#john wick x s/i

[rainbowtvz]

Fire and balance for the self ship Wizard101 ask game!!!

@pr0minenceburn

fire;

sal: music! and art. both listening to/looking at and making it. we've made plans to have a jam session together when we can. and I also found a nice violin that i'd love to get my hands on and i think he wants to gift it to me. and for art, he's not the best at drawing but he definitely loves watching me do so, and paint. it feels like i'm bearing my soul to him and he takes extra care of it for me when i do :3

absynthe: definitely art, food, and gardening, more so the latter two. absynthe and i are both artists so we take turns showing each other what we've drawn, but we definitely connect more over gardening and our love of food :3. she has a big green thumb and while i'm not an expert i'm pretty good at growing stuff myself. i'm always in awe at how simple and easy she makes it all look lol. and as for food, well we're both foodies and the way to someones heart is through their stomach, supposedly.

johnny: music as well as punk culture and sticking it to the man. the way we approach this has similarities as well as differences, since he's more selfish and in it for revenge, as well as just being anti-corpo in general. wheras i am more concerned about fighting for the underdog, serving justice, and the environment and the future of the planet. we get into arguments about it sometimes because of how strongly we feel about our stances.

eddie: eddie and i are practically twinsies in the things we're both passionate about, ranging from music, alt culture, nerd culture, to both being queer in the 80s. like we have so much in common that sometimes we finish each others jokes.

john: john and i are still getting to know each other and learning how to navigate our relationship but we are both extremely passionate in our own ways, just in very different directions. we both care so much about doing the right thing. the way it manifests in our words and actions couldn't be more night and day though. it makes it tough to compromise and meet each other half way but true love isn't overnight and it takes work.

balance ;

sal: sal is the introvert and down to earth go with the flow guy to me ambivert head in the clouds worrier self. where my weaknesses lie he steps in to provide strength and vice versa. of course i don't have to go it alone and neither does he because i am also dating absynthe. and while he's not, they're still good friends.

absynthe: she and i are definitely two peas in a pod! it's hard to find differences between us in a way that we balance each other out. i guess it's more her energy in general vs mine? or the way we approach and handle things. she's more shy and introverted than i am, but not exactly like sal is. sal is way more reserved and harder to open up to others. so i guess i'm sort of a bridge between them and that world since i'm an ambivert. i love being social when i am in my comfort zone, but i have to go home and recharge too. and i always know that she's my safe person. i can be around her even when i'm low on social battery.

johnny: johnny has energy for days. like he is just. so extremely extroverted. and he's an asshole. but he takes care of the social and people aspect when i can't and he barely complains about it because he knows that i need breaks from dealing with others. it's more of a snarky complaint anyway because he likes to tease me and get me riled up. it's fun for him. he fills in gaps that i have, knowingly or not, and i keep him grounded and level headed. i guess it's sort of a moirailegence (or however u spell that) in terms of what a pale relationship is from h.omestuck lol. but definitely not platonic. far from it. when he's out of line i bring him back down to earth and calm him and he does the same for me when i end up splitting. he knows he can't get this kind of care and compassion anywhere else and while things can be tumultuous between us, what we feel for each other is real and worth all the headaches, and the heart palpitations.

eddie: eddie is also extroverted! but in a fake it til you make it way. and he's so good at it. it has me in awe. he's my inspiration and muse and my safe person, my home away from home. and i'm his safe space, the keeper of all his secrets and worries, and his voice of reason. i'm also his idea guy and second opinion that he goes for when he wants to pen up a new song or bring something new to the dnd table. the relationship between us is very easy going and light hearted, which is something we both need what with everything going on in hawkins :3. no matter where he goes or what trouble he gets into he can always come back home to me, and that's only part of why he loves me.

john: john is the business man. whether it's clean or dirty. whether it's his profession, past, or how he engages in relationships. his love language is acts of devotion and domesticity. he takes care of the spiders, of the things i can't engage with without becoming squeamish or nauseated, he takes care of me when i am fatigued, in pain, and/or sick. he takes care of me when i break down and he does it without complaint, because his love is unconditional, and it is never transactional between us, at least on his end. i always feel guilty that he does so much for me without even having to ask him and try to give back as much as i can, and he tries to tell me it's not necessary but i do it anyway. my love language is acts of generosity and physical affection. so i get him gifts that make me think of him or remind me of him, whether it's bought, free, or handmade. i make sure he's taken care of as well when he needs it. whether it's learning how to patch him or massage him when he's sore and hurting, or forcing him to take a break and let me take care of him. i remind him that i'm there for him every time i kiss him or run a hand through his hair, when i hold him, when we listen to each other's heart beat. we're sort of a shaky team when it comes to matters not heart related, but we're still a team.

[prismdewdrop]

dangerous territory 

Summary: jason todd may be exhausted after a long night of vigilance, but if you've stayed up late just to talk to him, he's going to make sure he knows exactly why.

or: jason and reader are both idiots and should probably just kiss, but they're idiots, so they do... whatever this is instead.

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader 

Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: mention of jason's death, mention of dead animals (in reference to the plot of john wick)

Tags: roommates in love, late-night conversations, mutual pining, jason is a little bit of an asshole (affectionate), he's not beating the little shit allegations, jason todd loves reader and is soo not normal about it, pov jason todd, everyone is 18+

A/N: long-time jason todd lover, first-time fic writer!

this work was inspired by @notnotacowpoke 's roommatesverse with jason, and they've been absolutely amazing with betaing and just going insane with me over this. you can read their work on ao3 :))

please feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments or in the tags! thanks for reading <3

edit (a big thank you): omg thank you so much for the response, everyone! i genuinely can't believe my first fic on a sideblog got so much of a reaction, and I'm so, SO grateful. my inbox is open for your thoughts or requests for jason and his roommate reader! i'd love to say hi and explore this au some more!

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"Jay?" 

The sleep-soft call melts the night and the pain away. 

Halting his lonely trek to his room, Jason Todd turns towards your voice. A fresh bruise catches at the quickness of his movement, but he tucks away the wince into the back of his throat.

You're standing at your door, peering into the dark in his direction.

"Yeah, babe?" 

A low hiss makes it out of his throat as the endearment falls from his mouth. He waits to see if you caught it. You sounded exhausted, drowsy with much-needed sleep, and even in your apartment, the city was never quiet. Whether you heard it or not, though, you don't acknowledge it, waiting to hear a confirmation from him.

His heart aches for a split second, recognizing the fatigue in your voice, like the second skin he wears every day, accompanied by the tinge of fear that keeps him alive – and keeps you waiting to hear for sure if it's him.

"It's me. What's up?" he says again, louder this time.

You open the door wider, stepping more clearly into his view, just a little past the doorway. One side of your face and body is splashed in the ever-glistening lights of the city that leaks into your apartment in a haze of light gray.

The patch of light helps, and so does his helmet's night vision.

He can see you now, and like always, a breath catches in his throat–even rumpled with sleep, you look lovely and soft.

To you, he knows that he's just a larger patch of darkness against the dimness of your shared living room.

"You're back earlier than I thought you would be," you say finally.

He can see the concern flit over your face as you do your best to scan him in the darkness, checking in vain for any obvious wounds or hurts. He watches as your concern deepens when you're unable to make out anything in the dark, still reluctant to ask him to step into the light

"Slow night," he shrugs. 

He steps closer to you, not fully into the light but close enough that you can make out more of his form. He sees the relief wash over your face and your shoulders loosen a little as you clock his unaffected stride and note the lack of any visible wounds. He doesn't mention his new bruise. And he won’t, at least not until you tell him what it is that has kept you up so late. 

"I – well, I was waiting for you to come back..." 

A pause. 

You pull your lip between your teeth, eyes darting over his face, shoulders climbing towards your ears with tension. He can practically see your mind whirring, and he can see the exact moment you decide against finishing your sentence. Your eyes drop, and your shoulders with them. 

A sigh. 

Then: a small smile.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Which... you are. Clearly. I think. At least, you look—"

You stop yourself, realising that you were babbling. With a pasted-on sheepish smile and an awkwardly cheery wave, you turn towards the door. 

"Well! You must be tired, get some rest. I'll see you tomorrow morning!"

The forced cheer cuts through your fatigue for only a few seconds as you rush the words out and turn towards your room, and he sees the corners of your mouth dipping down the moment you think he can't see your face. You're not a bad liar, by any means. It just so happens that most of the time you're together, you're the only thing Jason sees.

"No."

"What?"

Confusion contorts your face as it snaps to look at him again. Your eyebrows knit together, lips pursing and pushing out into a pout. It's cute, and he's quite sure you have no idea you do this.

"I'm going to camp right out here," he gestures at the (incredibly uncomfortable) couch as he looks straight at you, challenge evident in his voice and in the set of his squared shoulders – "And I am not resting until you tell me what you need."

You frown, lips pressed together into a tight line. You're weighing his response, trying to piece together just how serious he is. Jason reaches up to unclasp his helmet, lifting it off and letting you see that there's very little humor in his eyes – just enough to soften you into spitting out what you really wanted to say — but not enough to let this go.

That's enough for you, though, even in the limited light. Only three months of cohabitation and somehow the both of you could read each other just as well as the stacks of books that crowded the apartment – well worn, annotated, so many of them in various states of disarray, torn and stained and bent, nearly all with cracked spines, but still so so beloved.

He can read you a little better, though, what with his years of vigilance and, well. Everything else that followed.

Jason knows you – the same way he knows the locations of all of Bruce's safe houses, or the exact number of times he could call Tim 'the replacement' before something heavy would be launched at his head. That is to say, concerningly well.

There wasn't a twitch of your eyebrow or a blush or a glare or an angry press of your lips against each other, or a quirk of them (he may have studied your lips especially well) that he hadn't committed to memory, that he didn't know by heart. He wonders if you know, and he wonders what you'd think if you did.

Another sigh, your shoulders sag further, and he makes a mental note to take you through some exercises to improve your truly terrible posture.

"Jason, it's really nothing that can't wait till morning, I just –"

"Come on, dude," He scoffs, not unkindly. "I know you wouldn't have stayed up so late if it wasn't important enough to keep you up."

He nods at the dregs of coffee in the mug you'd forgotten on the centre table for emphasis. There's no hiding from the world's third (or maybe fourth?) best detective that it's the special, strong type that you usually reserve for the most daunting of deadlines.

You swallow up the rest of your words and let out a huff. This time, it's more frustrated than tired, and he can see the flash of irritation in your eyes. You glance away from him, arms coming up to clasp your elbows, encircling yourself in a loose hug. Discomfort radiates off of you in waves, and as you sink your teeth into your lips again; he notes the steady rise of your shoulders towards your ears.

A flash of annoyance goes through him. Not at you — never at you — but whatever new inconvenience this city has wrought for you. Whatever it is that has you up and walking around at 3 AM in the morning after a draining day of work and study and worrying about him.

He fights the urge to step closer, to wrap his hands around your shoulders, smoothing the bare skin and loosening the tightness in them. It would be so easy — there's barely four feet between the two of you, in a few steps he could be holding you and —

He stops himself from following that particular train of thought.

Red Hood faces open gunfire head-on almost daily. Sometimes, he even takes an explosion or two to the face. Then there was the time he'd died, followed by all the times he'd almost died. And he still couldn't remember the last time he'd felt true, bone-deep fear.

But this, this was dangerous territory he was terrified of treading. Yet he was unable to deny the existence of the temptation, always tugging on something in his chest like a low undercurrent, occasionally crashing over him in a wave of desire to touch and protect and hold. To slip his fingers through yours, through your hair, over your lips, between them.

He wonders if you know how easily he can read you, see the way your mind is running through excuses and half-truths to throw him off right now, extricate yourself from this uncomfortable situation and put a safe distance between you again. He should let you do it, really. Even you know that this territory is... not for you. Which is why you were now teetering at its edge after taking these few hesitant steps towards it – him.

But still. He can't ignore the tug. He can deny the waves, stop himself with a savage jerk on his mental reins. That low undercurrent, however – he nurses it, lets it guide him. He has to. It hasn't been long since you met, but he already doesn't know what he would do without it guiding him back to you, day after night after day, painful blow after near-death encounter.

And so he narrows his eyes at you, ready to counter anything you say that isn't the truth.

He feels like a dick; he really does – dangling his well-being in front of you to get you to just stand up and say it. He does this sometimes, pushing you and inconveniencing you – borderline bullying you into being honest with him.

But he knows he's right to be doing this. You have enough fire in you to push back when need be, when he crosses a line, and knowing you, you would've stormed back into your room without a backward glance and with a slam of your door, if whatever this was wasn't bothering you so much.

"I..." You paused to glare at him, just to show him that even if you were playing along, you did not appreciate playing his games.

Jason hides his smile and just raises his eyebrows.

Hands clenching into fists, you glare up at the ceiling as you wrestle with your words, as if hoping for divine intervention.

Another sigh, this time an admit of defeat.

"Fine – but I'm warning you – it's stupid –"

"With you, roomie, I doubt it is."

"Jason, can you please stop interrupting me? I'm really trying here."

Jason raises his palms in a silent apology, an acknowledgement of his dickish behavior, saving the real sorries for later.

You nod in acceptance.

"Okay." Deep breath. "I just wanted to... show you something. And spend some time with you. You know, because we haven't been able to catch up lately and I –" You stop, voice strangling around the next words, catching yourself. You take a breath before continuing. "And I could really use your... insights."

Your voice trails off, and he can feel you wince internally as you slip into impersonal corporate speak, an effort to avoid any words that were more intimate than they had the right to be.

Jason knows. Or at least he can make a damn good guess as to what the words you'd struggled to choke off were. He knew, sure as hell, it wasn't ‘insights ’, but acknowledging the unsaid words was very much stepping into the dangerous territory. And like you had when he slipped up and called you babe, he doesn't.

If he felt anything less than what he did feel, he would have joked about it, said something like: "Aww, bestie, I miss you too". Then you would laugh and shake your head and you would slip back into the easy camaraderie that had marked the beginning of your relationship – before Jason had started noticing the precise way in which the hearts that you signed your notes off with varied in size and number depending on the mood you were in, or the way your hand reached for his every time you crossed a road together.

So instead, he says nothing. He just waits.

"I'll be in my room," you say, arms wrapping around yourself again, a blush rising steadily up your neck and onto your cheeks. You nod at his gear. "Whenever you're ready, just come in. I'll be up."

Oh. They were to be alone. In your room. Probably on the bed. No, definitely on the bed. There's no space for a desk or chair in rooms that come with apartments in this part of Gotham, especially the ones affordable for students. No, there's only one place they can sit comfortably together.

Not that they haven't sat on your bed – or his bed – together before. They have, countless times. They've cuddled and huddled, most times with a pile of snacks for company.

On the days they'd given up on any possibility of productivity, they'd marathoned all their comfort movies and franchises before falling asleep, arms around each other, legs tangled, and depending on who'd had the worst week, a head tucked under another's chin, lead gently into slumber by the comforting rhythm of a heartbeat.

They'd binged Lord of the Rings (NOT The Hobbit series; you both agreed that that was a waste of time, though Jason had stronger, angrier feelings towards it than you did), almost all the Austen adaptations (you could never decide which Emma you liked better – the one with Anya Taylor Joy had the beautiful production and a great depiction of the relationship between Emma and Harriet, but the one with Gwyneth Paltrow had a certain charm, and the leads good chemistry); John Wick that one time – he'd adored the way you'd poked him and asked him if he could do/had done some of the particularly impressive stunts (he could, and you'd been thoroughly impressed); Fast and Furious – only till the sixth one though – Jason personally thought Fast Five was where they should have ended their binge, but you were partial to the sixth one (because of the romance, you said), and Jason had grudgingly accepted it's merits. 

That was, what, at least 40 hours of just watching movies? And that didn't even include the time they'd spend just hanging out together, reading silently, or watching something on their own (though one of them would inevitably end up joining the other).

No, he's definitely been in your bed, comfortable with the tugging undercurrents of longing in every laugh you shared, the way you'd sniffled unfailingly at the last march of the Ents, and when his eyes watered at the ride of the Rohirrim, the way you'd both sighed at Darcy's confession, and when you'd turned to Jason as you watched John Wick lay waste to New York's criminal underworld in revenge for his dead dog, and ask: 

"You'd do this for me, right?"

"Absolutely."

"Okay, good. I'd maybe hire someone to do this for you, since you know. I can't kill a man with my bare hands."

You could kill a man with your smile, though, Jason remembered thinking. You killed him a little every day and brought him back just as well, each time just a little bit more whole than the last time he'd been brought back to life.

Sure, he'd been in your bed. But not like this, not when the darkness of the night had melted that thing in his chest – the thing that searched for you the moment he woke up – and brought it out from where it was safe in its cage, to the back of his mouth, the tips of his fingers, the pupils of eyes – poised right on the edge of saying, doing, showing the wrong thing.

Say no, the admittedly miniscule part of his brain that didn't leap to fulfill your every wish insisted. They've given you an out already. Just say you're more tired than you look and talk tomorrow. This isn't just treading - this is running blind and unarmed into dangerous territory. Say no.

But... they miss me, the overwhelmingly persuasive part of him that ached to sweep that particularly unrepentant loose curl into place every day reminds him. They're up and they're worried and they want me to come talk to them because they miss me. I miss them.

His heart twists. He can't say no, never could.

Jason wonders if you know that he would walk into a shootout blindfolded, without armor and with a grin, if that could bring you anything worthwhile. He turns a fond smile your way, his careful expression melting away. 

Your breath catches as the corners of his mouth lift. When Jason smiles like that, his eyes crinkle, they shine at you as if you're all he sees, and it was heartachingly beautiful in it's rarity.

Jason's smile was a golden patch of sun on a cold day; you're powerless in its wake to do anything except curl up in its warmth and bask – always longing for more and more. 

"You know I wouldn't say no to that. I'll be right there,” he says with all the seriousness of a wedding vow.

You fight the urge to linger, to drink in his smile with your eyes and infuse every inch of your body with it's sweetness. You force a small smile of your own and with a wiggle of your fingers, you return to your room, feeling his gaze settle on you until you close the door behind you gently.

He doesn't hear the click of the lock, and so when he heaves his own sigh of defeat, it's in the safety of his own room, between him and the busy silence of the city.

[jester089]

Gotta say, massive fan of the work you’ve pumped out, especially for TADC (it came out two weeks or so ago and there’s this much already what?!)

That said, could you write for the gang (separately, I’m sorry l know it’s a lot) who’s s/o resisted abstraction? Like, they were halfway through but turned back through sheer will? *Insert John Wick reference* This has been ping ponging in my head for a while. Thanks for listening! XO

Glitchy pain

I've written for something like this before. And I wasn't sure if you wanted angst or fluff. But since what I wrote before was angst I'm gonna just donna do my ideas on this one. Also to anyone else who feels like requesting don't be afraid to ask for a lot of characters. My max is like 10 and only because Tumblr doesn't like super long posts. I honestly don't think I would have a max if not for that. But really from like 7 pm to 4 am I got a lot of free time and the want to write. So ask to your hearts content. TADC crew x (kind of) abstracted reader

Caine

Caine was floating around when he heard what sounded like a pained and glitchy scream? He quickly floats over to where he heard it from only to find you clutching your head crumpled up into a ball on the floor. He was about to float down and ask you what happened before he noticed the random glitches, black spiky flesh, and randomly colored eye balls all appearing and disappearing in the blink of an eye. So he backed off, a little sad over the fact you were abstracting but life goes on. Until you let out another pained scream, it was almost like the abstraction reacted as the second you screamed it reverted a bit and slowed down. It continues like that for who knows how long. You in a mental and physical battle with abstraction. Caine just staring completely taken back by what he was witnessing. After enough time you vomit a nasty and seemingly living blob of black goo onto the floor and pass out. Caine stares at your motionless body for a few seconds before snapping out of it. He puts the weird goo blob into the cellar and takes you back to your room. He doesn't even know how to react, so he sits there at your bedside waiting for you to wake up. Once you do he is relived to find it's still you, speaking in full sentences and everything. Sure your voice and body have the occasional glitch but overall you're ok. So he leaves you be, mostly. He still needs to study your code for how you did that. But past that and him being a bit more "walking on egg shells" around you, but nothing really changes. And not wanting the others to think your a threat, you and Caine don't tell anyone.

Gangle

Gangle was wandering around looking for you. Her comedy mask broke again and you were the only one who knew how to fix it properly. She could patch it up sure but it never lasted long. Much like Caine she heard you scream out, only difference being she recognized your voice. She quickly changed from casual and aimless stroll to sprint with reason finding you leaned against a wall holding your stomach looking like your about to throw up. She runs up to you and places a hand(?) on each side of your head staring into your eyes. She in a panicked voice asks "Are you ok?! What happened?!" You half shove her away a garbled and messy version of your voice half screaming out that it isn't safe. You quickly regret taking the energy to speak and move as a giant surge of pain jolts up your digital spine forcing you onto your knees. You let out another pained groan/scream as black goo starts oozing out of your mouth. It's only then that Gangle realizes your glitching! She panics and tells you to stay calm while she gets Caine. Gangle sprints off with a mission luckily finding Caine rather quickly. She especially screams at him to help her/follow her. He listens and follows her. When she gets back to where she left you, your passed out. But you aren't glitching anymore. And your not fully abstracted. She carefully walks over to you and sets a gentle hand (ribbon) on your face feeling a whole lot of relief when you half swat at her hand in your sleep. She'll watch you while you sleep making sure you aren't disturbed but when you're awake and she's sure you're ok you are going to be getting a whole lot of cuddles from her. Her comedy mask can wait.

Zooble

Zooble was missing a leg and was hobbling/jumping her way towards your room to ask if you'd seen it. She knocked on your door only to receive no response. She knocks again. Nothing. So she unlocks it with the spare key you gave her. She is stunned by what she sees. Obsessive scribbles covering your walls. Wall paper torn and dirtied. She takes a few cautious steps before finally hearing you say in a horrible sounding voice "P̵̛̣̤̪̑̈́̄͆̚p̴̹͇̆̑̐͠ṕ̷͔̼͙̅̀͐̿͋͜͝P̵̢͚̩̱̮̭̉͜͠l̵͔̟̰̘̼̹̼̯͉͆ḛ̴̣͈̖͛̈́̏̏͌̕͜a̴̢͇̣̮̠͕̮͆̾s̸̡͉̣̺̯͚̾̈́͋̃̑͊͘s̵̼͛̃͛̄̏̊̊͜͠ͅs̷̨̯̬̯͊e̵̢̪̜̗͙̞͈̠͌̔͠s̸̢͔̝̳̞͈̭̲͂͆̇̄͛́́͗ͅͅ ̴̗̻̳̗̜̙̹̘͒̒̑̅̂̎̚͘w̴̰̘͂͊̌̒͘w̸̢̦̑̍̈́͊W̷̨̄̑̌̂̚͝W̵̦̙͇̝̲̪̝̫̜̰̄͑̚w̶̮͐̏̀͊͠h̴̬̤̠̩̰͋͗̾̓̈́̍̅ó̴͍̭͇̯͚̮͔̽̓̔̈́ ̶̥̑͋͒̿̀Ê̶̼͎͇͍̳̯͌͋͐̓̋v̸̢͓̩͗͜͝v̴͇͇̮̻͖̪͕̰̹̫̔̌̎̇̑́ë̷̪̤̫̪͌͂̓̕͘e̵̢̨̱̘̗͙̘̱̱̩̎̾̀v̸͍̄͠ë̶̡̙̠̣̰̠́͜r̸͇̰͖̍͑͌̆̌ ̷̯̼͕͍̭̭̲͙̰̽̈́͝y̷̪͉͓͗̿̀̐̈̃̆õ̷̢̜̮̬͒̈́͒̿̀̽̈́͂̈́ǘ̸̡̟̭̩̠̜̬͙̃ṵ̴̭̮̹̯̺̜̤̈͂̽u̸̬̠͉̺͍̰͉̦͌̋́̃͌̊͘͜ ̵̲͖̩̹̲̊̐͂͝͝a̵̰̩̻̗͕͎̮͈̥̫͂̂̌̆̆̎̑a̴̭͒͐̏̎́́͝à̶̛̘̮͍̟̻͕̰̽̍͛̽̈́̃͛͝r̴͎͚͇̻̞̬͑̂̅̿͋̅̂͊̔ą̴̛̱̱̗̔̈́̈́̔͒̆̌͘͠r̵̺̰̬̹̮̬̘̜̈́̊͗͛̅̌͌͘͜ę̸̛̺̞͚̹̘̱̥̲̒̍̏̔͛̌̚ȇ̴̩.̶̛̖̙̦̝̹̰͔̉͂̆̉̐̾̐͠͝ ̵̘̙͎̼̻̩̬͖͌̉̾̂̄͜J̵͐̏̇̈́̑̃͜͝͝j̶̛̠̬̟̓͗͗͆̆̀̈́̿̂͜j̴̢͍̦͉̯͑̍̓J̷̨̧̢̳̟̠̯͖͖͚̐̈̏̓̈͐̎̐͝j̶̫̞̬͖̯̯̹̺̩͆̾̽́̈́̄ͅJ̵͖̘̫̓u̷̡̧͔̥͇͕͔̞̠̇͛̈́̎͂̌͂͘̕ş̶͕̫̎ṫ̷͈͖̲̩͉͌̅̍̈́́̿ ̷̠͕͕̖̜̻̯̻̖̃̏̀͂͑́l̷̳̣̼̓̈́̊̈́̈̎̀́̋̚͜L̶̡̜̣͔͔̼̠̗̎̇̈́̕Ļ̴̞̟̱̹͓̹̪͖͚̂̐͐̑̂͆̐̓̚͠ḽ̶̢̧̙̺̯͖̰͓͐͗̽̈́̃̔̀̾̕l̴̢̢̳̜̣̦̎́́̔̕̚e̷͔̫͉̘͉̓̓͋͊̀̿̄̕͝ͅã̷̡̢̝̮͔̮̰̱͒͌̈͊̾͂͠ͅͅv̷̗̼͎̠̝̋̓͒͛̂͐͜͜è̶̪̟̲̘̃̓ ̴̺̊̉͑̉̽̅́̕̕m̸̧̦͔̙͍̘̭̲̄͂m̸̧̫͎͌̀̃͜ͅM̴͍͍̫͚̺͚̪̺̿́̒͋̂͐̿͗̚͘m̴̛̘̼͔͑̿̏̅͌̊̾̕e̴̩̟͈̙͑̏͐̆̓͆̏̚͠͝ ̵̳̤͉͉͙̬̥̉̓́̀̓̃̀̌̊͜ͅḁ̶̧̗͈͍͍̉͂̀͆͗̾̆́̚͜͝l̴̜͓͈̄͌̓̈́̉͊͊̍͝a̵̲͒̋̂͐́̊̕̚͝â̶̢͕̫̘̮͈̻͕͙̩͑̂ḹ̵̨̮̓̓̊̍̕̚͝o̵͖͔̥̳̊̐̀͠n̵̺̥̲͔͔̿͋̊ë̶̯̤̻́̌̎̎́̾͋̄̄̋.̵̪̑͆̀̎" (Please whoever you are. Just leave me alone.) She cautiously walks over to your bed and peaks over it. Your laying there curled up into a ball torn and broken items surrounding you. Y-your abstracting?! B-but... Zooble doesn't even really register the fact. She's in shock from seeing you like this. (I mean I would be too) You let out an ear piercing scream and claw at your own face with enough force to tear the skin, if you weren't digital at least. The glitching gets much much worse for a few seconds before just, stopping. No rhyme or reason that she can see. But you can bet your a&$ that after like 5 seconds pass and you stop showing signs of abstraction she's going to huddle near your spitting out so many questions. Mainly ones like "ARE YOU OK!?!" and "Your still with me right?! RIGHT!?!"

Kinger

Kinger would more likely then not be there when your first started glitching. And that might make him officially lose it. Your the second person in this hell (Queener) who he felt close too. And he outlived you too. Still you aren't abstracted yet. Maybe their's still a chance! So he sprints off screaming out for Caine in a voice that is loud enough to make you go deaf if you were too close to him. When he finds Caine. And he will find Caine he grabs him by the shoulders and sprints towards where he last saw you. He basically throws Caine at your glitching form and yells at him to fix you! In that second you stop glitching Caine did nothing and Kinger will basically tackle you. He'll pick you up and hold you over his head like a spear and sprint towards your rooms. Once there he will set up the comfiest coziest pillow fort possible then get you all comfy inside. Once he's sure your at least mostly safe and he's at least mostly calmed down he'll ask you about what happened. (Despite him being pretty crazy I really do feel like out of everyone he would be the best at communication in a friend or relationship. I mean he's that crazy and yet he still has manners and knowledge about a lot. Tbh he might become my fav. Idk it's possible.)

Ragatha

You were helping out Ragatha with a surprise she was making for everyone to lighten their moods when you said that you feel kind of sick so you were going to call it a night. She nods thanks you for the help you gave then gives you a quick peck to the lips as a send off. Not to much to her surprise you choose to lay in her bed instead of yours. Just something you do when you don't wanna be alone. She shrugs it off and keeps working actually quite grateful that you decided to not leave, not fully at least. She keeps working but stops when she hears some very concerning noises coming from your sleeping body. She turns around to see you tossing and turning an abnormal amount in your sleep, as well as making a lot of noises that sound like when someone is choking on their own blood. Concerned she carefully walks over to check on you only to recoil when she notices the glitching. She trips over her own foot and falls over onto her back. She quickly but clumsily gets up and gets back to you. She shakes you a bit trying to wake you up, but you don't only concerning her more. She yells calls out for Pomni who pokes her head through Ragatha's door a second later. Ragatha nearly screams at her to go get Caine. Pomni startled by Ragatha's tone turns heel and runs off to look for Caine while Ragatha stays with you. She keeps whispering things like "You're gonna be ok" and "Pomni's getting Caine just hang in there". Always keeping a hand on you not caring when it starts glitching out too. When Pomni returns with Caine, Ragatha full on yells at him to help you. He looks at you, then back at her, then with a apologetic tone says their isn't anything he can do as abstraction is one of those things he doesn't have control over. Ragatha breaks into tears. So she's gonna lose you, she was even there. BUT SHE CAN'T F@%#&$* HELP?! She holds onto you like you're her last tether to reality. And you seem to get better. Your at the very least don't seem to be in pain anymore! So she squeezes you, really f&$%@#* hard happier then should be possible that your improving.

Jax

Jax found you in his room voice glitching you huddled over in pain. At first he thought it was a revenge prank and acted accordingly. "Haha, very funny Y/N. Now get out of my room I need to do something." That is until you vomited up a ton of pitch black goo. Then he started taking it more seriously. He quickly crouches down and wraps an arm around you to try and provide some support. He freaks out and quickly pulls his arm back when you vomit up more goo and starts visibly glitching. He panics and quickly looks around his room locking onto a like 3 day old unopened water bottle. He opens it and hands it to you as well as a thing to squeeze that half yells to just hang in there he'll be right back. He sprints around not even knowing who to get. He sees Ragatha and half tackles her. He shouts directly into her face that you need help and that you in his room. He tosses her in the direction of his room then continues sprinting around not long after finding Caine. He grabs Caine ignoring his protests and runs back to his room where he fins Ragatha sitting next to his bed you tucked in. Your not vomiting anything and you aren't glitching. You're just shivering. He hears you mumble his name and literally kicks Ragatha and Caine out quickly getting to your side. After he feels he wont get hurt he quickly gets into bed holding you close "If you ever do that again I'm going to take back my vow to not tease you." He falls asleep with his chin resting on your head.

Pomni

At first when you started glitching Pomni didn't really know it was abstraction. She's never seen someone abstract after all, only seeing the finished product. But when you keep getting worse and worse she realizes that something is wrong. So she leaves you with a quick kiss then runs off to the communication thing Caine made after the whole Kaufmo incident. She calls him and when he picks up she screams into the phone that your glitching out. When Caine appears next to her she runs back over to where you are not even checking if Caine is following. When she gets back to you, you're still in really bad shape. She turns back to Caine and yells at him to help you. When he tells her that he can't she starts hyperventilating, then she sees him pick you up and the cellar hole open?! OH F&#$ NO! She basically punches Caine then clings to you protectively, ready to throw hands with Caine if she has to. Caine tries and pull her off when she starts glitching but she has the grip of a professional rock climber. So Caine has to keep curing her glitches at they appear. Cause in his mind your beyond help but she isn't. Then you start to improve. No more coughing and the glitching has slowed down! Pomni glares at Caine then turns back to you with a scared and tired smile on her face. Once your ok enough to talk you are going to get an earful. WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL HER YOU WERE FEELING BAG ENOUGH TO ABSTRACT?!?!?! (Sorry this was so long. I got a little carried away. And surprisingly I'm pretty proud of this one. I hope you enjoyed it!)

xoxo, Jester

[majorbuckegan]

prettier than a peach (john "bucky" egan x reader)

In which you're his favorite nurse, and John Egan tries his hardest to win your heart.

Words: 1.8K

Warnings: Bucky Egan is a warning all on his own. Fluffy, fluffy fluff.

Disclosure: Please do not copy my work on any other sites. I will be posting this here & on ao3 shortly. This fic is based on the characters brought to life in the Apple TV series Masters of the Air, not the real people the characters were based on.

Note: Peach!Reader is going to make many appearances, I'm going to make this a series. Without further adieu, enjoy.

It all started on a Saturday morning. It was early—really early. You hadn't really expected to have anyone walking around near the infirmary, but at half past 0300, you heard the sounds of heavy footfalls, with slurred speech and another low voice arguing.

 You get up to look out the window, and not a second goes by before the door swings open. You recognize the two men instantly: Major Gale "Buck" Cleven is half dragging Major John "Bucky" Egan into the infirmary. 

"Morning, ma'am." Major Cleven's blue eyes zero in on you immediately, and he offers you a kind (and apologetic) smile. "My buddy here had a bit too much to drink and got himself into a scuffle with some guys at the bar." 

Your gaze flickers to Major Egan, studying him with a calculating gaze. He's going to have a black eye, you notice, and he's holding onto the left side of his ribs. It's not the first time you've heard of the Major getting into a fight, but it's the first time it's happened on your shift. 

"Alright, Major." You're addressing Egan now, coming to his side to support his left side. "Let's get you settled in bed so I can take a look at those ribs." 

You are wholly unprepared for the absolute human hurricane that is Major John Egan.

"Tryin' to get me in bed already, doll?" His words are slurred from too much alcohol, but his voice is deep and husky, and you hate the way it makes you shiver. "I don't even know your name."

Major Cleven sucks in a breath and rolls his eyes. "John Clarence Egan." That accent drawls his friend's name, and his tone is very much annoyed. "You're in the presence of a lady—a nurse—for crying out loud. Behave."

"Oh, c'mon, she walked right into that one." He insists, "She thought it was funny. You thought it was funny, right, doll?"

Stormy blue eyes are suddenly fixed on your face. It's almost like time stops for you; of course you've seen him around before, but the moment you really look into his eyes, it's like you can see your whole life ahead of you. He's quiet now, just watching you, and he finds himself absolutely anamored with the delicate blush working its way onto your face.

"It was a little funny." You admit it, but you don't meet his eyes again. You're too afraid of what you'll see on his face, because while you're falling hard and fast at first sight, he's only flirting with a woman. That's all it is to him, you're sure of it.

His chest is warm when you open his jacket and roll up his shirt. You have to ignore how beautifully masculine he is on order to focus on your job. Your eyes flicker to his abdomen, and sure enough, there are wicked bruises starting to show on the skin that covers his ribs. You're pretty sure they're not broken, but you have to be sure.

"This may hurt." You warn him, your fingers prodding gently at his side, and he hisses quietly under his breath. You don't feel anything out of place, but he'll definitely need a few hours of rest and something to ease the pain.

"Your hands are freezing." He grumbles, and before you can say anything, he's got both of them in his much bigger, warmer hands. "There, that's better."

"You're unbelievable, John Egan." Major Cleven speaks up from behind you, his tone more exasperated than anything else.

You carefully extract your hands from Major Egan's, and you try to ignore the way he pouts when you're no longer touching him. "I'll keep him overnight for observation, Major Cleven. Make sure he rests and heals up a bit."

Major Cleven looks strangely relieved, but still, he frowns. "Are you sure? I can handle Bucky; I don't want him causing you any trouble."

His gentle demeanor makes you smile. "I appreciate that, Major, but I've dealt with far rowdier men than Major Egan here. You go on and get some rest; I'll handle this."

Major Egan looks irritated that you and his best friend were talking about him like he wasn't even there. "Just call me Bucky. Or I'll take John." He tells you, his tone demanding, his lips pulled into yet another pout.

"You behave yourself." Major Cleven points a finger at him, his face stern. When he turns back to you, he offers another warm smile. "You might as well call me Buck, too, since you're saving me from trying to sleep in the same room as that one while he's drunk."

You offer your name in return, and you offer a comforting smile as you shoo Buck off to bed.

It's quiet for a moment after the other Major takes his leave. You wonder if the alcohol has made Major Egan fall asleep. You're surprised to see his eyes open and staring directly at you when you turn around.

"Can't remember if I've ever seen you around before." He says, his words still slightly slurred as he speaks. You can't recall ever having heard a voice like his before. Gravely, warm and steady, even with alcohol in his system. "I'd remember that face; you're so pretty."

"And you're drunk." You answer, turning away before he can notice that you're blushing. You've dealt with flirty airmen before, but this is the first time it's really gotten to you. "Get some rest, Major."

He's quiet for a moment, and you're grateful for a reprieve from the flirting as you mark the log book with a pencil. The only noise for a few moments is the lead scratching against the paper as you write.

"I'm gonna call you Peach."

When you turn back, his lips tug into the most heart-stopping smirk you've ever seen. "You could just call me Nurse." You point out, and for some reason, that only seems to egg him on.

"Well, I like Peach. You're prettier than a peach. Sweet as one too; look at that blush." You're sure you've forgotten how to breathe.

"You're a menace." You answer after you've finally gotten a hold of your emotions. "And it's early; you need rest. Sleep."

"How about a goodnight kiss first?" You almost toss the log book at him. Almost. "Just one on the forehead, and then I'll sleep. Scout's honor, Peach."

You sigh, your eyes darting over his face for a moment. Sure, he's a flirt, but you've never heard of him ever harming a woman. So you walk over to his bedside and lean down.

His forehead is warm, an errant curl tickling your cheek as your lips press against his skin. You feel him shudder under the touch of your lips against him, but then his breathing evens back out as you lean away.

"Alright, Major, you got your kiss. Now sleep." He doesn't miss the way your eyes flicker to his lips and away again, but he does as he's told and rolls over onto his side.

After he falls asleep, the morning is quiet. Your shift at the infirmary ends at 0600 and the nurse who comes to relieve you doesn't seem surprised to see Bucky there. She rolls her eyes and huffs a laugh as you explain how he came to be in a bed in the infirmary.

He's shifting awake as you're leaving, and his blue eyes have just enough time to focus on your retreating form before you're gone. He was a little saddened; he'd been hoping for one more kiss.

Outside, the air is still cool, and the sun is just beginning to peek beyond the horizon. The inky blackness of the sky is lightening to a shade of blue that looks like Major Egan's eyes, and God, you have to stop thinking about him. You really didn't need to get attached.

You pass Buck on the way back to your quarters, and he waves at you with one of his dazzling smiles as he passes. He's wearing his uniform, and you know that means he'll be out in the sky soon enough. You return his smile and wave happily.

Exhaustion sweeps through you as you enter your quarters, and you make quick work of taking your hair pins out and wiping your makeup off. By the time your head hits the pillow, sleep pulls you under. The only things on your mind as you fall asleep are dark curls and blue eyes.

***

Hours later, you blink awake. There's still sunlight flittering in through the curtains over your window, and you sit up to stretch your arms and shoulders. It had to be close to dinnertime, and your stomach rumbles as you slip out of bed and dress in your uniform. Sometimes you missed your dresses back home, but you always felt a sense of pride in your olive drab skirt and jacket. You make sure to swipe on your Victory Red lipstick before you leave.

Placing your cover under your arm, you slip out of your barracks just to come face-to-face with a man. Not just any man, either.

"Peach!" He's still loud, his face wide and warm and friendly. His breath smells like the peppermint gum he's chewing, and his eyes are clear. "Don't think I didn't see you slip out of the room before I could ask for my morning kiss."

He's smiling so brightly that it's like looking at the sun. He's all white teeth and dark curls and blue eyes, his cover tucked under his arm. He's got a single flower in his free hand. You've never seen someone look so devastatingly beautiful.

"Major." You greet him, and it's a good thing you didn't put on blush when refreshing your makeup because your face is hot now. Just from looking at him. "What brings you to the women's barracks?"

"I told you, Peach. Call me Bucky. Or John." His grin never falters. You want to kiss the corner of his mouth, nip at the jawline. He's got so much energy and vitality, and your heart beats so loudly that it's a wonder he can't hear. "Well, I came to offer you this gorgeous flower I found on my way over here and ask if you'd like to dance with me tonight."

You'd forgotten all about the party tonight. A crew completing their 25th mission—you hadn't really planned on attending, but you find yourself very tempted to go. "I'm not really the party type." You admit that, and that dims the light in his eyes a little. You regret the words immediately.

"Just one dance." He steps in closer, taking up more space. He's so tall and broad-shouldered; the man takes up so much room that it makes you feel small in the best way. "For your favorite patient? After all, you did give me a good-night kiss. That's gotta count for something."

Your mind rewinds to that moment, when he was fever-warm and shivering under your lips, when you'd wanted so badly to let him kiss you all over. If you weren't blushing before, you sure are now. "Alright, Bucky," You have to ignore the way he lights up when you use his nickname. "One dance."

[pink3princess]

john wick x reader hc/ramble

cw/tw: um..a little silly, a little goofy, a little fluff, age gap ( reader is 20+, John is in his 40’s), mentions of tattoos, gn!reader

an: I’m in my keanu reeves era; also this gif makes me dizzy🥴😵; anyways enjoy whores

masterlist

first of all heS GENTLE I DONT CARE WHAT ANYONE ELSE SAYS HES MY POOKIE BEAR CUDDLE MUFFIN

oh my god his hugs :(

i just need to lay down on his chest and for him to rub his hand up and down my back reassuringly after a long day >:(

he loves when you scratch his beard like a dog(is this weird lol) he finds it so domestic and intimate

ok so...he’s old, so let’s imagine he stayed out of the crime world… he has such old guy hobbies its so cute (he's beekeeping age yk)

he’s into gardening, he's in a band (bassist duh), he fixes up cars and motorcycles

the first time you noticed his back tattoo was when you two went swimming for the first time together

you didn't want to be a creep, but you had to stop yourself from drooling over it the rest of the day

you actually had to stop yourself from licking him head to toe like a popsicle but

speaking of tattoos, he LOOOOVES when you trace his back tattoo; if he can't sleep and you start to trace the pattern, he just melts

and if you have tattoos, he loves to do the same to you

he'll kind of lull you to sleep like that, taking his time with light kisses in between

on another note...i bet he does the 'dad on a vacation snoring so loud he has shaken then entire room awake' snore

and when you get woken up by said snore you're a little annoyed, but whenever this happens you just move to the guest room

after moving to the guest room and getting settled down, you get woken up ....again, only to see this BIG SCARY 6 FOOT ASSASSIN curled up next to you under the covers, hugging your waist as if you were a stuffed animal he couldn't sleep without :(

and you're like "...i actually came in here to remove myself from you-"

he's creeps around the house very quietly, almost like a ghost (unintentionally)

you could be doing laundry, folding the clothes and when you turn around to put them away, he's just there in the doorway like 🧍‍♂️ scaring the life out of you

once you two move in together, he'll gift you a dog :( like you're own little family :(

assuming that reader is in their 20's and john is in is 40's, how could you possibly pass up any opportunity to make old man jokes about him <3

" you know, in a couple of years i get to put you in the old folks home..."

"yeah right🙄, i'd like to see you try honey"

he takes care of you in every way; he makes sure you take your meds, and that you eat at least three meals a day; small everyday things like that :(

if you fail a big test or have a bad day at work he's waiting for you at home with a tub of icecream and ready to spoil you with affection

even tho he's a man of very little words, he'll know exactly what to say to make you feel better with words of praise and affection :(

[deathbxnny]

Woooo, congrats on 1k followers, sure has been a ride, huh?

Now, with requests back open, it's time time for the sequel to my Arle request!

Okay so, like I said in that ask I sent a while ago, this one takes place in the same "continuity" as the angsty af Arle request you did last req period. This one takes place some time after that story, and is less angsty in this case (but there's definitely still some here).

Here, similarily to the last request, the "Mother" of the House is staying in... let's say Fontaine, tending to one of the injured children (could be some rando kid, or maybe it's one of the Fontaine trio) after a mission. Unlike last time though, it's looking as though the child will pull through, that "Mother" won't have to bury another of her kids!

Bad news tho, the people responsible for the child's injuries are coming around to finish what they started. Arle, who's handling business elsewhere, catches wind of this and makes haste to help her wife.

Little did those who came to finish the child realize what danger they're in. Because you see, fem!reader is a former child of the House of Hearth. Not just that, she's the wife of a Harbinger. Normally she doesn't engage in violence, but these people Hage intentions of ending her child's life, and she simply cannot let that slide.

And so, Arle arrives just in time to bare witness to her s/o going absolutely John Wick (does she kill anyone with a pencil? That's up to you 🤭) on the bandits who dared to cross her not once, but twice.

(Part one) (part three) (Part four)

Ohoho.... I absolutely love this, dear Anon, and I'm hoping you'll love my spin on this as well!! Although I have to admit that I gave it a bit of a mellow end, instead of the "John Wick" type of ending, mainly because I found it more fitting with what I was going for... but anyhow, thank you so much for this request, I was definitely looking forward to it, hehe!!<33

Content: Some gore, Near character death, mentions of near fatal injuries/wounds, blood, mentions of grief/child loss, Reader snapping, violence, assassination attempts, Reader is referred to as "Mother", heavy angst, hurt/comfort, kind of a good ending for once?, stitches

Reader uses she/her pronouns here!!

((Not proofread))

The last one standing had crimson palms. (Arlecchino x Fem!Reader)

"I... I wish to..." "Shh... not another word, child... don't you dare say it." Your hands were stained red once more, pressing down on another gashing, deep wound, sweat running down your forehead as everyone around you attempted to stop the bleeding. You didn't want him to see what had become of him, one hand resting over his teary eyes to stop your heart from shattering any further. You wished she was here, your dearest wife, who had to choose this week of all the others to leave the country for a short business trip.

And today was supposed to be a good day. One filled with the laughter of children and the smell of grilled sausages and steaks coming from the garden. You were trying to have a little festival together to celebrate the start of warmer months. But the atmosphere had now become suffocating with the smell of sharp iron and sweat instead, the gentle warmth now scorching hot, exhausting, and grinding you down to the bone. However, you couldn't let go of him now. You couldn't let him die. You refused to give up on him, especially. You refused to let him become another buried angel.

His hand pressed against yours weakly, his breaths deep, pathetic gasps for air, as he tried telling you something important through broken cries. "Mother... Mother, please, you have to listen to me." He coughed out, blood staining his lips, as his other hand reached out blindly to grasp onto the fabric of your once white sundress. You furrowed your brows against the darkness of the room, light only filtering in through the moon outside and the shaky hands of Lynette trying to keep a lantern steady so her twin could keep patching his younger brother up.

"What is it, Freminet?" You indulged him, trying to keep him awake at all costs. His voice was hoarse, raspy, once silky blonde hair now sticking to his forehead as he gulped dryly to collect his thoughts.

"They are coming for us, mother... and you are next."

Lyney gave you a look, one filled with an undefined emotion he only ever had when it came to your protection. If you didn't know better, you would've been terrified at how similar he was becoming to his father. "Those assassins we encountered during our mission, Mother... they weren't ordinary ones, to say the least." He muttered to you, his mind replaying the moment one of them struck his brother, who was just trying to protect them out of pure instinct. He was brave, despite the shyness he often portrayed.

"How so?" You wiped away the sweat on your forehead, nose wrinkling when another member of the house handed you a medkit before they disappeared into the shadows again. "They... knew us by name. Every single one of us. And then-" You waved over Lynette to stand in your place whilst her twin spoke, so you could unpack the needed supplies for the upcoming "operation" you had to conduct on your son. You've become a near professional over the years. Something else you didn't choose to do nor want to be.

"-They uttered your name. We... believe that they are trying to weaken Father. And you are that weakness they are seeking, Mother.-" "-They've come to finish the job. We... we need to evacuate everyone.. we need to hide her.-" Lynette hushed Freminet quickly, as she pressed some cloth into his mouth. With a glance downwards to his wound, she determined that it would definitely hurt horribly to stitch him up... but he'd live. For the first time in weeks, someone would live. She closed her eyes to hide those tears that threatened to spill in relief.

You stared at the three of them for a moment before you simply proceeded with placing the first few stitches into the boy's wound wordlessly. He writhed in pain, his fingernails digging into the mattress below whilst his screams and cries were muffled by the cloth. Lyney and Lynette were trying to hold him down, their bodies wincing involuntarily at every sharp breath or movement from their brother. Your expression was meanwhile unreadable, hands moving automatically until you cut the string and were done with your little procedure. It's as if your mind completely fazed out, only driven by the need to fix and protect, keep everyone alive no matter what.

"Lyney." The young man hesitantly met your gaze, his body shaking when his brother fell limply into the bed again, his breathing heavy and uneven. "Evacuate everyone into the upper floors and then come back to watch over Freminet." You said, quick to wipe your hands with a nearby towel nearly coldly, but Lyney knew that look in your eyes. You were sick of it and would take it all into your own hands if your wife couldn't. "Mother, you can't just-" "-Lynette, use the backdoor and let this bird free." You tapped the golden cage on the nightstand with your fingers, the little sparrow chirping curiously. It was a messenger bird, one specifically designed to catch your wife's attention and bring her home instantly when things got out of control.

But you weren't using it for it's purpose tonight. No, everything was completely under control here... you just needed her to come back home to stop you once you're done.

"Mother-" A sharp look made him quickly reconsider what he was about to say, a hand pressing against his chest whilst he bowed. "... we're on it." Lyney muttered, signaling Lynette to love with him, which she did after grabbing the bird cage. Their paths split at the stairs, the girl practically descending them two steps at a time, which got the attention of their fellow bretheren immideatly. "Everyone! Get into the attic or your rooms at once! Mother's orders, so get moving! Barricade your doors and don't open them up to anyone! This is an absolute emergency!" Everyone jumped when they heard the usually playful magicians voice bark out orders harshly, automatically getting the job done as everyone filed up the stairs to do as he said.

Lyney pushed through the crowd to continue looking for stray children who may not have heard him. His heart was racing against his ribcage, sweat dripping off his forehead he could only barely wipe off with a handkerchief he accidentally dropped when someone bumped into him. But your orders were clear in his mind and kept him steady. He knew that he and most, if not all, other kids of the house could take care of themselves just fine... but this was something beyond their means. Something usually only Father got to handle.

By the time he finally got back to his brothers room, you had left it behind, nowhere to be found, and yet the injured boy had a simple blanket covering his shivering form now, dressed in clean clothes and resting on perfectly white bedsheets. Lyney waited by the door, his hand gripping the handle tightly, as he listened to his sisters familiar steps running towards him. He let her in, eyes glancing around the dim hallway one more time before he tipped his hat down and shut the wooden entrance again.

The only sound heard for a moment after was the chirping of a bird in the dead of night until deafening silence filtered in once more.

---

The house of Hearth was never still and unmoving, not even in the darkest parts of the day. The late hours were the busiest, filled with agents and children alike walking in and out of it's doors under the cover of shadows to complete their given tasks and missions. The iron, bloody scent left behind by their previous endeavors, their hushed words to eachother as they passed by, the movement of paper being hidden under floorboards, some given to you with proud looks for approval, as you stayed up with them until the first rays of the sun danced in your eyes... it was never calm, never quiet. Yet the intruders didn't question it. They didn't even think twice to enter the house, the open birdcage. They mistook the silence and stillness for safety.

The first assasin stepped in through the picked lock of a backdoor entrance, his cautious eyes trying to catch any looming danger that may cause them trouble. Yet with nothing in sight, he waved over the rest of his three little friends right into your humble home. "Okay, you know the plan... kill as many of those little rats as you can." "And what about the Mother?" One of them asked, his hair clumsily hidden under a makeshift hood, a dirty grin on his lips in anticipation.

"Can I get rid of her? It won't be much of a struggle, I'm sure. She's just a measly housewife anyway." "Heard she's a pretty thing, though." A round of chuckles filled the kitchen before the first shrugged. "Do what you want. We just have to be done by dawn... let's split up in two groups, then. Just in case." The men agreed, one group making their way upwards, whilst the other searched the ground floors.

The darkness was inviting, the silence emitting a false sense of safety that made the intruders let their guards down, unaware of your form slinking after them. You were calm and collected, eyes dull, the dim moonlight not catching in them anymore. A mother's rage was a dangerous, unpredictable one. Filled with the need to make those who hurt her children suffer, she'd advance even through the most perilous paths for the sake of glory, revenge.

Unbeknownst to anyone, you had put two and two together a long time ago. These intruders, who belonged to a foreign enemy faction, were the cause of many of your children's deaths. They were the reason as to why you had to hear them cry out that odd wish so often. They had dared to enter your territory tonight to take away the rest of the family you had worked so hard for to have. You worked so hard to be a good mother. You bled, you cried, you slaughtered your way here. You became a "mother" one could be proud of. And on this fateful night, you'd prove your worth and pride to even Celestia above you with their screams that will reach far and wide. Your hand gripped a silver dagger, one originally gifted to you by your wife, as you blew out a lantern in one of the hallways, plunging everyone into further darkness that was far from warm.

It was ice cold.

---

"Wait outside." Arlecchino gave the Fatui agents a sharp, warning look, her clawed fingers tight around the Scythe as she entered the still, quiet building she called home. Her eyes glanced around carefully, noting immideatly that the danger that lurked in the dark was familiar. The bird on her shoulder chirped, reminding her of why she had come here in the first place. The meeting she had was cut short by it flying through the window, the call for help loud and clear. She had simply walked out then, her priority always having been you and the house, although it still made her wonder why exactly everything seemed so... unusually silent. Did Lyney and the other children deal with the threat already? If so... where were you?

Her keen ears picked up movement in the living room nearby, which made her calmly make her way over to it's entrance. With a raise of a brow, she stopped when she stepped into a puddle of blood. It seems like her suspicions were partially correct... althkugh who it was that took care of the intruders certainly came as a surprise.

"... You came." Your voice made the tension in her shoulders cease, eyes flickering to your form seated infront of the fireplace. The orange light cascaded across the dark room, the four mangled bodies laying at the bottom of your favorite lavish loveseat being a testament to your victory, and yet you remained still as a statue, back turned to her to observe the flames instead.

"You called." Arlecchino replied after taking in the situation, the sound of her heeled shoe echoing off the walls, as she approached you carefully. Her clawed hand grabbed onto your shoulder, head tilting to look at the side of your head. Your eyes were cold, not even the scorching warmth of the fire melting them. You were unreadable, hands bloody, and yet still so tightly gripping onto the dagger like your life depended on it. And despite that, you were still breathtaking to the woman.

"Are... you alright, my dove?" She asked, a genuine tone in her voice that was only ever reserved for you. The tears in your eyes burned when you finally looked up at her with a pained expression. You weren't like her. You couldn't just kill and be as proud as you hoped to be. You raised your hands towards her, bloody palms raised towards the gods the way they often were when you pleaded for help and forgiveness for the death of your children. You didn't need to say anything anymore, as she pressed a hand to your cheek with an acknowledging nod.

She wasn't good at comfort, nor did she ever try to be. A father didn't comfort his children in her eyes. No, a father simply led them to glory, and that's it. But that didn't mean that she was a bad wife, too. She sat down next to you, uncaring of the bloody mess that surrounded you, when she pulled you close to press your foreheads together. It was a way to silently show her support. She was there for you and understood you.

"I was scared... they hurt Freminet, and I couldn't fathom losing the rest-" "-I know. Thank you for your bravery, my dove. I'll take it from here." Her words were curt and short, and most would perhaps chalk it up to indifference. But when she held you close like this, gently rubbed your back and promised to take care of you only she knew how to, you found yourself being lulled back into the familiar comfort you were so used to. You knew that despite everything that happened, however, she could still not promise that this would never happen again. Your hands will always be stained crimson for as long as you were a Mother. There was no going back. There was no leaving the house.

But... you both were stuck in it together forever, weren't you?

Alrightttt... this took a while to finish, mainly due to work and me being sick again. But yeah, thank you again for the request, Anon, and I hope you liked this!!<33

[sweetwolfcupcake]

A Gentleman

Secret Garden

Category: Drabble

John Wick x Reader

Warning: Yandere/Obsessive behaviour, stalking.

Unedited

There were a few subtle traits she had noticed about John. Like, while walking on the side path, he would always take the side of the road, while keeping her on the safer one. He also walked a step behind her– not something immediately noticeable but while walking back to her house from the grocery with him for the fourth time, she couldn't help but take notes of the pattern.

“Didn’t you bring your car?”

John shrugged “No, needed some fixing. Besides, I prefer to walk sometimes.” 

There was a hint of something akin to a smile on his face. Under the golden glow of streetlights, his eyes seemed to have a language of their own. (Y/N) bumped into him at the store often. John was the kind but aloof neighbour she thought everyone needed at least once in a lifetime.

She did not see him often, except for grocery shopping and sometimes, he would sit by himself on one of the few isolated park benches, watching, or thinking-- one could never tell from afar.

It was a miracle that he spoke to her first— he did not seem to be of the kind to initiate any conversation— but speaking to him felt good. She never heard his voice raised– his quiet, deep voice along with dry humour was appealing to her, and in (Y/N)’s dictionary, the number of times they had walked back to their apartment building together and made random commentary on things and people (mostly her) with the sprinkle of John’s dry humour, she and he could be considered friends.

He carried three bags– one his, two hers while she was allowed to keep the lightest one for herself. He was quite old school regarding such mannerisms, she had come to realise that. And while she there would be countless arguments against it, she had come to like his ways. The courteous, elusive and somewhat aloof enigma of a gentleman who was always high on his traditional manners, always polite and often fed stray cats and dogs.

Everything about John indicated that he was a good man. So, she never had a second thought before inviting him into her apartment for coffee. He had carried her grocery bags all the way to her home, at least she could make him feel welcome and comfortable. 

She was sure he would politely decline but he just gazed down at her for a momant or two before asking-

“Are you sure?”

She blinked. “Yes? Yes, John, please come in, I have no problem.”

His gaze melted from the strange intrigue to something soft, almost amiable. She was sure she saw the corner of his lips quirk up a bit before she opened her door wider and invited him in.

“How do you like your coffee?”

“Huh?” he was distracted, looking around when she asked.

“How would you like coffee?” She asked again with an amused smile.

“The way you make it.”

Smooth.

“Okay, please take a seat.” With that, she went into her kitchen, preparing two steaming hot cups.

John sat on the sofa– it felt unreal to be in her home, invited. His eyes glanced at the ceiling fan above— the small opening blinked green twice before disappearing into the darkness– the usual cycle of every two hours. He glanced at his phone, the live video of him sitting in her livingroom showed that the device worked just fine.

His eyes found her form again, moving around to make coffee, oblivious to his eyes fixed on her form– silent, observing and moving along with her– noting each movement with a strange kind of fixation and tenderness. 

She was, unlike him, so defenseless, unguarded, alive…

John glanced at the ceiling fan again before dropping his gaze right before she turned around with a smile and two steaming mugs.

He could not help but feel his heart thump. His calm and collected surface shook at the sight of her beaming smile.

He needed the camera. She needed him.

He told himself as he accepted his coffee, relishing the way her fingers grazed against his.

****

Inspired by @johnwickb1tsch's Bittersweet. I realised that as soon as I finished writing with my eyes half-open. Go read the amazing fic.

So, what do you think? Should I post something darker or keep things on edge for now?

[mausinly]

Soap MacTavish x fem!curvy!militarynurse!reader who’s secretly insecure about her body and thinks that Soap is only interested in her to get in her pants or it’s a prank but he comforts her and proves that she’s wrong and how much he genuinely loves her and that he’s been obsessed with her since she was moved to 141’s base?

Never Far From You

John "Soap" MacTavish x reader

Sorry this isn't exactly what you asked for, nonnie, but just know I am already attached to this reader and I will be slowburning this prompt. This story is getting unpacked layer by layer. I know you specified Nurses body type but it's never mentioned in this part. I couldn't find a way to casually fit it in with the idea I had but I will make it the forefront of another piece, don't you worry :]

This is also my submission for @glitterypirateduck and their Soap It Up challenge.

Prompt 2: "Do I make you nervous?"

Prompt 14: "I've been looking for you."

You haven't had to look around corners to check if the coast was clear since high school. It makes you feel childish. Makes you feel like a helpless teenager trying to avoid the prettier girls that whisper and leer when you walk past. You're too old to feel like that.

You don't know if you should be grateful you're not hiding from bullies or be more fearful of the person that's really chasing you.

You don't think you've ever been chased like this before. The girls in the halls never sought you out, and the boys that did only followed to continue jabbing at you as you tried to walk away.

No, this is much different. Too different. You don't know what to do with yourself.

Another nurse told you earlier that someone was looking for you. She gave a knowing smirk, telling you who with a teasing, sing-songy voice.

"Soap MacTavish." She grinned, leaning over the front desk, resting her chin on her hand.

You don't know why everyone thinks you like him. No. No, actually, you know exactly why. He won't leave you alone.

You left one of your patients room—a poor sap going by "Wick" that caught the nasty end of a bayonet—down a few halls to the nearest storage room. You stop before turning the corner, a suspicious feeling bubbling in your gut.

You peek over the corner, met with the rest of the long, bland hallway. He's not here. You don't like the feeling that replaces the suspicion. It's a sinking sensation.

This whole ordeal is eating at you. You know he's around somewhere. Unless he gave up after a while. Took him long enough, in your opinion. Part of you wants to run into him, though, just to get it over with and tell him to fuck off so you don't have to worry about it.

You straighten up again, pulling away from the corner and letting out a heavy sigh.

"So, who're we hiding from?" A horrifyingly familiar Scottish accent said from behind you, low and husky and almost a whisper.

You yelp and whip around to look at him, jumping back a little. Your feet scream to run, but you realize how ridiculous that is. You're an adult, you don't need to run, you're not in real danger.

The way he looks at you is dangerous, though. His eyes are lidded, relaxed as they take you in like he could do it all day. Those striking blues drag up and down your body, landing back at your eyes with such intensity that it makes you want to shy away.

He's so casual it infuriates you. He's just leaning against the wall beside you, arms crossed as he waits for your reply.

"I'm not hiding." You brush him off, tearing your eyes away from him and turning to walk away.

You pause, though, when he lets out a little huff of a laugh, almost a scoff. "Sure." He replied, not sounding all too convinced.

You look over your shoulder to glare at him but he only flashes you one of his little grins, eyes lit up with amusement and brows raised.

A real scoff leaves your own lips and you turn away again and continue down the hall. You suppress the urge to groan aloud when you hear heavy footfalls behind you as the Scot gives chase.

"I've been looking for you." He said, walking only a step behind you.

"That so?" You hum, trying to sound uninterested. Your tone doesn't sway him, it never does.

"Mhm, just asked the lass at the front where they keep the bonnie nurses and figured I'd find you around." He replied easily, and you don't have to look at him to know he's got that smirk on his face.

You hum again, not sure how else to respond. He follows you like a lost dog through the hallways until you reached the storage room. You open the door just enough to slip inside and much to your distain, Soap follows in suit, making a show of opening the door wide and waltzing in like he owns the place.

The storage room is fairly large, filled with rows of files and medications and equipment all broken off into different sections. You wind through the isles and try not to think too hard about Soap's heavy footfalls behind you. It makes you uneasy, fluttery in a way you don't want to think about. You feel like you're being hunted, like a little bunny that pops it's head up at the smallest branch snapping, unaware of the beast lurking just behind the foliage.

You stop walking and quickly turn to him, making him halt in front of you so easily that you think he was expecting it. You don't like that. You're not predictable, damn it!

"Do you need something?" You ask with exasperation, pumping up the attitude and irritation in hopes it scares him off.

You think it works for a second when his smile falters a bit and he has the decency to look a bit surprised by your outburst, but that hope immediately dies when he ducks his head down with a small chuckle that makes your stomach flip. He pulls one of his hands from his pocket and leans his arm on the shelf beside you.

He leans forward just a bit, those overwhelming blues flickering back up to you. "Does there need to be a reason?" He flashes you a lopsided, boyish smile and you feel like the ground is giving away under you.

"You always have a reason." You shoot back, cringing at the way your voice falters.

He notices, eyes looking back and forth between yours as his brows raise a little. "That I do." He replies, voice softer than before.

Soap takes a step closer, back straightening a bit in a way that makes you feel small in comparison. You straighten your back as well, taking a breath that comes in shakier than you wanted. Your attempt at coolness and defiance shatters when his other hand slips from his front pocket and slowly lifts towards you.

He's tentative, eyes holding yours and god, you can't look away. His hand lands on the side of your neck, fingers tenderly ghosting over your skin to see if you flinch away. You don't. You want to. You want to slap his hand away. You want to claw and sink your teeth into him so he'll scurry away with his tail between his legs.

But that won't happen. He'll just drag his way to your exam room and whine until you wrap him up, ask you to kiss it better. You almost want to.

The pads of his fingers drag up your neck and across your cheek. His palm is warm against your jaw and you're frustratingly pliant when he tilts your head. His eyes fall and you swallow when his thumb slowly traces your bottom lip.

"Do I make you nervous, hen?" His voice drops about an octave, low and just above a whisper. His eyes flit up to yours and you're halfway through your brain rebooting when you realize he's waiting for a response.

He isn't, really. He just wants to watch you try.

"No." You manage, a small murmur that in no way can be convincing.

He lets out a soft hum, head slowly tilting as he observes you. You feel like he's picking you apart, piece by piece. Pulling back your hardened shell to watch your innermost workings as they turn and click.

His thumb presses down on your bottom lip, tugging it down a little and he can feel the muted gasp you take. He leans heavier on the shelf beside the both of you and his hand drops away from you. A long, almost pained groan rips from his throat and he pulls back to run his fingers through his mohawk and tug at the strands. He drags his hand over his face and peeks at you through his fingers.

His eyes are narrow and hungry before he tears his eyes away again, waving you off. "Bah. Go get what you were looking for, I'll be finding you later."

You try not to sigh too audibly as you take a few steps back, your body visibly untensing as you put a bit of distance between you two. "Right, see ya." You say, a little clipped before turning on your heel and walking away.

Soaps eyes follow you until you turn a corner and step out of his line of sight, the back of his head falling back against one of the shelves with a thump. Run, little bunny. You're lucky he likes a chase.

[sideeve]

☆ ── YOUNGER THAN YOU

☆ ── he knew it was wrong to involve himself with someone younger than him. but it felt so good. ☆ ── age gap ( reader is in her 20’s and john is in his 40’s ) , emotionally closed off john , daddy issues ( not me projecting ) , smut ( p—in—v s*x ) , squirting , listen to younger than you by whirr

john sat in an empty booth, nursing a glass of alcohol that he would sip from time to time. the burning sensation every time he swallows kept him alive. he watched as the criminals socialized around him. he remembered when he was like them

he would be able to talk to anyone without a problem. now, he felt like an outcast. despite the fact that people feared him when his name was spoken.

he hated interactions that weren’t needed. he was a man that spoke a few words.

but you? everything was different with you. ever since helen passed away, he kept telling himself that he’ll never find love again.

but he kept finding himself tangled in bed with you at night. spending his mornings with you.

he even almost forgot about helen. you could take her place. but…something kept eating him alive.

you are too young. you were mature. you could take care of yourself. you were strong. mentally and physically. but in reality, you were too young.

──

“johnny.” you wrap your arms around his waist as he makes himself a bowl of cereal. you kissed his bare back, his scent filling your nostrils. he must have taken a shower recently.

“i missed you tonight. where did you go?” your hands travel up to his chest. “i needed some fresh air.”

in your mind, you knew that was code for “i needed some time to think about something.”

“what did you think about?” he takes a breath. “i think we should end this.” your arms leave his torso, taking a step back, “what?” he turns to you, that same stoic look on his face. “you’re too young for me. you need a man who is around your age. someone who knows what do with you.”

you scoff, “you must be joking right? when was age ever a problem between us?” “you don’t underst—” “no you don’t understand! i don’t want anyone else. i just want you, wick.”

you take your place again, in front of him, instead taking his arms to wrap around you. he would’ve moved his arms back but he didn’t. he couldn’t resist you. you were his kryptonite.

he pulled you closer. “i don’t know how i could live without you.” he bends down, taking your lips with his. you moan in the kiss, sending electric signals in his body.

he pats your thigh, telling you to jump. you wrap your legs around his waist as walks up to his your shared bedroom.

you bounce on the bed, giggling. your clothes quickly ripped, which he promised you that he would buy some more.

he placed himself between your legs, kissing up your thigh while one hand places itself on your breast. “john.” he hums in response. “please. no foreplay today.”

he chuckles darkly. “impatient, are we?” his clothes were taken off, his tip prodding at your hole, “you—” “just do it, please!” you whine.

the first thrust was hard. he practically slip you open. for an old man, he knew how to fuck.

his hands gripped your hips, letting him stroke deeper. “fuck—” you let out a strangled moan. his hips thrust in rhythm, hitting that sensitive spot on your spongey walls. “i could never leave you.” he bends down, kissing your neck. “i love you.”

a knot forms in your stomach, threatening to rip. “john, i think i’m—” “come.” his thrust get faster, chasing for both your orgasms. “s-shit.”

a liquid substance covers both of your legs. you were hoping he didn’t notice. but he did, he groaned in pleasure. “fuck.” he released in you, white painting your walls.

he pulls out, laying next to you. “i hope you’re on the pill.” your eyes widen, “you finished inside me?” silence covers the room.

he wraps his arm around your waist, “i wouldn’t be opposed to having a kid with you.”

[perpetualfox]

Hi! I saw you write dub con but since there are a lot of layers, I would like to know what you consider dubcon and if you would write some headcanons for the 141 + Alejandro with a dubcon experience

Dub-Con Extravaganza - 141 + Alejandro x GN Reader [NSFW]

Warnings: Dub-Con, Rough Handling, Possessive Behavior, Oral, Overstimulation, Exhibitionism, Burning, Authority Kink, First Time, Breath Play, Choking, Edging

Wordcount: 2440

Thank you so much for the request. I hope you enjoy it!

For anyone who is curious, here's a quick link to my updated request guidelines for an updated on consent related content on this blog.

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick

→ “If you don’t stop squirmin’ about, I’m gonna have’ta hold you down, baby.”

→ You whine incoherently as he mumbles against your inner thigh. The low rumble of his voice thrums through you, rich and comforting despite the threat. Your flesh burns, scraped nearly raw by the rough caress of his stubble, and your fingers ache, cramping from clutching so tightly in his short, curling hair.

→ He’s been at it for what felt like hours, bringing you to the edge and over it again and again with little more than his clever tongue. Your thighs ran slick with saliva and your own arousal, the bedsheets beneath you damp with it. Every pass of his tongue was agony upon your frayed and sparking nerves—even the gentle puffs of his breathing were overwhelming.

→ If you had had the wherewithal to speak, you might have begged him to stop, to let you rest, to come down from one high before it could bleed into the next. But, God, he was good to you. And you longed to be good for him in return—to be worthy of the attention he so lovingly laid upon you, to deserve every flicker of that tongue. And he had asked for so little, only that you lay still and take it; to be good. Dimly, with what little of your mind is still capable of higher thinking, you wonder if you can.

→ You try, honestly you do, but it’s just too much. As he licks another stripe slow and wide against your sensitive flesh, your whole body tenses, hips jerking away from the brilliant heat of his mouth. Unwilling to let you escape, Gaz follows the movement, slick tongue pressing in harder, flickering relentlessly against you. Your eyes roll back, jaw going slack, his name both a prayer and a curse as it tumbles from your lips.

→ A moment later, he’s gone—withdrawing from you completely. You sob, body collapsing, limp and useless beneath him. You aren’t sure which was worse: the brutal pleasure of his mouth on you, or the pitiful throbbing that descends in his absence.

→ He makes a disappointed sound high in the back of his throat, “I warned you.”

→ In a flash, he’s moving, shifting his weight, and pinning your hips against the mattress with strong, gun-roughened hands. Then his tongue is on you again, laving against your most sensitive spots, and though you try to squirm, to kick your legs, to buck him off, he doesn’t budge, his fingers only tightening on your hips. He pulls back a fraction and glances up at you, with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

→ “Oh no, baby. You’re not going anywhere,” he rasps, “Not until I’m finished with you.”

John 'Soap' MacTavish

→ The lighter snaps open. A small flame hisses to life, illuminating the sharp edge of Soap’s jaw for just a moment before the end of his cigarette catches, and he snaps it shut again.

→ “Put that thing out, Soap. You know I hate the smell of ‘em.”

→ He leans against the brick wall of the alley, bracing his hip against the stone, and takes a long drag. He holds the smoke deep in his lungs for a moment, revelling in the rush of nicotine in his system, before blowing it back out into the night. The cloud of it hangs around him for a moment—a wispy halo caught in the sour glow of a streetlamp.

→ “Nah, don’ think I will.”

→ “I’m not in the mood to argue, Soap. Put it out.”

→ “I’m no’ arguin’, and I’m no’ puttin’ it out. ‘S a free alley. I’ve lit up, an’ now I intent to have my smoke.”

→ “I’ll give you three seconds.”

→ He barked out a laugh that made your blood boil, “Or what—you’ll do it for me? I don’ think so.”

→ You round on him, closing the distance in three quick steps, but he was ready. He catches your arm as you reach for him and twists it backward. You cry out as he spins you about, bending the arm behind your back and pinning it there. Your shoes slip against the slick pavement, but Soap held you firmly upright.

→ You struggle against him, spitting curses and trying to break his hold, but he’s stronger by an order of magnitude. He huffs out a laugh, leaning down to nuzzle against your shoulder. You can smell the smoke on his breath and feel the heat from his cigarette, still lit in his other hand. He holds it aloft, casually caught between two fingers, closer to your cheek than you’d like. The stink of it makes your head swim.

→ His voice is low and raspy as he drags his lips across the bare skin of your neck, “Such a pretty thing…”

→ He brings the cigarette back to his lips, sliding his hand down to pop the button of your jeans. You bite your lip as he slips his hand beneath the rough denim, his fingers leaving burning against your skin, scarred knuckles brushing against your most sensitive spots. You whine long and low into the night, leaning back against him as your knees go weak.

→ “Such a fuckin’ slut you are, hey? Lettin’ me do this oot here where anyone could see…” The warmth of his body cuts through the damp chill of the evening, the heat of him burning through his jacket and your own. You squirm in his grip, but he holds you fast, chuckling deep in his throat.

→ He rolls his head to the side and takes another drag from the cigarette. “Bet tha’ thought gets you excited.” His fingers press against you a little harder, “So it does,” You can all but hear the grin in his voice. “I can feel it.”

→ He rolls his hips against your ass, and as he shifts, you can feel the hard press of his cock through his jeans, “Guess, it gets me excited too.”

→ He swings your body around, pressing your cheek hard against the slimy wall of the alley. ‘If I’m to fuck you proper, I’ll have to be rid of this,” He plucks the cigarette from him mouth, keeping you pinned against the wall with his hips.

→ His fingers claw at the neckline of your shirt, “Soap? What are you doing?”

→ “You told me to put it out, so I’m putting it out.”

→ That’s all the warning you receive before the burning end of his cigarette is pressed against the meat of your shoulder blade.

→ You cry out, the pain lighting up your nerves, but Soap just laughs, grinding himself harder against your ass, crowding you against the wall of the alley, “Yeah, that’s it, Hen. Fuckin’ scream for me.”

John Price

→ “Off!”

→ The command rings through the room, and you jerk your head back as though you’d been stung, the captain’s slick cock slipping from between your lips. Saliva drips down your chin, soaking your shirt and collecting in a puddle between your thighs. Your chest heaves as you struggle to get enough air into your starving lungs and tears slide unchecked down your cheeks.

→ “I taught you better than that, didn’t I?” Upon receiving no better answer than you laboured breaths and pathetic sniffling, he surges forward, seizing a fistful of your hair and tugging hard enough to sting. “Didn’t I?”

→ “Y-Yes…” Your voice is little more than a ragged whisper; a scratchy testament to the abuse your throat has suffered. Unsatisfied with your answer, he pulls hard on your hair, dragging you forward. Your spine arches back in a desperate bid to ease the tension on your scalp.

→ “What was that?”

→ “Yes…S-Sir!”

→ He releases you, and you flop forward, your face mere inches from his cock, still slick and shining with your drool. His thick fingers find their way to your face, his thumb smearing through the mess around your mouth. His calloused fingertips glide across the slick flesh of your lips, tracing the puffy, cock-bruised flesh, leaving a stinging trail in their wake.

→ “What’s this for?” He asks.

→ “S-Sucking your cock, Sir?”

→ “Is it a question?”

→ “No, Sir.”

→ “Then say so. What is it for?”

→ “S-Sucking your cock, Sir.”

→ His fingers slide down your slick chin and seize about your throat. He doesn’t squeeze—not yet—just applies light pressure: a promise, and a threat, “And this?”

→ “I-I don’t…”

→ “I’m beginning to lose patience with you,” His voice is low, dangerous. “What. Is. It. For?”

→ “For…you to fuck, Sir.”

→ “Mmm, And when do you get to breathe?”

→ “When you say so, Sir.”

→ “That’s right. So,” He takes a deep drag of his cigar and leans forward in his seat to blow it into your face. The need to cough rattles about in your chest as the acris smoke stings your already teary eyes. Price smacks you hard on the back of the skull, his palm open, “Get that fucking gag reflex under control, or I’ll really give you something to cry about.”

Simon 'Ghost' Riley

→ “Oh fuck, Ghost!”

→ When the blunt head of his cock first nudged up against your entrance, you weren’t convinced it was going to fit. He was just so fucking big—bigger than anything you’d had the courage to take before. And as he presses forward, his strong arms caging you against the mattress, you are absolutely sure it won’t—not all of it anyway. Not all at once.

→ The stretch is intense. Your thighs jump and twitch where they lay, hitched high about his hips. Your hands cling tightly to his shoulders, nails sunk deep into his pale flesh, leaving little crescent shaped indentations. The deeper he pushes into you, the further you feel your control slipping—your breath comes fast and hard and your legs begin to shake in earnest.

→ All at once, he brushes up against something inside of you and you cry out. Your muscles lock up and you clench down around him so tightly that he gasps—a short, sharp sound that echoes in your ears. The steady push of his hips falters, and he grinds to an uneasy halt, “C’mon, Lovie, that’s only half of it. You can take more than that.”

→ But you couldn’t. He was going to break you—to split you in half. You were so full of him you could hardly find the room in your lungs for air. Still, he rocked his hips into you in short, shallow thrusts. He wanted to keep going—to keep pushing until he made room one way or another. Each shift of his hips, no matter how small, punched a heavy, gasping breath from your lungs.

→ God was that really only half?

→ “C-Can’t.”

→ “Yes, you can.”

→ You could feel yourself slipping away, your mind going fuzzy with the rocking of his hips, the burn as he stretched you out. The muscles in your stomach tighten with the promise of an impending orgasm, your vision going blurry with overstimulated tears.

→ “T-Too much,” You whine, “So fucking big…I can’t—”

→ Suddenly, his hands are at your throat. His fingers wrap around your neck, and he squeezes hard. The fight drains out of you so quickly you feel dizzy, the heat of his palms sapping the strength from your body.

→ “Tell me to stop then.” His dark eyes bore into yours from beneath his balaclava, his light eyelashes nearly white in the gloom. “Tell me to fucking stop, Lovie. Go on.”

→ His fingers tighten around your throat, as though he were trying to wring the words from you. You can feel those thick digits locking together at the back of your neck, his blunt nails digging into your soft skin. You couldn’t have spoken around the clench of those fingers if your life had depended on it. All that escapes from your lips is a thin whine, high and desperate.

→ “Got nothin’ to say?” Ghost laughs, a low, dangerous sound that rumbles in his chest and makes you shudder beneath him, “Then fucking take it,” And he slams his hips home, sheathing himself to the root in one smooth stroke.

Alejandro Vargas

→ Strong hands soothe the ache along the ridge of your spine, calloused fingers rubbing gentle circles into your flesh. His thumbs stroke over your ribs and down your sides, pressing against the bones of your hips just enough that you really feel it—a heavy pressure just shy of painful. His hands slide further down, grasping a handful of the meat of your thighs, rubbing feeling back into the spots where they press against the wooden lip of the desk.

→ Your chest lays flush against its varnished surface, the wood growing warm and slick beneath your heated flesh. Papers and files lay scattered across the floor, swept from the desk in the desperate frenzy to bend you over it. It’ll be a hell of a job for Alejandro to make sense of them tomorrow, scattered and jumbled as they are, but that isn’t your problem.

→ It was a quiet night, the Vaqueros still on base occupied with the last of their daily tasks or already tucked into their bunks in preparation for an early morning. There was no one around to hear you now, hidden away in Alejandro’s office as you were, but you whine and sob into your palms anyhow, muffling yourself out of habit more than necessity.

→ “Come now, Mi Corazón, there’s no need for tears.”

→ But there is. His cock is buried inside of you, splitting you open with his girth, but he isn’t moving—hasn’t moved an inch since seating himself within you nearly an hour ago. He kept you pinned, his hips pressed tight against your ass, holding you immobile with little more than the weight of his body.

→ “You can just take what you need,” He crooned, “C’mon, take it from me.”

→ You struggle desperately, trying to throw your weight against him, to move him an inch in any direction, but it’s no use. You just aren’t strong enough. A fresh wave of frustrated tears pricks at your eyes and burns your cheeks. You can do nothing but clench around him and sob into your fingers.

→ He coos softly—a gentle sound, so full of love and understanding. He presses a gentle kiss into your hair, “Awww, that’s okay, Mi Vida. I understand,” His lips brush against the back of your neck, soft and warm “It’s a lot to take in all at once, no?”

→ He shifts his hips ever so slightly, slowly grinding himself into you. You seize beneath him, pulsing around his cock. It’s the first stimulation with which he’d graced you since he’d opened you on his fingers, “We can wait here just like this until you’re ready.”

[belaofarc]

✩࿐࿔ Phone call

Step dad!John wick x reader

Summary: You’re needy step dad John interrupts your phone call for night time activities.

TW: NSFW, stepcest, strong language

Word count: 1902

It’s late at night and you’re on the phone with your best friend, conversing about random topics.

“Soooo… how’s that step dad of yours?” She asked flirtatiously

“Shut up, he’s not that hot!”

You exclaimed, trying not to sound too enthralled.

“Ugh fine Anyways, there's this guy at my work and he’s really hot, I want him so bad I wanna cry like he needs to come place a ring on my finger.”

“What does he look like?” You asked curiously

Lilium sent you his account while going on forever about her hot co worker.

Until you heard a noise at your door.

Your step dad walks in, his eyes tired, but you could tell he was extremely needy.

And when your mom wasn’t home or awake to satisfy his needs, your always his go too.

He gets on top of you, your bottom half kinda hanging off the bed, as your laying across your bed.

you flash him an annoyed look, Causing him to grab you by the hair.

“Why are you being so bitchy tonight, don’t act like you don’t beg me to fuck that wet cunt every chance you get, now that your on the phone with that little friend of yours you wanna act different, god forbid she knew you were such a cock slut for your own step father.”

He teased in a menacing tone.

“Yeah John, as if” you replied back while rolling your eyes, you go back to listening to Lilium’s ramblings.

until you go blank as your step dad starts playing with your cunt.

His large veiny middle finger slowly going in and out your tight cunt making wet noises.

“Wet for me already” he teased

You cover your mouth to silence your moans, you want to be loud but you know what would happen if your mom caught the two of you together.

“Mmmmm” you accidentally slip out, john bends down near your ear to shush you, while placing kisses on your neck.

“What did you say?”

Asked Lilium concerned cause you haven’t said anything for a while, as she was rambling.

“Oh yes, i agree you should totally ask for his n-number, he seems t-totally with it”

You stutter out while your step dad is still fingering your wet cunt with his pointer and middle finger.

“Purk that pretty ass up for daddy” He growled.

You hesitated a bit, a little nervous cause your friend would probably be able to hear every little noise, but you complied.

“You're such a good girl for daddy doing as your told and being such a good little slut.”

He degraded you as he started sliding his 12 inch cock along your cunt.

“Mhm~” you muffledly replied back with your hand covering your mouth trying not to make any noise, very nervous and a little overwhelmed at how easy it is to make you melt as his touch.

You were practically a slave to his dick and he knew it.

“Y-you should maybe ask for his Instagram, just say you would like to hang out after work or s-something”

You told Lilium trying to pretend like your not being stimulated by your own step father.

“Yes I was thinking that too but I’m too nervous… might have to hold him at gunpoint for it”

“He’s finna meet his ma-“

You were shortly cut off from your sentence as your step dad had started entering your tight cunt, every inch he got deeper filling you up, a mix between pain and pleasure. Making you feel like you're suffocating, trying your best not to moan as loud as you can to alarm Lilium nor your sleeping mother.

“That’s right, that’s my good little princess. Begging your step dad to fuck you while your mother is asleep in the other room… but you like that, don’t you?”

He teased while simultaneously pounding your insides making you want to do nothing but cry from the fact you're practically being torn apart by your moms fiance.

“Y-yes daddy…” You accidentally choked.

“Y/n… no we aren’t doing this tonight” Said Lilium making it clear she can hear your moans but thinks your fake moaning, in which case you could NOT let her find out your being fucked by your own step dad.

“I’m just being silly tonight.” You replied while huffing.

Mouth halfway open from salvation at how good it feels finally being satisfied.

“You better stop being so loud princess, or you’ll get us caught”

His words not doing anything but making you want to make more loud noises at how his words vibrate into your ears making you wanna cum.

You put your phone down, the feelings of his cock too much to not ignore.

“F-fuck yes” You huffed as he continues to stretch your aching cunt, causing you to put your hand over your mouth trying not to make any loud accidental noises

“Mmm you love when daddy fucks you don’t you?” his hands placed on both your sides as he continues pounding you mercilessly.

You’re so cock drunk you can’t even hear what Lilium nor your step dad is telling you anymore, All you know is that you never want this feeling to end.

“Fuck- I mean yes I agree your manager is a bitch”

“That’s what I’m saying like I’m so, so tired of her I just… I just can’t”

She replied back in a fustrated tone.

“That’s right keep talking baby, I’m not even here” said John as he’s still plowing your cunt, the idea of your dad fucking you whilst your trying your best not to make any sound, driving you mad.

“I’m fixing to cum princess… be prepared”

His words slipping off his tongue but as before it’s all muffled all you can focus on is his cock hitting your womb, every thrust making you tear up, at how beautiful and lustful it feels.

You can feel him pounding you harder, slowly becoming sloppyer his orgasm timing with yours.

You place your head in your pillow to try and muffle your moan.

As your orgasm is still hitting, he’s still teasing you. Going in and out your cunt, overstimulating you to the brink of no return.

“I love this tight cunt of yours, if I could I’d be inside you all day princess.” He teased peppering kisses on your neck.

He finally pulls out, allowing you to catch your breath. As his cum slowly leaks out of you.

“Be a good girl and clean daddy up, princess” He says trying to maintain composure at how high his orgasm was.

“And bring your phone over as well there's no need to stop talking to your friend while helping me out baby, I don’t wanna take that away from you”

You hesitantly complied and lifted yourself from the bed, grabbed your phone and got onto your knees.

“Good girl” He praised you as he brushed his fingers through your hair.

You place the phone up to your ears, as you start to slowly place kisses onto his cock.

“You still their Y/N?” Asked Lilium cause you’ve been “quiet” for a while.

“Hey yeah, I’m still here. I'm just reading this fanfic about Tate Langdon.” You said trying to save yourself and explain why you haven’t been replying.

“My husband … as you should” She said in a joking manner.

You start to lick his base slowly leading back up to his tip, John and your juices filling the taste buds of your tongue. you can’t help but be entranced at how good it tasted.

You look up to see john with his mouth open trying to not moan, at how good your warm mouth feels teasing his dick.

“Did I ever tell you tate Langdon was suppose to have a brother?”

You exclaimed to Lilium trying to make conversation trying not to sound too dry so she doesn’t hang up.

You start to slowly take the length down your throat trying hard not to make any gagging noises.

“We ain’t gonna talk about that mother fucker cause if they placed him in that show I’d hurt that MF threw the Tv screen, Willy wonka type shit.”

Lilium replied riled up

You start to choke at how hilarious this comment was to you.

Your step dad finding it amusing your choking and tearing up at how you're taking him to the back of your throat trying not to choke to death.

“Girl- are you okay, I got you on the floor dying” Lilium started laughing

His dick finally slips from your throat, while you're still having a coughing fit.

“Yes” cough “I’m okay you got me on the floor descended i swear.”

“The usual”

You start to slowly take his length once again, practically begging for him to face fuck you. You can’t help but think of the fact of your own step dad face fucking you makes you extremely wet.

You hate to admit it cause your so stubborn but you just can’t help yourself when it’s right in your face .

You start to devour his dick taking every inch going back and forth, making very few but muffled gags as he starts to face fuck you.

Your saliva and his juices leaking from your mouth making bubbly noises.

At this point you can’t help but not care that your friend is on the other line, wondering what the everloving hell is going on with you.

All you can hear is the sound of gurgling and wet noises as he starts to fasten his pace, his orgasm slowly building up.

You look up to see he’s staring right at you, his dark eyes full of hunger and despair, he needs this high or he’ll go crazy, and you know this, so you allow him to continue, knowing you could pass out at any time from the fact he won’t allow you to pull away to catch your breath. Your mouth is aching and sore from taking his large length.

He starts to pour his liquids down your throat, you could feel every ounce shoot straight through you.

His grunt becoming deeper and deeper as he continues to pour more liquids into your warm throat.

He finally pulls out, his head falling back, catching his breath after chasing such a high.

You always wondered how this man could have such a huge load.

But regardless you took it like a good girl.

He pulled out and you place one last kiss onto his dick.

You stand you up and John peppers a kiss onto your forehead.

“Your such a good girl for taking care of daddy tonight. Sweet dreams princess”

He starts to place his clothes back on.

Lilium still on the other line silent.

“H-hey im back im sorry about that, I had to go do something with my mom and I had left the Tv running”

You made up a some lame excuse, to not cause any controversy.

“Girl- I thought you were taking dick I was finna sayyy~”

Lilium said teasingly

“Yeahhhh no… you know I’m in my virgin era”

You replied back, still stunned from the encounter.

“Yeah whatever-“

[spookieloverslittlemind]

Their favourite movie…

includes: Michael Myers, Pinhead, Brahms Heelshire, Art the Clown, Sun and Moon (fnaf), Marta (Outlast 2)

spoilers: mentions of Saw and LOTR endings but tried to keep it vague just in case

Michael

I wouldn’t say he’s “happy” to watch anything, because Michael doesn’t really express “happiness” in any context, but he is content to sit completely still for hours on end, watching whatever you choose. He doesn’t form opinions on films so doesn’t have a favourite, but when you watch a gory horror film together, the SECOND the end credits are rolling he is up and grabbing his knife, heading for the door; Mike loves some inspo x

Pinhead

Fascinated by human media, having long forgotten that aspect of humanity. Pinhead enjoys films that he finds mentally stimulating, thrillers and mysteries mostly (gory films have him scoffing because he could easily make a far more gory scene in the blink of an eye). That said, Pinhead doesn’t like rewatching films because if they have a mystery and he’s solved it, he has no interest in seeing it again because “It is done; an experience that cannot be repeated”. His favourite film is Saw because he was completely blindsided by the plot twist at the end - obviously, a body on the floor of the entire film is nothing more than furniture to Pinhead, so when bro GOT UP?? Pinhead was losing it. Had to pause the film to pace for a few minutes. Couldn’t comprehend how he didn’t see it coming.

Brahms

Every Barbie movie from the early 2000’s, classic animated Disney princess films, and Peter Pan; Brahms thinks the princesses are very pretty (often comparing them to you regardless of your gender because he romanticises every fibre of your being) and believes himself to be the boy who never quite grew up, ironically. Doesn’t mind gory films, but doesn’t like complicated ones because he gets very frustrated; prefers to cuddle up with you and watch something wholesome. Will get pouty and is not above begging to start a movie over the second it’s finished.

Art

He’s pretty casual about the films he likes, he prefers classics that have decent remakes and his favourite is Carrie - a revenge plot with magical powers that cause a gory rampage? Count Art in. What he is passionate about, though, is the film he hates more than any other that fits the same criteria of a classic with a decent remake: It. And it’s literally because Art thinks he himself is the best scary clown. Sometimes you put it on (either the classic or new, the reaction is the same) just to piss him off and Art will come storming in, signing angry gibberish with flailing hands until he’s sulking on the couch beside you because he will insist on watching the entire thing again so that he can complain throughout.

Sun and Moon

Sun likes exciting films with happy endings, a very big fan of action movies. Contrary to this, his favourite movie isn’t just one, but the full Lord Of The Rings trilogy - Sun loved reading the books in between watching the films to digest every scrap of lore, but after watching the end of Return Of The King? Couldn’t bring himself to read the last book, because it was too sad. Sun is adamant he will never rewatch the trilogy because it upset him but objectively, that’s his favourite. He’s overjoyed to watch anything with you, because he loves spending time with you, but you have to tell him in advance it has a happy ending or he wont watch it, and if you lie? Moon pending.

Moon prefers quieter, calmer and darker films, with a particular love for gothic horrors based on the supernatural rather than slashers/gorefests. His favourite is An American Werewolf In London, the negative aspects of the transformation being very relatable to Moon.

Marta

Say hello to the biggest film critic of all time. Marta will insist that watching movies is a waste of good time that could be spent praising God or eradicating heretics, so will turn her nose up at almost every suggestion you make, but when you show her John Wick? Oh, Marta’s sense of justice is PREENING. She’s all about that. By the end, her internal monologue is begging God not to let her joy show on her face. As long as you tell her a film is like John Wick, she’ll give it a chance, but John Wick remains her favourite.

[pherelesytsia]

Lurking in the Shadows

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x female/pregnant/Reader

Summary: As Halloween draws near, Charlie's mother worries that even Thomas will fear the costume of his son.

Warning: fluff

Word Count: 1.5k

a/n:. Requests are open!!!

The costume, wicked and haunting, forcing to cross the street if gazes met, suited Charlie well. The eyes of a wolf, a hawk circling over fields and cities in search of prey, a lost bunny searching for the hole in the muddy ground pierced the darkness looming beyond the windows.

The grin on Y/N´s lips grew, did not fade away, and not even bloodcurdling news could wipe it away. Gently, her fingers glided over the costume. Nervously, Charlie bit down on his lower lip, crouched and gazed from his mother to the closed door, listening to the voices mingling freely, but he did not understand any of the words echoing throughout the mansion. Y/N kneeled in front of her son. Mumbling, her fingers adjusted the shoes, perfecting the costume.

            "Do you think the others will like my costume? I've seen Karl. He is a ghost. I don't fear ghosts.", "Charlie, you were a ghost last year. We need to get more creative and I have to admit that if I didn't know you, I would hide in fear for my safety. You have the scariest costume I have ever seen in my life." Y/N spoke, fixing his tousled hair, hearing the secret message, the fear lingering in his shaking voice.

The light flickered.

            "Are you going to put on a costume, too? You would be a beautiful princess.", "Thank you, Charlie, but I will stay at home. I will accompany you downstairs and then Arthur, Polly and if I am not mistaken, John will wander from house to house with you and the other children. And I will wait for your return and then you can tell me what creepy creatures you have seen lurking around the streets." Y/N continued.

Gazes met.

            "And what about father? Won't he come with us? He told me he would think about it." Charlie inquired.

The smile faded away. Y/N exhaled and looked apologetically at her son, whose costume she had perfected to the smallest detail. She caressed his cheek, removed the thread from his shoulder and smiled, wordlessly answering the question he had asked.

            "Father promised me," Charlie argued.

            "My sweet little boy, your father fears for my safety and he promised he would wait with me. You can tell us everything then, and we will listen." Y/N breathed and calmed the boy with a mere gesture.

            "I understand, mom. I hoped. Dad promised me he would come with us, with me." Charlie spoke, tried to stay strong, but his voice betrayed him.

Blaming the hormones, Y/N blinked away the tears and smoothed his hair.

            "Please don't be sad. Do not be mad at your father, he wants to protect me and fears I might feel unwell or end up sickly in bed, or faint if nobody is here. Imagine one day, in a few years, you get to accompany your sibling on this spooky day and protect them from ghosts and knights, but enough of that, we should go downstairs. The others are waiting." Y/N said. The smile on his lips dispelled the tears.

            "Next year?", "No, my little boy, but in three or four years." she laughed and squeezed his right hand.

Groaning, Y/N rose from the floor. Hands enveloped hers, helped her, came to her aid. Charlie smiled, clasped her hand graced by a golden ring, and guided her towards the door. His eyes kept sliding back to his mother, watching her every move. The fear disappeared, faded into oblivion and Charlie opened the door, bowed elegantly, a high-born soldier, and followed the endless corridor. The gramophone played a song. With every step they took towards the stairs, the voices grew louder. Peals of laughter mingled with deep voices.

Stairs creaked, and pairs of eyes fell on the couple. Grins grew wider. The voices grew softer. The suit, dark as midnight, fitted him well. His shoes were polished. The hair lay to one side. His face was cold, blank and expressionless, a statue, staring down at the men and women. Eyes, twinkling and gleaming, looked at the boy who had taken his father's place. A pitch-black waistcoat hid the white shirt. Out of the small pocket, Charlie retrieved a silver pocket watch, opened it with a push of a button, and shook his head. A sound escaped his lips.

The siblings had to stifle a laugh, remembering what Y/N had said, her words about finding the most terrifying costume with Charlie, that people would freeze in fear and even the strongest of men, boxers facing the enemy in the ring with risen fists would tremble, and the prophecy was true. But no fear was boiling in the stomach. Curious eyes settled on Thomas staring at his double walking with his wife towards the group.

Charlie's face was strangely stiff, overshadowed by greyness.

            "It's late. We're heading out. We don't have fucking time to waste. And no fucking fighting." spoke the faint yet firm voice.

Y/N hunched forward, trying to walk beside Charlie and not to laugh, amused by the sight of her baffled husband.

            "Was that good? And you didn't give me any cigarettes.", "Perfect, but you don't have to swear like your father and I certainly won't give you any cigarettes.", Y/N whispered, fighting tears.

            "Of course, brother. You had a drink, right? I'd better drive, kids ride with us after all. Your wife looks particularly beautiful these days. The pregnancy suits her well and I am convinced it will be a girl." Arthur spoke in a firm voice, trying to sound as stern as possible.

With his right hand, he gestured the children to follow him.

            "What should I say?" asked a weak voice.

            "Nothing. Your father is not a man of many words. Nod and go, as we discussed." Y/N replied.

She eased away from the young one, nudging him forward and the boy understood and strolled with larger strides towards his father.

            "Good evening, Mister Shelby," he spoke.

Thomas shook his head, stared down at the carbon copy. Nothing escaped his gaze, found a difference, the golden ring, the sign of eternal loyalty and love was missing.

            "Good evening, Mr Shelby. I have heard a lot about you and we should form an alliance. I have contacts that might be useful to you. And I must say your wife is a breath-taking woman.", "Of course, Mister Shelby, but I must go now, my colleagues, my brothers are waiting. I look forward to hearing from you." Charlie spoke sternly, cold as possible.

            "Goodbye, Mr Shelby. During your absence, I will keep your wife company." Thomas replied.

He said goodbye to his son, following the others out of the mansion. Shaking his head, Thomas looked after Charlie. His eyes sparkled, not understanding what had happened. The stiff wind did not howl through the corridors of the house. Footsteps echoed again and with slow steps Y/N walked towards her grinning husband, listening to raucous laughter piercing the calmness of the night. Hands settled on his body, brushed the weight off his shoulders with an affectionate gesture, and lowered her head onto his back. Bright lights illuminated the nightfall and the blueish automobile drove off and faded beyond hills and rising mist.

            "That was the surprise you couldn't tell me, the secret between you and Charlie?" Thomas inquired, turning away from the window.

Silence returned. In reassuring gestures, Y/N stroked the bulge, no fabric nor coat could hide and nodded.

            "Exactly. Charlie wanted an unusual costume. Every kid dresses up as a ghost or a knight. Girls are witches and princesses and, according to some people, there's nothing creepier, scarier than Thomas Shelby. Do you like it? I had to cut his hair today, too." Y/N chuckled.

Lowering his hands on her waist, Thomas turned his wife in his arms and lowered his head onto hers.

            "It's the worst, goosebump-inducing costume I've seen in my life and the sight of the man will haunt me in my worst dreams. I need a psychologist," he joked. "And soon I will see him again. He wants to meet me, talk about business. I am dreading the encounter." Thomas continued.

Y/N looked up. The light was touching his face. The eyes sparkled. Gently, his fingers slid down her lower back. He wanted to be closer to the love of his life, but the belly made it difficult. His lips were clamped shut. The corners had turned white. Grinning, he gazed upon his wife, couldn't hold the walls of protection up. Stone crumbled. Thomas laughed, chuckled in delight, couldn't comprehend it, laughed and grinned and Y/N was persuaded she had never heard these delicate sounds, this melody touching her heart, in her life.

[delilahcalicocat]

{Home.}

{Rating: Mainly Fluff, Smut.}

{Warnings: Unprotected Sex, Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, Swearing, Dom/Sub Dynamic, Kissing, Hugging}

{Pairing: Cody Rhodes x Fem!Reader}

{Tag list❤️✨️💗: @alyyaanna @nightmare-viper}

★~★~★~★~★~★~★~★~★~★~★~★~★~★~

Many weeks had passed, you were unable to sleep some nights, you were exhausted. Your eye bags showed that fact of being unable to sleep, you couldn't admit it. But you missed your boyfriend.

But he wouldn't be home for another three weeks. It was to the point where you'd fall asleep on FaceTime calls with him. His voice was so soothing to you.

Cody wasn't going to tell you, but he was coming home early. He came back at 5:36am, he walked into the house. To see you and Pharoah snuggling on the couch both asleep.

He stayed silent and put everything away, it was still early. So he set his alarm on his phone for 10:00am. So he'd get a little sleep at least.

His main priority was making sure you actually slept. Cody laid his head down on his pillow and drifted off to sleep.

◆~◆~◆~◆~◆~◆~◆~◆~◆~◆~◆~◆~◆~◆~◆~◆~

He awoke to his alarm at 10:00am, you weren't awake yet still asleep on the couch. The TV faintly playing the infamous movie 'John Wick'. You seemed to have fallen asleep watching the movie. Since you had the remote nearby.

Cody walked over to the couch, and moved the remote away from you gently as not to wake you. Since you were so peaceful. It looked like you fell asleep right before he walked in.

He went back upstairs and fed Pharoah, then he came back downstairs and sat at the dining room table. and filled out a couple papers for the meet and greet that was in two weeks.

He headed back upstairs to go print out something, on his way back down. He heard you softly mumble and saw you shift in your spot.

you grumbled softly, before sitting up.

"Fuck... what time is it? I fell asleep at 4:10am.." You said, getting ready to get up.

you looked at the time and it read '10:05am'

"Ugh.. I'm still tired.. but I have to feed Pharoah." You sighed, standing up

"No you don't love, I already fed him." Cody said

"Cody.. I thought you weren't coming home for another three weeks?" You said surprised

"I got home early, Jimmy Uso got injured at the house show. So everyone got two weeks off. As a result of that happening." Cody sighed

"Oh.. Ok... what time did you come in..?" You asked

"5:36am.. I went to sleep before getting up at 10:00am" Cody explained

"Sorry I wasn't up before you came home.. I was just tired and fell asleep with Pharaoh since he wanted pets.." You said.

"It's fine, love. I understand your tired when your tired." Cody said

You and him spoke a little longer. And you hugged him as soon as he walked over to you.

you were so happy he was home..

Next thing you know, your pinned to the bed. Moaning and begging for release. As Cody fucked up into you harder.

"Please... Master..." You whimpered

"Just a little longer, m'kay princess?" Cody said

"M'kay..." You said

He fucked up into you harder and faster, making you physically see stars. But you missed the feeling so you'd let it go..

"Sh-Shit... please... master...." You couldn't hold it any longer, you wanted to burst into tears.

"Cum. Go on." His words sent you over the edge, with a moan of his name. You came.

"F...fuc...fuck..." You said wearily

Cody continued to fuck you through your orgasm, making you moan with each thrust.

You were a mess at that point. The cries and pleads turning into moans and begs

"S...Si...Sir..." You cried

"Yes Princess?" He asked

You tried to say something but your brain was so heated you couldn't say anything.

He fucked up into you once more, making you moan. And you came a second time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~❤️~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were on your 12th orgasm of the night...

Cody basically forced 9 of the 12.

But you didn't care, you were exhausted after everything ended. Cody pulled you up gently and ran a bath for you. Got everything that was messy cleaned.

You glanced at the clock and it read: '11:59pm'

Your body settled down in the tub immediately, you relaxed..

The overstimulation washing away. You did a couple deep breaths.

You got out of the bath, and Cody had your clothes already set aside for you. The usual.

His shirt, your shorts, his hoodie.

As soon as you got in the bed, you wanted to fall asleep. You rolled towards Cody and fell asleep while listening to his heartbeat..

[deathbxnny]

Hello! I hope that you are having a wonderful day! Can I request some Zhu Yuan, Ellen Joe and Nicole x Reader (Gender Neutral) that is extremely sweet and caring but once they are angered they are merciless and ruthless since before they meet them, they were a legendary assassin (Kinda like John Wick)? You are free to ignore this ask if you wish

I love this ask, Anon!! Thank you for the request, and I hope you'll like this post!!<33

Also, sorry guys for disappearing lmao... life hates me-

Content: Established relationships, kinda unserious, vague mentions of past assassinations, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!!

((Not proofread))

》ELLEN JOE

When Ellen saw your personality shift for the first time, she couldn't help but just stand there as you completely demolished your enemies. And to say that she was confused would be an understatement. On one hand, she thought that you were absolutely badass... and on the other... how did she never notice this side of you?

Ellen liked to think that she was super in tune with your emotions, considering that she likes to observe and listen to you practically every moment of the day, but this definitely takes her by surprise. She already knew about your past beforehand but never saw you in action for obvious reasons... she's just glad that she isn't the one getting their ass handed to them, that's for sure.

》ZHU YUAN

Zhu Yuan knows of your past and helps you keep it under covers around other members of the public security division, as she doesn't want others to bother you with it. She never underestimated your abilities nor what you were capable of, but she's definitely left flabbergasted when she sees you take down a wave of enemies completely on your own.

Zhu Yuan doesn't mention it to you after the battle, however, and keeps her surprising observations for herself. She doesn't want you to think that she's bothered by it, especially when your happy-go-lucky personality returns right after. She'll just pat your head with an approving nod and move on.

》NICOLE

Similar to the others, Nicole knew of your past and most definitely knew of the way your personality shifted when angered. It is why you were so important to the organization to begin with, and she utilizes your strength quite often when you're cornered by enemies... but even so, your skills skills still surprise her anew somehow.

She definitely is proud of being your s/o, though, and makes it loud and clear to anyone who has ears. People may be sick of her eventually for it, but she doesn't care. She never wants you to feel any shame for your past and sees it as beneficial that you even improve on it!

[sweetwolfcupcake]

Wildflower: 04

The Secret Garden

John Wick x Reader

Category: Short Series

Warnings: None really but creepy, questionable behaviour (what else do you expect in a yandere fic?)

Note: John is relatively younger in this fic( late thirties to early forties)

(The GIF is not mine, credit to the owner. Sorry, my pea-sized brain cannot keep up from where I downloaded it.)

Unedited

Wildflower 03

“You have given her the card?”

Another hit, another night at the Continental, another dinner with Winston.

The older man nodded, continuing to eat, eyes on his plate before they rose to meet John’s intrigued ones.

“You know that the card means…”

“She is under my protection and the hotel’s doors are always open for her— services included.” Winston completed.

“She’s a civilian, Winston.” 

John could not get it. Winston seldom gave his personal ‘Access Card’ (As he liked to call it) to anyone– even in their world. John had it, Charon had it and he did not know of anyone else who had it until…Until two nights ago.

When he saw it among (Y/N)’s possessions, he had to look twice. It was, Winston's card, after all, and she fucking carried it around in her bag like an idiot.

“And how did you come to know about the card? I had it shipped to her discreetly.”

Well, that was the question he was dreading. But he would not let it show. 

“I bumped into her during…a job.” He did not elaborate and hoped he would not need to.

“Wrong time, wrong place?”

John nodded. Fortunately, she had just caught the panicked rush. And she had dropped her bag somewhere along the way. John could only imagine what could have happened if the bag fell into the wrong hands– if the card fell into the wrong hands. 

He had only gone through the contents to decide where to drop the bag safely. He totally did not go through her home address and ID.

Winston only hummed and continued to eat. His question, though, was still unanswered.

“She has nothing to do with our world, Winston. She does not need that.”

“Well she walked into our world, had a meeting with me, sat with us at the underground bar— everyone there saw it. I respected Artemis, and I wanted to keep my word.”

Yes, she walked into their world. Like a fucking lamb stumbling into a slaughterhouse. John sighed and continued to eat his dinner. He would rather eat by himself, in the confinement of his room, but he did not mind Winston. Besides, a dinner invitation from the manager of Continental held great significance.

He liked the silence and slowed thoughts when he was in his company, doing mundane things. Like a normal human being. That was the closest to an ordinary life he could ever get. The rest was unattainable luxury. 

But in recent days. Even in the comfort of silence and solitude, his mind was filled with a certain name, a certain smile. A certain face. A certain voice.

It felt so uncharacteristic of him— it was puzzling.  His hold tightened on the knife and fork, the image of her confused face as she looked around people rushing flashed in his mind.

Not again. Not again!

Gulping some wine, he tried to clear his head. He was thinking like that again. He should not be thinking like that. 

She is a civilian. An innocent civilian.

He chided himself.

“Something troubling you Jonathan?”

Of course, Winston would notice. 

He looked up and sighed in silence. Thankfully, Winston did not poke further.

—------

(Y/N) admitted that there were a lot of things she had not prepared herself for before moving to New York— the basics were, thankfully, sorted out in her head. And yet, the pace of life, the mouse problem, more cockroaches, and the general indifference came to her as bumps and jerks. But all was good.

Everything was good until two days ago.

Nothing prepared her for a literal shootout at a subway station and losing her bag in the process. Thankfully, she was not caught in the middle of the crossfire— it was just the panicked rush just outside the crime scene. 

But what she was more thankful about, was the fact that a kind officer brought her bag to her doorstep by the same evening. Her wallet was in that bag with her address. She did not wish to think what would happen if it fell into the wrong hands. Crime in the city ran rampant.

She had heard of it, not much on the news, but more as whispers floating around in her relatively quieter town. But she never paid much heed to them. She had treated them as rumours— the news did not show much, after all. The news did not show even half of it. But above all, the general public’s indifference to such crimes baffled her. 

Did they not want their city safe? Were they not afraid? What era was it? 

She reflected on Alex’s words. They discussed the same. 

“You eventually grow immune to it.”

He had told her. Not very helpful, but that was an explanation of some sort. People in the city must have grown immune to it— they learned to live with it. But could she grow indifferent as well? She did not think so. 

But there was too much at stake. She did not wish to return to her hometown, was still not talking to her father other than one-worded texts, had a job in New York that paid well–enough, had already signed the recent contract and paid two months of rent and the overall living cost of the city kissed the skies and any spontaneous decision would end up burning her pocket— not just a hole in her pocket.

So, the only option left was to get up, dust herself and keep moving. Yet, among all the chaos, she was glad to have found a friend like Alex. His humour and insight always helped. Her thoughts moved to her encounter with John Wick a few days ago. Clearly, Alex and John knew each other. But Alex never elaborated other than calling John an ‘acquaintance’ and John…well, she might as well admit that she would be reluctant to approach him under most circumstances. 

There was— she could not put a pin on it. But there was something almost ominous about that man. The way he looked, the way he spoke, the way he stood, carried himself— every aspect about him seemed to stand out. Not enough to gain immediate attention, but enough to steer clear of his way.

Now, that did not make sense. She realised. Neither did her observation that there was still something inexplicably melancholic about that man. His eyes were unreadable but sharp and so eerily calm that his gaze made her gulp– true. But there was a deep sense of sadness. It was subtle, but it was so ever-present that it seemed to have become a part of him. Nothing temporary but an inseparable part of him.

Now, that’s a bit of a stretch!

She chided herself. What was she doing? Wondering about a man she had met only a couple of times, weaving assumptions and stories?

She shook her head and took the last bite of her dinner. She missed how dinners were timely back in her home. She missed her home a lot, she was not afraid to admit it. But she was too proud to go back. So, whatever it was, she needed to get along with it.

—---

What was he doing?

John was at a fix. He had the night to himself— a chance to relax but why was he not under the covers, relaxing on his bed?

Why was he standing in the darkest corner of the room, watching her sleeping form? Her apartment was decent, he noticed and she was careless enough to not even feel a presence in her room.

What if it were someone else?

Someone dangerous?

You are dangerous.

His subconscious mocked.

John blinked, trying to convince himself that it was all for Winston’s sake— he had taken her under his wing and John, being close to Winston, must play his part in protecting her. Especially when wolves were lurking around, one had followed her from the Continental, sniffing behind, wrapping a sheep’s skin over to lure her near.

Alex Norton…

He was skilled with poison and guns, and while John had never crossed paths with him at work, they had shared a few respectful nods now and then at the Continental. But now…

Now he was keeping an eye out for Norton. 

John gulped, keeping his eyes fixed on her form. If he could keep his reservations aside, he understood Norton’s fascination with the girl.

They were both starved creatures from hell, crawling out now and then, and she was an angel, offering the solace he knew he did not deserve.

She offered what people like him were deprived of. It was tempting to just pull her into the depths of the dark with him, let her light it up— but how unfair, how cruel would that be?

Did he not see and endure enough cruelty? Why would he want an innocent civilian to lose their privileges just because one starving, deformed, empty soul had suddenly realised how impossibly bleak and bitter his world was?

No, John had made peace with this life. He would not call himself ‘the best’, but he knew he was good—- good enough to win special privileges at the New York Continental– to win the confidence of Winston Scott. 

He never truly understood Winston, or his ways.

As far as he knew, Artemis was like any other patron at the Continental and had been a part of the underground before he officially left his…tribe, in search of freedom— some semblance of it at least. He had it now, and it was the best he could get. 

He must make peace with it.

He stared at the asleep woman for a good minute before looking away. He needed to leave. He wanted to leave. He really wanted…

John sighed and leaned against the wall instead.

He would just watch, and observe. He would keep a distance. Like he should.

****

So, we are getting at creepy John, I don't want it to be too slow, but I also want it to be realistically paced. I don't know hat I'm doing, but I am doing it anyway.