#fic: wicked

[adonis-koo]

wicked • 20 sneak peak

because idk when I’m actually gonna get this out

“So my pretty wife finally shows her presence.” Jungkook was leaning against the bed frame, slumped once more, terribly drunk.

You offered a gentle smile, the tension that had been in your body slowly melting due to his warm presence you had become so familiar with, “So I am here, I did not mean to make you wait so long.” You were in no rush to the bed as you slowly walked over to your vanity, pulling the gloves from your hands and taking the shoes off your feet.

Setting your crown on top of the empty pillow and taking off your jewelry as you felt his eyes burning into your back before you finally approached him.

“What held you up?” Jungkook’s eyes lazily dragged over your body, sitting on the side of the bed as his feet planted on the ground, hands reaching out for your waist, “You were supposed to help bring me back.”

Your smile became just a little shy as your hands settled on top of his, the warm comfort it brought such a stark contrast to what Seokjin had attempted to replicate, “I got caught up, but I’m here now. Help me?”

You turned around as Jungkook stood up, a little wobbly and maybe not the best with his fingers at the moment but he managed to get your dress undone as it fell to the ground, you still had your slip on underneath, it wasn’t meant for sleeping but it was comfortable enough that it would do.

You plucked the dress from the ground before tossing it, the fabric catching on the chair at your vanity before you turned around to face him once more.

You couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped you at the dilation in his eyes, his tongue swiping over his lip feverishly, “Was it him?”

Your brows lifted a little in somewhat surprise and that gave him everything he needed to know, his jaw clenching a little as his hands tightened down to your hips, “Saw the way he was looking at you, as if you belong to him.”

Your arms wrapped around his neck as you whispered, “But I am yours. You shouldn’t worry about him.” Tomorrow, you would tell him what had happened, but tonight, you wanted to rest with your husband and let him sleep off his liquor.

[theetherealbloom]

The Things I Would Do, Just To Be Here With You

Summary: Amidst the whirlwind of movie premieres and busy schedules, you and Pedro Pascal, both thriving in your respective careers, find ways to celebrate each other despite the distance. While Pedro promotes Gladiator 2 in London, he longs for your presence at the after-party.

Or, you two would scream at the stars for keeping you apart... and the government too.

“Pedro Pascal x f!reader, Pedro is promoting Gladiator 2, and reader is in Wicked (Elphaba or Galinda of course!) for the screenplay of Wicked, and they are just really supportive of each other but also joke about their own movie being the best. Finding time to come to each other’s premiers. Posting behind the scenes or visiting each other.” — From @imaginemixedfandom

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Established Relationship, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Angst, Swearing, Anxiety, Surrounded by A-Listers, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Red Carpet, Cameras, Paparazzi, Long Distance, Timezone Difference, Social Media, Interviews, I’m not a Spanish speaker, I might be wrong with the terms, please don’t come after me T^T,

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: Ty @imaginemixedfandom for giving the idea! I didn’t really want to replace the reader with the cast of Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo. Those two are just too iconic. So instead I will make the reader a writer for the screenplay adaptation of Wicked tehe. You all should listen to brent iii by Jeremy Zucker and Chelsea Cutler, it’s absolutely one of my favorite albums of this year. Lastly, remember this is all fictional and for fun! Enjoyyyy my loves!

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: and the government too! By Jeremy Zucker & Chelsea Cutler

gif by @andrew-garfielld

| Main Masterlist |

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — EVENING

“Hi.” Your voice was soft as you nestled deeper into the duvet, your body cocooned in its comforting folds.

“Hola, mi amor.” Pedro’s face lit up on your phone screen, the warm timbre of his voice washing over you like a balm. “I miss you.” “I miss you too… so much,” you replied with a little pout. The time difference between London and New York was merciless. Between his packed schedule promoting Gladiator 2 and prepping for Fantastic Four, and your whirlwind of work with the Wicked movie premiere, your conversations had been reduced to stolen moments like this. Still, even through a screen, Pedro had a way of making you feel like the most important person in the world. “You look cozy,” he said with a lopsided grin, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners. “Meanwhile, I’m freezing my ass off here on set. I think my nose might fall off.” You laughed softly, the sound tinged with longing. “I’d trade you, you know. I’ll take the cold if it means I get to see you.”

“Don’t tempt me.” He leaned closer to the camera, his face filling your screen. “If I weren’t contractually obligated to be here, I’d hop on the next flight and show up at your premiere tomorrow. Red carpet and all.” You smiled wistfully, your fingers brushing against the edge of your phone as if you could reach through it to touch him. “You’d outshine me. Imagine the headlines: ‘Pedro Pascal steals the show at Wicked premiere.’” “Please. Everyone’s going to be talking about you. ‘Brilliant screenwriter dazzles Hollywood!’” He paused, his tone softening. “You’re incredible, you know that?” Your throat tightened at his words, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Stop, or I’ll actually cry, and my face will be all puffy for tomorrow.” He chuckled. “Okay, okay. But seriously, mi amor, I’m so proud of you. You’ve worked so hard for this.” “And so have you,” you countered. “The Gladiator 2 trailer broke the internet, and you still found time to send me flowers last week. You’re amazing, Pedro.” “Yeah, but flowers aren’t the same as being there with you.” His voice dipped, a hint of regret slipping through. “I hate being this far away.” You sighed, your heart aching in tandem with his. “Me too.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence filled with the unspoken tension of your shared longing. Then, Pedro’s grin returned, bright and mischievous. “So,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “who do you think has the better movie? Be honest.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Are you seriously asking me to compare Wicked to Gladiator 2? One’s a heartfelt, magical adaptation, and the other is a testosterone-filled epic. They’re different.”

“Uh-huh,” he teased, crossing his arms. “Sounds like you’re dodging the question. I knew you were scared to admit Gladiator 2 is better.”

You scoffed, sitting up straighter in bed. “Scared? Please. I just don’t want to hurt your feelings when Wicked inevitably becomes a global phenomenon.”

Pedro laughed, the sound rich and contagious. “You’re lucky I love you. Otherwise, this would be grounds for war.”

“Lucky? You’re the lucky one,” you shot back, smirking. “I’ll prove it when I finally see you in person again. But until then…”

You brought the phone closer, pressing a soft kiss to the screen. Pedro mimicked your gesture, his lips brushing his camera lens.

“Goodnight, mi vida,” he murmured.

“Goodnight, Pedro.” Your voice was tender, laced with all the love you couldn’t put into words.

As the call ended, you clutched the phone to your chest, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. Despite the distance, despite the chaos of your lives, you knew one thing for certain: Pedro Pascal would always be worth the wait.

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — MORNING

Today was the day. You were walking the red carpet for the Wicked movie premiere. A sea of celebrities, producers, fellow writers, and editors would surround you. The sheer magnitude of it all left you feeling both giddy and utterly petrified.  

You smoothed your hands over the silk robe you wore, your palms damp with nerves. While you loved the craft of storytelling, the spotlight had always felt daunting. You preferred to let your work speak for itself—a tendency that paired surprisingly well with dating Pedro Pascal, the literal human embodiment of charisma and charm.  

“There, all done,” Laura, your makeup artist, said with a satisfied grin.  

You blinked at your reflection in the mirror. Your skin glowed, your eyes were accentuated just enough to look striking without overwhelming, and your lips were painted a perfect shade of confidence.  

“You’ve outdone yourself,” you said, giving her a warm smile.  

“Of course I did,” Laura replied with a wink. “Big night for my favorite screenwriter.”  

Mia, your stylist, emerged from behind a rack of gowns, holding up the dress. “Speaking of big nights... Ready to put this beauty on?”  

You nodded, though your smile wavered. “I just wish Pedro were here,” you admitted, your voice quieter now.  

Laura and Mia exchanged sympathetic glances before Laura gently squeezed your shoulder. “You’re going to look incredible, and he’d lose his mind if he saw you. How about we take some pictures to send him? A little preview for the man himself.”  

You hesitated, glancing at your phone on the vanity. “I don’t want to distract him. He’s busy with interviews and set work. London and New York aren’t exactly next door…”  

“All is fair in love and war,” Laura teased, her giggle breaking the tension. “Come on, babe! If anything, it’ll be motivation for him to hop on the next flight.”  

Mia chimed in, smirking. “Or just to remind him what he’s missing. Trust me, teasing Pedro is a public service.”  

You laughed despite yourself, feeling the nerves lift slightly. “Fine, fine. But if he complains, I’m blaming you two.”  

They ushered you into the dress—a masterpiece of emerald silk and intricate detailing that clung perfectly in all the right places. As Mia zipped you up, Laura stepped back, her hands pressed dramatically over her heart.  

“Pedro’s going to lose his shit.”  

“You look like a literal goddess,” Mia added, spinning you toward the mirror.  

For a moment, you hardly recognized yourself. The reflection staring back radiated elegance and confidence, even if you didn’t entirely feel it yet.  

“Okay, okay. Take the pictures,” you relented, biting your lip as you tried to contain your grin.  

Laura grabbed your phone and started snapping. You struck a few playful poses, twirling and laughing as Mia adjusted the hem of your dress. It felt silly, but imagining Pedro’s reaction warmed your chest.  

Once the photos were taken, you grabbed your phone and hovered over the message screen. You debated for a moment, then attached the best photo and typed a quick message.  

You: Wish you were here. But since you’re not... Enjoy this. Don’t let it distract you too much, cariño.  

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself, the familiar swoosh of the message sending making your heart race.  

The reply came faster than you expected.  

Pedro: Distract me? How am I supposed to do anything now? You look like an angel. No, better than an angel. Drop-dead stunning. 

You couldn’t stop the grin from taking over your face.  

Pedro: Red carpet better be ready. They’ve got no idea who they’re dealing with tonight.  

The butterflies in your stomach multiplied tenfold. Before you could reply, another message appeared.  

Pedro: I’m so proud of you. Go knock ’em dead, mi amor. I love you.  

Your throat tightened, and you had to blink back the sudden tears threatening to ruin Laura’s hard work. You tapped out a quick reply.  

You: I love you too. Now go back to being the coolest man alive.  

“You okay over there?” Mia asked, watching you with a knowing smile.  

“More than okay,” you said softly, tucking your phone away.  

As you prepared to step into the whirlwind of the premiere, Pedro’s words echoed in your mind. Even from thousands of miles away, he made you feel invincible.  

Tonight wasn’t just about the red carpet or the glitz and glamour. It was about celebrating what you loved—and knowing Pedro would always be your biggest cheerleader, no matter where in the world he was.  

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON — AFTERNOON  

Pedro sighed deeply, his head resting against the back of his chair. The steady hum of activity on set felt like background noise, the voices and clatter muffled by the ache in his chest. His fingers drummed lightly against his thigh, the motion absent-minded, a physical echo of the restlessness he felt inside.  

He missed you.  

It wasn’t the casual longing of someone who hadn’t seen their partner in a while—it was the kind of yearning that settled into his bones, heavy and persistent. A few hundred miles of ocean separated you, but it may as well have been an entire galaxy.  

He opened his phone and scrolled back to the picture you’d sent him that morning. The emerald dress, the way it hugged your form, the way your eyes sparkled even in a still image—it took his breath away. You looked like a dream. His dream.  

“If I were there right now…” he murmured under his breath, running his thumb over the screen as if he could touch you.  

If it were as simple as hopping on a flight, he’d already be on his way. He imagined the way you’d light up when you saw him, how you’d rush into his arms. He’d bury his face in your hair, inhale your scent, and hold you so tightly that he’d forget about the world outside.  

But it wasn’t that simple. The timing was off, as it so often was with both your careers in full swing. He was tied to the production schedule of Fantastic Four, and you were in the spotlight for Wicked. The universe seemed determined to keep you apart, and for the first time in years, Pedro felt the cracks in his patience.  

He closed his eyes, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. “Damn stars. Damn schedules. Damn… government,” he muttered bitterly. The laugh that followed was humorless, the frustration thick in his voice.  

If he could, he’d scream at the stars for conspiring against you both. Curse the invisible forces that made life so complicated. He’d barter with time itself, twist it and stretch it, just to have you here with him for a few stolen moments.  

He wondered what you were doing right now. Were you nervous about the red carpet? Did you feel as hollow without him as he felt without you? Pedro clenched his jaw, guilt gnawing at him. You deserved to have him there, to walk that carpet with you, to hold your hand and beam with pride as you took in the applause for your work.  

“Pedro, they’re ready for you!”  

The call from a production assistant jolted him from his thoughts. He blinked, the weight of reality crashing back down as he stood and stretched.  

“Be right there,” he called back, tucking his phone into his pocket.  

As he made his way back to the soundstage, he couldn’t shake the thought of tomorrow. The Gladiator 2 premiere loomed ahead, another milestone he should be celebrating with you by his side. Instead, you’d be halfway across the world.  

But one day, he promised himself, one day, nothing will keep us apart.  

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — EVENING 

The flashing lights were relentless, casting an almost blinding glow over the red carpet. The screams of fans and the constant click of cameras created a symphony of chaos, one you weren’t entirely comfortable navigating. You’d always preferred the quiet—curled up with a book, tucked away from the world’s prying eyes.  

But tonight, you smiled and posed alongside your cast and the production crew. You owed it to them, to yourself, and to the story you’d helped bring to life.  

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Winnie Holzman, the original writer of Wicked, leaned in with a smile, her eyes sparkling as she looked at the crowd.  

You nodded, though your voice was tinged with nervousness. “It’s incredible. Overwhelming, but in the best way.”  

“You’ve done amazing work,” Dana Fox chimed in, her excitement infectious. “We wouldn’t be standing here without your screenplay tying it all together.”  

Jon M. Chu, ever the cheerleader, clapped you lightly on the back. “Tonight’s your night too. Own it.”  

You laughed softly, feeling a little more at ease with their encouragement. Together, the four of you posed for the cameras, sharing a few candid laughs before heading closer to the press area.  

As you stepped into the spotlight for interviews, the questions started flying.  

“How does it feel to see Wicked finally come to life on the big screen?”  

“It feels surreal,” you answered, your smile genuine. “Everyone on this project has poured so much heart into it. To see it come together like this is... overwhelming in the best way.”  

“You’re known for being quite private. How are you handling all the attention tonight?”  

“It’s definitely out of my comfort zone,” you admitted with a small laugh. “But I’m surrounded by such a talented and supportive team, which makes it easier.”  

Then, inevitably, came the question you’d been bracing for. “We couldn’t help but notice that Pedro Pascal isn’t here tonight. Do you miss him?”  

The question tugged at something deep inside you. “I miss him so much,” you said softly, your expression softening. “He’s busy promoting Gladiator 2 and filming in London. I know he wishes he could be here, just like I wish I could be there for him. We’re both incredibly proud of each other, though.” You grinned, a playful sparkle in your eyes. “But, of course, Wicked is better. Don’t tell him I said that.”  

The interviewer laughed, and you followed with a wink before stepping away.  

AFTER THE PREMIERE  

As the credits rolled and the crowd applauded, you walked alongside Jon, Winnie, and Dana toward the exit. The night air was cool and refreshing after the heat of the theater.  

“You were glowing on that carpet,” Winnie teased, nudging you gently.  

Jon smirked. “Bet it’s because of a certain someone who couldn’t make it.”  

You flushed immediately, your cheeks warming. “Stop,” you mumbled, though your smile betrayed your embarrassment.  

“Oh, come on,” Dana added with a laugh. “You were gushing about him earlier. Just admit it—you’re head over heels.”  

You sighed dramatically, though your heart raced just thinking about Pedro. “Okay, fine. I miss him like crazy. I just—” You paused, glancing up at the stars. “I wish I could be there for him, you know? For his premiere. He’s always so supportive of me. It feels wrong not to do the same.”  

Jon stopped walking, turning to face you with a thoughtful look. “So go.”  

“What?”  

“Go to him,” he said with a shrug. “Take the jet. I’ll make the call.”  

You blinked at him, stunned. “You—you’d let me do that?”  

“Of course,” Jon said, waving off your concern. “You’re part of the heart of this project. If being with him makes you happy, it’s worth it.”  

“But I don’t have a ticket, and I need to pack, and—”  

Dana held up a hand, already pulling out her phone. “Relax. I’ll call a car, and we’ll pack together. You just focus on getting there.”  

Before you could protest further, Jon had already stepped aside, dialing someone on his phone. Dana grabbed your arm and started steering you toward the waiting car.  

“You’re really doing this,” she said, grinning.  

“I—I guess I am.” Your voice trembled with excitement and nerves. “What if I don’t make it in time? What if—”  

Dana cut you off with a gentle squeeze on your shoulder. “You’ll make it. And even if you don’t, just being there will mean everything to him.”  

AT THE AIRPORT  

The private jet was waiting for you, its sleek frame illuminated by the glow of the runway lights. You quickly texted Pedro’s manager and assistant, letting them know you were on your way.  

You: I’m coming to London. Please don’t tell him. I want it to be a surprise.  

The response was almost immediate:  

Franklin Latt: Got it. He’s going to lose his mind—in the best way.  

As you settled into your seat and the jet began to taxi, your heart raced. Seven hours separated you from Pedro, but for the first time in days, the distance didn’t feel insurmountable.  

You leaned your head back against the seat, clutching your phone tightly as you closed your eyes. You could already picture the look on his face when he saw you.  

Just hold on, Pedro. I’m on my way.  

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON, ODEON LUXE LEICESTER SQUARE — EVENING

The energy in Leicester Square was electric. Fans filled the barricades, the roar of excitement nearly drowning out the camera flashes as Pedro made his way down the red carpet. Dressed in a sharp black shirt, the top unbuttoned, slacks, his signature charm, and a warm smile lit up every interaction as he stopped to greet fans and pose for photos.

The press area was bustling, and soon Pedro found himself standing in front of a journalist holding a microphone.

“Pedro, congratulations on Gladiator 2! How does it feel to be here tonight celebrating this film?”

Pedro grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It feels incredible. This is one of those projects you dream about as an actor, and to see it all come together, to see everyone’s hard work pay off, it’s… it’s a real honor.”

The interviewer nodded. “You’ve had an amazing year, between this and your other projects. But we couldn’t help but notice that someone special in your life had a big night recently—the Wicked premiere in New York. Did you get a chance to see any photos?”

Pedro’s face lit up instantly, a laugh bubbling out of him. “Oh, I did. Believe me, I did. She sent me some pictures, and I’ve seen the ones floating around online too. I mean… she looked absolutely stunning. Like, knock-you-out, breathtakingly gorgeous. I might be a little biased, but still.”

The crowd nearby caught wind of his gushing, and a few cheers erupted. Pedro laughed, scratching the back of his neck.

“Honestly, I’m so proud of her,” he continued, his voice softening. “She poured so much of herself into that screenplay, and to see her get the recognition she deserves? It’s the best feeling in the world.”

The interviewer smiled. “There’s definitely a lot of love and mutual admiration between you two. Word on the street is you’ve got a bit of a friendly competition going on—Gladiator 2 versus Wicked. Any truth to that?”

Pedro chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, it’s absolutely true. We’ve got a bet going. She’s convinced Wicked is going to sweep the box office, and I, of course, have complete faith in Gladiator 2. Let’s just say the stakes are high—winner gets breakfast in bed for a week.”

The interviewer laughed along with him. “That’s adorable. Who’s winning so far?”

Pedro smirked. “Let’s just say she’s got me a little worried. But I’ll never admit that to her.”

LATER, BACKSTAGE

Pedro leaned against the wall, sipping from a glass of water while chatting with Paul Mescal. Their conversation flowed easily, but Pedro’s gaze kept drifting toward the entrance, as if hoping for some sort of miracle.

“You’ve got that look again,” Paul teased, nudging him with his elbow.

“What look?” Pedro asked, feigning ignorance.

“The ‘I’m desperately in love and missing my girl’ look,” Paul quipped with a grin.

Denzel Washington, who had just joined the conversation, chuckled. “He’s not wrong, man. You’ve been staring off into space like a lovesick teenager.”

Joe Quinn walked by, overhearing the exchange and throwing in his two cents. “It’s cute, though. Very romantic. Someone should write a movie about it.”

Pedro rolled his eyes, though a bashful smile crept onto his face. “Okay, okay, I miss her. Can you blame me? She’s halfway across the world, and I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Frank, Pedro’s manager, stepped in, giving him a supportive pat on the back. “You’ve got it bad, buddy. But hey, it’s not a bad problem to have.”

Frank couldn’t help but smile to himself, already knowing what Pedro didn’t—that you were on your way. He could only imagine Pedro’s reaction when he saw you walk through those doors.

“Alright,” Pedro said with a dramatic sigh, “can we please focus on the fact that we’re here for Gladiator 2 and not my love life?”

“Sure,” Paul said, smirking. “But if she shows up, we’re all watching you lose it.”

Pedro laughed, shaking his head. “I’ll take that bet.”

Little did he know, he was about to owe a lot of people a round of drinks.

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON, ODEON LUXE LEICESTER SQUARE — EVENING  

The crowd in the after-party buzzed with excitement, a mix of A-list chatter and glasses clinking. Pedro stood near Lux, their conversation about the night’s success lighthearted, though his gaze kept drifting toward the entrance. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, only that the ache of missing you hadn’t dulled, even amidst all the celebration.  

Lux, sharp-eyed as always, caught the slight shift in his expression and smirked. “You’ve got that look again,” she teased.  

“What look?” Pedro asked, feigning nonchalance as he sipped his drink.  

“The one that screams, ‘I wish she were here.’” Lux nudged his arm playfully.  

Before he could muster a witty retort, Lux’s eyes darted toward the entrance, widening in surprise. “Well, speak of the devil…”  

Pedro turned, following her gaze, and the breath left his lungs.  

There you were, stepping into the room, your black silk gown catching the dim lights perfectly. Your hair, slightly tousled from the rush, framed your face with an effortless beauty that made his heart stop. Heads turned as you walked in with Frank, but Pedro didn’t notice anyone else.  

He froze, jaw slack, his mind racing to comprehend that you were actually here.  

“Pedro,” Lux whispered, amused. “Close your mouth before you catch a fly.”  

But Pedro couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. All he could do was watch as you walked toward him, the soft smile on your lips turning into a grin as your eyes met his. He vaguely registered Joe, Paul, and Denzel laughing nearby, but he didn’t care. You were here.  

When you finally stopped in front of him, your grin widened, and you quipped, “Sorry, I’m late. Traffic was terrible—there’s a movie premiere happening, and I—”  

Before you could finish, Pedro moved.  

He swept you up in his arms, lifting you off your feet as a chorus of cheers, whistles, and laughter erupted around you. You let out a surprised giggle, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he held you close, burying his face against your shoulder.  

“Dios mío,” Pedro murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re here.”  

“I’m here,” you whispered back, your fingers threading through his curls.  

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes brimming with love. “I can’t believe this. You’re really here.”  

You smiled, tears threatening to spill as you cupped his face. “I couldn’t let you have all the fun without me.”  

Pedro didn’t hesitate. He closed the distance, kissing you with a fervor that made the entire room fade away. The kiss was deep, all-consuming, and when you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless.  

Your laughter broke the moment, and Pedro pressed his forehead to yours, his hands still firmly around your waist as if afraid you might disappear. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice trembling slightly.  

“For what?” you asked softly, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.  

“For being here. For being you. For… everything.” His voice was low, reverent. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’ll never stop thanking the universe for it.”  

You kissed him again, a soft press of lips this time, and smiled against his mouth. “You don’t have to thank the universe. Just let me love you.”  

Pedro let out a soft laugh, his arms tightening around you. “You’re incredible, you know that?”  

“You’ve mentioned it once or twice,” you teased, resting your head against his chest as the room slowly came back into focus.  

From the sidelines, Joe nudged Paul, chuckling. “Think he’s gonna let her go anytime soon?”  

Paul smirked. “Not a chance.”  

Denzel clinked his glass against Joe’s. “Now that’s a man in love.”  

And Pedro? He didn’t care about the laughter, the cameras, or even the early morning call time tomorrow. For now, you were in his arms, and nothing else mattered.

[bishicat]

I think he actually really wanted to go :(

[boredth]

An eye for an eye, a life for a life

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

F*CK, KILL, MARRY — nsfw alphabet w john wick (&femreader)

[Warnings: NSFW, discussion of various sexual and kink topics that are 0% canon and 100% my fantasies opinions] gif cred: @lunaspacks & @gifpacklove

[A]ftercare

The literal king of aftercare. It does not matter what kind of sex you’re having with John—even if it’s of the slowest and sensualist variety—he’s making sure you’re clean, kissed, snuggled, and hydrated afterwards.

[B]ody Part

What part of your body does this man not consider his favorite part, is the better question? Seems like his goal in life is to get every little piece of your flesh—especially the batches you don’t like—into his mouth and hands so he can convince you how much he loves, craves, pines after all of you. Speaking of hands, of course you love his chunky, scarred, battle worn fingers. And, since that seems to be your favorite part of him, he’s happy to agree, and wiggle his digits in front of you every once in a while as a teasing reminder of just how much you like them.

[C]um

The only thing John Wick likes teasing more than you, is himself. He’s entirely too good at keeping you both up all night either cumming or just on the precipice of it, so, by the time you’re both spent, things tend to be sticky and soaked in more than just sweat and saliva.

[D]irty Secret

There’s nothing he keeps from you, really. If you’re into it, he’s into it, and vice versa. Look at those puppy dog eyes and tell me you’re gonna tell this man no if he wants to suck your toes.

[E]xperience

Might have been a bit of a whore in his younger days, when he was still trying different bad coping skills for dealing with his own self loathing. Present, John has to really have that emotional attraction for his pants to get tighter, but he absolutely knows his way around female anatomy—as evidenced by yours and his soaked sheets.

[F]avorite Position

Either his face tucked up inside your pussy so deep his hair gets wet (John Wick’s favorite activity is making you cum in his mouth), or your knees hooked over his shoulders so he can watch your eyes roll back in your head while he reaches screaming, teeth gnashing, hellishly pleasurable depths.

[G]oofy

This one very much depends on his mood, although he’s not opposed to play fights and chasing you around the house a little bit before bending you over the couch and fucking his winning prize. He’s more playful than not most of the time, always teasing and sly, grinning against your lips and nuzzling your thighs and starting tickle fights —which may just be the only sort of fight he actually loses (sometimes).

[H]air

This man is not shaving that often these days…Something(one) else is taking up his free time. Plus, he loves to see beard burn on your skin—it means you’re his. He truly does not care at all about your body hair; whether you shave or don’t, he’s still burying his face in your cunt.

[I]ntimacy

Loving and fucking go hand in hand for him; where there is no love, there is no fuck. If he’s fucking you, he’s loving you at the same time, sometimes so deeply and intensely that the emotion becomes more overwhelming than the actual sex, which is a feat of its own. Constantly saying the dirtiest, sweetest shit to you—commanding your attention again when you try to bury your head in a pillow or close your eyes for some reprieve from his attention.

[J]ack off

You’ve both made a maddening deal that you won’t cum unless you’re in the other’s presence. It gets exceedingly frustrating at times, especially when he decides to come home from a week-long contract and then edge you out of your fucking mind for a few hours before he sends you to heaven and back on his cock

[K]ink

Hide and seek — spoiler: you always lose. Topping from the bottom — whatever you’re into, he’s into. Whatever you want, he’ll give it a try with enthusiasm. He loves pleasing you, serving you, giving you everything that you ask for and then some. John Wick is a service sub at heart, even if he takes the dominant roll to prove it. Edging and overstimulating — Living a life of pain, agony, and heartbreak has made him appreciate the finer things in life, like his cock and your cunt aching so desperately it becomes painful. He can spend all day nibbling your ears, teasing you with dark promises, brushing against your little sensitive spots, and then all night kissing your swollen clit and tickling your gspot and fucking you slow and devastatingly softly. And then there’s his love for receiving edges, leaking pools of precum while you tease his cock and kiss his tummy and nibble his hipbones.

[L]ocation

Private. He wants you to himself. The thought of someone else seeing or touching you, unless it’s something you really crave, makes him want to break bones stuff. Besides some hand holding and light cheek pecks in public, he’s not one for PDA.

[M]otivation

You don’t have to try to turn John on, which is both a blessing and a curse. More than once have you purchased a pair of cute (not even that sexy underwear) that he has ripped in half so that his impatient mouth can latch onto your pussy. He also adores femininity in all its purest forms—pretty sundresses, little strappy heels and sandals, the curves and soft places on your body, your cute giggles and soft touch and adorable pouting. Even better if you’re naturally not feminine to begin with, and take on a more masculine role; he loves to bring the little lady out in you, and take care of her.

[N]o

John will get a little rough if you ask; spank you, fuck your soul into the next life, a little bit of facefucking, but all the while he’s checking in on you, making sure you’re okay, asking if you need anything, giving you little breaks. He’s just naturally so sweet to you, it’s hard for him to complete a rough session without constant reassurance from his babydoll. So, gags are a no. He wants to—likes to—hear you, and he doesn’t need something obstructing that.

[O]ral

There are two ways that this could go. 1) With Wick slurping between your squishy thighs until dawn, delaying one orgasm after another until you’re sobbing and thrashing, until he finally lets you cum with his pruned fingers fucking up inside and sore tongue on your massively swollen clit. 2) With Baba Yaga burying his face into your folds, still in the sweaty work suit and maybe even a little blood on his tie, and taking you to heaven and back until he thinks you’re wet and stretched enough—spoiler, you are both of those things as soon as you see him…as soon as he opens his mouth—to take his cock.

[P]ace

Quick, bruising fucks in the car. Weekends in his woodsy, romantic cabin where you spend more time on his dick than off. Slow tonguing on the kitchen counter. Riding him on the doorstep while he’s in his suit when he just wants to get you off one more time before he goes off on a long job.

[Q]uickie

He prefers slow and sensual and teasing, but sometimes his cock disagrees with all that. He’s a man, after all, has needs. When he gets that haunted, dark, narrowed, pussy hungry look in his eyes—you’re fucked. You don’t know this, and he might not either, but that’s the same look he gets when he’s hunting a target.

[R]isk

What is the need for it? You’re his, completely. He doesn’t require added adrenaline when you’re around—you are his high.

[S]tamina

Y/n: *slaps John Wick’s ass* trust me, this baby can go for miles. Wait no, no, John-JOhN! Listen!—

[T]oys

As familiar as he is with the world and how it runs, he himself is a bit old school. That means holding doors open and putting you on the opposite side of the sidewalk away from traffic, but it also means he prefers to get you off with himself rather than any plastics or silicones—that is until you showed him just how fun they could be. Now, he may be initially resistant to vibrators and dildos, but that doesn’t mean he’s not privy to other tools that aid in your undoing—feathers, belts, ties, rope, his gun (unloaded, of course, don’t worry).

[U]nfair

Sometimes you feel like all the stoic, broody, dark assassin does is tease you. Not that you’re complaining, as long as his tongue or his fingers or his teeth are on you.

[V]olume

John Wick is a man of focus, determination, and sheer will power—but, make no mistake, he whimpers for you just as often as he growls.

[W]ild card

John didn’t think he’d get much out of thigh riding, until he saw you completely bare grinding your soaked cunt against the tensed muscles of his leg while he remained full on suited in black. Your fingers wrapped around his tie, the thick Kevlar of his jacket, rumpling and dampening the pristine white shirt underneath, mouth open and panting, flushed and grinding, desperate to get yourself off, nipples plucked swollen and dark by his fingers.

[X]-ray

Big Wick Energy. And, surprisingly, something you love to bite and poke, a cute little permanent pudge on his lower tummy amongst the hard panes of ab and tendon and muscle.

[Y]earning

If you’re both in good health—alright, sometimes even if you’re not (see: bullet and stab wounds, period cramps, broken bones)—you’re fucking. Often and earnestly. Debauching every available surface as soon as you get through the doors of each other's dwellings. He’s spent a lifetime training to kill, honing his body into the perfect weapon, building his inhuman stamina, unsure of why he was doing all of it in the first place—until he realized it was the universe’s grand design to assist him with fucking you whenever and wherever he wants; even when you get tired and he has to use you past the point where you can’t move or speak or think. As you’ve come to learn, it doesn’t matter if you’re too cockdrunk to assist, because John can fuck for the both of you.

[Z]zzzzzz

When he’s actually done, he’s out immediately. Just one of those common manly traits you like to poke fun at him for. At least he sleeps, now.

[adonis-koo]

!!!! when I tell you I’m screaming in delight!!! I love seeing people make moodboards or playlists based on my fics, I love EVERYTHING about this thank you so much!! 🥹🫶🫶🫶🫶

“The world was on fire, and no one could save me but you.”

╰┈➤ A playlist inspired by the fanfic “Wicked” by @adonis-koo​.

i. landfill - daughter ii. nicest thing - kate nash iii. helium - sia iv. carry you - ruelle feat. fleurie v. war of hearts - ruelle vi. seven devils - florence + the machine vii. red dust - james vincent mcmorrow viii. still - daughter ix. fire in the water - feist x. never let me go - florence + the machine xi. my love - l.a band (originally by sia) xii. heart - sleeping at last xiii. wicked game - james vincent mcmorrow (originally by chris isaak)

♫ Listen on Spotify | ✦ Series Masterlist | © Pics from Pinterest/Weverse

[hemlock-dreams]

once again, i am giving into the demons. T_T

[johnwickb1tsch]

Yandere Tex Johnson x Witness!Reader x John Wick Imagine WIP Part 7

@treedaddymcpuffpuff @sweetwolfcupcake @tammykelly & maybe @lilspookymeh if u want??? 😜

whenever ur ready @treedaddymcpuffpuff 😘😘

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Previous part here

Words: 4,362 Pairing: Negan Smith x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Warnings: language (duh, it's Negan), references to past violence, references to traumatic events, fear and anxiety, mentions of illness and mentions of character death (Lucille), sexual content Summary: Having healed up from Dante's attack, Y/N pays Negan a visit. A/N: This is the last part in this series. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. It's always bittersweet to conclude a series, but opens the door for more new writing. <3 Looking forward to more Negan in the future! <3 Thanks for reading!

Why were you so nervous? You were wringing your hands as you climbed the steps of the apartment building and let yourself inside the outer door. Your heart was fluttering in your chest like a moth around a lamp. You chewed on your bottom lip as you headed down the hallway and stopped in front of a door with a shiny brass “4.”

You pulled in a deep breath and knocked, shifting a bit nervously as you waited for a response. You didn’t have to wait long. Negan pulled the door open with a curious expression which quickly grew into a relaxed smile when he saw you standing there in front of him. The light in his hazel eyes took you aback.

“Hey, doll. Well, isn’t this a nice fucking surprise?”

“Hi,” you greeted him. “Is now a bad time?” you asked, laughing a little, nodding toward the paint splotches on his gray t-shirt.

“Not at all,” he smiled. “Anytime is a good time for you. Come on in,” he said.

Negan stepped back to invite you inside. “Thanks,” you replied, crossing the threshold. Your heart was still racing more than it should. Negan closed the door behind you and followed you up the hall. “Doing some redecorating?” you asked, stopping in the living room. You could see old sheets draped over some furniture in the next room and a few brushes sitting out on a paint can.

Negan swept a hand back through his hair. “I’m sure you’ll be surprised to hear this, but I’m not really a flowered wallpaper kind of guy,” he said. “I found some decent supplies so I thought I might as well make this place a little more mine.”

You paced over to the doorway and peeked into the next room. The walls were freshly painted with a deep, dark blue. “Mmm,” you hummed, nodding. “Bit different than your last digs. And the ones before that…”

“Different is a good word.” He sighed suddenly and you looked back at him. “Fuck me, it’s good to see you,” he said. “You’ve got no idea how good. I didn’t realize it but I really got used to seeing you at least at every meal,” he said. You watched his eyes drift up to the fresh scar on your forehead, to the still healing split in your bottom lip, and then down to the fading bruises on your neck. His smile faltered a little at the sight and you thought you saw a faint flicker of anger in his eyes.

“Are you going through withdrawal?” you teased him, trying to lighten the mood again.

“Are you implying that I’m an addict and you’re my drug?” he asked in a deep voice. He watched your eyes widen a little and then crinkle in a smile as you held in a laugh.

“Maybe. Is that… accurate?” you asked with a hesitant laugh.

Negan pulled in a deep breath and there was some ember burning in his hazel eyes as he let it out slowly, his attention a bit intense as it was fixed on you. “Maybe,” he said in a low voice, gravel on the edge of it. He crossed his arms over his chest and smirked at you again. You registered the lean but strong muscles of his forearms. They were peppered with tattoos, revealed by his gray t-shirt. You felt a burst of warmth in the middle of your chest.

You ducked his gaze (chicken…) and found yourself nervously chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I’m sorry I didn’t come by sooner. Things have been busy with the council since Dante, um—‘opted out’,” you said. “And then I’ve still been having some symptoms, so… resting a lot.” You still felt a wave of fear and a cold chill every time you thought of the doctor who had nearly killed you. Sometimes you had nightmares about him bending over you, the look on his face, the feeling of being totally helpless as you struggled, of actively knowing your life was drifting away under his hands. Negan’s voice pulled you from that dark trail of thoughts.

“You don’t have apologize to me, darlin’. I’m just glad you’re here at all,” he said softly. “Did they figure out how he punched his ticket?”

“Not for certain. But Siddiq suspects a cyanide capsule or something similar from what they saw when they found him dead in the cell. Daryl had searched him right after—after I was in the clinic when he went to question him. He didn’t find anything, but something that small would be easy to hide.” Negan nodded, his brow knit and expression serious. “I just wish we knew why he—why he wanted Alexandria to fall so badly. Everyone here was nothing but kind to him. There were no clues about it at all.”

Negan nodded. “I don’t think that fuckwad was ever gonna talk,” he said seriously. “And I’m real glad he’s dead. I might have gotten into trouble again putting his limp-dick, coward ass down myself after what he did to you,” he growled. You could see his hazel eyes darken with rage again as he thought about Dante’s attack. And there was a deeper emotion bubbling beneath the anger, something he hadn’t yet even fully admitted to himself.

“Well—” you ripped your gaze from his, ducking your head once again (double chicken…), a soft pout on your lips, “better you don’t get in trouble again, Negan. You’ve only just gotten out.”

“I’m guessing I have you to thank for that,” Negan said. “At least, in part.”

“First of all, you have yourself to thank for that. People are seeing how you’ve changed. Secondly, I withdrew from the vote. Seemed like a… minor conflict of interest considering it was my life that you saved,” you explained.

Negan nodded. “How close was the vote?” he laughed.

You smiled at him. “Not as close as you’d think,” you said. Negan would have to accept that as an answer. You paced around his scantily furnished living room and looked into the kitchen. He hadn’t been in the new space long, only since you’d left the clinic which was perhaps a week and a half ago. Before that, he’d pretty much refused to leave your side and Michonne had given in and not asked him to return to the cell once Dante had… vacated it.

You were curious to see how he’d make the apartment his as he got settled. He did have some of the shelves stocked with books already, including the ones you’d given to him when he was still in the cell. You looked through them, running your fingers over the leatherbound spines, tilting a couple down to look at the covers. Negan watched you from his spot leaning up against the doorway. He liked the sight of you here, looking relaxed and (in his opinion) like you belonged. It was a sight he could get fucking used to. You suddenly glanced back at him and smiled, perhaps even blushing a little as you realized his eyes were on you. “Are you being nice to the neighbors?” you asked, pacing over to the couch and sitting down, sinking into it and making yourself at home.

“Neighbors?” he laughed. “I’m pretty fuckin’ sure Michonne purposely put me into an empty building. Not too many people want the big bad wolf living next door,” he said.

“Well, maybe that’s for the best,” you admitted. “For you and for them.”

“Oh, absolutely. I plan to be downright vile and filthy in here. It’s gonna be my hedonistic bachelor pad,” he joked. “Interested?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “At least you’re honest in your advertising,” you retorted.

His teasing smile faded and then he was staring at you again with that look on his face, the one that was so soft it raised goosebumps on your skin. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. You felt your face flushing again. “What?” you asked him, one of your eyebrows lifting.

He shook his head. “Nothing. I just like the sight of you on my couch.” He straightened up. “In fact, I’ve got just the fucking thing for the occasion…”

You watched curiously as he went into the kitchen and quickly came back with a wine bottle in hand and two glasses. “Where the hell did you get wine?” you asked as he sank down beside you on the couch.

“Doll, I’d think you would have realized by now how resourceful I am,” he smiled, popping the cork. He was just pouring the second glass when he stopped, knitting his brow. “Wait—should you be drinking this after what happened? How’s your noggin’ doin’?” he asked, looking suddenly deeply concerned.

“It’s been two weeks. One or two glasses won’t kill me,” you replied. “I won’t tell Siddiq if you won’t…”

“Oh, thank fuckin’ God. I’m clearly only plying you with alcohol to lower your inhibitions for some freaky deaky,” he joked, giving you another amused glance.

“Negan!” you scolded him, feeling your face grow hot yet again.

“Too much?” he laughed. “I’m kidding of course, doll. The truth is… I—I think I’ve got you up on too high of a pedestal to ever try something like that.” He handed you a glass and you were giving him a queer look. He only smiled. That damn charming, wolfish smile that made your stomach flip.

“What are we drinking to?” you asked him.

“How about—and I know this is fucking cheesy but—new beginnings?” he offered, still smiling at you, his hazel eyes flickering over your face.

“I’ll drink to that,” you said softly. You clinked your glass against his and took a sip, settling in deeply to the cushions. Negan watched your smile fade and his brow drew downwards, low over his eyes. The hazel seemed to darken toward brown flecked with gold.

“Something on your mind, doll?” he asked.

You shook your head. “Not really. Just—sometimes it still hits me how close I came to dying that day. And—and when I was fading… instead of seeing the faces of people I loved, I could only look up and see him. You know how people say their life flashes before their eyes when they think they’re about to die? Or they’ll see their loved ones smiling at them, remember good memories? That—that didn’t happen for me,” you mused. “I could only see him. And feel the complete overwhelming fear and powerlessness.”

There was a long silence where you stared down into the deep plum color of the wine in your glass and you twirled it in your hands. “Oh, well… It’s over now,” you sighed. When you were brave enough to look up at Negan again, you were shocked to find that his eyes were glassy, seemingly brimming with tears.

He wet his lips thoughtfully and then sighed, setting his glass aside on the small table in front of the couch. “My wife—the only real one—her name was Lucille,” he said. “I was a complete prick to her—useless as far as being a good fuckin’ husband. I cheated on her. Spent money we didn’t have. Lost my job. But she—she was the real thing. Beautiful and smart and fiery and kind. I didn’t deserve her.” His voice was deep and laced with feeling. “She was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer…”

Your heart ached. His breath was shaky as he went on. It was staggering to hear this near mythical man’s deep voice laced with such tender feeling and regret.

“The world turned when she was in the middle of her treatment. I kept her going as long as I could, finding the medicines she needed and delivering her doses of chemo but—” he shook his head and squeezed his eyes closed. “In the end, I couldn’t help her anymore.” His voice broke as he went on, his eyes shining with tears. “I—I couldn’t do the one damn thing she asked of me at the end. She was ready to go and she wanted me to be... She—she asked me to stay and just be with her until the end and I couldn’t do the last of what she fucking asked me to do. I went running off after medicine which wouldn’t do a goddamn thing for her.” He pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth and drew in a long, steadying breath, blinking away the tears threatening to spill out of his eyes. “I was helpless to stop it.” He looked right at you, meeting your vibrant eyes, empathetic and concerned, with his own. It felt as if he’d cracked himself open to the core at that moment and your heart started to race. He reached for your hand and you startled a little at his touch, pulling your eyes from his and looking down as he smoothed his thumb over the silkiness of the skin on the back of your hand and then over the lines of your palm, much as he had that day in the cell, when he’d saved you those raspberries… Your heart was pounding as he spoke again, your breath stolen. His voice pulled your eyes back to his.

“When you fell that day, right in front of me but basically unreachable on the other side of those bars… and then when he came in—” Negan gulped and shook his head. “I felt that same fucking helplessness all over again. I felt the same terror that I wasn’t going to be able to do a damn thing. I can’t even put into words how fucking scared I was that I was going to lose you right in front of me.”

You had to remind yourself to breathe as he went on.

“It’s been a long fucking time since I’ve actually wanted anything. Except maybe to die or get out of that fucking cell. Until you came along, darlin’.” Negan’s eyes flitted down to your lips and back up to your eyes.

You found yourself nearly frozen as he clasped your face in his and caressed your cheek, his eyes searching yours. You felt the soft pout of your lips part just a little on their own, without thought. It was driving Negan crazy. He tilted your head slightly down and your eyes fluttered shut as he placed a kiss on your forehead beside the new pink scar and still fading bruising. His thumb traced along your jaw as his fingertips wrapped delicately around the nape of your neck. His eyes drifted down to the faint yellow and brown bruises from the doctor’s hands. Negan’s head tilted and he leaned in to kiss the side of your neck and then the front of your throat and then the other side. You felt like an electric shock ran through you at the touch of his lips, soft and tender, but heating you through. You couldn’t stop the breathy exhale that left you as he pulled away and met your eyes again, his hand resting on the side of your neck and his eyes searching your face.

His eyes flitted down to your lips again, perhaps settling on the now healed split in your bottom one. There was something pleading in the way he was looking at you, but somehow still dominant or powerful. You couldn’t quite find the right word… Like it was possible that he could consume you like the flames of a wildfire, but you knew he wouldn’t, at least not entirely. You felt nearly lightheaded despite having had perhaps two sips of your wine.

“You missed a spot,” you whispered to him… and he smiled. And it crinkled the corners of his eyes and set them alight. And the last of your reservations and hesitancy fell away as he leaned in, more hurriedly this time, and kissed you, tipping your chin up so your lips met his.

He kissed you with an unmistakable fire and need and you found yourself melting under his touch, yielding to his hands as they combed through your hair, tangling into it, and slipped down to grip your shoulders and smooth over the bare skin on your arms.

You reached for him and arched into his waiting body, your arms looping around his neck. Your fingers found their way into his hair as you kissed him back more heatedly, giving in to the need you too felt. The need to be touched and kissed and held by him, the need and desire you’d been warring with inside yourself since you’d felt that first spark of attraction months and months ago. Negan wrapped an arm around you and pressed the small of your back toward his body, tugging you against him, and smiling as you returned the kiss with more and more heat. He let out a hum and then a low chesty growl as your teeth dragged over his bottom lip and you fought him for more dominance.

“Easy, doll,” he warned you, separating just enough to speak. “Have you got any idea what you’re toying with right now?” he laughed. The man had hardly been touched in years and with every passing second, he wanted more and more to completely collide with you.

“What did I tell you about calling me ‘doll’?” you asked, your voice breathy and low. You pulled back and met his eyes again and they were lust blown and starry, as you were sure yours were… but there was something else in them too. Some other something like tenderness. Heat was pooling in your chest and your heart was beating so hard and fast you were sure he could hear it.

Negan smiled. “I thought that had grown on you, but I guess we’ll have to find something more suitable,” he replied. He pulled back just a little and bit his bottom lip, considering you, that damn smile still on his face. “Hmm…” he hummed thoughtfully. “What do you want, baby?” His voice was deep and smooth as he said it, and you had a feeling the jerk knew exactly what that word would do to you.

A small smile started on your lips and then grew into a wide, jubilant one. Your arms were still around his neck “I want you to fucking kiss me again,” you said.

And he was more than happy to oblige, crashing his lips against yours in an almost bruising kiss. He could faintly taste red wine on your tongue and soon you were straddling over his hips on his lap, your hands clasping his face and running through his hair, drifting down to press a palm flat to his chest, his muscles rippling under your fingers. His hands drifted over the angles of your back and down to the curves of your hips and buttocks as he hummed into the kiss. Soon his hands hooked under your knees and he tipped you onto your back on the couch, suddenly leaning over you, caging you beneath him.

Both of you broke for a moment to catch your breath and Negan again kissed your forehead and your neck. His lips drifted across the scattered bruises there up to your jawline and then back to your lips. He pulled back again and caught your eyes, his expression intense but searching. “Is this too much too soon?” he asked you.

You smiled up at him again, still catching your breath. “Fuck no,” you breathed.

“Thank fuckin’ God,” he growled, before capturing you in a kiss again.

It didn’t take long before you were tugging his t-shirt over his head and he was freeing you of yours with an urgency of a man starved. He lifted you from the couch to press your skin to his as he peppered more kisses over your neck and down your collarbone, his fingers leaving hot trails on your skin.

Soon, the two of you were just flushed skin and crashed together completely, moving seamlessly with one another. Negan’s attention was intense and electric and it wasn’t long before he was pulling sinful and blissful sounds from you and you from him, your softness and curves driving him wild, every roll of your hips dragging him closer and closer to the edge. As you neared your peak and his teeth grazed the shell of your ear, his fingers laced between yours, and the only things you could hear were your own pounding heart and his ragged breathing as the two of you crashed over your highs together.

“Fuck me, baby girl,” he growled, burying his face against your neck and into your hair and breathing in your smell. He felt like his heart was about to burst.

You let out a light laugh. “I just did,” you purred into his ear.

He pulled back, chuckling, and smiled down at you beneath him. “You ain’t wrong,” he said, smoothing some sweaty strands of your hair away from your face. He leaned in and kissed you softly this time, gently. “Fuck,” he sighed, sweeping a hand back through his hair and separating his heated skin from yours. He reached for a blanket folded over the back of a chair beside the couch and spread it over you, hooking a hand under your legs and laying them over his lap.

You were chewing on your thumbnail, a little stunned and bashful suddenly as you looked up at him.

“You need anything?” he asked you, smiling at the blush in your cheeks. “Glass of water? Towel? Lobotomy?”

You laughed and cocked an eyebrow at him. “Lobotomy?!”

“Yeah,” he said, chuckling. His hands drifted over your legs and drew circles on your hot skin absently. They smoothed down to give you a gentle foot rub as he looked over at you. “Because you must be out of your tits to fuck Alexandria’s Most Hated… I can’t believe you did that. Someone is going to have to give you a talking to.”

You shot him a half-amused look and rolled your eyes. “God, you’re right… What the fuck am I doing here?” you joked, starting to pull away from him and stand up.

“Nuh uh uh!” he laughed, catching you around the waist and tugging you back against him. “I am nowhere near done with you, baby,” he growled into your ear. Your top teeth dented into the pillow of your bottom lip. “How about we go get you cleaned up in a nice hot shower… and then get absolutely filthy again?” he asked, kissing your neck.

Goosebumps rose on your skin.

“And then you’re staying the night with me,” he murmured, brushing your hair to one side and kissing down your neck and shoulder.

“Oh, I am?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely, you are,” he said. “I want to hold you until the sun comes up. It’ll be the first good night of sleep I’ve had in six fucking years.”

You smiled to yourself. “Mmm… I guess that sounds okay,” you teased him, feigning indifference.

“‘Okay’?” he growled. “Oh, darlin’, you shouldn’t have said that…”

You let out a surprised peal of laughter as he lifted you into his arms and headed for the bathroom.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You awoke gently to sun filtering in through sheer curtains, staining the whole room a shade of medium blue. Negan’s warmth and weight was tucked up behind you, his arm draped over your waist. He rolled onto his back beside you as you stirred and you turned over to look up at him. Your hand landed in the middle of his chest and he gave you a peculiar look, a cautious smile on his handsome face.

“Morning,” you said, tucking yourself in against him more tightly, soaking in his warmth.

“Good morning,” he replied. You could feel the deep reverberation of his voice beneath your palm. “You doin’ alright, darlin’?” he asked.

“Hmm? Why wouldn’t I be?” you asked, a soft frown tugging at your lips.

“Well, I think part of me still expected you to roll over this morning and freak out at who was playing the big spoon,” he said.

You propped yourself up on your elbows and fixed a concerned expression on your face, looking up at him. “We’re going to have to work on your self-image, Negan,” you said. It pulled a laugh from him.

“Oh, are we, babe?”

“Yes!” you said seriously. “You have so much to offer. You’re more than your past.”

He sighed and gave you a more sincere, somewhat dreamy smile. “If you keep saying it, I might just believe it someday. Come here,” he said, pulling you back against him. You settled down under his arm, his hand landing on the dip of your waist. You tucked in against the crook of his neck. “Hey—one thing though. You can’t tell Daryl what we did on the couch last night. Or against the wall of the shower. Or at the side of the bed. Or the foot of the bed. Or—”

“Negan,” you sighed.

He laughed. “I’m just saying—he’s got this whole protective brother thing going on with you and I would like to remain alive and intact.”

“I can’t believe we’re in bed together right now and you’re bringing up Daryl,” you retorted.

“Hmm. That’s a fair point. Should we add another to my list of offenses?” he said, his hand drifting down to your thigh beneath the covers.

You laughed, heat already flushing in your chest and face. “Several, I think…”

“Several? You’ve got it, baby doll…” The End

[babsharrison]

Safe Haven - John Wick

(Prologue)

Pairing | John Wick x Original Fem! Character

Summary | In search of a breath in his tumultuous life, John Wick finds himself in a charming bookstore where he meets a sweet and welcoming woman. As they grow closer, John questions whether she can love him despite the dark secrets he carries. While battling the shadows of his past, he must protect the love that is blossoming and discover if hope and redemption are truly possible.

A/N | Hi luvs, I'm going to post the prologue of this fic I'm writing, but I'm in doubt about whether to continue this series or if it's good enough to keep going. Any feedback would help me a lot!

John Wick walked down the quiet streets, the soft glow of streetlights reflecting on the damp pavement. The air was cool, carrying the scent of rain and earth. He wasn’t running, wasn’t being chased. For once, the silence of the night wrapped around him like a comforting blanket, though his guard was never fully down. He needed a moment to breathe, away from the endless chaos.

Passing by a small bookstore, his steps slowed. The window display was simple—old books stacked in rows, with a single potted plant resting in the corner. It wasn’t the kind of place that drew much attention, but for some reason, John felt drawn to it.

He opened the door, the bell jingling lightly above him. Inside, the store smelled of leather, paper, and something sweet—like freshly brewed tea. The place was cozy, a contrast to the hard, cold streets outside. A soft voice drifted from the back of the shop.

“I’ll be right with you!”

John stayed still, scanning the shelves as his fingers brushed against the spines of books, some worn and aged, others new. His eyes caught a glimpse of a small table in the corner, where a tea set sat beside a worn book, pages marked with a ribbon.

“Sorry for the wait!”

A woman appeared from behind a stack of books. She was holding a mug in one hand, her other hand adjusting the frames of her glasses. Her smile was warm, her eyes kind—completely unaware of who stood before her.

John offered a slight nod, still not speaking. She didn’t seem fazed by his silence, instead setting down the mug and stepping closer.

“Not many people come in this late. Are you looking for anything in particular?”

John opened his mouth to respond, but found himself hesitating. He didn’t need anything. At least, not in the way she thought. “No,” he finally said, his voice low. “Just… looking.”

She gave a gentle laugh. “I get it. Sometimes it’s nice to get lost in a book, or in the quiet.” She leaned against the counter, her gaze soft as she studied him. “You seem like someone who appreciates quiet.”

John’s jaw tightened for a second, not out of discomfort, but because her words struck deeper than she realized. “Yeah,” he muttered.

“Well, if you need a recommendation, I’m here,” she said with a small shrug, her tone light. “Otherwise, feel free to wander.”

John gave a small nod of thanks and continued walking through the aisles. Something about the bookstore—about her—was soothing. For the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel the weight of his past bearing down on him.

He wasn’t John Wick, the assassin. Not here. Not with her.

Next chapter!

[adonis-koo]

“what do I have to do to earn your forgiveness? I’ll burn this entire fucking kingdom and rebuild it if I have too.” • masterlist

everything matters… Aurora

natures joint… (((O)))

mans world… Marina

everybody wants to rule the world… Lorde

crossfire… Stephen

playing with fire… Sam Tinnesz

the fruits… Paris Paloma

walk through the fire… Zayde Wolfe

ivy… Taylor Swift

lover. fighter… SVIRCINA

shum… Go_A

churchyard… Aurora

which witch… Florence + The Machine

in flames… Digital Daggers

labor… Paris Paloma

run boy run… Woodkid

spectrum… Florence + The Machine

too far gone… Hidden Citizens

seven devils… Florence + The Machine

towards the sun… Rihanna

artemis… Lindsey Stirling

carry me… Eurielle

[rosieposey-torturedpoet]

Y'all don't talk enough about the Bomb x The Roach and that's a problem

[twistedbloodstain]

marquis x assistant! reader: back when i was livin' for the hope of it all. [ i’d do anything to make you love me ]

plot: the one where he wants you to stop.

warning: obsessed marquis, baby trapping 2x, yandere/dark themes, 1k words

masterlist

the boy babbles at your knee while you're seated on a soft cushioned chair, although this boy is your boy. your baby boy who has learned to walk and talk for the past year but he isn’t just only your boy, he’s his too.

you sip your refreshment as your baby boy tries to climb on your lap, holding your knee in place to steady himself from falling on the ground, he calls out a sweet mummy for a shred of your attention but you can’t bring yourself to think properly at the moment when vincent’s in the room speaking with the doctor.

”mu..mmy!” your boy cries from the floor with a cherubic smile on his face.

you wanted to shush him from his calls so you could hear whatever vincent was saying to the doctor, vincent notices your silence to your son’s words taking a brief moment to look away from the conversation to inspect his small family. you meet his gaze and scowl at him. he glances at your boy again, quietly urging you to comfort the child. you scoff and simply stare at him.

you do it then, you’re the one that wanted him. you thought.

a small smirk curves his mouth and continues his conversation to the doctor. annoyedly, you call out for the nanny. aurene rushes in and greets you, you instruct her to take the boy for an afternoon nap even if it's noon. the boy yelps when he is raised to the nanny’s arms, once leveled to you eye to eye, he giggles reaching out to you expecting to be cradled by his mother but is sorely disappointed when he is slowly distanced away.

the small child begins to kick and scream at his nanny, wanting to be within the presence of his mother’s embrace, his cries begin to lower as he is brought out of the room. clingy like his father, you observe.

you don’t bother to look at vincent knowing he is somehow taken back at your coldness towards your son, you know he’ll talk about it later. massaging your temples, you pour a glass of whiskey for yourself whilst you wait for vincent to hurry up with his conversation.

several minutes later, the doctor takes his leave and you’re on your third class of whiskey. the door shuts and vincent walks towards you neither warmly or coldly. you don’t bother to comport yourself in his mood and sink back into the chair, abandoning the glass, you take the bottle and begin to chug it down your throat.

a hand wraps around your wrist and pulls back the bottle spilling a few drops over your dress, you look up and glare at him.

”that’s enough for today, my love.” he whispers.

“can i leave now?” you spit out.

”and go where?” he laughs. fucking asshole, you curse.

you don’t bother to reply and look away from him as you lower the bottle from your mouth, vincent tilts your chin up and smiles, too happy you observe.

”the doctor has brought good news for us today.” he chuckles as he begins to kneel in front of you.

ever since the gunshot incident, vincent has insisted on monthly check ups for your health and for your boy ever since he was born. if things had been different maybe you would’ve teased vincent about it, but it’s not. as far as you knew you were in perfect health and so was your son with him, unless he wanted to get rid of you and a disease was going to render you dead. you hope there is.

fool yourself all you can but you know what it is. vincent was gracious with showering his affections on you from expensive presents and to his bedroom. 

this is another child.

another chain to tie you down to him, to make you love him as much as he loves you. 

he grins as he cradles your stomach and rests his head on your lap.

”i pray for a girl. a princess to spoil and a companion for our boy. how lovely is that, my love?” 

you don’t reply and you feel a retching disgust building in your stomach, you try to take another swig of whiskey but is stopped again by vincent.

”you must stop drinking that, it can affect our child. you know that. our marriage has been blessed by another child, why waste something gifted by the angels?” he sternly questions.

”get off!” irritatedly, you shove him off you to the floor, throwing the bottle at the floor next to him a loud smash crashes through the room.

”i fucking hate you!” you scream at him as he gets up from the floor, his clothes damp from the whiskey.

“don’t i fucking know it.” he laughs at you fueling your rage. you try to grab another thing to throw at him but is abruptly halted when he grabs your arm and grips your chin.

”i am getting sick of your behavior, mon cher. i can stand your disgust of me but i beg you to never direct it at our sweetly blessed son.” he growls at your ear, you push away from him but is harshly pulled back, his grip tightening on you.

”then tell your kid it’s your fucking fault. tell him and your daughter that their mother can’t bear to fucking love them as a mother should because his father imprisoned her in this fucking place!” you scream at him, “you can put sons and daughters in this body all you can, call them children blessed by angels but i assure you sir. the only blessing you will ever have from them is the one from below and i will never love them because of you.” 

vincent is shocked by your words, never in your marriage had you spouted hateful words that were harsh to him and especially towards your own children. for a moment he doesn’t say anything but he doesn’t let you go either. you start to pull away slowly to catch your breath until vincent yanks you towards the nearest table.

”vincent, get off me right now.” you yell at him, smacking his shoulder as he hoists you on the table.

vincent grabs your chin harshly and looks at you sternly.

”heed my words, my love. you will never mutter those words ever again to anyone, especially to our children, do you hear? or i’ll treat you like the rest of them. bloody and dead.” he threatens, hiking your dress up to get a feel of your warm skin.

you shove his hands away from your thighs and slap him hard, this disorients him for a while.

”when you die before me, and you will. I’m gonna have a big smile on your face while i feed your ashes to your children. go to fucking hell, vincent.” 

vincent’s aggression begins to fade and is replaced by an empty slate, you thought he was going to leave you alone until he lurches back at you and claims your mouth, his hand returns to your thigh before you hear the unbuckling of his belt.

”our children, mon amour. ours. not even you can change that.” he chuckles before he’s greeted by another slap.

author’s note: spontaneous drop…blackout got me so riled up bc it detaches me from socmed and acads sb. this for the anonymous anon, hope u enjoy it :) anyways enjoy! don’t forget to like & reblog <33

[roosterforme]

So Fresh, So Clean | Rooster x Reader

Summary: At first, Bradley is mortified when the guys force him to stop at a carwash featuring bikini clad women from a college softball team. But when he meets you there, he starts to think he should thank his friends instead.

Warnings: Fluff and swearing

Length: 2000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

I wrote this for a request and for @wicked-remarks Summer Festival! Check out my masterlist for more!

"Dude, stop at In-N-Out. I'm starving," Payback whined from the passenger seat as Bradley zipped down the road in his Bronco.

"Nah, just stop at Starbucks," Jake argued from the backseat. "I need more caffeine."

"We're going to be late," Bradley groaned, passing the fifth fast food place while Payback whined and pointed out the window. 

"We told Nat we'd be there around noon," Coyote said from the back. "I mean, if we stopped for food, we could grab something for her too."

Bradley rubbed his hand over his face, wondering why he had agreed to drive all of these idiots. "Guys, if I stop, I'm only stopping once. Then straight to the beach. So decide what you want."

Then Coyote started stuttering at the same time Payback said, "Holy shit! Pull over! Pull over!" Bradley looked where Payback was pointing, and then he saw a sign that said University of San Diego Softball along with a car wash and a lot of scantily clad women.

"Fuck caffeine. We're stopping here!" Jake said, practically climbing into the front seat. "Come on, Rooster!" He started trying to grab the steering wheel, and Bradley had to smack his arm away.

"Seriously!" Bradley yelled. "Stop reaching for the steering wheel!" He slowed down as all three of his passengers started loudly begging him. "You want to look at a bunch of college girls who couldn't care less about you more than you want burgers?"

"Hell yes!" Payback sang as Bradley put his turn signal on and pulled into the parking lot where the collegiate softball team was holding a very popular looking car wash. There were so many cars lined up, and a lot of men milling around. Bradley parked next to a pickup truck and eyed the women in wet tee shirts and bathing suits while Jake pounded on the back of his seat. 

"They are practically naked! Get out so I can get out!" Jake whined.

"Chill!" Bradley said, loud enough that he had the attention of all three of them. "You guys need to be on your best behavior. I'm not kidding!"

"Look at them," Coyote said, pulling his sunglasses lower on his nose and whistling. "These girls are hot."

Bradley groaned. "Yes, I see them. And don't call them girls. They're women. And please don't touch any of them. Oh my god, I'm already so embarrassed."

"Let's go," Payback said, opening his door. "Time to flirt."

"They don't want to flirt with you," Bradley muttered. "You're thirty five."

"I dunno about that," Jake drawled, fixing his hair. "That redhead looks like she might like a daddy."

"Oh my fucking Lord, we are going to get kicked out of a fundraiser," Bradley groaned as he climbed out of his door and was nearly trampled by Jake.

"Relax man, I'm about to pay for your car to get washed," he said, shoving Bradley out of the way to get over to the redhead holding a hose. "Hey, sweetheart, my name's Jake...."

Bradley headed in the opposite direction, cradling his forehead in his hand. The last thing he wanted was to try to chat up some nineteen year old. He was almost thirty seven, for fuck's sake. But if they wanted to humiliate themselves, that was fine with him. But it didn't mean he needed to watch.

He thought he had found a nice spot to stand and wait while listening to a car stereo blasting Pour Some Sugar On Me. He was out of the way of the guys who were being roped in to helping the girls wash cars now. Jake's shirt was mysteriously missing, and Payback was spraying the hose while a few of the girls screamed.  

"Grown ass men," Bradley muttered, pushing his aviators up higher on his nose.

He heard soft laughter and turned to see you standing next to him. And of course you were gorgeous. And young. And looking up at him with a smirk that he should not have found adorable. 

"Yeah, well, the deans at the college are always amazed by how much money our car wash fundraisers make every summer," you said, smiling at him. He found himself smiling back. 

"My friends almost made me wreck trying to get me to pull over, so I guess that does make sense," Bradley replied with a nod. You were the only one on the team who was still dry, and he could see the straps of your bathing suit tied above the collar of your USD Softball tee shirt. You had on some tiny denim shorts and flip flops, and Bradley bit back a groan and forced himself to look away from you. 

"Your friends look like a bit of a handful," you told him. Bradley was treated to the sight of Coyote dancing to the music in the spray of the water. 

"Just show them women in bathing suits, and this is what they turn into." You were laughing and gaping up at him, as Bradley quickly added, "They're harmless though! I promise! Your teammates have nothing to worry about! They just like to flirt."

"Teammates?" you asked, head cocked to one side.

"Yeah," Bradley grunted, really trying so hard not to look directly at you. Fuck, this was getting difficult. He could tell that your bathing suit was red through your snug fitting white tee shirt, and now he was looking at your chest. He pinched the bridge of his nose over his sunglasses and rolled his shoulders, trying to focus on the dirt being rinsed off a filthy car. "Your teammates? Uh, are you a senior? Or team captain or something?"

Your laughter rang out as you said, "No, not exactly."

"Oh. Uh, what position do you play?" He knew he was rambling now. Really, he should just get out of here. 

"I used to play third base."

And now Bradley was biting his knuckle, because he was thinking about getting to third base with you, unzipping those little shorts in the backseat of his Bronco and slipping his hand inside. "Oh god," he swallowed hard. He was worse than the rest of the guys who were currently covered in soapy water and surrounded by softball players. 

"I'm their coach."

Bradley froze, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. "You're the coach? The softball coach?"

"Yeah. They're not my teammates."

Bradley turned to face you and let his eyes drift down your body and back up to your face. You did look a little older than twenty two. And that's probably why you weren't actively washing the cars. He must have been staring for too long, because you were smirking again as you held out your hand and introduced yourself. "Head coach of USD women's softball."

He took your smaller hand in his. "My name is Bradley, and I'm really hoping you're going to tell me you're like twenty eight years old?"

"I'm thirty," you said slowly, still holding his hand and looking at him with a confused smile. 

"Even better," he said, smiling happily and pulling you a little closer by your hand. "So, you played third base? Which school?"

"University of Oregon."

"Shit. You must be good."

"I'm very good," you told him, and Bradley squeezed your hand a little tighter. 

"I'll bet you are."

"Do you play?" you asked, really sizing him up now. 

"Yeah, just on a Navy rec league. But I'm very good, too."

"Bet I can guess which position you play," you told him before you bit your lip, and Bradley swore he was never going to let go of your hand. 

"Okay. Go ahead and guess."

"But...if I'm right, you owe me a drink," you said coyly.

Bradley's eyebrows shot up. "Then you better fucking get this right."

With a bright laugh, you told him, "You look like a shortstop."

"Damn. You are good."

"I'm right?" you asked, and he nodded. "You owe me a drink."

Bradley took his sunglasses off with his left hand, and your smile grew. "Listen, as soon as you told me you're not a student, I was absolutely going to ask you out. So all you did was make it easier for me."

You pressed your lips together in pleasure, and it was so adorable. "You're still holding my hand."

"I know," he confirmed with a nod. "When are you free? Tomorrow?"

You licked your lips. "I'm coaching a game tomorrow, Bradley. You know, since I'm not a student."

He smirked at the way you were sassing him before asking, "Is it home or away?"

"Home. At USD."

"You gonna invite me to watch?" he asked, and you looked so damn pleased with yourself now. 

"Would you be coming just to ogle the players?" you asked, nodding toward the soaking wet women who were now spraying the hose at Payback. "You know they wear their uniforms to the games instead of bathing suits, right?"

He narrowed his eyes and glared at you playfully. "It's much more likely that I'd be ogling their coach."

"Oh, I like that," you told him. "You can come then. And we can get that drink afterwards?"

"Absolutely," Bradley said, and he finally released your hand as he added, "Can I get your number?"

"Mmhmm." 

He retrieved his phone from his pocket, unlocked it and handed it to you. He watched you enter your contact information, and then you handed it back to him, letting your fingers linger on his. "Text me later today, and I'll send you a ticket to the game."

"Sounds good, coach. I can't wait."

You glanced to the side and then met his eyes again. "It looks like your car's done. And your friends look like an actual disaster."

Bradley groaned as he saw the three of them getting the soap hosed off so they could leave. "Yeah, let me go babysit them for the afternoon. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yes, you will." And then you put your hand on his chest and kissed his cheek before you turned away to help one of your players who was calling for your attention. 

Bradley tucked his phone away and watched you as he made his way toward the Bronco. You waved to him and he smiled back before turning to assess his three sopping wet friends. 

"Rooster, you idiot!" Coyote said, dripping water on the pavement. "You just stood there like a lump, man."

"We got phone numbers," Jake drawled, holding his wet phone while Bradley snorted. 

"Yeah, we did," Payback said, high fiving Jake. "And we're going to meet up with Sylvia and Taylor later tonight at a bar on their campus."

Bradley just shook his head. "Wring out your shirts and get in the Bronco. Nat's already going to kill us, I hope you know that."

"Worth it," the three of them said in unison. And while Bradley waited for them to dry off a bit, he sent you a text. 

Can't wait for tomorrow.

And right before he pulled out of the parking lot, you wrote back.

XOXO

And there was a ticket to the USD softball game for tomorrow afternoon attached. 

"Hey, what the fuck?" Jake said as Bradley drove down the road toward the beach. He had his phone to his ear as he added, "Taylor gave me a bogus phone number!"

Payback scrambled to unlock his phone, and a second later, he had it on speaker. "Oops, it looks like the person who gave you this number is not actually interested in you! Better luck next time!"

"Damn," Coyote said, completely crestfallen. "Sylvia gave us a bogus number, too."

"I spent fifty bucks to get this thing washed for nothing!" Jake complained, gesturing around the Bronco.

"I can't believe we all struck out today," Payback whined. "We should have just stopped at In-N-Out."

Bradley bit his lip and shook with silent laughter. "Yeah, you all struck out. What a shame." But he was already thinking about where he was going to take you out for a second date.

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

The way Rooster flirts, just holy shit. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls.

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@swthxrry

@chassy21

@yaboid19

@solacestyles

@avoirlecoupdefoudre

@daisyhollyxox

@callsigndiamond

@harper1666

@throwinsauce

@beebslebobs

@awesomebooklover17

@wintercap89

@whosyourgnomie4

@rosesinmars

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@wishfulwithwine

@backinwonderl4nd

@monte-carlando

@tetragonia

@gingerbreadandpaper

@emptyloverofmine

@apparently-sunshine

@chaoticassidy

@missmirandafe

@topgunbb

@changlingkhat

@sugarcoated-lame

@callsign-jupiter

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@andycanbeemotional

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@tallyovie

@shanimallina87

@starlightstories

@teddyluvs2sing

@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@lilyevanswhore

@o-the-o-grim-o-reaper-o

@hecate-steps-on-me

@xoxabs88xox

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

somnophilia with John wick from the prompts? 👉🏽👈🏽

jw & fem reader

gif by the wonderful @scarlettspectra. TRIGGER WARNING(s) Somnophilia (from Latin somnus "sleep" and Greek φιλία, -philia "friendship") is a paraphilia in which an individual becomes sexually aroused by someone who is unconscious. & a bit of exhibitionism

You had waited for him all day. Flitting around the house, cleaning and cooking and making sure everything was in line for his arrival. Wearing his favorite dress, playing his favorite music on the stereo, chilling a fresh bottle of his favorite bourbon.

A month and a half. That’s how long it had been since you last saw the person  whose presence gave meaning to your life. So, naturally, you were brimming with excitement, heart pattering wild and strong in your chest, body giddy and jittery—unable to regulate haywire nerves. John was coming home. 

He wasn’t often gone for this long. It was an important job. Something involving a very, very rich man paying him to complete a very, very difficult task. Of course, you knew what his tasks usually included, but didn’t like to think about it too much—couldn’t think about it too much…

It was just hard to imagine…your John killing someone. The same John that took bugs outside instead of squashing them, who cleaned up his bar table and tipped more than generously, who always held the door open and returned shopping carts. Who was sweet and kind and treated you like you were made of paper-thin glass unless you specifically requested otherwise. 

The text comes in mid-evening, just as you’re putting his untouched dinner away and cleaning up the kitchen. Hey, dollbaby, my flight got delayed until tomorrow at six AM. I’m sorry. Don’t stay up worrying about me.

It’s disappointing, but you have to admit you’re used to this. It just comes with what he does, and you’ll gladly endure it with a smile for him. However, that doesn’t mean you can grant his request and stop yourself from worrying. With a little sigh, you type back: Okay, John. Love you.

I Love you, too.

You try and pass the time; go for a late swim, read a book, snuggle up on the big leather couch to scroll TV channels for movies. Except none of that works to distract you from John’s missing shadow, and you just end up with your head buried in a throw pillow, inhaling his residual scent and pretending the cushion is his chest.

You decide to invite some friends over for a good distraction, and they bring card games and beer and wine. You have your own stash of alcohol, so between you and three of you closest, you end up drinking a little too much and passing out halfway through game night. 

John finds you in the icy blue light of breaking dawn, breathing even and slow and slung haphazardly on top of your mattress. The residual burn of spirits heat your skin ruddy, and you have long since kicked the comforter off to leave yourself bare and unsuspecting of the hungry wolf who’s cock fattens at the sight of you—his big tshirt snuggling against your curves, the hint of a panty seam visible along the soft skin of your hip

He discards his clothes into a pile on the floor, too starved for flesh to care about being his usual tidy self, and climbs on the bed to run the tip of his tongue along that delicious cut crease of supple flesh.

You stir and whine, hand coming up momentarily to bat the tickly feeling away, only to weakly fall back down onto the bed, its task lost in the dark deep of your slumber. 

With a wicked grin, he moves his mouth down your thigh, licks into the seam behind your knee, then treks a wet path of kisses over your calves. You squirm and kick, trapped by heavy sleep, defenseless under his tongue.

He knows that, by now, you’d be begging him sweetly to make you cum, arching up into his teasing mouth for more, hanging on to his beautiful throw of silky hair as he laps at your panties. Always so impatient, his sweet girl. 

God, he missed you. Missed your smell and taste, the way you buck your hips, that little tender space between thigh and cunt that makes you squeal when he flicks it with his tongue. 

He nudges your panties to the side to reveal an already glistening wet and swollen pussy, your clit ripe and fresh, ready for his mouth to pluck and taste. Even in your sleep, you’re more than ready to sheath his cock.

He suckles at your folds gently while you stir awake with a sleepy little moan. “J-joh-jjj,” you slurr, gripping at the plump pillows while your cunt tenses and thighs attempt closing. 

So sensitive in that foggy place between sleep and wake, with his familiar mouth on you, impatient and insistent.

He holds your thighs open and eats—devours your cunt sloppily from the back, groaning about how good you taste and how much he missed it. “It’s okay, baby, no no no, come’ere, I gotcha. That’s my girl.” Two fingers curled inside, coaxing a fast approaching orgasm from your perfect little pussy. 

“Gonna, gonna-ah c-cum,” you tell him, clenching on his fingers, once shy clit now grinding down onto his tongue. You’ve just missed him so much, and it’s been so long, and you haven’t even touched yourself at his specific request, so it’s no surprise that it only takes seconds of cunnulingus just the way he’s learned you love it to have you soaking the sheets below your hips. 

“Good job,” he coos, bringing you down with little kisses to your puffy lips and chafed thighs, sucking his fingers clean and closing his eyes against the savory flavor of your slick. “You okay, babydoll?” 

“Uh huh,” you tell him, still twitching from the heavy orgasm, eyes threatening to close again, too tired to wipe the little bit of spittle off your chin. 

You feel him shift behind you, and then his thick tip press against your still spasming entrance, ready to overwhelm and overstimulate and leave you a babbling mess. His cock is built for your pleasure and demise, and as he enters, invading and pillaging the sensitive walls of your cunt, your eyes fly open and you sob into the pillow.

Something like, “o-oh fuck-“

“Shhh, baby.” His warm touch finds the base of your skull, that soft tug on your unkempt tangles guiding you back into his slow, deliberate thrusts. “Your friends are in the living room, gotta be quiet for me.” 

“Y-yeah Jo-ohn.” You try and tell him just how much you missed him, but the words jumble and stick, translating to half-muffled moans. Tears bead at your waterline in submission to that first stretch of his unfairly girthed cock. 

He understands your incoherent babbles perfectly. “Fuck,” he growls, tip kissing your cervix, “I missed you, too. Missed this tight little cunt.”

You have to bite down on your knuckles to keep the animalistic sounds of pleasure at bay, as he fucks you. So often, this beautiful man makes love to you, slow and soft. This is not one of those times. 

If you could think, it would be about how loud the sound of his hard pelvis clapping against your soft ass is, as he chases that otherwise unobtainable high that only your cunt can bring—that he thought about every single minute he was gone…the reason he’s alive.

You’re sobbing from it all—the way he splits you open so perfectly, the tiny dark whispers of reassurance, the fact that he’s alive and well and all over and around you; big hand pressing your lower back down for better and deeper access inside your cunt.

The way he just knows, even in his own rough desperation, how to unravel you—make you see the cosmos and beyond, into the soupy blackness of unexplored universe. 

“You coming again, baby?” He doesn’t have to ask, because he knows you are, more than familiar with the way you unfold and shatter. 

“Y-yeah-huh.”

He puts you on your back with practiced gentleness, and cups your sweaty cheeks in his hands before sucking your bite-swollen lower lip into his mouth, managing to stay buried inside you through the easy transition, swallowing your whimpers while his cock works out the final flutters of your orgasm. 

“Oh, John,” you say, when he stops licking at your throat to allow the both of you some much-needed, panting breath. “F-fuck, John.”

“I know, baby, I know,” he says, brushing the sweaty hair off your temples and pecking tiny wet kisses over your face. “I gotcha, it’s okay. Johnny’s here. Open your pretty eyes, let me see you.” 

In a deep, stuttering thrust, when you clamp like a vice around him, he loses himself inside of you, and you are with him. Utterly overtaken, love burning through your blood, body singing in rapturous heavenly choir. This is as close to the pearly gates you will ever get, you think, as you float down from the high. 

There is a cut on his temple that you failed to notice, and you touch just below. “You got hurt.” 

“I’m better, now.” 

With him nestled beside you, arms wrapping around and sheltering your body with his own, legs supporting your bottom and cock still softening inside your cunt, you feel sleep creep back up like an old friend.

It isn’t long before he’s succumbed to it, himself, happily snoozing nestled in your hair. You don’t know what he’s been through in that long stretch of absence, but it doesn’t matter now. 

He’s here with you, and that’s enough.

[nataliedoesnotlie]