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vampiriito · 1 month ago

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Summer was my first muse.. (JJ Maybank X shy! kook! reader) Chapter 2

A/N: Hey loves! this is the second installment of summer was my first love and i just wanna say i love ya'll. You're all so nice, even the people simply liking, means a lot that my work is getting read. And the people asking to be on the taglist- you make my day. Anyway, here's your chapter, we're getting another interaction which I'm quite frankly very proud about. I like to think the reader is so funny, without actually trying, love her for wandering around the beach in skating attire. This work is dedicated to my friend, gwen :) love you wifey.

Summary: JJ Maybank spots you on the beach and discovers that his so-called good conversation skills are basically useless when it comes to you :) (although he still tries.)

You didn't know why you fell in love with JJ Maybank. He wasn't exactly the type of guy your parents would want you bringing home. Not with the reputation he liked to carry around just like you carried your camera or board. Well, until one day in 5th grade when your mom snooped through your diary and realized just how much you had been crushing on the blond hellion. Since then, your parents took a liking on the idea of you bringing home the guy who charmed his way into the heart of little 3rd grade you. But that was wishful thinking on theirs and Maisy's parts.

God, he was beautiful. His eyes were a shade of blue that you never quite managed to color match when looking for paint colors. The dimple on his cheek never failed to make your knees buckle and your tummy do a flip. You liked to think that if you actually had the courage to ever paint him, you'd paint JJ Maybank with gold specks deep in his baby blue irises and a boyish grin that managed to honor his dimple and the crow's feet by his eyes.

From this angle, the sun hit his hair just right, and despite being shrouded by the tree line you could still see the way the breeze brushed gently through the strands, messing them up and making them dance around his head like a halo. He's smiling, eyes crinkled at the corners like they do every time he's laughing or telling a story, and your finger hovers over the shutter-release button for a few moments simply just admiring him, before snapping a picture. It was like he was created to be photographed or painted, his smile and features so symmetrical that you envied him sometimes.

You watch as leans down and grabs a beer can, not paying too much attention at the hand offering it to him. He retrieves a small switch-blade from his board shorts' pocket and makes a small incision at the bottom of the of the can and bringing it to his lips. He successfully shot guns the can of Natty light and one-two-three.. click! another picture. You lower the camera and study the picture on the display, reaching up to adjust your glasses with a soft flick of your finger.

You liked photographing other things aside from JJ Maybank. Nature being second best on your 'favorites' list. The sky was so beautiful and the marsh and beach were your favorite places. The small creatures and the greenery or the ocean were your favorite attractions and no matter how many times you photographed them, they never looked the same. But as you wandered through the marsh that summer day, you ended at the edge of the tree-line, on the beach sitting none other than JJ, surrounded by his usual crowd of people, John B, Pope and Kiara, Sarah Cameron being an addition to their group a little later.

You didn't follow him out here. Much less with the intention of snapping secret snapshots from between the trees. Still, you felt like a creep... You raised the camera to your eyes again, capturing another shot. JJ was now gazing out at the water, pointing to the waves and laughing about something you couldn't hear. The scene was beautiful, his joy infectious. You lowered the camera and finally stepped out from the tree line onto the beach, frowning to yourself as you stepped on the sand, the texture of it already annoying you given you were wearing your beat up sneakers. There was a considerable distance between you, JJ and his crowd, so you weren't worried about being spotted or approached by him or his friends.

As you walked along the shoreline, your eyes were drawn to a starfish that had been washed up by the waves. Its delicate limbs sprawled out on the sand, glistening in the sun light. You decided to photograph it before releasing it back into the water. Crouching on the soft sand, you brought the camera's lens closer to the small creature, snapping a picture and then inspecting it happily.

The starfish, a fragile beauty against the damp sand, seemed to encapsulate a moment of pure serenity. A stark contrast from your everyday internal dialogue. How lucky was she, getting to live in complete silence and have people like you release her back into the ocean after being photographed?

JJ was still chatting and laughing with his friends, completely oblivious to your presence on the beach. He was in the midst of explaining the importance of timing waves while surfing when he suddenly caught a glimpse of something in his periphery view. He turned his head slightly and spotted you for the first time, kneeling on the sand a few yards away from him and his friends. He stopped mid-sentence, his attention momentarily shifting from his friends to you. He watched you kneel in the sand, taking pictures of a starfish that had been washed up by the waves.

He stared at you for a moment, his eyes narrowed slightly as if trying to figure out why you always seemed to show up in the most random places, and why the hell were you wearing jeans and a hoodie to the beach? He had never really paid much attention to you before, but now he couldn’t help but be slightly curious about you.

He watched as you photographed the starfish, your face completely hidden behind the camera. He wondered what was so interesting about a simple starfish, but the longer he looked at you, the more intrigued he became.

You gently lifted the starfish after capturing its delicate beauty through your lens. With careful hands, you released it back into the water, watching as it gracefully disappeared beneath the waves. Your focus shifted to the rhythmic dance of the sea.

Raising the camera once again, you framed a shot of the sun's golden reflection on the waves. The light shimmered and danced on the water's surface, creating a breathtaking scene. This picture would need a bit of editing, but it was certainly worthy of posting on your Instagram. Aside from the pictures of JJ, of course. Those were just for you. You knew it might sound a bit strange and even creepy, but you weren't doing anything with the pictures. Besides, JJ wasn't the only one you photographed; he was just particularly captivating through your lens.

JJ continued watching you as you released the starfish back into the water, his curiosity growing with each passing second. He watched as you lifted your camera once more, snapping a picture of the sun reflecting off the waves. He couldn’t help but wonder what you found so interesting about the simple waves. He usually found himself taming the waves when he was out on the water, not admiring and taking pictures of them.

He found your interest in photography and natural beauty to be almost foreign to him. He’s always thought that everyone's interest laid in parties and surfing, not something so pure and quiet.

He sat there for a few minutes, continuing to watch you as you took more photographs of the ocean and the shoreline. He kept waiting for you to look over in his direction, to notice his eyes on you, but you seemed completely immersed in the viewfinder of your camera. He found himself watching with a mix of curiosity and fascination, trying to figure out what was going on in your head.

The Boneyard was a breathtaking place—a hidden gem where the ocean met the land in a dramatic embrace. Sun-bleached driftwood trees stood like skeletal guardians along the shoreline, giving the beach its haunting name. The sand was cool beneath your sneakers, a mixture of fine grains and crushed seashells that shimmered like tiny pearls. The air was crisp with the scent of salt and the faint aroma of wildflowers that clung stubbornly to the rocky outcrops.

You were still aware that JJ was further down the beach, his laughter occasionally carried to you by the gentle sea breeze. Unbeknownst to you, his gaze had settled on you, a curious look in his aquamarine eyes. Oblivious, you turned away, your back now facing him. Your attention shifted to a new angle where the waves caught the sunlight just so, each crest adorned with a glistening spray that made the ocean look like it was covered in a blanket of diamonds. The water reflected hues of gold and silver, harmonizing with the deep blues and greens of the sea.

The Boneyard's beauty was a photographer's dream. You lifted the camera once more, framing the shot where the sun's rays kissed the waves, creating a mesmerizing sparkle that danced across the surface. The images of JJ, however, were different. Those were just for you—a secret collection of candid moments that captured something genuine and unguarded. It might seem a bit peculiar, maybe even intrusive, but photography was your way of connecting with the world, and JJ looked like he was made to exist through your viewfinder..

As you moved along the shoreline, the sound of the waves provided a soothing soundtrack, each crash and whisper syncing with the rhythm of your heartbeat. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows and bathing everything in a warm, golden light. Seabirds called out to one another as they swooped and dived, their silhouettes cutting gracefully through the sky.

The rugged beauty of the Boneyard captivated you. Clusters of sea grass swayed gently atop the dunes. You felt a profound sense of peace here, as if time itself had slowed down to let you absorb every detail. Raising your camera yet again, you captured the interplay of light and shadow, the textures of the driftwood, the endless horizon where the sea met the sky.

In that moment, everything else faded away—the concerns, the self-consciousness, even the awareness of JJ somewhere behind you. It was just you and the vast expanse of nature's artistry. You took a deep breath, the salty air filling your lungs, and smiled softly. This was why you loved photography—not just for the images it produced, but for the way it allowed you to see and appreciate the world in all its transient beauty.

JJ watched as you turned away from him, now facing the other direction. He took the opportunity to look at you without you noticing, his eyes scanning your form from behind. He noticed the way you moved around, trying to find new angles to photograph the waves. He was almost envious of how easy it seemed for you to just get lost in the moment, completely unbothered by anything or anyone around you.

He found himself wondering what it would be like to be so detached from the people and the world around you, just being completely focused on something as simple as the waves. He continued to watch you for a few moments, his eyes still fixed on your figure, before suddenly realizing that he had been staring for far too long. He quickly looked back to his friends, trying to play it off like he hadn’t just been blatantly staring at you.

He forced himself to keep his eyes off you, trying to tune back into the conversation that he was supposed to be a part of. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t help but keep sneaking glances in your direction, watching you as you moved and photographed the beach.

He found himself silently cursing the fact that he couldn’t just walk over to you and ask why you were so intriguing to him. He was JJ for crying out loud, he could talk to anyone he wanted.

As he continued to sit there with his friends, he couldn’t help but feel frustrated with himself. He was a confident guy, but for some reason he found it hard to approach you. Maybe it was because you were always so quiet and shy around him, or maybe it was because you seemed so engrossed in your photographs that it seemed like you didn’t want to be bothered. Whatever the reason, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he wanted to get to know you, but he also couldn’t get up the courage to take the first step.

He tried to distract himself by joining in on his friends’ conversation, but his mind kept wandering back to you. He kept thinking about the way you knelt down in the sand, the way your face was hidden behind the camera, the way your hands moved effortlessly to adjust the settings of the camera.

Finally, his frustration got the best of him. He couldn’t sit there any longer, pretending that he wasn’t completely captivated by you. He decided it was time to act on his urges and finally talk to you, even if it meant facing your shy and awkward demeanor.

He stood up from his spot on the sand, the others in his crowd giving him quizzical glances, but he didn’t pay them any mind. He dusted off his shorts, his eyes still fixed on you, and began walking in your direction.

His heart was pounding in his chest as he got closer to you, his mind racing with thoughts of what he was going to say to you. 'What if you’re weird? What if you hate me? What if you start stuttering again?’ he worried while his legs carried him towards your form.

After capturing a series of shots of a seagull pecking at a stray French fry beside your feet—its feathers ruffling gently in the salty breeze—you felt a small surge of satisfaction. The gull was engrossed in its meal, oblivious to your presence, allowing you to document its simple pleasure, the sight of it quite funny to you. Just as you raised the camera, a shadow filled your viewfinder, causing you to flinch slightly. Startled, you realized that JJ's face had come into sudden, unexpected focus, his features accentuated by the golden hues of the setting sun.

Your heart skipped a beat as you lowered the camera shakily, fingers trembling ever so slightly. Adjusting your glasses, you looked up to find JJ standing startlingly close, his baby blue eyes reflecting a mix of curiosity and something else you couldn't quite decipher. The world seemed to narrow to just the two of you, the distant crash of waves and the call of seagulls fading into the background. A flush of heat crawled up your neck. Anxiety twisted in your stomach like a coiled serpent. Had he noticed you taking pictures of him earlier? The mere thought sent a cold rush through your veins, making you almost queasy. The idea of him confronting you for your inadvertent creepiness was mortifying.

JJ came to a halt a few feet away from you, his eyes fixed on you. He stood there for a moment, studying your face, the way your eyes glanced at him nervously behind the frames of your glasses. He could see the anxiety written all over your face.

"Hey, mouse."

He said in his usual cocky and confident tone. He hoped he didn’t look as unsure as he actually was.

"Uh hey.." you said in an unsure tone, letting your camera dangle from your neck lazily, the strap snug around your neck. He was still calling you 'mouse', so he remembered the other night at the party, and the whole ordeal of getting shoved in a closet together. Of course he did, it's not everyday you get locked into a small space with a socially inept stranger.

JJ stuck his hands in his pockets, his eyes scanning you up and down. He watched as you lowered your camera, letting it dangle from your neck. He couldn’t help but notice the way you fidgeted with the strap, seemingly uncomfortable with him being so close.

He tilted his head slightly as he looked at you, his face wearing a slight smirk. "So, taking pictures of seagulls now, huh?"

"It was eating a french fry.." you laughed weakly, pointing vaguely to the spot where the seagull was just a few moments ago. The little fucker had flown away, leaving you pointing to an empty space on the sand beside your feet. Suddenly the notion of it eating a french fry wasn't as funny anymore.

JJ let out a soft scoff, a small smile forming on his face. He looked at the spot you pointed to, where the seagull had once been.

"A seagull eating a french fry is picture-worthy to you?"

He raised an eyebrow, teasing you.

You nodded mutely, fidgeting with the strap of the camera nervously.

JJ watched as you fidgeted with the camera strap, your nervousness apparent. He couldn’t help but find your shy and awkward behavior interesting, although he would never admit that out loud.

"So, why seagulls and starfish and all that?" he asked, genuinely curious about your interest in taking photographs of mundane things.

You shrugged, gnawing at your bottom lip. The mention of the starfish made your ears perk up, 'so he was watching me for a little longer and more intently, if he saw me take a picture of the starfish.' you observed internally. The thought almost made you excited. "They look interesting.." you stated simply, humming faintly.

JJ's eyes lingered on you as you gnawed at your bottom lip, the action making him feel something in the pit of his stomach. He watched as your brows seemed to perk up slightly when he mentioned the starfish, silently finding that quite adorable. He had been watching you more intently than he would like to admit, but he couldn’t help but be drawn to your behavior.

He raised an eyebrow at your simple response, still watching you. "Interesting, huh? Interesting how?"

You stepped closer hesitantly, flicking through the pictures until you landed on the starfish, tilting the camera screen so he could study the picture himself, your actions silent. You watched his face as he leaned in studying the picture curiously, taking the time to study him, while he studied your picture. He was breathtaking. He smelled like cheap beer and his usual smell of ocean water and weed.

JJ furrowed his eyebrows as he leaned in closer to the camera screen, his eyes scanning the picture of the starfish that you had taken.

He had to admit, the picture was pretty damn good. The way you had captured the textures and colors of the starfish was fascinating, and he found himself looking at it intently.

He tilted his head to the side slightly, his eyes flicking up to your face as he continued to study the picture.

"Damn, you really know how to use a camera."

JJ continued to watch your face as he looked at the picture, noticing the way you observed him silently. He wondered what was going on in that shy brain of yours, and part of him felt almost nervous under your gaze.

Finally, he looked up from the camera and at your face again. He had to admit, there was something about your eyes that was oddly captivating.

"You take pictures like this often?" he asked, his voice laced with a hint of curiosity.

A small smile made its way onto your face at his compliment. You hated taking compliments when it came to your photography or any of your other hobbies, but with JJ it seemed like it was almost welcome. Maybe your were just biased since he was the object of your pathetic pinning for almost 9 years.

You nodded, your mind wandering to how you took pictures of him secretly and you felt creepy again. It was a bad feeling, you hated it, you truly just liked how he looked through a camera and that's how you captured your love for him. Poets and painters used their paints and words and you... You used your camera.

JJ noticed the small smile that graced your lips as he complimented you, and he found himself feeling strangely satisfied with himself.

He knew that receiving compliments was probably not your thing, considering how shy and reserved you were, but he couldn’t help but want to keep drawing those smiles out of you. He found himself weirdly drawn to the way your face lit up when you were happy.

He watched as your eyes lost focus for a moment, a hint of something he couldn’t quite put his finger on flickering across your face. He furrowed his eyebrows slightly, wondering what you were thinking about, seemingly an occurring thought the longer he spent around you. You seemed to go to your own world for a moment, a subtle shift in your expression, an almost sad look in your eyes.

He took the opportunity to study your face yet again, his eyes tracing every detail. The way your eyelashes flickered, the way you gnawed at your bottom lip, the way your fingers fidgeted with the strap of your camera.

He wanted to ask you what you were thinking about, but he hesitated. Would you even tell him? He knew that you weren’t exactly comfortable in his presence and you always seemed a bit shy around him, but for some reason he wanted to know what was going on in your head.

He decided to try his luck, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"What’s on your mind, mouse?"

Your eyes snapped to his again, blinking a couple of times. You shrugged slowly pressing your lips in a thin line, "nothing.."

JJ’s eyebrows furrowed as he watched you snap back to reality, your eyes meeting his again. He could tell that you weren’t being completely honest, he could see it in the way you pressed your lips together.

He took a step closer to you, his eyes narrowing slightly. He knew you were hiding something, but he wasn’t sure what. "I call bs, mouse. Spill it."

"Are you this forward and personal space invading with every stranger?" you found yourself asking softly, surprised at how easily the words just rolled out of your mouth. Maybe it was the fact that you were nervous and you felt cornered. And besides you still sounded like a weak and quiet whimp. Your response gave you deja-vu.

JJ raised an eyebrow at your response, surprised that you had actually said something to him that wasn’t a simple one-word answer. He was even more surprised that you had actually called him out.

He took another step closer, leaning in slightly, his eyes still on your face.

"No, I usually don’t care about what strangers are thinking. But you’re different, mouse." He paused, continuing to observe you. He was standing pretty close now, but he wasn’t backing away.

You hummed nodding, taking a small step back to put some distance between the 2 of you. Close proximity wasn't your thing, especially when the other person was none other than JJ.

You probably looked rude, your body language was probably giving off repulsion, but you were just so shy and flustered, and you didn't want to look like a dumbass in front of him by stuttering and blushing like a schoolgirl. That would be so embarrassing, god. If you and JJ kept interacting, you'd probably end up getting a nose-bleed.

JJ watched as you took a step back, creating some distance between you. He noticed the way you seemed on edge, your body language giving off a repellant vibe. He knew from experience that you were probably just feeling shy and flustered, which was understandable given how shy you usually were around him.

He couldn’t help but feel a bit bad for invading your personal space like that. But, he also was enjoying the fact that he was making you so flustered. The two feelings were crashing with each other in his brain and he wasn't sure if he liked that. "Sorry, mouse. Didn’t mean to crowd you."

Every time he was apologetic about something he did without meaning, which he thought made you uncomfortable, your heart fluttered for him. He seemed so much more different with you, in the 2 times you had interacted, like actually interacted. That made you like him more if it was possible. You were absolutely, mind bogglingly whipped for this dude, and what was even funnier- He had no idea. Absolutely comical.

You were silent as you stared up at him for a few seconds, before speaking up softly trying to reassure him as best as you could, "it's okay.. don't worry."

JJ listened carefully as you spoke, your soft voice sending a strange flutter through his chest. He noticed the look in your eyes as you looked up at him, and it made his stomach do a little flip.

He wasn’t sure what exactly he was doing. He didn’t usually care this much about a stranger, but something about you had him completely enthralled. "Okay, mouse. I’ll try not to get too up in your personal space again."

He said, his voice softer than usual.

JJ stared at you for a few more moments, taking in your features. The way your hair fell softly in around your face, braided into two loose braids, the way you continued to fidget with the strap of your camera, the way your lips parted just slightly as you breathed quietly.

He found himself feeling oddly drawn to you, and he didn’t quite understand why. He had always thought of you as just "that shy girl from the country club," but now he was starting to realize that there might be more to you than he first thought. Maybe he shouldn't judge the people at the country club so quickly. 'What a dumbass conclusion to come to, 'm not prejudiced..'

He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure.

You knew that JJ didn't care about personal space much, given you saw how he interacted with his friends or even girls he was trying to chat up at parties or around town. So his reassurance actually meant something to you. Although you kinda wanted him to invade your personal space now, despite knowing you'll probably die on the spot.

You studied him intently too, the way his blonde hair almost glowed in the sunlight and the way it was ruffled gently by the breeze. His eyelashes and those blue eyes which you loved to photograph so much when you had the chance. You suddenly wanted to make him laugh somehow, to also see the small dimple on his right cheek, but that was wishful thinking given you were just standing there mutely. Nothing was charmingly funny about being awkwardly quiet.

With the 2 of you standing there silently, just studying each other, JJ couldn’t help but notice the way your eyes scanned over his face. He wasn’t used to someone staring at him so intently, especially someone he didn’t know very well.

He wasn’t sure what you were thinking in that brain of yours, but the intensity of your gaze made his stomach do another weird flutter.

He cleared his throat once again, breaking the silence.

"So, uh... you like taking pictures, huh?" he almost face-palmed from how obvious that question was, especially with the camera dangling from your neck, basically rolling its eyes at him as soon as the words left his lips. What the hell was happening to him? Why couldn't he socialize properly?

You let out a huff of genuine amused laughter at his obvious question. You shook the camera gently as if it to say 'what gave it away,' studying his slightly awkward stance. Never in 8 years of liking him, have you ever seen JJ Maybank actually awkard. Of course he'd be awkward around you, that's what happened when people spoke to you.

"No i just carry the camera for bragging rights..." you spoke up suddenly, your tone sarcastic and amused but still soft and quiet.

JJ couldn’t help but smile slightly as you quietly laughed at his question. He felt another spark of satisfaction at himself upon hearing the surprisingly pleasant sound.

He raised an eyebrow at your sarcastic response, his smile turning into a smirk.

"Bragging rights? Damn, mouse. Didn’t peg you for the cocky type."

You shrugged, feigning smugness as you shifted awkwardly in your spot, looking up at him.

"Why?... i mean why are you asking me if i like taking pictures.." you spoke up again, blinking quickly, silently cursing yourself for stuttering a bit as you gathered the courage to ask the simple question.

He noticed the way you shifted awkwardly, and the slight stutter in your voice as you spoke. He could tell that you were uncomfortable, but he didn’t quite understand why. He just wanted to get to know you better.

JJ chuckled softly, his smirk widening a bit.

"Just making conversation, mouse. Plus, I figure something this expensive has got to mean something to you."

He gestured to the camera around your neck.

"It does... my mom got it for me." you spoke softly, looking down at your camera and adjusting your glasses.

You still remembered how happy you were when you got the camera, finally able to capture as many pictures of things you liked but couldn't quite put into your paintings. Although your relationship with your mom and parents in general was a little-.. Strained at the moment, you loved the camera as much as you loved your board, the two constantly battling for second best in your heart. Obviously JJ was first best.

He listened as you spoke softly, his gaze softening as he watched you look down at your camera.

He could sense there was more to the story than just "my mom got it for me," but he didn't push you. He knew that you were a private person, and he didn't want to push you too far out of your comfort zone.

He took a step closer to you, his hand darting out to gently touch the camera around your neck.

"Your mom has good taste."

JJ watched as you flinched slightly as he touched the camera, and he quickly pulled his hand back.

He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, so he took a half step back again, giving you some space.

After a few moments of silence, he spoke up again, his voice softer than before. "Why do you take pictures of things like starfish and seagulls?"

You were surprised as he took a step closer, startled that he wanted to touch your old camera, but the feeling melted into disappointment when he stepped back.

"To paint them. It's much easier when the thing you're trying to paint doesn't move." you explained gently, you didn't have the courage to start painting him though. Across these years you took so many pictures but never actually had the courage to try and paint him.

JJ nodded slowly, understanding your reason for taking pictures of such mundane things. It made sense to him that you needed a still subject. He tilted his head slightly as he looked at you, his eyes locking with yours for a moment.

"You paint? What kind of stuff do you paint other than starfish and seagulls?"

"Scenery... my family... random things I like..." you listed awkwardly, your words trailing off as a faint blush warmed your cheeks. Humming in thought, you tilted your head back to gaze at the endless expanse of sky. Wisps of cotton candy clouds drifted lazily across the azure canvas, and the soft hues of twilight began to creep in. The vivid images of the paintings flooded back into your mind—rolling hills bathed in golden sunlight, candid snapshots of laughter-filled family gatherings, and close-ups of everyday objects that held secret significance.

JJ watched as you hummed in thought, your eyes cast up to the sky. He could tell you were thinking about your paintings, and he found himself wanting to see your paintings. He was curious about what your art looked like.

He cleared his throat, pulling your attention back to him.

"Have you ever painted a person?"

"Aside from my family? no..." you mumbled, your eyes setting into his once again. Maisy was an exception, sometimes she forced you to paint her. Your favorite painting of her was of her one morning, with a massive hangover, makeup ruined and strawberry blonde hair sticking out in every direction.

He nodded slowly, noticing the way your eyes set into his. There was something about your gaze that was both captivating and nerve wracking at the same time.

He took a small step closer to you, and for some reason, he couldn't stop the words from falling out of his mouth.

"What would you paint if I were a still subject?"

"What do you mean?" you asked a bit confused, swallowing a small lump that was threatening to form in your throat.

JJ smiled slightly at your confusion, amused by how innocent and naive you could be sometimes.

He took another step forward, closing the distance between the two of you even more.

"I mean, if I sat completely still and acted as your still subject, what would you paint? Like, would you paint a portrait of me or something different?"

"Oh.. probably your eyes." you spoke without realizing, your eyes snapping up from the sand under your sneakers to look up at him with a slight panicked look. The response was vague and what you meant to say was: 'you'd paint a portrait of him' but the words came out weirdly.

JJ's eyebrows raised in surprise at your words. He wasn't expecting your answer to be so direct, but it honestly made him feel weirdly giddy.

He leaned in a bit closer to you, his eyes narrowed slightly. "My eyes? Why my eyes?"

"Well they're blue." 'yeah dumbass.. he knows his eyes are blue.' you scolded your self internally for your simple and dumb answer.

You resisted the urge to face palm at the simple and quiet statement whipped out in a nervous rush, just staring at him blankly, fidgeting with your glasses.

JJ chuckled at your response. He didn't know why, but he found it amusing that you answered his question with such a simple and obvious answer. He couldn't help but tease you a bit. "Yeah, I'm aware they're blue."

He said, his voice sarcastic and amused. He took another step closer, now standing only a foot away from you. He could almost see the panic in your eyes.

You felt like a dumbass. Who has the conversation skills of a baked potato? you seriously needed to get it together this was absolutely pathetic. His teasing statement didn't help how you felt either, growing more embarrassed as he spoke, the tips of your ears burning from being so flustered.

JJ could see the way you were mentally kicking yourself for your simple response. He found it slightly endearing how flustered and anxious you were at the moment, just because he was close to you and you couldn't string together a coherent sentence to save your life. It made him want to tease you even more.

He leaned in slightly closer, his face now only inches away from yours, his breath lightly touching your cheek.

"You know, you're adorable when you're nervous, mouse."

Which is all the time-... what? did he just? Refer to you as adorable? You felt as if your heart stopped for a second and started beating way too fast at the same time, your face heating up visually probably. You were so PATHETIC, ugh. Why couldn't you just take conversations in stride, just like he did, or any other fucking normal human on this planet?

JJ could see the way your face flushed with color, and it only made his smile widen. He found it incredibly endearing how flustered and anxious you were, and he was enjoying every second of it.

He reached up, his hand gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "You're blushing, mouse. Why are you so nervous around me all the time, hm?"

"I'm nervous around... everyone." you choked out, cursing yourself mentally once again for sounding so affected. It was seriously comical. You were wondering how he wasn't making fun of you by now. Also the tender gesture made your insides melt even more, despite hating when people touched your hair.

His smile softened at your admission, feeling a pang of sympathy for you. He didn't realize that you were nervous around everyone, he thought it was just him. He hummed softly, his hand still gently fiddling with the strand of hair he was holding.

"Everyone, huh? Why? Don't you have friends who make you feel less nervous?"

He continued to study your face, noticing the way your eyes darted around nervously and the way your cheeks were flushed a pretty pink color. He could see the anxiety in your expression, and he wasn't sure what to make of it. Part of him wanted to tease you even more, but another part of him wanted to reassure you that everything was okay.

"You know, mouse, you don't have to be so nervous all the time. I don't bite. Well, not hard anyway."

You sighed, your fingers nervously twisting a loose strand of hair around them. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't help it—you always clammed up like this. Words seemed to get stuck in your throat, despite the whirlpool of thoughts swirling in your mind. It was worse now, with JJ standing right in front of you; his mere presence amplified your anxiety, turning your usually rowdy internal monologue into static.

Your gaze shifted to the side, drifting over his shoulder. You noticed his friends in the distance, trying to get his attention. They were waving in your direction, their gestures frantic and eyes wide with impatience. Gathering a bit of courage, you pointed shakily toward them, your eyes meeting his briefly as you did so. The unspoken words hung heavy in the air, your heartbeat echoing in your ears as you waited for his reaction. A flush crept up your neck, the tension between wanting to say something—anything—and the frustrating quiet that held your tongue.

JJ followed your gaze looking over his shoulder, his eyes landing on his friends in the distance. He could see them waving and gesturing for him to come back, and he knew they were probably wondering what the hell he was doing.

He hesitated for a moment, torn between staying with you and going back to his friends. He turned his attention back to you, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Looks like my friends are getting impatient."

He let out a small sigh, not wanting to leave you just yet. But he knew he had to go back to his friends eventually, otherwise they'd just come over and drag him away.

He gave you one last glance, taking in your nervous expression. He smiled softly, his hand still lingering beside your ear. "I'll see you around, mouse. Don't disappear on me, okay?"

You were feeling disappointed that he had to leave. But you let a relieved breath out as he took a small step back. The close proximity was making your breathing go crazy and stuttery and your face heat up. You glanced at his friends and then at him, your eyes lingering on his face in an almost awe expression before nodding and humming, your hands fidgeting with the strap of your camera.

JJ couldn't help but notice the way your eyes lingered on his face, and he felt a small flutter in his chest at the expression on your face. He wasn't used to someone looking at him like that, especially you. He gave you one last smile, his hand reaching out to gently pat your head before he reluctantly took a step away from you.

"Behave yourself, mouse."

He said with a smirk and a wink before turning and strolling back to his friends.

As soon as his back was turned to you and he was walking back to his friends you let out a breath that you didn't know you were holding. Your hands reached up to fan your face gently, walking along the beach in the opposite direction.

You could definitely get used to interacting with JJ alone, have him look at you and call you mouse like that in his soft tone despite his boyish voice. Although the nickname was meant to be teasing, you still felt your heart do somersaults every time he called you it casually.

As JJ walked back to his friends, he found himself unable to keep his mind off of the interaction he just had with you. He couldn't get the image of your blushing face and wide-eyed expression out of his head.

His friends quickly pounced on him the moment he returned to them, their voices loud and excited.

"Dude, what was that all about?"

JB asked, his eyes widening with curiosity.

Pope chimed in with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah man, since when do you talk to the girl who's terrified of you?"

JJ shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant about the whole thing.

"I don't know, I was just making conversation." All four of his friends looked at him skeptically, not buying his casual response.

John B leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper so that no one else could hear their conversation.

"Do you like her or something?"

JJ's eyes widened in surprise at the question, and he quickly shook his head, trying to play it off.

"No way, man.. What, are we in 7th grade to be asking these types of questions?"

—♡‧

A/N: Here's the second chapter! God, you guys don't understand how happy i am. What do you think about the second interaction? I appreciate when you comment, or leave asks telling me what you think, so don't be shy! these can be read as stand-alone one-shots too but this is gonna be an entire story. Also i don't plan on following the main story-line of the show :( This and all my works will be written freely because i wanna give JJ the life of a teenager instead of a treasure hunter.

Tag-list*:･ﾟ✧ @cali-888, @bee-43, @jjscoquette, @melsbels-zip, @stanseventeen Have fun reading everyone and I'll be seeing you all in part 3!

Divider credits: @cafekitsune

Previous | Next*:･ﾟ✧

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blathannabeaga · 4 months ago

Text

.☽༊˚ three word prompts; “go to sleep.”

bobby x reader

feat. an alternative post-2x04 setting, qrf leader!bobby x qrf!reader, semi-hidden relationship, minor disassociation/emotional distress on the reader's part, but plenty comfort to follow it

Despite the fact that no one took so much as a scratch in damage, the flight back to Bliss feels like one of mourning.

The drone of the helo’s blades and the roar of wind fills your ears, even above the rush of blood pumping through your head. Despite the hot crush of your teammates’ solid, tac’d-up bodies all around you, your mind is already reeling you back into the empty cold of the warehouse, and what you found there; five hundred children, five hundred faces, five hundred sets of eyes following you everywhere you go.

They see you through the descent to the airstrip, through the clamber off the bird and across the floodlight-lit tarmac to the hangar. Staring as you get out of your gear, unblinking as you try and scarf down some of what Randy throws together for you - the only time they look away is when the lump in your throat grows too big to swallow around, and you hastily excuse yourself from the table before the guilt chokes you altogether.

In the showers, fine desert sand runs off your skin and swirls down the drain in pale spirals. The water’s hot, too hot, but it gives you respite from the days-old strains in your back and hips and most of all, forces your thoughts away from little sets of scared eyes and remote warehouses for a few blissful minutes.

Like all good things, though, your revery is cut short by Carillo’s blunt entrance into the bathroom.

You dry off and dress without paying her much mind - after her outburst of a confession, you’re at even more of a loss as to where to stand with her. The rest of the team had chided you in the beginning about your treatment of her - that you were too trusting, too sweet, too naive to the ways of the programme given your short time on it. Your defence had been that you’d treated Cruz the same way, and she’d turned out solid as solid came; but now, with things standing they way they do, the uncomfortable reality is that you may owe your teammates an apology.

When you emerge back onto the hangar floor, there’s a little more life to be found than when you’d exited. Two Cups and Tex have taken up their habitual spots on the couch, and are in the throes of a new Black Ops campaign, with Tucker and Tracer passively observing from the sidelines as they clean down their pistols - and perhaps the nicest sight is Randy and Cruz cleaning up the galley together, deep in conversation and trading fire with the guys from across the room. You have kept up with Cruz, from that night in Majorca and all through her deployment in Africa, so you had an idea of how she was doing - but it still does so much for your heart to see her with a smile on her face, after all she’s been through at the programme’s hands.

One person is missing, the one you’d most be hoping to see; but there’s no doubt in your mind that she’ll be quick to reemerge.

The fatigue is getting harder to ignore, spreading throughout your body and slowing you down like each step is taken whilst wading through thick molasses. The cheap, thin material of your cot feels like the most plush and expensive of mattresses under your touch as you sit, and slowly start getting ready to turn in for the night.

Footfalls sound from over your left shoulder, but you’re too focused on squaring away your kit to notice until they stop right in front of you. Your eyes take in a khaki-clad pair of strong legs and a slim waist highlighted by a snug tank top before a familiar hand is landing on your cheek, and directing your gaze upwards until you meet hers.

These last few missions have aged Bobby - adding a subtle twinge of silver to her hairline, the start of new lines on her handsome face, a newfound heaviness in how she carries herself. But these developments only serve as proof that she’s fought through every dark and treacherous thing that this job has put her through to make it back to your side, so you’ll embrace them gratefully for as long as she’ll let you.

The softening of your eyes must be more visible than you realise, because an easy smile is quick to take over her face. She traces the pad of her thumb over the familiar curve of your cheekbone and, wordlessly, you understand that the touch is charged with all the things she can’t say right now - things that, though the love you both have for the rest of the QRF is endless, just aren’t meant for their ears.

“Try and get some rest, baby.” A gravelly quality undercuts her low voice, betraying her own fatigue after the night just past. You cup the back of her strong thigh in your hand, soothing your fingers over sore, toned muscle through thick cotton, a charged gesture of your own to show her that you’re here for her too.

You nod your understanding, but draw it out to keep her closer for another few seconds. Though it really hasn’t been that long since you’ve been off-duty and had each other all to yourselves for a few blissful weeks, it’s been long and rough enough for this little intimacy to feel like a gift - one that you don’t feel like giving up just yet. “Yes, ma’am.”

Her smile takes on a sly quality, and she taps your bottom lip in an approving way that you enjoy a little too much. She lowers her voice as she speaks, despite the chorus of conversation all around you, and offers a wink as she departs. “There we go.”

Four hours later, staring at the lofty hangar ceiling, the warmth of Bobby’s presence and the promise behind her eyes are about the only things stopping you from completely losing your mind.

As used to Tex’s snoring and Two Cup’s nocturnal fridge-raids as you are, tonight they wear on your nerves to a new height. Any other time, you’d be able to tune them out into the comfortable white noise they’ve grown to be and drift off to sleep anyways, but now, when those innumerate sets of little eyes are still hovering in your periphery, everything that isn’t dead silence only prolongs your torment.

Hands knotted tensely over your stomach, the cool night air stings against the open flesh around your nail beds where you’ve picked the skin raw. Ceaseless tossing and turning has only caused the stiffness in your back and hips to intensify, and as another painful strain sounds in your lower back as you turn over onto your side again, the sour note of defeat that settles low in your gut is harsh enough for tears to prick at your tired eyes.

You’re pulling at the thin, army-issued blanket over your lower half in search of warmth when a gruff whisper-shout from two cots over cuts through the quiet. “Go to sleep.”

Tucker, half-awake, grumbles at Bobby but she only aims a kick at his blanket-covered legs in response. Judging by his groan of annoyance it connects and you hide a smile behind your cheap pillow as the hangar settles back into silence once more.

Twenty minutes later, when you twist onto your other side and are seriously contemplating getting up and just starting your day now, a rustling of blankets and a heavy set of footfalls break the silence. You’re ready to unleash bloody murder on Two Cups if you have to tolerate his godawful belching in addition to your own self-contained torment, but the footsteps don’t lead to the galley and instead weave down the line of bunks and right in front of yours. Prying tired eyes apart, your addled mind is still trying to make sense of the situation when a wall of cool air hits you as Bobby grasps the threadbare blankets up off of you, and slips underneath them in next to you.

Surprise forces you cognizant, and she’s still fussing around to get comfortable when you rasp out something between a question and a protest. “Bobby- “

“What, you don’ want me no more?” The squeaks and groans of the cot adjusting to both your weights is almost louder than her lowered interjection, but as she settles down and tucks one toned arm under the pillow beneath your head and drapes the other over your waist, her words grow clearer. “Cold, baby.”

It’s suffocating - the sudden closeness of her embrace, the hot press of her body against yours, the love that she couldn’t hide beneath a thousand gruff mock-dismissals or unsuitable situations. Now, she doesn’t even seem to want to; and that’s even more overwhelming.

Almost borne of muscle memory, you grasp her waist and crook your legs so she can tangle hers with them. Her cheek presses against your temple, leaving you to nestle your face into the tender place where the hinge of her jaw meets her neck. You’ve grown breathless without meaning to, and the grace of your lips over the soft skin makes Bobby shift in not displeasure. “You sure?”

Her chest rumbles low against yours as she makes a noise of assent. The warm, comforting flat of her palm finds purchase in the divot of your lower back and soothes over the sore musculature as she nods, and feels an intoxicating notion of pride glow in her chest as you relax into her.

“I’m always sure about you.” Bobby affirms. Squeezing you tight to her, she presses a lingering kiss to your hairline and tucks you in under her chin, grounding the both of you. “Get some rest, honey.”

With the solid drumbeat of her heartbeat under your ear, the snores and footfalls of everyone else around fade into disregard - and, while sleep still feels a little out of reach tonight, in Bobby’s arms you’re more than sure that your heart will find the reprieve from the world it needs.

#i started this like. an hour after finishing 2x04 so that’s why the setting is what it is lol #how this ended up being 1.7k is so unbelievably beyond me but oh well. pls god someone loves her as much as i do 🫶🫶#bobby special ops lioness #bobby special ops lioness x reader #special ops lioness bobby #special ops lioness bobby x reader #bobby sol #bobby sol x reader #special ops lioness #special ops: lioness #bobby lioness #bobby lioness x reader #writing

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johnwickb1tsch · 1 year ago

Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For you.

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

However, it wasn’t so simple as that.

"Whacha thinking, baby girl?"

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

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

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

"No..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You want credit?”

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

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

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

He would know.

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

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

“But–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds illegal in five states.”

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

“Not the way I like, I'm guessin’.”

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

You should encourage Tex to find someone else.

Your heart just doesn't agree.

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

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

***

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

Tex was another matter.

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

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

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

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

You really are a piece of work.

***

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

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

Not now.

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

“I believe we find ourselves at an impasse.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know I do,” you pant.

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

“Fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

😬

it's on? 😈😈😈

@sweetwolfcupcake @treedaddymcpuffpuff @tammykelly

#wicked johnson fic #constantine x reader #constantine x you #john wick #john wick x reader #keanu reeves #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #yandere john wick #tex johnson #tex johnson x you

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your-unfriendlyghost · 19 days ago

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Save me Steviepop-adopting-Tex AU…

Been playing with this, thought y’all might like a tiny sneak peek at what I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout lol

It is a month after Mason left, and Pop is going back to the rodeos.

Tex isn’t surprised, not really. And maybe he’s not completely disappointed, either. There’s more space in the house now.

But it’s quieter, too.

“It’s no big deal. He’s left before,” Tex explains, brushing Casanova, one of the horses, with an old blade.

Sodapop Curtis, an older foal trainer Tex has grown to like, frowns. “So it’s just you? …Alone?”

Tex frowns. “Well…I mean, I still got Johnny,” he says, brushing a dust cloud off the horse.

“Johnny…right,” Soda says, eyes darkening briefly.

“You know Johnny?”

“Naw. Just…used to know a guy named Johnny. Different Johnny. It’s nothing,” Soda says. He undoes the cinch on the saddle with a click, and fumbles with it for a minute before buckling it back on its hook. “You’re just…home alone, then? Other than your buddy?” he repeats, brows knitting together.

That’s all y’all are getting rn, but know there’s a lot more lol. I’ve got pages. I’ve got so many ideas lol, I’m having such a good time.

I do hope it doesn’t take too much from @bleucheeeeeese’s Horse Story. (Which is one of my favorite fics btw it’s AMAZING and you NEED to read it rn I adore it) There’s some similarities, by merit of having Tex and Soda both work at the Kencaide Ranch, and that I am having Soda be a ‘Nam vet, but the themes we’re tackling and the plot I’ve planned are very very different. (I’ve been thinking abt/planning this AU since before I read Horse Story.) That said, if you like this blurb from my AU, please read Horse Story anyhow because it is amazing, incredibly well written, and really damn good at portraying Soda

#the outsiders #steviepop #tex book #tex se hinton #tex mccormick #the outsiders sodapop #sodapop curtis #tex 1982 #my writing #rambling #steviepop tex au #man I love writing Tex y’all #I like the dally-mark-n-tex au fine but I don’t love writing Tex as a little 7/8 year old…he’s more fun to write when he’s his canon age fr

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lolabearwrites · 4 months ago

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I would have loved if Krolia wasn't a good person.

Like yes, Keith reuniting w/ his Galra mother and them fighting for the same cause is rlly nice but...

Damn I would have loved if Krolia wasn't an undercover Blade, and genuinely a part of the empire.

She gets stuck on earth with no way to communicate with the outside world, and does settle down and fall in love w/ Tex because she knows there's no hope to rlly ever leave the planet.

Of course, we know she eventually does get to leave and that's just such an interesting conflict she would be presented with! Keith is a baby, her baby, could she really take him to war? He could stay on earth, But she believes in the Galra cause and is a loyal soldier to a fault, how could she abandon her empire? So she does leave him w/ Tex but promises to return when the Galra Empire wins the war.

Obviously, it takes much longer than anticipated and Keith grows up without a mother, becomes a paladin yada yada

Can you imagine if they met again??? Last time Krolia saw Keith, he was her little kit, and NOW he's not only a paladin of Voltron but also a part of BOM, a group of Galra traitors???? (It does present the plot hole of the knife tho...maybe she kept it as a souvenir of a blade she killed in the past? Yet all this time Keith thought it meant he was a blade legacy or something Idk)

It would be so interesting to see her trying to win him over, and could show us as viewers some of Galra propaganda the empire feeds to its soldiers.

She made the vow to never leave him again, but how far is she willing to take that?

#vld krolia #vld keith #voltron #lola rambles #just some food for thought

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correctrvbquotes · 10 months ago

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Cut to Tucker with his big blue bladey thing, and Donut with his crappy little gun.

Donut: Wow, that's sweet! I like the glowing part. Wh-h does it make cool noises when you swing it?

Tucker: I don't think so... no, wait, is "whoosh" a noise? Because if it is then it does, it goes whoosh whoosh, whshsh, whshthsh, whithishsh, wh-kch, chchchchc, whshsshh, hhshshsh ing, ching, whsch, wheouw. (swings the blade a couple times, making it whoosh in the air) See?

Donut: And you found that in a hole?

Tucker: Yeah dude I was just walking along, following Tex, not really paying attention you know. I fell in some hole. And uh, Tex didn't help me out, she figured she was better off without me, and that's when I found this.

Donut: You know, most people would tell that story in a way that makes it sound a little better.

Tucker: Yeah but, you know, that's not really my style.

Donut: Man, I've never found something that cool in a hole. And I've explored just about every hole you can think of!

Tucker: Hey dude, do me a favor and don't talk like that when I'm playing with my thing.

#s3 #s3e49 #tucker #donut #donut tucker

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sreabhadh · 2 months ago

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I still don't know how Tumblr works. I am still infected with severe strains of the TexAid, Vortex, Combaticons and MechAu diseases though. I have completed part 2/3 of what I've been calling Vortex's death story and am going to attempt to post it with a link to the part 1. Don't know how this works or how it'll go, but eh we'll give it a shot lol.

This is just my take on Vortex's death story, based on Keferon's Mech Au, art, and writing, along with the art and writing of many others that have hopped into this Au and produced some wonderful and inspiring things that have latched onto my brain with a death grip.

If this story interests you, then I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it!

Part 1, if that works 🤞 ☝️⬆️👆

**********************************************************

Vortex’s head pounded sluggishly. He fought for control over his eyelids, willing them to open. When they did, they immediately closed, and he squinted them back open in the painful light. It was hard to make out his surroundings- his eyes were open now but his head was still spinning. He was upright, and he could feel his weight sagging against heavy restraints. Could hear the beeping of monitors and feel IV needles poking through his skin, fluids pumping through his veins, could feel the medical tape on his skin. Another fucking experiment. Or was someone patching him up after a battle? Vortex growled, trying to remember what had happened before he had fallen asleep. There had been a fight. Something bad. Something that made him angry. Then something that had made him happy. He killed someone. Why had he killed someone?

They deserved it, he knew that, but why- the image of Swindle bleeding out flashed in Vortex’s head, Swindle, dangling lifelessly from Brawl’s massive (and massively burned) arms as he barreled through halls, trampling anyone and anything else in his way. Brawl in hysterics. Med techs struggling to sedate Brawl, Brawl raging at them. Swindle’s skin getting paler as the white medical linens on the cot became a darker and darker shade of red. Onslaught and Blast Off trying to calm Brawl down. Swindle in critical condition, hooked up to a dozen machines. They didn’t know it then, but they had been supposed to die. Swindle in particular.

‘Thin the herd. The small one’s the fastest, but he’s also the weakest. Worst fighter among em. The weak link.’

Vortex snarled. They had deserved it, but they deserved so much worse than he had given them, so much worse. They had tried taking Swindle from them. And it might’ve worked. If Swindle didn’t wake up then it would’ve worked. They almost took the others too. Brawl had been so severely burned he’d had to be sedated to heal. Blastoff and Onslaught weren’t in great condition either- they weren’t as fast as Vortex, who had an easier time dodging, and had taken a lot of hits.

The bastards…the bastards who had done it… decided to hook up that weird machine to Swindle’s mech without telling them what it did or that it would make him quint bait… Tex only had memories of killing a couple of the white coats, and one of them had already been dead before he did most of the stabbing. He could remember the feel of the blood on his hands, the sounds of the blade and the other lab coats screaming…he hadn’t been able to kill them all. Or most of them, unless he was just forgetting those killings. Fuck. He might not- probably wouldn’t (but wanted to hope he might)- have another chance to kill them all. Fix his mistake. He should’ve snapped and killed them all ages ago. Cut to the chase and spare his team the misery. Shit. He’d been hoping if he killed enough of them it would leave a big enough power vacuum for Onslaught to take over. Now what would happen? Would Onslaught be blamed? Why hadn’t he been able to kill more of them? What happened?

Vortex tried his usual tricks for slipping out of medical restraints, but these ones were different, sturdier, and the usual tricks didn’t work. If he had gotten caught, why was he alive? His stomach hardened, like someone had filled it with rocks. Were they using him to keep the rest of his squad in line? If they were, that might mean Swindle was doing better. Or they just wanted extra insurance. Or an extra lab rat. If they thought they could keep him trapped here forever to run their sick experiments on though, they were going to have a surprise on their hands. It didn’t matter if he was half-drugged, half-dead or both, he would get out and figure out who had done this to him. Then he’d repay their ‘kindness’ with his own. Maybe he could even finish his killing spree from earlier- there were a lot of people left on his list.

Vortex spun his head around, grunting at the painful vertigo that accompanied the motion. He was in a lab, but not like any of the medical labs he’d been in. The equipment in here was far more complicated than anything Vortex recognized, and the other items were more macabre than he was used to seeing openly displayed in mecha labs. He hadn’t even known jars came in sizes large enough to hold body parts that big. He just hoped they were all quint parts, not human. Not for any love or concern for his fellow species- it was just that Tex’s unit wasn’t particularly on good terms with the higher ups, or anyone else in the facility. And Vortex had always assumed that if he didn’t die on the battlefield or trying to kill everyone, then that’s where he would end up. Cut up in pieces, preserved in jars for future study.

Besides the jars, there were vials with eerie glowing liquids, a faint foul smell, diagrams on the counters, blueprints pinned to the wall- shit, those were prints of Vortex’s mech. What were blueprints of that doing here? What did they want him for, what were they trying to do? And who were they? The guards would’ve shot Tex on sight after what he did, and anyone he assaulted would’ve done the same, assuming they had any amount of skill with a gun. Who-

Vortex spotted it. A mask, helmet-thing, made to cover the entire head. A singular yellow optic dominating the center of the face.

One eye. Shockwave.

The beeping of the monitor increased sharply, and Vortex felt the sweat as it suddenly gathered on his brow. He shuddered involuntarily, body going hot and cold. Vortex remembered what happened before he had been knocked out. Shockwave. He remembered. No no no no no no no no no no no no no no

Vortex struggled against his bonds with renewed effort, he didn’t care what he broke in the process. He could get help later, relocate any joints he popped out of place, set any broken bones, stitch up or bandage any cuts, he didn’t care how much it hurt or how long it took to heal, he had to move, get out, now-

Somewhere behind him, someone cleared their throat. Vortex froze. Please, please, please, don’t let it be him. Please, anyone, but-

“Vortex.”

Vortex bit his lip. There was no way it was anyone but Shockwave, wasn’t it?

“If you move around too much I will have to sedate you immediately. The procedure isn’t complete yet.”

Vortex swallowed. What he wouldn’t do for a few dozen cigs and a room to himself right now. “What procedure?” he asked, hoping he sounded more angry than frightened.

The voice ignored him, and Vortex could hear shuffling notes and typing as the scientist worked.

“What procedure?” he repeated, voice hoarse with dehydration, anger and fear.

The typing stopped. The man released a small breath; impatient. Vortex could hear the chair as its occupant moved to stand, could feel the vibrations through the floor as they walked toward him.

Vortex felt his breathing still and gritted his teeth as the man stepped into view. He was a man, in appearance - but Vortex could hear the quiet fizzing sound and see the slightly blurry quality to the skin. He was wearing another hologram. He was wearing the face of Shockwave, the old one from the earliest days of the mecha program, when Shockwave himself had been a pilot. He had a handsome face, quite different from the polished mess of impervious robotics Vortex knew must be hiding underneath. It was little wonder the man had so many masks. He looked so different like this, so normal, Vortex could almost believe he was there just to give him a check up.

Along with context and common sense, the set to the former pilot’s former face and the look in his eyes told Vortex there was nothing so casual or carefree about this visit. This situation. Vortex was slagged. Well and truly fucked. He’d be lucky to get out of this alive. Then again, he might be luckier to get out of it dead, depending on what Shockwave had planned for him.

Questions rolled around in Vortex’s head, spinning and colliding with each other as he fought his body’s urge to shake like a leaf in the wind. Shockwave regarded him, eyes cold. Vortex shivered. Under that gaze he felt like a misbehaving piece of equipment, about to be dissected, deconstructed, and pinned to the wall. Pieces either discarded or replaced entirely, shoved back together until he did exactly what he was supposed to, nothing left except what they wanted. What Shockwave wanted.

“It’s not important for you to know. I could explain it all to you, but it wouldn’t matter, even if you understood.” Shockwave cocked his head. “You’re not going to remember this, you see. It could get messy if you did, afterall, and I want this to go as smoothly as possible.”

Vortex was silent for far longer than he wanted to, struggling to get his mouth to open and his voice to work. “Won’t remember what?” he managed.

“This part of the procedure. As well as the first few days before it.” Shockwave shrugged nonchalantly, and a tiny part of Vortex’s brain recognized that most would see the simple gesture as extremely attractive done with Shockwave’s appearance and aloof mannerism. Mostly Vortex recognized how little Shockwave cared about Vortex’s plight, his life or his concerns.

“Take too much off and you might not work the same, but take too little and you’ll simply go back to killing people. I’ve calculated how much I need, and once I’m done with this and the rest of the prepwork, you’ll be ready for the final doses. It’s a long shot that any of this works, but that’s what tests like this are for. If it works on you I can study this method until I’ve perfected it. If it doesn’t…well I have other hypotheses to test.”

“What are you doing to me?”

Shockwave smiled, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes- and not just because they were holograms or something.

“I’m resurrecting you.”

Vortex forgot how to breathe for several excruciating heartbeats.

“This is the first time I’m attempting it, so there’s no guarantee it will work, but all science starts somewhere.”

“If it comforts you, I will give you a favorable death- a heroically tragic last stand fighting insurmountable odds. You’ll go out in a blaze of glory- though, perhaps, having seen footage of your fights, I should say you’ll go out in a blaze of gore instead.”

Vortex felt his throat muscles working, but nothing came out when he opened his mouth. His questions had been spooked into hiding, his defiance shocked into submission. His body quivered, and Vortex cursed his lack of control over his own limbs.

“You’re quite resilient, even for a pilot. I dare say you’re the best candidate for this experiment- you’re arguably the best fighter we currently have, and your bond with your mech…”

Shockwave shook his head vaguely. “I frankly haven’t seen anyone as in touch with their mech as you are since..." Shockwave's eyes grew distant, a shade colder, and mournful, the edges of his lips twitching into a fondly bittersweet smile.

"It’s really quite impressive.”

Shockwave's eyes refocused, and he smiled pleasantly at Vortex. This time the expression touched his eyes as well- the sight made Vortex’s stomach twist painfully.

“You should consider this an honor. If this project works, you may even thank me. It’s not everyday one gets resurrected as living metal, after all. It’s almost statistically impossible.”

Living metal? Living…metal? Did this have something to do with the blueprints of his mech on the wall? He hoped not. What would be left of him, assuming this ‘experiment’ worked in the first place? Would he survive? If it didn’t work and he died, he died. If it did work, what would happen then? What would Shockwave do, what would Vortex become? Would his teammates- his brothers- even recognize him? Would he even see them again? He’d gone into this assuming he would probably die… did the others have any idea where he was, what had happened? No, they would’ve burned the base down looking for him. How long had it been? A few hours, a day, several? Were they okay? Did Onslaught have things handled, had Swindle recovered yet?

He needed to know. And the best source of information, until he got out, was Shockwave.Vortex summoned his anger to overpower his fear. So what if he was the phantom Vortex had been having nightmares of since he was a kid? He was just another person, which meant he had to have a weak point somewhere. He just needed to stay alive long enough to locate it. Then he could gut him like anyone else and return to his team. The thought was comforting, though it was more false bravado than Tex would care to admit.

“What about my unit? What’s happened to them? You must have a lot of guts if you think you can stop them.”

The scientist tilted his head curiously. “They have their uses, and are an exemplary fighting unit. However, be that as it may, I’m afraid your little ‘combaticons’ aren’t ever going to be the same.”

Vortex snorted, letting the false bravado take over, baring his teeth like a cornered rat. “And the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

Shockwave sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. The fingers made contact with his nose- not clipping through, fizzing, or blurring like Tex had expected them too. Wait. Was that his real face? He had been certain it wasn’t. He looked too normal. How did that work?

Shockwave pulled a stool from beside the counter, and sat down, regarding him with strained patience. He raised a finger.

“As you know, your leader, unit 10, ‘Onslaught,’ along with unit 12, was on track to graduate the pilot program and was soon to join the table with mecha’s elite. That was before you went rogue.” Shockwave paused, giving Vortex an appraising look, as if checking to make sure he really was smart enough to know that much.

Vortex grunted. Shockwave gave him a disapproving look, but continued speaking. “They still are, for now, but whether they make it or not is up to them. If he goes rogue like you did, we will have to scrap him as well, though I’d rather not do that- he’s exactly what I’ve been looking for to get mecha turned back around. Too many in the company have grown lax- plump with riches and lazy in their authority. It’s what allowed you to pull that stunt you did, and it’s wasting resources. I believe with Onslaught- and ‘Swindle,’ mecha’s performance would increase substantially.”

“Which gives me more time for this.” Shockwave made a broad gesture to the lab. The scientist’s eyes narrowed piercingly. “And that is something I happen to value greatly.”

“The other two- 13 and 14- I have no personal issue with- they do form a liability however.”

“If you hurt either of them, Onslaught will never help you,” Vortex spat. Onslaught always protected them. Kept them going, kept them safe. Except… Vortex was here, hooked up, chained down, and at the lead scientist’s mercy. And Onslaught wasn’t here. Swindle had nearly died. Brawl had been sedated, Blast Off and Onslaught were full of stitches. Vortex was here. They’d all been hurt, and Onslaught hadn’t stopped it. Hadn’t been able to. They’d been hurt again, but the base was still standing. Where was Onslaught’s rage? Didn’t he see mecha needed to burn for their lives to change? Where was he?

“Hm. Perhaps. I have more control than you realize… but I understand your point. No, I don’t intend to harm them. There will be those who would wish to eliminate them, along with the rest of your crew, but they are veterans. Their experience is valuable, and your sins will have removed competitors from the board. That is favorable to certain members of mecha. Your unit members won’t be without a measure of support. That will allow them to continue serving in mecha as pilots, which is mercy enough after what you’ve done. Not that anyone will know that.”

“Know what?”

“What you’ve done, of course.”

Vortex scoffed, offended. “I murdered multiple head mecha top dogs. They’re dead. With a roomful of witnesses you didn’t let me vaporize. You’re dumber than Brawl if you really think you can hide something like that.”

“Murdered? You must be mistaken. They were each given a leave of absence. It’s not mecha’s responsibility if they were met with misfortune after the fact.”

Vortex’s jaw dropped a millimeter. Shockwave said that so easily and smoothly, like he was discussing the weather or what he wanted to have for lunch. When Vortex killed things, he was as messy as he could be- it was more fun that way. But at least he felt something when he was violent- even if that feeling was bloodlust. Shockwave clearly didn’t feel anything. They were just obstacles in his way, like a piece of shrapnel keeping a wound from closing. Removed, disposed of, and never given a second thought. Vortex swallowed. The rumors of Shockwave and how dangerous he was hadn’t been exaggerations. If anything, they probably didn’t do him justice.

“And the lab coats who saw me do it?”

“Gas leak. Caused by the ineptitude and negligence of the executives we unfortunately had to let go. The poisoning from the gas caused dizzy spells, short-term memory issues, and some minor hallucinations. Truly an unfortunate accident, but those responsible have been punished, and those affected have been repaid.”

Shockwave’s face was a mask of feigned concern, which Vortex found revolting. Sick two-faced bastard. He’d even covered up Vortex’s murder spree. Vortex wasn’t particularly proud of said murder spree, seeing as he hadn’t actually killed enough people to call it a spree, and it had been over way too soon, but still. He still would’ve gone down in history and in hallway gossip as the mad pilot that snapped and killed a bunch of people. Rumors spread and carried weight, even when they weren’t true. Now, it was, what? Swept under the rug and sanitized like it had never happened? Like he hadn’t done that, and it didn’t matter one way or another.

“And what about me?”

“You were never there. You were preparing for a solo mission while the rest of your team healed from their injuries.”

“My team will notice.”

“Your team is busy licking their wounds. When they wake it’ll be too late. You’ll be dead.”

Vortex flinched like he’d been struck. “You said I’d be resurrected.”

“If it works. You’ll have to die first, but if you survive, that will mean it worked, and I can continue the experiment.”

“You-”

“You will be dead to them either way,” Shockwave interjected coldly before Vortex could spout the string of curses in his head. “Speaking of which-” Shockwave rose slowly. “You have delayed me enough. It is time.”

Shockwave came closer- though not close enough to bite- and adjusted some dials on the machines Vortex was hooked into. Vortex could feel the sleeping drug or whatever it was entering his system. “Sleep now, and cease distracting me with your pointless questions. When you wake you won’t remember this happened, and when you die you’ll be a hero. Try not to fail. If the experiment fails, I may have to try again on one of your other units, and I would like to keep their services for now.”

Vortex tried to cuss, but whatever was pumping in his veins was working real damn fast. His tongue felt like lead and his eyelids began to droop. His head hung down, too heavy to keep up, his limbs began to go limp, and as his senses faded into the ether, he heard two words, cold and soft, like a breath of frigid winter air right down his back.

“Goodbye, 11.”

**********************************************************

Hopefully it won't be too long until part 3 is out (and I figure out how Tumblr works and have them all neatly linked together) but 🤷‍♀️ We'll see lol.

#mech au #keferon #vortex #shockwave #jenga writing #transformers

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elejahfanfic · 1 month ago

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The Shadowcatcher's Heart_

_fanfiction_excerpt

_oc_Jack Dekker

_Major Mira Killin

●

"We should have no feelings. That's what they taught us. To be able to do this job. But we do. You couldn't save Tex. He chose to go in the 'nest' on his own without back up." Mira said.

Jack remained silent staring into empty space. He took another good swag of the beer. It was one of those days that weighed heavy on the soul.

Mira, Tex, Roo, and he came together to form the Crew during their battle on Mars 1. Their bond transcended mere teamwork- they were brothers-in-arms.

Flashback

Years back

"You have been selected to join an elite unit: the Special Air Service. Though you are human, your skills are extraordinary, akin to one in a trillion. You possess speed, agility, and intelligence that rival any replicant. Mother Nature has truly excelled in your design." Colonel Rabb remarked as he rose from his desk. "However, there is one area where you fall short—your emotions. But we will instruct you on how to manage them."

But that was one skill he never mastered fully. It was his mother's words before he was taken away that always made him value the fact that he was human and had emotions.

'They will tell you not to express their emotions. And it is equivalent to asking to suppress your very essence. Don't ever do it. Master hiding it, but never give up - on feeling. Whatever it is.'

Suddenly, he stood up and took his coat. "Come on. We'll avenge him."

"Jack! Stop!" Mira shot up and took hold of her partner. "The anger won't solve anything. You'll lose the job. Be disgraced. And what will you do then?"

"Go away. To the Off-World. Disappear."

"You're talking gibberish. I know that this is not just about Tex." Mira then said. "I know that you pushed Lena away, because of the threat on you."

Jack's eyes grew wide with astonishment. "How do you-?"

"I saw Lena at Nova the morning she left for London. She told me that you send her a message in which you tell her to stay away from you. And that you blocked her calls." Mira said.

"It's for the best. I'm no good. There's nothing I can offer her. Our friendship was an illusion. A stupid dream." Jack demeanour turned somber and distant.

"You are punishing yourself - and it's stupid. And we don't do stupid! I'm taking you out of here - we're going to the sancuary." Mira took his coat and guided him to the door.

Soon after, they reached Rock City Park near Olean. As requested, during his Blade runner training, Jack had chosen that location as his place of refuge.

The unique landscape of towering boulders provided him with a profound sense of comfort and safety. Connecting with the natural environment had always enabled him to restore his equilibrium, drawing upon his inner strengths.

Mira let him roam on his own. When he reached his favourite spot, he finally let his emotions he had bottled up flow freely. Tears streamed down his cheeks, mingled with deep sobs emanating from the depths of his soul.

@darknightfrombeyond

#oc jack dekker #major mira #alternative universe #fanfiction #fd/blade runner #the shadowcatcher's heart #wip #cyberpunk #science fiction

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silver-tooth-the-panther · 10 months ago

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Some Ideas For A TADC

AU!

Now, I’ve had some ideas since I got into The Amazing Digital Circus, so I figured I should share them!

First off, I thought up of an OC! He’s a tall navy blue wolf plushie that has yellow slinkies (yes, the spring toys) for his neck, legs, and arms! His eyes are similar to Barnaby from Billie Bust Up, but instead of them being different shades of orange, they are different shades of purple. His name is Party Animal (his human name is Percy Atticus) and he’s a rather strange one at the circus. Party doesn’t seem to care about finding the exit…I wonder why…

Anyways! There another idea that I had as well. What happens to the memories and character traits that are removed from the humans when they go inside the digital world? Well, perhaps they are turned into whole other beings that get thrown to the depths of the digital world!

Here are the creatures known as The Identities!

Penny (Pomni): Penny is a black and white character who wears a white suit with a black suit vest. A soft bow tie takes the place of a normal tie and a spear’s blade takes the place of where the bell should be on her tail. She still has her signature jester hat, but it is black and white and bears no bells. Her eyes are as dark as tar and tiny white spirals replace her pupils. A bone is wielded in her hand at all times. Her and Bubble would get along well, since they have the same smile. She does seem to wear a mask that covers the rest of her face though…Personality wise, She’s sweet, but can be rather off putting, and is incredibly loyal. Just don’t let her horrific appearance fool you, she’s a sweet lad. She’s the official leader of this rag tag gang.

Annie (Ragatha): A weeping raggedy doll who has a serrated mouth and one loose button eye. Her functioning eye was ripped out, thus she is completely blind. Her dress is covered in rips and tears and her mitten hands are covered in black blood and have been turned into sharps claws. She cries most of the time, she carries the burdens of Ragatha’s past life. Luckily, Penny makes for great company (and a lovely girlfriend!)

File 1 (Jax): His real file name is 17384295, but his friends just shorten it down to 1. Since he is an NPC, File 1 is supposed to exist in the circus, but here he is! He’s mostly silent, but is very loyal to the Queen. File 1’s senses are incredibly heightened senses. This mixed in with his teleportation abilities makes him a lethal prankster! His body is a bulky, black mass with long arms and a head that resembles a rabbit. Red teeth and eyes glow on his face. If you miss them, you’ll never know he’s there…

File 2 (Gummigoo): File 258963 is his real name, but the gang shortens his name too. This creature is a melted mass that fused with machinery to keep his body as stable as it could be. File 2 is the most rational of the group and remembers every little detail. Even details that never existed…

Angel (Gangle): This mess of ribbons of broken masks is best described as unpredictable and shy. The only mask that isn’t broken is a pitch black one that has a strange eye to the left. She typically serves as the group’s security.

Zoey (Zooble): Oh where to begin on this mess. They’re quite literally in shambles! This creature is made from various parts of random beasts! A bear’s leg, a dragon’s tail, a donkey’s hoof, you name it all! They seem to be very depressed and tends to sleep than play.

Kevin (Kinger): A broken king chess piece with a makeshift mouth, spider legs, and veins connecting its hands and eyes to its body? What could possibly be creepy about this one? He’s incredibly stable and is typically the one you go to when you need a problem solved!

Tex (Party): Tex is a black furred, two-headed beast. One of his head bears no soul, so it limbs down and its eyes swing from side to side. His limbs are now made of jump rope and his claws are large enough to pierce the heart of any human. STAY AWAY FROM HIM! This creature is genuinely abusive and will try to steal your code to free itself from the depths. He was the one who blinded Annie and who overthrew Penny. Maybe…that’s all about to change…

That’s a wrap! I hope you enjoy this little idea! If you wanna leave any questions or requests for this AU, my ask box is always open!

#the amazing digital circus #tadc #tadc pomni #tadc jax #tadc ragatha #tadc caine #tadc gangle #tadc kinger #tadc au #tadc zooble #tadc oc #tadc original character #ragapom #buttonblossom #jesterdoll

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polyamarhousgarden · 5 months ago

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Selfshiptober Day 5

All Dressed Up | Blade

"They've always been like this, Eliot, you just never noticed."

In which, in a particular con, they had Clara take over as the main grifter while everyone sets the scene and for the first time Eliot sees that they are capable of presenting themself as more than the quiet and almost conservative teammate that could tell convincing lies.

Seeing Clara flirting and smiling and giggling away while speaking with their mark using a soft British accent was something that made Eliot pause.

Fake accent aside, what would it feel like if Clara flirted with him?

This is around nearing the end of season 1

Taglist+Uncaptioned under the cut!

TAGLIST: @tex-treasures

Please tell me if you wanna be added to the taglist through the rbs or comments!!

#self ship #self shipping #fictional other #self ship community #marh rambles #selfship community #polyamarhous art #self insert #fandom: leverage #f/o: eliot spencer #eliot spencer x oc #s/i: clara marie dayanghirang #selfshiptober #selfshiptober 2024 #ship: You're a risk I'm willing to take

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braverynight · 11 months ago

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Meet the Sheep Twins

I’ve been kinda obsessed with an AU where the Lamb and the Ex-Bishops go to a far off land to spread the word of Lamb and stumble upon these sheep twins

Valais, or Val as her friends call her, is aggressive and tough, proficient in all weapons and always has a minimum of 20 blades on her person at all times. Kinda necessary when you escaped a genocide. She loves to cause chaos but reels it back when her brother tells her to.

Texel, or Tex for short, is the calmer more educated one of the twins. While his sister studied the blade, he studied archery and magics, and is a pretty good shot with magic and a bow. Whenever they aren’t on the run, Texel likes to read all the books he can find, educating himself on the happenings of their old home, hoping one day they can return and see if they can rebuild their old lives.

Anyways yeah! I love me a “The Lamb isn’t the last of their kind” AU!!!

#use them if you want! just give me credit #cult of the lamb #cotl #cotl fanart #cotl oc #cotl au #au idea #my art #brave rambles

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lilflowerpot · 2 years ago

Note

If a galran (such as Krolia) disappeared, and then later returned to the galra empire (not the blade of marmora, the empire) with a hybrid child (such as keith) how would people react and what would happen to them?

In my original post concerning Krolia taking him with her, I did indeed say that she'd make a beeline for the BoM, but I also touched upon the general reaction of the Empire as a whole:

In Imperial circles, the ramifications of bearing a hybrid kitling can range quite dramatically from being side-eyed at one’s choice in bedfellow, to disgust and outrage at having sullied the gene-pool… though this extreme is reserved for the Empire’s strict traditionalists, many of whom still perpetuate racist attitudes within galra circles, so you see why they’d be so upset by a hybrid. As I’ve said before, harming a galra child (even if said child is a hybrid) is distinctly ingalran and goes against their principles, as all children are culturally precious; sequestering a hybrid child away so as to conceal their family’s shame, however, would not be out of the question.

For argument's sake, let's say Krolia's backstory unfolds as it did in canon, except Tex dies, so she takes Keith back with her and for whatever reason is maybe intercepted by an Imperial vessel before she gets to the Blade. In this scenario, there's no hiding that she has an obviously ingalran child with her, and so of course she has to claim him as her own thus revealing that he's a hybrid. As stated above, harming a galra child (hybrid or no) is out of the question, and Krolia certainly wouldn't be the first Imperial soldier to have produced hybrid offspring, so more than likely Keith's existence would be formerly recorded and he would become an official citizen of the Empire; accommodations would be made and Krolia would likely be transferred to a military position at one of the quieter nursery colonies (which would be of little use to the Blade, but a wonderful place to raise a child) and though it's not impossible that Keith would still experience a certain degree of othering from his peers for being so overtly ingalran—especially those from more "traditional" bloodlines—I'm inclined to believe that he'd actually have been happier among the galra than he was among humans, due to his instinctual behaviours aligning far more closely with this side of his parentage.

Ultimately, Keith would grow up as the galra do, with a vast extended family of peers and parental figures alike, he would have discovered his love of flying early on, and despite his dubiuos bloodline the Imperial military wouldn't want to waste talent like that so he'd have been encouraged to serve his Emperor as best he could. When the red lion is discovered, and the best of the best are being submitted as potential paladins, Keith naturally would want to throw his hat into the ring and maybe it's a trial, maybe there's resistance from the higher-ups because if their finest were unable to claim the mighty crimson beast then what could a half-breed possibly offer, but,,, maybe, just maybe, he gets his chance.

And maybe, this time, the red paladin of voltron wears the Emperor's colours.

#Ao3 Little Blade #sa screams back #keith kogane #BoM #other aus

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bentosandbox · 2 years ago

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LaTers lyrics TL

youtube

keysmashed this out quickly yesterday because i think we're not going to get an official one

disclaimer: done with the power of JLPT N3 and a honorary texlapp doctorate also i tried to reword some the english lyrics to make them make sense

texas / lappy / both

この身を盾にして影は背中に迫っていた My self as his trump card, his shadow approaches my back

自由を縛ったのは自分か世界のせいか Who was it that bound my freedom, was it me or the world

境界を踏み越えて満ちる騒がしさを知った I step over the boundary, and am full of the turbulence I knew

狂乱を巻き込んだ力戦いで示すだけEasy My power engulfed by frenzy, demonstrating it in battle is easy

昨日に追い付かれるのか Will yesterday catch up with me

明日を追い駆けるのか Will I chase after tomorrow

Which one do you like? Which path will you take?

さよなら告げるために此処にいる ‘Goodbye’, I came here to say this

最初から揺らがない覚悟を持って From the very start, with my unwavering resolve

打ち砕け Sink or swim Break into pieces, sink or swim

逃さないよ Stop bugging me Can't get away, stop irking me

Fight to the last 速度を上げるStory Fight to the last, speed up the story

追憶を振り切って Break from your memories

何の因果が結んだ聞こえない振りは止めてよね Just what kind of fate has tied us together? Stop pretending you can’t hear me, okay?

重く感じた刃に縋り付くのは記憶 My blades feel so heavy, with the weight of my memories clinging on

愛憎の重なった玩具（おもちゃ）ぶつけ合えばいいよ Playthings of both love and hate, it’s fine to smash them together

退路は塞がったままで信じた道を歩んでくJourney My path of retreat still closed off, I set off on the journey I believe in

受け入れて楽しもうか Why not accept it and have fun?

掻き消して進もうか Why not drown it all out and move on?

Which one do you like? Which path will you take?

さよなら高くついた代償は ‘Goodbye’, an expensive farewell

これから斬り伏せて払えばいい From now on, I cut down whomever I please

Live in this world And live in this world

過去から地続きの夢を見た I dreamed of a connection from the past

未来へと臨むため現在（いま）を行こう Let’s head towards the present (now) to face the future

いつかは… Someday…

ありがとう次を描きたいから ‘Grazie’, I’ll express this next (time)

応えよう剣先に触れる音で Come on, respond, with the sounds of our sword points touching(🤨

さよなら告げるために此処にいる 'Goodbye', I came here to say this

最初から揺らがない覚悟を持って From the very start, with my unwavering resolve

忘れないで Be the light Don’t forget now, be the light

夜明けまで Slash the darkness Until day breaks, slash the darkness

Fight to the last A fight to the last

速度を上げて行け Come on, let’s speed things up

もう止められない程 (Til) it can’t be stopped no more

追憶を振り切って Break from your memories

I'm guessing it's supposed to be the 'later' in ‘see you laters’ if La = Lappland and te = texas what is rs relationship???

lines that made me ????

Which one do you like?

my gut() is telling me it's more along the lines of 'which path do you like better' so i went with 'Which path will you take?'

逃さないよ Stop bugging me

was wavering between the first part referring to tex (as in lapp telling her she can't run away forever) but the 'stop bugging me' convinced me its referring to herself being unable to escape the quagmire

ありがとう次を描きたいから

nobody corrected me on twitter so i take it my reading isn't horribly off lmfao..texas saying thank you to LAPP?? dio mio

#arknights #i should tag all these tl posts under something #bentotexto #convinced that we got no lappy content for almost 3 years because HG/yostar were saving money to afford mingosu because wtf #this song is like tailormade for an animatic but i dont want to retread stuff i already drew before dot dot dot

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johnwickb1tsch · 11 months ago

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THE DEVILS' TRIANGLE

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

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

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

ALL CHAPTERS

PART 9

Johnwickb1tsch:

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

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

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

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

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

For you.

However, it wasn’t so simple as that.

"Whacha thinking, baby girl?"

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

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

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

"No..."

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

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

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

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

“You want credit?”

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

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

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

He would know.

“But–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds illegal in five states.”

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

“Not the way I like, I'm guessin’.”

You should encourage Tex to find someone else.

Your heart just doesn't agree.

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

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

***

Tex was another matter.

You really are a piece of work.

***

Not now.

“I believe we find ourselves at an impasse.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

“You know I do,” you pant.

“Fuck.”

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

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

Sweetwolfcupcake:

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

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

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

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

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

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

lo spettro

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

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

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

"Had a busy night with your plaything?"

Ah, of course...

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

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

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

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

"Our bedroom is none of your business."

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

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

You glare up at him.

The audacity.

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

Your glare charges into a sardonic smile--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are afraid to lose him.

You are afraid to be abandoned again.

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

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

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

Tammykelly:

Songs to get in ya feels:

Karma by Summer Walker

Stand still by Sabrina Claudio

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

- a flashback -

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

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

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

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

“Princessa”, - his deep voice greets you.

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

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

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

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

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

His eyebrows twitch, while his eyes search yours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Treedaddymcpuffpuff:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry,” he tells you sheepishly.

“Same,” you reply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

•

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

“it’s actually my shit.”

He laughs. “Tell me about it.”

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

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

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

“The same? I’m confused, y/n.”

“They all look like… John Constantine.”

•

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

“What the fuck.” Tex groans.

“Where’s y/n?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.. yeah. I’m good,” Tex nods.

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

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

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

•

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

gif from pinterest

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

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

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