and fear. I chucked, before unscrewing the cap and putting the lip to his mouth, but he turned his head away. I rolled my eyes.

“C’mon, it’s just water,” I said, “you’re gonna need it, kiddo.”

“W-why?”

I ignored him and grabbed his jaw, savouring his scared whimper for a good few seconds, before once again placing the lip of the bottle against his lips, and tilting it, so he had no choice but to drink, or choke in it.

“Mrrrgn— cough!”

He regurgitated a few sips and coughed, trying to turn his head away, but I grabbed a tighter hold of his jaw, tilting his head back while tilting the bottle further, pouring more water down his throat, not letting go until the bottle was empty. I stepped aside as I did, to which the teen coughed up more water and gasped for air, leaning forward a bit and soaking his shirt. I chuckled, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and lighting a new one.

“Now,” I said, “to answer your question earlier…” I took a drag of my cigarette, slowly blowing out the smoke before continuing. “Your dad owes my client some money, so you and I will be spending some time together until he pays up.”

“A-are you going to kill me…?” Erick choked out between sobs.

“Nah I’m being paid to keep you alive, why else would I waste water on you?” I said.

“B-but Matt…”

“Who— Oh, your friend. He got in my way,” I said.

“I-Is he going to…?”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” I said, “no more questions.”

“But—”

“Rule number one!” I said loudly, talking over him, “if you’re not gagged, only speak when spoken to.”

Erick winced as I raised my voice, quickly nodding. I took another drag of my cigarette, blowing the smoke into his face, watching him choke back a cough.

“Rule two. If you’re not gagged, I prefer verbal answers. I’m not always looking straight at you, so a lil confirmation of you listening would be nice. Understood?”

“Mh…y-yes?” Erick said quietly. I rolled my eyes.

“Hasn’t anyone taught you any manners?” I said, “let’s make that rule three. You’ll address me as sir, understood? Try again.”

“W-why are you doing this?”

“Answer the question!” I shouted, making the teen jump, “do you understand the rules?”

“Y-yes sir!” Erick quickly said, trying to shrink in the chair, but being held back by the ropes.

“That’s more like it,” I said, “the rest is simple, kiddo. You behave, I don’t get mad, and by the end of the week you’ll be back home and we can both forget all about this.”

I took a long last drag of my cigarette, before smirking as I looked at the smouldering end.

“Well, maybe not everything,” I added, before extinguishing it on the teen’s neck.

“OW! P-please, I’ll be good, please!” the boy cried, trying to pull away.

I chuckled, flicking the extinguished remains away while I allowed him to sob. He was just coming to terms with his situation. I could silence him later.

<Prev | Masterlist | Next>

[rbvcdeluxe]

Constantly thinking about this scene because there is genuinely so much going on.

first of, the coffee jerk (rip coffee jerk you would have loved having an actual name) is fucking crazy??? What the hell is that order????

So like, the CJ (im calling him that now im not saying coffee jerk every time okay) just comes up to the beanies saying the most insane order ive ever heard in my entire life and he fuckin says it in the most casual way as if he has ordered that shit thousands of times every single day. and i mean, the fact that he was surprised by the damn price makes it worse. if that was in fact his usual order THEN HE SHOULD BE USED TO IT??? id assume that he always gets coffee from starbucks but that still doesnt change the fact that it SHOULD be expected to cost that much???? oh and if hes actually used to it when ordering at starbucks, then he must be a regular right??? there could be a chance he doesnt even need to say that damn order every single time which mAKES THIS SO MUCH FUCKING WORSE

look, as i mention, that could be perhaps his usual order, but why complain then??? or maybe it is NOT his usual order, then why did he said it so smoothly??? did he practice before coming??????? was he reading it on his phone??? but even if it was his phone, that could NOTTT be possible bc he keeps scrolling n scrolling like what the hell. and may i repeat, HIS??? REACTION???? TO THE?? PRICE??? if youre ordering a monstrosity like that you should fucking expect that kind of fucking price why the fuck would you think that would be like less than idk 3 dollars or something oh my god, and worth to mention, its price is a lil over the usual but its still not a lot for a frappe?????

okay now EMMA. i need you to look at her body language. tell me. what the fuck do you see. she is literally fucking thinking, n then ofc she says the price THAT FAST. and with her body language you could assume she was doing the math and the thing here is, does she KNOWS the prices?????????? quick math, jeez. and like i dont see any other reason of why she answered with the price so quickly by just thinking, bc, considering that cj is most likely to not be a regular at beanies then its fucking wild

and the order itself is just so fucking insane. please think about it and let it sink in. a grande caramel frappe in a venti cup with ten pumps of hazelnut, three shots of espresso, no caramel drizzle, with whip on top. WHAT THE HELL IS THAT.

words are genuinely not enough to explain my thoughts on this shit so im begging you to think about everything in this scene and try to connect the dots. its like. almost impossible. its makes no sense. what the fuck is going on.