#I am clinging to that version of me with all my heart | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ruskaroma · 1 year

Text

ordinary, corrupt human love. | chapter 1: written in blood.

Warnings: this series will include highly disturbing/dark topics such as stalking, unhealthy obsession, graphic descriptions of violence, blood and gore, manipulation, gaslighting, large age gap, emotional/psychological abuse, dom/sub undertones, bad BDSM etiquette, etc.

this is a dark fic, written in john's pov and a glimpse of how his mind works. if you still continue to read and get triggered, that is not my responsibility.

Summary: John finds himself a new obsession.

Author's note: this is my first ever fanfic for this fandom and i am beyond excited to share this with you guys! though i must say before you begin, english is not my first language and there might be a few errors in my writing here and there, so i apologize in advance.

but either way, i still hope you enjoy this piece, and i can assure you that once i finish writing this series there will be more to come! i really enjoy writing john wick be a merciless bastard who kills everything that breathes, and i hope you enjoy it too as much as i did.

please, please, PLEASE tell me what you think in the comment and reblogs and likes would be so appreciated. it motivates me to write even more :)

(also this is not edited so all mistakes are on me and i apologize)

Word count: 8.1k

also read on ao3.

It’s one of those days again.

The sound of his watch ticking is the only thing keeping his car from being too quiet. His eyes watch every single movement of his target, never leaving his sight. It won’t be too long for John to finally strike, he just doesn’t want too many civilians seeing the horror that’s about to happen right before their very eyes.

His mind is thinking of many things he could do with this target in particular. A lowlife thug that got himself involved with a very dangerous Italian mob, but then again that’s not the reason why John’s murderous intent is at its peak at the moment.

He’s angry at something, he just doesn’t know what. And this target of his isn’t helping his situation at all. Reading his criminal record made John think this could be a chance to cure his boredom. This man is not only a sex trafficker, but also a pedophile who has a history of targeting teenagers to rape and sell to the black market that’s as fucked up as him.

He doesn’t normally take his time thinking of ways to kill his targets. He points, shoots, leaves. This one in particular though, got him facing a side of him that John himself doesn’t want to face.

He would start by breaking every single one of the man’s fingers. And if that doesn’t do any justice, he’ll cut them off.

One by one, let the man savor the feeling, let John relish the nightmare.

He could slit the man’s throat, watch as life drains away from his body, watch as the man clings to his legs for mercy. John could even pull out the man’s dick, step on it, fucking cut it off and shove it so far down his own throat that he couldn’t scream for help if he tried.

It’s John’s version of Colombian Necktie. A classic, only ever tried it out four times, hopefully this would be the fifth.

John is never the one to take pleasure in killing people, but these past few months have proved him otherwise.

Maybe it’s because of Helen’s death, and the way he was basically forced to sculpt the demons he buried back into himself. His only remaining bit of humanity was taken from him, and he’s coping in the most unhealthy way possible. Perhaps Winston was right about dipping his pinky a little too much into the pond, but it was inevitable.

John has gone back to his old ways. Taking contracts here and there to distract himself from the void in his heart. He remembers how burying a knife into someone’s throat for the first time in many years has ignited something in him he didn’t even know he had.

That’s why he’s here, exiting his car in a swift move, following his target as quietly as possible into a narrow alleyway that stinks of garbage in piss. This would be a nice place to kill a guy like him – right where he belongs.

John’s movements are so discreet the man couldn’t even sense him until John wrapped his right arm around his neck and his other hand went to cover the man’s mouth. He walks them both to the back of a building as the man struggles, where John’s sure no more people are present, and he kicks him on the jaw to stop the man from making any more noises.

John can make this quick. Pull out his gun and blow his brains out. But there’s that sinister glint in his mind that’s telling him to do something unimaginable – grotesque even – a death a man like him deserves.

The man tries to swing his arm at John but misses pathetically. The poor guy’s already shaking and John hasn’t even begun.

John doesn’t respond to the pitiful attempts of questioning who he is and who sent him here, he simply pulls his knife from his pocket and wastes no time slashing it against the man’s throat, the blood spraying all over his face. The man tries to stop it by shakily covering the deep cut with his hand, but it’s useless.

He’s gargling, choking on his own blood, and John’s watching it all unravel with a familiar glint in his eyes.

John is contemplating if he should follow the plan he made in his head or just leave it like this. Somehow, the sight looks rather incomplete to him. He knows what he’s done is not enough, but that could be just the rage talking. The man’s already dead, and surely cutting off his dick and shoving it so far down his throat it comes out of the wound would leave an ugly reputation on his name.

Would that be a good thing? John is already feared enough, would it be a good thing to make people fear him even more? But then again, this won’t be the first time he’s done it. Doing it again one more time wouldn’t make any difference.

He glances down at the dead body on his feet before he kneels down to do the unforgivable.

Slicing off a man’s cock is easy. Too easy. John’s knife is perfectly sharpened and stoned, he merely uses any strength to cut it off. The sight is so fucking ugly, too much blood, but nothing he can’t handle.

Once that’s done, John uses his other hand to force the dead man’s jaw open, immediately greeted by the foul stench of blood as he shoves the unpleasant dick into the man’s open mouth. The genitalia is definitely not long enough to reach the throat, but that won’t be any problem for John.

He grits his teeth as he forces his hand in there, not bothering to care even if the jaw breaks and the hole becomes even wider, his goal is the only thing in his mind.

The blood continues to drip and he has never been so grateful for wearing an all black uniform for this occasion. Soon enough, after a few minutes of such a brutal wrongdoing, John sees the tip of the cock reaching the deep wound on the man’s throat as it continues to peak its way out.

A sick, small smile spreads across John’s face. The smile is barely there, but he’s fucking enjoying this more than he’d like to admit. He can only imagine how the news would spread across the assassin underworld like a wildfire.

The Boogeyman’s back in business and he’s scarier than ever.

Perhaps this might be the way to lay his point across. This is a way to show them that it was not a good idea pissing him off, killing what’s his, and bringing him back in business. They’d regret it, but it would be already too late for that.

John uses his other hand to pull the cock right out of the man’s throat but not completely. Half of it is hanging out and John thinks he could even consider this as a masterpiece. There’d be flies and maggots that would make the scenery better, but the cleaning service is there for a reason. He can’t just not use it.

John stands up from his position, pocketing his knife back into his pocket before retrieving his phone with the other. He dials a number, waits for them to pick up, all while admiring his work on the ground.

His previous contracts these past few months all ended in such an unimaginable, ugly way. He figured that by showing them that he’s capable of such brutality, it would increase the numbers of people calling him in for more jobs, because this is exactly what they wanted. They wanted Baba Yaga, the ruthless killer of the underworld who stops at nothing to finish his job, and he’s simply giving it to them.

Someone picks up the call and he straightens his posture, checking the time on his watch before speaking.

“This is Wick. John Wick, yes. I would like to make a dinner reservation for one.”

The news spread faster than anticipated.

The notorious man John Wick, the hot topic of the criminal underworld at the moment, even gained the attention of The High Table, and it all happened in the span of one day. That’s how quick the news spread amongst his fellow assassins, though that’s exactly what he was going for.

John expected it so he isn’t surprised when he receives a call from Charon saying Winston wants to meet him.

He inserts a coin in the door and the small window opened briefly. The guy on the other side immediately recognized him, not wasting a single moment to open the door and let the man of the hour in. All eyes are on him the moment he steps into the club, but no one dared to murmur anything to anybody – not when the man himself is here.

They know better.

John spots Winston at his usual spot drinking his usual order, signaling John to sit beside him where a glass of bourbon is already present.

“Jonathan,” Winston greets, raising his glass. “We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

“I figured,” John replies, though not interested. He slides himself to the booth and takes a sip of his own drink. “I don’t understand why though.”

“Are we really playing this game, Jonathan?” The manager raises a brow.

“I was just doing my job.”

“In a way you don’t normally do,” Winston then adds. “Or should I say, in a way you don’t even do.”

John gives him a look, but he could tell Winston doesn’t know how to interpret it. His face remains emotionless, not letting the mask slip and grant Winston the privilege to take a peak. John will continue to play this game until he’s satisfied, until he feels something again. Surely he’ll find what he’s looking for while doing the only thing he’s ever good at – slaughtering.

“Let’s just say I was trying out a new technique,” John says, voice deep and almost sinister. Winston’s scared, though he doesn’t show it, John knows.

“I have known you ever since you started, Jonathan. Not once did it cross my mind you would do something so.. horrifying as this. You discarded the body like he was some sort of pig, so believe me when I say I couldn’t believe it at first.”

John has no idea why Winston’s whining about him being horrifying, when that’s all they’ve been saying about him ever since he joined. He didn’t gain this reputation for no reason, now he’s just simply showing them what more he’s capable of.

“You should’ve seen his record.” His tone is menacing, swirling the drink in his hand as he stares deeply at Winston’s eyes. “He’s worse than a pig.”

The drop of the curse word takes Winston by surprise. “So is that what it is, then? You killed him that way because you think he deserved it?”

“Not really,” John simply sighs, leaning back on the leather seat as he takes another sip of his bourbon. He really isn’t planning on staying longer, but Winston seems to be taking his sweet time asking him a bunch of stupid questions. “I couldn’t care less of what he’s done. I was simply… bored. Saying that I did that because I think he deserved it gives people a reason to think that what I did was justifiable.”

The look on Winston’s face says enough. He’s afraid of John, afraid of what he has become. Hearing John say he did such an unforgiving thing just because he was bored is beyond frightening. No man has ever inflicted so much fear on him before – at least not until John.

“I think we’re done for tonight,” Winston finally says, not wanting to hear any more disturbing thoughts of John, but he remains polite and calm for the sake of their friendship. “You have a good night, Jonathan.”

John gives him a nod, standing up from his seat and downing his drink in one go. “Goodnight, Winston.”

He exits the club with an eerie aura following behind him, not caring about the way people are looking at him like he’s got Death himself walking beside him.

It makes him wonder that maybe death doesn’t follow him after all.

Maybe it is him.

Someone offered him five million to fuck up a man who allegedly stole a fuck ton of kilograms of cocaine from their warehouse, and really, who is John to decline the offer?

Hunting the man is easy. It didn’t even take a day to locate where the man lives, and John’s already breaking into his apartment to shoot the guy and leave. There’s no point in rummaging the place for the cocaine, all of it is already up the man’s system by the looks of it, and killing him is John’s job.

John wants to finish this one fast, he’s got other business to attend to. As he backs up the frightened, pathetic excuse for a man against the wall, he takes his gun out of his holster and aims directly at the head, right between the eyes, and he watches in great pleasure as the residue of his brains splatter against the walls and the floor.

This man didn’t even put up a fight. John thinks this is a waste of time.

He exits the apartment with disappointment heavy on his shoulders, slamming the door shut. Although the gun he used has a silencer, the rooms are too close to each other. He’s sure there might be other people who heard the shot of his firearm.

The apartment building is located at the filthy side of New York, where most known drug dealers and junkies do their nasty deals. It’s no surprise that as soon as John steps a foot out of the worn out building, all eyes are on him, but mainly on the clothes he’s wearing. They’re planning on mugging him out, and John would like to see them try.

Just as he’s about to walk to his car, his phone rings abruptly in his chest pocket. He retrieves it in one swift motion, not noticing that a gold coin fell out as he does so, and he continues walking to not waste any more time.

“Sir! Excuse me, sir, you dropped something!” John hears from behind. He doesn’t bother looking.

The call isn’t nearly as important as the business he needs to attend to, so he hangs up the call and pushes his phone back into his pocket. As soon as he does that, he feels a small hand touching his shoulder.

John’s hand immediately flies to wrap his large hand around the person’s wrist, turning around to see a young woman with a bewildered expression on her pretty face, little fingers holding his golden coin that looks far too big on her hand.

She looks scared, terrified, and oh how fucking awful that makes John feel. Like he’s been punched right in the fucking gut. He’s enthralled.

“I wasn’t–you dropped it and I’m just giving it to you, I promise!”

She’s looking at John with big, doe eyes. She also looks freshly showered, wrapped in a black puffy jacket that makes her even smaller than she already is. John lets his eyes linger on her lips, so plump and glossy. Her voice sounds sweet, soft, something John isn’t used to hearing.

John can’t help but to stare.

“Are you–are you gonna let me go, mister?”

The way she stutters triggers a hot feeling in John’s guts, and can’t help but to rub his thumb on the girl’s dainty wrist before slowly letting her go.

So delicate, he could snap them in half.

“Sorry,” John apologizes, taking the coin from her hold, and his fingers itch at the way her skin feels so soft against his rough hands. “Force of habit.”

“It’s okay,” she smiles a little, and there goes that hot curl in John’s stomach once again. “That thing looks expensive so be careful next time.”

Just like that, John doesn’t get the chance to reply back. She makes her leave and patters away from him, and he watches. He watches until she’s out of the view, taking a turn to a corner, leaving John with something he can’t quite figure out yet, but he soon will be.

For the first time in a while, he feels something new.

Suddenly, everything is too good to be true.

John will find himself staring at his hands for too long, still feeling the ghost of her soft skin on his fingers, fantasizing about her pretty face and soft, plump lips.

It’s scary for him to feel something again because that only means destruction. John likes to believe he has a gift of ruining everything he touches, especially the pure ones – like her. It’s a proven statement. Just look at Helen and Daisy.

This little one won’t be any different, he’s sure of it. John’s whole body is heating up everytime he thinks about her. The look on her face when she saw John’s chilling expression, her wide eyes, so glossy and innocent.

John wants to see her again.

His fingers itch, yearning to touch her again.

Why he’s suddenly interested in a young woman he just met a few days ago, he has no idea. John’s a bit confusing – fucked up, even. He long accepted the fact that his mind is nowhere near healthy years ago. He tried to push those thoughts away when he met Helen, but now he’s out of his shell and back in business, there’s no need to.

He’s always been one of the wolves, and now that he’s laid his eyes on his next meal, he will make sure there’s not a single thing that will get in his way to hunt her down.

He had a crisis for two days before doing the unexpected. It didn’t take long for John to find her.

Now, John has been following her around for a week, and he noticed a certain pattern his little one likes to follow as she goes on her day.

The very place where they met is where she lives, surrounded by a bunch of goons who have no idea what to do with their lives. John begins to wonder why she’s living in a place like that. He could take her, put her somewhere safe, under his care and protection. Make sure no one will dare to lay a finger on her.

John knows where she works. At a veterinary clinic not too far from her apartment, which is why she walks to work every three in the afternoon, but not without stopping by in her favorite deli and getting a large order of her favorite sandwich. She’s a part-timer. She’d be at school from seven to twelve, and at work from three to eight.

John finds the little things she does amusing. He’d be seated in a cafe right across from her work, watching how she moves around her office through a big window, petting and cooing at the animals who come and go.

She’s so perfect, so pure, so naive. She has no idea that a monster is lurking ten feet away from her, watching her every move like a hawk, thinking about the ways he could destroy her, make her his.

John is not delusional. He’s fully aware of what he’s doing and he’s aware of what people might call him.

Stalker.

Creep.

They don’t know him though. They don’t know why he acts this way. They’d do the same if they were him, that’s for sure. He’s not the bad guy here, he’s simply just protecting her little one, even from afar. John went as far as destroying a whole Russian Bratva for a mere puppy and a car, he’d do even worse if she’s somehow taken away from him.

John sees her exiting the building and his first thought is to follow her. He stands up from his seat, the cup of coffee long forgotten as he makes his way out of the café and keeps a safe distance between the two of them. It’s risky, especially in the broad daylight, but John knows she’s too oblivious to notice.

She’s with her friends this time, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by John how she clings at the shirt of her co-worker as they cross the street, small hands fisting at the fabric. He thinks about how he won’t ever let go of her hand once she’s his. He’s not big on physical affection, having to grow up with no parents and a rather strict orphanage, but maybe he could be gentle. Engulf her hand in his, stroke it with his thumb, tuck her hair behind her ears, show everyone that she’s already owned.

They wouldn’t dare to lay their hands on her again.

John walks in the middle of the sidewalk, not bothering to move away despite seeing people approaching. He doesn’t need to, the look in his face is enough for people to give him the way. It’s interrupted however, when someone does try to get in his way, placing a hand on his chest and pushing him back a little.

John clenches his jaw, pissed. He takes his eyes from his little one and on the person who so rudely interrupted what he’s doing – it’s Marcus.

“John? I was just looking for you at the Continental.” Marcus has a small smile on his face, clearly not aware of John’s expression.

His eyes dart behind Marcus, where his little one is supposed to be, but she’s gone. John feels something curl in his stomach, his fingers itching again, eyes rapidly searching for her in the sea of people.

He looks at Marcus again, deciding he’ll just find her later, but he worries that something might happen to her now that John’s attention isn’t on her.

“Why?” he almost snaps, voice deep and laced with no emotion.

“Why? Because it’s been quite some time, John. I haven’t heard from you since the Iosef situation, but I did hear you’re back in business,” Marcus replies, but when he sees how distracted John looks, his voice falters. “You working?”

“Yeah.” The lie comes off smoothly. “I’ll see you around.”

John taps Marcus’ shoulder, trying to sound as polite as possible even though he badly wants to break a couple of his teeth for taking his attention away from her. He knows Marcus is probably noticing something, but John’s never the one to care.

Marcus drops the subject. “Alright, John. I’ll see you around.”

With that, John disappears in the crowd with no looking back.

It’s been awhile since John last took a job.

He can’t seem to take his eyes away from his little one. He can’t stop fucking stalking her from morning to night time.

John’s afraid that once he takes his attention from her even for a second, something bad might happen to her. It’s engraved in his mind that she can’t protect herself and he’s solely there to be the protector.

No one would understand. He’s doing this for her own good.

John’s absence at the Continental doesn’t go unnoticed by Winston and Charon. They’re his favorite, after all. Watch his every move carefully ever since that ugly murder John did. Perhaps he could make his next kill even uglier. To them, it’s vile and grotesque. For John, it’s special and unique.

This time, it took a good self-beating before John decided to take a contract. Three million to hunt down a rival crime lord, nothing he can’t handle, but somehow it brings an unusual feeling on his shoulder he isn’t fond of. Perhaps because John’s leaving his little one for a while and he isn’t quite sure what to feel. Worried and pissed – but mostly worried.

That is why he hired someone to trail his little one on his behalf. Everyone in business would do anything for a coin despite how fucked up disturbing it is. John offered a generous amount of coins to keep the assassin’s mouth shut, but he also held him at gunpoint and gave him a good talk before he sent the dog out in the field.

His only job is to keep an eye on her, report everything he’ll see to John, and maybe even take pictures for safety purposes.

John has been overseas in the last three days, and everything that’s been sent to him has been his only form of entertainment. There’s videos of her giggling with her friends, videos and photos of her in the library, outside her school, her work, and even in her apartment. There’s also information sent to him about the background of her friends – every single one of them, because John didn’t pay so much for nothing.

There’s one particular friend that ticks off John in all the worst way possible. He’s young, around her age, and the way he hugs and touches her just fucking sets him off. John wants to break his fingers in half. He reminds himself that once he’s home, he’ll make sure to take care of that boy himself.

“What else have you got?” John questions through the phone, and it doesn’t take long for his precious dog to respond.

“Oh, he is one creepy motherfucker. I’m starting to understand why you’re so riled up with this guy, boss. The urge to strangle him every time he gets in the picture gets stronger and stronger everyday.” He hears a laugh at the other end. The guy that’s working for him – Alex, if he remembers correctly – is young, new in business, knows not to fuck with John so he keeps his job adequate. If Alex ever notice how fucked up John is for making him follow a young woman to keep his life in order, he doesn’t say anything about it. “Just tell me when I can shoot this guy and I’ll do it in a heartbeat.”

“Leave him. Keep an eye on him, but don’t kill him,” John advises, his tone leaving no room for discussion. “I’ll handle him myself when I get back. For the meantime, focus on Y/N and keep any troubles out of her way. Fail that task and I’d serve your head hot on a platter.”

“You got it, boss.”

John is playing nicely.

He’s not going to force his way into her life. He’s gonna be welcomed, with open arms, desired.

There are times he’d thought about giving in to his desperation and act with his dick instead of his head. There are times he’d thought about following her to a dark street, where no one’s around, he’s on the prowl and ready to pounce. He’d put a fabric against her mouth and nose, laced with enough chemicals to make her pass out and for him to carry her in his car with no problems whatsoever. John thinks about how he’d make it look like he’s just picking up his very drunk and passed out girlfriend and no one would know a goddamn thing.

John would keep her in his house where she won’t need anything but him.

But of course, he’s not that cruel.

They’re only thoughts. Thoughts that he tries hard to keep away, but at the end of the day he reminds himself that he’s better than that.

John is not going to force his way into her life.

He’ll make sure to get her addicted enough to come crawling at his feet herself. She’ll be dependent on him, won’t be able to live without him. John will make sure his plan will go out smoothly or otherwise he’ll be the one bringing Hell with him on this land and seek as much havoc as he possibly can.

The death emissary himself will strike tonight.

A Friday night out with her friends has John on high alert. That’ll only mean she’s constantly surrounded with people, god knows what could happen if John even takes his eyes off her for a second. He lurks on the side, blending himself with the crowd as much as he can all while keeping his gaze on her.

He doesn’t need any drugs to keep his mind insane, because the sight of a specific man getting very close to what’s his is enough to make him visualize all the ugly and twisted ways to kill a man.

She’s wearing a thin silky dress that’s low on her cleavage and shows her perky breasts. She’s currently the flame in a room full of moths, John included. Everyone’s eyes are on her, observing the way she sways her hips and sings along to the loud music – John’s fingers itch.

The itch to kill is back again, driving into his veins, his hands twitch on the table. John wants to pull out his gun and shoot everyone in this fucking room. He wants to stab them in the eyes one by one and make them feed it to themselves. He wants to grab this guy on the neck and slam his head against the wall repeatedly until his brain scatter all over the fucking place and there’s nothing left for him to ruin.

This guy is getting on his fucking nerves.

John watches as the man smoothly brings his arm on her shoulder, whispering something in her ear that doesn’t make her look so impressed. In fact, she looks disturbed, uncomfortable, tense. Despite the guy being her friend, John could tell she doesn’t feel comfortable with the way he’s showing her affection.

It’s hard to see her like this, but he knows he can’t just jump in between the two of them and beat the shit out of the guy until he chokes on his own blood. He’ll have to wait, maybe after this party, he’ll strike and discard the body in a way that’ll make even Winston spook in his sleep. It’s not a major offense to kill a man that’s not in the game anyway – or at least that’s what John tells himself.

This guy wouldn’t be able to be three feet near his little one once John’s done with him. He’ll be six feet under.

John sees her swiftly moving away from his touch, trying to make her rejection look as polite as possible, which receives a not-so-amused reaction from her little friend.

This guy doesn’t deserve her at all. No one does. Except maybe John, but that’s because he knows he’s capable of actually taking care of her and keeping her safe. Nobody would understand what he feels, what he yearns, what he wants.

Good girl, John thinks. Walk away.

His gaze follow her as she makes her way to the backdoor and out to the cold air of the city. John follows in a hurry, keeping a safe distance between the two of them, then opens the door as quietly as possible so he wouldn’t let his presence known.

There are a few people on the street, either having a smoke break or making out against the piss stained wall, but she stays just beside the busy road as she wraps her arms around herself.

His gaze burn daggers on her exposed back, the urge to cover her up with his jacket and take her home. A drunk man comes stumbling out of the club, accidentally tripping over his steps and he pushes her hard enough to make her yelp as her heels lose balance and almost making herself get run over by a passing truck.

Almost.

Everything happens so fast. One moment John is standing five feet from her, the next is he’s grasping her wrists in his hand and pulling her back to her feet and dragging her back to the curb. He was already on the act once he saw the man exiting the club, he knew exactly this would happen.

The scene looks strangely familiar, one John could never forget. The same position, same hand placement, same rough fingers around her wrist and dark eyes boring into hers – their very first meeting.

“You!” she gasps, not caring about the fact that she almost just got hit by a fucking truck. “I know you! You’re the guy outside my apartment that day! What are you doing here?”

John stares. Predictable. Of course she’s talking to him like they’ve known each other for years. She’s too friendly.

“Hello to you too,” John replies, though his tone is blank as well as his face. “You remember me.”

“‘Course I do,” she giggles, a little tipsy, pupils dilated and licking her lips nervously. “You’re pretty hard to forget. I remember asking my neighbors around the area if you’re new there, turns out you were just visiting.”

John furrows his brows, hand still not letting go of her wrist. What does she mean by she’s asked around the area about him?

His face must’ve looked confused, he sees her grinning childishly. “It’s a coincidence that I see you again!”

Not a coincidence, but fate.

John doesn’t believe in a lot of things, but he believes in fate. Fate brought him Helen, and now fate is bringing him another angel. If she really went as far as asking the neighborhood about his existence, then it must be fate.

“I’m Y/N. I figured if we keep bumping into each other then you should at least know my name,” she says, completely oblivious that John already knows everything that has to be known about her. From her little mannerisms to the last name of her fucking grandmother. “May I know yours or are you just gonna stare at me all night?”

“It’s John,” he gulps, not wanting to look like a loser in front of her, not after everything he went through for her. “It’s really nice to see you again.”

He sucks at this. He fucking sucks at this.

“You haven’t answered my question, by the way. What brings you here?”

It hangs in the air, John lets go of her wrist. Luckily, he thinks fast enough and says the first thing that comes to his mind. “Work.”

“Ah, work,” she nods. “You work here? In the club? What are you, a bouncer or something?”

“I don’t. Someone I work with is in the club.” A lie, but it’s not like she would know. “We had a talk.”

“Not really a man of words, eh?” she raises an eyebrow teasingly.

“This is the most words I’ve said in the past few days,” John says. “I’d say you’re special.”

The look on her face is enough to make his entire night even better. Blushing, lips opening and closing, not knowing what to say. John wants to graze his thumb on her lips, thinking about how good it would feel stretching over his cock.

He blinks. Where did that come from?

“For someone who doesn’t talk much, you sure make it sound smooth when you do. Are you always this slick, John?” she giggles again, music to his ear. “That’s actually better than what I heard from my friend earlier, so thank you.”

“That’s good to know.”

Before she could say anything back, the door of the club opens once again and her friends appear, waving a hand at her and beckoning her to get inside. She looks at John, gives him a sympathetic look, as if apologizing that their talk gets cut off too soon.

“I’m really sorry but my friends want me back in there. Hopefully we can continue this again, yeah?” she smiles cheekily, tucking her hair behind her ear. “If you want, you could give me your number so we can talk someplace else? You know… with no one bothering us and all that.”

There it is. John didn’t think it would be this easy to sink the hook in. All he needs to do is pull and take what’s meant to be his.

“Sure.” He enters his number swiftly, feeling that familiar burn in his guts once again when he sees the wallpaper being her pretty face. “Feel free to message me whenever you want. I’ll make time for you.”

She looks at her phone and smiles before starting to walk away from him, waving a hand goodbye, but it doesn’t feel like a goodbye. John knows it isn’t. She’s already his the moment she started talking to him again.

“Of course! Get home safe, John! I’ll see you soon!”

“You too.”

She doesn’t know John won’t be heading home any time soon until he knows she’s safe and sound in her apartment.

Jay Lopez.

The name burns on his tongue. Bitter and resentful. He stares at the photos his precious dog sent to him and he has to stop the impulse to burn every single one of them.

Jay Lopez is the guy that’s been leeching on his girl since the dawn of time, and thankfully John is here to put an end to it.

He’s hideous. It’s interesting how John stooped this low that he’d be willing to kill a college student for being too near his little bambi, but alas, he’s never the one to care for such things. Morals and righteousness have never been in his book, not now, nor ever.

It’s only a matter of time until he gets rid of this pest. He’s fucking creepy, follows around not only Y/N but a bunch of other women.

John doesn’t want his death to be quick and simple. He wants to do it in an ugly way, make sure his body will never be found, make sure he’ll never get to lay his hands and eyes on what’s his. The way Jay stares at her in these pictures ignites something evil within John’s veins. It’s been awhile since he felt something like this.

“Alex.” he looks at his pet standing by the door, waiting for the next command. “Bring him to me alive.”

“Can I at least rough him up a bit?”

John doesn’t answer at first, looks back at the photos on his table. “Do what you want, just make sure he’s still breathing when you bring him here.”

“On it, boss.”

Truth be told, John doesn’t need a pet to order around for this job. He has himself – a labeled attack dog of the Tarasovs for years, their hellhound, chained and muzzled unless they need him to kill. He’s a one man army as some would say, he doesn’t need Alex running around doing tasks for him, but it sure does make the job a lot faster.

It’s not a way to downgrade his reputation nor skills to hunt, he really just needs this Jay guy gone as fast as possible.

On the same day, Alex manages to haul a very brutally violated Jay to the floor of his basement. He stinks, pants wet from piss and a face John is having a hard time recognizing.

“You said rough him up a bit, not make him look unrecognizable.”

“Same thing.”

Jay is sobbing his eyes out, his cries of pleas falls to deaf ears and John just wants to fucking bash his skull with his own foot. “W-who are you guys?! What the f-fuck did I do?! Get me out of here or I’ll tell the fucking police–”

John kicks him on the chin hard to stop the goon from rambling. “You’re not telling anybody any shit, tough guy.”

“So, what are you planning to do to him? Can I watch?”

“Can you handle it?”

Alex shrugs. He’s in the presence of the most dangerous assassin in the underworld, wouldn’t hurt to learn anything from his skills and techniques, doesn’t matter how fucked up it is.

John nods towards the chainsaw sitting at the corner of the room, and Alex turns to face him with wide eyes. “Jesus Christ, man. You serious? Last time I heard you’re a hitman, not a serial killer.”

“Same qualifications. Same thing.” John grabs the man by the arm then drags him to a chair. He takes a rope from the table and swiftly ties him up securely. “We start with the head, then arms and legs. It would be hard to put his entire body in a drum full of acid, so we need to cut him off one by one.”

Alex looks like he’s about to run off somewhere safe from what he’s witnessing. “You’re talking like you’ve done this before, holy fuck.”

John gives him a look, and Alex immediately shuts his mouth. Right. He’d done this before. This is completely normal.

“I’ve been following you for a while, Jay. You’re a creep who befriends pretty girls, then you’ll drug them and make them have sex with you,” John taunts, the sound of his heels hitting the concrete floor is enough to send shivers down his spine. “Is that what you’re also planning to do with Y/N? Be her friend and fuck her once she’s drugged up and vulnerable?”

It’s a bold statement coming from John himself since he’s no better man than Jay, but at least his intentions come from a different place.

“You-you’re fucking sick!” Jay spits.

“I’m sick? I’m not the one going around making girls uncomfortable now, am I?” he picks up the chainsaw, then watches in enjoyment as Jay widens his eyes in fear. “We’re going to have a lot of fun, Jay. You won’t be able to use your pathetic little dick of yours to any woman ever again, and most importantly –”

John fires up the chainsaw, adrenaline coursing through his veins when he sees the horrified look in the man’s face as he tries to get up and scream for help.

“I can finally sleep well at night knowing you’re not in Y/N’s life anymore.”

As John steps into the light, a roaring chainsaw in his hands, Alex could only watch in horror as the basement gets painted with blood in mere seconds.

There’s a vacant apartment just across her room, giving John the perfect view of what she’s doing while she’s alone.

Most of the time, John will pull up a seat beside the window and take pictures. The other half of the time is just him staring, observing. It seems that she’s too comfortable knowing there’s no one across the building so she doesn’t close the curtains, leaving John no choice but to keep his eyes on her.

He found this place just three days after following her. He couldn’t help it. Following her to school and work suddenly wasn’t enough for John that he had to find a way to somehow watch her even in her sleep.

He should be ashamed of himself. He should feel guilty for what he’s doing – he should stop, but he just can’t. John’s already done too much. This is like being pulled back into the underworld all over again but this time, there’s something good that’s waiting for him on the other side.

Maybe it’s the delusion that comes with it that’s not stopping John from whatever he’s doing. Lately, he’s been thinking about how life would turn out to be if his plan goes out smoothly. They’d live happily ever after, she would end up loving him just the way he planned it out to be, and John will make sure no one will ever dare to take those peace away from him again.

He’d make sure no one will ever come close to her again once she’s his. She’d be isolated but protected. Just how John likes it.

It’s been two days since John gave his number, but he knows she’s just giddy and nervous to text him. He’d seen her staring at her phone, biting her bottom lip anxiously, thinking if it would be a good idea or not. He knows she’ll give in one way or another because he sees it in her face. She’s too easy, too gullible, too naive.

She’s lonely, just like him.

John could tell she’s waiting for someone – she’s desperate, no wonder she asked for his number the second time they met. She wants someone to take care of her, to hold her, tell her that she deserves the world. That someone is John whether she likes it or not.

This isn’t just any unhealthy obsession. John finds himself too deep to get out. He knows her little mannerisms, studied her every action, has a red room full of her pictures and no one can’t say he’s not ready to give up anything for her. John has already given up his sanity ever since he mutilated a man for being too close to her.

She’s his life now, his everything.

John watches intensely as she shreds her clothes in her room, baring him the full view of herself naked, and John grips the side of his chair too hard his knuckles turn white. This is the first time he’d seen her naked, it’s so sudden and so… perfect.

His cock fattens in his pants as he observes every curve of her body. Her waist is fucking perfect and her body is thick yet delicate. John thinks about bruising her sensitive skin, leaving a mark that will show everyone that she’s owned. He would love to see her in a collar, hear it jingle when she crawls.

She’s completely fucking naked that John wonder just how naive she is to think there would be no one seeing her like this. What if John isn’t the only one watching her? What if somebody else sees her like this? His fingers itch, jaw clenching.

He’d kill them. He’d kill them in front of her, and the thought somehow made his cock hard even more. He grimaces, disturbed at the reaction of his body.

John doesn’t really understand the sexual aspects of killing, but now he’s thinking about how she would react if she sees him working. He’d kill someone in front of her and he’d see the look of disgust and betrayal in her face. He can already imagine how her eyes would well up with tears and fuck, his dick shouldn’t be this hard.

She’d fear him, and John would be turned on. How fucked up would that be? Just how fucked up can his mind get?

He resists the urge to wrap his hand around his cock because fuck no. He would not stoop this low, he is not a teenage boy. No matter how strong the thoughts get, the thoughts of wrapping his own hand around her neck, squeezing it hard and cutting off her airflow as John forces his cock in her cunt, hearing her mewl and scream and beg to just –

John sucks in air, eyes back on her in her room, wrapping a robe around herself and heading to the bathroom. This is fucked up. His cock is incredibly hard and leaking, and his mind won’t stop thinking about how good her pussy would feel around him.

He’d talk her through it. Whisper sweet nothings in her ear as she releases around her cock, praising her for being such a good girl. Then he’d fuck her again, in a different position, debauching her in different ways not even the devil himself could think of.

John would ruin her, and she will have no choice but to accept it.

He brings his hand to his face as he sighs deeply. He wonders what Helen would feel of what he’s doing. Disgusted, no doubt. This is not the same man she fell in love with years ago. He would never do something like this, but fate has its plans, and John believes everything happens for a reason.

She was brought into his life for a reason and it’s up to him whether he takes.

John doesn’t realize that he’s been staring at nothing for too long until she comes back in his view once again. Her hair is still wet, still wrapped up in a fluffy pink robe, and John’s fingers itch to grab, squeeze, possess.

He sees her picking up her phone, staring for a moment before her fingers start typing. John has been anticipating this moment for so long, the time has finally come.

In his chest pocket, his phone buzz silently, the vibration sending excitement in his whole body.

There it is.

13.06.15 11:46 PM UNKNOWN NUMBER : hello! this is Y/N from the club the other night

13.06.15 11:46 PM UNKNOWN NUMBER : also that Y/N who returned your super expensive looking coin hehe ;) i hope you didn’t forget about me!

There it fucking is.

John’s lips curl into a small smile. His efforts are finally paying off.

All he needs to do is to get what’s his.

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick fanfiction #john wick imagine #john wick fanfic #john wick chapter 4 #john wick x you #john wick 4 #keanu reeves #john wick smut #ochl #my works

1K notes · View notes

noxturnalpascal · 8 months

Text

The Hunted

SerialKiller!Joel x F!Reader (8.2k)

DARKAU! POV will switch between Joel and Reader. This is dark compared to anything I’ve ever written before. I am a spooky girlie at heart and I wanted to give this idea some legs. If it’s not your thing, that’s okay. Spooky Halloween everyone!

Summary: This Ken is a Ski Instructor. This Ken is a Veterinarian. Well, this Joel is a Serial Killer. The canon Joel is actually kind of a serial killer too, if you think about it. But this version is No-Outbreak, 56-years old, and a Violent, Deranged, Serial Killing Loner. When a new victim practically falls in his lap, he doesn’t take the time to see that she could be his undoing.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI. This is a little dark (for me). Murder, Dead Bodies, Sex, Kidnapping, Bondage, DubCon (they want it but they’re tied to a chair), creampie, blood, violence, semen, crime scenes.

A/N: This is: creepy plot with porn at the end. It’s my first posted tumblr story. Spooky Season is upon us!! Please be nice 💜

He’s been enjoying the silence of the cabin in the woods all afternoon. The only sounds surrounding him have been the soft bird songs and din of cicadas drifting through the open window from the outside, and the rustling of his own body moving about the small rooms inside.

The sound catches him so off guard, that at first he looks around the inside of the cabin, trying to figure out where the hum could be emanating from. The cabin is not hooked up to electric, so what could be making that sound? Then he realizes it's coming from outside. He looks out the windows and sees a figure hunched in the bushes, a stone’s throw away from his front door.

He steps to the front door and quietly opens it, watching her at the wood’s edge. It’s definitely a woman, he can tell by the double braids winding down the back of her head, ending in pigtails. She is wearing dark wash blue jeans, a green jacket, and has on a rust-colored backpack. He can hear her humming even clearer now, the melody traversing the short distance to his ears.

He watches as she stays hunched over, reaching into the bushes and rustling the leaves. Nearly a minute passes before she finally stands, wiping her hands off on her thighs. He notices a small wooden bowl at her feet, stuffed full with berries. She is sucking on her fingertips, stained a light purple, when she turns and meets his eyes.

“Oh!,” she says, startled by his presence. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think anyone was in this ol’ thing.”

She gestures towards the cabin. She has a point. Even at first glance, the woods surrounding the cabin appear to be putting forth their best effort to reclaim it. The roof is covered in fallen leaves, moss and lichen cling to every surface, and the front steps - made of flattop logs - are sinking down, seeming to retreat back into the forest floor. And what he knows that she doesn't - yet? - is that the musty smell of the forest has permeated every square inch of the old log cabin’s interior, and everything inside of it.

He puts on his warmest smile, softening the way his eyes are squinted, and blinks slowly. “Yeah, she’s not much but she keeps me honest,” he says, and he notices the way her body relaxes at his gentle, comforting tone.

“I’m guessin’ I’ve wandered too far. Sorry, I didn’t notice any signs posted.” The gentle lilt of her southern accent hits his ears like a sweet melody.

“Yeah, state land ends at the treeline at the bottom ‘a that hill,” he gestures to the distance, her gaze following where he points. “But I don’t shoot or bite or nothin’, so don’t worry about steppin’ on my property,” he chuckles. He can see her continuing to relax under his welcoming reception.

“I appreciate that. I’ve got one ‘a those little vans in the clearing down there, ‘n I expected more people to be around if I’m being honest.”

He notices she’s said I, not we.

“It’s gettin’ the end of camping season, so there’s fewer ‘n fewer out here, I think,” he waves his hand, hoping to convey how little he even notices the campers on the adjacent land.

“Well I’m sorry about stealin’ your berries. You want ‘em?” and she takes a few steps forward, closing the gap between them, holding the small bowl in her outstretched arms.

The pigtails make her look young. So does the innocence in her eyes, which are partially hidden behind her thick-framed glasses. She stops short of the steps, still about six feet away now, still holding out the bowl.

“No, ‘course not,” he gives her a sideways grin. “Those were gonna get eaten by birds before they got eaten by me. You enjoy ‘em little bird.” His guts twist at the smile that breaks out on her face. The way she looks down, almost bashful.

She turns to walk away and then stops, turning back to look at him. He watches her as she gives the outside of the deteriorating cabin another once-over, and then looks him up and down. “Can I ask you somethin’?” and before he can even respond, she continues. “Is it safe around here?”

His stomach clenches. He gently furrows his brows, “yeah, sure it is, why?”

“I’ve heard a couple things recently about people going missin’. Hikers and campers near here,” she gestures in a circular motion with her finger. “You heard anything about that?”

She is worried. He can tell because she looks worried. God, every emotion she has is playing across her face right now. He can read her like a book. She is so vulnerable. She’s a young woman camping all alone in the woods and she is worried. She should be.

“I haven’t heard anything myself, no. But that happens every year. People underestimate it.”

“Underestimate what?” she interjects, her doe eyes scanning his face.

“Nature,” he replies, and now he gestures around with his finger.

He gives her another soft smile and blinks his eyes slowly. She lets a genuine grin break through her worried features and she nods, taking in his response.

“I wouldn’t worry too much, there’s no one out here to cause ya trouble,” he offers, hoping she notes that he is clearly not a danger. “Besides, if anything happens, you can come back here.”

This time her smile falters a bit. He’s pushed too far. She’s worried. She’s alone. She’s not looking to seek refuge in a stranger’s cabin. He backtracks.

“I’m sure the worst thing that’s gonna happen is ya find a spider in your van,” he continues, “But please don’t come back here for that!”

He gives a low chuckle and is glad to see she does the same, good humor returning to her now relaxing face. She gestures to the bowl of berries and flashes a toothy-smile as a thanks, before turning to retreat down the hill. He hears her call out a goodbye after she turns and he calls one back in response.

He goes back inside and finishes watching her leave until the trees hide her departing figure. He has about seven more hours until dark fully takes hold. Seven more hours until he can seek her out in the clearing with the safe knowledge of remaining undetected. Plenty of time for him to finish prepping the cabin and get himself some dinner.

*****

He thinks he might be getting too old for this. His lower back is aching, his thighs are on fire, and he’s had a stabbing pain in his neck for the last twenty minutes; all due to the fact that he has been hunched against this tree for over an hour. Usually he wouldn’t still be here. He’d have made some observations, taken some mental notes, and planned for additional reconnaissance later on.

But he doesn’t know how long you’re going to be here. You haven’t unpacked anything - not even a folding chair - to indicate that your campsite setup will be anything more than a one-night stay. If you’re gone tomorrow and he has missed his opportunity, he’ll regret leaving now. He has spent the last eight hours thinking about nothing but you.

He’s thought about the way your delicate lips wrapped around your fingertips and the gentle melody you hummed before you knew he was there. He has thought about the kind way you offered him the berries you picked and the way your jeans hugged your ass as you sauntered away. What would your eyes look like if he took your glasses off, if he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, if he wrapped his big hands around your delicate throat?

No, he has to do it tonight. He can’t wait any longer.

Your van is all black. Besides the windshield, there are windows only at the two front seats and the rear double doors. However, you have all the windows covered with blackout panels. Smart. You’re a young woman camping alone, keeping your privacy is a smart thing to do. And keeping peeping eyes out of your space is probably important to you.

You’ve been playing music inside the entire time, though he doesn’t recognize any of the songs. Sometimes he thinks he can hear you humming along. He imagines you’re eating the berries you picked from the bushes outside his cabin. Maybe you’ve changed into more comfortable clothing, maybe you’re sitting on your bed, maybe you’re reading a book. Maybe you’re even thinking about him. He tried not to make an impression earlier but part of him hopes he did.

He really can’t wait any longer.

He moves slowly, not just because his body is quite literally creaking, but because he has to keep his head on a swivel and continue to make sure there are no eyes watching him. He makes his way towards the van, choosing his steps carefully. His head moves back and forth, checking in front of and behind him, watching for any movement. The night is so quiet all he hears is the gentle wind rustling the tall grass and the constant cricket song.

He finally reaches the side door of the van. The music inside is louder from here but he still doesn’t recognize the song. He pats his pockets, obsessively triple-checking he has the supplies he’ll need. He pulls a small tool out of his shirt pocket and sticks it in the door lock. He feels rather than hears the soft click that he knows means he now has full access to you.

He puts his hand on the door handle and inhales a breath, holding it with full lungs. He closes his eyes and imagines what he’ll see when he opens the door, warm light spilling onto him from the inside. What will you be wearing? Will you look excited to see him? Frightened? Will you scream?

“Hey there little bird,” he says quietly as he throws the door open. Confusion falls across his face. He looks down onto the floor of the van, where a single bluetooth speaker sits, still playing music. The single overhead light from the van’s interior barely illuminates the inside, but it doesn’t matter, since there isn’t anything to see.

The inside of the van isn’t a camper. It’s an empty utility van. There are no seats and no wall panels. In fact, the entire inside of the van is covered in thick plastic sheeting, which vibrates a strange buzz from the reverberation of the bluetooth speaker.

He has barely taken it all in when he feels a pinch in his neck. He grabs at it with his hand but there is nothing there and before he can react further, everything goes black.

*****

You hear a couple deep breaths and then some grunting. Maybe this means he’s finally waking up. You walk around in front of where he sits bound naked to a chair, and bend over, hands on your knees, face close to his, cooing gently for him to wake up sleepyhead.

Standing up straight, you watch as he slowly opens his eyes, bit by bit, working to focus. He is blinking long, slow blinks, and his eyes raise to your face. His pupils start going big and then small, his eyes start rapidly blinking as his swirling thoughts begin to come back to him.

Then you see it - recognition.

He crinkles his brows, the crease between them going so deep. His mouth begins to form a question but only a short, dry croak comes out. You can’t help yourself, you laugh at him. A quiet, melodic chuckle.

“Sorry, I think I gave you too much back there,” with two fingers you brush some hair off his forehead that has fallen forward. “I thought you were fatter under all these clothes, but you’re doing alright for yerself there.”

His eyes fall to your shirt - well, his shirt - and then to his own lap. He’s just realizing he’s naked. Then his eyes trail back up your body as he takes in the fact that you’re wearing all of the clothes you stripped off him.

His mouth opens again but you don’t let him even try to speak this time. You grab his face and his eyes snap to meet yours. “Remember when I asked if you knew anything about those campers and hikers goin’ missing?” You drop your hand from his face and step to the side to reveal a folding table set up behind you. Along the table you have laid an array of different souvenirs he had plucked from his victims.

“You told me you didn’t know anything,” you continue, as you watch his eyes grow larger as they rake across the table, taking in the items he had hidden away in his cabin. “But honey, I think you know a lot more than you said you did.”

His eyes slowly come back to yours and you can’t hide the smile you now have plastered across your face. “I don’t-” he starts. You quickly shove your finger overtop his mouth in a shush motion.

“Don’t even try that honey, we’re way past denial now. I already found all yer little trophies.”

Now he flexes in the chair. Your finger drags down his neck and across his shoulder as you walk around the chair, circling him. You watch him continue to strain, testing the ropes, checking to see for himself if you knew what you were doing when you tied him to the chair. You did.

“So what is this?” he mutters, “One a’ them yer friend? Your brother or sister or somethin’?” He continues to push against the unforgiving ropes. “This some kinda revenge plot you got brewin’?”

You can’t help it, you laugh again. “Oh honey, is that what you think?” You place your finger at the top of his forehead and slowly run it down his face, “You think you’ve hurt me?” over his nose, “Think I’m your victim?” over his lips, stopping on his chin. You lean in and ghost your lips right over his. “I’m not your victim honey,” you whisper against his lips, “you’re mine,” pressing into him with a kiss.

You stand up and take a step back. “I know what you are. I know exactly what you are because I’m the same. Well, almost the same,” and you laugh again, breaking eye contact. “When I was young, my adoptive father recognized it in me n’ taught me how to direct it. He called it my dark passenger and I-”

“Y-yer what?” he interrupts.

“What?” You’re back to looking him in his eyes.

“Did you say your dark passenger?” He looks past the folding table strewn with his trophies and sees the ‘camper van’ parked with the side door still wide open, inside still covered with plastic sheeting. “Dark passen- isn’t that from that fuckin’ TV show? Dexter?”

“What the fu-,” you slap your arms against your thighs in frustration. “Don’t tell me you get fuckin’ Showtime in that piece a shit cabin. There wasn’t even a fuckin’ TV in that shithole.”

“Well I don’t fuckin’ live there sweetheart that’s just where I-” he stops short but just rolls his eyes at you. Then he gives you a look like he’s embarrassed for you.

“Oh well excuse me for wantin’ to add a little flair to this situation!” you yell out to the ceiling. “I guess we can’t have any fuckin’ fun around here.”

“So what’re you gonna do now Dex, chop me up and take me out to the ocean?” a cocky fucking grin settles on his face..

“Jesus Christ what’d you watch the whole fuckin’ series?” You look down at his smug face. He thinks he has the upper hand again. This motherfucker. Naked. Tied to a chair. Still thinks he’s smarter than you.

“You know how much fuckin’ work it’d be to chop your fat ass up?” and you watch his grin get wiped off his face. “Think I’m gonna take the time to dismember you? You? I could leave you just like this in a shallow ditch ‘n not one person would even miss you honey.”

“Then whatcha’ fuckin’ waitin’ for, huh?” He snarls, his smugness gone. “Get it over with, let’s go.”

You walk behind him and grab a second chair, dragging it noisily across the floor until it’s parallel to his own chair but facing the other way. You plop down in the chair and lean closer to him.

“I really don’t know how you’re still not gettin’ it,” you say quietly. You drag your finger along the ropes across the front of his chest as he lowers his chin to watch you. “But you are not in charge here.” He lifts his head and his hard eyes meet yours.

“Now… I’m gonna ask you some questions and you’re gonna answer me honestly.”

“And why would I fuckin’ do that?” he says calmly, quietly.

“Cuz otherwise I’m gonna call 9-1-1 right now. When they get here they’ll see I’ve done all their work for ‘em.” you hitch your thumb back to point it towards the table behind you. He sighs a deep breath and - growls? - under his breath.

You point to the table again and ask, “How do you choose your victims?” He shakes his head, tries to shift in his chair but the ropes are tied too tight to allow for much movement. You really do know what you’re doing. He still doesn’t seem to believe it, flexing his arms and chest against the ropes yet again.

“I don’t.” You give him a beat to add more to the sentence but he just stares at you with black eyes, mouth closed and tight-lipped.

“You’re gonna have to do a little better n’ that honey,” you gently coo. He suppresses another growl. You can tell that your little nickname for him is finally starting to grate on his nerves.

“That’s my answer,” he grumbles, refusing to elaborate, staring ahead at the folding table.

“Okay hun, no problem,” you reply as you lean forward and pull a cell phone out of your back pocket. You punch in the lock code and begin to dial. You type in 9 and you see him watching you out of the corner of your eye. You quickly type in the 1 and then hover your finger over the button, ready to repeat the motion. You pause and look up, meeting his eyes.

“You wanna call my bluff or you wanna start talkin’?” and then you smile as you hear jesus fuckin’ christ muttered under his breath and watch him spend some more time straining against the ropes. “Get it over with, let’s go,” you repeat his words back to him in a bad impression of his gruff voice. His scowl deepens.

“I don’t,” he repeats. “I don’t choose ‘em.” He sighs, and you open your mouth to protest that he’s still holding back but before you can speak he continues, “I just take what’s there.”

“You don’t have a type?”

“You seem to know everythin’, look at ‘em,” he nods towards the table where you have placed cut out photos from the missing posters next to the trinkets you found in his cabin. “Does it look like I have a type?” You remember the photos of men and women from all backgrounds on that table.

“So you just take whatever… whoever you can get?”

“Easier that way. Don’t have to go findin’ something specific.” He’s not making eye contact anymore, even though you have leaned in so far your faces are just inches apart. “Less suspicious that way too. Looks less like one person is pickin’ ‘em all off.” He shrugs, then quiets.

You lean back in your chair now, thinking over what he’s said. He’s been doing this for years. You could connect some of his souvenirs to known missing people but he had more items stuffed in his floorboards than you had pictures. So who knows how high his number really is.

“Is that all of ‘em?” nodding your head back towards the table again. His head is still down, seemingly very interested in a freckle on his left thigh. But you see a smile tug at one side of his mouth. He tries to hide it before you can see but it’s too late.

“Yeah,” he lies, unconvincingly. He doesn’t see you roll your eyes. God he’s shit at lying.

You raise the phone up and wave it in front of his face, showing the 9-1 still dialed in. “Is that your final answer, honey?” He lets out a big sigh, like you’ve spoiled his fun. That’s right, we can’t have any fun around here, can we?

“Not exactly,” he grumbles. “Camping season is short ‘round here. Winter comes on quick. I have somewhere else I go sometimes,” he vaguely adds. He doesn’t elaborate further.

“Do you have sex with ‘em before or after you kill ‘em?” you ask, not even taking time to absorb his previous answer. His head snaps up to yours, his eyes wide.

“What?”

“Do you have se-”

“I don’t fuckin’ do that,” he spits, face contorted in disgust.

“Yeahhhh. But that’s what they all say. And, spoiler alert,” your voice goes high and teasing, “they ALL do it.” His face is still tight, mouth curled into a frown.

“Well I fuckin’ don’t,” he looks back down at the freckle on his thigh, continuing to curse under his breath how disgusting you are for asking. “Killin’ doesn’t get me hard,” he snarls.

“Oh honey, I don’t know why you’re goin’ all shy on me now,” you coo, he’s still looking down, shaking his head now. “I’ve been in your little hidey-hole, ya know. It smells like fuckin’ loam ‘n body odor. I took a black light. That place is truly fuckin’ disgusting.” You adjust your glasses on your nose and continue, “I didn’t find a single cleaning product in the whole place. And now you’re gonna act like you’re not in there sprayin’ blood and cum all over the walls?” He doesn’t raise his head but his eyes meet yours under his eyebrows to scowl at you. You lean in till your noses almost touch. “A black light,” you repeat.

“That’s a huntin’ cabin sweetheart, and it wasn’t always mine. So I can’t tell you what yer little black light saw but it wasn’t me doin’ - that - with any ‘a them,” he nods to the table.

Now you consider what he’s said and decide if you believe him or not. He’s a terrible liar, right? Maybe. Or maybe he’s just been playing you this entire time. You don’t give a shit that he’s a murderer. Anyone would murder under the right circumstances. But sexual assault? That’s a line you’d never cross. In fact, most of the men you’ve killed have been guilty of it themselves. Pigs, all of them, who’d stick their dicks anywhere for a moment of pleasure. They deserved what they got. Is this guy one of them?

“Well like I said, that’s what they all say, n-”

He interrupts, muttering jesus fuckin’ christ again, and more curses follow in whispers. “Is there fuckin’ evidence that I did any ‘a that? Any… sexual assault?” he spits the last two words out with particular venom, speaking the term for the first time.

“You’re askin’ if there’s any evidence on the months-old decomposing body parts found half-eaten in the woods?” You poke the freckle on his thigh he’s been seemingly obsessed with. “Surprisingly, no, there was not any evidence of sexual assault found.”

“Well then, there ya go,” he grunts out, as if that settles it. He clearly doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. You can’t tell if it’s from shame, discomfort, or disgust. He’s doing a good job pretending it’s disgust. Is he pretending?

You try to ask another question but he is done talking. He won’t look up from his lap now. You even hold up the cell phone again but he doesn’t flinch. He knows by now you’re not going to dial the police. He’s shut down. So you get up and pull your chair away, disappearing behind him for a moment.

When you come back in front of him you sit on his lap, facing him, straddling his legs with yours. He looks up at you with cautious eyes and opens his mouth to say something - but say what you’re not sure. When he feels the sharp poke just under his ribs he stops short. He looks down and sees the 5” knife you have pressed into the soft spot where his sternum ends.

“I guess it’s time then, honey,” you hum. The hand not holding the knife traces the side of his face. He looks almost sad for one singular moment before his eyes turn hard and all the muscles in his face pull tight.

“If ya expect me to beg, you’re wastin’ yer time.” His pupils are blown wide. “Just do it.”

“How about you stop bein’ so bossy on our first date?” You lean in and kiss him on the nose, then the right cheek, then the left cheek. “Well….. Our last date,” and you kiss him on the mouth.

You press your lips hard into his and wait. When he doesn’t relent you take your free hand and squeeze his cheeks, hard, forcing his mouth open. Risking him biting your tongue, you push it into his mouth. Your gamble pays off when he doesn’t bite but instead pushes his tongue back and forth along the length of yours.

You wrap your free arm around his shoulders, bracing yourself and grinding your body down into his naked lap. You press your chest into his as your hand moves to the back of his head and fists in his wild curls. You continue kissing him, tongues wrapping around each other, lips moving sloppily across each other’s mouths.

You move your wet kisses down his jaw, mouthing at the patches in his graying, scruffy beard. You grab a handful of his hair and squeeze your fist, tugging gently at the roots. He grits his teeth and groans, attempting to buck his hips up.

Of course he can’t move against the restraints, but you grind down again, and you can finally feel that he’s gotten hard through the baggy jeans you’re still wearing. You let a low chuckle slip out.

“I thought killin’ didn’t get you hard,” you smile against his mouth.

“Who am I killin’?” he mutters, still simmering with anger at the topic.

Oh yeah, you giggle, your breath ghosting across his neck. “I guess I’m the one who it’s gettin’ hard,” you whisper.

You can’t help it. The anticipation of the kill is thrumming through your veins. It’s always like this, the energy, the electricity. Killing makes you feel more alive. You usually aren’t making out with them though. Never, in fact. This time feels different. You’re not sure why.

You lick a stripe up his neck, rolling your hips over his hardened length, and now he bites, nipping gently at your jaw. You squirm and the knife pokes harder into his abdomen. He inhales a sharp breath through his nose at the contact. You silence any additional protest by kissing him hard on the mouth again.

You pull back, face flushed and panting. He is looking at you with wild eyes and puffy lips, his hair pulled at strange angles from your hands running through it. Do you want to fuck this guy? You just brought him here to kill him but now you think you want to fuck him. This is a morally gray area. He’s bound to a chair and you have a knife at his ribs. Can he consent?

“Why’d ya stop?” he huffs out, bringing your attention back to him. “Are we doin’ this or what?”

“It feels kinda fucked up,” you say meekly, the first time he’s seeing any hesitation from you. You look down, twirling the knife against the rope crossing his chest. “It’s not gonna change my mind ‘bout what happens here ya know.”

“I didn’t say it would,” he says quietly, and you look back into his eyes. His eyes are dark, like fresh brewed coffee. They’d be kinda nice if they weren’t about to be on a dead guy.

“You…. you want this?”

“Why not?” he immediately answers.

“Because I’m gonna kill you after,” and even though you’re sure he doesn’t need the reminder, you poke him lightly in the ribs with the knife again, leaving a little red dot from the tip. He doesn’t react this time. He just lets a small smile ghost across his face and his eyes soften as they land on yours.

“What a way to go.”

It’s all you need to hear. You get up and uncinch the belt that is the only thing holding his pants up around your waist. As soon as it’s loosened, the pants fall to the floor, the belt buckle tinkling as it hits the concrete. You’re not wearing any underwear but the view of your cunt is obstructed by the long flannel shirt draped over you.

You take the knife and stick it in the edge of the shirt about breast-high, just above where you have the first button done up. You slowly drag the knife down the placket, cutting each button off easily with the very sharp blade. The buttons clatter to the floor one by one and when you’ve reached the last one, the shirt opens up a bit.

It’s just enough to see the valley between your breasts, a line of your soft stomach, the patch of hair on your mound, and your pink folds peeking out between your legs. You watch him looking you up and down, devouring the sight of you. His brown eyes now black with hunger. Now you can finally take the time to admire his body.

Yes you had stripped him naked and then tied him to the chair. The whole process had taken nearly thirty minutes. Your hands had been all over him, this grown man you had to maneuver while he was unconscious. But that wasn’t about sex. That was just a body. And you’ve had your hands on plenty of bodies. It’s not sexual.

But now…. now you can really admire him. He has a long and muscular neck, a broad chest, and freckle-dotted shoulders with strong muscles that continue down his thick arms. He isn’t very hairy but he does have soft arm hair, a little chest hair, and a trail of hair that starts beneath his belly button and continues down to a large patch around his cock.

His cock. Now you can appreciate what you were feeling on his lap. Why does it look so good? Cocks shouldn’t look this good. It’s fully hard, leaking precum and leaning against his stomach, his balls pulled tight at the bottom. You’re surprised to notice his pubic hair isn’t growing wild, it looks as if it was trimmed but has grown out a bit. His cock is both a little larger and a little thicker than what you know to be average. It’s not the biggest you’ve ever seen but that’s alright. In this context you aren’t looking for something that’s going to destroy you. You need to be able to walk later, you’ll have a body to dispose of.

You look back at his face and his eyes are meeting yours. You wonder if he can see the same hunger in your eyes that you saw in his. He’s smiling again but this time it’s not the same cocky grin as before, this one is genuine and filled with excitement. Your heart is pounding. You feel intoxicated. Is this the thrill of the kill or the sex?

Double ropes make an X across his chest, fastening his torso tight to the back of the chair. His arms and wrists are also bound to the back of the chair, causing his arms to be extended stiff at his sides, hands dangling towards the ground. Another X of the double rope crosses his thighs, attaching him to the seat of the chair, and his ankles are tied to the chair’s front legs.

You consider for one brief moment if untying any part of him would increase your enjoyment but quickly decide that’s not a good idea. Even if you might want his hands on your body, if you find them on your throat, it could all get very messy very quickly.

You give your shoulders a slight shrug and his flannel begins to fall off your shoulders, brushing down your arms as it falls to the ground. Now you stand before him completely bare. You don’t miss the fuuuck he silently mouths. Jesus christ what is this guy doing to you? You swear you just felt your clit twitch.

It is now obvious more than ever the effect he’s having on you, as your unobstructed cunt is so wet that the cool air hitting your thighs makes you realize you are a fucking sopping mess down there. Not wanting to wait any longer, you straddle his thighs again. This time you don’t put your legs on either side but rather rest your legs on top of his. Your feet rest inside of his thighs right under his balls and your ankles and shins lay on top of his thighs. This position is you going give you the best leverage to raise and lower yourself, since you know he can’t help with driving his cock into you.

You can see his arms straining against the ropes. By now he should have learned that they’re too tight for him to move but you think this might just be out of habit. He wants to touch your body, you can tell by the way he moves his head forward - the only thing he can freely move forward - and laps his tongue anywhere he can reach.

You grab his face with one hand and crash your mouth onto his, a mess of teeth and lips and tongues. With your other hand, which is still holding the knife, you carefully use two fingers to tilt his cockhead directly under you and you slowly sink down on it.

You both let out wanton moans into each other’s mouths at the sensation. You continue to press down until he’s seated all the way inside you, and then you pause to let your body adjust. He feels bigger than he looked. Maybe it’s been a while since you’ve been with anyone but this feels borderline painful. You don’t move up and down but rock forward and backwards ever so slightly, giving yourself some more time. He groans a little bit, maybe impatient but you don’t care, and you just smile against his mouth.

You feel your own wetness dripping out of you, down around him, and you feel like you’re ready to go. Pulling your face back from his, you look in each other’s eyes, almost tenderly. You put both hands on top of his shoulders, careful to have a good grip on the knife but not have it too close to his skin. You don’t want to be the one to do anything prematurely in this situation.

You start slowly at first, ignoring the quiet groans coming from him. He’s not whining but he doesn’t sound or look pleased with the pace you’ve set if the pained look on his face is any indication. You continue moving but grab his face to ask you good? The pained look immediately disappears from his face as his eyes snap open. He grunts and mutters a quiet it’s been awhile before he closes his eyes again, trying to focus.

“Don’t you end this early on me,” you warn. It’s a little funny to you when you realize that his punishment for doing that would be death. It shouldn’t be funny but it is. Probably because you’re fucked in the head. He barely reacts and just mutters I won’t between clenched teeth.

Your pace starts to pick up and you alternate between quite literally bouncing up and down on his cock, and grinding forwards and backwards on it. Each time you switch movements he lets out a strangled groan, clenching his eyes tighter. You can feel your orgasm start to build as a little ball of energy deep in your torso.

You picture what it would be like if he could put his hands on you. You take your own hands off his shoulders and run them up and down your thighs, careful to not let the blade hit either of your bodies. You run them across your stomach and up your ribcage, grabbing your breasts, the cold blade of the knife pressed against one of them. You cry out at the sensation and notice he has opened his eyes now and is watching you intently.

You throw your head back, squeezing your breasts, and bring two fingers to pinch each nipple until they’re over-sensitive and stinging. You look back down and watch his face, inches from your breasts, mesmerized. Without warning you shove one of them right into his mouth and he greedily accepts it, tonguing and biting your nipple.

You continue to move on his lap, driving his cock in and out, up and down, filling you up, hitting all the right spots inside of you. Your bodies are sliding against each other, lubricated by the sheen of sweat covering them. The sounds of your skin slapping echoes off the walls. The slurping noises of his mouth are turning you on even more. You can feel your orgasm now just below the surface. You know you’re close.

“I’m gonna come honey,” you moan. Jesus fuckin’ christ you hear him grunt beneath you, mouth still full of your breast.

You push yourself closer to him, pressed up against his chest, his mouth popping off your nipple. You wrap both arms around his neck and pull him tight, rutting hard and deep on his lap. It’s just there, so close. Then he latches his mouth onto your neck just below your jaw, and he sucks.

A white-hot release immediately hits your body, spreading from the core out. It hits you so hard that you actually scream. Your movements stutter and slow as you work through your orgasm, feeling your pussy contracting on his cock.

Seconds later you hear him against your neck, a long and drawn-out moan, as you feel him releasing repeatedly inside of you. You continue gentle rocking motions against him until you feel his cock still. His mouth is still against your neck, breathing heavy breaths in between curses of jesus fuckin’ christ, and holy shit.

You push yourself up off him using the leverage from your shins on his thighs just enough for him to slip out of you, your combined release dripping out onto his lap. You lay your head down on one of his shoulders, gently kissing his neck. At the other shoulder, your arm rests with the knife dragging up and down along where his carotid artery lies.

You sit like that for a while, both of you catching your breaths, getting your bearings back. You are vaguely aware of the mess on his lap you’ll have to clean up later. It’ll have to wait. You think that orgasm made you dizzy. You’re pretty sure your legs will be jell-o for a bit. You haven’t felt like this in a long time. Fucked out and cockdrunk.

He is the first to speak.

“Can I ask you a question?” he says tentatively, “before ya…. ya know.”

“You have a question for me?” you scoff, “I’m flattered,” which is true, even considering what you’ve just done.

“Were ya serious about doin’ this before? The killin’ part?”

“Well yeah, what makes ya think I wasn’t serious?” you lift your head to look him in the eyes just in time to see him roll his.

“Probably the part where ya pretended to be Dexter-” he starts.

“Oh my god I can’t wait till you stop breathin’ so I don’t have to hear about that again. I was just trying to- ya know what? Nevermind,” and you push the blade forward into his neck a little. It’s hard enough to pierce the skin. It draws a couple drops of blood but you’re mostly just teasing him, since you have no desire to clean five liters of blood off the floor of this rented garage. But you can’t help the thrill that shoots into your stomach at the way he clenches in fear.

His body relaxes after a few seconds when he realizes you haven’t pushed the knife in any further. He had clenched his eyes shut, not letting you see the panic in them. Now they flutter open and meet yours, barely able to focus, your faces are so close together.

“My question was somethin’ else,” he mutters, barely audible over the sound of your pounding heartbeat whooshing in your ears. You say nothing, just continue to stare at him wide-eyed, unblinking. “My question was… why. Why do ya do it?”

You are taken aback. Literally and figuratively. You physically pull back from him, resting on your heels back where his knees are. Your hands remain on his shoulders, one still clutching the knife against his neck. Someone is looking for the answer, you think to yourself. It’s almost sweet that he thinks you have it.

“I do it for the same reason you do it.” You scan his face, searching for that smug smile, waiting for deception to play across it, for something. For anything. It doesn’t come. He genuinely doesn’t know. “I do it because it fucking feels good, honey.”

He just keeps your gaze, nodding his head slowly as he takes in your answer. He doesn’t ask anything else or add to your answer. He’s just considering it. You get up off his lap and fold up the knife in your hand, dropping it on the floor on top of the discarded flannel. You walk behind him again and grab the pre-filled syringe you set up. This is the way you like to do things. Clean. Efficient. No stains or smells to deal with later.

You walk up behind him, standing so you are pressed to the back of the chair, his head resting against your bare stomach. You put your hands down on top of his shoulders, the syringe in your dominant hand tapping against his skin. He looks down at it and then tilts his head back to look up at you.

“Why me?” he asks. Not whiny, like most people are. Just a curiosity. Why him? Why did you pick him? Out of everyone in the world, why is it him? It’s almost romantic.

“I thought it’d be fun. I mean, it’s always fun. But I thought it’d be more fun than usual, huntin’ someone like me. Well, almost like me. I’m better at it,” and you tap the syringe against his clavicle a few times, “obviously.”

“Well you weren’t exactly playin’ fair, were ya sweetheart?” he says in an accusing tone.

“How do ya mean?” you ask, your eyes going wide, insulted by the implication. “You knew people would be lookin’ around and askin’ questions, maybe even the police.”

“Yeahhh,” he concedes, “but the police‘re idiots.” He keeps his eyes on you, watching you nod your head in agreement. “I didn’t think I was up against someone like you.” He pauses and then flashes you a cocky grin. “Someone smart.”

“Oh stop, now you’re just tryin’ to flatter me,” and you swat the syringe on his shoulder.

“I’m not,” he says, still smiling.

“Kinda seems like you are, ya ol’ flirt.” and you wink down at him.

“No, what I’m tryin’ ta say is…” and he finally looks away, staring straight ahead before he delivers the next sentence. “I bet you couldn’t do it again.”

“Do what again?” You continue to look down at him but he’s still looking straight forward, not meeting your eyes.

“Catch me.”

Now you’re annoyed. “Honey it really wasn’t that fuckin’ hard the first time. I highly doubt th-”

“But,” he interrupts, “I bet you couldn’t do it again.” His cocky smile is back, head thrown back staring up at you again. “You couldn’t do it now that I know you’re lookin’ fer me.

You push off his shoulders and walk around the front of him. Bending over, you pull his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans laid on the floor. You’re gonna wipe that smug grin off his face once and for all. “Well Joel Miller,” and you read off his home address in Texas, “I really do think I could find you again.”

“Then do it.” His smile is gone. His face is expressionless. He’s just staring at you. “Find me again,” he taunts.

You drop the wallet back to the ground and sit down on his lap, almost considering what he’s saying. You run your hand on the side of his stupid smug little face, syringe still in the other hand. You lean your face to his and gently pepper his face with kisses.

“Honey, I don’t want you sufferin’,” you coo between smooches. “Yer gonna miss me too much if I let you go.”

“How long you think I’d have to suffer?” he counters, “Hmm? How long you think it’d take you?”

“It took me less than a week this time honey. So probably not long,” you continue the kisses down his neck.

“Then come find me,” he growls, stilling your motions. “End my sufferin’.”

You pull back from him. Fuck. The thought of it made you undeniably excited. You were practically vibrating with anticipation and you weren’t even thinking about killing him anymore. This was about a chase. An honest-to-god chase with someone that might be something close to a challenge.

He had a point. You didn’t want to admit that to him, but he didn’t know you were looking for him. He had no idea there was someone like him in the area, whereas you had begun to suspect last summer, and had spent the last year putting pieces together and planning your trip this way.

It did take you less than a week of moving around to different areas of the state land with your van, finding different places to camp, until you ran into him and his filthy little cabin. But you had spent much longer than that reviewing his victims, studying his patterns, and getting yourself into his mindset as best you could.

He has confirmed your suspicions that he moved on after the summer to hunt somewhere else. But where else? Where he lives in Texas? Another off-the-grid cabin? It could be anywhere. It doesn’t matter. You’ll figure it out.

The phone you’ve been threatening him to dial 9-1-1 with is actually his phone. You'd used his fingerprint to gain access while he was out cold and then changed the passcode to something that only you know. You can gather a lot of information on him from his cellphone. That will help and he doesn’t even yet realize you have it.

You already have an upper hand on his little proposition. You’re already outsmarting him.

You press your lips to his one last time and stick the syringe’s small needle into his neck, pressing the plunger halfway down. With open eyes kissing him you see his eyes go wide and then shut. His entire body goes limp under yours, including his lips. His plush lips. You feel his heart still beating strong under your hand so you take the time to indulge, holding his head up and stealing a few more kisses before you have to start cleaning up.

*****

Joel wakes a while later, how long he’s not sure, but the room he’s in looks very different. The van is gone, as is the folding table covered in trophies and photos of his victims, as are you. In fact, very few things remain in the room.

His clothes are folded in a stack on the floor in front of him. Next to them are his wallet and truck keys. Finally, there is a folded note stuck to his leg. It’s pinned to him with your five inch pocket knife having been driven into his thigh.

The restraints around his wrists have been cut so that he can reach forward to take the knife out of his leg. When he does, the note drifts to the floor a few feet away. He ignores the searing pain and blood now streaming from the wound on his leg and manages to work himself free of the rest of the ropes.

He moves to stand up out of the chair and immediately his legs give out, collapsing him unceremoniously onto the floor. He is free of the chair for the first time in - judging by the physical state of him - what has probably been half a day. With shaky hands he reaches out and picks up the paper where it had fallen, unfolding it.

In pretty, looping handwriting it reads: ‘Catch ya later! xoxo’

*****

READ THE NEXT PART HERE (THE CHASE - PART 1)

#joel miller x reader #SerialKiller!Joel x F!Reader #joel miller smut #Serial Killer Joel Miller #joel miller #patti7dc #pedro pascal characters #noxturnalpascal

520 notes · View notes

notyashiro128 · 2 months

Text

Depressed sick Megumi x reader ~

Fluff/ happy/ nsfw in the end

Megumi is currently unwell with a fever, and to make matters worse, he is also feeling depressed. This is likely due to the traumatic experiences he went through during his childhood, which have left him with a constant feeling of guilt and self-doubt. He believes that his parents left because he is a bad person, and this has made him feel very anxious. Your job here is to take care of your depressed boyfriend

As he sat on the couch, his eyes glued to the screen of his phone, he couldn't help but feel miserable as he hoped for a message from you. Suddenly, the sound of the door opening caught his attention and his heart began to race. With a glimmer of hope in his eyes, he saw you walking towards him and his face lit up with a smile. He quickly stood up and rushed towards you, wrapping his arms around you in a warm embrace. He whispered softly in your ear, "Babe~" as he held you tightly, savoring the moment.

"how is my sweet boy doing?" You asked while hugging him back

As you called Megumi a sweet boy, his cheeks turned a shade of pink and he smiled softly. He leaned into the warm embrace and whispered, "I'm okay, love. Just feeling a bit down today. But it's nice to see you". His voice was soft and gentle, conveying a sense of vulnerability and trust. The hug seemed to be a comforting embrace for both of you.

"Felling down again?" you asked gently, You took off your jacket and hung it up, Megumi nodded slowly, "mm", his voice barely above a whisper he was sitting on the couch.

You went towards him "It's okay to be not okay and I am here if you want to talk about something bothering you" You sat next to him kiss him on his cheek "here I Got you medicine and your favourite candies"

"who needs medicine when I have you" he said softly as you blushed .

"Mmm here I'll change my clothes" and. As you said you changed into your pajamas

•••••••••••

Now you and Megumi are lying on the bed he Wraps his arms around you tightly and breathes in your scent, smiling softly "You always know how to cheer me up I love you"... Megumi sighs

Megumi looks at you, his eyes softening as he takes in your presence "I know it's hard for me to express myself sometimes, but please believe me when I say that I love you more than anything in this world. You're my haven..."

"Awwww. Babe that's so sweet from Youu~" You hugged him

His voice softens and his eyes become misty " I know I haven't always been the best boyfriend, but you're all I have. I promise to work on myself and be better for you. You deserve someone who can make you happy every day. I just-" you interrupted him

"Please don't say that. You are already perfect for me just the way you are," you exclaimed. As you looked at him, you realized that you had fallen in love with him from the very first moment you laid eyes on him.

Tears form in his eyes as he looks at you, a small smile playing on his lips "I can't imagine going through life without you by my side. Thank you for being there for me, even when I'm not always the best version of myself. "

""awwww shhh babe it's okay its okay" You hugged him, making sure to put his head on your chest. "You can cry as long as you want, babe. You're the best."

Feeling your warmth and the gentle rhythm of your heartbeat, megumi's tears flow freely as he leans into the comforting embrace. He clings to you tightly, taking in the familiar scent of lavender that always seems to surround you.

Sobs into your chest, unable to control the flood of emotions that pour out. He clings to you tightly, seeking comfort and reassurance "I love you so much... You're all I have in this world."

"And I love you more" You put your hand behind his back and started to pat his back gently

Feeling your words wash over him, Megumi's sobs begin to subside. He lifts his head slightly, looking into your eyes filled with tears and love. He smiles weakly, his voice barely above a whisper "Thank you... for everything. You are the only one who understands me"

You kiss his forehead gently, your thumbs brushing away the tears that still cling to his cheeks. "It's okay, baby. I'm here for you," you whisper softly, your heart breaking at the pain etched on his face.

Megumi buries his face in your chest again, his body shaking slightly as he tries to calm down. He holds onto you tightly, feeling the warmth of your skin against his own. After a few moments, he slowly pulls away, wiping the remaining tears from his eye

"I'm sorry for making you worry like that," he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's just... sometimes it all feels too much." He takes a deep breath and forces a small smile.

"babe no need to be sorry for real and I understand everything you feel," you said softly

He looks up at you, his eyes filled with love and gratitude. He pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace as he feels your tears on his skin. He kisses the top of your head gently, his heart racing with love for you.

Megumi's heart swells with warmth. He holds you tightly, his lips finding yours in a passionate kiss. His hands roam over your body, pulling you closer as if trying to merge into one being.

"Baby I'm in love with you don't be sad please I wanna see your pretty smile. To be honest, I know that it's hard for you and I can see on your face it was rough but I wish I could do something for you cuz you deserve everything " you said

"I love you too, more than anything in this world. You're my everything." He whispers between kisses, his hands trailing down your back to gently squeeze your rear end before pulling you even closer.Feeling the warmth and love radiating from you,

Megumi couldn't help but smile softly. He held onto these moments tightly, trying to remember them when he felt down again

his hands gently caressing your cheeks. He whispers against your lips, " i wanna make love w you right now princess"

And done give me more requests of any Characters 🐢✨

202 notes · View notes

callsign-venus · 5 months

Text

Just Our Luck | Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader

Description: Despite how hard the universe tries to ruin it, you and Bradley have the perfect night.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: fluff, nudity (in a PG-13 way), bradley being protective, unwanted touching (from a stranger), swearing

a/n: this is my first fic that I've published (both on this blog and also in, like, years), but I'm ready to get back into fic writing! hope you enjoy x

Lately, work has been hard for you and Bradley both. Though your version of “hard” is mounting pressure to meet ridiculously short deadlines, and his version is more like two near-death experiences, you both acknowledged you deserve a nice night out. Bradley made a reservation at an Italian restaurant on the other side of town, and you splurged on a dress you’d been eying for months. It clings to your frame deliciously, and you spend a moment longer than usual in front of the mirror, admiring yourself. It was even a good hair day, you couldn’t believe your luck.

“You ready?” Bradley walks into your bedroom, momentarily fiddling with a button on his blazer. But when he looks up and catches sight of you, it loses his attention. He’s on you in a few quick strides, one hand finding its rightful place between your ass and lower back, the other near the nape of your neck, his fingers skimming the skin where it meets your shoulder.

“Gorgeous girl,” he says as he breathes in your freshly applied perfume.

“You’re pretty gorgeous yourself.” It’s true – you love when he gets dressed up for date nights. You would happily take him in sweaty fatigues or – better yet – nothing at all, but it makes your heart swell knowing he planned a nice outfit with you in mind.

He fingers the low back of your dress. “Can’t wait to come back home to this.”

“I’ll be all yours,” you seal your promise with a kiss. “But only after you get me a nice glass of pinot noir and a heaping serving of fettuccine alfredo.”

“You’re the boss.” He squeezes your ass before letting you go.

You gather your purse and your phone, feeling the warmth of his eyes as they follow you across the room. Then, you two are out the door, his arm around you once more.

He opens the door to the Bronco, and you slide in.

As Bradley pulls out of the driveway, you feel the tension of last week begin to melt away. When his hand finds your bare thigh, you can’t even remember what was stressing you out to begin with. Driving with Bradley was a cure for everything. His smell (something salty and a little woodsy) and his dad music envelope you, his assured grip on your thigh one of your favorite ways to be touched. And if you get sick of the view outside the windshield, you can always look to your left to get a better one – one that comes with a mustache, aviators, and more-often-than-not, a cocky smile because he catches you looking from the corner of his vision.

“Fuck.” Bradley slams on the breaks as the car ahead of him comes to a near complete stop. His arm flies up to your chest to cushion you as you jolt forward. “You ok?”

“I’m ok.” You chuckle. You’ve had time to get used to his aggressive driving by now.

His hand falls back to your thigh.

“Fuck me,” he says.

Gleaming taillights welcome you into the bumper to bumper traffic that packs the highway.

“I’m sure it will clear up,” you say, but you don’t believe it yourself.

It didn’t clear up. In the end, you two make it to the restaurant. Unfortunately, you’re almost an hour late.

“Sorry,” the hostess says more to Bradley than to you, “our next available seating won’t be for another two hours.”

“There’s nothing you can do?” He asks because he knows you’ve been looking forward to this reservation since he made it a week ago.

“I’m sorry, but no,” she responds.

You grab his elbow with your hand and steer him out of the restaurant.

“Jesus, I am so sorry,” he says you walk out the door and trade the smell of roasted garlic for the secondhand smoke of someone’s cigarette.

“It’s ok,” you say despite your rumbling stomach. “Neither of us even thought to check traffic.”

“Yeah, but I should’ve. Now our night’s ruined.”

“Don’t say that, silly boy.” You peck a quick kiss on his jawline. “At least now we get to see the sunset.”

You’ve made it back to the Bronco, and from this vantage point, you can see the ocean across the street. It is awash with a reflection of the red and pink clouds above. You two stand for a moment, soaking in the view.

“Hey, what about seafood for dinner?” Bradley points across the street to a squat blue building with large windows and a neon sign reading Uncle Mo’s.

You scan the parking lot. Not very many cars. You could probably get seated right away. “Sure, sounds good to me.”

You and Bradley stare at each other from across the lopsided table, making a shared mental note: if a restaurant is not busy on a Friday night, do not eat there.

But by the time you had realized your shared mistake, you were already being sat down at a sticky vinyl booth. Despite the great views of the beach (which Bradley let you face), it was clear that Uncle Mo’s had little to offer in terms of comfort and cuisine. A slightly fishy smell permeated the restaurant, you had to ignore a suspicious puddle on the table, and the food in front of the few other patrons didn’t exactly look edible.

When you order a glass of red to make yourself feel better, you expect it to be less than stellar. You expect to be not-so-pleased with it. However, you don’t expect to end up with it splashed all over your lap — and your new dress.

“Fuck.” It seems to be Bradley’s favorite word of the night. He knows how much you were looking forward to this evening, he knows how much time and effort you put into looking flawless, how much you both deserved a nice evening after the last couple weeks. And now you were looking at him, your eyes shining with unwept tears, a wine stain bleeding across your chest and your lap.

Before you can react, the waiter is on you – dabbing your lap with paper napkins. He smushes around the wet mash of napkin, making the stain worse. You want to shove him away. Mistakes happen, but you don't need a late twenty-something’s hands all over your lap. But the whole thing is already an ordeal, and you don’t want to cause a scene.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, “the glass just slipped, I’ll —”

“Stop touching her.”

Thank god Bradley is always willing to make a scene for you.

Your eyes meet his with a silent thank you, even though the waiter is too overcome with the napkins and babbled apologies to hear the quietly rumbled threat.

An uncharacteristic frown darken’s Bradley’s features. He stands up, all muscle and golden skin and perfectly ruffled hair. “I said: stop touching her.”

The waiter takes one look at Bradley Bradshaw and scurries away, hands full of damp napkins.

“Sweet girl,” Bradley coos as he takes your hands in his. “We can’t catch a break tonight, huh?”

You shake your head.

“Wanna get out of here?” His eyes are so deep, searching yours for a way to make it up to you — even though nothing has been his fault.

“Yes,” you whisper.

He pulls you gently to your feet and immediately his arm is around you like a shield. Though the night has been disastrous, you’re so glad you’ve been able to spend it with him. Even now, reeling from a stranger’s unwanted touch and the ruin of your new dress, you feel perfectly safe in his arms.

Once you are settled in the car, Bradley turns to you, his finger rubbing a sweet circle against your wrist. “Want to get ice cream?”

Normally you would never turn him down for ice cream. But nothing tonight has gone to plan, and you don’t want to risk another mishap. Besides, you already know exactly what you want.

“I just want to go home and be with you.”

“Can do, pretty girl.” He pulls your wrist to his mouth and gives it a kiss before pulling out of the parking spot. Luckily, traffic isn’t so bad on the way home.

But the rain comes fast.

Angry clouds roll in from over the ocean, splashing torrents of rain across the streets of your neighborhood. The windshield wipers whine with effort, but they can’t clear the rain fast enough. Bradley slows down to about 10 miles per hour — the slowest you’d ever seen him drive.

“Just our luck,” you groan.

“The price of a beautiful sunset.” Bradley pulls into the driveway. “We can try to wait it out.”

You shake your head. “The stain on my dress is already setting.”

“Ok, give me a second.” Before you can even shout his full name, he wrestles himself out of his blazer, tosses it on your lap, and slips out of the car. He races to your side.

Already, he’s soaked.

You shriek as he wraps his arms around you and lifts you out of your seat. You raise his blazer to cover you both as he makes a mad dash to the front door, but even so you are both drenched by the time you cross the threshold.

He stands on your welcome mat, which absorbs all the water dripping off the both of you. The rain had cooled his skin, draining it of its usual warmth, but you don’t mind. You drop the sopping blazer and plant your palms on his cheeks.

“Bradley Bradshaw,” you say, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

You share a rain-chilled kiss that sends a shiver across your skin. As if he can feel the goosebumps on your arms, he slowly walks you to your bathroom. Inside, the rain is nice. It sends a lively hum through the house, and tap dances across your bathroom skylight.

He sets you down on the tile, then turns the taps of the bathtub. You watch amused as he holds his hand under the water until the temperature is just right, then he turns back to you.

“Sweet girl.” He brushes a strand of wet hair off your cheek.

You pull him in for another kiss.

When you finally pull apart, he lifts your dress up over your head. Then, he unclasps your bra, and hangs it up on a towel hook to dry. Then he kneels on the cool tile and pulls your panties down so you can step out of them.

“Not how I pictured getting naked at the end of tonight,” you laugh.

“There will be other nights.” Bradley smiles as he stands and takes you in – not lustfully, just appreciative of your body, of you. “Believe me, tomorrow will be a fresh day.”

“It better be.”

He kisses your forehead. “I promise.”

You take a deep breath, knowing that he’s right.

“Ah,” he straightens suddenly. “I almost forgot.”

He opens a cabinet under the sink and retrieves a bright pink bottle — it’s the bubble bath you had pestered him to get at the store the last time you went.

“It’s time we put this to good use.” He dumps nearly half the bottle under the still running spout. Almost immediately, the bath swells with pearly-white bubbles.

He scoops you up and lays you down gently in the tub. The water immediately brings warmth back to your bones.

“I’ll be right back.” Bradley scoops your dress off the floor, and pads off to tend to the stain. Though you appreciate him trying to save your dress, you wish he was sharing this bath with you instead.

You drag your hand through the fast-growing mountains of bubbles. After a minute, you turn off the tap, then sink lower in the tub.

How did the night go so wrong, but end up so lovely?

Your answer walks through the door, lit candle in hand. The subtle scent of lavender bleeds into the room.

“And there you go.” He sets the candle on the counter, looking mighty proud of himself. “Need anything else?”

“Join me?” You hold out your hand to him.

A giant smile cracks across his face. In a second, he rips off his clothes and is gingerly stepping behind you in the tub. Slowly, slowly, he sinks down, his lips finding the curve of your shoulder and peppering small kisses while his hands massage your lower back. You lean back against him, a small sigh escaping your lips.

“Can my dress be saved?” You ask.

He smiles against your soapy skin. “If the detergent and hydrogen peroxide have anything to say about it.”

“Thank god,” you say as the last of your tension dissolves in the bath water around you. “If I couldn’t wear that dress again, I would just die.”

“You would die? How do you think I would go on living knowing you could never wear that again?”

“I did look good in that dress, huh?”

“Good?” Bradley wraps one arm around your stomach. “Darling, you looked beautiful. So beautiful.”

The rain dances on the rooftop, the storm not having lessened in the slightest. You don’t mind because it sent you to this bath with Bradley, brought his thumbed circles to your lower back, his sweetened whispers to your ears. If this evening’s disappointments had all led you to a bath shared with Bradley Bradshaw at the end of the night, you thought it was more than a fair trade.

#bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun fanfiction #tgm fanfiction #fluff #bradley bradshaw fluff #rooster fluff

303 notes · View notes

naamahdarling · 5 months

Note

Do you have a favorite musical?

If so, what are your favorite lyrics from it, and why?

ALW's CATS.

Is it a surreal mess? Yes! But I love it before everything else.

The lyrics are silly but very clever. Most are at least partly by TS Eliot, drawn from a wonderfully nonsensical book of poems.

I think my favorite song is the Invitation to the Jellicle Ball, neck and neck with Mr Mistoffelees.

My favorite cat is Mistoffelees by a lot, followed by the Rum Tum Tugger. They are in love.

But the part that makes me feel the most in my heart is Grizabella. The only cat I relate to is Grizabella.

Memory is the big number that everyone knows and I do absolutely love it, it's one of my favorite songs and probably the best in the musical as it was before CATS 2019 introduced a new song, but I feel that out of context it simply doesn't have punch. It gets trotted out to showcase a singer's skill, as a bit of a tearjerker if you're a sentimental person. It is so much more than that.

I didn't understand Grizabella properly until I was well and truly an adult and had taken in multiple cats off the street, and lived near a colony, and watched my own cats become frail, which are all painful things in many ways; AND until I had begun to really feel the weight of my marginalization as a disabled person and an ill person, which means confronting almost daily the fact that I am unlikely to come to the sort of end I would like.

Hold on because I'm going to be unhinged about this cat for a minute.

Grizabella is an aged stray, once welcomed, now abandoned and unloved, considered ugly even by others like her (who are shown to supposedly accept differences and value, or at least respect, most everyone...but not her).

She lives in a haunted, lonely state unacknowledged by anyone except to be driven away. She can no longer care for herself, she is filthy and matted and scarred and probably in a lot of pain, she is starving, and she has nothing but her memories of better times, and every single dawn is both a gift and a miserable curse. She gets to remember. She has to remember.

If you watch, Grizabella is onstage a LOT, she's just off in the background, usually poorly lit, where she tries to mirror the dances happening on the main part of the stage, dances she knows because that was once her, there in the spotlight, shining. But now she's in too much pain to dance and her body isn't working right anymore. I have no doubt Grizabella is dying. The question is whether she will get to do that well, comforted and with dignity, or do it badly and alone.

I cannot HANDLE Grizabella.

If you have even the tiniest inkling of love for cats, if you believe every cat's life is worth something, her story should destroy you.

The legendary Jennifer Hudson's performance in the movie brought a really angry and confrontational turn to her, and it was flat out amazing. A rebuke of a performance. It really hurts to watch but it's what the role has always needed. She isn't just weak and sad, she clings to the tatters of her dignity and is angry that the others don't see her as a whole person. Just a miserable shadow to be avoided. A cautionary tale. We are never told what terrible thing she did to deserve her fall, and given that most of the Jellicles are young, I don't know that any of them really remember.

I will physically fight anyone who says she should not have been selected to ascend to a new life. She was the only choice. Even Gus. Even him. He can have his turn next year. Grizabella does not have another year in her.

And I'm going to make some folks mad but I love the 2019 movie (it's bad) and the new song, Beautiful Ghosts, is amazing, and I DO prefer Taylor Swift's version as the movie version is a little more timid (fitting the role and musical way better) but TS fucking BELTS IT and I get chills every time.

The lyrics are incredible and the song is gorgeous, gorgeous. And strung together with Grizabella's song, it finishes the musical in a way that it was a bit unfinished before. It uses an actual full song to connect Grizabella to the Ball and the Choice more directly than any choreography ever did or could:

Victoria, the White Cat and viewpoint character, still almost a kitten, has been dumped in the street and into a terrifying and beautiful new life.

After being swept up into its wonder, she sees Grizabella, utterly rejected, hissed at, made fun of, despised, and aches with the injustice of it -- Victoria was snatched right up by the other cats the instant her paws hit the ground, but nobody will take in Grizabella. Not even her own kind.

Victoria sees how strangely similar they are and feels a kinship that has no pity in it at all, but wonder and respect.

So Victoria sings this new song expressing the first admiration Grizabella has heard in god alone knows how long, reminding her she has had an amazing life worth envy and renown, and she pulls this horrible decrepit old mess of a cat into the Jellicle Ball, where she is FINALLY relieved of her pain.

Like? I'm crying right now?

It isn't a serious musical, but Grizabella's story runs through it like a cold current, something real and terrible, surrounded by absolute ridiculousness. Her numbers are deadly serious, never played for laughs. And ultimately it is her story that turns out to be the most important one, the truest one, and it is dark, and it is hopeful but only in only the most painful and grief-stricken way. She isn't brought back into a comfortable life with other cats to be happy and surrounded by love. She essentially...dies and goes to cat heaven. She embodies hope itself to the others, and her ascension represents a deeply humbling lesson in humility and grace. Her suffering and her ascent represent the possible future of every one of them, and now they have to confront that, and their treatment of her. She was rewarded, and for all their beauty and charm they were not.

Anyway I'm not normal about it.

The lyrics from Beautiful Ghosts that I love are:

Perilous night, their voices calling. A flicker of light, before the dawning. Out here the wild ones are taming the fear within me. Scared to call them my friends and be broken again. Is this hope just a mystical dream?

and

And so maybe my home Isn't what I had known, what I thought it would be. But I feel so alive With these phantoms of night, and I know that this life isn't safe but it's wild and it's free!

Like, come on. It's a lovely song and it took my breath away in the theater.

Ugh this musical touched me as a feral cat girl of 10 and it touches me again as a sad catguy in their 40s. Truly a very stupid work of weirdly meaningful art and one for the ages.

There are much better musicals, but none of them are part of me.

#cats the musical #grizabella

89 notes · View notes

quick-catton · 3 months

Note

give me all ur felix and ollie and cattonquick head-canons plz can be nsft if u wish go crazy

ANON YOU LEFT THIS ASK OVER A MONTH AGO. I AM SO SORRY.

i've been waiting to answer it until i had a good list compiled/until i had a better grasp on their characters, and honestly most of these are fairly vague since i wrote them down before we all started going insane on tumblr and digging deep into their psyches LOL but. here are some of my thoughts that i've jotted down over the past month <3

sfw:

felix is a big ol’ scaredy cat, we see that in the film. oliver finds it so incredibly endearing that this big 6’5 man has to sleep with a night light and is terrified of scary films despite adoring halloween and taking the holiday so seriously. oliver definitely loves picking scary movies on the nights where it’s his turn to choose because he loves feeling like a protector when felix is hiding his face, burying himself in the crook of his arm, clinging to him and gasping at every jumpscare. and even though felix pretends to hate it, he doesn’t actually mind because he likes getting to feel small sometimes, having an excuse to press up against ollie.

felix is a little yapper, i just know it. that mfer does notttt stop talking somedays. if he has a thought, oliver is going to hear it. if he’s bored, he’s going to make it everyone else’s problem. as a little gremlin adhd–er, i lean towards attributing it to untreated adhd, but it's also just such a felix thing. of course oliver finds it endearing, but sometimes it drives him up the absolute wall; luckily for him, there are plenty of ways to shut felix up and/or occupy his mouth instead!

oliver is more of a show than tell person, valuing being able to do acts of service for felix, or to gift him things, make him feel good, happy, whatever. i think it makes sense, since he's more reserved and quiet. felix is more of a tell than show guy, always complimenting and speaking unfiltered and dropping words of affirmation left and right, and they balance each other out in that regard.

PET! NAMES! felix is obsessed with them, he drops them left and right even on friends, and on oliver it’s two fold. darling, sweetheart, angel, bambi, my love, doll, lover, all the classics, and oliver never gets tired of it. oliver is less outspoken/public with his affection, coming back to the show vs tell thing. i think to him, calling felix by his name or shortened versions (fee, lix, etc) is just as intimate as any pet name.

felix draws hearts and little messages with his finger against oliver’s skin when they’re in public, or when they’re just laying in bed at home. oliver likes to try and decipher them, or write ones back.

i know felix drives during the roadtrip scene, but i think in a relationship he would actually be an awful driver and a big passenger princess and oliver wouldn't be picky about music so he'd let him have the aux. felix would love to just lean against the window and stare at oliver or stick his feet on the dashboard/out the window and lay his head on the console even though oliver would hate it so much because "what if we get in an accident, felix??"

felix would love to abuse his size difference and would pick up oliver literally any chance he gets and oliver would pretend to hate it but he'd grow to love it bc it means getting to have physical contact with him <3

felix is terrified of bugs and will literally stand on a stool until oliver deals with them, but oliver hates having to kill them so he takes them outside in a cup. or alternatively, oliver is absolutely terrifying and goes into murder–mode to eliminate the source of whatever is scaring felix.

nsfw:

i think they’re both switches & verses tbh, with how their personalities are they would both enjoy having control but also being able to give up control and do what they’re told.

they both have praise kinks and servicing kinks as per my extensive brainrot and whole one-shot about it lol

felix is a little slutty exhibitionist and oliver is a creeper voyeur (/affectionate). he loves to have felix dress up pretty for him and he’s obsessed with taking pictures of him on felix’s film cameras for his eyes only, wallet photos if you will. and felix loves showing off for him and feeling oliver’s eyes on him like he’s just a piece of meat, like oliver is a predator and he’s prey.

oliver is obsessed with body worship, he loves to spend ages marking felix’s skin and getting him worked up and teasing him until he snaps, all the while acting innocent because “i just wanna show you how pretty you are”. paying attention to each individual body part, leaving kisses everywhere, using body worship as an outlet for his intense obsession and fixation.

both of them are possessive, but they deal with it in different ways. felix’s jealousy is quicker to flare up and he’s more likely to be confrontational about someone hitting on oliver; he has a hard time hiding his jealousy too when oliver is being a little too friendly with someone, getting all pouty and sulky, but oliver is good at talking him down. felix leaves marks all over his neck to make himself feel better, to show everyone that oliver is his, and oliver has no complaints about this. oliver’s possessiveness is quieter, jealousy that bubbles just beneath the surface, sometimes grows borderline–murderous, but he’s never confrontational about it. he sits with it until they’re alone, and then makes sure felix remembers who he belongs to. and at the end of the day, knowing he can make felix, this powerful golden god in his eyes, crumble beneath him is enough to quell any jealousy because he knows no one else will ever see him like he gets to. oliver loves marking him up too, but he loves doing it below the collar, like a secret that only the two of them know.

felix has an oral fixation. obviously. in the film he always has a popsicle or lollipop or cigarette or finger in his mouth; it just makes sense. one of his favourite things ever is when oliver lets him lay his head in his lap and cockwarm him until his jaw is aching while they watch a movie or oliver reads, because having his mouth occupied calms his always restless body and mind, but also he loves the closeness of it. he definitely gets a tongue piercing just to fidget with, but also takes so much joy in the way it effects oliver.

they're both definitely into freak shit, that goes without being said. they both always jump to try new things, always willing to feed into each other's obsessions, to play along with each other's kinks and fixations. i could elaborate enough on their kinks for one whole post about it lbr lmfaoo

i think felix probably gets super clingy and soft spoken and cuddly after sex when he subs and how he loves that oliver makes him feel small and safe afterwards, never feeling judged for opening up in that way. oliver is absolutely such a service bottom and service top, so getting to feed into that when domming is his favourite thing. he knows what felix needs before felix does, and felix trusts him with his life (ha.) he does occasionally tease felix for being a pillow princess, though.

and then vice versa, felix loves being able to help oliver get out of his always-racing overthinking mind when oliver subs, he loves making him feel so cozy and protected and safe in his arms afterwards. he feels so special that ever–reserved oliver trusts him and lets his guard down around him like that, recognizes the vulnerability it takes, and oliver feels so special seeing how much care felix takes with him.

both of them love having their hair played with and they both definitely get off on having it pulled.

i'll do an updated one of these soon, i'm sure! honestly most of these are from maybe the first week or so after i watched saltburn for the first time, and i feel like my view on their characters has evolved a LOT since then and i could go into a lot more detail/more niche tropes, but i have a lot of asks to get back to today so i'll save it for another time. <33

#cattonquick #saltburn #oliver quick #felix catton #felix x oliver #quick-catton brainrot #quick-catton asks

56 notes · View notes

husbandhannie · 1 year

Text

baby, it's cold

but i'll warm you up

alternatively: headcannons for when the temperatures drop

pairing: jeonghan x reader

genre: fluff

word count: 800

warnings: suggestive tones in the second one

a/n: writing this at 3 am because i thought of jeonghan. not sure about the quality honestly, but i'm having fun. i'll probably write more winter headcannons. tagging @rasparagus for the headcannons.

taglist: @itsveronicaxxx @leejungchans @junhui-recs @changmin-wrlds.

ONE

“just a couple of minutes”, you twist the knob of your bedroom window, “we’ll barely even notice anything”.

jeonghan snorts in disagreement. the nearly-freezing wind that rushes through the newly opened window agrees with him. you’ll definitely notice it.

your boyfriend has been protesting since you got up to open the windows, burrowing himself further into the blankets and chiding you for risking your health. in your defense, the room smells weird (probably because fresh air hasn’t been let in for a while), and you don’t think you can sleep given its current state – despite it being well past midnight on a tiring day.

“you’re not even wearing a jacket”, he scolds, and you turn around to see his face barely peeking out of the covers, “come inside until you close it”.

“it’s just for one more minute”, you shrug, turning back and breathing in the fresh air, trying not to give jeonghan the satisfaction of shivering as the cold air hits your thinly-clad body. then, something hits your shoulders, clinging on your frame as your hands reach up to identify the object.

fabric. thick fabric. zipper. jeonghan’s jacket.

you turn back just in time to see his hand disappear back into the abyss that is your blanket, and you suppress your smile as you close your windows shut, satisfied with how your room smells, your boyfriend’s jacket clutched in one hand.

you finally break your silence to let out a squeal when jeonghan’s arms pull you to the bed, too impatient to let you take your time crawling under the blanket. swift hands adjust the covers around the two of you, and a shudder leaves him as he wraps his frame around yours.

“you’re cold”, he complains, “you should’ve worn something”.

“it’s okay”, you respond, feeling your heart ache as he snuggles even closer to you despite your temperature, “you’ll warm me up, right?”

TWO

“are you going to watch?”

jeonghan’s lips curve up in a sly smile at your question, and he leans back into the couch before answering. “i think i will, if that’s okay”.

ofcourse it’s okay. he knows it’s okay. still, you roll your eyes at his antics and continue undressing, taking off your sweater before getting to your jeans.

it’s not often that your boyfriend is home before you come back from work, so he likes to utilize the rare opportunity to get comfortable and watch you change. it’s not a sex thing, he had explained once when he was tipsy, it’s like watching you change into home-version, the one i live with.

not his most elegant lines, but they warmed you nonetheless.

it seems he has more than homely intentions today, as you watch his eyes zero in on your legs. your leg-warmer covered legs. your very-skintight leg-warmer covered legs.

there’s nothing sexy about leg-warmers. but maybe there is when you wear them, given how you never wear anything that clings to your skin.

“my eyes are up here, mister”, you dish out, chuckling as he blinks and looks up, an uncharacteristic sheepish look on his face.

“sorry”, he replies, guilty, “it’s just, you never – “

“i know”, you smile, reassuring, “and it’s okay, you can look. all yours”.

jeonghan’s shoulders relax at that, his eyes staying on your face. you’re done changing a minute later, discarding your work clothes on a chair, hoping that you remember to put them away later. right now, there’s a more important task.

jeonghan’s arms welcome you as you settle down on the couch, one hand resting on his arm while the other reaches up to play with his hair.

“all mine?”, he murmurs, lips hovering over your jaw.

“all yours”.

THREE

your eyes flutter open at the sound of your bedroom door closing, your ear catching jeonghan’s low curses.

“sorry”, he whispers, moving closer to place a kiss on your forehead, the contact with cold skin almost making you flinch, “didn’t mean to wake you”.

“‘s okay”, your voice is hoarse from sleep, “come to bed”.

it really is okay. you wake up multiple times every night anyway.

jeonghan moves to his side of the bed before sliding in, careful to not jostle the covers too much, as if to preserve your sleepiness. when he settles in, there’s a noticeable distance between the two of you, and you know your boyfriend well enough to know the reason.

not that that will stop you from slithering close to him and wrapping yourself around him, rubbing your arms on his frame in the hopes that it will warm him sooner.

“i’m cold”, he murmurs, hand rubbing your back, “stay away for a bit, until i’m warm”.

“no”, you respond, snuggling closer to him, “i’ll warm you up”.

#seventeen fluff #svt fluff #jeonghan fluff #jeonghan x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #jeonghan imagines

463 notes · View notes

kryptid-writes · 10 months

Text

Chapter 8 - Clipped Wings

Ashamed that Dean has discovered her wings, Y/N takes matters into her own hands to fix the problem.

(2.2k)

TW: This chapter contains self mutilation of wings that may be triggering for those that struggle with the topic of self harm. I am not trying to romanticize the subject, please don’t be afraid to seek help if you feel unsafe.

American Mental Health Hotline (1- 800 - 622 - 4357)

Global Hotline (212 - 673 - 3000)

My head spins as I clutch at my chest, willing myself to breathe in ragged breaths. My body shivers from the uncomfortable cold sweat that clings to my skin. My hands, feet, and tip of my nose goes numb, the feeling much like the buzz of a static TV.

I wobble to my feet and hastily pop open the buttons on my shirt with shaky hands. I shove the fabric off my shoulders and let it pool around my feet. Once again, I’m completely vulnerable. Staring myself down in the mirror, my eyes full of resentment at the twisted version of myself staring back at me.

How could you be so careless? Now he knows how much of a freak you really are! I scold myself, gripping the edges of the sink and hang my head in shame.

Taking a piece of bandage from the front of my chest, I carelessly rip it in half with the sudden strength arising from the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I hastily unwind the wrap of musty bandages, revealing the tattered skin underneath which is now a blotchy red color from the lack of circulation. I cringe as I feel my wings pop free from the restrictive binding. Unsurprisingly, they’ve grown since the morning, reaching nearly a foot in length that now fall just above my hip. More feathers have filled in, some of them small, fuzzy, and gray, hugging the bone. And others that are long and white with a golden shimmer at the tips. They stretch out as far as their length will allow, trying to soothe the aching feeling from being confined for so long.

I glare at myself in the mirror, disgusted at how far I've fallen from the simple human I once was. This is what Lucifer wants. He wants me to become a monster just like him, trapping me into a life bound to my captor. This has been his plan all along.

I shake my head, my knuckles turning white from gripping the porcelain sink with the strength of a bull. Tears well up in my eyes, blurring my vision and clouding my mind.

I know what I have to do.

Carefully, I grab the powerful angel blade off the bathroom floor, hugging it to my chest. If this is the only thing that can kill an angel, surely it will get the job done.

I turn on my heels and tilt my head back to see my wings clearly in the mirror, and with that it’s decided: they must be removed by any means necessary. I take a deep breath, gripping the angel blade, just as Dean taught me and press the blade to the top of my wing, just a few inches from where they distend from my back. I hesitate for a few seconds, my body shaking with fear and doubt that lasts for a fleeting moment. With one swift motion, I slice the blade across, cutting through the thin layer of flesh.

“Fuck,” I hiss under my breath. I’ve been hurt before many times in my life and I have the scars to prove it, but nothing compares to the pain that radiates from my wings. They’re more sensitive than I ever could’ve imagined.

Blood dribbles down from the wound, staining the white feathers surrounding the area. The sound of quiet droplets hitting the tile floor below cuts through the silence of the room.

My breath comes in ragged and my heart beats a thousand miles per second. With renewed determination, I bite my lip and hover the blade, just above the incision.

“Y/N?” Dean asks from the other side of the door, startling me out of my trance. His voice is low and caring, but very clearly concerned.

“Go away Dean,” I reply weakly, biting back the sobs that so badly want to spill out.

“Let’s just talk about this,” he says in a kind voice. I hear a soft thud, presumably from him leaning his head on the door.

Part of me wants to stop what I'm doing and open the door for him, let him come in and comfort me like I know he can, but I don’t. This is how it has to be. This is how I break Lucifer's hold on me. This is how I reclaim my humanity.

Ignoring his pleas, I drag the blade further down the weeping laceration, sawing until the bone is exposed. I involuntarily hiss and drop the blade to the floor as agonizing pain surges through me. It makes a loud clattering noise that rings out like the chime of a bell. This time the results are much more severe. Blood pours out of the wound, drenching my entire wing in a sickening crimson coating. Feathers flutter to the ground in clumps, landing in the forming pool of blood below. The feathers that were once pure and white, now stained in my misery, forever corrupted by sin.

“Y/N? What are you doing in there?” Dean asks in a distressed voice.

I don’t respond, partially because I don’t want him to know the answer to the question, and because I’m unable to make any sound besides weak groans. My knees give out and I fall to the ground, slumping forward and tucking my head into my knees. I can’t stop the heaves of sobs that shake my body as the pain and torment becomes too much to handle.

“Y/N OPEN THIS DOOR!” He demands, knocking incessantly.

A whimper escapes my lips as the world slowly starts to spin. Every ounce of energy in me feels as if it's draining rapidly. My whole body feels light and the need to keep fighting slowly fades away, the pain grows dim and my mind becomes a blank slate, the emptiness feels warm and inviting.

The quiet clicks and jingles of the doorknob fill the silence, becoming more imperative by the second. With one final tick, the lock gives in and the door swings open with a bang.

I cusp my hand over the injury in a pitiful attempt to hide what I'd done.

“Oh fuck,” Dean gasps, immediately rushing to my side. He pulls me close and takes my head in his hands, panic taking over his features.

My eyes are unfocused and my skin is pale as a ghost.

He peels my hand away exposing the mess of flesh, feather and bone. His face drops.

I want to resist but I'm too weak to fight him. “Dean…” I groan softly, using all my energy to look him in the eye. Suddenly my eyelids feel heavy and my pupils drift to the ceiling.

“It’s me. I need you to stay awake, can you do that?” He says in a serious voice, lightly squeezing my jaw, keeping me grounded to reality.

I can’t manage a response as the words get caught in my throat. I blink slowly, widening my eyes as much as I can, trying my best to shake the sleepiness that so desperately calls my name.

He swiftly moves me to lie on the floor, dragging me away from the puddle of blood that stained my feet and hips. I should feel embarrassed that my half naked body is completely exposed to him, but it’s not even a concern that crosses my mind at this moment.

“I have to call Sam and Cas.” He states, fumbling for his phone.

“No!” I cry, “Please don’t tell them.” I meet his eyes with a look of desperation, silently pleading with him.

“Y/N -” He furrows his brows.

“I said no Dean!” I snap, followed by a soft, “Please….”

He thinks for a second before nodding his head and getting to his feet. With a sense of urgency he rushes to the cabinet and grabs the first aid kit, yanking it open with such haste that the flimsy plastic cracks and breaks under his touch. He rummages through the supplies, pulling out a needle and thread, as well as a travel size bottle of antiseptic.

“You’re gonna need stitches,” he explains. “This is going to hurt a lot.” He looks at me sympathetically, then guides my head to lean on his shoulder. “Bite down, it’ll help with the pain.”

I nod my head against his broad shoulder, trying to distract myself from the anticipation and anxiety riddling my mind. I can feel the nausea building in my stomach. I barely register his arms moving behind my head with precision as he threads the needle.

“Take a deep breath,” he orders.

I do as he says, attempting to control my breathing. The needle enters my sensitive skin, it feels like searing hot pain as he drags it through to the other side of the injury, pulling the thread taught. I can’t stop the scream that rips through my body. My wings tense up and fan out, trying to escape the pain.

“Shh, I'll make it quick,” he assures me, running a soothing hand down the feathers of my wings. The feeling it leaves is a pleasant surprise of soothing pleasure. I’m thankful for the contrast in sensations that temporarily distracts me from the searing pain.

I screw my eyes shut and bite down on his shoulder hard enough that I probably broke skin through his shirt as he continues to stitch me up. I sob in his arms, my tears stain his signature red flannel, but I'm too far gone to care.

When the stitches are finished he opens the bottle of antiseptic and pours a bit onto the wound. It should hurt like hell, but at this point my body is too tired to even register the burn.

“All done.” He strokes my hair, letting me rest my head on him for as long as I need. “You made it sweetheart.” He places a tender kiss on the top of my head. “Let me get you cleaned up.”

I lean back, a disheveled mess, allowing him to stand up.

He grabs a fresh towel from the closet, running it under the tap until it's soaked in clean water. He takes a seat behind me, tucking his knees on either side of me and tenderly touches the rag to the bloodied area around the wound.

I hiss at the contact, it stings, but I bite my lip and let him work.

Carefully, he drags the towel down each feather, mopping up the crimson mess that paints my damaged wings like a gruesome crime scene. He takes his time, working his way from the top to the bottom til the feathers are nearly clean, leaving just a tint of pink behind. Without exchanging any words, he runs his fingers through the soft plumage, correcting the placement of the messy crooked ones until they lay neatly.

I can’t stop myself from sighing at his touch. His fingers radiate pleasure throughout my wings.

“Gorgeous,” he mutters under his breath, placing a soft kiss between my shoulder blades.

“Th- thank you Dean,” I whisper, turning my head back to look at him, but still feeling a twinge of doubt.

“Don’t mention it, sweetheart,” he replies, his voice sweet and caring. He takes the excess of medical wrap and carefully wraps the cloth around the stitches, biting off the end with his teeth and tucking it away securely. He stands up and plops the dirty towel in the sink and washes away the blood that soaks his hands until the water runs clear, drying them on the sides of his jeans. Turning back to me, he lifts me off the floor like I weigh nothing to him and brings me to my bed, carefully laying me on the mattress, being mindful of my butchered wing. He scoots in next to me, pulling me close and wrapping his arm around my waist.

I rest my head on his chest, the rise and fall of his breathing instantly calm me.

“Why?” is all he can say.

The question hangs in the air as I scramble for the right thing to say, but it’s difficult to explain.

“I tried to get rid of them. I had too,” I try to explain, but the words become lost in translation. “I’m tired of being a freak…” I say in a hushed tone.

“You’re not a freak Y/N.” His hands wander to my wings, carefully tracing each feather. “You’re beautiful,” he coos. “Promise me you’ll never do this again,” he says in a more serious tone, his eyes brimming with tears.

I falter for a moment, the thought of living like this for the rest of my miserable life leaves me feeling sick. But, perhaps one day I could also learn to love the wings that Dean finds so utterly beautiful.

“Promise,” I reply, tucking my cozying my head into his chest and wrapping a damaged wing around us.

He strokes my hair and I melt into his touch.

Despite the disaster I had just subjected us too, I feel protected in his arms, like nothing could ever hurt me.

“Sleep” He whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

And with that I drift off into a peaceful slumber, thankful for the safe haven that is Dean Winchester.

Series Masterlist

Full Masterlist

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #lucifer x reader #supernatural fanfic #slow burn #supernatural fanfiction #choices #dean x reader #love triangle #lucifer #lucifer supernatural #lucfier x reader supernatural #spn fanfic #supernatural #supernatural reader insert

112 notes · View notes

steddieas-shegoes · 5 months

Text

this vamp bites

it's time for weekly fic recs! am i ignoring responsibilities to do this? YES! am i happy about that? YES! every week i post the top 3 (to me) fics from my favorite authors. always check out their masterlists/works because there is always more quality stuff to read! always read the tags first, and remember that being mean to them gets you blocked immediately because it is free to just not say anything at all!

this week the focus is on @t-boyeddie! cj is the absolute king of soft steddie. i don't know anyone else who makes them so, so soft in every version, in every situation. even when there's trouble, they're so soft. they're soft apart, they're soft together, and it's a breath of fresh air to see such lovely things for our boys.

cj's tumblr | cj's ao3

silent spark Rated G | 4,190 words DEMISEXUAL AND DEMIROMANTIC STEVE!!!! It's inspired by Animal Crossing (I am not familiar but I know most people are and will love that) and it's just so cute!!!! Favorite part: Eddie wants to kiss him. This isn't a new development, but it's a thought that's growing more and more persistent the longer he stands and stares, pure longing and want flowing through his veins and making his heart ache. He wishes he could freeze time, just for a moment, to keep this Steve preserved so he can stay this happy forever.

the magic that we'll feel is worth the lifetime Rated M | 7,752 words They're so in LOVE your honor. This tells so much of a story, like truly feels like a 20k fic in under 8k. It's beautiful and really showcases the love that they have for each other with a hint of spice. Favorite part: “I lov-” Before he can finish, Eddie pulls him into his arms and Steve clings to his back, hands fisting in his letterman as he cries into his neck, shoulders shaking. Eddie’s holding him tight and rubbing his back, swaying gently like he’s rocking him. He can feel the breath of his words in his ear but he can’t hear him over the music. Eddie must realize that because he pushes Steve back a bit, and he sees the tears in Eddie’s own eyes, along with the softest smile he’s ever given him.

constant, pleasure Rated E | 3,003 words It's rare that CJ explores smut, but when he does *joseph quinn blowing into mic emoji*. Also Appalachian Eddie lives on and in this house we love and respect Appalachian Eddie. Favorite part: LITERALLY THE ENTIRE THING. But I will say, Eddie calling Steve 'Dove' sent me through quite a comical physical reaction.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #fic recs #send all the love to cj

55 notes · View notes

ghcstao3 · 11 months

Note

hi, hope you're well! so today I was thinking (bc ofc my brain's natural reaction is to lunge viciously for the hurt/comfort), what if the '09 game events still happened? Like, instead of AUs (where timelines branch off from a single event), it's a glitch in the timeline? So you have the '22 version of the 141 doing their thing, but they have nightmares & deja vu stemming from the '09 stuff. Cue (yes I'm shipping) SoapGhost where Ghost has all these bad feelings concerning Shepherd plus he has awful nightmares about burning & Soap's there to comfort him, but he's afraid that they're all losing it bc he keeps having similar dreams concerning how he dies--

i am well ty! hope u are as well!

anyway i tried my Best. however u may (will) have to pretend 22 141 doesnt know shepherd was part of the betrayal bc uhhh yeah👍🙂👍 also cw for kinda graphic desc of ghost’s nightmares

Soap couldn’t pinpoint when the dreams started, or why, for that matter—but what he does know is that it’s pure and utter torment.

It’s a unique fear that festers in their wake, in cold sweat and heart palpitations. It’s spine-chilling in a way Soap has never experienced, because while he’s confident he’s looked death in the eyes on too many occasions, never has he actually died.

But his dreams, these dreams—they tell him otherwise. And he isn’t the only one, either.

Gaz and Price have started to look just as sleepless. And Ghost—Soap has never seen him so afraid. When, for the first time in weeks, Soap sees his face, it’s harrowed. Haunted.

There’s a sense of familiarity that’s brought along with Soap’s dreams; explosions, gunfire, dilapidated buildings and someone screaming his name. His brain supplies him with the knowledge that it’s Price, but it isn’t, not really. At least, not how he knows Price. He feels old wounds tearing open and a searing pain in his side as his body is drained of far too much blood, and Price—not his Price—is shaking him. Begging.

In the end, it just makes sense to Soap. To die in the field. But the dream is too visceral to feel anything but real, and he starts to wonder just when he’d begun to deserve these sorts of taunts.

Gaz says his own nightmares are blunt, but just as violent. As fiery. Price doesn’t say anything, but there’s a new sunken quality to the bags under his eyes, and he just looks at his team so different, with a tortured gaze and a regret so profound he doesn’t seem to understand it himself.

Finally, Soap thinks, their mental states have deteriorated beyond repair. Until, in his arms, Ghost is screaming his throat raw in his sleep, a wail only ever sounded by those trekking their way through hell. Soap’s heard it before, from others, in their final moments, but never from the living.

And that’s when Soap begins to understand that these aren’t just some dreams, but some distant reality he hopes to never face.

Soap gently coaxes Ghost from his slumber, cutting through nightmare and imagination and whatever horrible thing could have Ghost in such pain. His face wets with tears as he slowly wakes, clinging to Soap like a child might to their mother’s leg in an indescribable fear. Ghost has never seemed so small.

“It’s not just you,” Soap whispers. He presses a kiss to Ghost’s temple, pulls the man closer. “Tell me what happened.”

As Ghost gradually forces out the words Soap begins to feel sick, nauseated not only by their contents but by the knowledge that Ghost had just lived through it, but he never lets go. Never asks for Ghost to stop speaking, just listens. Listens even as something gnaws away at his gut, as bile climbs his throat.

Hot, Ghost says. It was hot. A bullet had been lodged somewhere in his body but it didn’t matter—it was hot. He’d claw off his skin to get rid of the heat if it weren’t already melting flesh from muscle, from bone. Clothes and gear meld with his corpse and he feels it all, feels the bubbling, smells the burning, senses the way parts of his body slough off into ash.

He’s reaching for someone, and there’s the itch of betrayal, and a voice in his ear that he knows, instinctually, is Price, but there isn’t anything more he can do than lie there and accept his fate as his fleeting thoughts pester him about everything he’d done wrong. About everything he could’ve done—should’ve done to save… to save—

“I know his name,” Ghost murmurs, “but I also don’t. And I—“

“Don’t dwell on it, Simon,” Soap advises. “Please.”

Ghost shakes his head against Soap’s shoulder. “I can’t just—it’s not something I can forget, Johnny. Not when it keeps happening.”

“But you can,” Soap pleads. A terrible sense of dread has befallen him, growing in intensity and insistence. Something isn’t right, but he doesn’t know if he wants to find out just what. “We all can.”

Ghost is silent a moment. Shifts somehow closer to Soap. Soap can hear him thinking.

“I don’t know if we should be trusting Shepherd,” he finally says.

Soap’s face pinches in a tight frown. It seems such a random topic for this hour, after such terror. “Why?”

Ghost shrugs. “Can’t explain it. Gut feeling. Could be wrong, but—“

“When are you ever?” It’s meant to be teasing, but Soap does trust Ghost’s judgement more than anyone, perhaps even more than his own. Ghost just nods and clings ever tighter until his breathing evens out and tense muscles go lax.

Soap can’t find it in himself to fall back asleep.

Instead, he begins to wonder just how true these nightmares hold. And he begins to question how exactly Shepherd may fit into all of it.

Unfortunately, though, he supposes, there’s only one way to find out.

#ask #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #soap mw2 #ghost mw2 #soapghost #ghostsoap #writing #drabble #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price

136 notes · View notes

darkcircles4lyfe · 3 months

Note

hi hello ive just come from your enneagram 9 izuku post and i am just OVERWHELMED with joy & excitement after reading it, everything you said just feels so RIGHT!!

(i am a nine myself & have always felt weirdly attached to izuku in that he felt soso similar to me in such a weirdly specific way but i couldn't really explain why i just Got Him until now, so thanks for that little boost of validation lol)

with your post in mind, i couldn't stop thinking about this line from 412 and it got me curious if you had any additional thoughts on it/read it the same way i did:

the moment i read this line i immediately took a screenshot & filed it away in my Important Izuku Moments file, like idk! the wording of it, the way he's talking about shigaraki but could SO easily be talking about himself, that honestly devastating panel of the tears in his eyes...

we've gotten plenty of hints about izuku's emotional suppression (that 'heroes dont cry' scene with iida & todoroki, his flashback of all might telling him to 'stop being such a cry baby' during the afo fight, the whole 'control your heart' plotline...) but THIS line in particular feels so significant for some reason. maybe cause this could easily be izuku recognizing himself in/through shigaraki? maybe bc it is so close to izuku acknowledging the lid hes put on his own sad & lonely past? maybe bc this is the closest we've ever gotten to izuku saying i'm not okay, even if he isn't actually talking about himself yet?

im trying really hard not to ramble too much in your inbox lol, but everything you said in your post about tomura & izuku really hit home for me, i think you're so right about them. and this line in particular is what makes me think we really are going to see some version of tomura being the one to finally break through (Decay) izuku's emotional blocks & barriers (something something locked door imagery), and that just makes me really excited. for both of them :')

YAY!! I’m so glad to hear you resonated with it. It’s otherwise a bit of a “if you know you know” sort of situation, and it felt good to actually explain it.

I had a “!” moment with that panel too, and also when he says he’s determined to break through Tomura’s barrier, expose and acknowledge his pain.

My immediate thought was, “Oh hey, I’m definitely not making this shit up after all, because Horikoshi is obviously intending to confront the concept of bottling up your emotions/your past. He literally just stated it. We're on the same page.” While it didn’t directly confirm anything about Izuku, it's at least something he is aware of, which is an important first step. There's a line in Sleeping At Last's 'Nine' that I was thinking about a lot as I was writing the latter part of that post: "I'm just trying to find myself through someone else's eyes," which speaks to a need for Tomura to be Izuku's mirror, so that he can see himself.

Also, the revelation that Izuku is clinging to the idea that everyone has a "human heart" deep down is pretty clearly applicable to himself too, implying that he's dealing with a lack of self worth (a lot of Japanese fans were talking about this, and I think it doesn't come across as easily in English). I really love how Kudou clarified that Izuku is not naive for this. It's not the same as being blissfully ignorant to how cruel people can be. It's more like, "I need to believe in the worth of others or else I can't believe in myself." That's... so painful and beautiful.

I'm also excited for what comes next! Very soon!

#asks #lin answers #bnha manga #boku no hero acedamia #my hero academia #mha #midoriya izuku #shigaraki tomura #bnha 412

30 notes · View notes

yanderes-galore · 5 days

Note

Hello! May I please request 9, 15, and 20 prompts by for an-ambivalent Aegon II Targaryen, thank you! :)

Omg, you're giving me an excuse to write pathetic Aegon II? Of course I will. For context, you two are both married. I'd break him. Let's be honest, this is more self-indulgent than yandere... and I am not guilty.

There's two ways I could've done this. This version... and Aegon having a mental breakdown the moment you try to leave him. So maybe, as I don't want to scrap this one, I'll make two versions in the future :) The second option is more yandere so I may write both sometime later. This is submissive Aegon, the other one would be more dominant Aegon.

Prompts Here

Version B

Yandere Aegon II Targaryen Prompts 9, 15, 20 (Version A)

"I will never let you leave me."

"Submit yourself wholly and only to me."

"You are the reason I live."

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Clingy behavior, Manipulation, Possessive behavior, Desperate/Pathetic Aegon, Mature themes, Mentioned intimacy, Kissing, Controlling behavior, Implied dominant darling, Soft yandere, Dubious relationship.

Aegon was not really known for being devoted to anyone. Many knew him as a hedonistic prince and king, plus if you asked The Blacks they'd say he was a usurper to the Iron Throne. Not many saw him as responsible or dedicated.

While Aegon did in fact sleep around due to his hedonistic desires, there was only one person who truly held his heart. Aegon may be able to pull whoever he wants when he wants... but there's only one he always returns to. It was as though they had him on a tight lead...

That person was you, his spouse, the one he truly loved most.

All it took was your sweet words and touch to send him to his knees. It was almost amusing. He's a king, one meant to rule all the realms, and yet you're capable of making him dependent on you. Everything from your smile to your taste was enough to drive the king into addiction.

Aegon couldn't bear the thought of living without you, his precious spouse. In private. he clings to you like some neglected child. Perhaps that is due to him actually being neglected in his childhood.

With you, Aegon felt genuine love... genuine connection... and he'd never share it with another soul. You two were bound by marriage. Even though he knew you could never leave him, that you wouldn't, he still feared the thought.

You could read him like a book, the man was a mess when it came to you in private. Like now, you sat with him in your shared bed. The king held you close like he'd lose you if he didn't... who knows what the public would think if they saw him now.

"I love you..." He whispers softly, leaning in as you cup his face with a smile. Even if he goes off on hedonistic trips... you're still the only one who can make him feel vulnerable. He used to hate such a feeling... but now it feels... comforting.

"You are the reason I live." Aegon whispers the words in a desperate tone, leaning close and kissing your lips. The king huffs in annoyance when you pull away, a grin on your face. In response he cups your cheeks to kiss you again.

For the most part, your relationship was mutual. You originally did not enjoy being married to the king. He was a hedonistic brat, one who felt entitled to anything he wishes.

However... with time... you adapted to such a role...

Allowing you to make him crave you... and give you the control you yearned for.

"Can you... promise me something...?" Aegon whispers once pulling away, eyes glimmering in desire when he looks at you. You look at him and hold his chin.

"Yes, my husband?" You whisper in his ear, seeing the king shudder at your breath.

"I want you to submit yourself wholly and only to me." Aegon whispers, pulling you closer. "I want you to promise you won't run, to promise you won't abandon your king."

You can see desperation glint in his eyes. His gaze is dark, pondering the idea of you indeed leaving him. Despite this... you manage to distract him once again with a kiss on the forehead.

"Then I promise." You whisper back. You knew the dark desires your husband had. You knew he would level villages if it meant keeping you beside him. You liked that power... so you'd use the king regardless of if you loved him or not.

"Really?" He asks you, appearing to wonder if you genuinely loved him.

"Of course, Aegon." You answer, nuzzling yourself into his chest.

Aegon goes quiet for a moment, looking at you before smiling softly. The dark glint is still in his eyes but you knew that was just how he was. Aegon was always possessive of what was his.

"Good..." The king hums, flipping you so you are under him. "Because I will never let you leave me."

You merely nod and hold the king close, allowing him to melt into your arms. The idea of bringing a king to his knees makes you... pleased.

You liked the feeling of control... you both even got what you wanted...

He wanted you... and you wanted power.

#yandere house of the dragon #yandere hotd #yandere asoiaf #yandere aegon ii targaryen

20 notes · View notes

viviennevermillion · 2 years

Text

Comforting him after his Overblot

notes: reposting bc I’m deleting my archived sideblogs

contains: vil schoenheit x gn!reader

warnings: none

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry”, Vil Schoenheit had told you. And you wanted to believe his words that night in the Ramshackle kitchen after the VDC team had found Ace Trappola and Deuce Spade paralyzed in the lounge and later witnessed a fight between Vil and Epel. The Pomefiore dorm leader seemed rather irritated lately and you couldn’t help but notice how silent he became every time Neige Leblanche was brought up. But being around Vil long enough you knew how responsible the blonde was. You trusted him to take care of himself and make sure he wouldn’t do anything stupid. Oh how wrong you were…

Your heart had been beating faster and you were on edge from the moment you saw his reaction to Neige’s performance. Something was up. Considering that Kalim and especially Rook noticed how the atmosphere had changed you were genuinely worried.

Still the anxious and uncertain feelings in your chest couldn’t compare to the dread of actually seeing him overblot. “Don’t look at me like this! I wanted to be the most beautiful in the world, so why am I so ugly?!”, you heard him yell, his voice cracking. You wanted to tell him it wasn’t true, just like Rook and Kalim did. You wanted to shout at him he was the most beautiful person you had ever laid eyes on but your voice was stuck in your throat.

It was like the world had stopped for a moment when you saw how his appearance had changed when he overblotted. Your mind was filled with a mix of terror, sadness and a nauseating panic. Kalim had to shout at you multiple times to snap you out of it; grabbing your arm and dragging you along as you ran outside to meet up with the others.

The fight to take him down was long and painful. Your vision was blurry from the tears you had cried and it was hard to raise your magical pen against the man you loved, but it was for his own good. You’d do whatever you could to bring him back to his senses, even if it’d take all energy you had left. You were sick of seeing this distorted version of him; sick of seeing him so sad and broken. You remembered his beautiful smile that you could never get enough of and you promised to yourself you would see it again. Yet as determined as you were to knock some sense into him, you were shaken to your core about the possibility of losing Vil. He was in mortal danger if he stayed in overblot any longer so you couldn’t remember ever feeling this relieved when it was finally over.

Which brought you to where you were now: Standing in front of the VDC stage in ruins; clinging to Kalim for support, who was also crying, while Rook kneeled next to a still unconscious Vil and performed a healing spell to stabilize the model as best as he could.

You had somewhat calmed down but Vil finally waking up made you break out into tears again. You let go of your friend and made your way over to Vil, kneeling down beside him as well and helping him to sit up with Rook. You were careful not to hurt him with any of your touches and your heart broke a little when he groaned and coughed weakly, trying to get a grip of his surroundings.

“I have shown you guys my ugliest appearance…”, he had said.

“Vil Schoenheit, you call yourself ugly ONE MORE TIME and I’m going to overblot”, you fussed over him, carefully removing several strands of his hair from his face. He gave you a weak but gentle smile that made your heart beat faster. Dammit y/n this really isn’t the time to gush over him and get all weak in the knees. But you were used to it. Vil never failed to leave you breathless solely by being himself and make you question whether he was even real. You couldn’t have imagined ever falling in love as much as you had fallen for Vil.

You had gotten rather close to him during your time at NRC; considering him one of your most treasured friends. But as easily as you had developed feelings for him; you doubted whether he would actually end up returning your feelings. For now you were just glad you could see him smile again.

Between the time when Epel lectured him with his own words about “tantrums being for 3 year olds”, the conversation about Deuce’s unique magic and Malleus Draconia unexpectedly fixing the VDC stage you didn’t have much time to talk to Vil about what happened

That changed when you guided him to his backstage room so he could fix his appearance and rest a bit so he would be ready to perform later.

“Oh no”, you heard him mumble once he actually looked into a mirror. His hair was all messed up and his eye make-up was smeared across his face. “Relax, you’re still beautiful”, you chuckled, gesturing him to sit down in a chair. “Those words bring me no comfort”, he sighed.

You reached for the make-up remover. “I can do that myself”, he insisted, trying to grab it from your hands when he flinched and clutched his side from the damage he had taken during the fight. “Yeah, I see how you can do that yourself”, you rolled your eyes, gently removing the smeared eyeshadow and mascara from his soft skin. Vil relaxed into your touch, closing his eyes and resting in silence for a while.

After his face was clean, you began to reapply his make-up. You knew his routine like the back of your hand by now, having seen it many times whenever he was preparing for an event or when the two of you went to the bathroom in between breaks so he could fix any inconsistencies in his make-up (let’s just assume it’s either the men’s bathroom if you’re male or they have gender neutral bathrooms over there). You would lean against the white walls, watching Vil put mascara onto his lashes while he ranted about the way Crewel would talk to his students.

“I suppose I became everything I never wanted to be”, Vil’s voice, slightly cracking, brought you back from your trip down memory lane. He was softly biting his lip, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “Maybe that’s all people will ever see in me. A villain.”

“No….no, Vil”, you insisted, gently placing a hand onto his cheek, wiping a tear away with your thumb and resisting the urge to put a kiss onto his forehead.

“They were wrong about not giving you a protagonist’s role”, you started to ramble while you tended to his hair, “ever since I’ve started going to school here there are few people who have been as kind, helpful and inspiring as you….I’ve witnessed you do so much good in just this school year alone. You’ve carried the whole Halloween committee on your back, you’ve taught all the dorms how to do make-up for their costumes, you’ve given people so much great advice, you’re always doing your best to make people realize their potential and not to mention you trained this team to the point where they’re capable of doing a professional and excellent performance when some of them were amateurs when we started. Really I can’t think of any hero qualities you wouldn’t have. You’re a hero to me, this team and our school. People have faith in you. We’ve lost against Royal Sword Academy so many times, our students are proud that you’re leading this team. They feel like we’re finally going to win something. You’re a good person and lashing out one time because of emotions you’ve held in for years won’t change that, no matter what people have seen you as in the past and whether or not anyone would condemn you if they saw what happened today.”

Vil was speechless about what you had said. He got compliments from people all over the internet every day but few words of affirmation he received were as heartfelt and genuine as these. Being reassured that he was capable of being a hero and that people could see him that way made him happy. You could see a faint blush appear on his cheeks as he looked up to you and smiled.

Once his make-up and hair was as good as new, he inspected his reflection in a full length mirror. “For as long as I’ve known, Neige was always chosen instead of me”, he sighed, “people see what I’m capable of but I suppose I’m not as cute or loveable as Neige.” It wasn’t insecurity speaking, those were the words that producers had always rather associated with Neige than him. To some extent he could understand why, yet it still was unfair that he had the necessary skills to play a great variety of roles and wasn’t given the opportunity to show them.

“You are. Otherwise I wouldn’t love you, now, would I?”, you sighed, giving him a soft smile, “after all that happened today you might as well know.”

Vil stared at you in surprise. You…loved him? Even after what he almost did? Even after he had shown you the worst side of him? He was left speechless and his eyes had widened but he quickly regained his composure.

“Ara ara, I didn’t know you were that fond of me~”, he gave you a teasing grin.

His expression then softened and he pulled you into his chest, gently wrapping his arms around you and resting his head on top of yours.

You leaned your cheek against him and were caressing his back with your fingertips and closed your eyes, enjoying the embrace while it lasted.

Vil gently lifted your chin with his hand and moved his face closer to yours. “May I?”, he asked quietly. You nodded and not soon after that Vil’s lips met yours.

It was everything you had ever dreamed it would be. It felt a bit like a weight was taken off you when you finally kissed the person you adored and loved so much.

Vil’s kiss was slow and passionate, his tongue gently caressing yours while his hand was placed on your cheek. You could feel he poured so much emotion and care into the kiss. He hadn’t told you yet whether he returned your feelings but you knew him well and you trusted him. He wouldn’t kiss you if he didn’t at least feel something for you. He was probably just overwhelmed from all that had happened and didn’t have the capacity to evaluate your relationship now with the VDC still ahead of him.

But for a moment he could forget all of that. He could forget his problems and that he just overblotted and that he might lose again to Neige. For now he could just lose himself in your kiss while you were holding him close to you.

You made sure to enjoy every second of it, being glad to feel that he was here with you, well and alive, after being so worried about him earlier. It reminded you just how much he meant to you and how you would make sure to never lose him again. A single tear rolled down your cheek as you deepened the kiss and gently ran your fingers through the violet ends of his hair.

“I thought I’d lose you”, you whispered after you seperated your lips from his. Vil placed a few small kisses onto your lips before he answered. “I apologize for that”, he said with his usual tone of professionalism in his voice, “perhaps I could make it up to you some time by taking you out for dinner.” You smiled as he leaned his forehead against yours. “I would love that.”

“I suppose we’ll have to reapply my lipstick”, he grinned and reached for his small make-up bag but not before giving you a few more pecks on your lips and cheeks. Unbeknownst to you, Vil’s heart was fluttering from the kiss and he was looking forward to holding you in his arms again after VDC would be over.

You went on to fix some of his nails which had gotten damaged in the fight, with Vil occasionally complaining and reminding you not to accidentally paint his skin as well. “I’ll smear it across your face if you keep going like this”, you jokingly said.

Once you were done with his nails you pressed a kiss to his knuckles.

“I could get used to this”, he gave you his teasing smile.

“Thank you again for putting up with my tantrum and for supporting me like this”, he said and gave you an acknowledging nod, looking a lot more calm and balanced than he had before. Vitality had returned to his features and he looked ready to steal the show at the VDC.

“No problem”, you replied, holding his hand in your own, “after all I still want to see the fairest one of all perform.”

Vil gave you a loving smile, feeling happy after knowing you considered him to be the most beautiful.

He gave you one last hug before you set off to meet the others at the stage, giving Vil some time alone to make some last preparations for his performance.

“Y/n?”, you heard him ask. “Hmm?”, you turned around in the doorframe, looking at him curiously. Vil looked back at you with a sweet and thankful expression. “I love you too.”

#twisted wonderland #vil schoenheit x you #vil schoenheit headcanons #vil schoenheit x reader #vil schoenheit #twst x reader

310 notes · View notes