#Johnny Utah x reader

[discoscoob]

⋆⭒˚.⋆ PHANTOM

˙ ✩°˖📀⋆｡˚ Tom Ludlow x Hacker!Reader x Neo Anderson

VOLUME 002

CW: fem!reader x mystery keanuverse character

Synopsis: You reconnect with an old college flame amidst the chaos of the cyberattack and navigate a web of suspicion and danger while trying to hide your involvement. 3.6k words.

˙ ✩°˖📀⋆｡˚

CHICAGO CITY POLICE STATION, 8:56 A.M.

“So, what’s a guy gotta do to get a bit of cooperation ‘round here?”

The familiar voice ripples through the air with a wave of nostalgia but is quickly swallowed by the rising tide of chaos. A torrent of voices swell and crash, merging with the static-laden chatter of the police radios into an unintelligible roar; only the occasional shout manages to surface before being swept away by the hectic current. The shrill cry of an unanswered phone cuts through, sharp and relentless, echoing like a buoy’s bell lost in a storm. Beneath the harsh fluorescent glare, officers wade through a sea of desks drowning under piles of manila files, while the faint smell of burnt coffee lingers in the air.

Special Agent Utah rests casually against your desk, transporting you back to your college days, when he was Johnny, the star quarterback at Ohio State and you were the awkward computer nerd that somehow got pulled into his orbit. Even amidst the whirlwind of chaos surrounding you, it’s impossible to resist gazing at the outline of his body and admiring how snuggly his fitted trousers hug his firm rear. Back then, your cheeks would’ve turned a blazing shade of red if he caught you staring, now the flash of his lopsided grin only encourages you.

“I thought you were avoiding me.” you disguise genuine doubt with a playful lilt. You had wondered if he even remembered you when he stepped into the department this morning. That scorching summer of your final term was etched into your memory, while for him, it might be a chapter he looks back on with reluctance.

Your paths should have never crossed. You were a solitary creature, usually found nestled behind a flickering screen in the campus library, while Johnny was out on the field making touchdowns, racing towards a promising future lit by stadium lights and roaring crowds. But then it all came crashing down on a buckled knee that shattered his aspirations. The future he had mapped out was ripped to shreds, and suddenly, he was stranded. All he knew was that he had to get good grades if he wanted to get anywhere. He needed a tutor and that’s where you came in.

What started out as awkward tutoring sessions gradually blossomed into something else, filled with stolen glances over textbooks and late-night talks that had nothing to do with what was on the syllabus. The memory of him leaning against your dorm room door frame, flashing that lopsided grin, flickers in the back of your mind like an old film reel. At the time, Johnny was nursing a broken heart too — his high school sweetheart had lost interest the moment his future in football vanished. But when he was with you, the weight of his frustrations seemed to melt away, and before long he started stopping by your dorm for reasons that had nothing to do with his grades.

By the time the leaves started to fall and a mellow breeze swept away the heat of summer, you parted ways without any hard feelings, knowing life was pulling you in different directions. Johnny set his sights on Quantico, chasing new dreams with the FBI Academy, while you were bound for Chicago. You shared a fleeting summer romance and left with the lingering memories that you keep tucked away like an old photograph.

“Avoiding you? Come on, Y/N, you know I always save the best for last.” that cocky smirk you remember all too well plays on his lips, as charming as ever, blasting away any lingering doubts. Even now your traitorous heart falls victim and thumps wildly in your chest at the sight.

“I’m last? Already?” you glance at your watch, genuinely surprised he managed to work his way through the whole department in just a couple hours.

“Yeah, they’re not a very talkative bunch.” Johnny’s frustration over the department's lack of cooperation sours his smirk into an irritated frown.

“You’d think they have something to hide.” you answer in a conspiratorial tone, referring to the cold shoulder he’s been getting all morning.

“Do they?” he asks, like any investigator instinctively would. His voice is warm with curiosity as he casually leans closer, folding his toned arms across his chest, his rolled shirt sleeves reveal sun-kissed forearms — evidence of his time spent under the Californian sun. So distractingly gorgeous, the sight stirs memories of his touch, warm and tender, on those hot summer nights. It’s almost dangerous. You hate to admit it, but you practically have to gulp back the urge to reveal all your secrets at once.

“That’s your job to find out, Agent Utah.” you tease, as tight-lipped as the rest of the department.

When the playful warmth fades from Johnny’s rousing gaze, clouding with the chill of something bitter, you assume you have disappointed him with your lack of cooperation — until you realise he is looking over your shoulder.

Following his gaze, you glance behind you. Detective Ludlow stands rigid, glaring as he watches Johnny casually lounge against your desk like he owns the place, talking to you with the familiarity of someone stopping by for a social call. The click of a stapler somewhere nearby punctuates the sudden heaviness in the air, and you can almost feel the tension sharpening around the three of you.

“Ludlow… right?” Johnny controls his features, offering Tom a curt nod as he pushes himself off your desk and slips his hands into his pockets. “I’m Special Agent Utah—”

“So the Bureau sent over a rookie to meddle in my investigation.” Tom’s sharp tone cuts through the hectic bustle of the station, scrutinising Johnny’s youthful appearance with a critical glare.

“I’m just here to help, Detective. Without cooperation you’re only going to make both our jobs a lot harder.” Johnny diplomatically responds over the steady hum of voices.

“You might need my help but I sure as hell don’t need yours. I’ve got this under control.”

“Really?” Johnny cocks his head, his tone laced with condescension. “‘Cause from where I’m standing it sure doesn’t seem like it.”

“I don’t need some fresh-faced Fed, who thinks he’s some big hotshot, telling me how to do my job. I was taking down bad guys when you were still wetting the bed.” Tom steps towards Johnny, his tone sharp with a rumbling edge. You blink, observing the hostile exchange from your desk chair, wondering if you should intervene.

“Yeah, I bet you were taking down bad guys left and right back in the day, old timer,” Johnny barely flinches when Tom looms closer, “but that was a long time ago and from the stench, it seems like the only thing you’re taking down these days is shots.”

Tom swallows thickly, struggling to bounce back from the impact of the brutal truth in Johnny’s stern words. Reluctantly, he retreats, his gaze flickers briefly in your direction, you catch a fleeting glimpse of the sorrow and torment whirling behind his hollow stare before it falls shamefully to the floor.

That brief glimpse triggers a pang in your chest you weren’t prepared for. Truth be told, Tom Ludlow intrigues you. You’ve heard whispers around the precinct about his past, how his wife died three years ago — before you ever set foot in the department. You never knew the man he was before everything fell apart. Sometimes, you try to imagine a man who’s not weighed down so heavily by his grief, not so hardened and bitter, not ensnared by his demons. You often wonder if that man still exists, buried somewhere deep inside him beneath the sorrow and torment, waiting for someone to pull him back to the surface.

When you first joined the department, a couple years ago, your role as a digital forensic analyst was still a relatively new one within law enforcement. You were stepping into a world where solving cases meant hitting the pavement, heading out into the streets to fight crime with badges and guns. To most officers, fighting crime from behind a computer screen was seen as a novelty, and Tom Ludlow was no exception. He didn’t exactly hide his skepticism; he would barely glance your way during briefings, convinced that your role couldn’t be considered real police work.

Despite the department's reluctance to accept you as an integral part of their team, you persevered. There were cases where your findings on a hard drive or some obscure email chain provided the breakthrough that all their street-level work couldn’t, and slowly, things started to shift. You remember a moment when Tom nodded at you, it was the closest thing to praise he had ever given you. Since then, he has been different. Dare you say he respects you now? But you knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of his cynicism.

“Ludlow! My office!” a sharp bark carries over the commotion, cutting through the tension and pulling your focus back into the moment. Everyone’s attention snaps towards the Captain, who’s standing halfway out his office. “Now!”

“Run along. Best not keep your Captain waiting.” Johnny’s brows quirk teasingly, his lips twitching with the barely concealed urge to quirk in amusement.

Tom’s jaw tightens and he shoots Johnny a snarling glare before shoving past him, his footsteps heavy as he trudges towards the Captain’s office.

You watch Tom go with an uneasy feeling burrowing deeper in your chest. He intrigues you, sure, but you’re still not certain if you can trust him.

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The L barrels along on the elevated tracks overhead, clattering like thunder as you weave through the swarm of pedestrians. Your boots click over the uneven pavement, splashing through shallow puddles lingering from yesterday’s storm. Even the congested streets of the city offer an appreciated reprieve from the suffocating environment of the hectic department.

The low autumn sun peaks between the high buildings, casting long shadows over the city — a welcome contrast to the harsh fluorescent lights, and you’d gladly accept the distant wail of sirens and honking horns over the incessant blare of the unanswered phones any day. But as much as you crave to free yourself from the burden that weighs you down, you know that no matter how far you walk, it will always follow.

Some would call it paranoia, but after the stunt you pulled you’d say your hyper-awareness is justified, albeit draining. You’re constantly on edge with a gnawing sensation that clings to your spine and never. lets. go. It’s exhausting, but you can’t sleep either. Every time a stranger glances in your direction, it feels like a threat. Eyes watching. Ears listening. Footsteps too close behind. You know you’re being wary, but it’s hard to ignore the feeling there’s a target on your back.

Of course, you knew the risks involved with such drastic measures, but you could think of no other alternative. You had to be cunning. You couldn’t just stand by, not with what you knew. Maybe if you’d given yourself more time, you could have come up with a different plan. But in that moment of distress, the cyberattack had seemed like the only way. A wildfire that would capture everyone’s attention, putting all eyes on the department. Everyone knows it’s harder to hide secrets when you’re the centre of attention.

With your knowledge and position in the department, covering your tracks was the easy part. But it doesn’t shake the feeling that someone will eventually catch up to you.

At least Johnny’s arrival brought you a semblance of relief, you had no idea that he would be the FBI agent assigned to the investigation, but it feels like a sign that you’re on the right path. Knowing there’s someone in the city you can trust, who might understand, gives you a flicker of comfort in the midst of all the chaos. But that comfort comes with a price. The last thing you want to do is make him a potential target too, the mere thought sends your gut sinking like a rock. So as much as you might want to, you can’t confide in him, to unburden some of the weight you carry. You can’t. The less he knows, the safer he’ll be — whether he likes it or not.

Above the low hum of the city, a voice calling your name pulls you from your spiraling thoughts and you spot Tom weaving through the crowd to catch up with you. What does he want? When your heavy sigh meets the brisk autumn air, a cloud fogs from your lips before the long-serving detective reaches your side.

“I’m on my lunch break, Tom.” you don’t even try to hide your irritation. There’s only a limited window of time for your lunch break and you’re someone who appreciates a healthy work-life balance.

“I know,” he replies, undeterred. “I just want to talk.” he falls into step beside you, walking over the collage of red, orange and yellow leaves that clump together on the damp pavement.

You glance at him, surprised by his persistence. He just wants to talk? Since when did Tom Ludlow speak to you outside of work? Sure, you may have earned his respect but as far as you were aware, your relationship didn’t extend much beyond solving cases and the occasional exchange of work-related pleasantries.

“Is it urgent? Can’t it wait ‘til I get back to the station?”

“I wanted to speak to you alone.”

“Why?”

“You and Utah looked pretty cozy earlier.”

That stops you in your tracks. Out of all the things Tom could have chased you across the city to talk about, this was the last thing you expected.

“What?” There’s a deep crease between your brows when you stare at him in disbelief. Rushed pedestrians brush past, muttering curses under their breath at you both for blocking their path.

“It seemed like you were hitting it off.” he avoids your gaze as he says this, like he’s trying to act nonchalant.

“Hitting it off?” you repeat the words slowly, like you’re trying to figure out what language he’s speaking. “He was asking me about the investigation.”

Of course, you aren’t going to mention your history with Johnny to Tom — there’s no reason for him to know about that. What happened between you and Johnny belongs in the past and it’s private. Besides, bringing it up now would only complicate things, and you’ve always been careful not to blur the lines between your personal and professional lives. This situation is already tangled enough.

“What did you tell him?”

You can tell Tom is trying to play it casual, to seem aloof. But there’s nothing casual or aloof about chasing you halfway across the city just to find out what you said to an FBI agent. He hides it well, but there’s an undercurrent of anxiety in his question, a tension that betrays his concern over what you and Johnny might’ve discussed.

“Why? Are you worried?” you ask, letting a faint chuckle escape your lips, breathy and light as if to disguise the weight of the question. If Tom is trying to mask his anxiety, you’re going to disguise your suspicion with humour. By the time the words are out, you’re already resuming your stride, mindful of the ticking clock. You’ve barely twenty minutes left to grab your lunch.

“You should be careful about what you say to him.” Tom answers after a pause, his voice hushed. It’s hard to decipher if this is a genuine warning bred from concern or a thinly veiled threat.

“What could I possibly say to him that’s got you so rattled you felt it necessary to chase me down through half the city… during my lunch break?”

the last part is punctuated with a grunt.

“I’m not rattled.” Tom snaps, but his tone betrays him. His brows furrowed, his jaw clenched tight. “You don’t know how much the Feds complicate things. We don’t need them sniffing around.”

“It wasn’t so long ago you would’ve said something similar about me.” you snort, reminding him of his reluctance to accept you when you first joined the department.

That hits the mark. A flicker of guilt passes behind his mahogany eyes, his gaze drops to the pavement. Neither of you have ever discussed the way he treated you since both of you were happy to sweep it under the rug and move on. Before he can find the power to muster a response, you brush past him and slip into the coffee shop on the corner.

You stride into the familiar comfort, the tension eases from your shoulders as the sweet aroma of freshly baked pastries wafts welcomingly through the air, tempting you to treat yourself.

The chime of the door rings again as Tom steps in behind you, the cold air from outside drifts inside with him as his voice cuts above the comfortable ambiance. You tilt your head slightly, just enough to catch him in your peripheral vision as he lingers a step behind.

“I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did when you first joined the department. I was an asshole. But after a couple decades on the force, you become set in your ways. It’s hard to adapt.” his words are unexpected as they reach your ears, spoken in a rough tone, as if he’s torn between letting them go and holding them back. “And I can be a stubborn bastard. I gave you a hard time and you didn’t deserve it but I figured if I pushed you enough, you’d leave.” his gaze drifts to the floor, like he’s looking for the right words in the cracks between the floorboards. “It felt like everything I knew was getting pushed aside. So, yeah, I wanted you to leave. Because if you stayed, it meant I had to face the fact that things weren’t gonna be the same anymore. And I wasn’t ready for that.”

For a moment, everything fades away and it’s just the two of you. His apology lingers between you and the silence stretches as you let his words sink in. Many responses roll through your mind, but you don’t utter any of them, instead you say, “you know, if I left, they would’ve just replaced me with another digital forensic analyst.” a faint smirk tugs on the corner of your lips.

Your response draws a huff of laughter from Tom, a brief, relieved sound that seems to ease the tension in his shoulders. He almost looks grateful, like he appreciates that you didn’t dwell too much on the sentiment behind his apology and let the moment pass without making it something heavy.

“For what it’s worth… I’m glad you stayed.” the sincerity in his words catch you off guard, you can tell it’s not an easy admission for him, he’s not used to sharing sentiments. You suppose he has been pretty closed off emotionally ever since his wife passed, but for a brief moment, you feel like you’re getting a glimpse of the man he used to be, before the walls went up.

“Well, you know, I’m pretty stubborn too.” you fold your arms across your chest, proudly displaying the smirk on your lips with a raised chin.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed.” Tom lets out a faint chuckle, shaking his head.

For the first time since you’ve known him, a real smile breaks through the usual hard lines of his face. It’s subtle, but genuine, softening the hardness in his features. His eyes, usually shadowed with a weariness you’ve grown accustomed to, seem lighter — like the clouds parting for just a moment.

The sight captivates you, like a rare total eclipse. The hardened detective having such a bright and boyish smile surprises you, catching you off guard. You realise you like his smile and mourn the fact that it’s such a rare sight.

You approach the counter in tandem with Tom, after you place your order for takeout, he takes it upon himself to pay, handing a ten dollar bill to the barista before you even have the chance to grab your own wallet.

“It’s the least I can do after gatecrashing your lunch break.” Tom shrugs, cutting through any protest you were about to make.

You’re unsure how to navigate this new dynamic that seems to have blossomed between the pair of you, over the span of a single lunch break. As Tom waits with you for your order, the silence stretches — not awkward, but untravelled. Your gaze drifts, searching for something to fill the silence, when you catch sight of a man sitting at your favourite table.

He’s staring. The moment your eyes lock, he swiftly averts his gaze, pretending to focus on something just past you. But it’s too late. The brief moment of connection hits you like a jolt. Those dark eyes weren’t just looking, they were assessing, lingering far too long to be random curiosity. The intensity of his gaze lingers, prickling along your skin and leaving you feeling unsettled with an icy weight in your chest. The unease that creeps over you, crawling down your spine warns you — something isn’t right. His deep irises pierce through your layers, it’s as if he knows more than he should, noticing something you have concealed from everyone else.

You glance away, trying to ignore the growing unease, but it stays with you, crawling under your skin. Is this paranoia again? Or is he a genuine threat? You instinctively lean closer to Tom, your voice barely above a whisper as you murmur, “that guy is staring.”

Tom, immediately on edge, follows your gaze towards the younger man tucked away by the nook. The tension around you thickens. Strangely, he almost looks relieved when his eyes land on the mysterious stranger. You catch an unmistakable flicker of recognition flash across his features, stirring your suspicions.

“You know him?”

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⋆｡°✩ Note: thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Full disclosure, I have no idea when the final parts will be posted, I am not satisfied with what I have written so far for the next part and I am going on holiday on Monday so I won’t be writing for about a week. I’m hoping that the break will help and I’ll come back to it refreshed and with a new perspective!

[juniperwoodwell]

Y/n- suddenly lifting her head up from under her pillow: "Did we ever figure out why Jack fell down the hill?"

John- Opens an eye as he stares at her: "What?" He grumbles.

Y/n- Sits back on her heels and she looks down at him: "You know, Jack and Jill? Why did Jack fall down the damn hill? How even?? I mean did he slip when he got to the well then fell down the hill and cracked his head on a rock on the way down? OR did we just get the timeline of events mixed up? Like what if Jack slipped at the well, cracked his head on it and fell down the hill then Jill- being concerned decides to roll down after him because it's the fastest way to him?"

John- Takes a deep breath. "I don't know, Honey. Why don't you go back to sleep and dream about it?"

Y/n- Groans into her pillow irritatedly: "I need answers!"

John-: "You need sleep."

(Might delete later, idk what this is it's 2:30 in the morning😂)

[johnwickb1tsch]

THE DEVILS' TRIANGLE

A Yandere Tex Johnson x Witness!Reader x John Wick (& now John Constantine) Imagine Part 9 by:

@treedaddymcpuffpuff @sweetwolfcupcake @johnwickb1tsch and @tammykelly (with honorary dream weavers / shit stirrers @lilspookymeh & @kurai-hono-blog 😘)

Warnings: So many dead doves! Do not eat! Unless you like dead doves, that is. You're in good company here. 😘 Violence, sexual content, blood, murder, kidnapping, possessive behavior, dubcon, yandere sh!t...it's all here! Please take care! 😘

ALL CHAPTERS

PART 9

Johnwickb1tsch:

Wick could have been an asshole about buying a brand new kitchen, sundries included–but instead he merely shrugs off Constantine's hostile question. "Seemed like the least I could do."

Constantine glares, but lets it go, begrudgingly sitting down to a delectable meal cooked by the man he knows, deep down, that you've never been able to forget. 

At Tex's midday administering of magical medicine, he takes your hand after you finish, refusing to let go. "Set with me a while, Rattlesnake." He pats the couch, on which there is no room unless you were to sit in his lap–undoubtedly his hope.

With a sigh and a knowing smirk you settle back in your chair. Your eyes are drawn to the burn upon his chest. He will carry that mark for the rest of his life, even if the magic is lifted.

You think on what Papa Midnite said to Constantine. "Take some big feeling..."

It kind of floors you, to think of the energy it took for Constantine to conjure that working out of thin air.

For you.

You told him a little bit about the boys. How they hurt you–and, how they saved your life. How you loved them, and how they destroyed you in their abandonment. No matter how you framed it, Constantine blamed them for the bullet wound forever seared in your side.

However, it wasn’t so simple as that. 

"Whacha thinking, baby girl?"

You just shake your head with a tired smile. "Nothing important."

"Hmm. You gonna make me guess? Alright. You're thinkin'...bout that time in Mexico it was just you an me and the stars, out by the pool in our birthday suits."

You snort–quite against your will, it turns into a giggle. 

"No..."

"Uh huh. You’re missin' my wicked tongue up between your thighs. I know that look."

"That's enough of that," you say, trying to stand. But he has your hand, and he tugs you so that you fall down to sit on the edge of the couch–and half on him. Your faces hover just centimeters away. You watch with horror a he tries to lean in, capitalizing on the opportunity. By the skin of your teeth, your heart in your throat, you just barely manage to turn your head.

"Didn't you miss me, rattlesnake?" he asks, his deep voice all sultry and low just wrecking you to the bone.

You dare reach up to caress his cheek with the blade of your thumb. "Of course I did. But there’s no going back, Tex. Maybe...that time is behind us." Just saying it hurts like a knife between the ribs, but you go on, “Maybe you and John did the right thing, letting me go.”

He just narrows his dark eyes at hearing that. You hate the way it gives you such a thrill, to the base of your spine, and lower still. “I thought you were mad about that? Hell, I’m still mad about that. I miss you so much I can hardly think straight. There’s just…” He frowns while he says it, but you know it’s just because he’d literally rather take a bullet than talk about his feelings. His grip on your hand tightens; he glares down at your silver rings like they owe him money.  “There ain’t no point to anything, when you’re gone. Do you know what I mean?”

You close your eyes; for a moment you feel as though the floor has dropped out from under you, because you know exactly what he means. You lived it for months after they booted you, drifting from country to country, an empty husk of a woman, a gaping black hole where your heart used to be. Only after moving to LA, thinking about going back to school, and meeting Constantine, did your life start to feel like it had some meaning again. 

“Yeah. I know what you mean,” you answer quietly. “But how did you think this would go? You’d knock on my door, and I’d just uproot my whole life for you again?”

“Maybe?” The confusion on his handsome face is almost cute. You realize he really did think it would be that easy, and you snort, looking away to a framed Tibetan Thangka painting on the wall. This man. As ever, you’re torn between kissing him and killing him. You have to keep reminding yourself that the former option is not even on the table. 

“At least give me some credit. I coulda come in with guns blazin' but instead I brought flowers."

“You want credit?”

“Yeah. I’m practically a changed man. And I wouldn’t mind an apology from Wizard Boy either.”

"You've got to be kidding me." The pair on this man never ceases to amaze you.

"We were just having a little bit of friendly fisticuffs, but he fucked me up pretty good. That’s called unnecessary escalation.”

He would know. 

"Spare me the macho bullshit. There’s no such thing as friendly fisticuffs. You were going to hurt my boyfriend, and you absolutely deserved what he gave you. You’re lucky he got Midnite to lift it."

Only a beat later do you realize you called Constantine your boyfriend within earshot of everyone, which you never do, because you both hate labels and the word just seems too high school for what you actually are to each other–but there’s no going back now. 

“But–”

At last, at last, you are in a position where you don’t have to swallow his gaslighting. “No buts. You can behave yourself, Tex, or you can go. I mean it.” 

Maybe drawn by the sound of your raised voice, Constantine chooses that moment to intervene, appearing at the foot of the couch with a magnificent frown. 

“Well well, if it ain’t The Boy Who Lived.”

You know he’s just making yet another Harry Potter reference, but considering Constantine’s history, this nickname makes you flinch. Maybe it’s a mistake on your part, but you bristle. “Don’t call him that.”

Constantine, however, betrays nothing, just crossing his arms with that blandly judgy expression. “It’s alright, y/n. He loves childrens’ books–a man has to stick to his reading level.” You don't feel like arguing about the complexity of the later books, so you let the arrow fly.

You lift an eyebrow, side-eyeing Tex. “You do know an awful lot about Harry Potter for a grown ass man your age.”

For possibly the first time ever Tex actually looks sheepish. “Had to read something while I was in the shit.”

Tex never really told you much about his tour of duty in the Middle East. Bradford had intimated that it didn’t end well–but you weren’t exactly keen to take everything that asshole had said with any sort of seriousness. The thought of him holed up in a mud hut reading about Hogwarts kind of pulls at your heartstrings for some ridiculous reason. 

“So what you want, Wizard Boy?” demands Tex, insouciantly refusing to let go of your hand, despite you tugging on it.

“I was going to check your chakras for malevolence, but I'm having second thoughts now.”

“Sounds illegal in five states.”

Constantine snorts. “You want me to double check Midnite's handiwork or not? If there's a trace of darkness left it could spread– and you'll be fucked all over again.”

“Not the way I like, I'm guessin’.”

“Probably not. But then again, you seemed to like Desdemona at the club. You want an introduction?” Constantine has a sly look on his handsome face as he asks this. It must be the succubus you'd run off– the thought of Tex in contact with her again makes you vibrate with jealousy. It is sharp, and fierce, and utterly fucking irrational.

You should encourage Tex to find someone else.

Your heart just doesn't agree.

“I'll…leave you two to it,” you say, reluctantly standing to pull away out of Tex's grip.

Only belatedly, after you've retreated to your room, do you realize that maybe Constantine interrupted your tête a tête with Tex for his sake, rather than yours.

***

John Wick whips you all up a beautiful dinner of sauteed meat and vegetables, complimented with a nice bottle of dry red wine that you're sure did not come from Trader Joe's. You play his sous chef, chopping up veggies, and it almost feels like old times in the kitchen, although he never would have given you access to a big sharp knife before. As though you ever would have had the nerve to stab him. 

Tex was another matter.

At first you all sit down to share a semi-awkward meal, peppered with halting silences–until the second bottle of wine comes out, and then things flow more smoothly. It starts with Constantine cracking a joke at Tex's expense, which is surprisingly backed by Wick with a witty aside. Tex responds good naturedly, for once, and you just sit back and watch with a smile, a warm glow in your chest that feels too close to bliss to possibly last.

You help Wick with the dishes, drying as he washes because your dish rack is tiny. “You look tired, sweetheart,” he says after the last plate, bending down to kiss your forehead. You forget. You fucking forget that there are two other people there, one of whom is your current lover, and out of longing and pure habit you tilt your head back for the second staggeringly sweet kiss on your lips that always followed. 

Only a long beat later do you realize what you've done, with Wick's shining dark eyes looking down on you, missing nothing. You gasp like a scandalized school girl, taking a small step back. “You're right,” you agree. “I am tired. Good night, everyone.” You're such a coward you can't even lift your head to look at any of them, though you can feel their eyes upon you as you scurry away.

Once in the sanctuary of your room you collapse on the bed, clutching the coverlet in your claws for hands, so embarrassed by your slip that you could die. You know that Constantine loves you, even if he’s never outright said it, and honestly probably never will–and this is how you repay him. 

You really are a piece of work.

***

After you retreat, a silence falls over the kitchen, the three formidable men eyeing each other like wolves amidst a power struggle, trying to decide who is the weakest link and who is alpha. It’s Constantine who stands without a word, fetching his green glass bottle of Ardbeg single-malt scotch and setting it down in the middle of the table with a thunk. Then he produces three glasses–none matching–and pours out a finger for each. 

“Gentlemen.” He looks between the two assassins seated at his table, a part of him flabbergasted as to how he’d even ended up in this situation. Before he met you, if someone told him someday he would find a woman he loved more than the air he breathed, he would have laughed them out of the room. 

Not now. 

How the mighty are brought low, and pride goeth before a fall, and all that proverbial biblical bullshit that is old as time and yet somehow still applies. Despite all our advances, humans are still essentially the same animal we were when we first left the cave and started walking upright–or when God created Adam out of dirt, whichever you find more believable.  

“I believe we find ourselves at an impasse.”

“How you figure?” asks Tex, knocking back his drink and helping himself to another. 

“Does being in love with the same woman ring a bell?”

Wick smirks, watching the exchange between the two, sipping his scotch sparingly. He does not contradict Constantine’s assessment, but in his succinct way he drives home the finer point. “More importantly, that woman is in love with all of us.”

The thought pulls something like a growl from deep in Constantine’s chest, but in the end he acknowledges, “Exactly.”

Tex smirks, leaning on his elbows. “Don’t be sore, Wizard Boy. Be grateful we broke her in for you.”

Constantine seems to count to ten under his breath, restraining himself from unleashing a curse on this fucking cowboy again. “You’re gonna have to give me pointers on how you manage not to murder him daily,” he says to Wick. 

“I only listen to about half of what he says,” Wick admits with a smirk, a humorous glitter in his dark eyes.

“Good to know. My point is, if I curse you both into the Seventh Circle, it would hurt her. Likewise, if you two were to dig me a shallow grave out in the desert. You hurt her enough the first time. Do you follow?”

Wick nods, grasping Constantine’s train of thought immediately. Tex, however, has to chew on it a little–maybe because he’d hoped, for once, to finally have this girl to himself. 

“You’re saying you don’t mind sharin’,” finally says Tex with a shit-eating grin, leaning back in his chair. 

“Oh, I mind,” Constantine is sure to clarify. “But it’s up to her, if she wants you or not. If she decides she wants you to go–I will make you go. If she wants you to stay…” He spreads his big hands, as though to say, we’ll figure it out. Somehow.  

Tex narrows his eyes, clearly debating if he should pick a fight over the make you go part, or take it as it sits on the table. “And how do you propose we let her know what we decided about this?”

Constantine snorts at that, draining his glass and standing from the table. “That’s your problem, Howdy Doody. Good night–and may the best man win.” The two assassins watch as John Constantine crosses to your bedroom, and practically shuts the door in their faces. 

***

You are drifting on the edge of sleep when Constantine crawls into bed with you. You smile as you feel the familiar pattern of the depression in the mattress, and moan with surprise as he covers your mouth with his. You taste the Ardbeg on his tongue, which explains some of his ardor, but not all. The fury of his kisses on your lips and neck pulls an involuntary moan from deep in your lungs, his big hands digging into the flesh of your thigh, pulling you on top of him. 

“John…?” Utterly star-struck, you blink down at him, disheveled in your pajama t-shirt and your hair a mess. He reaches up to cup your cheek, dwarfing your face in his large hand, studying you like there will be a test later. He opens his mouth like there’s something he wants to say to you, but he can’t quite get it out, the words stuck in his throat. 

You think you know what it is, and your heart warms for it, that tingling thrill filling your chest and spreading outwards. You’re not even mad, that he can’t say it, because you get him. This is not the week you’re going to push him out of his comfort zone, more than you already have. Most of LA would laugh to hear it, but John Constantine has been a veritable fucking saint the past couple of days, and you’re so grateful to him. 

“It’s ok,” you say softly, tracing the line of his square jaw. “I know.” 

He frowns, almost like he wants to argue, but in the end he just shakes his head and pulls you to him.

You want to apologize for almost kissing John Wick right in fucking front of him–but that sticks in your throat too. You guess you’re both just a little raw tonight.

He peels off your t-shirt greedily as he guides you down. Hungry lips and a teasing tongue find the sensitive tips of your breasts, making you squirm with longing above him. You know you’ve already soaked through the laughable barrier of your panties, and are probably leaving an unsightly stain on his nice (200 dollar, he likes to tell you with a smirk) white shirt–but if the Chinese laundry down the street can get out demon blood stains, what’s a little cum?

You let out a cry of longing as he releases your nipple with a pop; the ache between your thighs is already nearly unbearable, and you can't stop yourself from grinding against his lean torso. You shut your mouth as soon as you open it, conscious of the paper thin walls and the two dangerous men on the other side of them.

“You like that, baby?” he taunts, hooking his fingers in your panties to tug them down.

“You know I do,” you pant. 

“Then let me hear you,” he invites with a wicked smirk, shifting down so that you are nearly sitting on his face. You don’t know what was said out there, but you are starting to get the idea that John Constantine is up to something. But before you can even begin to think what to do about it, he pulls you forward with an undeniable grip on your thighs, and his tongue is laving up your slit.

“Fuck.”

This exclamation is not quiet, and neither are the ones after it. You practically shake the walls with your cries when you cum on his tongue, your body rendered into a quivering mess of over-stimulated nerves. He does not grant you mercy, even when you beg him, and by the time he is done with you, you are halfway to your second orgasm.

“Do you want me baby?” he demands, panting from his champion cunnilingus league exertions as he undresses himself. There is a desperation in his tone you’ve never quite heard before, and you have a feeling he’s not just talking about sex.

“I need you,” you tell him, and you mean every word. It wins you every inch of his hard cock buried inside you, and you can’t stop yourself from moaning, as though there is no room for breath in your body when filled with his impressive manhood. He grips you hard enough to bruise, his face buried in the bend of your neck.

He drives himself inside of you, hips pumping with the fury of his need, but he’s prepared you for it. It’s all you can do just to hold on, to the bed, to him, letting him use you exactly the way he wants to, because you know the past couple of days have been anything but easy for him. 

When his thumb finds your clit you think you might die from the overwhelming sensation of it. “No,” you beg, somehow smiling through your exasperation. “Please. Mercy.”

He just pays you that impish curl of lips that always seriously makes you question which side he's playing for. “You can take it,” he informs you. “For me?” The way he pouts down at you while simultaneously rearranging your insides should be illegal.

“Fuck,” you swear again, and he grins down at you, knowing he’s got you in the bag. With your ankles around his ears he slows down for you, but still fills you to the absolute brim, working you in just the rhythm he knows you need with the tip of his too-clever thumb. There is a heart wrenching beauty in making love like this. The two of you have reached an understanding of each other's bodies, a point of familiarity in which you just know, and yet somehow each time is better than the last.

It isn't long before you cum on his cock with a ragged scream that you know there’s no way in hell the boys didn’t hear, yet you cannot stop it, you cannot care, because the man inside you has rendered you into a vessel for this mind-bending pleasure and in this moment, you belong completely to him. His hips snap against yours, and soon he follows with your greedy little cunt fluttering around him, spilling himself inside you with a loud groan.

He collapses beside you, pulling you into his arms. You revel in the sticky warmth of his seed seeping between your thighs, his heart a furious drumbeat beneath your ear. “Jesus fucking Christ,” is all you can manage to wheeze against the warmth of his chest.

“Right initials,” he pants, pressing lips to your hair. “Wrong guy.”

Thinking you really might have lost your mind, you start to cackle, and you can’t stop until you literally can’t breathe. You do not even have the energy to clean up, falling asleep in the beautiful mess John made of you, and maybe it’s just you, but even in his sleep John Constantine seems to hold you more tightly than he ever has before.

Sweetwolfcupcake:

The first signs of dawn begin to show on the dark sky, timid but consistent in pushing back the darkness previously reigning over the sky when you open your eyes-- blinking lazily as you register your dry lips and slightly open mouth. You feel parched, but the arms wrapped around you feel like a slice of heaven by your side and you are too lazy, too sleepy. You try to ignore it but your throat feels like it would scream for water any minute.

Sighing, you gently remove Constantine's arms from your body, not an easy task though-- his arms are firm vines around you, holding you close with a distinct gentleness that you've seen so often in his eyes when they gaze at you.

After you are finally off the bed without waking up Constantine (you're surprised), you tip-toe out of the room and into the kitchen for a much needed glass of water.

It's quiet, you notice as you gulp down a glass of water. With the overpowering sleepy haze gone, you grow more conscious of the environment.

Such an hour is supposed to be quiet. But there is a severe lack of tranquillity in the quietness--- it's more of a deafening silence. And you do not have a good feeling about this. Emptying the glass, you put it silently aside and turn around to rush return to the safety of---

Your eyes widen as you blink away the reminder of sleepy haze from them at the sight of John Wick's looming form in the kitchen doorway.

lo spettro

Indeed, he is like a ghost who appears right when you least expect it to. Though at the moment, he looks more like a formidable predator-- or maybe it is you who feels threatened like a prey.

Whatever it is, it does not settle easily in your stomach. There's chaos, flipping and swirling in there. All are born out of jarringly conflicted emotions and thoughts you feel simultaneously.

You stand still, eyeing him warily. He isn't dressed in his classic three-piece. In fact, he is in simple trousers a white t-shirt, that bulges at all the right places. No, he isn't dressed to hunt, but he seems very much ready to with the way his eyes are set upon you. You know the stare all too well. The thought brings back memories that are now the source of your heartache and you stiffen again.

"Had a busy night with your plaything?"

Ah, of course...

"He's not a plaything." You snap without a second thought.

John smiles faintly, but there is no softness to it. Instead, it looks sharp and somehow feels bitter as he diminishes the distance between you both in two strides.

"Was he good enough? Better?" He invades your personal space as smoothly as he invades your dreams.

This time though, you are determined not to back down and bend to his will. You stand-- stiff and with your heart hammering-- but you are determined to not let it show.

"Our bedroom is none of your business."

Oh, you know the way his chocolate orbs darken. Your words have ruffled him. He presses closer and you know, you just know that he can feel your heartbeat, but there is nowhere else to go, and you are sandwiched between the counter and him.

"Yeah? That's a pity, thought I could show this boy how it's done."

You glare up at him.

The audacity.

If this is a game of riling you up, he was unfortunately winning. But being away from them and being with Constantine has evolved you in ways you are thankful for. You are not going to bend easily under his games anymore.

Your glare charges into a sardonic smile--

"Oh, don't bother. It is blissful when you don't feel like a disposable toy."

To a degree, even you are surprised at the venom in your voice. But the surprise is overshadowed by the sight of John Wick faltering. You admit, the sadness do not make you happy, but having gained power in the conversation does satisfy you.

"I am exhausted after a long so..."

With that, you slip away from him and walk back to the safety of your bedroom, there is a rush in your steps, and the moment you lock the door from inside, relief floods withing you.

A part of this whole encounter reminds you of your childhood ritual of switching off the lights before running upstairs to the safety of your room-- but as a child, it was just your active imagination, right now, your heart thunders the same way it would as a five-year-old, running from the 'ghosts'.

Constantine calls your name lazily from the bed, eyes half-open and hair dishevelled. There is a certain domesticity in the air and your heart unexpectedly flutters-- not an anxious, thrilled flutter, but one that confirms what you are afraid to admit.

You fear losing this. This sight of Constantine laying so unguarded, so vulnerable and open on the bed. You are afraid to not feel his arms wrapped around you again. You are afraid not to feel his lips on you another morning.

You are afraid to lose him.

You are afraid to be abandoned again.

In your fear, you find courage. The courage to finally acknowledge this fear of losing him, losing what you both share.

Silently, you make your way back to bed, slipping under the covers and back in his waiting arms.

You know Constantine can probably sense the shift in your energy, but he chooses silence. He puts your comfort before his curiosity, his doubts. That makes you snuggle closer to him, to his warmth.

Tammykelly:

Songs to get in ya feels:

Karma by Summer Walker

Stand still by Sabrina Claudio

You lay awake under the silk covers, with Constantine quietly breathing beside you in a deep peaceful slumber. You shift your focus to his pace of breath so you can match your own in hopes to fall into the calmness of the space bubble around you. The limbs of your body are heavy, and yet your mind is ever so awake, having drifted towards conscious awareness of bitterly sweetened memories, rather than much needed sleep. Your eyelids flutter shut, as a yet another frustrated sigh escapes your mouth. The silence of the late hours is mockingly embracing the racing thoughts in your mind and pumping heartbeat, uncomfortable heat continues to fill every particle under your skin, amplified by the feel of rushing bloodstream, as if no concept of rest exists in this moment. A small furry body curls itself closer, next to your side, and your hand slowly reaches to brush its fingers through Baby Killy’s soft fur, more purring gently filling your ears, as you give into what your subconscious can’t seem to stop replaying, guided by the whisper of the shadows.

- a flashback -

You feel a warm breeze rush past you, carrying the salty scent of the Mediterranean coast, disrupting the shattered shadows. A tiny glimpse of sunlight pervades through the thin crack between your eyelashes, your narrowed eyes taking in the sunny serenity of French Riviera that envelops you again in its natural flow and beauty, before you hear a stream of rapid gunshots that only alert a flock of birds, rising from your garden.

You watch a tall man’s broad back stiffen, as he reloads the gun. You lazily get up, not taking your eyes off his powerful muscles moving under the skin, as he takes the position again. You feel your chest contract, breath caught in your throat, as his whole body seems to have become one with the weapon at the highest alert, before all the motion subsides, and he fires more shots at the moving targets.

You’re not sure whether it’s the thumping of your heart, ringing in your ears, bringing rising heatwave to your body, or it’s the sun that collects the multitude of nervous specks across your subconscious, melting them through all the layers onto the surface, forming a deeper shade of blush on your cheeks. He looks majestic, engulfed by sunlight, a gun in his hand, akin to an innate extension of his hunter-like, perhaps, hereditary nature. Your gaze traces the sweat dripping down his skin, as a gentle sigh leaves your lips, making it hard for you to look back up.

You don’t try to make your presence known, the sound of your steps remaining almost entirely silent, for even your slightest movement echoes through his awareness. He turns around before you reach him, his long hair sticking out from under the bandana.

“Princessa”, - his deep voice greets you.

“John”, - you playfully reply, watching his eyes wash over your silhouette, while you take one more step.

“Skuchala po mne [missed me]?”, - his calloused palm makes contact with the exposed skin below your silk bralette, hiding under unbuttoned oversized linen dress shirt. His fingers snake around your waist, urging you to move closer, slightly dipping under the waistband of your linen shorts. A shiver across your skin doesn’t escape his attentive gaze, a smirk quirking the corners of his mouth up. You look into his eyes, as you feel his hand brush against your back gently, the same fingers that were just holding a weapon, now playing a dirty game against you.

“Vsegda [always]”, - you tease back, your irises catching the way John smiles when you stand on your tippy toes to kiss him, as he melts into your lips, meeting you half way. The scales of gentle and sweet is something you’re unable to control anymore, for the tender anxiety in your heart flutters away with the wings of passionate fire that is the reflection of him.

One of your hands finds its place at the back of his neck, pulling him into you, which he eagerly complies to, as if pouring all the adrenaline of the practice shooting onto your tongue. You gently trail your fingers down his spine, as you break away from his devilish lips, a sly smirk that is a mirror of his, appearing on your features when he lifts you up, walking to the tent, and puts you at the edge of a poolside bed that actually looks like it belongs in a bedroom.

You calmly stare into the abyss of his dark eyes, your chest filled with the scent of excitement and your own game that quickly escalates to something entirely else the longer you hold eye contact. A different kind of heat knocks on your heart, opening doors to a more subliminal feeling. The type of warmth produced not by the midday sunlight, but by the golden hour sun, its muted colors appearing the brightest only for a slight sight, before its remnants reveal their beauty along the way of one’s attention.

His eyebrows twitch, while his eyes search yours.

“Opasnaya igra, malyshka [it’s a dangerous game, babygirl]”, - John says in a raspy voice, seeing the way you let him read you, akin to an open book with no secrets.

“Rasve ya dolzhna boyatsa [why, should I be afraid?” - your hand grazes his cheek, as a feeling that is bigger than your heart settles down in your chest, upon relishing the way he’s sitting in front of you on his knees, looking up at you, as if you’re God’s greatest creation. The fear and sense of uncertainty long forsaken in the tangled forest of what’s left behind.

“No”, - he tells you, his hands on your thighs, “if that’s what you wish for”. A moment passes in between the eternity that stretches across your souls.

“I don’t think I’ve ever hugged you, have I?”, you tell him, suddenly, his fingers freeze in their place. John’s eyes go blank for a split second, before another emotion replaces it, something deep and so raw, your heart almost explodes. An emotion that is swept away by the ever flowing current when his irises go back to that same deep shade of darkness that is the palette of his whirlpool.

“Come here”, you tell him, your hand gently tugging at him. A shallow breath of his doesn’t dissolve away unnoticed, as you get up and switch positions, him - sitting on the bed, you - standing in between his legs, holding his face and stroking his sharp cheekbones. There’s no sense of reality anymore, just his black chocolate eyes, looking up with the devotion of a man found. Time stood still, its heartbeat paving the way just for you two.

You feel him slowly moving closer, as if testing the limits of his own game of chess, before he nuzzles into you. You wrap your arms around him, patting him with all the gentle love you can master, as if not to break a wounded child. Gradually, you sense his calmness unravel itself when his body melts into yours, drinking every bit of peace that you generously get to offer.

A tear rolls down your cheek, the space around you collapsing on itself and blossoming into an eternal tangible softness that revolves around you and John.

John sighs, pulling you closer, letting every piece of your ethereal gentleness and love that is the reflection of you seep into him, beyond the subliminal, into the deepest infinity of his oblivion that is the code of his own sense of self.

Treedaddymcpuffpuff:

You wake up with a startled gasp, giving Killy the same little fright. She runs away, bells dangling at her neck, the sound fading underneath the bed where she hides from you.

“Killy,” you groan, “I’m sorry, come back.” You wish you could actually tell her in some way you didn’t mean to scare the shit out of her, but it’s too late. And Constantine is gone, too. There’s a little note on the stand. Something about having to run out for a while on a job.

It’s around noon. Your black out curtains can’t contain all of the leaking sunshine, so you decide to follow that biological clock that runs deep and get up. John isn’t here, either, and Tex is snoring on the couch.

“Tex,” you whisper, nudging him a little bit.

His groggy voice sends a pang of reminiscent longing through you. “Hey, honeypie.” He fades out a little bit, and you have to tug on his arm. “You’re snoring,” you tell him, trying to get another pillow under his head to elevate him. “You don’t snore. Sit up a little bit.” You’re worried that he’s not getting proper oxygen while he’s sleeping because of his recent brush with death, so you use most of your weight and a little bit of his to sit him up and lessen the deep rattle of his throat.

“C’mon,” he lays a big arm around your shoulders, tugging your upper torso down against him. “Lay with daddy, huh?”

You push against him. “Tex, you freaking weirdo, lemme go.” The temptation is definitely there, to crawl on top of him and snuggle in, but you’ve already committed to waking up and doing something on this lazy weekend day, so you squirm out of his heavy grip.

He goes back to sleep with a big, satisfied smile on his face. You resist, with all your might, leaning down to kiss his cheek. Adorable fucking idiot.

You make scrambled eggs, plate some for Tex, and leave them in the fridge for when he wakes up. Then, you get a piece of paper, write SCRAMBLED EGGS on it in big letters, and set it on his now peacefully rising chest.

It’s beautiful out here today, sunny with a tropic, warm breeze that reminds you of beachy days with John and Tex. Although the beach is about 30 minutes away by bus, you hop on with a little bag in tow, sporting cute cotton capris and a flowy tank top over your swim suit.

You spend a few hours at the beach, walking up and down the sand, looking at shells, playing in waves and watching the surfers board out past the break. There’s a little food and drink stand nearby, and you packed plenty of sunscreen, so you can stay out as long as you like.

You enjoy this as long as you can, because you have classes coming up and know you won’t get the free time again until next weekend.

You feel free-untethered. Able to go anywhere and do anything without anyone holding you down. There was such a long time, where you didn’t have that freedom. Over half your life, probably, between childhood and witness protection, where you were trapped. And, now that you have a taste of independence, you’ll never stop injecting it. Of course, with this freedom comes a little emptiness, but it’s nothing you can’t handle. You’ve been lonely before, you’ll be lonely again.

Maybe that’s an absurd thought, when three men are waiting for you at home, and for a minute you feel terribly, achingly guilty about wanting freedom and love, protection, shelter-all at the same time. Sometimes women don’t get any of that let alone one. But then, that’s bullshit, isn’t it? The notion that you have to settle and compromise just because you’re a girl. Maybe you want all three of them-no, not maybe. You do want all three, and your independence. And maybe if testosterone wasn’t such a heavy drug, you could mention that to them. But you can already just see John strangling Constantine with his bare hands and Constantine burning John alive if you even dare to mention them sharing you.

Plus, would you even be able to handle all three of them? John and Constantine themselves are insatiable; Constantine, fueled by ancient magic. John, fueled with physical endurance. Tex would be simpler to please, but he’s a wild card of his own.

A group of surfers ride a wave in to shore, and you watch curiously-maybe even a little bit enviously-as they laugh and joke and splash each other in the pink sinking dawn of the day. One of them-tall, broad shouldered, bronze, the god Poseidon himself rising from the frothy ocean bank-makes eye contact with you and you look away quickly, a hot flush that’s not from the late sun flooding your skin.

“Y/n?” You look to the sound, and see a familiar face among the group of ocean dwellers.

Katrina gives you a little wave while she climbs out of one. You tip your chin at her. “Hey, Trine.” She’s one of your classmates, a good friend and study partner. You had no idea that she surfed.

She introduces you to her little group of friends, and one in particular’s name you know you haven’t forgotten. His grin is stark white against beautiful, salt crusted skin when he takes your hand in his bigger one, warm despite the cool water he just rose from, and shakes it. “We meet again.”

“Hey, we were just gonna go to Bodhi’s house for a party. Wanna come?” Trina pulls you from Johnny, giving you a strange, knowing look. You were absolutely entranced by him, staring way too much, still holding onto his hand, so you understand why she’s a little suspicious.

“You alright?” Johnny asks, bringing you back to him.

“Don’t think so,” you say, feeling like you’re absolutely dying.

Now everyone absolutely notices this strange tension between the two of you, and they seem delighted by it. Bodhi, you think his name is, grabs Johnny’s shoulder and shakes him a little. “Utah, you dog. Close your jaw.”

“Seriously, Johnny, stare a little longer,” Trine grumbles.

“Sorry,” he tells you sheepishly.

“Same,” you reply.

“So, you wanna come?” He asks, motioning to the group. “To the party?”

“I would, but I have to take care of something.”

You propel yourself through the darkening LA streets, the bus system, the crowds of people, the bustle of the city. Keep your eyes ahead, focused, goal driven. The big Bouncer in front of Midnite’s is the only thing that stands in your way to the inner club.

He holds up a card, prompting you. Fuck. You have never come here without John. Probably because he forbid it, but that’s beside the point. You have no idea what to say, so you just do what you’re best at and guess. “Rabbit?”

His facial expression reads “are you fucking kidding me?” All he says is “no.”

“Please. I need to see Midnite. It’s about John Constantine.”

He eyes you for a long while, and then motions for you to sit on the bench in the lobby.

•

“How’s my favorite girl?” Midnite takes a seat beside you. “What kinda shit did Constantine get into this time?”

“it’s actually my shit.”

He laughs. “Tell me about it.”

“No, I mean, really, I think there’s something strange happening, Papa. Everywhere I go, doesn’t matter how far, I see this… guy.”

“You have a spirit following you?” He asks, scanning your body with an open palm, tilting your chin this and that way.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what it is-what he is, but there’s many of them. They all look the same.”

“The same? I’m confused, y/n.”

“They all look like… John Constantine.”

•

“Tex, wake up.” John kicks the couch lightly, alerting the snoring Tex.

“What the fuck.” Tex groans.

“Where’s y/n?”

Constantine has tried to call you ten times, texted you at least twice as much, and still no answer. He’s pacing through the kitchen, hand in his hair, debating on whether or not he should tear down LA to find you. You’re never gone this long, you always keep him updated. This isn’t like you.

He walks into the living room, where Tex and John are looking at the note you left alerting Tex to breakfast.

“You just let her go?” Wick demands of Tex, snatching the slice of paper and tearing it in the process. “When did she leave?”

“Fuck, I didn’t think we were dictating her life anymore,” Tex replies, “she came out here once… I think. It was daylight. I was sleepin. Fuck.”

“She always comes home,” Constantine says, more to himself than the two other men. “It’s almost one AM. We have to find her.”

“Tex, are you able to drive?” Wick asks.

“Yeah.. yeah. I’m good,” Tex nods.

“Take the car, go to her school, her bank, her favorite restaurant. Constantine?” Wick turns to address the still pacing man. “Are you able to try and locate her with some kind of magic?”

“The fuck you think I’m trying to do?” Constantine mumbles, eyes on the floor, hand in his hair, damp sweat gathering on his tshirt.

“Keep doing it. I’m going to look on foot.”

•

Maybe it was a bad idea, to drink with Midnite. Not because of him. The morally grey, powerful voodoo master has never been anything but good to you despite his wavering tolerance for Constantine, and he stays by your side diligently while you both sip on steaming, sweetened cocktails.

No, it’s a bad idea because of the shady characters lurking around you and making you feel a little like you just stepped into Mickey’s House of Villians. The lady with purple, slithery tentacles attached to her just seals the deal on that.

Midnite flips over your other divination card, the gold foils of it catching a rogue neon light and flashing bright in your eyes, before you see what it holds; 10 of spiders. “Something is tightly attached to you, something that draws dark energy. I could see it when we first met, you know. Just like the curse on Texs’ chest made him vulnerable to the wicked dark, you have naturally.”

“I’m so confused. Why?” Your words come out a little slurred, and you realize you’ve been hitting the tap too hard. This is your fifth… fourth cocktail? You’re not sure anymore. “Am I in danger?”

He looks at you with a bit of pity in his fathomless dark eyes, like he doesn’t know what to do for you. Like you’re fucked. “Always.”

Before he can elaborate, give you a warning or message, something, a heavy commotion picks up at the front entrance. Glass smashing, screaming, pounding on something metal and floppy. Midnite sighs and puts his hand on your shoulder. “Stay here. I have to deal with this.”

You ask the bartender for a glass of water to help nurse and coat the alcohol sloshing inside of you and making you pleasantly numb and prickly, and try to ignore the other patrons of the club. Kind of hard when one of them, one you very well recognize, takes the stool beside you.

“Where’s your tall friend?” The succubus asks, those bleach pink eyes doing strange, unearthly things in their sockets; changing shape, reflecting colors that usually don’t exist, sliding from side to side rapidly.

“He’s taken,” you tell her, not bothering to hide the scowl on your face.

“Really?” She asks, voice unnaturally low and seductive, titling her head. “Because I could feel the desperation on him from a league away. Most taken men with that kind of need aren’t satisfied at all.”

“I’m not entertaining this conversation,” you tell her. You remember all the anger you felt toward her after she tried to pull Tex away, and wonder where it is now that you need it. Instead, there is a dull, needy, perplexing throb beginning in your lower belly. It’s a strange way to feel arousal, but unmistakable nonetheless. Usually, all libidinous feelings begin in your brain and trickle downward, but this feeling is severed from your mind, spreading through only your lower body and making you twitch and writhe in the seat.

She grins with sharp little bone white teeth. “Interesting.”

You try and open your mouth, tell her to fuck off, but she reaches over and touches your cheek, and any words you could have said die in your throat.

Replacing speech and sense and sight, is a burly heat that rips through you. A desire like you’ve never felt. A claw-your-skin-off, teeth clenching need to be fucked. Debauched. Ruined.

An inner beast guides your way, now, and she’s hungry for cock. Luckily, there’s some place you can get it. Unluckily, it’s a few bus rides away. And you can’t fucking last that long, that’s for sure.

gif from pinterest

You stand up, make for the door, and run into something solid and familiar and warm. Just seeing his angled face make your clit tighten painfully, your cunt flutter around nothing. You jump him. He can fucking take it, and he does, handling you like a champ while you claw up his body and latch onto his mouth with your own.

John Wick doesn’t stop you. Maybe it’s the vicious arousal leaking off you that infects him, too. Or maybe it’s because he missed you, needed you that bad. Either way, he’s kissing you back, picking you up, walking you toward the nearest private place to fuck in, hopefully….

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

🫧 ━━ JOHNNY UTAH X CHUBBY F READER IMAGINE𓈒

𓈒part II 𓈒tw: utah being a little shit 𓈒based on @tedsbogusworld’s 🤖

━━ in the morning, bodhi reams you out for embarrassing him

━━ he says that calling him a “spoiled little bitch momma’s boy who still pisses the bed” was just taking it too far

━━ you have to admit, that might have been overkill

━━ as usual, you’re fighting.

━━ you can remember a time where the two of you were thick as thieves, buddies, friends

━━ you can remember a time he used to defend you from bullies rather than join in on their ridicule

━━ you go to work with tears in your eyes, but you’re only crying because you can’t punch something

you like the aquarium. honestly, you could spend your whole life working here if it paid more than minimum wage.

your favorite duty, by far, is manning the touch tank and getting to see the excitement that ripples through children and adults alike as they slip their fingers over the smooth, sticky manta rays and get their hands abducted by the resident octopus.

you’re glad that you’re doing this today, especially after the nasty dispute with your once loving, protective brother.

however, the good mood isn’t meant to last.

bodhi’s friend, liz, is here. the new guy is hanging off her arm. it looks like they’re on a date, and you really don’t want to deal with being perceived, so you excuse yourself and duck into a nearby gift shop to regain composure.

it’s stupid, that you’ve become so afraid of bodhi’s in-crowd. You pride yourself on being brave—or at least you used to. swimming out past where you could touch, exploring for snakes and bugs, looking for sharks in the tides, riding the tallest drop rides at six flags.

you understand what the metaphor ‘a shell of what I once was’ means all too well. it’s just…they’re so goddamn mean. teasing you, calling you names when they think you’re not listening, playing stupid pranks that they know will get an explosive reaction.

and no matter how many pounds of pressure you tried to put behind your bite, it just seemed to always get worse. so now, you avoid them at all costs. and bodhi, too.

you peruse around the little gift shop, feeling the plushies and thumbing through the rainbow clusters of keychains. hoping they’ll be gone by the time you make it back out on the floor.

no such luck—in fact, lady luck herself seems to have some personal vendetta against you on this sunny day. you hit solid chest on your way outside of the gift shop, and look up to start an apology. that embarrassed look on your face transforms into a scowl when it turns out that—Jesus, what’s his name?—is smiling down at you. and it’s not a pleasant smile.

liz’s voice could cut diamonds, awful and grating as it is. “oh, hey, cutie. we were just looking for you. Johnny wants to meet your friends.”

“great, he can introduce himself.” walking away is the best decision right now. it usually is when it comes to assholes, but a wide hand circles the entire upper half of your arm to halt you. and your arm is not small, so, yeah, you're a little bit intimidated. will you admit it? hello no.

you swivel and face him like he’s not a foot taller than you and probably able to at least beat you in an arm wrestling match if nothing else, glare sharpened into a knife that you hope cuts deeper than it seems to; he looks humored.

“let me go.”

he stays silent and grinning, liz’s perfect henchman, and it inspires seething rage. the kind of fury that makes you forget you’re at work, has your vision turning black around the edges. “john.” of course, now that he’s pissing you off again you remember his name, because that’s all he’s done since you first met—make you angry. “your balls are in grave danger if you don’t get the fuck off me.”

“just johnny’s fine,” he tells you, tugging you closer instead of letting you go and heeding your threat.

you grab his wrist to try and pry him off, because fuck if you’re gonna let some city boy manhandle you around in your own territory at liz’s bitchy discretion, but queen insufferable herself cuts the tension with her sharp voice. “y/n’s in school to be a marine biologist,” she tells johnny, who’s too busy focused on tormenting you to pay attention to her. “isn’t that cute? still hanging on to those childish dreams.”

“oh, shut the hell up, liz, at least I’m trying to make something of my life instead of whoring around south bay and surfing.”

neither of them look phased. It makes you feel small, insignificant, stupid, humiliated, all of those nasty adjectives that you just can’t seem to get away from in daily life. maybe you would actually risk your job and hit liz—because you know she’d have to notice a fist—but johnny has both your arm and wrist trapped now, and his grip is not kind enough to permit escape.

liz looks bored. “so, come on, y/n, introduce us to your ocean friends.”

you glower at johnny, who still has most annoyingly and frustratingly not taken his eyes off you. “can’t do that unless you tell boris, here, to let me the fuck go.”

liz gives the command and her dog listens well. you briefly consider running, but after a once over of his long distal limbs, you know you wouldn’t get very far on the stubs you call legs without him catching up. ever defeated, you take them to the touch tank, waiting for a space to open.

liz’s entitlement makes a surprise appearance, of course, and she taps a sunburned family on the shoulder. “excuse me, we work here. just gotta get through.”

“no, we don’t work here,” you tell the confused father, “i work here, and take your time.” you shoot liz a glare. “we can be patient.”

“jeez,” liz sighs, although you win this round, and only after the family in front steps away do you lead them up to lean elbows over the rippling artificial tide pool, glowing with sea foam backlight, filled with pretty black mantas gliding along the sides and little crabs fighting under seaweed and tiny fish flitting about.

“put your hand in,” you tell johnny, motioning to the water. “this is what you came for, right? scared of fish, johnathan?”

he chuckles at you and shakes his head. “do they bite?”

what a pussy. “dunno, why don’t you ask the giggling toddlers over there forearm deep?”

was something you said funny? are you just a natural comedian? should you go into stand up comedy instead of marine biology? all these things you wonder while his lazy, devil may care grin widens.

his hand goes in, slowly, and god bless harold’s tiny three hearts, he crawls right up to the newcomer curiously.

johnny looks nervous while the little blue guy explores his hand. you chuckle, trying to be mean but actually finding it a smidge cute—okay, the octopus is cute. NOT johnny and his novel trepidation. nope. this man is not cute. he’s a fucking asshole.

harold wraps around his fingers, squeezes and grips between the digits, slides a tendril over his wrists and holds gently, saying hello. once you’re sure johnny’s trapped, you pat him on the back. “good luck, think he likes you.” then, you walk away.

“hey, he won’t let me go!” johnny calls after you, and you relish in that frustrated tone. feels good to win, yeah it does.

“he will by closing,” you say, not bothering to turn around, but also, and to your credit, not adding ‘asshole’ to the end of that sentence.

[satlun]

Vacation Boy: Johnny Utah x fem!reader

Genre: slow burn, fluff, and definitely angst Trigger Warnings: Johnny Utah's sweetness

It was a hot summer day in the middle of July that you will always remember.

Author's Note: I really love this one. I feel like I really wrote it down from my heart. It's like I put my soul into it. Yeah, I hope you guys enjoy!! ♥️

April 18, 1992 at New York

It is a move-in day for the new job you just got here after graduation, at the big city. You drop your bags and luggage on the floor immediately right at the moment you close your apartment's door. Five-hour flight from Idaho and you just finished moving your stuff in, you're really tired.

Your eyes look around the apartment. It a mess, you can't even have a bed or even a space on the floor to sleep on. You just bought a new bed today and it will deliver within two days, guess you have to sleep on the floor tonight. How bad. You kick the boxes away from your way before stepping in the middle of your room, looking around and thinking which box you should open first or maybe you just move them to one of the corners and open them tomorrow. You sigh.

And another thought kick in, maybe you should open them now before the delivery delivers your bed which is so big, too big for one person but you don't care actually. You sit down on the floor that have many boxes around you. You decide to open the boxes that you packed up your clothes first. You put your clothes into your closet and dress up at the same time. Some clothes you haven't wear it since you bought them and some clothes you haven't seen them but your mom probably packed them for you? You try the new ones on while looking at the mirror. Your eyes admire the dress you're wearing on until your gaze spots the box that says “old stuffs” through the mirror. You turn around and walk to it. You're a person who loves keeping things as your memories, postcards, letters and souvenirs.

The box that full of stuff you have collected, you smile while picking them up. Your old memories start to come into your mind. You really love this feeling, it is good if you understand. The feeling and the emotion during those moments will come across your mind. You grab many things out of the box until the last piece, your old diary which there is no page left.

You open shortly from the first page until the last page. Your eyes roam through it until you spot one page on 17th July last year.

July 17, 1991

I met a guy on the vacation... five days ago on 12th July at Latigo beach. He was a cool guy I met on the last day of my vacation. We talked and had a lot of fun there... he has pretty brown eyes and beautiful hair. I need to write about him before all the memories are gone. I don't want to forget about him. He's the most handsome guy with the most precious soul I have ever met. When he was in the sea, surfing was so amazing. Him and surfing was a bond. All of his friends were nice to me and they had their amazing goals. I wish he still thinks about me honestly even I am not that pretty but he really gets my heart...

You are lost in your memories, all the feelings get back to your mind. The beach, the wind, the sun and him...

...

It was a hot summer day of the mid July at California and it was the last day of your vacation. The sun didn't rise yet since it was only 6am in the morning. You walked down the stairs from the road to the beach alone since your parents were still asleep. You wanted to see sunrise at the beach before you leave because first you had to leave so early in the next morning second Idaho doesn't have beaches third you don't go to beaches so often even beach is your favorite place.

Your eyes looked around the beach. There was no one here except a guy around your age surfing alone in the sea at this early?? Well, that was quite interesting. The water must be so cool sine the sun didn't rise yet. That was what you thought. You sat down on the sand with your casual clothes which actually were the clothes you wore last night. The beach was very quiet that you could only hear the wave and the wind, so peaceful. You always love California because your dad talked about it a lot and his favorite song is Hotel California by Eagles which your dad always listens to it since you were young. You wished you could stay here forever, you would build a small house next to the beach and you might actually start learning how to surf. You thought it was cool, how come people stand on those boards and surf on big waves? That must relate with physics but it was still cool for you. You really wanted to learn it one day.

After a while of sitting and glancing at him time to time. You know it was hard to look somewhere else when no one was there except this guy. You could say, he wasn't that good in surfing but you didn't want to judge anybody so you tried to stop thinking about this mysterious stranger guy. You distracted yourself by looking at the sun which was starting to rise. Just a little.

Right now, the guy was swimming closer to the shore. You feel a little bit nervous because there was only you here all alone and what if he says, “You stared at me. Are you a psycho?” What are you gonna do! You just hoped that he didn't notice that which was impossible. He was now walking up to the beach, seems like he was walking to you. Oh my- you felt like you just wanted to disappear. Please please please, I didn't mean to stare... what? Did he just give you a smile?

“Hi?” The guy looked down at you with a soft smile while the sky was starting to become yellow. “Hi” You answered as he slowly sat down next to you, not close. It's good since he was a completely a stranger, not bad for the first impression. “What brings you here this early?” He looked at you before rubbing his head with a towel. “The sun... and what about you?” You looked at him with his wet hair, he didn't look at you but the sun. It was raising. “If I say myself?” He said and finally looked at you once again. What does it mean ‘myself’? “You mean– you, yourself just want to be here this early. That's all?” His eyebrows raised. “A shot in the dark.” He chuckled. “It's not that hard.” You shrugged your shoulders and gave him a smile and the conversation became silent, it was awkward and he was just wiping his face with the towel. “You surf a lot?” It was a dumb question actually but who cares, you hate dead air. “Lately, yes. I'm practicing it. I just caught my first tube this morning.” You just nodded and then continued the conversation. “I always appreciate people who can surf... you know. How can people stand on that board and surf in big waves? It is just cool for me.” His chuckle was so cute... what? You mean it was soft and whatever. As if he could read your mind. “It must be something about physics but I don't know, not my type.” Not his type? It was a joke he meant he didn't even care about physics since it wasn't his favorite subject. “Then what's your type?” He could answer it in a second. “Athletic” It was obvious that he liked athletic, his body and his spirit? “I see...” The sun rose now. You could see it clearly now. You glances at your watch and it was 7am. “You live here?” His soft and deep voice interrupted you. “No. I'm on my vacation, tomorrow is my last day.” He nodded before giving you a glance. “How was your vacation?” He asked. “It was good. I had a lot of fun here.” You always love it. Everything all just gave you peace to your mind and soul. It was like another kind of healing. “I'm glad you had a lot of fun here.” His beautiful smile formed on his face again. Your heart almost skipped a beat but you tried to keep it cool. You glanced at his board. “I wish I could surf.” He believes that the only thing that is matter is ourselves. If you want to do something, you should do it. “You can try. Just do it. Do it for yourself.” You sighed in desperation. “I want to... but there's no beach back in Idaho.” “You are from Idaho?” He raised his eyebrows. “Yes” You looked at him. “I've never been there but I would love to one day.” “You should. It's great. I can tour you around.” It was a joke but what if it sounds weird... “Yeah. It would be nice.” He smiled at you and all of your concerns were gone. He is the kind of person who makes you feel comfortable while you're talking to. “It may have indoor surfing places in Idaho maybe?” he gave you an advice. “I think it has but it can't be campared to this actual sea right?" You span your arms to the sea. “The real waves and the real sea water.” His eyes followed your hand and nodded. “Yeah. You're right. This one is better.” He gave you a smile while looking at you.

For a moment, you saw him glancing at his watch, it almost 8am and he seemed like he needed to go. He grabbed his surf board and stood up, ready to leave. “Do you wanna... eat lunch together?” Did he just ask me on a date or something? Your delusions consumed you again. You hesitated at first because you just had no idea about your answer if it should be; “Yes, of course I'm so glad you ask me!!” Or “Okay, sure.” Or “no... I already have a plan” because he is still a random guy that you just met. However, he had no harm you could feel it. So, your answer was, “Sounds good. Sure. Where?” He pointed at the sidewalk restaurant near the beach which was still close now. “There” you stood up and followed his finger. “Okay. 12pm?” You asked “Yeah. 12pm.” He was about to leave but something made him stop and turn around. “I'm Johnny.” That was it, you thought he wouldn't tell you his name. “Y/n. Nice to meet you.” You gave him a quick smile. “Same here.” He gave you a soft smile like the first time he did before leaving.

...

11.50am at California State was really hot. Your face was so sweaty, your legs rushed to the door of the sidewalk restaurant and got in. The restaurant was still hot because there was no air conditioning. You sit on a table, waiting for Johnny to come. Your clothes were changed to something prettier. Well, you didn't mean to impress anyone but yourself. Right?.... RIGHT?

After a while of waiting for him and it was already 12pm, he finally showed up in a tight grey shirt which made him look different in good way. His hair was now dry and was set perfectly. He literally could pull anybody he wanted. That was your weird thought. When Johnny spot you, he rushed to you with the same soft smile immediately. You didn't know if it was the weather or it was him that made your heart melt.

“Have you been here long?” He sat down in front of you as you shook your head. “No. Not at all.” Johnny nodded as an answer before picking up a menu. “What would you like to eat today?” When it comes to food, it always be a hard decision to make. Usually, you just order the same same thing but maybe this time you should try something different. “I have no idea... could you recommend me something good?” He gave you a smile and show the menu for you. He pointed his finger on shrimp and fries. “Sure. This. Is my favorite.” It sounds good shrimp and fries. You gave him a nod and smiled at him. He has a good taste in food. “Shrimp and fries, 2 please?” Johnny called a waitress and ordered the food for you and him. It was not a date right? But you couldn't help to think it that way. He set his hair perfectly... it wasn't that necessary to do it just for eating lunch in this weather with a girl he just met. Whatever.

After the waitress went to the kitchen, Johnny started talking to you. “Where did you visit this morning?” He shot you a question. “Santa Monica Pier. There are amusement rides and many other things.” You explained to him while your eyes are looking around the restaurant and switch to him time to time. It was hard to just stare and focus on him. You meant he was kind of... handsome? It was just hard you know. “That is my favorite place when I was a kid. You like to play something exciting?” He raised his eyebrows because that is his favorite thing as well. “Oh no. Not at all. But my younger brother does so he dragged me there.” Johnny laughed at your answer. “You have a younger brother? I wish I had one.” He gave you a smile before looking out the window, watching other kids playing around the beach. “Oh please. You wouldn't like it that much.” You chuckled. “How come?” He was curious. “He is naughty and ugh so on. You will understand if you have one.” You paused for a moment before continuing to speak. “But I do wish I had an older brother.” Johnny switched his gaze on you again. He noticed your eyes that full are full of hope. “So you're the oldest?” He asked. “Yeah.” He inhaled and exhaled softly as he put his hands on the table. “Being the oldest must be very hard. You know, they have to be good at everything and also have responsibility at the same time. And we are just teenagers who just want to have fun.” He paused and notice that you were listening to him carefully so he started to tell you more about him. “I really understand that feeling. I'm an only child and the things aren't that different.” All the things he said was just right. You the oldest and it feels like everything or every weight is on your back. You have to handle it. You must. “As if you can read my mind.” You chuckled to make the conversation felt less intense. Johnny flashed his soft smile at you again. That was his deadly weapon of killing you. “How many years apart are you and your brother?” You didn't expect that even you were about to ask him about his age either. “11 years. I'm 22 and he's 11.” Johnny nodded as the waitress served us our food. “I'm 24... let's eat.” You both smiled at each other before eating his favorite food. You hadn't tried it before and it was better than you expected. Maybe stepping out of your comfort zone or the same thing you usually do aren't that bad. You try something new and you may accidentally found your new favorite things.

30 minutes later of talking and eating food, you both stepped out of the sidewalk restaurant. You looked out at the sea which the surface was reflecting the sun and the heat. “So... me and my new friends have a party tonight and the beach... if you want to join you can come.” He interrupted you. “Thank you but... I don't want to interrupt your party...” You chuckled at him. The truth was you just hate meeting new people sine you have social anxiety. “It's alright. Never mind.” He seemed like he was about to leave. So, this was gonna be your last time of seeing him?? That's it? “Maybe it's not that bad– I'll go.” His smile was formed from excitement you could tell. You wished you could make him smile forever, it was like sunshine in a daylight sky. “See you there at 7pm.” Johnny pointed at some space at the beach, and you nodded as understanding.

...

The weather is completely different from the day and the night. The wind makes you feel cold. Both of your hand brush your arm while walking down the stairs. You can see a group of teenagers walking and dancing around a bonfire at the beach. It must be them, his new friends. You just hope that he was already there because it was gonna be weird if a stranger showed up at Mr.Nobody's party.

That moment Johnny saw you first. He stood up and rushed to you immediately, noticing your reaction. “Are you cold?” You just nodded and walked along with him. “Come closer to the bonfire.” He led you to the bonfire that was around by his friends. You sit down on the log he already prepared for you. Suddenly, all of his friends noticed your presence. They walked to you and started to talk. “This is Bodhi. Bodhi, this is y/n.” Johnny introduced you to the man who was a bit older than him and his blond hair was really memorizing. “Nice to meet you, Bodhi.” Bodhi just nodded before sitting next to Johnny. “Your girlfriend?” Johnny refused immediately. He didn't want you to make you feel uncomfortable at all but it was also still hard to control his friend's mouth. “No. She's my new friend.” His deep voice and the reaction of protecting over you was a thing. “I'm sorry for my mouth.” Bodhi made a joke before offering his hand to you, you shook his hand and gave a quick smile.

Bodhi was scary for you at first. However, the moment after you both had a conversation about many things, especially the 50 year storm. You started to see him differently. He wasn't that bad. He was a cool guy. You loved when he talked about the ocean and the sea. As if he was a son of a mermaid or something. His spirit that he had towards the marine life was just really cool. He was a cool guy with his big goal. You just hoped that if that time comes, he would be able to go to Bell's beach in time and achieve the ultimate ride.

An hour later, the boys and the girls decided to play football. “Come, y/n” Bodhi called you while holding a ball in his hand. “Thank you... but I prefer to watch.” Well, because you're not good at athletic at all. You didn't want to embarrass yourself as well so refusing him was the best choice. “Come on.” Bodhi tried to convince you and Johnny noticed that. He walked to you and said something quietly. “If you don't want to, it's okay. I'll talk to him.” When you heard him saying that, all the thoughts you had towards athletes were changed. Well, Johnny really affected on you that much. You hesitated for a moment and then you realized that you wanted to get out of your comfort zone and tried something new. If you accidentally embarrassed yourself then it was going to be alright since this was the last night of staying here. They were not going to remember your embarrassing moments forever. You didn't answer him back except walking into the crowd, ready to join. A smile formed on his face while his eyes followed you.

You started to play clumsily. It was kind of embarrassing but whatever. You tried to not care and it seemed work. Fun made you forget all about those thoughts. You played and you fell off over and over but you could still laugh and smile because it was really fun. Johnny always cheered you up for the whole game. “You're doing great.” Or “Keep going.” He said softly to you for the whole time.

Almost an hour later. It was 9pm. It was the time to go back to the hotel. You had to leave early in the morning and your parents must be worried about you now. “Are you leaving?” Johnny noticed that you started to look back at the hotel and wipe all the sand from your pants. “Yeah” you said. “Safe flight, y/n!” Bodhi and his friends shouted at you. You just said thank you to all of them. “I'll walk with you.” Johnny said quietly. You insisted him to stay here but he didn't listen. It was completely dark and he was worried about you.

The only sound you could hear is the waves. It was not totally dark, it still has light along the road. He was walking along the beach with you. You talked about how fun it was and how cool his friends were. He chuckled with every word you said. “So, I hope it will be one of your best memories of traveling here.” Johnny looked at you while your hair was flowing because of the wind. “It definitely is... thank you, Johnny... you really made my vacation so special.” Johnny nodded and smiled. “No problem. You deserve it.” You smiled and looked over the sea, thinking about tomorrow. You had to leave very early and you didn't think that you would see him again. “What time will you leave tomorrow?” Johnny interrupted your thoughts. “6am. I don't want to leave.” You sighed. “I wish you could stay here forever too.” That moment your heart was beating so fast. His voice, his words and the atmosphere. As if he was about to say something and you didn't want to ask him either. If he wanted he would. “I will come. Tomorrow. 6am to send you.” You raised your eyebrows immediately. Gosh, you thought this was gonna be the last time you saw him. You flashed a happy face to him. “Thank you, Johnny. It's kind of weird that I just know you for a day but... you know I feel comfortable around you and... I feel like I could talk about anything with you.” Johnny chuckled and looked at the sand that was stepped by our feet. “I feel that way too. I'm glad I know you.” And you said back immediately. “I'm glad that you said ‘hi’ to me.” You both laughed. “I saw you glanced at me... maybe you just wanted to talk?” You were caught off guard. He noticed that you actually glanced at him tome to time while he was surfing. “There was nobody there except a guy surfing. You can't blame me.” You both laughed out loud. “Sure. I can't blame you for looking at this good surfing man.” You just shook your head and shrugged your shoulders. “Don't stop alright?” He's confused. “Stop what?” “Surfing. You seem... very happy and– very concentrated while surfing. It is like you are in your own world. I think surfing really matches you.” Johnny nodded and smiled. “Sure. I will keep that in mind.”

You both finally arrived at the front of your hotel. You turn around to see him again before walking into the building. “Good night, Johnny.” He sighed and smiled at you. “Good night, y/n. See you tomorrow.” You smiled back and walked into the building, you walked and turn back and walked again. Johnny laughed at your actions. He waited for you until the elevator's doors closed and gave you a smile as you did the same then he finally turned around and walked away.

...

The next morning at 5:45am. You were waiting your parents and your brother to put the luggage into the car. You said to them that you wanted to see the beach for the last time and you would be back by 6am.

You ran across the road, down to the beach, looking around hoping to see him sitting somewhere waiting for you but there was no sign of him at all. You waited and waited and waited... 5:48... 5:54... 5:58... 6:00... he didn't come as he said... as if it was all just a dream you had last night. As if it wasn't real. As if it hadn't happened... you lost in your thoughts while turning around to find him every direction. There was no one, only the sea and you.

You gave up and left.

...

July 17, 1991

I met a guy on the vacation... five days ago on 12th July at Latigo beach. He was a cool guy I met on the last day of my vacation. We talked and had a lot of fun there... he has pretty brown eyes and beautiful hair. I need to write about him before all the memories are gone. I don't want to forget about him. He's the most handsome guy with the most precious soul I have ever met. When he was in the sea, surfing was so amazing. Him and surfing was a bond. All of his friends were nice to me and they had their amazing goals. I wish he still thinks about me honestly even I am not that pretty but he really gets my heart. I can't forget him and I will never forget... but why? Why didn't you come? Why didn't you send me? Why? Why Johnny...? I waited but you didn't come... you didn't...

You close your diary and smile to yourself in tears. Nothing you can do except the memories that have left in your mind. You will never be able to forget him. His smile, his eyes and his spirit. You don't think you will ever find anyone like him anymore. You wish you could go back in that time to see him again, to start it all over again.

How is he now? What is he doing? Is he still live in California? Does he still remember you? These thoughts don't stop coming across your mind. All you can do is imagine, imagine that he is alright, he is still surfing, he is still in California and he is still remember you. And you will never know that your imaginations are true or not...

END (Don't be sad I still have end credits down below)

...

Fun facts: you can skip this part lol. It's not necessary.

The diary part was inspired from my own diary that I wrote about a foreign man I met a year ago at a beach. This is the actual text: Monday, 17 July 2023 I'mma talk about my vacation boy that I met him on 12 July at ____ beach. Damn, he's my type. We accidentally made eye contact two times. He has tanned skin and pretty face. I can't remember him now omg and I have short sighted and that's fucking bad. I couldn't see him clearly. I just know that he's the most handsome boy that I've ever met on this trip. He was in the sea with an old man (his father?) I actually think he has a brother too. I just realized that these two boys were the boys that I adored when I first got to this beach before finding other beaches to swim on this island. Wish he still remembers me. Honestly, I'm not that pretty but he got my heart. I can't get him out of my mind, almost two fucking days now. Author's Note: It's really cringe but I think it's funny so I would like to share with you lol.

I love writing diary because I always forget get things so I think it's nice if I just write them down

I really have a box full of stuff, post card, and letters from my friends. I love collecting them.

My father actually loves Hotel California by Eagles and I do love California too, one of the places that I would like to live.

I wish I had an older brother 😭

Someone told me that being an only child means you have to be good at everything. It used to encourage me but at some point I felt like I'm just a girl you know I can't be good at everything. What are you expecting from me??? It's like the only child/ the oldest child thing if you know you know.

...

End credit? YES.

“Jesus! What time is it??” Johnny shouted at one of his colleagues. “It's only 7am, dude.” It pissed him off. “Fuck!” He had an urgent case this morning at 4:30am. He needed to come to the office and worked on it until the time flew so fast that he didn't notice it at first. “Why you look so hurry, man?" The guy spoke calmly to him. “I gotta go.” He grabbed his things, rushing out of the door and left the office immediately. He got the urgent case and he didn't come to surf this morning like usual. Today is also the day you left and he planned to come and sent you. He didn't even give you his contact which was the worst mistake he ever made.

It was raining when he arrived at the beach, running down the stairs and you weren't there. He looked around hoping that you might still here, sitting somewhere at the beach but then he realized that it was impossible. You were actually gone and gone forever... he looked around with tears in his eyes, trying to find you. Then, he realized that he will never see you again. The most beautiful woman with the most lovely soul he had ever met. Your laugh, your eyes, your face, your lips, everything about you is breathtaking and he will never forget those things no matter how many years will pass. This beautiful soul will be kept in his heart forever...

END (I think the end credits made it sadder.)

© satlun, 2024 : DO NOT PLAGIARISM OR ANY OTHER WAY OF REPHRASING

[feinv]

masterlist — requesting.

⸝⸝ arthur morgan ⸝⸝ joel miller ⸝⸝ daryl dixon ⸝⸝

keanuverse — i write only for the characters below.

⸝⸝ john constantine ⸝⸝ john wick ⸝⸝ jonathan harker ⸝⸝

⸝⸝ neo anderson ⸝⸝ johnny utah ⸝⸝

[paracosmenthusiast]

Sundays

Just a quick Keanu x Reader fluff <3

WC: 700

~~

The smell of earth after rain.

You were strolling across the tennis court, shoes wet from running across the wet grass in the dark. The face of your watch reflected the time—a quarter past midnight—as you passed by one of the brilliant overhead lights.

It was well-lit, like any place on a college campus should be. But somehow you still felt encapsulated by darkness, a sheath of night slipping over your shoulders and down your spine all the way to your toes.

Arriving at your destination, you shrugged your bag to the ground and unzipped your racket. Ordinarily you wouldn’t be out here by yourself. You would be accompanied by at least three or four of your friends, bored after dark in Columbus, Ohio, with absolutely nothing better to do on a Friday night than hit the asphalt and kill some time.

Yet, here you were.

Thwack.

A bright green ball shot off into the darkness, turning oblong for a moment when it rebounded.

You adjusted your wrist, sent another one off. Watching the motion of your feet more than the motion of your racket was screwing with your grip, but you were more concerned by your still-healing knee.

“Hey.”

You whirled around, heart beat on the high line, the sudden motion straining your knee and nearly bringing you down.

“Oh—I’m sorry!” The newcomer rushed to help you, resulting in you awkwardly clasping his forearm but successfully avoiding eating asphalt. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to startle you.”

Trying to restore your heart to something below cardiac arrest, you looked up at the stranger. He was tall, lean but not skinny, with the most magical brown eyes you’d ever met and thick, dark hair falling into his eyes. Already flashing his teeth in a wide smile, half-sheepish.

“You’re fine,” you said, waving him off, righting yourself and smoothing a hand down your leg until it met your weak knee. Squinting up at him in the bright lights of the tennis court. “You’re so fine! I’m just—thank you. I have a bad knee, that’s all, so when I turned, I must’ve put too much weight on it...”

You were still distractedly pressing down on your knee, even though it didn’t particularly hurt. Trying to find somewhere, anywhere, to look. Because you were feeling a heat in your cheeks that wasn’t from your solo tennis session.

“Hope I’m not interrupting. Nobody’s usually out here this late, it gets lonely. I was on a walk when I saw you over here.” He was grinning again. You heard it in his voice, deep, husky, but still quiet. Your eyes made contact with his shoes—he was wearing black motorcycle boots, laces lazily knotted, a vivid green stem caught and snarled in the mess.

Now you were smiling, staring at a brightly colored flower stuck in his shoe, and then you were staring at his well-fitting pants, and then you were taking in how his black t-shirt hung off his very nice shoulders...

Oops. You redirected your gaze at once, meeting his eyes.

“Wanted to say hi,” he said, not that he needed to explain anything. “Uh—my name’s Johnny.”

“Johnny,” you said, unable to stop the smile spreading on your face. Rocking back and forth on your heels, smiling at him smiling at you, squashing down some odd, warm feeling in your chest.

He cleared his throat and looked around the court. “D’you come here a lot?”

You nodded, folding your racket under your arm so you could cross your arms, warming your chilly fingers. “Yeah, sure do. Normally some friends and I—I mean, we just play doubles. No real score. Just for fun.”

“Just for fun,” he repeated. “Maybe I haven’t been coming around often enough.”

“Yeah,” you nodded enthusiastically, “you sure haven’t.”

Grinning. Wow, you loved that grin. You might do anything to see that grin again. You swallowed, mouth almost uncomfortably dry, and gestured with your head back at your bag. “Wanna play?”

Surprise flit over his face. Then he was smiling, and nodding, tilting his head back so you could see the column of his throat as he laughed. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

[writers-advocate]

johnny utah

beach vacation ♡

✰ you decided to give johnny a little beach vacation since he’s been stressed about work for a while now

[97keanu]

₊‧꒰ঌ ໒꒱‧ ° Here is the prompt list for our community wide event if anyone wants to join in! The orange side is for more fluffy fall prompts and the red side is for more horror style prompts, feel free to pick and choose whichever or do both if you'd like!

₊‧꒰ঌ ໒꒱‧ ° I would love it if we could use the #keanuween on here so everyone can find the event and would be happy to be tagged in any keanuween posts (so I can read and reblog them!)

₊‧꒰ঌ ໒꒱‧ ° Event starts with

week 1: Oct. 1-6

week 2: 7-13

week 3: 14-20

week 4: 21-27

week 5: 28-Nov. 2(for any late fics!).

Feel free to do as little or as many as you want! I just want to read some fall time stories about my pookies even if that means you only have time to do 1!

₊‧꒰ঌ ໒꒱‧ ° All are welcome to participate, writers, artists, gifmakers, editors, ANYONE who wants to create ANY kind of fanwork for the event! If you'd like a space to share your work further, consider joining our community!

[discoscoob]

@treedaddymcpuffpuff shipping me with Johnny Utah and saying I have relentless journalist vibes gave me another fic idea:

Johnny Utah x Reader x David Allen Griffin

Pulling an uno reverse on Johnny, who got close to Tyler in the film in order to get information on Bodhi and his gang, reader does the same and gets close to Johnny, who’s leading the David Allen Griffin case, to get exclusive information for the press. However just like Johnny’s feelings became real for Tyler in the film, readers feelings become real for Johnny.

Inevitably he finds out what you were up to and is furious and feels betrayed even though after your feelings developed you no longer felt comfortable going behind his back but you also were afraid to come clean dreading how he might react. But after the big argument David comes along and takes you, still believing you’re dating Johnny and he wants to lure him into a trap using you as bait. You’re sure that Johnny won’t come, certain he hates you after what you did and it’s all very angsty but of course he comes. And where it goes from there who knows?

[juniperwoodwell]

any keanuverse character x F! reader, blurb

i have no one in particular for this one, so imagine whoever you like, it's not my fav

Y/n sat across from him at the ice cream parlor, they had ice cream sundaes in front of them.

The atmosphere around them was playful and sweet.

She watched as he reached across the table and plucked her cherry off her sundae by its stem, he smiled at her as he put it between his teeth, he pulled the stem and the cherry rolled into his mouth.

Y/n feigned an upset gasp, placing her hand over her heart in offence. "How dare you Pop my cherry."

The man in front of her snorted out a laugh, tipping his head backwards from the force of it. "Bad, bad, girl," He smiled at her then took his own cherry and held it out to her.

She opened her mouth and he placed it on her tongue, she closed her lips around it and he pulled the stem away. "There, now you've popped mine. We're even."

They paid no mind to the irritated stares from the people around them. All that mattered to them was the warmth they felt in their chests.

[beansricejc]

Headcanon: Keanu Reeves's characters as University Students.

what an amazing prompt omfg! CW: cursing, implied homophobia, vulgar descriptions of drug use

JOHN CONSTANTINE - Religious Studies / Parapsychology. His parents would roll their eyes and friends would laugh at such a degree to work towards. “You’re kidding.” John’s dad would grumble, scoffing as his swigs a beer. “You might as well just become a priest and swear off chasin’ tail. What the fuck even is… parapsycholo-“

“I’d be studying psychic or paranormal phenomena, for your information.” John would groan, snatching his dad’s cigarette box from the porch table and lighting one up. His father, an even more cynical asshole (if you can believe it) than him, laughed in disbelief.

“You’re seriously wasting your prime years on bein’ a ghostbuster?” His dad snickered, then calling John an unsavory, homophobic slur, as per usual. These talks he has with his father always end up with one of them getting a bloody nose and their ass kicked. This time, it’s his drunk of a father.

Who knew that would end up helping him in the long run, with casting demons out of little girls and helping twins in the afterlife?

KEVIN LOMAX - Law/Finance. Of course this big shot lawyer is going to have a law degree, duh. But I also envision something else. I can picture Kevin pulling a Jordan Belfort, scamming rich fools into investing into shitty companies. Money laundering, tax evasion, snorting cocaine out of a hired woman’s ass, all at the top of a sky scraper in the financial district in the Big Apple. He definitely skipped class to sleep in or recover from a previous night’s partying. It didn’t matter though, Kevin is stupidly smart and hardly needs to study to pass any sort of exam.

NEO - Computer Programming. Do I even have to explain this one? Late nights, redbull, he’s gotta pass somehow, and these classes are making Neo work for it.

JACK TRAVEN/JOHNNY UTAH - Criminal Justice. These boys in blue were at the top of their class at their respective programs, Utah for the FBI, and Traven for the LAPD police academy. It always helps to have a bit of book smarts to go along with their pretty faces.

JOHN WICK - Our favorite Russian assassin didn’t go to college, we already know this. However, if he did, I can see our man going in for a History or English degree. Years pass and he graduates, getting a job at some middle school out of state to get far away from his past life as he can. Mr. Wick is a fantastic teacher, the boys think he’s cool as hell and the girls think he’s scary but unfortunately he knows what he’s doing. Mr. Wick has already promised himself never to mix personal life with his job, just like he did in the past when he did hits for a living. That is until parent-teacher conferences happen at the end of the semester. When one of his favorite kiddos brings in their single mom, and he can barely hold it together in front of her.

Embarrassing.

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

🫧 ━━ JOHNNY UTAH X CHUBBY F READER IMAGINE𓈒

𓈒part I 𓈒cheeky Johnny

𓈒inspo: @tedsbogusworld’s 🤖

━━ you are bodhi’s little sister

━━ just trying to make it through college while working part-time at the aquarium

━━ your parents aren’t around anymore, so you’ve been taking care of your older brother (paying the bills and rent with tuition money, stocking the fridge, dragging him in from the yard where he’s passed out in a puddle of beer and vomit in the cool waking sunset)

━━ your big brother throws the wildest parties ; you avoid them at all costs, shut yourself in your room, hide away at the beach, stay late at work. it’s just not your scene

━━ plus, his friends aren’t nice, especially not when they’ve been drinking, and being surrounded by tall, athletic bodies in tight swimsuits is detrimental to your baggy clothed, short, chubby self esteem

one night, you get home super late, but the party is still raging. Spilled cans of liquor on your floor, an unattended bonfire that you have to put out with the hose - we’re in a drought for chist’s sake, have some common decency, bodhi.

bodhi catches you in the kitchen, much to your scowling dismay, and has someone he wants you to meet. you’re really not in the mood for his antics tonight - he’s so drunk and high he can barely keep two feet parallel with the ground - so you basically tell him to fuck off

but, bodhi is super bad at respecting boundaries. it inflates when he’s under influence. he’s got you face to face with a brand new partygoer before you have a chance to run

“hey.” big white grin, tawny skin, heavy dark eyes. you have to crane your neck to look at his face.

the music is almost too loud for you to catch bodhi’s next infuriating line. “told ya she was cute, johnny. she’s all yours.”

you basically freak out on him, shove his shoulder and start yelling and cursing and drawing attention.

you’ve spent years taking care of him, not asking for a cent from his party fund, putting up with his bullshit, and you’re so fucking tired of him making fun of you just because you’re not a skinny surfing meat head. after you rip him a new asshole, you storm off.

you could go to your room, but that would mean shouldering through a crowd, so you opt for a long walk on the pier instead.

as you’re watching the dark ocean waves crash and spray against support beams, you feel a hand on your shoulder. you turn around, ready to fight, but it’s just bodhi’s new friend.

lowering your fist and replacing it with a scowl, you turn back around to face the open sea and ignore mr. tall dark and handsome.

“hey.” he leans on the railing beside you, accidentally scrapes his forearm on a barnacle and starts bleeding. “ah, fuck.”

“you’ve never been to a beach town, huh?” his arm is in your hand and you’re using your old tshirt to wipe the trickling red from his skin.

he smiles at you, boyishly, gives this coy bat of thick lashes that makes your tummy uneasy. you hope he doesn’t notice the abrupt way you let his arm flop. little tickly crabs crawl over your skin as you turn away.

“got a bandaid?”

“you’ll live.”

“ouch. hey, I think we got off on the wrong foot. i’m johnny, just moved here.”

“hullo, johnny just moved here, i’m not interested in company.”

he seems way too amused by your venom, lets loose a little chuckle. “you’re not very friendly, are you?”

“not to bodhi’s cult, no.”

“man, what is your problem?” he shakes his head and kicks dried salt. “you have the hots for me or something?”

stiffened shoulders, shrinking posture, eyes unable to hold his own. it’s all the info he needs. he gets a big grin that makes you want to jump right off the pier and let the angry water swallow you up.

“oh, yeah?” he tugs his bottom lip into the toothy smile, nudges your shoulder. “listen, just cuz i’m pretty doesn’t mean i’m a dickwad.”

“yeah, it does.” you think you’re insulting him, but really what you’ve just done is confirmed that you do think he’s pretty - the quiet, thick quiver in your voice doesn’t help your case.

“thanks, sweetheart.”

now you have a better idea - push him off the pier. instead, you walk away.

“oh, she’s adorable.”

[jocelynscrazyideas]

this is toooooo much for tumblr but his college nickname is tdys national holiday:

[nwheregirl]

Two more characters have been added to my character.ai bot list!

Johnny Utah

Don John

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

@lilspookymeh and @tammykelly basically wrote the plot for this!!! They are geniuses !!! 🤭

You wake up with a startled gasp, giving Killy the same little fright. She runs away, bells dangling at her neck, the sound fading underneath the bed where she hides from you.

“Killy,” you groan, “I’m sorry, come back.” You wish you could actually tell her in some way you didn’t mean to scare the shit out of her, but it’s too late. And Constantine is gone, too. There’s a little note on the stand. Something about having to run out for a while on a job.

It’s around noon. Your black out curtains can’t contain all of the leaking sunshine, so you decide to follow that biological clock that runs deep and get up. John isn’t here, either, and Tex is snoring on the couch.

“Tex,” you whisper, nudging him a little bit.

His groggy voice sends a pang of reminiscent longing through you. “Hey, honeypie.” He fades out a little bit, and you have to tug on his arm. “You’re snoring,” you tell him, trying to get another pillow under his head to elevate him. “You don’t snore. Sit up a little bit.” You’re worried that he’s not getting proper oxygen while he’s sleeping because of his recent brush with death, so you use most of your weight and a little bit of his to sit him up and lessen the deep rattle of his throat.

“C’mon,” he lays a big arm around your shoulders, tugging your upper torso down against him. “Lay with daddy, huh?”

You push against him. “Tex, you freaking weirdo, lemme go.” The temptation is definitely there, to crawl on top of him and snuggle in, but you’ve already committed to waking up and doing something on this lazy weekend day, so you squirm out of his heavy grip.

He goes back to sleep with a big, satisfied smile on his face. You resist, with all your might, leaning down to kiss his cheek. Adorable fucking idiot.

You make scrambled eggs, plate some for Tex, and leave them in the fridge for when he wakes up. Then, you get a piece of paper, write SCRAMBLED EGGS on it in big letters, and set it on his now peacefully rising chest.

It’s beautiful out here today, sunny with a tropic, warm breeze that reminds you of beachy days with John and Tex. Although the beach is about 30 minutes away by bus, you hop on with a little bag in tow, sporting cute cotton capris and a flowy tank top over your swim suit.

You spend a few hours at the beach, walking up and down the sand, looking at shells, playing in waves and watching the surfers board out past the break. There’s a little food and drink stand nearby, and you packed plenty of sunscreen, so you can stay out as long as you like.

You enjoy this as long as you can, because you have classes coming up and know you won’t get the free time again until next weekend.

You feel free-untethered. Able to go anywhere and do anything without anyone holding you down. There was such a long time, where you didn’t have that freedom. Over half your life, probably, between childhood and witness protection, where you were trapped. And, now that you have a taste of independence, you’ll never stop injecting it. Of course, with this freedom comes a little emptiness, but it’s nothing you can’t handle. You’ve been lonely before, you’ll be lonely again.

Maybe that’s an absurd thought, when three men are waiting for you at home, and for a minute you feel terribly, achingly guilty about wanting freedom and love, protection, shelter-all at the same time. Sometimes women don’t get any of that let alone one. But then, that’s bullshit, isn’t it? The notion that you have to settle and compromise just because you’re a girl. Maybe you want all three of them-no, not maybe. You do want all three, and your independence. And maybe if testosterone wasn’t such a heavy drug, you could mention that to them. But you can already just see John strangling Constantine with his bare hands and Constantine burning John alive if you even dare to mention them sharing you.

Plus, would you even be able to handle all three of them? John and Constantine themselves are insatiable; Constantine, fueled by ancient magic. John, fueled with physical endurance. Tex would be simpler to please, but he’s a wild card of his own.

A group of surfers ride a wave in to shore, and you watch curiously-maybe even a little bit enviously-as they laugh and joke and splash each other in the pink sinking dawn of the day. One of them-tall, broad shouldered, bronze, the god Poseidon himself rising from the frothy ocean bank-makes eye contact with you and you look away quickly, a hot flush that’s not from the late sun flooding your skin.

“Y/n?” You look to the sound, and see a familiar face among the group of ocean dwellers.

Katrina gives you a little wave while she climbs out of one. You tip your chin at her. “Hey, Trine.” She’s one of your classmates, a good friend and study partner. You had no idea that she surfed.

She introduces you to her little group of friends, and one in particular’s name you know you haven’t forgotten. His grin is stark white against beautiful, salt crusted skin when he takes your hand in his bigger one, warm despite the cool water he just rose from, and shakes it. “We meet again.”

“Hey, we were just gonna go to Bodhi’s house for a party. Wanna come?” Trina pulls you from Johnny, giving you a strange, knowing look. You were absolutely entranced by him, staring way too much, still holding onto his hand, so you understand why she’s a little suspicious.

“You alright?” Johnny asks, bringing you back to him.

“Don’t think so,” you say, feeling like you’re absolutely dying.

Now everyone absolutely notices this strange tension between the two of you, and they seem delighted by it. Bodhi, you think his name is, grabs Johnny’s shoulder and shakes him a little. “Utah, you dog. Close your jaw.”

“Seriously, Johnny, stare a little longer,” Trine grumbles.

“Sorry,” he tells you sheepishly.

“Same,” you reply.

“So, you wanna come?” He asks, motioning to the group. “To the party?”

“I would, but I have to take care of something.”

You propel yourself through the darkening LA streets, the bus system, the crowds of people, the bustle of the city. Keep your eyes ahead, focused, goal driven. The big Bouncer in front of Midnite’s is the only thing that stands in your way to the inner club.

He holds up a card, prompting you. Fuck. You have never come here without John. Probably because he forbid it, but that’s beside the point. You have no idea what to say, so you just do what you’re best at and guess. “Rabbit?”

His facial expression reads “are you fucking kidding me?” All he says is “no.”

“Please. I need to see Midnite. It’s about John Constantine.”

He eyes you for a long while, and then motions for you to sit on the bench in the lobby.

•

“How’s my favorite girl?” Midnite takes a seat beside you. “What kinda shit did Constantine get into this time?”

“it’s actually my shit.”

He laughs. “Tell me about it.”

“No, I mean, really, I think there’s something strange happening, Papa. Everywhere I go, doesn’t matter how far, I see this… guy.”

“You have a spirit following you?” He asks, scanning your body with an open palm, tilting your chin this and that way.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what it is-what he is, but there’s many of them. They all look the same.”

“The same? I’m confused, y/n.”

“They all look like… John Constantine.”

•

“Tex, wake up.” John kicks the couch lightly, alerting the snoring Tex.

“What the fuck.” Tex groans.

“Where’s y/n?”

Constantine has tried to call you ten times, texted you at least twice as much, and still no answer. He’s pacing through the kitchen, hand in his hair, debating on whether or not he should tear down LA to find you. You’re never gone this long, you always keep him updated. This isn’t like you.

He walks into the living room, where Tex and John are looking at the note you left alerting Tex to breakfast.

“You just let her go?” Wick demands of Tex, snatching the slice of paper and tearing it in the process. “When did she leave?”

“Fuck, I didn’t think we were dictating her life anymore,” Tex replies, “she came out here once… I think. It was daylight. I was sleepin. Fuck.”

“She always comes home,” Constantine says, more to himself than the two other men. “It’s almost one AM. We have to find her.”

“Tex, are you able to drive?” Wick asks.

“Yeah.. yeah. I’m good,” Tex nods.

“Take the car, go to her school, her bank, her favorite restaurant. Constantine?” Wick turns to address the still pacing man. “Are you able to try and locate her with some kind of magic?”

“The fuck you think I’m trying to do?” Constantine mumbles, eyes on the floor, hand in his hair, damp sweat gathering on his tshirt.

“Keep doing it. I’m going to look on foot.”

•

Maybe it was a bad idea, to drink with Midnite. Not because of him. The morally grey, powerful voodoo master has never been anything but good to you despite his wavering tolerance for Constantine, and he stays by your side diligently while you both sip on steaming, sweetened cocktails.

No, it’s a bad idea because of the shady characters lurking around you and making you feel a little like you just stepped into Mickey’s House of Villians. The lady with purple, slithery tentacles attached to her just seals the deal on that.

Midnite flips over your other divination card, the gold foils of it catching a rogue neon light and flashing bright in your eyes, before you see what it holds; 10 of spiders. “Something is tightly attached to you, something that draws dark energy. I could see it when we first met, you know. Just like the curse on Texs’ chest made him vulnerable to the wicked dark, you have naturally.”

“I’m so confused. Why?” Your words come out a little slurred, and you realize you’ve been hitting the tap too hard. This is your fifth… fourth cocktail? You’re not sure anymore. “Am I in danger?”

He looks at you with a bit of pity in his fathomless dark eyes, like he doesn’t know what to do for you. Like you’re fucked. “Always.”

Before he can elaborate, give you a warning or message, something, a heavy commotion picks up at the front entrance. Glass smashing, screaming, pounding on something metal and floppy. Midnite sighs and puts his hand on your shoulder. “Stay here. I have to deal with this.”

You ask the bartender for a glass of water to help nurse and coat the alcohol sloshing inside of you and making you pleasantly numb and prickly, and try to ignore the other patrons of the club. Kind of hard when one of them, one you very well recognize, takes the stool beside you.

“Where’s your tall friend?” The succubus asks, those bleach pink eyes doing strange, unearthly things in their sockets; changing shape, reflecting colors that usually don’t exist, sliding from side to side rapidly.

“He’s taken,” you tell her, not bothering to hide the scowl on your face.

“Really?” She asks, voice unnaturally low and seductive, titling her head. “Because I could feel the desperation on him from a league away. Most taken men with that kind of need aren’t satisfied at all.”

“I’m not entertaining this conversation,” you tell her. You remember all the anger you felt toward her after she tried to pull Tex away, and wonder where it is now that you need it. Instead, there is a dull, needy, perplexing throb beginning in your lower belly. It’s a strange way to feel arousal, but unmistakable nonetheless. Usually, all libidinous feelings begin in your brain and trickle downward, but this feeling is severed from your mind, spreading through only your lower body and making you twitch and writhe in the seat.

She grins with sharp little bone white teeth. “Interesting.”

You try and open your mouth, tell her to fuck off, but she reaches over and touches your cheek, and any words you could have said die in your throat.

Replacing speech and sense and sight, is a burly heat that rips through you. A desire like you’ve never felt. A claw-your-skin-off, teeth clenching need to be fucked. Debauched. Ruined.

An inner beast guides your way, now, and she’s hungry for cock. Luckily, there’s some place you can get it. Unluckily, it’s a few bus rides away. And you can’t fucking last that long, that’s for sure.

You stand up, make for the door, and run into something solid and familiar and warm. Just seeing his angled face make your clit tighten painfully, your cunt flutter around nothing. You jump him. He can fucking take it, and he does, handling you like a champ while you claw up his body and latch onto his mouth with your own.

John Wick doesn’t stop you. Maybe it’s the vicious arousal leaking off you that infects him, too. Or maybe it’s because he missed you, needed you that bad. Either way, he’s kissing you back, picking you up, walking you toward the nearest private place to fuck in, hopefully.

@tammykelly @johnwickb1tsch @sweetwolfcupcake @lilspookymeh sorry it took so damn long yall

Yandere Tex Johnson x Witness!Reader x John Wick (AND x Constantine😜) Imagine WIP Part 9

Here we go my lovelies! @treedaddymcpuffpuff @sweetwolfcupcake @tammykelly @lilspookymeh @kurai-hono-blog

Wick could have been an asshole about buying a brand new kitchen, sundries included–but instead he merely shrugs off Constantine's hostile question. "Seemed like the least I could do."

Constantine glares, but lets it go, begrudgingly sitting down to a delectable meal cooked by the man he knows, deep down, that you've never been able to forget. 

At Tex's midday administering of magical medicine, he takes your hand after you finish, refusing to let go. "Set with me a while, Rattlesnake." He pats the couch, on which there is no room unless you were to sit in his lap–undoubtedly his hope.

With a sigh and a knowing smirk you settle back in your chair. Your eyes are drawn to the burn upon his chest. He will carry that mark for the rest of his life, even if the magic is lifted.

You think on what Papa Midnite said to Constantine. "Take some big feeling..."

It kind of floors you, to think of the energy it took for Constantine to conjure that working out of thin air.

For you.

You told him a little bit about the boys. How they hurt you–and, how they saved your life. How you loved them, and how they destroyed you in their abandonment. No matter how you framed it, Constantine blamed them for the bullet wound forever seared in your side.

However, it wasn’t so simple as that. 

"Whacha thinking, baby girl?"

You just shake your head with a tired smile. "Nothing important."

"Hmm. You gonna make me guess? Alright. You're thinkin'...bout that time in Mexico it was just you an me and the stars, out by the pool in our birthday suits."

You snort–quite against your will, it turns into a giggle. 

"No..."

"Uh huh. You’re missin' my wicked tongue up between your thighs. I know that look."

"That's enough of that," you say, trying to stand. But he has your hand, and he tugs you so that you fall down to sit on the edge of the couch–and half on him. Your faces hover just centimeters away. You watch with horror a he tries to lean in, capitalizing on the opportunity. By the skin of your teeth, your heart in your throat, you just barely manage to turn your head.

"Didn't you miss me, rattlesnake?" he asks, his deep voice all sultry and low just wrecking you to the bone.

You dare reach up to caress his cheek with the blade of your thumb. "Of course I did. But there’s no going back, Tex. Maybe...that time is behind us." Just saying it hurts like a knife between the ribs, but you go on, “Maybe you and John did the right thing, letting me go.”

He just narrows his dark eyes at hearing that. You hate the way it gives you such a thrill, to the base of your spine, and lower still. “I thought you were mad about that? Hell, I’m still mad about that. I miss you so much I can hardly think straight. There’s just…” He frowns while he says it, but you know it’s just because he’d literally rather take a bullet than talk about his feelings. His grip on your hand tightens; he glares down at your silver rings like they owe him money.  “There ain’t no point to anything, when you’re gone. Do you know what I mean?”

You close your eyes; for a moment you feel as though the floor has dropped out from under you, because you know exactly what he means. You lived it for months after they booted you, drifting from country to country, an empty husk of a woman, a gaping black hole where your heart used to be. Only after moving to LA, thinking about going back to school, and meeting Constantine, did your life start to feel like it had some meaning again. 

“Yeah. I know what you mean,” you answer quietly. “But how did you think this would go? You’d knock on my door, and I’d just uproot my whole life for you again?”

“Maybe?” The confusion on his handsome face is almost cute. You realize he really did think it would be that easy, and you snort, looking away to a framed Tibetan Thangka painting on the wall. This man. As ever, you’re torn between kissing him and killing him. You have to keep reminding yourself that the former option is not even on the table. 

“At least give me some credit. I coulda come in with guns blazin' but instead I brought flowers."

“You want credit?”

“Yeah. I’m practically a changed man. And I wouldn’t mind an apology from Wizard Boy either.”

"You've got to be kidding me." The pair on this man never ceases to amaze you.

"We were just having a little bit of friendly fisticuffs, but he fucked me up pretty good. That’s called unnecessary escalation.”

He would know. 

"Spare me the macho bullshit. There’s no such thing as friendly fisticuffs. You were going to hurt my boyfriend, and you absolutely deserved what he gave you. You’re lucky he got Midnite to lift it."

Only a beat later do you realize you called Constantine your boyfriend within earshot of everyone, which you never do, because you both hate labels and the word just seems too high school for what you actually are to each other–but there’s no going back now. 

“But–”

At last, at last, you are in a position where you don’t have to swallow his gaslighting. “No buts. You can behave yourself, Tex, or you can go. I mean it.” 

Maybe drawn by the sound of your raised voice, Constantine chooses that moment to intervene, appearing at the foot of the couch with a magnificent frown. 

“Well well, if it ain’t The Boy Who Lived.”

You know he’s just making yet another Harry Potter reference, but considering Constantine’s history, this nickname makes you flinch. Maybe it’s a mistake on your part, but you bristle. “Don’t call him that.”

Constantine, however, betrays nothing, just crossing his arms with that blandly judgy expression. “It’s alright, y/n. He loves childrens’ books–a man has to stick to his reading level.” You don't feel like arguing about the complexity of the later books, so you let the arrow fly.

You lift an eyebrow, side-eyeing Tex. “You do know an awful lot about Harry Potter for a grown ass man your age.”

For possibly the first time ever Tex actually looks sheepish. “Had to read something while I was in the shit.”

Tex never really told you much about his tour of duty in the Middle East. Bradford had intimated that it didn’t end well–but you weren’t exactly keen to take everything that asshole had said with any sort of seriousness. The thought of him holed up in a mud hut reading about Hogwarts kind of pulls at your heartstrings for some ridiculous reason. 

“So what you want, Wizard Boy?” demands Tex, insouciantly refusing to let go of your hand, despite you tugging on it.

“I was going to check your chakras for malevolence, but I'm having second thoughts now.”

“Sounds illegal in five states.”

Constantine snorts. “You want me to double check Midnite's handiwork or not? If there's a trace of darkness left it could spread– and you'll be fucked all over again.”

“Not the way I like, I'm guessin’.”

“Probably not. But then again, you seemed to like Desdemona at the club. You want an introduction?” Constantine has a sly look on his handsome face as he asks this. It must be the succubus you'd run off– the thought of Tex in contact with her again makes you vibrate with jealousy. It is sharp, and fierce, and utterly fucking irrational.

You should encourage Tex to find someone else.

Your heart just doesn't agree.

“I'll…leave you two to it,” you say, reluctantly standing to pull away out of Tex's grip.

Only belatedly, after you've retreated to your room, do you realize that maybe Constantine interrupted your tête a tête with Tex for his sake, rather than yours.

***

John Wick whips you all up a beautiful dinner of sauteed meat and vegetables, complimented with a nice bottle of dry red wine that you're sure did not come from Trader Joe's. You play his sous chef, chopping up veggies, and it almost feels like old times in the kitchen, although he never would have given you access to a big sharp knife before. As though you ever would have had the nerve to stab him. 

Tex was another matter.

At first you all sit down to share a semi-awkward meal, peppered with halting silences–until the second bottle of wine comes out, and then things flow more smoothly. It starts with Constantine cracking a joke at Tex's expense, which is surprisingly backed by Wick with a witty aside. Tex responds good naturedly, for once, and you just sit back and watch with a smile, a warm glow in your chest that feels too close to bliss to possibly last.

You help Wick with the dishes, drying as he washes because your dish rack is tiny. “You look tired, sweetheart,” he says after the last plate, bending down to kiss your forehead. You forget. You fucking forget that there are two other people there, one of whom is your current lover, and out of longing and pure habit you tilt your head back for the second staggeringly sweet kiss on your lips that always followed. 

Only a long beat later do you realize what you've done, with Wick's shining dark eyes looking down on you, missing nothing. You gasp like a scandalized school girl, taking a small step back. “You're right,” you agree. “I am tired. Good night, everyone.” You're such a coward you can't even lift your head to look at any of them, though you can feel their eyes upon you as you scurry away.

Once in the sanctuary of your room you collapse on the bed, clutching the coverlet in your claws for hands, so embarrassed by your slip that you could die. You know that Constantine loves you, even if he’s never outright said it, and honestly probably never will–and this is how you repay him. 

You really are a piece of work.

***

After you retreat, a silence falls over the kitchen, the three formidable men eyeing each other like wolves amidst a power struggle, trying to decide who is the weakest link and who is alpha. It’s Constantine who stands without a word, fetching his green glass bottle of Ardbeg single-malt scotch and setting it down in the middle of the table with a thunk. Then he produces three glasses–none matching–and pours out a finger for each. 

“Gentlemen.” He looks between the two assassins seated at his table, a part of him flabbergasted as to how he’d even ended up in this situation. Before he met you, if someone told him someday he would find a woman he loved more than the air he breathed, he would have laughed them out of the room. 

Not now. 

How the mighty are brought low, and pride goeth before a fall, and all that proverbial biblical bullshit that is old as time and yet somehow still applies. Despite all our advances, humans are still essentially the same animal we were when we first left the cave and started walking upright–or when God created Adam out of dirt, whichever you find more believable.  

“I believe we find ourselves at an impasse.”

“How you figure?” asks Tex, knocking back his drink and helping himself to another. 

“Does being in love with the same woman ring a bell?”

Wick smirks, watching the exchange between the two, sipping his scotch sparingly. He does not contradict Constantine’s assessment, but in his succinct way he drives home the finer point. “More importantly, that woman is in love with all of us.”

The thought pulls something like a growl from deep in Constantine’s chest, but in the end he acknowledges, “Exactly.”

Tex smirks, leaning on his elbows. “Don’t be sore, Wizard Boy. Be grateful we broke her in for you.”

Constantine seems to count to ten under his breath, restraining himself from unleashing a curse on this fucking cowboy again. “You’re gonna have to give me pointers on how you manage not to murder him daily,” he says to Wick. 

“I only listen to about half of what he says,” Wick admits with a smirk, a humorous glitter in his dark eyes.

“Good to know. My point is, if I curse you both into the Seventh Circle, it would hurt her. Likewise, if you two were to dig me a shallow grave out in the desert. You hurt her enough the first time. Do you follow?”

Wick nods, grasping Constantine’s train of thought immediately. Tex, however, has to chew on it a little–maybe because he’d hoped, for once, to finally have this girl to himself. 

“You’re saying you don’t mind sharin’,” finally says Tex with a shit-eating grin, leaning back in his chair. 

“Oh, I mind,” Constantine is sure to clarify. “But it’s up to her, if she wants you or not. If she decides she wants you to go–I will make you go. If she wants you to stay…” He spreads his big hands, as though to say, we’ll figure it out. Somehow.  

Tex narrows his eyes, clearly debating if he should pick a fight over the make you go part, or take it as it sits on the table. “And how do you propose we let her know what we decided about this?”

Constantine snorts at that, draining his glass and standing from the table. “That’s your problem, Howdy Doody. Good night–and may the best man win.” The two assassins watch as John Constantine crosses to your bedroom, and practically shuts the door in their faces. 

***

You are drifting on the edge of sleep when Constantine crawls into bed with you. You smile as you feel the familiar pattern of the depression in the mattress, and moan with surprise as he covers your mouth with his. You taste the Ardbeg on his tongue, which explains some of his ardor, but not all. The fury of his kisses on your lips and neck pulls an involuntary moan from deep in your lungs, his big hands digging into the flesh of your thigh, pulling you on top of him. 

“John…?” Utterly star-struck, you blink down at him, disheveled in your pajama t-shirt and your hair a mess. He reaches up to cup your cheek, dwarfing your face in his large hand, studying you like there will be a test later. He opens his mouth like there’s something he wants to say to you, but he can’t quite get it out, the words stuck in his throat. 

You think you know what it is, and your heart warms for it, that tingling thrill filling your chest and spreading outwards. You’re not even mad, that he can’t say it, because you get him. This is not the week you’re going to push him out of his comfort zone, more than you already have. Most of LA would laugh to hear it, but John Constantine has been a veritable fucking saint the past couple of days, and you’re so grateful to him. 

“It’s ok,” you say softly, tracing the line of his square jaw. “I know.” 

He frowns, almost like he wants to argue, but in the end he just shakes his head and pulls you to him.

You want to apologize for almost kissing John Wick right in fucking front of him–but that sticks in your throat too. You guess you’re both just a little raw tonight.

He peels off your t-shirt greedily as he guides you down. Hungry lips and a teasing tongue find the sensitive tips of your breasts, making you squirm with longing above him. You know you’ve already soaked through the laughable barrier of your panties, and are probably leaving an unsightly stain on his nice (200 dollar, he likes to tell you with a smirk) white shirt–but if the Chinese laundry down the street can get out demon blood stains, what’s a little cum?

You let out a cry of longing as he releases your nipple with a pop; the ache between your thighs is already nearly unbearable, and you can't stop yourself from grinding against his lean torso. You shut your mouth as soon as you open it, conscious of the paper thin walls and the two dangerous men on the other side of them.

“You like that, baby?” he taunts, hooking his fingers in your panties to tug them down.

“You know I do,” you pant. 

“Then let me hear you,” he invites with a wicked smirk, shifting down so that you are nearly sitting on his face. You don’t know what was said out there, but you are starting to get the idea that John Constantine is up to something. But before you can even begin to think what to do about it, he pulls you forward with an undeniable grip on your thighs, and his tongue is laving up your slit.

“Fuck.”

This exclamation is not quiet, and neither are the ones after it. You practically shake the walls with your cries when you cum on his tongue, your body rendered into a quivering mess of over-stimulated nerves. He does not grant you mercy, even when you beg him, and by the time he is done with you, you are halfway to your second orgasm.

“Do you want me baby?” he demands, panting from his champion cunnilingus league exertions as he undresses himself. There is a desperation in his tone you’ve never quite heard before, and you have a feeling he’s not just talking about sex.

“I need you,” you tell him, and you mean every word. It wins you every inch of his hard cock buried inside you, and you can’t stop yourself from moaning, as though there is no room for breath in your body when filled with his impressive manhood. He grips you hard enough to bruise, his face buried in the bend of your neck.

He drives himself inside of you, hips pumping with the fury of his need, but he’s prepared you for it. It’s all you can do just to hold on, to the bed, to him, letting him use you exactly the way he wants to, because you know the past couple of days have been anything but easy for him. 

When his thumb finds your clit you think you might die from the overwhelming sensation of it. “No,” you beg, somehow smiling through your exasperation. “Please. Mercy.”

He just pays you that impish curl of lips that always seriously makes you question which side he's playing for. “You can take it,” he informs you. “For me?” The way he pouts down at you while simultaneously rearranging your insides should be illegal.

“Fuck,” you swear again, and he grins down at you, knowing he’s got you in the bag. With your ankles around his ears he slows down for you, but still fills you to the absolute brim, working you in just the rhythm he knows you need with the tip of his too-clever thumb. There is a heart wrenching beauty in making love like this. The two of you have reached an understanding of each other's bodies, a point of familiarity in which you just know, and yet somehow each time is better than the last.

It isn't long before you cum on his cock with a ragged scream that you know there’s no way in hell the boys didn’t hear, yet you cannot stop it, you cannot care, because the man inside you has rendered you into a vessel for this mind-bending pleasure and in this moment, you belong completely to him. His hips snap against yours, and soon he follows with your greedy little cunt fluttering around him, spilling himself inside you with a loud groan.

He collapses beside you, pulling you into his arms. You revel in the sticky warmth of his seed seeping between your thighs, his heart a furious drumbeat beneath your ear. “Jesus fucking Christ,” is all you can manage to wheeze against the warmth of his chest.

“Right initials,” he pants, pressing lips to your hair. “Wrong guy.”

Thinking you really might have lost your mind, you start to cackle, and you can’t stop until you literally can’t breathe. You do not even have the energy to clean up, falling asleep in the beautiful mess John made of you, and maybe it’s just you, but even in his sleep John Constantine seems to hold you more tightly than he ever has before.

------------

😬

it's on? 😈😈😈

@sweetwolfcupcake @treedaddymcpuffpuff @tammykelly