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I've been reading lots of tsu'tey fics...I might get into the na'vi world and write something with him 😭

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Moments with John Wick II

》 Pairing: Loving!John Wick x Reader

》 Warnings: pet names, gross misconduct of lovey doviness

》 Word Count: 1.3k+

Part 1

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

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

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

"I know."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, John. Thank you.”

“You never have to thank me, beautiful.”

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

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

“A job. I have to go.” 

“Oh.”

“I know.” 

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

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

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

“How long will this one take?” 

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

“How about you come with me?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I hate this.”

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

“I can do it, John.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And if you weren’t?”

“Then I wouldn’t be.”

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

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

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

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

“I promise.”

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

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

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I haven't written in a while and I'm feeling lots of emotions! So if anyone has any inklings of a request, lmk! ✨️ either way I'll be putting something out soon.

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Sleep (Final)

》 Pairing: John Constantine x MascFem!Reader

》 Word Count: 2.6k

Note: Final part of Sleep! I adjusted pov, so you get more internal thoughts on Constantine and I have to say...I enjoyed writing it this way. Apologies for any mistakes with tenses, spelling, grammar etc. Enjoy!

The shift of Constantine’s body stirs you awake. You’re bleary-eyed and instinctively reach out to him, hand landing on warm skin. In the early days, you worried over disturbing him that way, conscious of how his eyes would flit about looking any other way but yours. It was obvious that intimacy was foreign for him, few, far between and then, completely forgotten.

Of course, until you met each other.

Constantine would find himself walking closer alongside you whenever he called you out to meet at a diner either early mornings or late nights. He had your order memorized before long, and it would be ready by the time you showed up. The small smile that would creep up on your face as you walked closer to the booth made something stir in him. He didn’t know what it was then. Only that it satisfied him more than any drag from a cigarette ever did. It started as a low thrumming in the pit of his stomach that slowly wound its way to the center of his chest. Every order pushed him closer to the edge.

“You okay?” The softness of your voice brings him back into himself. He makes a low grunt, taking your hand in his, absentmindedly following the lines of your palm as he moves closer to you. Constantine doesn’t answer right away, just sighs and stretches before turning to face you. His silence doesn’t bother you. It never did, really. This is where you both stood on the same ground. Sitting in peaceful bliss, tuning into the sounds around you harmonizing; making music just for the two of you to make sense of.

Your body is half in and out of the blankets. An old trusty fan whirring in the corner of the room makes the window curtain sway in rhythm. It’s already nighttime, and with every sway of the curtain, the full moon casts a shadow onto his face.

“Are you okay?” You ask again, insistent. He rolls his eyes playfully and nods, “Yeah.” You laugh a little, and he smiles at the sight of it. He can remember the first time you laughed at something he said. It was loud and obnoxious, and it seemed to have bounced off the tiles in his kitchen in a way that scratched the part of his brain where every cell of satisfaction was housed. It pulled and twisted at him with fiery bursts of warmth that scared the absolute shit out of him. Before he knew it, there was another sound accompanying yours, and it took him much too long to figure out it was his own laugh escaping him; rough and deep pouring out of his throat.

“If you really want, I’ll stay behind this time.” You get to the point, much too tired to pretend not to know what’s wrong with him. You can feel his body suddenly tense as he squeezes your hand in his.

“It’s not that I don’t want you with me. I do. I always want you with me.” You hold your breath, afraid any sudden movement might make him clam up and retreat back into his shell. Constantine doesn’t look at you. He continues to follow the lines of your palm, eyebrows furrowed, frowning. To anyone else, he would seem to be utterly frustrated and angry, but you know what this is. You know there is something sharp trying to claw its way out of his mouth, and he’s fighting to swallow it back down out of habit.

“I can’t lose you.” He whispers, and there it is. His chest is rising and falling semi rapidly. The air is thick and heavy with his fear and love and cynicism all rolled into a cloud swirling above him, reaching out to choke him.

“You won’t lose me, Constantine.”

“You don't know that. You don't.” He suddenly shifts onto his back, the moon now highlighting the tufts of hair near his belly button. There are scars riddling his body, many across his stomach and sides. Deep gashes that healed crudely over time. A few are raised when you pass over them, and every time you see them, you wonder how he has managed to survive for this long.

“No. I don’t, but I want to be your backup. I can help you. I love to be able to help you.” The cadence of your voice centers him. That swirling cloud of fear follows the current of air being pushed around the room by the fan in the corner and dissipates. He sighs out loud.

“You keep saying that as if you’re not helpful when you’re in the library.”

“Constantine-”

“I refuse to lose you. Don’t you understand? You are m-my life.” He sits up, losing his balance slightly; his back colliding with the headboard harder than he probably meant to. He runs one hand in his hair, roughly, and you sit up with him. You feel the panicked vibration through the skin of his thigh when your hand lands there.

“I am?” Constantine looks pained when you ask him that question. He starts to go through every touch of your hand on his body, the soft whispery kisses you have given him on the top of his eyelids while he was deep inside of you. How could you not know? Did he not show you enough?

“Of course you are.” He takes your hand and puts it to his lips, kissing you softly right in the center and then places it on his chest. The way he looks at you, then, with hooded eyes, lips parted and pink, your heart lurches out toward him. “I’m sorry you have to even question that.” He brings your hand to his lips again for a quick kiss and motions you to come closer and lay your legs over his. You do, without hesitation, you do.

“I don’t want to lose you either. I know you can handle yourself, you’ve been doing it for years without me but,” you sigh and look in his eyes, “I want to know I’ve done everything in my power to make sure you come back home to me. That we come back home with each other.” Constantine feels his heart skip a beat, the next big thumping pound in his chest jolting. Your eyes are glistening with unshed tears, and he can say for certain, without a shadow of a doubt that-

“I am in love with you.” He says, the words shooting out of his mouth hurriedly, impatient, and bent at the corners. Your intake of breath worries him for a second, but he doesn’t have time to think about it more because your lips are on his. They’re familiar and soft and warm against his. Your mind is whirling with what this really means. How it means that even though you have parts of yourself you wish you could change or how you’ve worried that you weren’t a pretty little thing made of porcelain, he’s in love with you all the same. When you part, all there is is quiet breathing back and forth between you both.

“Do you remember the first time you called me for a job?” Constantine laughs, head tipped back, and you watch the movement in his throat, committing the sound to memory.

“How could I forget? To this day, I don’t know how we ended up in that abandoned cabin.”

“Me either, but we were hiding out for a while, and it started to rain.” He sucks his teeth when you mention it, remembering that it took forever to get that smell of rain mixed in with musty cabin out from his coat.

“There were so many holes in the roof, I’m surprised we could find a decent spot in there.” You laugh, nodding along.

“But we did,” he grunts in response, “and I recall at some point in the night I was getting tired and you seemed to have noticed because the next thing I know, you took off your coat and folded it up as best as you could and placed it on your lap,” you shake your head thinking of it, “and I was confused by that. So confused.”

Constantine watches you pause mid telling. He notices this shine in your eyes, and when your eyelashes flutter as you look up at him, he thinks - no, he knows his heart stops right then.

“Without saying a word, you nudged me to come closer to you, almost like how we are now, and motioned me to lay my head on your lap and I did-” You whisper the next part, realizing, “I hadn’t been able to get a proper night’s rest until that night. And I knew then that I would always love you, Constantine.”

He could never possibly define the emotion that swells within him. It’s akin to looking up at the sky and feeling the spotlight of warmth from the sun setting just on you and no one else. How the light streams through the trees and catches only you and no one else. There’s always that sharp bite gnawing at him, wanting to keep that feeling from getting close, but all he needs to do is bring your name to his lips and it falls away; the points of the teeth dulling and retreating.

“Come with me.” You look at him confused as he moves your legs gently and gets out of bed. The way the blanket falls away from his body is sultry and distracting, but the sound of his feet as he walks over to you brings you back to focus.

“Where to?” You sit up straighter, moving closer to the edge of the bed. He goes into your shared closet and begins to rummage through things. You’re curiously watching him, but get out of bed and grab your nearest flannel. There’s a comfortable chill in the air as you reach over to your bedside table and turn the lamp on.

You watch him turn around with a couple of towels and a few other things stacked on top of them. You turn your head to the side, and he wonders if you could be any more beautiful.

“A warm bath should help your injury some more.” You don’t have time to say anything else as he walks out of the room. You look over at the clock and see it’s 2:35 a.m. You shrug and follow him, as you always do.

—

The bath is already running when you walk in. He’s brought a chair over from the kitchen to sit while he runs his fingers to make sure the water isn’t scalding. He knows it’s late. He knows that he wants to get back in bed with you as soon as possible so your warmth is marred into his side, but after hearing that you love him back, he wants nothing more than to take care of you like this.

“A bath?”

“Yes, a bath.”

“Hm, okay.” You go to take your flannel off, but Constantine moves behind you and takes over. His breath is at the nape of your neck, and you’re almost embarrassed that he has most certainly noticed the goosebumps that have risen over your skin.

“Let me.” You feel yourself begin to unpack, unfold in front him with every article of clothing he strips you of softly and slowly, delicately. You’re not usually seen as delicate, but with the ways Constantine regards you in touch and in words, you are to him, and that’s all that matters.

When you step in the tub and lay down, he sifts through the water with his hands. It’s quiet apart from that and the sounds of the chair as he moves.

“How is it?”

“Perfect, thank you.”

“Of course.” He watches you sink yourself completely and come up, hands wiping at your face to get the water away from your eyes. A part of him wants to slide in with you, but for tonight all he craves is to make sure you never question how he feels about you. Craves? It’s so strange to him still, this kind of need that makes his fingers itch to touch you all the time. If he were to be blindfolded and made to find you in a sea of people, he would know the feel and scent of your skin apart from everyone else, every time.

“So,” You begin, “may I?” He rings the water out of a cloth and begins to soap it up.

“May you what?”

“May I come with you next time?” The question makes a chuckle come out of him and he shakes his head as he starts to run the cloth over your arm, the suds making that foamy popping sound you’ve always loved.

“You’re stubborn, you know that?”

“But you love me still, so.” You shrug and he can’t argue with that at all. It’s why he loves you, actually.

“The client wants me- us to meet him at the Vatican in a couple of days. Flights are booked.” You look at him, eyebrows raised.

“Like, the Vatican?”

“Funny, that’s exactly what I asked, but yeah.”

“And you were thinking of going without me?” He doesn’t have time to block the puff of soapy suds that land on his face. Your laugh gets louder when he sputters and wipes at his mouth.

“Play nice!” Your laugh turns to giggles. He continues to bathe you, scrubbing away at your arms, neck, and chest. When he gets to your breasts and a soft sigh escapes from your lips, he knows that the need to have you back in bed increases exponentially.

After a while, the silence hovers over the both of you comfortably. You feel your eyelids growing heavier with every passing minute.

“Ready?” Constantine’s voice feels far away, softly making its way to you like it's a secret you both share. You turn over and look up at him, wanting to sit in this moment for a bit longer. He’s leaned down toward you, hair disheveled, voice full of sleep.

“I love you,” he whispers, planting a kiss on your forehead.

“I’m ready, Constantine.” He feels his heart come up his throat, trying to bound its way out of his mouth to present to you as a gift. His life at your hands, beating and pumping only for you. How can this happen to someone like him? How? But he remembers that angels exist, demons too, but here you were given to him, a light swallowing him whole, and he’s letting you.

“And I love you.” Your hands are wet as they trace the lines of his lips. He doesn’t seem bothered by it at all, just smiles and helps you out of the tub.

Before long you’re both back in bed. Back in each others warmth, limbs tangled underneath the blankets you share. The old trusty fan is still whirring in the corner of the room, making the curtain sway in rhythm. You’re lying on his chest, his heartbeat syncing up with yours. You feel his hand on your head, fingers lightly scratching at your scalp. You’re asleep before him, almost always are. He knows this by your breathing pattern, and it calms him to know you’re safe tucked away in this apartment with him.

Constantine doesn’t know everything. He doesn’t know how you get the information you’re able to get so fast when he needs it. He doesn’t know why he was born into a life like this and why he accepted it without question, but he knows one thing, though.

If ever he were posed the question, “Do you want to try again?” at any point in his life, he would say,"No." He doesn’t need to. Every time you look up at him with those eyes, he knows this is what it will forever be.

A new life, that always starts and ends with you.

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Sleep

》 Pairing: John Constantine x MascFem!Reader

》 Word Count: 1.1k

Note: This is part one! An established relationship with John Constantine. I am...loving the vibes on this?? Part 2 and final linked below. I hope you enjoy!!

Final Part

The tiles are cold beneath your feet when you step into the bathroom. It wakes you up more so than the coffee you can smell brewing down by the kitchen. You can hear his voice echoing, carrying it louder at some moments and quieter in others as you assume he’s pacing back and forth. It brings you comfort, but also some anxiety. Is it another job so soon? After you finish up your routine, you walk out and follow the sounds of the coffee machine spurring into action. The smell is calming, bitter, and perfect, just as he likes it. Although there’s light creeping through the blinds, the sun hasn’t begun to rise yet. It’s comfortably dim. Your feet make low slapping sounds as you walk.

You see him standing there, back toward you. His white dress shirt is wrinkled, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You make a mental note that laundry needs to be done soon.

“Constantine?”

You watch him turn around quickly, a worried look etched over his face. His eyebrows are furrowed, and a cup of steaming coffee is in his hand. “I told you to stay in bed.” You roll your eyes at him and decide to take a seat at the mahogany table. Its dings and scratches, deep grooves scattered in places over the surface, are a familiar feel under your fingertips. Newspapers from different publications are open and taking up most of the tabletop. You move them more toward you and look at the things he has circled in red ink, curious.

“I feel okay, I promise.” He sighs, and you watch as he makes another cup for you, with milk and sugar just as you like it.

“That’s not the point, is it?” Constantine’s eyes are dark and brooding. You can tell he hasn’t slept more than four hours, and he’s most likely already left the apartment and come back. It worries you.

Before you know it, he's seated next to you and makes it a point to bring your chair closer to his. Your eyes are following the movement of his hand. Old cuts and new bruises forming at the knuckles.

“Hey.” He brings your chin up so your eyes meet his. His voice is low and steady. The coil of anxiety you always have in the pit of your stomach unfurls and dissipates. It’s frightening how he can do this every single time, but you’re relieved to be seen by him if no one else.

“Hey.” You say back, and it brings a small smile to his face while he surveys the large cut from the top of your left eyebrow, straight down to the middle of your cheek. It feels tender as the pad of his thumb touches around it.

“Who were you on the phone with?” You see him tense slightly. He rubs the back of his neck. “Uh-just, someone wanting information.”

“If it’s another demon thing, I’m coming with you.”

The question of whether his eyes can get any darker are answered when they snap to you. Is this what his opponents see? Swirls of a dark void floating right in the center of his eyes. You already know what he’s going to say next.

“No?” You ask.

“No.” He says sternly.

“No.” You concede. For now.

It’s quiet for the next few moments. The coffee maker drips in the background, the sounds of the city waking up beyond the large-scale windows. You follow the beams of the early morning sun as they shift through the blinds and land on him. You wonder if you should tell him he looks like an angel, bathed in a golden glow, shimmering.

“I want to help.” He shakes his head and stands, loosening the thin black tie around his neck and sifts his hand through his already disheveled black hair. “You already do. When I need information, you’re the only one I can trust to go to. That’s more than enough.” You think of the other day, and just the memory of it brings back a sudden sharp pull of pain to your ribs. You wince, and he turns to take a knee in front of you and quickly takes the mug of coffee from your hands to put on the table. Some liquid splashes onto the newspapers, blotting the ink into each other. It reminds you of how yours and Constantine’s limbs tangle around each other while you sleep, molding yourselves into one.

“I’m fine, John.” You never call him by his first name, but there’s a hint of annoyance that’s starting to creep up on you. Why won’t he let you go with him? Some cuts here and bruises there won’t kill you, and this isn’t the first time you’ve been in the middle of the fray alongside him, so what’s changed?

“Let me take a look. It’s time to clean it and add more salve.” You don’t fight him as he lifts your t-shirt up farther up to expose your entire middle. You hold it up for him as he unwraps the gauze there and you wince as he cleans it carefully. He’s quick, experienced. It doesn’t take a lot of time for him to clean the large area on your side before going to the bathroom to get what he needs.

The grandfather clock is ticking away in some corner of the apartment. It’s close enough to start lulling you back to a drowsiness that has you closing your eyes, waiting for Constantine to come back.

“We’ll go back to bed after this, okay?”

“Okay.” He kneels again and starts to apply the salve in slow and careful motions. You take the time to look at his hands and watch their movements over your skin. Your self-consciousness creeps in during these moments. Maybe things would be better if you just stayed bookish and kept to your library, letting him take on the bumps and fights with half breed angels here or the occasional exorcism there. Maybe he’d prefer that you sit pretty and tell sweet tales when he comes home on those nights. Maybe.

“I’m always amazed at how soft your skin is.” It catches you off guard, but makes you smile. All self-consciousness out the window. He begins to wrap a fresh pair of gauze around you tightly, and you let your shirt fall back down when he’s done.

“Thank you.” He nods and sits in the chair next to you again. You’re close enough to put your hand on his neck. He tenses and then relaxes fully under your touch. You rub small circles with your thumb, and he sighs.

"Sleep?" He asks.

"Sleep." You reply.

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I've got a 2 part Constantine with a masc fem reader in the works! Short and sweet 😌 once I'm halfway through the second part, I'll post the first 👌🏽

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Mirror

》 Pairing: John Wick x MascFem!Reader

》 Warnings: pet names like pretty girl and love

》 Word Count: 814

Note: This is for anon who had the prompt, "John Wick or John Constantine x tomboy or masculine!fem reader..." I'll be writing one for Constantine because I really want to expand on this, so we'll see! Thank you, and enjoy!

You look in the mirror, second guessing your clothes before heading out with John. As much as your confidence is high, especially with someone as wonderful as John by your side, you still wonder if it's enough on days like these. Should you wear the glamorous dresses? The shiny earrings that sparkle and glitter when they catch the light? Should you show off your body more in tight-fitting clothes? Would he like it better?

“Hey, love, the car is here.” You jump slightly, hoping he doesn't see it in your eyes, the overthinking and the worrying swimming in them.

“Uh- yes, yep,” you turn from the mirror and face him in the doorway, “I'm ready. Wait, you're not driving?” He smiles and walks toward you, lightly caressing your necklace when he reaches you. The warmth of his fingers is distracting, and suddenly, the room starts to feel much warmer than before. You stare at the veins on his hands and watch how they dance almost, putting you in a trance.

“Not tonight, no. I want to focus completely on you.” John lifts your chin so your eyes meet his. “Every moment of tonight is just for us. How does that sound?”

“Perfect.” You whisper, breathless.

“Good,” he smiles wide and backs up, seemingly taking you all in, “Exquisite. The slacks are tailored just right.” He winks at you, giddy, and a small bit of shyness creeps up on you.

“You really think so?” John cocks his head to the side, curious.

“You don't like it?”

“No- I- I love it, actually. I just-” You turn back to the mirror. “Is it too…masculine? Would you prefer something more feminine?”

You hear him take a deep breath as he presses himself behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle. It almost feels like your body takes a sigh of relief at the action.

“What I prefer, my love, is for you to feel comfortable and beautiful in whatever you decide to wear.” John's voice is low, deep, and the puffs of air from his mouth tickles the nape of your neck.

“Although I will say,” his fingers travel to the middle of your chest where the buttons of the blouse are open, revealing a thin three layered gold necklace, “the sight of you like this, does something to me. You look powerful. Do you see that?”

His hand slowly makes its way up to your neck, and it catches your attention. Every move he makes catches your attention fully. You lock eyes with him through the mirror and then catch your own right after. Your lips parted, chest slowly rising and falling with John's hand lightly caressing your pulse point.

“Do you see what I see?” He plants a kiss on your temple. "Do you?"

You nod. Even without makeup, you can see how he sees you. The both of you in this dimly lit room, looking at each other in the mirror. His suit matching yours and the gold band on his hand, glinting as he adjusts your necklace slightly. You take that hand and kiss the top of the ring. The metal is cold against your lips. Slowly starting to come back into yourself, you nod assuredly again.

“Come, let's go. I want to show you off tonight.” He twirls you around, and it makes a giggle bubble out of you. John kisses you in the middle of it, and it makes you laugh even more. He turns toward the door with your hand in his, leading you to the hall.

“Thank you, Mr. Wick.”

You watch him stop abruptly, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. For just a tiny second, you marvel at how broad his back looks in the dark navy suit he's wearing. The room is quiet, the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears as the tension between you thickens. John turns his head to the left, speckled beard almost shining with the golden glow of the room lights overhead.

“Say it again.” The warmth spreads inside you as quick as lightening strikes. You let go of his hand and wrap your arms around his middle this time, one hand reaching beneath his coat to feel the slow and steady beat of his heart. After a beat, they start to sync.

“Thank you, Mr. Wick.”

“Oh, pretty girl, maybe we should stay in tonight?” You press your face into his back, taking in his scent. It's grounding and intoxicating, and you swear you could stay like this forever. Your hand slowly makes its way to his stomach, then his belt buckle, and just before you can go any lower, you smile and pull back. His groan brings you satisfaction.

“I'll see you in the car, John.” You attempt to walk ahead, but his hand on the back of your neck is swift and steady and his voice rough,

“The driver can wait.”

♡♡♡♡

[ficsbb]

We also need John Wick or John Constantine x tomboy or masculine!fem reader. I read lots of stuff here, but couldn't find anything about more masculine in a baggy clothes girlies. So, could you, please, write something like that? And while we can look aggressive, we can be full of sunshine too! Just another way. Thank you.

Yes!! Will do anon 😊 this is closer to what I usually write for because it's how I am lol check back soon 🫶🏽

And I'm thinking I'll do one for each too!

[ficsbb]

Hello lovely!! Could you write something about John Wick with a really girly/hyperfeminine reader? I think he would love someone who’s just a total softy and a ray of sunshine. The type to always have flowers around, read fluffy romance books, and has a 10 step skincare routine. I think john would totally spoil her too 🤭🤭 maybe there’s a little bit of an age gap and she loves to tease him about being an old man 😅 idk I just want this man to have a sweet little starburst of a person to treat him right ❤️❤️ illysm 🥰😘

Thank you for the prompt!!! I hope it's to your liking, and I'm sorry it took so long 🫣🌺

》 Pairing: John Wick x Fem!Reader

John is skilled in many things, most being steering clear of big crowds and handling insanely dangerous weapons, but trying to handle two mugs of hot coffee while shooing the pup away is becoming... a task. He climbs the stairs and makes it to your shared room. The door is open slightly, and he catches you sitting in front of your vanity. Small vials, dried florals, makeup palettes littered all over. He doesn't know what half of it is, but he knows it smells like vanilla and lavender. It smells like you. Your eyes catch his, and he smiles as you bubble over with giggles, "Hey, you. Let me help." John nods and leans down to kiss the tip of your nose. "Watch me put on my makeup?" He smiles and says, "Of course."

He watches as you mingle with his acquaintances, your laugh infectious and distinctive. He notices how the younger men look you over and a small spark of jealousy gnaws at him, but he knows it's ridiculous. "Are you alright?" John is startled by your voice and nods quickly, "I'm alright, yeah." You know he isn't, so you grab his hand and lead him outside for some fresh air. "What's wrong?" You ask and watch him look at his hands, avoiding your eyes. You don't push. Rather, let the sound of the wind and low voices of people passing by fill the air until he speaks up. "Are you sure you're okay with me?" He asks, and the question confuses you, "I'm- I- look at these grays." John is taken back when you laugh out loud, uncontrollably. "John," you start, bringing your hands to his face, "your grays don't bother me one bit. I love you, silly." You reach up to peck his nose. He shakes his head and pulls you in for a languid kiss. "Now let's get back so I can show you off." You watch his back straighten, and he follows you inside.

You wake up the next morning to the smell of breakfast. It makes your stomach grumble embarrassingly loud. You find yourself out of bed, rinsed, and ready to head downstairs. "Good morning, pretty girl." John's voice is raspy and still full of sleep. He sets your food in front of you and watches as you take the first bite. "I have something for you." He reaches into his jacket pocket, draped over a kitchen chair, and places a small rectangular box on the counter. Your eyes light up, excited. "What's the special occasion?" He cocks his head to the side, "Since when do I need an occasion to spoil you with gifts?" You don't argue with that and open the box. A beautiful gold anklet with charms is settled into the velvet interior. "John, oh my goodness.." He smiles wide, delighted to see that you like it so much. "Let me." He takes it and kneels down in front of you, propping your foot on his knee to clasp the anklet on. "It fits perfectly, thank you!" You feel flushed when he kisses your foot. "So beautiful." He rises and kisses your lips, leaving you in a daze. "John, you really spoil me." "Not enough." He says and kisses you again.

A full day of shopping usually consists of John watching you pick out pretty things and ask him if he likes it for the bathroom, bedroom, on your body etc. It makes his heart swell. Bags full of fresh new linen and candles, both of your favorite snacks and foods are littered in the trunk of the car by early evening. After settling down, John coming down to the living room, he sees you sitting on the couch. Your legs are tucked up under you with a blanket draped over your shoulders and a mug of something warm in your hands; the steam obviously tickling your nose as you bring it up to your face to take a sip. "May I join you?" You nod and make room. The volume of the television is set low and it starts to lull John to sleep, but before his eyes completely close, he looks over at you. Your eyes set on the rom-com and your hand intertwined with his. "You okay?" You ask him, placing a soft kiss on his forehead. John sighs and closes his eyes, "Yes. Perfectly okay here with you."

[ficsbb]

Moments with John Wick

》 Pairing: Loving!John Wick x Reader

》 Warnings: pet names like princess, beautiful, lovely

》 Word Count: 422

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[ficsbb]

Perfect

Scream AU where Stu Macher doesn't get caught with Billy and no one is the wiser. College and you.

》 Pairing: Stu Macher x fem!reader

》 Warnings: dubcon, smut

》 Word Count 4.8k+

Note: I originally wrote this for a fat, brown reader aka me lol so if you'd like that version, lmk! It's just a description change in certain places. Apologies for mistakes, lore inaccuracies, and if you'd like another part, give me a shout. Enjoy!

You look over to your left, hand propped underneath your chin. You're watching cars pass by and people milling about. A woman is kneeling in front of who you assume is her daughter and wiping something off of her tiny face. Three boys are coming out of the local store, hands rifling in their bags of chips. An old couple walking slowly, the man pointing at something on a nearby building. You envy them right now. You'd rather be down there, sitting at your preferred bench near the big oak tree, letting the cool breeze wash over you. Either listening to your playlists or reading a book. The monotonous tone of your professor is making your skin itch and thankfully so because otherwise you'd be fast asleep.

"Hey." It's sharp and jolts you a bit, the voice right by your ear. You turn, and Stu is there, eyes bright and mischievous as always. 'When did he get here?'

"What are you staring at out there, huh?" You don't know what happens in the next few seconds, but the sun shifts and streams through the window in a way that makes Stu's face glow. His lips, bright pink. Teeth pearly white, eyes shining, smile so wide and…'What was it he asked?' He snaps at you playfully, and it brings you back. Papers are shuffling. Bodies shifting in their seats. Chairs groan under the weights of them. It's so loud all of a sudden.

"Are you alright?" He chuckles, and you nod, smiling.

"Yeah, just distracted is all. This dude is boring beyond belief." Taking a peek at the board, you don't see any new notes to take down and look around the hall. It's obvious you aren't the only one a breath away from sleep.

"Very boring, for sure," you notice nothing on his desk, "but I have to take this so." He shrugs and just about reclines in the seat. You look at the wool sweatshirt he has on, the thin black necklace around his neck with three silver accents in the center. He's very predictable. Very Stu.

He barely taps your hand and leans in, "Wanna get outta here?" You look at him and laugh a little, "I thought you needed to take this class?"

"Yeah, but I can always come back tomorrow. I'm usually here, aren't I?"

"So leave and come back tomorrow." When he scoots closer, face close enough for you to see the length of his eyelashes and slight sweat above his brow, your heart beats fast. Your mind is racing. Your anxiety heightens. 'Why am I feeling like this? This isn't the first time I've talked to him.'

"Only if you come with me today. Right now." There's something in his eyes, you notice. Barely there. Hiding? What is it? Anytime you've seen Stu in the halls, at parties, between buildings, he's laughing comically. Exaggerated. Goofy. A gaggle of pretty girls on his arm. You never put much thought into it really, but your books somehow make their way into your tote bag, and you're following behind him, out of the lecture hall without another word said. The professor only pauses for a few seconds before continuing on, and the heavy door shuts behind you.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" You nod. Usually, you're more nervous about ditching class, but this isn't the first time. Probably won't be the last, and at least your grades are where they need to be.

"Why do you want me to come along?" He slows down and matches your stride, putting an arm around your shoulders.

"Saw you dozing away. Figured I'd bring you along. I was gonna leave anyway." You look up at him. This feels nice. He sees someone and shouts hello obnoxiously loud right by your ear, and you kind of shrink lower, but he squeezes you closer to his side.

"Let's head to the coffee shop. You look like you'd like a hot chocolate with whipped cream on top."

"That's my favorite, actually."

"Like I said, you look like the type."

"What the fuck does that mean Stu?" He moves his arm and puts his hands up, laughing. "You just have a hot chocolate aura.” It's silly, but it makes you laugh.

"Well, it's just a coincidence." He shoots finger guns at you, and you keep walking along, shaking your head at his antics. The coffee shop isn't far, about a few blocks away from campus. It's tucked away in what seems like another corner of the world. The owner never sold, and so it was never gentrified. It's perfect, especially for mornings like this. The air is crisp and fresh, and the sun is shining but not too bright to strain the eyes.

Stu orders and doesn't let you pay. You pick the booth in the far corner by the window, and he follows without complaints. While you blow onto your drink, not in the mood to burn the roof of your mouth like last time, Stu looks at you. It makes your skin warm.

"What?" You place your hands onto your lap, picking at your fingers.

"What, what?" He chuckles when you roll your eyes at him.

"What's your favorite place around here?"

"Hm. Not sure if I have a favorite place. Maybe this one." He nods, putting his hands under his chin as if you've said something noteworthy.

"How come I never see you around any of the parties or anything? We run in the same circle." You decide to take a sip while he asks. You watch him lean over and wipe the whipped cream that you feel on your lip. He pops his finger into his mouth, savoring.

"Thanks," you barely whisper, and he nods nonchalantly, like it's routine. All of this is routine,"Uh- the parties? Yeah, well, you're not looking. I don't go to many, but I do go to some if Sydney wants me to go." You see it again, the thing in his eyes. It disappears before you can fully register what it could be.

"There's one tonight. Randy is throwing it. Come with me, it'll be funnnn." He wiggles his eyebrows at you, and you wave him away.

"I don't know, I've got stuff to do early tomorrow -"

"And? Come on. I'll make sure you have fun! Promise." Stu puts his pinky finger out toward you. Wouldn't it be fun, though? You on Stu's arm all night? Unwinding? Nothing else existing but the two of you?

You take his pinky with yours.

"You lose sight of me, and I'll be gone." He smirks, takes your hand, and kisses the top of it. You look down, wondering if his lips leave a visible searing mark onto your skin.

"Not a chance."

It's loud. Typical. Too much, but bearable. You shimmy your black dress down a touch, surveying the area. It's outdoors at Randy's place. The backyard is small with overgrown bushes and scraggly branches peeking out of a tree. The patio furniture is littered with people sitting and making out or having animated conversations with friends. The laughter makes you sort of happy. It comforts you to know others are preoccupied with each other and not you at all. The body barreling into your side frightens you for a second.

"Are you good?" Stu is laughing and you start to too, "You fucking scared me!" He looks delighted at this.

"Sorry, didn't mean to-" he moves behind you and wraps his arm around your neck,"or did I?" He feigns a sinister tone.

"Okay, alright." You tap his forearm, but he doesn't budge, not right away at least. You feel his breath on the nape of your neck. On instinct, you move your head to the side and give him access. You feel his arm tighten, your hand squeezing a bit harder. Either for him to let go or tighten it more, you don't know right now.

"Were you waiting for me long?" He whispers. Stu's breath smells like bubblegum. You shake your head no, not trusting your voice to do anything but spill out unintelligible noises.

"Good." He lets go abruptly and faces you. The loss of his warmth almost makes you reach out for him again. 'Where is all this coming from?'

You spot Randy, and he waves, jogging over. "I see you're having fun." He says, looking between you and Stu, nudging you playfully, and you nudge him back.

"Still doing that movie club?"

"Hell yeah! Also, it's more of an aficionado of film viewing studies than a "club" per say." You laugh, and he pretends to be offended.

"You've been doing that forever," Stu jumps in, "when are you gonna grow up?"

"I grew up, Stu," he turns and waves his arms, "this is paradise, and you've always been jealous anyway." Stu is behind you again. His arm snakes around to your middle. For once, you don't think of how your stomach exists under someone's arm or hand, his fingers drumming slowly. Achingly. You're aching.

"Jealous? Unlikely." You notice Randy's eyes look at Stu's arm placement, and they slowly find their way to you, his head tilting. He opens his mouth for a few seconds but seems to decide on not saying anything, smiling forcefully.

"Come on. Let's get some drinks." Stu takes your hand and leads you away. You wave at Randy, and he waves back, someone calling his name from another direction, pulling his focus away completely.

"How long have you known, Sidney?" The question is out of nowhere, abrupt. His voice echoes against the tiled walls in the bathroom. After getting drinks, yours a simple apple juice, you found yourselves nosing around the house. Picking things up here. Looking at things there. Stu rattling off a story about Randy in high school when he notices an old ID of his from the video store.

"As long as I've known you."

"Do you know about what happened?"

"About her mother? Her friend Tatum?" He seems to choke on his drink. You pat his back, and he waves it off.

"I'm fine, fine. But yeah. Her mother. Gruesome." You watch him take a hand towel and dab at his shirt sloppily. After a few seconds, you take it from him, he doesn't protest, just lets you. There's a drip somewhere, you notice it suddenly. Since you don't see it being the sink, you can only assume it's the tub. Drip, drip, drip. 'Drip, drip, drip,' you think. Thinking of anything but the way Stu now moves his hand atop yours, helping you dab at the stain there. The stain you notice now is gone. 'How long has it been gone?'

"She was stabbed multiple times." He takes the hand towel from your hand and tosses it in the sink. You follow his hand the whole time until it disappears slightly below your chin as he's tilting your head up to look at him. "Sidney was devastated. It was all so very sad."

"Of course it was, Stu. How could it not be?" He smiles, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

"How could it not be?" He repeats after you, and there it is again. Third time's the charm. It's not hiding in his eyes anymore. It's there, looking at you. No, no. Looking into you. Dark. Void? A glow. There's a glow there in the darkness, a slight twinkle in his eyes. His hand lowers down to your neck. His thumb at your pulse point, rubbing slow circles. You're getting dizzy with warmth.

"S-Stu?" You choke out, something in you almost begging.

"Yes?" He answers softly. There goes the drip, drip, dripping again. Is it putting you in a trance? Or is it the light pressure of Stu's thumb and fingers over your neck?

"You're so beautiful when you're a little scared, you know that?"

The knock on the bathroom door just about makes you jump five feel in the air. Stu laughs, giggles almost, and you follow, hand at your heart. Racing like a speeding bullet.

"Hellooo? Anybody in there?" They jiggle the doorknob roughly.

"Just a second man!" Stu yells, and the voice apologizes, footsteps retreating. You take your phone out of your purse that's been lying in the tub and see it's almost 2am.

"I've gotta get home." You start picking up, putting things back in order.

"I'll take you."

"It's okay, I can call an-"

"I didn't ask. I'm taking you home." You look up at him, his tone set. You don't say anything else, but follow him out. The music is just as loud, people drinking their umpteenth cup of whatever is in the kitchen. Bodies moving back and forth. Laughs ringing in your ears as you pass. 'Is that your name being called? ' You look around, Stu's hand still guiding you to the front door.

"Wait!" Randy grabs your arm, and you let go of Stu. "Wait, wait. Are you leaving?"

"Yeah, what's up?"

"Yeah, what's up, Randy? Cool party, man! We're just about heading out." Stu grabs your hand, but you let go again, almost annoyed. He leans down to whisper, "I'll be outside."

You nod, turning back to Randy. He motions for you to follow him to the backyard, noticing not many people here as there were a few hours ago.

"Are you and Stu…together?" I laugh, nudging his arm.

"No, why?" He looks relieved and sits down in a nearby chair. You take a seat opposite him, his eyes darting around you both. It makes you nervous.

"I've known Stu for a long time."

"Well -" he runs his hands through his hair, almost exasperated, "he used to be best friends with Billy. This kid Billy Loomis." I remember Sydney's retelling, Billy the central weave that unraveled her life and of those around her.

"Okay?"

"Right, yeah. He killed Sydney's mom and a bunch of other people, right?" He bites his nails.

"That's the thing. A lot of people died that year. A lot. I never believed it was just Billy."

"What does this have to do with anything, Randy?" His eyes snap up at me, pleading. He moves his chair closer.

"Have you noticed anything, off? About Stu?" You pause and immediately think of his eyes.

"No." You don't know why you lie.

Randy nods, "Okay, well. I- I don't know. Just be careful with him. Okay? Just call me if you need anything." His worried eyes bore into yours. It's sweet, but it also sends a chill down your spine. You instinctively run a hand down your other arm to comfort yourself.

"Okay. I will. What's wrong, Randy?"

He smiles weakly, "Oh, it's nothing. Come over to the movie club sometime. We could use your analytical mind."

"I thought it was the aficionados film viewing studies?"

"Right," Randy laughs, shaking his head, "Right." You stand up and kiss him on the cheek. "See you around." He nods and waves goodbye as you walk away.

Stu is leaning against his car, eyes darting to you just as you take the steps.

"What did he want?"

"Oh, nothing. Movie club stuff."

"Fucking nerd. Always has been." You chuckle and shake your head. "You don't like him?"

"Randy?" He opens the passenger door for you and lets you in. Before he closes the door, he says, "Randy is a good buddy of mine. We just joke around, that's all."

His smile doesn't reach his eyes.

"I didn't take you for the horror movie type." Stu lingers, hands flitting about the books on your shelf and plants surrounding them. Your shoes are off, cold hardwood floor bringing you back to life. Home. The smell of hazelnut coffee in the air, on your things, on you.

"Yeah, it's how I met Randy and then you guys, really."

"Makes sense. You have a favorite?" He throws himself onto your couch, getting comfortable. Jacket hanging by the door, shoes off as well. You think about the question while you put some music on. Your stomach grumbles.

"In poor taste? Stab. But don't tell Sydney." His laugh is guttural, the points of his teeth are visible, and it makes you happy? Better yet, satisfied.

"Seriously?" Stu's eyes follow your movements. You're hyper aware of this, but push it back. You move to the kitchen and offer him a drink of water or juice. He shakes his head and continues, propping his chin on the back of the couch, "I remember the premiere! We could barely get in. Luckily, Randy knew someone."

"Of course he did. Didn't someone die at the sneak preview?" His eyes light up, and he gets animated like he usually does, "Oh, yeah! A couple. I-I mean I wasn't there but some of the guys were talking about it right after it happened 'cause they were there-" Stu stands up, pretending he's the victim, "and she was up there screaming for help. 'Help me! Help me!' But no one paid her any attention."

I shake my head, "That's fucked up still." He calms down, and sits across from you at the counter.

"I thought it was interesting."

"Yeah. Someone was making a sequel. Billy would've loved it." Your skin grows cold at the mention of him. "Especially with it being his mom and all. What a fucking trip, huh?"

"Interesting?"

You take a sip of your water, the glass cold and grounding in your grasp. Habitually, you form random shapes with the water on the outside of the glass, "There's a rumor that Billy didn't act alone." He flicks his eyes at you. There's the glow in the dark. You're starting to see yourself there.

"Oh yeah?" You nod slowly. Curious. "And do you think that's true?"

You feel emboldened, albeit a little hesitant still. You tune into the music in the background, the smell of your candle, the cool breeze through the windows in the living room. You're safe here. Stu is here. He's still looking at you, but the air shifts suddenly, and you think, 'Am I safe?'

"It could be true. Someone no one took seriously."

"Do you take me seriously?" You tilt your head at him slightly. Very curious.

"I barely know you, Stu." He stands up slowly, fingers tapping their way toward you. You close your eyes at the feeling of his body pressed behind you. Surrounding you. His smell. It's mixing with yours, and it's making you heady.

"But I'm in your apartment. Isn't that interesting?" He takes your head of curls and moves them aside, your necklace shifting as he orients it correctly.

"That's the second thing you've found interesting tonight."

"You keeping track? I'm flattered."

"It's late, Stu -" he grasps the back of your neck and leans down to kiss your ear.

"You want me to leave? Tell me to leave." His other hand is on the other side of you, boxing you in. Your heart is thundering in your chest. The veins on his hand seem to call to you. You put your hand on his, threading your fingers together as best as you can. The breath at your neck when he chuckles gives you goosebumps.

"I didn't think so."

This Stu is different. His voice is deeper, grip tight. There's no airiness here, no games to play. Why don't you tell him to back off? Now, as he's smelling your hair, mussing your curls and gripping them back so your eyes meet his. Your hand is still tightly holding onto his. He squeezes back. Why don't you tell him to back off?

"As I've said. So, so beautiful when you're scared. Turned on. In between the two. I knew you would be."

"Wh-what do you want?" He traces the lines of your lips.

"Can't you feel it, pretty girl?"

You do, god, you do. He presses into your back, and his hardness is unmistakable. Your mouth waters. You let out a sigh. It could've been a mewl at this rate. A whispered begging lost as it leaves your lips. He lets go of your hair and moves away.

Your eyes follow him. They follow the extension of his right arm, his hand palming and grabbing at himself through his jeans. His head tips back, groaning and laughing in the same breath, "I wish you could see your face right now." You don't make a sound, don't dare to move in fear of startling or interrupting Stu as if he was an animal on the brink of pouncing at you.

"Come here." His voice is so soft, you can barely hear it. You shake your head.

"Come on," Stu pouts, hand still grabbing at himself slowly now, "you're not gonna make me come and get you, are you?"

You swallow hard and stand, the scrape of the chair on the tiled floor jarring in contrast to the music playing in the background. Your footsteps padding softly while you make your way toward Stu, who looks at you, knowingly.

"Why me?" You ask, standing in front of him. He reaches out to you and places his other hand on the side of your face, caressing your cheek.

"Because you're perfect, obviously,” he rolls his eyes and smiles, "and you followed me out of the lecture hall this morning, came to the party, and invited me to your apartment."

"Stu. Perfect for what?" He's right about all of it. You're annoyed by it all. Annoyed by your fear, or lack thereof now that you think of it and annoyed by the feeling of wanting to be with him. Is it want or need? Is it the need that's pulling you closer to him, your hand replacing his, feeling the hardness of his dick in your palm. In a matter of seconds, his hand is at your throat again, this time choking you. You struggle, grabbing at his forearm instinctively.

"P-please, Stu I c-can't-" one sharp tug of your hair, and you can feel your eyes well up with tears from the sudden force. He lessens his grip around your throat but doesn’t move his hand away. You try and regulate your breathing, but you’ve realized that your hand hasn’t let go from touching him. He’s looking into your eyes while pushing into you, grabbing and gripping at your throat uncontrollably. You like him like this. You’re scared, but feel your pussy getting wetter while you watch Stu’s eyes blink slowly, lazily at you.

“You’re killin’ me pretty girl,” Stu lets out a groan, “get on your knees for me already.”

“Fuck you, Stu.” It comes as a whisper, you hear your voice ragged, like you’ve just come out of a deep sleep. His eyes snap to you more alert this time. A slow grin creeps onto his face.

There’s not enough time for you to react before he mushes your face, arm wrapped around your body so that he backs you into the kitchen counter. You hear a glass shatter, your water from earlier splashing onto the ground and on your feet. You're fighting back, shoving against him, pushing his hand away but that familiar pulse in your pussy is unmistakable. He turns you around, shoving the side of your face onto the counter and the moan that escapes you when he shoves your dress up, exposing your bare ass to the chill air is nothing short of a declaration.

“No panties, huh? I just knew you’d be perfect.” He’s rutting against you, the material of his jeans hard and rough. The slapping sounds as he spanks you are making you pant and overheat. You need more of it. More of Stu. ‘Like this? It’s not right. It’s not right at all but-’

“It feels so good,” Stu moans into your ear, “You feel my hard dick pressed up against you? I know your ass stings, baby. It’s okay. I’m gonna take care of you, don’t you worry. Just behave.”

“Stu, please-”

“No, nuh uh. You don’t talk for the rest of the night,” he keeps one hand on the back of your head, your neck straining a little while the cold counter on your cheek keeps you alert. The sound of his belt unbuckling makes you hold your breath. The sound of his dick slapping against your ass cheek makes a noise fly out of your mouth, and you can tell it amuses him because he leans over you, chuckling in your ear.

“Now that’s what I wanna hear, pretty girl,” you hear him spit while he grips a handful of your hair and pulls you back a little, “now I need you to take this dick.”

You scream when he shoves himself inside you, planting your face back onto the counter.

“Oh fuck!” He exclaims, not moving, breathing heavily into your ear. You’re struggling against him, but he’s stronger than he looks. It turns you on even more. You move an arm behind you, trying to push him off but he takes it and uses it as an anchor instead, a handhold.

The first deep thrust into you makes your head hit the counter hard. You can feel your pussy gripping his dick tight, sucking him in, pulsing around him. Your legs are already wobbly.

“God, yes-” Stu fucks into you again harder and stills. The feel of his hips as he’s buried all the way inside you makes you wetter.

“Such a pretty and tight girl for me.”

“St-Stu I-”

“What baby?” He pulls out of you completely, and you brace yourself for the next thrust into you, but it doesn’t come. You can hear your music playing in the background again, even the flicker of the candlelight in between both of your heavy panting and breathing. It feels like forever, and your body is aching. Your pussy is aching in need of Stu again. There’s nothing else your body can do but move backwards toward him.

He laughs.

“Slut,” and he shoves himself inside you again, finally fucking you the way you want, "look at you taking my dick. Perfect, oh. So. Perfect. For. Me” Every period in his sentence is punctuated by a deep thrust. Your thoughts are mixing and warbled and barely there anymore. The feeling of Stu fucking you this way is overwhelming and the sounds of him groaning into your ear, the slaps of your bodies practically makes you come undone.

"Just like this -" he wraps his arm around your neck, pulling you up and back slightly. It's almost uncomfortable, but he slows his pace, and it becomes bearable. "This is always how I pictured you."

You don't know what the english language is anymore. Short grunts leave your throat as he pulls all the way out and pushes into you, achingly slow. "You're doing so well for me. So good. I think you deserve to cum, hm?" He nips at your neck, loosening his grip to reach under you and find your clit.

"Fuck, Stu, please."

"Please, what?" He's rubbing small circles over your clit and as he begins to increase his pace, finding the spot that makes your legs shake even more, he rubs faster.

"Please Stu, I need to cum, please, please, please." You're not sure how you're still standing, the haze in your head making white spots appear behind your eyes.

"You're gonna cum with me okay? Not a moment sooner, okay?" You nod fervently, tears pricking your eyes at the release your body is racing toward and when he calls you pretty again, fucking you even harder it pushes you over the edge. Stu's release at the same time as yours, your pussy clenching around him.

"Oh, pretty girl, yes, we've made such a mess." He continues to thrust into you and eventually he stills, the both of you trying to catch your breaths. He pulls out of you with a sigh, and you almost drop, but he wraps his arm around you and pulls you back to his chest.

"I've got you."

Your eyes are droopy, body heavy as he breathes in your scent, hair slick with sweat just as his. You're hyper aware of the mess dripping between your thighs but Stu doesn't give you enough time to process anything before leading you to the couch and helping you lie down. He's rummaging in the kitchen for a few minutes before he comes back with a glass of water and a wet rag.

"No, you don't have to do that." His look is stern as he moves your hand away.

"Again, I'm not asking." He cleans you up and himself, letting you sip some water before lifting your legs up so he can sit under you slightly. His shirt is off, you now notice, and his body is scalding. The breeze through the window counters it, though, and almost lulls you to sleep, but as your eyes are falling, Stu leans in close and closer still.

"Get some rest. You're gonna need it, pet."

[ficsbb]

Saved

》 Pairing: John Wick x Reader

》 Warnings: blood mention

》 Word count: 644

Note: It's almost 3 a.m. and I couldn't get this out of my head.

He follows your eyes as they shift around the room, fear and desperation gripping you. You can taste the blood that splattered onto your lip as one of your captors was shot in front of you.

“Calm your breathing, if you can.” The drumming of your heart, so loud and distracting, dulls but doesn't go away entirely when you hear the voice just above you.

“Calm your breathing.” He says again, and you barely register this man kneeling in front of you. His suit is almost pristine, albeit the dirt or dust in places and smears of blood in others. Your body is responding to him without you giving it instruction to, and the warmth of his touch makes you jolt slightly.

“It's okay. I'm untying you.” You let out a small cry, hands shaking and sore as they're freed from the ropes. You rub at them. There's blood everywhere.

“Can you walk?” There's blood everywhere. You look down and see one of your captors' hands outstretched, almost touching you, and your mind doesn't know what else to do but to fixate on it. They were shoving and pushing and manhandling you just moments before, and now its void of life. For a few seconds, you think they'll animate and grab you again.

“Sweetheart?” He lifts your chin up with his hand and makes sure you're looking into his eyes, “You're safe now. Do you think you can walk?” You try to say something, anything to your savior, but you don't trust your voice and nod instead. He stands and gives you his hand. You steady yourself and look up at him again. Brown, piercing eyes. Dark hair. A fresh and bloody slash wound on his eyebrow with a busted lip to match.

“Come.” He begins to walk, and with him beside you, your strength starts to come back at every other step, although the staircase winding up gives you some trouble. The man is patient, however, and you're very grateful. When both of you reach the top, he shoves at the steel doors, and they open to a sidewalk. He looks over at you and puts his hand on the small of your back to move you forward gently. 

No one is around. The fresh air is what finally convinces you that you're really safe. The sun is setting slightly, and you can see him clearer now. His features are soft, and he’s breathing steady. You watch as he looks to the left and right before seemingly finding what he's looking for and walking to it. You follow behind him, numbly, wondering why all of this is happening to you. Where do you go from here now?

As if it were routine, he opens the passenger door of a car and helps you sit in comfortably. He reaches over to put your seatbelt on and lets out a huff. His lips are parted, a couple of strands of his hair falling in front of his eyes, some of the patches in his beard marred by dark blood. You wonder if it’s his own or someone else’s; if he was the only one responsible for all the bodies left behind and it's when you hear the loud click, is that you realize it's the sound of his seatbelt connecting. Your mind catches up, and you look over at him. One hand, bruised on the knuckles at the wheel while the other adjusts the mirror above. He looks at you, seemingly ready. The low thrum of the engine as the car is started, warming up, is a comforting and familiar sound. 

“Thank you, sir.” You say softly, finally, mesmerized by how the sun suddenly shifts onto his face, and his eyes are golden, glowing.

He smiles, and it reaches his eyes.

“You are most welcome, and please just call me John.”

[ficsbb]

Home

》 Pairing: Lord Archibald Craven x Reader

》 Warnings: fluff, disgusting lovey dovey fluff, drama

》 Word count: 1.4k

Note: I had to write Craven/Reader myself cause it doesn't exist anywhere else??? I mean, it's a tragedy, really. Pardon any mistakes! Enjoy, I hope!

It’s cold in the Manor. It’s always so damn cold. It settles into your bones in a way that brings you comfort because at least there’s something there. You can feel this. You have company like this. Your eyes shift toward the window, where a bird lands just on the windowsill. It’s early in the morning, much too early to be awake and aware of the world, but you can’t fall back asleep at any rate. The plush blankets fall off of you as you push yourself from the bed, making your way quickly toward the fireplace. Within a few moments, the crackling sounds of the wood and fire hold you in place for a while, that is, until you hear the loud echoes of a door being slammed shut.

Normally, it would frighten you, but your ears perk up instead. You’ve grown accustomed to all different kinds of sounds in the last few years. The wails from stormy winds and the shuffling of busy bodies milling about and around the kitchen, the sounds of distant bells; it’s all familiar to you. No sound more familiar, however, than the echoes of those heavy wooden doors slamming shut.

Quickly, you get dressed and leave the room. The floorboards creak under you, and when you reach the stairs, every step is louder than the last, but your eyes are immediately drawn to what you’ve been waiting to see for the last month.

A light under the doors of the study.

You don’t realize you’ve stopped breathing until your body kicks in and does it forcibly. How can he do this to you? How can he do this, and you haven’t even seen him yet?

There isn’t any time between catching your breath and asking yourself this question before the doors of Lord Archibald Craven’s study open. He appears almost from the shadows, his long hair disheveled, eyes steadily at his feet. He is fully dressed, as if he's just arrived from whatever part of the world decided it needed him more than you. You let out an audible breath at the sight of him and it’s enough to make him lift his head slowly, achingly slow from his feet to yours, then your body, until it finally lands onto your eyes.

His eyes are rimmed red.

Your body lurches to him, in a jolt that startles the both of you, but nothing is said. The house speaks instead. The fire crackling right behind him in his study, the whipping of the winds against the windows, the collar of the dogs tinkling, the doorknob clicking back into place as he lets go and moves in front of you. His cane thudding against the floor when he moves closer and closer still.

“You’ve come home.” Is all you can manage with him so close like this. You look up at him and wonder how it is possible for him to be so beautiful in the dark. In this cold, dark place.

“This is just a house, my love. You are my home. I’ve come to you.”

It feels nothing short of a rubber band snapping you back into yourself. His eyes and his touch on the side of your face gently, so, so gently that brings you back into existence. You don’t know where part of you goes when he’s away, but it doesn't matter now. Not with his eyes coming to life as he sees you. You exist again. I'm here, you think. I'm alive.

“You were in my dreams. You were calling my name.” He says. You’re confused for just a short second, believing him to have read your thoughts, but this is how it is with Archibald. How it has always been. A breathing of hearts shared as one.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he says, standing in front of you, looking at you with wonderment as if a flower has bloomed in the wrong season.

He takes your hand into his and leads you into the study. Books and papers are strewn about as they always are. The dogs come to you, and you caress their ears. You notice one of your small quilts he’s gifted you, draped over the back of his chair, haven forgotten about it the other night as you slept with his scent enveloping you.

“Your eyes, Archie. Come to bed with me.” He smiles shyly and nods. He takes his hand and wraps it around the back of your neck, pulling you into his chest. Holding you there, enveloping you completely, breathing you in. When he lets go, he asks about the quilt offhandedly.

“I love your letters, Archie, but they make me miss you more. I write mine here most times.” He laughs softly and sits at his chair, beckoning you to him even though he doesn’t have to. You’ll follow him anywhere he goes.

“You won’t have to miss me anymore.” You kneel at his feet, looking up at him curiously.

“What do you mean?” He reaches out and barely swipes at your bottom lip, making your lips part slightly. It feels sultry. Does he know what this does to you? He has to, he must.

“I mean, my love, that I will not be going away so often anymore. I will be here with you, in our garden and in every corner of this Manor. How does that sound?” Archibald always surprises you. Whether it’s with flowers, or new books, a trinket that made him think of you, or subtle jewelry. You know this is one of his ways of loving you, and you love him in the ways that he needs in return. There is no question between the two of you that the tether holding your souls together will never falter or break away. Not even in death.

But when he asks you differently this time as you look up at him with tears shining in your eyes, “Do you want me around more? Will you not tire of me after a while?” It breaks your heart because, How could he not know? Something in you rushes forward. His mustache prickles as you kiss him. It’s comforting. It’s familiar. Archie parts from you and tilts your chin up so you look at him. His eyes are pleading. They’re rimmed red and pleading.

“Oh, Archie. Tire of you? How could that ever be possible? I love you, I love you, I love you.” He kisses your eyelids as they flutter closed, rough hands on either side of your face.

“I’ll never love anyone more,” he whispers. “Come, let’s go to bed.” He helps you onto your feet, and you hang onto him, your hand dwarfed by his. He doesn’t let go. Not even when he puts the fire out, grabs his coat, and steadies himself on his cane. The dogs left free to roam.

The room is warm now. You close the curtains as Archibald settles in. You can feel his eyes on your every move, and while anyone else giving you this scrutiny would send you into a bundle of nerves, from Archibald, it feels like a warm blanket draping over you. Keeping you safe from the harsh realities of the world outside of these walls without him.

“Come to me,” he’s already in bed, his white nightshirt unbuttoned. The sight of him like this keeps you still where you stand. His eyes bore into yours, hand outstretched, long brown hair calling for you to run your fingers through.

“Come,” he says again, and the softness of his voice brings you back. There’s a sternness there that makes a knowing heat coil low in your belly. You ready yourself and slide in with him. You can tell he’s pleased by the way he groans and melts into the bed as you lie in between his legs with your back to him. He wraps his arms around you, rubbing gentle circles over your stomach absentmindedly, and it’s lulling you to sleep. He talks about his work while away. He talks about missing you as fiercely as he always does. He talks about ideas for the garden. He talks about his dreams being full of you.

“We will sleep the day away.” You hum in response, much too sated by just his touch and the timbre of his voice right at your neck. He plants kisses there.

“We will sleep tomorrow away, too.”

“And the day after that?” His laugh shakes you a little, and it brings a smile to your face as your eyes close, reveling in the sound.

Your bodies adjust to be more comfortable while you now face each other, your leg lazily draped over him. “Oh yes, my love, the day after that. And the day after that, and the day after that.” Archibald goes on that way, peppering your face with kisses. You don’t remember when you fall asleep, really. That night, when you both wake, he says he doesn’t either, and this is how the days pass in the Manor.

Archibald holding you close, lulling you to sleep while he tells you your favorite stories. Stories of a man and a woman living in a Manor, full of mysteries of old that both you and him can uncover together, in love until the end of time and even after.