#keanu reeves reader insert

[pointbreakvhs]

Blood and Silence

genre : one-shot - hurt/comfort pairing : John Wick x female reader notes : first time writing him so I'm testing the waters with a short one-shot I wrote in a rush of inspiration. summary : Bloodied, John Wick cradles your face, his gaze raw and unguarded in a fleeting moment of quiet.

John Wick plunged his dark eyes into yours, his gaze usually cold and unreadable seemed raw and deep. Almost vulnerable at that instant. His strong hands that usually killed were delicately cradling your worried face, his thumb stroking the soft skin of your cheek as if you were something fragile, something precious. A long heavy silence stretched between you. As if he was afraid to break you. Your glassy eyes settled on the droplets of blood on his face and you blinked, lips parted. Did you need to say anything? With him, you knew you didn’t have to. The gesture felt almost intimate coming from him, a man who lived in shadows and violence. Your heart raced, not from fear, but from the intensity of his gaze. This was a side of him few ever saw; raw, unguarded, and human. His thumb stilled on your cheek, and for a moment, the world outside ceased to exist.

“You’re safe now…” He uttered, voice deep, genuine and echoing faintly in the hollow space of the church.

Your heart was hammering in your chest,a chaotic mix of adrenaline and relief. The memory of bloodshed that took place before still lingered but his presence, his touch, anchored you. You searched his eyes, seeing not just the killer, but the man beneath. The man who had risked everything for you.

"John…" you whispered, your voice trembling but soft. Almost like a prayer. His name was all you could manage, but it carried everything you couldn’t say. Your fear, your gratitude, your unspoken feelings.

His gaze softened, just for a moment, and he leaned in, his forehead gently resting against yours. The warmth of his breath mingled with yours, and for the first time since this nightmare began, you felt safe. Truly safe.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Always.”

[ficsbb]

Moments with John Wick II

》 Pairing: Loving!John Wick x Reader

》 Warnings: pet names, gross misconduct of lovey doviness

》 Word Count: 1.3k+

Part 1

Note: I've been overthinking about these snippets for too long, so here I go, I release them! 🤭 Enjoy! Apologies for any error in tense use, spelling, grammar etc. Credit to @toastray for the cute dividers!

It was hard at first, getting to know him better. You could feel the heaviness of his grief all around him. It was in everything he looked at and everything he touched, lingering in doorways after he'd walk through. He knew you could see it. It was all in your eyes and how you interacted with him during moments the sadness gathered in his throat.

“I'm okay,” he says, “I promise.” You put your hand on his cheek and nod.

"I know."

He doesn't know what it is with your touch, but it unravels that monstrous grief with ease. You watch him close his eyes briefly and bring your palm to his lips, letting out a sigh, followed by a kiss.

“You save me.” It's genuine, and every part of you knows it's true. There's been a lingering doubt with others, but never with him. When John tells you this, time and time again, it makes you feel lighter and warm.

“What do you think?” You're leafing through a pamphlet for a train vacation. It's not something you would have expected John would like. In fact, you were the one more inclined to do something like this.

“When are you thinking?” He lets out a sigh of relief, happy that you're interested at least. He's waiting for you to spot the destination on the trip he circled, the one he knows you've always wanted to go on. John pauses, waits a moment and then sees your eyes glow.

You look up at him, “Is that the one we're going on?” He nods. “Like, we're actually going, for real?” You watch as he laughs, head tipped back and adam's apple moving slightly. It warms you up just as a nice cup of hot chocolate always does.

“What about work?” John shakes his head, knowing you'd ask.

“I can work anywhere, but I'm taking a full break for the trip. I don't want to miss a moment with you.” He watches your eyes flutter, your breathing change. For a second he's worried he said the wrong thing. He worries about that all the time, but when you pull him into a tight hug, arms around his middle, he feels that pull of the string. The way it snaps straight from the center of his chest to yours and he wonders if you can feel it too.

“Thank you, John. Thank you.”

“You never have to thank me, beautiful.”

A phone call comes through in the middle of the night. It startles you awake and you feel John put his arm over you. He knows when your nervousness or anxiety is heightened more than usual. It didn't take long for him to notice your mannerisms when you're under stress while you've been together. These things were part of his work and work has had some ways of bleeding through. Whether it was through his clothes or in the ways he could keep you safe, it bleeds through.

“Is everything okay?” You ask, voice laced in sleep. You rub at his arm as he pats your stomach a couple times before he sits up. Your eyes are adjusted to the dark as you sit up with him, watching his hand sift through his hair. He hates these moments. Similar conversations come to mind, blurred and racing as the quiet around you both becomes deafening.

“A job. I have to go.” 

“Oh.”

“I know.” 

He hates these moments. He hates the way your sleep is interrupted and the sadness so easily conveyed in the ‘oh’s’, ‘right now?’, ‘when will you be home?’ gnaws at him. 

“I'll have to be on a plane soon.” You nod, quiet, rubbing at your arm. Self soothing. John turns over to look at you and it doesn't get any easier for him when he sees that shimmer of tears gloss your eyes.

“Come here, sweetheart.” You take a deep breath to brace yourself and get out of bed to go to his side. He leans back slightly as you stand between his legs, both hands on either side of his face. His eyes close. You know he loves when you do this. It calms the both of you down in a way and any chance to touch him is a chance you'll grab at greedily.

“How long will this one take?” 

“Not long. A couple of days.” You kiss his forehead as he pulls you in closer. When he rests his head on your chest, he can hear your heartbeat. It's a little fast, but it's comforting. It's a song to him, the melody striking and forceful always swallowing him up. As he pulls back, he looks up at you and wipes at the rest of the tears you seem to have messily swept away.

“How about you come with me?” 

“Is that allowed?” You're genuinely surprised since he's never asked. John tells you very little about these things, hoping that sparing you details will keep you safe.

“I'm allowing it.” A rush of heat goes to your cheeks and he smiles when that twinkle is back in your eyes.

“May I kiss you?” He pulls you both into bed so you're lying down again.

“I'll allow that too.” You laugh, and he kisses you.

You slam the back door behind you and walk purposefully to the shed. It's a crisp and foggy evening. You've left John in the house somewhere, calling after you.

“Fucker,” you say under your breath, exasperated. He knows you hate big gatherings being popped up on you. While it's exhilarating being at his side at events, it also comes with your own anxieties about being seen. Apart from that, you've already made plans with close friends that you hadn't seen in a long time and it makes you angry that he's forgotten again.

“I'm sorry.” His voice startles you a bit, your thoughts swirling in an irritated bubble around you. John's voice always breaks through. You grab a bag of dirt to prep for the plants in your greenhouse.

“I'm sorry,” he says again, his voice closer than before. You sigh and pause scooping the dirt from the bag into your own mixture.

“I hate this.”

“I know, I'm sorry. I really am.” You continue what you're doing, preferring to stay quiet instead of saying something you'll regret later on. It's not long before John is right next to you, bringing his sleeves up and mixing the dirt by hand. It softens you up. The sight of him helping you always has really, and it makes you smile despite yourself.

“I can do it, John.” 

“I know you can. Let me.” You stop what you're doing and watch his hands. Watch how they sift through the dirt like he was mixing butter into a short puff pastry. So delicate and without any thought, just as natural to him as it is to breathe. John can see you from the corner of his eye. You've seemingly forgotten the mixing altogether and are leaning closer, almost shoulder to shoulder. 

“I like being here with you,” he starts, taking a used rag nearby to wipe his hands, “I can lose my focus and it doesn't cost me a life. It feels freeing.”

“I didn't know that.” You move things out of the way, cleaning as you go.

“Well, I know this is your space to get away so I try not to barge in.” He wipes some dirt from the tip of your nose.

“I always love when you're here with me.”

“Even if I upset you by being a dumb, forgetful man?” He sort of pouts and a giggle bubbles out of you. John smiles, hoping to hear that sound every moment of his life. He finds a wayward hair falling out of place and tucks it behind your ear.

“I love you.” 

“I love you too.” He pulls you into him, enveloping you completely. There's nothing else for you to do but fall in deep, deeper still. The smell of him calming all of your senses and somehow, some way you feel that peaceful quiet making you sleepy.

“How about this? We go inside, warm up with some hot chocolate and put on a spooky movie.” 

“Yes, please.” You say, taking his hand and following him back to the house.

You’ve never been one to push him on expressing his feelings. You learned quickly that John would come to on his own, as did you whether you realized it or not. It took an accident, a simple fall really. You were out on a walk and something struck you in how these tiny flowers, or weeds, really, stuck out from the side of the road you were walking on. The Sun shining pointedly at them and they seemed to have pointedly been reaching out to you. John had a meeting to take somewhere in town even though it was supposed to be your vacation together, so as soon as you woke in the morning to find him gone and a beautiful note at your bedside, a walk was due.

You only meant to pick a few to press when you got back to the rental, but before you knew it, your ankle rolled and you found yourself tumbling in the ditch. It wasn’t deep or far off at all, but when John found out, you might as well have fallen straight to the Earth’s core.

“You should’ve waited until I got back,” he started, pacing in the hospital room. The nurse was tending to your ankle, gently. “What if you got really hurt? How would I have known?”

“I was clumsy. I can be clumsy, John. I’m okay.”

“And if you weren’t?”

“Then I wouldn’t be.”

For some reason, that stops him. You still wonder what it was you said that calmed him down, but you remember him kneeling down in front of you and softly, deftly, taking your sprained ankle into his hands. You were going to stop him from unraveling the nurses' handiwork, but stop yourself and let him, curious. He looks you over, careful not to cause any pain or discomfort, and wraps it back better than it just had been.

“You’re okay.” You nodded, understanding what he needed at that moment. He sighed heavily, looking up at you and saying, "Getting that call scared me. I don’t want you getting hurt ever again.” And there it was.

“I can’t promise that.” You both laughed quietly. He placed a kiss on your ankle and stood up.

“I know, but do it anyway. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

You'll never forget that look in his eyes. Brown eyes, matching yours, shimmering with so much love. You swore in that moment that if you had reached out to put your hand on his chest, your hearts beating would be indistinguishable from the other. Not a single wave, lurch, or pulse different in any way. How curious all of this was. How lovely. How lucky.

"I promise, John." You remember saying again and he kissed you. A soft and sweet kiss that always lingers, still.

[casuallyobssessed]

Is it heaven up there? — John Constantine x Fem!Reader ❥ 1k words

A/N: Hiiii, here's my first Constantine fic :3c thank you to @opheliainlove42 for proof reading for me!! 🫶🏻

Warnings: P in V sex, Oral (m receiving)/Blow job, no use of y/n, smoke/cigarettes

Archive of Our Own Link

You told him you'd help with anything. You meant it. Even when it’s quiet. Even when it hurts. Even when he pretends it doesn’t.

The orangey glow from flickering lamps is your indication that it's over. When John comes back to himself, sweat beads trickle down his face as he catches his breath. These Hell sessions always take it out of him. You kneel before him, settling between his spread legs, ready and willing to help him with whatever he needs. Sometimes it's food, sometimes it's a cigarette, sometimes he needs nothing but reassurance that he's not alone. He'd never admit that last one to you, though. 

This time, it seems like he has a rather different, pressing need. You’re eye-level with the unmistakable bulge in his pants. You feel your cheeks getting hot and you look up at him. After all, you did promise him you'd be here to help with anything. 

He meets your eyes, then looks down to the bulge in his pants, and right back up at you. You place a hand on his thigh, testing how far he'd let you go. Normally, he'd push you away with a bitter joke, but tonight... something gave.

His breathing slows and he gives you a smirk. Leaning back, he makes a gesture with his hand as if to say “go right ahead.” 

You walk your fingers up his thigh, stopping at his belt buckle. With ease, you undo it, then the button, then the zipper, pulling his pants down just far enough to reach him. You press your palm against the heat of him through his boxers, and as you work to free him, he leans to the side, grabs his cigarette pack from the table, and lights one with a flick of his lighter. Just another one of his filthy habits. 

You ease his cock free from the confines of his boxers, the fabric dragging just slightly against the sensitive skin. You don’t rush. You take him in your hand first, stroking him once, then twice, before leaning in and wrapping your lips around the head.

He groans low, smoke curling around his face as your mouth works him deeper, your tongue tracing along the underside of his shaft. His fingers tangle into your hair, not to control, but to anchor himself.

Then, just when your pace begins to find rhythm, John pulls you off his shaft, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his swollen head. He wipes your mouth with the back of his hand, smearing your spit and his pre-cum across your cheek.

You rise to your feet, stepping in closer as your breath grows heavy. With slow movements, you slide your panties down your thighs and hike your dress up, gathering the fabric around your waist before straddling his lap.

“Let me take care of you, John,” You whisper. 

You carefully notch the head of his cock against your dripping entrance and glance up at him for permission to really do this. He nods and grips your hips as you slowly lower yourself onto him, digging his fingers into your skin hard enough to leave bruises as you take all of his cock in one smooth motion.

“Fuck…” John breathes out, eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head. 

You sigh and still for a moment, adjusting to the feeling of him filling you up perfectly. John looks at you through lidded eyes and groans when you withdraw yourself until just the tip of his cock remains inside of you. You place a kiss on the side of his neck and snap your hips down, burying him deep inside of you. He lets out a growl and you can feel the vibration through his throat against your lips. 

You ride him slow, savoring the stretch of his cock and how he fits like he was made for you. His hands roughly grip your hips, almost too tightly, as if he's using you to remind himself that this is real.

John doesn't say much. He just has a constant low hum in his throat, with the occasional curse mumbled through his gritted teeth. Smoke hisses past the cigarette somehow still hanging from his lips.

He watches you closely as you work your hips up and down. Concentration is heavy on his face, brows drawn together, like he’s trying to memorize the way you feel around him, just in case this is the last time he gets to experience this feeling with someone else. With John, there’s always that chance.

Your fingers curl into his shoulders, and you pick up the pace. His hands slide up your sides, palms brushing your ribs, then drifting down to grip your ass and guide you harder, deeper. He groans, louder this time. It's not performative, but out of desperation. 

“Fuck,” He mutters, “Don't stop.”

You wouldn't dare. 

-

He finishes inside of you with a quiet grunt, burying his face against your chest as you tremble around him. His arms tighten around you, and maybe he forgot that he wasn’t supposed to care like this. This was supposed to be nothing more than body heat and impulse. 

When it's over, he doesn't speak. He reaches for another cigarette and leans back. The ember glows as he takes a deep drag. Above your head, the smoke he exhales hangs in a cloud, kind of like a promise of something unspoken, or maybe a threat. The air is thick with sweat and sex. John looks like he's about to choke. 

You gently touch his arm, “John…”

He flicks ash into the tray. 

“Don’t,” he says, not harshly, just tired, “Whatever you’re gonna say. Just don’t.”

You sit there in silence, but he doesn’t push you away.

After a minute, he sighs and looks up at the ceiling like it might offer him something he needs. Something like redemption or absolution. Avoiding eye contact with you, he stubs the cigarette out.

“You should go,” He says.

But he doesn’t move. He doesn’t stop you when you do.

[monsoonsosoon]

imagine meeting John Wick at a classic car show...

rock music drifts through the crisp air as you stroll amongst the rows of beautiful cars, admiring their gleaming paint jobs, when you spot a particularly eye-catching one parked at the end. it's a grey Mustang, and you're just drawn to it for some reason. it stands out amongst the others

you approach it, in awe at its pristine state. the owner obviously takes great care of it. you lean into the open window, smiling as you take in the gorgeous interior and leather seats. caught up in admiration, you don't notice the handsome older man approaching from behind. the owner of the sports car...john wick.

"like what you see?" a deep voice mutters, startling you. you quickly rise from the window and turn towards the voice.

"oh, I'm sorry sir! I just...really love your car," you say softly, cheeks heating up when you make eye contact with him. wearing a brown leather jacket, a simple black t-shirt, and dark jeans, he looks deliciously rugged.

he chuckles as he leans against his car, looking down at you.

"no worries, I appreciate it. she's my baby," he responds.

"I-it's a Mustang, correct? 1970...?" you ask as you fidget with the hem of your shirt, squirming under his intense gaze.

"close. she's a '69," he replies warmly. you nod in reply, too shy to speak, creating a bit of awkward silence. he digs into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys.

"wanna go for a spin?" he asks, "you seem quite intrigued by her," he says with a small smile.

your eyes widen at the prospect of riding in the beautiful vintage sports car with an even more attractive older man. you bite your lip before nodding excitedly.

"i'd love to...thank you, mister..."

"wick. john wick. But you can just call me john," he replies cooly.

he walks towards the passenger door, pulling it open for you. you give him a shy smile as you settle onto the cozy leather seat. your heart pounds as he walks around the car to the driver's side. you take in his handsome features as he enters, catching a whiff of his alluring cologne.

you blush at his eye contact.

the engine roars to life, and your heart flutters at the powerful vibrations pulsing through the car. you grip the cool metal of the inner door handle, bracing yourself for the ride.

"hold on tight," john utters gruffly as he presses on the gas.

[brookie-kookie1943]

Ocean Man

Johnny Utah x fem!Reader - Fluff

Here’s another self insert about Point Break. Johnny basically asks you to teach him how to surf…

(All of these photos are from Pinterest and Google)

Warnings: Use of y/n, cursing, some inappropriate jokes.

~~~~~~

It’s another hot day in southern California. Waves from the sparkly sea crash onto the shore - narrowly missing the feet of children running around. Some would think the weather was absolutely unbearable. However, surfers like you would be used to such a heat wave.

It seems like even when you’re off work, you can’t escape the ocean. It calls to you like the sirens sailors claim exist. Today was a great day to spend your time surfing by yourself when usually you’d be teaching kids how to. So, you make sure to take one of your favorite boards out; the one with the purple to blue ombré design.

Little did you know that a man was watching you from afar. He was studying you like the federal agent he was. Johnny knew what he was doing was purely for the mission, but that didn’t mean that bikini didn’t remind him of the simple man he was.

Angelo would be pissed if he knew Johnny’s first pick was you. Did he seriously need to choose a hot babe to get closer to finding the Ex-Presidents? The answer to that depends on who you ask. Either way, he had you in his sights, and he was determined to charm you into being his unknowing entrance to the bank robbers.

You rode the waves like the professional you are. Maybe you were showing off a little. After all, you do teach children how to surf like you. Even with knowing that fact - that didn’t stop your buddies from challenging you every time. This afternoon was no different.

Bumping, splashing, distracting - it was the usual with your little group. You walked back onto the beach with your guy friend Grommet, the both of you ready to dry your long hair from all the potential arsenic in the waves.

Johnny made his slow approach towards you, a little mesmerized. There you were. Your hair dripping with salty water, those same droplets gliding down your skin like condensation. You were laughing at whatever Grommet said, not noticing the man in the wetsuit advancing towards you until he was in front of you.

You raised your eyebrow at him - the same questioning and intimidating look you gave to every unknown man that walked up on you. Grommet kind of smirked and turned away, knowing you could handle this. Johnny put on his best smile, holding his hand out for you to shake.

“Hey, the name’s Johnny Utah.” You stared for a moment, an amused smirk on your face. You didn’t make any effort to lift your hand from your side. You hoisted your surfboard under your arm instead.

“Uh-huh.” Your response was snarky, and you punctuated it by turning to walk away back to your towel. Johnny was a little taken aback by being brushed aside. Still, it only made him like you more. Were you the hard-to-get type? He had no problem chasing after you even after you pretended to not know him.

Truth is - you did recognize him. There’s no way in hell you wouldn’t remember such an ugly surfboard. You remember your students giggling at him two days ago while he was “surfing.” It was clear he had never been on a belly board, never mind a real surfboard.

He practically drowned right in front of your eyes. You would’ve went and saved him if your friend, Tyler, hadn’t got to him first. Man, she sure did rip into him, too. You had to cover some little ears. Even through all of his coughing and hacking, you saw how he was giving her the eyes. The eyes.

Oh no - you knew how guys like him were. Young, dumb, and full of cum. They get off and leave you hanging dry. You bet that he doesn’t even recognize you from two days ago because you were wearing a wetsuit instead of a *bikini*. Those pretty brown eyes don’t enchant your heart like you’re sure he wants them to.

“Wait! I wanna talk to you!” Johnny called out with a little laugh, finding your response funny. He knew you thought that he was immediately going to hit on you (which he probably will eventually) but he’s got to prioritize the mission first. So, in douchey guy fashion, he jogs after you.

Even though you think you know his game, something about how persistent he was made you want to entertain him. You bring your towel to your hair, drying it off as your tone stays amused, “Alright. I’m Y/N. What do you want?”

“I want you to teach me how to surf.” He gives you a pretty grin. The little smirk on your face is wiped off when he tells you that. Welp, that was the last thing you were expecting. Now you sort of feel like an asshole for assuming he wanted to harass you.

“I teach kids how to surf - not grown men. I’m sorry.” You inform him, a little confused as to how he even knew what you did for a living since you’ve barely ever seen him on this beach. Once again, Johnny doesn’t stop when you dismiss him.

“I know you do, but please. Just hear me out.” He stresses, giving you a more serious look this time. You sigh out your nose, mentally debating this until you wave a hand. You might as well listen to what his thought process is.

Johnny takes a step closer to you as his eyes turn soft and takes on a more vulnerable tone, “I want to learn how to surf because…my whole life, everything I’ve done has been for other people. I went to law school and played football because my parents wanted me to - I was sort of their hero.”

“I only realized that my goals were their goals when…when they died in a car wreck two years ago.” He lies. But you don’t know that yet, of course. Your expression softens slightly at his confession, which Johnny notices immediately. It’s working.

You’ve been working with children most of your life. You’ve met your fair share of children who didn’t have the best of lives. One year, you taught a kid who couldn’t seem to get adopted by anybody. Another year, a kid that ran away from an abusive home. It was easy to pull your heartstrings and get your sympathy.

“Surfing is my goal now. It’s for me. I mean - I’m from Ohio. I had never seen an ocean until I moved here.” He finishes, searching your eyes for anything. Your tone is softer than before, “I’m sorry for your loss, truly, but I teach kids. I’ve never taught adults.”

He sighs quietly at your response, knowing he’ll have to do some more convincing. The charming smile and soft eyes weren’t working. Neither did the sob story. But it did soften you. Maybe talking you up will break your resolve?

“Everyone I’ve talked to on this beach has said you’re the best. They told me kids come every year to learn from you specifically. That you teach kids who are still wearing diapers how to stay on a belly board…I want to learn from the best too.”

Good gravy - does this man ever quit? Hearing what he’s saying about you, hearing how we wants to be taught by you…it’s flattering. You’re humbly proud of yourself for the good opinions that correlate to you. It means you’re doing something right.

Speaking of doing something right…you can’t just not teach him. Look at him - he’s desperate! The guilt of refusing to teach someone even after knowing their sad past eventually convinces you to do it.

You sigh heavily, pinching the bridge of your nose as you reluctantly agree, “Ok…ok. I’ll teach you. But I’m not going to coddle you like I do with those kids. You’re going to become the best surfer on this damn beach.”

Johnny’s face lights up with a smile, one that sort of warms your heart. Despite you not looking forward to teaching him, you can’t help but laugh at his child-like reaction. Maybe he is just like the kids you teach. They need you as much as you need them.

“That’s alright - I like it rough.” He flashes that charming smile once again. You roll your eyes, but there’s no denying that you found his joke somewhat funny. Johnny saw that little movement your body did, like you were laughing. You can’t fool him.

“You like it rough? Ok. Meet me here at five. In the morning.” You challenge, ready to test his limits so he’ll have to quit. Little do you know that Johnny isn’t going to give up on you, and especially not the mission. He’s ready to catch whatever you throw at him.

“Sounds great! See you bright and early!” He beams, knowing his optimism will throw you for a loop. And it does - you expect most to groan and complain about being up early. It was surprising to see someone agree so easily, but guessing from subtly eyeing him up in his wetsuit…he’s definitely into fitness.

And now you have become the creep. But c’mon. He’s a guy close to your age with a nice smile, and your primal urges are wired to be attracted to him. Maybe not in personality (just yet) but he isn’t lacking in the heartthrob department.

As he turns to leave, you realize you can’t let him have the last word. You’ve got to throw him for a loop this time. Or at least get him thinking about you - not that you care, of course. So, you reach down into your bag before calling out to him.

“Hey!” You toss him something to which he quickly catches with one hand. Impressive. Johnny looks down at what’s in his hand - Mr. Zog’s Sex Wax. His first thought is that you’re into some kinky shit, and he looks up at you when he hears your laughter.

His shocked reaction makes you satisfied that you’re getting the last word. Of course, you knew what he was thinking; it was an interesting name for surfboard wax. “You’ll need that for your board. It helps with traction.”

Johnny smirks at how you stressed the word. Traction, huh? Perhaps it’s a sign of mutual attraction. He gives you a nod and a little wave, and you shamelessly watch him as he walks away in that tight wetsuit.

Maybe the wax is a sign for something that’ll happen real soon…

[shakespearesex]

Johnny Silverhand X Reader

The cursed thoughts

The pictures is not mine. Do not share my story in any other platform, that is stealing.

Warnings: Both characters are naked but there isn’t any sex. Panic attack, kind of. Soft!Johnny. The gender of the reader is not mentioned. My first language isn’t English.

The window that hanged on the wall was foggy from the temperature of the shower. The hot water was hitting your shoulders, your head resting against the wall in front of you. Your head was reeling with thoughts, memories of your past clawing at the walls of your brain. Like a beast trying to escape and take over your life again. And you fight back, you fight back so you won’t fall to the rock bottom again, you fight back the tears that swelled in your eyes and clouded your vision.

Your first clenched and with a roar that came out from the deepest depths of your heart punch the tile wall. A sobbed ripped itself from your throat.

Everything stilled when you felt two muscled arms wrapped themselves around your waist, “what the fuck did the wall did to you?” Johnny asked with an under tone of mirth. His naked body was pressing against your back, his thumb drawing circles on your warm skin. “Johnny” his name came out of your lips like a whisper, almost inaudible from the sound of the running water.

“Hm?” he hummed as he lean to press a kiss against your shoulder. The feeling of those soft lips against your shoulder made a shiver ran down your spine. The tears were still running down your cheek but you felted more grounded now that you were in Johnny’s embrace. With a hand you wiped away your tears and turn towards him. He looked so handsome under the water. His black hair was now wet sticking to his face, his dark eyes looking into your soul with an understanding that no person ever did. He had a stupidly soft smirk on his face, waiting for you to come back from those hunting memories.

You lean for a kiss and he accepted it full heartedly. You felt your heart speed up, like it was the first time you kissed. His lips moved with yours and you melted against his embrace.

This is the first story, snippet (?) that I ever posted anywhere. Might delete it later.

[devilsadvocatevhs]

WHISPERS OF THE HEART

Ted "Theodore" Logan X fem!reader genre : one shot - fluff warnings : english isn't my native language. I hope you guys like it!

Ted Logan gulped, his hands trembling as a surge of anxiety flooded his mind, tangled with intrusive thoughts. The uncluttered apartment was silent, save for the faint hum of the guitar under his fingers. You sat on the couch, sipping your drink, watching as Ted strummed absentmindedly on his guitar beside you. The warm light of the room was wrapped around you both, casting a cozy glow. With a content and fond smile, your eyes drifted toward the absent-minded tall man with shaggy black hair.

“Hey? You okay?”

It wasn’t the first time Ted had heard that question from you, but your soft voice always made him nervous—especially when you sounded worried. His stomach twisted as he stopped playing and met your gaze with honey-brown eyes. It felt overwhelming for him—he was used to being seen as just a regular nobody, especially when it came to girls. He’d had crushes before, even on popular, unattainable ones. But the way he felt about you was different, consuming him entirely. You weren’t just another distant fantasy; you were part of the group, a friend of Bill’s. To Ted, that made you feel even more out of reach than any of his past crushes.

“Uh… yeah, I think so, dude…” he mumbled, his tone unconvincing.

Self-conscious under your skeptical gaze, Ted tried to use a neutral tone, but anyone could see he wasn’t acting like his usual goofy self. Truth be told, he had already asked his best friend Bill for advice who had told him to just come clean about his feelings and not bottle anything up. It had been two months since that talk and Ted blatantly ignored the advice, not feeling brave enough. The thought of ruining your friendship made his chest ache. What if he just messed everything up? Besides, you were both alone in his and Bill’s apartment.

“It’s just… It’s totally bogus that Bill couldn’t join us tonight,” he added, trying to sound casual.

You tilted your head, glancing at the bottles and snacks scattered on the coffee table. With a small chuckle, you nodded and poured yourself another drink.

“Yeah, but it’s nice to catch up sometimes. It’s been a while since we’ve hung out.”

Ted's face flushed red. He blinked rapidly, lost in thought, before finally taking a deep breath and muttering awkwardly.

“You know, I like hanging out with you too, and…”

The words stuck in his throat, and a tense silence settled between you. Ted fidgeted, rubbing the back of his neck. His anxiety built until he finally blurted out impulsively.

“It’s just… I’m not good at this, you know?” Ted admitted, frustration creeping into his voice.

A frown settled on your face, first thinking he was referrign to his guitar skills. You shook your head, holding his chocolate brown eyes.

“Well, I can tell you’ve improved a lot on the guitar.”

Ted shook his head, his fingers fidgeting.

 “No, not that. I mean…Like,” He inhaled sharply. “I don’t want to mess things up, but I can’t stop thinking about you.”

The room went still as Ted’s words hung in the air. His cheeks flushed crimson as he added, “I know we’re friends, and I don’t want to make things weird, but I’ve gotta be honest.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, his deep eyes fixed on yours. 

“Whoa… sorry, I’m, like, totally messing this up’, Ted eventually said with a nervous chuckle and avoiding your glance.

Then, to Ted’s surprise, a soft smile spread across your face.

Your expression softened and you chuckled at his awkward and shy demeanor. Still, you felt your cheeks flush and your heart start to pound against your chest at the sudden confession.

“Ted,” you said gently, “don’t worry. To be honest, I’ve felt this way for a while too.”

Relief washed over him, and he gave you a crooked, heartfelt smile.

“For real?”

“For real,” you replied, placing your hand over his. “I thought I was the only one getting ahead of myself.”

Ted’s lips parted slightly, his mind racing with everything he wanted to say but couldn’t. Instead, he glanced at your hand over his, the warmth grounding him in a way that words never could.

Without thinking too much—because overthinking always stopped him—he leaned forward, closing the space between you. It was hesitant, almost shy, but sincere. His soft lips brushed against yours, lingering just a second longer than he meant to.

When he pulled back, his cheeks were flushed a deep red, and he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “Uh… was that okay?”

You blinked in surprise before giving a bright and affectionate smile.

“More than okay, Ted.”

The tension melted from his shoulders, and for the first time that evening, Ted’s grin returned—the goofy, carefree one you loved so much. “Whoa… excellent,” he murmured, earning a laugh from you.

He picked up his guitar, his confidence back, and strummed a random lighthearted tune. But this time, instead of avoiding your gaze, he met it, the unspoken feelings between you now clear.

[butterfly-lies-chase-them-away]

Hello! Can you please write boyfriend headcanons for John Constantine for a female reader? She has a very pure soul and is a very kind and loving person who cares for him despite his personality and how will he react when he gets jealous when she gets attention from other men?

Thank you ❤️

Thank you for the request 💚

John Constantine as a Boyfriend

Despite his rough exterior, John Constantine has a deeply protective instinct when it comes to his girlfriend, Y/n. He'll always keep an eye out for her safety, whether it's from supernatural threats or mundane dangers.

Despite their seemingly contradictory natures, John and Y/n found a remarkable harmony in their relationship, each complementing the other in ways they never imagined possible.

For John, whose rough edges and realistic (almost pessimistic) out look on life often defined him, the notion of someone as pure and gentle as Y/n loving him seemed like a fantasy. Yet, against all odds, their love blossomed, defying expectations and surpassing boundaries.

In Y/n's unwavering affection, John discovered a sense of acceptance and belonging he had long believed to be unattainable. She saw beyond the layers of his gruff exterior, embracing the complexities of his soul with an unconditional love that transcended all barriers.

Together, they forged a bond that defied convention, proving that sometimes the most unlikely of pairs could find love in one another.

John is fascinated by his girlfriend's pure soul and kind nature. While he may not always understand it or share the same qualities himself, he admires her goodness and strives to be better because of her.

John may not be the most emotionally expressive person, but he's always there for his girlfriend when she needs him. Whether it's offering practical advice or simply being a shoulder to lean on, he's her rock in times of need.

Their relationship isn't always easy due to John's complicated past and personality. However, his girlfriend's unwavering love and acceptance help him navigate his demons (literally) and strive to be a better man.

Despite his confident exterior, John can't help but feel a twinge of jealousy when other men pay attention to his girlfriend.

With Y/n by his side, it seemed inevitable that others would be drawn to her gentle charm and kindness. 

When jealous, John's demeanor may shift subtly, his normally confident facade masking the turmoil brewing within. Despite his attempts to appear unaffected, his possessive nature emerges, manifesting in subtle gestures of protectiveness and a sharp edge to his words.

Yet, on the inside, John’s just afraid. The fear of losing the one person who has managed to breach the walls around his heart.

In moments of insecurity, he may retreat into himself, his sarcastic quips a feeble attempt to mask the vulnerability that lies beneath. But as the storm of jealousy subsides, he finds solace in the warmth of Y/n's love, her unwavering devotion a beacon of reassurance in the darkness.

In the aftermath of his jealousy, John's pride may prevent him from expressing his remorse outright. Yet, in his own way, he seeks to make amends, offering subtle gestures of affection and reassurance to remind Y/n of the depth of his love and commitment.

His jealousy reveals how deeply he cares, showing his fear of losing her. Despite any missteps, he's determined to keep their love strong, standing firm against doubts and insecurities.

Being in a relationship with John Constantine is an adventure in itself. His protective instincts, due to his line of work, make him dedicated to your safety. Despite the challenges of his rugged persona, he's deeply caring and makes sincere efforts to express his affection, even though it may not come naturally to someone like him.

A/N: Sorry this took a while to do, I had MANY things with uni to get through and other requests to complete first but I FINALLY got it done and I hope you liked it 💚

[juniperwoodwell]

john constantine blurb x f!reader

Constantine laid on top of the bed, his eyes shut and arms crossed over his chest, legs crossed at the ankles. Y/n was cooking lunch, she moved away from the now plated sandwiches, taking one with her as she tiptoed over to John.

She looked down at him and smiled, she held the plate in one hand and used the other to sign a cross from her forehead then shoulders. "May you rest in peace. Not in pieces."

John slowly opened his eyes, brows furrowed. "Excuse me?"

The woman let out a short laugh and held out the plate to him, "Lunch is ready. Let's eat sleepyhead"

Constantine sat up, took the plate from her and placed it on the bed before he grabbed her hips– he stood from the bed and pushed her back carefully, a sly smirk playing in his lips.

"Thank you, honey. You look delicious."

[of-tatooine]

DULCE PERICULUM. | CHAPTER XIV - DAY

my course is set for an uncharted sea.

(John Wick x Reader, Santino d'Antonio x Reader)

full work

Daylight.

The ever-knowing reminder of yet another opportunity, yet another loop of the chronometer, and for some - another reminder of what they had to endure to get through to the night.

Against all odds, another day was rising in Roma.

The lazy hazes of the rising sun rays emanated through the sheer curtains - it had been early, too early to gather your thoughts properly in the aftermath of the night that dragged onto the early morning.

Sleep had not been on the forefront of your mind - nothing had mattered at the time besides the man underneath you. Strong hands grabbing onto your hips with fervor, his chest heaving with him grasping for air, his eyes filled with lust.

Breaths mixed in with alcohol, lips wrapped in his. Him taking control with his thrusts, unable to resist his urges, collapsing into bed after the cries of pleasure had echoed through the penthouse.

“Hai bisogno solo di me, amore.”

Maybe, just maybe he had been right, through his words uttered in ultimate need and throes of confession.

He just might have been all you needed, all along. He had certainly shown you, proven to you in more ways than one.

And, the best part of it all - the man you had shared the passionate memories with the night prior, had just happened to be laying right there next to you, the breathing source of warmth in the vast bed.

Something that he could not have given you, no matter how many times you had begged.

It was not often that you had woken up before him - but when you did, it was an opportunity not to be missed - just to admire, to cherish, to touch.

John had always left before the sunrise.

With a slow hand making its way over to his body across the crisp white sheets, you would revel in the luxury of letting your gaze travel all over him - dark hair tousled from your fingers, those green eyes usually filled with passion then closed, the barely-there crease between his brows still present even in his slumber. A remnant of the everlasting, yet quiet tension that seemed to just dwindle down with your touch.

John had never opened up to you this way.

The sheets pooling low on his hips, hanging loose on the sculpted plane of his chest that slowly rose and fell with his breathing - faint traces of you still remaining over his taut skin. A small mark on his collarbone, couple of faint nail marks over his shoulders where you had gripped too tight, not wanting to ever let go.

John had wanted to let go eventually.

A low mumble emanating from his throat, as the sunlight continued its relentless attack through the room, illuminating the intricately scattered furniture, making a lazy trail to your bed.

The sound of his voice still fresh in your mind - rough, urgent, irreverent. Craving only and only you, your name leaving his lips in a repeated mantra, the sinful tone laced in his breaths.

From beneath the sheets that smelled just like him, you would reach out gently to brush a strand of curly hair from his forehead, a feather-light touch not to wake him.

In the cruel and unforgiving world of choices that you had both shared, Santino d’Antonio had always been known to choose the fiery road. Even you could not deny that the power he wielded, the ambition he so cherished in himself pulled you into his orbit even closer, over the years.

Yet, you might have been the sole constant that led him to choose peace, quite more often than he otherwise would.

A gentle stirring of his body, the ghost of a smile etched on his lips as his eyes slowly opened to reveal the loving gaze.

“Buongiorno, mia cara.”

His morning voice rough like gravel, velvety thick with sleep - yet, his hands were awake.

His nimble fingers would reach, making their way from your jaw, neck and down on your shoulders, leaving a trail of goosebumps across your bare skin. Finally reaching their target as his hand wrapped around yours, lifting gently to land a kiss on your knuckles.

Those emerald green eyes always locked into yours, always piercingly gazing into your soul, reading through the remnants of your heart.

It had always been those eyes, that had lured you into the unknown. The enticing yet untamed darkness of the abyss. Into fire and ice, without a question or doubt instilled within you.

And, in that intimate moment of skin against skin, your palm resting on his sternum as he turned into you, his fingers trailing through your hair - you had decided quietly within yourself.

Into fire and ice, you would follow.

There was no hesitation as you pulled him in for a soft kiss, to which he greatly obliged, his hands staying on your skin where they had belonged even as he pulled back.

The slight flickering of his gaze to focus elsewhere, the faint trace of his brow furrowing - telltale signs of thoughts beginning to flood into his mind as his consciousness threw him responsibilities.

“You are thinking too much, Santino.”

“Forse,” he would reply, his eyes finding yours once more. “I only have a funeral to host.”

Pulling yourself closer into his embrace, your hand reveled in tracing through his curls.

“Most people mourn. You are strategizing.”

And in the moment of silence that followed, Santino did not deny it.

He instead propped himself up on one elbow, his hand cradling your cheek, then moving to run his fingers through your hair sprawled over the crisp white. Head on his pillow, you would look up with a curious gaze and your soft voice, to ask a question that had been swimming around in your mind for a while.

“How did Winston allow this?”

You could swear that his motions stopped for a brief moment, his eyes growing cold for a momentary second of vulnerability - one that he had hoped you would not dwell on for long.

If only he could tell you just how the cogs turned, just how the truth was concealed for decades. Just how beneath Winston’s bright eyes laid a broken father with no other choice given at a moment in time. How the one that you had looked for all those years - had been closer than you could have ever imagined.

Yet, it was not his truth to tell.

“The High Table looks into the palm of my hand,” he would answer, always confident in himself but perhaps a bit prematurely this time, his thumb lingering on your cheekbones - a motion too tender for the insinuations, the hidden meanings in his words. The blurred lines hiding in his tone, abstracting his mind and his voice.

“The vote has not happened yet, Santino - Winston abides by his rules like there is no tomorrow.”

A faint, knowing smile curved at the corner of his lips, dipping his head in reluctant agreement.

“He did not like it. But he knows better than to refuse me now.”

Growing increasingly curious, your brows furrowed in response, eyes narrowing just slightly. Fragments of words and whispers of memories trying to piece it together in your mind.

“No. He let you because he didn’t have a choice.”

That drew a breath from him - almost akin to a slight defeat yet quiet, controlled. Something flickered behind his eyes. Not guilt. Not remorse.

A short lived pause.

“No,” he said softly. “He didn’t.”

in his eyes, glints of recalling. Realization. Remembrance.

“Because, mia cara - choices were already made a long time ago.”

You want to ask. Words are stuck at the tip of your tongue, mind spiraling on his cryptic words, eyes locked into his. Trusting Santino had been a well-known reflex, one your body never denied - moments of quiet doubt passing away ever so smoothly as they always did with him, when his hand found the small of your back and pulled you in further into his embrace.

Dark curls draping over his forehead as his downward gaze met yours once more, looking for the glimmer of belief in your expression. All he had needed, was a fleeting sense of trust, just for this once - until the dams holding the sea of truths collapsed inevitably.

Just for this once.

Until the task had been complete.

“I will give him the room, amore. È tutto. He does the rest.”

“Bene,” you would let out with a smile forming on your lips, after getting lost in yet another kiss - the distraction fully welcome.

Many questions you wanted to ask, to get out of your chest, fluttered within you like stray birds - yet, you instead let yourself get engulfed in his warm embrace once again - for you were not sure that you wanted the answers.

And in those eternally breathless moments in countdown for the inevitable, unbeknownst to you - you chose to delay the unraveling.

[teejaywyatt1]

✨Chapter 43 of Skyline will drop on Thursday, March 14th at 2:30PM EST.✨

[pointbreakvhs]

Home

Something I wrote for @sweetwolfcupcake to get back at her for teasing me with her amazing writing about Johnny Utah💕

Pairing : John Wick x f!reader Genre : fluff

Divider made by @enchanthings-a Icons made by @tudojuntoemisturado

You were focused on what you were writing, the crackling of the fire beside you lulling your thoughts and dreams. You were thinking of a landscape, a sort of meadow where you could begin a story. The perfect setting for a gentle beginning. Your pen scribbled on the page of the notebook placed on the desk in front of you.

You knew John was lounging behind you with a book, on the couch. You could feel his gaze pressed on your back. When you turned around, you noticed his gaze was gentle, a kindness you loved above all else. With him, you were enveloped in a cocoon of warmth and fulfillment. You loved spending a quiet weekend with him in a comfortable cabin in the middle of the forest.

He had been like a guardian angel to you ever since you met. Something reassuring despite his dark past. Who would have thought a murderer could behave like this? He was the sweetest and wisest man you'd ever meet, once he gave himself over to love.

As you continued to write, lost in your inspiration, you felt a warm, reassuring hand rest on your left shoulder, the scent of his cologne delightfully tickling your nostrils. You loved the scent, which reminded you of what was called sanctuary.

"Still writing?" His hand gently massaged the hollow of your neck, and you instinctively leaned your head down to rest against his wrist, enjoying the sensation and relaxing.

"Yes, I'm feeling inspired today." You answered him with a soft laugh, tilting your head back and meeting his deep chocolate eyes.

When you first met him, they had been cold toward you and devoid of any emotion. Now, they were deep and emotional toward you. Your lips rested on the crook of his wrist, your eyes closed as you gently inhaled the scent of his skin. You couldn't get enough of the oaky scent of his signature cologne on his skin, something you called home.

[ficsbb]

Moments with John Wick

》 Pairing: Loving!John Wick x Reader

》 Warnings: pet names like princess, beautiful, lovely

》 Word Count: 422

Note: There will be more in this format, any prompts, send my way 😌

He doesn't let you open or close doors at all when you're out and about. “John, it's okay, I got it.” You laugh, and he tilts his head at you, a smirk adorning his lips, “I know you do, but let me.” 

During dinner dates at your usual spots either in Brooklyn or Queens, you catch him staring at you more than once. It makes you shy, being under his gaze, but it's flattering. “What?” You ask, slightly turning to face him more. Before you know it, he pulls your chair closer to him and kisses your cheek. “You're beautiful, that's all.”

Every morning, there's a flower from your garden lying on your bedside table. A note that reads, “Good morning lovely, breakfast is ready” with John's swift signature at the end propped next to it. You rub the sleep out of your eyes and smile. He hasn't missed a day for the last 2 years.

“Do you think he'd like this one?” He asks. You look at the watch he points at in the glass. It's huge, most likely heavy and adorned with ornate detailing. “Yes, I think so. You do have an eye for this.” He smiles at you, but just as he calls the attendant over, you see the price and grab his arm. “It's too much, John, it's alright! My dad has a lot of watches.” He takes your hand and kisses the top of it, rubbing his thumb over the wet spot, “You love your father. There's no price to that. I'll handle it, okay?” Your heart swells. “Okay.” He kisses your forehead.

When you feel your anxiety and panic rise on the bad days, John doesn't hesitate to swaddle you in your favorite blanket and wrap himself around you. Your head on his chest, fingers giving you a scalp massage to help you breathe better. He hums. You sleep. The world feels less scary.

He draws you a bath a lot. It's warm, full of rose petals straight from the garden, and a lavender scent wafting in the air. John makes it special every time because, “You're my princess.” As if that's the most obvious reason in the world, but something in how soft it falls from his lips makes you believe it. “Will you come in with me?” John smiles and walks over, kneeling down to sift his hand in the water. You move closer. He takes your chin and brings your face in, kissing you softly, slowly. “Yes,” he whispers, “Always.”

[casuallyobssessed]

—୨Bleeding Love୧—

David Allen Griffin x Fem!Reader ❥ 14.5k Words

A/N: This is based on a request I received from the lovely @gea-chan96 🫶🏻 Fell in love with the Watcher when I first saw it and I knew I had to write something for DAG. Sorry it took me so long to finish. Please heed all warnings. Divider creds to: /edenspoem and /kodaswrld

Warnings: P in V sex, Fingering, non-con, Dead Dove Content, Bloodplay, Injury, Stalking, Kidnapping, SelfHarm (brief), Restraints, Dollification, Needles, Stockholm Syndrome (if you squint)

Archive of Our Own Link

The first time you meet David, you're carrying one too many bags of groceries up the stairs to your second floor apartment. You nearly dropped the heaviest one when your new next door neighbor opened up his door and saw you struggling. 

“Need a hand?” He had asked, rushing over to you and taking the unruly, overfilled paper bag from your arms. 

You thanked him and he followed you into your apartment. It was close to ten o'clock at night when you got home and you hadn't left any lamps on, thinking you'd be home before nightfall. Your apartment was dark, barely any light from the moon came in from the curtained windows as you entered. 

With your hands still full, you didn't get a chance to turn the light on, but David reached out before you even had to ask him. His fingers trailed the wall with unsettling precision, stopping exactly where the switch was, like he had done it before.

David placed the bag on your kitchen counter and you made small talk while you put your groceries away. Once you finished, you had a chance to really look at him. His hair was longer than you had seen on most men, but it suited him. On his hands were black leather gloves that matched the jacket he was wearing. 

David was incredibly handsome and very easy to talk to, flashing you a charming smile that made you want to melt into the floor. ‘I’m David,’ He had said, ‘It's a pleasure to meet you.’

You offered him some wine and he shrugged, ‘why not?’ he said. All you had was a cheap moscato but he didn't complain. You poured two small glasses and had a chance to talk a little more. He mentioned he hadn't had a home cooked meal yet since moving here, so you offered to cook him dinner as a thank you. Usually, you made too much for just yourself to eat anyways, and some company would always be nice. 

To your disappointment, David declined your invitation, insisting he had to get back to his apartment before it got any later, which was fair. Time had gotten away from you. You said your goodbyes and told him that you were here if he ever wanted you to return the favor. 

-

When you meet David for a second time, you're knocking on his door at two o'clock in the morning. Why you chose him and not your other neighbors, you aren't sure. You could've sworn you heard someone in your spare bedroom, shuffling around and going through your items in storage. 

That room had access to the fire escape outside, so it was entirely plausible that someone could’ve found their way in.

Terrified, you cowered under the covers before you worked up the courage to run out of your apartment in only your tank top and underwear. You were only slightly embarrassed when you found yourself rapping your knuckles against his door, waiting rather impatiently for him to answer. It took him a few minutes, which was understandable considering the late hour and he was probably asleep. 

When he finally opens the door, he's standing there fully dressed, even wearing his shoes. Again, it's not something you think twice about because of the fear of an intruder in your home seizing your common sense. You apologized for bothering him so late, and explained the situation to him, asking if he'd check it out for you. 

Thankfully, he agreed. He stepped back into his apartment for a moment, you heard a few beeps and some metal shifting before he came out, gun in hand. You don't know if it made you feel relieved or uneasy knowing he had a firearm, but right then you were just glad he answered the door. 

You followed behind him as he headed to your apartment, opening the front door slowly and holding his pistol at the ready. He went straight to your guest room without any direction and threw open the door. David cleared the room before calling you in, showing you the open fire escape window and the mess of stuff left behind. 

It definitely seemed like someone was going through your things. You couldn't tell if anything was missing at the time because of the absolute chaos of everything strewn everywhere. He offered to help you clean up, but you refused. You needed to get some sleep and the mess could wait. 

You thanked David profusely for his help once again, and told him that you owed him double. He laughed and said it was no big deal, that he was happy to help, and if you ever needed him again, to just knock and he’d be there. He also recommended some window locks for you to buy and you told him you'd look into it. You hadn't had a good night's sleep since then, and the clean up took you days. 

-

One evening, there was a knock at your door. On the other side stood your neighbor, David. In his hand he held an older looking camera. He explained to you that photography was one of his few hobbies. 

On this particular day, he claimed that one of his friends had stood him up on being his model for the day, so he wondered if you'd be willing to step in. Only if you were comfortable, of course. So, without much hesitation, you cheerily said yes and asked what you should change into. He was adamant that your current outfit of shorts and a t-shirt was more than adequate. 

When you followed him to his apartment, the entire place was eerily dark, except for one room that held a backdrop and a softbox lighting setup. The living room was surprisingly plain and smelled… off. A scent you couldn't exactly identify hung in the air, making you pause and look around. 

There was one antique looking, red couch in the center of the room facing an older television set with a small coffee table in between. On the coffee table was a small, unlabeled photo album. 

David asked you to wait in the living room for a moment while he got things set up for the shoot, so you had an opportunity to sit down and flip through the album. 

The first page had a picture of a beautiful, brunette woman with red lipstick and a black dress, seated at a table in the outdoor section of a restaurant by herself with a coffee in hand. You flipped the page to find two pictures of the same woman. 

One was a shot of her at the beach, bikini top untied while laying face down on a towel, presumably suntanning. The second picture was an up close view of her face while she was asleep in bed, hair tousled and mouth slightly agape. 

You heard David's footsteps echoing down the hallway and you quickly closed the book and put it back on the table. There was an odd feeling in your chest, like you had seen something you weren't supposed to and you were about to be chastised. 

He looked down at the album on the table and then at you, and gave you a weak smile. David walked around the couch and sat on the opposite end. He let out a sigh and then asked if you had looked through the album. You nodded and told him you only saw the first two pages, apologizing profusely.

David stopped you and let you know that it was okay. He explained that the woman in the photos was his late wife. She was murdered by a serial killer in Los Angeles, and he moved here to escape the painful memories of living there without her. 

There were a few times he had to stop to compose himself and you suddenly felt very guilty about dredging it all up. You should've just minded your business. You offered your condolences and he thanked you, letting you know that he was ready to start the picture taking whenever you were.

The shoot went by quickly. Time flew by while you were having fun. To loosen things up, he poured you both a glass of wine (or two). Those drinks turned into laughter, with David turning on his stereo to convince you to dance with him in the middle of taking pictures. 

David made you feel comfortable and beautiful. Compliments flowed freely, but never in a creepy or distasteful way. It made you feel seen. 

After concluding the session, David sent you home with a pink bottle of fancy looking rosé as payment and hurried you out of his apartment. He simply had no time to waste developing the photographs and wanted to get started right away. You were slightly disappointed, but understood and made your leave. 

Although you had fun and enjoyed your time with David, there was a gnawing feeling in the back of your mind that you couldn't quite place. 

When you got back to your apartment, you opened up the wine and started drinking by yourself. Missing the feeling you had earlier with David, you turned on your music and danced around in your living room until you were so tired, you could barely keep yourself upright. 

You shuffled your way to your bedroom and collapsed on top of your comforter. The warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest had spread all throughout your body, especially down between your legs. Squeezing your thighs together did nothing for the persistent ache. In your drunken haze, you shoved your hand into your underwear and touched yourself. 

David flashed in your mind as you lazily rubbed your clit, thinking about the way he held you when you were dancing together. His strong hands led you, pulling you against his warm body. You thought about his leather gloves and how they might feel caressing you, maybe even slicked up and… Your vision went white, mind blanking as you came with a whimper of David's name. 

You awoke in the morning, squinting as the sun beamed through your curtains. There was a pounding in your head that only worsened when you spotted the half empty bottle of Armand de Brignac Brut Rose sitting on the floor next to your shorts. You didn't remember buying wine, much less wine that you are certain you can't even pronounce the name of. 

The confusion didn't stop there. With an unmistakable slickness between your legs coating your thighs, you wondered when you had taken your shorts and underwear off. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a dark spot on the top of your thigh, where it meets your hip, half covered by your shirt. You lift up the fabric to reveal four, round bruises wrapping around the curve of your hip and one on the top of your thigh. 

You try to recall even coming back to your apartment last night, but the memory is too fuzzy around the edges. Aside from the hangover, you at least felt fairly rested. That was the best sleep you had gotten in a very long time. 

-

A week later, your drunken ex boyfriend Donnie came banging on your door around midnight. Upon cracking open the front door to see who it was, he came barging in, spewing some slurred spiel about how he missed you and wanted you to take him back. It's the same bullshit he pulls every few months when his latest fling won't put out anymore. 

By now, you're used to it. You know how to handle his tantrums when you say no (even if sometimes you give in and sleep with him) and ask him to leave. Sure, Donnie could be unpredictable, but you really weren't expecting him to haul off and punch a hole in the wall of your living room. 

With all your screaming combined with Donnie throwing your books, candles, and anything he could get his hands on, it was enough to draw quite a lot of attention from your neighbor. 

The next thing you know, David is letting himself into your apartment and grabbing Donnie’s wrist to stop him from throwing his next punch in your direction. 

With a little bit of misplaced embarrassment, you started screaming at David for getting in the middle of everything. Telling him you can handle yourself, that you didn't need some guy with a hero complex swooping in to save the day might have been a waste of breath, but it made you feel better when David twisted Donnie's arm and escorted him out of your apartment. 

Donnie just couldn't take the hint, unfortunately. He came back the next night, hollering outside your apartment door. You refused to let him in. You were exhausted with no energy left to deal with him and his drama. 

When the yelling and banging finally stopped, you dared to peek your head out. Donnie was passed out, leaning up against the wall in the hallway, drink still in hand. At the same time you were about to go back in, David popped out of his apartment. 

“Did he wake you up? I'm so sorry, David. I don't know why he keeps coming back here,” You sighed, crossing your arms.

“Yeah, but it's alright. Do you want me to take care of him?” He gestured to Donnie's sleeping form. 

Your brows furrowed at that, confused by what he meant, but ultimately relieved to shove Donnie off onto someone else for a change, “Um, sure? I mean I'd hate to impose him on you.”

“It's really no problem. I'm used to dealing with dead weights,” He smirked, laughing to himself as if it was some kind of inside joke. 

You smiled at him halfheartedly, “Okay, uh, thank you. I owe you, seriously.”

From that point, Donnie hasn't been a problem for you anymore. You haven't heard from him at all. No late night, drunken visits or incoherent texts and voicemails left on your phone. It was like a weight had been lifted off your chest and you could breathe. You made a mental note to bake David some brownies or something as a thank you gift eventually. 

-

About a month goes by, and while you haven't seen hide nor hair of Donnie, you also haven't heard from David. There would usually be at least a couple days during the week you'd pass him in the hallway or hear him laughing and talking through the walls when you assumed he had friends over. 

You thought it was strange that he never shared the results of your photoshoot with you, but he didn't have any obligation to you. It's not like you were dating or anything. You had gotten used to his occasional presence and things just felt different without it. 

Part of you wondered if you had said or done something wrong. You thought that the impromptu photoshoot went well, especially with the way you and David were dancing together and giggling like little kids.

Maybe he was distancing himself from you because of Donnie, or it could have been how you yelled at him just for trying to help. You felt like you should've apologized but didn't get a chance to before he disappeared. 

-

One morning, you're rushing out the door, late to work, when you accidentally kick a small gift wrapped box that was sitting on your doormat. You didn't have the time to open it, so you shoved it into your bag without another thought and hurried on to work. 

As expected, your work day was busy. You barely had a moment to take a breather all day. 

When you got home, you collapsed on your couch, tossing your bag beside you. You idly flip through TV channels before settling on scrolling mindlessly through your phone. Today had been way too much for you, all you wanted was to turn your brain off for a bit. 

You end up having a glass of wine and falling asleep on the couch, waking up at some ungodly hour before the sun was supposed to come up. You groan and drag yourself to your feet, grabbing the edge of your bag in the process and accidentally dumping out half of the bits and bobs in it. 

You shove everything else back in before your hand lands on the small gift box you forgot to open. With so much going on, it had completely slipped your mind. 

The thought of a secret admirer leaving you a gift makes you smile to yourself. 

You run your fingers over the smooth wrapping, looking for an edge to tear. Once you find one, you carefully peel back the paper to reveal a blue velvet jewelry box. Inside is a beautiful necklace that matches some of your more expensive jewelry that you barely ever wear. 

You keep those pieces tucked away in the jewelry box on your dresser, only wearing them for special events or on dates. 

Oddly specific choice, you think to yourself. 

You try it on anyway and go to the bathroom mirror to see how it looks. You're in love with how it lays against your chest, wrapping daintily around your neck. It shines beautifully in the light and compliments your skin tone perfectly. 

It makes you wonder how much this necklace actually costs. You return to the living room and grab your phone to snap a picture of it while you're wearing it for reference. You search for the brand listed on the jewelry box and scroll through their site, looking for the same necklace. Thankfully, it doesn't take long for you to find the listing. 

…Two thousand dollars? 

You felt like the wind had been knocked out of you. Who could afford to give you something like this? Who would want to? 

You immediately take the necklace off and place it back into its box. You look at the wrapping paper, searching for a note or anything that could clue you in to who left this for you. The paper ends up being completely blank, leaving you no hints. Maybe it wasn't meant for you. It could have been delivered to the wrong apartment. 

You debate on contacting the building manager and reporting a potentially lost item, but something as valuable as this would be sure to fall into the wrong hands. 

You didn't want to leave it out in the open in case someone broke in again, so you end up hiding it in your underwear drawer. Hopefully, that would keep it safe until someone came looking for it. 

You decide to take a quick shower before crawling back into bed to try and sleep for a few more hours until your alarm wakes you up.

When your alarm jolts you to life in the morning, you're in a rush, again. You open your front door and nearly step directly on top of another box. This one is much larger, closer to the size of a take-out box. It's wrapped in a pink metallic paper with a golden bow and a black envelope sitting on top. 

Considering you were already late, you figure it can't hurt to take a few more minutes to open it properly. You pick it up and go back into your apartment.

You set your bag down and sit on the couch, placing the box in your lap. The black envelope had a strange energy to it and made you nervous, so you put it to the side for now. You find the edge of the wrapping paper and peel it back, revealing a white leather box with gold trim. 

Very carefully, you lift the lid. Inside, you find black, silky fabric. It's the kind of silk that makes you feel poor just by touching it, you realize as you lift it out of the box. You hold it out in front of you to get a better view of it.

It's a short, black, kimono style silk robe that fades into a sheer lace around the edges of the garment and by looking at it, you can tell it's too rich for your blood. You glance at the tag, Agent Provocateur, and curiosity gets the best of you. 

Searching for the brand and exact robe yields exactly what you expected. You are holding a thousand dollars in your hands. Shakily, you fold the robe up and place it back into the box, setting it on your coffee table. 

You take a deep breath and brace yourself. 

At least there was an envelope with this one. This means you could potentially find out who's been sending these gifts to you. Without further ado, you pick up the envelope and open it. 

‘You are always on my mind…’ says the front of the card. Below that is an illustration of a cat with a mouse sitting on its head. That's not too bad. It's actually kind of sweet, you think. 

Reading the inside of the card was a different story. 

As you open it up, a polaroid style picture of you falls into your lap. It's a picture of you passed out on your pillow from the shoulders up. Upon further inspection, you realize it's from the day you spent with David. You're wearing the same makeup, if only a little smudged at that point in the night. 

God, you had gotten drunk and slept so hard you missed an entire person breaking into your apartment again. 

You let out a shaky breath and read the inside of the card ‘...and forever in my heart. Yours truly, Apt -.’ The apartment number is scribbled through and crossed out. You notice the ink is slightly smeared to the right, as if the person writing the note was left-handed. 

Dread settles into your stomach as you pull out your phone and call your manager, letting them know you aren't coming in today. Your next call is to the local police station and they ask you to come in, telling you to bring the card and the photograph.

You sit in silence, the card and photo clutched tightly in your trembling hands. The rest of the day blurs into a fog of anxious waiting, your mind a chaotic reel of memories and suspicions. Every time your phone buzzes, you half-expect it to be some cryptic text from an unknown number. 

That evening, you finally muster the courage to leave your apartment. The familiar heaviness of dread weighs on your every step as you walk the empty, dimly lit streets, your mind replaying the events that led you here. The entire time, the mysterious gifts and the inexplicable note swirl in your thoughts.

-

Around the same time that you began receiving unsolicited gifts at your doorstep, Detective Joel Campbell started receiving mysterious photographs in the mail. The first few were only cut up, smaller pieces that were clearly part of a much larger picture of someone. 

One square was a picture consisting of an arm, one was a leg, the next being a woman's torso, until he had all the pieces of a body except for the head. As of now, the puzzle looked like a young woman sprawled out in bed with only a shirt on, presumably asleep. Hopefully asleep.

Joel knew who was sending these pictures because the man had called him, boasting on the other end of the line about how he had a new flame in his life. 

Of course, he didn't actually know how to find him, or else Joel would have arrested him already. Joel couldn’t trace the call, he had already tried. The bastard was a ghost, but they did have a history together. 

Back in Los Angeles, Joel had been having an affair with a married woman. She ended up being one of this serial killer’s victims and Joel had been the one to interrupt the man before he killed her. Joel had run him off, and made the rash decision of chasing him down instead of staying and untying her. Joel wasn't fast enough and never did catch up to the killer, and by the time he got back to his lover, the house was already up in flames. 

After that, he moved away from everything that reminded him of her. He started a new life, but the man he chased that night had decided that Joel was his new obsession. 

Over time, Joel would receive pictures of women with cryptic messages, and phone calls from this man that seemed to go on forever. In short, Joel was given a certain amount of time to track down the woman in the picture before she was killed. 

Every single time he tried, he was always too late. Sometimes, only minutes had passed since she had been killed. 

The weight of these deaths ate Joel up inside. He knew it was only a matter of time before the woman in the new photographs ended up dead, so he needed to act fast. Unfortunately for him, he didn't even have a face to go off of this time and he wondered what changed. How was this woman different?

Detective Joel was sitting at home one night, nursing a migraine, when he got a call on his cell phone. A woman had called the station, concerned about random gifts and a photograph she had received in the mail. He nearly launched himself out of bed and scrambled to get dressed. He had to get to you before anyone else did. Joel wasn't going to let anyone else die. 

-

After walking for an eternity, you arrive in front of the local police station. The building’s harsh fluorescent lights and echoing hallways are a far cry from the warmth of your home, somewhere you wish you could still be. You push past the heavy glass doors and into the reception area, where a clock ticks loudly in the silence.

A uniformed officer directs you to a small interview room. Your hands are still shaking as you slide the card containing the photograph across the table. You explain everything that's happened so far. You tell him about the random gifts, the break in, and you even mention the growing pit in your stomach that something obviously isn't right here.

After what feels like hours of silence and clipped questions, a soft knock on the door breaks the stillness. The door swings open, and there stands Detective Joel Campbell holding a manila envelope. His eyes are a mix of compassion and resolve. You trust him already. He settles into the chair across from you and places the envelope on the table.

“Thank you for coming in. I'm Detective Joel Campbell,” he begins, glancing down at the photograph laid out beside the card, “I’ve been expecting your call. I'm just glad we got you here in time.” 

“In time? In time for what?” You look at him, slightly confused. 

“Usually, when I get these,” He taps the envelope in front of you, signalling for you to open it up, “It's already too late.” 

With an unsteady hand, you tremble as you open the flap on the envelope. You dump out the contents onto the table and that pit in your stomach growls at you, gnawing away at your courage. 

In front of you are printer copied Polaroid photographs of your sleeping body, spread out on your bed. You swallow thickly and nearly choke on your saliva. 

The pictures matched with the one that was inside your card. Same lighting and bedding, plus you recognize the shirt you had on. Embarrassment burns in your cheeks as you realize that t-shirt was the only thing you were wearing. 

Seriously, when did you even take your shorts off? You wonder how many people have seen these pictures. 

Joel senses your discomfort and gathers the photographs back up, sliding them back into the envelope. 

“Don't worry, only a few eyes have seen these,” He assures you, as if reading your mind. 

Your throat is dry. You don’t know what to say or what to ask. The knowledge that someone has been in your bedroom while you slept, close enough to take photographs, close enough to remove your clothing without you waking up… it makes your skin crawl. You feel like you’ve been cracked open and displayed on an exam table. 

“He’s not just watching you sleep,” Joel continues, voice low, steady, “He’s studying your every move and he's eventually going to strike.”

You blink, tears sting at the corners of your eyes as you ask, “Why me?”

Joel leans back, tired eyes searching your face. He is silent for a moment before he speaks. 

“That’s the question I ask myself every time. Sometimes it’s random. Sometimes there’s a pattern that I only see once it's too late. But with you,” He pauses, “This time, it feels different. He's giving you gifts, lingering and getting brave. Almost like he's playing house with you already.”

Detective Joel lays out what they know about the victims so far. They were young, mostly single women. No clear connections, no shared circles. Just a type consisting of women who were easily manipulated, isolated, and controlled.

He mentions that so far, the only victim that was outside of this killer's profile was a married woman who was close to him. Joel doesn’t elaborate, just says it felt personal. You don't press him about it. 

After he tells you everything he can about the suspect, he promises to increase the patrols around your apartment building. This allows you some room to breathe, knowing there will be someone else looking out for your wellbeing.

-

As you climb the final steps leading up to your apartment, you see a bouquet of gorgeous, fresh flowers resting on your doormat. They aren't some cheap, almost dead grocery store bouquet. This is a beautifully designed selection of your favorite flowers, complete with a tiny card attached in the middle. 

Flowers are something that not even Donnie bothered buying for you, beyond the half-wilted single rose he would bring you from the gas station down the road after being out all night drinking. 

Your heart swelled in your chest. Every molecule of your being wanted to pick them up and smell them. You were already thinking about the perfect vase to put them in before you stopped yourself. 

Detective Campbell made it very clear not to interact with anything this man left for you. Whether it be more cards or a gift, it's better to ignore it and call him to come take a look at it. You call him, get sent straight to voicemail, and leave a message. Great. You shove your phone back into your pocket and step over the bouquet. 

Exhausted from the questioning and mental war with yourself, you fumble with your keys, dropping them while looking for the right one. You lean on your doorknob, twisting it as you bend down to pick them up. 

The knob surprisingly turns all the way, unlocked and clicking as your door opens from the force of you pushing on it. You could have sworn that you locked it, but it has been such a crazy weird day, it's not unbelievable that you forgot. 

You enter your apartment and lean back against the door as you close it, making sure to latch both the deadbolt and the knob lock. The darkness is comforting as you feel your way through to your bedroom, not bothering with turning on any lights. 

Your thought process is that if someone was watching your windows, leaving the lights off would trick them into thinking you weren't home yet. It's not exactly a well thought out plan, but it makes the most sense to you right now. You have enough moonlight to kind of see what you're doing, anyway. 

Part of you doesn't want to see the box resting on your coffee table, silently begging you to open it up and try on the beautiful robe inside. As much as you want to accept these gifts and simply ignore where they came from, you can't. You heard what the Detective said about this man. You know what he's capable of. 

Wearing either item or picking up those flowers would signal to him that you agree to play his fucked up game, and that's the last thing you need. 

Once you make it into your room, you kick your shoes off and toss your bag in the general direction of your dresser. The thud of your bag hitting something wood tells you that you got close enough. 

You're quick to undress and leave your clothes in a pile where you stand. That could be a problem for tomorrow. Tonight, you just wanted to relax after a hard day. 

You flop onto the bed, scrolling absentmindedly through your phone. A few minutes in, you mutter ‘screw it’, and turn on your phone's flashlight, making your way to the kitchen.

By way of the fridge light, you pour yourself a generous glass of wine and drag your feet to your bathroom. 

With care, you strike a match and light a few of your favorite candles. They line the tub and the counter, casting the space in a soft, amber glow. The warm scent is immediate and calming. 

You run the water for a bath and pick out one of your fanciest bath bombs from your stash. The day you've had means you deserve one of the really nice ones. 

You sip on your wine as you wait for the water to rise. Anticipation shivers down your spine. You desperately need some time to unwind and there's no better place to do that than in a warm bath, surrounded by candlelight. 

Once the tub is full and the bath bomb has done its job, you set your phone on the counter and your glass of wine on the floor next to the tub, shedding the last of your clothes and stepping in. Heat envelops you, and your body starts to unknot, sinking slowly until only your face breaks the surface.

You end up falling asleep in the bathtub. The water is lukewarm now, your skin pruned and pale. A sudden jolt wakes you up, was that a knock at the front door?

You hold your breath and listen. Nothing.

Still, you stay frozen a moment longer, just in case. Then, slowly, you exhale as you watch the water twist down the drain. It seems silly, but you feel like something heavy inside you has been washed away. You feel lighter than you have in weeks. 

You dry off in the bathroom, leaving your towel hanging on the shower rod. You make sure to blow out all the candles before you leave. 

Back in your bedroom, you turn the light on. You're not afraid of anyone seeing that you're home, now. You feel braver.

You bend down to slide your panties up your legs and by the time you stand up straight, there's a hand over your mouth and an arm around your throat, pulling you backwards. You flail, trying to scream, but the sound dies in your throat as a sharp sting hits your neck. Your neck burns as the contents of the needle are injected into you. 

Your limbs go heavy and your knees buckle. The room tilts as you’re dragged onto the bed, and a shadow leans over you. You blink hard, trying to focus, but your vision splits at the edges, doubling and getting darker. 

He says something, but you can’t make it out. You hear him call out your name before everything cuts to black.

-

You wake up with a splitting ache in your head. You're up right, but you're not standing. You're sitting, bound. You can hear the clack of wheels underneath you as you shift. Your skin sticks uncomfortably to the vinyl of the chair as you pull against your restraints. 

You take a moment to look around, slowly blinking. You're in someone's kitchen. 

Oh no. It's David's kitchen. 

No no no no no. 

Panic rises in you, but your limbs won't cooperate. Whatever sedative he gave you hasn't completely worn off yet. There's a rustling in the next room and you see David come around the corner. 

“Is my sleeping beauty finally awake?” He coos, giving you a warm smile. 

You shoot daggers at him with your eyes.

“Wha-at the fuck is this, Da-avid?” you manage, your words thick and slurred. Your tongue feels too big for your mouth.

He walks over and stands in front of you, tilting his head as he studies your face.

“This?” he says, gesturing vaguely to the room around you, “This is a fresh start, sweetheart. I did what you needed me to do.”

“I don't…” You stop, still trudging through the fog in your brain, “I don't understand. Are you the killer Jo-oel warned me-e about?”

“You make it sound so ugly,” He says softly, yet indignantly, “Killer? I don't like to label myself.” 

You blink, trying to keep your head up, but the weight of the situation is pulling you down.

“He said, ugh,” You have to take a deep breath, “You killed people, David.”

“I gave them a purpose, just like I'm doing for you.”

There’s a long pause. The fog in your head starts to lift just enough for fear to settle into the spaces it left behind.

“That woman, was she really your wife?” 

“No,” He says plainly.

“Why did you lie?”

“Because if I’d told you the truth, you wouldn’t have stayed.”

“Why the photos?”

“Part of me wanted you to see, wanted you to know the kind of man I am,” David sighs, “but you were just too kind to pry like you should've.”

“Was she… one of your victims?” You ask hesitantly, the words barely making it out of your throat. 

“She was a mistake. Maybe you should ask Joel about her. I'm sure he'd love a walk down memory lane,” He mutters, jaw tightening, as if he wants you to drop the subject. 

“What about Donnie? What did you do to him?” You ask, not sure if you want the answer to that. 

“That piece of shit? I took him out like the trash he was,” David laughs, “Normally, I don't go for guys, but I can swing both ways.”

Your heart skips a beat, and not in an exciting way. As much as you disliked Donnie, you didn't want him dead. David walks around to stand behind you and leans down.

“I shouldn't have intervened, but I did. Do you know why?” David's cheek brushes against yours as he noses your hair and whispers, “I couldn't stand the thought of another man leaving his mark on you. You're mine to corrupt. Mine to bend. Mine to break.” 

“I am not yours,” You whisper, leaning away from him.

David takes this personally. He backs away from you for a moment and you can hear him rummaging around behind you, metal scraping against wood and other pieces of metal. You want to turn your head and peek at what he was doing but frankly, you really don't want to know. 

“Say it again,” He demands from behind you, voice low and serious. 

You shake your head no.

“Say. It. Again.”

Again, you shake your head.

There's a thick, suffocating intensity in the air. It definitely doesn't help when David wraps a cold, thin wire garrote around your neck, pulling it tight against your skin. Your head whips backwards, trying to avoid the pressure on your throat. 

When you open your mouth to speak, he tightens his hold on the handles. The sharp piano wire bites painfully into your skin, but it doesn't dig deep enough to affect your air intake. David knows just how far to go before he actually hurts you, evidently. It's effective in keeping you quiet.

“Don't want to speak? Fine. Maybe I should take the privilege away from you altogether,” He says coldly, “I know you're acting like you don't want this, don't want me, because you're in shock. That's normal, to be expected, but you belong to me now.

“Everything I've done, I've done for you, for us. You are my fucking priority. Do you understand that?” David's words come out harshly, but his voice is soft.

“You're delusional,” You choke out.

“I felt the connection and I know you did, too. I just had to show you.”

“By drugging me? Kidnapping me? Are you serious? What makes you think I feel anything for you now?” You hiss through the pain, all but laughing at him, “You're a joke.”

You have to admit, you had underestimated David. As harmless as you thought he was, everything made sense now. The break ins, how David seemed to know his way around your apartment, the random gifts…

He leans down close to your ear, breath hot against your ear, “Did all those nights you spent touching yourself and moaning my name mean nothing to you?”

“What-” He pulls the wire tighter, cutting off your response as his leather gloves creak against the handles.

“Shh, shh. Of course I was there, I wouldn't have missed those moments for anything,” David sighs. 

Your blood turns icy cold in your veins.

“You finally got predictable once I started mixing flunitrazepam with your wine. Ever heard of a roofie?” 

Your eyes grow wide with realization. No wonder your wine habit has gotten so bad. You were drinking every night now, addicted to how quickly it helped you fall asleep considering your ongoing battle with insomnia.

“I know, I know. At first, I just wanted to help you sleep, really… but you looked so perfect, so peaceful. How could I not get closer?”

You scrunch your nose up in disgust. The thought of him watching you sleep, masturbate, and who knows what else made you shift in your chair. Sharing every private moment with someone you didn't even know sent waves of nausea through you. 

How could you have not known you had eyes on you for so long? 

“Do you know how many times I climbed into bed with you? How often I touched you? Memorized every inch of you?” David leans down to rest his head on top of yours, “You always gave me that pretty smile. Even a moan, once. That's when I knew I was doing the right thing.”

You don't dare say a word, afraid of popping whatever lovesick bubble David was in right now. 

You sit frozen beneath him, your breath shallow as the garrote presses against your throat. His head is still resting on yours, his body draped behind you like a weighted shroud.

“Do you feel it now?” he whispers, as if inviting you into some shared fantasy, “That love. It’s always been there.”

He loosens the wire, just enough for you to gulp in a breath, and trails a gloved finger down your shoulder like a lover would. Your skin crawls.

“You don’t know how hard it was,” he continues, voice heavy on your ears, “Watching you live your life like I wasn’t already in it.”

You let out a groan, wincing against the pressure.

“I gave you everything. My time, my devotion, my patience. You think I wanted to rush this? You gave me no choice.”

You don’t dare move. Any twitch might break his calm demeanor. David circles in front of you, crouching down to your eye level. His pupils are blown wide, wild with obsession. He cups your cheek, thumb stroking just beneath your eye where a tear has left a trail on your skin.

“I know this is overwhelming,” he says gently, “But that’s only because you've never been loved the way you deserve.”

Your silence seems to calm something in him. David rises slowly. That smile creeps back onto his face, the one that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I think you need some time to reflect,” he murmurs, “To understand what we are. I’ve prepared a place just for that. Just for you.”

Before you can argue, he moves with a surprising swiftness. The garrote is gone and you can breathe freely. You attempt to stand, pulling against the restraint, but he’s already behind you, moving the chair underneath you. 

“Let’s not make this harder than it has to be,” he says softly.

He wheels the chair backward through the narrow hallway. The room he brings you to is colder. The walls are painted a dull gray. You recognize this as being the same room he had his photography set up in. This time, there's a bed in the center, its headboard and bedframe fitted with thick leather cuffs. You scream and kick, but he doesn't care.

“I knew you’d be scared, but you'll come around. I promise.”

You’re still fighting when he unties you from the chair and lifts you onto the bed. The cuffs click into place around your wrists and ankles before you can twist away. The restraints are padded, but the metal underneath is harsh and unforgiving. David stands over you, chest heaving slightly, not with exertion, but anticipation.

“There,” he whispers, stepping back to admire his work. “Now you can have some alone time, to really think about this.”

-

After he leaves, the last thing on your mind is wanting to think about David. You want to be home, curled up comfortably under your blankets. 

You're left alone on the bed for what feels like hours. Your muscles feel strained from fighting against the cuffs, and you're exhausted overall. You try to deny the heaviness of your eyelids, but it's a losing battle for you. 

-

When you wake up, there's duct tape over your mouth and David is on the phone with someone. He's watching you from the chair in the corner, leaning casually on his hand and smiling at you, acknowledging that you're awake.

“You always were slow to start, Joel. Tell me, do you think she screams louder than the last one? You would know, wouldn't you?” David stands up and places the phone on the bed beside your head. 

The duct tape muffles your cries as he runs his gloved hand over your stomach before slipping his fingers under the waistband of your panties. He yanks them down, but when the fabric snags at your thighs, he exhales a sharp breath of frustration and tears them off. The sound of ripping cloth cuts through the air as you yelp behind the tape, the burn of the fabric rubbing raw against your skin. 

He tosses the scraps haphazardly towards the head of the bed, never taking his eyes off of you. He leans over you and rips the duct tape off of your mouth, leaving behind raw, stinging flesh. You wince, momentarily distracted by the pain before you remember the situation you're in. 

“I want you to be loud for Joel, okay? Let him hear how scared you are,” David laughs cruelly and runs a gloved hand along the side of your body, lingering on your hip in the same spot you were bruised. 

“Mr. Campbell?” You turn your head and whisper to the phone. David looks up at you with one eyebrow cocked, but he doesn't silence you.

“I’m here. Stay with me,” Joel's voice crackles through the phone, “We're coming.”

You let out a sob of relief. Someone knew where you were. Help is coming. You just had to hold on long enough for them to find you. 

“Please hurry, I'm scared,” You say a little louder, “I want to go home.”

David freezes. His expression changes into something dark, as if you were the one who betrayed him. You flinch as he leans in, pressing his hand against your stomach. 

“That's very disappointing,” He says darkly.

He grabs the phone and lifts it in front of your face, “Did you hear that, Joel? She doesn't want to be with me. She's scared.”

You see David’s thumb hover over the ‘end call’ button, but he doesn’t press it. Instead, he drops the phone back on the bed, screen facing upward so the call continues with Joel listening on the other end, powerless. He leans over to the bedside table, opening a drawer, he pulls out something heavy.

David lifts up a black leather roll, which he unfurls slowly across the edge of the bed. Inside are a set of polished surgical tools, glinting under the low light. You can see scalpels, forceps, and even a small bone saw. He handles each one with a delicate familiarity.

“Do you want to know what makes you different?” he asks, not looking at you, “They screamed. They begged. They didn’t understand. But you get it, don’t you? You understand my feelings for you?”

You shake your head weakly, tears streaking your face, but David smiles like you just confessed your love. He kneels beside the bed and picks up the scalpel. It seems to be his favorite, by the way he cradles it before pressing it gently against your collarbone, not breaking the skin, just letting the cold metal rest there as a promise.

“Joel can’t save you. You know that. He’s always too late. Always been too fucking slow to stop me,” He says, turning the phone back toward you, tilting it just enough so the open line continues to broadcast your ragged breaths, “He’ll hear everything, but I want your eyes on me.”

Then he climbs onto the bed and straddles your waist, his weight pinning you in place. The scalpel glides down your arm this time, just a scratch, but it's enough to let a single bead of blood rise to the surface and roll down your forearm. 

You sob and turn your face away from him, from the phone, from everything, but David cups your chin and forces your eyes back to his. 

“You see?” David murmurs, voice syrupy sweet as he bends down and drags his tongue slowly along the cut, “This? This is real love. Taking whatever your body gives me without a single complaint.”

The glint in his eyes is terrifying. He believes this is right, that this is how he's supposed to be intimate. You struggle against the restraints with all your might, but it's no use. 

David climbs off of your waist, opting to kneel between your legs on the bed, bringing both hands to rest on your stomach. He's still holding the scalpel in his left hand, but keeps it raised. He wants any cut he makes to be intentional. 

David trails his right hand down the sensitive skin of your stomach again, hovering his hand over your mons. 

“Please s-stop,” You think about trying to bargain with him, but you know you don't have anything to offer that he would want besides, well, you.

There's another crackle from the phone, it sounds like Joel says ‘god dammit’ but you don't know if it's directed at you or not. 

David meets your eyes. Then, slowly, he dips his leather-clad thumb between your folds, flicking your clit with precision. You hate the way your cunt responds, clenching around nothing. And you absolutely despise the sounds that come out of your mouth as he slides his thumb lower, pressing persistently into your tight, wet heat. 

You try to hold back by biting your lip, and it works, but only until he replaces his thumb with his middle finger, sliding it effortlessly up to the last knuckle like he's done it a thousand times before.

As if you weren't already struggling enough, he brings his thumb back to your clit and rubs slow circles around it in sync with the thrusting of his hand. He ambitiously decides to slip another digit in and suddenly you're bucking upwards to meet his hand. 

Your body doesn’t know that it should be afraid. All it understands is the feeling, the electric pulse that David is building inside of you. Your mind protests, but is drowned out by a flood of endorphins and adrenaline. 

For the second time today, your cheeks are flushed in humiliation. You know Joel can hear you. Every gasp, every ragged cry David wrings out of you is a prayer that you know won't be answered.

You want to care about the fact that he's listening. You want to cry out for Joel to save you. You want to pull yourself together and stop letting David play with you like a cat plays with the guts of the mouse it kills. 

But you don't. You can't… or you won't?

David watches your face, his eyes are dark and intense, taking in every bit of emotion, every gasp and moan that falls from your lips. Electricity flows from your core, traveling through every inch of your body. Your legs start to shake, just the slightest bit, as you pull against your restraints. 

“I want to hear it,” he says, voice low and firm as he speeds up his assault on your clit, “Tell me when you're about to cum, baby girl.”

His fingers curl just right, pressing that tender spot deep inside you. Your spine bows off the bed as far as you can manage. You gasp out a moan and it sounds like something you'd hear in a cheesy porno, but it's real and desperate. 

“You liked that, huh?” 

You nod, giving him a breathy, “Uh-huh! I'm… I'm gonna-”

David grins. It's this wide, toothy smile that makes your blood run cold. Without missing a beat, he takes the scalpel in his left hand and brings it up to your thigh. You don't have time to register what he's doing before you're thrown into your orgasm, your body convulsing beneath him. 

Waves of pleasure wrack your body right as he digs the blade into your soft flesh. At first you don't feel it, your senses blinded by him continuing to roughly rub your oversensitive clit and fuck his fingers into you. But the moment you're able to take a deep breath, the sharp pain manifests on your thigh. 

David's concentrating hard on keeping you overstimulated while he slowly carves into your skin. You look down at what he's doing and you scream. 

From your position on the bed, you can see the top half of what you're pretty sure is a ‘D,’ followed by what kind of looks like an ‘A’. The scalpel glides smoothly in a curve, leaving behind a clean cut for a moment before the blood blooms and blurs the line. He makes one more cut before pulling back to admire his work, revealing the last letter, a ‘G’.

He removes his hand from your cunt with an obscenely wet noise. David doesn’t speak right away. He just stares at what he’s done, entranced by his initials etched into your flesh. The blood doesn’t pour, not yet. It seeps, slow and warm, like your body is too shocked to fully react.

You’re still panting, chest heaving, stuck in that awful in-between where the aftershocks of your orgasm blur into reality. Every nerve feels like it's on fire. Your clit is throbbing, abused and burning, while your thigh pulses with something heated, deeper and sharper. 

You want to move, to pull away, but your wrists are raw against the restraints and your muscles won’t listen. Your arms and legs tremble like a puppet with cut strings. David finally breaks the silence with a satisfied hum. 

“Perfect,” he murmurs, running a gloved finger through the blood. 

He draws a red heart after the ‘G’ before licking the leather of the glove clean. His eyes light up as he bends down and laves his tongue over the bloody initials, tracing the shape. His saliva burns, seeping into the cuts like venom.

You choke on a sob.

“Shh, don't cry. It's over now, isn't it?” He mockingly comforts you, looking up at you from his spot by your thigh.

Tears paint your cheeks as David tosses the scalpel onto the bedside table and slowly crawls up your body. He kisses your cheek, tenderly, then your jaw. You groan, expecting him to pull away, but he doesn't. He kisses you, swallowing your cries and silencing you. 

You taste copper. Your own blood, you assume. He pulls away when you gag, licking away the smear of red on his lips as if it was icing.

The phone clicks and the line goes silent. You had forgotten that the detective was still there at all. You can't believe Joel hung up on you. How dare he leave you alone with this bastard? 

Your heart drops into your stomach, doing a couple flips before landing directly in the acid that's eating you up inside. The last line of hope you had was gone. Just like that. 

David laughs, almost maniacally, “Do you really think that he's coming to save you? You think Joel's going to finally be the fucking hero for once in his life?” 

You let your head fall back against the pillow, eyes fixed on the ceiling as your body stills. David gets off the bed and shuffles around somewhere in the room. You don't bother looking up until you hear the telltale click of a camera. 

You can't believe he would dare take pictures of you right now, in such a vulnerable state. You protest, but it's not good enough to stop him. 

David snaps pictures of you shackled to the bed. He photographs his now embedded signature, your breasts, even your tear stained face, capturing every detail with obsessive precision. 

One hand forces open your weeping cunt, while the other works the camera. He laughs at your weak attempts to clamp your legs shut as he spreads you wider. 

His camera clicks with mechanical indifference. It's methodical and detached, as if documenting something clinical rather than cruel. Each picture that the camera spits out is placed in rows on the nightstand. 

With one final shot of your puffy, tear stained face, he places the camera on the nightstand, lens facing you. 

"You were amazing," he murmurs, “I'll be right back.”

He leaves you alone with your thoughts. 

In the meantime, the camera sits there, still and watchful. Silent proof that this happened, that you were seen. The shame sinks deeper into your chest.

You close your eyes and try to escape into the darkness behind your eyelids, but there's no refuge there. Just the dull throb of pain.

After excruciating silence, David returns and plops down on the side of the bed. He doesn't say anything. He simply sits there admiring you and his work when suddenly, there's a huge crash in your apartment next door.

There's shouting, footsteps, and dozens of voices.

Help is here, you think, letting out a ridiculously huge sigh of relief. You had endured enough. You were so brave this whole time. All you needed to do was wait for them to bust down David's door, too, and then you'd be safe. 

Bang! Bang! Bang! 

David's eyes widen and his shaking hand flies to cover your mouth before you can scream. 

“Mr. Robert Smith?” Calls a man's voice from outside the front door, “It's the police. Open up.”

Mr. Robert Smith? Who are they talking about? Did David lie to you about his name? 

David hastily locates your underwear, shoving them in your mouth. You choke on the fabric, trying to spit them out as he digs through the drawer. He finds the duct tape and rips a piece off with his teeth, slapping it over your mouth again. 

“Not. A. Sound,” He hisses in your ear and hops off the bed, ripping off his gloves and tossing them onto the bed with you. You can hear David open the front door and the detectives identify themselves. You don't hear Joel's name or voice and a knot forms in your stomach. 

You never told Joel where you were. You never, not once, even mentioned David's name to him, at the police station or during the phone call. They don't know that you're here, they must have thought you were still in your apartment. You're absolutely fucked. 

“What seems to be the problem?” David asks, coyly.

“Mr. Smith, we have reason to believe your neighbor’s life may be in danger. Can we come in?” 

“Oh, that's awful. I'm sorry to hear that,” David lies right through his stupid teeth, “Sure, come in.”

“Thank you,” The two policemen enter the apartment and from your spot on the bed, you can see them standing in front of the couch in the living room with their backs turned towards you. 

They just had to turn around for a split second. All you needed was one of them to be curious enough to look your way. They'd see you spread out and cuffed to the bed and hopefully get you out of here.

You quickly try to think of a way to get their attention. You had no slack to move any of your appendages. Making sound was nigh impossible with the way he shoved your panties halfway down your throat, but you tried anyway. All you could muster was a low grumble, unable to scream anymore. 

It wasn't enough. 

“Have you noticed anyone unusual coming or going? Seen or heard anything strange recently?” The officer asks, oblivious to your efforts.

“Let's see. Hmm,” You see David rubbing his chin almost cartoonishly while trying to think up the best way to get them to go away, “There’s been a man coming around, especially late at night. They argue a lot. I think his name started with a D? Or maybe a B? I can't remember, really.”

Trying to frame Donnie? Of all people? You roll your eyes. Donnie is absolutely a violent man and mean as a rattlesnake, but being a stalker who specializes in killing is a bit above his IQ abilities. 

“Right. Can you give me a description of this man?” The lead officer pulls out his notepad and begins to write. 

David describes Donnie vaguely, using certain minor details that the police probably already have about himself. The detective offers David his card and tells him to call if the man shows up again. He says to keep the door locked, just in case, and bids David a goodnight. 

The men turn to leave and you scream as loud as you can, but it's too muted. If they'd just look your way, you're right here for fuck’s sake! 

David smiles at you from the living room as they make their exit. He locks the door behind them and all but merrily skips his way back to your room. 

“You did so well,” He praises, enthusiastically patting your injured thigh and making you wince. 

Then, as if nothing just happened, he calmly begins to tidy up the room. He retrieves the gloves from the bed and tucks them into his pocket without a glance at you. The tool roll is collected next, each one inside carefully aligned and rolled back up.  He stacks the photos with precision, tapping the edges to make them flush before placing them neatly back on the nightstand. The camera stays put. 

You don’t know if it’s the pain or the exhaustion, but your eyes well with fresh tears as he moves about like someone cleaning up after a romantic evening with their lover.

“I need to run out,” he says finally, “I have some business to handle before it gets any later. We'll finish this when I get back, okay?”

David leans over and presses a kiss to your forehead, “Be good while I’m gone, sweetheart.”

You watch him leave. The front door clicks shut behind him, and the silence that follows is deafening. 

You’re left strapped down, sore, and hurting in more places than you can count. You let yourself cry, ugly and quiet, the sound muffled by the underwear stuffed in your mouth. You can feel your wounds oozing, blood and plasma leak from every cut, dripping down your skin. 

Each movement sends a jolt of pain through your body, but stillness is no kinder. The cuffs rub painfully on your wrists and ankles, but nothing could feel worse than the aching feeling in your chest. It's an agony deeper than any physical pain you've suffered and nothing in the world would be able to ease it now. 

The photographs on the nightstand seem to taunt you now. They're moments of your humiliation frozen in time, hard evidence of how your body has been vandalized. 

You close your eyes again and you see nothing but flashes of David's smile. 

-

Eventually, you're able to doze off and get a little bit of rest before David comes back. 

When David returns, he says nothing. He simply walks in silently, and begins unbuckling the restraints at your wrists and ankles.

You're free now, technically, but you don't even entertain the thought of escaping. Your body wouldn't make it that far. He peels the duct tape off of your mouth and removes the makeshift gag.

He lifts you easily, cradling you like you're fragile, and carries you to the bathroom. He draws a warm bath, the sound of the faucet running is oddly soothing to your nerves. David helps you into the water, and settles on the edge of the tub, watching you as he reaches out to touch you.

Calloused fingers trace the bloody line cut across your throat before delicately washing the wound with a soapy cloth. He methodically cleans each cut on your body. You wince from the stinging each time he presses against sore flesh and tears start forming in your eyes. 

David looks at you with something akin to what maybe he thinks is pity. He kisses the tears away when they begin to fall silently down your cheeks. 

Maybe there's still a part of David that doesn't want to hurt you. There's a softness in the way he bathes you, hands purposed and unwandering. The way he delicately brushes your wet hair sends tingles down your spine and leaves you more breathless than you'd like to admit. 

Dressing you is an act of worship. He takes his time fitting each piece of clothing on you perfectly. There's pride in his eyes as he looks at you fully dressed and clean, sitting on the edge of the bed with your hands in your lap. 

For the first time during this entire ordeal, you're not afraid of him. Nothing menacing is radiating off of him right now, it's another feeling entirely. It's something squishy and raw, something he hides away from the world. 

This time, when he kisses you, you don't fight back. You lean into it, ball your fists up, and meet him halfway. He smiles against your lips and gives you a small huff of a laugh before grabbing the sides of your face and peppering kisses all over your lips. Your hands relax against your thighs. You want to reach out and touch him, maybe use this chance to take control of the situation, but you can't bring yourself to do it. 

-

David doesn’t press for more than a kiss and you're grateful he stops there. It’s a quiet relief, but then he extends his hand with a smile that makes your heart melt.

“Dance with me.”

You hesitate. Maybe you pause too long. He notices and you nod, because what else can you do? 

He holds you close, swaying to a tune only he seems to hear. His hand rests just a little too low on your back with his breath warm against your temple.

“You're coming around,” he says gently, “I think you’ve earned a little more freedom.”

You blink, unsure whether that’s a kindness or a warning.

“I’ll remove anything dangerous,” he continues, like he's talking about baby-proofing the place, “I know you hate the mark I gave you, but I can’t have you hurting yourself just to erase me.”

His words hang in the air like smoke, wrapping around and clinging to you, waiting for you to choke. He gives you the rules like they’re a favor. You can move through the apartment freely now. You’ll no longer be confined to one room. His bedroom is off limits unless he’s with you. That’s the only real rule, he says.

That, and the fact that the doors and windows are to remain locked. Always.

-

With your new privileges came a strange sort of freedom. One that felt more like breaking into a museum of someone else’s life than living your own. 

You spent hours drifting from room to room in David’s apartment, running your fingers along surfaces you weren’t sure you were allowed to touch. Pushing against locked windows and twisting locked door knobs became something of a habit for you. The novelty faded quickly, and the silence started to stretch. 

Eventually, you found yourself kneeling beside him on the couch, eyes wide, asking for something to do.

He caved and gave you a small stack of books, but promised to buy you more if you were a good girl for him. 

When you asked him for a comfortable place to read, he even set up a reading nook for you in the corner of his living room. In the corner of the living room, he built you a soft, cozy nook consisting of one oversized cushion, several throw pillows, and a few soft blankets that smelled like his detergent. 

Beside it stood a lamp with a gooseneck for you to maneuver around when you wanted to change reading positions. It was one of the nicest things he had done for you. 

Over time, you learned the rhythm of his moods. His unspoken rules became muscle memory for you. You learned where to stand, how to sit, when to speak. You stopped resisting, it was easier that way.

One of David’s unspoken rules is that you’re never allowed to bathe alone. He insists on being there, every time. You're kind of glad he's with you because you're not sure what you'd do if he wasn't. You think he knows that, too. He can see the way you avoid the mirror, the way you refuse to look down, avoiding your thigh like it was cursed.

David caught you once, clutching a pair of dull hair scissors, trying to carve over his initials he’d etched into your flesh. He had left them in a bottom drawer. Maybe by accident, but probably not. 

You barely got one trembling cut in before he busted through the door. You dropped the scissors onto the floor. Your nails were the next tool at your disposal, digging and tearing at the raw skin like it was something foreign and wrong.

David didn’t yell or chastise you, he just held you. Arms locked around your chest, whispering that he forgave you, even though you’d tried to erase the gift he gave you. For a terrifying second, you melted into him seeking comfort, almost forgetting it was him that made you like this.

There’s a ritual to your nighttime.  

A practiced routine he performs before, during, and after your bath. You’re not even allowed to wash your own body or brush your hair. 

At first, it was humiliating, but now, you’ve become accustomed to his pampering. He lotions your skin, trims your nails incredibly short, brushes out your hair, all with a care that mimics adoration… but only when done his way, by his hands.

After he bathes you and gives you your own special spa treatment, he takes you to your room and gets you ready for bed. 

First, he dresses you in what you assume is a very expensive set of lingerie. Each night, it's a different piece. Some are babydoll style, delicate and flowy, with sheer fabric and matching panties. Others are more risque with form fitting, lacy bodices that accentuate your figure. If a set pleases him, you might wear it again, but that’s rare.

Then comes time for the camera. 

You didn’t need to be bound anymore. The cuffs still dangled from the bedposts like a warning, a reminder of the consequences for acting out, though he hadn’t used them in weeks. He didn’t need to. 

You sat where he told you, posed the way he instructed with your hands on your thighs, eyes down, and your chin up. You listened to the camera shutter click, and felt the flash like lightning behind your eyelids.

He says the pictures are for a surprise. You don’t ask what kind, even though you do have some idea. Your heart swells sickly at the thought of him putting together something for you. 

Finally, he tucks you into bed. ‘Tucking’ you into bed, for David, means laying down with you while he kisses  you and lets his hands roam your body in long, lingering strokes. He murmurs soothing things while the sedative he slips you takes hold. When your eyelids start to flutter, when you stop resisting, you realize there's something inherently comforting about someone caressing you to sleep. Holding you protectively in their arms as you drift off, giving you permission to let your guard down, that's all you've ever wanted.

-

The next morning, David brings you breakfast in bed. A huge spread of eggs, sausage, bacon, pancakes, toast, and even fresh cut fruit is neatly placed on a fancy looking silver platter. He sets it in front of you with a proud little smile, giving you time to pick and eat whatever you like before quietly taking the rest back to the kitchen. 

When he returns, he's holding a small photo album, similar to the one you found on his coffee table. You look at him curiously and gesture for him to sit next to you on the bed. He smiles at your invitation, and sits down carefully beside you. 

David shows you the album slowly, page by page, unveiling his hard work. Each photograph is a carefully composed portrait: your body arranged in silk and lace, the bruises and carvings on your thigh captured in soft focus, the ligature mark on your neck turned into something almost elegant. It’s horrifying and overwhelming. 

You hate how a small, shameful part of you feels flattered. The rational bit of your brain is screaming at you, but the part of your brain that just wants to be loved is drunk on the attention. You knew it took dedication for him to put this together for you. 

David then tells you he sent a copy of the album to Detective Joel. You look at him silently, wondering what reaction he's expecting from you.

But, that's not all he did. He says he spoke to Joel, and convinced him you were already dead. According to David, he sent him chasing shadows for a body that would never be found. 

He even mailed cards to your family, apologizing for killing you and offering his condolences. The case has gone cold. No one is looking for you anymore.

Maybe you should be numb to this by now, but you're not. You're livid. 

Rage spreads through you so violently that your hands tremble. He ripped you away from your family, your job, your friends, your life, and still had the audacity to exploit your image and manipulate Joel. David has forced everyone you knew to mourn you in a lie. Living dead girl, he jokes.

You try to regulate your breathing, but big, angry tears roll down your cheeks, anyway.

David soothes you, like he always does. His voice is gentle and reassuring. He's very proud of what he’s done for you. He tells you this is your chance at real freedom. No job. No responsibilities. No more expectations. Your family will collect the life insurance payout, and you’ll stay with him for the rest of your life. 

You realize that your life will only last as long as he deems it to be. Your attitude changes quickly, if only partially a survival tactic. 

Unfortunately, you feel yourself starting to come around to the idea of being with him permanently, and it doesn't sound so bad. 

-

Days after he breaks the news to you, you decide it's finally time for you to find out what he's been keeping in his bedroom. 

Careful to avoid the creaky floorboards, you tiptoe to his bedroom door. Your hand trembles as you reach for the knob, half-expecting it to burn your skin on contact.

It doesn’t. The door opens easily, to your surprise. There's a king sized bed in the middle of the room with matching bedside tables, and one long dresser against the opposite wall. In the corner beside the dresser is a small metal safe. You’re positive that's where he keeps his gun. You aren't sure if you want to know what else he might be keeping in there. 

One of the tables houses a wide lamp, emitting a deep orange glow. It's not very bright, but you can easily see your way around. On the dresser, the robe he gifted you is folded neatly with the necklace sitting on top. 

You're tempted to put it on, just to see what he'd say. Maybe he'd appreciate you taking some initiative for him. You have to keep yourself from laughing at that. 

Your first instinct is to go through the dresser. You're not some creep trying to go through his underwear drawer, you tell yourself. You just want to see what he's got going on in here, why he wants you to stay out of this room so badly. 

The top drawer slides with some difficulty, the track gets stuck halfway and you have to yank it open the rest of the way. Inside, you find a ton of random objects. Most of them are your missing items.

Three pairs of your panties are crumpled in the corner of the drawer. The last time you remember seeing two of them was in your dirty clothes basket over a month ago. When you couldn't find them, you had assumed the dryer must have eaten them. You wish that had been the case. 

The third pair are the ones you were wearing during the day you spent at David's that somehow found their way off of you in the middle of the night. A sick feeling twists in your stomach as you put two and two together. 

Alongside your underwear, there's a hairbrush with your hair still in the bristles, chewed gum in baggies, an empty coffee cup with your favorite lipstick shade on it, and a bunch of small knick knacks that were supposed to be decorating your apartment. 

So David was the reason you had to buy a new brush? You aren't sure you even have the ability to feel surprised by this man's perversions at this point. You shove the drawer closed, and move on to the next. 

When you open the second drawer, you think about retracting your previous statement.

There are dozens of plain cover photo albums here, just like the one he had on his coffee table and the one he made for you. You pick one at random and flip open to the middle page. What you see makes your stomach lurch. 

A woman with blonde hair, glassy eyes, and slack jaw stares back at you from the page. A dark ligature mark is carved into the skin of her throat, purpling her neck with a splash of red. Her mouth is open in a silent scream, her expression frozen. You nearly drop the album, but a morbid curiosity makes you need to see more. 

Your hand shakes as you dare to turn the page. It's another picture of the same woman, but she's completely nude and stiffly posed on a bed. The comforter she's laid on has the unmistakable same floral pattern as the one David has on your bed. 

She’s laid out like a doll in lingerie with her limbs carefully arranged and her hair neatly brushed. There's even red lipstick painting her plump lips, immaculately applied. 

Your breath catches in your throat. It's some kind of grotesque, post mortem boudoir shoot.

A pang of sick, confusing jealousy hits you in the gut like a freight train. Not fear, not even rage. Just jealousy. You told yourself you weren’t the only one. Detective Campbell told you, but somewhere, deep down, you believed that David loved you differently than them. 

You thought you were special, chosen even, but this woman had worn the crown of thorns before you. Judging by the albums lining the drawer, so had many others. Just like that, the illusion cracks for you. 

You weren’t special to him, you were just next in line. 

Tears stream down your face as you look through the different albums. All the different women who looked nothing like you made your stomach churn.

You're caught up staring at one of the photographs when you hear the soft creak of the floorboard behind you. You freeze. The album trembles in your hands as your breathing stops. You don’t turn around. You don’t need to.

David’s voice is soft, almost gentle, “I see you've been exploring.” 

His tone isn’t angry. He sounds more disappointed than anything, like a father scolding a child who got into something they shouldn't have. You clutch the photo album to your chest and slowly turn to face him. He’s standing in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest and a frown on his face. 

“You lied to me,” Your voice shakes and your bottom lip quivers.  

David takes a step closer, and a smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. It makes you uncomfortable. He's too calm and controlled.

“I just didn't tell you everything,” he says, his voice kind and rehearsed.

You clutch the album tighter, backing into the dresser, “You said I was the only one for you, that the other woman was a mistake.”

He sighs, almost theatrically, “You are the only one for me, baby girl. I don't have eyes for anyone but you.”

“Then why are there so many?” You challenge him. 

David’s jaw twitches. His hands drop from his chest, fingers flexing at his sides like he’s trying to stay composed, “Because I was looking for you. Don’t you get it? They were all trials. You… you’re my finale, the sun to my moon.”

He steps closer again and reaches out to touch you, making you flinch. 

“Please, David, don’t,” you whisper, the album slides from your grip and lands on the floor with a soft thud.

“I convinced myself that you would be good,” His voice breaks, “But you broke the rules, sweetheart.”

His hand catches your arm before you make it two steps. His fingers are like a vice around your wrist. The scream barely leaves your lips before he yanks you backward, sending you crashing to the floor. You scramble to get on your knees to stand, but he shoves down on your shoulder, keeping you on the floor.

“Stop fighting me!” He shouts, the sudden change in his voice makes you stop moving. You’ve never heard his voice like that. It isn’t gentle, or loving, or even human. It sounds purely evil. 

His facade drops for a split second and you can finally see the monster behind the mask. 

In that moment, as he looms over you, the fantasy shatters around you. He never loved you, not really. He collected you, like he did all the other women he killed. You look up at him, wide eyed and shaking. The bunny caught in the wolf’s maw before he rips you to shreds. 

You’re frozen in place, unable to scream again. The photos, the lipstick, the lingerie, the flash of his camera, the bed, it all becomes a swirling blur. The images layer over your own memories like film reels in your mind. 

He lets go of you and starts talking, but the words don’t matter anymore. 

You start to laugh. Quiet at first, then louder, bordering on hysterical. You think that maybe if you laugh hard enough, you’ll drown out the truth of what you found. 

You double over, hugging yourself while your body shakes with laughter in between sobs. David kneels down in front of you, gently taking your hands in his. His skin against yours feels like grabbing a live wire. You snatch your hands away and he frowns. 

“Don't you think this is a little dramatic, sweetheart?” David says, honey lacing his words again as he places his hands on your thighs. 

Slowly, he pushes his hands upwards, sneaking under your dress to brush against your underwear. It's enough to pause your hysterics and grab your attention. He gently parts your thighs, and rubs his finger over the front of your panties to find you soaked. You wish your cunt knew the difference between danger and desire. 

“I can fix this. Let me show you what you mean to me,” David whispers as he leans in to plant a kiss on your cheek. 

You go quiet. It's not because he's succeeded in calming you down, but because your mind starts to drift as he slowly guides you backwards. You allow yourself to go limp.

Laying underneath him feels surreal. You whine as he hikes your dress up to expose your breasts, but you don't feel his touch. There's pressure, sure, but he may as well be touching someone else. 

It's not your body anymore.

You feel like you're floating above everything, watching from the ceiling. You don't recognize the girl trembling beneath David. The colors of the room blur together, soft around the edges but too bright and too dim all at once. 

David says something but his voice sounds muted, like he's speaking from underwater. He undresses her further, sliding her panties down and situating himself between her thighs. He quickly plunges his fingers into her before pulling them out, lining his cock up with her cunt. 

You squeeze your eyes shut. 

You think of anywhere but here. You picture the ocean, with waves lapping against the sand. Or your childhood bedroom, hiding under the covers. You think of anywhere safe, somewhere your body still belongs to you.

Right as you’re settling into your fantasy inside your head, you hear someone cry out. Your eyes snap open and you see David shoving his way inside of the girl underneath him. He shushes her, stroking her cheek with one hand and tightening his grip on her hip with the other. 

He can have her. It's not your body anymore.

-

David is the kind of man who breaks his toys and shoves them back together, not caring what gets lost in the process. For you, that means being forever fractured, with pieces of yourself littering the floor of this home like flower petals. 

[layce2015]

John Wick Chapter 4 (John Wick x Female!Reader) Masterlist

With the price on his head ever increasing, legendary hit man John Wick and his wife, (y/n), take their fight against the High Table global as they seek out the most powerful players in the underworld, from New York to Paris to Japan to Berlin.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

[brookie-kookie1943]

So, I’m probably going to do some self inserts for a while to get comfortable with writing and using tumblr as well as acquiring the courage and confidence to share my own original ideas…

Anyways, if there’s any Keanu movies you would want me to write and put my own little twist on - let me know!💕