Professional rambler

mainly rambling about madcom and such on here, I have sideblogs for my other interests tho :P

[lasagnaburgerng]

📌(W.I.P)

-20's. He/Him, Any/All. Male

-i'm genuinely very talkative, pls dm me for any reason lol. Vent safe.

-Mostly a Madcom and such page where i'll dump my brainz out over silly gray characters. Might do more in-detail breakdowns and such in the future.

-accepting of all ships*(legal ones) ....i'll simply ignore any i find upsetting.

i'll use the tag #rambles for any longer things i write.

Maybe i'll write a ficlet or two sometime? a bit scared to try lol.....

dumb and autistic, pls bear with me......

[dukesnukes]

GORDOG FEEFEE!

 [WITH SOME BUFF!GORDON INSPIRED BY ME AND @nuclearnerves’S NERD TALKS!]

[dukesnukes]

HAPPY FRIDAY THE 13TH EVERYONE!!! HERES A SAMPLER PLATTER OF SOME OF MY FAVORITE JASON VOORHEES ART IVE MADE IN THE PAST YEAR TO CELEBRATE!!!

[vmprgrl-2005]

hellooo! I love ur hlm post soo much, aaaand I was wondering if I could ask for a Jacket hcs, if u don't mind of course 💖😸

i've wanted a reason to write these for so long yipee tysm for your request. as always feel free to request more i love jacket and i could write ab him forever

jacket romantic & nsfw headcanons

"one for the money and two for the show. i love you, honey, i'm ready, i'm ready to go. how did you get that way? i don't know. you're screwed up and brilliant, look like a million dollar man"

word count-1.6k

warnings-blood/violence (ofc), mild language, nsfw content (separate from the sfw stuff), teeny tiny bit of angst

an-oops i wrote a ton bc i love him...also this is my first time writing nsfw ahhh i'm so nervous

-if you meet him out somewhere it’ll probably be at a bar/club or vhs rental store. he doesn’t go out much after he starts “working” for 50 blessings but there’s a chance you’ll spot him if you frequent the same places he does

-from the first time he looks at you he can’t get you off of his mind. he feels like he has to get close to you (when he falls for someone he falls HARD) but he’s not exactly bold enough to just walk up to you and start flirting

-for a while he doesn’t come over and talk to you he just stares at you and hopes that you’ll notice him. he has no clue how to flirt and doesn’t care to learn so he does things in his own somewhat scary somewhat endearing way 

-if you don’t end up approaching him he’ll either come over to you or just leave it up to fate and hope that you see each other again. when he does come up to you he’ll look at you silently with no emotion on his face and give you his number on a slip of paper before walking away, he thinks pickup lines and things of that sort are ridiculous so his first few interactions with you are quite simple and a little awkward with how quiet he is

-if you want to talk to him first give him a cigarette with your number on it, it’ll get his attention and doesn’t force him to talk to you until he’s ready 

-when you first start dating he’s really quiet but he starts to talk to you a little bit more as time goes on. don’t expect him to start conversations though, he’s still not super talkative even when he warms up to you. he’s much more likely to just silently wrap his arms around you and rest his chin on top of your head or cradle your face in his hands instead of verbally saying that he loves you

-he uses pet names quite often, most of the time you’ll hear “baby/babe,” “princess,” “dollface,” or anything else slightly sleazy

-the first time he kisses you is after he comes home one night while he’s half aware of what he’s doing and still covered in blood. he stumbles into your shared bedroom and wraps his arms around you immediately. he holds onto you tightly, leading you to assume that’s he’s seen something worse than what he usually deals with. before your brain can even register what he’s doing he’s pressing his lips against yours. he’s desperate to be close to you, grasping at you like you’re his lifeline, something you’d never expect out of him. his lips don’t leave yours until you’re both out of breath and he smirks at you when you’re so surprised and flustered that you hide your face in his chest as he continues holding you close 

-he’s quite possessive and gets jealous easily. when you’re out together and someone looks at you he holds onto you h a r d and keeps you as close to him as he possibly can while he stares down the other person. he’s literally threatened people for looking at you for too long…if he catches someone flirting with you you’re going to have to hold him back. you’re his and he wants you and everyone else to know. part of the reason why he feels that way is because he’s afraid that anyone who gets near you is trying to hurt you or take you from him so he’ll be super protective over you

-he thinks it’s absolutely adorable when you wear his jacket. the first time you do you absentmindedly throw it over your shoulders and wonder why he can’t make eye contact with you, it’s one of the few times you’ll see him be blatantly flustered. any time you’re cold or if someone is staring at you while you’re wearing a revealing outfit he’ll give it to you to wear

-he’s not completely against pda but don’t expect him to be all over you in public. he’ll hold your hand or put his arm around you, though (and he’ll occasionally kiss you, mostly when he’s drunk or high)

-when you’re alone he’s somewhat touchy. since he doesn’t talk a lot he tends to show affection physically, he’ll have an arm around you or a hand resting on one of your thighs almost constantly 

-from the time he meets you he’s completely infatuated with the idea of being with you but it takes him a while to become emotionally attached to you. he falls in love quickly but doesn’t expect you to stick around for long so he’s hesitant to let himself be obsessed with you

-sleeping next to him is…interesting. he rarely sleeps given the fact that he’s usually out half of the night but when he does he has nightmares often so sometimes you’ll wake up to him holding onto you so hard it hurts and breathing raggedly. he doesn’t like to talk about the horrible dreams he has but he’s secretly really happy when you hold him close and run your fingers through his hair after he wakes up from one. he’s not used to someone caring for or comforting him but he loves when you do it

-even when he doesn’t sleep he’ll lay next to you and hold you while you’re sleeping. he likes to wrap his arms around your waist tightly but leaves a small distance between you so he can see your face and watch you breathe. he’ll usually get out of bed before you wake up so you don’t catch him doing it

-he’s really paranoid about taking you on dates in public but he’ll still do it occasionally to make you happy. if he does take you out it’ll most likely be to a bar so he gets to spend time with you and also drink to distract himself from his mess of a life. other than that, he takes you out on drives a lot so he doesn’t have to worry about you getting hurt by someone else

-he is so unbelievably scared of losing you and it’s something he thinks about a lot. he tries his best to hide it to keep you from worrying but every night that he leaves he’s afraid that he won’t come home to you or that he’ll come home to your dead body. before the phone beckons him away from you he’ll hold you close and actually say that he loves you, he treats it as if it’s truly his last few minutes with you 

-marriage is never a thought that crosses his mind no matter how long you’re together. he’s so used to one night stands and short-term relationships that he’s kind of forgotten marrying someone is an option and he’s not planning his future when he’s worried about surviving one night at a time. he’ll stay with you for as long as your relationship works, but he’s not really into formal commitment 

-he puts the hot in hot mess. dating him feels like charity work sometimes but he loves you a lot (and will kill and die for you)

nsfw:

-he can be quite rough because he’s so accustomed to violence and only touching people with the goal of killing them. he has to learn how to be gentle with you and it takes him a while to do so, most of the time you end up with quite a few bruises from how tightly he grabs and holds onto you (he likes that, though, it marks you as his and he loves to trace his fingers over them to make you flustered)

-he’s not particularly into tying you up and all that but he’ll pin your hands above your head to keep you still. he doesn’t do it often though because he loves the feeling of you holding onto him

-he has a mild blood kink, he likes to touch you with fresh blood still on his hands and leave it smeared all over you (especially on your chest and face/neck)

-he likes when your nails dig into his back and arms while you hold onto him and he likes it even more if you draw blood. he already has quite a few scars so having scratches/marks that remind him of you when he sees them makes him happy, he also mildly enjoys the pain 

-he’s quite dominant and likes to have control over you (because he literally has control over nothing else in his life). the closest he’s ever going to get to submissive is zoning out and letting you do whatever

-if you’re into it he’ll definitely sneak you into one of the buildings he’s supposed to clear out. he loves feeling like he has to save you, feeling like you need him (and seeing you a little afraid turns him on but he’ll never tell you that)

-he doesn’t talk much but if he notices you like something he does he’ll slow down and hum “hm?” to tease you. the most vocal he ever gets is grunting occasionally/giving you short commands (“like that,” “more,” or “good”) /muttering curses under his breath 

-he focuses on and is obsessed with the noises you make. he’ll overstimulate you to the point where it’s painful just to keep you making sounds he likes (any time he does something he can tell that you like he thinks more is better)

-he’s kind of shit at aftercare, he’ll usually just leave you alone to go have a cigarette. he cares about you but he’s used to not knowing the people he sleeps with for more than a day so it’s just kind of become a habit that he doesn’t care to change. if you’re lucky he’ll lay next to you while he smokes and lazily sling his arm around you

[rooksruckus]

So you know that one image

[eggcrum]

Shertrickjeb for me and some

[hankintime]

how did doc allow this to happen, hank get down

[leix0-dm-afterhours]

Demos farming aura

[ozhawkauthor]

The Three Laws of Fandom

If you wish to take part in any fandom, you need to accept and respect these three laws.

If you aren’t able to do that, then you need to realise that your actions are making fandom unsafe for creators. That you are stifling creativity.

Like vaccination, fandom only works if everyone respects these rules. Creators need to be free to make their fanart, fanfics and all other content without fear of being harassed or concern-trolled for their creative choices, no matter whether you happen to like that content or not.

The First Law of Fandom

Don’t Like; Don’t Read (DL;DR)

It is up to you what you see online. It is not anyone else’s place to tell you what you should or should not consume in terms of content; it is not up to anyone else to police the internet so that you do not see things you do not like. At the same time, it is not up to YOU to police fandom to protect yourself or anyone else, real or hypothetical.

There are tools out there to help protect you if you have triggers or squicks. Learn to use them, and to take care of your own mental health. If you are consuming fan-made content and you find that you are disliking it - STOP.

The Second Law of Fandom

Your Kink Is Not My Kink (YKINMK)

Simply put, this means that everyone likes different things. It’s not up to you to determine what creators are allowed to create. It’s not up to you to police fandom. 

If you don’t like something, you can post meta about it or create contrarian content yourself, seek to convert other fans to your way of thinking.  

But you have no right to say to any creator “I do not like this, therefore you should not create it. Nobody should like this. It should not exist.”

It’s not up to you to decide what other people are allowed to like or not like, to create or not to create. That’s censorship. Don’t do it.

The Third Law of Fandom

Ship And Let Ship (SALS)

Much (though not all) fandom is about shipping. There are as many possible ships as there are fans, maybe more. You may have an OTP (One True Pairing), you may have a NOTP, that pairing that makes you want to barf at the very thought of its existence.

It’s not up to you to police ships or to determine what other people are allowed to ship. Just because you find that one particular ship problematic or disgusting, does not mean that other people are not allowed to explore its possibilities in their fanworks.

You are free to create contrarian content, to write meta about why a particular ship is repulsive, to discuss it endlessly on your private blog with like-minded persons.

It is not appropriate to harass creators about their ships, it is not appropriate to demand they do not create any more fanworks about those ships, or that they create fanwork only in a manner that you deem appropriate.

These three laws add up to the following:

You are not paying for fanworks content, and you have no rights to it other than to choose to consume it, or not consume it. If you do choose to consume it, do not then attack the creator if it wasn’t to your taste. That’s the height of bad manners.

Be courteous in fandom. It makes the whole experience better for all of us.

[lasagnaburgerng]

this used to be the norm without even having to think abt it lol. some newgens rly pmo….. literally censoring their own fandoms and killing them from the inside out by policing content. Bring back fandom etiquette

[agendervenom]

There’s been a few people here and there in the tags trying to start ship discourse but…

Yall seem to forget that eddie/venom are canon in the comics… this is pretty much basic level Venom lore

Venom declares their love for Eddie:

Eddie talks to someone about being in a relationship with Venom and how much he loves it:

They consider each other married:

They’ve considered each other marred since the 1990 comics:

Yet another discussion on their romantic relationship:

Eddie considers Venom his long time romantic partner:

They go on movie dates with each other and hold hands!!!:

…This scene:

Um…. anyways, heart chocolates:

They call each other pet names CONSTANTLY:

The ending to one of the comics has a heart symbol and the classic ‘fairy tale’ ending:

Speaking of the heart ending, they consider their entire story in the comics to be a love story

I just… do I need to explain further?

They’ve also canonically given birth to a symbiote child before and raised it together until it went off on its own. Yep. They had a child together.

Anyways…. symbrock is canon. And it has been since 1990 when they first considered themselves married and in a relationship.

(sources: everything from Venom 1990 to the most recent Venom comics)

[schizoideh]

Mag agnet Totur

Silly thing drawn in 10 minutes

[hankintime]

You should 100% draw Doc on the beach in a swimsuit. Not only would it fit the month of july, but said with the outmost of self-restraint, I would also love to see you conjure another apparition of Doc's milk factory, as it is what people desire the most(including...me).

yeah. hi doc. hi doc. do you need anything doc.

deimos then proceeds to spike a beach ball at 2bdamned moments later

we are EATING GOOD TODAY

[mitzys-artblog]

New random sketches for the blogggg! Also will be posting old art here!

[hankintime]

can you draw sq as ponies frollicking. And also something about docs big massive beautiful badonkadonks. Not that im obsessed with the massive juicy milk filled thangs

my little madnesssss idk i heard ponies and went with it

also. just for you oh blessed boob doc anon, 2b without a shirt

eat up

[leix0-dm-afterhours]

Guns and tits

[vmprgrl-2005]

kill kill-hotline miami-biker x reader x jacket-part three

"does it make a difference how i feel as long as i come back to you? does it make a difference if it's real as long as i still say i love you?"

part one part two wattpad link

word count-3k

warnings-strong language, arguing, femme reader, mentions of violence, reader gets hit, smoking, blood/injuries

an-shit this took forever. if it’s unrealistic no it’s not 🤫

You stand leaning against the sliding door in your living room, watching the palm trees outside blow in the wind as rain slams against the glass like bullets. A bright flash of lightning causes you to jump, sending chills through the seemingly eternal pit in your stomach. Eyes focused on the raindrops slithering down the glass, you completely zone out. 

An insistent and loud knock at the door rouses you. As you approach the entryway, your mind races, wondering who could be at your door at this time of night, especially during a storm. An indescribable feeling of panic mixed with relief fills you when you look through the peephole. You can’t open the door fast enough, baffled by who’s standing on the other side. A compulsion to collapse into his arms fills you, your longing for his touch completely overriding all of the burning resentment you felt towards him. However, your feet remain stationary, the weight of your emotions preventing you from moving. 

Your gaze remains fixed on the figure in front of you as if you’re still trying to figure out if you’re dreaming. His clothes are soaked, both from the rain and the blood covering him. He looks worse than you’ve ever seen him, debilitated, more ghosts visible in his already haunted eyes. You try to say something to him multiple times, but all you can muster are confused gasps and quiet stutters of the words that have been trapped within you ever since he left. Footsteps come up behind you, snapping you out of your daze. A feeling of unease comes over you as you imagine how this interaction could end, given Jacket’s possessive tendencies.  

“C’mon sugar what’s taking so long?” You hear called out from the hallway. 

You can see Jacket’s expression change, there's a fire in his eyes that you’ve only seen a few times before. Your stomach lurches as you realize what's about to happen.

He had tried to plan what to say to you when you opened the door, seemingly unable to find the right words to justify or explain his absence, the absence that had nearly killed him. The overwhelming rage that fills him when he sees the man from the polaroids he has hidden in his pocket walking up behind you demolishes any semblance of composure he had. 

“Who the fuck is that?” he mutters angrily, eyes darting from the teal-haired man to you. For your sake, he tries his best to hide the anger that’s consuming him, but it’s nearly impossible. He wants nothing more than to snatch you out of this random man’s arms and make sure no one ever puts their hands on you again. 

Before you can answer, the other man chimes in. “Woah woah, you’re not gonna talk to her like that, especially after disappearing for god knows how fuckin’ long.”

“Let me handle this,” your now weak voice interrupts, not taking your eyes off of Jacket. 

Hesitantly, he walks away, although the fear written on your face tells him not to. Trying to avoid Jacket’s eyes, you keep your head down, instead focusing on the trail of bloody footprints leading up to your door.

After a long pause, you speak up, mumbling “We’re just friends.”  You hope that it’s enough to calm him down, but part of you knows he’s far too angry for it to work. 

“Then what the fuck is this?” Jacket replies, pulling the pictures of you at the club the other night out of his pocket. “And why the fuck is he talking to you like that,” he continues, glaring daggers at you with his bloodshot eyes. 

Your heart sinks and your eyes widen. You have no clue how he got those pictures and now you’re sure you can’t talk your way out of trouble. Your heart thuds rapidly as you begin to panic knowing that there’s no way for you to avoid arguing with him. 

Attempting to justify what you did, you open your mouth again. “Am I not allowed to go out with my friends, especially when my boyfriend has been missing for weeks?” You argue, trying to keep your voice down. 

“Since when do your friends touch you like that? Hell, since when do I touch you like that when we go out?” Even though his behavior is hostile, it's obvious that he’s hurt by what you’ve done, no matter how much he tries to avoid showing his feelings. 

You stare back at him, at a loss for words. You’re unsure of how to handle this, you really thought he was never coming back. Your thoughts are interrupted when you notice Jacket taking a few steps towards you. He leans against the door frame, covertly trying to steady his weak legs. His figure looms over you, his presence feels intimidating rather than comforting. 

“You know if I was there I would’ve killed him, right?” He says. The words send shivers down your spine. It’s a terrifying thought, but you know damn well that he’s not lying. 

“I only did this because I heard you left with some other girl,” you blurt out, hoping that he can understand the reasoning behind your actions.  

“Oh so just because you ‘hear something’ you went out and fucked around with some other guy?” His voice becomes louder, drawing unwanted attention. The commotion causes the teal-haired man to step back in, placing a protective hand on your back as he does.

“Get your fuckin’ hands off of my girl,” Jacket yells, shoving him away from you. 

You flinch, although you're glad all he did was push him. 

“Oh so now she's your girl again? Pick a side, asshole.” The argument continues. 

The raised volume of their voices yelling over each other makes it hard for you to decipher what they’re saying, but you can tell that it's not going to end well. Standing next to them, you attempt to break up the argument multiple times, trying to yell over them and physically pull them away from each other, to no avail.

Their argument only gets louder. You step in between them, your last attempt at shutting them up. In an instant, you’re knocked sideways, a fist slamming into the side of your head. Your vision wavers and you lose your balance from the unexpected force. As you stumble sideways, a set of arms catches you and your hands come up to cradle your already bruising cheek. Through the blurs of reality you’re able to keep your eyes open for, you notice the terrified look on Jacket’s face and his shaking hands. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” You hear shouted from behind you.

Head spinning, you stumble over to the couch, the dizzying pain keeping you from walking straight. The pain pulsing all over your face makes it difficult to open your now teary eyes, so you sit with your head in your hands and listen to the commotion that has become completely unintelligible. They continue to argue for a few moments before you feel the warmth of someone sitting at your side. 

A pair of rough hands gently pulls your fingers away from your face and you hear Jacket’s voice whisper “Shit, that’s a lot of blood.” He begins to gently put pressure on the wound before turning around to continue yelling across the room. 

Cracking your eyes open, you gaze at the man in front of you, then down at your hand. Crimson liquid trails down your palm from where you’ve been holding your face. 

“Can you just get out?” Jacket yells at the other man as he pulls you close protectively. 

“I’ll leave once I know you’re not going to hurt her again.” The distant voice across the room replies before directing his attention towards you and saying “If he puts his hands on you again I’ll fucking kill him.” 

Your entire body shakes, overwhelmed by the hostility in the air and the pain you're in. 

“Get out.” Jacket demands again through clenched teeth.

The slam of the door shakes your apartment and makes you jump. 

You force your eyes open once again to see Jacket is still beside you, resting his hand on top of yours, seemingly out of habit. 

“Are you ok?” He mutters while grasping your chin, turning your head slightly to see the damage his fist caused. His touch is unfamiliar, clinical, as if he just met you. 

“Yeah just…fuck, it hurts.” You hiss under your breath as his fingers brush over the epicenter of the bruise. 

Afraid to hurt you again, he withdraws his hands, keeping himself a short distance from you, a physical representation of the tension between the two of you. A palpable unease fills the air, the anger he feels towards you is made painfully obvious by his stiff body language and unwillingness to show affection. A few minutes pass, neither of you making an effort to reconcile your relationship. You can’t stand the thought of sitting in silence alone with him, so you force yourself off of the couch, quietly excusing yourself to the bathroom to examine the wound on your face. 

The tile floor of the bathroom feels unusually icy on your feet and the hum of the dim vanity lights rings in your ears. You gaze at your face in the mirror, eyes still foggy from the tears. Dark bruising covers your cheek and fades like a sunset over your eye, a small slit in your skin accompanying it. It looks a lot worse than you expected. You splash water on your face in an attempt to rinse the blood away, whimpering from the pain of your fingers coming into contact with your skin. 

You return to the living room to find Jacket standing on the balcony, a now unfamiliar sight. You decide to join him outside, a longing for his presence still fills your chest. He pays no attention to you joining him, simply staring out at the city lights and taking a drag off of the cigarette in his hand. Instead of looking over at him awkwardly and waiting for him to say something, you occupy yourself by gazing up at the pale crescent moon. After a moment, he speaks up. 

“You wanna explain yourself?” He starts, cigarette smoke flowing out of his mouth as he speaks. 

You knew that this would happen eventually, that the tension between the two of you would come to a breaking point, but it doesn’t make the confrontation any easier. “How about you tell me where the hell you’ve been first?” You reply quietly, a hint of desperation seeping out through your voice. 

He pauses as if he’s trying to decide whether or not he wants to answer you. “It was just a job that didn’t go as planned,” he says. 

“So you decided you’d just disappear?” You huff, trying not to lose your temper. 

“And you decided you’d fuck someone else?” He replies angrily, obviously trying to avoid fully explaining his disappearance. 

“I told you we’re just friends.” You argue.

“Yeah, that’s pretty obvious.” He says sarcastically. 

You sigh heavily, trying not to let your anger get in the way of your love and concern for the man in front of you.

 “I was devastated. I called you every day hoping to hear back from you, I stood outside your apartment and waited, praying that you hadn’t left me.” You confess, hoping that he believes you. 

“You don’t have to lie to me.” He replies, somewhat exasperated and with a hint of sadness in his voice. 

“I love you..I never stopped loving you.” Your voice is barely audible as you speak. 

He remains silent, although his face softens noticeably. Gazing at him longingly, you continue searching for any signs of warmth in his body language. 

As you look over at him, you notice the way his wrist is hanging limply over the railing of the balcony. Silently, you approach him, gently taking his hand in yours. He curses under his breath when your fingers meet his wrist, pulling his arm from your grip. 

Taking his uninjured wrist in your hand, you lead him back inside, muttering “come on” under your breath as you do. 

You usher him into the bathroom, motioning for him to take off his jacket so you can see the extent of the damage he’s done to his arm. His fingers are limp, broken blood vessels vine all the way up his wrist with thick rivers of red and purple bruising blooming across his skin. 

Gently, you examine the injury on his arm, a low grunt leaving his mouth as you do. He shifts uncomfortably every time your fingers meet his forearm. You rifle through the medicine cabinet, taking out whatever inadequate medical supplies you have. Sitting on the bathroom counter, you take his wrist in your hands. 

“Hold on” he says, pulling away. He grabs his injured wrist with his other hand and attempts to set it back into place with a sickening crack. “I think it's broken,” he mutters nonchalantly, somehow unphased by the pain he’s in. 

“You really should go to a hospital.” you beg, despite knowing he's not going to.

 His eyes meet yours as if he knows you know what he's going to say. You take his arm again, wrapping bandages as tightly as you can until all of the bruising is covered. Wordlessly, he watches you work, eyes focused on your careful fingers as if he’s witnessing something holy. 

He gazes down at his hand, moving his fingers slightly more than he could before. You watch his face as he does, trying to make out any emotion in his eyes. Everything he does seems cold. His words, his actions, the way he looks at you, nothing seems to carry the same affection as it did before his disappearance. 

Lost in your thoughts, you don’t notice his hand coming up to cradle your face, his thumb running gently over the bruise on your cheek. A blush covers your face, his touch feels foreign now, like something out of a dream. Unable to make eye contact with him, your eyes drift to his torso, noticing the various bloodstains covering his body. 

“What happened?” You mutter, pulling on his shirt. 

“...It's nothing.” He replies, unconvincingly. 

To prove your point, you gently kick him in the side, to which he grits his teeth and backs away from you. You hop off of the counter and lean towards him, hesitantly lifting his shirt. Barely healed gashes and bruises cover the already scarred skin of his stomach. Your eyes widen. It was obvious to you that he was hurt, but he looks much worse than you initially thought, you’re surprised he’s even alive. 

“Tell me what happened.” You say again, sternly. 

He avoids your eyes, apprehensive and somewhat embarrassed to explain himself to you. “I was held hostage, for however fucking long…they beat the hell out of me, but all I could think about was you.” He pauses briefly, either trying to gather his thoughts or keep his emotions under control. “They showed me pictures of you and that guy and I could barely control myself. I knew I had to get out. I didn’t give a shit if it killed me, I would’ve died knowing I tried my best to make it back to you.” His eyes meet yours as if he’s searching for approval, hoping that his admission is enough for you. 

All of your pent up emotions flood into your chest at once, and you break down into tears in front of him. He’s finally with you again, yet you’re still so close to losing him. Nervously, you move closer to him, grasping onto him as if he’s the only thing keeping you alive. 

“I’m sorry,” you sob into his chest. 

His hesitation is noticeable as he slowly wraps his arms around your shaking figure. His strong hands find their way to where they’re meant to be, muscle memory overriding his reluctance to show you that he does still love you. You return his gesture, looping your arms around his torso carefully, trying to avoid hurting him further. 

You remain in his arms for what feels like an eternity, reveling in the familiar warmth of his touch that you’ve missed for so long. He becomes noticeably less angry, his arms wrapping around you tightly as he holds you close to his chest. 

Eventually, you notice his hands starting to go limp, his fingers barely able to hold onto you. He pulls away, eyes barely open, attempting to steady himself against the wall unsuccessfully.

Holding his face in your hands, you pat his cheek gently, whispering “Look at me, keep your eyes open” as you do, to no avail. He continues to slump further into your arms, entirely unable to stand on his own. Hooking your arms under his shoulders, you try your best to keep him upright. Before he completely falls over, you take him to your bedroom, practically dragging him across the floor as you do. A few words slur their way out of his mouth as you attempt to haul him into your bed, although you can’t make out anything he’s trying to say. After a moment his eyes close and he becomes entirely unresponsive to your voice and touch. You sit by his side in bed, stroking his hair softly and hoping that he’ll wake up. You can’t help but notice the wounds scattered about his skin. Bruises and lacerations across his arms, cuts in various places on his face, along with bloodstains on most of his body. Tears continue to cascade down your cheeks. He’s finally by your side again, barely alive in your bed. Unsure of what to do, you shakily lay down next to him, intertwining one of your hands with his. Your other hand lays across his chest, all you can focus on is his faint heartbeat thumping under your fingertips. Holding onto his hand firmly, you close your teary eyes, anxiously waiting for him to wake up.

[vmprgrl-2005]

kill kill-hotline miami-biker x reader x jacket-part two

“it’s not love but i still want you”

part one wattpad link

word count-1.8k

warnings-strong language, femme reader, blood/violence/death, drinking/smoking

an-sorry for the wait, it will happen again...hope you love it! :)

After falling asleep again, you wake up disoriented and shivering. Getting out of bed feels nearly impossible, last night’s alcohol is finally starting to kick your ass. You trudge across the room and grab a sweatshirt that's laying on the dresser, replacing the uncomfortable sensation of your current outfit with the soft, oversized garment. Walking out of his bedroom, you realize that you’re still alone.

His apartment is entirely different from what you’re used to. Sleek pink and black furniture adorns the living room and a large desk with a computer stands in the corner, a stark contrast from Jacket’s sparsely decorated room. Your dizziness starts to get the best of you, and you plop down on the black leather couch to avoid falling over. All you want is the comfort of another person, a feeling you’ve been trying to deny. 

A few tears cascade down your cheeks as you sink into the creaky leather cushions, pulling your knees to your chest. This has happened a few times before, the painful feeling of missing your lover only comes over you periodically, whenever you don’t have a way to numb your aching heart. The sound of the door makes you perk up, memories of waiting on the couch for your boyfriend to come home flood your mind. There's no use trying to pull yourself together, the redness in your eyes is painfully obvious. You watch as he stands in the doorway for a moment, removing his helmet and running his hand through his fluffy hair. Eventually, his eyes meet yours. When he notices you’ve been crying, he rushes over to sit down beside you. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks softly, placing his warm hand on your back.

You shake your head, tears falling faster than before.

“Is it him?” He asks, quieter. 

Shakily, you nod. He takes you in his arms, running his fingers over your hair. 

“Why do I miss him? He left me without saying anything.” You mutter, feeling ashamed to admit how you feel. 

A sigh leaves him as if he’s just as upset as you are. “It's understandable, you two were together for a while.”

Crying over the man who abandoned you feels ridiculous, your hands wipe the tears away as soon as they fall. A feeling of panic boils up inside of you as memories of your boyfriend coming home in the middle of the night covered in blood and shaking flash through your mind. 

“But what if he's not safe? I should call him just to see.” You breathe, forcing yourself up and off of the couch. 

Heavy hands find their way to your shoulders, ushering you to sit back down. “No, you’re not gonna call him,” he says, staring into your eyes. “You’re not going to go crawling back to him. You don’t deserve to be treated like that.” 

Your eyes meet his, you can tell from the way he looks at you that he cares about you, you’re not another one of his one-night-stands that he dumps without thinking twice. 

“Alright, fine,” you agree, somewhat hesitantly. 

He grins at you, pulling you close. “No more crying, ok doll? You’re mine now,” he says close to your ear, his flirtatious tone from the night before returning.  

–

The ropes are almost loose enough for him to entirely slip his hands out of the restraints. It had been nearly impossible with how weak he is, but the blood coating his wrists helped. The rapid pounding of his heart rings in his ears. He can’t determine whether it's from nerves or blood loss, not that he cares. This was his one chance to escape and he knew he couldn’t fuck it up, he had to get out and make it back to you. He’s willing to risk his life if it means getting to see you again. That is, if you even wanted to see him after all of this, the memory of the photos of you and your “friend” reminds him that you’ve probably already moved on. 

A sickeningly loud popping sound comes from his wrist as a result of his struggle with the thick ropes restraining him. He’s able to pull his now limp hand out, the other one swiftly following. Whatever he's done to his wrist has severely limited his movement, another hurdle in his plan to escape. He takes a shivery breath, knowing that he only has one shot to do this. Quietly, he dashes across the room, his back to the wall right next to the door with the chair he was tied to in his hands. His fist bangs against the door, shaking it in its frame. Footsteps immediately begin rushing towards the room. Hearing the men on the other side of the door makes his vision blur, everything seems to move in slow motion as his adrenaline kicks in. With a deep breath, he slams the chair over the head of the first man through the door, knocking him on the ground. A jagged broken leg from the chair left in his hand meets the stomach of the next man in line. Warm blood gushes over his half-limp hand. Just as he expected, a handgun clatters to the ground as the man’s body does. Efficient and brutally graceful, he's as cold as the metal of the gun that now rests in his hand. 

Two shots fly through the next group of men as he finally exits the room he's been locked in. He presses forward, knees weak underneath him. The gun is only enough to clean up a few of the last men. Making do, the man who was unfortunate enough to bring a switchblade gets knocked sideways, receiving a skull-shaking uppercut underneath his chin. Using what he has, he takes the gun and slams it against the man’s head repeatedly with a passion that's almost inhuman. Blood and various other chunks of bodily matter now cover his jeans, making them more red than blue. After ruthlessly ending the life of the last man, the whole building goes silent. For the first time in a while he sees clearly, and he knows he needs to get out. Leaving the carnage behind, he stumbles out the door. 

The alleyway he finds himself in is dark, despite the orange-yellow light that still fills the sky. He staggers towards the sidewalk, searching for any sign of where he is. The VHS rental store he frequents is just down the road, something that helps him get his bearings in reality. Panic fills him as he realizes how far he is from your apartment. He’ll never make it there on foot, he's already barely alive. Running his hand over the interior of his jacket, he feels the bulge of his keys in his pocket. Knowing that he actually has a chance of making it home to you motivates him even more. He begins walking towards the last place he remembers being, his vision wavering with each step. 

– 

You’re on the back of his bike once again, flying down the highway to get to your apartment. The orange sun peeks out from between tall buildings, shining its light on you momentarily. A cool breeze blows through your hair wildly. You bury your face into the side of his neck, keeping your face out of the unseasonably chilly evening air. The sensation of his warmth against you feels so right that for a fleeting moment you forget who your heart supposedly still belongs to. 

He parks outside of your apartment building, holding onto your waist as you hop off of the bike. Taking him by the hand, you ask him to stay with you for a while, promising him that you can go out again and you’ll buy the drinks. The look in your eyes alone is enough to convince him, and he follows you up to your room with no hesitation. 

Once you make it back to your bedroom, you change out of his clothes and splash cool water on your face, hoping to banish the last bit of your hangover. Exiting your bedroom, you find him standing on your balcony smoking. You join him, of course, admiring how the golden light of the sunset shines down on him as his hair flows in the wind, like something out of a movie. You can tell that he’s gazing in your direction, but you’re too busy looking at the horizon to say anything. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he says earnestly. 

You stumble over your words for a moment before staring at him in shock, your entire face turning bright red.

“I mean it,” he continues. “I don’t know how you ended up with the asshole you did.”

He puts his cigarette back in his mouth nonchalantly as if he hadn’t said anything. 

Just before you can respond, it begins to rain.

“Well, shit, so much for romance,” he mutters before leading you back inside. 

–

He's only a block away from his car when the rain starts to pour. The blood drenching him runs down his body even faster now, leaving light pink stains all over his clothes. Most of his walk is spent weaving through alleyways to avoid unwanted attention, especially from the law. 

He can see his car in the distance, still parked outside of the vacant building where he left it. The pace of his steps picks up significantly, he knows he's close to finally being free. Looking over his shoulder a final time to make sure no one has followed him, he unlocks his car and gets in. 

A heavy sigh racks through his body as soon as he sits in the driver’s seat. He stares down at his blood caked shoes, muttering curses under his breath when he notices they’re staining the floor. Slowly reaching into the cupholder, he pulls out his cigarettes and lights one, filling his weak lungs with grey smoke. The nicotine withdrawal he had been through was nothing compared to the withdrawal from you, spending weeks without your presence nearly killed him. The bright flashes of lightning that crawl across the clouds pull him out of his daze. The wind picks up, blowing rain forcefully against the windshield. He doesn’t have time to wait out the storm, so he puts his car in gear, cigarette still in hand. The route to your apartment is ingrained in his mind and he makes it there seamlessly, even without being able to see through the rain. 

His mind goes blank until he finds himself standing outside your door. For a moment he stands still, staring forward, hesitant to subject himself to being face to face with you again. Part of him wants to walk away, to let you be happier without him. Deciding that getting to see you again is worth the strife of realizing you’re with someone else, he knocks as best as he can, hoping it's loud enough for you to hear.