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bvidzsoo · 3 months ago

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So it's always been you

᠀𓏲Cherry Blossom, March Event᠀𓏲

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: model!Jung Wooyoung x stylist!reader

᠀𓏲 Warning: cursing, mentions of a sex toy ᠀𓏲 Word count: 6k ᠀𓏲 Rating: nc-17 ᠀𓏲 Genre: fluff, soulmates: whenever you lose an item, it ends up in your soulmates' possession somehow, fashion week au, model x stylist romance, best friends to lovers, humour ᠀𓏲 Summary: Both young and restless, Wooyoung and you have started out your careers around the same time. As newbies in the industry, you quickly found yourselves sticking together and growing closer with each passing day. Now, many years down the line, everyone knows that you and Wooyoung are inseparable besties, who have each other's backs and will crack up at the stupidest of jokes. As his stylist, it's also convenient that whatever Wooyoung loses just magically turns up in your possession since he's known for losing his stuff often. It takes you quite the years to figure it out, but when you do eventually, everything just clicks in place, all of it making sense.

A/N: Ooh, and Wooyoung's part is here! Hello, my lovelies, I hope you are enjoying our event so far, the rest of the stories are just as exciting as the previous ones hehe. This one here is a little bit sillier and all the cuter, imo. Also, what were the chances of Wooyoung attending another fashion week right as I was supposed to write this drabble? Anyways, thank you Wooyoung for gracing us with your hotness, totally appreciate it hahaha. Thank you for your support so far and for all the feedback you've left! I love hearing your thoughts, so don't be shy and share them with me. I hope you enjoy this one! ^^ divider @cromernet

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@mizushimakumiko

The camera flash blinded you for a second as you squinted your eyes, trying to figure out just what was missing from the look. From a distance, everything looked perfect, but upon a closer look, you could tell something needed to be added to tie the whole outfit together. The flash went off again, and you bit your bottom lip, eyebrows furrowed, as your eyes moved from your best friend onto the screen you were standing in front of.

“Alright, now tilt your pelvis forward and lean slightly back!” The photographer instructed as your eyes traced your best friend’s sharp features. He was a handsome man, unique-looking with features that few other models could claim. His sharp jawline and gorgeous nose would catch anyone’s eyes when flipping through a magazine, and the uneven form of his eyes made you stare at the man. His tan skin-complex was gorgeous under the sunlight, and you often found people staring at him—yourself included. You enjoyed looking at beautiful things, and as his best friend and stylist, you were supposed to admire Jung Wooyoung in order to create the perfect look for whatever occasion he needed you for professionally, “Oh! Raise your leg. Yes, that looks amazing!”

You smiled a little to yourself, eyes drawn to the pictures as the flash went off again and again, capturing Wooyoung’s sharp but ethereal beauty. He wore black clothes today, the scaly silver vest standing out nicely against the rest of the clothes. But the longer you looked at the picture, the more you started realizing that Wooyoung forgot to wear a piece…again. He was an airhead on the worst of days, forgetting his stuff in his room—or worse, in a spot where you’d never find it again—or he’d downright lose his things. Luckily, his best friend, you, were always there to find whatever he had lost previously. You felt like your mother sometimes, reaching inside Wooyoung’s closet just to find the item he was complaining about not being there…being exactly there. It’s like your hands yielded magic like none other, like magnets to anything that was owned by Jung Wooyoung. You sighed as you shook your head, and your assistant raised her eyebrows.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, tone tinged with slight concern, “Do you not like the lighting? Are the angles bad? Should I tell the photographer we’re done for today?! I mean, I know he’s a newbie, but he’s really—”

“Relax,” You chuckled, grabbing her shoulder to squeeze it, “Everything’s fine. Wooyoung just forgot to put on his necklace. I’ll be right back.”

Your assistant visibly relaxed, and you watched her reach for her iced coffee, her hand slightly shaking as she raised the cup to her mouth. One would think she was Wooyoung’s manager by how much she fussed over the man, ordering the staff around if something seemed off to make sure Wooyoung had everything he needed. You left the room, walking down the hallway towards the dressing cabin, glancing at your wristwatch. It was getting late, and you were hungry. You still had to pack a bit, and your flight was in just two days. Wooyoung, much to the both of your joy, had been invited to the Paris Fashion Week. It’s been a longtime dream of his, and due to his perseverance and determination, he was finally living out his dream. And through him, by being by his side, you were also thriving like never before.

Wooyoung and you had met a good six years ago, when you were both too young and too dumb to realise what it meant working in the fashion industry. Wooyoung was just starting his modelling career, and you had been assigned your first big and important job as a stylist. Until then, you had been shadowing a well-known designer, sticking to his side to learn absolutely everything. Wooyoung, on the other hand, had no one to rely on. He came from a relatively modest family, and his parents hadn’t been the happiest when Wooyoung had told them about his career choice, but they didn’t stop him from following through with his wishes. It was a good thing, you knew how much it meant to have your parents’ support in anything you did. Your mother worked as a fashion article editor at one of the more well-known magazines, so to break in, you didn’t have to do as much hard work as Wooyoung did. And yet, the day you two had met, you both had felt like little unassuming kids, clinging onto each other for a little reassurance that you were doing well and not possibly about to ruin your careers before they could even start. After that first job of your lives, Wooyoung asked whether you wanted to get chicken wings with him, and, well, you’ve been having chicken wings with him after shoots ever since.

You smiled slightly at the memory, knowing well that Wooyoung would drag you to the nearest place that sold chicken wings and Soju, eager to end the day with a little alcohol in his system. He wasn’t a big drinker, but celebrating your success after a long day was always a must in Wooyoung’s book. First, you looked around the dressing room, thinking where the necklace could be lying, deciding to sift through all the discarded makeup on the tables. It wouldn’t be the first time that your jewellery got mixed up with the beauty items, but a quick sweep over the table proved that it wasn’t there. Next, you looked all over the sofas, coffee tables, and even inside Wooyoung’s duffel bag, only to come up empty-handed. Then, deciding that maybe it really was you who hadn’t handed Wooyoung the necklace, you went to your jewellery box and opened it, your eyebrows furrowed. You looked through it, making sure the fragile necklaces were safely in their protective cases—or else the brands you had rented them from would kill you and tarnish your name for an eternity—and still, it wasn’t there. You groaned as you stood up straight, trying to think harder, mentally rewinding your day to see whether you had left it at your office. Coming up empty-handed, you sighed in defeat and crossed your arms over your torso, pursing your lips as you turned to leave. Taking three steps away from your stuff, your eyes caught the unmistakable glint of diamonds peeking out from right underneath the grey blanket Wooyoung had used to cover himself with before walking to the shoot.

You scoffed and shook your head in mild annoyance, stomping over to the beanbag before you ripped the blanket off, the necklace glinting almost mockingly at you. You pursed your lips and carefully took it, holding it gingerly as you hurried back to the shooting room, just in time as the photographer called for a quick water break. He walked over to his computer with his professional camera, smiling at your assistant and then turning his head to the visual director to discuss more set ideas and poses that enunciated the clothes Wooyoung wore. Your eyes narrowed at your best friend as you stepped over all the wires, stepping out of your heels to not dirty the white canvas he stood on. He raised an eyebrow in amusement, opening his mouth to probably mock you for losing from your height quite significantly, but instead pointed at the necklace in your hands as a squeak left his mouth.

“Where’d you find that?!” He asked amazed, approaching you with excitement, “I’ve lost that this morning when Claire called me over for makeup.”

“Of course,” You scoffed as you muttered under your breath, narrowing your eyes at Wooyoung, “How many times have I told you that you can’t lose designer stuff when it’s rented, Wooyoung?! Do you think I have the money to pay for a necklace filled with diamonds if something happens to it?!”

The cheeky smirk already told you that you wouldn’t like his answer, “No, but I can certainly afford it.”

You groaned and slapped his arm not so gently, making Wooyoung whine before he started pouting, “Stop that; you’re acting like a spoiled brat in front of everyone. Now, lean forward for me, please.”

Wooyoung grinned and parted his legs slightly, leaning forward so that his face was positioned exactly in front of yours. He giggled and then stuck his tongue out when you two made eye contact, making you glare at him playfully before you reached forward, wrapping the diamond necklace around his warm neck. The design was special and intricate, and you loved the way it sat against Wooyoung’s skin. It sat tightly at the base of his neck, almost like a choker, the little diamonds glinting even brighter under the studio lights, and that wasn’t even what made it so special. You had to clasp the necklace together at the front of your neck because of the dangling chain that reached a little above Wooyoung’s belly button. It was exactly what Wooyoung’s outfit needed to make him look like the star he was, shining brightly under the white camera lights. Wooyoung’s eyes creased as he smiled at you sweetly, patting your head gently as a means of thanks.

“Now it’s perfect.” You muttered as you adjusted his collar once more, smoothing down the already smooth vest against his shoulders, but you just had to double-check everything. Wooyoung’s chest was exposed due to the very low V-neckline of the black sleeveless blouse he wore, tucked inside pants that flared around his legs and made his limbs seem longer. The chunky high heels he wore added to the charm, of course, but even without them, the pantlegs made Wooyoung’s legs seem like they stretched on for far longer as they pooled around his ankles. You had avoided using a belt since the emphasis was on the shiny scaled vest, heavy in your hands as you had helped Wooyoung into it. And now, with the diamond necklace around his neck, he looked like the model that was supposed to be on the cover of Vogue—which he would be with this issue. His long hair was whisked out of his face, and a few stray strands fell into his eyes, curling around his nape, with strands pinned behind his ears.

“Am I all ready to conquer the fashion world, Miss?” Wooyoung quirked an eyebrow as he stood up straight, looming over you and making you feel weird. You blamed those damn high heels and the fact that you had to be barefoot right now.

“Of course, you are, Mr. Jung.” You grinned and patted his chest, “You’re already a star.”

“The brightest, hopefully,” Wooyoung added, slightly quieter, and you hummed, offering him a small smile.

“To me, definitely.” He chuckled at your quiet reply, but you could see it on his face that it gave him the reassurance and little confident boost that he just so needed right now. You heard a clap behind you, and you knew it was your cue to leave Wooyoung alone, so you winked at him and then turned around, walking to your heels to step into them, then joined your assistant behind the scenes. The photographer grinned at Wooyoung as a stool was brought in, the background changing to a grey as a spotlight was focused on Wooyoung.

“Oh, this is really pretty.” The man muttered to himself, but you, being closer to him, heard it, “This is amazing, Wooyoung! Just do whatever feels good right now, grab your necklace, throw your head back, run your fingers through your hair, give me your most fierce glare—anything will do right now!”

“He’s so enthusiastic.” Wooyoung’s makeup artist chimed up behind you with a chuckle, back from his lunch break.

“I would be, too, if I got the chance to work with the Jung Wooyoung.” There was a slightly dreamy tone to your assistant’s voice, and you chuckled, giving her a questioning look.

“You do work with the Jung Wooyoung, though.” Your assistant flushed as she lowered her head, averting her eyes when the makeup artist started laughing a little too loudly. You elbowed him in the stomach, giving him a look that told him to shut up.

“Right,” The assistant muttered, pouting slightly, “He’s just so beautiful, it’s hard not to fall for him—not that I’m in love with him! It’s just—it’s good working with him; he’s a good person.”

“He really is,” You agreed as you watched your best friend do what he knew best, staring into the lens of the camera like a lion, fearless and ready to conquer, “Except when he’s yapping your ears off after a long day. Then, he’s the devil.”

Your co-workers chuckled at your playful jab, but they didn’t know it as well as you what it meant to ride back home in the same car with Jung Wooyoung after a very long and very tiring day, while all you wish for is to relax and be surrounded by silence, only for Wooyoung to either tell you random things he’s suddenly remembered, or ask the driver to turn up the music to scream the lyrics at the top of his lungs. And his voice wasn’t good, that’s why he was a model and not an idol.

Being Wooyoung’s best friend has changed you over the years. While growing up, you were never too outspoken, too scared of hurting others. You didn’t like being in the limelight and also tried to suck up to your superiors, thinking that would get you on their good side, making you a booked and busy stylist. That wasn’t the case, however, and if there was one essential thing you learned from Wooyoung, it was the fact that you shouldn’t stay silent if faced with mistreatment, you shouldn’t let anyone walk all over you or make you feel like shit for something you thought looked gorgeous. Being on Wooyoung’s side, working alongside him in a toxic industry that required you to have steel balls, is just who you became—an outspoken and honest person, unafraid to point out injustice or bullying. But by being Wooyoung’s best friend, you have also learned to laugh more, to cry without feeling embarrassed or weak, and the most important thing that he’s taught you…was to never let him go past five shots of Soju unless you wanted to stay up all night as Wooyoung sobbed with his head resting on the toilet seat, promising to never again drink alcohol. A week later, he was found dancing on top of tables with two cocktails in his hands. But these were the old times, times when you could act however you wanted, a bit more carefree and less stressed.

You couldn’t tell how it happened or when it started, but being by Wooyoung’s side just felt right. You didn’t feel the need to act a certain way in his presence; you could snort like a pig and wheeze like a witch, and no judgment would cross his features. You could also bare your heart to him, bleeding and aching, and he wouldn’t try to use your insecurities against you in the future. No, he’d make sure they were locked away from the rest of the world, even if he was mad at you. Wooyoung was a good person, and you were thankful you had met him. In a world where finding your soulmate was no easy feat, for some reason, you didn’t feel like you had to actively search for them. At times, you wondered if they were even real—the legend of your lost things wounding up in your soulmate’s possession—but then again, you were sure it was real because it happened to your parents, your aunts and uncles, and even your grandparents. It felt a bit silly and slightly concerning when you thought of all the things you managed to lose over the years, and yet, in some magical way, your possessions always turned back up in your hands. That is why you weren’t so sure of the prophecy anymore, of the invisible red string—or just a really smelly sock—that tied you to your fated lover.

You sighed as you swiped past three pictures of models clad in designer clothes, not quite pleased with the outfits. The light jazz music in the background was calming as your left leg bounced up and down, wine glass in the hand that didn’t hold the iPad. You could hear Wooyoung humming along to the music from the kitchen, tinkering about as if he was a kitchen fairy. You were over for dinner—which was unsurprising to anyone—for a good home-cooked meal before you’d depart to France. You hated flying, and the thought of being stuck inside an airplane for so many hours had your heart racing, but seeing Wooyoung’s relaxed demeanour calmed you a bit.

“The pasta’s almost done.” Came Wooyoung's voice as he appeared in the doorway, leaning against the wooden frame. For someone as rich as Wooyoung, he certainly had no desire to flaunt his wealth around, judging based on his timid and cosy apartment. Hell, even his home in Paris was more flamboyant, screaming richness and big-city boy. The AMG cabriolet in the parking garage, however, did hint at your best friend’s wealth, “Have you made any progress?”

You sighed and shook your head, prompting Wooyoung to walk over. He wasn’t drinking tonight, said the pasta would puff him up, so he didn’t want to ruin his skin by also drinking. It was not that wine would cause more harm to his flawless complexion; it was just hard to move Wooyoung once he was convinced of something.

“I can’t find anything I like.” You muttered before you took a sip of your wine, swiping to the next picture. The leather pants looked good on the model; they weren’t skin tight, but they were low rise. You wondered if Wooyoung would like it just as he plopped down on the soft sofa.

“How about something I like?” He raised an eyebrow cheekily, and you chuckled, shuffling around to sit cross-legged. Your knee brushed against Wooyoung’s thigh, and his body seemed to melt back into the cushions as he leaned towards you, relaxing into your side. You smiled as you turned your iPad to show him the model and outfit.

“How about these pants?” You asked, remembering Wooyoung’s preferences, which rarely changed.

“Oh, they look nice.” Wooyoung hummed, zooming in on the picture, “I want these.”

“You do?” You asked, surprised, turning your head to look at your best friend. Wooyoung was a physically affectionate person, and once you had gotten used to it, you craved it if he didn’t give it to you. You liked it when he cosied up into your side, and in the rare moments when you both were too exhausted to drive home from each other’s apartments, you’d end up falling asleep together, cuddled up. You didn’t think it was very normal to say you really liked falling asleep in Wooyoung’s arms, so you kept that thought locked away deep down in your mind. You tried not to think about the fact that being around your best friend just felt right, a feeling you never got around anyone. One of your aunts had once told you that when she met her husband, she knew it was him because, one, she had lost her panties at customs somehow, and two, when their eyes met, this overwhelming calmness numbed her mind, everything about the man seemingly just…right. You sighed and shook your head when you felt Wooyoung looking at you with a questioning look on his face, “Sorry, the wine’s getting to me. What did you say?”

Wooyoung chuckled, then ruffled your hair with teasingly narrowed eyes, “You have to be on your A game if you expect me to take you with me to Paris, Missy. But I was saying…do you think it’d be too much if I showed more skin this time?”

Your eyes slightly widened, but you shook your head with pursed lips, “On the contrary, you’d hit the headlines, Mr. Jung. More headlines mean more engagement and curiosity—and what does that mean?”

“More money, more power, more wealth!” You singsonged at the same time before you burst out laughing, making Wooyoung groan.

“Who are you, and what have you done to my best friend?” He pouted, then took the iPad from your hands to swipe through the outfits you had selected as potential looks for his Fashion Week appearance, “I knew I shouldn’t have introduced you to Jongho; now you’re a monster of capitalism as well.”

You laughed and subconsciously leaned your head against Wooyoung’s shoulder, sighing loudly once you settled down. You played with your glass of wine as you watched the pictures Wooyoung was swiping through way too fast to see anything, or so you thought because he made a surprised sound, quickly swiping back.

“Oh! I like this one!” He was pointing at a jacket; you hummed in acknowledgment.

“I thought I was your stylist.” You jabbed playfully, and Wooyoung laughed, putting down the iPad as he turned his head to look down at you. You slightly pulled your head off his shoulder, downing the rest of your wine.

“I just merely helped out. You can add the accessories and worry about the hairstyle and makeup.” You nodded but then realised his outfit wasn’t just yet complete.

“Right, and I also have to find you a shirt.” A beat of silence passed as a small smirk crept onto Wooyoung’s lips.

“Or not.”

“Or not?”

“Remember we just said more money, more power, more wealth?” You quirked an eyebrow as Wooyoung stood, slapping your thigh away playfully as you yelped in surprise, “Well, I’m working on just that, my dear.”

“So, no jacket, noted.” You muttered, favouriting the two pictures Wooyoung said he liked. You’d have to forward them to the brand tonight if you wanted the clothing items on Wooyoung in just three days, “By the way, have you seen my beaded bracelet?”

“The one I won for you as a joke at the fair?” You hummed, and Wooyoung shrugged, “Nope, why?”

“I lost it…again.” You whined as you threw your head back against the sofa, groaning as you wrist felt empty without it. Wooyoung had gotten you that bracelet five years ago. You rarely took it off, and yet you had managed to lose it anytime you did, which would make this one the fourth time you did. Your heart clenched at the thought of having actually lost the bracelet this time, but you were distracted by Wooyoung’s stomps as they came back towards you. You hadn’t even noticed him walking back inside the kitchen.

“Idiot,” Wooyoung huffed, then you felt something hit the side of your head, making you squeak in surprise, “You left it on the counter.”

You turned your head and looked down at the sofa, eyes widening as the beaded bracelet now lay next to you.

“I swear I didn’t!” You defended yourself, grabbing the bracelet to wear it, “I couldn’t find it since the photoshoot!”

“Yeah, whatever.” Wooyoung waved you off with dismissal as he headed back inside the kitchen, “Come eat, the pasta’s done. I’m going to bed early tonight.”

“Are you kicking me out, Jung Wooyoung?!” You raised your voice as you got off the sofa, grabbing your empty wine glass to bring to the kitchen.

“Hell, yeah, I am! Did you finish packing?”

He got you there. At your silence, Wooyoung just had a knowing smirk on his face. Fuck, and your flight was early in the morning tomorrow.

The whole place was a mess, and it was all your fault. You hadn’t even unpacked yet, even though you should have since you were staying here for a week. But you were usually too lazy to unpack, so your things ended up all over the floor and around your luggage. And this time, like many other times, that came to bite you back in the ass. You were pushing around the piles of clothes, mainly trying to find the top you had selected to wear for the event, but also because you had a bad feeling that you had lost…well, an item that you certainly didn’t wish anyone else to find. Not because it was embarrassing to own it, but because it was a bit…questionable. Your girlfriends had gotten it as a joke for your birthday last year, and well, the joke turned into an actually very appreciated gift by you. You sighed and fell back onto your ass, the floorboards warm since they had heating installed in them. Unlike the rest of your team, you had the privilege of staying with Wooyoung in his fancy apartment in Paris while you were here for Fashion Week. Today was the big day, and you were waiting for the makeup team to arrive. You and Wooyoung had gotten up early and had breakfast, serving a small cup of coffee on the balcony that overlooked the city, and for some reason, you started feeling nostalgic about all the things you’d gone through together to get here.

Wooyoung was affectionate but rarely the extra clingy type with you, so when he hugged you out on the balcony and thanked you for being by his side and encouraging him like no one else, you almost teared up. You also chose to ignore the weird flutter of your heart since this was your best friend, the guy you’d walk through fire for. Sighing again, you decided to give your clothes another dive when you heard a loud screech coming from outside your room. You jumped in fright and turned your body, listening for any other sounds. You doubted anyone had broken inside the apartment, but then again, why was Wooyoung reacting so strangely? Deciding you could find your top five minutes later, too, you ripped your door open and took about three steps outside before you froze, blood running cold and jaw dropping open.

“What the fuck?!” You asked, eyes on the ridged orange-purple dildo in Wooyoung’s hand. He had a weird expression on his face, like he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and it didn’t help that his blush spread from his neck down to his exposed chest. He was also in the middle of wearing his clothes, apparently; the button of his leather pants wasn’t even buttoned yet. Your initial shock barely seemed to pass, but then you felt laughter bubbling past your lips. Wooyoung’s mouth opened, but it seemed like he didn’t know what to say as he looked between you and his extended hand, “I had no idea you were into stuff like that.”

A beat of silence passed before Wooyoung’s whole expression turned flabbergasted, and it’s been too long since you heard your best friend lamely tumble over his own words, “What?! That’s—this isn’t mine! This is a dildo, bro! Why would I own a dildo?! I don’t—not that I have anything against taking it up the ass—I mean, I heard it feels good sometimes—wait! Forget I said that! Oh my god, I swear it’s not mine!”

“Then whose is it?” You quirked an eyebrow, trying not to laugh in Wooyoung’s face again. The problem, however, was that the dildo looked suspiciously similar to the one you had been looking for this morning…the item that you had packed before leaving and was now nowhere in your luggage. You gulped, and suddenly your throat felt dry as warmth crept up your neck and cheeks. Wooyoung noticed your sudden demeanour shift and looked down at the dildo in his hand, a small smirk appearing on his lips.

“Whose is it, you ask?” Fuck, you hated your life as Wooyoung’s head fell back, a hauntingly shrill laughter leaving his mouth, “I had no idea you were into monster cocks—”

“Oh my god, shut up!” You shrieked as you stormed towards him, slapping your hand over his mouth as you ripped your dildo out of his hand, feeling mortified that your best friend had seen it. Your friendship transcended many boundaries, but not this one. This one was too intimate and definitely something you didn’t want Wooyoung knowing about, “I’m going to kill you, Woo, if you say anything to anyone about this.”

Wooyoung snorted as you released his mouth, raising an eyebrow mockingly, “Who am I going to tell? Your assistant? My makeup artist—wait, he might actually have better suggestions—”

“Wooyoung!” You screamed and slapped his chest, the sound loud as Wooyoung whined, cradling his naked chest as he gave you a pout.

“Hey, if that leaves a handprint, I’m posting your dildo on SNS.” Your eyes bulged out of your head, mortified all over again.

“Just—God, forget this happened! Delete it out of your memory, or something—don’t look at me like that!” But Wooyoung was cackling again, and because you had the sudden urge to shove him back and whine until he stopped making fun of you, you decided to storm back inside your room with your whole face beet red. You heard Wooyoung’s footsteps follow after you, but you still slammed the door shut for effect. He laughed before he nudged the door open, leaning against the doorframe as you shoved the dildo far underneath your pile of clothes. You still had to find your top, but currently, all you wished to do was jump off the balcony. Just how did your damn dildo end up in Wooyoung’s possession? You were sure you had packed it and then that you lost it somewhere underneath all the clothes, so just how did it turn up in Wooyoung’s bedroom? This felt like the end of the world as you groaned loudly, shaking your head. You expected Wooyoung to make another comment about the dildo, but instead, he said something else that made you flush again.

“Wear a jacket over your bra, and we’ll be matching.” Man, he just had to make everything worse. Your head turned sharply as you narrowed your eyes at Wooyoung, conscious that your torso was also bare except for your bra.

“I’m not going out there in a bra and jacket, Wooyoung.”

“Pity, everyone would see we belong together.”

And you had no time to question his words because the doorbell rang, signalling that the makeup team was here.

Today had been a successful day. The media was obsessed with Wooyoung, outlets were talking about him and wanting his attention and time while you were in Paris, so you couldn’t be prouder and happier. You loved watching your best friend from the sidelines as he shined like the star he was, deserving of all the adoration and appreciation. Wooyoung was a confident man, but even he had his lapses of judgment. It felt right to support him from the shadows, but it also felt right when he ran up to you after the event to squeeze you tight, lift you off the ground and twirl you around as you both giggled. Yeah, teenager you would’ve never believed you’d once actually achieve your dreams, especially not while finding a best friend for life in the process. You were so happy that it threatened to overspill, and you had no idea what to do with it, so you just settled on smiling until your cheeks hurt, but you didn’t care.

It was the evening now, and you were getting ready to go out for a celebratory dinner with the whole team. Your assistant had been bugging you with restaurants the whole afternoon, and in the end, you just told her to choose whatever she liked. She was over the moon and told you that you could trust her to choose only the best, and you believed her because ever since she started working for you, she had been excelling at her job. Your satin black dress was flowy and simple, a turtleneck that had to be clasped together, so Wooyoung had helped you before you struggled into your white stilettos. Now, you were trying to get your diamond earrings in—a present you got three years ago from Wooyoung—but you dropped the left one. You sighed and bent to pick it up—but it disappeared. You blinked, confused and slightly startled, looking at the empty floor. It was there a second ago, and now it was nowhere. You muttered a curse under your breath as you stood up straight, looking at the dresser to convince yourself you weren’t hallucinating, and indeed, the earring wasn’t there either.

“Hey,” You flinched and whirled around, no doubt looking like you’ve seen a ghost, “Did you lose your earring?”

There, in Wooyoung’s palm, lay the earring you had dropped seconds ago. Your mouth fell open as your heart started racing, your ears ringing as you found yourself unable to speak. Your body was jittery all of a sudden, cheeks warm as you kept staring at Wooyoung with a newfound understanding. Before you could utter the words that sounded completely mental even to yourself, Wooyoung continued, “Have you seen my wrist cuff? I think I dropped it somewhere—”

And no, you hadn’t seen the wrist cuff before, but now, yes, it was suddenly in your goddamn hand. Wooyoung’s words died out in his throat, eyes bulging wide as he gaped at you in shock. His breathing got faster and you watched his hands tremble as he looked down at your earring in his palm, and yeah, holy shit, all this time it’s been Jung Wooyoung.

“Fuck, what the fuck?!” Wooyoung whispered to yourself, approaching you with sparkling eyes, “It’s—me. And then—it’s you. We are—Y/N, are we—”

“We are soulmates, Wooyoung, holy shit!” You whispered back, still in disbelief, all those years of being by each other’s side suddenly replaying in front of your eyes as if you were watching a movie. How could you be so dense that you didn’t realise until now?!

“Wooyoung.”

“Y/N.” And then Wooyoung was laughing, cupping your face as he closed the distance, “We are so fucking dumb.”

You would’ve laughed, but Wooyoung’s warm lips were pressed against yours, and he tasted like grapes, so weird yet so addicting. You’ve never fantasised about kissing your best friend before—no, your soulmate—but as your bodies pressed together now, you couldn’t imagine living anymore without this. You fit together perfectly as if you were made for each other—which, unironically, you were—and it all felt surreal as your lips moved languidly against Wooyoung’s, so right and all so warm and fuzzy. His hand was gentle on your cheek as he caressed it, and your fingers twisted his ironed shirt as you hoped this moment never ended. All these years, your soulmate was right next to you, reachable and available, and you were living in the belief that the legend was nothing but that, a silly legend to keep everyone dreaming about the moment they’d find the one. And no, it wasn’t just a legend anymore; it was as real as it could get.

“We are idiots.” You muttered as you pulled back, pressing small kisses against Wooyoung’s lips, who tried to chase after your mouth when you detached yourself from him, “We have to get ready; the car will be here in fifteen minutes.”

“Screw dinner, I want to stay here with you.”

“Wooyoung, we already know each other.”

“Yes, as best friends, but this—this is a new version of us.”

“Is it, really? Or will you lose your damn wrist cuff the second I turn my back to you?”

You both giggled, and you closed your eyes when Wooyoung kissed you again, slow and tender.

“Okay, whatever, let’s get dinner, but when we get back—”

“We will sleep because I’m completely exhausted.”

The spark of hope died out in Wooyoung’s eyes for a second, but it was swiftly back, “In the same bed?”

“Yes, in the same bed, Wooyoung.”

He fist-bumped the air, and you laughed, staring adoringly at your best friend turned soulmate. Oh, your life will be filled with so much happiness and love; this was everything you could’ve ever wished for. Maybe it is too early to say, but you loved Jung Wooyoung—your best friend, your soulmate.

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jeonstudios · 4 months ago

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dextrocardia | 17

Dextrocardia. Originally a medical term, but also a way to describe someone who's got their heart in the right place.

"She's been moved to another operation to help out. This pairing is necessary because you'll be undercover as spouses. I know you two can be professional about this."

"What?!" It's Jeongguk's upset voice that sounds, and for once, you share his displeased opinion.

Spouses.

pairing: cop!jk x f detective!reader

genre: undercover cops, fake marriage, e2l au, angst, fluff, (smut?)

word count: 3.4k

warnings: uhm... blood, injuries to hands and feet...

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 17/?

Determined, Jeongguk drives west, soon swapping his car for another black one at the rental. While he waits for the staff to grab the right key, he enters an address into his phone’s GPS, scanning through the satellite images in preparation.

Ideally, he would’ve scoped the place out beforehand. In person. But he doesn’t have that option, so he tells himself that it’ll be fine. He just has to be careful.

A few moments later, he gets into the driver’s seat, driving the new car back east, passing both the station and not too far from your apartment building. There’s a part of him that wants to stop by, to beg you to come back with him, but he ignores it, knowing full well that you wouldn’t appreciate it.

Luckily, the sun has already set by the time he arrives at the address an hour later, providing him the cover of darkness. The street in front of the two-story suburban house is quiet, and he slows the car to a stop at a safe distance. He’s relieved to see a few other cars parked along the street, making it easier for him to blend in.

Despite not being trained in surveillance quite like you, Jeongguk tries to think two, even three steps ahead. He manually switches off the interior lights before killing the engine, ensuring no harsh lights give him away if someone happens to be watching. If that someone also happens to know him, he’s fucked.

Surrounded by darkness, he quickly scans the area before slipping out of the driver’s seat and into the back. Hidden from view, he picks up the binoculars he borrowed from the station, leaning against the seat in front of him as he peers through them.

Although it’s dark, the streetlights and the glow from inside the house are enough, and he starts by inspecting the cars parked outside. They’re ordinary cars with plates he doesn’t recognize. Unlocking his phone—the brightness set as low as possible—he writes the plates down to look them up later.

Then, he turns his attention toward the house. It’s a white-painted home with a decent-sized porch that almost reminds him of the house he shared with you during the mission, only smaller. He keeps his gaze on it, noticing movement through the mostly curtain-covered windows on the bottom floor, but it's impossible to make out any details. Just shadows dancing against the beige fabric.

A sudden sound interrupts the silence, and through the side-view mirror, Jeongguk spots a vehicle approaching from behind. He ducks, staying completely still. The dark car passes, and a few seconds later, Jeongguk peeks out from behind the driver’s seat again. The driver is parking outside the house, and so Jeongguk holds his breath.

The door on the driver’s side opens, but the man inside is distracted by something in the passenger seat, and as he begins to step out, his face remains hidden from Jeongguk’s view. He’s wearing dark clothes; a thicker winter jacket of some kind, and his hair is black. Nothing incriminating or identifying.

Come one, come on.

With both feet on the ground, the man turns his head to quickly scan the street, and Jeongguk sinks back down in his seat, his eyes wide.

JJ.

Jeongguk watches his coworker slam the door shut, only to round the car to seemingly grab something from the backseat floor out of view. A second later, JJ emerges with a small black bag in his hand—just like the one Sana briefly described to Jeongguk after he’d stumbled across her and Jihyo buried in papers and questioned them.

JJ heads for the front door of his “stepsister's” house, taking the two steps up in a single stride. Jeongguk watches him knock and then how he stands there, waiting for someone to open. Again, Jeongguk holds his breath, praying that tonight will lead to a breakthrough.

It’s almost as if they know that Jeongguk is waiting, on the edge of his seat, because whoever is behind that door is taking their goddamn time. Additionally, his phone chooses the worst time to ring, the vibrations unnoticeable for his target but distracting for him. Then, the door opens, and Jeongguk’s dextrocardic heart skips a beat, and maybe it also fills his veins with anger.

Ryung.

You have a hard time putting your feelings into words, somehow satisfied by your recent breakthrough but also jittery and nervous about what it might mean. You could be one step closer to finally putting some very bad men behind bars, or at least try to, but you’ve also realized that, yeah, there’s a risk that you’re in more danger than you thought.

On one hand, you’re probably farther away from JJ (at least), but on the other hand, you’re alone. Although you didn’t stay with Jeongguk that long, it’s still taken you some time to get used to not living with him anymore. Your apartment is smaller than his house, but it’s a pretty home; recently renovated but with a homey feel to it. At least you try to convince yourself that.

“Okay, my phone’s about to die, but you have a safe flight. Bye,” you tell your mother, waiting for her goodbye before hanging up and slipping your phone into the front pocket of your black hoodie.

Your mother. You’ve tried to keep her as unknowing and uninvolved as possible, and although she knows that the city’s police force has been dealing with some corruption, she doesn’t know that you’re in the middle of it. It’s been relatively easy to keep her in the dark, or at least in the shadows; she’s not the most updated person, preferring to stay off social media and only read physical newspapers now and again.

For the longest time, before everything unfolded and while you dealt with the harassment at work and the tampering of your car, you thought your end was inevitable, and you didn’t want to worry her. Now... well… you guess you still don’t want her to worry. It would be useless as there’s never been anything she could do to help you. If anything, she’d be in danger too.

Living alone again, you've set a new bedtime routine in place. It includes a hot drink—usually tea but sometimes cocoa—along with lazily scrolling the internet on your laptop with the lights dimmed while the TV hums in the background. It helps take your mind off things and the human voices make these dark nights feel less lonely.

Tonight, however, the nine o’clock news reported a mass shooting involving multiple gunmen not too far from your station, and you watched in horror as the news anchor described the chaos. Squad cars from neighboring districts had been called in to help your understaffed station handle the panicked crowds and roaming gunmen. As a criminal investigator, there’s nothing you can do to help; you’re not trained to handle a task like that. You think about your colleagues, mainly all the officers called in, hoping none of them get hurt tonight.

To calm your nerves, you put the kettle on and rummage through the cupboard in search of your tea. Maybe chamomile will calm you until there’s an update.

But you don’t have time to pick out a tea bag before there’s a sharp knock on your door. You freeze. It’s late—almost ten p.m.—and you haven’t really made friends with your elderly neighbors.

Swallowing hard, you turn around and very slowly make your way from the kitchen to the door. Your heart pounds against your ribs, adrenaline coursing through your veins. Maybe it's Jeongguk?

Holding your breath, you rise onto your toes to press your eye to the peephole. A chill runs down your spine, and your blood freezes.

It’s not Jeongguk. It’s Hoseong, and he’s dressed in black, staring right at you, smiling.

You stumble backward, body locking up in fear.

He looks the same as you remember him—tall and muscular with dark eyes. But his hair is longer now, nearly reaching his jaw. He used to seem so charming to you, but even if he mostly looks the same, all you see now is how unsettling he is.

“I know you’re in there,” he sings, hos voice teasing. “And a little bird told me you’ve been having trouble with your door. The latch, was it?”

He knows about your door? You step back slowly, heart pounding. What do you do? You always lock your door—like now—but lately, the latch has become misaligned. It’s a small issue. Barely noticeable. Just enough to make locking and unlocking tricky sometimes.

But there’s a gap. A weak spot.

Then, you hear it. It’s a faint, eerie sound, like someone sliding a thin object, maybe a credit card, into the door. As if to wiggle the latch loose.

What do you do?

Your first instinct is to scream for help, but when you think about it… Your neighbors are elderly, and Hoseong is definitely armed and on the warpath. The best thing they could do is call the understaffed, already busy cops. They can’t help you.

Instead, you rush to the kitchen, yanking open a drawer and wrapping your trembling fingers tight around your sharpest knife. A second later, you hear the unmistakable sound of the door sliding open, followed by quick, angry footsteps.

Hoseong is smiling when he steps into view, a knife glinting in his hand. The smile is twisted, never reaching his eyes, and instinctively, you start to back up against the counter. He looks angry, frustrated, maybe even worn beyond the smile. You guess life on the run brings an element of stress.

“Finally, I’ve got you alone,” he seethes, striding toward you. “You’ve ruined my life, you know that? Fucking whore.”

You hold your knife out, preparing to defend yourself as best you can. But the truth is that Hoseong isn’t just a good bit bigger and a lot stronger than you—he’s also faster and more athletic. And most importantly, he’s trained to defend himself and disarm others in a way you just aren’t.

So when you thrust the knife toward him as he closes in, he dodges with ease and uses his free hand to grab your wrist hard. In one fluid motion, he clamps his knife between his teeth to get his other hand free, harshly yanking your knife from you. It clutters against the floor somewhere out of view. Next, he’s taking his knife back, shifting his grip on it, and preparing to strike.

With one hand still trapped in his grasp, you don’t get the angle or opportunity to disarm him like he did you. Instead, your left hand only manages to grab the blade. You’re not sure if you feel how it hurts or if you just know that it does, but something warm starts to drip down your hand as you try to keep the knife away from you, gritting your teeth.

Somehow, you manage to land a kick to his crotch, and despite the less-than-perfect angle, the pressure of the knife lessens as Hoseong stumbles back. Seizing the opportunity, you push him away with all your might, sprinting toward the only place with a lock.

The bathroom.

Almost instantly, Hoseong regains his balance, and he’s so close that you briefly feel the graze of his fingers in your hair as he sets off after you. Panicked, you grab anything within reach, hurling it back between you to slow him down. A tall, vintage vase crashes to the floor, a frustrated ‘fuck’ drawn from Hoseong, and it’s what buys you just enough time to reach the bathroom and lock the door behind you. A split second after you’ve twisted the lock, he’s yanking on the handle. Hard.

Alone in the bathroom, gasping for air, you fall to your knees. Blood is quickly collecting on your gray tile floor, and you have to look away from your shaky, torn-up hand. Your other hand reaches into the pocket of your hoodie, fumbling with the phone as you pull it out. It’s nothing more than pure luck that it didn’t fall out during the commotion.

Suddenly, a booming crash shakes the door, and you both see and feel the impact as Hoseong tries to kick the door in. Quickly, you scramble to sit in front of it, pressing your back against it and planting your feet firmly on the floor.

You glance at your phone, already knowing there’s no use. The police won’t have anyone to send, and even if they did, Hoseong’s going to get you before they’ve even dispatched someone. Eyes blurry with tears, you press on a contact, lifting your phone to your ear and listening to the signals.

“Hello?”

Hearing his familiar voice, the deep but slightly surprised greeting, is what does it, and you break further. He sounds like he didn’t expect you to call, probably because you’ve made it clear that you don’t want him around.

“Jeongguk?” you sniffle quietly, shakily, knowing that there’s nothing he can do either. All officers were called in, so he’s at least thirty minutes away.

He must hear the overwhelming emotions in your voice because his next words are clearer, sharper, as if he adjusted the phone to hear better. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s here–” you whisper, your voice trembling—especially when Hoseong kicks against the door again, the shockwaves hitting you.

“–What?” Jeongguk questions, and you hear rustling in the background.

“Yeah, Hoseong’s here, and he’s got me,” you cry, nearly dropping the phone as the door is hit again. You do your best to grip the device tightly. “I’m not gonna make–”

Silence. Not even the rustling you heard on his end. You lower the phone to look at the screen through tears, only to find it black and dead.

This time, you’re not gonna make it.

Closing your eyes, you try to get a deep breath in. Maybe two. You know it’s inevitable, but are you just going to wait for it? Desperately, you open your eyes again, looking around the blood-stained bathroom for something—anything—to use as a weapon or shield when Hoseong inevitably breaks the door down.

But there’s nothing, and hit after hit rattles the door against your back. You’re not sure why he didn’t bring a gun. Of course, he’ll succeed tonight anyway, but a gun would’ve spared him some effort and you some unnecessary terror. Sure, someone might hear a gunshot, but he’s not being very quiet now either. You have a feeling he saw his undisturbed opportunity with the mass shooting happening and the police stretched thin. If someone in the building has called, it will still be a while before anyone arrives. He'll be done and on his way by then.

Despite the lack of weapons and protection, your eyes focus on something you can use to at least buy you some time. You stand up on shaky legs, quickly heading over to the bathtub, and with all your might, try to drag and push it in front of the door. Adrenaline still pumps through your veins, but you’re starting to feel the pain of your hand, blood smearing across the white porcelain.

The tub is incredibly heavy, but even in your state, you manage to wedge one end against the door. You’re fairly certain that it’ll keep Hoseong from breaking the door in, but the tub only reaches your thigh, and Hoseong might break through the door above it. After all, it’s of the flimsier kind, and you’re surprised it’s held on for so long already.

Or, he might realize–just like you have–that the door doesn’t swing inward. It swings out.

“You can’t hide in there forever,” Hoseong pauses his assault on the door, his voice the angriest you’ve ever heard. “You won’t be able to weasel your way out this time.”

“Why can’t you just let it go?” you finally yell, your voice strained.

“Let go? Let go?” He spits the words with fury, his rage palpable. “You’ve ruined my life, you understand that, right?! Either I live the rest of my life on the run, or I risk rotting away in jail just because you couldn’t let it go.”

You want so badly to yell obscenities at him, insult him for being too stupid to realize that he ruined his own life. He decided to assault you, turn everyone against you, and make attempts on your life. He took the risk, and he only has himself to blame now that karma is chasing him. But you don’t voice those thoughts, fearing that it would only fuel his anger and that’s the last thing you need.

“But how does this help? Coming here to hurt me now? If anything you’ll only risk a longer time in jail?”

“I don’t care,” he argues, his voice still dripping with hatred. “Life on the run will be better knowing that you’re six feet under and that your heroic boyfriend couldn’t save you.”

And then, there’s silence again. It doesn’t last long, but there’s something eerie about those four or five seconds before you hear a sharp metallic sound.

Eyes widening, you realize that yeah, he’s also figured out that the door swings outward—he doesn’t need to kick the door in if he can unscrew the latch instead. That's what the metallic scraping is; his knife working the lock.

Your heart pounds as you frantically scan the room again. Maybe if you could wedge a broomstick or something under the handle and across the door frame? But there’s no broomstick. There’s nothing. So you’re left holding your breath and waiting for him to succeed. It feels like ages, but it’s probably only a minute or so before the lock falls to the floor with a metallic clang.

You back away from the bathtub and the door, knowing that it most likely won’t make any difference. And you’re right—the door swings open half a second later, a raging Hoseong setting his eyes on you and charging.

You try to dodge him, but he grabs you by your wrist and pulls you out of the bathroom. You stumble as he drags you out, your hip banged violently and painfully against the tub.

“You fucking whore. You’re gonna pay for what you’ve done,” he promises, making sure to drag you across the vase shards on the way back to the kitchen.

In vain, you try to avoid them, wincing when they cut your feet. Your pain makes Hoseong—who’s of course wearing shoes—laugh, but he stops when you surprise him by throwing yourself to the floor.

The shard you grab cuts your skin, but you try to ignore the pain as you drive the sharp point into his back, piercing through his thin black jacket. Hoseong curses and his posture falters, but you doubt it did any real damage even if it hurt, and you’re right. You barely have time to blink before he whirls around, swinging his knife at you. Unfortunately, you don’t dodge the blow completely, and you feel how it swipes your side.

Still holding your wrist in a tight grip, it’s Hoseong’s turn to stumble when you yank on it in an unexpected direction; the kitchen sink. You manage to get a few steps closer, and that’s all you need. As he swings again, you reach for the kettle, hurling the scalding water over him. Some of the scattered drops hit your face and hands, stinging as they land on your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the pained yell Hoseong lets out as he drops your hand and staggers back.

Exhausted and in pain, you'd hoped it would be the end of it, but it's not. Seemingly running on nothing but fumes, adrenaline, and anger, Hoseong straightens up, and then he’s focusing on you yet again, gritted teeth and angrier than ever.

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doujindungeon · 2 months ago

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summary: while you were upset at lewis after a recent argument, perhaps it wasn't the wisest idea to try and test your lover's endurance in bed. rating: nc-17 pairing: f!reader/lewis content warnings: established relationship, smut, marathon sex, missionary/doggy style/cowgirl, a bit of spanking and hair pulling, the loving wrath of 7-time world drivers champion lewis hamilton word count: 0.7k previous one-shot - toto w. | next one-shot - charles l.

“You know, I could die like this.”

A sigh of absolute satisfaction.

It was a serene sound compared to the abrasive noise of a water bottle being crunched and tossed aside after it was emptied of its contents from a quick chug just a moment before.

For Lewis, some hydration was needed after such a vigorous exhibition of his stamina.

Calm and relaxed as ever, his gorgeous muscled physique glistening with sweat, nude skin bathed by the low warm lighting from the ceiling, he carried himself as the textbook definition of ethereal.

Your current state told a completely different tale.

By contrast, you were sprawled on the bed, hair disheveled and make-up smeared as you gulped down the bottle of coconut water that your boyfriend fetched from the kitchen while you caught your breath earlier.

At this point in your relationship, you were well aware that Lewis was fierce in his discipline when it came to his craft of driving. Training, focus, determination–there was not a sliver of slack in any aspect.

And for as long as you’ve been together, you were well familiar with how passionate and doting he could be during intimacy. A couple hours being delightfully tangled together in bed at a luxurious tropical bungalow oceans away, a quick and needy fix on the couch in his driver’s room whenever you were able to make it out to a race.

This was what you were used to.

But to bear the merciless brunt of his stamina in bed–to put it simply, you were unprepared.

After all, upon Lewis bringing you back home after an argument that burst forth towards the end of your recent vacation together–a spat that bubbled and brewed from you feeling as though your place in his life was relegated to last place in the grand scope of his legacy–, when he casually declared that he would prove and demonstrate his resolve to devote his heart, soul and body to you within this night alone, he meant it.

From the moment the door closed behind as he herded you straight into the bedroom, time turned into a complete and utter blur, with the firm surface of his king sized bed serving as the only anchor that kept you grounded to reality as your lover kept you absolutely overwhelmed with dizzying euphoria.

At one point, he was pounding you straight into the mattress, his tattooed hands locked onto your thighs to keep them spread wide apart so he could drill his thick cock into your core over and over.

The next, he had you on all fours upon the bed, the lewd rhythm of his hips–and his palm here and there–striking against your ass making for an obscene symphony, your moans and squeals mingling in seamlessly with his grunts and curses while his fingers maintained a commanding grip on your hair.

When he then had you seated on his lap, his fingers squeezed your waist as he guided and coaxed you through the tempo under which you bounced upon his dick by, the two of you locked in a kiss as his tongue probed into your mouth right as he pumped another load of cum into your cunt.

True to his word, he had certainly made his case.

Still, while you were thoroughly delighted to receive his fierce display of his affection for you, seeing the beaming pride on his handsome features had you pouting in-between sips of your coconut water.

“Well take it easy, Sir Hamilton,” you huffed out at last in response, eyeing him warily. “You’re at the age where you shouldn’t be pushing yourself too much.”

His eyes sparked.

Fitting, since you may as well have set the entire house ablaze by your remark.

“Aha–I know fighting words when I hear them, lovely.”

While he let out a chuckle, the way he stalked back towards the bed, back towards you, was far from humorous.

Just by the way he looked at and approached you, deep in your bones you knew he wasn’t going to let up until you were absolutely devastated, especially as his voice dipped down to a deep purr as he continued, “I can keep this up, but can you?”

In response, you simply downed the rest of your drink, setting the empty bottle aside on the bedside table.

Defiance in your eyes, rebellion on your smile–you responded simply with,

“See for yourself.”

He was back on you in an instant.

But he wouldn’t be content with only seeing. Rather, he would be kissing, teasing, toying, licking, groping, possessing, and punishing you until the break of dawn and beyond.

-----------------------

🤸‍♀️ SIR LEWDIS HAMILTON EVERYBODY 🤸‍♀️

i'm cryin tho i originally had the reader rehydrate with gatorade but after i started thinking more about it, i found out that gatorade isn't vegan??????? LEWIS THE THINGS I RESEARCH AND ADJUST IN MY WRITING TO ACCOMODATE YOUR VEGAN LIFESTYLE 😭😭

but with this!!! we finally approach the end of this run of one-shots with charles tomorrow!!! thank you again for your support and i hope to see you all tomorrow for the finale!!! 🙇‍♀️❤️

#lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton smut #lh44 x reader #lh44 x you #lh44 smut #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 smut #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one smut #reader insert #Poll Positions

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reputationfairy · 2 years ago

Note

Smoking 🍃 with vinnie smut cause he’s so pookie bear (make it rough too please 💀💀)

❝FMB❞ - vinnie hacker x reader

─⋆♡ an: based on this ask. FMB means f⋆ck me back. hopefully it's rough enough. this is my first smut post so i didn't want to make it too too rough, just fyi. unedited so ignore any mistakes. i hope yall enjoy. ★ ˙ᵕ˙ via

��⋆♡ summary: you and vinnie have a complex relationship. it all comes to a head when you become bold enough to confront him post-blunt.

─⋆♡ warnings: overstimulation, softdom!vinnie, smut, fluff towards the end, tiny bit of angst, 18+ black!writer, language, alcohol, drugs, D!NC, physical descriptors (brief), choking, spitting, slight exhibitionism if you squint, claiming, rough smut, squirting, anal play, unprotected sex (i do not condone irl, wrap before you tap).

⋆word count: 3.9k ⋆ masterlist ⋆

The loud bass of music floats in the background as I tap through Snapchat stories on my phone. The couch next to me dips and when I turn, I see Vinnie has joined me.

He doesn’t speak to me before pulling out a blunt and sparking it. As is, me and Vinnie’s relationship was complicated. We started off as friends, then smoke buddies. But the more we smoked together, the more we felt for each other. Or at least, I fell for him.

We had kissed and made out, but we’ve never had sex. After a few dates, I was becoming restless. The frustration of his mixed signals got the best of me. Now in the darkness of the crowded room, I’ve become bold enough to confront him.

I watch him as he inhales and exhales the smoke like a chimney. He seemingly notices my intense stare and stops. “Did you need something?” he asks with an attitude.

You can practically feel steam whistling out of your ears from how fuming your brain is right now. “Yeah actually. Give that to me,” I snap, pointing at his blunt.

He shrugs, ashing the blunt on the coffee table. “Okay,” he concedes, passing me the joint.

Letting the smoke dance in my lungs, I choke it out slowly. Now that the weed is hitting, I decide now is the time. “Vinnie, are you still interested in me?” I ask him abruptly.

He chuckles and takes the blunt from me. “Oh, baby. Of course I fucking am. Why would you even ask me that?” he shoots back with an eyebrow raised.

Frowning, I pick at my cuticles out of nervousness. “Because we go on dates, we kiss, but we’ve never had sex. I just don’t know what you want any more,” I confess, standing from the couch in a huff.

Of course, I want to take things further. But I’m not sure if he wants me anymore when he barely touches me.

He stops me from moving any further, tugging my hand. I grudgingly turn around, looking down at him. “Because, doll. We haven’t had the sex talk yet,” he discloses, rubbing his free hand up and down my thigh.

I roll my eyes and scoff, snatching the blunt out of his hands to take a hit. He places his hands on my hips, watching me intensely. “What do you mean by ‘sex talk’? I’m not 5,” I ask after blowing out a toke.

He stands until he’s staggering high towers over me. “I mean…” he pushes lightly, backing me into the wall so I’m trapped between his body and the drywall. “I want to know what you like, what you don’t like, and what you’ll beg for before I feel you cumming on my cock,” he whispers in my ear, licking a stripe up my neck afterward.

My head tips back in a moan, which makes him as hard as a rock. “Fuck, baby. Do you see what you do to me? I want nothing more than to make you feel good, in the best way that I can, for the rest of my life.” he presses his body into mine, slowly kissing up my neck.

One of the partiers comes up behind Vinnie and taps him on the shoulder. He ignores them, waving them off with the rest of the blunt. His hand moves to the inside of my thigh and he rubs me so close that I know he can feel the inside of my legs shake. “Should I take care of you right here?” he bites my neck, and I whimper, pulling his hair.

Vinnie pulls back from me, piercing a hole into my eyes. “Please?” I beg, gnawing on my lip.

He uses the other hand and wraps it around my throat, effectively restricting my breathing. He tilts my head to the side. “Do you think you deserve it?” he whispers against my lips with his eyebrow raised.

Struggling, I lightly nod my head in his firm grip. “Yes, Vinnie,” I squeak out, and he gives me one last squeeze on the throat before grabbing my wrist and yanking me through the crowd.

Bodies brush past me as Vinnie drags me up the steps to his room. “Wait, where are we going?” I ask, confused. He just asked if I needed to be taken care of right there and then... I did say yes.

“You think I’m gonna let everyone watch me fuck you?” he scoffs.

Once we got the sex talk out of the way, Vinnie makes quick work to get me undressed. I moan into the darkness of the room as Vinnie leaves love bites down my neck, only breaking the contact to lift my tank top over my head. He pauses his movements to take in the black lacy bralette I'm wearing. “Fuck, baby. You don’t know what you do to me,” he groans, then smashes his lips back onto mine.

He slams me against his closed bedroom door before slowly dropping down onto his knees. Watching him sink to the ground has an involuntary giggle leaving my lips. “Vinnie, I didn’t think you were going to actually-” he cuts me off, spinning me around so my ass is facing him.

Suddenly, an echoing smack verberates off the walls and my ass cheeks are on fire. Yelping, I sink my teeth into my bottom lips, trying to muffle the noise I’m making.

He slowly inches his hands up my legs until my skirt is fully pushed up to my stomach. His fingers meet my panties, and he runs my fingers over them, seemingly savoring every last moment. “Did you wear these for me, sunshine?” He hooks one finger under one side, pulling it back and making the elastic snap around my hips.

I reach out to support myself on anything to keep my knees from buckling. “No,” I joke, and he bends my knees a bit.

He rubs calming circles into the back of my thighs with his thumbs. “Don’t need you collapsing on my baby,” he informs me.

Taking both sides in his hands, he rips the fabric in half and shreds it off my body like paper. “Shame. I would’ve let you keep them.”

Gasping, I look down and watch them fall to the ground. He palms my ass, spreading my cheeks further apart. “Bend over just a little bit more, baby,” he instruct, kissing my ass on both sides.

Slowly shifting in his grasp, I whine as I bend over. I’m desperate for him, all over me. Filling every hole over and over again until I’m screaming for help.

He hovers his mouth over my pussy. “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he praises me, running his pointer finger up and down my folds to collect my wetness.

“Let me tell you something, sunshine,” he grumbles, rubbing his fingers in circles on my puffy, swollen nub. “There's absolutely nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Do you understand?” he looks up at me, awaiting my response.

Unable to focus, I just nod my head.

“You have to use your words, baby.” he instantly retracts his fingers from my clit bringing them into his mouth. With a pop, he pulls them out, moaning at the taste of my arousal.

I groan, throwing my head back in frustration. “Yes, I know. Just please take care of me, Vinnie,” I practically beg for the second time tonight.

He returns his fingers to my pussy, slowly rubbing around my entrance. “If you asked me to shoot myself, I would,” he growls, slowly sinking his fingers into me. Curling them downwards on every thrust, his fingers search for that spongy spot. He pulls out and thrusts into me again, and my breath quickens. “If you asked me to slit my wrists, I would.” Quickening his pace, my moans echo through the large bedroom. “You gotta stay quiet, baby. I wanna be the only one to hear those pretty moans.”

He uses his free hand, bringing it up to my clit, rubbing fast circles on my sensitive bud. His fingers are thrusting into me at such an intense rate that I feel the world collapsing beneath me. My pussy contracts around his fingers and he groans deeply, sending a shiver up my spine. “Fuck yourself on my fingers, sunshine,” he commands, hitting my sweet spot.

I mewl, obeying his commands, and begin rocking back into him. My orgasm starts approaching rapidly, his fingers drive into me at an unrelenting pace. When my walls flutter, he instantly slows his pace. “Not yet, baby. You can’t cum until you’re quiet.”

Crying again, I bring my hand up to muffle the sound successfully. He applies more pressure on the quick circles he’s drawing on my clit. I arch my back again until I’m moving with his fingers just as he requested. I moan loudly, the coil in my stomach about to snap.

He blows a quick shot of air onto my exposed clit, the chill making the coil snap. My vision turns white as I quietly moan out, "Fuck, Vinn.”

“That’s it, sunshine. Cum for me, let go,” he murmurs underneath me, and I can feel the lust dripping off his tongue as my orgasm rocks through me. The pace of his fingers doesn’t slow as he works me through my orgasm, and I hear my nails scratch against the drywall. My legs quake and my back arches slightly, my mouth opening in a silent moan.

He slows his thrusting and pulls out of me, rising to his feet. He turns me around to face him, his eyes taking in the fucked out expression on my face. “You wanna know how good you taste, baby?” Grabbing my chin, he rubs his thumb over my bottom lip.

I close my eyes, trying to catch my breath and lean back into the wall. “Yes,” I whisper, and as soon as the words leave my lips, his fingers sink into my mouth. Deciding to tease him, I swirl my tongue around his digits, imagining my tongue on his cock. His fingers push back further into my throat until I gag a little, then he pulls them out. Fucking hope he’s impressed that I can take them that far without coughing.

Without another thought, I smash my lips against his, savoring the taste of my orgasm on his tongue. “God, you taste so fucking good. I could eat you forever,” he growls, moving my body back onto the bed.

He crawls on top of me and his bulge is pressed into me once again. “Vinnie, please. I need you.” I whimper into his mouth as my shaky fingers move to slowly unbutton his shirt.

But he grabs my wrists, stopping me. “I got it, sunshine,” he laughs, then makes quick work to remove his shirt.

I shamelessly watch as he slowly strips out of his pants and his boxers. Even though I’ve seen him naked in front of me before, he’s never fully been hard. His dick is beautiful. His swollen head is already dripping with precum, making him look good enough to deep throat.

Vinnie slowly climbs back onto the bed and my eyes widen, realizing what’s about to happen. My breathing quickens in anticipation as he comes down to kiss me hard and deep.

I moan into him, but my hands move to his chest to push him back as I look down, suddenly scared. “It’s too big, I don’t think it’ll fit,” I insist, crawling away from him.

He grabs my ankles, pulling me back down. “We’re gonna make it fit, baby,” he retorts, his eyes dark.

The tip of his dick moves back and forth in between my folds, collecting wetness. I whimper, squeezing his shoulders.

“Hey, sunshine. Look at me.” He grabs my chin until I make eye contact with him. “We can stop if you want to stop. I won't go any further,” he reassures, resting his forehead on mine.

I immediately shake my head, inhaling a sharp breath. “No, I want this–I want you. Just be careful, please.” I pull him into me for a heated kiss and tug his hair, making him groan and deepen the kiss.

Finally, he pulls back and lines himself up near my entrance, spitting and letting the dribble collect on his base. “This is gonna hurt, so just relax for me, baby.” My legs are pushed open a little wider.

I nod, trying to calm myself, and he laces his fingers in mine before he moves. The tip of his shaft pushes in, and I gasp at the stretch. “Shit, Vinnie,” I cry out, squeezing his hands until my knuckles turn white. Tears prick at the corner of my eyes, the burn from his girth sends fire into my core.

Immediately, he stops moving, looking into my eyes. “Do you want me to stop? I’ll stop,” he groans out.

I bite my lip, shaking my head no.

He kisses the corner of my eyes and whispers, “Okay, just relax for me, sunshine. I’ll try to make this quick.” He continues to sink slowly into me, bottoming out, and I wince again. To allow me to adjust to his length, he pauses his movements. “You’re squeezing me so tight. Fuck, I’m not gonna last long,” he breathes, bending down to kiss my neck. And then, he slowly starts rocking into me and the burn is replaced with a familiar warmth.

“Oh, god. Vinnie,” I moan, releasing his hands to claw at his back for support.

He’s hitting the perfect spot already, and he just got inside me. He continues to slowly push in and out of me, allowing me to savor the feeling of him inside me. I moan, biting on his shoulder.

“More.” My legs are already shaking. “Give me more,” I demand, kissing up to his ear.

Pulling back, he looks at me. “Are you sure?” His hand strokes my curls.

I pull him down into a kiss, allowing my tongue to explore his mouth once more. “Yes, please. Use me, fuck me,” I beg, squirming underneath him.

Vinnie fists the sheets below my head and adjusts his position. I brace myself. “The safe word is ‘moon’, Sunshine. Use it if you need it.” He kisses my neck once more and begins driving into me at a steady, even rate. The tip of his length kisses my g-spot with each stroke. “Fuccckkkk,” he growls into my ear, and I feel myself squeezing him when the words hit my eardrums.

“Vinnie,” I moan.

The only sound outside of our pants and moans is the sound of his skin slapping against mine as he fucks me. He wraps his tattooed hand around my throat, leaning in for a kiss. And as if I wasn't already in heaven, he brings his fingers down to rub quick circles on my clit.

“I’m gonna cum, doll. But I need to feel you squeezing me before I do,” he commands, and I cry as I arch into him.

He pounds into me steadily, rocking my body into the bed. Each stroke pushes me closer and closer over the edge until I feel myself contracting around him.

“Cum with me, sunshine,” he whispers against my lips, and it sends me over the edge.

Arching my back and screaming, I claw at his back and bite his shoulder as my orgasm hits me like a train. Just when I thought he couldn’t get any deeper, he lifts my hips slightly.

“Where do you want me to cum, love?” His dick kisses my cervix, and I know I’ll be bruised tomorrow. But I can’t bring myself to give a shit right now.

He twitches inside me, and I lick a stripe up his neck. “Cum in me, Vinnie,” I whimper, and he growls into my neck.

His seed spills inside me, his strokes becoming uneven. I moan at the feeling, and squeeze around him, milking out every drop of his cum as he paints my walls. It fills me up and I’ve never felt better after sex.

He stills inside me, kissing me breathlessly, and takes a few moments to catch his breath. Before he pulls out, I wrap my arms around him, causing him to bury further inside me. “Stay,” I plead, tears threatening to spill over in my eyes.

He softly strokes my hair, wrapping his arm around me and slowly flipping us over so I’m on top. “Okay, sunshine. I got you. Fuck, that was the fastest I’ve ever cum before in my life,”

Like I requested, he doesn’t pull out. Just pulls me closer into his body until I’m melting into the beautiful tattoos on his chest. His fingers begin tracing light patterns across my back.

I sniffle, looking up at him with a small smile on my face, and he looks at me. “You okay, sunshine?” he asks, and I shift on his length a little bit.

Sitting up to put my hands on his chest, I feel his dick twitching and growing inside me. “Yeah. Let's go again,” I giggle, bending down to kiss him. It surprises me how he’s already ready for round two, but I don’t complain.

He groans into my mouth, wrapping his decorated arms around my waist. Slowly, I lift myself until I feel his tip threatening to slip out. I slide back down onto him, filling myself completely and moaning at the change of position.

His hands tighten around my waist, helping me swirl my hips around. “I want you to know you’re mine, sunshine,” he groans, reaching up to play with my nipples as I moan at the feeling of him stretching me from this angle.

I pick up my pace, bouncing on his dick until he’s hitting my perfect spot over and over again. My legs shake, and I feel my third orgasm approaching rapidly. My hand moves to his neck, squeezing it hard. I feel so fucking powerful, making myself cum with his length.

Vinnie looks up at me with amazement in his eyes and slides his thumb in between us to apply pressure on my clit. I throw my head back and moan, still choking him. “God. You look so pretty when you moan.”

The pace of his thumb quickens, and I topple over the edge, crashing into my third orgasm with a loud cry. I release my hand on his neck, falling forward. Vinnie removes his hand from my clit to catch me and keep from coming down on his body. He allows me to rest on his chest as he starts to fuck up into me, elongating my orgasm.

“Vinnie,” I choke out, and my voice bounces off his walls.

He picks up his pace, driving into me from below. “That’s it, doll. Scream my name. Let the world know who fucking owns you.”

He pounds my body into his, and I grip his shoulders when I feel a tingling sensation on my clit. Wetness suddenly shoots out from between my legs, running down my thighs and covering his stomach. My whole body quakes, but he doesn’t slow down.

“Fuck, sunshine. Look at the mess you made, cumming all over me.”

My brain is on a different planet as he slows down, allowing me to glance down at the soaked sheets. He slowly pulls me off him and I wince, falling backward onto the bed. Then, Vinnie moves me so I’m laying on my side, out of the wet spot, before slowly pushing back into me, spooning me, and caressing my hair. “No one will ever fuck you ever again, for the rest of your life but me. Do you understand?”

Slamming into me at an unrelenting pace, he bites my neck. His hand wraps around my throat, applying a bit of pressure. Every thrust sends me closer to the edge, and the only thing I register is him kissing the back of my neck. I’m so fucked, I can’t speak. I can’t think.

“Yes,” I babble out, arching my back into him.

All I feel is pure bliss. The room is spinning, and I feel another orgasm rapidly approaching. He nibbles a love bite into my neck, hitting my G-spot over and over again. My thighs are lifted a little higher until I see white. “Cum for me again, Sunshine. You feel so good when you squeeze me,” he mumbles into my neck.

I shake my head, and gripping his forearm that chokes me. “I can’t,” I cry, looking at the view from his room— everything is spinning.

Vinnie increases his pace, slamming into me. “You can, and you will,” he snarls in my ear.

I feel the tears spilling over in my eyes as he applies more pressure on my throat. The overstimulation of his dick drilling into me repeatedly sends me toppling over another edge, and I wail his name, feeling my soul leave my body. Everything feels fuzzy as his thrusts become sloppy before he lets out an animalistic grunt. I feel his dick twitch, then, shooting hot ropes into me. The heat of it makes me feel like I’m going to pass out, and I moan at the sensation. He continues to slowly thrust into me, riding out both of our orgasms.

After we’re both spent, he buries himself deep inside me, stroking my hair and peppering kisses on my shoulder as I come down from my high. “You did so well for me, Sunshine. Fucking fantastic,” he praises.

He slowly caresses my hips as my body shakes against his. I wince as he slowly pulls out and scoots down to the bottom of the bed. Spreading my legs wide open, he watches our cum leak out of me. My swollen pussy contracts around nothing, pushing his seed out, and I hear him groan.

He brings his fingers up to my entrance and I wince. “Shhh, Sunshine, I’m just making sure we don’t waste a drop,” he coos, stuffing his fingers into me and massaging my g-spot.

An inevitable moan leaves my lips I arch my back to get closer to him. “You want to cum again?” He asks before leaning over to flick his tongue over her my. Crying out at the overstimulation, I shake my head.

“Too bad, baby.” he quickly thrusts into me with his fingers, moaning at the taste of our orgasms mixing. His tongue flicks over my swollen, puffy clit. I haven’t used our safe word, and I know he’s going to keep pushing me until I say it.

Vinnie removes his tongue from my clit and he uses his other hand to collect our orgasms on his finger. The pace of his fingers slows and he begins rubbing a circle around my tight hole. He slowly pushes his finger into my ass, fucking me with both hands.

I’m unable to control my movements as I thrash underneath him. His finders drive in and out, reaching the most delicious spot.

“Give me one last one, Sunshine. I promise I’ll let you stop after,” he orders, and I move my hands to his hair to tug on it.

He pushes his finger further into my ass, curling it a bit more, and I snap. Neglecting his noise warning, my screams and my moans erupt through the room. He moans as he works both of my holes through what I assume is my last orgasm.

As finally comes down, I whimper, “Moon,” and he stops and slowly pulls his fingers out, satisfied with my overstimulation.

He crawls up my body, grabbing my face so I'm forced to look at him. “You're everything to me–perfect and mine,” he mumbles into my mouth and I wipe away the tears in my eyes.

My brain buzzes with post-sex high. “Only for you,” I whisper into the night.

I did so well, and I am his.

3K notes · View notes

blainesebastian · 3 months ago

Text

ex-something

word count: 11,109 ship: Nick Leister x reader rating: NC-17 (for some smut, suggestive sexual language and expletives) summary: Just because you and Nick are broken up doesn’t mean that you’re over one another. notes: really appreciate the overwhelmingly positive response on my first nick x reader post :) hope this is just as enjoyable! i have a masterlist! notes 2: gifs from this gif pack

You get it—relationships change, that’s true with anything. You’ve had friendships that have evaporated into thin air or have fused together thanks to one night, boyfriends who promise they’d hand you the moon but couldn’t even show up when you needed them. You’re also different, you’re not the same person from year to year, nor day to day. Small, minute shifts sometimes make the greatest ripple effects. It’s good to see how something can adapt, how you can realize one thing and decide on another.

Maybe you should have realized that you and Nick were never going to work—a thought that’s ugly that sprouts in your mind like a weed. Like ivy twisting around your ribcage and squeezing. You know him like the back of your hand, have been part of the same circles for so long—the orbiting around one another felt inevitable.

So maybe the disintegration was too.

Nick’s come a long way since you’ve known him in opening up, both of you bringing so much baggage to the table that you could no longer see the surface. Everyone has their own weight to carry, their own shit to get through, but it felt like…what you were carrying was no longer heavy when he was around. You both shared things, secrets in the dark, things you felt like couldn’t be shared with anyone else. While that should have caused the bond between you to strengthen, it created cracks and fragments that were sharp enough to cut the skin.

Nick has trouble trusting that people won’t leave him, and you have trouble trusting that something will last the way it’s supposed to. As awful as it sounds, you never thought you and Nick would be together long-term. It’s not about him, but about yourself—about not deserving something good, about losing someone you were never supposed to have in the first place.

When you began to pull away, creating distance and space, Nick overcompensated by yanking harder. He leaves you before you can leave him. The break-up, though surprising, is…somehow amicable, even though the devastation of it ending was clear on both your faces. Like a roadmap of a decimated city, the skyline crumbling into itself.

The sudden destruction is so ugly that neither of you can look away. There’s regret almost instantly, that much is obvious, and yet neither of you speak up to change anything. You just…part ways, Nick leaving first.

You let him go, you allow him to push you and keep that chasm of space, because it was never meant to work out, right?

“He’s in love with you, babe,” Jenna tells you one night over her house. “That’s never gonna change.”

“Guess not enough.” You mumble—but you’re not innocent. You didn’t chase after him.

“Well I never said he was smart,” Jenna teases, attempting to lighten the mood, and a smile twitches the corners of your mouth but you can’t reply. You shake your head, running a hand over the side of your face before lying back on her bed.

But Nick is smart. He’s smart, and calculated, and even though he sometimes thinks with his fists, he knows the consequences of actions before he makes them. He knows exactly what choice he’s made and why he’s done it.

Which is one of the reasons you can’t bring yourself to tell him he’s wrong.

—

You miss Nick like you never knew you could. It’s one of those cliché things that you don’t understand what’s missing until it’s gone. There’s an absence that feels like a force, that sits on your chest, that makes it hard to breathe. An ache that begins behind your ribs and pulses outward. You miss things that aren’t altogether obvious—things you never knew you thought about until they pop-tap-pop like morse code in your mind.

You miss his hands, the way they felt on your body, his fingers brushing through your hair or lingering along your hip. The squeeze on your knee or the gentle pattern of circles along your spine. You miss his mouth, the way the corner quirked up when he found something ridiculous, the way it felt on your own, his lips on your cheek, your shoulder, between your legs. You miss the way your bodies felt lined up, curled up in bed to sleep or slotting together during sex. You miss the sounds he used to make. You miss the gentle crinkle of his nose before he laughed, you miss that too; the laughing.

But most of all you miss the way he stood by you, protected you, cared about you, a driving power that’d run anyone else over if you needed something. You miss the way he made you feel loved, actual love—something real and tangible and consistent. Something you didn’t know you deserved.

It’s too late to take back what you’ve done and you lay awake at night, sometimes, wondering what would have happened if you would have tried to talk to him instead of letting your thoughts get the best of you.

—

Just because you and Nick are broken up doesn’t mean that you’re over one another.

—

Jenna drags you to Anna’s party—literally, she has to drag you.

“Enough moping,” She sing-songs. “Time to put on your tightest dress and your best lipstick and have a fucking good time.”

You roll your eyes but…she’s not wrong. So you follow her lead. Little black dress, comfortable shoes, red lipstick. It brings out the color of your eyes, it matches with the tiny, ruby, heart-shaped earrings you’re wearing and it draws people to look at your lips. But most of all? It makes you feel good. Your mother has always had a saying, to ‘dress your best when you feel your worst’, and you suppose that’s what you’re doing.

Surviving.

And sometimes? That’s more than okay.

“Wish this party wasn’t here, though.” You comment, a soft sigh leaving your lips as you enter the lavish home of Anna. Anna who is probably salivating at the concept that Nick’s single again. You’re sure he’s here tonight, you don’t need to ask Jenna to know. You smooth your fingers along your dress, adjusting your small purse so it sits on your hip.

You and Jenna wouldn’t exactly call Anna a friend…a frenemy, maybe? Maybe not. But Jenna smiles over her shoulder, “Shouldn’t let her expensive booze go to waste, should we?”

You let out a soft laugh—you suppose that’s true.

The night swirls forward with a lot of dancing, a messy game of darts, and almost too many shots. You roll your hips to the beat of the music, a grin on your face as Jenna bounces in time to the base, her hands finding yours and squeezing before giving you a twirl. It’s in that spin that you see him, leaning against the back of the couch on the outskirts, watching you.

Or maybe that’s a trick of the light, or the hazy alcohol licking your common sense. Either way, you don’t look back over your shoulder towards him, you can’t. You wish that Jenna doesn’t call over the music that she needs water, because your knees suddenly feel like jello at the concept of staying on this makeshift dance floor alone. So you don’t.

You make your way through the crowd to follow her, lingering, and hate yourself for your eyes being pulled from the task at hand…towards Nick.

He looks gorgeous tonight, but you suppose that’s not a surprise. Jeans, a white t-shirt, an oversized jacket. It’s pretty textbook and yet it’s enough to practically sway you off kilter. Without being close to him, you can smell the leather of his jacket, the expensive cologne, something purely him tying it all together. You can feel the heat of his body, the chill of the thin silver chain he’s wearing and the rings on his fingers over your skin.

An ache begins low in your stomach, which only turns sour when his eyes flitter to you and then look away. It’s so quick it feels like a slap to the face, his own expression impassive, like he has a million better things to do than be standing around at this party. You know his masks well, the ones he puts on when he thinks no one is looking, the ones he peeled off when he was around you. You know this is his favorite one—pretending he doesn’t care, when he does.

Chewing on your lower lip, you take a step towards him though you’re not sure why. To speak to him, maybe? To make a joke about how his face looks like it was carved in stone? That if he keeps making that expression it’s going to stick like that. But then he shifts when someone comes up beside him—

fucking Anna.

You stop short, trying to tell yourself to turn around, to get some water, to go back to having fun with Jenna. And yet, like a car crash, you can’t seem to look away. Anna has always been obvious about her feelings for Nick, whether it’s something genuine or just purely physical—it doesn’t matter. She practically molds herself to his side, a pretty grin on her face, talking about something that you can’t hear about—but her hand glides down his arm.

There’s a small, gentle tilt to Nick’s lips, ever so subtle, but it’s enough to make it feel like the floor is opening up underneath you.

Turning on your heel, you move through the crowd towards the bathroom, trying to quell the nausea rolling in your stomach. You try to tell yourself that you’re overreacting, that it’s not fair for you to have a reaction like this, that Nick is single and he can do whatever the fuck he wants… regardless that Anna is the worst.

It hasn’t been too long since you’ve broken up, and yet you find yourself trying to rationalize that it shouldn’t hurt like this. You know that’s a defense mechanism, that trying to convince yourself that you’re okay is just something to keep yourself from hurting. But maybe it’d be good to feel that hurt, to let it in instead of shoving it deep in a box that’ll remain unopened.

Maybe if you let yourself hurt, you wouldn’t be spiraling over Nick’s almost smile at Anna.

When you go for the bathroom door, it’s locked, and a groan leaves your lips because of course. Running a hand over your forehead, you lean back against the opposite wall, waiting, allowing your eyes to close as your head tips back.

“You look a little nauseous.”

Nick’s voice jolts you out of your position against the wall, almost setting you off balance. When your eyes dart to him, there’s that playful quirk to his lips, warm amusement in his brown eyes. His jacket is missing—you hate that you wonder if it’s around Anna’s shoulders. You straighten your shoulders, letting out a breath as you turn to look at him.

He’s not wrong, you are nauseous. But it’s not from the alcohol. “Think this house just does that to me.”

Nick smirks, shaking his head as he takes a few steps towards you. He stops short, too short, leaning his shoulder against the wall. His eyes dance over your form, making you squirm, hating how he seems to see right through you. Like you’re made of glass. Heat gathers low in your stomach and pulses between your legs, that familiar ache comes back in the center of your chest. You miss him and you fucking hate that you do.

Tearing your gaze away, you curl your hair around your ear, glancing back towards the bathroom door. Sheesh, what is someone doing in there?

“Is it the house or is it someone in particular?”

You scoff out a soft laugh—fuck, he’s got a lot of nerve. “Is that any of your business?”

The smile he gives you is something slow and knowing, his gaze wandering to your lips, lingering on the red lipstick there. Butterflies erupt in your stomach, fluttering up towards your ribs, living there on the bones. The way he’s looking at you digs under your skin in the best way.

“Think it’s completely my business.” He replies, sticking his one hand in his pocket. You can picture his fingers flexing, maybe trying to resist touching you. You love the sound of that. It’s one of the reasons you decide to flip the script, to take a little power back when he won’t stop staring at your mouth. Two can play this game—whatever game this is.

Taking a step towards him, you say, “Is my lipstick your business?”

Nick draws in a slow breath, it may seem causal, but you can see the heat darken the color of his eyes. Regardless of how things have played out between you two, things that maybe should have never happened in the first place (breaking up sounds like it was a stupid idea), you know that you feel safe with him. It’s that safeness that has you eliminating space, the toe of your shoe bumping into his.

He’s not that much taller than you but it feels like he’s towering, eyes zeroed in on your lips. He lifts his hand, brushing his thumb over your lower one, purposely smudging your red lipstick,

“You never seemed to be jealous of anyone when we were together.” He whispers, his breath fluttering over your cheek and yet it feels like a bucket of ice water tossed over you. A reminder. Dick.

You lean further into his touch, your noses bumping, close enough to kiss him but you don’t. Nick goes dangerously still and licks his lips.

“Unsurprised that you didn’t seem to know me very well.”

And with that you pull back, putting distance between your bodies. You wish it was enough to get your head on straight. Nick rubs his fingers over his thumb, erasing any traces of lipstick, like it never even happened.

You wished it didn’t sting to see it.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t want to keep Anna waiting.” You cross your arms over your chest, a clear defensive move but almost creating a shield as well, protecting yourself.

You’re not looking at him but he lingers, a soft hum leaving his lips. He then moves to the bathroom door that…still hasn’t opened? Jesus, who’s in there? Though you try not to think about how often you and Nick found an empty bathroom during a party, a dark corner, a place where hands could roam and lips could nip.

He jiggles the handle and pushes, your mouth falling slightly open—

“The door sticks,” He says, amused, eyes bright. And then turns to head back down the hall.

Well, fuck.

—

Nick leaves the party before you do but you’re not going to deny that you feel a zing of enjoyment that Anna’s left behind. And she looks pissed.

—

Time crawls forward—it’s somehow achingly slow at the same time that it spins like a top. You and Nick are unfortunately like magnets, stuck in one another’s orbit. You suppose that’s the downside of having the same group of friends, seeing one another is unavoidable. It’s not…the worst thing, despite the prickly conversations you’ve been having. You know the fallout is a reflection on how good your relationship could be. There’s still strong emotions lingering—guilt, regret, love. It stains everything around you both.

There’s a moment that comes and goes, just like your feelings, about having a conversation with Nick. About explaining to him why you were pulling away—that your parents have a shit relationship, that their divorce and their problems and their burdens sometimes sit in your bloodstream in a way you can’t put into words. You’re used to people disappointing you, you’re used to relationships not carrying merit—the only good one you’ve ever been in had been with Nick. And sometimes you were afraid that you weren’t worthy of it, that eventually he’d realize it too.

That he’d leave. That all good things come to an end.

Maybe then he’d crack wide open and explain that he likes to hurt people before they can hurt him. That it was a mistake.

That you can start over.

That thought is gone as quickly as it comes. Everything happens for a reason, right? There’s no need to go backwards when you need to focus on what’s ahead. Just because a relationship didn’t work out doesn’t mean that…you and Nick can’t be what you were before.

Friends. Good friends.

—

“Can you check again, please?” You ask, rubbing the back of your neck as you hold up a line at this charity event that your parents were supposed to attend.

Well—your parents decided to get a divorce three months ago and neither of them wanted to get dressed up and go. You get it, you really do, they don’t want to spend time with one another anymore. They want to continue separating their assets and not be in one another’s lives unless they have to. You're the bridge between and that’s…that’s something you’re coming to terms with.

You tried to explain to both of them that you’ve been wanting to go to this, that this charity event is about donating money to cleaning up the ocean. That plastic removal and creating turtle sanctuaries and doubling-up efforts on proper recycling is really important to you. It always has been—this shouldn’t be some sort of surprise.

And yet neither of them can get their shit together to just be present. To go with you.

So whatever, fine. At this point you’re used to feeling like you’re doing things by yourself, and that’s how you decide you’re going to go. By yourself.

Except for some reason, your name isn’t on the guest list.

Vanessa, who’s in the same social circles as you, scowls behind the podium. She must be some sort of volunteer in whatever rotations that rich kids fall into, her nose wrinkling as she taps her fingers down the so-called list that you’re missing from.

“Sorry—who are you again?”

You feel your cheeks heat in frustration, refusing to get flustered even though you’re sure that’s her intention. There’s this group of girls that are always hanging out with Anna at any party you’ve ever been to. Vanessa knows exactly who you are.

You bite down on the inside of your cheek, can feel people getting restless behind you, wanting to get inside to escape the chill in the evening air. You’re not sure whether your parents took themselves off the guest list when they decided they weren’t attending or whether Vanessa is just being a bitch.

“Y/N,” You say your name and add your last, just in case there’s any confusion.

Vanessa purses her lips, about to say something nasty, when her gaze catches something over your shoulder. Her entire demeanor changes—her shoulders relax, there’s an easy smile on her face, eyes soft. You already know who it is before he speaks.

“Is there a problem?” Nick asks, the warmth of his body at your back. You feel yourself bristle, not turning around.

“Nick, hi,” Vanessa offers.

Nick ignores her, his gaze falling to your own when you finally tip your chin. You turn a little, crossing your arms over your chest. He’s dressed in all black; slacks, dress shirt, overcoat, it makes the softness of his brown eyes and the golden curls in his hair stick out even more.

“You alright?” He lifts his eyes away from you just briefly and you know he’s checking the crowd for your parents who aren’t there.

“She’s not on the guest list.” Vanessa sounds altogether too pleased at informing him.

“Your parents made these reservations months ago,” His attention doesn’t waver from you.��

You swallow, giving him a small smile as another podium opens up to get guests inside since this one is obviously backlogged. You resist the urge to just give up, to head back down the steps and go home.

“I know.” You reply, and Nick’s head tips back just slightly, recognition flashing in his eyes. Months ago. Your parents. The divorce.

He turns to Vanessa, finally acknowledging her. “There’s space at my table for her.”

“Nick,” You say gently, touched by the sentiment, by him trying to help, as Vanessa visibly bristles.

“All the tables are filled—“

Nick cuts her right off, voice cold and sharp as glass. “Then I suggest you figure it out, Vanessa, because Y/N’s my plus one.”

Vanessa scoffs, waving us in, muttering whatever under her breath. Nick’s hand falls to your lower back, encouraging you to step forward to walk inside. You roll your lips together, glad you’re not wearing lipstick tonight before turning to look at him in front of the coat-check.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

Nick gives you a soft smile, motioning you to turn around so he can help you take your coat off. “Like I’d get in-between you and saving the otters tonight.”

You can’t help the bubble of laughter that threatens to slip out, amusement pulling your mouth into an honest smile. Something warm and comfortable and feels far too familiar with him.

“Sea turtles.” You correct. “I’m worried about the sea turtles.”

You’re not sure why he’s here if he doesn’t really know what the event is for, but you bite down on the inside of your cheek from saying that to him. A twinge of warmth butterflies your stomach in hopes that he came because he knew you’d be here.

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

Your lips twitch and you smooth your hands down your dress, removing imaginary wrinkles. “Thank you.” You add.

Nick’s hand slides effortlessly into yours to tug you towards the open doors and awaiting tables. He doesn’t say anything back, but he does squeeze your fingers.

—

When you donate an amount at that charity event, Nick doubles it.

—

It’s easy to get lost in those simple touches, it’s always been something so easy between you and Nick. That communication runs deep. Sometimes, you think, that words often get in the way. A misplaced phrase, a misunderstanding, syllables stuck under tongues or behind teeth. There’s never been any confusion in how you touch one another, in how Nick’s hands convey a love language that maybe words can’t.

The problem is that touch between you two is sometimes too much, too honest, too real. Too complicated.

How are you supposed to move on and get over him if you’re constantly near one another? If one brush of his fingers turns into a playful squeeze at your hip, if one lingering gaze ignites into him brushing his lips against your temple?

You convince yourself that you can somehow create space, that it won’t be so difficult, that the universe has to be on your side here—that even though it’s hard? It’ll be good for you in the long run.

Turns out the universe is a bitch.

��

There’s too many moving bodies on the dance floor, it pushes you and Nick closer and closer together.

To be fair, you’re in a tight circle of friends and beats are pulsing through the tight spaces. You’re in a tiny slip dress, a pair of high-top converse sneakers to move easily, which just ends up being a bunch of bouncing and swaying to the beat at a wicked pace. Jenna’s grin is wide as she throws her arms around you and you laugh, tipping your head back towards the ceiling.

You love nights like this, the feeling of freedom, your heartbeat loud in your ears, no concerns other than when the next drink is gonna be bought. Lion tugs your dance partner away, twirling her into a circle and you back up to avoid the spin—

And bump right into Nick.

The man is like black hole—endless, all-encompassing. He’s dressed simply, but he could probably wear a paper bag and still have the same sex appeal. Lean, tapered body, intricate line tattoos on muscled biceps and you try not to think about the set of Roman numerals that you used to love to kiss on his collarbone. You’re close enough to see the light sheen of sweat sticking to his skin, deepening the scent of his cologne and him somehow. You want to run your hands through his curls and tug—

You must show how you feel right on your face because Nick steps closer, his hand reaching for you, sliding it around your waist to pull you flush against him. It’s so confident and knowing that it nearly takes you out at your knees.

You know you could pull away and that he’d let you, but the moment his fingers curl against your back, the moment he gathers a bit of the fabric of your dress between his fingers—you know you’re not going anywhere.

The weight and heat of his body against your own feels like coming home.

You dance like that for a while, pressed against one another, your arms resting on top of his shoulders, fingers against his neck, curling into the bottom of his hair. He slips close enough at one point to press a kiss to your shoulder, something that you ignore. You have to.

And yet your fingers dig into his shoulders and Nick pulls back, eyes dark, on your lips.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You’re about to say something, maybe mention grabbing water or stepping outside—but Nick’s thumb begins to trace circles through the thin material of your dress against the underwear line on your hip. A struggled gasp leaves your lips, and he must feel it more than hear it, a slow smile curving his handsome mouth.

“I need to—“ You take a step back, almost running into someone else. Nick’s arms stabilize you from stumbling, even though he eventually lets you go. You immediately regret opening your mouth. “Bathroom.”

You turn and make a b-line towards the restrooms before he can say anything. The sharp coolness off the dance floor manages to shake reality into focus and you run a hand over your face, a soft laugh rumbling in your chest.

Jesus.

You don’t end up using the bathroom, just leaning against the wall near them and breathing, trying to center yourself. It’s blissfully devoid of people back here and you need that. Your body aches in a delicious way, a throb of heat still present between your legs.

And apparently it’s not going to go away, because Nick rounds the corner.

“Nick—” His name barely slips out from between your teeth before he’s pressed against you again, and your resolve goes right out the fucking window, your mouth crashing down onto his.

You thread your fingers into his hair and yank him forward and you can feel him chuckle against your body as he has to balance himself with his hands on the wall on either side of you. His thigh slides between your legs and a full body shudder passes through you as you allow yourself to lean down into him.

Fuck.

Nick pulls back just a little, brushing your lips together. His hand slides between you, tugging your dress up so that the only thing between your cunt and his jeans are your underwear.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asks, mouth at your ear. “I can stop.”

That’s something you’ve always loved about Nick—he checks on you, he makes sure you’re okay. Doesn’t matter if it’s something soft or like this, heated and desperate. You know you shouldn’t—you know that this will only complicate things that are already complicated…

And yet you don’t want to stop.

“No,” You reply, assure your response with your hips pivoting down, grinding against his leg. Nick’s hands fall to your waist, holding you in place, a groan vibrating in his chest.

The pulse of the music is muffled, you can hear the uptick in his breathing, can feel how hard he is against you. You’re not ashamed of the tiny whimpers that leave your lips as you roll your hips down against him, the pressure incredible but not enough—he feels so fucking good. You’ve missed him terribly. All logical thought evaporates when his one hand comes up and cups your breast through your slip dress.

“Can feel how wet you are for me,” Nick says. “Desperate for it, aren’t you?”

Jesus. You need more. You need him to help—to do something. You can only use the momentum of your legs to get off on him to a certain point. There’s not enough leverage, there’s not enough friction to sate the heated ache quickly building in your lower belly.

“I—I need—”

“No,” He nips at your lower lip. “If you want to cum, you’re gonna have to do it just like this.”

An exasperated noise leaves your mouth, and you’re stuck between wanting to throttle him and kiss him. He drags your hips down, and you wish his fingers were inside of you, wish his thumb was circling your clit. The thought alone is enough to uptick your pleasure, and you’re so fucking close.

“Nick,” You moan, “Please.”

He licks his lips, smiling a little as his hand tugs down your dress over your breast. “So polite.” He teases, before he dips his head, taking your nipple into his mouth.

There’s a snap of your hips when he drags his teeth over your puckered flesh and then you’re shattering. He holds your body up as you shudder, waves of pleasure slamming into you like the base of the music pulsing in your ears.

He doesn’t let you go, even when your breathing settles, even when his leg moves out from between your thighs. You’re sure you look absolutely wrecked—you feel it. Underwear ruined, sweat sticking some of your hair to your neck, your heart thrumming for a completely different reason.

Your eyes find Nick’s, the port that’s always been in the center of your storm, and a sudden thick emotion lodges itself in your throat.

“I miss you.” You choke out, blaming the almost waterworks on endorphins, on the bliss that’s still kissing your nerve endings.

Nick visibly swallows, brushing your hair over your shoulder after he fixes your dress. You think he might say something, he even opens his mouth, but no words come.

Jesus. One good orgasm and you’re tumbling head over tincups into emotions too heavy to come with words. Nick broke up with you—you should be furious, you should push him away, except this is how the whole problem started. You pushed first.

You straighten your shoulders and he takes a step back. You expect him to turn and leave, but he doesn’t, hovering—waiting? You’re not sure for what. He runs both of his hands through his hair, as if to compose himself, as if there’s words stuck in his throat that he doesn’t know how to say.

Instead of saying anything at all, he reaches his hand out for you to take. A peace offering, of sorts, a promise that even though things aren’t okay, the door isn’t completely closed off.

You discreetly wipe away a tear that’s slipped down your cheek and take his hand.

—

You don’t talk about what happened at the club but things don’t change between you. It’s the same heavy glances, the same shared, soft smiles, the same brushing of fingers and calling it an accident.

It should be fucked up. But it’s not.

—

You haven’t been to an underground car show and race in a while, so the thrum of engines and the smell of gasoline is exciting. Comforting, even. You come with Jenna even though you know Nick will be there. Avoidance doesn’t work and trying to ignore the crackling energy between you two just…ends up with you getting off on his leg in a darkened corner at a club.

“Don’t get me wrong, babe,” Jenna says over her shoulder as she moves to lean against her car. “I love Nick, I really do. But…whatever this is between you two—”

“I know,” You put your hand up to stop her.

She smiles a little, “I was hopin’ you two would talk, figure it out.”

“Oh, you mean you ruining my favorite pair of underwear wasn’t ‘figuring it out’?” You laugh a little, rubbing the back of your neck. Despite it probably not being the best decision…you can’t find yourself regretting it either.

You still love Nick. You don’t think that’ll change.

You look down at your shoes, a pair of sneakers, high waisted jeans and a crop t-shirt. You’re showing off your shape but nothing that overdoes it; comfortable. You feel like you need that tonight.

“I told him I missed him.” In an orgasm induced haze, but still. “And he didn’t say anything.”

You know Nick isn’t exactly very forward with his words all the time, his actions speak the loudest. But…you needed to hear something then, you needed some sort of assurance that…maybe you both made a mistake.

Or maybe it’s just wishful thinking on your part. You can’t quite picture ripping yourself wide open to talk to him about why you pulled away if he can’t admit he purposely let you go.

You run a hand over the side of your face, glancing over at another set of cars pulling up and guys getting out, greeting one another, the space turning into an outside party with music and beer. While you’re glad you came, it’s been a while, part of you feels like curling under your comforter at home with a book.

“Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to branch out?” Jenna asks, tossing an arm over your shoulder. “Not saying you need to have another orgasm,” You laugh softly. “But maybe talking to some handsome strangers wouldn’t hurt either.”

You breathe in through your nose, looking out at the crowd of cars and people. You suppose it wouldn’t hurt.

—

Turns out talking to guys about cars is fun. You don’t know much about them? But they like responding to your questions—and none of it has been mansplaining, which you’re grateful for. You’re really not in the mood tonight…just trying to sink into your own skin, enjoy something that’s a little different, not think about Nick.

Even though you can feel his eyes on you.

You know he’s here because you saw him drive in, park his car, and find Lion and Jenna. He doesn’t come find you; wouldn’t be surprised if Jenna told him to give you some space. Either way, you can feel his gaze every so often, lingering, something open and warm that you miss. That you feel like you can dive right into.

Your heart flutters in your chest as you lock eyes, the guy you were talking to, Pete, headed to the bathroom. Nick crosses the pavement, giving you a small wave.

“Hi.”

You smile, the word somehow too simple , but you say it back. You try to think of something else to say, to fill the space between you,

“There’s not a race tonight, is there?”

His eyebrows crinkle together, smiling, “Why? Did you want to give driving a shot?”

You laugh and he takes a step closer, “No, I wouldn’t stand a chance. Even when you’re driving too fast sometimes I get nauseous.”

“I’m always under the speed limit.”

“You are not,” You scoff out a sound but you’re grinning.

“Very responsible,” Nick tacks on with a playful tilt of his lips, sticking his hands into his pockets.

The banter is familiar but it makes you miss him even more. That gnawing pit in your stomach rears its ugly head as you think about the other night, about saying something so vulnerable and it not being reciprocated. Nick must see the shadow pass over your face because he clears his throat, tilting his head in the direction of the bathrooms.

“I’m gonna—” He trails off and he turns to leave but then pauses, “I’ll see you later?”

The question sinks into your skin and blooms before you give him a small nod. You then look at your shoes, unable to watch him walk away.

—

Having another sip of the drink in your hand, you smile as Pete finishes his semi-cute rant about the first car he ever owned. Some sort of thing he and dad fixed up together, which is how he’s come to love cars. It’s nice, having that connection to something special, something that becomes a passion project. You thought for a long time that might be art for you but…you’ve learned that you’re much more someone who appreciates viewing art than creating it. Maybe you’ll end up going to school for something that involves the ocean.

Shifting on your feet, you curl your hair away from your face. There’s a soft headache pinching the back of your head, behind your ear, but it’s probably from the muffled sound of music constantly pulsing against the concrete down here.

“So would you say you like driving or fixing up cars more?” You ask, running your thumb over the rim of the cup.

He opens his mouth to reply, but then his gaze narrows to someone behind you. Turning, you come face to face with Nick, who looks furious. It’s not so much in his face, it’s the way he’s holding his body—like a tight band about to snap. He zeroes in on the cup in your hand,

“Give that to me.”

You blink, “What? No.” Seriously? You thought you kinda parted from one another on good terms and now he’s here? In your business while you’re trying to talk to a guy? To have a decent night that doesn’t include him?

You open up your mouth–

“Y/N.” There's something in the way that he says your name that makes you feel cold, your gaze wandering down to the cup. It only takes a moment to connect to dots about why Nick would approach you like this, pissed. A sour feeling develops in your stomach, connecting to pinpricks of dread as the cup leaves your hand.

Nick takes it, your fingers brushing, setting it down on the pavement. And as if he wasn't moving carefully before, he suddenly whirls his body in precise movements, suckerpunching Pete in the face. His body bows and he lands on the ground, screaming about his face—

"You broke my fucking nose!"

"You think someone wasn't going to hear you in the bathroom, you fuck?" He snaps and you stumble a step back, bumping into the driver's side of a car nearby. You’re trying to piece together what’s going on but your thoughts are sluggish, which just serves to make you feel more panicked.

"I didn't know she was your girlfriend, man, she said she was single."

You put your hand over your mouth, swaying a little on your feet, though you're not sure if it's because Pete...he put something in your drink or because of the blood on Nick's knuckles as he throws another punch, this time hitting him square in the jaw. Pete's head snaps back like a ragdoll but all he does is groan.

It’s unclear if Nick says anything else because the garage begins to spin and you let out a short, sharp breath, bending a little at your waist to close your eyes. Fuck. Whatever Pete gave you? It's strong and working fast—you only had a few sips of that drink. Terrifying to think if you'd been alone with him...

Someone comes up beside you and wraps an arm around your waist and you begin to squirm until you hear Nick's voice against your ear, "Shh, it's me." A small, uncomfortable whimper leaves your lips—your body feels weird, like it's disconnected. Bone by bone, muscle by muscle. Your cheeks are hot and your stomach is dipping in nausea. "I know, I got you. Hold onto me."

You stretch your arm across his shoulders, squeezing your eyes shut as everything spins. There's movement, but you have no idea how you're even walking with how heavily you're leaning into Nick's side.

Flashes of movement, sound, and pitches of light. You can feel warm leather underneath your body, head lolled back against the headrest, Jenna's voice? Then Nick's.

"No, I got her." He closes a door, opens up another, "I get it Jenn, but it’s not happening. I’m not leaving her.” Confusion prickles along your forehead, unable to make heads or tails of that conversation. You want to ask but your veins feel like they're filled with cotton as the world goes black.

Sleep is uncomfortable and dreamless. You wake up several times with a pounding headache, a sour stomach, and shaking that makes you feel like there aren’t enough blankets in the world to keep you warm. When you wake up and it sticks, you blink as you try to get your vision to adjust. The room is a little dark, sun trying to shine through drawn curtains. There’s an anvil that’s been placed on your head, there has to be, because when you turn to lie on your back the pain in your temples is unheard of.

You close your eyes again, pinching the space between your nose and forehead with your fingers. It doesn’t help. A weight sits down near your legs, an arm stretched over them. When you manage to pry your eyelids back again, Nick comes into slow focus. He looks tired, eyes not as bright, curls a bit mussed.

“How you feeling?” He asks, voice nearly a whisper.

“Like I swallowed a tire and then was run over.” You wince, sitting up just a little, which somehow makes everything worse. Your hand covers your face and Nick threads his fingers through your hair, brushing the strands over your shoulder. The room is quiet for the moment, birds chirping outside, the even movement of Nick drawing in breath.

“I can't believe this happened,” You mumble, “I feel like an idiot.”

“This isn't on you,” He says, voice gentle but firm. “If Pete knows what's good for him, he'll never think about doing shit like that again.”

You raise your eyebrows, the corner of your mouth twitching in a smile as you finally look at him. “What are you, like, the mafia? Did you cut off his hands?”

A wisp of a smile, and yet something dark in those eyes that make you swallow, “No, but I did threaten to slam them in his car door if I ever saw him at another event you were at.”

You shake your head even though your entire body bursts with warmth. What does it say about you? That you're willing to accept such a violent sentiment? You draw in a long breath through your nose. Maybe a thought for another day when you don't feel so sick.

One of Nick's hands lace through yours, his thumb brushing circles around your knuckles. "Seeing you like that..." He was scared, you realize, you can see it on his face—plain as day. He's quiet for a moment, licking his lips before he speaks again,

"Can I get you anything?"

You shake your head, not wanting him to leave, drawing in a breath as you finally notice that you're in his bedroom and not your own. You pick up hints of the smell of laundry detergent and his shampoo on his sheets. He drove you back to his place,

"Didn't think I'd end up in your bed any time soon." It's a small joke, just something to break what feels like a vice-like tension around your ribs.

Nick's gaze holds your own for a moment, something unweighted and unsaid, "I miss you here."

You swallow over an instant lump in your throat and you have to tear your eyes away and blink, trying to get rid of the sudden onslaught of tears. Partly because of the situation that landed you here, but also because you didn't realize how much you needed to hear him say it, to hold that same sentiment as you.

You sniffle, a tear slipping down your cheek as you try to play off the comment with a light laugh, "Well your bed does have the best pillows."

Nick doesn't reply but instead leans forward until his arms are wrapped around your back, gently pulling you to his chest. His one hand slips through your hair as you press your face into his shoulder, while the other rubs up and down your back in firm, even strokes.

Nothing is fixed between you two, not by a long-shot. But some of the visible cracks, you think, begin to heal.

—

You were wrong.

That much is clear. You’ve had so many good moments with Nick that you’re not sure why you allowed your unfounded anxiety to control you, to convince you of something that wasn’t true. But that time spent with him in his bedroom after the whole Pete thing only solidifies what you’ve been feeling for a while.

You fucked up.

You pulled away based solely on fears that were baseless, something you thought you didn’t have a claim to. But you do. You do deserve to have someone be there for you, to take care of you, to look out for you. To miss you.

You’re ready to own that you didn’t make the best choice…but Nick needs to own his mess too.

Y/N: Can we talk?

It takes a little for your phone to buzz— Nick: You’re not gonna convince me that diner food is somehow better than Italian, you’re just not.

A small smile tugs the corners of your mouth, Y/N: I mean…

You’ve had this banter back and forth before and it’s easy to fall back into similar patterns, something comforting. That feels like home.

Nick: You’ve never had homemade carbonara. Life-changing.

Y/N: Are you offering?

Not what you were originally trying to text him about but spending time with him wouldn’t suck, either. Who says you can’t bring up past mistakes over pasta? You chew on your lower lip, as you wait for a response.

Nick: What do you want to talk about? Nick: I might be out of London next week, my dad is traveling for work and I think I’m gonna go with him.

You stare at the messages for a moment, almost getting whiplash. You know that tone completely disappears sometimes with texting but…you also get the sense that you and Nick are on the same page. And he doesn’t want to be.

You swallow over unspoken words in your throat, not wanting to lose your nerve. If Nick leaves, you’re almost worried that you’ll be at square one when he gets back.

Y/N: Something important.

You curl your hair around your ear, pulling yourself up in bed. You do your best not to pace, trying to clean up your room instead, something more productive than wearing the carpet down. When your phone pings, you deny practically diving for it.

Nick: Then I’ll make time for you.

—

That conversation doesn’t happen. Not because neither of you want it to happen, but because the next day, your grandmother passes away. It’s not something you were expecting—you thought your grandma was in pretty good health for her age. You just saw her a month ago…went over to her house, baked cookies and watched episodes of Magnum P.I., because your grandmother’s thirsting commentary over Tom Selleck was one of your favorite things to participate in.

You were close. Sometimes you talked to her about relationships because she was married to your grandfather until he died a few years ago. They were in love in a way that made you feel like…like maybe it’s one of the best and worst things to happen to someone. That maybe not all relationships are doomed from the start. Your gram talked about her husband every day, even after he passed, something warm and gentle in her eyes. That love never faded.

Sometimes you and her talked about Nick.

When your parents tell you, you don’t cry. You just kind of stand there staring at them, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for someone to turn this into a warped joke, a morbid sense of humor. It doesn’t feel real. How does one day have your grandmother in it and then the next just…doesn’t? How are you supposed to keep going through each of them moving forward without her? Someone who was always willing to listen, someone who made you laugh and feel at home in your skin.

Someone who just saw you. There’s only been one another person in your life that’s made you feel like that.

The days slip forward but you don’t end up leaving your room, spending time in bed, unmoving. You ignore your laptop, your pinging phone that eventually dies, the pleas of your parents to eat something. You just…you can’t. Not right now. There’s an ache in your chest that is beyond anything you’ve ever felt before, it immobilizes you. In the back of your mind you know you should take care of yourself, that the last thing your grandmother would want is this.

But today isn’t that day.

You shift in bed, adjusting your head on your pillow, hearing your bedroom door open. You don’t turn to look at who it is—probably your mother, either setting food on your nightstand or maybe deciding she’s gonna force your hand. Yank the covers off and encourage you to get a shower. You cover your face with your hand, listening to the movements as the door closes again.

Blankets are pulled back, but someone crawls in, your heart lurching into your throat as you realize who it is.

Nick drags his hand down your arm, shuffling closer until his front maps against your back. “You don’t have to say anything,” He murmurs, “But I’m going to lay here with you. Alright?”

You lick your lips, the bridge of your nose stinging as you realize he’s supposed to be gone this week. He mentioned he was going to travel with his dad and yet he’s here, with you, offering you comfort and space all at once. You lean back just a little into him, a silent reply, squeezing your eyes shut. Nick’s hand rubs your shoulder, thumb tracing back and forth along your elbow, a kiss pressed to the back of your neck.

The weight of his body and the heat of his skin make tears gather in your eyes. You’re not sure how your heart can feel so full and empty all at the same time. Sniffling, you turn your body so that you’re facing him, Nick leaning back just a little. His hand comes to rest on your waist, his head perched on your one pillow. Your eyes begin to trace the soft blonde curls that are near his forehead, the slope of his nose, his strong jawline and full lips.

He’s here—and you love him even more than you already do, which doesn’t feel possible.

Nick’s eyes explore your face, his one hand cupping your cheek and brushing underneath your eye, removing invisible tears that haven’t fallen yet. “I’m so sorry.” He whispers.

You bite down on the inside of your cheek, trying not to cry, but on the next intake of breath tears spill over your cheeks. You cover your face with one hand, your shoulders shuddering, and Nick closes the space between you. He draws you into his chest, tucking you under his chin, and you find yourself clinging to him as each sob wracks your body. All the pent up emotions you’ve had since you found out empty against his chest—and Nick takes it all.

He steadies you, wrapping his arms tightly around your frame, pressing his nose and lips into your hair. He squeezes every so often, your fingers gathering his shirt into your hands as if you can ground yourself in him.

“That’s it,” He threads his hand through your hair, rubbing his thumb against the back of your neck. “Just let it all out.” Nick knows you far too well, knows that you haven’t given yourself time to feel, to be. To let it all wash over you. That you need this and didn’t realize how much that was true until it was happening.

You exhaust yourself, until you’re a mess of sniffles and stumbled breathing. Nick pulls back a little, cupping both sides of your face to brush your hair behind your ears. He presses a kiss to your forehead, reaching over your shoulder to grab a few tissues from the box on your nightstand.

“Thank you.” Your voice is a bit strained from lack of use and you try your best to clean up your face, crumpling the tissues into your palms. You’re not just thanking him for the tissues though, it’s for everything, for being here.

Your chest hurts but…you feel a little bit better. You’re not sure when you’ll feel like yourself again, but it’s a good, small, first step. Your gaze finds Nick’s, who’s watching you with a careful expression. Not because he thinks you might start crying again, but because he’s concerned. Worried. You lift your hand and brush your thumb over his lower lip, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek.

“I love you.” You tell him, feeling him go still beneath your touch. You know this might not be the best time, that maybe these thick, heavy emotions are driving forth how you make decisions, but…if anything? You’ve just been reminded that life is short. That you shouldn’t go through it without sharing how you feel about things, about people.

“I know it’s…I know we still have to talk and I understand if—” If you don’t feel the same way, is what you want to say but the words get trapped underneath your tongue.

Nick’s hand falls to your neck, tipping your chin up with his thumb, “I love you too.” He replies, stealing the air right from your lungs. “That’ll never change.” He holds your gaze a moment, playfully pinching your chin between his thumb and fingers. “Okay?”

You give him a soft, watery smile, nodding before he tucks you in close again.

Nick stays as long as you need him.

—

A handful of weeks pass by—the pain of losing your grandmother doesn’t completely disappear. But you do feel better. They say that time is capable of healing all wounds, and maybe that’s true, but honestly? You think it has everything to do with Nick.

—

Jenna’s birthday is celebrated at her house, a large party underway. You’d expect nothing less at celebrating someone so vibrant. You’re over there early to help set up, to hang out and do your makeup, to eat a little too much cake with sweet icing. Her house fills up fast, people you’ve never even met before spilling into all the rooms of the lavish London estate. You’re looking for someone specific though.

You and Nick haven’t spoken with the intention of clearing the air since your grandmother passed. He’s been giving you space to breathe and work through your emotions, which…you appreciate, but you don’t want space anymore. You don’t want to spend one more day caught between a ‘sometimes’ and an ‘almost’.

“You seen Nick?” You call out to Lion who’s mixing drinks in the kitchen.

“Playing pool I think.” He volleys back.

Making your way through the crowd of people, you turn towards the dining room were the pool table is located, but stop short when you hear Anna—

“C’mon Nick, at the very least we used to be good friends.”

“Jesus Anna, I’m just trying to take a piss.” Which tells you she cornered him outside the bathroom. You chew on your lower lip, debating turning the corner and revealing that you’re standing there or going about your business to the dining room…or maybe even go back the way you came.

You shouldn’t be eavesdropping, you know you’d be annoyed if someone was listening in on you, but…your feet feel glued to the carpet. You’re not sure you can move even if you decided to.

“I’m just trying to say,” Anna replies, softer than before. She must have stepped closer to him because her voice is no longer carrying like it was. “That I miss you.”

There is no reply from Nick.

“We’ve always known how to have a good time.”

When Nick finally does speak, his voice is matter of fact, “That hasn’t been true for a long time.”

Anna bristles, “I just thought that since you’re single now, free from that—”

“Don’t,” Nick interrupts, a warning. You can picture the muscle in his jaw working, the way it clenches when he begins to get pissed off. Then, “You thought wrong.”

A door closes, effectively ending the conversation. You know you should probably move as Anna storms down the hallway, but you don’t and when she turns the corner, her eyes go wide. You straighten your shoulders at her scowl, offering her a bright smile…before heading in the direction she came from.

Down the hall, towards Nick.

You wait patiently outside the bathroom for the door to open, his eyebrows lifting in soft surprise as he sees you leaning against the far wall. Warm amusement blooms over his face, erasing the earlier attitude lines from his expression. Nick’s shoulders drop from his ears, his entire demeanor relaxes around you, as if he’s peeling away a version of himself. That he’s showing you something real. You have no idea why you hadn’t noticed it before.

He props himself against the doorframe, “This feels vaguely familiar.” He smirks, glancing down the empty hall.

You move towards him, a fond smile on your face, “I was looking for you.”

Nick draws in a soft breath, tipping his chin down as you come to stand in front of him. “How have you been doing?”

It’s a large question, one you’re not sure you have a complete answer for, but you love that he asks, “I’m alright,” You nod, “Some days are better than others.”

He nods, silence stretching between you both but it’s not uncomfortable. Your heart hammers a little into your ears and you resist the urge to straighten your dress when you know it’s perfectly fine.

“I’m not keeping you from anything, am I?” You ask after a moment, “Anna waiting to have a good time?”

Nick lets out a soft laugh that sounds like a breath leaving his nose, rolling his eyes, “Heard all that, did you?”

And yes, you may have admitted that you were eavesdropping, but he doesn’t look put off in the slightest. “Was a valiant effort on her part.”

His gaze is warm as he shakes his head and suddenly the silence between you two feels electrically charged. “She didn’t come close.”

You feel heat splotch across the back of your neck and fuck, you have no idea what it is exactly about Nick and how he can make you feel like this. Like everything you thought you knew has been flipped upside down. You breathe in through your nose to settle the butterflies, straightening your spine in resolve so you don’t chicken out—

“This…distance between us, it’s…it was my fault.”

Nick’s eyebrows draw together a little and he takes a step forward and you’re almost breathing the same air. You can feel the heat of his body through his clothes, his cologne achingly familiar, his fingers brushing yours as he takes your hand into his. You turn your wrist, your thumb playing with a ring on his index.

You expect him to make a joke about there not being distance at all, but instead, he shakes his head, not allowing you to take all the blame, “I knew what you were doing,” Pulling away, “and instead of trying to talk to you, I made it worse.”

“You wanted to hurt me,” You admit in a small voice.

Nick glances away, a twitch in his jaw that tells you everything without him even having to say it. Not something he’s proud of, yet true.

“Is that what you really wanted?” You ask, quickly clarifying when pain flashes in his eyes. “To break up?”

He lifts his hand and plays with a strand of hair near your ear before tucking it behind. There’s a soft smile playing with the corners of his mouth, but it’s like he’s afraid to give into the full emotion.

“Think we both know I’m not exactly over you.”

You smile back, “So I’ll take that as a no then—”

Nick leans down to kiss you. It’s gentle at first, wary, asking for permission—just in case. But the moment you thread your fingers behind his neck, when you lean your body into his and make a soft, pleased noise, that’s all it takes for him to deepen the kiss. The atmosphere shifts around you and Nick leans down, lifting you up into his arms, backing up into the bathroom as your legs wrap around his waist.

Sometimes Nick reminds you of fire—warmth, crackling energy, unpredictability. All-consuming. It’s one of your favorite things about him, how undeniable he is.

The kiss breaks for a moment, you breathe and Nick’s one arm keeps you close while the other slips between you. His hand cups your cheek, thumb toying with your lower lip. “Whoever thought breaking up was a good idea is an absolute tool.”

A giggle slips out, making Nick smile against your lips, and he backs up until he becomes flush with a wall. When that happens, he carefully loosens his arms so that you end up back on the floor, pressed against him. Your arms lazily wrap around his waist, up and under his jacket, a soft squeeze following.

He purses his lips, “You think Jenna would be angry with us for leaving her birthday party early?”

You really like where that thought is going, “I think she’ll understand,” You tip your chin up at him, smiling, “Besides, I have one of those faces that’s hard to say no to—sure she can’t be mad at it, either.”

Nick sighs softly, grabbing your hand to lace his fingers with your own. He begins to tug you from the bathroom, “Don’t I know it.”

You grin, wandering back down the hallway and through the party towards the front door where all the cars are parked. You pass Anna on the way out, her eyes zeroing in on your joined hands. You know it’s petty of you to wave goodbye to her with your other hand—yet you do it anyways.

—

Nick’s kitchen is filled with the scent of spices, herbs and fatty pork. He kept his promise about making homemade carbonara and you should have known that if he was going to cook, he was going to go all out. You lean against the counter as you sit on a high stool, chin pillowed in your hand, eyes on the back of him as he twirls pasta on the stove with tongs. Your gaze follows the long line of toned muscles in his shoulders, down to his waist.

One of the hottest things a guy can do, you think, is cook.

Jenna playfully snaps her fingers in front of your face, breaking your staring contest. You’re not even embarrassed, you just grin at her. She shakes her head, amused, “I’m so glad you’re back together, babe. No offense, I love you, but you both were just absolutely insufferable.”

You scoff out an affronted noise, your hand on your chest in mock offense as Nick turns around to plate pasta. He’s smiling, his eyes flickering to yours before concentrating on the task at hand. He pulls long noodles from the pot, twisting even helpings onto serving plates.

Everyone eats their fill—Jenna, Lion and Giles headed towards the pool for a late night swim. You and Nick will join them, eventually, but for now you have another helping of pasta as Nick cleans up the kitchen. You smile a little as you hear Jenna laugh outside, splashes of water. A pleased breath is drawn into your lungs as you eat the last bit of pasta on your plate.

It’s gone—a tragedy.

“Not going to lick the plate?” Nick asks, voice full teasing, a warmth in his gaze as he takes the plate from you.

You narrow your eyes a little, “I mean, it was good, but check your ego.”

Nick smirks, “Alright, so what’s the verdict?” You pretend to give it some serious thought, pausing for dramatic effect. Your boyfriend laughs suddenly, shaking his head— “Oh come on, you’re not serious.”

“I’m still thinking!”

“What’s there to think about?” He asks, “Homemade carbonara.”

“Yeah, but like…have you ever ordered a cheeseburger with a perfect side of cinnamon pancakes?” You ask, purposely trying to jerk his wire, “Only a diner can do that.”

Nick sets the plate down behind him, turning to lean against the counter. He gives you an incredulous look, “You are absolutely wrong for that, don’t know how else to put it.”

You preen, a grin on your face, “You love me.” You toss it out rather carelessly, not expecting Nick to catch it.

And yet he does, handles it with care, keeps it close. “Yes,” He nods, a small smile on his face. “I do.”

A soft breath catches in your throat and warmth, affection, gathers in the center of your chest. The sensation used to make you feel like running away, but not anymore. You tilt your head a little,

“Come over here and kiss me.”

Nick pushes himself off the counter, rounding the island counter as you shift your body on the stool. He’s moving almost too fast, eager, and you don’t have time to open your legs for him as he leans down and captures your lips. That’s just fine though, his hands splay your knees apart before he sinks between them.

A soft noise leaves your lips, an ache beginning in your stomach and blooming lower, your one ankle hooks around the back of his leg. There’s a distant thought in the back of your mind, shouldn’t we be getting back to our friends? — but that is quickly overshadowed when you feel the beginning of Nick’s hardness against your inner thigh.

He seems to read your mind because in one quick motion, he’s lifting you up into his arms and you steady yourself with your legs around his waist, arms draped over his shoulders.

“What are you doing?” You laugh, noses brushing as he tips his head up to look at you.

“Making up for lost time.” And carries you towards his bedroom.

#my fault london #my fault: london #nick leister #nick leister x reader #matthew broome #matthew broome x reader #my fault series #mccall writes things #my fault london x reader

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fae3ntanglement · 2 months ago

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CNC Bondage Gang/bang

The following is a piece of nsfw smut depicting a kidnapping bondage scene with multiple partners. Fare warning this does lean on the side of "nc" more than "cnc".

1418 Words

They had dragged her into the room, she had struggled and groaned from behind the gag in her mouth the whole time, trying to get out of their strong grip and the cuffs that bound her wrists behind her back. They half carried half dragged her over to a flat wooden chest that sat on the top of a table, with straps laying beside it. On the side of the chest closest to the edge of the table there was a semicircular dip in its side, just big enough for her hips to fit. They shove her down into the chest, one of the men pressing his hands down on her head and her back, forcing her to stay in the box, while another held her struggling legs, and the third man moved around to grab the lid of the box to close it. With quick movements the chest is closed around her head and torso, trapping her waist in the hole in its side and encasing her in darkness. She tried to push her bound hands against the chest lid above her but fails to make it budge as the men hold it down to lock it. Attempting to kick her way out just results in the grip on her legs becoming tighter. The two other men then take the straps on the table, wrapping them over the chest and under the table, securing it tightly in place so the chest doesn’t budge. After making sure the straps are secured they grab some small straps off of the table and come around behind her, taking one of her struggling and kicking legs from the third man, they wrestle to strap it to one of the table legs. Securing it tight they move to her other leg, tightly strapping it to the other table leg, spreading her legs wide.

Helplessness runs through her as she tries to pull her legs closed, which just results in chuckles from the men. She bangs her bound fists against the chest again, protesting loudly through her gag. All that can be heard through the chest is muffled groans.

“There nice and quiet” one of the men sighs, patting the top of the chest, causing her to growl in response within it. A sudden finger grazing her now exposed pussy lips makes her jump and she tries pulling her hips away.

“It’s so pathetic how wet all this struggling has made her” the man behind her says, his finger dragging gently against her pussy and pulling away with her fluids coating his finger.

“It’s almost like she wants it” says another, with a slight chuckle, moving next to him, examining her drenched pussy.

Within the dark chest she tries to reject the pleasure of the slight touches, but her body so eagerly wants to accept it and betray her. Through the solid chest she doesn’t hear the sound of a zipper, as the man directly behind her pulls his long and already very hard cock from his pants.

Taking a step closer he taps his cock against her opening then slides the tip of it through her wetness. She startles at the sensation and tries to struggle away from the feeling, protesting through her gag.

“Hear that?” The man at the side of the chest says a smirk on his face, comical tipping his ear towards the box “all those moans, sound like she wants it badly”

She struggles more trying to word her protests and reject his words.

“Oh such a needy cunt” the man behind her says, lining his cock up with her opening, “I’ll give her exactly what she wants” and with a sharp thrust shoves his cock deep within her. With a muffled scream in protest she bangs her bound hands against the locked chest again, as his cock roughly stretches her insides.

“Oh fuck she’s nice and tight” he huffs as he grinds his hips slightly, pressing his cock further in with a groan.

She whines in protest from in the box, trying to pull her hips away, to pull him out from inside her, but the cuffs on her ankles and her waist encircled by the hole in the box, holds her securely in place.

His rough hands grab her ass, squeezing both cheeks as he spreads them and pulls is cock slowly back out. Gazing down at his cock slowly pulling out of her he stops right before the tip pops out, he spreads her ass wider and then with a sudden movement he quickly thrusts back in her deeper than before. She releases another muffled scream from behind her gag, trying so hard to pull away with no avail.

“Mmh sounds like she likes it” the man beside the chest croons, caressing the top of the chest.

“I know I sure do” the man within his cock inside her groaned as he picks up his pace, placing a hand on top of the box and beginning to fuck her roughly. His thrusts stretch her roughly, and she tries to deny that it feels good, that being used like this, bound, gaged, and helpless isn’t making her wet, but she can hear and feel how wet she’s getting.

“Fuck, such a good hole” the man fucking her groans as his thrusts speed up and he starts pounding into her, making it harder for her to think about protesting.

“Are you ready to be filled up with cum?” The man at the side of the box crooned, snapping her out of the pleasure that she was feeling. They weren’t going to pull out, they were going to cum inside her, she tried to pull her body away from the now relentless fucking, letting out a groan of protest trying to plead with them. She could hear laughing at her failed struggles.

“Mmmhm scare her again, she gets so tight when she struggles” the man fucking her moaned as he shifted deeper inside her, his pace speeding up.

“Of course we’re going to fill you up, what's the use of a nice wet hole if we can't use it as a cum dump” the other man said, knocking teasingly on the other side of the box. She struggled more, but there was no escape. She felt the cock inside of her shove deep and rough at her struggles and in moments she felt it twitching inside of her as the man groaned.

“Fuck,” he swore as he slowly pulled out, she could feel cum start to drip out of her pussy. She started to attempt to yank her legs out of their binds, but as one cock left her dripping pussy another was lining up at her entrance, rubbing against the cum dripping out of her, using it as lube.

“Such a welcoming hole you have” the man who had been at the side of the box teased as he slowly starts to slide his cock into her. Struggling again, she lets out a groan as he stretches her back out, filling her pussy, his cock shoving the cum back in her. He is slower and slightly gentler than the first man, but in no time he is fully seated inside her, filling her deeper than before.

“Mmmh you’re right, she is going to be fun to keep as a cum dump” he groans as he begins to move back and forth, shoving his long length deep inside her, ramming it against her cervix. With each rough thrust she cries out, trying to pull her hips away, trying to protest, but all her struggling does is make him pump harder.

“Oh you feel so good when you're scared” he croons as he shoves his cock deep inside her, rolling his hips to get deeper.

“I told you” the other man said chuckling, patting the top of the box “we certainly picked a good one”

“You’re going to be our own personal set of holes to fill and use whenever we want” the man behind her says, continuing to roll his hip to grind his cock deep into her, making her groan.

“Just accept your fate” The third man says, as she starts to feel the cock in her pussy start to speed up, its thrusts longer and harder. There is no escape, no stopping these men from relentlessly using her, filling her with cum until she’s dripping down her legs, and she can't help but start to get lost in the pleasure of being filled, trapped and used.

#my writing #nsft smut #cnc k!nk #b0nd@ge #bd$m #r@pe fantasy #cnc r@pe #r@pe kink #g@ngb@ng #g@ngbang #breeding k1nk #smut writing #k!nk smut #smut

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coolwyous · 19 days ago

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┈─★ 𝘵𝘶𝘺𝘰 ( 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴. )

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝗺𝗼𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗮 𝗺𝗼𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿? 𝗼𝗵 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗶𝘁. contract killer megan skiendiel is trying to earn the favor of her boss, the most notorious cartel lord in the country. to prove herself, he tasks her with guarding his most prized possession— his daughter, daniela avanzini, who has a reputation for being the biggest fucking brat the world has seen.

ˎˊ˗ 🔪 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ୭˚. ⠀ ᵎᵎ ⠀ 🗝️

➴ pairing: 𝘮𝘦𝘪𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘪 — bodyguard!megan x cartel princess!daniela.

➴ genre + wc: 21k, cartel/mafia!au, bodyguard!au, speedrunning enemies to lovers, forced proximity, bonnie and clyde, guard dog megan and her princess dani, they both are psychos just in different ways 🥀, lwk also hades and persephone while im at it!!

➴ you might want to tune in...: tuyo- rodrigo amarante. ♫ full playlist can be heard here.

┈─★ a/n: MY FIRST MEMBER X MEMBER FIC RAHHHHH this is a wayyyy diff direction than most of my kats fics but i had so so so much fun challenging myself w it, hoping you guys enjoy something a lil less fluffy from me <3

cw:// violence, descriptions of blood, deaths, implied torture, guns, suggestive scenes, there's a scene w mild choking i think, also bloodplay kinda? but in like a pg-13 way not a nc-17 way, i don't think but gonna warn anyways!

megan’s sneaker taps anxiously against the terra cotta tile of the luxury mansion home. she’s in her boss’s office, one she’s only been in a handful of times, trying to avoid eye contact with the man as he blows puffs of cigar smoke in her face.

“skelly,” he says simply, leaning forward across his desk. “can i trust you?”

megan can hear the irritated huff of his henchmen behind her, guarding the door. she hears sophia, there as his witness, quickly shush them, and megan breathes a silent sigh of gratitude to the elder guardian angel, always looking out for her.

it was no secret that megan and sophia were anomalies in the ranks of the avanzini cartel. it rubbed many people the wrong way that these two young girls could work their way up so easily through the ranks, but their work spoke louder than unhappy grumbles from lazy mobsters ever would.

“absolutely, sir,” megan nods, her throat dry.

“i have a job for you. anything happens, and it’s you, and everything you’ve ever cared about. do you understand?” he leans his head down to try and catch megan’s gaze, grunting in displeasure. “look at me skelly.”

megan grimaces but meets his eyes nonetheless. “i won’t let you down, boss.”

“you don’t have a choice,” he laughs. “go. the driveway. i’ll meet you.”

megan and sophia quickly make their way out of his office, following orders.

“megan,” sophia says, her voice stern. “this goes well, and you could move up.”

that’s the goal, megan thinks to herself, breathing nervously, as the two find themselves outside and face to face with a gorgeous classic cadillac.

“that’s my car?” megan asks in disbelief.

“reinforced glass, steel plated,” sophia smiles, tapping the roof. “extra machinery in the backseat, enough clips to last you into your next lifetime.”

“what am i transporting?” megan asks, feeling herself grow only more eager to prove herself.

“my greatest treasure,” don avanzini beams, emerging from the door. he ashes his cigar beneath his foot, peering around as if he’s seeking someone. “you and daniela have met, no?”

“daniela?” megan’s brows knit together in confusion. “what?”

“what’d you think?” he squints at her. “i was going to have you in an armored truck hauling coke across state lines?”

“uh…” megan scratches at the back of her neck awkwardly.

“there’s a deal going down this week, and i just want insurance that my baby girl is safe somewhere else in case these russians want to play dirty. i have places for her to stay, down in miami. get her there by sunday, keep her busy at the beach, lay low, wait until things have cleared up here,” he instructs, as if she’s babysitting his pet. not his literal daughter.

“sir—” she protests, but she isn’t brave enough to argue even if the point is there.

megan panics. she’s a hitman. good at killing, good at subduing. she isn’t built to be a bodyguard— attentive, caring, gentle. she’s lost all notions of human connection long, long ago. it’s what makes her so good at her job. she is a robot, with one intention. end a life, at all costs.

“you have a broad skillset, don’t you? keep her safe, keep her happy.” he says simply. “that’s your job. do you understand?”

megan grits her teeth, realizing she won’t be getting out of this. “of course, sir.”

“you’d bring less attention to her than having my guys trail her everywhere,” he says, as if the rationale is obvious. he tilts his head down to meet megan’s eyes, his gaze steely. “do i make myself clear, skelly?”

“crystal, sir,” megan breathes, trying to erase any hints of irritation. what is she supposed to do?

“skelly, i mean it. a single hair off of her head, and i’ll kill you,” he reiterates, his tone going cold. “do whatever you have to do to keep her unharmed.”

megan nods, her jaw grinding tensely. “i’ve got it, sir.”

they’re caught in a staring contest, one that megan fears she won’t win, but before they can get too much further into it, there’s the sharp crack of the front door slamming open.

megan hears her before she sees her— the grating, shrieking voice that cuts through the sticky atlanta summer morning, disturbing the peace of the secluded avanzini residence. the curly haired girl barrels past the front entrance, a man hurriedly behind her, looking panicked as she rages on.

“the next time you stick me with a fucking idiot, can you at least make sure they’re literate?” she berates him, storming past. “how many times can i spell elf bar before it fucking clicks?”

“they don’t sell those here any more,” the man sighs, stumbling behind her. “the other ones are just as good—”

“not my problem,” she snaps, cutting him off. “i want the fucking elf bar.”

“daniela, my angel,” don avanzini beams, reaching out to her.

megan gulps down the lump in her throat.

“see you in two weeks, hermosa.” he presses a kiss to the top of her curls, and she recoils in irritation.

her eyes instantly snap up to meet megan’s.

“shut up,” the girl groans. “i’m stuck with you in miami?”

megan says nothing.

“oh perfect, i always wanted a silent fucking baboso following me around,” she snaps irritatedly, waving her hand in front of megan’s face. “what’s this one called?”

“you’ll be riding with skelly,” sophia says, smirking knowingly at megan.

“fucking kill me,” daniela groans. “papi, why can’t we just take the jet?”

“there was a crash at the private hangar,” sophia cuts in. “we think it has the russians tied to it.”

don avanzini nods in approval.

“whatever.” daniela rolls her eyes. “my bag is inside, gustavo is bringing it. start the fucking car.”

megan blinks in shock at the girl’s demands, but nobody else seems surprised by her attitude, so the girl complies. sophia waves them off and after their bags are loaded up, megan pulls the car out and onto the street.

daniela, whose skin fills the car with sweet pear and vanilla musk, has her head tossed back against the headrest with a scowl on her face that hasn’t dropped. megan, who has never been good at small talk, stays awkwardly silent as the curly-haired girl simply seethes in the passenger’s seat.

“how long is the drive?”

megan blinks. daniela is staring at her expectantly, brows arched in clear irritation.

megan knows the answer is 10 hours, but the response gets caught in her throat. maybe she’ll be best off staying silent.

“if i wanted to talk to a wall, i would have gotten high before this,” daniela snips back, clearly unhappy with this silent treatment.

megan is too focused on the road to figure out something to say, which only seems to infuriate the princess even further.

“i’ve gotten every single person before you fired,” daniela says matter of factly, examining her manicured nails. “each of them.”

megan swallows back a beat of hesitation, hoping to not let the threats crack her. it’s a bad habit, needing to think this hard and this long before she speaks, but daniela seems less than eager to wait her out.

“talk. speak. say woof or something.” daniela leans over the center console to examine the bodyguard, poking at her with her index finger as if she’s imagining her. “c’mon, skelly.”

megan blinks in disbelief. what is this girl’s problem?

“you’re annoying me,” daniela grits, slumping back into her seat. “and i’m not very pleasant when i’m annoyed.”

you’re not very pleasant, period, megan has half a mind to say.

irritated by the lack of response, daniela sticks her hand out of the window, before getting an idea.

she unbuckles her seatbelt and sticks her head out, before moving on to her entire torso. within seconds, she’s halfway out the car window, a shit-eating grin on her face as megan’s eyes go wide. they’re going rather fast on the freeway, and a poorly timed lane change could easily crush the heiress between another car.

“don’t do that,” megan grits, reaching for her.

“you can talk,” daniela beams, her bid for getting her way working exactly how she hoped it would. she slumps back into her seat. “good dog.”

the bodyguard furrows her brows at the insult. “don’t call me that.”

“you want me to drive 10 hours in silence? i’d rather kill myself,” daniela groans, reaching out an expectant hand. “give me the aux.”

megan complies, as if to just grant herself a brief reprieve from daniela’s incessant whining.

daniela eyes megan curiously, before her eyes come back to the phone screen as she selects a new playlist.

“you’re supposed to be my bodyguard? you’re not even scary.”

megan feels her brow twitch.

i’m a hitman actually. i hate this whole bodyguard shit. i’m so, so much better just killing people instead of being stuck with your fucking bratty entitled ass. if you knew the kind of shit i could do to people— oh, and i’m fucking good at it too. i’m a good fucking hitman.

she lets out a quiet, even breath.

“i bring less attention to you,” she says simply.

“i guess,” daniela snorts. “until a dude twice your size is beating your ass.”

megan wants to crack a smile, but she won’t give daniela the satisfaction.

“that won’t happen,” she says, and leaves it at that. daniela rolls her eyes and turns the music up even louder, scrolling further on her phone.

they stop somewhere outside of atlanta to fuel up before the gas stations become sparse, and if their introduction wasn’t rocky enough, megan realizes daniela has no intentions of being easy to work with.

megan steps out of the car to refuel it, when she spots daniela swinging the passenger door open.

“where are you going?” megan asks, her eyes widening.

“i want to go buy a new pen,” daniela says simply, holding up her vape in megan’s face.

megan wrinkles her nose and swats it away. “i can do that for you. you need to stay in the car.”

“i want to do it by myself,” daniela argues back instantly. megan feels her eye twitch.

“i can’t let you out of my sight, i’m sorry.”

“i’m your boss. not the other way around. if i don’t want to do something, i’m not doing it,” daniela snaps, shoving past the bodyguard. “get out of my way.”

“avanzini, please. you can’t be that far from me,” megan pleads, glancing around to assess the area. she curses silently for whoever thought they’d be a good match. “i don’t want to have to do this.”

“yeah, not scared of you,” daniela laughs, walking off towards the gas station. “like at all.”

megan takes another quick glance around. nobody visible within blocks. she lets out a silent prayer and realizes this is more of a brute force scenario than any attempt at rationalizing. don avanzini’s words echo in megan’s ears, the threat of anything happening and the risks she can’t manage to take.

before daniela can take another step forward, megan rushes over and swoops her up in her powerful grasp. daniela’s body tenses in shock, and megan uses the brief moment to overpower her and lift her up, throwing the heiress over her shoulder. it’s embarrassing, to be carrying a fully grown woman like a caveman, but her job is to keep her as safe as possible at all costs, and there’s few places safer for a mafia boss’s daughter than a bulletproof car full of weapons.

“put me the fuck down!” daniela instantly screeches, wriggling to try and get out of the hold.

but megan has a firm arm wrapped around her legs, her free hand pressing daniela’s back into her shoulder to stabilize her, and the heiress seems to realize she’s truly about to be hauled back into the car by brute force.

“i’m sorry,” megan says quietly.

“you’re fucking dead,” daniela seethes.

“i feel alright about my chances,” megan mumbles under her breath, thankful daniela can’t see the shit-eating grin on her face lest it piss off the princess any further.

another two hours trickle by in the car, and megan is grateful that daniela’s too pissed off to say anything else to her.

megan’s training lets her stay focused throughout anything, but she can acknowledge that the silence is feels like a gift. they’ve only known each other a few short hours, but megan dreads the idea of just how much worse daniela may get the more comfortable she feels.

she’s not cut out for this bodyguard shit— on her usual missions, it’s days spent alone, trailing a target, taking down information, watching their patterns and their habits. it’s solitude, patience, waiting for the perfect moment to set something up and make it look like an accident, to frame someone else, to make someone disappear. megan bites her tongue. she’s spent so long thriving as this killing machine, she’s not even sure what it’s like to be human any more.

her thoughts are broken by the heiress finally piping up. she points a manicured finger at the next exit, motioning to the giant rest stop sign.

“stop here,” she demands.

“no,” megan denies her instantly. “we have a deadline.”

daniela grits her teeth so harshly, it makes an audible noise.

“i have to fucking pee, skelly.”

she looks over, and daniela’s arms are crossed angrily over her chest, shooting daggers at the bodyguard with her gaze alone.

“okay,” megan relents, letting out a huff.

the car drifts to a stop in the closest parking spot possible to the rest stop facilities. daniela swings the door open irritatedly and megan is quick to unbuckle to follow behind.

“can i not pee by myself?” daniela snaps, motioning to the empty parking lot surrounding them. “there’s clearly nobody here.”

megan pauses to assess. they’re the only car parked, and the freeway itself is quiet. the likelihood of someone knowing where they are and following them without a vehicle in sight is slim to none.

the bodyguard lets out a quiet breath, turning to wait outside the door of the restroom. “you have 2 minutes.”

daniela furrows her brows in protest. “i drank a lot of—”

“2 minutes,” megan says firmly, motioning for her to go. “time starts now.”

if daniela were to roll her eyes any harder, it’s quite possible they’d scrape her eye sockets clean, but she complies nonetheless and steps into the bathroom. megan walks back towards the car and sits on the hood, looking down at her watch to start counting— 120 seconds, not a moment more.

she wonders if maybe she’s overdoing it, or maybe being too rigid in her expectations. she tries to put herself in daniela’s shoes, trying to get into her head. she wonders if don avanzini explained the circumstances to her, if she thinks it’s just a joyride or if she knows that her life is truly in danger, if that might explain her irritation with everything—

megan freezes as she realizes she didn’t check the bathrooms themselves. rookie fucking mistake. she looks up immediately and spots a figure running out of the back entrance, feeling her pulse race as she reaches down for the holster of her gun.

a blink. she realizes the running figure has dark, curly hair, pulled half up.

“fucking daniela,” megan hisses, getting out of the car, realizing the princess is making a run for it.

megan is athletic enough to catch up, and without a single word, she scoops daniela up once more, swinging the girl’s body up over her shoulder effortlessly. daniela goes limp, like a cat caught trying to run out the door, clearly irritated that her attempt to escape was foiled.

“we have to stop meeting like this,” daniela deadpans, rolling her eyes.

“i’m literally begging you, avanzini,” megan huffs, lugging her, for the second stupid time that day, over her shoulder.

“you’re so annoying, skelly,” the princess bites back, saying her name like it’s an insult.

“do you get that it’s your life on the line?” megan questions as she hauls the heiress back to the car. “a lot of people would pay a lot of money to have you.”

“oh, i’m so aware,” daniela snaps back wickedly.

megan feels her cheeks flush, daniela’s tone catching her off guard. she sets her down quickly but is sure to block her in against the car, just to keep her from trying to run off once more.

“sorry, i didn’t mean–” she starts, but the brunette cuts her off, slumping into the passenger’s seat with a sigh of defeat.

“just drive the stupid fucking car.”

the rest of the drive goes on in relative silence. by the time they’ve made it past the florida border, the sun is already setting. megan feels herself exhale in relief. daniela made their first day hellish, but she’s out in one piece.

megan is ready to drive them to the motel they’re staying at, mentally prepared to hear the princess whine about how it isn’t a 5 star luxury villa, but instead, the brunette surprises her as she sits up.

“i want to go dancing,” she says out of nowhere, rolling the windows down.

megan listens, and she can hear it— the quiet thud of latin music coming from somewhere in the neighborhood. megan had never let herself listen to music on the job, the fear of getting distracted was much too big of a risk to take.

“not happening. too dangerous. you heard your dad,” megan shakes her head.

“and where is my dad?” dani questions challengingly, motioning around them.

megan’s caught off guard, stammering to try and come up with an answer, but daniela quickly raises a finger to cut her off.

“you got your first orders from him, but now, you work for me,” she says, “and i want to go dancing. i’m not even saying by myself, you can be there or whatever.”

“i-“ megan starts, but daniela presses on.

“you’re making a terrible first impression, skelly, and you’re pissing me off,” the brunette goes on, before batting her eyes devilishly at the bodyguard. “you don’t want me to give my dad a bad review of you, do you? you want him to like you?”

megan bites back on her jaw, feeling backed into a corner, before she finally relents.

“if we go, you stay in my sight the entire time, and we leave at 9.”

daniela’s eyes light up.

“11.”

“10:15.”

“fine,” the heiress sighs sharply, but her eyes light up in excitement. she unbuckles herself and climbs into the backseat, and megan quickly realizes the girl is undressing.

“w-what are you doing?” megan coughs, trying to avert her gaze from daniela’s increasingly naked body in the rearview mirror.

“not going to waste my time making us pull over just so i can change. my bag is literally right here,” the brunette rolls her eyes, as if it’s obvious. “don’t let me catch you peeking, skelly.”

megan clears her throat and does her best to focus on the road as daniela changes in the backseat, feeling her cheeks flush.

megan isn’t going to make the same mistake twice, and does a quick lap around the building to get the layout before they enter the latin bar. daniela, in a impossibly short dress and too-tall heels, her hair pinned up, brings an undeniable amount of attention to herself just by existing. megan can feel the eyes sizing the heiress up as they enter the doorway— no wonder don avanzini wanted a protection detail that’d be a little more subtle… daniela turns heads easily enough on her own.

the bodyguard watches each step of the bartender mixing daniela’s drink, constantly scanning the room, constantly assessing. daniela goes off to dance, as she had demanded, but makes it a point to stay in megan’s line of sight, waving annoyedly at megan every so often as if to acknowledge she’s there. megan wonders if they’ll finally be able to coexist without killing each other, maybe all she’ll have to do is a few compromises here and there to keep the princess happy.

if megan will give the brat anything to her credit, it’s that daniela holds her end of the bargain, and as soon as the clock strikes 10:15, megan nods at her and daniela rolls her eyes but complies nonetheless.

they drive to the motel in silence, daniela complying (finally) with staying in the car while megan checks them in. the breeze is warm, comforting, and the hum of the neon motel signs are enough to numb megan’s brain into a sense of calm. they’ve ended the day in one piece, and megan is comfortable enough to think that maybe she’ll get the hang of this bodyguard thing in no time.

“next time, can you not stare me down like i’m some sort of prey animal? you were scaring off all my dance partners,” daniela complains, getting out of the car as megan parks them near their room.

“i thought you said i wasn’t even scary?” the taller girl quickly reminds her, getting out of the drivers seat.

“shut up, so annoying,” daniela rolls her eyes, and megan grins to herself at getting one over the princess.

“i’ll take your bag,” she says, although daniela is already walking towards the door, clearly assuming it was implied. megan rolls her eyes. maybe she was too hopeful about daniela being a decent person she’d be able to tolerate.

“my shoes are hurting me,” the heiress whines, starting to limp after a few moments of walking in silence, nothing but the crunch of gravel beneath both their feet.

“shouldn’t have worn such crazy heels then,” megan answers simply.

“shouldn’t have worn those heels— kiss my ass,” dani mocks irritatedly.

megan grimaces as she sees the way daniela’s limp worsens, and they’ve still got quite a way to go before they get to the room. “you’re going to give yourself a blister,” she warns.

daniela stops in her tracks, turning around to face the bodyguard.

they’re face to face, close enough that megan can see the subtle smear of dani’s makeup from the sweat of dancing, she can see the glitter reflecting light off her cheekbones, she can smell the pear and vanilla radiating off of her body. megan feels her breath catch in her throat— she nearly goes dizzy from the proximity.

daniela blinks once, twice, at how close they are, but then re-focuses, reaching up both arms shamelessly towards megan.

“carry me.”

“what?” megan balks, nose scrunching in confusion.

“i’m tipsy, my feet fucking hurt, and you’re strong enough, i know you are. you’ve thrown me over your shoulder like i’m nothing,” daniela insists, closing and opening her fingers like a child asking to be picked up by their parent. she grins, the face of a girl clearly used to getting her way. “up, now, bodyguard.”

megan knows the obvious answer is to say no, but something in her pulls to the princess like a magnet. before she can think to deny her, dani is blinking up at her again, batting her eyes eagerly, and in a flash she’s wrapping her arms around megan’s shoulders. the bodyguard shifts the bag and easily scoops up daniela’s slim body bridal-style without a second thought, walking them both towards their room.

“thank youuu,” dani drawls, pleased to have been accommodated. she breathes out a sigh of relief, peering down at her feet as they dangle and bounce with each step megan takes. “for the record, skelly, i like this better than how you usually choose to carry me. i’m a fucking lady, mind you.”

“the way you fight me is very un-ladylike,” megan argues back, rolling her eyes. “i can carry you nicely when you behave.”

they enter the room and megan sets daniela gently on one of the two beds, doing a quick sweep of the room to ensure it’s safe.

“i’m going to shower,” the brunette announces, kicking her shoes off carelessly. megan huffs and picks the shoes up, placing them neatly by the door. when she looks up, daniela has already slipped the dress off her shoulders, megan’s eyes briefly meeting bare skin once more before she spins around and covers her gaze with her hand, her cheeks burning red again.

“you don’t even want to try and peek?” daniela questions teasingly, clearly entertained by the bodyguard’s consistent reaction.

“no thank you,” megan feels the back of her neck burn.

“whatever,” the brunette groans, slipping into the bathroom. “guess you’re one of the good ones.”

megan looks down at her hands as she hears the door close and the water turn on.

i’m really not, she thinks to herself.

daniela sleeps through the night without issue, and megan is able to get a few hours of rest in from the chair in the corner where she stands guard. she orders a simple breakfast delivered to the front door, and keeps an eye on the window as she notices daniela stir from her sleep.

“this is for you.” megan offers the brunette the platter of food.

“thanks,” daniela hums, and megan thinks it might be the first time since they’ve met that she’s actually sincerely thanked her. the brunette rubs her eyes, yawning. “i want a coffee.”

“we can get one on the road,” megan assures her, offering daniela her bag. “i can give you 10 minutes to get ready, but we have to leave by then.”

the princess complies by some miracle, and soon enough, they’re back in the car for the rest of the drive to miami.

“do you speak spanish?” daniela asks, once again on aux as they drive through miles of the freeway.

“i barely understand it,” megan admits.

“you’ll want to learn if you want to keep working for my dad,” daniela tells her, and megan hates that she has a point. even if they’re based in the US, megan knows the avanzini cartel is rooted in cuban and venezuelan trading. sophia has always been good at learning enough phrases to ger her by and translate on behalf of the both of them.

plus, megan didn’t usually do much talking in her role working for don avanzini. there isn’t much to say to a hitman that the hitman has to answer back to.

“i’m bad at new languages,” megan wrinkles her nose.

“you’ll figure it out,” daniela waves her off. the bodyguard can feel the hazel eyes on her, examining her, curiosity evident. “where’s skelly from?”

“i don’t think your dad can pronounce my last name,” megan admits a little too quickly, immediately hoping daniela doesn’t take offense.

but daniela simply lets out a snort, resting her head back against the headrest.

“i bet he can’t, that moron. what’s your last name?” she asks.

“skiendiel,” megan tells her. “he called me skeleton for a while. skelly just ended up sticking, i guess.”

“he’s so stupid. your name’s not that hard. he’s just lazy,” daniela shakes her head, before her voice softens in the slightest. “what’s your name name?”

megan peeks over at the passenger, and daniela has her head resting in her hand, eyes fixed on megan, her expression soft and curious. it’s the longest she’s ever seen dani off her phone, but most of all, it’s the most attentive to something other than herself that megan has ever seen.

“you don’t need to know that,” the bodyguard says quietly, eyes back on the road. “i just work for you.”

daniela furrows her brows and leans in closer to megan. “i want to know. tell me.”

“no,” megan pushes back, more firmly this time.

the heiress huffs irritatedly and leans back in her seat. “you’re going to regret saying no to me, skelly.”

megan, feeling perhaps a bit too brave for her own good, pushes back once more.

“not used to it, avanzini?” she teases. “i’ll say it in spanish. no.”

“smartass,” daniela rolls her eyes, but the air is light between them. daniela plays another one of her playlists and lets the air fill with music as the cadillac blasts down the freeway.

megan stays alert, but she can feel her body relaxing. maybe daniela isn’t too bad after all.

daniela convinces her to stop at a restaurant, and unfortunately, the way they bicker over every little thing at the table eats up nearly half their afternoon. they’re nearly no closer to miami than they were when they set out that morning, and the sun is already going down. megan is briefly worried that don avanzini will have her head for being less than timely with delivering daniela to miami, but she hopes that keeping her in one piece is enough for him to be satisfied with her work.

megan, unsure of what possesses her, peels her eyes from the road to sneak a quick look at the heiress in the passenger seat. daniela has her legs folded and tucked under her, rambling about something on her instagram feed, and the voice that yesterday morning was impossibly aggravating has smoothed out into something more manageable.

daniela keeps sticking her phone in megan’s face as the bodyguard drives, trying to show her the newest bikini she’s interested in or another concert she’s missed and is aggravated by, and megan doesn’t quite mind their ride being filled by dani’s unhinged rambles. megan is trained to notice details, but she’s certain her training didn’t teach her to focus on the slope of daniela’s nose, the charming little freckle above her eyebrow, the smooth curves of her jaw and how the skin that meets her neck feels like a trap for megan, stuck staring.

“eyes.”

“w-what?” megan shakes her head, caught off guard by the random statement.

“skelly, eyes on the fucking road!” daniela shrieks, pushing back in her seat as megan turns to realize there’s a giant truck stopped in their lane, hazards on.

the bodyguard reaches out instinctively to block daniela from flying forward as she swerves quickly out of the way, pulse racing at the near-miss.

“you can’t keep sticking your phone in my face and expecting me to be able to focus on two things at once,” megan gripes, releasing dani from her grip.

“you weren’t looking at my phone,” daniela says quickly, too quickly, and megan feels the back of her ears burn. the stupid brat has the audacity to grin, shiny white teeth bright enough to distract her again, but megan won’t make the same mistake twice and get caught staring again.

before megan can defend herself, daniela has already moved on.

“i want to go dancing again,” she says, turning away to scan the road. “you either stop at the next city, or i sneak out of our room at night and you get in trouble. you pick.”

“no,” megan denies her simply.

“wrong answer,” daniela tsks in disappointment, before rolling the window down and cupping her hands around her mouth.

before megan can even ask what she’s doing, daniela starts screaming “help!” at the top of her lungs, waving her arms wildly.

“daniela,” megan barks, reaching over with her free hand to yank her back into the car.

“you should have seen your face,” the brunette laughs, slumping back against the passenger’s seat breathlessly.

“not funny,” megan seethes, but by this point, she knows the routine and is relenting without a second argument. if there’s anything about the avanzini cartel heir, it’s that she’s ridiculously stubborn, annoyingly so.

roll the windows down, follow the music, and let daniela get changed in the backseat. it’s inconvenient, sure, but not exactly a deal breaker. she figures she’ll survive.

by the time they pull up to the next club, the sun is setting. megan, always underdressed in baggy jeans and a loose hoodie, broken-in converse, looks the picture opposite of daniela, excitedly racing into the club in her barely-there top and skimpy shorts. megan pulls her hood over her head and assesses the environment, feeling her brain shift into high alert at how packed this club is compared to the one from the night before.

daniela doesn’t seem the slightest bit concerned, ordering her drinks and disappearing into the crowd to dance the night away.

megan, back to a wall with her arms crossed over her chest, watches over from a distance, scanning constantly to assess the night. she keeps dani in her sight at all times, watching the girl lose herself to the music, care-free smile on her face as she moves between strangers and trades partners over and over.

she’s not sure how much time has passed before daniela’s gaze meets hers, and megan feels herself flushing red again. she curses under her breath as daniela grins and starts making her way towards her. she’d love to avoid another tease of being caught staring again— after all, it is her job to look out for this girl, but luckily, daniela seems focused elsewhere.

“skelly,” she greets, drawling out the nickname on her lips.

“avanzini,” the bodyguard nods politely. “having fun?”

“i want you to dance with me, or a stranger does,” daniela says quickly, catching megan off guard. her body tenses, but dani simply reaches her hand out expectantly. “i think i’m safer with you, right?”

megan wants to argue. rationally, she can keep a better eye on her from a distance, not swarmed by the bodies of other people, and not raise any flags from tailing her too closely. but daniela is staring at her, with those sharp hazel eyes, issuing a silent challenge. megan feels her resolve slip. since when was it getting so hard to say no to this entitled, spoiled brat?

“i don’t know how to do this,” she mumbles frustratedly, her eyes scanning over daniela’s shoulder as daniela takes her hands in her own.

“it’s not that hard,” the brunette shakes her head, trying to get megan to step in time with her to the pulsing salsa music. she brings her hand up to tap on megan’s cheek, a playful slap. “loosen up. you move like you have a stick in your ass.”

“hey,” megan whines, furrowing her brows.

“oh my god, she’s not a robot,” daniela laughs, draping one arm over megan’s shoulder, bringing their bodies closer. “finally, you’re letting loose. good dog.”

“enough,” the taller girl warns, avoiding daniela’s gaze as she continues to scan the area around them. but between daniela’s swaying body leading the tempo and the trance of the music, megan finds it easier than expected to keep up. her right hand holds dani’s own hand, and her left remains respectfully between her shoulder blades, but her body starts to make sense of the rhythm in due time, and within moments, she feels daniela’s gaze fixing up on her, the intensity of her stare feeling like red-hot heat on her skin.

“i thought you said you didn’t know how?” daniela arches a brow at megan’s surprising competence on the dance floor.

“i needed a second to catch up,” the bodyguard says simply.

“fast learner,” daniela says, eyeing her partner.

“you’re very good,” megan compliments, reaching out to let dani do a spin. the brunette spins elegantly, and when she comes back into megan’s grasp, she’s pressing their bodies together, their cheeks nearly touching. it makes it easier to hear each other over the music, sure, but megan’s skin burns at the newfound proximity, feeling the heat radiating off of daniela’s exposed skin.

“i would have loved to have been a dancer,” the heiress confesses after a moment, her voice softer. “but not much you can do when your dad is shipping you off every month. ‘hey guys, sorry, have to stop touring for a week ‘cause my dad pissed off the italian mafia and i have to go into witness protection again.’”

megan frowns as they continue to move in sync. “i’m sorry.”

“it’s whatever,” daniela shakes her head. she lets out a breath. “he’s so stupid. i don’t get why people worship him.”

“he’s a genius,” megan pushes back gently.

��he’s greedy, and he’s controlling,” daniela furrows her brows. “why have a kid when you’re just going to make them a puppet the whole time?”

“i can’t imagine,” megan says simply.

daniela’s mouth opens to say something, but instead, she simply rests her forehead against megan’s shoulder. the gesture is tender, unexpectedly intimate, and megan feels her stomach lurch at the moment they’re sharing. she can’t remember the last time she had even hugged another person, much less danced with them, felt their weight against her, comforted them.

“thanks for listening to me,” daniela says, her voice soft. “and for dancing with me. haven’t had a good dance partner in a while.”

megan feels the words get stuck in her throat. what can she even offer? what could she possibly say?

the bodyguard gets stuck on her own words, and without thinking, rubs her hand in gentle circles on daniela’s back. the skin is soft under her fingers, and megan nearly recoils out of fear, worried she’ll hurt the girl somehow with her touch, but the gentle sigh that daniela lets out feels like confirmation to go on.

“and thanks for putting up with me,” daniela adds.

megan’s mouth opens to say something, before she can even think, but in the same breath, her ears pick up on mumbling. she’s honed in on listening to anything out of the ordinary, among them, the word “avanzini” is easy to pick up, even over the loud music.

“hey,” megan says quietly, feeling her pulse race as she realizes what might be happening. she shifts, feeling herself steel at the thought of an ambush. “i’m going to spin you. i need your help.”

she feels daniela tense beneath her body. even with megan’s voice being calm and even, daniela can sense that something is off, but megan stays focused.

“is that spanish?” she asks quickly, turning her and daniela to the side to let daniela get a better earshot. she dips daniela down ever so slightly, making a casual effort to get them closer to two men eyeing them too intensely for megan’s liking, mumbling to each other.

dani comes back up from the dip, her eyes wide. she shakes her head. “no. they’re not speaking spanish. sounds european.”

“then we need to leave,” megan says firmly, her eyes fixed on the two men and how they seem to notice the girls’ change in demeanor. one man starts making his way towards them, and megan immediately springs into action. “we’re moving, now.”

the bodyguard grabs a tight grip on daniela’s wrist, quickly pulling her into the cramped hallway of the bathrooms in search of a back exit before the first man can get to them. she feels bad, nearly dragging dani behind her, but this is why she’s here, to keep the heiress safe at all costs, and she’s never been one to half-ass a single thing she does.

they make it out the back exit, and megan can hear dani’s breaths quickening by the second. she’s reaching for the keys in her pocket, but within seconds, megan is spinning around at the slightest noise behind them, spotting one of the men cornering them. he must have come out from the front exit and raced to the alleyway while the other man followed them through the club. the bodyguard instinctively reaches to push daniela backwards behind her, before racing forwards to engage the man as she sees him reach for his belt.

megan’s pulse quickens, but she knows it isn’t fear. she feels the switch click, the way her body knows exactly what to do. her brain shuts off, and her body moves without thinking, swift and purposeful, lethally effective. this part, unfortunately, is what she’s very good at.

“avanzini—” the man starts, but megan is quick to disarm him, smashing his wrist into her knee and swiping the gun out of his hand in one fluid motion.

and before daniela can even react, megan tightens the silencer and unloads two shots into his chest, one in his forehead, dropping the clip before throwing the gun besides his now-lifeless body.

“oh my god,” dani breathes in horror, her eyes going wide instantly as the blood pools beneath the man’s body.

“move, to the car. now,” megan instructs, her voice cold and even. she pushes daniela forward, out of the way of the pooling blood, and points to the car. “russians always work in two. his partner is looking for us somewhere.”

“skelly-” dani starts, her body frozen in place.

“i’ve got us,” megan nods reassuringly, pulling her own gun out from her waistband holster. she pushes daniela forward once more, gently this time, to get her momentum going. “move.”

the two run quickly into the parking lot, megan scanning around like a hawk to ensure there’s no more unexpected appearances. she curses silently. how the hell did the russian mafia get wind of where they were?

“where the fuck did you learn how to do that?” daniela questions, her face pale and eyes still wide as they get into the car.

“been training for a while,” megan answers curtly, scanning the car to make sure nothing has been tampered with. she reaches under the back seat, and as promised by sophia, she can feel the outlines of much heavier duty “machinery” if needed.

“you’re literally my age,” dani balks in disbelief.

“little younger,” megan corrects quickly, getting the engine kicked on and rumbling.

“how the fuck do you know how to do all that?” daniela’s voice is shaky now, staring at megan in complete disbelief. “what’s your deal?”

“just go to sleep.” megan reaches behind to grip the headrest as she pulls out of the parking lot. she knows daniela is probably about to crash from all the adrenaline, and the last thing she needs is the princess having a panic attack mid-ambush if there are more people tailing them. “we’re going to skip the hotel tonight. we need to be moving right now, and not in a straight line to miami. i might have us make a detour to throw them off.”

“aren’t you tired?” dani questions.

“don’t worry about me. you sleep.” megan nods, reaching into the backseat to hand daniela one of her hoodies to drape over herself. “i’ll wake you when we get to where we need to be.”

daniela stares at her, a stare that asks a million questions at once, but unlike megan, daniela doesn’t struggle to get the words out. her voice is low, still shaky, eyes uncertain as she takes in the bodyguard as if she’s seeing her for the very first time.

“who are you?”

megan can hear it in dani’s voice, and it makes her stomach churn— fear.

“skelly, who are you?” daniela doubles down, leaning closer, as if the proximity will somehow answer more questions or get her more information. “how many people have you killed? why was it so easy for you?”

megan bites down on her back molars. they’re all fair questions, but she can’t find the words to answer them in a way that will soothe the clearly panicked girl.

“go to sleep,” she says quietly, eyes fixed on the road.

daniela goes silent, turning away from her for the rest of the car ride, and megan lets out a low breath as she focuses on getting them the hell out of there.

she calls sophia and debriefs her on the incident once she hears daniela’s breathing even out. sophia redirects them to a different city for the night, booking the motel under a different name and swearing to get to the bottom of how the fuck another cartel had figured out that they were moving daniela.

by the time they make it to the motel, it’s nearly 3 in the morning, and megan has been alone in silence for the entire drive there. she’s gotten good at it, functioning on little to no sleep, keeping sharp even when exhaustion would threaten any other person. she parks, and checks in quickly, keeping an eye on the car the entire time.

megan gets their things out of the car and bites her tongue as she sees daniela’s peaceful expression in her sleep, curled in a ball in the passenger’s seat. she can’t bear to wake the sleeping girl, knowing the stress her body is probably still under after what she had to witness. so megan makes a choice.

gingerly as she can manage, she scoops daniela out of the car and makes their way up to the room. daniela sleepily wraps her arms around megan’s neck and rests her head against the bodyguard’s chest, a quiet mumble of protest as she doses in and out. megan figures out the door with one hand, kicking it open, but she’s surprised by daniela’s voice in her ear as soon as they’re in the room.

“i’ve never seen it happen in front of me before. someone dying.”

“i’m sorry,” megan grimaces. daniela sounds sleepy, yes, but her voice carries something else with it. something hollow, something haunted. megan wonders when it stopped affecting her.

she tries to set daniela down on the bed, but the brunette tightens her grip around megan’s neck, locking herself in place. megan tries again to no avail, but before she can pull dani off of her, the girl’s voice breaks their silence.

“please stay,” dani whispers, her voice small and quaking. “i’m scared, skelly.”

“okay.” megan nods slowly. she owes the girl this much, she figures, letting herself melt into the bed, keeping daniela’s curled up body firmly in her grasp. “just go to sleep.”

daniela takes in a shaky breath and keeps her face hidden in megan’s chest. megan can feel the race of daniela’s pulse against her body, counting the beats to soothe herself, feeling her body eventually relax again, her breathing going even. she tries to shift out from under her, but every time she attempts it, the girl lets out a sleepy protest, curling up even tighter on megan’s chest.

megan relents, her head propped up against the headboard, and lets her eyes rest. she doesn’t deserve the comfort that daniela’s body brings, the way the proximity warms her bones, the way it makes her feel almost close to being human again.

and maybe it’s selfish, but megan lets herself enjoy it, locking her arms around the brunette’s frame as she drifts off to sleep. she could swear she feels dani’s body relaxing once her arms wrap around her body, but she writes it off as a sleep twitch, and promises herself she won’t let this proximity become a regular thing as she drifts off for an hour or two of rest.

megan’s body works on an internal clock, no matter how sleep deprived she may be, and when her eyes flutter open to see an empty bed, her stomach immediately drops in panic. she wakes up before sunrise on most days, and daniela didn’t exactly strike her as the early rising type.

but before she can panic, the brunette emerges from the bathroom, scrunching her wet curls with a towel. megan realizes she’s wearing her hoodie, the one she had offered her in the car, and feels a bizarre sense of warmth at the sight. she shakes her head, trying to rid herself of the distraction, refocusing instead on how daniela managed to get up from being literally asleep on top of her without megan noticing.

“how long have you been awake?” megan asks hurriedly.

“a minute. you talk in your sleep,” daniela says, matter of factly.

“oh,” the bodyguard wrinkles her nose. “sorry.”

“i’m a heavy sleeper, so it’s fine,” the brunette waves her off, before handing her a burrito, clearly not from the hotel. “i got you breakfast.”

“daniela,” megan warns, realizing the girl had likely driven herself out and about. “you can’t be leaving the room by yourself like that. how did i not hear you?”

“it’s fine,” daniela rolls her eyes, digging in her bag for her desired outfit. “we have 5 hours til miami. let me drive, you must be exhausted.”

“i’m fine to drive,” megan insists, getting up. “you can have aux.”

“fine,” daniela huffs, going on her phone to occupy herself while megan gets ready.

they make their way back to the car and start the last stretch of their journey. the air feels heavier after last night, a reminder that they’re not just two girls on a road trip. the incident was too close of a call for megan’s comfort, a sobering reminder that daniela is a wanted woman, that plenty of people would love to use her to send a message to don avanzini and his cartel, and the only thing standing in their way was an assassin parading around as a bodyguard. megan swallows. she needs to stay focused, to make sure daniela makes it out safe and sound. no more mistakes.

“are you okay?” she asks quietly, the silence bearable but obviously thick with tension. “after last night?”

daniela takes a beat, and pivots in a different direction, her eyes sharp as they study megan’s face. “i’m not scared of you.”

“i wouldn’t blame you if you were,” the girl reassures her quickly.

daniela shakes her head, taking another beat to scan over megan’s features, before turning to face the road.

“i trust you.”

megan feels her brows arch. “you shouldn’t, really.”

she knows that as her bodyguard, there’s a certain level of trust that has to be involved, but it’d be in dani’s best interest to be distrustful of everyone. with the exception of maybe sophia, megan had operated on that basis, trusting no-one, and it’s kept her in one piece all these years despite her extremely dangerous career choice.

daniela’s fingertips tap against the dashboard, something else clearly pressing on her mind. before megan can encourage her, dani is beating her to it, asking without hesitation.

“how many?”

she doesn’t have to specify. megan lets out a quiet breath. she knows what the girl is asking.

“too many,” megan answers simply, and it’s true. enough to have lost any reaction to seeing it happen in front of her. daniela’s crisis was enough to remind her that she’s lost her humanity long, long ago.

“are you good at it?” the brunette asks.

her voice is low, but confident, like she’s trying to tread lightly to avoid megan shutting down, but still eager to sate her curiosity. she asks like she’s approaching a venomous creature, rattling its tail— confident, as to not make herself small enough to seem like prey, but with the healthy knowledge that the danger is right there, sharing a roof with her.

megan’s jaw tenses. “very.”

“they picked you to guard me?”

“yes.”

“so i’m in good hands,” daniela says, and megan is surprised that that’s what she derives from the whole conversation.

“i’m sorry for scaring you,” megan tells her, gently, hoping to not leave her on edge for the rest of their contracted time together. “i hope you know i won’t let anything happen to you. you don’t have to trust me. but i’ll do a good job of protecting you.”

daniela scans over her face once more. megan wonders what she sees.

“i’m safe with you?” the brunette questions.

megan nods.

“i trust you,” dani repeats, her eyes back on the road. “i trust you, skelly.”

as it turns out, either daniela is delusional or extremely resilient, and megan has half a mind to assume both, because just an hour after their weighted conversation, the girl is back to waving her phone in megan’s face, showing her tik toks, random photos of her vacations to europe, and now most recently, trying to train her in speaking spanish.

megan wrinkles her nose, trying to remember how the pronunciation works.

“yo llevo las drogas?” she tries poorly, certain she’s butchering each word.

“i’ve got the drugs,” daniela translates, shrieking with laughter. the sound makes megan feel fuzzy, but she bites back a smile. “you’ll just copy anything i tell you?”

“okay, dani, you’re supposed to be teaching me, i’m trusting you. don’t teach me to sound even stupider than i already do,” megan complains, groaning.

daniela laughs again, nearly uncontrollably, and insists that they keep going with the spanish lesson. megan, for whatever reason, can’t bring herself to deny the brunette.

“matar, to kill,” daniela tells her, tapping her arm with a challenge. “tell me it in past tense, masculine.”

“uh, lo mato,” megan guesses, trying to remember what she’d hear other of don avanzini’s henchmen say amongst themselves.

“that’s ‘i’m killing him.’ past tense,” daniela corrects. “i killed him.”

“lo maté?” megan tries again.

“there you go,” dani grins, pinching megan’s cheek teasingly. “you’re keeping up, skelly.”

“don’t patronize me,” megan rolls her eyes, trying to pull away from the heiress’s touch.

“you know the words for drugs, kill, run, grab,” daniela laughs. “all the cartel essentials.”

“i don’t know grab,” megan shakes her head.

“try. you know more than you think,” dani encourages.

“te cojo?” megan guesses.

megan knows she got it wrong, but the way daniela’s face lights up with something devilish makes her worried she’s gotten it extremely wrong. and unfortunately, the way the brunette smirks and tilts her head only confirms her theory.

“so, you’re not wrong, but in lots of places, it also means to fuck,” the girl grins, and megan wonders if her voice has always been so temptingly raspy. “so you just said, you’ll fuck me.”

the bodyguard feels her whole body ignite, skin flushing painfully without her wanting. “oh.”

“careful with that one,” daniela teases, and before megan can defend herself, the two are cut off by the buzzing of megan’s phone. they look at the caller id, and megan feels her pulse stop.

don avanzini.

she tries to compose herself, not wanting any questions about why she sounds so flustered, and clears her throat before bringing the phone to her ear.

“skelly,” he says immediately, before she can even greet him. “where are you?”

“uh, about to hit orlando, sir,” she answers, in complete disbelief. her boss, the head of this cartel, is calling her directly?

“skelly, put daniela on the phone.”

megan winces. that makes much, much more sense. she looks over at daniela, whose demeanor already indicates she’s entirely pissed off at the unexpected call.

“um, it’s your dad,” megan says awkwardly, and daniela immediately takes the phone.

“papi,” daniela greets, though with the irritation in her tone, it’s more an acknowledgement than a greeting. “what the fuck do you want?”

that’s the last bit of english that occurs for the rest of the call. for the next 10 minutes, daniela goes on a tirade back and forth with her father, and she sounds even angrier in spanish. megan can guess that “ignorar” is pretty close to ignore, but the rest is lost upon her. she awkwardly focuses on the road as she hears the two go back and forth. part of her wants to laugh— don avanzini, a man who strikes terror in the hearts of everyone who’s even heard of him, stuck bickering with his stubborn, headstrong brat of a daughter, the only person who his power doesn’t work on.

daniela drops megan’s phone back into her lap at what she assumes is the end of their call, and lets out an aggravated scream.

“he wants us to stop here, for the night,” she tells megan, crossing her arms over her chest.

“you guys okay?”

“he’s just mad that i haven’t been replying to him,” the brunette rolls her eyes.

“why haven’t you been replying to him?” megan asks curiously.

“he pissed me off,” daniels shakes her head. “the fuckhead was being weird to my mom.”

“oh,” megan says simply, caught off guard by the simplistic answer she’d be receiving.

“the guy owns an entire drug empire and yet he still can’t keep that woman happy. i’m not going to fucking side with him. if he pisses her off, he pisses me off too,” daniela huffs, bringing her knees to her chest to hug herself.

“that’s loyal of you,” megan tells her.

“one of us has to be,” daniela mumbles, pinching the bridge of her nose in irritation.

megan bites her tongue. she had seen her boss with plenty of women that weren’t mrs. avanzini and never thought twice about it. she forgets that while her boss is a cartel lord in her eyes, and her hero, to daniela, he’s supposed to be a father figure.

“i’ve always known he was a sack of shit,” daniela goes on, clearly caught up in her frustrations. “since i was a kid, i knew he was the worst. he loves me ‘cause i’m his only one, his baby or his princess or whatever, but he hates that i call him out for being a shitty dad.”

megan lets out a quiet breath, hoping her silence allows daniela to get out all her feelings in one place. she might not know the perfect thing to say, but she’s learned that the girl appreciates a listening ear just as much.

“what were you like as a kid?” daniela asks out of nowhere, pivoting the conversation quickly. “or were you born this grown ass killing machine with a baby face?”

megan cracks a smile, but the premise of sharing more admittedly makes her uncomfortable. “maybe i’ll tell you another time.”

daniela leans back in the seat, eyeing the bodyguard curiously. if megan knows anything about her, it’s that she’ll figure out some way to get her way, even if she has to get creative, and getting information out of megan seems to be no exception to this rule.

“you and sophia are close,” she says knowingly, arching her brow.

“we are…” megan nods slowly.

“my dad loves sophia.”

“she’s so smart,” megan agrees, realizing she’s falling into the trap, but figuring she’ll know when to reel back if daniela digs too deeply. “she’s always had my back. her mentor, ex-military, taught me everything i know. when sophia started working for your dad, she took me with her.”

“he wants to promote her. she’s young, and she gets his vision. i heard him talk about her.”

“she’d deserve it.”

daniela blinks curiously, leaning her elbow on the center console to rest her head in her hand, looking up at the side of megan’s face as the bodyguard focuses on the road.

“what would you do, skelly? if megan helped you move up?” she asks.

“i’d like to keep doing what i do, but for your dad directly.” megan dances around the subject. how does she possibly say ‘i want to keep killing people’ and make it sound flowery? she pauses, before adding a quiet thought. “i like focusing on my work.”

“you’re very focused,” daniela nods.

megan shrugs, not expecting the half-compliment. “i try to be.”

there’s a quick pause as daniela calculates her next move, but then the question comes, quick and earnest, curious and prodding all at once.

“do you get lonely, skelly?”

megan blinks. she’s never given it thought before, the premise— do monsters get lonely?

“sometimes,” she confesses quietly, after a beat.

daniela’s eyes stay fixed on the bodyguard, forever curious. “how do you handle it?”

“i just take one day at a time.” megan shrugs, as if the answer is enough.

“hm,” daniela replies simply.

megan doesn’t know what possesses her, but something comes over her, the same thing that possessed her to hug daniela that night as they danced, the thing that sought somehow to comfort her, to know her.

“what do you want?” she asks quietly, her hands fixed on the steering wheel. “out of all of this?”

“it doesn’t matter what i want,” daniela shakes her head, the answer coming too easily. her voice drops. “i don’t have a choice.”

“i’m sure you do.”

“i don’t,” daniela doubles down. “my dad wants me to take over. either that, or i marry off to a cartel boy so i can strengthen his trades.”

“that’s not fair,” megan furrows her brows.

daniela laughs sharply. “life’s not fair.”

“i know,” megan reassures her, and the two sit in a heavy silence for a few moments.

daniela breaks it, her voice shifting.

“nobody has ever asked me what i want. not once.”

“that’s fucked,” megan furrows her brows. she looks over, and daniela is looking at her, and the way their gazes meet feels like a collision. daniela studies her for a second, and before long, a gentle smile is on her lips, as if she’s picturing something.

“i’d love to be on a beach, by the ocean. someone who’s absolutely crazy about me there by my side, bringing me a fresh coconut with a straw and one of those little paper umbrellas,” she confesses, and the illustration helps megan paint a perfect mental picture of what the heiress dreams of. “i’d get to go dancing every night, listen to music every second of the day. that’s all i want.”

megan thinks about it. the carefree joy in her face whenever they go dancing, the way daniela so eagerly bookmarks pictures of all these islands and beach getaways, envying people who can pick a spot and stay there. she sees it, the way daniela is eager for consistency, for something predictable, something she can rely on.

before she can think further on it, daniela’s reaching out to tap megan’s arm, and even through the fabric, the contact makes megan’s skin tingle.

“what do you want?” the brunette asks, her voice gentle and sincere.

“nothing,” megan says too quickly, her mind blanking.

daniela shakes her head, not buying the answer.

“do you want to do this forever? work for a narco? kill people?”

megan grimaces at how plainly daniela puts it, the way the girl refuses to dance around the topic. “people don’t exactly wake up and dream of having blood on their hands.”

daniela scans over the bodyguard once more. in a move that shocks her, she reaches over and pulls the corner of megan’s hoodie aside, exposing her neck.

there, by her collarbone, daniela’s fingertip traces against the giant pink scar along megan’s skin. megan recoils at the touch— she doesn’t know how dani had ever known about that scar, much less seen it, and even less, been brave enough to touch it.

the scars on megan’s body have never once been seen by another set of living eyes. anyone who had left a scar was dead. that was her rule. it was what made her so, so effective at her job. and now, daniela avanzini is not just looking, but caressing, tracing it, letting the smooth skin slip under her fingertip as if she knew they had never known the touch of another hand. megan feels like a cornered animal in front of a car, floodlights blinding her, her body freezing in response.

“maybe you don’t dream any more ‘cause you don’t like yourself,” daniela says simply, her voice quiet, her eyes fixed on the scar.

megan says nothing, keeping her focus on the road. she feels her chest tighten with something sickening.

daniela’s hand wraps gently around the back of megan’s neck, rubbing back and forth gently, her thumb brushing against the scar every few strokes. the gesture is painfully intimate, the moment so tender it makes megan feel like she might burn under the other girl’s touch, like she doesn’t deserve the comfort that daniela’s reassuring touch brings her.

“i like you, skelly,” daniela says simply, quietly, as if it’s enough, her hand never leaving the back of megan’s neck for the rest of the drive to orlando as they sit in silence, immersing themselves in the comfort of other’s company, the hum of the radio filling the air for them.

megan decides it then, when daniela was brave enough to seek the most gnarled parts of her without flinching: she, megan skiendiel, unlovable, no longer human, and broken at every junction, has a home. and if that home is guarding daniela avanzini, so be it.

it’s a home like a dog chained outside has a home, snarling at everyone who passes by the fence, never to see the warmth beyond the door, but still eager to protect at all costs, even if only to be cast away by the end of it all.

but nonetheless, a home, and megan feels a strange sense of belonging, like this is where she’s meant to be.

by the time they get to the area of the new motel they’re supposed to be at, megan realizes that daniela has been uncharacteristically quiet. whether it was the call with her dad that threw her off, or their conversation afterwards, the girl’s more subdued energy is almost uncomfortable for megan, who immediately regrets ever wishing the girl would stop talking. here she is, keeping her thoughts to herself, and much to megan’s surprise, it’s admittedly extremely distressing.

so, she takes it upon herself to extend a hand, gently tapping daniela’s wrist to get her attention and ensure she’s not asleep. the girl stirs, blinking at the bodyguard, but awake nonetheless.

“do you want to go dancing?” megan asks quietly, pointing at the giant neon sign in front of them that flashes with the words ‘LATIN SALSA CLUB.’

daniela looks up and realizes what megan is suggesting, her face lighting up immediately. that reaction alone makes it completely worth it to megan.

“you’re inviting me?” she asks excitedly.

“i can’t exactly take you to disney world,” megan shrugs. “plus, i know you’re going to be annoying and ask anyways.”

“i’ve trained you well,” daniela beams. “good dog.”

“quit calling me that,” megan laughs.

daniela smiles at megan for an extra moment and leaps into the backseat, starting her routine once more of undressing hurriedly and seeking out a new outfit. megan stares down at her hands, and without meaning to, finds herself smiling.

daniela takes the bodyguard by the hand and leads her into the building, and for once, megan lets herself be led. she doesn’t let her guard down, assessing the exits and the bodies around them, but she does it all while daniela drags her, the two never once separating.

“take a shot with me?” daniela pleads, motioning for the bartender to pour two shots of tequila out for them. “just one?”

“i can’t.” megan eyes the shot glass suspiciously, but pushes it in dani’s direction, offering it to her instead. “i have to stay focused.”

“you’re the most focused person i’ve ever met. one won’t hurt you,” daniela groans. “please, skelly?”

“can’t risk getting distracted,” megan shrugs, and she can see the way dani’s face falls at being denied. something about seeing daniela like that, seeing her disappointed, stirs something in her, something deeply troubling and even more deeply moving, like a call to action. she figures out what she can offer instead.

“megan,” she says awkwardly, leaning forward so that daniela is hopefully the only one who hears.

“what?” daniela wrinkles her nose, clearly caught off guard by the random statement.

the taller girl laughs at the confused look on the heiress’s face. she feels her hands tremble ever so slightly— this is the first time she’s told someone this much about herself in years.

“megan,” the bodyguard repeats, saying it slower this time. “my name is megan.”

there’s a beat as dani processes what she’s being told, but within seconds, she breaks out into a smile so wide, it threatens to split her face in half.

“that’s so cute. megan. you’re like a normal girl,” daniela beams giddily.

“i liked dancing too, when i was a kid,” megan goes on, her palms sweaty at just how naked she feels sharing all this about herself, but the way daniela’s eyes light up makes it so, so worth it. “and i liked making people smile.”

“how does something so innocent turn into this?” the brunette questions, tilting her head.

“bad luck,” megan laughs humorlessly, before shooing her off, feeling too exposed for her own liking. maybe she’ll muster up the courage for more later. “go dance.”

“come with,” daniela pleads, reaching her hand out.

“in a second,” megan reassures her, before pointing up at the second story windows that surround them. “i need to get a good feel for the windows. they make me nervous.”

daniela lets out a dramatic sigh, but complies nonetheless, slipping into the swarm of bodies to lose herself in the music. megan stays seated on the barstool, eyes never once leaving the curly-haired brunette.

she doesn’t realize she’s smiling until someone clears their throat, immediately refocusing her. her face drops, and she mentally curses at the distraction.

“hi,” a stranger greets, smiling widely. she stands expectantly in front of megan, leaning against the bar.

megan nods, not wanting to be impolite. “you can sit here if you’d like. i was just getting up.”

“stay,” the stranger insists, waving megan off before flagging down the bartender. “what are you drinking?”

“i’m not.” megan shakes her head.

“well, then what can i get you?” the girl smiles, reaching out gently to brush her hand against megan’s elbow. she realizes it then, that this stranger has approached her with a mission, and the sooner she gets away from her, the sooner she can go back to just focusing on—

“hi.”

megan’s thoughts are quickly interrupted by the much too familiar voice.

she turns to see daniela, who had somehow emerged directly in front of them, inserting herself in between megan and the stranger. she eyes the other girl suspiciously, brow arching. “who are you?”

and more to megan’s surprise, daniela quickly reaches to pull megan’s arm back, out of reach of the girl, severing the contact between them.

“are you-” the girl starts, but daniela has clearly heard enough, and cuts her off without a second thought. megan is bewildered by how fast the interaction is unfolding before her very eyes.

“go away,” dani says simply, flashing a quick, forced smile before reaching for megan’s hand. megan shoots daniela a sharp look, but the brunette is too locked in on staring down this stranger that she doesn’t notice megan’s warning.

“i can talk to her if i want,” the stranger scoffs. “free country.”

“no the fuck you cannot,” dani answers immediately, before emphasizing: “go away.”

“who even are you?” the other girl asks in disbelief, before turning to seek some sort of explanation from megan. “do you even know this chick?”

dani’s gaze narrows sharply, and megan feels herself wince. oh, the princess did not like that.

“don’t talk to her,” she snaps, turning to clamp firmly onto megan’s hand with her own, her back facing the stranger. “we’re going.”

“you-” the girl tries again, but megan sees that daniela has no problem doubling down.

“she’s coming home with me,” the brunette all but growls, before quickly yanking megan towards the dance floor. “you can tell her.”

with that permission, megan shakes her head, going along with it. “i’m going home with her.”

daniela breaks out in a self-satisfied grin and pulls megan along. the bodyguard follows, offering a final apologetic glance to the bewildered girl who clearly is trying to process what just happened.

when they finally make it to the middle of the dance floor, daniela grabs megan’s hands and guides them both to her waist, anchoring them firmly, before bringing her own hands up to wrap around the bodyguard’s neck. megan has been close to daniela before, but never touched her quite like this before, and she feels her skin light up as she realizes her fingertips are gripping daniela’s hips much tighter than what is probably necessary. but daniela doesn’t seem to mind, holding an equally tight grip against megan’s neck, the proximity dizzying the taller girl.

“what was that?” she laughs, trying to make sense of the entire episode.

daniela shakes her head, clearly still irritated by the interaction. “can’t have you losing focus.”

“oh, now you understand,” megan rolls her eyes. “your attitude fucking sucks, avanzini.”

“you like it,” daniela teases back.

“i definitely do not,” megan laughs. “you’re delusional.”

daniela takes a moment, before her fingers start to play in megan’s hair, stroking through the hairs at the base of her neck. she blinks a few times, biting her lip in contemplation, but before megan can ask anything further, daniela is already there, pushing boundaries unapologetically.

“maybe i got jealous,” the brunette confesses, looking up at megan with slow, calculated blinks. she looks down at the collar of megan’s hoodie, playing with the drawstring. “i like being the center of your attention.”

megan, despite knowing exactly what daniela was going to do, is still caught off guard, her head spinning and her mouth going dry. “ah.”

daniela’s gaze locks onto megan’s, dangerously sharp, dangerously intense.

“megan,” the name rolls languidly off her tongue, sending a shiver up the bodyguard’s spine, “tell me you’re still focused.”

“i am,” the taller girl mumbles quietly.

“on me?” daniela bats her eyes, but the question seems rhetorical. they both seem to already know the answer.

“always,” megan murmurs, and it sounds like a promise leaving her lips. the rest of the world has disappeared. all she sees is a tunnel vision— nothing but hazel eyes locking in on her, nothing but sweet pear and vanilla, nothing but perfect skin and wild brown curls and a devilish white smile.

dani notices the contemplation behind her gaze, her mind going elsewhere, and regains her attention however she can manage. megan swallows thickly as daniela’s nails dig into the skin of her neck, catching the taller girl off guard with her next question.

“did you ever fuck sophia?”

“w-what?” the bodyguard chokes back a laugh, wrinkling her nose. she tries to pull away. “daniela, what kind of a question is-”

but dani won’t let her, hyperfixating, locking her hands around the back of megan’s neck, her face serious. “answer me.”

“of course not,” megan shakes her head. “she’s like my sister.”

the heiress presses on without missing a beat, like a predator cornering it’s prey, moving with frightening precision, asking with unquestionable confidence.

“have you ever wanted to fuck anyone you’ve worked with?”

megan stays silent for a beat too long, and that seals her fate. “i-”

“i want to leave.” daniela pulls away quickly, something shifting in her eyes, motioning for megan to follow behind her. she grabs her by the wrist, and the motion feels like they’ve moved together for lifetimes. “i’m over it here.”

megan nods, dumbfounded, under some kind of spell, reaching for the keys in her pocket.

“let’s go.”

daniela makes way too much of a ruckus in the backseat as they drive back to the hotel, and by the time she climbs into the front seat, megan realizes she’s changed into nothing but a swimsuit and a simple coverup. it’s not insane, they’re in florida after all, people will walk around and run errands in much, much less, but it doesn’t help the gnawing feeling inside megan’s chest that races whenever she catches a mere glimpse of daniela’s perfect, smooth skin— and that much of it, confidently on display.

she doesn’t protest when dani makes them go straight to the motel pool instead of the room. daniela doesn’t ask so much as tell, leading megan by the hand, always guiding her, the bodyguard’s careful eyes scanning all around them. the night is dead with the exception of a few radio hums playing from neighboring houses, crickets and frogs harmonizing to fill the hot summer air.

megan has her back turned for just a few moments to scope out the area, ensuring there’s nobody else around, and when she turns back, her breath catches in her throat. daniela looks gorgeous illuminated in the blue glow of the pool. the tips of her dark curls are soaking in the water, before she quickly scoops her hair up and secures it into a bun with a clip. the younger girl knows she should look away, but she can’t, and part of her has a feeling daniela likes it that way.

“are you okay?” the heiress asks quietly, noting the bodyguard’s silence.

“don’t worry about me,” megan shakes her head. she sits at the edge of the pool, eyeing the water cautiously.

dani stretches a hand out to reach for her, beckoning with the curl of her fingers. “join me.”

“i can’t,” megan says simply.

“i want you to,” daniela presses, her voice softer than it’s been before, but still insistent as it’s always been. “please.”

megan simply blinks back at her, shaking her head once more.

“megan,” dani says once more, folding her arms over the edge of the pool to rest her chin on her wrist, batting her eyes up at the bodyguard as she continues to negotiate. “get in the pool.”

the taller girl simply smiles, humored by dani’s insistence. “i don’t have a swimsuit.”

“it’s just us.” daniela reminds her, motioning around them at the eerie stillness of the evening. “nobody will care. nothing’s gonna happen, your gun will be right there.”

megan opens her mouth to protest, but daniela’s gaze has her frozen in place. she shakes her head, but quickly realizes she’s losing this battle. the idea of disappointing this girl has somehow become an unbearable thought, and within moments, she’s standing up and unzipping her jeans, tucking her gun away in the neat pile of clothes she leaves behind. she does exactly what daniela asks, no further questions: she strips down to her underwear and sports bra and gets in the pool.

megan cleans her own wounds after fights, megan tends to herself after dangerous situations, and megan hasn't let herself get close to anyone in years. having eyes on her already makes her uncomfortable— having daniela’s eyes on this much of her feels like she’s being burned alive.

“can’t lose focus,” megan reminds her simply, her eyes locked on her gun just to give her somewhere to look.

but daniela is smiling, clearly pleased to have gotten her way, and the way she flashes her teeth makes megan’s pulse race. dani keeps a fair distance between them as megan submerges herself into the water, but with each step into the water, daniela takes one step closer to the bodyguard.

“focus on me, then.”

“i can’t focus on anything else,” megan says breathily, but she realizes it sounds like a confession. daniela’s eyes feel like they’re eating her alive, and the truth is it makes her skin crawl.

she wonders if the princess can see any of the other scars littered along megan’s body, if she’s making up stories for them, if they’re frightening her somehow. she wonders if daniela is regretting everything she’s shared, if she’s regaining fear, if anything is changing for her.

and almost as if she can read megan’s mind, daniela’s gaze softens on her.

“you’re my favorite,” daniela tells her quietly, as if to soothe her.

megan’s head is spinning uncomfortably. she feels herself spiralling and tries to grasp at any conversation point that can make some sense of it all.

“why did you care if i fucked sophia?” she blurts, and the question catches both of them off guard.

“what?” daniela squints at her, wading forward through the water to move even closer.

“what would you do?” megan presses once more. she feels lightheaded, aware of all her surroundings and yet fuzzy enough to still be reeling from the proximity, from the exposure, from daniela’s presence altogether.

“did you lie to me, skelly?” the heiress tilts her head, her voice low and flat.

“no,” megan quickly reassures her, but for whatever reason, the question is eating away at her, like acid against her bones. “but what would you do?”

daniela perceives it then, in an instant. she looks over megan with a sharpness, a quick glance to take her in, to assess the state of her, the turmoil she’s in. she moves forward slowly, as if she’s scared to make any movement too sudden and scare megan off, but within moments they’re face to face. daniela’s arms snake around megan’s neck too easily, too comfortably, with too much familiarity.

“i won’t share you,” she says simply, quietly.

“you wouldn’t have to,” megan reassures her quickly.

“i want you to myself,” daniela says back, self-assuredly, not an ounce of hesitation in her voice. she’s gripping the back of megan’s neck with her hands, fingers interlaced to lock her in place.

“you don’t want me,” megan shakes her head, trying to look away, face tensing.

“i do,” daniela insists, dipping her head to meet megan’s gaze regardless of where she tries to avert it. she makes herself inescapable, and it makes megan’s stomach flip.

“look at me,” daniela presses once more, and megan’s head is spinning. “do you want me?”

she stops thinking, and reaches forward to take daniela’s cheek in her own hand.

“i-”

she barely starts before daniela is crushing their lips together, the two colliding into each other.

megan nearly recoils— there’s nails in her neck, gripping her close, an arm wrapping around her shoulders to pull her in, there’s teeth in her lip and warm breaths against her skin. every cell in her body wants to push back and do what she does best, fight, push, get away.

but she remembers that they’re daniela’s nails, connected to gentle fingers. it’s daniela’s arm, anchoring them together. it’s daniela’s teeth but also her soft, plump lips, her gasping breaths as megan lets herself be kissed, lets herself be touched, lets herself be wanted. as megan lets herself want, for a split second, her mind is nothing but thoughts of the princess, indulging in the kiss, letting her hand reach for daniela’s waist, letting her eyes flutter shut as she kisses back, with eagerness, with force.

her mind races, but her heart steadies in moments. daniela, this pain in her ass who somehow contains so much tenderness, so much gentleness, so much to give and nowhere to put it. megan isn’t worthy, but daniela doesn’t seem to mind, and has given her heart a home despite it all— despite all she’s seen, despite all she’s witnessed, and despite all she knows.

megan’s grip is gentle against daniela’s skin, scared to hurt her somehow, as if her touch would poison her. but the brunette grabs at her hands, gripping them in her own, anchoring megan as if she knows the bodyguard might run away at any moment. her head tilts and she deepens the kiss, her grip on megan’s wrists tightening, the water around them glowing against their bodies.

“come on,” daniela whispers, breaking their kiss for a brief moment before pressing her lips into megan’s jaw, megan’s chin, the hollow beneath megan’s ear. the bodyguard, her eyes clamped shut, knows daniela well enough at this point to know she wants to lead her. she lets herself be led, without question.

they’re out of the pool and back in the motel room before megan can even question it, and with far too much tenderness than what she deserves, daniela is kissing her again, unquestioning, fearlessly. her skin is wet and cold from the water, and megan worries that her touch is uncomfortable, but daniela reaches for her over and over, guiding megan’s hands over her, a silent plea to explore as the door closes behind them.

daniela has megan pushed back onto the bed, hovering over her with eyes so dark, they’re unreadable in the dimly-lit room. but megan can feel her pulse thudding against her skin, she can feel daniela’s breath against her neck, she’s all too aware of the way daniela is tracing gentle lines against the scars she sees.

“do you want me?” she repeats the question from earlier, reaching down to cup megan’s face in her hand, her eyes burning into the younger girl’s, her voice low and raspy in a way that sends shudders down megan’s spine. daniela’s fingers reach down to trace experimentally against megan’s stomach.

as much as megan wants to think she’s more than a stupid fucking mutt, with her neck exposed, her belly touched, a predator looking straight into her eyes, megan feels her instincts kick in.

she recoils, eyes screwing shut, gently but firmly flipping daniela off of her. she feels like she’s reverting, her brain malfunctioning. she’s not something or someone to be touched tenderly, to be let inside— she is a creature of habit, with one intention, which is to protect at all costs, even to the death.

“you’re my boss,” megan whispers, grimacing, trying to refocus but the smell of daniela still makes her so dizzy, the warmth of her lips fresh on her mind. she shakes her head, trying to empty her thoughts of all of this, pulling away. “i shouldn’t have done that. i shouldn’t be doing this.”

“megan-“ daniela tries, her voice gentle, reaching out for her, but the bodyguard is already throwing on her clothes and racing to the other side of the room, desperate to put as much space in between them as possible. she slips her gun into her waistband, reminded of her purpose.

she’s not a lapdog, for daniela to fall in love with and rehabilitate. she is a killer, put here for a sole mission.

“i’m supposed to protect you,” megan says out loud, as if to remind them both.

protect you from everything, even from myself.

“you didn’t-“ daniela tries again, something pained and vulnerable in her eyes, but megan isn’t listening.

“go to sleep.” the bodyguard avoids her gaze, slipping out the door and pulling a chair with her. “i’ll be outside.”

megan sleeps in quick, 10 minute intervals from her spot guarding the door. the motel is dead, not a single other person in sight besides maybe the housekeeper that shows up around 6am, but she still spends the entire night ridiculously on edge. she was supposed to protect daniela avanzini, not get attached to her, much less get herself involved with something as stupid as kissing her.

a buzz from her pocket snaps her out of her thoughts. she recoils, as if she’s been caught thinking about daniela’s lips, as if someone was listening to her thoughts and is here to reprimand her for what she’s done.

megan swallows thickly and lets out a sigh of relief at the caller as she picks up. “soph.”

“how far are you from miami?” the other girl wastes no time with greetings.

“we should get there by noon, if we leave now.”

there’s a quick pause, and megan’s stomach sinks. sophia is trying to break bad news.

“can you hold off until tonight?”

“are you serious?” megan groans. her hope was to drive in silence while daniela slept, and hope that miami keeps daniela busy enough to distract her from trying to talk to megan about absolutely anything for the rest of the time they’re stuck together. “soph, why can’t we get there now?”

“he doesn’t want her staying at a hotel, says he needs their yacht scoped out,” sophia explains. “i know you’re probably sick of it, but just keep her busy.”

“i’ve been keeping her busy this whole time,” megan reminds her frustratedly.

“then you’re doing your job,” sophia snaps back, never one to waste time empathizing. her voice softens slightly, clearly not wanting to leave her best friend without a few words of encouragement. “he trusts you. you’re doing great. stay focused.”

megan’s skin lights on fire at the memory of daniela saying those exact words to her the night before, and she can feel the ghost of the girl’s fingers all over her skin.

sophia hangs up, and the bodyguard clears her throat and nods, trying to reassure herself. “you’re almost done.”

she enters the room some time around 7am, after mentally preparing herself to avoid whatever conversation she knows is certain to come. but just as much as daniela can push a conversation, megan has the same power to pull away from a conversation, and if she’s not ready to talk about something, nothing can force her. not even the pleading, beautiful dark eyes of daniela avanzini.

and try she does. the moment the bodyguard enters the room, dani stirs from where she sits near the door, her eyes instantly softening when their gazes meet.

“megan–” she tries to start, but the bodyguard cuts her off, grabbing their bags and quickly rushing to escape the room, motioning for daniela to follow.

“we’re leaving. i need to show you something.”

they hit the road in silence, and megan takes them a few exits away to an empty field behind a trailer park. it’s secluded, it’s quiet, and theres nobody around for miles. megan feels herself wanting to laugh. just a few days ago, daniela would have taken this opportunity to try and run off, escaping megan’s protection. but here she is, staring in silence at the bodyguard, the weight of the night before heavy on both their shoulders.

daniela opens her mouth once more, but megan won’t let her.

“you need to learn how to use this,” the bodyguard quickly cuts her off. “should it ever come to that.”

megan presses the pistol into her palm, seeing daniela’s lips part ever so slightly in distress. she steps behind the shorter girl and points to a tree. she points to each part of the gun, watching as daniela’s hand starts to tremble at the realization that she’s holding the weapon.

“safety is there, you aim two inches above where you want it to go,” megan goes on, her voice harsh and firm. “brace your wrist, and don’t let your arm go floppy. this is what it feels like.”

she quickly reaches to overlap her hand over daniela’s, pulling the trigger a single time. the older girl recoils instantly as the weapon goes off, bullet lodging deep into the tree. megan wants to wince, knowing daniela isn’t calloused to all of this yet the way she is, but she’d rather be safe than sorry.

“if you have this in your hand, you don’t hesitate. if it ever comes to it,” megan insists, watching as daniela tries to recover from the ringing in her ears. “do you understand?”

“yes,” dani swallows thickly.

“if anything happens, ever, you run, and you don’t look back.” she stares down at the shorter girl, eyes widening to emphasize her point. “do you understand?”

daniela nods once more, biting her lip. the silence eats at megan.

“we can get to miami tonight,” she finally says, explaining the plan for the day. “they’re just asking we wait a little.”

daniela nods, realizing this means a few more hours together on the road.

“i don’t want to go dancing tonight,” she says quietly, her voice soft.

“that’s fine.” megan tries not to react to daniela’s clear distress, knowing her softness is a weakness. daniela’s hand is still shaking when she gives the gun back to megan, but the bodyguard tries not to acknowledge it. “i’ll find us another motel nearby.”

“thank you, skelly.”

megan says nothing as they head back to the car.

another motel, another trek upstairs in silence as megan carries their bags and daniela avoids looking at her. dani stays on her phone in her bed for the entirety of the day, and by the time the sun is setting and megan is ordering them dinner, daniela still hasn’t said a word. this is what she wanted, right? for things to be easier— for daniela to leave her alone, to be silent, to give her zero issues and have zero complaints, to say nothing about the night before, to stop making her job so damn difficult.

so then why does megan feel so suffocated?

she’s desperate to get some clarity of mind that by the time the sun is down, the bodyguard decides that she can spare a few moments to escape on a quick walk to the vending machines, hoping the walk clears her head. daniela is curled up in her own bed, facing away from mega, her breaths even and the younger girl assumes that she’s already fallen asleep. it’ll be easy enough to move her to the car once they can make it to miami, and the drive in silence will probably be just as easy as she’d hope. megan slips out the door, feeling the hot summer air on her skin, and prays things will be easier once they get to their final destination.

megan finds a vending machine, slides in two crumpled dollar bills, and watches as the vending machine stalls, her chips dangling temptingly.

on impulse, she punches it once, twice, before letting out a muffled yell and ramming her shoulder into the glass. it cracks under her force, and she slams it again and again until the chips have dropped. she feels a drip from her nose.

“fuck,” she mumbles, chips in one hand, free hand coming up to tend to her now bloody nose.

she slips back into the room as quietly as she can muster and sees the heiress’s figure curled up, facing away from her. megan peels her shirt off over her head and holds it to her nose, figuring it’s already ruined and there’s no need to dirty a towel, trying to walk quietly straight to the bathroom to rinse off.

“what happened?”

daniela’s voice cuts through the silence of the room. megan looks up and realizes that daniela is wide awake, turned over in her bed, brows knit together in concern as she sees megan’s bleeding nose.

“i thought you were asleep,” megan says quickly. she feels herself flush at daniela’s eyes and how they scan over her exposed torso.

“did someone do this to you?” daniela sits up on her knees, reaching out for megan’s face.

“no,” megan shakes her head, trying to get away from the touch. “i used to get nosebleeds like every day as a kid.”

especially when i was stressed, she thinks to add, but doesn’t go through with it.

“can i ask you something?” daniela hums.

megan says nothing. the both know she’ll end up doing whatever she wants regardless, but megan at least appreciates the pretense of asking.

“how’d you get this?” daniela asks curiously, her fingertips tracing along megan’s neck.

“car crash,” megan answers easily. she wonders if her honesty will get her out of it any sooner, get daniela’s hands off her skin, if she’ll be able to escape her eyes.

“this one?” daniela prods, fingers touching a scar directly above her hip.

“knife fight,” megan breathes. the answers feel like confessions to crimes she’s not eager to relive.

“did you win?” daniela asks softly.

megan can’t help but let out a laugh. “i’m here, aren’t i?”

daniela swallows at the implication, before tracing a scar along megan’s thumb.

“this one?”

“i got thrown through a table.”

“how’d that end?”

megan swallows, blinking back a desire to lie, but admits the truth nonetheless.

“i killed him,” she says quickly, almost too easily.

“that’s insane. i almost don’t believe you,” daniela shakes her head, examining megan’s hand, playing with her fingers. the intimacy burns megan’s skin but she stands there, trapped at daniela’s mercy. “i really don’t believe you. you’re so gentle.”

“with you,” megan points out quickly.

“with me,” dani echoes, eyes going elsewhere, contemplation behind her stony face. “you’d kill for me?”

“i’d protect you against anything,” megan dances around the question, staring down at daniela’s fingers exploring her collarbone.

“because you’re supposed to?” daniela presses quietly, feeling the dips of megan’s skin beneath her nails. “or because you want to?”

megan forces out a sharp breath and bites back on her molars, turning her head away. “you’re distracting me.”

“i want to stay one more night here. with you.” daniela pleads, her eyes round and gentle. “when we get to miami it’ll be hectic and then it’ll be over. it’s slow on the road. i like it.”

“but your dad wants us in miami tonight,” megan reminds the brunette, brows furrowing. the confession warms her, the way daniela seeks connection, eager to hold onto it, desperate to not lose it.

“you’re special to me,” daniela whispers, fingertips tracing gently against the curves of megan’s jaw, reaching up to her cheek bone, eyes seeking. “don’t be his weapon. be mine.”

another noise fills the room, breaking their focus on each other: the buzz of megan’s phone vibrating in her pocket. she pulls it out and sees the contact, her whole body tensing in realization. it’s not sophia.

“it’s him,” megan grimaces, answering the phone.

“skelly,” don avanzini’s voice is cold, unamused. “put daniela on the phone.”

megan’s eyes dart to daniela, who’s big hazel eyes are batting back up at her, temptingly. the brunette shakes her head, a silent plea.

“she’s asleep,” megan lies, too easily, after a brief pause.

“really?” he questions.

“yes sir.”

she gets the sense that he’s not buying it, and if getting to know daniela has taught her anything, it’s that the headstrong girl has probably given this man the run around more times than he’d care to admit. regardless, he pivots quickly, and megan lets out a breath of relief.

“you’ll still make it to miami tonight, right?” he questions.

megan’s eyes flash to the girl on the bed, their gazes locking. don avanzini has their location— he’ll know if they’re not moving, he’ll know if she lies to him, he’ll know if she tells him what he wants to hear and he’ll have her killed if she doesn’t keep her word.

but daniela. her mind dizzies with the thought of daniela’s disappointment, letting down this girl that has somehow felt like home.

“we can be in miami by the morning,” megan says slowly. but nothing happens as she lies, no earth splitting to swallow her up, no sniper coming up to take her out, accusing her of treason. “we’ll need one more night.”

daniela, realizing the compromise, lights up, leaning forward to move even closer to megan’s stilled body. forever tempting, she takes megan’s hand and wraps it around her own neck. megan’s mouth goes dry, feeling the soft skin, feeling daniela’s pulse against her thumb.

“skelly,” her boss’s voice is terrifying, devoid of emotion, snapping her back to her reality. “you’re not lying to me, are you? you work for me, i’d like to remind you.”

daniela reaches up with a manicured hand, wiping at the still-wet blood on megan’s upper lip. she dips a finger into the stain, then, too slowly, too deliberately, brings it to her mouth, finger darting out experimentally to taste it.

as if to tell her— i choose you, as you are.

megan feels a horrible bark rumble in the back of her throat, and makes her decision.

“no, sir,” she says simply, and it answers everything.

“don’t make me regret choosing you, skelly,” he says simply, buying the charade.

“of course not, sir,” megan swallows heavily.

the line goes dead, and as soon as megan drops the phone, daniela is leaping over to push her down onto the bed and straddle her. the bodyguard is too dazed to protest, her skin tingling, her pulse racing, her lips twitching.

“you keep thinking you’re too fucked up for me to get involved with you.” daniela takes her face in both hands, her voice hoarse and breathy with sheer intensity. “i see you and i think you’re perfect.”

“i don’t want to ruin you,” megan breathes, her fingers shakily brushing a curl out of daniela’s face. is she capable of it? can a monster be capable of being tender?

“you’re so obsessed with protecting me from everything, including yourself,” daniela pushes back, snatching megan’s hand to press a kiss into her thumb. “i don’t need protecting from you. you have no idea how bad i want all of you.”

“good, bad, who gives a fuck?” daniela goes on, shaking her head. “who gives a fuck when you belong to someone?”

megan reaches out first to kiss her, hungrily. she doesn’t recoil when daniela kisses her back, tongue swiping against her upper lip, tasting her own blood in their kiss, or when daniela brings megan’s grip to her waistband, guiding her hands eagerly, pushing her down by the shoulders until megan’s head hits a pillow, trapped fully under the heiress and her wandering hands.

and for the first time in nearly as long as she can remember, megan lets herself be wanted, and lets herself want, ignoring whatever guilt ate away at her to tell her she wasn’t worthy.

the car ride the next morning is lighter, somehow. daniela refuses to spend a single second longer without some kind of touch against megan’s skin, some mark of ownership.

megan doesn’t fight it. she’ll even admit she’s comforted by the way daniela insists on holding her hand the whole car drive as they finally reach miami. daniela doesn’t change much— she’s still bratty, still insistent, still eagerly seeking human connection. but she’s warmer now, more open. they drive around the city, daniela pointing out different places she’s visited or enjoyed, and each time megan offers to get out of the car, daniela shakes her head and insists that they keep driving.

megan feels her staring longer, allowing her to trace mindless circles into her arm as she drives, and instead of punctuating each conversation with irritation, daniela reaches over and kisses her. she kisses her over and over, each time the whim strikes her, and megan lets her.

she doesn’t mind. she doesn’t mind one bit.

“we could run away together,” daniela suggests, wide smile as megan carries her on her back after they’ve danced for hours at daniela’s favorite miami latin club. “stay on the road forever.”

“you’re crazy,” the bodyguard laughs simply, carrying the girl’s heels in her hand.

“you’d want that though, right?” daniela presses, her eyes eagerly seeking something in megan’s face, her arms tight around her neck as to not fall, but megan’s grip on her legs is enough to anchor her in place, like a backpack. “doesn’t it sound nice? nobody to take orders from any more.”

“you’d boss me around,” megan points out playfully. “with your brat ass.”

“maybe,” daniela flashes her teeth back in response, pressing her lips quickly into megan’s neck to mark her skin with her lipstick, as if the two hadn’t spent the whole night kissing in between dances. “you’d let me.”

“i’d let you,” megan echoes, her voice softening as she realizes she’s smiling.

“you’re still focused on me?” daniela asks.

megan nods. “i think i’m stuck focusing on you.”

“you’re unreal,” dani shakes her head, burying her face into megan’s shoulder as they keep walking through the parking lot towards their car. “you’d kill for me?”

“i could,” megan assures her quietly, eyes forever cautious as she scans their surroundings. “too easily.”

daniela’s eyes widen, warm and round. “would you, if i asked you to?”

“you’d just have to ask,” megan tells her softly, leaning her head to the side to press their foreheads together. the act of tenderness makes her bones hurt, but the warmth it brings her feels like a furnace within her chest, defrosting her from the inside out.

“so fucking romantic,” daniela purrs. “for me?”

“i’d do it all for you,” megan blurts.

they’re finally at the car, but instead of helping her into the passenger’s seat, megan simply sets dani down on the hood of the cadillac, admiring the girl in the dim glow of the neon lights around them. she lets herself finally admit it, finally take it in— daniela is beautiful, undeniably so, and the way she stares back at megan with those warm dark eyes makes the girl absolutely melt.

“yeah?” dani grins, white teeth glowing in the light.

“yes,” megan says, too eager, too willing. “easily.”

“who takes care of you?” daniela hums, looking up into megan’s eyes as she reaches up to brush her bangs out of her face. “who tells you you’ve done a good job? who cleans you up after it’s all said and done?”

megan keeps her eyes fixed on the girl in front of her, lips parted as she breathes out quietly. “no-one.”

“you’re perfect,” daniela shakes her head, arms wrapping around megan’s neck. she presses their foreheads together, the intensity of their proximity making megan almost dizzy. “i’m obsessed with you.”

before she can answer, megan can sense a presence behind them. her hand instinctively reaches for the gun in her waistband, but daniela is pressing a firm hand against her shoulders, keeping her locked in their embrace, unbothered by the presence.

“take it home, you fucking freaks,” the stranger yells, kicking a can in their direction, but does nothing else. megan’s body tenses, briefly, but she looks to dani, who seems completely unphased, completely unthreatened by his heckling.

megan knows she’s overreacting, and daniela is probably in the right to just ignore him. but an idea comes to her, one that sickens her as much as it makes her eager, eager to prove herself to daniela, eager to please.

“d’you want to see what i could do?” megan asks quietly, their foreheads still pressed together. “you’d just have to ask.”

she sees the way daniela’s eyes darken and flood. the premise of power.

“seriously?” dani asks in disbelief.

“at your mercy,” megan breathes. “just ask.”

“do it.” daniela’s voice is shaky, and it reminds megan of how shaky her hand was when they practiced shooting her gun. but the shakiness only sends her adrenaline pumping further, her muscles tensing, her heart pounding. she wants to be told that she’s good. she wants daniela to know she’s a good one.

megan presses a quick kiss into daniela’s temple before she walks straight up to the man. in several swift movements, she takes two strikes to his stomach, a strike to his back, and a third one to his throat to have him gasping for air on the ground. her gun is long forgotten in favor of her preferred weapons, her fists, and the brutal sound of each punch as megan leans over the man and lands two sharp blows to his face.

she looks up, and daniela’s chest is visibly rising and falling, watching with wide eyes in front of them. megan feels her stomach flip— daniela nods in approval, her eyes dark and hooded.

“again,” dani whispers, and megan obliges in seconds, the man barely able to protest before she’s ramming bruising fists against his cheek once more, each blow leaving more blood behind than the last.

“again.”

megan does as she’s told. it feels too natural, too automatic, too detached. if his crime was simply harassing a few girls in the street, then maybe this punishment isn’t all that fair, for megan to practically smash his face in. but she can feel the way daniela’s eyes never leave her, the way she realizes what megan has been trying to explain all along— that ultimately, she is a weapon, and she’ll bend to daniela’s every last whim.

“dani, last one,” megan warns, seeing the man teeter on sputtering breaths.

“do you want it?” daniela asks, her eyes wide, a crazed look taking over.

“i want whatever you want,” megan says back easily, too easily.

daniela blinks, as if in disbelief, before the word leaves her mouth. “go.”

megan, without question, winds her fist back and prepares to land a final blow.

“stop.”

her fist freezes mere inches above the man’s face. megan can feel it, as much as she had tried to avoid admitting it to herself. it feels good to do exactly what daniela wants.

“oh, i have got to be fucking in love with you,” dani gasps, throwing herself off the hood and wrapping her arms around megan’s neck to pull her away and press fevered kisses into her jaw, megan’s eyes fixed on the man laying flat on the floor. “take me home, please.”

megan says nothing, but the way daniela reaches for her bloodied hand and grips it in hers says everything. they leave the man on the ground, sparing him, and get into their car to drive to the yacht.

what more is there to possibly say? that her devotion would blindly take her to the ends of the earth for this girl? megan, robotic and single-minded, has always thrived with an assignment, a mission, something to check off one by one.

but maybe, to devote her life to whatever this girl wanted, could be not just a mission, but a purpose.

miami becomes a little too easy. dani spends her days lounging on the beach, megan watching carefully from behind her. every morning, she’ll bring her breakfast, and every afternoon, she’ll bring her a coconut. every evening, they go dancing, and every night, they fall asleep in each other’s arms. the routine becomes painfully comfortable. megan wonders if it could really be this easy.

their fingers interlace whenever they walk into a new nightclub, megan’s eyes always scanning, daniela’s eyes fixed only on megan.

“you talk so much about nothing at all,” daniela laughs, throwing back another shot, trying to speak up over the music.

“oh, sorry, sorry,” megan’s face burns.

“no, i fucking love it,” daniela shakes her head. “you tried being so quiet when we met.”

“i just say the stupidest shit, so it’s just better to not say anything sometimes,” megan smiles.

“you’re perfect,” daniela coos, spinning around to press her back into megan’s chest and wrap the bodyguard’s arms around herself like a jacket, “obsessed with you.”

megan has a thought to push back— you barely know me.

but daniela knows all she needs to. she knows the ugliest parts that megan would try to keep away, and still chooses to press forward. it’s like they’ve done this backwards, shown each other the worst of themselves and slowly revealed the good. instead of putting their best foot forward, they’ve seen each other at their lowest and decided it was worth it. megan feels herself rationalizing it. isn’t it better this way? no illusion of perfection, no shattered reality when something goes wrong? wouldn’t it only, ever, really keep going up from here?

it dizzies megan sometimes, daniela’s intensity, but she has no complaints. it gives her somewhere to be, something to think about, someone to answer to, all without expectation. perfect might be an exaggeration, but megan starts to let herself picture daniela in everything, and each picture feels like something she doesn’t deserve, but will claw eagerly to hold onto.

sophia’s phone call interrupts their evening, daniela barely able to make it through the entry of the cabin before she’s leaping onto megan, but megan doesn’t mind.

“all good, skelly?” sophia asks, checking in on the bodyguard.

“all good,” megan breathes, swallowing down gasps as daniela kisses down her chest.

“i think you guys can make your way back to atlanta tonight, actually. it looks clear on our end,” sophia tells the bodyguard.

“yeah?” megan questions, stifling a moan as the brunette’s hot tongue explores the divots of her stomach. “back to atlanta so soon?”

“isn’t that what you were waiting for?” sophia asks, and megan can sense the judgement in her voice.

megan arches a brow at daniela, who simply shakes her head and mouths ‘no’ back up at megan.

“i think we may do tonight here, soph,” megan says quickly, much to daniela’s pleasure as the girl resumes her kisses along megan’s hips. “we’ll leave in the morning."

“hm,” sophia says, as if she can sense something. “boss wants to make sure you’re taking good care of her.”

“she is,” daniela grins, stealing the phone, having heard sophia’s last words and clearly over the conversation. “bye now, you’re distracting her.”

“so impatient,” megan teases.

“will you keep guarding me even if my dad wants to promote you?” daniela asks hurriedly, the question seeming to press against her skin. “when we’re back in atlanta.”

“if you’ll have me,” megan tells her gently, reaching forward to trace her fingers through dani’s scalp, playing with her hair.

“i’ll tell my dad he’ll have to pick a different guard dog,” daniela grins, “‘cause this one is mine.”

megan wakes to the sound of rustling from above them.

her first instinct is to wonder if daniela got up and is smoking on the top of the boat, enjoying the waves on her own as she has before, but she feels the older girl’s arms still wrapped firmly around her neck. daniela’s face is buried in between megan’s shoulder blades, her quiet breaths tickling the bare skin. megan hates the idea of waking her, she always has, but the moment she hears additional footsteps, she leaps out of the bed and throws on the nearest set of clothes, gently throwing daniela her own. they have exactly 90 seconds before whoever is up there figures out how to open the door and get down into the residential cabin of the yacht.

fuck. fuck fuck fuck. megan let herself get distracted.

“dani,” she whispers quietly, reaching underneath the night stand to pull out a second pistol, tucking it into her waistband. “you need to get up.”

“what?” daniela’s voice is groggy, so, so endearing, and megan’s heart thuds at the sight of her. she complies, dazed and confused, with getting some clothes on, but stays gripping onto megan’s wrist.

“go. hide,” megan whispers quickly, motioning to the window leading out to the hull of the boat, but most importantly, leading to the dock where daniela can make an escape.

“no.” the princess’s eyebrows furrow across her forehead as she realizes what megan is implying. “where are you going? i’m not leaving you.”

“go hide. i’ll find you,” megan instructs her again, hearing the footsteps growing increasingly closer. “i promise.”

she looks up, and feels her stomach twist. daniela is shaking, as she has before, her eyes wide and pleading. her lip trembles as she tightens her grip around megan’s wrist, her voice quaking. “be safe. please.”

“i will,” megan reassures her, pressing a gentle kiss onto her forehead before peeling her grip off of her and guiding her back towards the window. “now, go hide.”

daniela takes one more hesitant look in megan’s direction before complying, slipping out the window, into the night.

megan squares her jaw and reloads her gun, remembering her mission. not a single hair off her head.

it’s easy, to start picking them off one by one. megan isn’t made to be a bodyguard, sure, she’ll admit it. but she’s made to kill, to kill easily and efficiently, and each time a new henchman appears in her line of sight, it’s merely seconds before she’s picking them off, her gunshots alerting the rest of them as they all fall into the same trap of trying to run after her, only to become her next victim. she knows it’s ugly, borderline brutal the way she can end life after life without a second thought, but this is what she does best, and now, she has an even more powerful drive to protect.

she’s on the hull of the boat, counting off in her head after each gunshot rings out and each new henchman drops to their knees. she knows she’s running dangerously low on bullets, and don avanzini keeps magazines hidden in all sorts of random spots. she formulates a game plan. search for a reload, kill off the rest of the idiots on the boat, go find dani, get back to atlanta and keep her safe.

(but what she doesn’t calculate for is daniela avanzini, stubborn, strong willed, and loyal to a fault, who didn’t run like she was told.)

“megan!”

the scream is visceral, unexpected enough that it catches the bodyguard off balance as she turns instantly to seek where it’s coming from.

“dani?”

once again, she loses focus, and there’s a dangerous price.

there’s a violent thud of the butt of a pistol against megan’s temple from behind that sends her reeling to the ground. she grimaces— this is the first time she’s ever been caught off guard like this, and it’s all the more reason to regret losing her focus on what she’s supposed to be doing.

her vision is hazy from the impact, but someone is instantly stepping on her wrist, pinning her down, causing her to lose her grip on her gun. she winces at the sheer pain in her arm, the throb in her head, the way she fades in and out of consciousness as her legs won’t respond to her trying to get up.

“found the brat,” she hears a voice say, and within moments, she’s looking up to see a man walking daniela up the pier. the girl is resisting, doing her best to fight him off, but she’s no match as he pins her arms behind her back and throws her to her knees besides megan.

“you were supposed to run away,” megan breathes in disbelief. so fucking stubborn, daniela is.

daniela’s chest is heaving, and the scratches on the man are a clear sign that she wasn’t caught without putting up a fight. “i wasn’t going to leave you.”

one of the henchmen shoves a phone in daniela’s face, grabbing her chin to force her to stare at him. he glares down at her menacingly. “put me on the phone with don avanzini. tell me the numbers. go.”

daniela looks up with that defiant stare that used to exasperate megan. still on her knees, the brunette turns quickly to sink her teeth into the man’s wrist, causing him to scream out in pain and drop the phone, yanking his arm back. she spits in his face, her lips curled to bare her teeth angrily. “fuck you, you fucking moron.”

“you little bitch—” the man starts, but is quickly cut off.

“you didn’t put down the bodyguard,” another man, clearly their leader, says in disappointment, stepping in between the first henchman and daniela. he smirks at megan, before landing a sharp kick to her ribs with his heel. “some guard dog you are. you took out most of my team and yet all it took was some brat to throw you off your game.”

megan’s throat burns at the impact, the wind getting knocked out of her. she looks up and sees daniela with tears in her eyes, and her chest sinks. she must look so fucking pathetic, curled up on the floor, fading in and out of consciousness, helpless. megan clamps her eyes shut in anticipation of what comes next. this is her price: she let herself get distracted.

she hears the man click his tongue, and realizes there’s no gunshot that’s gone off yet. he takes a second to contemplate, before motioning to the other remaining henchmen.

“take them both. one of them is bound to talk.”

“don’t touch her,” megan growls, rising to her hands and knees, but the boss quickly lands another sharp kick to her stomach. she muffles a scream and collapses once more, where he presses his foot between her shoulderblades, trapping her to the floor.

“she’s worth more to us in one piece. we won’t hurt the little princess,” he says, leaning down to mumble quietly next to megan’s ear. “can’t say the same for you, however.”

megan steels herself. she’s prepared for anything they might do. but what she quickly realizes is that daniela is not. she looks up at the heiress, whose wide eyes and trembling lip are already speaking volumes.

“don’t say anything,” megan quickly hushes her, hoping she can calm her before she cracks as the men make quick work of picking them up and dragging them away to their waiting cars.

“meg-“ daniela starts, but the bodyguard quickly shakes her head.

“don’t,” she says sharply, before a hood drops over her head and everything goes dark.

megan isn’t thrilled to be poked, prodded, or strapped into the chair by zip ties, but she won’t let these half-rate mobsters know that. with each attempt to get her to talk, megan stays silent, biting her tongue, keeping her composure, counting the seconds as they leave new marks on her skin in an attempt to get her to do anything. she doesn’t let them get under her skin.

what does get to her is the way daniela winces each time the man does something new to megan, each new instrument he pulls out, each new promise of marking her skin permanently.

megan wants to comfort her, to reassure her that this isn’t anything she can’t handle, but this seems to be exactly their game: they hurt megan, and leave daniela untouched, but make her watch, and with each increasingly painful attempt to get megan to break, daniela reacts more and more emotionally. megan isn’t even close to cracking, but she’s afraid that daniela, with feelings too big for her own body, might be teetering on the edge of what she can handle seeing.

“she’s going to fucking destroy you,” daniela spits in between sobs at the man in charge of the torture, trying to kick free from her own restraints as she’s forced to watch.

“stubborn little bastard,” the man mumbles, ignoring daniela’s threat and grabbing megan by the jaw to examining her face. “you’ll crack sooner or later. nobody’s that good.”

megan realizes that behind him, daniela’s wild flailing has loosened the zip ties around her wrist, enough to free her hands. she blinks once, spotting the man’s holster hung up neatly next to daniela’s chair, and her eyes dart to it, hoping daniela can realize it.

she does, blinking slowly, realizing her hands come free and following megan’s gaze. her fingers shakily reach for the weapon, hoping the man stays turned facing megan.

the younger girl lets out a shaky breath and closes her eyes, just in case daniela’s aim leaves something to be desired.

there’s a bang, and then the sound of a slump, and in moments, megan feels the weight of the man fall forward onto her.

daniela gets up hurriedly from the chair, mascara smeared as she cries uncontrollably, hands are still shaking, the smoke from the gun still fresh.

“go,” megan instructs hurriedly, trying to push the man’s now-lifeless body away, watching as daniela searches the room before picking up some pliers to cut megan free from her restraints. “leave before they come looking.”

“no,” dani shakes her head, making quick work of the ties in between her shaky breaths. the moment megan is completely free, dani quickly wraps her arms around her and crushes her in a vice grip of a hug, her body trembling uncontrollably. “you’re coming with me.”

“daniela, not this again,” megan growls, rubbing at her wrists, pushing the shorter girl away firmly. “this almost got you killed last time. you need to listen to me.”

megan’s chest aches at where they’ve ended up. daniela, the girl who couldn’t bear to sleep alone after seeing her first dead body, now with blood on her hands.

“i wasn’t going to leave you behind,” daniela mumbles shakily, her eyes seeking something in megan’s face. she looks over megan’s body and grimaces, seeing the new marks left behind by their attempts to torture her.

“you should have,” megan presses back forcefully, her voice harsher, angry at their situation. angry at what she’s forced daniela into instead of sparing her from it all. “you could have gotten out so easily.”

“you’re not fucking expendable, megan,” daniela’s voice sharpens, sounding more like herself, more determined. she grabs the taller girl by the wrist, forcing her to look at her. “i just got you. i’m not losing you.”

“i’m a piece in a game, dani,” megan feels herself raising her voice, but she can’t control it at this point. her temperature rises as she tries to get it through daniela’s skull that this isn’t the way she wanted things to go. “there’s another hundred people eager to take my place for the right amount. i’m a hitman for hire that works for a cartel lord that could kill me if i even look at him wrong. i am the definition of fucking expendable.”

there’s a brief pause, and in an ideal world, megan would see the lightbulb go off in daniela’s head. she’d stop, turn away, and escape wherever the fuck they are, calling up her dad and getting rescued in an instant. megan would be a casualty, easily forgotten, and that would be the end of their story.

but of course, daniela has other plans than to let things be just quite that easy.

“not to me,” daniela breathes, her hand reaching up to stroke against megan’s cheek gently. megan recoils, but the brunette insists, keeping her hand steady, her dark eyes piercing into megan with a pleading intensity. “you protect me, but who’s going to protect you?”

megan stays silent, her eyes screwing shut. her chest aches from the inside out— something beckons for her to come home.

“i told you, you’re mine,” dani softens her voice, bringing her other hand to cup megan’s face with unimaginable tenderness. “i’m not letting you go that easily.”

“i don’t want you to see what i’m about to do,” megan breathes, bringing up a hand to hold onto daniela’s, a silent confession, her eyes hesitantly meeting the hazel ones waiting on her. “i don’t want you to have to see this. i don’t want to scare you any more.”

megan bites back on her jaw. this is what she was made for. she’d move mountains to protect daniela.

“i trust you, and i don’t trust anybody,” the girl smiles gently, nodding shakily. “do it.”

megan lets out a trapped breath, nodding in confirmation. “okay.”

she notices daniela’s eyes going down her body, the marks on her skin left behind, future scars. megan sees daniela immediately start to tremble at the sight of it, but before she can reassure her that she’ll be fine, something goes dark in daniela’s gaze. intense, crazed, like the night that man in the alley made the mistake of bothering them.

“i don’t want a single one of them left,” daniela presses, eyes widening, her voice dropping into a low, dark tone. “you can do that, can’t you?”

megan feels it. her muzzle being taken off, her leash being dropped. the full trust of a girl who puts her life in her hands. the adrenaline starts to flood her, her hands quaking, her throat drying.

(she hates to admit it— it’s not fear, it’s anticipation. she’s growing eager.)

“close your eyes.”

“megan—” daniela starts, but megan simply takes her hands and holds them in her own, as softly as she can manage.

“close them, and cover your ears, please,” she insists, keeping her voice gentle. goosebumps start to line her skin as the adrenaline begins to pump through her, mentally preparing for what she’s about to do. “you can look when i come back.”

“but you’ll come back?” daniela looks up at her with pleading eyes.

megan feels something stir inside of her, and reaches forward to press a soft kiss onto daniela’s forehead, trying to soothe the wrinkles from her worried arched brows.

“you’re the only thing i’ve ever wanted to come back to.”

daniela tries to hand her the gun, but megan presses it back into her hand.

“keep it, in case,” she nods, and the two reach a silent agreement. whatever is left between them they’ll address when megan gets back, because then that means she’ll have to come back.

megan looks over at the tool rack— machetes, tire irons, complex tools no doubt meant to leave permanent marks. she settles on where it all started for her, her first weapon from when she was a kid: a wooden baseball bat. with one final look over her shoulder to make sure daniela is tucked away safely in the corner of the room, megan pushes past the door and hardens her jaw as she makes her way into the first hallway. wherever she is, whatever mafia or gang found them, whoever was involved, she was certain of one thing— the only people walking out of that building alive would be herself and daniela avanzini.

she realizes she’s smiling, swinging the bat in eager anticipation. her head swirls with thoughts of daniela, thoughts of protecting her, thoughts of all that she’s about to destroy to get them out of here in one piece. each step takes her further along this warpath to complete this mission.

this is exactly what she’s built to do.

by the time she finds her back to the first room, fully certain she’s snuffed the life out of every body in every corner of every room in the building, she lets out a grateful breath at the realization that daniela is exactly where she left her, hiding in the corner.

“it’s me,” she announces as she comes through the door, dropping the now-splintered baseball bat on the ground to show she’s no danger. she looks around the room quickly, ensuring nobody had come in during her absence. “are you okay?”

“are you?” daniela asks, eyes widening at the sight in front of her. “that’s so much blood.”

megan can admit it. she probably looks something out of a horror movie, completely drenched in red from head to toe. her hair is soaked through, clinging to her skin, her clothes stuck to her and dripping in certain spots from where the blood is pooled.

the two stare at each other in silence for a few moments longer, daniela taking her in, megan realizing she looks every bit the monster she’s always knew she was.

“it’s not mine,” megan offers simply, to reassure her, as if that would somehow make it better.

daniela looks down at the baseball bat, now splitting down the middle from megan’s murderous rampage, looking back at the bodyguard she had once so confidently called gentle. the bodyguard who now, from head to toe, is dripping in blood that isn’t hers.

“oh,” is all she says in response.

megan can’t find the words. she can see it in daniela’s eyes, as she takes her in, the fear.

but daniela simply reaches up to wipe the blood off of megan’s mouth with her sleeve, before her lips are crushing feverishly against megan’s own, her arms wrapping around the taller girl’s neck as if they were made to rest there, as if they were made to anchor her in this life.

and megan lets her— no longer worried about ruining dani’s perfect skin with her own hands or horrifying her with this reality. they’re stuck in this world of dangerous horrors whether they want to be or not, but at the very least, she can be grateful that she’s stuck there with someone who makes it worth while.

“in love with you,” daniela mumbles hurriedly in between desperate kisses, gripping onto megan’s neck as if she’ll be suddenly pulled away at any point. “told you you were a good dog.”

“yours,” megan breathes in confirmation, finally allowing herself to give in to it all. the aching growl within her chest quiets as the girl’s fingers run along her skin, softly, knowingly, claiming ownership. “yours and yours only.”

megan’s bloodied fingers grip daniela by the waist, staining her clothes without concern. she holds her close, and kisses her back— feverishly, hungrily, and it feels like home.

#☆ﾟ coolwyous works.#☆ﾟ coolwyous - tuyo.#meizini #katseye imagines #megan x daniela #daniela x megan #daniela avanzini #megan skiendiel #katseye one shot

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