Summary: After receiving threats against your life, your uncle hires a handsome, brooding bodyguard to protect you.
Word count: 0.7k
Warnings: MDNI, NSFW, smut, explicit, age difference, no physical description of the reader, mentions of female genitalia, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns used, angst, yearning, mentions of scars and self-harm (razors), sexual assault (groping), descriptions of violence, blood, mentions of murder, eventually: vaginal fingering, oral, rough sex, p in v, unprotected sex, dirty talk, proofread once, no beta
Notes: This is a bodyguard AU for The Counselor movie. I am taking Sam's character and running (away) with it (him). Reader is a little of a party person, and still in Uni (late start, grad school, whatever). There is about a decade of age difference, but she is much of an adult (over 25!)
Special thanks to my lovely @californiablues88 for being so supportive about this rewrite of my old fic <3
All my works (except requests) are published on AO3
You were truly and thoroughly annoyed by your uncle and, walking towards his office where he so graciously summoned you, wondered what the hell did he want now.
“There she is,” your uncle was smoking again, talking to some guy you had never seen before, a work acquaintance probably.
He was handsome, kinda cute, tall, brooding, with full lips and the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen. He had some facial scarring, but that did nothing to take away from the handsome features of his face.
“This is your new bodyguard,” your uncle continued, ignoring the visible frown that immediately formed on your face.
“My what? What do I need a bodyguard for?”
“Don’t worry about that,” your uncle muttered, lazily waving his hand around. “He’ll be with you 24/7.”
“Is he a robot?” you asked sarcastically, looking the new guy up and down.
To his credit, he didn’t take the bait, his eyes firmly trained on your face, his glance not dropping towards your tits or your ass, which were both hanging out of your new bikini.
Your uncle frowned, almost rolling his eyes at you and your bratty ways. You weren’t actually spoiled, maybe a little, but you liked to play it up sometimes, for funsies.
“Does he have a name? Does he speak? When does he sleep? When will he have time off?”
You were fuming; it was totally like your uncle to do something like this. He probably got some death threats and then hired the first muscle he could find, not even thinking that people had rights, and more importantly, lives even outside his shady dealings.
“Baby, come on, I don’t have time for your tantrums right now,” he did sound tired, your uncle. Perhaps these unmentioned threats were a little more serious than you initially thought.
Slowly, you looked back at your new dog. You had one before, and to say that he was a pain in the ass would be an understatement - that guy just wanted easy money and practically turned you into a prisoner in your own home. You hoped this one knew at least some commands.
“John, I do, whenever you sleep, not until the job’s done.”
John, my ass, you thought, but accepted it, without even thinking of asking for his real name. His voice was deep, calm, a practised monotone, but there was something deeply unnerving about the way he spoke. This was no German Shepherd baring his teeth now and then; this was a disciplined mutt that already tasted blood.
“Nice to meet you, John,” you softened a little, reminding yourself that all of this was your uncle’s doing. “Where are you supposed to sleep?”
“Room adjoining yours,” your uncle answered, exhaling a puff of smoke. “And you will leave the doors unlocked.”
With a deep sigh, you nodded again.
“I’m going to the pool,” it was fairly obvious where you were going, but you felt the need to say it anyway.
John immediately followed behind you, annoying you to no end; the first command you would have to work on was for him to walk next to you, because this was already driving you crazy. He smelled good, though, a high achievement in this scorching sun.
“I’m going out tonight,” you looked up to John from the pool, hanging onto the edge.
“Where?”
“Mystique, one of my girlfriends is celebrating her birthday.”
He nodded, watching you through the sunglasses. He would be more comfortable in swim trunks, but it was too early in your purely professional relationship to even suggest that. Instead, you watched the sweat pooling all over his dark grey T-shirt, wondering if his orders were for you two to shower together as well.
You scolded yourself for being sarcastic in your thoughts again. Promising, again, to speak more kindly to yourself, you decided to float in the pool some more, before you were rudely interrupted by your uncle.
“Baby!” he screamed from somewhere in the house, a living room, if you were not mistaken. “Where are my meds?”
“What the fuck do you mean, where are your meds? In the same place as always!” you shouted back, pushing on your hands and stumbling out of the pool.
“No, no, they are not here!”
You grabbed the first towel to dry your hair and started marching towards the house. Then, you stopped and turned so suddenly that John almost crashed into you.
“Be honest,” you looked up, noticing how broad his shoulders were, “did he hire you to protect me from whoever, or did he hire you to protect him from me?”
John didn’t reply, but you could see a tiny smirk forming in the corners of his lips.
If you like my writing, all interactions are greatly appreciated-`♡´-
All my works (except requests) are published on AO3
Summary: As you continue your normal life (partying), John finally has to handle someone. Unfortunately, it makes you realise certain things about yourself…
Word count: 1.0k
Warnings: MDNI, NSFW, smut, explicit, age difference, no physical description of the reader, mentions of female genitalia, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns used, angst, yearning, mentions of scars and self-harm (razors), sexual assault (groping), descriptions of violence, blood, mentions of murder, eventually: vaginal fingering, oral, rough sex, p in v, unprotected sex, dirty talk, proofread once, no beta
Notes: Please read the tags/warnings. You are responsible for the content you read. This chapter, and the upcoming one, are going to be a little heavy.
John was a good sport about everything, although he avoided conversations as if you were threatening him with a plague.
The first time he got ready to accompany you to the club, you had to fight not to laugh.
“Not a chance,” you shook your head at him, smiling, and then invited yourself into his closet.
Not that he looked bad, far from it, but he was either visiting much different clubs or just didn’t care that much. You managed to find two long-sleeved button-up shirts, asking him to put on the one in the deep, rich purple colour.
He immediately complied, showing off pale skin full of little speckles and occasional red splotches. You could feel your cheeks flushing slightly at the sight of his abs and pecs, the way skin pulled over his muscles, and those fingers playing with buttons were making you feel hot in all the wrong places.
“Here,” you shakily unbuttoned one extra button, showing a little bit more of his chest.
John nodded once.
That was weeks ago, and since then, you also got him more clothes - on your uncle’s credit card, of course.
It didn’t take long for John to decide you were a brat used to getting everything you wanted, even if your uncle did make you bat your eyelashes some extra times. John was also growing impatient with your attempts to flirt with him, and hated the club music with all his heart. Luckily, even with your miniskirts and bikinis, you were not attracting too much attention, making his job a little easier.
You liked John, a lot. He was polite with your friends, expertly avoiding all the teasing and flirting, and he always let you drink and dance your heart out, on the condition that you hang out close to the bar or table where he was. He always insisted on having eyes on you, and although you thought him clearing the restroom every time was ridiculous, you cut him some slack.
“So typical of George to get paranoid,” one of your friends commented, referring to your uncle hiring John. “Is he snorting again?” she continued, in a much quieter tone.
“I’m not sure it’s just paranoia this time,” you answered, fixing your eyeshadow, but you tried not to think too much about it. “At least I got a driver out of it,” you giggled, although you knew that wasn’t fair to John, even if he couldn’t hear you.
“Babe, your boytoy looks like he’s dying of boredom,” another friend teased, entering the club’s already crowded restroom.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” admittedly, you were becoming a little touchy on the topic, despite telling yourself over and over again that you were not in love with John. Still, you were getting a little jealous, maybe even possessive, mostly because he was so resistant to your flirting.
You caught him looking at you, just once, and to your surprise, he wasn’t checking you out at all. You were whipping up breakfast for both of you after another night out, and you caught a glance in a reflection. His face was all relaxed, calm, eyes heavy-lidded; he looked at you almost lovingly, confusing you in an instant. In any case, despite ascribing it to a long and loud, sleepless night, you wanted him to look at you like that again, even if you were unsure if you wanted it just to prove a point (to whom, yourself?) or because you actually wanted him.
In any case, you went back to dancing, and it didn’t take long before some guy glued himself to you. You never minded dancing with them, and although they were always initially touchy, they would get a hint rather quickly. Not this guy, though. You kept moving his hands away from your body, but he was taking it as a challenge, grabbing harder at you, even pushing his hand under your minidress.
Squeezing your way through the sweaty bodies, your eyes were panickily searching for John, but it was almost impossible with the throbbing lights. And with the music, your voice calling out to him was getting lost almost as it escaped your throat. You couldn’t tell anymore if that guy kept following you or if the touches you were feeling were accidental.
Feeling your throat already swelling up and tears pooling in the corners of your eyes, you felt a wave of panic crash over you; how was the bar where John would linger around the whole night suddenly so far away? And where the fuck was John?
Behind you.
Beating that guy to a pulp.
You heard the voices around you, gasping and murmuring, just as you reached the bar. Turning around, you had a clear sight of John and his fist colliding with the guy’s face, and then his abdomen, over and over again. You watched, mesmerised, only snapping out of it when John’s hands grabbed your shoulders.
“Are you okay?” he sounded a little worried, but definitely not as winded up as you expected.
You blinked away the tears, your shoulders dropping under John’s long fingers, his touch searing into your sweaty skin.
“I wanna go home, please.”
You knocked on his door almost the moment you heard the shower stop.
The AC in his room was softly blowing on your wet hair, and, you noticed embarrassingly, making your nipples pebble up under the tank top. Ignoring it, you kneeled next to John, who was holding onto his towel for dear life.
Carefully inspecting his bloodied and bruised knuckles, you blew softly on them before gently applying an ointment, trying so hard not to look up at John through your lashes. Instead, your fingers were brushing over his knuckles for a little too long, but he didn’t seem to mind. It didn’t make sense to put any sort of bandages on them; they would fall off soon anyway, so this was the best you could do.
“Thank you,” John’s voice broke the silence, but it was all wrong. He sounded hoarse, swallowing hard, and even his accent was different, like it slipped.
You shook your head.
“I should be thanking you for saving me from that creep,” you finally looked up, tenderly smiling.
“I was just doing my job.”
His voice bounced back; deep, practised, curt.
You nodded, feeling a harsh drop in your stomach, a dull, treacherous ache spreading through you.
Chapter One
If you like my writing, all interactions are greatly appreciated-`♡´-
Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five
All my works (except requests) are published on AO3
Summary: You and John grow close after another night of partying
Word count: 1.3k
Warnings: MDNI, NSFW, smut, explicit, age difference, no physical description of the reader, mentions of female genitalia, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns used, angst, yearning, mentions of scars and self-harm (razors), sexual assault (groping), descriptions of violence, blood, mentions of murder, eventually: vaginal fingering, oral, rough sex, p in v, unprotected sex, dirty talk, proofread once, no beta
Notes: Please read the tags/warnings. You are responsible for the content you read.
To John’s chagrin and growing irritation, you almost immediately went back to partying, so hard and so often that he couldn’t wait for your classes to start. He was barely keeping up, getting more and more mentally exhausted night after night. He finally had to admit that he was jealous of men and women pawing at you, touching you, having their arms around you. There was nothing he liked more than those seldom moments when you’d lean into him when walking or sitting in the back of the cab. And it always was just a moment, almost like you needed him to ground yourself, but pulled back before John could properly react.
He cherished those moments deeply, replaying them endlessly in his mind, finding comfort in the memories, especially when it felt like you were so far away.
Watching you dance, again, he was getting nervous, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He was looking around, his fingers twitching again, and then finally decided to ask you to go home.
Both you and your friends happily hollered at him, watching him wiggle his way onto the dance floor, but John was determined.
“Call it a night, will you?” he leaned towards you, one of his hands protectively splaying against the small of your back. He was ready to fight you on this, and despite your occasional brattiness and proven stubbornness, he wasn’t going to back down from this one.
“Bye, bitches!” you shouted, blowing kisses at your friends. You grabbed John’s hand, the one that had just left your back, and tipsily followed him through the crowd, all the way to the outside.
This club was actually quite close to your place, but your feet hurt so much already, not that you’d admit it. You were still holding onto John’s hand, scared to grip harder in case he forgot your hand was there, but when you stuttered in your step, falling a little behind, you felt his hand tighten around yours.
“Johnny, is everything all right?” you pouted, causing him to stop. You knew he hated that nickname, always giving you a slight side-eye, his cheeks puffing out a bit, but you just couldn’t help yourself. You tangled one of your hands into his hair, fixing it a little. You weren’t thinking clearly, alcohol getting to you, but he was so irresistible tonight, and you wanted him to kiss you so badly.
“I don’t know,” his eyes kept darting between your face and your surroundings. “I’m just tired.”
“Okay, baby,” you cooed, batting your eyelashes, your hand slipping to the back of his neck, “will you let me take care of you tonight?”
You watched as his head moved in small, tired nods.
In one quick move, he pulled your arm over his head and tossed you over his shoulder, his other hand resting on your ass, shielding what’s left of your propriety. You giggled, trying hard not to kick your feet in excitement. He picked you up with such ease that it sent a wave of heat through you, making your breath hitch.
You were so prepared to do whatever John wanted, although you had a sneaking suspicion he would want you on your knees. You realised you let your horny imagination get ahead of you when John hugged you immediately after you locked the door.
He held you in a tight grip, his head falling to your shoulder, pulling you deep into his embrace, his sleeved forearms dragging over the sensitive skin exposed in your backless dress.
Your arms were around John’s neck, your hands caressing gently from his neck towards where his hair started, where he had it cut shorter. Listening to his growingly erratic breathing, you pressed against him harder, getting on your tiptoes. He still towered over you; your head could barely rest in the crook of his neck, your forehead pressed against the tight muscle there.
You could smell him under his shirt, a faint scent of cologne mixed with the intoxicating saltiness of his sweat. You had to hold yourself back from starting to lick and suck at his neck, even if you couldn’t reach it. This was John’s night, you reminded yourself, one of your hands sliding down, trembling slightly against his chest.
John took half a step back, his hands falling to your waist, his forehead falling against yours. He was still breathing hard, tiny beads of sweat spilling from his skin to yours. Against your better judgment, you reached up, placing your open palm to his jaw, your finger touching his cheekbone, just for a moment before you started pulling back, reminding yourself again not to force anything.
His hand shot up, enveloping yours and pressing it against his face. He exhaled, melting into it, his head turning slightly to press open-mouth kisses to your hand; he looked so lost in a distant fantasy, the fantasy you wanted to give him, if he’d only ask for it. And then he started to shake his head, almost in disbelief.
“Talk to me, please,” you pleaded, teary-eyed, watching as he pressed his eyelids together even harder.
He continued to shake his head, and you scolded yourself for pushing; you should have kept quiet.
“I’m here,” you whispered, placing that hand firmly against his face, “for whatever you need me, okay?
Another deep exhale, and then John slowly led you to his bed, kneeling next to you when you sat down. Your breath hitched the moment his fingers touched your ankle, slowly, gently unbuckling all the tiny straps of your heels, sliding over your skin. And then the other leg as well, and he leaned his head against your thigh, his eyes still firmly closed.
John was afraid that if he opened them, you’d disappear. You’d see him for what he was: a lowlife not worthy of your attention, of your love; trailer park trash, a foster home reject, a delinquent and an outcast, a criminal. John was never meant to be this close to someone like you, someone so beautiful and kind, someone whose star was shining so bright it set his on fire.
He lay you down and turned you on your side, so your back was pressed against his chest, still not having the strength to look you in the eye. He snaked one arm under you so your head rested on his bicep, and hugged you with the other, breathing you in, his forehead pressed against the back of your head as your hair tickled his face.
“I want you,” he swallowed, “to be here with me.”
“I am here, for as long as you need me.”
John swallowed a cry, cursing himself for being so soft. He had no idea he was reaching his breaking point until your hand caressed the back of his neck earlier this evening, and then he wanted to hug you, kiss you, take you home and make love to you, tell you how much he cared for you, never be apart from you again.
Instead, he settled for you two cuddling fully clothed on the bed, your hand gently sliding over his fingers, your head turning ever so slightly to kiss his arm through the fabric. The collar was biting into his neck, but John didn’t want to move, scared that you’d come to your senses, realising you were in the bed with your bodyguard. He clenched his jaw, stilling.
He was listening to your breathing until it settled into that deep, calm rhythm, a telltale sign that you fell asleep.
“You are always all over me when you drink,” he finally whispered, a hollow, tight feeling beating in his chest, spreading through his throat all the way to his jaw. “I wish you’d choose me sober. Just once.”
Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five
If you like my writing, all interactions are greatly appreciated-`♡´-
Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four
All my works (except requests) are published on AO3
Summary: You and John move to your cosy apartment in New York, sharing a tender moment.
Word count: 1.0k
Warnings: MDNI, NSFW, smut, explicit, age difference, no physical description of the reader, mentions of female genitalia, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns used, angst, yearning, mentions of scars and self-harm (razors), sexual assault (groping), descriptions of violence, blood, mentions of murder, eventually: vaginal fingering, oral, rough sex, p in v, unprotected sex, dirty talk, proofread once, no beta
Notes: Please read the tags/warnings. You are responsible for the content you read.
If John expected a huge, fancy apartment or a brownstone, he kept his thoughts to himself. Your apartment was tiny, but you loved it more than anything. Your uncle offered to rent something better for you, bigger, flashier, but you felt at home here. The neighbourhood was nice, as much as it could be for New York City; the rent was controlled, and utilities were low.
You weren’t really speaking to John during your trip, except to thank him often; he just kept nodding, silent, his eyes scanning all around you both.
Your uncle even offered to fly you private, which you thought ridiculous, but ultimately had to accept when he explained to you that it would make things easier, if for nothing else than John freely carrying his weapons.
For whatever reason, you were exhausted, more mentally than physically. All your bruises faded, and you went back to the typical way you spoke to John, but you could tell things weren’t the same. Still blaming yourself, you let yourself drift into shaky sleep, sinking into the leathery seat of the plane.
John waited, watching you, until you were asleep. He could already tell by your breathing how deeply you slept. You were there, right there. John waited some more, struggling with his thoughts, but in the end, he gently sat into the empty seat right next to you. It took a couple of moments, but your body visibly relaxed next to him, if such a thing was even possible.
He felt it again, that treacherous tightness in his chest that crept around his body, making his fingers twitch ever so slightly. You were right there. Here. Right here.
John frowned, unsure himself what he wanted. And then, your head sank to his shoulder; his breath stuttered for a beat before drawing a deep, relaxing breath in. His fingers itched so hard for you, but he couldn’t do that. You were too vulnerable, too dependent on him, and his ego was still burning where you scorched him earlier.
John had no idea when he stopped thinking of you as nothing but a brat, except that it was before that incident. He noticed how kind you were, generous with your time and (your uncle’s) money, always having a nice thing to say to someone even when you were having a bad day. And you were always taking care of him, so much so that John would sometimes forget that he was being paid to be around you.
Swallowing hard, feeling like he would die if he didn't do something, anything, John slowly turned his head towards you, letting his lips brush on your forehead. Just a small, reassuring touch, to somehow let you know that he would always protect you, that he would rather die than let any harm find you.
He took another deep breath, inhaling you, his lips pressing just a little against your skin. John closed his eyes.
“No, that’s fine,” he heard himself saying, pulling back to the present, “I’ll sleep on the sofa.”
He watched you frown, but knew it wasn’t because you so desperately wanted him to share your bed but because you thought he’d break his back on the sofa. He wanted to tell you that it was fine, that he had it worse, much, much worse growing up, but just pressed his lips together, pulling his clothes out of a duffel bag and putting them into one shelf of your closet you emptied for him.
He swallowed, looking at the cute pink bedding and more teddy bears on your bed, and the huge piles of books pushed against the wall. And again, that faint scent of flowers that he learned to adore.
Your bed was in a tiny upstairs nook, just above the tiny but cosy bathroom. Some of your clothes were there as well, and John could hear you clearing out more space for his things. He had to admit he liked the idea of being this close to you.
He looked over the railing, watching you as you hung all his shirts, carefully, but in such a carefree, domestic way that John decided to let himself feel like he had found home, just for a couple of moments. Just for a couple of moments, he pretended that you shared this tiny apartment and that any moment now, you’d climb up the stairs to hug him, perhaps even give him a quick peck on the cheek, and that in a couple of hours, you’d curl in the bed next to him and he would hold your hand throughout the night, waking you up with a gentle kiss to your temple. His chest tightened again.
He walked down to help you with the sheets that, to his utter delight, also had that faint flowery scent. You brought him one of your own pillows, and John felt like immediately melting into it. Tomorrow, things will have to be different, but today, he could still play pretend.
“I’m sorry for hurting you,” he muttered, forcing himself to look at you directly, despite wanting to look anywhere else but. “It hurt, what you said, but I shouldn’t have reacted that way.”
You nodded slowly, looking at his flushed face and then his whitening knuckles.
“I was really mean for no real reason…” you tried, swallowing, but John cut you off.
“No. It really hurt,” he was now looking at the floor between you. “I got scared when I couldn’t hear you anymore, and then just let it all take over.”
You watched as his shoulders slumped and his eyes went glassy, and although you were not sure what he was trying to tell you, you wanted to comfort him.
“No, I… You…” he grunted, frustrated that the words were not conveying what he was trying to say. “It’s not about the job, it’s about you. I can’t forgive myself for that night,” he finally admitted, surprising himself as much as you.
You watched as he was fighting the tears, wanting to hug him, make him understand how much you cared for him, but you dreaded it all, both the feelings and John’s reaction. Although your mind would usually be racing, you were consciously trying to think of something soothing, calming, and soft.
“You’ll have to. Forgive yourself, that is. I already did.”
John wasn’t sure he would ever, but nodded anyway.
Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four
If you like my writing, all interactions are greatly appreciated-`♡´-
All my works (except requests) are published on AO3
Summary: You continue to work through your trauma while John tries to grapple with his guilt.
Word count: 0.7k
Warnings: MDNI, NSFW, smut, explicit, age difference, no physical description of the reader, mentions of female genitalia, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns used, angst, yearning, mentions of scars and self-harm (razors), sexual assault (groping), descriptions of violence, blood, mentions of murder, eventually: vaginal fingering, oral, rough sex, p in v, unprotected sex, dirty talk, proofread once, no beta
Notes: Please read the tags/warnings. You are responsible for the content you read. This chapter continues to deal with assault and self-harm. I will delete/block all negative comments, especially if you complain about something that was clearly states in warnings.
You wouldn’t leave your room for days, sneaking out to grab some food when you were sure your uncle wasn’t in the kitchen. You had no idea when John ate, or if he ate at all, still following you to the fridge and back like a loyal dog. You found a couple of those thin scarves that were trendy when you were a kid, so you’d religiously wear them even to the bathroom, just so your uncle wouldn’t see the marks around your neck.
When he wouldn’t let it go, wondering why your voice sounded so hoarse, you lied, saying that your whole friendship group got into a fight and you cried so hard you gave yourself a sore throat. To get him to finally leave you alone, you just mumbled that you were on your period, before bursting into tears.
Even as the temperatures reached all-time highs, John kept wearing long sleeves, unable to look at the scratch marks you left. He has never felt so guilty about a thing in his life, and he killed people for a living, for fucks sake. It was never supposed to get this complicated. He was hired to protect you, to keep you safe, and sure, he did take it too seriously by trying to protect you from yourself, but now, he couldn’t even protect you from himself?
John hasn’t lost his cool like this since his early teens and has never lost it against a person before, his victims mostly being public properties and trees. He was cold, calculated, and meticulous, and not involved.
You hadn’t been crying since, but that didn’t make it much better. John was still barely sleeping, flinching awake at any sound, repeatedly checking if you were still in your bed throughout the night. He kept trying to come up with an apology, obsessively cleaning his gun. He pushed all the shirts you got him to the back of the closet, so he wouldn’t have to keep looking at them. You were so careful in picking them out, asking what kind of fit he’d prefer, what colours he liked. And a smile, a huge, warm smile every time he’d exit the changing room, and you’d try to match a tie to it, just in case he needed it.
But to you, John looked the same. A little shaken, but the same. You knew you went too far, but you never thought he would react the way he did; you expected him to yell at you or tell you to fuck off, but you didn’t blame him for it. You blamed yourself, running your mouth again instead of being kind or simply communicating.
You felt violated and dirty, and you didn’t want John to regard you as such, so you asked for reassurances in the worst possible way.
You sighed softly into your pillow.
Maybe he should resign, John wondered, but just a thought of it filled him with dread. How could he leave you, especially knowing how serious the threat against you was? It was sheer, stupid luck that he was fighting off drunken creeps and not cartel, thinking again how much he wanted to turn your uncle’s face into mush for being so idiotically dense for entering into business with them in the first place.
He was pulled back to reality by a soft knock and those little sounds you would make before speaking.
“I’d like to apologise again, John. I didn’t mean any of it, and it wasn’t fair to you… I should never have said those things.”
You swallowed, a little sad that he was avoiding looking at you directly.
“And it’s a lie that I can’t wait for you to be gone. If anything, you made my life much easier. Made me feel… Safe.”
He nodded, pressing his lips together. John was the one who should be apologising, begging on his knees for forgiveness.
You should fire him. Slap him, spit in his face and bash it against the floor. Instead, you were telling him how safe he was making you feel.
Safe. Safe. Safer.
You were both startled by a sharp knock - your uncle always had impeccable timing.
“I’m sending you back to the East Coast. You too,” he glanced at John.
“But my classes don’t start in a month,” you were confused, and now quite worried all over again.
“I know, angel, I’m just not comfortable with you here,” he sounded dejected but firm in his decision.
“You’re leaving tomorrow.”
Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three
If you like my writing, all interactions are greatly appreciated-`♡´-
All my works (except requests) are published on AO3
Summary: You try to work through the resurfaced trauma, coming to blows with John.
Word count:
Warnings: MDNI, NSFW, smut, explicit, age difference, no physical description of the reader, mentions of female genitalia, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns used, angst, yearning, mentions of scars and self-harm (razors), sexual assault (groping), descriptions of violence, blood, mentions of murder, eventually: vaginal fingering, oral, rough sex, p in v, unprotected sex, dirty talk, proofread once, no beta
Notes: Please read the tags/warnings. You are responsible for the content you read. This chapter deals with sexual harassment and mentions of self-harm, razors, and cuts.
I will delete/block all negative comments, especially if you complain about something that was clearly states in warnings.
You stayed holed up in the house for more than a week, only leaving your room to eat or, when you’d feel especially antsy, to bake, making John eat most of it. He never complained, no matter how many muffins or pieces of cake you’d give him, but you wished he’d at least tell you if he liked it, unprompted, that is.
“Why are you lingering around the house all the time?”
Your uncle was on his third piece of cake, and his last for this week, given his cholesterol levels.
“Some creep groped me in the club, and I can’t fucking wash it off,” you muttered, more to yourself, but loud enough for both of them to hear it.
“What?” your uncle immediately stared John down, or tried to anyway.
“Don’t fucking look at him like that!” you snapped at him, throwing the fork into the sink. “Where do you think those bruised knuckles came from?”
Already feeling guilty by the way you reacted, you scurried to your room, feeling a fresh batch of tears threatening to burst out of you.
“I don’t need you to defend me,” John spoke, completely unprompted, for what felt like the first time ever.
“You know what, John? Fuck off, fuck off all the ways to hell.”
You were fighting tears, the heat, and your embarrassment. Your lower lip was trembling, and your throat was tightening again.
Ever a stoic, John didn’t move a muscle, not even to raise his eyebrow. Usually, you would appreciate his uncanny ability to stay unprovoked, but this time it truly bothered you.
“I can’t wait for your contract to be over,” you spat out through gritted teeth before slamming the door in his face.
And then you immediately went to the double door between your rooms and locked it on your side, already crying, quiet sobs filling the space. You didn’t even care that John could hear you.
He, on the other hand, unknowingly to you, was in the bathroom across the hall, the one you shared, going through all of your things, emptying the contents of your cosmetic bags into the sink, before erroneously throwing it all back in. He went through your cabinets, even emptied the dirty laundry hamper, going through every piece of clothing, listening to your sobs.
John was furious, mainly with himself, but he was paid to protect you, so he continued, going through every nook and cranny, checking and rechecking every hiding space where you could slide in a razor. He found a few, pocketing them, realising you would probably have another stash in your bedroom. He already got rid of one, but if John knew anything about you, it was your pathological need to self-harm. He noticed your scars on the very first day, when you were exiting the pool; he didn’t think anything of it, except to keep an eye out for more that would appear - the fresh, ill-healed, often glowing red marks that would sometimes peek under your dress when you were dancing, or the thin, superficial lines on the inside of your elbows.
And it stung, what you said, the way you said it. John couldn’t wrap his head around why, why would it sting so fucking bad that a rich, spoiled princess couldn’t wait for him to be out of her life?
This job was easy, he kept repeating in his head. Easy, well-paid, and didn’t require much preparation, or mental resources, or premeditated murder. And you were nice to him too, always all-smiles towards him, full of thank-yous and pleases: thank you for driving me, John; do you mind, John; thank you for being here, John; you’re the best, John.
He was clenching his jaw so hard he thought he might chip a tooth, resting his head on a partially wet towel that still smelled like you, a mix of flowery and fruity, and under it, the scent of your skin.
John snapped out of it with a terrifying realisation that you went quiet; no sobs, no whimpers. He tried the door, first the one from the hallway, and then the one that you never locked before, the one connecting your room to his. Cold sweat dripped down his neck, disappearing under the collar of his shirt.
He knocked, then promptly slammed the door with his hand, three times in a row. Nothing. He continued, calling your name, pausing periodically to listen for movement in the room. Still nothing.
His fists were shaking, more drops of clammy sweat forming on his forehead. Grabbing his gun, John broke the door with one hard kick.
You screamed, almost falling off your bed, pulling off the headphones. Still grasping onto your plush pink bunny, you were trying to make sense of the situation.
John was, for whatever reason, breathing harder than you, wiping sweat from his brows with his forearm, his other hand gripping his gun, clicking the safety back on.
“You were told to keep this door unlocked,” he spat out between ragged breaths, his accent slipping again into something you couldn’t place. He pushed the gun into his jeans behind his back, his eyes scanning your room, the lights temporarily causing you to press your eyelids harshly together.
You watched in horror the way he moved, from corner to corner, even checking under your bed, before he started methodically going through your things, first the bookcase, picture frames, and then through your drawers.
“What, the dirty lingerie is not doing it for you anymore?”
You had no idea why you even said it. John certainly never did anything to make you even slightly suspicious, and you never caught him with your panties or other items of clothing. You just wanted it to hurt, not in any sort of retaliation, but because you yourself were hurt, and sick of it, sick of being ridiculed and told to toughen up. You wanted John to feel what you were feeling, even if it turned you into a mean, spiteful person you didn’t recognise.
John’s hand was wrapped around your neck in an instant, pressing you against the wall. You gasped, but otherwise didn’t make a sound, your eyes glassy, air already struggling to reach your straining lungs. His eyes looked so pretty, you thought, even though he looked like he wanted to kill you.
“Fucking brat,” he muttered under his breath.
He was fuming with rage, letting you finally get to him with such a stupid provocation. John himself didn’t know exactly why it hurt so badly; he’d replay it endlessly in his head in the upcoming days, trying to make some sense out of his reaction. He felt it from the back of his throat, through his tightening chest, all the way to that hollow drop in the stomach. His fingers tightened around your throat in response.
John wanted you to beg and to apologise, or to at least scream and fight back. He hated the idea that you thought he was the same as that creep from the club, accusing him of violating your privacy, of violating you in such a despicable way.
Or perhaps it hurt because it was true - wasn’t he just burying his head into your used towel, desperate to feel close to you? Was that why it hurt so much when you told him you wanted him out of your life, because John wanted the opposite?
His sight fell to the plushie you were still holding onto, rather holding it close than trying to pry John’s fingers off your throat.
When he let go, his hand immediately snatched the bunny out of your hands.
“Please,” you squealed, almost hysterical that John would rip it apart. “I’m sorry I said all those things, please.”
You were grabbing at his hands and forearms, nails scratching his skin, but John wouldn’t let go, already knowing exactly into which seam to dig to find yet another one of your razors. He gave you the bunny back and then wordlessly moved on to your nightstand, having a gnawing feeling you moved everything into the first drawer, which he forcefully pulled out and emptied onto the bed.
He knew why; it was your toys drawer, and unsure if he or your uncle was constantly emptying your macabre stash, it was probably the only place you could think of that would make them uneasy. Grabbing the rest off the bed, he slammed the door on the way out, making you shriek.
He lay wide awake, listening to you trying to swallow the sobs until dawn.
Chapter One, Chapter Two
If you like my writing, all interactions are greatly appreciated-`♡´-
Chapter One (and I'm already on chapter 5) of this (kinda toxic?idk how to call it) slow burn of bodyguard wireman x f!reader dropping just before 9PM CET
