#on another note do you ever hear the meaning of someone else's name and think your parents had no expectations for you whatsoever

[braceletofteeth]

Thank you, and nice to meet you, The One And Only.

[thetriumphantpanda]

mine, all mine | joel miller

Summary | You & Joel have been skirting around whatever this is for years, until he finally breaks and calls it what it is, in the only way he knows how.

Pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader

Word Count | 1.2K

Warnings | Post-Outbreak, Jackson!Joel, possessive!Joel, rough sex, spit play, unprotected PiV sex, cumshot, cumplay, dirty talk, emotionally unavailable Joel, it's basically just 1.2k of filth tbh, no use of y/n

Authors Note | This one goes out to @undercoverpena who gave me the means to rewatch TLOU. This was the outcome. Enjoy the filth.

Divider by @saradika

Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

He’s got your wrists caught together in one of his big hands, pressed down into the mattress to keep you still. Your thighs splayed wide, pressed down almost uncomfortably by the width of his hips. His cock is splitting you open and you’re so impossibly wet that you can hear it whenever he pushes himself back into you. He likes it, wild grin on his face whenever that lewd squelch makes itself known, he likes that only he can do this to you, only he can make you this wet, only he can get you to submit so completely like this.

It’s been two years of this. Two years of being pressed into his bed in the dead of night. Two years of dancing around what this is, but enjoying it all the same. You don’t think you need to label it, complicate it, not when it feels this good. You’d happily go the rest of your days not knowing what you and Joel Miller are if it means he’s going to stay like this. It started as stress relief, a lot like how it had been with the other people here in Jackson that had fallen into your bed - him, frustrated from patrol or whatever it was going on with Ellie, you, frustrated with… well, mostly everything these days. When he’s inside you, there are no frustrations, only the low thrum of pleasure across your skin.

Things have changed though, maybe in the past six months. He stands closer to you when you’re at the bar, sometimes puts a hand on the small of your back when someone else tries to talk to you. Subtle messages that say back the fuck off or she’s mine without needing to put real words to it. He doesn’t say it, even here, when he’s deep inside you, doesn’t beg you to tell him who you belong to, but then you suppose he doesn’t have to - you’ve not fucked anyone else since this started, no-one would hold a candle to him, and you know he doesn’t fuck anyone else either.

“You hear that?” His gruff voice asks, pulling you back to the present as his cock drags from your cunt, pushing back in slowly, and you do, that squelch of him pushing back inside you as deep as he can fit, you throw your head back, moan his name, “Yeah you do,” His face buries into your neck, teeth dragging across delicate skin, “Hear how wet I gotcha?”

You let your eyes open, fluttering slowly to reveal how close he is to your face. He’s so fucking beautiful like this - skin covered in sweat, brows pinched together in pleasure, his scars and his wrinkles visible so closely, the grey in his beard and the smattering of hair on his chest pressed against yours, you won’t ever grow tired of this.

“S-so fucking g-good, Joel.” You choke out on another drag of his cock, tip pressed right against the depths of you, dragging deliciously against that spot inside you.

“I know, baby, I know,” He coos, nudging the side of your face with his nose, hot breath so close to your ear as he continues the languid strokes of himself in and out of your spent cunt, “Bein’ so good f’me.”

His praise never fails to make you preen, face rolling to the side, exposing the side of your neck to him that he hasn’t already marked. You feel the tight grip around your wrists loosen, his hand taking hold of your chin instead, pulling you back to look at him, brown eyes glazed almost black with lust as he looks down at you. There’s something different there this time, sure he’s always been intense, but he’s looking at you this time like he wants to devour you whole - to cut you open and eat you from the inside.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” He whispers, hand around your face moving to shake you so your focus is on him and not on the way his thrusts have started getting harder, “Say it.”

“M’yours,” You manage to get out, but he shakes your head again, “Yours, m’yours Joel.”

“That’s right,” He bends, hand still gripping your chin, and licks into your mouth, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth, teeth nipping gently, “My girl.”

You almost can’t believe it, like this is some kind of dream, your wildest fantasy come true that he does want you, that it’s not just your pussy he covets but everything else you bring.

“Y-you mean it?” You speak, breathless, “I’m yours?”

You bring a hand up to his face now, cradling a cheek, thumb tracing his bottom lip, but he’s shaking your hand away, his own still tight against your face, “Open your mouth,” but you’re confused about why, so it takes you a while for your brain to catch up, “Open your damn mouth baby.”

This time you do, lips parted, tongue out, Joel’s fingers sitting in the hinges of your jaw, dragging your head forward a little, then, he purses his lips, opens his mouth and lets his saliva drip from his own mouth into your, caught on the flat of your tongue. It’s hot, probably the hottest thing he’s even done. You curl your tongue over it, dragging your mouth closed to swallow it down, then, you open your mouth, stick your tongue back out and look him straight in the eye to ask for more.

“Fuckin’ filthy,” He mutters, but there’s a grin on his face, his cock still pounding into you, the feeling of your slick, made more by what he’d just down, gathering at the base of his cock, dripping down onto the sheets below, “Y’like that, huh?”

“Uh-huh.” Is the only thing you can get out before he’s doing it again, letting his own spit drip from his mouth into yours.

This time though, he doesn’t give you the option to swallow it. He lets go of your face, his tongue melding with yours at the precise spot that his spit had just landed on. It’s a filthy, wet, open-mouthed kiss, saliva gathering in your corners of your mouth as you moan into his when he shifts his hips just a little, tip of his cock now bruising into your cervix on every punch forward.

It happens all at once, his lips dragging from yours, his cock dragging out of your pussy as he pushes backwards, cock in his fist for barely a second before the first rope of his spend is spurting across your soaked and aching folds. Joel lets out a growl as the next lands across the soft skin of your tummy, the next between the valley of your tits. He’s dragging a tight fist up and down the length of his cock, squeezing lightly at his tip to empty himself of every drop of cum, painting your skin with it until he’s softening in his fist and you’re trying to catch your breath.

Joel lets his hands grip your hips, dragging his thumbs through the pools of cum across your lower body, rubbing gently through it to spread it as far as he can, “Look nice like this,” He muses, looking down at the mess he’s made of you, from the aching red hue of your spent cunt, to the milky white splashed across your body, “Mine.” He says, with a tone of finality.

“Yours.”

[pomefioredove]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ so, you've been isekai'd into a romance novel...

type of post: blurbs characters: trey, vil, lilia additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not specified to be yuu, kissing in vil's part, lilia's is a little suggestive, I can't help myself, not proofread author's note: I've wanted to do an isekai thing for a while, and I do love a good plot twist ;3

So, you've been isekai'd into a romance novel.

The only way to get home? You have to play the part of the protagonist until the novel ends.

There's just one problem, though: you're not into the love interest.

Not at all.

What's worse: you're starting to fall for a side character.

➼ His Best Friend

You started dozing off while your friend was helping you write an essay.

It was for one of those old romance novels about rich people in the English countryside, and you couldn't stand it. You knew you were going to fail when you fell asleep in your chair, thinking that you'd just cram the next day, except...

...Instead of your room, you wake up on a picturesque hill, inside the book you'd been studying.

You hear someone shouting, and you stand. There's a boy coming towards you, yelling a name you don't-

Oh, oh no.

That's the protagonist's name. Which means that can only be-

"There you are!" Riddle Rosehearts, the love interest of the novel, storms up to you.

"Your friends have been worried sick, you know! We've been looking everywhere! You've embarrassed me in front of the entire county!"

You blink, trying to remember what your friend had told you about this book:

The shouting boy, Riddle, is the love interest. Your love interest.

But it doesn't start out the way- in the beginning, he and the protagonist cannot stand each other. He's hotheaded, strict, and has no interest in love. Over the course of the book, the protagonist teaches him to let go and enjoy life, and blah blah blah...

...Yeah, you have no interest in doing any of that. "Enemies to lovers" isn't really your cup of tea.

But if it's the only way out... you can pretend.

"I... fell asleep," you say. This only seems to make Riddle more frustrated.

"You will come back at once, and apologize to my house and to my guests. Else it'll be off with your head!"

He turns and begins marching back to the estate. You roll your eyes and follow him. You're going to have to put up with this for months?

Well... maybe not.

He leads you through the back door, not wanting to "upset the guests any further", and tells you to wait for him in the kitchen.

Great. Just great.

You watch Riddle straighten his tie and walk into the parlor to speak with the guests, prim and proper as ever. Eye roll.

The door opens- not the door to the parlor, but the one you'd just come from. You turn with a curious look.

"Oh!" another boy says. "I apologize, I wasn't... expecting anyone."

After a moment, it hits you- this is the love interest's sensible childhood friend, so unimportant in the plot that he was cut from the movie adaptation entirely.

You raise an eyebrow. "No, it's alright. Beats getting yelled at,"

He blinks, confused by your wording, and then smiles. You know you shouldn't be thinking these things, but it's sort of cute. What was his name, again?

"Ah... I suppose Riddle found you, then?"

"You suppose correctly,"

"Heh," he crosses his arms. "I apologize on his behalf. He was just... worried."

Wonderful. This is the part where he tells the protagonist about the love interest's sad backstory, isn't it?

"I don't really want to talk about him right now," you say. "Honestly, I'd rather hear more about you."

His smile falters, and he seems a little... well, taken aback. As if no one has ever asked him about himself.

"I... I suppose we haven't been properly introduced, have we?" he mutters, adjusting his glasses in nervous habit. You remember reading that. It was cute.

"My name is Trey Clover. My family owns the bakery in town, but I'm afraid it's not as glamorous as this."

He means the Rosehearts' manor. You could care less about that.

"You bake?"

"...I do," Trey says. "You eat?"

It's a stupid joke, but it makes you smile.

You nod, and he goes back outside, returning with a basket.

"These are for the guests..." he says, taking a pastry out of the basket. "...But they won't notice if one is missing."

You accept the treat. "Rulebreaker, are you?"

Trey's face flushes, but he laughs it off.

"Certainly not. Rule-breaking is a dangerous pastime in this household,"

And yet, he did it for you.

You smile back.

Suddenly, Riddle's temper isn't going to be the only difficult thing about playing this part...

➼ His Rival

With a movie adaptation on the way and a permanent spot on the bestseller's list, you had great expectations for this little book.

You'd heard nothing but praise. Even your family members had recommended it to you, saying that it was right up your alley, and they thought you'd love it.

So, finally, you buy the book (which is WAY too expensive), make yourself a warm drink, get cozy in bed, and...

And... it's terrible. It's completely unrealistic! It's downright boring!

Disappointed, you put it down, turn off the light, and try to sleep it off.

Try to, because you wake up disgruntled and groggy, and not in your bed. In fact, you're not in a bed at all.

"There you are!" a voice comes from above you.

You look to see a short, panicked lavender-haired boy. "Where have you been?! You're on in five!"

You rub your eyes. "Huh?"

"Didja hit your head or 'somethin? If we don't get you back on stage, my boss is gonna-"

"Going to what, Epel?" a colder, stronger voice carries across the hall. You both turn to see a meticulously dressed man with a stern look on him, and not a single hair out of place.

...Shit. You know where you are.

This is the romance book you'd been reading!

"S-sorry, Mr. Schoenheit," Epel says. "But it's their fault! They're the one who ran off!"

"I know that," Vil Schoenheit, the antagonist of the story, says. He narrows his eyes. "I'm not surprised our little potato has already quit. Couldn't handle the pressure, hm?"

You blink- oh, no.

You're the protagonist- the normal, nobody student who was ~randomly~ chosen to be the lead in a romantic drama, even though they've never acted a day in their lives.

"I-I just-"

"Enough of that," Vil says sternly. "Now, get up. These costumes aren't cheap, and you're dirtying yours on the floor."

He escorts you out of the hall and back onto set, Epel not far behind.

"Places!" someone shouts, and Epel nudges you into position on the sound stage.

"Remember, you don't say anything in this scene," he whispers, covering his headset mic. "Just look like you're in love. And make the kiss believable!"

Your eyes widen. "The WH-"

"Quiet on set!" the director yells, and Epel hurries away. "Action!"

You stand, dumbfounded, as the doors fly open and the book's love interest, actor Neige Leblanche, runs on set. His outfit is simple but glamorous, his eyes wide with emotion, his dark hair lightly tousled.

Horrifically, he's wearing a generous amount of lip gloss. So are you.

"My love!" he cries out, running up the steps toward you. You watch in horror as he gets closer and throws his arms around you, and just as you're about to have the dramatic, impassioned kiss the book has been leading you to, you push him off.

The director stares. Neige's eyes widen. Epel smacks his forehead.

The rest of the set is silent.

Finally, you feel a cool hand wrapping around your wrist, and suddenly, you're outside again.

"Have you lost your mind?" Vil hisses, his grip on you tightening. "You are making a fool out of all of us. You're an embarrassment to this production, and you should have never even..."

He stops, mid-rant, when he sees your eyes watering.

"...Don't you dare make me feel sorry for you,"

You sniffle, and he sighs. He pulls out a handkerchief and dabs at your eyes, careful not to smudge the stage makeup.

"You're going to ruin someone's hard work like that, you know," he murmurs. "Now, what are you crying about? Isn't this what you want?"

You shake your head. You must look absolutely miserable, because he isn't even a little mad anymore.

"...You're ridiculous," he mutters, tucking the handkerchief away with a faint smile. "But I can't say I blame you. I wouldn't want to kiss him, either."

You take a deep breath, and then return his smile. How can someone so sweet be a villain?

Vil lets the moment linger. His eyes dart to the stage doors behind you, then back to you, and then he holds your chin between his pointer finger and his thumb, and then he kisses you.

It doesn't last for long, but it's enough to leave you dazed when he pulls away.

"...Your lip gloss is smudged," he comments, and then he walks back to set without another word.

...Perhaps this book is more interesting than you'd thought.

➼ His Father

When your friend started gushing about this new dark romance book she finished, you thought she was just reading a bunch of tropes off a page.

Fae court? Handsome, mysterious, brooding princes? A tall, dark, possessive love interest? Sure.

You promise you'll try it, and she takes that as a "yes", leaving the book on your desk. It goes untouched.

You wake up in a dark forest. For a moment, you think you're still dreaming- until a thorn pricks your finger, drawing blood, and you realize this is very, very real.

You can see a medieval castle off in the distance, and to your horror, you realize where you are.

"No... this isn't happening..." you mutter to yourself.

"What isn't happening?"

You jump at the sudden noise, and turn on your heels to see someone behind you. How you missed him, you're not sure. He's pale, his hair is striped pink, and his eyes are almost glowing.

"Not from here, are you?" he says with a smile. "You must be tired. Come, Lord Malleus' home is always open to guests."

This is the weirdest stranger danger situation you've ever been in. This small gentleman has fangs.

He chuckles. "Don't let appearances fool you. We're quite hospitable!"

You think about it- you could stay in the forest, and die of a slow and agonizing death, either by starvation or mauling, or you could play the part, return to the castle, fall in love with the tall love interest, and have his babies.

...Honestly, hypothermia doesn't sound too bad.

But you also know that the book has to end eventually. And when it does, you'll get spit out. Maybe.

You're in the mood for taking chances.

The castle is just as grand and old as your friend had described it. The food is just as strange, the court just as intimidating.

Strangely, though, she never mentioned any short, pink-haired fae, apparently named Lilia Vanrouge.

"Enjoying the view, are you?" he asks, having caught you staring.

You quickly look back at your own plate. "It's just, um... well... I was wondering about your relationship to the prince,"

He winks, as if to say "nice save".

"He's... well, a foster son, of sorts. Think of it however you'd please,"

"Are you comfortable?" the prince in question asks, his eyes showing genuine concern.

You shrug. "...I guess so,"

"How does one get so lost they end up in Briar Valley, anyway?" one of his knights, Silver, asks in a soft tone.

"AND HOW CAN WE BE SURE THEY AREN'T AN ASSASSIN SENT TO HARM OUR LIEGE?!" the other, Sebek, says in a less-soft tone.

"Oh, nonsense," Lilia says. "Malleus likes them. Don't you, Malleus?"

The prince nods. Oh, brother.

"How nice. Perhaps you two should rendezvous after dinner? To get to know each other better, hm?"

You stare down Lilia, practically begging him to shut up. You want to shake him and shout "Stop trying to set me up with your weird kid!!!!!"

Sebek looks appalled at the very idea. "BUT- MASTER LILIA- THEY CANNOT BE TRUSTED! I CANNOT ALLOW THIS!"

Thank you, Sebek!!! you think.

"Yeah, um... you know, I'm kind of tired, so..." you say. "Maybe tomorrow? Or next week? Or, um, whenever. You know."

Sebek visibly relaxes at that, and Silver raises an eyebrow.

"Of course," Malleus says. "I will have the finest room arranged for you at once."

And he did. This world may be stuck in ye olde medieval fantasy times, but man, what money can't buy...

As you look around the exquisite room, you hear a knock at the door.

Lilia comes in without waiting for an answer. "Enjoying the room, I hope?"

You sigh.

"Did Malleus send you?"

He chuckles, and takes a seat on your bed. "I am his keeper, he is not mine. I just wanted to see how you were faring,"

"I'm fine," you turn back to the wall, pretending to look at a tapestry. The sight of him on your bed is... distracting, to say the least.

"Hm..." Lilia hums. "...I would like to apologize for overstepping at dinner. I did not mean to imply anything. We're rather isolated here, and Malleus has been lonely..."

It makes sense, of course. He's only looking out for his... strange, sort-of son. Still...

"And you're not?" you ask.

Lilia doesn't have a response for that. You turn around to gauge his expression, and he's smiling.

"Khee hee. You're a clever little thing. If I didn't know any better, I would think you were flirting,"

Now, it's your turn to not respond. He's caught you, and he knows it.

Your heart beats with something like excitement as he stands and closes the door.

"But I suppose I have all night to figure it out,"

[cowgurrrl]

She’s A Gun

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Author’s note: *John Mulaney voice* My wife is a bitch and I love her SO much (gif by @salome-c) I also didn’t know how to end this so sorry

Summary: Somebody didn’t give the new guy a heads up about talking about Joel Miller’s family [1.6k]

Warnings: idiots in love, a quick mention of a queer slur, I can’t think of anything else!!

You catch him looking at you across the room as you sip some new whiskey Tommy traded for. He looks young and fresh-faced without many scars or littering the surface of his skin. His eyes are bright when they meet yours, and you give him a polite smile before returning to your drink. Unsurprisingly, he bellies up to the bar a few minutes later. You glance at the door, and the man follows your gaze. 

"You meeting someone?" He asks. The bartender, a kind man named Nick, flashes you a look, but you wave him off, turning to the younger man, who is dead set on making his presence known. 

"You must be new." You say, and he laughs as he holds out his hand. 

"You got me. I'm Luke," He says. You meet him halfway and shake his hand, giving him your name. "Where are you from?"

"I came here from Boston."

"You're a long way from home. What brought you here?" 

"Long story."

"Is it longer than the time it would take to get you another drink?" 

"I can get my own drink, but thank you."

"'Course," he says but doesn't move from his place next to you. "What do you do here in Jackson?" He asks, and you open your mouth to say something, but he cuts you off. "Let me guess. School teacher. No, a nurse."

"I work patrols, but good guess."

"Oh, I'm going to work patrols, too. I actually just signed up for my first shift tomorrow. Speaking of which, do you know anything about this guy… Miller, I think, is his name. I heard he's a hard ass."

"Joel or Tommy?"

"There's multiple?" He asks, and you smirk as you sip your drink.

"There's a few of 'em hanging around, yeah. What did they say? Maybe I can," you shrug and try to hide the amusement in your voice. "Help you figure it out."

"Well, this guy, Seth, said Miller shouldn't even be in Jackson. Something about him killing people to get by before coming here, but he gets to stay because he's buddies with Maria. Apparently, he's a hell of a shot, though. I heard a rumor that he once shot an Infected from a mile away, but I'll believe it when I see it." He says, and you nod. 

You remember that day well. Tommy had been bragging about his marksmanship, mostly telling big fish stories, and you finally got sick of it. Joel told you to leave it, but you had to see. When you went on patrol the next day, you and Tommy had a competition to see how far he could actually shoot. You passed the gun back and forth to see who could hit accurately and how far. You were the one holding the gun when the Infected bound his way up the hill and quickly went down as the bullet buried in his skull. You didn't think that story would've made the rounds, though. 

"What else did Seth say?" You ask, and he puffs his cheeks out as he shakes his head.

"He told me to stay away from him. Something about not fucking with people like that because he's ruthless, especially when it comes to his kid. He said Miller yelled at him last week because he said something to her. Just... totally lost his mind like a crazy person." It wasn't just something. He called my daughter a dyke, you think to yourself. Joel may have pushed him and made him leave, but you threatened to ruin his fucking life. If you ever hear him say something like that to Ellie again, you'll make Joel look like the poster child for forgiveness. You bite the inside of your cheek and save that information for later. 

Seth wasn't warning Luke about Joel. He was warning him about you.

"And you're sure he was talking about a man?"

"Pretty sure. I mean, I know people do lots of shitty things to stay alive, but I can't imagine a woman instilling that much fear in a man like Seth," He says, and you hum. "No offense."

"None taken." You smile and watch his guard come down just enough for him to feel comfortable reaching for your arm.

"I wish I had known they let women as beautiful as you out on patrol. I would've signed up with you instead of Miller." He says, and you almost gag. Joel's hand skims your lower back almost as if on cue, and you turn to face him. He kisses you a second too long before looking over your shoulder to face the stranger who looks embarrassed. His arm wraps protectively around your middle, and he's close enough that you can smell his shampoo over the bar’s stench of stale beer.

"Great timing. This is Luke. He's starting patrols tomorrow," You say. Joel reaches across the space to shake his hand, and Luke winces at his too-tight grip. "Luke, this is my husband, Joel Miller," you wish you had a camera to take a picture of the stunned look on his face when he hears the last name. "Joel, we were just talking about the last time I was on patrol with Tommy."

"You're Miller?" Luke asks, suddenly looking pale. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Oh, I thought I mentioned it. I'm sorry, I'm probably losing my mind." You echo Seth's words and smack yourself on the forehead dramatically. Luke drains his drink before glancing around the room.

"It was great to meet you, man. Um, I'm gonna run to the bathroom really fast." He says and takes several steps away from the bar. 

"Oh, so soon? I was hoping you and Joel could talk about routes."

"Maybe later." He says, and with that, he's gone. You smile and turn in Joel's arms to face him.

"Jesus, I thought he was going to have a heart attack. What did you say to him?" 

"Seth was warning him about the mercenary who's buddies with Maria and shot an Infected from a mile away, asked if I knew anything about the guy."

"Seth should learn to keep his fuckin' mouth shut." He grumbles, and you nod.

"It didn't help his case that he tried flirting with me. Even asked if I was a school teacher." You say, and he gives you a look. His warm fingers reach under your shirt collar to pull out the chain with your wedding band on it.

"Maybe if you actually wore this, that wouldn't happen so often."

"C'mon, everybody knows I'm yours. It's not my fault no one gave him the run down," you say, and he tugs on the chain to kiss you, his big hands moving to hold your jaw. He swallows your gasp when he licks into your mouth, sending a zing of electricity down your spine. He's a touch too handsy for a public space, but you're not complaining. "I don't see you wearing yours out on patrol either." You say, pulling away before he can start something he can't finish, at least not in public. Still, his hand slips into your back pocket, squeezing your ass through the denim.

"Don't want to lose a finger. Besides, everybody knows I'm yours," he parrots, and you smile. A familiar, old country song plays over the speakers, and Joel lights up at the first few chords. "Will you dance with me?" He asks, pressing light kisses to your jaw to butter you up. You lock your arms around his shoulders and let yourself forget about everyone else in the bar. 

"And to think there was a time when you hated PDA."

"That was before someone tried hittin' on my wife," he says, and you feel like your face will get stuck from smiling so much. It's been three months since the small backyard wedding officiated by Tommy and Maria. Ellie walked you down the aisle— more of a patch of grass than anything else— and acted as your maid of honor. When Tommy asked if she agreed to give you to Joel, she said, "it's not like she's fucking property, but sure." She beamed so brightly when she realized you each included her in your vows, promising to love and protect her as much as you love and protect each other. It wasn't planned, but the unexpected matching further proved that you three are a family. Still, you don't know if you'll ever get used to hearing Joel call you his wife. "Dance with me, please." He pouts into your neck, and you finally give in, grabbing his hand and leading him to the dance floor. 

He pulls you close, and you bury your face in his neck as you slowly dance to Tanya Tucker's voice. He sings along for only you to hear, his accent getting stronger as he does. You could stay like this forever, wrapped up in him and listening to him sing the same song you used to sing along to while driving on backroads. You would marry him again if you could. You think you would marry him in every lifetime.

Scary rumors of mercenaries and blood on your hands fade from your mind. To men like Seth and Luke, you are a subversion of their holy mother. You are bloody and broken, a monster beyond saving. You are a warzone with a heartbeat.

But to Joel, you are the most sacred thing he's ever held. It's not enough to erase the rumors and nightmares about you, but it's enough to knock the wind out of you and make you love your husband that much more. That has to count for something. 

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Tag list: @evyiione

[hongcherry]

can't you, angel? || y.jh (m)

Jeonghan likes to see what he can get away with in public.

🍽 Pairing: boyfriend!Jeonghan x reader (f) 🍽 Rating/Genres/AUs: M(18+)/Smut, pwp/Non-idol au, established relationship 🍽 Warnings: Reader has she/her pronouns, wears a skirt, pet names (angel, baby), sexual acts in public (fingering, oral(m rec.)), dirty talk, slight degradation, choking on dik, cum swallowing, jeonghan's a lil mean 🍽 Word Count: 1.2k 🍽 Author’s Note: Written spontaneously bc I believe Jeonghan would 99.7% do this 🫡 plz overlook any errors

seventeen masterlist | main masterlist

One of Jeonghan’s many talents is appearing unfazed as he buries his fingers in your wet pussy in public.

You try not to squirm in your seat but his long, slender fingers feel so good stroking your walls.

“Hannie,” you whisper and grab his wrist to stop him.

He stills and finally looks at you.

“What?” he asks like he doesn’t have a clue why you’re so flustered.

“We’re gonna get caught,” you say.

He smiles prettily.

“Not if you stay silent. You can do that, can’t you, angel?” he asks condescendingly.

You bite your lip, unsure how to answer. However, you don’t need to when the waiter brings out your food.

Jeonghan’s fingers resume rubbing your spongy walls. Despite his slow and gentle movements, you still squeeze your legs together in an attempt to stay calm.

Jeonghan watches the waiter place the dishes down. He looks so wholesome with his kind eyes and polite smile.

“Thank you,” Jeonghan tells the waiter. He starts to slowly pump his fingers in and out.

The waiter nods. “Is there anything else I can get for you guys?”

Jeonghan hums in thought, fingers spreading apart gently to stretch your hole. Your eyes widen and you try so hard not to release the gasp you want to make. One hand clutches Jeonghan’s wrist again and the other on your thigh.

Jeonghan sees your big eyes and tilts his head. “Did you remember something, baby?”

Your eyes quickly dart to the waiter who looks at you expectantly. Unable to trust your voice, you force a smile and shake your head.

“Can you bring us more napkins?” Jeonghan asks. “She tends to get a little messy.”

You feel your body warm in embarrassment and realization of his true meaning. Though, the waiter, oblivious, chuckles.

“Sure, not a problem. I’ll be right back,” they say and leave the table.

Jeonghan, with his fingers spread, carefully eases out of your drenched pussy.

You almost sigh in relief thinking you’re safe, but he plunges them in again. He takes one glance around the busy restaurant and then rapidly pumps his fingers. He makes sure to keep his hand slightly away from your pelvis to not make a sound. However, you’re so wet that you can hear the squelching.

Just as you begin to push him away before someone hears, he stops. He keeps himself in your warmth and leans into your ear.

“I can feel you dripping down my hand,” he murmurs. “Making a mess just like I knew you would.”

“I’m close,” you whimper and squirm, hips bucking ever so slightly against his palm.

“I know you are, angel,” he coos. “Which is why I’m done.”

Before you can beg him not to stop, the waiter returns.

“Your napkins,” they announce.

“Thanks,” Jeonghan grins and takes them. He waits until they leave before slipping his fingers from your needy hole.

“Hannie,” you cry and stare at him with pleading eyes.

He smirks and brings one of his glistening fingers to his mouth. He sucks it clean. The act is lewd, but people around you probably assume he’s removing sauce or crumbs. He uses a napkin to clean the rest of your wetness.

He hums in satisfaction. “All I want to do is toss you on the table and taste more of you.”

You inch closer and put a hand on his thigh.

“Let’s get our food to go and leave,” you offer. Your hand glides up to feel him under his pants. He’s hard and knowing that makes another wave of arousal wash over you.

Jeonghan guides your hand away and picks up his utensils.

“I rather save you for dessert,” he teases and takes a bite of his food.

How he’s able to act so nonchalant while you’re buzzing with need is beyond you. You glance at your meal, but your appetite is craving something else.

“Eat, angel,” he says and nudges you. “You’re going to need the energy.”

You shift in your seat at his implication and feel the emptiness between your legs. The sooner you do as he says, the sooner you both can leave.

You nod and take a bite. Jeonghan gives you an approving, innocent smile.

Thirty minutes later, you’ve eaten half your food. Jeonghan gets two to-go boxes, pays for the lunch, and then guides you to the car.

Once inside, Jeonghan locks and checks his surroundings. There’s no one nearby.

He unbuttons his pants and slides them and his underwear down enough to free his semi-hard cock.

“Come here, angel,” he mutters and guides you down.

Your mouth latches onto his cock instantly. You suck and swirl your tongue around his tip.

Jeonghan groans lowly above you. The hand on your upper back moves to rest on your head.

“Make me cum, and I’ll make a crying mess out of you at home,” he says and pushes your head lower.

You choke slightly on his length but calm yourself. You use his words as motivation as you bob your head quickly.

Jeonghan makes a breathy laugh at your eagerness.

“Hm, there you go, baby. You want me to fill this pretty mouth so fast, hm? You wanna get home so soon?” he chuckles.

You nod.

“How selfish,” he chides, then shoves you down until your nose brushes his pelvis.

Your sputter around his cock but Jeonghan holds you still.

“Breathe, angel,” he reminds.

You do as he says and inhale through your nostrils.

When he hears you do so, he begins to shallowly thrust up.

The sound of his cock gliding down your throat fills the car. His speed gradually increases and eventually, he stops moving his hips and moves your head instead.

“Bet you were thinking of this inside there, weren’t you?” he asks, his head leaning back against the seat. He takes another glance around to confirm it’s still deserted. Although his car’s windows are tinted, they’re not fully blacked out.

You hum against his dick, which makes him moan.

“My filthy baby just wanted to lean over and swallow my cock,” he continues. It seems his words are turning you both on more. You feel his dick twitch in your mouth.

“Or maybe you wanted to cockwarm me as we ate,” he rasps. “Just wanted to be filled in any way, huh? How fucking naughty of you.”

You keep your checks hallowed as he talks and uses your mouth as he pleases. You blink back tears and rub your legs together to try to get some friction. It’s no use.

“Shit, angel,” he grunts and holds your head in place. His hips rock into your face once more. He’s close.

After a few sloppy thrusts, his cum fills your mouth. You drink every last drop, sucking his length to make sure you get everything.

He releases your head, and you slide off with a pop. You cough a bit, and Jeonghan gives your thigh a soothing rub.

“That felt so, baby,” he praises and leans over to kiss you. You smile into it.

Jeonghan’s hand glides under your skirt and brushes against your clothed cunt. He chuckles as he pulls away from your lips.

“I guess I should get us home,” he teases after feeling your soaked panties.

You keep his hand in place and nod. “Please.”

Jeonghan smiles, lightly circling your clit. There’s a mischief sparkle in his eyes.

“You’re so cute when you beg.”

©️hongcherry // DO NOT REPOST OR MODIFY Please consider reblogging if you liked this work to show your support. Feedback/commentary is always welcomed.

[drak3n]

REAL ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA

CONTENT WARNINGS: exes to lovers trope, smut, angst, mean naoya, praise, (consensual) recording and sending of sextape, creampie — scroll down for smut!

sena’s note: i love him no matter what y’all say 😻😻

➩ REAL ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA who hated his job and working in general; whose father had more than enough money as he owned a lot of buildings and offices all over kyoto

➩ REAL ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA who had been forced by his father to do something after getting his business degree, something other than enjoying his life, spending his daddy’s money and traveling the world

➩ REAL ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA who hasn’t really been the same ever since your breakup two years ago; who was in denial for the longest time about missing you until he decided to make peace with his mistakes and move on… try to move on

➩ REAL ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA who knew you had moved on a long time ago, as he had seen multiple pictures of you with another guy on your socials, pictures where you looked at someone else the way you used to look at him

➩ REAL ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA who didn’t give a damn about his clients and whether they liked a place or not, but who was still very good at his job due to his cunning and manipulative ways

➩ REAL ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA who didn’t really look at his next client’s name, all he knew was that they were in dire need of an apartment for one person

➩ REAL ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA who showed up to the apartment he’d found, a shabby place that was way too expensive for the state it was in, but they didn’t have to know, right?

➩ REAL ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA who stood in the dim living room on old, croaking parquet with his expensive, shiny dress shoes and crisp, perfectly tailored suit, hearing the doorbell ring

➩ REAL!ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA who ripped the door open just to see his ex-girlfriend he had wasted spent three years of his life with

the first thing naoya noticed was that you looked like shit. not even in an offensive way. you just looked terrible. sleepless, sickly, with crinkled clothes and messy hair. back then, you made sure to look presentable even on your worst days.

he didn’t think he’d ever see you again. especially not in such a state.

“naoya?” your voice was hoarse, and you made no move to crack a smile. he didn’t smile either. “my coworker organized this, i didn’t know it was going to be you. i’ll just leave and—”

“stupid. come in.” the apartment wasn’t very inviting, and naoya’s face wasn’t either, but it was better than spending any more time outside in the cold. your jacket was too thin for the weather, as you still hadn’t had time to pick up all of your things from—

“how are things goin’ with your boyfriend?” silence. you didn’t bother asking how he knew you had someone else… used to have. you picked on the laces of your coworker’s hoodie she’d let you borrow, seated on the run-down couch while he opted to stand. of course he wouldn’t sit on a couch that wasn’t made of exquisite, original leather.

“we broke up,” you stated after some time, not quite meeting his amber eyes, “that’s why i need a new place.”

➩ REAL ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA who almost laughed in your face at that; and who let his bitterness of the breakup get the best of him as he told you that he knew that no one else would be a good match for you, reminding you of the words he had spat at you two years ago

➩ REAL ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA who didn’t bother stopping you as you left the shitty apartment through tears, and who didn’t care until he received a call from your coworker demanding to know what the hell happened because you hadn’t talked ever since the incident

➩ REAL ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA who found out from your coworker that you were staying with her, whose jaw tightened when he heard that your ex-boyfriend dumped you for his ex who moved in with him immediately and wanted you out of the apartment

➩ REAL ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA who appeared at your coworker’s apartment days later — after finally checking the data sent to him by her — while she was at work and you had a day off, and who looked at your miserable state when you opened the door

“do you really want to give that ugly bastard the satisfaction of being all depressed?” he sneered, hands shoved into the pockets of his brown dress pants. you didn’t see how his hands twitched in anger at your condition. he always hated seeing you like that. it was him who was supposed to be moody and grumpy, not you.

“did you come here to make me feel even worse?” you bit the insides of your cheek, feeling self-conscious at how polished he looked while you looked like you were homeless. technically, you were. “you got what you wanted, naoya. i’m unloveable. are you happy now?”

he kept quiet for a few seconds, and you took it as a sign to shut the door. before you could, he stopped you.

“pack your things. you’re staying with me.”

➩ REAL ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA who didn’t take no for an answer and nearly smirked in victory when he had you sitting in his passenger seat just like back when you were his

➩ REAL ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA who frowned upon seeing that you only had very few clothes, meaning that most of your things were still over at that bastard’s place

➩ REAL ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA who heard you crying yourself to sleep that same night in the guest room he offered you, and who shrugged innocently when you asked the next morning how your bags of belongings were suddenly standing in the middle of the blonde’s spacious living room; “someone set them down in front of the door. must’ve been your colleague.”

➩ REAL ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA who watched you open up more and start smiling again, and who felt something inside of him blossom once more, something that had never quite withered away to begin with

➩ REAL ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA who couldn’t be happier when you asked if he was willing to try again with you, more maturely this time, and who knew you were dying to get revenge on your shithead of an ex as much as he was

“arch your back more— yeah. fuck.”

a breathless chuckle was heard and you wiggled your hips, face buried in silky pillowsheets as you heard the sound of your phone recording. “n—naoya, please—” his hand massaged the flesh of your ass greedily, and you whined.

your thighs shook in excitement as naoya slid inside of your already drenched cunt, and you moaned loudly into the fabric as you started fucking yourself on the cock you had missed so, so much.

“hey, y’see that?” he wasn’t talking to you. you could tell from how condescending and arrogantly he spoke. “look at how she’s moving so prettily for me. s’your new bitch doing the same for your ugly ass? i doubt it.”

your phone camera captured your body glistening with sweat, shoulders and ass littered with hickeys and bite marks, and naoya made sure to record where your bodies connected, revealing how your squelching pussy pushed out a ring of your combined arousals.

“fun fact.” he kept talking while shallowly thrusting into you, kissing your womb with every push. “she’s lettin’ me hit it raw. never let ya do it, hm? because no one can compare to me, right baby?”

your trembling body along with the muffled squeal you let out was proof enough as you were tipped over the edge, squeezing naoya deliciously. he grunted, hips stilling before he pulled out. in your fucked-out state, you barely registered naoya’s digits spreading your lower lips to record how his cum oozed out of you.

your ex could never.

“and no one can compare to her. fuckin’ perfect pussy. look at what you’ll never have, son of a bitch.”

➩ REAL ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA who was disgusting, but who grinned widely when your shaky fingers pressed send before you chucked your phone aside to take one or two more loads that night

[loserlvrss]

꒰ 𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐀 ꒱ 钱锟

summary : after waking up from anesthesia, you're faced with a handsome stranger... who might not be all that unfamiliar after all

genre : fluff, kinda angst, kun x afab!reader tws : language, mentions of surgery (not specified for what), hospital/doctors environment author notes : she a wolf she a beauty and a beast she a wolf word count : 1.6k

you blinked a couple times, the fluorescent lights momentarily impairing your vision. a hand came up to block them, shielding you as you adjusted. 

“it’ll be a little bright,” a woman’s voice echoed in your hollow mind. “you’ll be a bit sensitive for a while.” 

you turned your head, a croaked groan leaving your lips. “my arm hurts.” 

“it’s from the IV, we’ll give you something to take home with you for all the pain.” she smiled, running her gloved hand along the tape and checking your veins color. “i’m going to check your vitals one last time and go grab your guardian, okay?”

you swallowed, nodding but not hearing what she had been explaining after. however, she was a nurse, so you believed her. 

she took her time to check you over, making sure that everything was normal enough for a post-operation patient. your vision, hearing, blood pressure, heart rate and breathing. and by how long it took (which was only a couple minutes in reality) you were convinced she not only had double, but triple-checked. 

you could remember the moment before you were put under, but everything else was still a little hazy, as if it was a dream. you could barely even think about anything other than what was right in front of your face. 

she had asked you to confirm your last name and date of birth, the hesitation making her stifle a smile. 

“i’m going to go get him now,” she took her stethoscope off, hanging it around her neck like a snake would. “it’ll only take a minute, okay?” 

“who?” you had asked, too late as she was already out of the room. you must’ve spaced out, trying to conjure up in your mind who she was talking about. “who are you getting?” 

you stared at the wooden door for what felt like forever, contemplating what to tell the nurse when she came back with someone you’d never met. 

you bit your lip, fidgeting with your fingers and picking at the skin until the door finally opened again. 

your eyebrows came together, a familiar sense washing over you. you looked over the man at her side, and you swear you had to clench your teeth to keep your mouth from falling open; he was the most beautiful person you’d ever laid eyes on. 

you know to each their own, but you wanted him to be your own. you couldn’t stomach the thought of another girl perceiving him even though as far as you knew you’d never seen him before. i mean, how could you forget such a face? 

he had a bright smile plastered to his god-awfully-pretty features. he glanced down at the nurse. “she looks confused,” he laughed. “has she not fully recovered from the anesthesia?” 

she hugged the clipboard in her hands close to her chest. “not yet it seems, she asked who i was getting earlier. it should wear off—we had to give her a slightly higher dose.” 

so, she did hear you but, chose to ignore you? that was cruel, however a laugh threatened to escape your throat… maybe it was the hyper amount of drugs you were on. 

maybe she hasn’t actually gone and got him (whoever he was) yet, maybe she had grabbed another nurse; a doctor; an anesthesiologist. but he didn’t look like a doctor, or anything of the sort, clothed regularly. he looked smart, but in other senses—non-medical. 

nonetheless, you couldn’t help feeling like you knew him. somewhere in the back of your mind you knew you could conjure up his name, and you cursed yourself for forgetting someone so beautiful. 

the nurse came back over to you after washing her hands, pulling the rolling stool up to your bed. 

you leaned in. “how do i know him?” 

she laughed again, but it wasn’t funny to you. you were starting to feel distressed, stupid even, because even she couldn’t understand how you’d forgotten him. she leaned in whispering. “your husband.” 

shocked was the simplest word you could’ve used.

“this might bruise, but it’ll go away within a couple days. and, your memory will come back within the hour, okay?” she started to remove the covers from your body, your bare legs on display. “and, you can change back into your regular clothes now, i’ll step out.” she turned to the man. “just let me know when she’s ready and we’ll go over the post procedure process, and schedule her a follow-up appointment.” 

“okay, sounds good.” he smiled as the nurse began exiting the room. “thank you.” 

the clicking of the door rang out against the silence, and you swallowed the lump in your throat. your eyes must’ve been wide, eyebrows confused as you looked him over again. 

“my what?” you finally spewed out. 

“husband, y/n.” he smiled, walking over to you. “we got married two months ago. i’m a little hurt that you forgot the best day of my life.” 

“i-i,” you began, watching as he picked your clothes up off the side table. “i don’t need help.” 

“yes, ma’am.” he seemed a little taken aback, obviously amused. “whatever you want, love.” 

you groaned as you willed your legs over the side. you were still a little skeptical, but it was starting to come back to you; how could you actually forget? 

there was a feeling inside telling you that you’d been with him way longer than the two months, and his presence was starting to jog your memories—maybe that was the trick to getting them back. him. your presumed husband. 

despite feeling determined too, you couldn’t even stand up, stumbling back over when you tried. he flinched towards you, but stopped himself, obviously wanting to respect your prior direction. 

you didn’t want to give in—still a little uncomfortable with the whole thing. you wanted to make him turn around, but you feared it was him that would be doing all the work in a couple of seconds. mind over matter though, right?

the bed let out a loud crack when you tried to stand again, this time he wouldn’t (couldn’t) stand back and watch. 

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, coming in front of you and grabbing your arms. “just let me help you.” 

you bit your lip, being raised by his strong, yet gentle grip. “i promise there’s nothing to worry about.” 

you nodded, feeling a sense of relief at his touch—one you didn’t know you could feel for him. “o-okay.” 

“can you stand on your own now?” he asked, carefully letting go of your skin, but keeping them close in case you started to tip. 

once he made sure you could, he reached down to your knees, holding the hem of the hospital-gown. you took his forearm within your fingers, non-verbally telling him to stop. your stomach was turning, but you trusted him? a feeling you don’t know where it came from. 

“if i close my eyes, will that be better?” he glanced at you, soft eyes catching your perplexed ones. “i’ll do whatever you need, y/n.” 

you nodded again, not really sure what to say. how would he know what he was doing with closed eyes? how could he feel so strongly towards you that he was prepared to do anything? but, he did as promised, fingers accidentally grazing your torso when he dragged the fabric up. 

the touch, however, sent you reeling, and suddenly you could remember a little over 6 months ago when he proposed. the night you cried like a baby, the man of your dreams down on one knee in front of you. 

the whole situation was also now starting to get on your nerves. why’d you forget? why’d it all start coming back with his lingering touch? why’d you have to get a case of amnesia? why couldn’t you just remember? you really wanted to. 

he kept his eyes closed, reaching to the clothes and feeling for your shirt. he found it, holding it up. “right way?” he asked. you hummed in response, helping it over your head. this time, as he adjusted the hem, his hands held your waist, twisting the fabric. but, it reminded you of further back, when you made him slow dance with you on the second date—even before you’d ever kissed—your arms draped around his neck, bodies swaying in a gentle rhythm.

you remember enough to know how you felt about him. you remember enough to know you loved him eternally. 

“kun…” his eyes shot open, hands stilling in their spot. “i’m sorry.” 

he grabbed you further. “why?” he asked, genuinely confused by your apology. you had nothing to be sorry for, he was only joking when he said he was hurt by your medically-caused amnesia. it happens. he knew you’d never be able to really forget him. “why are you sorry, my love?” 

you put your arms around his neck, embracing him in a tight hug. a long overdue hug. you pulled your head away, feeling a shiver down your spine when his hands stroked along it soothingly. you kissed the side of his mouth, causing a gentle smile. 

“i didn’t mean t-to. i forg—“ 

“don’t apologize.” he interrupted. “you remember now.” 

how could you ever really forget? 

“yeah,” you laughed. “it’s all coming back to me.” 

he pressed his lips to yours, and you urgently recognized fine-details that you’d engrained to memory. little things about him and your life that you could never discard as irrelevant—everything about him was relevant to you. you loved him, and part of love meant knowing it all. knowing the gorgeous and down-right nasty about each other, but still seeing them in the same light. and, you’d already learned everything about him, as he did you, vowing to commit your life to each other; and the next one, and the next one. forever and ever. for better or for worse. through sickness and health, poverty and wealth. 

‘till death do us part. 

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[buckys-wintersoldier]

Heyyy, my talented friend ♡

I want to make a lil request for a drabble from His Forever And Ever series ;) 

Mob!Bucky's reaction to Y/N dating someone else after him?? (maybe we can see a glimpse of a jealous boyfriend 👀) Heehee i just know it's gonna be amazing 😉 pls take your time, no pressure 💕

Also have an amazing day ! ✨️

Hey, thank you for the sweet words and the request. Bucky being jealous mhmm- I like that and I gives me a lot of filthy thoughts.🤭😂

// Paring // (Ex-)Boyfriend!Mob!Bucky Barnes x (Ex-)Girlfriend!Reader

// Summary // After the break up Bucky sees you flirting with another guy.

// Wordcount // 1.160 Words

// Warnings // bit of stalking behavior, mention of sexual content (blink and you miss it), insults

// Authors Note // This is a Drabble which could be a possibility situation in the “His forever and ever” series. Plus it’s a bit changed because don’t wanna hurt our poor Bucky! Hope you still like it.

// Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist //

// Series Masterlist //

Bucky knows that you tried to move on, but it doesn’t mean that he will let you off that easily. Seeing you working and hanging out a lot with your best friend, Steve, doesn’t annoy him that much. But the thing — the person that really annoys him — John Walker.

How can you even dare to think that this blond haired little bitch could be as Bucky, could make you feel like him, could give you what the monster could give you, or love you like Bucky loves you.

He doesn’t really understand how you be can close to the other man without a disgusted expression. Bucky only has to hear his name or see him appearing somewhere and he immediately wants to beat that blond haired man up.

“She is in the bar with him,” Sam says, standing in front of Bucky’s desk while the mobster is growling. You’re out with John way too often for his liking, why can’t you see that Bucky’s the only one who loves you like you deserve it?

He messed up and he knows it but there can’t be a man who can love you more than Bucky does. If he wouldn’t love you, he wouldn’t keep an eye on you, he wouldn’t follow you and he wouldn’t need so much time because of his nervousness to talk to you.

“Gonna need to talk to that guy, thinks he can touch my girl,” Bucky groans frustrated while running his hand through his long brown hair.

His beard grows just as his hair. Bucky likes that style, especially because you always loved his beard and maybe he gets you back when he shows you how good his beard is working in between your legs?

“Don’t you think you shouldn’t do that? When she finds out she will be mad,” Sam mumbles. Luckily he is one of Bucky’s best friends and he knows that no matter how angry Bucky is he often listens to him or at least doesn’t throw him out when he says something.

“And then he is gonna fuck her? No! She is mine and I won’t let Walker touch my girl!” Bucky says through gritted teeth, getting off the chair to make his way to the door and drive to the bar where you’re going to meet John.

Sam sighs, following his best friend out of the room before he turns around a corner and makes his way into the office. He is just going to work — he knows how much you mean to Bucky.

Bucky walks to the car, two of his bodyguards going with him. And while they are in the car, the mobster already makes a plan how he is going to get you back and how he tells John that you belong to Bucky.

"Bucky, please," you say, pushing him back by his chest, his eyes darken and his jaw clenching while he looks at John. He doesn't know what you like about the other man, he isn't - he isn't Bucky.

"Only when that son of a bitch fucks off and never talks to you ever again," he growls, his hands gripping your forehearms firmly. A big grin forms on his plump lips when John walks a few steps away from you.

Bucky’s blue eyes are on the other man, while you hold Bucky pressed between the bar behind him and you. You know that he could push you away easily but he doesn't. Especially not when he can be so close to you, feeling your soft skin underneath his fingers and inhaling your sweet, intoxicating scent.

"I'm sorry, dragâ mea," Bucky apologizes when John finally leaves the bar. His head falling forward to rest against your shoulder. And suddenly there is nothing left of the big, fearful mobster he usually is. He inhales deeply, tears that flow down his cheeks soak your shirt and you're surprised that he lets his emotions out in public.

"Bucky, you can't come here and just insult the guests," you mumble, sliding your fingers through his hair. He isn't the only one who missed one, and sliding your fingers through his soft hair gives you a moment of everything back that you miss.

You don't support his behavior, nor like it but you can't deny that it shows that he still loves you. You still have the same comforting and calming effect on him. It only needs your arms around Bucky, your intoxicating scent and your soft voice to make the muscular let go of everything because he knows you will catch him if he falls down.

"B-But he can't have you," Bucky whispers, knowing that he shouldn't stop you from being happy. But can you be happy when he isn't with you? "'m sorry. Doll, I miss you, y- I can't be without you. I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have done that, but I miss you so much."

"I miss you too, but there are better ways to talk to me. And he could never replace you, he came here a few times, asking me out but whenever he did-" you inhale deeply, feeling your own tears building up in the corner of your eyes. "I always thought about you, I couldn't go out with him, because he isn't you, Buck."

"I don't want someone close to you who isn't me. Please, come home, it's so empty when you're not there, no light, only darkness. I messed up, but I will make it better this time," Bucky mumbles, lifting his head to look at you with his red eyes.

His heart is racing while he waits for you to answer. He wouldn't be mad would you say no, how could he? He messed up but you still help him calm down, you don't kick his ass for interrupting you. But living with him is more than just a hug that calms him down.

"I asked Sam to help me with the work to have more time for you," Bucky adds when you don't answer after a moment. You chuckle, knowing that he really means it when he lets someone else do the work he thinks is important. Bucky loves having control and giving his work to someone else always scares him.

"You get the chance to prove it to me, to prove that I'm not self-evident for you," you say. Bucky eyes immediately light up and he nods his head. His big hands make their way to your face, cupping it. He pulls you closer, his lips trailing over your nose to your forehead where he presses them softly against your forehead.

"Thank you, I love you, dragâ mea," Bucky mumbles, smirking against your forehead. He will prove it to you, prove that you're not self-evident and that he can be the best version of himself for you. That's what he wants to show you and he will, and he does with the brightest eyes and the widest smile.

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[after-witch]

TPOF!Ren Imagine

Title: TPOF!Ren imagine [Ren Hana x Reader]

Synopsis: What if you were taken by Strade? What if you escaped, leaving Ren behind? And what if you just happened to bump into Ren, years later?

Word count: 2100ish

note: kidnapped reader, drugging, descriptions of violence and torture, scars, kidnapping, descriptions of noncon sex, just a stream of consciousness written imagine that I did before bed because I have no self control, take that as you will

Imagine Strade has kept you. You spend weeks, months--more?--being tortured in ways you could never have imagined. But you live. Somehow or another, you live.

You're kept there, like Ren, as an interesting pet. And the two of you share a tentative bond, in time. He did help you, after all...

But... you're afraid of Ren. A little. Not because he's ever been mean to you or hurt you without Strade forcing him to--but because you know that Strade can be fickle. He might decide he likes Ren better, and get rid of you.

Or maybe someone else he brings home will catch his eye, and he'll ponder getting rid of one of you... and who is more likely to go to make room for another long term victim, you wonder, the boy with fox ears or plain, simple you? It's obvious.

So sometimes, you're afraid of Ren. Afraid that Ren's existence will eventually mean your demise.

But you have your moments together.

Moments where you curl up in Ren's nest of a bed, letting his warm tail wrap around you, ignoring the way your shock collars occasionally clink together while you snuggle. Sometimes you whisper things to each other. Hopes. Fears. Secrets. Dreams for the future, which are sometimes shared fantasies of escaping together, going somewhere, starting anew.

There are shared pains, too. You sneak into the bathroom and clean each other's wounds, as much as you know Strade will allow without crossing an unspoken boundary. You press cool cloths to his burning cuts, he gently massages your healed but always-aching broken fingers.

Sometimes, Strade makes you hurt each other. Usually, Ren wins out in the end. But you have no chance against claws. You don't hold it against Ren after the fact, but sometimes when you're sharing a bed at night or a quiet moment when Strade is out of the house, you can't help but think about the way his claws rip through your flesh or the way his knot hurt when Strade yanked him out early.

And one day... Strade is dead. You scream for Ren when it happens--some new victim he's captured finally getting one over on him, not without their own fatal wounds--and Ren watches Strade die, and you watch Strade die, and then the two of you are standing over his gaping-mouth corpse.

The two of you head upstairs, the basement thick with quiet, and for the first time you don't have to worry about hearing Strade's footsteps come up them.

Ren's collar comes off first. Then he helps you with yours.

And you should--say something. You should tell him that the two of you will leave, go to the police, find an apartment, figure out what to do--something, anything.

But in the moment, you panic. You panic because you see in Ren's eyes that he wants you to stay with him and you're so afraid of being trapped again.

You bolt. You bolt out the front door and don't look back. You hear Ren shout your name and the pad of his feet up to the front door, but he doesn't cross the threshold.

You should go back for him. You should tell the police that he's there. But you're afraid. Your face was on Strade's streams. Who knew what sort of people watched them? What if you were recognized? Strade wasn't shy about the fact that powerful people watched his streams. What if... one of them was connected with the police department?

And so you don't say a damn thing. You pick up the pieces of your life and there's a part of you that you left in that damned house with Ren that rots and festers, but you can't let it stop you. You hate yourself for leaving. You hate yourself for not going back.

But you might have hated yourself if you stayed, too.

And then it's been years... and years.... and years.

You still suffer from your time with Strade. Mentally. Physically. The scars have faded, but they never go fully away, some white-blanched and others still retaining a tinge of vivid pink. You hate those the most.

And there's the aches and pains, too. Arthritis in your fingers and hands. A fracture in your foot that didn't heal properly, but you didn't have the health insurance to get it fixed, and now you walk with a limp and cane on bad days.

You get nightmares. Most of the time, you're right back in the house or the basement. Being tortured. Slow and thick dreams that are usually coupled with sleep paralysis. Ren is in them, sometimes, and he's scared and hateful and you wake up with that gnawing, awful guilt.

But you force it down. You have to--Ren was an adult, too, just like you. That's how you cope with the guilt. You tell yourself that he left the house and found himself a small place to live and he's doing fine out there. Working at a bookshop or some anime collectible store. Something that helps him get by. He'll have scars and nightmares, too, but he'll be okay, for the most part.

Just like you are.

Because you've moved on as much as one could, considering. You have a spouse--ten years together, now--and a house with a little yard and a career that leaves you comfortable enough, financially. You don't have kids but your spouse has nieces and nephews that you enjoy spoiling now and then, and that's enough for you.

You were so hyper-vigilant after your initial escape. You wore wigs, and went outside only rarely. You hopped around from place to place, used fake names. You had locks upon locks upon locks on your doors. You never went home the same way twice.

But over time... you gradually stopped worrying. When 1 year became 5 years became 10 years, when time aged your face and slowed your racing heart. When you got a long-term partner and stopped hopping to new places every year, terrified that someone would come find you.

Over the years, you stop looking over your shoulder everywhere you go. You stop assuming every stranger staring at you on the bus recognizes you from Strade's streams and is going to kidnap you and kill you. You stop thinking about it as an immediate threat and treat it like past trauma--to be dealt with, sure, but to be tucked away for your sanity.

And one day, one ordinary little day, you're walking around a secondhand collectible store to look for a particular book when you bump into someone.

The first thing you notice is that they're wearing a nice suit, tailored, like they're going to a business meeting or live in a big city where such outfits are considered casual wear.

The second thing you notice, when you look up at their face with an apology on your lips, is that underneath the hat that they lift every so gently, they have fox ears and scars and red hair peppered with just a dash of silver.

It takes you a moment. Two moments. Three moments.

It's Ren.

Older, like you. But Ren, clear as day, there is no doubt about it.

Relief and an awful, stomach-churning anxiety spread through your gut at the exact same time.

"Ren?"

He doesn't react at first, merely stares at you, and your nightmares come back to you: those nightmares where he hates you, where he tells you that you left him there like he's nothing, where he throws back all your whispered conversations in the dark back in your face.

And then a little smile splits his face and the gut-churning fear in your stomach recedes just enough for you not to shake when he places two hands on your shoulders, steady, and firm.

"Hey. It's okay. It's been a long time."

You break into something like a laugh, and tears prick at your eyes before sliding down your cheeks.

"How..." You don't know what to ask first. How is this possible? How are you? Why are you here? Are you okay?

And finally you settle on something that's eaten away at your soul, bit by bit, since you ran away.

"I'm... sorry." You can't look him in the eye. "I shouldn't have just left that day. But I was scared, and I--"

He places a finger to your lips, and the claw at the end seems sharper now, polished and carefully filed.

"Don't," he says. "It doesn't matter now." He has a coolness to his voice, a shrugging tone to it all. You wonder if it matches your own tone, sometimes, when you're confronted with reminders of the past.

"Do you... want to get coffee or something?" You ask, and you immediately feel stupid, asking if someone who was tortured alongside you (who hurt you, too--but he had to) for coffee like they were an old high school friend.

But he smiles, a little grinning pep to it now, a little bit of an edge with his teeth showing, and says, "Sure."

You leave the shop together, book forgotten, intent on catching up.

It should bother you, that he didn't look actually surprised to see you. It should bother you, that he swept you out of the store so quickly.

But you're too overwhelmed by his presence to notice little things like that.

You don't even notice the black car parked down the street that turns only only when Ren leads you into a coffee shop, pulling around the corner into a nearby alleyway.

You don't think twice about Ren texting someone after you arrive. You don't think twice about Ren ordering for you, motioning for you to find a seat, insisting on taking both cups to the little stand with sugar and creamers himself.

You don't think twice about the taste of the coffee being a little off. Ren put in too much sugar, probably. You used to take it much sweeter, back then, when Strade allowed the two of you to indulge in cup after cup to stay awake for nighttime streams.

It's a shame the hyper-vigilance ebbed away, really, because if you had noticed any one of these things, maybe you would have left the situation. Though, in the end, would it have stopped him?

You focus on awkward small talk. Asking what he's been up to (running his own business) and how he feels (better than ever) and whether he's okay (are you?).

He asks you questions, too, and you find yourself spilling it all too easily. You talk about your spouse, your cute little home, the garden you planted, the books you've read, the little career you've built. You ask if he still likes anime and he smiles, and then your hand is on his arm--you can see some of the scars on his hand, and your own, too--and feel so bad so you start to apologize again---

That's when things get... woozy. Your hand slips from his arm, and you can't grasp your coffee cup. You mumble something about not feeling good.

Ren is standing right away, helping you to your feet. He pulls out his phone and says he'll call an ambulance. You try to wave it off, you're fine, you're just overwhelmed, you didn't eat much today. He insists you sit down and if you weren't so dizzy you might realize something is wrong as he leads you down the street, into an alleyway, where at the end there is a shiny black car with tinted windows.

"I'll take you to get some help," he says, and you don't question it, because your mind is foggy and you can't see straight, and it's just Ren, isn't it? It's just Ren.

It's not until you're bundled into the car with Ren taking the spot next to you in the backseat, his worried expression smoothed over into something cool and triumphant, that the sense of wrongness hits you. Even through the fog of your mind, it hits you.

"Ren? Ren?"

"Shh."

That finger is back on your lips, but this time his finger pivots sideways, a claw lightly tracing one of your facial scars. You can feel it slicing open, like a papercut.

The little blossom of pain is a good distraction for the punch of the needle that he jabs into your thigh a moment later.

You have just enough time to gasp and mutter something, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Nothing comes out. You see him watch you for a moment, eyes half-lidded, before he stares ahead at the driver.

"We'll have time to talk later. When the drugs wear off."

The last thing you see before unconscious is his smile, almost a grin.

[halaboyz]

oh?, choi san

classroom crush! ateez san x gn! reader (nonchalant vs oa lmao) FINALLY SOME FLUFF wc: 2.2k warnings: none that i know of a/n: i've done so much of this storyline i think this might be the last one of it

San remembers his first day as a returnee, striding down the hallway to his room, notes and pens tucked in his arm. Upon entering his room, was delightedly welcomed by one of the regular students- you.

"Hi, is this seat taken?" San asks cautiously as he points at the seat beside you, crouching to hear you better. When you turn your head to look at him, but instead, your jaw drops.

"Well aren't you fucking gorgeous," Is that even a whisper? San was astonished, blinking at you. It was needless to say that he was intimidated by that single line, feet discreetly stepping back and escaping the situation. "Sorry. Slipped. No one sits there," Your poker face confuses him more. You're a weird junior. You quickly focus back on your phone, as if you hadn't just said the most compliment San could ever receive.

"Ah, thanks... But I think I'll just find ano-," When he whips his head around to find another seat untaken, he panics. You don't look awkward at all, but San is. He doesn't want that. But there aren't any seats left, and he isn't close with anyone to strike a conversation just to switch seats with him. So he dejectedly takes a seat, scooting farther, maybe just a bit, away from you.

The day just wouldn't end like that, San just had to forget to bring an index card- the whole class did. And you just had to be prepared for it. Out of all his blockmates, it just had to be you. It makes everything hard for him when you hand all of your classmates a card one by one, when it all came down to him.

"You have one?" One was already hanging loose between your index and middle finger, handing it to him. It takes him a few more seconds before he shyly takes the card and thanking you softly, and he glances at you to see if you're really unbothered by the thing a while ago.

You really were.

At that point on, San had considered you a friend (he hopes you do too) that he can count on. Being a returnee wasn't easy, and you helped him adjust to the environment quite easily. You were someone who was blunt, straightforward. Unlike San, who overthought every situation he had been, and will most likely overthink the coming situations.

"Oh San. Hello. Are you at the room right now?" You quickly ask right when he answers your call. When he hums, "I forgot my extra shirt under my desk. Do you mind bringing it over here to the gym? Please and thank you."

Like you gave him a choice. He chuckles to himself, just agreeing and immediately getting into action. He retrieves your extra shirt for PE (which he, thank god, had taken already and passed the last year before he went for LOA) and jogs to the gym, where he finds exiting students already. When he asks a familiar face of where you are, they just point inside the gymnasium.

At last, the gym only had a number of students getting ready to leave, and he still doesn't see a strand of your hair. When he tries to reach his pockets for his phone, he sighs when he realizes he left it at your desk.

He cautiously walks to the changing room, where he tries to shout out loud, bravely, calling for your name.

"y/n... please come out, I have your shirt and there's no one else to ask a favor for," He thinks if you're even still there. But when he hears footsteps approaching he perks up.

Not until he sees you, though. He immediately turns red, and I mean literally red, and immediately- when he sees you only covered with a towel. He stands frozen in place, shirt in his hand reaching out to you.

"What, first time seeing a person half naked, pretty boy?" Your nonchalance was killing him inside. You thank him as you retrieve your shirt, asking him to wait for you since he was there already. As if you had just done the most normal thing friends do.

Or was San just not used to this friend-thing relationship that was normal for you?

"Hey, y/n. How are you?" San starts, the chair scraping the marbled floor.

"Good. You?" You reply simply, not even glancing at him.

"Good too," San nervously chuckles, but you don't buy it. With a simple whisper of 'spit', he folds. "Well... Not good, actually. I haven't been feeling well the past few days and I really want to stay in today but I had a quiz this morning. I really want to attend this class since I'm here already but my body's declining. Would you be so kind to share your notes for today?" San rambles, immediately feeling sorry for the inconvenience already.

"Okay." You answer, nodding at him. He waits a few more seconds to see if you'll add onto that, but nothing comes out. So he immediately thanks you, standing up and ready to leave when you grab his sleeve.

"Right, here. I've been meaning to give this." You throw him a small paper bag full of meds, "Get well soon. Miss you already," He doesn't know whether that was sarcastic or not. He doesn't care. What matters were the medicines in his hand, released from the pharmacy dated to three days ago, when he started feeling under the weather and has been doing everything to hide it.

He feels... weird. You're weird.

He remembers all that. That's how it has always been for the two of you. All along, he thought that he was the one who... he doesn't know. He doesn't even know, but all along he thought it was a him problem. Not a you problem.

So why were you here, in front of him, confessing your love for him?

Not the pretty-boy-adoration level, but a serious kind of level.

"I like you, Choi San. I think it's been for a while already." San couldn't figure you out until the end. So he figures that maybe, all this time, it's not a romantically-inclined interest he had for you, but a rather type of 'you're a weird-fun that's why you keep me on my toes' kinda thing.

And he doesn't want that. He doesn't want that for you because you deserve better. Just because you were a fresh air for him, doesn't mean that he'd only keep you to have his own part of fun.

"Uh... y/n..." He doesn't know what to say. He hopes to keep the friendship you've been building, but he also needs your keep of the decision for that. "Sorry, but..."

"Okay." You shrug, smiling at him. "It's fine. I get it. Don't worry, we can go back and act like nothing happened, right?" You didn't even let him finish. But he thinks he dodged a bullet there. Because of how he knows himself, he would've fucked it all up without meaning to if you let him finish. "Let's go back to the room?" You pat his arm, and you were back to being... unbothered. Like you didn't just get rejected.

Did San read too much romantic novels? Watch too much movies? To expect more reaction from you?

But apart from all that's raging his mind now, he follows you back to the room, and just like you- it feels like nothing happened. Maybe, it was better that way.

But when he asks your friend Yeonjun why he was going through your desk, and answers you asked to bring him your extra shirt and bottle of water to the gym, he's dumbfounded.

Not that he had some grudge for Yeonjun, but... hadn't you always asked him with that? I thought we're back to being whatever you were before the confession? Why was he now looking at Yeonjun like just committed a heinous crime?

But he lets Yeonjun off the hook (partially because Yeonjun was now sprinting out of the room to get to you and he didn't had the leisure to confront Yeonjun about it) and stares at the empty seat beside him, left with only traces of you.

Maybe, just maybe, Yeonjun crossed your mind first this time around, than San.

But well oh well, it happens again.

"Yeonjun, can you pass me the scale ruler, please? Oh and could you grab these plates unharmed and go with me to the office to drop these off before class ends," San was sure prior the confession, you had always asked him around. But now... what the hell?

"We can go now," Yeonjun stands up with no complain, getting all of the plates to go with you while you prepare. Why is Yeonjun acting like all of this is normal? Like... isn't he finding it weird that he's now the one getting asked around, not him?

San could now rip his hair all out for all he knows. He thought you wanted to go back to normal? Why is he noticing even the littlest changes now? Why is he so frustrated anyway?

His last resort was now two weeks after the confession, and everything has changed for him. Maybe just him, because he had started even noticing the smallest changes in your actions, or if it even changed- from the looks of it of other people's point of view, it didn't. But for him, a lot has changed.

"y/n, do you want to go get materials for the next project together later?" San encourages himself to initiate an offer, while the both of you were alone after a while, Yeonjun having something to cram on during break.

"Oh, San. Sorry, I already promised Yeonjun that I'll help him with his requirements later." You reply, biting your sandwich and glancing at him, then back to your book

"Tomorrow?" San was desperate. He wanted to make things right, but he doesn't even know if there were things to correct in the first place. Why does he feel so responsible and desperate when he's the one who rejected you?

"...You want to meet on a Sunday?" You slowly set your book down, gawking at him.

"That's a problem now?"

"Oh now your attitude's a problem." With his snarky remark, you immediately rebut it with yours. You were getting confused of how he has been acting, like... he's also confused. You were back to acting how you were before you confessed, only San wasn't.

"What about my attitude, huh?" San presses, scooting closer to you to annoy you more lividly. You scoff, amused at the newly found attitude your senior had.

"What the hell is your problem, San?" You scoff in disbelief, a smirk in your lips at the amusement.

"You know what, now that we're in the topic anyway, let me ask you that. What the hell is your problem, y/n?" He starts, eyebrows furrowing into confusion. Yours raise, because what the hell was he talking about? "You confess and okay, I rejected you, I was expecting that you will never talk to me again because that's how it usually goes, but then you say that we can go back to acting like it never happened."

"So? I did!" You almost try and fight him, if it weren't for his palm flying to your mouth to shut you up.

"You! Didn't!" San rebuts, "It's always Yeonjun here, Yeonjun there- did you not like me anymore just like that?! Have you moved on quickly? Do I deserve getting ignored because I was too ignorant of my own feelings?!" San was now mad at himself. He always was.

Because if you answered yes to all of his questions, the blame falls into himself.

He let you go that easily. Just like that. All because of his uncertainties, really?

"Of course I still like you, idiot! Do you think I get over feelings fast like that?!" You push his hand away, your panicked state was a reflection of his panicked state. You were supposed to be the cool one here, but hearing San panic made you panic.

"Then why the hell are you avoiding me?!"

"You're crazy, I'm not! I'm acting the way I am!" You exasperatingly fight back, because you know you're right. "You're overthinking things like how you always are, okay, I get it." You calm down, because if you weren't no one was going to. "I'm sorry, okay, I didn't notice this time around, I'm sorry I should've been more careful."

"Why are you apologizing now... I should be. You must be so confused of how I am acting right now..." San starts, shoulders drooping, lips turning to a pout. "I've only come to agreement to my feelings just now, y/n. I'm so sorry I came too late," San grabs your hand, caressing it.

You almost turn into a ball at how San was acting, feeling all giddy and happy at the same time.

"Really? San, I don't want you saying anything at the heat of the moment, you can take your time. This might only be because you were overly cautious of my actions after my confession which made you confused. You can take your time, San." You caress his hand with your other, smiling at him.

"No, I've just been trudging it out longer. I've been feeling this way ever since we met. But if I told you that earlier, it would've been weird, wouldn't it?" With a chuckle, you pull San for a hug, one that had been long overdue.

"Fuck Yeonjun, he can cram all by himself."

taglist: @sunlightwoo (answer the form on my pinned to be included!)

[johnwickb1tsch]

The Girl Next Door - IV

A Constantine x FemVampire!Reader fic based on this imagine. all chapters warnings: nsfw, blood, biting, violence, mention domestic violence, not reader divider by animatedglittergraphics

4. for it is the blood that makes atonement 

You are doing your best to keep your cool about it, but it’s possible–alright it's damn likely–John Constantine is ghosting you. 

You’d think that would be hard to do, living right next door, but he’s out a lot at night, and so are you. 

It has been over a month since you’ve seen his stupid, handsome face. 

In person, at least. In your daydreams, is another matter entirely. And even, possibly…in your mind’s eye. You don’t really know what else to call it, but ever since drinking his blood, it’s almost been like you can feel John Constantine at the end of a golden thread, his life a shining light. You’re not sure what it means, only that…it feels good, and it fills you with even more longing to be near him. 

Sometimes you even get hints of his emotions, if he’s feeling angry, or sad, or annoyed. 

There’s a lot of annoyed going around, with that man. 

You wonder if it’s the same, for him, to you. 

So you are excited, when a night comes in which you know he’s home. You can hear the sprightly notes of Take Five through the paper thin walls. Somehow, you just know he is sitting at his kitchen table with a bottle of Ardbeg. 

You give him some time before slinking out to the hallway, and knocking on his door.

You listen as he rises, the chair legs scraping the floor, his soft footfalls bringing him to the other side of the door. Your stone-still heart leaps into your throat, as you make out what sounds like the pads of his fingers sliding on the old wood panel right before you, pressing there as though it was a window, and he could see you on the other side. 

There he stands, for minutes. 

You want to, but you dare not knock again, listening to his breathing through the barrier between you, so close and yet so far. You touch the door, willing him to just reach for the knob. You can almost see him with your third eye, just standing there touching the door with his head bowed. 

You hope against hope, that he will let you in.

When you reach out to him, down that metaphysical connection you have no name for, but feel as real as holding a rope in your hands, you sense a shadow of sorrow in him, bleak and black, before he pushes you out entirely, and you can feel nothing. 

As the sound of his footsteps walking away from you reaches your sensitive ears, you are not proud that you return back into your apartment, curl up in your chair, and cry bloody tears until you are wrung out completely.

Whatever is going on with him–he does not want you. 

It shouldn’t hurt the way it does, but it feels like throwing your bare, bleeding heart under a speeding train. 

You do not have the courage to break down his door and demand to know what’s wrong. 

You couldn’t enter without an invitation anyway.

Exhausted, you sit in the dark, staring out the window. 

Again, you have that feeling that you are being watched. 

Maybe you should be afraid, but at the moment you are too sad to care. What’s the worst that could happen now? 

Constantine did warn you not to challenge the gods with such questions. 

♰♰♰

 Just when you thought John Constantine couldn’t hurt you any worse than he already had, you were in for a surprise. 

You have just stepped outside, dressed up to go out on a hunt, and there he is at last, standing under a street light outside your apartment building–with another woman. She is tall, brunette, beautiful. A police officer, you infer from the gun and badge on her belt. You hear John say her name.

Angela.

How fitting.

You can sense the attraction between them from all the way down the street, and it feels like someone carving out your undead heart with a dull blade. 

She’s even religious. You can see her gold crucifix glinting at her neck.

She is everything, you reason, John Constantine could possibly want in a prospective mate. 

Everything, it hurts to admit, he really deserves. 

He is ducking his head towards her, and you are certain they are going to kiss. 

You cannot watch. 

Without really even realizing what you’re doing, you turn on your heel, and run.

Running as a vampire is something out of this world. In a matter of minutes you have covered miles. You find yourself in a part of LA you’re not familiar with, though these days it doesn’t matter much.

You make your way to the roof of an abandoned skyscraper–by climbing it on the outside with your iron-hard claws. At the top you scream at the moon, your eldritch voice lost in the chaos of this soul-devouring city. Empty to the tips of your toes, miserable to the marrow of your bones, you collapse in a sad tangle of limbs and hug yourself, wishing your heart had died along with your body.

♰♰♰

Later, you find yourself in a club in Hollywood called Perla, in the mood for a drink but not what they’re serving behind the bar. There must be something extra special about John Constantine’s blood. You went for weeks without hunger pangs, after your little interlude. 

Nice as that was, it threw off your cycle of rent collection. A girl has expenses, and if you’re not picking scumbags’ pockets, you’re not bringing anything in. What you need is a score, and looking around the rich assholes that fill the room, you don’t think you’ll have any trouble finding one. 

You’re not sure why you picked this club in particular. You just had a feeling as you were wandering, and decided to try to get inside. If you were in a better mood you might have enjoyed the dismay of the onlookers who had been waiting in line for hours, when you glided up to the intimidating bouncer, caught his eyes and asked him politely to let you in–and he did, opening the red rope for you with an absent smile.

There are other perks to being a vampire. Such as, when men you have no interest in try to sidle up, you’re not afraid to send them on their way.

You have noticed lately that you’ve been getting stronger impressions from people. Not just snatches of their thoughts, but scenes from their lives. Sometimes, it’s as simple as their trip to the grocery store the week before. And sometimes, it’s a man’s memory of pushing his wife off a balcony in Mexico, so she wouldn’t take him to the cleaners in divorce court for fucking his secretary. 

He’s drinking in a booth to the side of the dance floor, and you’ve decided he’s going to be your next meal. You suck at pick up lines, but it doesn’t really matter. You’ve found that all you really have to do is make a few seconds of good eye contact, and it seems most of your marks will practically eat out of the palm of your hand, open to your charms and suggestions.

You’ve chosen your prey for tonight, and after finishing your drink (you can consume most liquids to no ill effect) you make your way over to him. He has two human women at his sides when you approach. “Can I sit?”

He looks you over, like a horse at auction, before making the mistake of meeting your eyes. You feel it, when his mind becomes yours, like a Lego clicking into place. “Sure, baby. C’mere.”

You give his companions a look too, suggesting for their own good, “Go away.”

They do.

Maybe being a vampire is actually awesome? Everyone does what you want them to. Everyone…but John Constantine.

Go fucking figure.

You ignore the excruciating pang just the thought of that man sends ripping through you, and concentrate on the task at hand.  

You crawl into the booth, herding him into the most shadowed part of the seating arrangement, and you laugh up your sleeve at this self-assured man, who seems to think he’s in control, snaking an arm around your waist and pulling you close. With a single hand on his chest you pin him against the tufted back of the banquette. It clearly startles him, though he tries to play it off.

“Easy there, muscles,” he says with a smirk.  

“Is that what your wife said?”

His eyes go wide with alarm for a moment before you overpower him with your mind and your strength, your fangs sinking into his neck. The temptation is so real, to bite and tear and end this piece of shit once and for all. The savagery of this urge still startles you, and ultimately, saves his life. You drink your fill but do not kill him, leaving him dazed and unintelligible in his seat, the cash in his wallet stuffing your bra.

You are exiting the shelter of the booth when you feel that presence again. That heavy prickling energy that has been following you all over the city. 

Although it’s dark in the club, you can see perfectly well. He leans on a railing on the level above, his eyes all for you. He is painfully handsome, you hate to admit. Beautiful, even. Tall, dark. A sharply trimmed beard, eyes that glitter like polished jet.. He is wearing a black suit, his white shirt open at the throat. There is a cruel turn to his mouth that raises your guard–and sends a thrill straight to your loins. 

If you weren’t undead, you would consider getting your head checked. It just seems too late for all that, though.

At least you’re not mentally tripping over yourself because he’s so good looking. You’re freaking out, because you recognize him from the night you took a little astral tour of the city while John dozed, and this man? This thing? Hit you hard enough to rattle your teeth with nothing but power from halfway across L.A. You feel the absolute depth of that power again, filling the room. It’s almost suffocating, and as you look around you can’t believe no one else seems affected by it. 

Lucky you. 

You don’t really mean to make eye contact. It just happens, as though you are coerced and cannot resist. You feel this irresistible pull, the urge to go to him, as though he is in your mind–that is when you realize he is a vampire too, and possibly the oldest thing you have ever met in this city.

He is safe.

He is good.

He will care for you.

These are notions that run through you like thought bubbles in a comic strip, and you know they’re not your own, even as you are tempted in every cell of your body to cross the floor and climb the stairs to him. 

You belong with your own kind.

You have nothing but hatred for the vampires who took you, who made you into this thing. But aren’t you curious about what you are? Would he give you some of the answers you seek? 

The insistent urge to go to him amplifies, and you find yourself placing one foot before the other. You can't really fight it, even if deep down, you know you should. 

At the top of the stairs, two bodyguards part to allow you through. He is there, appearing every bit the king in his castle in his throne of a booth in the VIP section, his long legs crossed and his arms spread over the back of the seat. Maybe you are just feeling raw from rejection from a different tall, dark, and handsome man, but he is so gorgeous that your heart feels as though it’s made a date with the Iron Maiden.

“Why, if it isn’t John Constantine’s little pet vampire. At last we meet.” He smirks up at you, as though he is privy to some inside joke you do not understand. “I’ve been waiting for you, querida.” 

You blink, trying to shake off this spell he’s cast over you. What are you doing here? You should be halfway across the city by now, running from this thing, not standing like a stupified little idiot before him. You feel like you're drowning, wrapped up in the magic this man, this monster, has used to cloud your mind. 

It feels like moving a mountain, to answer with some defiance, “I’m afraid you’re not up on your current events.”

You’re not stupid. You know that you were taken as a tool to get to John; you’re not exactly keen to be dangled as bait again, or to even admit your association in this achingly scary vamp’s company. 

The vampire offers you a mocking pout that somehow feels like a dagger slipped between your ribs. 

“Poor thing. Did the demon hunter dump you? Too monstrous for such a good Christian boy to abide?”

Meeting this vampire’s dark gaze feels like looking directly into the dark center of an eclipse; you’re not proud, but you look away first. It has nothing to do with the sting in your heart, or the pain that jettisons all the way to the tips of your fingers. You hope the effect of his words is not written so blatantly upon your features, but you’ve never been that good at hiding your emotions. Being a vampire hasn’t really changed that, and at least at the moment, you wish it had. 

“Come here,” he demands. You do not want to, but your feet move anyway. When he snaps and points you find yourself kneeling at his feet, utterly unable to control your own limbs, even while your eyes fly wide. He leans down towards you, invading your space. It’s ridiculous, how the proximity doesn’t exactly make your heart beat, but it definitely does something to your insides. You want to rub yourself against him like a cat, like you’ve finally found the place where you belonged all along. 

Deep down, you know it’s a lie, but the weight of his will presses down upon you, and in this moment you are helpless.  

He hooks his finger under your chin, turning your gaze up to his, handling you with a possession he absolutely has no right to. “I’ve been waiting for you to come find me.”

You’re sure your confusion is as blatant as your earlier pain. 

“I don’t even know who you are,” you say with a frown, though you cannot pull away. There is something utterly magnetic about him; you feel as though you are drowning under his heavy gaze. Or perhaps you are so lonely, so pathetically touch starved, that you will let a handsome stranger manhandle you if it even vaguely resembles affection? No. This is…something else entirely. 

“How shameful, you do not recognize your lord and Master. I am don Juan de Aragón, and you are a vassal in my kingdom, little one. Furthermore, you have trespassed on my hunting grounds here. How will you make amends to me?”

“Excuse me?”

He leans in further, his whole hand cupping your jaw. He is big, you realize. You feel engulfed, as he looms over you, and though he makes you uneasy, a part of you cannot help but like it.

“Though I suppose it is not your fault–you have not had anyone to properly instruct you in our ways. I can practically taste your loneliness.” 

Utterly derailed by the truth of this, you search his face, looking for the mockery or the cruelty from before. Something that will help you break this spell. You find him unreadable, that dark gaze simply weighing upon you, as though he can see into your soul.

Finally, you come to your senses, answering, “I’m hardly missing the company of other vampires.”

“How would you know?” His long fingers caress your hair, practically petting you. It takes every iota of your self-control, not to let your eyes slide closed and just enjoy it.

What is wrong with you? 

It is as though you’ve been bewitched. This must be what it feels like, when you use your own powers on the hapless humans around you. 

You do not like it at all. 

When a single bloody tear slides out of your eye don Juan gathers it on the tip of his finger, bringing it to his lips. “I can taste your sorrow, little one. It is time you come home. You have been without a coven for too long.”

Alarm erupts inside you, even as you cannot move a muscle. You think about the coven that kidnapped you and turned you into this thing you are–you realize now, probably on this asshole’s orders.

“I think I’m good on that.”

“Oh? Because you are doing so well on your own?” You barely manage to suppress a shudder, when he sweeps a lock of hair behind your ear. “Living in squalor and pining for a man who reviles what you are?”

The last part is probably true, but you think about your tiny but cozy bohemian nest. Screw this rich asshole.  

“I like where I live.”

“You will like where I live better, I guarantee.” You get a vision of an opulent mansion in the Hills, filled with vampires as powerful as he is, all eager to lick his boots. The impression terrifies and repulses you. 

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” The words are right, at least, even if you still can’t quite manage to control your body. Get up. Your legs do not listen. Fuck fuck fuck. 

“I was not asking,” he answers with all the haughtiness of Old World nobility. He sees you struggling with yourself, trying and failing so badly to fight him. That proud mouth curls in a smirk, a devilishly arched eyebrow rising with disdain. “I would advise you not to displease me, little one. I am four centuries your elder. It will not end well for you.”

You blink at that, unable to fathom such a stretch of time lived by one man, and the changes he’s borne witness to. Four hundred years. It gives you chills to think on how a creature such as him would have been perfectly suited to aid the Spanish in their conquest of Alta California, wresting this paradise from the original Indigenous inhabitants and visiting unspeakable horrors upon them with the mission system. Kidnapping, rape, slavery, murder, and disease, all in the name of Greed and God. In the Catholic Church they were two sides of the same coin. 

The corner of his mouth twitches. “Very nearly.”

You shake your head, still hardly able to wrap your head around it. 

“I won’t be any use to you. I’m no one, and John Constantine doesn’t care about me.”

“No?” He reaches down to touch your hair, sweeping a lock behind your ear. The gesture could almost be mistaken as tender, if you didn’t see the glow of malicious glee practically dancing in his eyes. “I think you’re lying.”

“He can’t stand to be around me.” It hurts to say it out loud–but you hope he can sense the truth in your words. At least–he can sense your pain.  

“Pobrecita. Then it is my obligation as your liege lord, to take care of you regardless. I must see to my flock.” 

Maybe he is baiting you with honey, but you smell the bullshit from a mile away. You can still sense the flavor of his mind, like seething wrathful snakes. It scares you more than anything he’s done so far.

“I don’t need to be taken care of. Just let me go.” 

Now he does smile, surely the way the serpent smiled at Eve. 

“Stupid girl…” He moves faster than even your eyes can follow, his long fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you into his lap. “I own you, and I cannot wait to see John Constantine’s face when he realizes he’s too late to stop us!”

You try to struggle, of course, baring your fangs and hissing like a she-cat, but to no avail. He has his full attention fixed upon you, the entire concentration of his power, and you are helpless against this ancient monster. It feels like the first night the vampires took you all over again, and you could do nothing against their strength and their hypnotizing stares, but look at them with big glassy eyes like a lamb to the slaughter. 

They touched you and laughed at you, drank your blood and pressed their bloody mouths to yours, making you taste yourself, all the while knowing they were killing you. 

You have not felt so powerless since the night you died, and like on that night you cry out with all your heart,  “John Constantine!” , even if the words do not leave your lips. That curious metaphysical thread you feel with him flares red hot, almost searing you, though it is not a thing you can touch with your fingertips. 

Don Juan looks at you curiously as though he feels it too, turning your head this way and that rudely with his big hand upon your jaw. Finally, he laughs at you, a cruel sound that grates your ears. “Oh, how rich. You have but one chance to bestow this gift upon a mortal, and you wasted it on John Constantine? You are a stupid girl.” 

You don’t know what he’s talking about, but you don’t get the chance to ask.

One of the intimidating bodyguards at the top of the stairs suddenly collapses in a spray of blood. The second soon follows. The club is loud, and it takes you a lapse of seconds to make out which sounds are the speakers, and which are actually gunfire. The fuck? 

As it turns out there are quite a few vampires up in this VIP area. They emerge from the shadows, keen to meet this new threat for their Master, swarming towards the stairs. The floor erupts into chaos, a storm of fighting, hissing, screaming, dying. 

“It’s the Babayaga!” someone nearby snarls before joining the fray. 

At first you cannot look away, fascinated by the sight of one man taking on three older vampires in a fight–and holding his own. He is a tornado of destruction, striking and kicking, having lost the now empty gun somewhere. You see the silver flash of a sword in his hand, and his face in the light. He is middle aged, bearded, handsome, his longish dark hair pulled back in a half-bun. He wears all black, a long coat, big boots. His eyes glow an electric blue, and you feel an instinctual terror to the very marrow of your undead bones. 

“Pinche dhampiro, hijo de puta!” hisses don Juan behind you, his crushing grip making your bones creak. Yet at last, you can move, because his attention is not fully fixed upon subduing you, this new threat a bit more pressing. You struggle in his grasp, nearly breaking free, but he drags you with him, towards another exit. You push and pull, and you feel his anger for your defiance, like hot pins pricking your skin all over. 

He makes it halfway across the floor before something strikes his torso–alarmingly close to your own. He staggers, nearly taking you to the floor with him. Startled, you look back, to see the attacker staring you down. That blue gaze catches you like a butterfly in a jar, and for the second time tonight it’s as though you cannot move. 

He could have hit you with that silver knife. You were closer, and don Juan was attempting to use you as a sort of shield. 

Why didn’t he?

Two more of don Juan’s vampires attack the man in black, and his hold breaks upon you. You struggle again to free yourself from Juan, but he has his claws in you, and he starts to drag you away from the melee. He is still incredibly strong, despite having taken a large knife to the torso. 

“Fucking High Table,” he snarls under his breath. “We’ll see soon enough who holds the real power here.”

You keep struggling, and Juan hits you hard enough that you see stars. Stunned, he’s able to scoop you up again, making for the opposite side of the balcony–until three bullets strike him in the side, making him jerk. 

He whirls to hiss at the vampire hunter, his eyes flashing an unearthly molten orange. 

The vampire hunter, it dawns on you so very belatedly, that John Constantine had warned you about.

With a final baleful look at you, don Juan hurls himself over the edge of the balcony, opting to save his own skin. 

Frozen in place, you watch as what must be your doom approaches. You see the twisted corpses of the other vampires laying out on the floor behind him. Behold, your fate, you think sadly, as you watch inevitable death limping towards you.

To your surprise, he pauses to lock eyes with you, grousing, “You owe me one, vampling,” before sinking to his knees–and falling over.

The whole club has erupted into chaos now. Everyone is screaming and trampling for the exits below. 

You should too. 

You’re not sure why you scramble over to him, why your hands fly over his powerful body, searching for the fatal wound as though there’s a damn thing you could do about it. Because he chose not to kill you? Because he saved you from don Juan? 

Because you’re fucking stupid? 

You find it in a knife sticking in his side. You know you’re not supposed to take it out until a doctor can supervise the wound.

“Shit, shit, shit.” You reach to check his pulse, when a strong hand closes over yours, pulling you down against his chest. He is solid beneath you, seeming utterly unconcerned about your weight upon his injured body.

“Yelena?” he rasps, his grating tone betraying his injured condition. There is a hint of an accent to his words. Eastern bloc. Russian, maybe, or somewhere near it. 

“What?” 

His eyes fly open, fully awake again. His irises are no longer that eerie glowing blue, but fathomless black pits, and you find yourself caught in his stare again, unable to look away.

“Pull out the knife,” he tells you, his voice strained with pain.

“No, you need a hospital–”

“No hospital. Not human.” He says it like it should be all but obvious. 

“But–” He felt human. He was warm, and he smelled…mortal?

“Take it out, or I will heal over it.”

“What?”

“Do it.”

Cringing, you feel for the handle, meeting his eyes for one last confirmation. He gives the barest of nods, and as you pull the knife free he hardly flinches, staring you down. His big blood-stained hand reaches up to cup your cheek, sliding into your hair.

It feels good. Too good, maybe, for what it is, and you don’t recognize until it’s too late that he’s caught you in that hypnotic stasis again, your limbs gone unresponsive and heavy. You make some sound of protest, which he soothes with a, “Shhh. You smell so sweet.” 

That is when you finally see into his mouth, and you realize he has fangs. Bigger ones than yours. 

And he is looking at your throat.

You try to struggle. You really do. But he just has you in the grip of his hands, and whatever kind of hypnotic magic this man wields over you. It reminds you a little of your own power, that tingling rush that rises in you when you are hungry, and excited, and John Constantine is in your arms. 

Then he is rolling over on you, pinning you with his substantial weight, and even with broken glass from somewhere digging into your back, it is good. His sharp teeth at your throat feel like the only thing you’ve ever wanted in that moment, and even though deep down you know it’s a trick, you tilt your head and bare your neck for him. 

He bites you with a low moan that resonates to your core, a spreading warmth flooding your body, your limbs, and between your thighs. You feel your life draining into him with every draught, and yet you clutch him to you, your leg hooking over his hip. He grinds himself into you, breaking from your throat to kiss you, his fingers laced with yours over your head holding you down. It is messy and bloody and glorious–you don’t want him to stop.

He doesn’t, returning to the wound at your throat, draining you mouthful by mouthful. Languorously you let him have his way, too pleasure-drunk to stop him, even as somewhere in the back of your mind you are vaguely aware that he might be killing you. 

Darkness begins to edge at your vision.

You should try, at least once, to resist him, to save yourself–but you can’t. 

He keeps drinking, and you are taken by the sweet relief of unconsciousness.

—-----------------

*once again I’ve changed Don John to don Juan, because it drives me crazy 😜

**Pinche dhampiro, hijo de puta!” - Fucking dhampir, sonofabitch!

**Writing fic is so fun, you can steal whatever you want… 🤭 My favorite vampire media includes ABVH, the Vampire Chronicles, True Blood, the Jane Yellowrock series, the Dakota del Toro series, and Empire of the Vampire, which def inspired this version of Wick as a dhampir, as did B in The Book of Elsewhere. They both glow when they’re going berzerk 🤣.

[notthecutesttrash]

Vanilla Ice Cream

Content: Sierra Six is your newly appointed bodyguard. You only want to make his life a living hell so he can leave. That is until unfortunate circumstances make you feel closer to him, and eventually like his company.

Warnings: Lil bit of angst, reader's a brat, fluff, inebriation, blood, vomiting, language, death

Word count: 6.8k

When you saw him, all you could think was how it was just another pointless bodyguard who might fail to do their job. Apparently, you were notorious for being a spoiled brat, as your father so explained, and no one else wanted to work with you because of it. Your lips twitch in irritation at the thought. You? Spoiled? Please. 

“I don’t need a bodyguard! It’s not even a bodyguard anyways, it’s a babysitter! I’m so tired of being watched every day! Can’t I have some goddamn privacy?! I’m like 25!” You yell out to your father who is as usual, too busy calmly packing things into his neatly confined suitcase. 

“Enough (Y/n), you’re going to have a bodyguard because you can’t seem to sit still for once.” 

“Oh, maybe because, again, I’m 25 DAD! I’m so sorry for wanting to go out and have fun!”

“I have a target on my head, your mother has a target on her head, therefore YOU have a target on your head. What do you not understand?” You’ve heard this quote a million times at this point so you just wave it off.  

“Yeah, and? That target has gotten us nowhere but money spent on these so-called body guards and given us senseless paranoia. Nothing has ever happened, and nothing will. Just relax already.” Maybe you knew you were being selfish, but you didn’t care, it was true.

“I am going to be gone for not just a day, not just 2, not even a full week, but almost 2 months.” He emphasizes. “I need the best security there is for you, do you understand? Someone is bound to try something.” He gives you a finished expression and then glimpses to the maid. “Margaret open the gates for Sierra six.” Your father says. She nods and briskly walks off. 

You roll your eyes and huff, “dad!” 

“He’ll be here any minute now. Introduce yourself, be nice, and we will see you in 2 months.” You open your mouth to speak and he holds up a finger. 

“Don’t give this poor man any trouble than he needs, or at least enough that I have to hear about it. I don’t need yet another bodyguard that refuses to work with us because of you.” Your father rubs his fingers at the bridge of his nose to display his exhaustion. 

“What do you mean because of me?” You cross your arms and huff, “I don’t do anything to any of them.”

“Don’t play coy.” 

You shake your head, “i’m not.” You kind of were. Just kind of. 

“You are. Don’t act like every guard so far hasn’t wanted to reverse the contract and shoot you themselves.” You cross your legs and turn your head. 

“They start it.” That was also most definitely not true. 

A brooding man makes himself known at the doorway. A tall figure, blue grayish eyes, sandy dark blonde locks, and somehow a face and demeanor that could make a mother proud. 

“Another fit pretty face.” Was the first thing you say and your father instantly gives you a look that says don’t. 

Pursing your lips, you hum begrudgingly and step in front of the man. “My name is (Y/n), nice to meet you.” A clear fake smile burns into your features, and you stretch your hand out. Sierra Six doesn’t say anything, he remains stoic and silent. He then places his hand into your own and firmly shakes it. His hand felt warm and rough like he was born fighting every day, and you made a note to remember that. 

“Have a safe trip Dad!” You speak with honey, tiptoeing on your pretty little expensive slippers. Planting a kiss on his cheek, you give a side eye to six. A sadistic joy twitches into the edge of your lip, and you give him one last look before he turns to his side to let you pass through the doorway. 

Fitz told him it was going to be a trip, and he believed it. For the past few days all you were trying to do was tick him, to break him, to over-exaggerate every little opinion you had, to make sure he’d want to get up and leave himself. 

“I despise ketchup with my fries, why can’t we just have some alternative, what do you think Mr. Sierra six?” You would complain about one moment. Then the next moment you went on about how chocolate was better than vanilla, about how winter sucks because you can’t use your lavish pool, why red is better than yellow, why Pepsi tastes better than coca cola, and so on. 

 “So what’s your real name mr. six?” you ask him, your legs crossed over one another as you sat by him. His fingers were expertly working at the computer ahead of him, and he only gives you a split second of a look. “Nothing?” You inch closer, your red heels dangling near his legs. 

“Why are all you guards so boring? Hm? It’s been like 3 days and you can’t say more than 2 words.” Throwing your head back, you groan out loud. Finally, you thought of an idea, and you glance back at him, grinning.  

“Well then you wouldn’t mind if I invited my friend over would you?” A giggle escapes. “No. Of course not.” Pulling out your phone, you scroll through your contacts and grin. 

“You’re not supposed to have anyone over.” Finally, Mr. Special Sierra Six speaks. You wave your phone and laugh. 

“It’s just one friend pretty boy, come on now, don’t be shy. She won’t give you as much as a bite… though.. she might try to get into your pants.” Snickering to yourself, he gives you that same blank stare. You click on your friend Cacie, and she answers the phone just as fast. Smiling wide, you’re already pulling it to your ear and telling her to come over. 

“There’s a little special surprise for you. This one is good this time.” 

“Can’t wait~” she says with that little mischievous snicker at the end of her words. She hangs up and you know she’s already on her way. 

“Hey pretty boy, do you like wine? Wait don’t answer that. You strike me as a.. on the rocks type of guy. Let me guess.. bourbon? Scotch?” Six doesn’t respond, and you tap at your chin. “Whiskey!” Six gives you a glimpse, and you know you got it. 

“Let me guess, “I can’t drink on the job,” you mimic him, “just one little glass wouldn’t hurt.” Already pouring the whiskey into the glass, you shoot him a side look. He’s still working at his computer, and at this point a guard might be sighing, rolling their eyes, or shaking their head. But he’s quite diligent. It was impressive. 

You set the glass in front of him, and he doesn’t even eye you. “Just a sip for me, pretty please?” You give him the sweetest orbs you could muster, but it wasn’t very good knowing you. Eventually he gives you a look, and this time it stays. You couldn’t know what he was thinking with his expression at all. “Come on, please? I won’t bother you at all after this.” You tilt your head, and your eyes glimmer a certain sadism that screams out your lies.

“I’m good.” Sierra six speaks, turning back to his screen, and you create a fake pout. 

“That’s no fun.” You take the glass you poured him and take a sip. Your gaze lingers on him. He knows you’re staring, you know he knows you’re staring, but you still do it. The nails of yours tap onto the glass one finger at a time, and you rest your free hand at your cheek. Still stuck in your peering, you don’t realize the doorbell rings. 

“You should probably get that.” Six states, and you smile sarcastically. You should’ve made him get up and do it himself for that smugness. 

A swift smirk dawns on you when Cacies pretty face is revealed. Her red lips are stunning, and her blonde coils are wrapped up. She wears her velvet red slim-fit dress, and you know she always wore this one to seduce the prettiest of guards. “Cacie dear, meet Sierra Six.” Cacie walks up to him right away, a burning intrigue in her light blue orbs.

“You are quite the pretty one, aren’t you? Older, though. You could probably be my dad… but lucky for you, I like that.” She sways her hips to the side and giggles. There is a little flicker of annoyance inside of you that you push down. Six glances up and says nothing, he doesn’t even give a reaction, no visible sigh, no rude comment, not even a linger over her body to show he secretly enjoyed it. Cacie was more than intrigued by that though, and you knew she was 100% willing to break him by the night’s end. 

Cacie turns her back to six, and she unclips her hair and rolls her head slowly, pulling her fingers to her scalp to massage out the little bumps while her hair rolls evenly at the end of her back. Cacie pulls out her phone and loud music begins to blare out. Six doesn’t flinch, but he exhales a barely noticeable sigh that finally showed irritation. It was subtle, but you knew. You take a sip of the whiskey and giggle. Cacie breaks out into a little dance, and Sierra Six closes his laptop and gets up.

It was getting late so he carries his little flashlight and shines at the glass windows to make sure no intruder was around the corners. You roll a lighter in your hands and flick at it, igniting a small fire that you raise to your cigarette. Taking a deep inhale, you blow a trail of smoke in front of you and stand. 

“Dance with me (Y/n), you know you love this song!” Cacie shouts, moving her hand into the curves of her ass. Your gaze lingers over to your bodyguard and you flick your cigarette to the floor. You take another swig of whiskey, and Cacie turns to you with a bottle of champagne in her hands. A big grin stretches her lips and yours do the same. You break out into laughter and she mimics, pouring a generous amount into your glass. She was more of a wine girl, so she’d always have her little special bottle that she’d love to get from some handsome cashier to share a long sip with you. You place your glass down and begin to move your body with the music. 

“You’re free to join too,” Cacie throws a wink at six, and he gives a glimpse before getting back to work. 

Throughout the night Cacie sends every little flirt, any little comment, even a flash of her tits to six, and alas no response. You on the other hand couldn’t care less and once Cacie leans down all drunken to six and tries to touch him, he finally speaks. “Don’t touch.” You take this moment to finally pause the music. Falling to the couch with a sigh, you unbuckle your painful high heels and chuck them off to the side. Your stomach felt like it was violently churning. 

“Why? Afraid I’ll mess up your work? Get you fired?” Cacie chuckles, turning to you. 

“I don’t understand this guy. He’s more boring than watching paint dry.” She grumbles. Huffing, you lean back to the couch and clutch your stomach. There’s a swirling that rushes to your throat, and you bite back the nausea.

“I really don’t care Cacie, just stop bothering him,” you mumble off, unsure if you were even inteligible at this point. You pull your hair out of its restrictive tie and let the locks fall into your face. The headache that was beginning to brew pounds into your ears. Lines of haziness muddle together fast. 

“What is wrong with you?” Cacie gives you a look of disgust as if it was just blasphemous what you uttered. You mumble into the leather, dragging your tired face into it. Your head lulls to the side, everything was too heavy. 

“Are you okay?” Six asks from his position, his head turned over his shoulder, brows furrowed. 

“She’s just drunk,” Cacie rolls her eyes, gesturing towards you. You lean your head onto the curve of the armrest, and the way the light blares down into your sight has you rolling your eyes into the back of your head. Breathing raggedly, you follow Six’s movements toward you, a sickness hits your chest again and you close your eyes, sucking in a pained breath. Six scans the half bottle of champagne, and then you. Suddenly a hand presses to your forehead and you attempt to flutter your lids open. Beads of sweat drip down your skin, and your hair becomes so wet it clings to your cheeks. 

With a sudden sternness six asks, “What was in the champagne?”

Cacie throws up her hands and scoffs. ”How the fuck am I supposed to know? Champagne? I bought it at the store.”

Six rotates the bottle, attempting to find any language or label on the glass. “From who?” Cacie sighs and rolls her eyes dramatically. “I don’t know. The fucking cashier, who else?” 

“Did you say anything to them? Like how you were going to be alone?” Six asks, staring up at Cacie who quiets, a certain guilty look on her face. He raises his brows and she throws up her hands again. 

“Well… I didn’t think it was gonna be a big deal. I just told him that her dad was finally going out of town for more than just a few days, and he gave me that from behind the counter.” She holds a slightly worried expression as six gives her a blank look. You groan out loud as the pain in your stomach swirls. The bile was reaching your throat, the acid, the nausea, you couldn’t hold it back anymore. You violently hurl over the leather couch until your stomach expels every ounce of liquid it can. Before you knew it you were carried away and forced to sit in a car seat before you passed out cold. 

When you woke up you are met with a hospital ceiling, and upon turning, you find six at the corner, standing. Pulling your arms to your sight you see an IV in your wrist, alongside other needles. Anxiety spikes, and you gasp, rushing to get out of the bed.

Six rushes to you, gesturing with his hands to calm down, “Hey hey, lay back down, relax." You hesitantly ease back in.

“What happened?” You ask. 

“Your friend gave you a poisoned bottle of champagne.” He states blankly. Rolling your eyes at the paranoia, you cross your arms. 

“I’m sure I was just drunk.” Sighing, you look out at the window nearby. 

“Do you normally puke out blood when you’re drunk?” He says, tilting his head, and you turn to him. 

 “Only when I’m having a good time,” you can’t help but joke and smile to yourself, eyes now glued to the outside.

Six was quiet, and you shift your focus on him. He has a straight face like usual. You had a deep feeling that maybe if you weren’t purposely attempting to annoy him for the past few days, he might’ve liked you as a person.

“Sorry.” You mutter. 

He raises a brow, and you go on a nervous rant. “I just never get to be alone, so I get angry. So far every guard has quit, and that was always my intention. But..” The words were at the tip of your tongue, but you just couldn’t bear to say thank you, that he saved your life of course, a feat no guard has ever done, and probably never would’ve. 

“I understand if you will.” It is quiet for a moment, and you sigh, keeping your gaze just stuck to the window. You swallow sharply, and it feels like razor blades scratching down your throat. 

“I won’t. It’s my job.” Sierra six states like some automated robot. 

Pushing your head into the pillow, you scoff. “Even when you got a girl who’s trying to make your life a living hell?” 

“I’ve been with worse company.” For just a moment, you can see a shimmer in his eyes, and there’s just the smallest prettiest little curl at the edge of his lips. Grinning widely, you make out a laugh. Though, it’s not for long before you cough out a gross chunk of phlegm, or even blood maybe. 

“You okay?” He asks, moving to you as you nod weakly.

“Yeah…” You trail off tiredly. “Can we go home now?” He finally chuckles, and you turn to him, embarrassed, a slight blush burning in your cheeks. 

“Not yet.” There’s a frown from you, and you sink into the bed, your eyes closing. Six’s gaze lingers over you for a moment before he gets back into his past position, his hands folded neatly over each other. 

It’s been close to a month, and the only company you ever had was six, and you hated to say.. you were starting to fall in love with him. Maybe it’s because you were desperate for any social contact. Or maybe because he's the only one who actually broke your facade and you feel comfortable to be your self around him... Or maybe it was just.. something about him.. the way he would smile just slightly, his soft chuckles whenever you finally did make him laugh, his ability to remain so calm.. it was so peaceful and reassuring in your boring days. 

“I mean seriously though, why isn’t there an alternative to ketchup? It’s not like I’m just gonna put mustard on my fries, so you can’t say that’s one. It’s either ketchup or fries alone. You know?” You complain while shoving a fry into your mouth, huffing. Six removes the attention from his computer, his brow raised.

“Are you done?”

You nod absentmindedly. “You’re right, mustard sucks too.”

He lets out an impatient exhale, but there is just the slightest little twitch that nudges his lips into a smile. You find yourself grinning whenever you manage such a feat. Maybe he was annoyed at you, sure, but you knew he couldn’t deny that the mindless banter was enjoyable, and even he couldn't help but join in it every now and then. 

Six looks up at you with a stern but playful expression, “I like mustard.”

“Hm. You do seem like a mustard guy.” You raise your spoon to him accusingly. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He stops typing completely now, gaze locked onto you. 

You circle your spoon and gesture to all of him. “It just screams.. you, you know?” 

Six hums. “Is it the hair?” 

“Yes! It is the hair!” You point to him and six nods, resuming his typing. He then shakes his head, and chuckles after a moment of silence. Smiling, you continue eating and snicker to yourself, well that is until a wonderful idea hits you.  

“You should teach me how to fight!” You shout and he gives you a blank look from his computer. 

“Why?” He asks.

“Well, what if someone breaks in and you need help?” He smiles only slightly, and your stare remains fixated on him. His beard compliments the frame of his sandy hair, and the blue of his eyes that glance your way. You loved picking those features out every now and then. 

He averts to his screen, “I won’t need help. Trust me.”

“But what if you do.” You retort. 

“I won’t.” He shakes his head. 

“But what if-“

Six sighs, “Alright, I’ll teach you. Happy?” Hand resting against your cheek, you giggle. Six glimpses when you walk off. Then his gaze remains for a second too long. 

Surely when he wasn’t looking around the same spots, exits, and corners every moment, he could relax in a way that still made him feel like he was working. That’s what you hoped at least when you dragged him outside beside the pool and forced him to teach you his martial arts, or whatever. 

“I’m not going to hit you,” he reminds you right off the bat.

You playfully gasp, pressing your knuckles to your hips. “What if someone bursts into my room and attempts to knock me out, hm?” 

“That won’t happen.” You open your mouth to retort and he puts his hand up.

“Don’t.”

You whisper the words “but what if it does?”

You would’ve believed him and even called yourself paranoid, but considering you just had an attempt of murder on you, unfortunately, the idea wasn’t out the window anymore.

“Hit me.” Six gestures, and you step back instinctively, a bundle of worry in your chest. 

“Anywhere..?” You press your lips nervously into another.   

“Anywhere.” 

You dive your balled-up fists at him, and he swiftly moves to the side. It was some impressive reflex, and you did it again only to watch him repeat. You take a step back and smile, breathing through your words. “So, I guess my father doesn’t hire useless people.”

The more you try, the more useless it is, but you’re determined until finally he grabs your wrist and holds it. “You’re too predictable, you can do better. Come on.” A huff escapes, and you swing directly at his eye, but he dodges just in time. 

“Better.” Six pauses, and moves to you, grabbing your fist. “Like this.” He moves your hand in the direction, imitating the movement, and once he steps back, you copy. “Good,” he compliments, and you step back, smiling.

Six makes a gesture with his hand, directing it to him as if saying to keep it coming. Taking a deep breath, you move to punch him, and he dodges. You do the same movement several times and he all but does the same, except each time you notice you were getting just a little closer to his window.

Eventually, you pant and hold your hands to your knees. “This is a lot more tiring than it looks.” 

Six looks around at the daylight slowly diminishing. “You should eat, it’s dinnertime.”

“You cooking?” You ask, taking a deep breath. 

“Not unless you like cereal.” He jokes with that blank tone as he walks away, but you give a small chuckle before following him. 

There was a question you were itching to ask as you sat down, and you gave him several glances to determine his mood. Then again there was never anything that showed what he might be thinking, so you purse your lips and look down at your food again. “What?” Six speaks up, and you turn to him, quietly staring. 

“Nothing,” you mutter, eating a forceful spoonful of your rice. 

Sierra Six hums, his gaze lingering over you, and you stand, getting up to walk to your freezer. “There’s no more ice cream,” you pout. 

“Good. I won’t be able to hear about how chocolate is better than vanilla for a while now.” You turn around to Six who has a little playful glint in his eye, and you fake pout, moving to sit back down. 

“You didn't enjoy my talks?” 

“I would’ve if you chose vanilla.” He jokes, and when you laugh he can’t help the small smile that tugs his lips.

You rest your hand on your cheek and find yourself gawking at him. Six eventually speaks through the strange tension. “You look like you have something you’re wanting to ask, so what is it?”

Biting your lip, you look away for a moment and eat another spoonful of bland rice. Life without your fancy chefs was definitely a depressing one. 

“Nothing I haven’t already asked you.” You say in a small mumble, and six hums, stopping his movements at the laptop. 

“You’ve asked me a lot in these past few weeks. Like what icecream flavor is my favorite, if I like ketchup better than mustard, if whiskey is better than bourbon, if-“ Cutting him off, you sigh. 

“What’s your name?” Six gives the same blank neutral expression, but as if he’s thinking. “Unless.. you don’t have one.. but you’ve got to right? You weren’t born an agent.. were you?” You ramble on, and six eventually lets out a small exhale, tilting his head. 

“Court.” He states and you quiet, keeping your eyes on his. Suddenly you smile, then it turns into a grin, and you laugh. He looks confused this time, “what?”

“Nothing… I’m just.. happy you told me.” A giggle escapes you, and there’s a swirl of butterflies in your stomach. Court raises a brow and gets back to work, his side gaze lingering on you as you move to put your dishes into the washer. 

“Goodnight Court,” you sing with a little giggle and wave. 

“Good night (Y/n).” He says, his focus back on his screen. Yet as you walk away the smile he held within him escapes fully.  

Throughout the night you found yourself tossing and turning, your head filled with thoughts of six- or Court. The house felt safer with him, you admitted, and on many nights when you were scared, he soothed you to sleep with his presence that you bothered to have near you.  

“Six?” You call out, making your way out of the bed with your little nightgown on. No answer and your heart leaps up into your throat. He always answered the first time. What if someone actually did intrude and he wasn’t there, or worse, he lost? God you were starting to sound like your dad, no way that’d happen… But what if it did? 

“Six..?” You call out quieter, tiptoeing around the door frames like a scared little child. There were no lights on, and the windows displayed only the inky blackness outside. It must’ve been, what, 2 am? Now you were beginning to get very worried, and your heart began to beat so fast it was drowning out the quietness of your large house. 

“Six..?” you call out yet again, and no response. 

When you turn a corner, there’s the body of an unfamiliar man on the floor which makes you jump back. Your toe pokes at him, and he doesn’t move. Your anxiety is now fully spiked, and you rush around the hall to call out for six. You find yet another black outfitted body, blood leaking from their chest onto the floor. Although, you didn’t notice that part until you tripped and fell on it. Groaning out in pain, you clutch your head, and call out one last "S-Six!".

Suddenly you hear glass breaking and a silenced gunshot which makes you jump. There's a heavy thud at your feet, it’s the body of another man, and when you look up, it’s Court who stands above you, alive and on his two feet.

He lets out a breath, and you ogle up at him, unsure of what to even say. Court gestures his hand to you and you take it. He instantly pulls you to your feet and you tiptoe silently around the body in front of you. You open your mouth to speak, but his focus zones behind you.

Something is moving in the corner of your sight and you shriek in reflex, instantly rotating to punch the assailant. "Ow!" They hiss in pain and recoil, holding their nose. You stare, wide-eyed, and when the man removes his hand from his face, his eyes narrow onto you. Your heart leaps into your throat, and you contemplate running for a moment but you are more than determined, so you hold up your fist and muster up the same expression.

Suddenly an object flies over your shoulder, it nearly grazes your cheek before it lands deep into the chest of the man who is knocked back. Turning, you see Court who has a serious expression on his face, possibly the most you've ever seen.

You don't have much time to breathe out a word as another man comes behind him. Court rotates just in time and lands a loud sucker punch to the man’s jaw. The attacker stumbles back and gasps, attempting to grab at his pistol that Court more than easily undoes and the magazine falls to the floor. Court lands another hard hit, and you can visibly see the blood that leaks from the attacker’s nose as he repeats, and repeats.. and repeats to the point where you might as well feel guilty for the poor guy.

Cringing, you turn away, and you assume Court is finally finished when he lets out a breath and walks towards you. You study his movements as he nears the man beneath your feet and yanks the blade out from his chest. He takes a rag nearby and begins wiping the blood from it. You notice there is also blood running down his arm and without thinking your hands quickly roam to find the wound. 

“Are you okay?” There was pure concern in your voice, and he scans you as if deep in thought. 

He answers after a few seconds, shrugging, “I’m fine, just a little graze.” You frown and he adds, “You should be sleeping,” breaking you from the focus on his arm. 

You huff. “When did they come in?” 

“Now.” Court continues wiping the blade, not even looking at you. 

“I told you I wouldn’t need any help.” Court continues in his monotone voice and you’re breathless in pure astonishment. You wanted to gasp out a “You’re unbelievable," but in reality, you say what you know annoys him. 

“But you might've.” He cracks just the edge of a smile at you. 

Your knuckles are a bruised red and you can't help but smile as you add, “Did you see the punch I landed? I did more than help, are you kidding?" Court chuckles and god even at a moment like this your heart flutters. 

"Really? That's weird, I feel like I remember teaching you that punch. When was it..?" He looks to the ceiling as if just struggling to remember, “Just earlier today?" You were stuck in your smile, and your head tilts like a lovesick puppy, eyes glued to his. He gives you a sweet smile, then examines your dress which now has a puddle of red in it from when you tripped. 

“You should go change.” He comments as if trying to shift the moment, and you hum, looking down at the bodies on the floor. It’s not like this is the first time you’ve seen this, considering the line of work your father was in, but the shake of six possibly getting hurt, or that they were coming for you upset you more than anything. 

“I couldn’t go to sleep.” You now change the subject, looking up at him. He doesn’t respond, so you touch his hand and gently grab the knife that he was working at and place it on the counter. “Do you ever sleep?” 

“Rarely. I can’t really afford to, considering,” he gestures to the bodies, “someone might break in.” 

“What if I stand watch, and you sleep?” You offer, and he laughs for a bit. When he notices you’re serious, he gives you a look as if you just said something ridiculous. He scoffs and you pout.

He shakes his head, “That’s not your job.”

“No, it’s not. But my job as a host should be to make you feel comfortable and well-rested in my home.” You tilt your head, giving the best puppy eyes you could muster. 

“Interesting character development.” He jokes and you pout. 

“Come on, please? Starting tomorrow, you can take the best nap of your life.” You hold his hands that were once cleaning the knife and squeeze gently. Blue meets (e/c), and for a quiet long moment, it remains that way. Six doesn’t say anything, he just stares, and you do the same. Eventually, he decides to speak.

“I should probably clean this up.” You look around and take a step back forgetting to remember you’re an inch away from a pile of blood. 

“Oh.. right.. yeah.” You trail off, giving him one last look as he does to you, before you nod, and walk off. 

“Good night (Y/n),” he says and you turn back and smile. 

 “Good night Court.” 

The closer you got to the time of your dad coming back from his trip, the more a big twinge of disappointment would hit you. It was almost 2 weeks left now, and you felt a sadness thinking of it. It would mean no more Court, and he would go on his way to other missions, or worse, even become a bodyguard to some other girl who’s conveniently all alone in a big house. 

“Are you okay?” Asked Court who was, as usual, typing on his computer while you ate. 

“Yeah.” Responding, you stab sadly at your eggs and let out a sigh. He wouldn’t like you anyway, not with how bad you treated him the first few days. There was no way.

Maybe it was a good thing he was leaving soon, so you could just be on your way and stop being so lovesick. Sooner or later another guard will come and you’ll go back to making their life a nightmare. 

Court stares at you from the sides of his eyes, and hums. “I’ve been with you long enough now to know what’s wrong, so tell me.” He pushes his computer out of the way and directs his focus onto you. “What’s on your mind?”

Your lips purse, and for a moment you think of lying or not telling him anything, but you finally decide, that if he wasn’t going to be here after these 2 weeks anyway, then what was the point of keeping it to yourself? 

“I’m just.. disappointed you’ll leave soon.” Court tilts his head, probably not even sure how to respond to that. 

“You’re the only guard I’ve liked. So far I’ve made all of them quit, or even want to kill me themselves. My dad probably expects that you’re already gone or wanting to blow your own brains out by now. But… you’re here.” Awkwardly you finish your statement, refusing to stare at him in the eyes.. until finally you do. He gives you this questionable expression, and truthfully all of his emotions have been at least a tiny bit readable, but right now, you’re truly unsure of what he’s thinking. All you seem to notice is a glimmer in his eyes, maybe something sad, happy, mad, you really couldn’t tell. 

“Yes.. I am.” He trails off like he wants to say more. 

“Why?” 

Court shakes his head for a moment and glances down, then he shrugs. “It’s my job.” Exhaling, you push yourself back into your seat. 

Thinking of what to say and biting back a disappointment, you muster out a painstaking gratitude. “Well… I thank you for doing your job. In 2 weeks, you won’t see me again, and I’ll be back to making someone else’s job here hell. So.. you’re almost free.” You joke, but in a way that hurts you. A small fake smile is all the reaction you want to give, but the humor that makes its way to your words is almost nonexistent. 

There’s a harsh jab that hits your heart that you’re attempting to push down. You knew he wouldn’t like you, it’s outlandish, but still, the tears that force their way to your eyes made it hard to show no emotion. Court sees it, and his attempted stoic gaze remains on you, but you can see he’s feeling emotions he’s unsure of, or like he’s thinking hard. His mouth opens to speak after a few seconds but you don’t want to hear it, not the words that you’ve been dreading, not the confirmation that’ll break your heart.  

“I’m going to shower.”

He nods, and you purse your lips, turning away from him. Once you are sure he couldn’t see you, a few tears fall to your cheeks. 

You put your hair up in a clip and decide to give yourself a nice bath instead. Undressing yourself, you lock the door to the bathroom and turn on the faucet, adding in a scent of your favorite soap. The bubbles rise to the top, and you watch, spacing out as you wait for the water to fill the spacious tub. Once it’s done you dip your legs in one by one and slowly sink yourself in, enjoying how the hot water settles your nerves. Once Court is gone, you’ll go back to normal, surely. Your eyes close and you let out a relaxed exhale.

You must’ve stayed there for longer than you thought, because there was a knocking at the door, and you mumble unintelligibly to yourself, rubbing your eyes awake. Muttering tiredly, you ask, “Yeah..?”

“It’s been a few hours. Are you good in there?” Court calls out, a slight worry in his tone. 

Humming lazily, you draw yourself out of the bath and swing a robe on, your hair partially wet in its bun. “Sorry, I.. must’ve passed out.” You nearly whisper, opening the door to see Court’s face. He nods, and you both share a longing gaze. 

“Right um… I’m going to get changed.” You cut off the awkward moment, walking off before he could see the light blush that dusts your cheeks. The way your heart beats, betrays the nonchalant thoughts of him leaving and reminds you painfully of the attachment you have. Once again, the idea of him vanishing right when your father arrives causes a pure sinking pain in your heart. 

You throw on whatever’s comfortable and let out a sigh. Grabbing your hairbrush you tiredly begin brushing your hair while a sad pout glues to down turn your lips.

A knock on your door alerts you. Courts at the doorframe, his hands folded over one another, his blue orbs holding a certain sweetness when he views your form. 

Nervously finding yourself caught in his gaze again, you pull away clearing your throat. “Hi…” 

“Hi.” He responds, remaining still. It’s another awkward moment as you slowly brush your hair.

Court suddenly starts, “I’m not going to leave.” You stop, your attention shifting to him. He adverts his eyes for a moment and shuffles his legs, then focuses back.

He speaks with his usual neutral tone, but there’s a slight mix of something unreadable in there. Your attention is now stuck on him and every word he has to say.

“As tempting as it is to no longer have to hear about.. chocolate being better than vanilla,” you both share a small chuckle, “I don’t want to be “free” from you.” Court peers longingly, and you’re not sure what to say, you’re barely even blinking, your heart is leaping into your throat and you swallow roughly. You’re unsure of what exactly he means by this.

Court continues. “The only way I’ll leave is if you want me to leave,” he pauses, “Do you want me to leave?” 

“No,” you whisper, eyes glued to his. 

He walks towards you, slowly and steadily. “Then I won’t leave..” Court trails off, and you avert your attention. 

“What about when it’s no longer your job?” He takes a seat beside you and uses his thumb and index to hold your chin gently, making you gaze back into him. 

“It’ll always be my job.” He practically whispers. 

You scoff, “To be my bodyguard?” 

“No, to protect you,” He says surely, and your cheeks instantly turn a soft pink. 

This time you mumble back, a small frown on your features. “Even when you have to leave?” 

“Even when I have to. But that doesn’t mean I’ll be gone forever.”

Your eyes keep staring directly into his blue orbs, and you aren’t sure if it was his face that got closer, or yours, but eventually, your lips touch, and your lids close peacefully. He tasted sweet and was softer than you’d imagine. Upon separation, your gazes remain fixated on one another, and a genuine smile tugs at both your lips. 

You speak without thinking, “I like you. You know that?” Court hums, breaking out into a laugh. His lips spread wide into a grin, and your heart skips just a little beat. 

“Just like?” This time you chuckle. 

You bite your lip and coyly tilt your head. “You gotta earn that second part.” 

“And how do I do that?” Court asks, his voice soft. His fingers dance over your cheek, and you go weak at just the idea of his face so close to yours that you almost can’t even respond. He’s returned your feelings, and this makes you ecstatic. Your breath hitches when he leans in and plants a kiss on your lips. 

“Just like that?” He asks, smug, and you nod, breathless, moving to touch his dark blonde beard that frames his features so well. 

“Just like that,” you whisper, and he smiles, moving in to kiss you again.  

[ochomasaio]

Gojo Satoru ex husband

You try to leave Satoru in the past but let's be honest, he is Gojo Satoru, he never stays behind. After some months of searching you, there you are, on the opposite sidewalk.

You were his little sunshine, the pure source of positive energy in his ruthless everyday life. And now you had made him the happiest man in the world again after your positive pregnancy test.

He is Gojo Satoru but he is also a human. He made a big mistake. Drinking and ending up sleeping with another woman. Satoru truly didn't know that the woman wasn't his wife. He wasn't in place to understand that. He called the women by his wife's name all night they spent together.

Morning wasn't late to come and wake up next to that woman. In 1 minute he was already out of the apartment. He never had been ready faster. He runs home and tries to remember last night. Open the door and call for you. Nothing, search every room and again nothing. Calling you? Your phone was closed. His pulse began to rise. Is it possible you found out? So fast. He hadn't realized it yet. Did something else happen?

Ready to leave in search of you his blue eyes fell on a note on the compound by the door. But that wasn't the scary part, your wedding ring. You had placed it on top of the note. He grabbed the note and read it like water.

I believed we had a happy marriage

I had. I wish you all the goods

Y/N

Only that. You haven't written anything else. The baby? Oh! No god wouldn't be scared of him right now. You leave so fast, how the heck was it possible to find out so quickly? Someone must have told you about that. Oh! If he finds him he will't be able to tell even "good morning" without thinking twice, if he lets him talk again.

Now it had been 7 months since the day you left. His life was worse than ever. He had vowed to find you no matter what. He slept little, ate little and worked non-stop. The divorce papers you had sent him months ago from an unknown location were still untouched on his desk. There was no way he would positively sign off on this divorce.

He was sitting in the back seat of the car on his way home from Jujutsu Technical High School, stopped in traffic. Lost in his thoughts watching the cars go by, passers-by coming and going. And there! There you were! He couldn't believe it! You were walking on the sidewalk so close to his house. You were under his nose all this time. Wide eyes, a half-open mouth that almost created a smile. You were walking so beautifully, wind was blowing your hair in the spring breeze. A beautiful spring dress that erased your 7 months pregnant belly.

As quickly as he recognized you, he jumped out and appeared in front of you.

"My love. Y/N I find you!" Satoru said barely held back tears with his huge palms holding your tiny ones. You weren't as happy as him to watch him. Well that was lie. You were as happy as him to watch him again. To touch you. After 7 months in an unknown country he was there. But you don't let your heart fool you. You didn't show him that you missed him.

"What do you mean? You are coming with me. You are my wife!" No you don't. You ask him to leave you alone but his love for you was huge enough to even let you blink without helping you from now on. "You are my wife! Of course I didn't sign the fucking papers!" "I love you! You know it! About that night -" You didn't want to hear that. It doesn't matter anymore! He sleeps with another woman even if he had regret it, you didn't know he was drunk anyway. You thought it could happen again. She wouldn't go back with him. You would go back to your family. Raise the child there. You were crazy to think that Gojo Satoru would you even think to let you do that.

The tension had increased, you had to limit your conversation somewhere else. The small house you were renting was a few steps away. All in all it was a room with a bathroom and besides it was cold. How the hell did you stay there pregnant woman. He turned his gaze a little and saw an electric heater. He had left you to live alone, in your condition, in this cold place. He was trying to contain himself thinking about you trying to warm up to it. What did you eat? "I'm taking your things and we go home, I'm gonna cook-" You had made your decisions. You wouldn't let him break your heart again.

"Baby, come on, your things, your life is back in our house." The only things you left behind were the ones he had bought you himself. As long as you were married, he didn't let you work. He wanted you to live comfortably, he never believed that his money was only his. They were yours.

How could he convince you to stay with him, that it was a mistake. You couldn't take this argument, this pressure anymore. You felt a sudden malaise, holding your stomach with one hand and the other trying to support yourself on him. He tried to help you recover, he wanted to but all he ended up doing was calling your name with you in his arms. You opened your eyes and tried to recover. He would take you to the hospital right now. But you didn't want to, you just needed to get your face wet.

He could not understand how you were so insensitive to your health and that of your child. He refused not to visit the hospital. You just passed out! And oh my god! He also lost his own land under his feet when you looked at him with pain and told him that you had passed out again. In a place like this. Without help. If you didn't wake up? Stop his thoughts of the scenario before imagining your destiny.

Here you go again, in your shared bedroom. You stand up from the bed but before standing in your feet he stops you and puts you back to lay down. As long as you were asleep he ended up calling a doctor and checking you up at home. You accept your loss. You weren't able to leave him behind. But he knows that soon or later you would understand and forgive him but until then here he is protecting you, keeping you warm and full of food 24/7.

[navstuffs]

Heart to-go

Pairing: RE2Barista!Leon x GN!Reader

Summary: You hate coffee. Of course with your luck, you end up falling in love with a cute blushing barista.

Warnings: COFFEE SHOP AU, SUPER FLUFF, blushing leon, tooth-rotting fanfic, reader DOES NOT like coffee (i could never), reader/leon are clueless and shy, sabrina and gabriel are names used in this fic, image taken from google

Author's Notes: hey, im back (sorta?kinda?). i had this fanfic saved for a while and since i haven't been able to produce new material, i decided to edit and post some of my old drafts. i plan on posting the other coffee shop au - nsfw version, but from now i hope you enjoy reading this one!

If someone told you before that you would visit a coffee shop and actually order the same cup of coffee every day, you would laugh at their faces. You don't like coffee, period. There is something about the smell or taste you just don't like it. Warm, cold, sweet, unsweet, with chocolate, you tried it all. It just isn't your thing, which made some people look at you as an E.T. sometimes, but hey, to each its own, right?

Your co-worker Sabrina is the one who invites you out to a popular coffee shop nearby your work. Before you even attempt to say no, Sabrina explains that yes, there were other drink options and some delicious pastries, like "some of the best brownies" she had eaten her entire life.

So you agree, with the promise you wouldn't regret it.

There is no line when you enter, around 5 pm. You pass this coffee shop often going to work, the smell strong in your nose if the door is open. You never entered, of course, but now inside, you must admit it looked cozy. A lot of natural light comes from the big windows in the front, illuminating the entire space. There are tables and chairs, at this time empty, compared to how full and hectic they could get in the morning.

As Sabrina orders her long order, your eyes wander the menu, written behind the counter on a giant blackboard. They had other options, as Sabrina explained before, such as handmade Italian sodas and some juices. When Sabrina is done, you turn your attention to the very attractive cashier. The kind you see on the cover of magazines, like a model or something. And cute. He has innocent blue eyes, a soft face, and blonde hair under the black cap. Your eyes glimpse at his name tag, "Leon," as he waits for your order.

"What do you want?"

And the words come out of your mouth before you can even think, something you would never have ordered in a million years.  

"A coffee?" 

You can feel Sabrina's neck twist, shocked. You ignore her, ignore how your voice went two higher tones than it should, focused on Leon, who continues smiling, patiently waiting for the rest.

"Sure, which one?"

"Coffee?" Your eyes roam around the many, many names and sizes as if you know what all those names mean, and you decide to risk it all. "How about your favorite order?"

Leon's eyes widen briefly before a faint red tone rises to his cheeks. He chuckles, surprised, before placing the order on the computer. 

"Right, okay then, my favorite order. Anything else?"

"Nothing, that will be it."

You pay your bill without looking up. Sabrina looks semi-concerned and amused when you are done ordering, a strange smile on her face.

"Are you okay?"

"I panicked," You whisper, hoping Leon can't hear the panic in your voice as you pull her to a table before she can start asking more questions.

You sit to wait for your order, and you notice Leon and another young blonde lady behind the counter. He seems to be blushing about something she says, and you wonder if that wasn't the most adorable thing you've ever seen.

"You are staring," Sabrina warns, her voice denoting humor. Why does it sound like Sabrina is having fun with your misery? You look out the window to the traffic slowing down since it is the end of the afternoon. When your order finally arrives, you turn excited, expecting to see Leon but being greeted by Ashley's happy face.

"Enjoy!" Ashley exclaims before leaving. You grab your small cup of warm coffee with a top layer of foam on it. It smells like cinnamon and vanilla. You really, really don't want to drink it.

"Careful now, Leon is watching," Sabrina teases, making you turn to look for Leon. He is indeed staring at you, his blue eyes filled with expectation. When he catches you looking, he turns his face away, a deep blush on his cheeks, too focused on cleaning something behind him.

"I can do this." You tell yourself, taking a sip from the cup. Yeap, still bad. Still bad as the first time you tried it. You drink another small sip because Leon could still be watching before placing the cup on the table. "I don't think I can do this." You confess in a whisper to Sabrina, who doesn't answer. She giggles, drinking her coffee as water. She saves you the dignity to not tease you anymore, at least.

Noticing she wouldn't be any help, you take small sips while listening to Sabrina's news. It was easier to drink while she talked so that you could ignore the sour taste in your mouth.

When your cup is finally empty, you sigh in relief. You have done it. You are NOT disappointing any cute blushy barista today. Leon appears at the side of the table, eyes filled with expectation.

"How was it?"

"It was so good. My friend over here loved it, right? Right?" Sabrina smiles happily in your direction. You want to strangle her, but you nod, smirking instead.

"Perfect, Leon. Thank you."

Leon's eyes lock on you, and you stare back, starstruck. No one should be allowed to be this charming. His smile lights up his entire face, making him look even more special. The type you could fall in love with if you aren't careful enough.

"I will get those for you, then," He cleans the table, then leaves, nodding in your direction. When he is out of a safe distance, Sabrina sings low.

"I think he likes you!"

"Shut up, Sabrina!"

-x-

After that, you start to visit the coffee. Daily. You get to meet the rest of the employees: Luis, a handsome man with a captivating smile who constantly flirts with you. You already know Ashley, a young college student who is always excited to see you. And well, there is Leon. It is odd how you click so fast with Luis and Ashley; you could joke with them as much as you wanted, but things worked a little differently when it came to Leon. He made you nervous.

He always welcomes you with a warm smile and treats you with respect. You tried to tease Leon once, but it died in your throat when you watched his expression. He just looked so innocent, you just didn't want him to dislike something you did or said. What if he misinterpreted?

You also continue ordering the same coffee. Your newfound trick to not throw it away? Take it to work and give it to Sabrina. You know you are wasting money, but Leon's smile is worth every cent, especially when you place the money on the counter for "Leon's order". Like one morning, two weeks after your first visit, you enter the shop, and it is Luis at the register.

"Hello, pretty thing. Same order?" Luis asks, winking. 

"You know me, Luis, I am loyal." 

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Luis sighs, pretending to be disappointed. Ashley waves in your direction when she sees you, asking. "Let me guess, another Leon's order to go?"

"You know, it is my dream. One of those days, you will enter those doors and ask 'Can I get Luis's order or maybe Ashley's?" Luis teases, "No, it must always be Leon's order. I have started to wonder why."

"I like his coffee," You whisper in your defense. Luis smiles, knowing exactly what you like. He points to Leon's back, too focused on a coffee maker. "Your boyfriend is waiting."

You show off your tongue, rolling your eyes and going toward Leon. He guides a cup of steaming milk into a to-go cup, almost as if he is drawing. You don't say anything, watching his concentrated face as he finishes. Every inch of his attention to whatever he is drawing. When Leon is done, he turns toward you, opening a smile.

"H-hey. Here it is."

He puts the to-go cup in front of you, uncovered. You find it weird but don't discuss it.

"Morning. Thank you. My favorite, as always." You grab a lid nearby, closing it. Leon seems disappointed but doesn't say anything. You quickly take a sip, holding back a scowl. "Perfect as always, Leon. Thank you. I don't even know where I would be without Leon's every morning... Leon's order, I mean!"

The frown is gone, and Leon smiles timidly, blushing. Of course, you must embarrass yourself in front of him, but honestly, you don't mind. Your mornings always got much better after seeing his smile. You leave the coffee, waving bye to Ashley and Luis. When you are gone, Ashley and Luis surround Leon, too curious.

"Did they see it this time?" Luis wonders.

"No."

"Such a nice person, but so clueless," Ashley sighs, holding her chin. "Maybe you should just try writing your phone number on the cup, it would be more direct."

"Or maybe they don't like me that much..." Leon declares, making his co-workers groan.

"Not this again, Leon."

-x-

Three weeks pass like that. You go in, say hi to Ashley and Luis, get your coffee with Leon, smile at each other, and leave for work. There is some teasing here and there from Ashley and Luis, you tease back, and that is it. You wonder if you should get a different order, but Sabrina seems happy enough with the coffee, you are happy enough to see Leon, so it works.

The next morning, you enter the café to find Ashley organizing a casket of brownies. After greeting each other, you grab one from the basket. So those were the limited edition brownies Sabrina always talked about.

"Hey, Ashley, are those the famous delicious brownies?"

"Yeah. Made by an extraordinary chef, but I can't reveal his identity. It is top secret."

"Can I get one? And also a Le-"

"Leon's order? Yes, yes, I know," She groans, sounding tired. Leon appears from the back office, opening his usual smile when he sees you. You like to think it is your special smile, but it is probably how he smiles at every single client.

"Hey."

"Morning, Leon."

He starts preparing your drink the way he always does. You wonder if Leon is bored or if he can even make it with his eyes closed. Maybe you should ask him if his favorite order has even changed next time? As you watch Leon work, you give a big bite to the brownie. It is delicious. The perfect balance between chocolate and sweetness. 

"Ashley, those are so freaking good!" You exclaim, bringing her attention back to you.

"Oh really? Our chef will love to hear that!" Ashley says with a suggestive tone, giving a quick side look to Leon. You finish the brownie in a few bites as Leon puts your cup on the counter, his cheeks painted red. Again your cup is uncovered. You grab the lid and close it. It has become a ritual by now. 

"Thanks again, Leon."

When you look up at him, Leon has a different expression in his eyes. He blushes, no more than he usually does, his hand raised. Before you can ask what is wrong, he places his hand over yours on the cup lid. His hand is warm, probably normal for someone working with hot drinks all the time. You don't say anything, waiting. Leon seems to be waiting as well, for you to say anything. Neither of you does, and the moment is broken when the door opens, a huge group of women coming in.

"Sorry, I don't know—" 

"Bye!" You rush out of those doors, not looking back.

Well, that was certainly odd, you think. Leon has never touched you before. It seems that he wanted to tell you something, but at the same time, he was waiting for you to say something? When you get to work ten minutes later, the cup still warm in your hands, you search for Sabrina, not finding her. Gabriel, your other co-worker, explains she is sick.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Nasty flu."

"Oh, okay. I will message her later then."

You look at the cup in your hands to her empty table before asking Gabriel.

"Hey, do you want some coffee?"

"Free? Don't mind if I do! What has on it?"

"I guess coffee, milk, cinnamon? I don't really know."

"You don't know?" Gabriel asks, grabbing the cup from you. "You don't know what is in your cup? Here, let me smell it, I have an excellent sense of smell." He opens the lid to smell it and exclaims, "Awn, this is cute."

"What?"

"The heart."

"What heart?"

Gabriel carefully gets the cup to show you a heart drawing on top. You want to hit yourself in the head; is that what Leon has been doing? That's why he held your hand this morning to show the heart? No, it couldn't be. When Gabriel starts taking the cup to his mouth, you pull the cup back, placing the lid.

"Sorry, Gabriel, gotta go! I will return with another one!"

You rush back to the store, holding the cup firmly. Maybe, just maybe, Leon has been drawing those for you only, and you always close the lid? Maybe this is what he was trying to tell you this morning. What if Leon draws a heart for everyone? Shouldn't you be paying for that? What if—? No, no time to think of that. Perhaps this is your chance. You enter the shop, gasping for air. Ashley is nowhere around, and Leon is dusting around the table. When he sees you, his brows furrow, but he doesn't hesitate to get close to you.

"Are you okay? Something wrong?" Leon sounds concerned, his eyes scanning you.

You try to speak, still catching your breath. You pull the lid, triumphant.

"What does this mean?" 

When you two look at the cup, the drawing is gone. There is just a mess of brown liquid, smelling like vanilla and cinnamon. You can't believe it. You turn to Leon, pointing at the cup and him, your mouth opening and closing.

"Have you been drawing hearts in my cup this whole time?"

"I have." He admits, blushing. 

"Thanks?" Jeez, you couldn't come with something better. Leon nods as if understanding before starting to turn away. "No, wait, please, I mean, I like them. A lot."

His face lights up, and you wonder how someone can look so adorable. It is so unfair for you poor heart.

"Tha-that's good, then. I was wondering when you would see them."

"Well, 'cause the lady who drinks my coffee doesn't open the cups!" You try to explain to him, biting your tongue. Leon waits, confused. "Yeah, I don't like coffee," You finally confess your secret somberly, like a sinner talking to a priest.

"So wait. You don't like coffee and keep ordering it? Why?"

Well, now it is your turn to feel your face burning. Realization passes through Leon's face, and he starts stuttering something before three older ladies walk in, going directly to the cashier. He grabs your cup, his heart thumping as he rushes to write something. When Leon gives you back, you see his number written in black ink.

"Ca-can we discuss this better later tonight? If you want to, of course," Leon asks. You nod. "Then you can tell me all about your hate for coffee."

"I would love to."

[sweetiesicheng]

hoshi - nerves

word count : 579

happy hoshi day to the coolest performance team leader ever ~

-

"can someone fix my hair?" someone asked as they came back into the room that had been set up as your team's dressing room.

"i gotcha, sit down on the floor in front of me after i’m done," someone else answered before spraying hairspray into another person's hair.

someone coughed, "keep the hairspray to a minimum. that was way too much."

"fine, but don't blame me if your hair falls out on stage."

you had been stretching in a corner of the room while listening to everyone finish getting ready. you put headphones on and started playing the song you were dancing to. there were no mirrors in the room, so you had to hope you weren't messing up.

don't screw up out there y/n. you don't want to be that person.

you continued to go over the song before hearing someone call your name.

"yea?" you turned around and noticed everyone leaving the room.

"we're going to standby," hoshi, one of your team captains, said to you. "come on," he added, gesturing his head for you to leave the room.

you nodded and took your headphones off, putting them in your bag. you scurried out of the room and walked with some of your teammates to where you needed to standby.

some of your teammates were going over your routine while others kept themselves warm by stretching. you listened to some notes that a few people said while waiting to perform.

"you guys ready?"

you looked up and saw one of your team captains checking in with everyone. now, there was only a few minutes until your team went on stage.

"i'm good!"

"me too."

"yea, we're okay."

you kept yourself warm by doing small exercises, trying to calm your nerves at the same time. this was your first time performing in awhile since you took a break because of your classes at university, and this was a competition that your team usually competed in, so you were feeling the pressure.

"y/n? you okay?"

you looked up and saw hoshi looking at you in concern. he knew you had been worried about today, but he was busy with registration and other logistics for the majority of the day, meaning that he couldn't check up on you. 

you shrugged, "i'll be fine," you told him.

"come with me for a second," he requested. he started walking into another hallway and turned back to gesture you to follow him.

you followed him into the other hallway, and he immediately hugged you tight.

"you're shaking,” hoshi said to you. "you feeling okay?" he asked.

you nodded, "i think so. i'm just nervous," you mentioned and hugged him back. "i don't want to screw it up for everyone."

"you'll be fine, baby," he replied. "we're gonna go out there and kill this stage."

"i hope so..."

"hey, look at me," hoshi said. you looked at him, and he kissed you. "all of us are going to go out there, and do what we love. we got this," he said to you and hugged you tight again.

you didn't let him go. everything about him just made you feel better because of his kind and energetic personality.

you felt him rub your back a little before quickly letting go.

"oh! we need to go!" he said to you and looked into the other hallway. "ready?" he asked.

you smiled at him, "yea, i am."

hoshi smiled at you, "okay, let's go."

[illusioninfnty]

can i request rafe x fwb reader where reader finds out hes dating sofia and she goes to confront him that he didnt even have the decency to let her know their arrangement was over and he says "who said it was over?''

Thank you for the request anon! Just a quick note, I have not watched a single minute of Outer Banks lol. Because of this I didn’t add in any of the canon plot but I hope you enjoy nonetheless!

Empty Words || Rafe Cameron x Reader

Your relationship with Rafe was complicated, to say the least.

You argued, you partied, you flirted, you fucked, and you fought in the most vicious ways. There were many times when you left him, told him you couldn’t do it anymore, but there was something about him that always had you crawling back.

Rafe always made you feel special, despite the casual status of your relationship. He was the best sex you’ve ever had, and you’ve slept with quite a number of people. He was more attentive than any other guy, making sure you came each and every time. Even if it was for his own ego, to say he could make you cum, you didn’t care as long as you got some pleasure out of it.

He could be chivalrous when he wanted to, something simple as holding doors for you and paying for your drinks to initially coming over for sex but ending up taking care of you when you were feeling under the weather.

And then there was the jealousy.

Rafe was a possessive man, no doubt about that. Despite his refusal to date you, keeping your relationship strictly as friends with benefits, the amount of times he got into fights with guys who flirted with you at parties or bars was astronomical. It would take more than both hands to count the amount of times you had to drag Rafe back to your house to clean up his bloody knuckles and pray that he doesn’t get arrested over something so stupid.

He felt like a jealous boyfriend, yet every time you would bring up making your relationship more serious, he would scoff in your face and say he doesn’t do that stuff.

You don’t think you’d ever truly understand him.

You stare at the text from Rafe that you just got, perplexed. You told him not to reach out to you again after yet another bar fight, what you want to be your last time being with him.

Key word: want.

The come over flashes in your face like a warning sign, and you don’t even know how to reply at this point. You hate the way you’re so close to doing just that, the magnetic pull he has on you working its magic.

But you’re so focused on the text to notice that you walk right into someone else.

“Fuck!” you hiss, rubbing your shoulder in the spot that made contact with the other girl. The impact causes your phone to drop out of your hand, and you bend to pick it up. “Sorry about that.”

“Oh my gosh!” You hear the girl call your name. A quick glance up has you staring into the face of Sarah Cameron, Rafe’s younger sister. “It’s been forever! How are you doing?”

Sarah is as upbeat as ever, and her infectious smile causes your mood to shift and you can’t help but smile back at her. “I’ve been well,” you reply gently.

She nods enthusiastically. Seeming to be in an even peppier mood than usual. “It sucks that I can’t see you as much anymore, but I’m glad that you finally got away from Rafe.” She pouts and rolls her eyes. “He was such a dick to you. I don’t know how someone so sweet like you could’ve ever been friends with him.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Got away?” You ask. You aren’t sure what she means by that. Besides, with the way he’s texting you, it doesn’t seem like he wants to be “away” from you.

“You didn’t hear? He’s, like, been official with Sofia for a bit. She posted on her Instagram and everything.”

You can feel your face heat up in anger over her words. You couldn’t believe you allowed yourself to be played like that. He had the fucking audacity to text you to come over, to embarrass you in public with his jealousy, all for him to have a girlfriend at the same time?

“Thanks, Sarah,” you say to the girl hurriedly. “I have to go. It was nice seeing you.”

You don’t wait to hear her reply before you storm off.

It doesn’t take long for you to reach the Cameron household. You’ve been there countless times before, and you also know that now is one of the few times when Rafe will be the only one home. You knock on the door, loud enough so that he can hear you.

He answers quicker than usual, probably expecting your presence as your answer to his text. His typical smirk is plastered to his face, and it makes you more pissed than horny as all of Sarah’s words come back to you.

“Took you long enough,” he starts, trailing his hand down to your ass. You push his arm off you, turning past him and crossing your arms. Your jaw is clenched and Rafe’s eyes are questioning now.

“What the fuck, Rafe?” You ask, your tone clipped. “I’m done. Done with you.”

He doesn’t even have the decency to respond, just staring down at you with intense eyes. “Goddammit!” You push against his chest, annoyed with his indifference. He grabs your wrists, restraining you in your place. “I’m not kidding. I’m seriously done, Rafe.” You fight against his hold to no avail.

“Don’t fucking do this,” he says, his words coming from deep in his throat. It’s a tone he rarely uses with you, one he saves for when he’s absolutely pissed. “What’s it this time? Someone got in your ear?”

“Sarah told me—”

“Fucking Sarah,” Rafe interrupts. “Always in my fucking business. Don’t listen to her, she just wants to piss me off.”

You roll your eyes, ignoring him and finishing your previous statement. “She told me you're with Sofia.”

You can feel his whole body still, and your heart drops at the now confirmed truth. It makes you even angrier—him acting like this, despite lying to your face and choosing to date another girl.

“That doesn’t mean shit,” he says through clenched teeth. His eyes are intense as he bores his gaze into you. “You’re my girl.”

Before, you’d swoon at his words, but now it makes you shudder in disgust.

“God, I can’t fucking believe you!” you scoff in his face. “You don’t even have the decency to end things with me before finally getting a girlfriend?”

Rafe is eerily silent. It unsettles you, and you fight to release yourself from our grip and finally leave him once and for all. 

But he doesn’t let you go. Rafe holds your wrist tightly, pushing forward into his house until he has you pressed against a wall. His free hand moves up towards your face. He ghosts it over your throat and you swallow harshly, your breathing shaky. He settles his hand around your jawline, squeezing it hard. You don’t dare to make a move.

His next words make your whole body run cold.

“Who said it was over?”