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running-with-kn1ves · 7 months

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Drunken Stupor

A/N: this is based off of that drunken yan gangster idea that I couldn't get out of my head. I might rewrite it or do it differently but this is 4 u my 1 gangster lovin' anon for now!

OG Yandere Gangster Drabble (nsft) w/ da Yan Gangster Ramble

TW: kidnapping, drunken yandere, noncon kissing (no nsft), threats, toxic behavior,

Puzzles, accompanied by whatever news channel you could get through. Paint-by-number pictures, and shitty DVD’s from another time. Horribly thin sheets and an aching back--- you were completely, utterly, and seemingly irrevocably, isolated. The tight handcuffs around your feet only allowed you to hop around the house, barely making it to the front door before you tripped over the rug and nosedived into the cold, black floor.

How long has it been? When was the last time you felt the spring wind on your face? You weren’t even allowed to open the windows, out of your captors fear of you screaming for help, even with him right next to you. He gave you countless things to keep yourself entertained, whether they be knitting grandma-like sweaters or taking up a different artistic hobby, anything that could keep you in one spot for long without the need to move or the option to hurt yourself.

You were tempted to scream, to throw your half-finished puzzle at the wall and destroy the nice room set up for you that once belonged to the lone bachelor-- who, was much later than usual tonight. Your throat was too sore to keep up with the screaming however, and you pushed it to the back of your mind to try again tomorrow. If he came home all of a sudden and found you screaming at the ripe hour of 11 PM, he might do more than just threaten with one of his switchblades.

You hated being around the bastard, feeling so terrified and weak like maybe today would finally be your last-- but at this point, you were going insane being by yourself for so long. Even a nice screaming match with him until your voice finally left you would more desirable than watching another 80s thriller that would haunt your dreams, alone. For someone who wasn’t home very often, he certainly had an extensive collection of old gangster movies, romcoms too even. But you couldn’t put Sixteen Candles on again without wanting to rip your eyes out-- not even one of his five million copies of The Godfather. Who needs that many copies of the same movie?

Your exhausted, beaten-down brain jolted at the sound of someone jerking at the door handle. The door practically thumped with the lock against the wall, dust raining as it was violently ripped back and forth. But then came the familiar jangle of an overloaded key ring, one you had heard most nights for what you can only assume has been the past month.

Finally, your spiked anxiety crashed when you saw those familiar, much-too-shiny-for-a-gangster-to-be-wearing black leather shoes thump inside. You peaked your head out from your sitting position near the opened bedroom door, trying to get a glimpse without getting up and alerting him of your presence. It was inevitable for him to come to you, his kidnapee, but you tried to postpone the smothering for as long as possible. Maybe now was the time to chuck that puzzle.

“You reallyyy gotta hold *hic* on mee…”

Mismatched footsteps trudged, stopping first to hit the corner of what you could only assume was the livingroom loveseat.

“Move outa ma way, couch! ..Even though you… treeat me *hic* badlyy..”

You heard the raking of fingernails on the couch cushions, the clink of a bottle rolling on the ground back and forth. You didn’t dare look back through the door crack. Maybe you should shut it? Lord knows what that would cause him to do, though.

“You still gotts’a hold on me…”

The sing-songy voice came closer, belonging to the madman you dreaded the return of. Within the crack of the door you saw a dark silhouette, the TV casting a face-shadowing glow that made you just an inch more terrified.

“Hey, baby…” He hiccuped.

“Well that’s new,” You started, looking away from him back to your puzzle. “When did I become your ‘baby’?”

He moaned thoughtfully, thinking about your rhetorical question. “After you kidnapped me, I suppose?”

Maybe it was wrong to poke the beast, especially because he smelled like dirty whiskey and had three buttons too loose on his dress shirt, showing a deep scar betwixt his faint chest hair. A vulnerable image he’d never let you witness soberly.

“Hrmmm….” He pushed his entire weight on the door, letting it creak open as he looked at you with a smile.

“I dunno…maybe.” He laughed a little, giving a small snort like a schoolboy hearing his first nasty joke.

You rolled your eyes. Damn, as if you weren’t on edge before, now you were going to have to deal with the equivalent of a murderous toddler who’s been threatening to hurt you ever since you were first brought here. Drunken fools were best left at the bar.

But your icy demeanor didn’t sway his unsettingly good mood, the gangster opening the door all the way to flop onto your (unwillingly) shared bed. He dug his face into the sheets that smelled like you, looking at the back of your head that was pressed against the edge of the mattress.

“Was thinkin’ bout’cha…” He murmurs, tugging at a strand of your hair from behind. “Couldn’t stop talkin’ to the boys, ‘bout how pretty you are..”

The short yanks at your hair to get your attention were becoming annoying, though you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of glaring face-to-face.

“Told em’ how nice you look when yer sleepin’, when ya brush ya teeth, sayin’ that they’re not allowed to have ya....”

You hummed in response, trying to bend away to get closer to your puzzle. But you could sense the bubbling in your stomach, could feel that something was coming. Whether it’d be a bunch of slobbered kisses or your early demise, you couldn’t tell.

“Oh really?” You asked, knowing he’d been adamant on not saying a word or letting make a peep about your existence in his gang-funded condo.

“Yah, I did. Don’t believe me? Said i’d cut their fingers off, like boss does when some’n fucks up. I’d slam into em, make em watch while I...”

He went quiet, and you thanked whatever made him. Whatever he said, you didn’t want to know; you’d already had enough of an unwilling look into his violent thoughts.

“Well, doesn’t matter now, right... ‘cause now I gots’ya here. Mmph,” You hear him kick his shoes off, his face coming up to bury in your hair. “Smellin’ so good, lookin’ so nice fr’ me… wanting you so bad.”

The sound of him inhaling you, his nose pressed to your neck as he shimmies his head deeper against you like a cat is uncomfortably warm. You feel two hands creep up, looking for your shoulders to push you back and make you more accessible.

The gangster wasn’t normally so affectionate, so quiet and simple when he spoke. You were waiting for it to be replaced by his normal, angrily resentful behavior, the type that’d pull you by the hair to kiss you, that’d rant about the idiots he’d had to deal with for the day at you. But maybe, just maybe, you were in the clear for now?

“You’re acting weird,” You try to jerk away. “I’m not in the mood to entertain you, okay? Just, let me do my puzzle in peace. Go take a shower or something.”

He’s quick to respond, wrapping veiny arms around your shoulders and dangerously close to your neck.

“Nuh huh, not unless yer comin’ with me, wanna show how much I loove you,” His head pops up closer to yours, the stressed crinkles under his eyes making him look older. “Cuz’ baby, you reallyy gotta hold on mee..”

“Stop stop stop.” You couldn’t take the second-hand embarassment of listening him to try to sing again, horribly off key and far too confident in each drawn out word. “What do I have to do to stop you from singing again?”

“I can’t hold it in though. Love’s too strong for you, love.” His disheveled hair, once slicked back in an oily black, now strewn about across his forehead as it nearly covers his eyebrows. He presses his forehead towards you. “Lemme kiss. Told the boys you give the best kisses, lemme prove it..”

“Prove what-- they’re not even here!” You try to go under his arm-barricade, only to be stopped as he practically puts his full weight forward, dragging him with you each time you move.

“Lovin’ you for so long, jusst a kiss, just one kith..” He reaches for your cheek with his lips, ignoring how you whip your head around in retaliation.

“No, no! You stink like a bar and ciggarettes, get off me.”

He grunts in frustration, biting down on his lower lip as his dark, full eyebrows furrow together.

“Let me kiss or i’ll.. I’ll gut you like a fish, my lovely..”

You stopped at that, looking out of the corner of your eye to his pink-tinted cheeks and strong neck that sweated at the sight of you.

He puts a ringed knuckle to your cheek, huffing as his eyes go half-lidded. His suit was all wrinkled from rolling around on the bed, dirty with the day’s work and bar-stench as he forced you back against the end of the mattress.

“C’mon, don’t make me say stuff like that just for a kiss…” He whined, scooting closer. “Maybe I’ll start singing again, y’knoww, if y’don’t come close.”

“Please just… don’t hurt me.” You mumbled, trying to avoid that blank, dark look he often held that came crawling back a moment ago. You didn’t want that sober side right now; this was somehow easier to handle, even if it meant losing your dignity.

“Don’t wanna, never will,” He hums, staring unbothered at your lips, as if he wasn’t holding you tight enough to suffocate. “S’just kiss me, need it bad..”

You looked around, as if there was anyone else looking, trying to avoid the task that made you shiver inside.

But you didn’t get a chance to reject the drunken gangster again, his wet lips coming against the side of your face. He poked the tip of his tongue out, flicking against your lip before going tongue-first into your surprised mouth.

Anytime he had tried to kiss you, to do anything overtly intimate, the most he released was the silent huffs of a man too wrapped up in himself to let you hear anything of pleasure. But now, you witnessed the lewd shlops of his lips against yours, the neediness of the back of his throat, groaning to be deeper inside of you.

One of his heavy hands cradled the back of your head, his stupor not caring (or rather, not noticing) how little you moved, how you seemed to be backing into his large palm that massaged your hair.

“Loved’ya forever, so happy you were so stupid…” He mumbles between licks to the corner of your lip, diving back into the sticky warmth of you. “What kinda… mph, idiot, doesn’t..hugh, report to the police..?”

With his arm once wrapped around you, the gangster takes your limp wrist to his collar, bringing it to hold his loose tie. He makes you drag him closer, guiding your slow and frowning lips in his one-sided makeout session.

“Not’ma fault, making your life so much better now.. N’now, you’re mine.” He grins, a stupid little grin from the alcohol and delusion swarming his head as he consumes you, fingers coming to fiddle with your cotton T-shirt as he draws lines down your chest. “My sweet sunshine, all mine, forever n’ ever.”

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plush-rabbit · 1 year

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Dating Jonathan Ohnn/The Spot Headcanons

Okay, so when I write jonathan/spot I'm keeping it close to what we have seen and the general vibe from him but also how im interpreting him so here is what I headcanon dating him like and a bit of him in general!!

Jonathan Ohnn:

Jonathan Ohnn is awkward by default. While there are moments where’s confident, around you, he falls back to feeling young. All he wants to do is impress you, but when he stumbles and can’t find the right words to compliment you, he’s feeling warm all over himself. He’s a tall man with broad shoulders, and he hardly ever stands to his full height. When working, he’s usually found hunched over, and it’s starting to translate whenever he does any errands. You always reprimand him, your hand on the curve of his back as you tell him to stand straight. He smiles apologetically and for the next few minutes will walk upright until he’s back to his usual position. You hardly have the heart to tell him to stand up straight up again, so you hold onto his arm, walking beside him.

Most people would assume he is closed off and stoic, but he’s the opposite. He’s a rather emotional person. He’s able to hide it well for the most part. He isn’t afraid to let his emotions show when he’s feeling a certain type of way. He’s expressive, and it is usually the most prominent when he’s jealous. His face will twist into a scowl, and he’ll hold you close to him, hovering above you. When he speaks, it’s sharp and insulting to the other person- it’s probably one of the few times that you ever do get nervous because of him. He’s a smart man that won't do something that will get him into serious trouble, but he’s emotional and volatile. On the other side of the spectrum, he’s also one to look at you as if you painted the stars and the moon onto the sky, as if you’re holding the sky with your hands. He can never really hide his emotions from you- maybe it’s because the two of you are so intimate, but it’s like you can read him like an open book, like he wears his heart on his sleeve despite the walls that he tried to put up.

It’s not all the time that the scientist is direct, but for the most part he is when he’s around you. He tells you things as if it’s the most common knowledge with no room for debate to be held with him. He’ll tell you that you’re pretty, and that he likes it when you laugh, that it sounds sweet. He’ll mention how he cares for you, terribly so, and while holding your hand in his, and he’s tracing over your knuckles, telling you that he hopes that he gets to have a long and happy life with you. When your hand tightens around his, he’s brought back to reality, and he’s clearing his throat, unsure of where to look. He can tell you how he never wants to part from you, how you look so pretty under the sun, but he can never tell you that if you just asked, he’d drop everything and run away with you, that he’d want to be with you, that you’re the only one for him, that no one else can compare.

If he had to choose a favorite activity, it’s just being next to you. He doesn’t need anything more. He finds himself thinking that he has to be with you, needing to be next to you, wanting to know that you also want the same as he does. He’s desperately into you, needing you like he needs air, like air is a second thought to him, that as long as he has you, that’s enough. In the beginning of the relationship, he’d hold you at night, letting his arm fall asleep under your weight, brushing his nose along your cheek, and pressing a kiss where he touched. A thought made itself known to him that he wouldn’t want to leave you, not willingly. In the late nights that you two shared, where you called his name and kissed his lips, he could only picture you with him in the future. He holds your hand in his when you’re asleep, and he presses his palm against yours, and he knows that to keep himself sane, he needs to be with you, that to deprived him of you would be torturous. He hopes that you feel the same.

Work is a bit of a distance for the both of you to have a shared lunch together. On top of that, he doesn’t want you around Alchemax. He’d much prefer it if you stayed as far away from it as possible. If you ask about his day, he always gives you the most vague answers. If he can prevent you from knowing what it is that he is working on, he will. Every answer that he tells you about what he’s working on is from old projects, articles that he’s read, stolen ideas from the other scientists. He never wants you to mix with his work- no matter how draining it is for him.

Arguments are far and few between, but when they do happen, they tend to be loud and upsetting for both parties. Words slip without meaning to, and seeing the other quiet and look away with tears in their eyes, makes the fight stop. Working late nights and having to worry about being caught or something going wrong when that cannot happen, makes him irritable. He grows frustrated and snaps easily, and the few hours that he does get to rest are not enough. He doesn’t mean to snap, and always one to defend yourself, an argument will break out. Sometimes a fight will be resolved after one of you walks away to cool down, sometimes it takes the whole day for either of you two to speak to each other, pride often getting in the way. However, he hates being upset with you. You’re something good in his life, and he hates it when you won’t kiss him goodnight. So he’ll swallow his pride and apologize to you with his arms wrapping around you, kissing the top of your head.

While he isn’t unattractive by any means, and his quirks have their own charms, it doesn’t stop him from being insecure in the relationship. Whenever the two of you are in public, he feels the need to hold your hand to show to others that you’re taken, and that he’s right there. He’s never been one to take control in a relationship, and most flickered out fairly quickly, so when you both last longer than any of the ones before, he gets a bit freaked out in wondering what’s keeping you around. At night, when you're sleeping beside him, he’ll sit in bed and stare at you, and wonder what it is that attracted you to him. It must have been something, but he doesn’t know what it is and if he only knew, then maybe he could keep at it- maybe he could keep you.

Maybe because he doesn’t know what keeps you around, and he feels that at any minute, you’d leave, he resorts to buying you things. Nothing too lavish- nothing that would make you wonder where he was getting the money to pay for such ornate accessories. He will buy you small things- your favorite snack, a set of food containers that you held and remarked at how cute they were, or a mug decorated with your favorite character. It’s all enough, and it is never enough. He loves seeing your smile, and feels his chest swell in pride when you use any of the things he’s gotten you. Whatever it is that you want, he’ll get it for you, just to see you smile up at him. You always seem to return the favor even if he isn’t all that materialistic like you are. It’s little things that you gift him- a folder for his files, a mug that he only uses at home, a shirt that he’ll wear and keep even if the threads start to peek, a pen that he keeps clipped onto his coat.

His lips will press against the corner of your lips or your hand when out in public, he isn’t the biggest fan of public displays of affection unless he’s feeling particularly possessive. However, behind closed doors, he is a very affectionate person. He loves to wrap his arms around you and rest his head on your shoulder whenever he gets the chance. He loves the warm feeling that you start in his chest. If he could, he’d find some way to bottle it forever. He likes to be near you, even if the two of you are doing your own thing and not speaking, knowing that he could glance over and see you, is more than enough. It’s silly and he’d never admit it to anyone- especially you- but he hates not having you near him when at work. He was never a fan of pictures, but if you’re in the frame, he’s lifting the camera to capture the both of you in a moment of stillness. He sets the picture as his phone background. During work hours, if he’s not messaging you, he’s looking at the background, enraptured by your smile.

Jonathan beams under your affection. Will smile softly when he lays his head in your lap and feels your hand begin to thread through his hair and scratch at his scalp. After a long day, he melts under your touch, humming when you twist a pinch of his hair around your finger. He’ll hide his face in the soft plush of your stomach, where you can see the corner of his lips stretched in a wide grin. When you kiss him, you sometimes pepper them all over his face, and he smiles, leaning in to try to kiss you. His face grows warm under your hands as you cup his face, with half-lidded eyes, he blinks at every kiss you press against his face. They’re feathery and soft. Every press of your lips against his face has him leaning into your touch. When you kiss at his moles, he feels himself smile, and hides himself into your palm, laughing when you coo at him to turn around.

The Spot:

After transforming into The Spot, he’s much more clingy than he was previously. When you happen to be home, he’ll give you time to relax and decompress from your work. However, once enough time has passed by, he’ll sit beside you and stretch over you. He misses you terribly throughout the day- your text messages are a clear proof of that. Plus, it’s not as if you could blame him. He’s stuck at home all day with only you to talk to, he’s grown heavily dependent on you.

The incident messed him up- it ruined so much of his life. Without you, he’d be without a purpose, without anyone being there to ground him through his panic attacks and depressive episodes. He needs to hear from you, needs to remember that you do still care for him no matter what he looks like. There’s always going to be a part of him that’s terrified of knowing what you think of him. He saw it on your face when he first came by- fear, shock, pity. He isn’t sure what was worse, but then you cried, and you held him. There are times where you’ll kiss at a white space, and he’s fisting his hand together to restrain himself from asking for more. He can’t be greedy- not when he looks the way that he does.

If arguments were few and far in between before he turned out the way that he is, they rarely exist now. He never wants to give you a reason to kick him out. He’ll take a house husband role and clean and cook, and do whatever it is that needs to be done around the house. In the beginning, he acted more as a guest rather than a partner. He made himself small, didn’t eat too much of the food that you brought, he’d shower when you’d leave and would sleep on the couch. Fear kept him on a leash, and he believed that maybe if you didn’t see so much of him, then you wouldn’t leave him when the time came. Whatever it is that you would have asked him to do, he would do a damn good job to prove that he could still be of some use to you. A part of him kept waiting for you to leave him like everyone else had, and when you’d invite him to sleep in your bed, sit down and have dinner with you, shower with you- he was engulfed with waves of emotion. You really did want him to be part of your life, you didn’t want a house guest, you wanted a partner, you wanted him.

You’ll leave your phone unattended, and he’s tempted to look through your messages, to find out what you really think of him. Are you planning to leave him? Are you talking to someone else? Are you making fun of him behind his back as he lays in your bed? He never looks through your phone. He can’t bear what the ugly truth of it might be. Out of all the possibilities, he’d rather take your word that you don't mind him as he is now. You’re the one who goes shopping for the necessities for obvious reasons, and each time you leave through the door, there’s always something heavy in him that tells him that you aren’t going to come back. He waits and waits, and time ticks on slowly as if to mock him, and he’s waiting and waiting. His spots swirl and congest at certain parts of him as his anxiety increases. After sending you a quick text message, you reply immediately- always. And yet, it still isn’t enough. He must annoy you, but he can’t help it. Pressing your contact button, he’ll call you, and he must sound panicked, because you speak quietly, telling him what you’re doing and asking what he’s doing- you ground him. When you come home, he hovers over you and lays his head on your chest, wrapping his arms tightly around you.

He never wants you to let go of him. He’ll rest his head on your lap, and even if you can’t play with his hair, you still let your nails scratch over him. It’s during these moments, that you let your hands wander, the pads of your fingertips ghosting over him, teasing at his holes, before swiping down and tracing patterns over the white. You like to look at his face hole a lot is what he’s noticed. You’ve told him that even without facial features, he’s still so expressive. His body has been stretched, limbs pulled and torso compressed and while he’s always been soft, it’s much more apparent now. He’ll squirm under your gaze, and make a high-pitched noise when your hand curves over his stomach. Placing kisses over him makes his gasp for breath, especially when you interlace your hand with his and kiss where his moles used to be.

When he first arrived at your place, he was terrified of what you’d think of him. He’d never admit that he feared that you would be like everyone else and turn him away, but you didn’t. For as long as he’ll live, he’ll always try to repay you for your kindness. He can’t take you to dinners, or buy you things, but he can certainly peek into places afterhours. He can pop into places and grab something that he’s sure you’re going to like. For a while, he can lie and say that he had gfs saved up for you, but you start to catch on when reports of robberies start to have their own section in the local news. You give him a pointed look, and he looks the other way, fiddling with one of his holes.

It took a minute for him to get used to your fascination with him. A part of him thought it was some kink thing but when you gasp in fake-offense and shove him, he comes to the conclusion that it isn’t some kink thing. His arm will be outstretched towards you, and you’ll rim the edge of the spot with your finger. If you ever want to dip your finger into one of his holes, he’d rather you tell him first. He doesn’t have complete control over where a hole will pop up and doesn’t know the exact limitations of it, so he worries that he’ll cause some freak accident with you there. When you two cuddle together, and you want something from the kitchen, he’ll make a hole and reach what you want. It doesn’t always go smoothly, but it’s the thought that counts. You’re sure at one point, you saw the inside of a convenience store, but with the plethora of snacks, you chose not to comment, and acted blissfully ignorant when an article of stolen goods popped up.

Due to being lonely and having an immense amount of time to himself, he is much chattier than he was before. He’ll ramble and go on for hours about any of the series that he’s watching. At this point, it’s like you’ve already watched it yourself. He’ll talk about the symbolism and parallels that the characters share, about the use of color, and how things are in reference to another one of the director’s works. It’s nice to see him so animated about something. It’s during his ramblings that his holes will vary in size and numbers. The more emotional he is, the more that they appear, and sometimes, you’ll see one appear under a cup and drop it elsewhere. You’ve been lucky so far that the cups are empty and always land in something soft.

It’s no surprise that he’d rather not step out into public. You’re the one to do the errands and he feels bad that he can’t pull his own weight, but you always reassure him that being there is enough- more than enough. At one point, work must have taken its toll, because you come in near tears, exhausted with the clients and co-workers. You mention how one customer was particularly awful, and he holds you, running his hand up and down your back, trying to comfort you. He can’t be seen out in public with you- he fears what will happen if people know where he’s been hiding out- but he can pop in on others, and make sure that you aren’t bothered again. It’s moments like these where he’s so focused, mind swirling and reflecting on his spots, and there’s precision and accuracy on where he wants spots to appear and reappear. He never wants you to find out about what he’s doing, so he makes sure that the person can’t recount the events and that when they’re found, it looks like they fell down the stairs, body crumpled and bent in ways that can’t be explained. The next day, he makes you breakfast.

It’s not rare to find you in one of his old shirts. Jonathan hardly ever uses them as of late, despite your claims that he should wear something considering he’s just in his skin and practically naked. He never really listens to your claims- it isn’t as if you haven’t seen him naked before, he’s even made himself decent by hiding his shaft. His old clothing might as well get some use, and it makes him feel warm that you still wear his things- it really cements the fact that you still want him. You pull the oversized button up over a plain shirt, and call it fashion, and who is he to argue with your obviously correct statements. There’s something nice about him waking up to you wearing one of his shirts as you cook breakfast, the soft blue color and white spots, making him linger at the doorway. In the time leading up to everything, he had never thought that his life would turn this way- die by an explosion seemed so much more plausible than him becoming what he is. And now, he sits in your shared home, his body pure white and dotted with black spots, and with you, your head on his lap and his nodding off to sleep as you both watch a movie.

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