#idk what johns talking about in the last one but i feel like it has to do with jo tbh

[keravnous]

diet mountain dew; john wick/fem!reader (smut, 18+)

dating john wick - the playlist

The Boogeyman is out to get you. Little does he know, that you too are willing to do quite a bunch of things just to stay alive.

warnings: blood, guns, knives, injuries, physical violence/fighting, assassination attempt; dub-con, rough sex, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (female receiving), choking, dirty talk, spanking, a lot of manhandling bc for the love of god he doesn't know how to be soft anymore, gun kink, knife kink, size kink, strength kink, squirting, body worship if you blink, is this hate-fucking? idk; john has a horse cock change my mind; john is in his 50s, the reader is in her 20s; set somewhere after the series i guess? (I refuse to accept he's dead); problematic family relationship as a plot device; let's all collectively ignore the fact that he would actually never touch another woman or even dare to catch the smallest of feelings again; john gets off on the violence

word count: 10,6 k

thank you mel for a) listening to my ramblings and b) reading a good chunk of the first third of this dumpster fire and still going nuts about it, kissies and thank you v for listening to my keanu ramblings without losing faith in me

You wonder, if praying will help you. Probably not.

The sound of carnage, screams and gunshots in the hallway abruptly stops. You hear the assailant's heavy footsteps echoing off the floorboards outside of your hotel room mere seconds before the door bursts open, flies out of its hinges and rattles to the ground, wood creaking and breaking, splinters flying everywhere.

There had been a hit out on you for two days and every single soldier in your father's militia was ready to defend your life with their own.

Literally. You can tell by the man entering your suite.

You can tell by just how much he is covered in blood. You can tell by the way it drips down his forehead and how it soaks his white shirt - even the soles of his shoes creak with it. You can tell by the way he is totally and utterly drenched in red red red, and because you are certain it is not his.

They literally gave their life for you. The thought hits you like a blow to the head. People have died because of you. Fathers, brothers, sons. You recall your last conversation with your own father. They want us dead, they put out a contract on us - you had never seen him so nervous, so disheveled. What does that mean - his anxiety had been washing over you in seeping hot waves, sending cold shivers down your spine. It means, I need you out of the house - now.

Nausea bubbles in your stomach as the man now approaches you, casually strolls into the suite with his finger on the trigger of the gun dangling from his hand and you stare back at him - a deer in the headlights, frozen by fear in the eyes of its deadly predator. One of your father's men jumps from his cover, fires a shot and gets hit back with one straight between his eyes. It happens so quickly, that you can't turn your head away. You see the bullet piercing his forehead, blood splattering as soon as it exits the skull on the other side. His head flies back a little, and then his body goes limp, slack, as he falls to the ground with a heavy thud.

You want to scream. You want to vomit. You want to run. But there is nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide from him.

There's only one soldier left with you in the suite now and he is hiding around the corner, near the bathroom. The stranger - the assassin, the killer - does not lower the gun again, and does not let his eyes stray from you as he carefully enters the room. You feel terribly exposed, dressed only in your negligée, not daring to move.

Now, that the dim light of the suite's living room strikes his face, you can finally see him, see the man who has come to end you. He is older than you, maybe nearly twice your age, with dark hair and even darker eyes, matching his black suit. Lean and athletic, chest heaving slightly with physical exhaustion. The Boogeyman.

You do not know who or what you had expected, what cruel and dreadful images your brain had conjured up in the past 48 hours - 48 frightful hours of being moved around from hideout to hideout by your father's men, not staying in one place longer than necessary - but it certainly was not that. Not him. He is a lot more handsome than his reputation has led on. Seeing him on the subway around rush hour you would have never suspected him to be in this business. He looks nice. And that is exactly what makes him dangerous.

You have heard his name before. Echoing from the walls. Baba Yaga. Whispered with both: fear and respect. The Boogeyman. Blurted out: like a curse or like a blessing. Mister Wick: like redemption, like damnation. Jonathan, the king's son walking the earth as the devil.

John. The sound of his name is oddly human - disturbingly human - for someone looking as calm and collected, focused and concentrated as he does right now, while being drenched in blood and pointing a gun at you.

You must have said his name out loud, because his eyebrows twitch irritatedly, a movement so quick you barely missed it - must've sound desperate too, then.

Vision zeroing in on the barrel of his gun, your hands clutch the sofa's edge. There is so much adrenaline pumping through your veins right now that it freezes your limbs, has your ears ringing. The only thing responding to your brain fully are your eyes, and they snap away from the gun and over to the remaining soldier. It's a quick look, not even a second, but the hitman seems to recognize it and - with near inhumane speed - flicks his gun, and fires two shots. Blood splatters against the white door as the shots pin the soldier's body against it, and is it finally drops to the ground heavily it leaves a nasty trail, all wet and sticky and red.

Could be you.

You want to scream, but your body does not belong to you anymore, does not respond to your commands. It is a desperate, cruel sound that leaves your throat instead as you flinch with the sound of the gun being fired.

"Let's make this quick" his voice is gravelly and rough, like he has seen a thousand grim things and the pain of it has etched its way into his throat, left a nasty mark on every tone that ever dared to cross after.

That is when your fight or flight suddenly kicks in. Well, more specifically, it kicks in while he is speaking, as he starts to swap the empty clip of his gun.

He underestimates you. Everyone does. Your father, your brother. The countless men lying dead littered across the hotel's 25th floor. It will be his mistake.

You latch forward, grabbing the vase from the coffee table in front of you. The weight of it in your hand drags you down.

With all the strength you can muster, which is quite a lot considering the massive amounts of adrenaline that are currently amping up your body - you throw it at him. It connects with his forehead sharply; a deep, irritated noise bursting from his throat as it crashes, splinters and falls to the floor.

You are braver, braver than you should be as your assault does not end there, your body pushing you forward, leaping over the table and crashing into his broad shoulders.

I will not die today

Body ramming into his, he stumbles, as your fist connects with his chin. You have only been partially trained in hand-to-hand combat, after pleading your brother for months until he eventually gave in. Sadly, he wasn't nearly as thorough and honest with it as he was training his drug dealer and gun runners. But now, it is the only thing you can rely on.

There is nothing else; no one else left alive in that building who might be able to help you. It is up to you. So, you might as well try.

And Oh, does desperation fire up your blood.

I will not die today

The diversion does not last long and he - John John John only human only human only human - grabs you by you waist hard, fingers digging into your flesh and into the expensive silk, before he slams your body into the ground. All air leaves your lungs with a dull sound erupting from your chest, just as pain blooms around your ribs.

You cough and he looks down at you, confusion making his brows twitch, before cold-hearted determination takes over once more. John aims his gun at you once more, pulls back the hammer and you do not even think about it, your leg rising as you kick against his hand. The shot misses, buries itself deep into the expensive carpet a few inches next to your skull. You have no time to do either: panic or sigh in relief; instead, you deliver him a kick to his stomach, fighting yourself back onto your feet, punching him straight in the face.

John grunts and grabs your wrist, but you see it coming and throw yourself into his wide frame, wrapping your other arm around his back and thus hooking it underneath his right shoulder, dislocating his arm and preventing him from aiming his gun at you. You claw onto him as he twists your arm close to his stomach, while you wrap your legs around him, making it harder for John to shake you off.

I will not die today

You kick and dig the heel of your foot into his thighs and the back of his knees and he grunts and buckles a little, but turns wild and relentless quicker than you can blink, throws the two of you into the next wall. You gasp sharply as your back connects with the large mirror, splinters digging into your back - not deep enough to actually cut skin, but it stings nonetheless, the impact making you dizzy.

Sharp pain shoots through your back and your neck, but you are not willing to give up yet, as raw energy and rage and desperation surges through your body - one of your legs coming loose and your knee hitting his stomach repeatedly, making John grunt in pain and you use your momentum to dig your hand deep into his back, holding onto him and then swirling out of the deadlock he has got you in, jumping his back like a monkey.

His gun clatters to the ground and for a split second, the room falls silent. Then, roaring like an animal gone wild, he grabs your calves and slams his back into the nearest wall, has you screaming with the impact. You can feel blood pouring from your nose, feel it trickling down your lips.

I will not die today

John is stronger than you are, so so much stronger - the apex predator: all muscle, unbreakable focus and the sheer will to kill. But you are not only a little quicker; you also really want to stay alive. It is a force he rarely encounters. And quite frankly, it irritates him.

He may be older than you, taller than you and stronger than you but you have something he does not have: you actually still got something to lose.

And you fight like it, too. All scratches and sharp yells, as you punch and scrabble at his shoulders and tear at his tie, trying to strangle him with it. John is struggling against it, gasping for air and winding beneath your assault and then his grip around your claves grows hard like iron, seconds before he pulls - throws you over his head like you weigh nothing. You land on the expensive carpet with a heavy thud - groaning as you crash onto your side with sharp pain shooting through your shoulder, down your ribcage.

I will not die today

John sputters and stumbles forward, looking for his gun but you are quicker, kicking it away with your foot. It clatters back onto and slides over the wooden floorboards.

For a second you consider your choices, fighting yourself back onto your feet but John - a practiced and seasoned fighter - beats you to it and lands a blow to your upper back, sends you back down with him - a mess of sputtering saliva and painful groans. His body topples onto yours and he quickly rolls the two of you over the floor.

John is heavy and warm on top of you, as he keeps you in a tight headlock, your chest pressed to the floor and neck bend in a painful angle. He presses his strong forearm down onto your windpipe and you choke and cough, feet kicking, hands dragging across the wood, clawing at it feebly.

You can feel his breath on your cheek, hot and damp. You can feel his torso pressing against your back as he kneels behind you.

I will not die today

Mustering all your remaining strength, you trash against him, ramming your backside into his stomach. He grunts and for a split second, his grip loosens. It is all you need. Throwing your elbow back, you hit him in the chest and he caves in.

You cough, crawling forward and then scrambling back onto your feet, one of your negligée’s straps falling down your shoulder in the process. You hastily pull it back up, seconds before John launches a cascade of punches onto you.

A few of them hit you as you try to block them; dull pain igniting in your body, blooming in your face and arms. Your breath goes heavy as you stumble backwards. You cannot do this. There is no way. You just physically can't.

He is stronger. Taller. Heavier. Deadlier. Your body and every single muscle, bone, nerve in it aches and you wheeze but he is already onto you again, half-tackles you and grabs your waist, ready to smash you back onto the ground.

You cling onto him with all your remaining strength, struggling against his huge frame, wrapping your hands around his neck in an attempt to get him to stumble.

His hair tingles on your naked arms. Oh wait --

Tearing at his hair - which has him grunting in both, pain, and irritation at the unusual attempt - you clumsily pull yourself up onto his shoulders, cutting his face right above his eyebrow with your nails in the process until you finally wrap one leg around his throat and close it around there tightly, choking him. John tries to pull you off him and succeeds after quite the tussle, only to find your frame clinging to him, legs and arms wrapping around his body, hands scratching and feet kicking.

I will not fucking die today

In an attempt to either get rid of each other or submit the last blow, to finally kill the other, you two swirl through the room - a deadly dance of torn skin, smashed glass panes and mirrors, bruises and cuts. Somewhere in between kicks and punches, he managed to pick up his gun - and right now, you are mustering all of your exhausted strength to prevent the barrel from pressing against your skull.

Eventually, John crashes your bodies through a large wooden door, and is not quick enough - unable to stop his own oxe-like strength - to stop himself from stumbling into the room. The two of you only come a halt as his knees hit something soft and ironically that is what finally topples both of you over, landing onto the mattress of your bedroom with a soft thud and deep, exhausted grunts.

Your ears ring, and you are ready to lash out at him again despite the physical exhaustion, to strike him square across the face, as --

There is something hard pressing against your crotch.

The world falls silent.

No. No, there's no fucking way. It's got to bea hidden weapon. Must be.

But clearly, it is not. There, between your spread legs, his hard cock presses snugly against your panty-clad pussy.

And he just feels so huge - mouth-watering huge - that your body responds in its own way, hips snapping up, stuttering against the hard bulge. John lets go off a shaky, ragged breath, hand still clutching his gun. And you know, that this is your window.

Feeling the warmth that his body and his hard dick are radiating through his expensive suit, you roll your hips once - a languid, slow motion, rubbing your pussy over his bulge.

And he groans. A deep, primal sound that sounds a little coarse. John is looking at you, starring you down, but there is a shadow dancing over his eyes, turning his brown eyes into deep and dark, black pits that gives him away.

He is horny. The Boogeyman is fucking horny. You would laugh, if the realization wasn't knocking all air straight from your lungs. Because it just another reminder, proof of what he actually is: human.

And what a sight he is to see - eyes turning darker every second, his chest heaving with every breath and making it seem like his shirt is going to pop a button or two any second now, his cock prodding against its restraints and your clothed cunt.

It makes you want him. The thought leaves you dizzy, makes you gasp.

Apparently, that is all he needs to roll his hips back into yours. And that - that is just unfair. It's playing dirty. It's, it's -- His dick feels huge as it trails along your folds, has the muscles in your abdomen clenching.

"Fuck", you breathe, a little overwhelmed with and helpless at the sudden surge of lust that ignites your body, the wetness pooling between your legs.

John is not saying anything, just stares you down while he continues to slooowly roll his hips into yours, grinds his cock against your cunt. Your pelvis twitches upward as you start to meet his movements, and then you can hear it. He let's go of a deep breath, and it sounds like the faintest moan.

You need to hear more of that. You need more of him, your cunt aching and hole clenching around nothing already.

"John", and this time you say his name - consciously - it sounds a different way of desperate: your voice reduced to a small whisper, torn at the edges by a wanton whimper ripping from your throat.

If it throws him off-guard he does not show it, does not let you see it. Instead, he grabs your chin hard, gaze locking with yours. Dark pupils blown wide, swallowing the honey-brown of his eyes, and your breath hitches.

"Yeah?", he rasps, and it does not take more than one long look from you for him to lean in, to press his lips onto yours.

The kiss tastes of blood and adrenaline and doom, and you relish in it. Relishing the way his lips move against yours and his beard tickles a little, relishing how his tongue presses into your mouth. It feels like he is eating you whole, licking into your mouth, one hand dancing over your waist - featherlight, like he doesn't know how to touch a body without hurting someone, destroying someone.

I will not die today, motherfucker

Your whole body now sings with it, the security of an impending victory, as you roll your hips into his once more, your tongue now licking back into his mouth. For a second you think about how to strike again, now that he is seemingly distracted, but all will to fight leaves your body as one of his hands brushes over your knee, wanders further and eventually rests on your thigh.

The touch is electrifying and then his hand grows braver, his movements more certain, as he grabs your thigh, feels you up. It happens so suddenly, that you gasp into the kiss.

John parts from you, his lips a little plush already. "Oh God", you whisper as you stare Death Turned Human straight in the face, not a single thought remaining in your skull despite your lust.

He doesn't speak, as he gently let’s go off your leg and straightens back up and for a second you think he is going to hurt you, with the way his brows are furrowed - but he doesn't.

Instead, he moves in, right over your comparably tiny frame - a mountain of a man. John kneels above you, his weight pinning you down while he straddles your thighs and Jesus fucking Christ - what a sight he is to see.

Dark locks falling into his forehead, a little sticky with sweat and the bits of blood from the cut your nails gave him moments ago - right above his left eyebrow, still lazily trickling down into his lashes. His chest heaves with ragged breaths, as he hastily gets rid of his jacket, carelessly drops it to the ground. His black button-down clings to his muscular body underneath his waistcoat and his equally as muscular thighs pin you down to the bed, black fabric nearly tearing at the seams. And then there is his hard cock.

It looks as huge as it felt, with the way it bulges his pants, the outline of it clearly visible as it buckles proudly against its restraints. You are certain, you will not be able to close your hand around it fully - not a chance.

One of his hands - the one lacking a finger, which you only now notice and what sends shivers down your spine - wanders over your body, pulling your negligée down in the process, right tit spilling out of the soft silk. He immediately grabs it, cups it with his large hand and squeezes. You mewl, marveling at just how big his hand is, just as his whole body is in comparison to you. His fucked-up finger digs into the flesh, sending shivers down your spine.

John's hand gropes your tit, before he impatiently pulls the neckline down roughly. You sigh, arousal shooting down your spine and tingling in your lower belly, as two of his fingers nudge your nipple, pinch it.

He watches your face intently, as he continues to grope you, rolls your nipple between his fingers. You mewl, breath accelerating a little but it is just not enough and you buck your hips upwards. John grunts in, what you assume is an approving manner, and let's go off your tit, reaches to his belt at his loins.

Quickly pulling a knife from God-knows-where exactly, a sharp blade enters your vision.

You blink, panic seeping through your lust and your legs twitch a little with fear. If John notices it, he neither shows it nor does he say anything, just moves the knife closer to your body.

The blade shines in the dim light as it dances over your exposed thighs carefully, the metal cooly pressing against your skin, before he flicks it and cuts your negligée open. The thin, soft fabric cleanly cut in half it now lazily slides from your aching body, falls to its sides. Your chest heaves, shivers running down your arms and back.

It happens so quickly that you can only blink. As your brain finally catches up with your eyes, you come to realize that he is holding a real fucking tactical knife. You have thrown one once - they are sharp as hell and deadlier than a bullet. The sound of fabric tearing easily, like paper, proves your point.

And John's movements with the blade are so fast that your breath hitches, a little afraid he might cut you. But he does not, instead, he quickly pulls the torn silk off you and away from under you, carelessly tosses it into the dark of the room.

The edge of the blade dances over your skin and you do not dare to breathe, as he trails it up and down your curves, gently nudges your nipples. "I could kill you", he says calmly and then, in lightning speed, presses the blade into the crook of your neck. Your head sinks back into the mattress, in an instinct to flee the sharp edge.

All it does is to expose your neck further and something gleams in John's eyes, as he presses the sharp tip down slowly, carefully nudging your skin with it. The metal is cold and hard and sharp and your breath hitches. Just a little bit more and it might burst your skin, draw blood.

But, to your own confusion, you do not feel threatened anymore. Oddly enough, your nerves tingle with excitement. You blame it on the already high levels of adrenaline that still pump through your veins, rushing back and forth from your brain and your lungs, but a small voice inside of your head whisper gently, deviously, that you know That's not it. And he knows it, too.

It's in his eyes as well, the sheer excitement of it all, the fucked-up pleasure it evokes in the both of you lays heavy in the air.

It turns you fucking on. It turns you on, that the man who - minutes ago - tried you kill you and did hurt you very fucking badly in the process of it, now decides to let you live.

It turns you on, that you are at his mercy.

It turns you on, that he decided to spare you - just for now.

It turns you on, that these large and strong hands holding the knife have that sort of power over you. And thus, as the blade nudges your head back further, you moan.

"I could cut your throat", John's voice is heavy and thick with arousal and you can feel your heartbeat picking up, breath accelerating. His gaze drops down, watches the rapid rising and falling of your breasts hungrily, while another soft moan escapes from your lips.

"Don't", you breathe softly.

The knife practically burns on your skin, and you can feel arousal flooding your clothed pussy, rubbing your thighs together for any sort of friction. John can feel your squirming underneath him, but he can also see your eyes turning watery and dark with lust, pupils blown and a pretty pink spreading on your cheeks, your breath growing shallow. And he just really needs to fucking taste you right now.

As quickly as it appeared, the blade vanishes from your throat before he twirls the knife like the ruthless, reckless professional that he is, and buries it deep to the hilt in the mattress next to you. The sharp sound as it pierces the thick fabric has the hairs on your body standing up, goosebumps rolling over your skin.

"I'll do it later", he rumbles - casually, like he is talking about doing chores or picking up groceries - before hunching over you, grabbing your chin with his fucked-up hand, and kissing you again. His tongue immediately pushes into your mouth, like he is starving to taste you.

John eats you whole, with the way his lips move against yours. His hand cups your face, tongue licking into your mouth, toying with yours. His kiss steals your breath and you start to get dizzy with it, hips bucking. You can feel his lips curling up and then he parts from you, leaving you a gasping mess, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth.

"Let me touch you, John", you whisper, voice a little small because you do not know why you feel that way, and if he will even allow it. But you just need to feel him.

For a long moment his gaze dances over your face and something shifts behind his eyes, like a shadow gets lifted and then very quickly returns. Ultimately, he gives a court nod, so small you nearly miss it and gives you a little more room while straightening back up.

Carefully, as if not to spook him, you dart one hand out, place it on his chest. The muscle is firm underneath his suit and you run your hand along the lapel of his jacket, down and then back up, before it slips beneath it.

John's body radiates warmth under the black fabric of his shirt and your other hand comes up, before you shove the jacket off his shoulders and onto the floor next to the bed.

Your breath hitches.

He is wearing a holster, a reminder of his deadliness, of the gun laying somewhere next to you. Maybe, he sees the fear returning in your eyes, but he is quick to shrug the holster off, throws it into the dark where it clatters onto the wooden floor boards. What is left in front of you are broad shoulders and a muscular chest, the fabric nearly tearing at his movements.

As you run your hands over it, you cannot help yourself - you need to fucking feel him for real.

Quickly making work of his waistcoat and tie you toss both to the side carelessly, before your hands roam his broad chest. His button-down clings snugly against his upper body and you can feel the muscles work beneath the black fabric as your hands brush over them. You tug at the shirt, pulling its tails from his pants before hastily opening the first few buttons. The skin underneath is pale, littered by blue - red - black bruises, birthmarks scattered in between like stars. You pop open the rest of the buttons, greedy to touch him. And as the shirt falls to the sides your hands are already onto his chest, roaming over and admiring the muscular, defined canvas of strength, that violence has painted a pretty picture on.

John is watching you intently as you undress him and then explore his body, your pupils blown wide and dark, mouth agape a little. He is a little taken aback by it - by someone not seeing his body as the ultimate tool of death that it is, but as something else, that he cannot really pinpoint because he can't even look in the mirror without seeing destruction and decay. But the way your gaze wanders over his body, the way you touch him, is different from that and he has not felt anything like it in years.

And John wants. Carnal desire tugs at his brain, shoots arousal between his legs, makes his cock twitch and a low growl escaping his throat.

The sound gets you going: pushing yourself up with one hand, the other wrapping around his strong neck for leverage as you sit up, mouth immediately clutching to his throat. He tastes of sweat and after-shave - sharp and musky - and you run your tongue over his skin greedily, licking and sucking at the skin while your naked body presses against his.

It disarms him. The gentle touch that you put his body up to, while everything still aches from plowing through the better half of your father's militia and beating the hell out of you, confuses him. Your touch, your lips on his skin are soft and not aiming to hurt - instead, they grow more and more needy, wanton and hasty, as you lick over his bruised skin, tasting his sweat. Your hands over his abdomen caress his defined muscles, in awe of his utter strength, thumbs brushing through the soft and dark trail of hair leading beneath the waistband of his trousers. And all John can do, is watch, his gaze locking with yours as goosebumps erupt on his skin.

And you - oh you; your head swims with the way you turn this animal into a human again, unlock a different set of animalistic needs within him and hearing John's breath growing heavy really fucking does it for you, feeling his scarred and beaten-up skin underneath your hands, wrapping them around the deadly machine that is his body. It makes you want more.

Shedding his blood-stained shirt off of his shoulders, your hands roam over his upper back - feeling the scars there: of knives, larger and small ones and round ones of bullets that once pierced his skin. There is something else, a burn scar, in the shape of a cross and he hisses as your fingers brush over it, nails digging into the stunted skin.

It pulls John out of his stasis, reminds him of who he is and you can feel the air swinging with it seconds before he moves. His large hands wrap around your shoulders and then he pulls you off him, throws you back onto the mattress. You yelp, eyes growing wide as you watch his face as it turns from lightly dazed back to stern, wild, with his brows furrowed.

"That's enough", he says, voice coarse and it still feels like a small victory, even though he spreads your legs roughly, hands digging deep into your thighs - hard enough to bruise - before he kneels between them. He yanks your body forward at the back of your knees, watches your tits bounce and then leans in, his lips immediately attacking your throat, your neck.

His lips are surprisingly soft against your skin, his beard tickling a little as it brushes over your tits, your stomach, your thighs while his tongue licks fat stripes over your nipples and down down down your upper body, right to your navel. One of his hands creeps up your body once more and roughly cups your tit, squeezes, and gropes it, rolls your hardened nipple between his index and middle finger. His stunted ring-finger digs deep into your tit and you gasp, hips bucking. John's lips suck and nibble at your skin, before eventually ghosting over your pubic bone, teasing you before assaulting your thighs again, teeth biting down gently into the soft flesh. You gasp and moan while he gropes your body, inhales your scent - as you watch how his lips, tongue, and teeth dance over your thighs, moving closer to your cunt.

John finally, finally, puts his mouth onto your pussy, peppers open-mouthed kisses around your clit, before clothing his lips around it and sucking on it hard through your panties. Your hips buck as a high-pitched moan erupts from your throat, hands flying into his greying locks.

"Fuck", you whine, feeling fresh wetness flooding your folds, dampening the thin fabric further. John can see the outlines of your wet pussy pressing against your panties and parts from your clit momentarily, only to lick a fat stripe over your clothed cunt, watching it twitch.

"That's fucking pretty", he rasps, gaze locking with yours and you feel all air leaving your lungs. His eyes are so fucking dark, like gleaming black pits swallowing you whole, his breath a little flat with arousal.

You want him to fuck you. Really fuck you. To plow you open, rail you until you cannot sit nor walk. He is already so so close to you, but too far away at the same time. "Please", is all you manage to utter out. And it seems to be sufficient enough for him; seems to get across what you want, what you need.

John's fingers wrap around the front of your lace slip, tugging at the fabric - that rubs along your cunt at the sudden motion and has you gasping quietly - and then he pulls. The lace tears easily as he rips it apart, and cool air hits your wet and hot pussy, as he practically peels you out of your underwear, throws it to the side. The look on his face is wild and you can hear him taking a deep breath, smelling your arousal, before he spreads your folds apart with his thumbs, gaze wandering over your plump and flushed cunt.

Teasingly brushing over your clit with his thumb, John watches your reaction intently. And fuck, you do not disappoint. Throwing your head back, you moan, drawing in a deep breath through your opened mouth that heaves your chest, your eyelids fluttering.

You are dying for him to touch you and as he does, it feels like your body catches fire - lust washing away the dull pain in your limbs and near your ribs.

"Oh God", you breathe out as his thumb draws another wide and slow circle over your clit, your hands darting out and grabbing the sheets "Please."

And John complies, his thumb rubbing over your clit in a slow but steady rhythm.

Gasping, your hands clutch the sheets, knees darting away from each other, giving him more space. John accepts the invitation, grabs one thigh hard, fucked up ring-finger digging deep into your skin. His fingers move further, abandons your clit and dance over your folds, down to your hole. It flutters as two of his digits tease it, gently circling around it.

"Please", you whine once more, lifting your hips a little, a desperate noise leaving your throat. John smirks to himself, before pushing two of his fingers into you.

The stretch is sudden and bigger than expected and you moan coarsely, as he pushes his digits along your walls deeply and nestles them into your seeping hot cunt up to his knuckles. And Jesus, you feel so full already; your head swimming as you consider how big his cock must feel, then.

Your breath goes quick and shallowly as he starts to move them, and then he leans in. Nudges your clit with the tip of his tongue, licks over it.

You feel like combusting on the spot: your nerves tingling with arousal, your whole body still aching from the beating you gave each other earlier - the pain in your back blooming as you stretch it with your hips desperately shoving themselves near his touch - your pussy squeezing his fingers.

John pumps his thick fingers in and out of you, his tongue rubbing and circling your clit and soft, needy moans fall from your lips. Obscene, wet sounds fill the air, mingle with your moans and heavy breathing. His lips close in around your clit, sucking at it while his fingers rub along your spongy walls and your cunt squeezes them hard as fresh wetness floods your folds, your squirt wetting his beard and dripping down on the sheets below.

You can hear - feel - John humming against your pussy, peppering the wet skin with open mouthed kisses, licking over it, and tasting your slick.

You feel so fucking good - lust pulsating through your veins, loins on fire - and your head falls to the side, body rocking with sharp gasps and your mouth agape, eyelids fluttering as --

There's the gun. And the knife.

You could easily grab either one or the other next to you, pull the blade out of the matress or the hammer back; put a bullet right between his eyes or plow the blade deep deep into his skull. Killing the Boogeyman. Killing Baba Yaga.

That would do wonders to your family's business. It would emancipate you from it, you would be free. Free to rule.

"Thinking 'bout killing me?", John rumbles, tongue licking a fat stripe over your cunt, nudging your clit. Your gaze flickers back to him: hair a mess, eyes gleaming darkly, hands on your thighs to keep your legs spread. He does not look surprised. Neither does he look worried.

Realization hits you like a blow to the head: he is toying with you. Has been the whole fucking time. The wolf hunting the deer, running a few rounds through the woods to weaken it; its breath whistling with exhaustion, long legs buckling before it collapses - an easy kill. An easy kill for an old wolf, one, that can't quite handle a real hunt anymore.

But maybe, just maybe - judging from the look in his eyes - he got lost in his own game. Its reins slipped from his bloody hands, the wolf tumbling to the ground.

Looking back at him, your lips curl into a sweet smile. "Not anymore", your hand darts out, brushing the loose strands of dark hair from his face - the soft gesture leaving him visibly confused -, "John."

Two can play this game. And maybe, just maybe, the deer can tire the wolf out first.

Something gleams in John's eyes, dances over them like a shadow and he seems to accept the challenge - readying to tire you out - tongue licking over your clit once more, making you shiver and mewl, as he pulls his fingers out of your dripping hole. You feel empty and --

"Do you really think, you could kill me?", he rumbles, voice deep and rough around the edges, "Stupid slut."

And then, quicker than your brain can process it, his hand comes down on your dripping wet pussy.

Your breath hitches, topples over and leaves your throat as a raw, needy moan. Softly stinging pain blooms between your folds and sets your nerves on fire. Blame it on the bruises, blame it on the pain you both inflicted on each other moments ago, but: it riles you up. Mingles with your aching bones and aching cunt, has you arching your back.

"Y'really think you could kill me", he doesn't sound offended, not even amused - voice plain, like he is inquiring if you really believed the earth to be flat. Like you really are stupid.

And you start to feel stupid, too. There was never a chance. You never had a chance. Your death was sealed, determined the second John stepped into the hotel.

You were stupid to believe you could outrun or beat him. You are stupid. And John has every right to show you, teach you, punish you for it.

Giving your cunt another firm slap, John watches your hips twitch, hears your pussy squelching and soft moans falling from your lips. "Shit", you sigh and he slaps your wet pussy once more, feels your slick folds wetting the palm of his hand.

"D'you like that, girl?", and as your only response are wanton gasps falling from your mouth John chuckles deeply, gives your pulsating cunt another two firm slaps. Seeing how he is pulling you apart, how good he makes you feel really seems to do it for him, gets him quite talkative.

"Uh-huh", you make dumbly, quite illiterate, watching him stroking your flushed, hot cunt with two of his fingers. Shivers run down your spine.

And then he leans back in, licks a fat stripe over your sensitive, flushed cunt, from the hole up to the clit.

You squirm, mewl as his beard brushes over your overstimulated skin, leaving a slight burn that mingles deliciously with a fresh wave of arousal that floods your body scalp to toes.

The muscles in your abdomen clench as two of his fingers circle your fluttering hole and then push in, rubbing along your plush walls agonizingly slowly and you can feel yourself tightening around it. Your juices squelch from your cunt as you squirt against his tongue and your slick runs down your folds, wets his fingers and palm while his tongue laps at your pussy, tasting your sweetness.

John pushes is fingers deeper as you moan and sigh, hands fisting his hair and hips moving against his tongue, his digits thrusting into you.

"Oh god", you huff as his lips close in around your clit, sucking on it and the tip of his tongue flicking against it occasionally.

Another wave of fresh wetness floods your cunt as you squirt once more, wetting the sheets below, your slick running down John's wrist.

John parts from your clit, nudges it with his tongue, his beard glistening with your juices.

"Yeah, that's fucking it", another one of his thick fingers pumps itself into your tight little hole and his other hand - also slick with your juices - grabs your thigh, "That's a good girl."

You feel so full, your spine feels like it's on fire and your brain tingles with it, sends wave of pleasure down down down your body; muscles in your loins clenching, chest heaving. It becomes all too much as he leans back in, rubs his tongue over your clit, lips sucking and teasing your folds.

The slight burn of John's beard tickling your plush, hot cunt. His fingers working your open and stretching your tight little hole open far and wide, obscene squelching sounds filling the air as he works you open, brushing against your g-spot occasionally and making you see stars.

But it's too little. It's just not enough.

"Fuck", you whine as John's thick fingers brush over your g-spot with quite some force, tongue lapping at your seeping cunt, "Shit, please. Please, just fuck me, please!"

You can feel him grinning against your wet cunt, beard a little sticky with your juices, letting go of your pussy with an obscene pop. "Yeah", he licks his lips, tastes you on his tongue, "D'you want my cock?"

And that - that might be what makes you lose your mind. Because yes. Yes, you do.

You have been craving to touch it, to feel it since it had pressed against your clothed pussy earlier. Thus, all dignity leaves your body with one, clean whine that breaks free from your throat.

"Yes, fuck - oh god, John", you brabble, legs falling apart further, inviting him in, his digits sinking deeper into your soaking wet hole, "Shit, please fuck me, John - please, please, please --"

Pleas are still falling from your lips like a chant, as a surprising noise breaks the silence, so strangely beautiful that it has you nearly shuddering: John is laughing. It's a nice baritone sound, and the fine lines around his eyes crinkle with it - it's so beautiful, that it drowns the world out. You watch him in awe, as he shakes his head, avoids your gaze.

"Jesus. Look at you", he huffs, voice dripping thickly with amusement, "If you need it that badly--"

Straightening back up and kneeling between your legs, John slips his fingers from your cunt and makes quick work of his belt, trousers, and boxers. The second he frees is cock, you start to drool like a fucking pavlovian-dog.

His dick is so fucking huge. It is nicely curved and cut, the bulbous pink head glistening with pre-cum and a thick, pumping vein at the bottom that rakes from the base to the tip, as it rests between trimmed, dark pubic hair. His cock bobs against his abdomen as it bounces free, smears the pre-cum along the pale skin, twitches at the sudden contact. And Jesus fucking Christ, you just want to fucking touch it, feel its velvety skin in your palm. But you just know that you won't even be able to wrap your hand around its base fully, it's impossible, it--

"I-it won't fit", you whisper, a little taken aback by his sheer size.

"Oh, I'll make it fit, baby."

John takes his cock in one hand, thumb right beneath its head, and rubs it against your slit. And Jesus fucking Christ. Your hips snap up, meet his movements, and he grunts while he spreads his pre-cum along your cunt, gathers your slick. The thick head of his dick prods against your entrance and you take a deep breath, looking down between your legs. You watch how he slooowly pushes in and you gasp at the sudden intrusion, the delicious stretch making you moan.

His cock feels so fucking big, hot, and heavy, as he nestles the tip in, your hole clenching around it. John's brows furrow, and he doesn't wait long until he pushes his cock in further.

The thick base starts to stretch your slim rings of muscles, a sharp pain shooting through it. He can feel your hole protesting, can see you wincing. "Breathe, baby", he hums, "Let me do the rest."

His coarse voice mingles with his words and the waves of pleasure shooting through your body despite the dull pain, conjures up a pretty pretty image that floods your brain - there's sunlight everywhere, orange rays of it hitting a bed covered in white sheets, sweaty bodies on top of it; limbs entangled, hands intertwined with their golden rings shining brightly in the warm light, heavy breathing and sloppy kisses, and lazy thrusts as his cock fucks you awake. The thought makes you dizzy, your legs falling apart and hole fluttering open, inviting him in.

The slight burn leaves you a gasping, whimpering mess as he pushes himself in deep, nestles his huge cock in between your aching, hot, and tight walls.

And John feels like he is going to pass out. No blow to the head, no bullet to the chest, no knife to the stomach could ever make him feel as dizzy as the feeling of your hot cunt squeezing him does right now. His whole body is vibrating with want and lust and he just really hopes that you don't notice that he has gotten a little rusty. The thought quickly gets drowned-out as he looks down, where his thick cock practically splits you open, vanishes in your hole.

"Shit", he huffs out, places one large hand on your stomach and thrusts. Feeling himself moving inside of you has him moaning, gaze shooting up to you, meeting your eyes, as his hand presses down. "You feel me right here, baby?", he rasps and you nod, mouth agape by the sheer force of his thrust, tip of his cock prodding your cervix.

John can see his cock moving inside of you, the way your stomach bulges a little. He gets a little dizzy with, and then his eyes make the mistake of moving up to your face. And it takes a whole lot of fucking will-power of him to not just thrust and thrust and thrust and fuck you until you cry, bleed.

You are so fucking pretty. Mouth agape you watch how his cock vanishes between your legs, splits your cunt open, with his eyes heavy-lidded and cheeks flushed. Your lips are plush and red from his assault.

Your hands grip the sheets and your breasts heave with your deep breaths, that grow a little more flaccid. Next to you lays his gun, knife still buried into the mattress. His eyes drop to the weapons and his breath hitches. And for a split second, like a flash of light, he wonders what in God's name he's doing here. He is a professional. The Ballerina works like that. He doesn't.

A sweet, sweet noise rips him out of his thoughts. "J-john", you mewl, eyes still trained on his massive dick splitting you open, "I-it, it's --"

"Yeah?", he breathes, the sound all soft and careful around the edges.

"Heavy", you breathe.

"Does it hurt?", he kind of wants it to. Make you pay for what you did to him. He kind of doesn't want it to. Make you enjoy what he's got to give.

John realizes he is fucked.

You nod, head flying back into the cushions, while your brows dart together.

John's free hand flies to your clit, nudges it gently, before slowly rubbing wide circles over it. You gasp, as you feel fresh wetness flooding your cunt and dripping down your folds to where his cock splits your hole open, pools around it. He carefully pulls out a little and then pushes back in, assisted by your slick. The way you moan spurs him on and the circles on your clit grow faster and smaller.

Aching your back, you lean into the touch. "That's a good girl", he whispers, voice raw and coarse, dripping with lust and the exhaustion of holding back. John bottoms out, while continuing to rub your clit and he can feel your walls growing plush, your hole fluttering around his dick, relaxing with your hot, seeping cunt inviting him in. "Feels good?"

"Yeah, fuck", you feel like you are being split open, with his thick cock filling you to the brim and rubbing along your walls with every little movement, the thick head prodding gently against your cervix, "Shit, John."

It feels so fucking good, all thoughts being washed away from your brain as he starts to move carefully, thrusts into you once, twice. You moan, lips slightly parted, before your gaze flies to him.

And Fuck. John's chest is flushed a little, muscles of his abdomen flexing with every thrust while his gaze is trained down to where his cock fucks into you, brows darted together a little and his breathing audible.

"John?", you whisper, and his gaze immediately shoots up to you as your comparably tiny hand wraps around the wrist of his hand that is still rubbing your clit.

"Yeah?"

"Fuck me."

For a long moment, he just looks at you and you think - no, you are convinced - that you can see a glimpse of the human being he once was. Caring, sweet and gentle; as he seems to really take it into consideration if you are ready yet, if you know what you are begging for.

Apparently, he does deem you prepared enough, and the soft gaze gets replaced by a dark gleam as all gentleness vanishes from his face once more. Without a warning, John rolls his hips back only to thrust into you again, deep, and hard, immediately picking up a quick rhythm.

It comes as a genuine surprise to you and you gasp, mewling but it quickly feels just so fucking good, practically lights your body up and leaves every nerve-ending on fire, each thrust has you moaning loudly.

It spurs him on, makes him grunt and for a while, you both just watch him gliding in and out of your tight hole, with him feeling your muscles squeezing him and you feeling his cock stretching your open further and further. Your lips as slightly parted and his brows are furrowed as he rolls his hips into yours and you feel time getting lost on you, the only thing of importance remaining is the feeling of him filling you up. John's hands roam your body, wandering over your thighs and your stomach, your hips before angling your leg, pushing the heel of your foot on his shoulder, and grabbing your ankle with one hand, his dick slips into you even further, balls slapping against your ass heavily with each thrust.

You can tell that John has not fucked in a long, long time. It's not the way he does it - all fluid, languid thrust of his hips, muscles dancing under the soft skin. It's mostly the way he pants and grunts - sounds just as desperate as you feel. And still, he has the stamina of a racehorse.

You can feel that he wants to prove it, too, as his free hand grabs your thigh and hoists your other leg over his hip bone, practically pulling your lower half off the bed in the process. Your pelvis now clings to his, obscene sounds of his cock fucking into your wet pussy filling the air while he huffs with his thrusts, yet does not slow down.

The grip on both, your ankle and your thigh are hard, and you are certain his hands will leave a bruise but you just cannot bring yourself to care. Deep down you know, that someone will see them: your maids, your friends, your family.

But all thoughts, all worries get swapped from your brain as your gaze wanders up from where John's dick hammers into you steadily, rakes over his defined stomach and chest and finally, finally lands on his face.

He looks downright, utterly, and breathtakingly -- pornographic.

John's dark pupils blown wide gleaming with arousal, his cheeks are slightly blushed and a thin layer of sweat makes him glow in the dim light of the living room falling onto the bed. It surrounds him like a halo, a Saint of Death and Decay, with his dark hair falling into his forehead and onto his shoulders. He brushes it out of the way with his stunted hand, a ragged breath making his chest heave. There is still some of your slick wetting his beard.

You can't help your mind from going there, from wondering how different things could have been. What it would be like if you had met me in a bar instead of him entering your suite, leaving the hallway behind him looking like a slaughterhouse. Maybe he would have laughed at your jokes, in the dim light of your favorite bar in the city. Maybe he would have liked the same music as you do. Maybe, just maybe, he would have brought you home only to stay the night and fuck you until you would have lost your goddamn mind.

Your hand wanders down your body, strokes your waist and hip in the process, before it languidly drops between your spread legs, two fingers darting out and rubbing circles over your sensitive clit.

John moves quickly, his usual deadly precision shattering your peaceful fantasy, his hand ditching your thigh and closing in around your waist. "Don't you fuckin' touch yourself", he growls, and it's the first time you hear real, actual emotion dwelling in his throat - not his toneless, cold and mechanical rumble. He sounds pissed. Offended.

And the best part is: it seems to get him fucking going.

John leans in, your calf still resting on his shoulder and the slight pain of the stretch is delicious as he nearly folds your body in half. You can feel his dick sliding in even deeper into your hole and you gasp and whine, one hand coming up to dig into his biceps to just hold on. Hold on, while he pounds into you with perfectly angled, deep and strong thrusts, hitting your g-spot with every single one of them.

You know that the suite's door is in shambles, that anyone could walk in here and see you having your brains fucked out by the man who is here to kill you - but you don't care. Part of it is, because the gun is still resting next to your head on the sheets. You could just grab it and shoot anyone dead in heartbeat, whoever is trying to disturb the pleasure that shoots through your body.

But it is also him.

It's the way John is towering over you, back hunched, looking all wide and powerful and deadly, with the way he shields your body from view and harm as he thrusts into you. As he pushes all his rage, adrenaline, and strength into your tight hole, groans, and pants into your ear.

There is nothing you can do, despite holding onto him, nails digging into his back, clutching his broad shoulders, fingers running over his tattoos desperately. He is fucking the living daylight out of you, your body moving like a ragdoll underneath the mountain of muscles and strength. Your cunt is being split open by his cock, as you feel him hammering into you and you feel like you are going to lose your mind, panting and moaning with each of his thrusts.

"John, fuck", you moan sweetly, eyes rolling into your skull as he pounds into you, "You feel so fucking good, shit --"

"Yeah", he huffs, his forehead slowly sinking onto yours, "You too, baby."

You can see his eyelids fluttering, feel his upper body heaving beneath your hands, smell the blood on his skin, mingling with his musky scent. Blaming it on the sickening cocktail of hormones that is flooding both - your brain and your body - you lean in, your lips desperately smacking against his.

And Jesus Fucking Christ. Does John kiss you.

Kisses you like he is starving for it, licking back into your mouth - his body pressing yours into the mattress with his whole weight and muscle, while still thrusting into you.

Your hands tangle into his hair, tugging at it. John moans against your lips and your stomach flutters at the sound, and you want more. One hand moves to lay at the crook of his neck and your tongue presses against his, licking back into his mouth. Adding some force to his neck you invite John deeper into the kiss, and he follows suite, steals you the last bit of air your lungs were holding. Panting you part from him, thumb brushing over the crook of his neck.

Greedily breathing against his lips, you can't help yourself. You feel so alive and you want him to wreck you, to leave something behind that you will remember for every day your heart continues to beat. Greedily breathing against his lips, you can't help yourself but to whisper: "Harder."

John blinks, hips stuttering. And then, he grunts. His hand digs into your waist as he grabs you there, hold you in place will his hips rut into you. Picking up a near brutal rhythm, obscene sounds of your slick being pushed in and out and in out of your hole as he jackhammers into your g-spot, the bedframe rattling as John's thrusts pound it into the wall - leaving you a gasping and moaning mess. His belt clinks with his thrusts and you cling onto him, sharp whines escaping your throat.

"John John John", his name leaves your mouth like a mantra, sharp and high-pitched. His head falls forward, dark locks brushing over your cheek as his temple rests against yours and then you hear it.

John moans.

It's a deep, carnal sound. Your stomach flutters and lust shoots through your body at the noise, your tight cunt squeezing his thick cock as you squirt around his cock like a broken fucking hose, wetting his pubic hair. You can feel it rubbing along your wet folds, the sensation making you mewl, leaves your hips shuddering.

"Shit", you breathe, hands cradling his muscular back and then you can feel his dick twitching inside of you, accompanied by yet another one of his sweet, sweet moans, "Fuck, John--"

He raises his head and your gazes connect, before he leans in, presses his lips onto yours once more. The kiss is surprisingly soft and in stark contrast to the way he ruts and pounds into you and then he hits the spot once more and -

Everything goes white as your muscles clench and unclench suddenly, as you nearly scream against his lips; your hole practically milking his cock as you cum, pussy gushing and squirting around him like a broken hose.

John continues to fuck you through your orgasm and his heavy breathing reaches your ears through the cotton candy, that slowly wraps you in as everything turns light and bright. He moans deeply against your cheek as he comes, too - shoots hot ropes of cum into you and paints your walls with it.

His movements still as he buries himself deep into you, cock twitching with each thick rope of his cum and you can feel him fill you up, as his massive frame slowly sinks down onto you.

Your legs grow heavy and the stretch of your left leg is turning painful and you - a little clumsily - pull it away from his shoulder, stretch it out. Your limbs start to shake and you close your eyes, drawing in deep breaths through your nose.

The room is silent, the air heavy with the musky scent of sex.

Your chest still heaves with the remains of your orgasm, bliss still spreading in your brain and your veins, making you feel like you are flying. Your heart is still racing, as you feel him moving again.

Blinking up at him, you can see him grabbing the gun.

"Don't", you say softly, voice coarse from screaming your lungs out in pleasure just moments ago, "Please, don't." You are not ready to scream yet again. Not ready to scream in pain, instead of pleasure.

John does not reply. He pulls the hammer back, checks the chamber - all with one hand.

"Kill him instead, please."

He freezes, eyes locking with yours. "Who?", he sounds just as exhausted as you. The wolf, tired out. The deer, bleeding, limping.

Call it Post Nut Clarity, call it Finally Taking Your Future In Your Own Hands, call it Emancipating Yourself. Call it Having Wrapped A Deadly Assassin Around Your Pinky.

You were not safer here. You never were. Just more isolated. Easier to locate.

Easier to kill.

Realization hits you like a blow to the head, your vision swimming.

See? I will not die today.

"My father. Kill him."

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

TF141 getting a boudoir photo album as a wedding gift ♡

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

A/N: THIS WAS SO FUN!!! Great, absolutely phenomal idea, dear anon. Simon's part is very sappy (I cried) which might be ooc for him?? Idk, that's how I write him/interpret his character! :) let me know who's your favorite 👀

~Fi 🐝

《Warnings》: NSFW content. proceed with caution. PiV, creampie, cunnilingus, Johnny's oral fixation (yes, that is a warning.)

It's still very sweet and lovey dovey with all of them bc I'm a certified sap <3

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

John would be grinning and smirking like a proper idiot when he lays his eyes on those delectable photos of you.

I imagine you had a date night at home, sipping wine on the couch and talking about your wedding that's supposed to take place in only 3 days. He's telling you how he can't wait to see you in your wedding dress and slip that ring onto your finger.

Sneaky bastard.

Be prepared to he called Mrs. Price the days leading up to the big day. John excuses it with:

"Need to practice, love. Don't wanna mess it up in front of anyone, eh?"

He knows what he's doing, you know what he's doing, all is well because if he only knew what that did to you. You're just talking, trying to get the nerves out now so you can go into your wedding with a clear mind and have a good time. When you tell him you have a gift for him, his eyebrows almost overshoot his forehead. Yeah, he knew that was a thing some people did, but he never gave it another thought.

In all honesty, marrying you was the best gift he could ever get. Which is why he feels slightly guilty that he doesn't have one for you (at least that's what you see, internally he's crushed) but that all goes out the window when you sit back down with a sleek beige photo album that has a little romantic quote on the front.

What he doesn't expect, however, is the angelic image of your plush body on full display, draped over a velvet chaise lounge with layered pearl necklaces hanging from your neck. This man is shell-shocked. If he wasn't frozen in place, he would've snapped the book shut.

"And what's this, doll, hm?"

His heart feels warm and fuzzy, thinking these are some lovely pictures of you together on holidays you went on, casual trips to the local pub or just some domestic shots you managed to sneak during his leave.

You can basically see the connections to his brain frying. His jaw slacks, and only after what feels like 10 minutes he regains his ability to think and close his mouth. John is sweating and his cock is rock hard as he flips through the remaining pages.

He shoots you the occasional glance while he's trying not to hyperventilate. You just sit back and savor your wine, trying to hide your laugh behind the rim of your glass. You'd expected a reaction, of course, but you didn't think you'd render the John Price speechless just from a few suggestive photographs of you.

But what absolutely breaks the camels back (or John's, in this case) is the last picture of you. You're kneeling, slightly leaned back and supported by your arms, with one of his Flannels covering your soft tits. That alone would've been enough to drive him crazy, but the sight of his old dogtags sitting against your sternum has him groaning out loud.

The only other thing covering you is a simple pair of lace panties, cupping the soft curve and rolls of your tummy so beautifully, John was ready to take a bit out of that damn page.

He nearly misses the inscription underneath the photo;

To my John; the love of my life, the man of my dreams,

I love you.

You hold my heart and you will forever.

May I be so lucky to find my place in the stars by your side when the time comes, so we'll never have to be apart.

With all my love,

Mrs. Price

And that does it. The album snaps shut and you barely have time to put down your wine glass before John is all over you, taking handfuls of you, whatever he can reach. With how fast he smashes his lips on yours, he nearly gives you whiplash.

He's tugging and pulling at your clothes as well as his own, not saying a thing, just hungrily swallowing every one of your sounds and giggled objections before he decides the couch is uncomfortable and he moves you to the bedroom. You're hoisted up without a warning and you cling to his neck. Immediately, worried words start spilling from your lips, remembering how he'd complained about a sore back just today;

"John, baby, your back-"

"I don't give a flying fuck about my back, love."

He's heaving and grunting like a fucking animal, he's downright feral. Despite all of that, you're still laid down gently on the bed, John would never, ever be reckless with you. But he needs to be inside you now, he'll actually lose his mind.

Usually, he'd spent hours between your thighs first, but he just can't wait. He's pounding you into another dimension but with such gentleness in his gestures, it makes your head spin.

He's holding your hand, breathing sweet praises into your ear despite him filling you to the brim. His urge to claim you goes haywire and he fills you with his cum multiple times before he's sane enough again.

He's covered in sweat and his beard is wet from your spit from all the sloppy kisses he gave you. John will definitely make it up to you and eat you out for as long as you want after.

He'll make a copy of one of the photos and take it with him when he's on deployment, just for the nights he's feeling lonely.

His wedding gift to you are the hickeys on your thighs and tummy and new sheets because you two tore the other ones to absolute shreds.

♥︎

Johnny would probably have a boudoir album for you, too. You get at least one shirtless pic a day, so a whole album of his body on display or in suggestive poses basically screams Johnny. He's already drooling the second he spots that book because he knows what it is and that he's in for a treat.

He's buzzing with excitment.

You never really send nudes for privacy reasons, and then for you to do something like this hit him like a truck in the best way possible. You're standing opposite from him behind the kitchen counter, and you look so nervous to him.

Cue his signature shit-eating grin. You tap your fingers on the dark blue album before having enough of your nerves and just sliding it over to him with a few mumbled words of what it is.

"Awe, for me, mo leannan?" He's a teasing bastard, and he chuckles when you huff and turn your head, obviously flustered. Johnny is legit licking his lips, but when he opens the book, his grin fades so fast.

He knew it would be good, but holy shit, this was so much better than he expected. His pupils dilate as he takes in each of the pictures of you, all of you, all your curves and bumps.

Everything he loves about you. God, you're such a woman, he thinks to himself. Some with lingerie, some without. He's full on drooling at this point, and the only reason why he roughly wipes it away with the back of his hand is to not get it on these sacred images.

He smirks at the picture of you in a tub, all soapy, with pebbled nipples. An obvious dig at his nickname, but, god, does your ass look amazing when it's covered in a thin layer of bubbles. He loves lathering you up in the shower and feeling you up while you're all wet and slippery.

"Good thing I can hold my breath, aye, hen? Might even try to set a new personal record." He's grinning and chuckling meanwhile you give him a sharp glare. You can't deny that the idea intrigues you, though.

But this, oh, this one was him swallowing thickly. It's you in very sheer panties (they're barely even underwear) and his name patch is sewn onto the front. Your hair looks so nice, so do your thighs, he doesn't know whether to look at your eyes or your tits. The button on his jeans is about to pop off from his throbbing boner.

He can't take his eyes off that 'MacTavish' patch that sits right on your lower belly, with the slight curve it has to it from your soft tummy.

Johnny has to hold himself back from gripping the book too hard. He wouldn't want to ruin it.

"Steamin' bloody Jesus, bonnie..."

The album is shut and tucked under his arm, and Johnny jumps over the counter to get his hands on you. Or his mouth, more like. He has a huge oral fixation, so he loves sucking and biting on every inch of your skin. You're pushed back into the bedroom, even though you end up on the floor, and the book is thrown onto the bed.

He rips your shirt up and sucks at your tits and nipples, groaning and moaning at the taste of your skin, all while he's rubbing his clothes cock against your leg. You end up on your hands and knees with one of Johnny's hands on your lowerback while his face is buried in your cunt.

He's eating you out like he's been starved for years, and his stubble is already starting to irritate the skin of your thighs and ass.

You'll have the worst case of beard burn in the morning, but how could you care about that when his tongue is so deep inside of you?

Remember when I said he'd have a boudoir album too? Yeah, now you're in between his legs, your back pressed to his chest with Johnny's album in your shaky hands. And the way your engagement ring catches the dim light of the room has your eyes rolling back.

And Jesus christ, Johnny looks fucking phenomal. You clench around his fingers hard, and he doesn't even have to pull his head from your neck to know what photo you're looking at.

He's smirking and grinning like the ceshire cat, knowing that the image of him in a kilt with no shirt one is gracing your field of vision right about now.

"Ah knew ye'd like tha' one, bonnie..."

Johnny's cooing in your ear, telling you to keep looking at the pictures while he's knuckle deep in your pussy. His bare dick is pressed against your ass and you can feel him rocking his hips to get off.

He's mumbling all kinds of gibberish into your ear, but one of the few things you can make out is "mo bhean"* which pushes you over the edge. You won't be leaving that bed anytime soon.

*(My wife)

♥︎

Kyle is such a sweetheart. I've said it before, and I will say it again, he's such a cutie pie!!! But that doesn't mean he can't or won't get nasty.

He'd offered to make lunch, which was delicious as always, and now you're chatting casually about your day at your dining table. Your fingers are laced together, and he's wearing the biggest smile because all he can think of is how he gets to marry you in just a few days.

He's over the moon. He can't wait to see you walk down the aisle, say your vows to each other, and overall have a great time with all your friends and family.

But the thing Kyle is looking forward the most is the honeymoon. He'll have you to himself for 2 whole weeks and he's stoked. He can't wait to treat you to nice things, love on you, but he's the most excited to fuck you as your husband.

He may look sweet and 'innocent' but this man can fuck, okay. And he fucks well. He knows every little spot that has you mewling and he's so good at using them for his gain.

Kyle will fuck you into the mattress in the Hotel you booked, he's already made up his mind about that, but he wants to absolutely melt your brain by being so loving whole doing it that you can't help but cry out for him.

He has heart eyes at this point, watching you talk about all that happened today and he only snaps out of his dream world when you present the deep red album to him with a sweet smile.

He's got a hunch of what it is so there's a hint of a smirk on his lips. Still, he almost gets whiplash when he opens it.

There's no easing into it, just straight up tits, ass and tummy. And let me tell you, Kyle is loving every second of it. It's no secret that he loves your chub, and that fact that it's extenuated so beautifully in every shot makes his heart and his cock happy. He's a very balanced man after all.

He comments on every single photo because he think it's endearing how you get all flustered and giggly from his compliments.

One picture that has him taking a second, though, is one where you have a lacy band tied around your thigh, with a little golden 'Kyle' charm hanging from it. He's all smiley and giddy, but he does try to discreet adjust his trousers because, holy shit, that's hot.

"Have you still got that, dove? Would love to see it tied around your pretty neck."

All you answer is that he'll have to be patient and wait till the wedding night to find out. He's laughing and teasing now, but just what till you get to the last page, Gazy.

And the way his smile just melts off his face is priceless. His gaze is flitting between you on the page and you sitting across from him with a shot eating grin. All the blood that drained from his face went straight to his dick.

Not only are you wearing a set of lingerie in his favorite color, but you've got his iconic pair of sunglasses hooked on the center of your bra. And that's not all either, his eyes travel upwards and his base cap is sat on your head and you've got that beautiful smile of yours on your face.

He makes an audible noise, one that indicates you took his breath away, when he takes in the whole picture.

"How in hell did you manage to snatch my hat and my glasses from right under my nose?!"

"Skilled hands, babe."

He's laughing at you breathlessly because he's still enarmoured by the sight of you.

And Kyle will absolutely whisk you away and fuck you stupid in front of your bedroom mirror while you're wearing his hat.

It makes him feral, seeing you like that. He's got both of his arms wrapped around your middle and he's panting into your shoulder. He does look up from time to time to see your blissed out face all while still wearing his cap.

He lets out a strained moan everytime he looks at you in the mirror and his hips stutter ever so slightly.

Kyle is just spewing jumbled words of love because he's genuinely so happy. You make him so happy.

He honestly can't wait to give you your wedding gift. It's a little booklet filled with poems or quotes that reminded him of you, or of how you make him feel. And it will make you cry when he reads them to you.

Definitely not because he'll be ballsdeep inside of you while doing so...

♥︎

Simon, Simon, Simon.... first of all, he's completely blindsided by this. And he hasn't got a fucking clue what's in that black book you hand him one night when you're cuddling in bed.

There's just a giant question mark above his head. When you tell him it's a wedding gift, he goes silent and just looks at that album in his hands.

He never really got gifts, which obviously changed since he's been with you, but he's still not used to it. You're so thoughtful. And sweet. And kind, and perfect and-

he turns his head to you when you softly call his name and if you notice the slight sheen of tears in his big brown eyes, you don't mention it. You just encourage him to open the book. And when he does, a small huff and gentle smile leave him because how are you so perfect?

Yes, all of the pictures are all filthy, but they're all radiating of love and softness, and he can't get over it. How are you so soft? Simon can't get enough of you. You mess up his emotions in ways he never thought possible, and he can't help that his heart starts beating twice as fast.

That you did this for him means more than you could ever fathom, and he'll treasure this album until his end. He absent mindedly reaches for your hand as he flips through the pages, trying to tell you thank you when his words fail him, like they did so many times before with you.

He comes across a shot of your neck, a black leather collared fasten around it with a little silver skull charm. It makes him smile just a bit. He knows just how much meaning is behind it.

That you love him. All of him, which includes the Ghost. In cursive, 'Riley' is written right above your heart, and he gives your hand a squeeze.

Although you love the Ghost because it's a part of him, you've shown him that it's not all he is. That Simon is enough. That he should give Simon a chance and that he's not incapable anymore, like he was as a little boy. Ghost is sort of a protector of Simon, something not many people know, that's why he wears the mask outside of duty too. To shield himself.

But as much as the Ghost's service is appreciated, Simon can handle himself now. The Ghost will forever be with him, but so will you, and you'll wipe his bloody hands with a smile. You've shown him that you accept Ghost just as much as you accept Simon, and that means the world to him.

He sniffles ever so quietly, and you lean your head against his shoulder, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He moves on, gently turning the pages, and as much as his heart is touched by your kind gesture of this album, that doesn't stop his cock from stirring. It's pictures of your naked form, after all.

He loves every single inch of you and he's told you and shown you so many times, kissed all your insecurities away and took your mind off any bad thoughts about yourself by fucking you so well and lovingly to the point of tears.

Never, in a million years, had he expected you to return these efforts. You kissed all his scars and held him softly when reassuring any doubts he had. That's when he truly and fully fell in love with you.

He can feel himself getting hotter with every passing image of your soft body bent in different positions and clad in delicate garments, if any.

The best for last, as always, and it's a picture of you kneeling in front of a mirror, completely nude. A picture of Simon in full military regalia is tapped to the mirror and it's surrounded by a bunch of hearts drawn on with lipstick.

His name is written under the picture in your handwriting, and he can see you holding a lipstick, in the middle of finishing another heart. His breath hitches just for a split second.

He swears he'll burn this photo into the back of his eyelids.

It shows him just how great and raw your love for him is, and it makes him all fuzzy on the inside. The text at the bottom finishes it all off, and he's actively holding back tears, overwhelmed by so many feelings for you.

Dear Husband,

We're flawed; but that's how I like us. You're you, and I'm me, and I wouldn't change it for the world. You've made me a better version of myself, and that makes me love you so much more. I'm so proud of you, Simmy.

Love,

Your wife

"Thank you, my love. Thank you for this, and for loving me and for everything you've done for me. I love you"

His words are soft and painfully honest as he gently sets the album aside. You've made him a better man. A better Simon. A happier Simon. A Simon that's slowly starting to heal.

It starts off with a soft kiss that slowly turns more desperate and needy to the point you're gently being pushed back onto the bed, your clothes are discarded, and Simon absolutely worships you. He kisses every inch he can reach and touching you in all the ways he knows you like.

And, yeah, Simon can be rough and fuck you stupid for hours, but tonight, he just wants to feel close to you, and make you feel as good as you make him feel by simply loving him. He's talking you through it, holding you while he makes sure you take every inch of his cock.

His strokes are slow and deep, just like his love for you, and he revels in the way your eyes roll back each time he slides into you to the hilt. The drag of his dick against your walls has you moaning and whining, and when he presses down on your pudgy lower belly to intensify the sensation, you're putty.

You two fuck the whole night like this, no matter how sensitive you are, you need to be close to each other.

And in the morning, he'll wake you up with his face buried in your pussy because he's out of his sappy mood and his only goal now is to absolutely ruin you.

♡

Bonus: I can totally see Simon giving his dad the biggest middle finger known to man all the way in hell when he's standing by the altar on your wedding day. It just screams: 'fuck you, stupidly bastard. Despite all you've done to me and my family, despite all that's happened, I've persevered. I've overcome it all. Look at me now.'

Right after he's smiling up at the sky, knowing that his mum and brother are watching and that they would've loved you just as much as he does <3

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

I hope you enjoyed!! I love all my boys <3

(If you find any typos, it's 2.am. give me a break pls)

[ssa-atlas-alvez]

Hi so this is my first ever request idk if I’m supposed to ask from somewhere else but I was wondering if you could do a Bau find out reader has a criminal past that got expunged or something please?

Hiya, I feel like this absolutely ages to do, I'm so sorry but hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

Description: Reader has a slightly colourful history

Warnings: discussions of previous criminal activity when reader was a minor (theft/burglary, drugs hinted at if you squint, beating up individuals), guns mentioned, death of someone reader knows, child abuse mentioned (nothing 'on screen')

You look at the photos in front of you. A John Doe, about ten years older than you. Swallowing slightly, you try to build up the courage to tell the team you know him. That you know exactly who this man was.

"You okay, kid?" Morgan asks, you look up, giving a quick nod.

"Oh, er, yeah. Yeah, I just, I know him." You know they're going to ask questions, but that's the last thing you want right now. You don't want to explain. You don't want to tell them. They'd look at you differently. Part of you worried they'd no longer even want you on the team.

Hotch frowns, studying your expression. "You know him?"

"Yeah." You clear your throat slightly. "Er, his name's Ryan Williams."

"How did you know him?"

You look away from Hotch, back to the photo. "We... worked together,"

You watch the team raise an eyebrow. "Worked together?" Prentiss asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yep."

"And what was this job?" Rossi chimed in.

"Um..." You pause, trying to figure out how to word it. "It, er..."

You try to ignore the team furrowing their eyebrows and frowning at you. "It...?" Morgan said, looking at you expectantly.

"It might have something to do with a man named Chris Miller," You said, trying to change the topic as much as you could.

"And this Chris Miller, what's he like?"

"Oh, an absolute dickhead." You paused, clearing your throat when you remembered you were supposed to be professional. "I mean, we had our differences."

The team exchanged a concerned glance. "(Y/N), you're going to need to be transparent with us."

"What- about what?"

"How you know Williams."

"I told you, I know him from work."

"And the truth?"

You look at the team, debating whether or not this was a good idea. It probably wasn't, but you knew Hotch wasn't exactly going to drop the topic. "We did work together. Sort of."

"Sort of?"

"It's a little complicated." You said, giving a small shrug. "We worked for a man, Chris Miller. We'd also work closely with his son, Danny."

"What sort of work?"

"Odd jobs. Whatever needed doing." You said, swallowing slightly. "Delivering packages, picking things up."

"And?"

"And, what?"

"There was clearly more." Hotch stated. "And don't think we don't know what what sort of 'packages' you're talking about."

"Look, we did some shitty stuff." You gave a small shrug. You try to act nonchalant about it. You weren't proud of your past. You focus your attention on the table in front, finding it easier to look at that, rather than the disappointed gazes of your team. You didn't want to see them look at you differently.

"Like what?"

"We stole stuff, bikes, cars, broke into a house once or twice." You admitted, a light blush tinting your cheeks in shame. "You got a cut of whatever the total of what you took."

"You burgled."

"Technically, yes." You answered, voice hesitant. Hotch frowned, eyebrows drawing in.

"Anything else?"

"We were told to rough some guys up a few times." You admitted. You hear Garcia draw in a sharp breath.

"And this Chris, how did you know him?"

"He was the ring leader." You answered, "You did what he told you, no questions asked."

"And Ryan?"

"He also worked for Chris."

Two days later, it was revealed that the unsub was in fact Danny Miller. Once it was established that he was the one doing the killing, finding him was fairly easy. And the next afternoon you had him surrounded in a warehouse, trying to talk him down.

"Danny." You say, walking into the room. Danny's attention is immediately on you, as is his gun. "Danny, you need to put the gun down."

"Don't act like you're any better than me, (Y/N)." Danny snapped.

"Danny, just- come on, man. Just put the gun down." You give a sigh, watching the older man's slightly shaking hand.

"You're not better than me." Danny growls.

Knowing Hotch and Morgan weren't exactly going to put their weapons down, you lowered yours. "Come on, Danny. Don't be an idiot. Just put it down."

"You don't know what he was like." Danny glared, hand still trembling. "He was a son of a bitch."

"I know, Danny. I know."

"No you don't!" Danny exclaimed, gun now pointing at you. Morgan's finger itched near the trigger, just in case.

"Then tell me."

"You know how your dad was?" You feel Hotch and Morgan's eyes flick to you for a split second. You swallow.

"Yeah."

"Yeah, well he was worse."

"I'm sorry."

"No, you're not. You got out." Danny jabbed the gun towards you as he snarled.

"If you do this, you let him win." You state, "If you pull that trigger and my team mates shoot you, he's won. He's won and you won't get to look him in the eye and tell him how much of a bastard he is."

It takes a few more minutes, but it's the thought of spiting his father that gets Danny to lower the gun and Morgan immediately pounces, cuffing him.

Hotch wait until you're all flying back on the jet before he approaches you about the topic, with the team all trying their best to look like they're not listening. But for profilers, they can't act for shit.

"We need to talk about your previous record." Hotch stated, placing a file in front you you. "I had Garcia unseal the records."

"That's not fair."

"During the interviewing process you were specifically asked if you had a criminal record."

"It was all expunged-"

"(Y/N), that's irrelevant, I still should have been told,"

"Except it doesn't exist anymore, Hotch." You rub a hand over your face, wishing that you had just stayed home.

"It still matters,"

"No, it doesn't, I was a kid." You say, "I was fifteen, I made some stupid decisions to try and survive,"

"(Y/N)-"

"No, Hotch, it doesn't matter. It doesn't exist anymore."

"It was still important for me to know."

"Why? Why was it so important? I was- I was fifteen,"

"It's important because it still happened."

"I was just trying to survive." You looked at him. "I was just trying to survive. I went about it the wrong way, yes. And I'm not proud of it by any means, but I was fifteen and I didn't know what else to do."

"You still should have declared it."

"Do I still have this job?"

"Excuse me?" Hotch asked, frowning in confusion.

"Am I fired?"

"No."

"Then, respectfully sir, it was expunged. It doesn't exist anymore, my slate is clean. And you getting Garcia to unseal the records was unfair, unnecessary, and hurtful." You state, pausing for a short breath. "To me, that means that everything I've worked hard for - proving myself in this job - immediately went out the window the second you learnt something negative about my past."

And with that, you turn your head, deciding to look out of the window instead, signaling to your boss that the conversation was over.

[babydollmarauders]

COUSIN — MEDIA MANAGEMENT: BONUS EDITION

au masterlist

y/ndevils00

liked by jackhughes, lhughes_06, and 579,824 others

y/ndevils00 hi, people are more than a little confused and beginning to get suspicious and i’ve even seen a few baseless rumors about me floating around, so i’d like to clear the air;

to most people, this is ✨Sidney Crosby✨, the 1st overall pick of the 2005 draft, and captain of the Pittsburgh Penguins.

to me, this is my older cousin, Sid (or Father Sid, as i like to call him, but he says that makes him feel old… as it should, because he is.)

i haven’t been extremely open about my relation to Sid, particularly because: do you know how many embarrassing stories this man has to tell about me? but also because i’ve never wanted people to look at me any differently. i’m just y/n, and to me, this is just Sid.

but i’m about to get a little mushy. for as long as i can remember, Sidney has been my rock, my best friend, and my protector. a little fun fact for you guys, i moved in with Sidney when i was 14. sick of life in Cole Harbour, and missing my Sid, i attended high school in Pittsburgh. i did homework at Pens practices, i played high stakes games of old maid with Geno, and i got grounded by Sid for sneaking out (and usually got ungrounded by the next day because… who can stay mad at THIS face?). Sid was the first person i told about thinking of going into social media management in the NHL, and he was also the one who told me to go after my dreams and never let anyone tell me i couldn’t.

when i was born, Sidney, at 14, immediately took his role as big cousin a step further. in his eyes, i wasn’t just his little cousin, but a second sister. and 22 years later, he says i’m the reason for his gray hairs (you’re welcome!). i couldn’t have asked for a better cousin, big brother, and father figure all wrapped up in one.

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user66 JACK HUGHES IS DATING SIDNEY CROSBY’S COUSIN?!

jackhughes you were the cutest child, and i’m so glad you love Sidney. but it’s still a bit weird walking through our apartment and having his grad picture hanging up in the hallway

y/ndevils00 that sounds like a you problem <3

jackhughes i’m taking it down

y/ndevils00 YOU WILL NOT!

jackhughes you’re not here! you can’t stop me!

user27 AWWW LITTLE Y/N WITH COUSIN SID 🥹

user83 i thought she couldn’t skate?

y/ndevils00 i can’t, that’s why Sid is picking me up 🥲 that was the first, last, and only ‘skating with sid’ i ever did— he gave up on me pretty quickly

jackhughes i can’t say i blame him

y/ndevils00 @/jackhughes aren’t you supposed to love me unconditionally?

jackhughes not yet, we aren’t married

y/ndevils00 @/jackhughes and who’s fault is that?

trevorzegras i’m never forgiving you

y/ndevils00 oh god, what did i do?

trevorzegras YOU TOLD HIM TO PUSH ME

y/ndevils00 i did not! you’re spreading lies on my name 🤧

trevorzegras HE LITERALLY PUSHED ME AND SAID “Y/N SAID TO DO THAT”

y/ndevils00 well he’s old and senile and didn’t know what he was talking about

john.marino97 i’m telling him you said that

y/ndevils00 @/john.marino97 tell him. i’m not scared of him!

y/ndevils00 @/john.marino97 YOU ACTUALLY TOLD HIM?! HOW COULD YOU BETRAY ME LIKE THIS?! I’M PRETTY SURE HE JUST GROUNDED ME?? AND IDK HOW BUT I KNOW HE’LL FIND A WAY TO SEE IT THROUGH

user15 y/n getting getting grounded by Sid even at 22 and no longer living with him is so… 😭😭

jackhughes i’ve been recruited. give John your phone for the next 24 hours

y/ndevils00 NO!

jackhughes okay, then iceberg goes in the microwave

y/ndevils00 NO! YOU CAN’T DO THAT! HE’S A PENGUIN, HE HAS TO BE COLD! DON’T MAKE HIM GO THROUGH GLOBAL WARMING

jackhughes he’s a stuffed penguin…

y/ndevils00 can you just give me 20 more minutes? 🥺

jackhughes 20 minutes and then you hand it over

user07 “my sid” oh look i’m crying 🥹

ryangraves27 Crosby told me to tell you to give John your phone?

y/ndevils00 RYAN!! MY SWEET VAMPIRE BABY!! I’VE MISSED YOU!!

ryangraves27 1) i’m older than you. 2) i’m still not a vampire. 3) we text every week and you saw me tonight after the game.

y/ndevils00 aww you’re still just as stoic and bland as a piece of white bread 🫶🥹

ryangraves27 just give John your phone, please. i’m begging now.

y/ndevils00 aww even your begging is boring!

user64 but… does that mean her last name is Crosby?

y/ndevils00 indeed! y/n Crosby! can you believe Jack never caught onto the fact that i’m related to Sid until i TOLD him AFTER we started dating?

jackhughes HEY! i wasn’t gonna assume! Crosby isn’t a super uncommon last name! and i’m not the only one because nobody else on the team has just assumed you’re related to him either!

y/ndevils00 @/dawson1417 ah, yes, Dawson fainted when he found out!

dawson1417 I DIDN’T FAINT! I TOOK A NAP!

y/ndevils00 @/dawson1417 whatever you have to tell yourself in order to keep your dignity <3

dawson1417 YOU TEXTED AND TOLD ME RIGHT BEFORE MY PRE-GAME NAP BEFORE MY FIRST GAME AGAINST THE PENS??

y/ndevils00 @/dawson1417 and then in your 8th game against them, you got your first hatty!! and i was so proud!!

user90 HUGHES X CROSBY COUPLE— WE ALL KNEW JACK AND Y/N WERE A HOT AND POWERFUL COUPLE BUT OH MY GOD

e.malkin71geno Miss you little one always

y/ndevils00 i’m always missing you, uncle G!! and missing Nikita even more!!

e.malkin71geno Crosby say give your phone to Marino

y/ndevils00 well you can tell Sid i said he’s not the boss of me anymore!

e.malkin71geno try me, kid - Sidney

y/ndevils00 shit, no, nevermind

user39 NOT Y/N GETTING CROSBY TO USE SOCIAL MEDIA ON GENO’S PHONE IN ORDER TO THREATEN HER

lhughes_06 still kinda bizarre tbh. how did Sidney Crosby have a hand in raising your wild ass

y/ndevils00 his routines are what made me this way!

_quinnhughes how?

y/ndevils00 @/_quinnhughes they’re how i learned that i prefer chaos and fun <3

edwards.73 YOU’RE A CROSBY?!

y/ndevils00 yes??

edwards.73 SO A CROSBY IS SCARED OF ADAM FANTILLI?!

y/ndevils00 DON’T SAY HIS NAME, YOU’LL SUMMON HIM

adamfantilli i promise i’m nice! you met me this summer, you know i am!

y/ndevils00 LUCA SAID YOU BITE

jackhughes so do you? constantly.

john.marino97 Sid introducing me to you 4 years ago is both a blessing and a curse ♥️

y/ndevils00 AWWWW THAT’S SO SWEET

john.marino97 now give me your phone

y/ndevils00 see you guys on saturday 😪 guess i’m going on a 24hour phone detox

user74 BYE! I’LL MISS YOU TOMORROW!!

john.marino97 and i won’t! finally, silence on my instagram!

[drdemonprince]

i read in the comments to my last ask about "ordinary unhappiness" the idea of depression as a lack of agency and i feel like that is true? when i feel miserable and in pain, it's not because something is sad but because something is either unachievable or impossible (or at least there is the perception of it). and like i think that's what you were getting at too? this thing that drives you to keep going, this lack of satisfaction. i simply don't have anything i can give into such that i would ever even feel a lack of satisfaction. i've never had anything to give myself into and feel frustrated and perhaps sometimes successful in but instead i just envy the people who do have those things. nothing i've ever done has felt maintained a sense of emotional connectiveness in that way (positive or negative). i guess to wrap this back around to another potential talking point, i'm curious how you find that in your life? is it weird for me that nothing has ever felt worth putting myself whole ass into? idk, i find it envious you've got both writing and gay hypno fetish stuff you're able to just throw yourself into so wholly and utterly

Passion isn't inherent, it can be a choice too. I only look like I care a ton about writing and gay hypno stuff because I have deliberately chosen to pursue those passions, for many years, and cultivated a deep interest in them, anon.

When I was in my early twenties, I felt completely empty. I was a void. If you've read the first chapter of Unmasking Autism, this is the period I'm talking about in that book. I went away to graduate school (because I was good at academics, and I had some illusions about what a career in that field would do for me), but I had absolutely zero zest for the subject of psychology at that point. I had no research ideas. I read psychology books and publications purely out of obligation. I did what was required of me, but nothing additional beyond that, and I spent the rest of my time sitting at home, sometimes literally staring at the wall and crying. I had no friends or hobbies, aside from taking long, long depression walks listening to podcasts in order to fill the silence.

This was when I was at my most depressed, and my most suicidal. Just existing was a pain. I'd sob in bed at night and cry out begging for God to kill me, and I didn't even believe in God. The only thing that distracted me from my pain was a guy I was seeing, who was beautiful and very cruel and inconsistent, and I clung to him through all kinds of lies and abuse because it felt as though my happiness was located inside of him.

I had a friend that I wrote to about how miserable I was, and all the twists and turns that my horrible romance was taking. Her name was Heather. (Unlearning Shame is dedicated to her). She told me hey, you're a really good writer, did you know that? I really enjoy reading your emails, even when you're speaking about the most pitiful anguished shit, you really put it poetically and have a ton of insight. You should write more.

For a while, I ignored her. I didn't care about writing. I just wanted to get my pain out on the page because I had nobody to talk to, and oodles of time to waste. I had nothing otherwise that I felt I HAD to say. I had no PASSION. I did not feel like I was put on this earth to do anything. Other people seemed to have these drives, and I had nothing.

But then one day in a fit of depression I stopped by a bookstore right near my apartment, The Armadillo's Pillow, just to get outside of the house. I happened upon a book I had loved in high school, Jonathan Franzen's The Corrections. I took it home. I read it. It transported me for a few hours away from my pain. I went back to the book store and picked up some sci-fi. A John Varley collection, I think. I was also swept away from my suffering, even when the stories had flaws that I noticed. I was interested in the actual craft of storytelling: what worked and what didn't. And there was finally some beauty in my head instead of the usual dreariness and self-hatred and emptiness.

And so. I made the choice to write. I could have taken it or left it at that point. I didn't care about anything. Caring is a muscle that you have to flex. And when you're depressed, it can be very hard. I needed a lot of nudges from the external world and other people, to realize that I had some things I did gravitate toward, even if I didn't realize it.

All that time of course I WAS driven to write. I was churning out 5k word letters to Heather every day practically. I was reading stupid shit online. And when it was put in front of me, and I had no reason to feel guilt about not working hard enough on other things, I reached for books. But I didn't feel passion strongly under the heavy blankets of my depression. Or usually at all, really. I am a quite internally muted person whose emotions are suppressed. But they're there. Speaking to me softly. And to overcome my depression, I had to decide to listen to them instead of ignoring them all of the time, and give them kindling, and then fan them into a flame.

I started blogging regularly while I was in graduate school (right here, hello, you can check my archive dating back to 2011), and finding a reason to live. When I was writing, I felt like the world was interesting, and beautiful. It gave me new things to do. I attended literary readings and book launches all over town. I submitted work to magazines. I bought old copies of magazines and read them. I inhaled books. I listened to fiction podcasts. I joined writing groups. At first, it felt like a slog, like anything else. Doing these things, I was not "happy". But I was interested. I liked learning about the world of publishing, critiquing people's stories in my head, and commisserating with other Tumblr writers about the stuff that got featured on the Prose tag that sucked.

After YEARS of doing this, of choosing to fan my passions, it became a genuine motivation in my life. But even then? I lose track of it sometimes. I get busy, or there's no place comfy to sit and read in my apartment, and I forget that I like writing and reading for months at a time. And then I have to choose it again. It takes effort to care about something, every time.

It's the same way with hypno. I did have a fetish for this stuff all my life long. But it's a passion that people always thought was weird and gross, and that I thought was bad. I didn't tell anyone about it until my late 20's. I felt ashamed masturbating to it or looking up hypno content online. For years I snuffed out that flame of passion until I could barely feel it anymore. It wasn't until I was super depressed AGAIN in my later 20's that I took a bunch of weird off-label anti-depressant drugs under the table and had a weird dreamy headspace overtake me and make me insanely horny that I remembered how much I loved hypno, and because I was in search of an escape from my tormented brain, I sought hypnotists out.

And I had the time of my life. But I also had boring, awkward encounters, bad hook-ups, and had to do a ton of work.

My passions have drawn me out of depression because I needed them to. I had to find them, listen to them, and then give them lots of food. And it's one of the few things that a person does often have agency over, no matter how dispiriting their circumstances. You can make choices about where to put what attention you do have, in what free moments you do have. When you're on the bus or in line at the grocery store and you're thinking about how much you hate yourself, you can try to think about a story you read or a sexual fantasy you had, instead. It's a lot of work. But it's better work than the work of hating yourself, which takes a whole lot of energy and attention itself.

I hope you can find something like this for you. It doesn't really matter what it is. It can be some hobby you've always wanted to try, or something "childish" you've suppressed. Having a passion isn't like being chosen by the universe to care about something. It's not like love at first sight. Nothing fucking works like that in life. It's always work. It's always a choice you have to make, because no one else will give it to you. But there can be hints that you can follow, sometimes.

[bambi-kinos]

Why do you think Paul keeps saying to this day that John was really sweet. He really wasn't. He treated everyone like shit including Paul. Because he feel he has to? Because he was killed and people made him into something he wasn't? I don't blame John for this ). Or but because he was in love with him and that's what he remembers. John doesn"t deserve it. He's even overrated. Both P and G was/is better. I just don't get how someone like Paul who's a better man, artist and person keeps giving J so much credit. I'm not a new fan of the Beatles or Paul. I really can only see it that he was in love with him.

What else is Paul supposed to do?

Idk man I think Paul is just doing his best with what he has. He's never going to get closure on their relationship. He's never going to get an explanation that satisfies him. So he has to work with what he's got.

You have the wrong end of the stick on this, Paul isn't trying to give John credit that he hasn't earned. Paul is trying to move on from what John did to him by focusing on the good moments and remembering who John was before he was brain damaged by heroin and LSD. If your boyfriend has a TBI that changes his entire personality, is that really your boyfriend anymore? Is he really still himself? These are the questions Paul has wrestled with and it looks like he's realized he's never going to get an answer.

So he's focusing on what he does know which is that the John he knew and fell in love with was a sweet kid who sometimes let his insecurities rule him. But he was still a loving person who cared about Paul and was his closest friend for years.

Furthermore: if John was actually the raging dickhead that the internet thinks he is then he would not have had any friends to begin with. People with truly no redeeming characteristics who are assholes all the time don't get friends who defend them even after they die. The truth is that John was not actually a prick all of the time. Otherwise no one could have stood being around him. Paul calls John sweet because he knew the John that was a sweet guy, the guy that Paul loved.

You're also falling for John's own propaganda a bit. John never stopped projecting the image of being a cynical hard bitten street tough that intimidated everyone into submission with his temper. John occasionally admitted that all of this was an act (see his comments at playacting the Teddy Boy image while not actually being a gang member and why he felt he had to do it.)

But the truth is he never stopped projecting the "I'm an asshole you better not fuck with me" thing. All of this "I'm an irredeemable asshole I hate George and Paul!!!" is pure fakery. The very qualities you don't like were fabricated in large part by Yoko as part of a propaganda campaign, and from what I've read in the Dakota Years memoirs, this propaganda was out of John's control from the moment he started the Lennon Remembers interviews. John is just as much a victim of information warfare as Paul is, he just reacted to it differently and used it to barricade himself away from Paul.

That doesn't mean you have to like John or feel sorry for him or agree with Paul's decisions to try and leave the damage behind. You are reacting to the fact that Paul is visibly in pain when he talks about this stuff. He's bleeding in public and there's nothing no one can do to help him. The wounds are permanent. It is, in fact, rage inducing. John isn't here to speak for himself and try to explain. What else can we do as observers except be angry.

But Paul McCartney is 82 years old.

He's close to the end.

He doesn't want to do that, doesn't have time for it, doesn't want to spend his last years rehashing this shit.

Is there an alternative for him? All he can do now is try to make peace with it while he's alive and then he can finally get closure with John when he moves on to the next stop.

Paul doesn't call John 'sweet' for the sake of John's image. He does it to remind himself of the boy he fell in love with in 1957. Because he doesn't have a lot of time left and he wants to spend it being in love with John, not being angry at him. Paul is doing this for Paul. Simple as.

[drewsephrry]

i spend the whole day watching part 2 and i...am shocked?

spoilers from here on now...

so for anyone that hasn't finished it yet, maybe scroll..

okay so i was honestly expecting larissa to be alive (not the hollis theory) but then i saw the dead body and was like oh, maybe not then!

jj deserved better parents, either way. i wanted to beat groff's ass throughout all of this

rafe's proposal was....i was screaming, crying, throwing up!! i wanted to be sofia so badly in that moment...

and then the writers had to fuck them up! i mean, it doesn't make sense, making her one of the main cast this season just for this to happen? very upset, calling my lawyers!!

topper and ruthie and even kelce can suck a d i c k!!

sarah being pregnant, honestly i expected that from the first part and we had all heard the rumors, seen the theories

rafe and sarah making up!!!!!!! again, cried so fucking much, especially when they hugged

rafe teaming up with the pogues was very unexpected but he had his arc redemption for sure now. kind of worried when they get back to obx and shoupe possibly arrests him for the murder of peterkin and god knows what else

jj's death, again i expected it after rudy posted the thank you stories and if i am being honest i don't think the writers decided to kill one of their most loved characters, but it was rudy who made that decision. we can't know for sure, of course, but that's just my guess. he didn't seem very into it in the interviews or the premiere or while filming..idk that just might be me

and okay, i thought that he would die, but i didn't expect groff to be the one to kill him. like yeah, he was a bad guy, murdered his wife, but killing jj too, after he gave him the crown?

and my poor baby kiara, madison portrayed her feelings so fucking well. give that girl a raise!!!

cleo and pope!!!! that's it. love them

sarah and john b were the fucking cutest! madelyn and chase are so professional, because if i did all those scenes with my ex......

AND WE GOT BARRY BACK. I MISSED HIS LITTLE ACCENT!!!

i am so sad that s5 won't have jj and his iconic one-liners. i am extremely sad s5 is the last season too, but i completely get it from everyone's perspective, the writers', the actors', netflix's. i cannot wait to see what they will make for us and we still get about 2 years with our cast that has now become a family

okay that's all. tomorrow i will probably rewatch just for funsies. hope you had a good time hearing my rant, watch s4 pt2 and you can send me anything you'd wanna talk about it!!! love you all, p4l -jo 🤍

[141shousewife]

NSFW Price x Fat Wife Drabble >:)

Minors DNI I will EAT u like a nerds gummy cluster

Length: 1.2k Words

CW: NSFW, ANTI DADDY KINK PRICE!! Price x Fat reader, Implied Black reader, Price is married to reader, Female Reader, condescension, mocking, fingering, PiV, dirty talk,

THIS IS ONLY MY OPINION! DON'T EAT ME PLEASE

Also if u have a problem with the reader being fat n black.... IDK what to tell u gworl.

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I have one main qualm with Price x reader NSFW content. I see one reoccurring theme/headcannon:

price = daddy dirty talk

And I hate to say it but everyone else is wrong about it and I am the one who to is correct.

Price, when called daddy, looks around for a child. Being a middle aged white man with a grown in beard- accidents do happen with chubby cheeked tots who grab onto his unsuspecting leg in grocery stores and assume that he is their father.

John has been called "Daddy" many times in his life, and since he is a man who aims to please, it's been more than once that he has let it slide during one night stands.

But with you?

His girl??

His WIFE????

Price does not like to be called daddy. His spine shivers and his body rejects the implication that your attraction to him is rooted in a negative experience with your own father.

He prefers to be called other things

"Baby" especially when you call him for dinner, "Honey" is nice when you're calling for him in front of others to show your love from him, "Sweetheart" specifically when you're angry with him- because he loves the way that you maintain warmth, and lastly "John"

That one is Johns favorite because he hears it the most between breathy moans. His name is barely audible when it slides out of your mouth as his hands work you over and make you needy and pliable.

But daddy is not one that he would choose.

But does this mean that John is sterile and boring in the bedroom ?

Not even close.

John puts his ALL into pleasing you.

He loves to catch you right as you're getting into bed for the night. He always starts with watching from the bed as you stand in the bathroom finishing your bedtime routine. Where John's head lays he can see your back as you rub the last of your sweet smelling lotion onto your wide shoulders and soft arms and tie the bow at the front of your bonnet. When finished- you turn around and wow.

Wow.

Wow.

John is raking his eyes over your round and soft body, covered in a flowy pink night dress and he could just cry over how beautiful you are. Your body sits beautifully beneath the dress, your nipples poking through and visible from the coolness in the room, your arms shifting into being crossed over your chest-

"-Baby, did you hear me?" Your sweet voice beckons him back to reality as your brown eyes graze over him for any recognition of being lucid.

"I'm so sorry honey, I was thinking. What did you say?" John immediately feels guilty for missing what you said and instead oggling you like a dog would do a slab of meat.

"I said what are you looking at me like that for?"

John looks at you. Caught. Red handed. (more like red tip right now but that neither here nor there")

The smile that spreads over your face immediately says: 'i know what you want- and im prepared to give it to you.'

He looks at you and lowers his tone into a rasp. It hits you in a way that makes you feel like you can't deny him his requests.

"Come -ere."

Your body seems to walk toward the large plush bed without your permission.

You look at him doe eyed "what?" You can't tell why you're also whispering but it feels right.

He, in one move, tosses the comforter off of his lower half and sits up to grab your wide hips.

"You're acting like you caught me with my hand in the cookie jar, but you're just as wound up as me. Aren't ya?"

You stare at him breathlessly not realizing that the previous question was not rhetorical

John reaches him hand up and under your night gown and rubs your slit through your panties.

"I said: Aren't ya?"

You feel dizzy and unbalanced from the sensation and grip onto his shoulder to steady yourself.

"I am- I want you to- hah -touch me. Please"

You normally aren't this sensitive but the way that he is talking to you is making you weak.

"Look at me. Where do you want me to touch you. Cmon use your words?"

You try to just moan in response as he slows his pace.

"God- you're difficult. Is this it?"

John quickly inserts his fingers and begins pumping them as you hold onto his shoulders and writhe from the contact.

He only continues to rub the spongy spot inside of you and speak to you in a cooing, mocking tone- "What? That feel good? Are you gonna keep fucking yourself on my fingers until that cum drips down my wrist?"

You start to feel the heat and coiling in your stomach about to snap.

"Yes, John, please!"

Right as your vision is about to white out in pleasure, you tell John pulling his fingers out.

Whining in frustration you push out "John I was so close why would yo-"

The rest of you sentence is cut off as John stands up and moves behind you and roughly bends you over, making the excess fat on your body jiggle with the impact of you hitting the bed and pulling off your panties.

Your complaints are quickly silenced as John grabs for a pillow to put beneath your soft tummy. You moan clench around nothing as he lewdly leans down and spits on your entrance to make himself fit well.

"Your pussy is such a hungry little thing- you just needed some proper dick to shut you up huh?"

Your eyes begin to roll back into your head as you feel the rough stretch of John repeatedly pushing his dick inside to the hilt, exiting, and pushing inside again.

You can barely breathe- let alone form thoughts when he fucks you like this.

His raspy moans and quiet curses only push you closer to you orgasm.

He quickens his pace and you know you are done for- you aren't going to be able to hold it.

"John, pleasepleaseplease. I'm gonna- I'm- "

Completely invested in making you crazy- John slides his hand around your wide hip and plays with your clit and begins to talk into your ear in a condescending tone.

"You're gonna what huh? What are you gonna do? Are you gonna cum all over this dick baby?"

You can't even respond because that statement makes your vision completely go away as you babble incoherently and make a mess down John's thick, hairy thighs.

You don't notice during your orgasm but as you squeeze down into Price you begin to fuck back into him, roughly slamming your round ass onto him, making John completely incapable of holding out.

John fills you with a keening low moan as you finally begin to slow down

"Babyyy- fuck. -hah -just like thatttt."

John grabs onto the fat of your hip and buries himself inside and gives you the last of his orgasm.

He pulls out, cleans you off, lets you use the bathroom, and gets into bed and wraps his arms around your soft waist.

As you both quietly breathe slower and slower John finally speaks with an eyeroll-

"You definitely knew what you were pulling with that outfit. You know I'm a mumu man.

[n0v4t33z]

What Would Have Been?

Pairings: Former Assassin Choi San X Assassin Female Reader

Genre: Angst, Assassin AU, One Shot

Word Count: 1.2k

Tags/Warnings: For Mature Audiences, Mentions Death

@newworldnet

Minors Do Not Interact

Author's Note 💌: Hope you guys enjoy this one shot! I couldn't get this scene out of my head so I had to write it! Also, yes some of the terms I used were John Wick references! I've been wanting to work on an assassin au for the longest so depending how things go I may or may not make it a short series idk yet not sure. This isn't edited so I'll fix it later. Again, please be kind! - N 🌙

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It had been years since I last saw San, which was also the last time I worked with him. Back then I had the biggest crush on him, so much so I'd make up any excuse just to talk to him which led to us becoming close. Out of fear for me accidentally ruining our friendship because of my feelings I gaslit myself into isolation, completely disappearing from everyone’s radar including his.

Now years later I'm standing outside of his small taekwondo school hoping he tells me where I can find the Grim Reaper. When I open the door I immediately notice small children no more than 8 years old practicing, they seemed so happy and excited to be there. I quietly look around and immediately see San, he hasn't changed at all. His taekwondo uniform makes his wide shoulders seem even bigger than they are and his black belt definitely made his waist look so small. He was always known to be well proportioned. His dimpled smile being as warm as the sun's embrace causing me to unconsciously swallow hesitantly, is he even going to remember me? Is he going to be upset when he sees me?

Just then while he was helping a student work on his posture I notice a little girl with short hair who runs over to San and let him know that someone has come into his establishment. He scans the room until our eyes meet, a look of visible shock paints his features. I give him a small smile whilst walking in his direction, he leans over and tells his assistant something most likely to keep watch of the class. Once he's done with that he walks up to me, his face lights up the closer he gets “y/n…What brings you here?”

I give him a pained smile “I need to talk to you. It's about the high table.” San’s expression grows dark and leads me to a small office behind the big mirrors the class uses to practice. There was trophies, some medals and a few pictures, it seemed like some of his past students and his family. He's married, with a child. A little girl. My heart sinks into my stomach causing me to let out a silent sigh lowering my gaze onto the floor. There goes My chance. He pulls a chair out for me then proceeds to sit on his side of the desk. “So..” San awkwardly breaks the silence making me glance up at him and meet his eyes, his expression still not fully comprehending it was indeed me in front of him.

“The high table summoned me. The thing is I’m not going to go through with it as they’re insisting I kill Rogue and I’m not going to do that, that man taught me so much as a rookie assassin. He’s like a father to me, the issue is I don’t know where he is. I need to warn him the High Table is going after him.” San clasps his hands together in front of his mouth, elbows resting on the desk whilst his eyes being the only thing visible from my angle. His golden wedding ring glinting in the fluorescent light. He goes on to stay silent for a moment until he finally says “You know i’m not associated with that stuff anymore...”

I understandably nod “I know, I see you’ve got a beautiful family now..” I glance back at the photo of San, his wife and daughter instantly rendering me silent from the huge knot in my throat. I could have had that chance had I not run away from my feelings. San looks back at the photo and looks back at me, his voice lowering “I don’t understand why you came here then.” I tightly hold onto my sleeve trying not to get emotional. I think he hates me now.

“I’m asking you to tell me where I can find the Grim Reaper, he knows where Rogue is…Please, I’m going to end this. I have to, the High Table has marked me an excommunicado. I’m basically marked for death. I’ve got nothing to lose now..” San swallows hard, his gaze turns into a sad one “y/n..” The knot in my throat gets tighter, making breathing extremely hard. So I look at the wall behind San unable to continue looking at him. “Do me that one favor before I die, please?"

We both sit in silence for a few moments until San finally speaks “South side of Seoul… the soup kitchen.” I slowly nod “Okay, thanks..” I get up and walk towards the door, before I’m even able to make it he grabs onto my arm “y/n, wait..” Hesitantly I turn in his direction, tears brimming in my eyes “Yeah?”  He lowers his face to meet my eyes “Why did you disappear? Where’d you go?”

I bite the inside of my lip to keep it from quivering and instead tears run down my cheeks “Because I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. I'd rather you think I was dead than to come into terms with my feelings.” He gives me a confused blink then the saddened expression grows on him “What do you mean come into terms with your feelings?”

I sniffle and shake my head “It’s not important anymore, you’ve got a happy family now. So pretend I never said anything.” San grabs both my shoulders and squeezes them “Please tell me.. You can’t just drop that on me and not tell me. It’s been years since I’ve seen you..” I squeeze my eyes shut not wanting to meet his eyes anymore, those beautiful brown eyes. At least I can say I saw them one last time before i'm gone. “I can’t, I’m so sorry..” He gently raises my face up to meet his “Please.. At least do me this favor before you go. I deserve to know why my friend disappeared.” I hesitantly open my eyes again only to see a worried expression and for a moment I can’t bring myself to say anything out of pure embarrassment because what’s the point? Nothing will change.

“I’m in love with you. I always have been, I always will be. I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough to face my feelings and tell you how I feel, instead I hurt you.” San stares at me for a bit, becoming increasingly embarrassed of the potential rejection I stutter ”I-I’ll get going, again I’m sorry.” I pull away from his grasp leaving a shocked San watching me until he finally says “You know, I liked you too..” I come to a halt facing away from San, my breath hitches and I cover my mouth to keep me from breaking down into full sobs. I did this to myself, my fear of rejection screwed me over. “y/n?”

He reaches over to rest his hand on my shoulder, his warm hand gently squeezing it trying to comfort me. “Were you afraid that I didn’t feel the same way?” I quietly nod my eyes blurring with tears again. He carefully approaches me and pulls me into a hug gently cradling the back my head. Hesitantly I hug him back, my tears spilling onto his white uniform. "I'm sorry I never gave you that reassurance, and that because of me you led a life of loneliness." I bury my face in his chest feeling his other hand gently pat my back.

I stay in his arms for a little bit until I finally pull away and respond “Thank you for everything, I’ll be going now.” San reaches for my hand and holds it tightly "You remember that blood oath we took years ago? Call me if you need me, i'll be there. I promise." The knot in my throat renders me silent again where as I only manage to hum in response. As I walk away a broken woman, I realize how my fears defined my life and took something from me that I yearned for. A loving husband and a small happy family. That fear instead turned me into an on the run excommunicated former assassin who was destined to be alone.

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Please reblog if you liked it! 🔁

If I catch anyone plagiarizing my work just be warned I don't play with that kind of stuff so don't try me.

[helluvapurf]

Thoughts on latest HB ep "Ghostf**kers" (*now that I've regained a bit more energy post-Halloween weekend lol*):

So the newest ep of HB has came & went from what I've seen- aaaand naturally feels like the best time for me to finally ramble about it now that its settled in my brain some more .3. Thoughts (+Spoilers) below~ NOTE: Most of this -does- get a lil rant-y below sooo... read at your own risk lol .w.;;

First things out of the way to start things off on a good note, the Pros:

To start off with... FINALLY we got some Millie focus for a major episode plot (-or more specifically, focus that doesn't get revolved back to Moxxie somehow lol)😭👏👏. Even if she still lowkey had to share the spotlight with Blitz, their friendship actually felt pretty sweet & compelling the more I watched them (esp their backstory & how Millie was allowed to stand up for herself + while also acknowledging the good in Blitz, once they talked things out 🥺👏). Which ngl, after these previous episodes reigning down HARD on this dude... idk, just felt refreshingly wholesome to see for this series, yknow?😊

New villain Rolando was pretty cool, and surprisingly spooky to watch as the second-half went on oml- .o.;; While I'm still a teensy bit confused how his powers/demon lore work (at least to what we already know about Hell limitations crossing to the human world, ex. succubi & their crystals), his underwater monster vibe gave some fun visuals to watch up until the climax. I'm not 100% familiar with John Waters' works, but damnnn he should take up voice-acting more often ngl~ 👀

FINALLY MAMA TILLA MAKES AN (on-screen) APPEARANCE 😭😭Her whole vibe & Blitz's clear love and regret over what happened to her... hhhhh my whole heart ;n; 💔

That pink client lady (Rita, I think her name is?) who assigned the hotel mission? I dig her vibe, its cute~ :3

I.M.P. feeling like a legitimate workplace family for once, with even Loona & Moxxie getting a nice lil moment towards the end?? More. Of this. Please. 👌👌

Even with the lil undertones of the Stol*itz drama from the past couple eps, I very much appreciate Blitz (+the show itself) acknowledging that what's been going is NOT a breakup ('cause... yknow, they never actually dated to begin with lol🤷‍♀️). It may not 100% fix how messy that particular narrative's been handled as of late (which I'll get to in a sec-), but eh... its a start in the right direction, I guess? .3.

Enjoyed all the colorful flashback looks given, never would I have thought I needed mercenary!Millie with a fluffy ponytail til nowww hlkjlk😩❤️

Aaaand as for the not-so-good bits (imo), aka the Cons:

Pacing felt kiiiinda all-over-the-place, I'll admit; like one min we're wasting a good chunk on Blitz's whining fest at the start (+some other pointless banter at the hotel), then the next it feels like we're breezing past Rolando's presence as the "big bad" by the end. Which... I guess I shouldn't be too harsh on given the production drama behind-the-scenes (aka: the leaked content that had to be cut & redone awhile back)... buuuut yeah, its just one of those things you can't help but notice either way 🤷‍♀️

Humor-wise wasn't... exactly at its strong point here, mainly just a lil overdone in the sex joke department imo though I guess thats also a bit par-for-the-course in a series like Hellaverse ngl- lol

Now, idk if this may be an unpopular opinion or not; but was I the only one who felt like Blitz's month-long mope fest over Stolas pretty... OOC, all things considered? .-. Like, okay its one thing for Blitz to still be understandably upset over how the last two eps went down (but being the "boss" he is, continues working anyway to keep I.M.P. afloat, as seen in the HB shorts)... but for Blitz of all people to just randomly use ALL his company's funds on useless junk, force his daughter Loona to stay up all night/not go home, drive Moxxie in a panic from all the budgeting issues this past month was just... wut- 🤦‍♀️ ...Mind you, this is meant to be the SAME Blitz who not even a few episodes ago begged Stolas to not take away the Grimoire (aka the key to his + his employee's livelihood), clearly being willing to do anything to not lose all he holds dear. You seriously expect me to believe he'd be the type to throw that all away (for a WHOLE month) to whine over some blue-blooded bird not noticing him? ...Yeaaaaah sorry, but I'm gonna have to call bs on that, chief 🙄

Kiiiinda tying in the last point, but as much as I enjoyed the tense thills gained from the "Rolando enters Blitz' mind to make him see his own flaws/past mistakes" sequence... I do have a few issues with some of these other "flashbacks" added to the mix: 1) Loona's groin kick towards Blitz in "Seeing Stars" (*wasn't Blitz's fault since ALL he did was tell her to be nice to clients... and was right about to apologize to Loona just seconds before the kick 😒*) 2) Blitz pushing Stolas' hand away in "Ozzies" (*which Blitz only did after Stolas hide his face/didn't defend Blitz during the song*) 3) Stolas' hurt expression at the end van scene of "Ozzie's" (*mind you, taking place while Blitz is rightfully standing up for himself/telling off Stolas for being a privileged creep all of S1*) 4) Stolas trying to present the Asmodean Crystal gift in "Full Moon" (*a whoooole mess in of itself I already covered prior-*) 5) Stolas angrily walking away from their pool fight + trash-talking Blitz in the "Motherf**kers" song + drunkenly dumping his problems on him + making out with a whole other dude in front of Blitz (*again, a huge mess I covered prior but TL;DR... most of that WASN'T fully-Blitz's fault in those instances??😑*)

Like... I dunno man, I don't mean to sound like I'm just ragging on Stolas per-episode as of late... but these last few points just keep giving me mixed signals than any genuine idea as to WHY Blitz even has these "feelings" growing for Stolas, atm?🤨For any canon couple in fiction, I WANT to see reasons for why they work best together, what kind of interests/aspects they've got in-common, what special "spark" is there that helps them stand out above all the other dynamics in-canon... but from what I see so far on Blitz's end (& the narrative continuing to dogpile on him being the "problem"), it honestly feels more like he's only now fallen for Stolas out of guilt... not because Blitz actually wants him for him, y'know? :/ Which... ngl, sounds like a really sad precedent to send for a main-endgame couple, imho... 🤷‍♀️

-------

Soooo yeah, all that rant-y rambling aside... not a bad ep in the grand scheme of things! 👍👍Here's hoping the last few remaining eps (+possible shorts) for S2 keeps up the good work! 🙏

[ohblahdo]

Coming Up/Starting Over

Thinking about the dialogue between Paul and John in McCartney II and Double Fantasy: 'Coming Up' is a song addressed to a friend who wants "a love to last forever" (a reference to Don't Let Me Down) as well as "peace and understanding" (Give Peace a Chance, etc.), in which the speaker is offering reassurance: I am that friend, I want to help, hang in there and things will get better. "Never fade away" could be construed as a Buddy Holly reference (to "Not Fade Away"), and while 'searching' is a common verb, it's also the name of the song Paul always refers to when talking about the Cavern days. There might be other references I'm missing, but it's very much a song about music, which is underlined by the video, in which Paul plays different musicians (including himself as a Beatle), as well as by the extra lyrics in the live version ("I know if we could get together, we'd make music endlessly"), and the fact that Paul talks about 'coming up' as a radio reference ("coming up on the hour" - also in the live version).

Put that together, and I think it's both a friendly message to John - hi, I'm still your friend - and an invitation to make music together again. If you see it as a more romantic relationship, then obviously there could be other subtext there, but the basic idea is the same either way. (Invoking "Don't Let Me Down" to say "actually, ours is the love that lasts forever" ten years later can be seen as both bitchy and wildly romantic in a way I find kind of charming.)

This isn't a new idea, but it's interesting to think about John's songs as a response to that. First, there's "I Don't Wanna Face It", which the Beatles Bible says he started in 1977, but which clearly had a pretty overt musical reference to Coming Up incorporated into it when he reworked it in the summer of 1980. It was apparently the first song he recorded for Double Fantasy, and no matter which way you read it, if Coming Up is a question, I Don't Wanna Face it answers it with either "no" or "no, and fuck you".

But that isn't actually where the conversation ends, because John decided not to put that song on the album. Instead, one of the last songs he wrote for Double Fantasy was "(Just Like) Starting Over". I don't discount the idea that the song reflects his feelings for Yoko, or that he wrote it to better fit the narrative of the album, but I'm always a fan of the idea that a song or a work of art can say more than one thing at a time. I do not think that John, in the late 70s or 1980, would accidentally reference Paul's band and two of his singles in his lyrics without realizing it ("it's time to spread our wings and fly, don't let another day go by, my love"). Also, just as Coming Up is a meta song, so is Starting Over: I see your Buddy Holly, and I raise you an Elvis. And where I Don't Wanna Face It is a 'no', Starting Over feels like a 'yes' - the whole song is him asserting that he doesn't want to give up on a relationship. And maybe the yes has nothing to do with romantic love and everything to do with music - that would certainly make sense, both in relation to the songs themselves and to where John and Paul were musically and personally (both making albums that were, on some level, about recapturing their love of music, and allegedly considering working together on Ringo's album). Or maybe they were having wild sex in motels all over Long Island, idk. But the existence of the dialogue itself interests me, and it's nice to think of it ending on a positive note given what came next.

[bingoboingobongo]

cod characters alphabet: equal

Characters: Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, John Price, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra, Valeria Garza

Warnings: allusions to smut

Prompt: Equal - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

A/N: omg kaleidoscope is so good help me it can't be over. also my life is maybe starting to become a bad wattpad fic and idk how to proceed

simon “ghost” riley:

okay so i feel like the kneejerk reaction is to say that ghost’s the dominant one in the relationship (especially in the bedroom) but tbh idk how true that is

i feel like on the outside, he definitely does seem like he’s more dominant just because of his sheer size and demeanor but i think in actuality he’s actually pretty passive

quick offshoot though, i think he is still dominant in the bedroom just because he has a pretty good idea of what he’s doing, and he’s not really comfortable relinquishing any more control than he has to

especially because it’s already a very vulnerable situation

but when you’re not doing that, yeah he’s pretty passive i think

relationships (especially ones that are as important to him as yours is) aren’t exactly his strong suit and so he doesn’t want to come in guns blazing and make a mistake he can’t fix

i know he definitely has a leadership-suited personality, but i think that’s only when he knows what he’s doing

since relationships are new terrain to him, when you’re in the privacy of your own home he’s definitely more inclined to let you take the lead and make decisions

he’s probably also not the greatest at communicating his feelings, and so he’d rather let you take the helm than do something himself and ruin things

that being said, if you’re also pretty passive then he will step up and take a more dominant role if it’s needed

john “soap” mactavish:

hmm so honestly i feel like a relationship with soap would be pretty equal (both in domestic life and in the bedroom)

i mean soap really does see you as an equal and so he just doesn’t feel right putting you down or acting like you’re underneath him

he has a lot of respect for you and so the last thing he wants to do is make you feel like he’s disrespecting you by walking all over you or something like that

that being said, i feel like he’s inclined to take on a more dominant role (whether that’s conscious or unconscious)

i think it really just has to do with the way he was raised and the gender norms he was exposed to as a kid

that being said, he knows that just because he grew up with certain gender expectations, it doesn’t mean they’re right and so he’s making a conscious effort to try and unlearn that kind of thinking

however, if you’re the more passive type than he’s happy to take on that more dominant role

whether it’s by paying for your meals, telling the waiter your food preferences, or picking you up/dropping you off on dates

im sort of realizing that i don’t really understand this prompt but oh well

even if he is taking on a more dominant role though, he still includes you on any important decisions he makes

communication is pretty important to him (even if he’s sometimes not the greatest at it) and so he does his best to make the relationship an equal one through healthy communication

kyle “gaz” garrick:

okay so i feel your relationship with gaz is actually pretty equal, or if anything gaz is the sort of passive one

it’s not so much that he’s like shy or anything like that, but more that he’s content to kick back and relax and let you take the lead

he has a lot of trust in you and so he trusts that you’ll talk to him about anything important, and that you’ll make good decisions

that being said, just because he’s passive doesn’t mean he’s completely uninvolved in the relationship

he’ll always provide input on any decisions you’re making, whether it be for yourself (if you want it of course) or for the two of you

he’s definitely not power hungry or anything and so he really doesn’t have any explicit desire to be the dominant one in the relationship

for example, if you want to be the breadwinner, he’s more than happy to be a male wife; if you want to get down on one knee and propose, he’ll clasp his hands together and accept with tears in his eyes

he is sort of dominant though but he’s dominant in the sense that he has a tendency to motivate and encourage you

although in the end, i feel like he’s more of a follower than a natural born leader

but if you need him to step, then step up he will

john price:

god okay so i feel like price’s natural state is probably a dominant one

you don’t get to be a military captain of one of (if not the) most deadly task forces in the world without some natural born leadership in you

that plus some (probably antiquated) gender role ideas (at least for him) make him a pretty dominant partner

guys i hate to break it to you but price is old and so his views are probably pretty old fashioned

at least in the sense that his kneejerk reaction is that he should be able to provide for his family financially and stuff like that

that being said, just because he’s old fashioned doesn’t mean he’s bigoted 

if you wanna work or don’t want kids or literally anything that goes against the gender norms of like the 20th century he’s completely down

he might have a little trouble letting you be the dominant one in the relationship but trust it’s not intentional

it’s just sort of ingrained in him that he should be the dominant one as the “man of the house” but if you wanna take the lead, he’ll let you

it just might take him a little bit of time to get used to 

that being said he’d definitely enjoy taking a more passive role and letting you take the lead

mans needs a break what can i say

and he trusts you to make good decisions and communicate with him

alejandro vargas:

hmm so like price i feel like alejandro definitely is the more dominant one in the relationship

again part of it is just how he was raised and another part if because he’s just got a leadership-inclined personality type

unlike price though, i feel like it might be a little harder for him to give up that dominance and let you take the lead

he could probably warm up to a pretty equal relationship relatively quickly, but i think it will take a lot of relearning for him to let you take the lead completely

it’s not that alejandro is like a raging misogynist or anything, but i think he does feel like he needs the control he has when he’s taking on a more dominant position in the relationship

i feel like he probably has trouble trusting people completely (especially after graves) and so besides rudy (who he’s known for ten years) he prefers to take the lead because he knows for a fact he can trust himself

that being said, as you guys know each other for longer and longer and he trusts you more and more, it will become easier for him to let you take the lead

as long as you involve him with any important decisions (and also the seemingly unimportant ones) and communicate with him he feels like he can trust you

i think he just really wants you to stay with him, and so an ironic way in his mind he can do that better by taking the lead, but eventually he needs to learn that the best way to keep you is to let you take the lead too and have your own agency

but in the end, he would prefer being the more dominant one/the provider or at least being equals

rodolfo “rudy” parra:

alright i don’t think this is gonna surprise anyone but rudy is definitely more passive in the relationship

honestly i feel like in rudy’s eyes you can do no wrong and so he trusts you to take the lead and make whatever decisions you need to make

that being said, if you want his input he’ll be happy to give it (anything to make your life easier)

but even though he trusts you completely, he would prefer you to communicate with him before you make any major decisions just because it makes him feel acknowledged

however, rudy is a people pleaser and by people i mean you so he’s kinda a chameleon ngl

if you want him to be dominant, he can do that

it might not be the most natural thing in the world for him, but he’s got his fair share of military training to help him when he needs it

if you want him to be more passive then he’s happy to sit back and admire you while you do your thing

that being said, i think his natural state is being in a pretty equal relationship

he probably does have a little dominant streak in him that compliments yours (or your lack of one) pretty well

valeria garza:

okay so valeria is definitely the more dominant one in the relationship

she has essentially spent her entire life being forced to be submissive or passive because of her gender, and so when she finally has autonomy she’s definitely more dominant

honestly part of it is probably because she feels the need to do so to “prove herself” even though she has nothing to prove

but what can i say, the drug industry as well as the military are both male dominated fields and that sucks when you’re a woman

but just because she’s dominant doesn’t mean she’s controlling or anything

i think her way of “displaying her dominance” in the relationship is through financial means

i mean cartel leader/drug lord pays good money so she definitely has the means to do so

she’ll buy you lots of gifts, clothes, pay for your meals, stuff like that

as well as protect you of course, because you don’t become a cartel leader without making some enemies

i think she is down to being a little more passive in the comfort of your own home though

because she trusts you to not force it onto her or hold it over her head

and it’s nice to relinquish control and let someone else take the lead every once in a while

[lemon-natalia]

Harrow the Ninth Reaction - Chapter 36

ohhh we’re one week away from the Emperor’s murder now!! things are heating up

‘Ortus’ the First’s callsign is G.P.!!!! not O.P.!! and though Harrow knows that the initials represent the two names, she doesn’t filter it out because its not the full name ‘Ortus’!

also, the Emperor’s callsign is ‘J.G’ for John Gaius, but i hadn’t previously considered that the ‘Gaius’ name might be connected the double naming with the Lyctor practice of using the cav’s name as well

and the Resurrection Beast is coming, how very ominous. what’s even more ominous though is the Locked Tomb Body’s reaction to it, she seems excited and knows it, which doesn’t feel good. i don’t think she’s a monster like the Emperor claims, but that doesn’t necessarily mean she’s good either

wow Harrow’s devotion to the Body is also something, and very much onesided. she assumes that the Body leaving means she’s done something wrong, transgressed somehow

hmm, the ‘barathron’ and ‘bathyrhoic’ are the first things i can think of that have a reference to ‘ba’ in their names, like ‘Ortus’ was beginning to say earlier, but i also feel like that doesn’t necessarily fit in the context of whatever he was talking about?

‘as we speak languishing in Hell!’ well i was wrong they do actually have a concept of Hell here

i feel like it can’t be as obvious as the traitor being one of the other Lyctors, i don’t trust these books aren’t gonna give some blindsiding twist lol.

i feel like it for sure won’t be Ianthe though, since not only is she the overly obvious suspect with Corona being with the BoE, but i don’t think she would necessarily even turn traitor for Corona, being a Lyctor is too important to her. i feel like as long as Corona’s not actually being hurt, Ianthe will prioritise her Lyctor role over her. plus Ianthe had her own agenda & reveal last time, idk if it would happen again

waiiit i just had a thought - given Harrow’s completely forgotten why she wrote the letters at all… could she have been the traitor and then forgotten it? but i don’t think that’s all that likely either

… did Augustine just call Ianthe ‘duckling’?? 🦆

love the way the Emperor just responds to half of what people say with ‘thanks’, its so mundane

‘each Beast is quite unlike the other’ ‘it was a humanoid creature with a beautiful voice that held me under the water’ no mention of the ninth RB here, i can’t remember if its fate has already been mentioned, but if they can look almost like humans, could the Ninth beast be the Locked Tomb body thats been talking to Harrow?

God apparently doesn’t believe in sin … okay

‘So who wants a bikkie’ me. me after hearing all that about the mouth of Hell 💀

[bloody-cupcakes]

smacks this fic on the table

https://www.tumblr.com/bloody-cupcakes/753689763596353536/hello-can-i-request-something-with-jd-with-a?source=share

hihi hello hai

do u think u could write smth like this but w john…👁️👁️

Assuming you're meaning john bender from the breakfast club yes I can! I started writing something else but it ended up taking a mind of it's own and sort of spiraled out of control and away from the original prompt so if you're wondering why this has taken so long that's why 😭 I plan on posting the other one soon though if you're interested. Also I feel like this isn't very good?? Idk

Tw: yandere/dark content, gender neutral reader, yandere for yandere nonsense, both Bender and the reader are kind of crazy but the reader is a lot more obvious about it, swearing, mentions of underage smoking (weed and cigarettes), light stalking, implied/referenced abuse, mentions of violence/fights/implied murder

There were typically only two types of kids who ended up in detention: good, decent ones who made an honest mistake, and delinquents who either purposely got detention or didn't really give a shit. Bender was the second one, obviously.

When you first showed up in detention, he thought for a split second you might be the first type. That was until you looked over at him with eyes that were full of mischief and chaos, immediately giving you away.

"Hi," you greeted him like it was nothing. You were sitting at the desk in front of him, but you had turned around in your chair so you could stare at him like some kind of attention starved puppy.

He just looked at you for a second with a raised eyebrow, having no idea what to think. "Uh, hi." You were definitely cute, and you didn't seem to have a problem talking to him even though he was widely known throughout the school to be a criminal, but something about you was off, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. It intrigued him.

"I really like your hair. It looks really soft." Being socially aware seemed to be something you clearly knew nothing about, because who starts a conversation like that? No one that was considered "normal" by that school's standards, he could tell you that much.

"Can I...?" You asked vaguely, trailing off while you reached your hand forward, as if you wanted to touch him. Part of him wanted to be annoyed, another part wanted to mess with you so badly, but eventually it was the third part of him that won out. As much as he tried to, he couldn't find it in him to care.

"Yeah, sure." He leaned forward and tilted his head down, allowing you to touch it. He heard you let out a gasp of delight before you moved your hand to rest on top of his head, gently stroking his hair.

The giggle you let out made him smile, even though he'd deny it if you ever asked. Once you were satisfied with touching his hair, you pulled your hand away and went back to staring at him.

Bender didn't think anything of it, thinking that maybe you were just kind of weird, which you definitely were, as it turned out, because you spent the entirety of detention bothering him. You were constantly asking what he was doing, and even when you weren't directly messing with him you still didn't leave him alone, choosing to just sort of stare in his direction. Other people might've been unnerved, but he didn't care too much.

He thought that once detention was over that'd be the last he'd see of you, but it turned out he was wrong when you started showing up in the school parking lot during lunch to get high with him and skipping class to join him with whatever random thing he was doing.

No matter what he did, you were there. He even caught you breaking into his locker a few times and trying to follow him home. The locker thing didn't bother him that much, since he knew you wouldn't snitch on him for having weed, but there was no way he was going to allow you at his house. It was hard having to tell you to leave him alone, but it was even harder having to imagine you littered with bruises and cuts because his dad had an off day.

That didn't mean you couldn't hold your own, however. He knew you could because he'd seen you yell at other students and even teachers for the snide comments they made about him. You were always so adorable whenever you threatened to get violent.

Despite that, he knew he'd never be able to forgive himself if you ended up getting hurt because of him. He'd already been in detention more than once for getting into fights with people who made fun of you for how "crazy" you were, something that he just didn't see. How could anyone not fall in love with that slightly unhinged look in your eyes?

One thing he never did have to worry about was spending detention alone, because unlike him you had no clue how to act natural whenever you were doing something you weren't supposed to. Whereas he could get away with certain things due to being clever enough, you couldn't because of how visibly insane you were. Sometimes you were given detention for no reason at all, it just seemed to be a precaution they were taking.

"I want you to tell me if they hurt you again," you suddenly demanded one Saturday while the two of you were hanging out in the library during said detention. "Your parents, I mean. Or Vernon, or anyone. You protect me, so I want to be able to protect you."

"I don't need you to protect me," Bender replied with a scoff as he lit up yet another cigarette. He didn't miss the glare in your eyes that formed at his words.

"I don't care if you need it or not," you practically snapped in reply. Other people would fear for their safety if they heard you use that tone directed towards them, but he was used to your temper flares by now. "I just- I want you to know that I care about you, y'know? And that I can keep you safe."

He paused upon hearing your words, thinking them over some before letting out a sigh. As much as he wanted to tell you to mind your own business, he knew you'd find out sooner or later. "The gym teacher threatened to break my nose for making him look ridiculous in front of the other kids," he muttered as he stared down, his cigarette momentarily forgotten.

Your gaze softened as you watched him, knowing how much it took for him to admit it. "I'm sorry that happened to you, John. I'll make sure to take care of it, okay?"

The way you said his name made his heart beat faster, an affectionate gleam in his eyes as he looked up at you. "I know you will. Just be careful. I don't want anything to happen to you, either."

Letting out a devious giggle, you gave him a twisted smile that would send other people running for the hills but only made the butterflies in his stomach get worse. "Believe me, I'm not the one you need to worry about."

A couple days later, said gym teacher ended up going missing. Several people were questioned by the police as they tried to find out what happened, including you two, but eventually they hit a dead end and were forced to file what happened under the cold cases.

You were right when you said you wanted to protect him, and unlike other people you made sure you followed through with it. I guess it didn't hurt to have someone that was considered crazy care about you.

[liesmyth]

Honestly considering John's bitterness about having to forgo scientific study of necromancy originally it makes incredible amounts of sense on how the whole unhealthily obsessed academic attitude seems to be idealized for necromancers and at least an academic *focus* seems to be appreciated.

Like. The fandom mostly talks about John's Imperialism and Catholic Aesthetic in contrast to his human life, which, fair, it's a bit more relevant, but sometimes i just pause and realize: oh. John Gaius and his duplicitous sluts got to influence and direct the development of a whole society. Forgot about that.

Like. I know if he had the time to actually study before doing anything he wouldn't have gotten his necropowers in the first place, but sometimes i like to think about what john could've done if he had... Idk, not a low stress environment because research is stressful, but a chill decade or so to just explore that

OK but actually, I'm not that sure that's the case for post-Res John. He seems much more invested in maintaining the Houses within a state of cultural stagnation than he is in research.

I think the Canaan House era was all about scientific study, like John said in HtN, they "discovered the scientific principles." But not all of those were shared with the population of the Houses! It's been ten thousand years, and nobody in the House could conceive of something like Teacher, who Anastasia made within the first 200 years post Resurrection, with the "normal" amount of necromantic aptitude of a mortal, not of a Lyctor.

There's the constant implication that there has been very little innovation in ten thousand years of history. When Abigail says "there is a lot we don't understand about the River" she also calls the current state of research on the Fifth "stifled, stultified, complacent." She talks about it like it's a somewhat contemporary issue, but I believe it's gone on for longer than that. The Sixth have been mapping consanguinity lines for generations, but I don't think their obsession with genetic diversification has brought anything of note. It's like going to university to study maths, but the curriculum stops at the very beginning of elementary calculus and nobody has gone further in millenia.

We know that the Lyctors have delved into some areas of necromancy, like Augustine and the River, but that research hasn't been shared with the Houses even on a theoretical level. We know there's a constant feeling that the Houses are throwing around accusations that some avenues of necromancy are "heretical", even if the one guy who could clear up once and for all what's heresy hasn't bothered speaking up.

I agree with your last half - I think that in a much different story where a random guy gets chosen by the soul of the earth to receive divine powers and maybe the situation is less stressful, it could have been a net good for humanity instead of the end of the world. But in terms of John encouraging a scientific approach to necromancy post-Resurrection, I think he (and the Lyctors, maybe) have actually done the opposite. I'm not sure how intentional it is vs. how much it's a metaphor but the Houses are the opposite of a thriving society, culturally. It's all so stifled and stale, a civilisation in suspended animation.

[sga-owns-my-soul]

Hello my lovely! 😊 I've popped back in with another ask of my random atlantis thoughts as I'm going through my rewatch

Idk if it's ever said outright, but I'm pretty sure Teyla is the first friend John's ever had who's been pregnant. Like, he DOES NOT know what to do with her and he's overly protective (which is very sweet but clearly irritating for Teyla)

Bro is TERRIFIED because she's his family! And her baby is his family!! Especially considering the guilt he feels about losing Elizabeth and Carson, of course he's going to be fiercely protective of her!!😭

Sidenote: Ronon found her exercising and she was worried that she wouldn't be able to "keep up" with the rest of the team once the baby was born if she didn't and his response was literally "Who says you have to keep up?" that just 🥺 Literally saying they're going to take care of her no matter what. They're so family I can't 😭😭

john sheppard is afraid of clowns, iratus bugs, and pregnant women and that is fucking canon to me. that man would rather SCALE THE FUCKING TOWER than be around a pregnant woman and i for one think that's fucking hilarious

ALSO i know it was like. Huge Asshole Energy when john grounded teyla from missions but like. all i can think about is how john places the responsibility to keep his team safe 100% on his own shoulders, and i FULLY believe that his team (which is strongest for AR-1 but obviously extends to the whole city) includes the athosians, and by this point they've gone missing, and i really do think john believes he's to blame for it. i think johns harsh reaction was purely fear based- teyla's baby, who very well could end up being the Last Athosian, is at risk because they got shot by stunners. not only is john feeling the guilt from teyla getting stunned, but he now thinks he's putting her baby at risk. of course he freaks out!!!!!! he JUST found out about torren and in the same breath finds out he might've led teyla into a situation where she could lose her baby???????? anyways this was a lot to say yes john 100% sees teyla and torren as family and is SO overprotective of both of them.

also i'm literally never over teyla and ronon's friendship, i LOVE how ronon pivots between beating the shit out of teyla because he knows she'll give it as good as she gets and being the softest most tender soul with her. like the scene where they find out and he holds her hand and congratulates her and asks about kanan 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 IM GONNA SOB AT WORK THEYRE SO god i fucking love teyla and ronon's friendship it's SO fucking good

also you didn't mention this but i'm incapable of talking about teyla's pregnancy without commenting on how obsessed i am with the fact that rodney is the one who delivered her baby. like. i just. it's everything to me i genuinely think it's my favourite thing to happen in the entire show it was the BEST possible decision for the writers to make and i love it it's my favourite thing and i like to think rodney has a special bond with torren bc of it

thank you for the team feels they're Everything