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zanazirafanfic · 29 days ago

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WIP Whenever (Remainder of 2024)

Here it is, my lovelies - the master (monster) list of every WIP from now through the end of the year. I'm listing them all in order, but am not including dates, because I SUCK at sticking to a schedule and it will only frustrate all of us.

I'm SO SORRY for how long it's taken me to finish both of these series, but I hope you all enjoy, and I look forward to a whumpy, Christmassy, Red Dead-filled remainder of 2024.

Happy holidays of all kinds, y'all!

01. Whumpcember Day 14: “Like A Drowned Rat" - Chapter 2, "An American Pastoral Scene." What should have been an easy job takes a sudden turn, leaving Arthur's life quite literally resting in the hands of the last person he would ever have wanted it to. Prompt: “Drowning”

02. 25DCC, Ch. 14: "Getting Snowed In” - 1896. Jake and Sadie Adler find ways to pass the time during their first blizzard together.

03. Whumpcember Day 15: "Cloghinne Winds" - 1907, post-Epilogue. Dutch is haunted by a ghost from his past he wishes he could forget. Prompt: "Hallucinating" (idea inspired by @tiredcowboyy)

04. Whumpcember Day 16: “Ringing A Bell” - Pre-canon/pre-John. Hosea takes a blow to the head during a robbery gone wrong; Dutch and Arthur are left to deal with the aftermath. Prompt: "Head Injury"

05. 25DCC, Ch. 15: “Icicles” + “Someone Spiked the Eggnog!” - 1910. A day of fun and frolicking in the snow in the MacGuire-Jones-O'Shea household, followed by a night of mischief and merriment (and eggnog.)

06. Whumpcember Day 17: “Where There’s Smoke” - Chapter 3, "Blood Feuds, Ancient and Modern." The raid on Braithwaite Manor goes just a little bit differently this time around, for both better and worse. Prompt: “Fire”

07. 25DCC, Ch. 16: “Family invited an old crush/first love to a dinner party.” - 1885. Dutch, Hosea, Susan, and the boys plan an early Christmas dinner, and a surprise guest arrives just in time to share in the merriment.

08. Whumpcember Day 18: “New Roles, Old Pains” - post-1907/pre-1911. While settling into his new life as a rancher, some old wounds remind John that while he may have escaped Dutch's gang with his life, he didn't escape unscathed. Prompt: "Chronic Pain"

09. Whumpcember Day 19: “Down To the Wick" - Chapter 3, post-BATPM. Unable to simply stand by and watch while Arthur withers away from infection, Sean decides he's going to help by shouldering Arthur's share of the work himself. It goes about as well as anyone would expect. Prompt: "Exhaustion"

10. 25DCC, Ch. 17: “Cuddling With Them” - 1910. After nursing Arthur through a nasty flu, Charles unsurprisingly comes down with it himself. He only ever wants one thing when he's not feeling well, and Arthur is only too happy to oblige.

11. Whumpcember Day 20: "Bubble, Bubble, Toil and Trouble" - While out on a hunting trip with Charles in the Grizzlies, Arthur samples a mysterious potion he found brewing in an abandoned shack - which, in hindsight, probably wasn't the smartest thing he's ever done. Prompt: "Drugged"

12. 25DCC, Ch. 18: “Big Hugs from Family” - 1903. Bill tries to hunt enough game for a big feast in honor of his first Christmas season with his two new partners. When he manages to get himself into trouble in the process, their reaction is not one he was expecting.

13. Whumpcember Day 21: "The Air That You Breathe" Chapter 4. Arthur hasn't forgotten the way Charles saved him from being nearly garrotted a few weeks back, and he knows that he'd return the favor in a heartbeat, if the tables were turned. But he had still hoped, for Charles's sake, that they never would be. Prompt: "Choking"

14. Whumpcember Day 22: "The Dose Makes the Poison" - RDR1, "You Shall Not Give False Testimony, Except for Profit." John's role as "random test subject" in Nigel West Dickens's latest money-making scheme is going perfectly to plan… until it isn't. Prompt: "Seizures"

15. 25DCC, Ch. 19: "First Christmas As A Couple/Family/Friend Group" - 1902. The Morgan-Smiths visit Tilly in Saint Denis. Arthur struggles between just being happy his little sister is happy, and wanting to put the fear of God into her new husband (just a little). Charles just hopes he doesn't have to try and break Arthur out of the Saint Denis jail again before the day is out, because he's pretty sure the officers still remember his face from last time. (for @photo1030)

16. Whumpcember Day 23: "Friendly Fire" Post-RDR2, Arthur Lives! AU. It's been years since the dissolution of Dutch's gang, longer still since Arthur's "vacation" with the O'Driscolls, but no matter how much time passes, some scars never fully fade. Charles finds this out the hard way. Prompt: "Nosebleed"

17. 25DCC, Ch. 20: "Happy Tears" - 1901. When Charles loses his mother's necklace during their travels, he's absolutely distraught; besides the photo taken when he was just a baby, it was the only possession of hers he still owned. Unable to stand seeing him so sad, Arthur uses every tracking skill Charles ever taught him to find it - and brings back a little something extra for good measure.

18. Whumpcember Day 24: "When the Bullet Hits the Bone" Pre-canon. The first time John gets shot is also the first time he and Arthur work a job without Dutch or Hosea, leaving it up to Arthur to get them both home and keep his brother in (mostly) one piece. Prompt: "Bullet"

19. 25DCC, Ch. 21: "Kissing Under the Mistletoe" + "Confessing A Crush When It's Snowing" - 1910. Lenny and Javier help their son prepare for a special date, before going on one of their own.

20. Whumpcember Day 25: "In This Borrowed Likeness of Shrunk Death" - pre-canon, 1877. Hosea, ever one for a bit of method acting, concocts a genius plan to make off with an entire horde of treasure from the mausoleum of a well-to-do family. The only downside is the trauma he inflicts on Dutch in the process. Oops. Prompt: "Coma"

21. 25DCC, Ch. 22: "Buying Last-Minute Gifts" - 1910. Abigail and John make a trip to Blackwater for some groceries, and bump into an old friend.

22. Whumpcember Day 26: "My Brother's Keeper" The Bell boys know better than to provoke their father when he's in one of his moods - that were one of the first things they learned, after Mama died and Daddy came to take them away with him. So why Amos picked tonight, when Junior is in one of the foulest tempers either of 'em have seen in months, to sass the man is beyond him. Don't matter why, though; Micah's the oldest, and it's him, not Amos, who's gonna have to answer for it. Alt Prompt: "Abused"

23. Whumpcember Day 27: "What Lurks Beneath" Chapter 4, "Country Pursuits." "'Hurry up, Arthur! Just - just don't look behind you!' Arthur's feet dug deep into the slimy muck, slipping and sliding. He wasn't sure how he kept his feet, and had he not been completely lost in his own panic, he might even have been impressed. As it was, all he could do was focus straight ahead - on the boat, on Dutch, on safety. Just a few more seconds, just a few more feet, keep running, keep running, don't look back -!" Prompt: "Bleeding Out"

24. 25DCC Ch. 23: "I'll Be Home for Christmas, No Matter What." 1910. In spite of the awful weather, Dutch and Hosea make the journey to Beecher's Hope.

25. Whumpcember Day 28: "What Is, and What Will Never Be" Epilogue II, post "American Venom." John visits an old friend, and a ghost from his past is finally put to rest. Prompt: "Sacrifice"

26. 25DCC Ch. 24: "Sneaking a Gift" - 1910. It's midnight on Christmas Eve, and while everyone else sleeps off their holiday dinner, Abigail decides to give John his present early.

27. Whumpcember Day 29: "The Terrors of Tall Trees" 1907, post-Epilogue II. That shortcut through Tall Trees was supposed to save time on the trip back from Owanjila, or so Uncle had said. True to John's luck, though, all it did was nearly get him killed. If he never sees another one of those Skinner bastards again, it'll be too soon. Prompt: "Paralyzed"

28. 25DCC Ch. 25: "Christmas Morning" + "Trying To Get A Family Photo" - 1910. The Marstons, Morgan-Smiths, and Van der Linde-Matthews (and Uncle) open their gifts and take a family portrait to celebrate the season.

29. Whumpcember Day 30: "Fever Bright" Chapter 4/5, post "Banking, The Old American Art" - In the midst of the chaos surrounding the failed bank heist, Mary-Beth falls dangerously ill. With the other men doing their best to move camp and the women watching over a wounded Lenny and Hosea, Kieran - only just recovered from his own injuries at the hands of the O'Driscolls - takes it upon himself to care for her until she recovers. Prompt: "Delirium"

30. Whumpcember Day 31: "Robbery and Dreams" pre-canon, 1870. Dutch Van der Linde is only fifteen when he leaves home, ready to live free and pursue his dreams, as is his God-given right. But, as he learns the hard way, life on the fringes of society is not nearly as idyllic as he imagined it. Prompt: "Homeless"

#zanazirawrites #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead fanfiction #rdr2 fanfic #fanfiction #Whumpcember 2023 #25 Days of A Cowboah Christmas #prompt fic #fic wips #my wips #wip whenever

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vmyvter · 2 years ago

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John Wick head cannon (idk which one already 💀):

• Caine & Koji were incredibly in love. A forbidden one. They knew whatever they had left of their past other than each other, they've lost. They love each other, yet are too afraid to love. Too afraid to find another, too afraid they'd hurt each other in the process. Koji saw Caine as a sweet, funny guy he once knew, the 20 years ago they've met; not the sarcastic, sad man Caine became over the years. Koji saw only the best parts of Caine, no flaw was ever detected. Caine remembers what Koji looks like, or at least, looked like. Caine saw him as a gentle, caring person, a single father raising a child. Caine never saw him again, he never can. A tale of beauty, a tale of heart break; that was all that the folks who knew would say; but never to Caine, especially not after what he had to do for John. He sees John as someone he truly does care for, someone he trained side-by-side as a young one.. Yet, the sacrifice he had to make, he regrets every day he lives, every breath he takes, every second that passes. John knew the importance of Koji to Caine, and Caine to Koji, but they never did, not until that very last breath.

• John can't sleep easily at night, always in a state of fear, and regret. He doesn't know what he fears; he only knows that the fear is not an other person; more of, himself. He regrets every breathing moment, from the day he started, to the day he takes his last breath; but until then, he will never be the same man. He killed the ones he loved, and in the process, killed himself, mentally. His state of mind, it only got worse. Nothing he's ever done, of anything he tries to do, it never helps the issues. It never did. He can only hope for another day, he can only pray for no other day. The only person who can Kill John Wick, is himself.

• Caine sits on his balcony every night since the death of Koji, the pale moonlight was never seen by Caine for so long, yet it seemed different now. More of, out there, a star watched him. His star; Koji. The one who shined so brightly, in the eyes of the blind man. Caine sits on his balcony, on the chair he brought with him, always talking to no one; talking about his day, knowing Koji was watching over him. He always had. Caine would always feel the warmth that fell upon him each time he knew Koji was around as he talks about what happened that say, and what might happen in the next. Caine could finally rest easy, knowing Koji was no longer in pain, in pain of protecting so many, sacrificing himself in the moment. Caine could only worry for the sake of Akira. Caine loved her like his own blood, his own family. Caine would rather die a death by Akira, than live a life of sadness. Akira saw Caine as a parental figure, but her heart wad torn in two places, not knowing how to cope any more. Caine is willing to die, just to see a smile on Akira's face once more, but he knew his death and Koji's death would make the situation for Akira worse, knowing she'd lose the other person she saw as a parent, after losing the first. She never did kill him. Caine took Koji's parental role, now no one else would, though she's legally an adult. Caine knew she needed comfort; and Caine knew he would be the only one who could be there.

((DISCLAIMER: Sorry for not posting :(. I'm very busy, i only have Sundays off now, and i want to spend as much time possible with my loved ones. Please don't expect too much from this account, other than a weekly post or two!! Love you guys!!! Bye bye <3!!!!)

#donnie yen #hiroyuki sanada #john wick #caine #john wick 4 #john wick chapter 4 #koji shimazu #keanu reeves #rina sawayama #idk how to use this app

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scoobydoodean · 2 years ago

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I sometimes wonder if Sam would have made more sense if he'd been a 13 year old kid or something. I have watched a lot of films and tv shows where you have the "Chosen One" trope for the younger protag and the "Protector" trope for the oldest, but the younger one is a LOT younger so the dynamic makes sense and is a lot clearer. SPN muddied the waters imo by making Sam and Dean only 3-4 years different in age, it contributed to my dislike of Sam in a way because why was he babied so much?? He's not THAT much younger than Dean. You could argue that it adds to the tragedy of Dean being parentified at such a young age, when he was only a child himself, but also it adds to my frustration over how they each get treated differently by the narrative and the fandom.

So. This would make the perceptions of the people I was ranting about last night make more sense, but I don't think it's the story Kripke wanted to tell (he's kind of a fucked up guy tbh—like—happy he made two shows I enjoy but when I watch them: jfc Kripke you have issues bro—and sometimes you make idiotic commentary in your shows while thinking you are saying something very moral and correct). The truth is though, these fans really should be expected to analyze media as adults, and look at a man in his 20s, 30s, and near 40s and understand that he isn't a child, and he isn't intended to be seen as one—not by Dean, not by fans, not by other characters, not by himself... but that that desire to frame him as a child is the result of childhood abuse that is perpetuated and rejected in turns—often by Sam himself—because he doesn't know how to stop—and we aren't always supposed to look at it and think that the actual narrative is intended to be that Dean is responsible for his issues. We are only meant to understand that Sam is choosing to frame things that way at a given moment in time.

The story Kripke wanted to tell originally—in part—is about two brothers much closer in age, but who both grew up as victims of emotional incest acted out against the eldest. It is important, within that story imo, that Sam is actually an adult with the agency to make his own choices. 13 year old Sam is a more morally clear framework, but it... isn't that interesting if I'm being honest. I like this much messier story, about how the scars of emotional incest don't stop existing and corrupting relationships into our adulthoods if we let them. While Dean is obviously the primary victim of the emotional incest acted out against him (father and mother to Sam; emotional support to his own father) Sam was also a victim of how this abuse acted out against Dean warped his perception of himself, Dean, and John. He was victimized by a dynamic that placed him as a perpetual child with no agency (even as he neared adulthood—even in adulthood) and his brother as a perpetual adult with ultimate responsibility and control over not just Sam's actions but also some level of control over his own father's actions. The warped thinking caused by emotional incest leads Sam to convince himself, at points, that he doesn't actually have agency (and Dean is the one denying him it, and therefore needs to be rebelled against as if he is actually stopping Sam from doing anything almost ever), and it causes him to in the beginning, frame Dean as John's spouse when he is thinking about their childhoods, and condemn Dean for what he didn't do to stop it. The latter is much more subtle, and it's also tempered by the moments where Sam does remember that Dean was a child—such as in Something Wicked.

When Sam blames Dean for his own decisions, he is retreating to the framework John set them up in, where he is a child who can't be held accountable, and Dean is responsible (ex: "And when dad came home" in Dark Side of the Moon) because it's familiar to him—and also because Sam harbors an extreme terror about his self-image and finds it extremely difficult to face his own flaws because he's scared of what they say about him more largely as a human being (which is, frankly, Johncore—but remember—I don't think about "johncore" the same way a lot of people do). This is NOT an okay thing for Sam to do, but it IS very interesting, isn't it? The 13 year old chosen one protagonist... I'm not sure I would have watched that show.

I have read, but haven't reblogged it because I have still been thinking about it—some commentary by AngelsDean on how Sam... isn't actually special. He is not a special boy. He was targeted by a fucking evil creep during his childhood and temporarily got powers. I agree with this, and I think it is important to understand. Sam is not the chosen one. Neither is Dean. They are both Some Guy™️ initially. The concepts of them having a special bloodline wasn't even thought about by Kripke originally—he didn't plan to introduce angels until Gamble convinced him iirc? (And also wanted to do away with the special children storyline almost immediately because he said it bored him). Sam is not uniquely chosen —and if he and Dean were, they would be chosen for destruction? Because their role introduced in season 4/5 was to destroy the world as the weapons of archangels. Their childhoods were intended to get them to say yes. Their fucked up childhoods—their inability to deal with them—were intended to make them eventually destroy each other and the world. This is all why, to me, Sam being an adult is important to the story. I don't mind that these themes exist in SPN and that they are tricky to navigate. I do mind when fans I was ranting about engage with these themes extremely selectively and ignore larger context and other ethical considerations constantly in order to build a framework that protects their extremely fragile image of their fave.

#mail

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leofrith · 2 years ago

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get to know a blogger // tagged by @alethiometry and @ainulindaelynn ❤️✨

Share your wallpaper:

this vp shot of mine from valhalla <3

Last song you listened to:

habakuk by apparat

Currently reading:

dipping into capitalist realism by mark fisher and i'm thinking about starting the ac valhalla sword of the white horse novel, or maybe gideon the ninth? choosing books is a pain in the ass because most of my books are still packed away in boxes and i can't remember what i have if i can't see them ashdgfhdfgshdf

Last movie:

i've been so bad about watching movies recently. i think it might have been john wick 3?

Last show:

newest episode of yellowjackets and immediately after that the first episode of black sails

Craving:

i really want another coffee. like a third coffee.

What are you wearing right now:

i just got back from meeting my aunt for coffee so i'm wearing actual clothes for once. oversized jeans and a flannel over a t-shirt.

How tall are you:

5'4"

Piercings:

nothing currently. i used to have my ears pierced but they closed up. i do really want to get them redone though, and some more on my ears, and maybe a septum.

Tattoos:

fancy dagger on my right forearm

michelangelo's david on my right thigh

two of the same floral design on the backs of my arms

tiny moka pot on my left forearm

"hush" on my right wrist

i have a ton of others i want to get but unfortunately tattoos cost money :(

Glasses? Contacts?

i have reading glasses that i never use because they give me headaches, probably because the prescription was wrong to begin with. i have astigmatism and it's mild enough that i can get by just fine but i should probably have glasses.

Last thing you ate:

leftover pizza from dinner last night

Favorite color:

blue but specifically cyan 💙

Current obsession:

assassin's creed (mostly valhalla as per usual, but origins is hitting me a lot harder the second time around than i expected, and i'm currently working up the courage to start the crocodile arc 😭), star wars (although it's waning... mando s3 is bad enough that i think i'm finally snapping out of it), yellowjackets, succession, black sails (in theory).

also in theory, writing!! but i haven't been able to write much this past month and i can feel the obsession fading a little bit :/ but i'm also thinking about my wips literally constantly.

Any pets:

my little cat guy oscar!! and also bolt but he's my parents' dog.

Favourite fictional character:

how the fuck. um. if i have to pick only one right now then it's eivor i guess!! i think about her literally constantly <3

The last place you travelled:

italy back in september!! i miss it :(

i am tagging (no pressure!): @variantoutcast @melodoka @milfmisspiggy @thecodyagenda @artschoolglasses @medlilove @freyastrider

#hiiiiiii hello #tag games

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eldritchsurveys · 11 months ago

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1161.

Number of Movies/Documentaries I Watched in 2023: 226 Genre I Watched the Most in 2023: I... don't know. horror, probably. Mike showed me what I was doin wrong with using Lboxd so when I take this for 2024 I should hopefully have stuff like genre stats

1. Best Movies I Watched In 2023? >> from each month, one new-to-me favourite and one old favourite that I rewatched: 1. Hagazussa / Velvet Goldmine 2. Honk For Jesus. Save Your Soul. / Twelve Monkeys 3. Nanny / The Fly 4. Sugar & Spice / Dead Ringers 5. Rigor Mortis / Birds of Prey 6. Spider-Man: Across the Spiderverse / Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story 7. You Won't Be Alone / Bill & Ted's Bogus Journey 8. Swiss Army Man / His House 9. In the Earth / The Woman 10. Perfect Blue / Silence 11. Akira / The House That Jack Built 12. Angel Heart (didn't rewatch a fave in December)

2. Movie I Was Excited About & Thought I Was Going To Love More But Didn’t? >> I wasn't exactly excited about Beau is Afraid but I definitely thought I would enjoy it more than I did. the first 20-30 minutes or so were pretty fun and weird but then it just... *longsuffering sigh* I had also hoped The Blackening would be a bit funnier than it turned out to be. still watchable and I'd still like more Black horror-comedies, but I definitely wanted more guffaws out of it. I'm not even gonna bother talkin about Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania... (at least Kang was good) OH! Renfield! THAT'S the one I was excited for and heavily disappointed by. I knew there was one (also, Last Voyage of the Demeter. not at all my favourite year for Dracula movies, that's for sure)

3. Most Surprising (in a good way) Movie I Watched in 2023? >> I was surprised by both Akira and Perfect Blue because I just assumed they would be a bit inscrutable to me (when a lot of "buffs" speak highly about a work I assume it's some shit I won't understand), but they really drew me in. also surprised by Host (2020) which I'd assumed would be watchable but not really anything to write home about considering the gimmick. but they pulled that one off pretty well!

4. Movie I “Pushed” The Most People To Watch (And They Did) In 2023? .

5. Best Sequel of 2023? Best Ending of a Movie I Watched in 2023? >> Across the Spider-Verse and as for ending I'm just gonna agree with prev "can't beat a dancing naked man" (Saltburn) because that was pretty good

6. Most Action Packed/Thrilling Movies of the Year? >> the John Wick quadrilogy

7. Movie I Watched in 2023 That I Am Most Likely To Re-Watch in 2024? >> In the Earth, The Lodge, maybe Noroi? I might rewatch I Saw the Devil because for some reason I forgot a lot of that one despite enjoying it

8. Favorite Poster for a Movie I Watched in 2023? .

9. Most Memorable Characters/Talent of 2023? >> oof... can I just say Ben Wheatley (director) for talent because he really sucker-punched me with the two movies of his that I watched this year

10. Standout Writing / Directing of a Movie I Watched in 2023? >> obviously that goes to whoever wrote Call Girl Of Cthulhu

11. Most Thought-Provoking/Impactful Movies I Watched in 2023? >> The Vast of Night, Silence, Titane, Perfect Blue, Akira, Aniara. also 2001: A Space Odyssey except the thought it provoked was "why am I still fucking watching this" and the impact it had was "I'm annoyed to the point of anger and I have a splitting headache"

12. Movie I Can’t Believe I Waited Until 2023 To Finally Watch? >> Die Hard lmao. it was way more entertaining than I expected. also how did I go my whole life without ever learning that Alan Rickman was the bad guy in that also Battle Royale and ofc Akira

13. Favorite Scene From a Movie I Watched in 2023? >> oh man this is impossible, give me a break

14. Movie That Shocked Me The Most? (Because of a plot twist, character death, etc.) >> I didn't expect Swiss Army Man to be quite what it was (this is not a complaint, I loved it, but the whole farting business definitely threw me for a loop lol) honestly my bar for shock is seeing Oldboy for the first time last year having never had it spoiled for me and losing my whole ass MIND at the plot twist. nothing has come close to that since

15. OTP (One True Pairing) – You will go down with this ship? >> those two girls from Do Revenge

16. Favorite Non-Romantic Relationship? >> the vampire family in Near Dark

17. Best Movie I Watched In 2023 That I Watched Based SOLELY On A Recommendation From Somebody? >> Noroi: The Curse but also The Adjustment Bureau was an incredibly solid and cute flick (both Sparrow's recs)

18. Most Exciting Worldbuilding/Most Vivid Setting? >> ooo let's see... well, I did rewatch The Neverending Story this year :p Rigor Mortis had a really memorable setting for me but I wouldn't call it exciting OR vivid. like, it was just an apartment building lol. it was just... I don't know. I can't explain it. it sticks in ya El Hoyo (The Platform), maybe? definitely an intriguing setup and setting there. A Field in England was literally just a goddamn field in England but man.... I also like the new worldbuilding ideas Hellraiser (2022) brings to the table.

19. Movies That Put A Smile On My Face/Were The Most Fun To Watch? >> Puss in Boots: The Last Wish, The Ref, Cocaine Bear, Sugar & Spice, Airheads, Polite Society, Totally Killer, Do Revenge, D&D: Honor Among Thieves, Bill & Ted's Bogus Journey, Earth Girls are Easy, both Sister Acts, Call Girl of Cthulhu, Idle Hands, Van Helsing, and Elvira, Mistress of the Dark. yeah there were a lot of these this year

20. Movie/Documentary That Made Me Cry Or Nearly Cry in 2023? >> Swiss Army Man and Akira, but also Velvet Goldmine, Do the Right Thing, Crooklyn, and Sister Act 2.

21. Hidden Gem Of The Year? >> not sure how to determine this

22. Movie That Crushed My Soul? >> [insert another snarky comment about 2001]

23. Most Unique Movie I Watched In 2023? >> so many of the movies I've seen this year were incredibly unique to me! let me see if I can find one I haven't already mentioned... ah yes, of course. how could I forget Mad God 💀

24. Movie That Made You The Most Mad (doesn’t necessarily mean you didn’t like it)? >> I will refrain from mentioning That Movie again (although that is the true answer lol) and instead I'll go with... Lake Mungo bc I thought that was gonna be way more interesting than it was just based upon the fact that the tumblr girlies used to be all over that shit back in the day

25. Notable Mentions of the Year? >> some more movies I really liked that didn't get a chance to get mentioned yet: The Banshees of Inisherin, Baskın, On the Count of Three, Hell House LLC, Ringu, and Mad Max 2.

Bonus: Favorite Movie Moment?

Bonus: Five Movies I Am Anticipating in 2024? >> Furiosa, the Joker sequel, apparently there's a new Alien flick coming out? Dune Part 1 was Fine, I guess, so I might as well see Part 2 🤷🏿‍♂️ meh

#survey #surveys #end of year survey #movie survey

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kpopspicystories · 2 years ago

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L0ve?

Summary: You’ve known Bangchan for a very long time and are great friends until an event changes everything between you two and all of it comes to light.

The doorbell rings and as I finish washing the last plate in the sink I move towards the door to see who it is. Oh right I ordered food I couldn’t find the energy to make something. As I open the door and accept my food I walk towards the kitching again to make myself a plate of food. After I’ve eaten early dinner my phone rings and as I see who it is I got confused. ‘’Hi?’’ I answered the phone. ‘’Hi, you!’’ Bangchan sounded enthusiastic. ‘’What’s up?’’ I replied, he told me he has not heard from me in a while and wondered how I was doing. I replied ‘’Oh you know me just out here living the dream..’’ after my sarcastic reply he couldn’t help but let out a chuckle.

‘’So I was wondering, what are your plans tonight?’’ he asked me softly. ‘’Not much actually, why?’’ I replied. ‘’Well let’s meet then. I’m free and would like to see you!’’ he sounded cheerful again to see me and made me wonder. ‘’Sure?’’ I replied confused.

Why I was confused is because we had sort of a fight when we were drunk 3 weeks ago and I couldn’t remember what it was but it left me with lingering distance from then on. But I do think it’s a good idea to meet again and talk it out if there is something left unspoken. But the fact I couldn’t remember that night annoys me. Since it was the reason we haven’t spoken for so long, the longest ever. He’s one of my closest friends and I would like to keep him in my life. He’s a great guy..

After I took a shower and got ready my doorbell rings, it’s 7PM.

I open the door and great bangchan with a smile and we gave each other a hug. For some reason it was not awkward at all as I expected it to be. From the looks of it we were glad to see each other again. ‘’So what should we do?’’ I asked with a smile while looking over him mid hug. ‘’Let’s grab some drinks?’’ he suggested uncertain. I was a bit flustered, drinks? Is that a good idea after what happened 3 weeks ago?

‘’Oh, I euh is that a good idea?’’ I told him uncertain and in doubt. ‘’Well what do you want to do?’’ he replied. ‘’I mean we can just hang out here? Order something if we want to, watch a movie?’’ I suggested. ‘’You know like old times!’’ I replied with a smile. ‘’Yeah sure totally’’ he agreed and sat himself down on the couch. ‘’Want something to drink? I have juice and wine?’’ As I finished my sentenced I wanted to hit myself on the head… WINE. REALLY. ‘’Wine is fine!’’ he replied.

As I move myself to the kitchen hoping I don’t have any wine left I remembered that I ran some errands this morning and my booze cabinet is fully stacked. I have more than wine also soju and hard liquor. ‘’Fuck…’’ I sighed. But why was I this stressed about alcohol? I don’t even remember what happened and yet here I am stressed about it for some reason. I just don’t want it to happen again, as I was having a full discussion with myself in my head I grabbed a glass of wine for him and poured for myself a glass of pineapple juice. ‘’Here you go.’’ I said as I gave him his glass of red wine. ‘’Thank you’’ he replied and immediately took a couple of sips. I sat down and opened Netflix to see what we should watch. ‘’Any recommendations?’’ I looked at him waiting for suggestions. ‘’Oh right, well there’s this movie out. John Wick chapter 4 and it’s on Netflix let’s watch!’’ I started searching the movie and found it and put the movie on. I took a couple of sips from my juice and as I looked over his glass was already empty. I walk over to the kitchen grab the bottle of wine and set it on the table with that I also grabbed myself an empty wine glass and just gave up. Let’s see what happens, perhaps he needs liquid courage to discuss what happened?

‘’So how are you Channie?’’ I asked and looked over while setting everything up on the table. ‘’I’m good now and you?’’ I replied ‘’Same for me, we haven’t really talked since…’’ I stopped and wanted to see what he would bring up, what he still remembers perhaps more than me. I was curious. ‘’Yeah… I’m sorry for how I behaved that night. I don’t know why I responded so angry and got in the way like that it was not my place to do so…’’ he apologized and I just stared at him confused like what the fuck happened? I didn’t want him to know that I was so drunk that I couldn’t remember what exactly happened so I responded ‘’Why did you get so angry?’’ softly. ‘’I don’t know, you and Felix were flirting and I couldn’t help myself but be annoyed about it’’ he directly stated. ‘’I WAS FLIRTING WITH FELIX?!’’ I blurted out without even thinking, I was shocked. ‘’YES’’ he replied giving me the side eye. ‘’Okay but still why the anger? Nothing happened right?’’ I replied confused and still in need of some answers. ‘’You don’t remember do you?’’ he said still giving me the side eye. ‘’Honestly I don’t remember what happened, just that we had a fight and stopped speaking to each other for awhile…’’ I replied guilty as charged. ‘’Well it doesn’t matter anyway. You can do whatever you want. It was not my place to have acted like that.’’ He sighed and looked at the movie that has been playing off since we started the conversation. ‘’Behaved like what, is Felix oke?’’ I asked worried. ‘’Felix is fine, I apologized to him also…a while back ago actually since I work with him and must see him almost daily.’’ He kept staring at the TV. ‘’Channie, did you hurt Felix?’’ I asked worried again. ‘’Perhaps’’ he replied. ‘’Why?’’ I asked again. ‘’Well I don’t know oke, can you just take my apology please?’’ he sighed and looked at me stopping his stare towards the TV. ‘’Yeah, oke…’’ I answered and filled my glass of wine and starting to drink. We started to focus on the movie again and he started to move around ‘’I have to pee’’ he said and walked towards the bathroom. I looked at the bottle and it was empty so I also walked towards the kitchen. As I grabbed another bottle of red wine and got some snacks I’ve noticed Banchang changing his position on the couch and sat next to the placement where I was sitting before. I didn’t think much of it and sat where I was before. ‘’So..’’ he said while placing his hand on my leg. ‘’Yeah?’’ I replied dazed. ‘’I missed you’’ he whispered softly me barely hearing him. ‘’You missed me?’’ I asked to confirm what he just said to me. ‘’Yes…’’ he glared embarrassed at the floor. ‘’I missed you too..’’ I replied with a smile. ‘’I’m glad we are good again..’’ as I placed my hand on top of his he looked at me and started to come closer to me.

As we looked at each other he started to kiss me and I kissed him back. While his hand on my leg started to move towards my thigh I let him, I just couldn’t help myself it felt good. He started to shift his kiss and lips towards my neck and changing the position on the couch were he laid on top of me and was between my legs. Touching me, intensely moving his hand from my thigh to my breast while kissing my neck. I couldn’t keep my moan in and it came out ‘’Channie….’’ As I didn’t know what to say except his nickname he started to kiss me again. Slipping his tongue around mine to shut me down for whatever I wanted to say. And I let him.

#bang chan #stray kids #kpop smut #kpop #chris bang

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omg-foreverfilledwithweird-posts · 3 years ago

Text

A Siren Song

Pairing: Robert Dubois/ Bloodsport x Reader

A/N: so I just finished watching the new Suicide Squad for the second time and I’m even more obsessed now than I was the first time I watched it. It’s a brilliant film with actually good humor, a non-sexualizing and actually empowering view on Harley Quinn (that leg scene?? y'all-), the rats?? Rat-catcher 2?? THE SHARK?? FLAG?? Who looked really good in this movie, he might be another contender for a story as well as Harley Quinn so lmk ;) but Bloodsport immediately piqued my interest because it’s Idris Elba and he’s gorgeous, I loved the complexities of his character and I want to write for him and no one else has done it yet?? so shoutout to @honey-im-emotional for the support and push to do it! also love The Bodyguard movie, helped with the inspo <3 and i’m so sorry all of my stories are similar but I HAVE A TYPE enjoy and feedback is always appreciated loves and there will be SPOILERS so be warned, also if you want a Harley one next lmk ;) (it’s so long I’m so sorry lol)

Summary: You’re a highly targeted member of the royal family, the last in your line. Bloodsport is hired to be your bodyguard to both watch and assassinate the men after you. He believes it’s below his pay-grade, but reluctantly agrees, doing so to the best of his abilities. But the closeness brings more intimacy than you two expected, and sparks fly.

Warnings: foul language, sexual content, smut, choking, light bdsm, fluffy fluff, dirty dancing, dirty talk, violence and bad guys getting murdered, mentions of Harley x Reader (y’all sexy dance and kiss), reader likes women, dom! Bloodsport, age gap, alcohol consumption, jealousy, heavy kissing, slight angst, just a good time honestly

Word Count: 3,825

You dangle from the ceiling with your aerial silk, fitting your leg in the loop you’ve created, and dangling upside down. The rope wraps around your waist as you hang gracefully from your marble walls, flying. Your friend Harley Quinn taught you how to do this years ago, it now being your favorite form of exercise and relaxation when you need a moment to clear your head.

As you lightly spin, twirling and dancing in the air with your chandelier reflecting light everywhere, a dazzling fairy floating in a sea of stars. You hear footsteps approach and move to hang upside down, facing towards the grand door. Robert Dubois, a.k.a Bloodsport, walks forward to stand directly in front of you.

You have known him a few weeks or so now, him having to watch your every move and tracking down your family’s killers. He stands and meets your eyes as you dangle, hair falling below you.

“Hi,” you giggle, face flushed with heat. “I probably look ridiculous right now.”

He composes himself so he doesn’t crack a smile, but you see his lips twitch when he speaks, “No, Mrs. y/l/n.”

“I have a first name, you know,” you grin widely. “I’m younger than you, which hardly warrants such a professional title.”

“My apologies, y/n,” he fixes himself.

“It’s alright,” you ease, filling him with a sense of softness he hasn’t felt in a long time. You flip and land on your feet, letting go of your silks.

You don’t notice as his eyes glaze over your body in your sports bra and shorts, something his cold, calculated stare should never succumb to, but he does anyway and he kicks himself for doing it. You’re his client and should therefore remain as such, no conflict of interest or thoughts other than to protect. He didn’t want this job, hell, he still doesn’t know why he said yes. Maybe it was the money. Or maybe it was upon seeing you that first time, in that star-studded gown the night of a charity gala you were attending, the way the diamond littered fabric hung over your figure, absolutely dazzled. The way you looked at him and smiled, like you were used to with all the other nobles and adoring fans. But he let himself believe it was different.

He can’t do that anymore, however, because he can’t allow for any complications. And falling for his boss is certainly a complication.

You look at him and your eyes widen with realization, “Oh, I’m sorry. Let me cover up.”

You grab a tee shirt and toss it over your exercise clothes. He looks down as you do so and clears his throat. This brings a small smile to your face.

“You called me in here,” he gestures to the necklace charm hanging around your neck that you can squeeze and send an instant distress signal whenever you need it. “What can I do for you, y/n?”

“Wanted you to spot me,” you tease, a smile overtaking your delicate features. You have a sort of stunning beauty about you that takes him by surprise every time he lays eyes on you. Which is often. You lay on your yoga mat and sit up straight with that same damned smile.

“I’m here to do a job, y/n,” he says, his deep, honeyed voice coating the way he says your name like heat to sugar. “Not aid you in your workout routine.”

“What? Your assassin training didn’t include sit ups?” you smile, tongue in cheek.

“No, but if you need a way to kill a man with a book,” he presses a foot over both of yours as you begin to do sit ups. “Then I’m your man.”

“Yeah, you and John Wick,” you breathe out with a laugh. “And shouldn’t you be in here watching me already? Not by the door?”

“This room has no windows and no other door or entrance besides the one I was standing by. I thought you would want privacy,” he averts your gaze. “I’m sure it’s a hard thing to come by these days for a woman like yourself.”

You stop what you’re doing and look up at him, blinking, “Well, you’d be right,” you tuck your hair back. “So thank you.”

He meets your eyes, bordering on a smile, “You’re welcome.”

“Is that a smile I see?” you chuckle.

The smile shines, “It was a diversion. And you failed.”

You laugh loudly, “Will the next diversion be an actual laugh?”

“Wouldn’t be a proper diversion if you knew what it was.”

You tap his feet so he’ll get the hint and let you up. You rise to your feet and dust yourself up, “I appreciate your spotting.” You press a hand to his chest and hum. Warmth radiates from your palm and he inhales sharply. “For someone who wasn’t trained, you sure are a fast learner.”

He looks at your hand and back to your eyes, heat sprouting from where your hand touches. His hand flexes at his side as he looks around the room, to the door, seeing if it’s closed.

“I-” he cocks an eyebrow then settles. “I think I should go.”

He watches you look at him with wounded eyes, brow lowered, you open your mouth then close it.

You nod, moving away from him, “Right.”

You move to walk away when he stops you, mouth by your ear, voice dropping an octave when he whispers, “Just so you know-” you tilt your head up almost instinctively to hear him better. “-my assassin training did include reminding people who they are when they’ve forgotten their place.”

You look up at him fully now, “You work for me, remember?”

“I work for money. And you didn’t hire me. I was employed by Mrs. Waller to keep you alive,” he cocks his head slightly.

“So it would be frowned upon by her when you’re unable to walk if you touch me like that again.”

You couldn’t believe he had just said that. Your eyes widen and your cheeks once again heat up, blushing. Your chest gets hot when he doesn’t break the stare like he’s calling your bluff, and fuck, did he do just that. You turn away from him.

You can hear the smile in his voice, “That’s what I thought.”

~~~

“Robert said that!?” Harley exclaims, eyes wide. Her jaw is dropped as she does her mascara aggressively in the mirror. “He’s usually so...”

You tug down your tiny halter top over your head, your bright, flattering makeup complementing the colorful swirling pattern, “An empty void with no emotion?”

She nods emphatically, agreeing, “Exactly! I had no idea he had it in him?” she raises her brow and smooths down her leather black and red dress, “Or that he wanted to put it in you-”

You slap her arm, chastising, “You don’t know that. It might have been a threat to actually paralyze me in a very not sexual way.”

“I say both are arousing,” she shrugs, platinum curls bouncing.

You roll your eyes with a small smile aimed at the floor, “Anyway-” you slip a belt through your tight jeans, hitting at your waist when you cinch it in. “We should get going if we want to get to the club on time.”

She pauses. “Y/n. Are you sure we should be doing this?”

You do a double take, “You’re telling me that we shouldn’t sneak out and have a good time?”

“I know the irony is apparent,” she looks at you with a knowing stare. “But not if it means you’re in danger. Which you are.”

“I know,” you frown. “But I’ve been locked in this house for months, I miss going out and having a life. I’m tired of being coddled.”

“I know, sweetheart,” she sighs, looking past herself in the mirror to flash me a sympathetic smile. She thinks for a beat and finally spins around, “Alright, screw it, doll, let’s go paint the town.”

You buzz with excitement, grinning, “Yay! Thank you, thank you! I wonder who will be djaying...” you trail off.

Harley’s face falls and her mouth goes in a solid, straight line, looking past your shoulder, “I don’t think anyone will be.”

You laugh, completely oblivious, “Of course there will be. There has to be music. Dancing in silence would be pretty fucking awkward.”

“This moment is pretty fucking awkward.”

“What do you mean?”

A deep, irritated voice sounds off behind you, “Because you’re not going.”

You jump out of your skin, “Shit, Robert! You scared the hell out of me!”

“You’re not going to that club,” he folds his arms over his chest. You look over him and his casual, night wear: a loose tee and low hanging joggers. You almost wipe your mouth from salivating. Your outfit elicits the same reaction.

You pinch your eyebrows together, “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Yes, I can. I’m tasked with protecting you.”

“Yeah. And nowhere on your job description does it say ‘become my parent’. There’s not an opening now just because I don’t have one. I am a grown ass woman and I have been a prisoner in my own home. The same home where...” you pause, a lump in your throat at the reminder of your family’s passing. You shake it off, “I’m just tired. I want a piece of my life back. You can either stay here or come. Either way I’m going.”

He gives you a quick once over and contemplates his options before dropping his arms to his sides and letting out a long exhale.

“Fine.”

You somewhat relax at his defeated tone, “Fine, what?”

He relents, “You can go, but I’m coming with you. But if anything happens to you, I’m not to be blamed. I will leave your ass in that club.”

You grin and jump up to give him a tight hug around the neck. He stiffens before slowly rubbing your back. You sink into his embrace, feeling like you were floating in water, now above the surface as he brings you back to oxygen. Harley smiles at the exchange and she winks theatrically.

He glares.

It’s not long before you three arrive at the club, music blaring and colorful lights flashing over the crowded floors. From his stare and intimidating aura, the club staff thought he was a bouncer and let you all in immediately. But before he was roped into working, the three of you bee-lined to the bar.

“The prettiest and strongest drink ya got, sugar,” Harley smiles at the pretty bartender.

“And what if that’s me?” she responds, ebony hair falling onto one shoulder.

“Then I’ll have to drink you later,” Harley gives her a flirty once over and you roll your eyes.

The bartender grins and gestures towards me for my order, I answer quickly, “Scotch on the rocks.”

Robert looks at you, poorly covering his shocked expression. “Really?”

“Yeah, why?” you look up at him.

“Didn’t peg you for a straight liquor type, Ms. y/l/n,” he finally lets his hidden laugh show through, butterflies erupting in your chest. The diversion definitely worked, whatever you were thinking about before this has immediately left you.

“Then this is going to be the first surprise of many tonight, Mr. Dubois,” you return the smug look as he orders the same thing. You both share a look.

The bartender slides you all your drinks, each of you taking a long swig for liquid courage for the night. Harley’s favorite Doja Cat song comes on and she gasps, clapping excitedly when she grabs you by the wrist, pulling you on the dance floor, “Come dance with me.”

You mouth a small ‘sorry’ to Bloodsport who you left at the bar, he shakes his head with a smile over the rim of his glass, watching you guys’ drinks.

She dances wildly, jumping up and down, spinning to let her hair fall in many beautiful angles. She’s a powerful force and your greatest friend. She puts her arms around your neck and the two of you move in time with the music.

“So...” she motions to Bloodsport who’s being forced into a conversation with a woman at the bar. The woman puts her hand on his and he visibly shrinks back and whispers something to her that causes the most horrid look from the woman and for her to walk quickly away. You smile at the relief that interaction has brought you.

“So what?” you spin her around and pull her back.

“Quit with the good dancing, or I’m gonna fuck you myself,” she teases with a lightheaded giggle.

You smile, “We’ve tried that already, remember?”

“Too much history, I know, I know. Doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be nice...” she whispers into your neck, kissing the soft spot under your chin. Your skin heats up under her touch as she drags her hands down your sides, pulling you close to her so that you’re flush against her chest.

You give into her and kiss her slowly, her soft lips melt into your own when her hands tug in your hair. Harley and you have always had a complicated friendship, with enough sexual attraction to fuel a nuclear bomb, but not enough romantic. You love each other but not in the way you both need. You were in love with Robert and she is continuing to explore her sexuality because she likes women and so do you. So as she trails her hot mouth down your neck in the middle of dozens of bustling bodies and you lock eyes with an angry Bloodsport, you knew exactly what she was doing.

You whisper, out of breath, “Are you trying the jealousy trick?”

“It worked in college, didn’t it?” she kisses your cheek, smiling gently against your skin. “And it’s working now.”

“I think you’re just obsessed with kissing me,” you kiss her back.

“It was a win-win situation, doll,” she grins devilishly and you can’t help but agree. “So when you’re done with him, come see me. But right now, I have a sexy bartender lady to drink up.” You grip her hand and let her make her way to her next conquest.

Robert had seen the tail-end of your kiss, his deft fingers clenched around his whiskey glass. He knows he shouldn’t let this sort of thing affect him, something as juvenile and simple as jealousy. But he couldn’t stop that feeling of being stuck, unable to think about anything except the fact that it wasn’t him with his hands on you like that, lips marking you as much as he pleases. Sadness washed over him in a tidal wave and he set his glass down, about to get up to leave when he spotted a man eyeing you from the door. He looked familiar and it wasn’t just attraction he sensed in his eyes but something far more sinister.

A few more men followed suit and began making their way to you in the middle of the dance floor. He had no time to consider the facts, just to get you out of there as soon as possible.

You feel a rough hand tug your arm and turn to face who you think to be Dubois, you smile, “Enjoy the show?”

“Very much,” an unknown voice answers, and you look up, eyes wide. “Now why don’t you come with me for a little talk, beautiful.”

“Get the fuck off of me,” you yank your arm back, slamming your heel down into the perpetrator’s foot. More men surround you on all sides, making it impossible for you to escape or use your subpar martial arts skills. Aerial yoga was a very different ballpark than kicking ass. And you were just a beginner.

You poorly punch a man in the face, only making them all angrier when you’re grabbed from all sides, being dragged towards the exit kicking and screaming. You didn’t want to be that helpless damsel in distress, but as all of these men, men you recognized from your family’s death, were surrounding you, you couldn’t breathe. Their hands felt familiar, grabbing your arms like they’d done that night before you hid in the secret door in the dining room. You had watched these faceless men through a hole in that door, stifling your cries when bullets sprayed the room your family was having dinner in. So while they were coming after you and pulling you outside, it’s all you felt. That same feeling when he wasn’t near.

Drowning.

There’s a hand that pulls you back and you watch, dazed, as Bloodsport puts every man who touched you on the ground. It’s filled with swift yet aggressive and barbaric movements, controlled, expert chaos and it happens within moments. His chest is heaving when he looks down at you and scoops you up in his arms. You’d object in any other circumstances, but this time, head against his chest and tucked in his arms, you were okay.

His voice rumbles against your side, “We’re going home.”

~~~

Harley’s tears hit your shoulder as you sympathetically pat her back.

“I’m so sorry, y/n. I shouldn’t have left,” she sniffles loudly. “I should’ve been there.”

You laugh softly, fitting your head into her shoulder, “It’s okay, Harls. It’s not your fault, there was no harm done.”

“There could have been,” she sighs. “I’m not letting you convince me to go out next time, you’re staying here forever.”

You roll your eyes with a smile, “Alright.”

She gets up and sniffs, wiping at her nose that’s now flushed from crying, “Good because I’m serious.”

“I know,” you laugh again, hugging yourself in a hoodie much too large for you, (because you stole it from Rick Flagg) swallowing you whole.

Your eyes wander down the hall to where Robert is no doubt pacing around in your bedroom, the only room not laden with cameras (ironically for privacy). You kick at the floor in your fuzzy socks and think of an excuse to go check on him, even though you’re probably the last person he wants to see right now. You, frankly, don’t care.

“I’m gonna go-”

“Check on Robert?” she finishes. “I know, honey. I was a psychiatrist, I’m not stupid.”

You crack a smile and grip her arm affectionately as you walk past her towards the bedroom. You don’t even take the risk of knocking for fear he’ll lock it and try your luck with just simply opening it. You see him, shirtless with a towel over his shoulder, a low hanging towel wrapped around his waist, while nursing his knuckles. He looks you over once you enter the room, trained eyes on you and the intimidation is definitely working already when he takes the damp towel on his shoulder and dabs the cuts on his skin.

He remains silent and you move to sit down on your bed, the awkward squeak filling the already high-tension atmosphere, thick enough to make your ears pop like you’re in an airplane too far up in the sky.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, drawing his eye.

He hums and steps into your bathroom, washing off his hands.

You frown at his lack of response, “Are you really going to pout this whole time? Because honestly, it’s beneath you, Robert.” You lean forward, watching as he walks out of the bathroom, still half naked, still silent.

The silence is beginning to slowly kill you, especially when he looks this good, water droplets running down his chiseled torso from a hot shower. You didn’t let your mind wander because if the reaction your body is giving from the image before you was any indication, you want him. He walks in the room once again, mouth in an amused yet firm line.

In actuality, he was ashamed of himself. Not so much of you. He would’ve left as that despair overcame him back in that bar. He would’ve left you there and abandoned his mission, leaving you to be hurt. If it hadn't been for those men, you could’ve been killed and it would be his fault. He alerted Waller of the attack, making up a lie about the two of you going for a walk at night and getting ambushed there rather than at a club. There’s a hit on each of those men being taken out as we speak as well as a search for their boss. Even though that still got him chewed out. He couldn’t imagine what she’d do to him if she found out the truth.

Robert walks slowly towards you, leaning against the bed frame, gesturing for you to continue. You watch him, distracted, as he wraps a bandage around his knuckles.

“I shouldn’t have kissed her to get a rise out of you, that was hurtful,” you exhale your words, quiet enough he wouldn’t be able to hear you if you weren’t within a breath of one another. You hang your head, “And it was stupid to go out in the first place when I am in this much danger. I could’ve been killed, and you could have been hurt. I’m sorry.”

He represses a laugh at the idea of him getting hurt, when the two of you both know that would never happen. But as the silence from him grows thicker, the more you start to ramble.

“Okay, this silent treatment isn’t going to work for much longer. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but you need to stop.”

He gives you a look that says ‘make me’. But you both know you couldn’t if you tried, and vice versa. He thinks of you as a siren, one of those alluring creatures in old sailor tales that lured unsuspecting men to their painful deaths. As if he has no control of the way he feels about you. Which in a way he does, but he knows better. He knows better than to fall under your enchanting song, but he can’t help but be pulled beneath the surface of the water.

Robert tenses when you move forward and the hoodie falls off one of your shoulders, revealing more of your chest, the smooth skin that lays there.

His chest tightens when you look up at him and sigh.

“But thank you for saving me,” you say, both because you think that’s what he wants to hear but also because you mean it, you wouldn’t be here at all if he didn’t come with you.

He licks his lips and nods his head in simple recognition. He appreciated the apology, truly he did, but a part of him enjoyed the way you continued to ramble on, so he remained silent. This was an old interrogation tactic he learned when he served, keeping quiet always got people talking. He looks down at you and leans to meet your face, hands on either side of you.

“I don’t know what else you wish for me to say,” you admit quietly, fiddling with your hands.

He didn’t know either but whatever you would say, he would listen.

“So I take it you’re not mad anymore?” you infer from his relaxed posture, heart beating out of your chest, fast enough that it catapults to your throat.

He tilts his head down so he’s an inch before your mouth, breath fanning over your face. when he tugs you up to your feet, hands gripping the sides of your waist when he pulls you close. Your heartbeats began to sync up, chest to chest.

“I’m fucking furious, sweetheart.”

You meet his eyes, looking up in that seductive stare of yours you never knew you were capable of until him, and close the distance, kissing him lightly. His arms falter by your side and it’s the first time you’ve seen him hesitate, losing his cool. It’s the most gentle thing he’s ever experienced, everything in his life being forced, hostile, and malicious, while your soft lips against his are anything but. You kiss him like he’s not the monster he thinks himself to be.

“Then let me make it up to you.”

“Fuck,” he grips your sides harder, palm moving to push you closer with his hand flat against the small of your back. “We shouldn’t.”

You search his face for uncertainty, but all you sense is a profound sense of clarity, in the both of you. “I know.”

“Will you regret this?”

You shake your head, hand against his cheek, “No.”

His dark eyes fall to your lips, pupils filling his dark brown irises, lust blown, “You’re so good, baby. You’re too good for me.”

Before you can tease him about the new nickname and object to that, his lips have crashed against your own. His hand slides up to cup the side of your face, drinking you in with his intoxicating kiss. You hum, content, against his feverish mouth and he opens it, vulnerable and on display. You feel his guard still up, tense and calculated, so you rest your hand against his chest. You press a kiss to his eyelid, his cheek, his nose, his chin, his jaw, his neck. He softens beneath you, groaning aloud as his hands tighten.

“You don’t need to be afraid with me,” you whisper to him, tender fingers trailing down his shirtless chest, hot skin against hot skin. It’s enough to make you sweat.

He exhales and captures your bottom lip with his own, holding your face in both of his hands. The kiss grows heated and rushed, like you’re running out of time, as if at any moment those men would come back and find you and take you away from him again. His tongue expertly works with your own, licking the pout of your bottom lip, and coaxing you open. He slides his hand down between your legs, dipping his finger to find the slick in the middle of your thighs. You moan into his mouth, his other hand at the back of your neck when he buries his face in your shoulder. He kisses you there, the crook where your neck meets your collarbone, that damned sensitive spot. You succumb to his touch. His beard tickles your skin and you gasp when he sucks hard, a bruise forming.

You breathe a laugh, “Everyone will see if you leave a mark,” you tug on his hair when you thread it through his coarse curls.

He falls under your spell and there’s something so ironically beautiful about this trained assassin with a heart of gold and the scars to show for it, being so open with you.

His hands, his entire life, have been forced to be instruments of death and violence. But as they slide down your figure, holding your face, and pulling you into him, they’re his greatest gift. He’s surprisingly tender with you.

But then he has enough and pushes you down on the bed, arms trapping you on both sides.

He responds bluntly, “I don’t care.”

You part your legs for him and he releases a shaky breath. He slowly unzips your sweatshirt and it falls off you just as you do the same and tug his towel down. Both of you are bare before the other as you take a moment to drink each other in. You were just as, if not more, beautiful than he imagined you to be.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says quietly as his hand drapes down the line of your figure. He touches you how someone would handle a glass vase filled with flowers.

You take his face in both of your hands and kiss him, “So are you.”

“I don’t think you know what you do to me, baby.” His hand finds your breast and squeezes while he kisses your neck.

You moan when he uses his other hand to grip your neck, thumb against your pulse point, “If it’s anything like how I feel right now, then yes, I do.”

He lifts his head up to watch your face as he chokes you, softly so he doesn’t hurt you but hard enough to play with your breath. His thumb opens your mouth and your legs tremble.

“So I take it you’re into choking, my love?” You nod excitedly, unable to speak, and his grip tightens.

You let out a squeak and he releases, face etched with worry, kissing your neck where he touched you. “Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head and smile comfortingly, “No, baby, I’m okay. I’ll tap out if it’s too rough, I promise,” you tease.

His grumbling voice deepens, “Good... because, darling, right now all I want to do is bury my face in between those gorgeous thighs of yours.”

You inhale sharply when he opens your legs once again, looking up at you and you nod in consent.

“I need words, beautiful,” he smirks with his mouth just above your center.

“Yes, please,” you breathe out and he responds with a swift lick to your pussy. He looks up at you and when he catches your eye, it’s as if the sensation grows stronger and your head hits your pillow.

“I’ve barely even touched you,” he mumbles into you and you feel his smug smile in your thigh. His fingers dip into you as he flattens his tongue and crooks them towards himself, you grip your sheets.

“Don’t... flatter yourself,” you sigh out. “I-it’s just been awhile.”

He removes his mouth and fingers from you, “So anyone can make you feel like this?”

You enjoy the feeling you get when he looks at you like that, his eyes dark and dominant, so you play along and nod. “Yes, in fact, I’ve had better.”

He licks his lips and gets up from the bed. He opens his drawer and you sit up to look what he grabs: a belt. Your heart beats excitedly in your chest even though you know you shouldn’t be. He gets back on the bed and climbs over you.

Robert looks at you, “Hands.”

You extend them to him wordlessly, watching as he ties your wrists together and puts them over the bedpost so you’re trapped there, unable to move.

“Now,” he holds himself above you, pressing a kiss to your lips. “You’re to stay tied up until I say so, anything like that again and they get tighter. Nod if you understand me.”

You nod emphatically. You had never seen this side of Robert before, so in control and not afraid to go too far, it was so unbelievably sexy.

The best part was he didn’t tie it tight enough, afraid of hurting you, so you could easily slip out your hands at any moment.

He kisses, painfully slow, down your chest and wraps his lips around your nipple. He swirls his tongue around the erect bud and you gasp, desperate to touch him. He looks up at you from you chest as he switches to the other, massaging the unattended one as he sucks, the pleasurable feeling overwhelming you. So much so you have to clench your thighs together, longing for some sort of relief for the tension building in your abdomen.

“Baby, please,” you whine, squirming beneath him.

He shuts you up with a bruising kiss while his hand slips down to enter you, two fingers in already. He pumps them in and out of you before sliding back down the expanses of your body and letting his mouth latch onto your clit. He sucks hard and you stifle a loud moan that would surely alert everyone in the home of your arousal. He holds you down against the bed with a palm flat against your stomach as you begin to lift your pelvis. His tongue enters you while his fingers take over, stimulating you with gentle rubs and flicks. But just before you feel that euphoric release, his actions cease and you’re left hot and flustered.

“Robert,” you look at him with a deep frown.

He grins, “Y/n...”

You blow hair out of your eyes, “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” He puts his lips near your ear, “Are you ready?” You nod as he pushes himself inside you and you bite back a moan into his shoulder.

You finally have enough, slip your hands out, and he pinches his brow, unable to hide his shock before you bring him down to press your lips against his. He melts into you, arms wrapped around you while he holds you close, filling you out in all the right places. He quickens his pace and you whine into his mouth, nails digging into his skin. You wrap your legs around his torso and he hits you so nicely. He was right, it’s the best you’ve ever had. He rises and looks at you, lips swollen and red from kissing, eyes clear and pupils large, and face flushed with heat. Your hair is in messy tendrils at all angles and you’ve never been more attractive.

“You’re doing so good,” he praises in your ear, placing kisses across your jaw. “Taking my cock so well.”

You whimper and his movements stiffen as he approaches release and so do you, walls tightening around him. He reaches down and rubs your clit with his expert fingers. You finish together, mouths open and hands all over each other’s bodies. It overcomes you in a tingling, perfect sensation, it continues on, leaving you aching and wanting more.

He rubs his knuckles over your cheek, softly and adoringly he looks at you. You tuck yourself into his arms under the blankets. Everything you both have wanted for a long time, laying right in front of you.

“Still want to make me not walk?” you tease, looking up at him.

He kisses your eyelids and you giggle, “Fuck yes.”

Part 2?

#harley quinn #harley quinn x reader #rick flagg #bloodsport #bloodsport x reader #robert dubois x reader #robert dubois #idris elba #suicide squad #suicide squad 2 #dc #dc smut #dc fanfiction #fanfiction #smut

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gwoongi · 5 years ago

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wordless pt.1

jeon jeongguk / reader genre: hitman (john wick?) au, sugar daddy au, fluff, pining, angst rating: mature words: 4.1k warnings: mentions of blood and violence, unconventional relationship, angsty themes, smoking mention a/n: this is jeongguk as john wick because i’m trash and i cant finish one story at a time. these prompts r from here btw :) im gonna do all 50 but im too lazy rn so here’s the first 10 :D

Sometimes, saying “I love you” is inappropriate, and given your circumstances, you think it might send Jeongguk over the edge if he hears them again.

Parts: One, Two, Three, Four, Five

Now, it definitely was not a stretch to assume that everything in Jeongguk’s life was indeed unconventional. People didn’t need to understand that what Jeongguk did for work was something that, by the law, was considered unprofessional and inhumane, and so when asked, Jeongguk sufficed for “boss of a company”, and questions weren’t asked. If they were, Jeongguk came up with a slightly more conventional lie, to make up for the reality that was Jeongguk working on the clock, killing nobodies for a bit of cash.

Taehyung, his right-hand man, had expressed how unconventional Jeongguk seemed to be over a dinner in Venice, a little restaurant tucked away unconventionally in a street that did not belong to America. Jeongguk spoke four languages comfortably, and had parents retiring in the Canary Islands. Jeongguk donated money to women’s charities and mental health services, and helped bribe his cousins into Ivy Leagues when racism prevented them from entry. Jeongguk was a Joe-Exotic in the making and owned a rescue black panther named Elio, and had houses across the globe for use when working. And, Jeongguk was dipping his toes into playing house with a sugar baby who was only five years younger than him, of whom he had met in a stakeout which involved the hit being on your brother’s head. Unconventionally, you led him to his target, and afterwards, dined with him in a Thai restaurant.

Things in Jeongguk’s life were far from ordinary, but perhaps it was the denial of mundane comforts that kept Jeongguk going. If he went back to normality, to working a shitty customer service job like when he was seventeen, dumping trash into overflowing piles behind the off-license he worked at, things wouldn’t be the same. Jeongguk would feel alien, like he didn’t belong. At least here, amongst the pain and the bullets and the years worth of trauma packed in his wrinkles (which, yes, if he looks hard enough, he can see some cursing his twenty five year old skin), Jeongguk felt like he sort of belonged. In an unconventional way.

Having met Jeongguk during his line of work, there were difficulties in being Jeongguk’s sugar baby. For one, he always felt guilty for having murdered your brother, even though you heavily supported the hit. Your brother was a jerk, a bully with money, someone who had wronged your entire family, turned off your younger sister’s life support when there was a chance of her survival. Asshole, he deserved it. Secondly, Jeongguk was impractical and irrational and often acted selfishly, meaning he was often out of the country on work, only available in whispers for a few hours and then he was gone, compensating with a few sums of cash.

He tried his best. Jeongguk, despite technicalities including his work and his past and his occasional mean streak, genuinely cared about other people. When he could, he made the effort, otherwise not attempting to make promises to you that he could not keep. Jeongguk knows that he got really lucky when he found you. You didn’t ask questions. Nobody was better for him.

However, Jeongguk was selfish, and broken, and in refusal of fixing what was wrong with him. When it was of convenience, Jeongguk drew comparisons to the last girlfriend he tried to entertain. One who wronged him, and died when he tried to repair everything she had destroyed. Jeongguk carries that with him like the tattoos on his skin, a permanent memory, and something that often disturbs what could be and should be between the both of you.

Jeongguk is worthy of love, and capable of loving. On days where Jeongguk is free to lounge without the guilt of not working, you find it is so easy to love him. But, it can’t be that way. You couldn’t just tell him that. Telling him that you loved him would be inappropriately unconventional. Sometimes, saying “I love you” is inappropriate, and given your circumstances, you think it might send Jeongguk over the edge if he hears it again.

(1) Holding their hands when they are shaking.

Jeongguk is in his living room, his right leg bouncing like a spring as he cradles an infant glass of whiskey. His eyes are glazed, yet wide, staring at the Seoul city draped in darkness and neon, and without even looking inside, you know that his brain is spinning, thoughts chaotic and loud.

“Hey,” you call out to him, and his eyes stutter to the left to catch you in the doorway, “I heard you get up. What’s wrong?”

Jeongguk shakes his head gently. “Nothing, baby, go back to bed. I’ll be up in a minute.”

Jeongguk often makes comments without expectancies. You stand in the doorway that connects the living room to the long hall that stems into bedrooms and bathrooms, and watch him for a moment. His whole body vibrates like a speaker, his hands trembling as the glass drains and he reaches for a second, or a third, or maybe a tenth. You want to sigh, without being patronising, but you know that any sign of sympathy is mistaken for that whenever Jeongguk is around to make the judgement.

He looks back to the skyline and frowns, his attention panning from the window to his phone that buzzes blue, but he ignores. Stepping across the cool wooden floorboards, you approach him sleepily and take a seat next to him on the sofa. Neither of you move, but he recognises you’ve moved. He bristles slightly, like it was unexpected.

“You can take your time,” you suggest to him, and his hands ache in his lap as he sets the glass down on the coffee table with a careless thud. He scoffs, devoid of emotion, and dips his head so his chin is near his collarbones. In his lap, those hands shake. “Maybe don’t drink so much tonight.”

“I’m clearing my head,” he insists weakly. Those hands still shake.

Brows creased with a pinch, you swallow the unease and reach for his hands. Jeongguk doesn’t say anything as you do so, enveloping his hands in yours, and so suddenly the shaking ceases. Like trying to block the shakes from reaching his wrists, your hands keep his safe.

“I know,” you understand honestly, because you do know what he’s going through. “How about tea, or something? To calm down, calm down the mess that’s up in there.”

Your chin is on his shoulder, and he smiles softly. “Are you calling me messy?”

“Nah, I’m calling your brain messy,” you reply. “It’s a cruel fucking brain.”

“Hate my brain.”

“Today, we hate it.”

Jeongguk’s head turns slightly so that he can see you, and in his lap, his thumbs brush across your skin.

“Thank you,” Jeongguk says quietly, attempting a smile that doesn’t quite convince. It doesn’t necessarily have to, not tonight anyway. His phone continues to flash like a light show, Taehyung’s name in bold. “Fuck. I’ll take the call, and then I’ll come back to bed, okay?”

You nod, “Mm, okay. Want me to make a drink?”

“I don’t need it,” Jeongguk concludes. “Not today.”

(2) Tucking the sheets around them when they stir during the night.

Sometimes Jeongguk wakes up in the night due to nightmares, but tonight, it’s different.

Beside him, you stir uncomfortably and kick his leg for the fourth time. He huffs and looks over, trying to figure out if you’re awake and indignant, or lost in the dream. He settles on the latter when you strain out the name of your brother and his heart swoops with a dull ache.

“You’re just dreaming, baby, come on,” Jeongguk mutters quietly into your ear, holding you in place to calm the thrashing. “He’s not here anymore, I’m here. Y/N.”

It subsides after a few minutes, making it the longest you’ve gone on record. He looks into your sleepy, upset eyes as you break awake and brushes the hair out of your face. He tries to smile for you, and maybe you can’t see in the dark.

“I’ll get you some water,” Jeongguk suggests gently. “Hm? Sweet thing. It’s just a dream.” He says this into your hair in a hug, leaving a kiss on your temple as he breaks. “You’re fine.”

“I’m fine,” you breathe uneasily, and he separates to get a glass of water and returns to find you sleeping again. What relief Jeongguk might have is exhaled as he sets the glass on the bedside table, stroking your hair until he moves away with the sudden realisation that this is not a normal exchange.

Before Jeongguk decides to leave again, he makes sure the bed is made and that you are safe; he tucks the duvet in tightly and presses a kiss to your forehead before grabbing his coat by the front door and leaving your apartment, one tucked in the city so far that Jeongguk finds it a hassle to visit.

(3) Travelling long distances just to see them.

For three days now, you have been in Colmar, and Jeongguk is beginning to feel lonely. It had been his idea to send you away, when the heat on his long, long fued with a rival colleague threatened your safety. In return, you got a new apartment that Taehyung had found closer to Jeongguk’s own when your address got leaked, and Colmar could be considered a vacation if you pretended for long enough.

With tensions cool and the coast somewhat clear, Jeongguk picks the skin around his fingernails as a distraction before deciding that enough was enough. He missed you, and missed how you were always around for him when he needed you most. This is what drives him to jumping on a plane in his company’s name, and flying to France.

A small boat passes underneath the bridge you are standing on, and your hands dig into the barrier as you arch to smile at the tourists beneath. One catches a glimpse of your denim skirt and cherry print blouse in the sunshine and extends his hat with a wave, and you wave back. France is nothing like Seoul, and is indeed warm and fruitful and unique. The sun is hot, the sky is clear, and the streets are filled with an atmospheric buzz of friendliness, the smell of coffee and some food you don’t know yet entrapping your senses.

“Madame, je peux vous prendre en photo?”

Hearing the voice, you turn your body left and prepare to face the tourist, but instead you are welcomed with the sight of Jeongguk dressed in black, sunglasses sliding down his nose with a smile. He does hold a camera in his hands, although teasingly.

“Oui,” you quip, posing cutely and Jeongguk takes a photograph anyway, to humour the moment, to print when he gets back to Seoul. You join his laughter as he peers at the photograph and he walks without looking up towards you.

“When did you get here?” you ask him, a round of laughter from the little boat making you turn to stare at them with a giggle.

“Bout an hour ago,” Jeongguk replies, and he shuts off the camera and puts it in his coat pocket. It’s only a small camera, probably cost him a crumb to buy from a vintage store. He meets your eyes with a comfortable smile and rounds in, pressing your lower back against the bridge barrier and circling your arms around you. Carefully, then, he kisses you, tasting the suncream on your skin as his lips wander from yours to the skin around your face.

“Miss me?”

“Terribly,” Jeongguk responds. “I am so bored when you’re not around. You always have something to do, always have something to say.”

You hum in response. “I’m glad I’m of some entertainment for you.”

“Oh, for sure,” agrees Jeongguk. “I don’t think I’ve used my brain so often when I’m away from work as much as I do when I’m with you. Did you know that you’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met?”

“Wow,” you exclaim with a smile. “Hire me.”

“Ha!” he remarks, kissing you again and taking your hand in his. He moves, back in the way you came. “Over my dead body.”

(4) Making their favorite meal when they are having a hard day.

“You.”

“Not now, Y/N, I’m working,” Jeongguk replies non committedly. He fists his hair.

“Not up for discussion right now,” you huff, and he has the nerve to glare at you which only makes you uncomfortably angry. “You haven’t eaten in fourty eight hours, and I’m not about to be held responsible for your death when you die of hunger, so get your ass in the kitchen before I dump this food over your stupid head.”

He challenges you. “You’re brave talking to somebody who could destroy your life like that.”

“Do it, I literally have nothing to lose,” you answer. “Please eat something. I made it with love and care.”

Jeongguk relents, sighing at his paperwork but nonetheless moving away from his home office and following you like a child towards the direction of the kitchen. He feels bad, you know he feels bad, and he circles his arms around your body as you walk, stumbling into the space of the kitchen and smelling the familiar aroma of pork rice stew. Alas, he sees the bowl steaming in his spot at the table and his eyes follow you as you hum and set start to washing the dishes.

“Y/N-”

“No words, just eating,” you instruct. “Bone apple tit.”

He grins, then, and takes a seat. “You know that’s not the phrase, right?”

“Tell that to Twitter,” you sigh.

(5) Giving them a kiss before going to work and they are still in bed.

Jeongguk prefers to see you when he doesn’t have work the next day, because leaving when you’re asleep is an asshole move in any dictionary. So, when one of his men phones him at four in the morning and relays the horror that someone’s died on his property, Jeongguk has to fight the demons that almost convince him to hand the job over to somebody who gives a fuck about the intruder stuck on his barbed fence.

He gets up, anyway.

Next to him, in the bed that belongs to you because this is your new apartment, Jeongguk stares down at you and feels a tug in his stomach. Guilt, it follows him everywhere like a ghost.

Before he leaves, he likes to give you a little kiss for the morning, so the tingling sensation reminds you that despite being an asshole and leaving without properly saying goodbye, he still gives several shits about you, and will be back when he can be.

(6) Tucking your head into their neck during a hug.

Jeongguk wants to hang Taehyung for making him remember the reasons why you had to move across the city to a new apartment.

It had, of course, been Jeongguk’s fault, and when the notification came from an exhausted worker in his line of work that the alarm system in your apartment had been triggered for an intruder, Jeongguk remembers all he saw was red.

The front door was forced open, a body indent in the wood and the front porch ransacked and littered with shards of glass and bullets. Inside was no prettier, with mess scattered everywhere and photos smashed on the floors. The carpets were stained with red that Jeongguk prayed was just wine, the glass coffee table in two pieces and a knife covered in red on the floor. Jeongguk and his men, along with the few police officers Jeongguk could actually trust in this god-forsaken hellhole, noticed that the blood belonged to one of the intruders who lay dead on the stairs.

Nobody knows how Jeongguk got through the apartment so fast, and why, without any hesitation, he murdered the remaining intruders without suggesting questioning and torture. That was his go-to when it rarely concerned you. He wanted those stupid enough to even try and go after you to really fucking regret it as he picked off fingernails and made them suffer for hours or days. This time he just killed, and moved onwards, calling your name like a mantra.

Jeongguk could have cried when you emerged, petrified, from inside one of the closets. Upon seeing you, Jeongguk collapsed his gun on the floor and stepped towards you protectively, pulling you in tightly for a hug. Sobbing into his neck, you hugged him tighter, feeling finally safe when his hand held the back of your head, like you were a precious thing that was of value.

You were of the highest value to Jeongguk.

“Fuck you,” Jeongguk barks suddenly, and Taehyung shrugs and exits the office. All he had asked was if he loved you.

(7) Lightly kissing on top of a freshly formed bruise.

There might be the assumption that Jeongguk comes home with more bruises than you do. Which is true, technically, and there’s no hesitation from your end in nursing them to a comfortable recovery.

On rare occasion, Jeongguk comes home and finds you exhibiting a new purple blob on your skin. Like today.

Jeongguk hasn’t seen you in two days, and when he lets himself into your apartment with the key he has glued to him at all times, he follows the silence and light to the bathroom. You sit on the edge of your bathtub, gently rubbing cream on your knee in little circles.

“What happened here?” he asks quickly, and you continue rubbing with your tongue poking out between your lips.

“You’ll laugh, don’t ask,” you mutter.

“Hey, I won’t laugh,” Jeongguk says. He rests his weight against the doorframe, “You open the front door the wrong way again?”

Ha! You laugh humourlessly. “Worse!” You look up at him sadly, “I tripped in the parking lot carrying my groceries. It’s on camera and everything, I want to die.”

Jeongguk pokes the inside of his mouth to resist laughing. “Well, fuck. That’s your leg ruined.”

“I know,” you pout. “Good thing you’re my sugar daddy- wanna pay for cosmetic leg surgery?”

“I like your bruised up legs,” says Jeongguk.

“Me too, but not these ones.”

“Bruh, that’s enough cream on your skin,” Jeongguk exclaims, moving forward to snatch the cream from your hands. “More is not better. Come on, you’re okay.”

“It hurts.”

“Boohoo,” he sighs. You don’t move. “Ugh, whatever. Come’re.”

Jeongguk drops the cream tube onto the sink but it clatters into the bowl. He’ll move it later if he remembers to, and he pretends it’s hard to pick you up off the bathtub and carries you swiftly out of the bathroom and into the living room. Things have barely moved since he last came to visit; the swarms of paper still invade your coffee table and your laptop is on sleep mode by a half-empty coffee cup filled with hot chocolate, because he knows your standing on coffee. Everything is a lot messier now that you’ve decided you want to go back to school, but at least Jeongguk knows it keeps you busy when he’s away.

“Oh,” he says suddenly, as you’re sat down with one leg up around him still. He pokes at a spot on your leg and you squirm, “there’s another one.”

You peer to look, “Oh, yeah, that one’s you.”

“Oh.” He pauses, “Pretty, though.”

You huff like a little baby and he dares you with raised eyebrows. That keeps you silent and Jeongguk moves his body at an angle to the right, sweeping to kiss the bruise better, the bruise that he made a few nights ago with tender love and care.

“All better,” he assures.

“It feels better already.”

“Mm. Magic.”

(8) Buying them something unrequested because it made you think of them.

“So, I was at a school fayre today.”

“Really?” Jeongguk sits with his laptop on his legs, and your legs are tangled around his body like some sort of jungle maze. He rarely works on his bed, not unless the work is sudden and he can’t help it. You’ve just come in, dived on the bed and claimed his waist as something to squeeze your legs around.

“Yep. Like, one of those little craft things where students sell their shit and make money from it. You know, supporting local artists! It’s really cute, if I was good at something I’d have participated.”

Jeongguk thinks of things you’re good at, and there’s a lot. “Aw. There’s always next year.”

“Yeah,” you reason. “Anyway- point is, is that I got you something.”

Jeongguk stills for a second, glancing over his right shoulder to see you, “Me?”

“Yep. You.”

“What did you get?” he asks, and then he’s back to checking blueprints.

You untangle your legs and slide off the bed, retreating to your bag slung across the room by the bedroom door. From here, you take out a small little pin-badge and when you’re sat next to Jeongguk again, you fiddle with it until it catches his attention.

“What’s this?” asks Jeongguk.

“It’s a badge of honour,” you claim, and you slip it into his palms. He fingers the front when he examines it, reading the little words of “Number One Dad” and he stares up at you. “Like it?”

“It’s for me?” he asks again.

“Yeah. You can wear it and like, I don’t know, think of me,” you shrug.

Jeongguk thinks for a moment. Even though it’s stupid, and cliche and a little bit embarrassing, he still thinks it’s funny and thoughtful.

“Want me to wear it to work?” he asks you.

“Oh, absolutely,” you encourage. “I’ll get Taehyung an uncle badge if he gets pissy.”

“Hey, you’re mine and he’s not allowed a relationship to you, no matter what definition,” Jeongguk pouts. “He wants a sugar niece, well...he’ll have to look somewhere else.”

You gape. “Wow. Who thought you had it in you to be so possessive.”

“Please, with a pussy like that of course I’m possessive,” he teases. He’s joking.

“My power,” you sigh anyway, and jump off the bed claiming that you’re hungry. Jeongguk looks at the badge again and pops it in his breast pocket before he loses it and regrets it.

(9) Participating in their hobby even if it doesn’t personally interest you.

Jeongguk’s bored out of his brain.

He has no idea how you can be so fascinated by this stupid game where you’re essentially in debt, but he still sits and watches you tour him around this weird island that is inhabited by ducks and an ugly gorilla villager dressed in pink. And to think that he had a part to play in all of this, because his bank account definitely helped pay for this Nintendo Switch and game.

“Do you like my beach?” you ask him. It’s literally just sand and one coconut tree, and a few shells by the water. Oh, there’s a beach chair on there too, but it makes little difference. “I’m poor, I can’t afford furniture yet.”

“Can’t you just make it?”

“I can, but I’m sick of making axes to collect wood,” you explain with a grudge against the fact that tools now break in this Animal Crossing game. Jeongguk hums like he’s invested, and he tries to be, because he cares about you too much to unintentionally hurt your feelings by displaying his crippling disinterest.

“Oh. Makes sense.”

“Can I show you my hybrid flower garden?”

He sighs. “Yeah, you wanted to show me all of your island, right?”

You nod enthusiastically. “Once you’ve had a tour, I can make you a profile and you can play too. You can live next door to me!”

“Why can’t we share a house?” Jeongguk presses.

“Because I don’t think it works like that, babe,” you confess. “Anyway. Here’s my garden.”

(10) Sitting in comfortable silence while eating a meal.

He’s tired. You’re tired.

The radio plays quietly updating Seoul on the fires that spread across the city today, and Jeongguk smells like smoke and salt. He keeps his head down as he eats his meal, something he brought home with him to make up for the fact that he’s been absent for almost a week now. You have so many things to say and he has so many things he needs to say to make up for everything, but nothing is said tonight.

You know he’s having a hard time, because Jeongguk’s been smoking again. He smoked on the balcony earlier, and once again in the bedroom. There are now ashtrays around your own apartment, and you don’t even smoke. Jeongguk takes a drink of bourbon and swallows it dry.

You look up at him from across the table, not wanting to press the issue when you know it’ll end in an argument, and then sex to make up for it. You’re both too tired to fuck today, too tired to speak. Just being in each other's company is enough for tonight. The only words he says are goodnight and something you don’t catch as you’re drifting off to sleep. Jeongguk’s awake all night, the fires burn until early hours, and the smoke smell is still there in the morning even when he isn’t.

#im sick of myself and my brain making new fics instead of finishing current ones #oh well #jungkook scenario #bts scenario #jeongguk scenario #jungkook x reader #bts #bangtan #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #bts jungkook imagine #jeongguk x reader #jeon jeongguk #jeon jungkook #jjk #bts mafia au #sugar daddy au #wordless

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the-littlefangirl · 4 years ago

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TFATWS episode 1 rewatch commentary

The first scene was so beautiful. I loved that we didn't start directly with the fight sequence. It feels way closer to the quiet beginning of CATWS and I love it so much.

The title is also SO NEAT, music's on point too but hey it’s Henry Jackman the one thing I’m sure it’s going to be great overall is the score.

The choreography is AMAZING, really well shot. Sam shielding himself with only one wing was MA-JES-TIC.

“WHAT'S UP” EXACTLY SAM EXACTLY

I did feel so uncomfortable in regards to the military aspect of it. Not that I was expecting anything else, but both here and in Captain Marvel the military we're good guys < 3 propaganda is so blatant and ugh:/ At least there wasn’t a literal recruitment spot like with CM.

The yellow filter in the Tunisia scene BYE please stop with the yellow filters 2k21

"I've been working with the Air Force for six months now" So, did Sam even catch a break at all after Endgame? Or did he just throw himself to work like SOMEONE did after being iced for 70 years. Hmmm? Sam????

"Essentially, these people, they want a world that's unified without borders" OH NO! HOW AWFUL, how evil of these bad guys smh

Joaquin: SO about Steve

Sam: :)))))) nope

"Moon stuff" SAAAM

#1 cry with Sam's speech, full on chills.. Fuck. Me. His voice about to break before saying thank you bYE.

Shady politician: "It was the right decision" (FUCKKKKK YOUUU)

Rhodey: *press any key to doubt *

I need someone to analyze the different curation of the two exhibits pretty please

NOT THE PHOTO POST-AZZANO JFC. That photo is my weakness, Bucky sweetie (also I find hilarious that usually when there are articles about Stucky and/or #givecaptainamericaaboyfriend they aaaalways use that photo LMAO)

In case someone wants to read the transcription of the texts about Bucky: "In 1944, while on a mission to thwart a Hydra weapon transport in the Alps, Barnes was thrown from a train and believed to have been killed in action. It wasn't until 2014, over seventy years later, that it was revealed that Barnes was alive, having been found by Hydra operatives. Captain America himself (i can't read) the effort to bring Barnes in only to later aid in a escape from custody having been convinced of his innocence. Steve's loyalty to his old friend, coupled with his refusal to sign the Sokovia Accords, led to the dissolution of the Avengers and drove the Captain into hiding with other like-minded Avengers including Natasha Romanoff, Wanda Maximoff, and Sam Wilson. The current whereabouts of Barnes remains unknown, habing been labeled a fugitive following his escape from custody."

"current wherabout unknown" but not the government, interesting. Also, pretty good summary of CACW from the public's perspective, although one of the things I always wanted to see explored was the public's reaction of the fallout of them going into hiding after Civil War (which I'm hoping we'll get to see a little bit of in Black Widow).

Interesting point about the 70 years without having Captain America. Clearly the sacrifice play wasn't enough this time to fuel the nationalism so they went with a squeaky clean John Walker instead.

Sam saying the shield belongs to Steve I'm going to cry now excuse me. Sam. Sam sweetie.

The No. 1 Captain America comic in the display ugH fuck yes

See this is how you do a cameo that has actual meaning. Thank god for Malcolm Spellman being a competent writer. That scene was so well written.

HAVE YOU PRAISED ANTHONY MACKIE'S PERFORMANCE TODAY?? Holy shit that last shot fucked me up.

I'm loving the use of the wide shots, especially in the flashback. The camera movements are in synch with The Soldier's state of mind and mission focus, so good.

EVERYONE STAND UP FOR THE NATIONAL ANTHEM aka The Winter Soldier theme composed by Henry Jackman.

Without a doubt the most brutal TWS fight scene there has been, People involved in Punisher and John Wick are involved in this and it SHOWS.

For the record, still stands that the only time we've seen him chocking someone with his right hand instead of the metal arm remains the Maria Stark assasination. I know it's probably because of blocking and the way the shot was composed but the implications are still bone chilling. God.

Uhhmmmm I'm very ambivalent about the "Hail Hydra". On one hand, it was 100% fanservice and the internet is probably going to go insane over it, and the dead way Sebastian Stan delivered the line. Good shit. Buuut what I love about CATWS is the way Bucky never, ever ever, mouths Hydra rethoric, and even when Pierce tries to gaslight him with it, it's just an empty effort. The Winter Soldier isn't doing anything because of ideological loyalty to Hydra, even if it's product of brainwashing, it's just sheer dehumanization. They don’t need him to say the words because he’s just An Asset. There are people who have put it more eloquently but yeah, I rather go with the fanon interpretation of that aspect.

The music growing louder with the shot of the keys. GOD.

I'm fine this is fine.

#2 cry with the therapy scene of fucking course.

The government monitoring Bucky is noooot going to end well lmao.

"We need to know that you're not gonna * slowmo stabbing motions *

Bucky: * nodding along slowly *

I laughed out loud.

"It's passive agressive" I love him.

The way this scene just sucker punched me in the face, made me weep and then had me cracking up. Amazing.

Therapist: You can't do anything illegal

Bucky: yup yup check checkity check. What IS considered illegal tho?

*aggresive tablet finger pressing *

"Then why isn't it rule number one?" Bucky your Steve is showing.

I love the close up shot. I'll keep saying it. It's so good.

"I'm James Bucky Barnes" yeah you are🥺

That smile is nightmare fuel LMFAO I love it.

Uhm the way I'm kinning Bucky it's not funny anymore damn

That whole “are you lashing out at me” rambling is really reminiscent of the bar scene in CATFA and how he lashed out at Steve after Peggy left. Uhm yeah fuck.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT?" "Peace"

"That is UTTER BULLSHIT" "You're a terrible shrink"

yeah ugly crying to ugly laughing speedrun for me

"You're free" "To do what?" jesus. That entire scene. #3 and #4 and #5 cries for moi.

Ugh that Brooklyn shot. Someone needs to do a gifset compairing it to the one in CATFA asap.

"It's like Monique but it's got a "U" in there for uniqueness" "That's absurd" LMAO

"You can't keep fighting with your neighbors" uHM * redacted redacted i'm shifting into 1940s mode abort abort *

"Nobody passed 90" "So young. Such a shame" FGADHGA

🥺🥺 yes flex those flirting skills good for you

"It's a dance to this things. You can't… you gotta warm up and I haven't danced since 1943. Feels like." #6 cry I completely broke down into tears with that.

This Yori storyline is going to punch me in the face with a metal fist. Great!

The TWS theme when he looks at Yori fuuuuuck.

GREAT LET'S GO TO LOUISIANA THAT WAS GETTING HEAVY.

Those shots of Sam in the car. Immaculate. Showstoping. Yes.

Marvel, what if instead of promoting the military industrial complex you put a lot of publicity about cars?

"Uncle Sam!" LMAO subtle.

Everyone trying to have the wings lmao same.

I've only had Sarah for a day but etc. Brooklyn 99 meme

Good mirroring about Steve and Sam family's legacy. Good shit. Goooood shit.

Sam is trying so hard ouch my heart. I can't imagine how painful the scene with them reuniting must have been. He 100% still feels a lot of guilt about being gone for those 5 years (and even longer before that).

"Maybe it is time for us to move on" uuuuuuuuuuh

"To the rescue" "Always" 🥺🥺 i love them so much already

That shot outside the restaurant is so beautiful. Can't wait to see the night scenes in Madripoor tbh.

"I tried the whole online dating thing. It's pretty crazy". Uhm well that is something that Bucky Barnes has now said. In canon. Damn.

"It's a lot" "You sound like my dad" LMAO

Every Bucky fanfic trope speedrun with this scene

"Wow you really can drink" OH you have no idea

Just realized we don't even know her name, well.

"You have any siblings?" "I have a sister" THE WAY I SCREECHED. We're definitely getting Becca

Well that escalated quickly. The important thing is to try?

I can't deal with this BUCKY SWEETIE #8 cry right there fuck

The wardrobe department is KILLING IT, there's such a difference between the outfits of the shows vs how ugly and generic it usually is.

"ThEre is NO such thiNg as on time. You're either EARLY or LATE . picK One" lmao the way he delivered that line

At first I thought the flag smashers had thrown two cars out of a window LMAO

"I don't know how jurisdiction works here, but I'mma have to place you under arrest" uhm yikes. The way they changed Joaquín Torres backstory to just random army nice guy #1 is not sitting well with me, what can I say.

Sam's wings motions I LOVE HIM YOUR HONOR

Fuuuuck this guy.

"Funny how thing's always thighten around us" "Look, I'm on your side. After all, he's a hero". This script is C R I S P as hell, great fucking job.

"I don't care, I'm not gonna quit" "What are you trying to prove? And who you trying to prove it to" SHIT HSIT SHIT!!! UGH amazing. Look it's not necessary to say the show's questions out loud but how they flow between the conversations is still very satisfactory without feeling in your face about it. Inner conflicts have been set up fucking perfectly everyone * claps *

Ugh here we fucking go. I knew this was how the episode was going to end but my stomach still dropped like a rollercoster. God.

The score is on point. Damn. Damn.

God, Sam.🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

The captain america franchise's visuals in the credits are always so amazing.

Also, does anybody know why Mackie isn't first in the billing? Uhm what's that about?

ANYWAY CONCLUSION THAT EPISODE WAS SO FUCKING GOOD LIKE HOLY SHIT. I love them so much. The balance between the personal conflicts and the political aspect (although the military aspect is still very much yikes) was on point and it was overall a joy to watch.

#tfatws #tfatws spoilers #i'm so happy rn #sorry for the ramblings i just wanted to have it all written down #sam wilson #bucky barnes #captain america #tfatws commentary

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cali-holland · 5 years ago

Text

The Only Exception- Harrison Osterfield One Shot

Pairing: Harrison Osterfield X Reader

Prompt: Being in love with your best friend is hard, but it’s even more difficult when he doesn’t believe in love (College AU)

Word Count: 4400

Warnings: Swearing; drinking; making out?? Haz being a bit of a fuckboy??

Masterlist Harrison Osterfield Masterlist

*Gif is not mine*

~~~

Harrison didn’t believe in love. He didn’t fall in love. He did a lot of things, but he didn’t fall in love.

Unlike you, his best friend.

You believed in love. You fell in love. A lot. And when you were in love, you were madly passionate about him.

Unlike Harrison because he simply didn’t fall in love.

“C’mon, just this once.” You begged, trying to get him to watch your all-time favorite movie, The Princess Bride.

“No way.” He laughed, shaking his head.

“Why not? You veto all of my movies.” You pouted. Harrison sat down beside you on the sofa, a bowl of popcorn in his hands. You moved the blanket so that it was covering both of you and he set the bowl down in his lap.

“I hate rom coms. True love? It’s just bullshit.” He said before shoving a handful of popcorn in his mouth. It was the same argument every Thursday with him. For the past few years, you and Harrison would have regular movie nights on every Thursday night, and every Thursday (when it was your turn to choose) you would suggest a rom com. You only allowed him to veto the genre because you didn’t want him choosing any sort of horror movie.

“No, it’s not.” You shook your head, continuing to search Netflix for a good flick.

“It totally is. Look at you and Anthony. How long did that true love last?” He raised his eyebrows at you as he smirked.

“Eight months.” You grumbled. You turned to look at Harrison, “What about you and Lily?”

“Long term friends with benefits.” He corrected you. “We weren’t dating. We never even held hands.”

“Oh, right. Forgot about your ridiculous rules.” You rolled your eyes, looking back at the TV.

Harrison had three rules when it came to his “relationships”:

1. No holding hands because that’s “far too intimate”- you just liked to mock him for being scared of coodies.

2. No pet names because they create attachment. “Haz” was only acceptable in bed.

3. No cuddling because, again, it’s too intimate.

And you were the unspoken exception to all three of those rules, which was why you were technically cuddled up to him right now.

“They’re not ridiculous. They’re established boundaries.” He argued.

“Please, you only established those boundaries to keep yourself from falling in love.” You fired back.

“I like my rules, okay? They’re better than falling in love with every person that lays eyes on me.” He quipped.

“I do not.” You protested.

“Fourth rule. You can’t mock me for my lack of love life when you also don’t have a love life.” Harrison stated as he shoved some more popcorn in his mouth.

“You can’t involve me in your stupid rules.”

“Yes, I can. I just did.”

“Whatever.” You sighed, “How does ‘John Wick’ sound?”

“Completely unromantic, so I’ll take it.” He smiled, smugly. You shoved his shoulder as you started the movie.

“What are you doing Saturday?” You asked quietly. The movie played on in the background, but you weren’t paying much mind to it.

“Probably just going out.” Harrison shrugged. You knew exactly what that meant; he’d go out for drinks with Tom or any number of other friends and find some hot broad to hook up with for the night. “What’s up?’

“My sorority’s having a formal. Anthony was supposed to go with me, but,” You trailed off. You weren’t sure why you were so quiet about the subject; it’s not like Harrison hadn’t been your ‘date’ to events before. He was your prom date back in high school because your boyfriend had, of course, broken up with you just beforehand. Harrison stepped in to save the day like he always did; no matter which boy broke your heart, you always had Harrison by your side. He was the one who’d help you through a bad breakup- and you were the one who’d help him through a bad hangover.

“Do you want me to come?” He asked.

“Yes.” You admitted, “I just know everyone else has a date, but I don’t want to disrupt your boys’ night.”

“Of course I’ll go with you.” He replied with a soft smile. “I’ve got you.”

And so, just two days later, Harrison stood in his bedroom, unsure of which tie to wear for your formal. You had sent him a picture of your dress, but that wasn’t much help.

“You going somewhere?” Tom asked as Harrison came into the living room in his dress shirt and slacks.

“Which tie looks better?” Harrison held up the two ties by his neck.

“The one on the left.” He replied, still eyeing his roommate skeptically. Harrison tossed the back up tie on the couch and quickly began to tie the one Tom had chosen. “Where are you going? You don’t wear ties for dates.”

“Y/N’s got a formal.” He answered, looking in the mirror and checking his tie.

“Are you two dating yet?” Tom laughed from his spot on the sofa.

“Dating? No.” Harrison shook his head as if his friend had just said something blasphemous. “That’d be gross.”

“You’ve been friends for how long? You’re so into her, mate.”

“I’m not into her. Besides, I don’t do relationships and all Y/N does is relationships.”

“Have you ever thought that maybe you’re so afraid of commitment because you’re in love with your best friend, but you’re too scared to admit it?”

“Just because you’re seeing a psych major doesn’t mean you get to say shit like that. And I’m not in love with her!” Harrison shouted as he rushed back to his bedroom.

“Whipped.” Tom muttered. Harrison’s tie dilemma had set him back and now he was running late. He pulled on his shoes and grabbed his jacket, quickly putting it on. He checked his hair (and teeth) one last time in the mirror and sprayed one last thing of cologne before heading out the door.

“What took you so long?’ You huffed when he finally arrived at your place to pick you up.

“Couldn’t choose a tie.” Harrison explained as you reached over to straighten it.

“Well, I like this one. It brings out your eyes.” You said as he drove off towards the formal’s event center with a confident smile on his face.

~~~

A few weeks passed after your formal and Harrison found himself pondering on Tom’s words. Was his fear of commitment because he was into you? He refused to even consider the option that he was in love with you- that was ridiculous. Him being in love? With you? That’s the best joke he’s heard all year. Besides, there was no way you could possibly be in love with him.

“Haz? Harrison!” You snapped your fingers in front of his face, drawing him out of his deep thought- about you.

“Yeah?” He asked, blinking away his thoughts. His eyes hurt, but he was sure that was from pulling an all-night because here the two of you were, in the library’s 24-hour section, deep in midterm season. He removed his glasses to rub his eyes, groaning, “What’d I miss?”

“I was just asking if you had plans on Friday.” You said.

“I was going to go out. What’s up?”

“Well, my friend-”

“You’re not trying to set me up with anyone, are you?” Harrison peered at you questioningly.

“It’s just a double date.”

“A double what now?” He asked, not quite sure if he heard you right. He began to fiddle with the pages of his business textbook nervously.

“A double date.” You stated, “You know, a date where two people who like each other hang out alone, and it becomes a double date with a second couple there?” Harrison decided to ignore the fact that your description of a date was just the romantic version of anytime that he hangs out with you. “As I was saying, my friend, Maggie, knows this guy, and she wants to set me up with him. To avoid the whole awkward blind date thing because I hate that, Maggie suggested a double date.”

“So I’d be Maggie’s date?”

“Yes. You don’t have to actually be into her, but just- can you come along so I can just meet the other guy? He sounds like a great guy.” You pleaded, giving him your best puppy dog eyes.

“Y/N, you know I don’t-”

“Haz, please.” You pouted this time, putting your hands on top of his.

“Alright, but just for you.” He caved. “Yay!” You smiled as Harrison thought to himself ‘I could look at that smile for days’. He quickly shook those thoughts from his head, turning back to the book in front of him. He was absolutely not into you.

When Friday came around, Harrison told you he’d pick you up, just like for your formal. He stood in his bedroom, looking at himself shirtless in the mirror. He had three button-up shirts in his hands and he was trying to decide which one would look better on him. His room was trashed from him digging through his closet just to find the right jeans. He didn’t really go on double dates- in fact, he’s never been on one, so he didn’t know what he was expected to wear. He let out a sigh, looking over at his open door as Tom passed by his room with his eyes glued to his phone.

“Tom, come here for a second.” Harrison called out to him. Tom stood in the hallway, eyebrows raised at his friends’ condition. “I’ve narrowed it down to three shirts. Which one?”

“Middle one.” Tom replied almost immediately. Harrison had to admit, the other two were awful compared to the middle one, and he didn’t know why he had them as options. “Got a nice date?”

“Y/N wants to go on a double date.” He explained, pulling on the shirt and buttoning it up.

“You’re finally going on a date with her?” Tom asked in disbelief.

“No.” Harrison shook his head quickly. “Her friend is introducing her to this guy, and I’m going out with that friend tonight.”

“So you’re going to sit through Y/N being on a date?”

“I’ve done it before.”

“Yeah, but you’re always a grump about it the next day and you’re always hungover the next day.”

“I gotta go or else I’ll be late.” Harrison said, shaking off his roommate. With one last check in the mirror, he was ready to go and practically bounded out the door to his car.

“You’re looking sharp.” You stated, getting into the passenger seat of his car when he pulled up to your house.

“You look good.” Harrison replied once he had taken in your outfit of a simple floral dress.

“We’re going to that pizza place downtown.” You told him and he drove off, heading for your destination.

“So what’s Maggie like?” He asked.

“She’s a total sweetheart. I met her in my econ class last semester.” You said and he hummed in acknowledgement, “You don’t have to like her.”

“Depends on the beer at the pizza place, maybe I’ll like her a lot.” Harrison joked, making you playfully punch him in the shoulder.

“She’s nice.”

“I don’t like nice girls. That’s all I’m saying.” He shrugged with a chuckle.

“Don’t get drunk on this date, for me?” You pleaded, already knowing where his mind was headed.

“Fine, I won’t.” He shook his head with a smile as he pulled into the parking lot.

Once he had parked, the two of you made your way inside, where you met up with Maggie and your date, James. You and James clicked right away, meanwhile Maggie would try to strike up a conversation with Harrison, who would seemingly try his hardest to not interact with her. You would sometimes kick him under the table as a way to say “start flirting or else” and he’d take the hint for the next few minutes.

After you all had finished your pizza and a first round of drinks, James suggested you all go down to the pub for real drinks. Harrison drove you again over to the pub, giving you the opportunity to talk to him.

“Really? You’re not even going to try with Maggie?” You asked when the two of you were finally alone in his car.

“I’m not feeling it.” Harrison shrugged, trying to brush it off.

“I’ve seen you flirty off your ass with a fever, don’t bullshit me with the “not feeling it” excuse.” You stated.

“I just-“ he sighed, “I really am not feeling it.”

“Just try? At least talk to her. For me?” You turned on your best puppy dog eyes for him.

“Okay.” He grumbled, giving in to your pleas.

Harrison had told you he wouldn’t get drunk and that he would at least try to talk to Maggie. But once you all ended up at the pub, he wasn’t sure if he could keep his end of the deal. Harrison couldn’t describe it, the annoying urge in his gut to physically take on James for talking to you. He was so focused on you and James flirting up a storm across the high table that he could barely hear Maggie talk. You excused yourself to go use the bathroom, and when you returned to the table, Harrison was gone.

“Where’d Harrison go?” You asked, eyeing his empty seat.

“He, uh, said something about the bar.” Maggie replied. You looked over and saw Harrison downing a couple drinks as he talked to the girl beside him.

“I’m sorry about him.” You apologized, “I had a great time tonight, but I really should get him home.” You quickly left off to where Harrison was.

“What do you say, you wanna come back to my place?” Harrison asked the blonde in front of him, his signature smile as charming as ever.

“Harrison!” You exclaimed, smacking him on the arm with your purse.

“Hey!” He yelped, turning to see you. You could tell by the glazed look in his eyes, he was absolutely gone.

“Is this your girlfriend?” The blonde asked, stepping back from Harrison.

“What? No.” You replied and the girl left. Harrison took another shot as you took the blonde’s spot in front of him. Snapping your fingers in front of him, you tried to draw his attention back to you, “Hey, quit it.”

“No, let me drink.” He whined. Before he could take another shot, you took it from his hands.

“You’re done, let’s go.” You said, grabbing his hands and leading him out of the bar. Harrison leaned on you until you managed to get him in the passenger seat of his car. He let out another whine once you got him situated and then got into the driver’s side.

“I’m sorry I’m drunk.” Harrison offered weakly, though it came out mostly slurred.

“Yeah, yeah,” You muttered.

You were thankful he didn’t say anything else on the drive back to his place; you were too annoyed by his actions to even try to talk about it. You dragged him up to his room, trying to keep him quiet so as to not bother Tom.

“I’m sorry.” Harrison whined, flopping onto his bed.

“We’ll talk about it in the morning, okay?” You said, turning away from him to get some pajama pants out for him and a shirt for you to borrow. When you shifted to face him again, he was standing lopsidedly leaning against the wall, trying to kick off his jeans. His shirt was abandoned on the floor next to him.

“God, Haz.” You sighed, moving quickly to help him before he fell over. You had one hand on his bare chest to keep him steady while you used the other to push him back onto the bed. Once he was laying down with his legs hanging off the bed, you pulled his jeans off his legs fully, leaving him in just his boxers.

“I’ve always wanted this.” Harrison mumbled, resting a hand on your face.

“Wanted what? To get shit faced on a double date?” You asked, trying to get him to move so he was actually in bed. He just grabbed your wrists in his hands.

“You.” He gave you the best drunk smile he could muster.

“Haz, you’re drunk.” You said, shaking his hands from your wrists.

“I want you, want you.” He clarified through another tired slur. You shook your head, helping him get into the bed fully.

“Go to sleep, Harrison.”

“I think,” He breathed out, struggling to stay awake as his sleepy blue eyes found yours, “I think I lo-“ He cut himself off with a giggle. “I almost said it, but I didn’t! That would’ve been embarrassing.” He hiccuped, “What a rom com trope that would be.”

“Good night.” You told him, finally getting him under the covers. You changed into one of his shirts and crawled into his bed next to him. He was passed out by the time you’d gotten there. You let out a small sigh as you watched his sleeping form.

“I want you too, Haz.” You whispered before turning around and drifting off to sleep.

The next day, Harrison let out a loud groan as he woke up. He blindly stretched his arms, not wanting to open his eyes yet. He rolled over to reach out for you and he opened his eyes curiously when he found an empty spot beside him. His memory was a bit spotty from last night, but he knew he made it home with you, which meant you would’ve been there in his bed with him, just as you always were whenever you brought him home after a night out.

“Y/N?” Harrison mumbled, slowly sitting up and looking around his room for you. The only trace that you had been there was a glass of water with a couple Motrin pills on the bedside table. He gratefully took the pain reliever and then checked his phone, only to find no new notifications from you.

‘Hey, where you at?’ He texted you, hopeful for a response. He waited a few moments, and when you still hadn’t responded, he decided it was probably time for him to go take care of his morning problem, something which happened a lot when he’d go to sleep wasted with you beside him.

Harrison kept checking his phone throughout the day, but nothing. You weren’t replying to any of his concerned texts, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it. He’d call you, but he knows you hate getting phone calls, claiming that they’re too awkward.

And so, to distract himself from his thoughts of you, Harrison did what he did best on a Saturday night- he went out with his friends to get shit faced and find a hookup. But with each drink he took back, he just thought of you.

He wasn’t even that drunk when he found a girl to hookup with, but she was flirty and had eyes like yours, so how could he say no when she invited him back to her place.

“Haz,” She moaned out as he kissed down her neck.

“Don’t- don’t call me that.” Harrison breathed out, pushing her back onto her bed.

“Harrison’s too much,” She whined, her hands in his hair as she tried to bring him back to kiss him on the mouth.

“Call me Harrison.” He said before continuing to kiss her passionately. She moaned in compliance, her hands finding their way down to his jeans, skipping his shirt altogether. She didn’t even get the button undone when Harrison pulled away from her.

“Harrison,” The girl huffed at the loss of his touch.

“I can’t do this.” Harrison climbed off her.

“What do you mean?” She asked.

“You’re not her.” He shook his head before bolting out of her room and her apartment. Before Harrison could even process what he was doing, he ended up at your place.

Knocking on the door in an urgent manner, he was disappointed when your roommate opened the door.

“She’s not here.” Your roommate said.

“Where is she?” Harrison asked. He watched as your roommate paused for a moment to take in his current state. He shifted, realizing that maybe showing up slightly drunk at your doorstep with obvious hookup hair and swollen lips wasn’t the way to go.

“She’s studying at the library.” She replied.

“Thanks.” He nodded and hurried off to the library.

The whole journey over to the library, Harrison felt like he was losing his mind. Was he really about to go to confess his undying love for you like in some shitty rom com? Was he actually in love with you or was that the alcohol coursing through his veins?

He ran up the stairs of the library, already knowing where you’d be. He stopped when his eyes landed on you. You were sitting at your usual table, the table you always sat at with Harrison, but James was in his seat. And it was James making you throw your head back laughing. Harrison’s heart stopped at the scene.

As he hung his head low and began his walk back home, he knew why he didn’t fall in love. Because the heartbreak hurt too much.

~~~

The day after your double date, when you woke up in Harrison’s bed, he had his arms wrapped around you. It wasn’t the first time you’d stayed over in his bed, but it was the first time you’d woken up like that. You slowly moved yourself out of his embrace, not wanting to wake him. You gathered him some pain reliever and a glass of water, knowing he’d need it when he did eventually wake up. You let out a sigh when you set out this water and pills. He was so peaceful when he was asleep, and as attractive as he was when he was awake, his sleeping form was another level.

It was hard enough being in love with your best friend, but it was even harder when he didn’t believe in love. And somehow Harrison had managed to make it even harder by almost telling you he loved you when he was drunk last night. But he couldn’t have loved you, he was so adamantly against love; it just wasn’t Harrison.

You weren’t sure how much he’d remember when he woke up. You were scared to have that conversation with Harrison if he did remember what he said, or well what he almost said. You did what you’d never done before- you left.

All day, Harrison would text you, asking what happened and if you were alright, but you were at the library, trying to maintain your focus on your studies. Somehow, James had managed to find you in the library that evening. You offered him Harrison’s seat because, well, it was a Saturday night and you hadn’t spoken to Harrison all day- he was most likely off hooking up with a random girl.

But you almost wished you hadn’t invited James to sit with you. Sure, he made you laugh, but it wasn’t the same as with Harrison. You couldn’t focus on your studying with his not so subtle flirtatious jokes. After another small fit of laughter, you opened your eyes to see Harrison leaving the library. His back was to you and his shoulders were slumped in defeat. You sat on the edge of your seat; there was something wrong, he wouldn’t come here if everything was fine.

“Are you okay?” James asked, pulling you from your trance on where Harrison had once stood.

“I- I have to go.” You hurried to pack your things, shoving your notebooks and pens in your backpack carelessly. You ran off out of the library, chasing after Harrison.

“Haz!” You called out, running up to him under the moonlight. He jumped, turning around to face you.

“Y/N,” Harrison’s hands flew to your sides, steadying you as you stopped in front of him.

“What are you doing here?” You asked.

“I was just walking home. It’s nothing, go back to James.” He shook his head, trying to play it cool, but you noticed the tension in his voice.

“What are you really doing here?” You questioned again.

“There’s just-“ He sighed, “I want to tell you something.”

“Yes?”

Harrison sighed again, his fingers rubbing your waist nervously. When he realized what he was doing, he stepped back and dropped his hands from your sides. He looked anywhere, but in your eyes.

“Haz, you know you can tell me anything.” You said, reassuringly. Harrison took your hands in his, making you realize the gravity of what he so desperately needed to say- he was breaking another rule with you.

“I’m- I’m in,” He groaned, tripping over his words. You held back a soft smile, you’d never seen him like this. It took him another moment before he found his words and his blue eyes found yours.

“I’m in love with you, okay? I- I am so crazy about you and I love you. I love you.” Harrison repeated, nodding his head in affirmation, “I never believed in true love or any of that mushy shit, but you made me believe in that. You are the one that showed me love is real.” He paused, cringing a little, and you could tell he was still fighting the alcohol’s hold over him, “I’m not saying this just because I want to hook up with you. I mean I definitely want to, but I want to be your- your boyfriend first and foremost.” He tripped over his words as he said ‘boyfriend’ for the first time in ages when referring to himself, “Screw my stupid rules. I want to hold your hand, I want you to call me Haz whenever you want to, I want your cuddles, I just want you. You’re the only exception.” He paused when he realized you were quiet, “Please, say something. I feel like one of those guys in your romance mo-“ You cut him off by pressing a kiss to his lips.

“I love you too, Haz” You smiled, emphasizing the nickname, and Harrison just pulled you in for a longer, more passionate kiss. He let go of your hands and wrapped his arms around your waist, tugging you even closer to him.

He may not have believed in love before, but he certainly did now as he held you in his arms, kissing you underneath the moonlight.

You pulled away from kissing Harrison for a moment. “For the record, this is definitely a trope straight of a rom com.”

#harrison osterfield #harrison osterfield x you #harrison osterfield imagine #harrison osterfield x reader #harrison osterfield one shot #haz osterfield

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keanuvibe · 5 years ago

Text

Bodyguard (John Wick x Reader) Pt. 6

A/N: Hi! I return with some good old fashion smut :) I love y’all, thank you so much for supporting this fic honestly.

Words: 4.5k

Warnings: swears, smut

The burning taste of alcohol scorched your throat as it went down. The buzz of an old box TV sat on a shelf near your seat, but it was drowned out by the bar life that hummed around. You didn't bother to take part in socializing; you weren't planning on staying too long, just enough to get drunk and then leave. You couldn't be too hungover anyways, as the gala is tomorrow evening. You only slipped out because you needed time to yourself before the possibility of being murdered by your cousin tomorrow. You didn't understand why your father couldn't just give Santino what he wants, and not put your life on the line. I mean, you did agree to the situation; they gave you the option to say ‘No’.

The past week has been interesting, to say the least. Firstly, you and John slept together. It was everything you’d hoped, and it definitely wasn't expected. Certainly not back when you first met; his handsome figure sitting so proper in the living room. Often, you find yourself thinking back to when you'd first met. He was so quiet, reserved, seemingly collected. Ruggedly handsome and such a mystery as well. That was back when you saw him in nothing but suits. You've fallen so incredibly hard for this man. Someone who you probably wouldn't have glanced at twice on the street.

Next, the events leading to the gala had begun to cause you anxiety. The possibility of being killed isn't something you want to face. However, your parents are taking heavy precautions. Your mother had you fitted for a dress, tactical in case things went awry.

Tuesday - 3:45 PM

“Look at you! So stunning.” Your mother cooed, spinning you around so she could see the dress you’d put on. The seamstress stood to the side, arms tucked behind her back and measuring tape around her neck.

“And the fabric is-”

“Bulletproof up to close range, knife proof, and waterproof.” The seamstress spoke, cheerfully finishing off the sentence. You looked over to her, nodding quietly before looking back at your reflection. The dress fit well, it resembled a fit and flare with a heart shaped top and slit up to the top of your thigh. The design made it easier to move and access hidden weapons, while also looking classy and sexy. It did accentuate your breasts nicely, and the slit for your thigh showed a delicious amount of skin. The curve of the article gave you a nice hourglass shape as well.

“Aspetta che John ti veda in questo.” [‘Wait for John to see you in this.”] Your mother giggled, sitting back onto a small couch. You blushed a deep rouge, scoffing at her comment.

“What? I know you like him, darling.” She responded to your attitude with a smile, sarcastically rolling her eyes.

“Mom- I-” You began, but stopped yourself as the seamstress undid the zipper, allowing you to slip out of the article. The woman then took the dress into another room, leaving you and your mother alone. You quickly slipped back into your clothes before turning around to face your mom.

“What, baby?” She questioned, sipping a glass full of champagne.

“I have something to tell you.” You murmured, sitting next to the woman. You looked up to your mother and she gazed back at you, blinking her long eyelashes. For as long as you could remember, your mother always had her makeup on. In fact, she's always been put together; even at five in the morning.

“Go on, then.” She waved her hand, encouraging you to continue. Nerves fluttered about your stomach and you shifted in your seat.

“I-” You stuttered, casting your eyes to your lap. “I think I have a crush on him.” Your mother's hand placed itself onto your shoulder as she scoot closer.

“I know, la mia bellezza.” Your mother chuckled. “It was easy to tell after a few months.” [‘My beauty.’] She murmured, softly moving some strands of hair that had fallen in your face. The room was quiet, save for a small radio that played classical piano music.

“I-I don't know what to do.” You paused, “Mom, what if this life isn't for me? I appreciate you let me have the store fronts, but I don’t want them anymore.” You spoke, looking towards the woman. Your mother pushed a glass of champagne into your hand and forced you to sip it.

“I know you don’t want to be apart of this, really. We gave you those fronts to try to keep you around. The fact Santino dragged you further in… We’re sorry.” The woman murmured, looking down to her lap.

“I’m going to stay, and help you. But afterwards… I’m moving out. I found a place further down in the city. John helped me find it, actually.” You spoke, a little excitement added to your voice. Your mother looked back up, a small grin crossing her lips. She nodded, leaning in and kissing the top of your head softly.

“I support you. Your father might be harder to convince, however.” The woman answered, setting her glass down.

Right. You nearly forgot you told your mom about liking John, and confessing the want to leave. You already put a deposit down anyways. With your father’s money, you can afford to live on your own. He'd put enough away in a savings account, starting when you were just a baby.

John helped you find the place too, searching the old fashion way; through ads in the paper.

“This one has a lot of natural light.” John held these newspaper for you to see. You grabbed the sheet from his hand and studied the small black and white photos.

“How can you even see that?” You squint, prompting John to chuckle.

“It says it in the description, little one.” He humored, a cheeky grin crossing his face. You blushed, chuckling to play off your embarrassment.

“There’s plenty of closet space. I could keep a few things there.” He spoke, standing up and adjusting his position to hover over your shoulder. You felt butterflies soar through your stomach at the comment and nodded furiously.

“Yes, please do.”

On top of all the other stuff, your father gifted you new weaponry; A pistol set with an ankle strap, and a new set of knives. It felt nice that he cared, but you've never actually been apart of one of your fathers missions before. Sure, you've done some dirty work and left a few bodies behind; however, this mission is different. More dangerous, on top of being risky.

The scrape of a bar stool next to your own echoed throughout the space, but you didn't bother to glance at the person. The bartender was quick to take their order before the figure cleared their throat.

“This is the bar we were first introduced. Our fathers had a meeting here.” Santino’s voice chilled you to the bone and you froze, stuck staring into your drink. You heard the light of a match as he lit a cigarette and took a puff, smoke blowing directly into your face.

“You remember, no?” He then asked. You finally looked up, greeting his smug expression.

“I do.” You answered, taking a large swing of your whiskey. “Why are you here, Santino?” You finished.

“May we not speak like civilized humans? We are famiglia after all.” ‘[Family.]’ He answered cooly, taking a puff from his cigarette. You rolled your eyes, gesturing to the bartender for another refill.

“You think no more of us than you do an ant on the street. We are not family; We are merely, devastatingly, blood related.” You spat, facing your cousin fully. He seemed a bit taken aback by your outburst, but quickly shook it off with a laugh and a sip of his own drink. You two fell into silence as you turned back towards your drink. You swirled the dark liquor around before gulping down the liquid.

“Where's your boy, hm? No play toy tonight?” The man asked after a few moments. You knew he was talking about John. “Do your parents know about your activities?” Anger bubbled deeply in your chest. How did he know that in the first place? You two were very strict about no affection until behind closed doors.

“I stepped out without him.” You tried to keep the rage under control, taking another hefty sip from your drink. Santino clicked his tongue at your answer.

“Shame, I’d love to meet the guy whose been killing all my men.” Your cousin murmured. You furrowed your brows, confusion lacing your brain.

“We've only had a few instances with your fools, what do you mean?” You asked, looking back towards the man. He looked at you, realization crossing his features. A short laugh escaped his mouth.

“You don't know?” He grinned mischievously.

“Tell me.” You demanded, your hand balling into a fist. The obvious amusement radiated off your cousin from your situation. What the hell could he be talking about, and why has John been ‘killing all his men’?

“Your… boyfriend, has been sneaking out at night, cousin. Into my warehouses, slaying the men in his way. I know he's seeking me. John Wick could never touch me.” Santino’s last comment was snarky, cold, and spoken with a deep seeded hatred. You felt shock cross your body upon learning new information. Why hadn't he told you? He could've been killed and you would've never known. Drunk words were to be had when you get home.

“Well. That sounds like a problem for you.” You responded. Though you were upset at John for keeping this a secret, you were grateful he'd put such a large dent into Santino’s resources. Your cousin scoffed, finishing off his drink and setting the glass back onto the bar. He threw a twenty dollar bill next to the cup before turning to face you. You watched carefully as he placed his ring-clad hand over your shoulder, leaning closer to your face.

“See you tomorrow, (Y/N).” He spoke lowly. His hand pat your shoulder a few times before he removed it and exit the bar. Though you didn't look at his face when he’d spoken, the sinister feelings behind it stuck with you; even after he’d already left.

Stumbling through your bedroom door, your fingers searched the wall before finding the switch and flipping on the light. You groaned at the brightness, too drunk to be dealing with it. You felt a little dizzy from the dark liquor you'd drank, but managed to walk to your bed, sitting on the edge. With a little effort, you began tugging at the zipper on your dress in an attempt to remove the article. Going to bars used to be fun, you could carelessly get wasted and sleep with some random guy. Now you couldn't leave the house with fears of being killed.

Stripping off the dress, you sighed, laying back onto your bed and shutting your eyes. A quiet knock on your door triggered a low groan to escape your lips as you sat up, wobbling your way over to the door and tugging it open. Your drunk eyes met the sight of John. He looked down at your figure and raised his brows as the scent of alcohol hit his nostrils.

“Sneaking off on me again?” He questioned, pushing your figure back into the bedroom and shutting the door behind himself. You stumbled back from his minimal force, and whined at him.

“Don't p-push me.” You drunkenly spoke, folding your arms in frustration. “You're the one in trouble h-here! Mr. I’ve Been Sneaking Out To Kill Santino’s Men.

“That's a long name.” John deadpanned. His eyes scanned down your body, causing you to remember you'd stripped off the clothing you had on.

“Don't change the topic.” You walked past him to get to the bed, bumping his arm on your way. He quickly reached out, grasping your bicep and pulling you up to his chest. You tried your best to let the drunkenness fill you with courage as his dark eyes stared you down. You'd never seen John look at you like this before; angry.

“I am protecting you.” He whispered lowly and through his teeth, “I’m doing what I have to, to keep you safe.” His eyes traveled down your nearly naked body; goosebumps covered your skin as he did so. You felt like prey to an animal, like a delicious looking gazelle to a lion; a ferocious, dark haired lion.

“What're you staring at?” You slurred, furrowing your brows. The grip he had on your arm shifted pressures as his mouth collided with your own. The man let go, instead grabbing under your ass and picking you up. He swiftly turned around, tossing you onto the bed with force. You studied his face as he slowly approached your weakened figure, noting how dark his eyes had gotten. You'd made John so mad, he was no longer John. You'd caused John Wick to emerge.

“Don't move.” He spoke deeply. The sound of his belt buckle echoed throughout the quiet room and John whipped the slim article from his pant loops with a Crack!. The man set the belt into your bed, grabbing your ankles afterwards and pulling your body to the edge of the bed roughly. A little whine escaped your throat as he grabbed your wrists, holding them together above your head before tying the belt around them.

“You want to act bratty? Like you're the boss?” He questioned, raising his brow and spreading your thighs roughly, “Let me remind you who’s in charge.” John finished. He placed his thumb over your still clothed clit with a firm pressure, rubbing slowly. A moan left your lips and you squirmed your hips at the sensation. His free hand came down quickly, grasping your hip tightly and holding it down so you couldn't move.

“No moving.” He murmured, running his finger along your panty line. The feeling tickled, but you tried your best not to move in fear of his punishment. He hummed in appreciation, gently pushing your underwear to expose your core. He let out a soft groan at the sight, running his pointer finger up your slit, gathering the wetness up. You let out a pathetic whimper as he tapped your clit on the exit.

“So gorgeous.” John praised, running his hand along the curve of your waist. You felt a blush crawl up your cheeks and turned your face to the side to hide it.

“Look at me.” He commanded, his fingers grasping your chin and moving your head. The man studied your expression. He saw the lust hazing your eyes, the alcohol too. There was another emotion hiding behind the other two; fear. It made him smirk knowing he was back in charge and he stood straight again, beginning to loosen his tie. You watched as he took the item off and approached your figure. He leaned down, placing the tie over your eyes and quickly knotting it.

“Can you see?” He asked. You could tell by his voice that he'd moved back to the end of the bed. You shook your head ‘No’ as a response. Johns footsteps padded faintly and you hear him shuffling around before his large hand grasped your ankle. It caused you to jump, not being able to tell when he was going to touch.

“I won't hurt you.” He murmured, fingertips dragging up your leg. You shuddered at the sensation, your senses heightened at the loss of your sight. Johns fingers shocked you once again, hooking into the hem of your panties and pulling them down. The cool air hit your hot core and you shivered at the temperature shock.

“I missed you.” He whispered, leaning down. His face sat close to your heat and he gently kissed the skin of your inner thigh. You felt his scratchy facial hair scrape the delicate skin near your pussy. The hotness of his breath coated your clit, and just as he was about to give you what you wanted-

“Please!” You blurted, squirming your hip. The silence was deafening, however John finally spoke up.

“I told you not to move.” You felt chills expose your skin at his comment. The man was swift to move away from your core. He grabbed you and flipped you over so you lay on your stomach instead of your back. His fingertips dragged along the length of your leg, starting at your achilles and ending at the curve of your ass. He gently grasped the flesh, squeezing it before a swift Slap! stang soft skin. You released a short cry at the sensation, whimpering afterwards as the man's hand gently massaged the skin he’d just assaulted. A second slap came down moments after, prompting you to cry out again. The overwhelming sting from the sharp slap tingled across your ass and you let out a defeated whimper.

John’s large hands ran along your back, meeting the clasp for you bra. In a single swift movement the man had undone the article. The sensation of little kisses littered your back as he made a clear pattern down to your ass. His beard scraped the still raw skin, but the little pain it brought felt good.

“Are you ready to behave?” He then asked. You nodded, vision still blocked by his tie. You could hear as he moved around again before he gently flipped you back over, pulling you to the edge. The quiet noise of his zipper echoed the quiet room, followed by the drop of an article of clothing. John’s calloused hands found themselves wrapping around your ankles, holding your legs up in the air. The gentle, yet excited, breaths that left his throat sounded throughout the room and you let out a quiet whine.

“I know baby.” John answered to your plea. He reached his hand down, rubbing your exposed clit with a firm pressure. He gathered your wetness onto his fingers before giving himself a few pumps using the slick. An excited knot formed in your belly at the sensation of his rubbing, prompting you moan softly. His fingers left your clit but were replaced by the tip of his cock, caressing the bundle of nerves. Wishing you could see his face, you huffed from frustration. Your arms were still tied together above your head with the belt, and your vision still blocked by the tie. Seeing John’s pleasure only added to your own.

In a single swift thrust, John had fully entered your heat. A cry left your throat at a loud volume, the satisfaction of finally being filled overwhelming your senses. The man started moving slowly, allowing you time to adjust to his large size. Pleasure coursed through your veins, and despite the man's rule, you began to move your hips with his. He removed his hands from around your ankles, resting your legs over his shoulders, before moving them down. He ripped your bra off, hand quick to grasp onto the flesh and fingers eagerly playing with your nipple. More waves of pleasure navigated your figure, the familiar warm feeling beginning to grow in your lower belly.

Keeping his rhythm, John leaned forward and connected his lips with your breast, littering hickies across the soft, fleshy skin. Moans echoed the room, you being too drunk to care about keeping them under control. His thumb expertly rubbed your clit, only added to the fire within your belly. His mouth connected with your nipple, only doubling the pleasure you were feeling. John adjusted the position of his hips slightly, causing the head of his cock to rub against your g-spot.

“Oh- Oh- I’m going to cum,” You breathed, the pit in your belly close to exploding. John took your words as a challenge thrusting harder. With a cry, your orgasm erupted throughout your body. Your finger and toe tips tingled as your muscles repeatedly flexed and relaxed. John let you ride out your orgasm, thrusting deeply before he too finished. His large body slumped onto your own, both of you breathing heavily. The man took a few moments before he lazily untied your hands and blindfold.

“Whoa.” You spoke as soon as he took the fold off. He smirked, leaning on one elbow so he could face you.

“So, are you going to obey now?” He questioned, finger running up your body and between your breasts. You nodded swiftly, biting your lip. Although, once in a while you’ll have to misbehave. You two laid there quietly for about ten minutes before getting dressed in pajamas. Once clothed, you returned to your bed, both of you climbing in. Most of the time John stays until you are asleep. Then, not to raise suspicion, he returns to his bedroom across the hall. It was the only way you got away with ‘sleeping together’. John still didn’t know that your mom knows about some things. Thankfully, your father still doesn’t. You didn’t know when to break the news; speaking of bad news. Santino. The bar.

“John?” You questioned, turning to face him. He currently laid on his back, a book in hand.

“Yes?” He answered, pausing his reading to look at you. He studied his handsome face, before speaking up.

“The bar I was at- Santino showed up. We- We spoke.” The words faintly floated from your lips. John sat up, his focus picking up on you. “You’ve been leaving at night, taking out certain camps with Santino’s men?” It was spoken like a statement, but lingered as a question.

“Yes. I have.” He spoke, not breaking eye contact. Even though he was the one in trouble, his gaze made you feel like you were the scolded child.

“W-Why didn’t you tell me?” You huffed, “I could’ve helped.”

“(Y/N), stop.” He spoke, but more commanded. You held your mouth open, but no words escaped. “I did it because I can’t see you getting hurt. You’re-” He paused, “You’re clumsy.”

Your cheeks flamed a hot pink at his words, embarrassment coursing through your veins. So, maybe you were a little… clumsy when it came to combat. You allowed yourself to get hurt by only two men in the alley- who you could’ve easily taken in your glory days. You’ve allowed your guard to lower, and so has your skills. You’d just stopped caring about it all; Up until John showed up.

“Okay. I-I appreciate it.” Your voice floated out in a whisper after a few moments of silence. He nodded, returning to his previous position and continuing on with reading. You stared at him for a few more seconds, sighing before giving up and laying down.

“What else did he say?” John questioned. You shrugged, your thoughts rummaging through your memories of the conversation.

“Where's your boy, hm? No play toy tonight?”

“Your… boyfriend,”

“John Wick could never touch me.”

“He’s definitely threatened of you.” You spoke. It sounds like something a man trying to cover up his cowering confidence would say. John nodded; a little smirk growing on the corner of his lips. You got to admit, it was a little sexy to see him turned on by fear. But, there was also the fact Santino knew about your relationship with John; he could tell your father.

——————

The next day came and flew by, the evening presenting itself faster than you would've liked. Now, here you stood in your bedroom, mother zipping up the gown from the seamstress’s shop. You studied yourself in the mirror; your hair had been styled in a low bun out of your face and perfect for combat. Your makeup was elegant however, you donned a smokey eye with black and brown shadows, as well as a dramatic set of false eyelashes. The dress your mother finished zipping made your breasts look perfect, and it showed off your body nicely; as well as the slit up to the thigh.

“You look stunning.” Your mother smiled. You just now noticed she’d been staring at you through the mirror too. You gave her a sad smile before turning your attention away and towards putting on shoes. Tonight was the gala... Tonight, there is a good chance you’re going to die. Anxiety hadn’t left your gut all day, however knowing John was to be at your side gave you a little security.

“Where is John?” You asked, turning around and looking at your mother. She blinked at your sudden question before answering.

“He’s just outside the door, waiting. We’ve got to leave in five minutes.” She spoke, pushing your purse into your hands. You nodded, swiftly gathering the rest of the things you'd need. You made sure your weapons were secure in their strapped on spots. The ankle strap was hidden by the long length of the dress, and the thigh strap was hidden on the inside of the slit. Taking one last deep breath, you exhaled loudly and stepped towards the door, opening it with determination. John looked at you as you exit the room, a little smile he was trying to contain covering his face.

“I’m ready.” You spoke, a hint of faux confidence covering the words. John nodded, leading you out of the home and towards the car. Your family would be taking separate cars to the event, for safety and get away reasons. It was just easier this way. John guided you into one of the vehicles, following in afterwards himself. He gestured for the driver to go, then hit the button to raise the divider. His other hand creeped onto your exposed thigh slit, and you bit your lip at the sensation of his calloused fingers gliding across smooth skin.

“How are you feeling?” John asked quietly. You took the moment to admire how stunning he looked as well. He had gelled back his hair, and combed his beard. He also wore one of his all black three pieces.

“Nervous.” You spoke, your eyes returning to his face. He nodded, leaning down and capturing your lips with his own. You sighed into the kiss, some nerves beginning to calm down. He broke the kiss first, the hand that had been resting on your thigh giving it a squeeze.

“I’ll be beside you all night. I’m not going anywhere.” John’s words felt like a warm blanket, and you leaned into his side, wrapping your arms around his one. The man's head rest on top of your own, the two of you falling into a comfortable silence. The comfort didn’t last long however, as the car began to slow down, eventually coming to a stop. Your gaze moved to the window, noticing the large building that the gala was hosted in. Herds of people were standing outside, shuffling in and out of the building. Many reporters were also outside, taking pictures of famous people in attendance. John untangled your bodies and climbed out first, opening the door for you. You took a deep breath, gathering your purse and making sure your straps were secured before sliding out yourself. John held out his arm for you to wrap your own around; which you accepted.

“Are you ready, baby?” He spoke softly. You nodded, letting your bodyguard take the lead.

---

Master List

#john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick fanfic #john wick fanfiction #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves fanfiction #keanu reeves smut #john wick smut

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overheardatthecontinental · 4 years ago

Link

John Wick had a problem.

Helen would tell him he had many problems.

But for now, he was concentrating on one. What had started as weekly tradition of breaking into his therapist’s home had quickly increased to every day he was in New York. Then he was making excuses to run into the city so that he could watch her sleep. And now… it had been more than a week since John spent a night in his own bed.

In the early hours of the morning, John would either make his way to the Continental or home, where he would shower and sleep, confident in the knowledge that Helen was at her office. He would work, or find something to occupy his waking hours, until the clock struck eleven. And then he would, inevitably, find his way back to her.

His obsession with his therapist was getting out of hand.

But he couldn’t resist. He craved the very sight of her. It was like his body hummed with frustration and anxiety whenever she was out of his sight, only to be eased by the image of her in bed, the smell of her lotion, the soft sighs that escaped her as she shifted in her sleep.

It was a problem.

But he couldn’t bear to stop.

And unlike his other problems, he couldn’t just talk to Helen. The idea was laughable.

He can picture it now, as he sits in the parking lot outside her office:

“What would you like to talk about today, John?”

“Well, I can no longer go twenty-four hours without being in your presence, except, we only meet once a week, so the other six days, I break into your house and watch you sleep.”

Yeah. That’s not happening.

He stares at the clock on the dashboard, watching the minutes slowly dance by until he can see her. At 3:50, he watches her previous client leave the building and the remaining five minutes creep by. By 3:54, he’s had enough. He turns off his idling car and heads into the building, no longer caring about how it looks to arrive so early to a session.

Her door is open, as usual, and she is standing over her desk, leaning over so she can type on her laptop. Her seldom-seen glasses are perched on her nose as she does, and John has to stop the barrage of thoughts that come from seeing her in such a position.

Her sweater dress could so easily be pushed up her thighs and…

No. Entertaining these thoughts is doing nothing to help him and every day, he feels himself slip more and more into his obsession.

“Come in, John.” She says, only then glancing up from the screen. “How was your day?”

“Alright.” He says, and Helen closes the laptop and takes off her glasses. A pity, he thinks. She really is so pretty in those glasses.

She grabs a Keurig pod from the basket over her desk before checking, “Planning for a late night?”

Always, now, he thinks. John nods and Helen slips it into the coffee maker and quickly turns it on.

“Oh! Before we start, can I ask a favor? I need to use your body.” He nearly chokes at her phrasing but immediately relaxes as she points to the air conditioner in her window. “I tried to take it out earlier and I saw my life flash before my eyes.”

John glances at her outfit. “In heels?”

She sends him a half-hearted glare. “Honestly, I didn’t even think about it before I came in today. But I heard on the radio that we’re supposed to get a frost this weekend. Usually I’d ask Mike, the building super, but he’s not answering his phone.”

“No problem.” John says, slipping out of his suit jacket and laying it on the chair. “Where does it go?”

“The floor is fine; I just want it out.”

He gives her a look and repeats himself, something he would never do for anyone else in the world, “Where does it go?”

Helen rolls her eyes good-naturedly, “There’s a storage closet down the hall.”

It’s already unplugged so John tucks away the wire and lifts the window off the machine. “Hold the door.” John tells her as he tugs the unit free of the window. It occurs to him how easily an air conditioner, if properly timed, could be used to make a murder look like an accident. A push at the right moment and a crushing death for whoever awaited below…

He follows Helen into the hall and down to where the closet. She quickly unlocks the door and points to the metal shelves where it goes.

He sets it down gently on the shelf, “Good to go.” He says, straightening his vest.

“You’re the best.” Helen tells him.

“Next time,” John says, “Just call me. I’m usually in New York. No near-death experiences with air conditioners. It might be… difficult” impossible “to find a new therapist.”

Helen smacks him on the arm as they walk back to the office, “You’re ridiculous.”

He inclines his head as they slip back in. Helen finds a cover for the coffee, which has finished brewing, and hands it off to John.

“What have you been up to this week?”

Killing, stalking, and watching you sleep.

“Nothing new.” He answers, taking a sip of the coffee as he finds his seat.

“Did you have many cases this week?”

I took extra so that I would be in New York, just so I had an excuse to check on you.

“A few. Nothing too extreme.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask for your definition of extreme.”

His lips twitch.

“Have you given much thought to what we discussed last week?”

“Which part?”

“Your identity. The age-old question that we all must ask of ourselves: who am I?”

Of course, he has. He is now fluent in Erikson’s model, killing the daylight hours with reading things she referenced. Taking delight in the fact that, after his mention of Godwin, he had found the anarchist’s texts on her bedside table.

A silent exchange.

Neither of them will address it but he knows that it has happened. That she cares, in whatever way she does. And he loves her for it.

“A bit.”

“And what did you think about?”

John sinks back into his chair, “My house.”

Helen inclines her head, “Oh?”

“It’s, uh… it’s a nice house, a nice property but it’s just a house.”

“It’s not a home?” She asks, trying to clarify his meaning.

And John nods. “If you were to walk through it,” ah, what a thought, “you probably wouldn’t be able to tell it was mine. I still have the furnishings and the art that came with it. And I don’t have a lot of… stuff. Aside from my clothes, and my books, there’s nothing really there that’s mine.”

“Possessions don’t always reflect personality.”

He thinks about her home. The throw cushion on her couch that says choose happy and the fleece blanket she wraps up in while watching television that’s covered in daisies. The potted plants that advertise the presence of a nurturer, the pictures taken with her friends. There is framed artwork on her walls that seem to highlight her softness.

He thinks of Aurelio’s place, littered with spare car parts. John had once gone to sit on Aurelio’s couch only to land on a steering wheel. There were pictures of his family. A neon sign that Aurelio claimed to have stolen from a pub in Queens. Old magazines on his kitchen table, beer bottles piled next to an overflowing recycling.

Even Winston, who John regarded as a fairly private person, displayed a collection of old chess sets. He proudly put a collection of knives under a glass that he claimed belonged to the third Elder. While there were no pictures of friends or family, he had a taste of the extremes. Large leather couches and glass tables. A collection of top-shelf liquors sat next to an antique globe.

“That’s true,” He says, “But I see other people’s homes and spaces, and they almost seem to belong to them. And mine is as empty as a hotel room.” John pauses in thought, “I’m well aware that my personality is… bland but—”

Helen cuts him off, “Bland?” She repeats, amusement etched onto her pretty face.

John shrugs, “I was recently compared to a block of wood.”

“By who?” Now, there is disbelief in her voice.

“Santino. One of my,” he cannot think of a better word, “colleagues.”

She rolls her eyes, “Well, I expect that you tend to close off around your,” she uses quotations, “’colleagues’.”

John opens a hand in well, what are you gonna do kind of way. “It’s hard to trust trained killers. The less they know about me, the better off I am.”

“We’re going to circle around to that.” Helen tells him, “But I do want to try to understand your thoughts surrounding your home.”

He isn’t quite sure what to say, “I don’t know. I suppose I have a tendency towards utilitarianism.”

Helen is nodding, thoughtfully. “Yet, you’re far past the time in your life when you weren’t able to afford the things you want. Which makes me think that it’s a choice you’ve made, to leave your own space barren.”

“I’ve considered as much.”

“And?”

John shrugs, “I’ve come to several conclusions but no real answers.”

“Tell me.”

“The first, is the most obvious. I grew up without having anything that was mine. I shared blankets, when we had them. Food. Clothing. I learned to live without superfluous things.”

She considers that, “A possibility, and certainly a contributor, but many people who grew up in poverty who, for lack of a better term, rise above their circumstances do the opposite. They buy everything they were never able to have as children.”

“If there’s something that I want, I’d get it. There’s just nothing that I want.” Except for what I can’t have, he thinks.

“When was the last time you bought yourself a little luxury? Nothing related to clothes or food or hygiene. Nothing for work. Just something for you?”

He bought himself several books on and by Erikson, the psychologist she had referenced the week before, but he doesn’t want to tell her that. And, now that he thinks of it, his last several purchases were books she had either mentioned, or he had seen on her bedside table and picked up for himself. Just in case it ever came up in conversation.

“Just books.” He tells her. “A few months ago, I bought a new coffee machine. Does that count?”

She smirks, “I would consider coffee a necessity.”

He grins back, “I’m sure you would.”

“So, nihilism aside…” John snorts at that assessment, but Helen continues, “You said you had other theories?”

John nods, “I also have to consider my Romani heritage. Even the orphanage moved around a lot. Nothing was permanent, until I got to New York. And then, I ran away. And then I was in the military, where we weren’t exactly able to bring things with us. Maybe I just can’t put stock into the idea of permanence.”

Helen seems to sigh, quietly. Empathy burns in her eyes and John can feel it, in turn, burning into him. He’s not quite sure how to deal with it.

Helen offers him a smile and it’s weighted in emotion as she teases, “Keep making connections like that and I’ll start to think you don’t need me anymore.”

“I’ll always need you.” It slips from him before he has a moment to think better of it.

A moment passes, his words lingering in the air and John hopes against hope that she can’t see just how enamored with her he is.

He desperately tries to think of something to say to fill the silence, to take back his words without taking away the meaning behind them.

“Good.” Helen says softly and, just like that, it’s over. “Now, going off of that idea of permanence, I wonder how much of it is habit, like you were saying, and how much of it might be a reflection of the loss you’ve gone through?”

“My experiences have conditioned me for loss?” He interprets.

And Helen shrugs, “Haven’t they?”

John thinks back. The Romani had kept him alive as a child, but they had shipped him off without so much as a goodbye. And while New York had been an improvement, there was still nothing that was his save a stolen Bible. He had left it behind when he ran away to Mexico.

In Mexico, he had shelter. He was a child, but he still had his own tiny place carved out in the world. His own blanket, his own clothes. A worn copy of 1984 that he had stolen from a passenger on the train. It had all been burnt when his village had been razed, leaving him only with the clothes on his back.

The years that followed weren’t much better. He was forced back into the Underworld and while it was far from perfect, he preferred the freedom of it rather than being forced into social services. Being forced to make up some kind of lie to protect his Romani brethren. No, the Underworld was not perfect, but it was all he knew.

He was paid terribly because they could pay him terribly. He was given shit jobs but he took them so he could eat. And once he started growing, he needed new clothes. Over the course of two years, he grew a foot.

When he finally escaped that world again, he took only what he could carry with him. A small duffle full of clothes, a spare pair of shoes, and two knives that didn’t fit on his person.

When he joined the army, he didn’t take anything with him aside from a single book.

And it wasn’t until years later, when he decided enough was enough, and rejoined the fold that he had the ability to settle down.

“I can understand why that may be a part of it.” John admits, “But I think, mostly, it comes down to the fact that I just don’t care about most things.”

“Once again, nihilism makes an entrance.”

John shrugs, “I have more money than I ever dreamed of. And permanence doesn’t matter when I could afford to buy things a thousand times over. The only priceless possessions I have, I keep in my car. Just in case.”

She seems to brighten at that, leaning forward with interest, “And what does John Wick consider to be priceless?”

Not much, he thinks.

Her business card, which she had given him that first day in the café, with her cell phone number etched on the back. He keeps it tucked away in an envelope and locked in his glovebox.

A revolver gifted to him by Marcus. The only present he had ever been given without an expectation of reciprocation.

The copy of Walden he had taken from the little library at the military base where he trained. His only constant companion through three tours of duty.

He decides not to mention the first. “A gun given to me by an old friend. And a copy of Walden.”

“Thoreau.”

John nods.

Helen sits back, “I don’t associate you much with a love for nature. Is it the isolation aspect that attracts you, the civil disobedience piece, or that idea of self-reliance?”

“I would say all of it, although the self-reliance was what first pulled me in. It…” He hesitates, unsure of why he feels the need to share such a little thing with her, “It was the only possession I brought with me everywhere when I was in the army. And when I returned home.”

“It really stayed with you.”

John nods, “I suppose, it helped me learn to think a bit more critically. To challenge the automatic assumptions that came with growing up in the Underworld.”

“I imagine there was a sort of irony about reading such a text while in the military.”

He can’t stop the smile that crosses his lips. He doesn’t have to explain his bizarre humor or reasoning to Helen. She just gets it. “I’ll admit, that was part of the charm. Imposing those shades of grey into my life that were absent in the Underworld and, again, missing from the marines.”

She smiles back, “You pursue that duality in life. Toeing the line of arbitrary rules and ethics, while simultaneously embracing the meaninglessness.”

“Nihilism and Walden have been my constant companions.”

“Let’s add absurdism there for good measure.” She jokes and John finds himself laughing. Something he only does in her presence.

He loves her. He loves her. He loves her.

He knows it, he feels it so deeply within him, but he can’t act on it. He won’t.

He knows she deserves so much better than him.

“Alright, back on topic.” Helen says with a small smile, “You said something last week that I’ve been considering in relation to this discussion.”

Grateful for the segue, John asks, “Oh?”

She nods, “You were talking about the idea of a normal life. A life away from the Underworld that you wanted, or at least considered, but identified as being out of reach.”

John nods back.

“I wonder, and please feel free to tell me if I’m off the mark, if those desires intersect with your decision to keep your house bare?”

He blinks, taking in her meaning.

His house is empty, in more ways than one. Just him and he doesn’t need anything. And the things he wants, well, he can’t have them. So why bother to fill his house with things that don’t matter? Why fill his house with trinkets when they’ll only serve to remind him of himself? Of the life he lives alone.

And John swears, “Fuck.”

Helen waits, in silence, as she always does while John works through his thoughts.

She’s right, to a degree, but it’s deeper than that.

He wonders if she realizes how much more it is. If she was truly asking him a question or manipulating him into figuring out for herself what she already suspected.

She was good at that. At breaking him down in ways that thousands of assassins never could figure out. He’d survived hundreds of attempts on his life but one question from Helen and he was ready to fall to his knees.

Fuck.

Minutes pass before Helen asks, “John?”

He swallows heavily, “I hate it when you’re right sometimes.”

“Epiphany?”

“Epiphany.” He echoes, “I think…” He hesitates.

She was right. Both today and last week, she had pinpointed the cause.

“I think you give me too much credit.” He had said softly.

“I don’t. But then, we’ve discussed your issues with self-esteem before.”

John rolled his eyes, “I don’t have poor self-esteem.”

“Oh, I agree. You have no self-esteem.”

Self-esteem just didn’t seem like an important thing. His reflective thoughts about himself didn’t affect his ability to work or to kill or to function.

And so, he had written them off as unimportant. Whereas Helen had been telling him, for weeks it seemed, that his sense of self mattered.

He tries not to look at her. He doesn’t need to look to know that she is staring at him kindly, non-judgmentally. Ready to listen and offer comfort.

“It’s okay, John.” She says softly, “You know you can say anything here.”

Anything, he thinks, except the words he swallows back every night.

He lets out a breath, “You’re right. About the self-esteem thing.”

She nods once, waiting for him to continue.

“I… don’t understand it, fully. I don’t get why it matters how I see myself but, I guess it does. At the end of the day, I don’t deserve a normal life. And I don’t deserve the things that come with it. Even if the things are just small tokens of normalcy.”

A moment passes that feels like an eternity to John.

“I want you to know, I’m unbelievably proud of you right now.”

He doesn’t want to look at her after that confession, but her words force him to raise his head in stunned disbelief. She can’t be serious…

But she’s staring at him in earnest, smiling softly, looking at him with kindness and gentleness and yes, with pride. She’s looking at him with pride in her eyes and he can’t quite figure out why.

And, as if she can sense his confusion, she adds, “You’ve been coming here for seven months and, for most of that time, you’ve been fairly resistant to actually being vulnerable.”

“I’ve told you things I’ve never told anyone.” John argues.

“I know. And I appreciate your trust in me. But there’s a difference between trusting me with legalities and learning to trust yourself enough to admit to these feelings. You’ve been sitting on these emotions for the better part of your life, John. Keeping them hidden or ignoring them. We joke about your nihilism when I think we both know that it’s easier to pretend nothing matters when we start to feel things too heavily.”

He sits with that.

God, is that what he’s been doing?

Ignoring his own self-hatred by ignoring anything that has to do with himself?

Filling his free time with work to keep him busy or reading, filling his mind with rationality and bullshit intellectualism rather than dealing with the emotions that linger below the surface?

But what else was he supposed to do?

Emotions were ignored most of his childhood, when fighting for survival was the precedent. And he just never learned.

Fuck.

Helen assesses him carefully, “What are you thinking, John?”

He’s not even entirely sure what he’s thinking but he settles on, “Life seemed simpler when my only focus was survival.”

She nods, thoughtfully, “I’m sure it did. Thought some people might argue that emotions offer a lot of evolutionary benefits.”

“Like what?”

“Well, anxiety warns us when we might be in danger. Anger helps us to protect ourselves. Sadness can help us to process complex events. Happiness and joy help us bond and create social alliances.”

She lets him mull that over before adding, “Your emotions are as much of a tool as your eyes and ears looking and listening for potential enemies.”

He considers that, too.

He gets her point. He really does, but his eyes and ears have never fucked with him the way his emotions did.

“I think it comes down to control.” He says thoughtfully.

“Oh?”

“I can close my eyes. I can choose not to listen. But my emotions…”

“You can’t shut them off. And ignoring only works for so long.”

“Yeah.”

Helen nods, “Our emotions are, arguably, one of the most complicated things to understand. And you’re right, they are one of the hardest things to control and while there are ways to change our thinking and challenge our automatic thoughts, we often can’t help what we feel.”

John knew that well.

He couldn’t help the hopelessness and the loneliness he experienced as a child.

He couldn’t help the intense anger at watching his first real home be burned to the ground.

He couldn’t help the contempt he felt for himself whenever he looked to deep inside himself.

And he certainly couldn’t help the intense obsession and other unnamable emotions that arose in him whenever he thought about Helen.

It wasn’t like he had tried to change any of it, though.

“Sometimes,” he admits softly, “I think that I force myself to feel the bad emotions. To force myself to suffer.”

Again, she nods, “Earlier you used the term deserve.”

“I don’t deserve anything.”

Fuck, did he really just say that? Out loud? To her?

He probably sounded like a whiny teenager. But Helen doesn’t look at him with annoyance or contempt.

She just inclines her head, “You know, I have a lot of clients who come in here and use the same language. I deserve this. I don’t deserve that.”

“I doubt most of your other client have killed people.”

In fact, he knows they haven’t. He had a background check run for every single person on her caseload to make sure she was safe in the hour she spent with them each week.

Helen, however, ignores him. “For most, it’s based on the Just World Theory. A sort of westernized karma that subscribes to the idea that the world is a fair place. And I know that you know, more than most, that this world is not a fair place.”

“No.” He agrees. “It’s not.”

Helen shakes her head, “We often bestow judgement. Upon ourselves, the people around us. Total strangers, even. And I’m as guilty as it as anyone,” he doubts that but she continues, “But you know what?”

“What?”

She shrugs a shoulder, “Doesn’t do a damn thing, offering judgement. It doesn’t change our past, our future. It doesn’t help us.” Her tone softens, “I know it’s not my place to offer an opinion…”

John shakes his head, “You know I value your thoughts.”

“I don’t know if God exists or if there’s a higher power. But I do know that we don’t get to decide who deserves what. We get dealt our hand and we do the best we can with it. And the more we fight that, the more we tell ourselves that we deserve better or worse, the more miserable we make ourselves.”

He hears her.

And he gets her point, he really does.

It’s not his position to make judgements. He doesn’t have a say in the twists and turns of luck that have amassed him a great wealth.

But it must be wrong because his most glaring example is looking into his eyes. He’s certain that he and Helen are not the same.

Helen is good, and kind, and gentle.

And John is harsh, and dark, and bad.

He’s not sure he can accept a world that views them on an equal playing field.

“You don’t have to believe me.” She tells him, her voice soft and understanding. He wonders, not for the first time, if she can read his mind. “But just consider it, okay?”

…..

He considers it. He spends the rest of the day considering it.

At the Continental, eating dinner, John found himself trying to challenge his automatic assumptions about the people around him.

Assassins, killers.

But did he really know anything else about them? Beyond rumors and hushed whispers? The same kind that followed him, that had turned John Wick into the Boogeyman.

He ponders her words: the more we tell ourselves that we deserve better or worse, the more miserable we make ourselves.

He was an expert at misery.

At best, he was a master of apathy. Hiding his misery under layers of not-caring. Like she said, it was easier to pretend that nothing mattered. It was easier to accept the self-hatred, or at the very least self-contempt, when he could just shrug it off.

Idly, he wonders what would happen if he just continues to ignore it.

Even as he thinks it, however, he knows it’s ridiculous. Helen could sit there and berate him for an hour each week and he’d still sit there happily.

With that thought in mind, he paid for his dinner and left the Continental. Tomorrow, he’ll come back in the early morning. Nap for a bit, then take a contract or two.

He wonders if it’s his obsession with Helen that will keep him in New York or his aversion to returning to his empty home after having that conversation. Neither seems to be a particularly healthy choice but he accepts it nonetheless.

He drives to her house and tries not to think of it as home.

He knows that something is wrong the moment he sees the house.

Helen is energy conscious. She rarely leaves a room without turning out the light. And right now, it is past her bedtime and the kitchen light is on.

He stops the car for a moment, just outside of her house, wondering if he’ll see a shadow move. Maybe he’s being paranoid. Maybe she just got up for water.

But nothing moves.

John throws the car in park. Normally, he’d hide the car a few blocks down and walk back to her house, but he doesn’t care. Quickly, he unlatches the glovebox to pull out his gun. He doesn’t even check it as he hurries out of his car.

The door is shut but the lock has been picked open. And not by him. No, whoever had done this didn’t have the skill to leave no marks in the metal. It was a rough, haggard job. And it was left unlocked.

Fuck.

He opens the door, gun-raised.

His head seems to be screaming a chorus of no, no, no, no, no, no as he clears the kitchen. He should clear the entire first floor, but his fear is outweighing his senses.

Emotional mind Helen would call it.

Her bed is empty but slept in. It wasn’t made and it looked as though she had thrashed about.

Someone had taken her from her bed.

He was shaking.

John was unsure if it was rage or fear that was pounding through him right now, but someone was going to pay.

A phone rings and it takes John a moment to recognize it as his own.

The screen has her name. Her work cell.

John accepts the call and puts the phone to his ear.

“Hello, John.” The voice is male. He doesn’t recognize it but there is a slight accent that he can’t quite place.

“Where is she?” He asks trying not to sound as desperate as he feels.

“Safe. For now.”

“Put her on the phone.”

“I’m afraid Miss Kingston has been sedated for the time being.”

“If you’ve hurt her…”

“I believe that now is not the time for you to be making threats.” His unknown opponent interrupts.

John tries to control himself. He can’t act until he knows more. The disgust pours from his voice as he forces himself to ask, “What do you want?”

“Very good.”

John closes his eyes and tries to focus on what it will feel like when he guts this man alive.

“Lorenzo D’Antonio will be in New York from tomorrow night through Monday.”

John can already tell where this is going. Lorenzo D’Antonio was the Camorra’s current leader. He held a seat at the High Table which made him virtually untouchable. No contract could be taken out against him or the Continental, and the High Table, would respond with force. To be caught even conspiring was to be dead.

“And you want him killed.” John finished.

“Not just Lorenzo. His heirs, as well.”

John let out a noise of disbelief. With Lorenzo dead, followed by his children, the Camorra would collapse.

Christ.

John had never given a flying fuck about Continental politics. He followed their rules to gain their services but this…

“And you’ll let her go?”

“Right into your waiting arms.” The man taunted.

John felt his nails digging into his palm as he struggled to maintain what little control he had left. “I want proof that she’s all right.”

“Fine.”

The line drops.

#this is a niche piece #but it is so fucking fun to write #john wick #helen wick #pre-john wick chapter one #pre- john wick #helen x john wick #john x helen wick #baba yaga #the boogeyman #john wick fanfics #john wick fanfic #john wick fanfiction #otp: daisy. of course #otp: daisy #otp: your best friend

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rosesareviolentlyread · 4 years ago

Text

WIJ Day 3: Love

WOO the first actual prompt is here. This is a modern magic world heavily inspired by @0idril0 and @whumpywhumper‘s Nico & Markus/Lucien series respectively. I HIGHLY recommend you check them out. So this is meant to be an introduction to Pastor John/The Reverend, who is my first attempt at an intimate whumper. Thanks to @ashintheairlikesnow for inspiring the Reverend with Bram, def check out all her stuff if you haven’t

CW: religious whump, creepy whumper, whumper who doesn’t think they’re a whumper, kinda abusive relationship vibes, drugging, taking advantage of someone’s emotional state

John sits, listening to the record player in the corner crackle with the sounds of a congregation’s singing. His students tease him for being a ‘hipster’, but there’s something satisfying about their amateur voices, captured imperfectly, naturally, using a technology that reminds him of pottery, or weaving. Sound pressed into something physical, ethereality brought to his fingertips, his ears, across time.

It’s a pleasant evening all around. John savors every detail as he takes a sip of scotch - a gift from a colleague in Edinburgh - settling into the thick leather chair by the fireplace, just musing in his mind while he waits for the brownies to be done. Perhaps he should grade, or write a lecture, or work on his sermon. But these moments in time, of being in his body, of feeling fire in his throat as sparks flick out as his toes, these are God’s moments, moments of perfect creation and harmony.

But still, he isn’t bothered by the knock on his door, despite the late hour. The students know his door is always open. He’s become used to them coming to his couch after a late temptation, or perhaps a lapse in their faith. Perhaps just a personal dilemma. The community too, though they typically take the ‘door unlocked’ policy as is.

No, the timidness of the youngest in his flock always brings a smile. It seems no matter how many departmental or congregational dinners he hosts, how many times they come knocking, they always knock. It is part of their youth, not cemented in their beliefs, in knowing that God will provide. So he provides, until they can become sure, can understand how a trinity of a different kind, God, his Son, and their Pastor, will be there for them. They are lambs, learning to stand on their own legs, which is why this is his favorite place to shepherd.

“Coming!” He calls out, setting the glass carefully on a coaster before opening the thick door to the cottage. It takes a few blinks to clear his eyes from the rush of cold air that assaults them. The weather always seems to surprise him, just one of many things in this beautiful world.

But what doesn’t necessarily surprise him is to see, red-rimmed eyes, a flushed tear-tracked face delicately wrought in its complexion, set upon a lithe frame that hides immense strength, an immense spirit that positively glows normally with ash-blonde hair and bright gray-blue eyes. Faith. A sense of calm comes over him, a release of tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding for days.

“Oh, my girl, I was hoping you’d come by” Before she can get a word out, John wraps strong arms around her, enveloping her in a warm hug. Immediately he feels the telltale shake of her shoulders, small hands gripping the back of his sweater tightly, a damp spot right near his heart growing.

Yes, John expected this. For how long, he isn’t entirely sure. Perhaps, always. Perhaps, because somewhere in him, he knew God had bigger plans for them both.

Faith had been a special student to him, from her first year intro course in the Theology department. A bright girl, a good girl, who believed with her heart and soul in Jesus’ saving grace for even the most dastardly of sinners. He hadn’t recognized it well at the time, but even he had fallen prey to the negativity within the church, the ones who said Supernaturals were truly the devil incarnate, incapable of being saved.

But Faith, she took it upon herself to prove them all wrong. She’d been hesitant to propose her thesis to him, as her advisor. A piece to study the beliefs and communities of Supernaturals locally, from a theological and sociological perspective, in order to understand how those beliefs might be reconciled with modern Christianity. A piece that would allow for the Evangelical church she came from to see the same possibility of salvation she did. To choose love.

“It’s alright, shhh. Why don’t you come in? The brownies for tomorrow’s potluck are almost done. I’ll put on some tea, dandelion right?” Gently, he pried her away from him, thumbing tears as she sniffled away the last of her outburst.

“Thank you, Reverend. I just...I didn’t know where else to go. Yet.” The downcast of her eyes nearly breaks his heart at the cruelty of this world. For his fellow Christians had chosen to hate, to cast her out of their flock, after she bared her thesis, her work, no matter how unfinished. All because of what she was.

Peter 1 4:8 comes to his mind: Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers a multitude of sins.

So what if she was truly born Fae, a natural sinner of the largest proportions. Does her desire to be saved, to save others, to feel Jesus’ healing light not garner love in them?

Her desire, her faith, does in John’s chest, a warm feeling better than the finest scotch as he gently leads her to couch, leaving her with some tissues to compose herself.

The moment feels so right the longer he’s in it. The brownie timer goes off right as he enters the kitchen, and he pulls them out. Perfect. He leaves them to cool as he flicks on the kettle, fingers moving through his vast collection for just the right blend. Dandelion, reminiscent of shortbread cookies, Faith’s favorite. They’ve shared so many cups over late night thesis meetings, church group meetings, dinner meetings that the box has only one left. Pulling out the last packet, he tucks away in his mind to buy more boxes.

They’ll go through a lot he imagines, in the next few months. It’s easy to prepare, like a moment meant to be, as he lets the tea steep, adds two spoonfuls of sugar, and drops in the pills, stirring until they dissolve evenly.

He brings it all out, tea, brownies, to the couch, where she’s already claimed a throw. It’s good, he thinks, that she already feels at home here. It’ll be easier that way.

“Thank you,” her hands grip the warm mug, breathing in the steam, and he watches attentively as she takes a sip. “It’s been...I was scared. That you’d turn me away too”

“My dear, you have never had anything but love for Jesus and God in your heart. Why would I believe something like this would change that?”

Of course he had been worried, in the beginning of her thesis, that she would be swayed. That they would convince her with their wicked tongues, guile her with magic and false miracles, false idols. Yes, now that he looks back, perhaps he did see it all coming. No, she hadn’t been swayed.

But she’d swayed him. To believe in the possibility of truly saving those damned souls. So much that he’d begun his own research, his own plans, prepared for the possibility. And now, it appeared God’s plan was working perfectly, dropping her right on his doorstep on the eve of her transformation between worlds, an apostle for a new era

“Everyone else seems to think that, that this is wrong. How though? How can being who I am, the person God made me, be wrong?” Her voice is quiet in the night, barely above the crackling fire in its hoarseness, tinged still with tears.

“He does nothing wrong. He made you this way for a reason, so that you may show others. Think of it, your work, is this not His plan?” John tries to keep the excitement out of his voice, to remain calm, collected. Gentle. Yes, he must be gentle, to do this in love for the Lord.

She pauses, sipping more. “I...I don’t know. I just, I need some time, I think. I was walking to the bus stop when I passed your house and thought...I don’t know. I guess I hoped there’d be something I could come back to, when I was ready” Her eyes stare into the surface of the tea, growing distant. Tired. It’s working fast, he knows, likely due to her exhaustion from the past few days.

“It’s alright to not know. The Bible does not have all the answers, but it leads us to where we need to find them. Perhaps that’s why you came here. Why don’t you get some rest, stay here tonight. Tomorrow is a new day, a new chance for you to find your way.”

“Thank you, Reverend. That..that sounds nice. You’re right, I need to-o-o-o” the sentence is interrupted by a yawn and he chuckles.

“It sounds like the only thing you need right now is a good night’s rest. Come on, I promise this couch may be old, but she’ll service you well. She’s saved me from several late night grading sessions” Taking the tea, he lets her settle down, and grabs a quilt from the closet - a gift from an older parishioner - and tucks it around her.

“Goodnight, Faith. Sleep well, tomorrow will be a busy day” she mumbles something slurred, incomprehensible under the effect of the drug. Still, he sits and waits, gently petting the silky hair until her breathing fully evens out, deepens into a rhythm that could be a lullaby to itself in his ears.

So beautiful, so wonderful, so perfect. Truly, this is his and her purpose: to show that the souls of the supernatural can be saved through Jesus’ light.

It is with that thought that he picks up the limp bundle of girl, and carries her down into the basement.

Tags: @sableflynn @bleedingandfeverish @starry-whump @whumpmasinjuly(let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the tag list for this series)

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darkspellmaster · 5 years ago

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Castlevania Season 3: In Regard to the Alucard Situation, or How to make him go Darker and more emo as they drag him into Symphony of the Night

So for those that are going to be reading below the cut, there are spoilers for the new season, the game and the following CD Drama Nocturne of Recollection which follows events of Symphony and introduces past events for Alucard.

Before I go any farther, I’m putting the links up here and refrecing them by numbers in the peice so that it’s easier to find them.

1. Akumajo Dracula X: Tsuioku no Yasokyou or Nocturne Recollection (in English) -Link to the Castlevania Wiki on the subject of the Symphony of the Night Drama CD

2. Subed version of Noctune of Recollection -done by Shido T.

3. Shido T.’s Nocturne of Recollection -Translated Transcript of the drama CD by Shido T.

So after watching Season 3, and I’ll have a review up of the whole season when I get a chance, I realized why I was so disappointed in the events regarding Alucard. It wasn’t just the idea of Mr. Ellis using christian iconography (Judas Kiss, cross wrapped in thorns, they know not what they do, etc) as he did with Lisa (something he likes to do for certain characters even in his own works -hey Authority how you doing?), that was fine, I was expecting that. And it wasn’t just the idea of an assault (rape, could qualify for it as it was done to him using means that didn’t allow him to consent to something that was being told to him honestly) as a means of making him hate Humanity, that was something I was expecting, again based on Mr. Ellis’s other works, since it’s clear that he’s trying to push Alucard as far as possible from wanting to be awake so that when we get to the Symphony of the Night story it will make sense why he’s in the coffin again.

No what got to me was that these two bland and flat characters were created just for the purpose of, well, fridging them for Alucard to go dark. (For those that don’t know Fridging is a term used in Comic tropes where Character A is killed so that Character B has some trauma or dramatic growth in comics, and is typically a woman but can be other genders or living things -dog from John Wick for example.) Sumi, or Zumi, and Taka come off as basically put there to die characters. They are strategically created for the express purpose to betray Adrian and die. That is pretty much it. There to build him up so that when he falls he falls far, far farther than before, thus probably forcing Trevor and Sypha to seal him away so that he can repair his own issues or something.

This is something that keeps gnawing at me. Alucard is not dumb enough to let his guard down like this, ever. Even in the first two seasons, he was crafty about watching and observing Trevor and Sypha to see who and what they were about before trusting them. It’s clear that this season was not written with the same thought process as Season 1 and 2 which were cohesive and thoughtful in how each character and plot beat set up the events that leads to the end of the story of Dracula (and boy oh boy do I have thoughts about Lisa in Hell because...that makes no sense given who she’s probably connected to). He wouldn’t be letting them just into his life like this, he’d be cagey and cautious, given they are unknown factors, and wouldn’t be just randomly sleeping in his bed like this. He’d be locking their doors and locking his.

To be frank Adrian at this point in time would already have limited trust of humans because he’d have seen his mother die one year before. He uses his glamour to go down to the village and do thing. This has been shown in later games when he’s in his Genya Arikado form in Japan. The man is good at hiding out, and is way older than Trevor or Sypha, so trusting people would be on his low end already. He’s seen a lot of shit (especially if they go the ‘He’s Trevor’s daddy or grand-daddy route) and isn’t a character that is just trusting. Read his lines from Symphony and even Castlevania III, and you’ll see that he’s a man that can trust, but it’s hard to gain that trust. Same with Sonia Belmont in the non canonical game, it takes a long while for him to gain trust with her and eventually work with her to defeat his father.

Which brings us to the issue with Sumi(Zumi) and Taka. Both characters are supposed to be analogs of people that were harmed by the Vampires who want them to pay for their actions. Both are well voiced, but their characterizations are flat as all get out to me. Which shouldn’t be a surprise as the arc feels like Mr. Ellis was pulling from a dropped idea from his run on Authority. While, yes they are not twins, it’s clear that there had to be some assumption in making them look alike for added creepy factor in this. Which again, rings odd to me that Alucard would allow his room to be wide open at all with strangers, as they have only known him for a short time (remember how he was cautious around Trevor and his regard about killing Vampires).

Honestly, I would say take them out and replace them, because there is a better story to be had and it already has connections to the series and could bring about two very interesting characters from the Drama CD and expand on Alucard, Dracula, and Lisa all in one go.

So a quick Summary is needed here about Nocturne of Recollection. The basic parts that are important are that Alucard is dealing with another vampire who is attacking people, and seemingly attacking his new found friend (love of his life) Maria. This turns out to be a former friend/servant Lyudmil, who at one point had been tossed from his village for trying to help Lisa and ended up coming to work under Dracula and serving Adrian. The two became friends, until something happened in Lyudmil’s village and he became a vampire and Alucard went way dark for a while, leading to Dracula’s servant Magnus to come and manipulate Lyudmil into hating Humans more and eventually leading the two friends to fight, and Lyudmil to change sides and work with Alucard, only to end up dying from mortal wounds.

Just for the record:

This is Lyudmil

And this is Magnus:

Where unlike in Season 3 a made up couple of people can come in and wreck him, I think a far better story would be to use the two characters from Nocturne and build that into Season 4 in regard to Alucard’s story.

If...and I say this again, If, I were to advise about how these two characters could work better in setting up Alucards fall I would say that they play a larger idea into the savior turned sinner narrative that could really screw up Alucard’s mind for a while.

So, how would I go about telling this tale of tragedy that could bring Alucard down with out having to resort to a full on sex scene that wasn’t needed to show how intimacy can be corrupted and how people can be betrayed by their own human fallacies...

The arc would start with Lyudmil coming from the town near the castle and Magnus starting out his plans. We start with Adrian doing as he does in the opening sequences and learn that he’s being observed by someone as the night comes into play. This would be Magnus who we learn has been watching the castle for the past week or two. He was a servant of Dracula, and, unlike the other vampires, didn’t make it to the feast. Of course he wants to know what’s up with Alucard and, like the other vampires, has been trying to carve out his own safe place, but with Dracula dead, and him being weaker, it has become very hard for him to survive. So he wants to have the castle for himself as a place to be safe (maybe bring back Dracula).

Meanwhile you have Lyudmil whom we learn lives at the edge of the town where Lisa once tended the sick. Lyudmil’s mother was the midwife that helped Lisa give birth to Adrian. (For the sake of everything we can say that Lyudmil is the same age or a year younger than Adrian, and his sister is like a year younger than him so. Adrian is 20, Lyudmil is 20 to 19, and his sister, Liliya is 19 to 18.) Because when the Bishop came to arrest her Lyudmil and his sister defended Lisa they were thrown from the city for trying to help her. Since they’re on their own, they’ve been living off the land and with the Night creatures causing trouble, and illness coming because of them, Lily, Lyudmil’s younger sister, is very sick.

Lyudmil hears word from the few people that will interact with him, that Dracula is dead, and because he can’t think of any other way to help his sister, he decides to take her to the castle and see if any of Lisa’s books are there. Lyudmil takes his sister and heads off with her to reach the castle and find a cure. After a month of travel, since the Castle is now over the Belmont Keep, Lyudmil finds the castle and Adrian senses him, and attacks. Lyudmil is not a fighter so he runs and ends up asking Alucard to not kill him as he just wants to find Lisa’s books to save his sister. Adrian is curious about this, and Lyudmil show’s he’s not lying by bringing Adrian to Liliya who is clearly sick with an illness. He’s not sure if he can help, but he figures that his mother’s books may have something, so he welcomes the duo into the castle.

Alucard uses his mother’s books to cure Liliya. The two are asked to stay in the castle for Lily to recover. While this is happening Magnus realizes that Adrian was one of the ones that Killed Dracula, thanks to a magic item that lets him see what happened to Dracula in his last minutes. Angry that the son of Dracula would allow Humans into his master’s home and that the boy is living there after he killed his own father, Magnus decides he wants to screw over Adrian for his own personal reasons.

Magnus sets about making the town near where the Belmont keep is turn on the two young people. He has been showing up at a field near the castle dressed as a merchant who is selling items and collecting flowers to dress up said items. Alucard is wary of him but gives into his human side and figures that the merchant is not that bad. Though all the time that he talks to Adrian, we get these moments of him twisting words to make Alucard question and doubt himself and his reasons of allowing the duo to stay.

At the same time we learn that Liliya wants to learn to heal, since someone needs to take up Lisa’s job in the village when they go back, and Lyudmil wants to learn from Adrian how to fight so he can eventually become a city protector. The trio start to form a deep bond, and viewers learn that both Liliya and Lyudmil have feelings for Alucard. We spend time getting to know the trio, and use them for the lighter moments in the show, compared to say, Hectors story. We learn about their family and the connection to Lisa, also we learn how their mother died giving birth to Liliya and how their father was killed by some night creature just before Liliya was born. Lyudmil doesn’t like people, but he also doesn’t want kids to be like him. Near the end of the season, Magnus rouses the towns suspicions enough with the castle and the two siblings that when Liliya goes out to get followers a group of men come and capture her and drag her to the village for trial of being in league with the Night creatures.

Here they basically beat or harm her, trying to make her confess to connections, (this act is unknown to most of the village). Magnus banks on her crying out for help, which she does, and uses that to unleash his minions on the town. Lyudmil goes looking for her when she’s late. leaving Alucard in the meadow where the trio eat together. Magnus, as the Merchant, tells Lyudmil where to find his sister. When he gets into town it’s a wreck and he fights his way into the building where he finds her tied up and the men are scared. Angry, Lyudmil kills them all and rescues his sister, dragging her out to the forest area and leaving her to rest, so he can go and find the monster that is controlling all of this and basically stop them from harming any kids there, as he sees them as innocent in all this.

Magnus, as the merchant, goes to see Alucard, who has seen the smoke and was already headed for the woods, and tells him what happened. He then leads him to Liliya who is dying from her wounds from earlier. She asks Alucard to save her brother, and then dies. Alucard rushes to the town, fights a bunch of creatures who scatter, as it’s part of the plan and finds a mortally wounded Lyudmil. Conflicted on what to do Magnus comes by as himself and, since he’s an Incubus, starts putting temptations into Alucard’s ear.

Lyudmil for his part thanks Alucard for all the kindness he offered him and says that he’s glad they had their short time together and that he’s sorry to leave him. Magnus keeps reminding Alucard of how alone he was before the two came, that Liliya asked him to save Lyudmil, that as Dracula’s son he could change Lyudmil to keep him alive, etc. Alucard in a moment of weakness and desperate not to be alone, as Lyudmil has his eyes closed and is ready to die, bites and turns him into a vampire.

Last episode of the season ends with Lyudmil waking up and finding out he’s a vampire. He’s not exactly thrilled about it, but realizes that he can stay and learn from Alucard how to uses these powers to protect others and hunt down the one that turned him and probably caused his sister’s death. Alucard lies to him when pressed about who turned him, he says it was a vampire, and Lyudmil thinks it was the guy that seemed to control the monsters.

We now have a set up for Season 4 that makes sense for a fall for Alucard and a far deeper betrayal. Alucard has betrayed his own beliefs, his own word. He’s take a life and twisted it, like his father, and then lied for his own desprate need to make sure that Lyudmil doesn’t leave him because he feels alone. This guilt and grief over the loss of Liliya and his own cover up to Lyudmil, slowly eats away at him and makes him push Lyudmil away through season 4, until Magnus blows everything to hell when he gets Lyudmil to find out that Alucard was the one to turn him. which in turn causes a fight, and Lyudmil to question everything that Alucard had done for him and his sister and leads him in the season eventually to change sides to Magnus and betray Alucard, by litterally stabbing him in the back, and leaving him to die. Where in you have Trevor and Sypha come and find their friend in bad shape wanting to know what happened, only for him to say he fucked up, and begs them to put him in his coffin to sleep after Sypha heals his wounds.

This would lead to a wide open castle for Isaac for season 5, and a set up for a later season of the Rondo of blood/Symphony of the Night arc.

Having Alucard betray his own beliefs makes him more like his father than killing Taka and Sumi. When Mathias lost his wife Elisabetha, he used his best friend to get what he wanted, which was immortality. He went against his own beliefs about their friendship and focused on his own desires to make his own wish come true, which in this case was to screw over God and Humans for taking his beloved Elisabetha away. Yet, he still wanted that close association with Leon Belmont, whom he’d known since they were kids, and when Leon rejected him in the end it broke everything that Mathias was clinging on to in the hopes of some sense of not being a full on monster.

For Alucard, who didn’t want to be like his dad, who could walk in the light, who cared for people and had told Trevor and Sypha he would be okay, this action would have been a tipping point. How could he be so damn selfish to turn someone because of his own needs. How could he corrupt Liliya’s dying request to save her brother into some personal wish to not be alone and corrupted it in his mind so that he didn’t have to feel guilty over it. What makes it all the worse then is that he no longer believes he had the right to stand up against his father since they are alike and he did a horrible thing to a friend, just as Mathias had to Leon. Loyalty can also play a part in it, as well as truth and trust, since Alucard is all of 20 at this point.

You can have a hell of a philosophical situation there about desires, requests, and how far to go to save someone. Are they alike, or is it all in the lies from Magnus. Magnus would also be someone that Alucard could conflict with as it would allow for the two different views of Dracula to show off how they both feel about things. Magnus wanting to be a son to Dracula, to be praised and loved by him as a child or a servant to a master. Someone who cares for the darker side of the man yet feels compassion and empathy for him. Where as Alucard, feels love for his father, he also knows that the man is capable of great evil and needs to be stopped and wants him to be in the light. Magnus could easily be the opposite of Carmilla, someone who is grieving the loss of Dracula as much, or possibly more so, than Isaac as he was probably with Dracula longer. Where as she is glad he’s dead and is free to do as she pleases.

It just feels like there could have been a better story arc for him in here instead of what we got. There’s so much rich lore in Castlevania and the connections between characters that it feels kind of wrong that the story of Alucard, Lyudmil and Magnus was left on the way side, and in stead we have a pair of characters that are okay over all but ultimately a waste.

#alucard castlevania #alucard #castlevania #castlevania season 3 #castlevania s3 #castlevania season 3 spoilers #castlevania spoilers #lyudmil #lyudmil castlevania #magnus castlevania #magnus

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