after literal months of agonising over tiny details, zigilante is here in all his glorious 3 photos 💀 (im very camera shy but also v glad my partner took some great photos)
i got to spiderman meme with the other vigilante cosplayer and they were handing out little pieces of paper with animal facts 🥺
i couldnt wear the helmet for very long though because it got so sweaty so fast it started Raining inside the helmet 😞
Adrian sticking a knife in your side and quickly kissing you to muffle your cry I mean what who said that show yourself
GOD. oh my god. well, i did say i was gonna write a slasher adrian fic for halloween 🎃🫣 have a nice night yall!!! xoxo
slasher! or serial killer!adrian chase
cw: violence!!!!!!!!!!, stabbing, flesh wound, dacryphilia, creepy and controlling boyfriend behavior, threatening, manipulation, mentions of drug consumption.
please read at your discretion, for the love of god.
"For fucks sake- You're making this harder than it needs to be. It's already bad enough that you saw me do all that shit without the mask on, i cant have you running off or-" He groans, his gloved hands grabbing at your waist firmly and slamming it against the bark of the tree behind you, stopping you from wriggling away and escaping from him once more.
He closes in on you, knowing he's got you right where he wants you, cornered, tired and with no viable escape routes.
"Adrian, y-you killed everyone-" You try to speak, but with every word you drain yourself further. With every word a fearful and downright terrified knot gets stuck in your throat.
"Not everyone" Your boyfriend (fairly new, but still- your boyfriend) comments matter of factly. "I didn't kill you. Silly" He says with a teasing and innocent chuckle, his eyes shining with sickly sweet affection towards you.
"So I-I'm next?" You ask with a harsh gulp, fighting the way his gaze makes butterflies rise up in your stomach every time.
Even when theres a gruesome crime scene in the cabin a few meters away, the Halloween party he decided to crash now dead silent.
Dead in the most literal sense of the word.
All because of him. Him, his balaclava, and a chainsaw.
"Well that depends, I guess-" He starts, with a casual shrug of his shoulders.
You dont let him finish, theres a sharp and ear piercing scream that tries to escape from your throat. A loud cry for help you're hoping can be heard from some distance in the large misty forrest you're now ironically trapped in.
But then-
It's an agonizing and sharp sting, when he jabs a sharp object down your side, the scream you were about to let out gets cut short, because the shock of it all shortens the air supply from your lungs.
Even if it's significantly lower in decibels, Adrian still leans in to press his mouth against yours, silencing your remaining cry with a slip of his tongue inside your lips.
It isn't the quick and nervous peck at the lips like you're used to with him, you were beginning to think your boyfriend was just shy or maybe not that into these sorts of things.
You were wrong.
This time, Adrian moans against your mouth, he smiles with endearment, like the little wails of pain that are escaping your throat in response to his knife are the prettiest sounds he's ever heard.
"Dont worry, it's not a lethal stab when it's on your side like this." He murmurs against your jaw, trails his lips downwards towards your neck and then back up to speak against your ear. "You didn't let me finish!- Fuck! - I just need you to promise me you wont tell anyone about this, nor my secret identity. Yeah babe? I really dont want to have to twist this knife inside- Or well- I do kinda want to! but I wont! - not if you promise-"
"But- w- why would you do that? all this?" You sob in pain, no longer fighting the tears that slip down your cheeks.
"Why? Are you fucking kidding? Did you see the amount of illegal substances they were doing in there? Like a shit ton! C'mon, I really thought you were better than all of this. I know you are actually" Adrian elaborates passionately, careful not to move his weapon an inch inside.
But you can see how his eyes are growing black at the sight of you, that they trail down to see how your chest rises and falls erratically and his mouth goes slack, that the way you're trembling in response to his intimidation and torture tactics only makes something pull upwards at the side of his slowly forming smirk.
"Adrian, please! stop-" You plead, one hand rising to hold the one that presses against your wound and the other against his chest.
"You'll thank me later, these jerk offs were only gonna get you into trouble eventually. It's a good thing Im here now huh? to keep you away from stupid petty criminals like them" It doesn't sound like he's trying to convince you or himself when he says it.
And it's because he believes it to be true, all of it.
"So- Promise?" He asks again, "accidentally" impaling his knife harder into your insides when he leans in to kiss you one more time. This time around he only needs to quiet a tiny wet gasp that he swallows down with a satisfied and knowing laugh.
she probably decorates the whole house and asks Adrian to put up the tree, she makes a super elaborate meal just for the both of them, wraps all of his gifts with a neat bow and adrian is an ungrateful little shit the whole time but his moms just super happy that she gets to spend xmas with her spoiled baby boy (man) LMAO
If you are looking for Peacemaker requests, I would love to see you write something about Economos and him falling for a new girl at work but his confidence isn't the best so you have to make the first move? Smut or Fluff, your choice 🥰🤩💖
This is my first full fic back after not writing for nearly 4 years so I'm very sorry if this sucks ass completely and wasn't what you were looking for. Also, I was thinking of doing the smut but then I was like, I could probably do a whole ass kinda sequel to this and my brain is absolutely failing to see how I could work in any smut.
Warnings: Mentions food and eating (I'm pretty sure people add that as a warning??). Serious amounts of bad language. A little dirty *wink wonk*. Not much else I believe, let me know if I have missed anything.
Word Count: 5.6k (5,593)
Pairing: John Economos x female reader
(A/N: This is most likely absolute shit. This is the first proper fic I've written ((not including HCS)) on my phone and it's the first proper fic in nearing 4 years so this bitch hella rusty.)
(A/N 2: It's probably a little sloppy and confusing but yeah, considering before this I haven't written an actual lengthy story in years, I guess I'm happy with it.)
_______________
Stop fucking staring. Jesus Christ.
John couldn't help but to scold himself when he realised he had once again been staring at you for far too long. All because someone made you laugh.
You. The newest Data Systems Technician in the Cyber Operations Support Unit department. Level 3 Clearance, which meant you still had to ask him to approve half your requests.
He didn’t mind.
You've only been at A.R.G.U.S. nearing 3 months now and John's surprised he hasn't died of an asthma attack with how often you take his breath away.
The Data Systems Technician is responsible for maintaining and assisting with the upkeep of internal data networks, ensuring that A.R.G.U.S.’s classified information systems remain stable and functional. As a new hire, your job was essentially to keep the data systems running without bringing the whole damn network down. Assist the seniors, troubleshoot the endless software bugs, and pray to every god you didn’t accidentally reboot the mainframe during a live operation.
Oftentimes, you have to collaborate with John and the IT division to resolve persistent network errors and software issues. Perform basic diagnostics and routine maintenance on local servers and storage arrays.
So, it's only natural Economos and you are often in close proximity, especially with your designated work areas located only a few cubicles away — close enough for him to overhear every muttered curse you make at your computer.
John's seen how you've decorated your desk — surrounding your flickering monitor and desk lamp lives little tidbits like a tiny plant, a colourful, IT-humour mug that acts as a penholder, and you've switched out the boring keyboard and mouse pad for something newer, cleaner, and in your favourite colour.
You've even decorated the cubical wall partition with 3 or 4 pictures — he especially favours the picture of you with two of your friends dressed up nice at a party for New Year's.
Even your lanyard that's hanging around your neck for your ID/clearance card is fun and different and really feels like you — nothing like the boring, dark navy lanyards with A.R.G.U.S. printed along it that every employee gets when they're first employed and given their ID.
Economos hadn't realised he fell back into the trace he was stuck under until your laugh rang out again, this time as you were parting from the coworker and saying bye.
He looked away fast, almost neck-breaking speed, pretending to check a network readout when he had seen you begin to walk in his direction. Like an idiot. Because God forbid anyone notice John Economos staring at someone who actually made the office feel less gray.
When you approached, you could see he was folded in on himself — shoulders tensed and raised, posture incredibly uncomfortable, and his gaze so intensely focused on the screen you're afraid a hole would have been burnt through it if he had heat vision.
"Hey John."
Good fucking God, he hopes nobody ever says his first name again because it will never sound as good as it does coming from you.
That's another thing he adores about you — how you use his name. Everyone calls him Economos. Everyone. Even his friends unless they're feeling just that smidge sentimental.
But you.
On your first day, after basic introductions, you had asked him so kindly — as if you actually cared, you did, whether he'd cared what you called him — if you could call him John.
All other women are ruined for him—
"John?" Your voice breaks through to him as you wave your hand hesitantly in front of him, softly laughing when he seems to have actually snapped out of it — not mockingly, just moreso like he was endearing to you.
Get it to-fucking-gether, dude!
"Uh, yeah? H-Hey."
Smooth. Real fucking smooth.
Dumbass.
The corners of your mouth turn upwards as your fingers play with the edge of your ID card hanging down by your front.
"I'm going on break and was gonna pop to the gas station to get stuff ready for the system update later," you start. "Just a couple things, y'know? Anyways, wanted to check if you wanted anything specific picking up or if you're fine with whatever."
This interaction rolls around like clockwork every time you've been scheduled to stay after-hours — you check in about what snacks and drinks he wants, you both spend hours after dark all alone together, and you get through the night and workload sharing the goods and small conversation that's littered with quips and the occasional compliment, mostly from you.
The routine is comforting to him.
"Whatever's good. I'm cool, I'm...breezy..."
Fucking breezy? What the fuck is WRONG with you?
"Well, Okie dokie, Mr. cool breeze," you tease, though you internally cringe. "I'll stock up and see you back here later, yeah?"
"Cool. I'll be here. Being all cool and breezy." His smile is almost pained as the sentence slowly poured out his mouth.
You chuckle and throw him a thumbs up as you step back before turning. And you thank your lucky stars that he can't see your face scrunch uncomfortably as you think about how lame you were through that entire chat.
_______________
Mr. cool breeze?
...
What the fuck was that?
Chastising yourself, you feel like slamming your head over and over into your steering wheel. You probably would if you weren't so focused on making sure you don't crash straight into pump 3 as you pull in and park up at the gas station.
You turn off your engine and grab your purse before slowly meandering out your car, making sure you hear the locks click shut.
A ding sounds as you push open the door and step through, already heading towards the fridges at the back first.
Your eyes land first on the diet Dr Pepper. John's been drinking plenty of it recently. He even muttered to you once that it's "same caffeine, zero sugar. Boom. Science."
Remembering his reasoning always makes you smile, and you snort as you shake your head, grabbing the 2 litre bottle before moving on to the aisles.
By the time you reach the cash register, there's snacks galore piled up high cradled in your arms that you carefully splay out on the counter — M&M's, Pretzel Bites, Jerky, Cheddar Combos, Sour Patch Kids, and gummy worms along with the Dr Pepper — you know nothing will go waste, they'll just be stashed in your guys' snack draw for the next all-nighter.
You rock back and forth on your heels and offer a tight-lipped smile as the guy begins blinging your items and bagging them up, the total climbing on the tiny screen.
Allowing your eyes to travel the front of the desk as he's close to finishing up, you spot a pack of gum you swear you haven't had since you were a kid.
Just before he can read out your total to you, you quickly slide a pack on to the counter next to the bag filled with your stuff and flash him an apologetic, toothy smile.
He looks dead behind the eyes as he scans the gum and drops it haphazardly into the plastic bag as he reads out your total.
You're quick to tap your card in your purse to the reader and pay so you can get back to your car faster — it's totally because the interaction with the guy at the register was awkward and a little intense, not because you just wanna get back to John who's waiting for you to get back.
The thanks you give is sweet yet hurried, and before you know it, you're driving back to the A.R.G.U.S. building singing along to the radio — window down, mood up, and gum popping.
_______________
By the time you reach the building again, the parking lot is near desolate and as you reach your floor, only two people other than you and John are there, yet they're slowly packing up and preparing to head on home.
You wish them both goodnight as you walk further in and your smile brightens as you spot John at his workspace, face illuminated by his monitor and desk lamp.
Each step you take, the plastic bag with the snacks and Dr Pepper rustle quietly — by the time you get about half way, he finally hears and looks up.
You lift the bag up and give it a little shake with a wide grin, and you swear the smile he gives you is a little bashful before his face turns more pinkish and he's averting his eyes away.
Finally reaching his desk, your heart flutters a little as you see he's rolled your desk chair over next to his for you and grabbed one of the company laptops open and on already.
Sitting down unceremoniously, you rifle through the bag and begin bringing out the snacks one by one.
"Hey," you say sweet as pie. "Anything crazy or exciting happen while I was gone?"
John releases a sort of snort as he peeks at you from the corner of his eye. "Oh yeah. Real chaos. Printer caught fire, alien invasion, I handled it. You owe me."
You release a quick laugh, almost like a playful scoff. “Really? Wow. So what, you’re, like, part of that 'Justice Gang' now or...?”
“Please.” He scoffs, leaning back in his chair. “Superman fucking wishes he could afford me.”
This time, your laugh is uncontained — head thrown back, loud, and quick.
Fuck, you're perfect.
When it’s just the two of you, the room feels easy—comfortable, even. Still, there’s that edge of nervous energy neither of you can shake, no matter how casual it seems. Maybe it only feels this effortless because you’re both about to slip into your element.
Finally, your quick bout of laughter subsides. You pull out the diet Dr Pepper you picked up and stand it on the desk amongst the snacks like placing the final piece of a puzzle. You almost look proud.
Then, it comes to the forefront of your mind.
"Fuck."
It's muttered in a tone akin to sad disappointment — almost whiny.
John turns to you with an eyebrow raised. "What?"
"Need cups."
Economos releases a boisterous, quick laugh before pushing away from his desk and standing, already making moves towards the break room.
You offer him a speedy "thank you," in a sing-song like tone, so soft and sweet as you begin to type in your login details on the laptop next to the mountain of snacks. And your smile is so innocent looking — until you capture your bottom lip between your teeth as find yourself able to freely oogle him for a moment.
God, you can't decide whether you want to enjoy sweet dates at home with him watching movies with takeout cuddled up on the couch or to jump his bones the moment he gets back.
You hadn't realised you drifted off into some sort of daydream until you hear him drop two mugs — his and yours — on to the desks surface.
Your body jumps a little as you're snapped out of it and widen your eyes at the screen seeing your finger drifted and held down the P key resulting in the longest looking password in the world.
Face completely heated, you're thankful and entirely relieved that John didn't notice your jolting or your panicked tapping of the backspace button before reattempting to enter your password.
He's finally situated himself comfortably before turning to you and sliding your mug closer to you. "Voilà."
You're eyes can't meet his as you offer him a smile and a soft "thanks," and yet you almost melt at the fact that he's been so quick to recognise which mug is yours.
The mug, prepping your chair and laptop ready, and now, as he tears open the M&Ms and offers you the first handful — you're surprised you haven't already transformed into a complete puddle — and that's only scratching the surface of how sweet he is and has been, ever since you began working in the same building.
John — sweet, gentle, 6'6 John — he's always reaching stuff too high up for you, always holding the door open for you, always refilling your coffee if he just so happens to be up and moving refilling his too.
He also refuses when you refuse to take any cash back for all the snacks you buy. It's a constant cycle. John tries throwing you a couple bucks to cover some of the snacks costs, you vehemently decline by using the "it's on me" or "my treat" line, and when you're not looking, like bathroom breaks, he's slipping a $20 somewhere amongst your belongings or in your desk that you usually wouldn't find until at least you've already parted ways.
Fuck, he's perfect.
Your smile broadens as you reach in and grab a handful, popping a few M&M's in your mouth as he mirrors your movements.
"Alright," John starts. "Let's dissect and upgrade this bitch." His face cringes but he hopes he's said it with such confidence and gusto that you don't notice just how fucking lame that was.
The snort that escapes you sounds inhuman and already like your sleep deprived.
It's gonna be a long fucking night.
_______________
The first time you and Economos worked major overtime into the night, it was sprung on to you with little warning.
You'd only been there about 2 and a half weeks when there was a system failure that caused serious corruption and digital chaos.
Being completely unprepared, you could only fuel up on the coffee available to you in the break room — bland and somehow even more bitter than regular coffee.
Mostly, you were just disappointed that the leftover chicken and leek pie was calling out to you from the fridge, all the way back at your place. Your stomach was punishing you for it immensely.
When you sat beside John for the first time to work on the system overnight together, you were thrust into the belief that angels do walk amongst the people of Earth — he held up both Goldfish and Cheez-Its and asked which you were in the mood for.
You’d pointed to the Goldfish with a soft, appreciative smile — mostly because you panicked at being given a choice and didn’t trust your voice not to crack if you thought about it too long.
He just gave a small nod and offered up a “Good choice,” tearing the bag open, setting it between the two of you on the desk like it was an offering.
You didn’t say anything, but after a moment, you reached in for one. A few minutes later, he did the same. Then you again. Then him. Eventually, it just became a quiet rhythm — a shared, wordless agreement that if you were both going to be stuck here until sunrise, at least you’d do it together.
The office lights buzzed faintly above you, and the glow from the monitors washed everything in soft blues and greys. Every so often, you’d catch the sound of him muttering at the system under his breath, or the tiny crunch of a cracker between his teeth. Somehow, it was all... comforting.
You didn’t get the system stable until nearly dawn, but you couldn’t help thinking that, for a night full of corrupted data and cold coffee, it hadn’t been so bad.
_______________
It's 3:47 in the morning and you're both just about finished with the update finally.
Thank the fucking heavens.
Direly. Need. Sleep.
So. Fucking. Tired.
John's finished up the final line of coding and hits the enter key, and you're both praying that it all doesn't go to hell as you're using the laptop to check the running and performing stats of the system on the laptop as the update is now being fully transitioned.
With everything looking like it's running smoothly, you almost cry out in relief and you move the laptop off from where it's balanced atop your thighs and back up on to John's desk.
You don't catch the way he stares at you as your eyes close and how you stretch your arms above your head, the hem of your t-shirt riding up just enough that a slither of your hips pokes out.
Holy fuck.
Stop acting like such a fucking virgin, he internally chastises himself.
He's quick to turn and try to distract himself by touching random things on his desk to look busy — to look like he hasn't just fully gawked at someone who he believes is the most ethereal being he has ever laid eyes on.
You're rolling your neck and lazily close out of all the open running programmes before logging out and powering down.
"Hey-Uh...You alright to sort out the mugs while I tidy up out here?" You ask, already standing up and grabbing empty wrappers, packets, and the long since empty bottle of diet Dr Pepper — holy shit you two drank a lot.
John offers a quick nod as he collects both mugs before making his way towards the break room to wash them out.
And he doesn't weaponize incompetence. What a fucking stud.
You're biting your lip and chuckling softly to yourself as you're dumping everything in the trash basket before moving to return your chair back to your cubicle and returning the laptop back to the charging/storage station.
By the time you return back to John's cubicle, he's powered down his computer and waiting for you to head out together. Knowing he's waiting for you makes your heart stutter and pulse quicken.
If there's ever been anyone who's deserved head, it would be John.
"Ready to get movin'?"
"Sure." Your smile makes him weak at the knees and he's silently praying he's able to walk semi-normal as you gather up the small amount of your belongings before beginning to lead the way.
The trip down to the ground floor is comfortably silent — you were bold enough to stand closer to him than needed in the spacious elevator, and he was bold enough to not fold under nerves and move away.
Hell, your hands almost brushed but nothing lasts long enough when you need it too. Damn you, modern fast elevators.
You're waving and wishing the security at the front desk goodnight as you and John step into the brisk early morning air.
A shiver is quick to crawl up your spine and shoot chills through you, making your wrap your jacket tight around you, hugging the material close. The breeze is gentle tousling your hair and the scent of your shampoo is blown in his direction.
"So uh...I'll see you in a couple hours," you relay as you rock on your heels again, breaking your neck to look up at John.
John nods, one hand stuffed in the front pocket of his jeans as the other holds the strap of his bag hanging over his shoulder. "Yeah. Drive safe, okay?"
You grace him with a smile as you take a step off the curb and towards your parked car. "You too. Goodnight, John."
"Goodnight." He huffs out a laugh and makes his way to his own car — unlocking it and clambering inside.
He'll sits there for a while, he always does when you're leaving together. It's John's way of making sure you pull off okay. He'll only start his engine once you've driven out the parking lot.
He hadn't realised he'd practically been staring at you when the sound of your engine trying to turn over snaps him out of it — he hears it sputter and cut out.
You try again.
Another sputter and then a cough before the unmistakable clunk-clunk of an engine refusing to cooperate.
John winces. He knows that sound — he'll, he's even made that sound before.
He watches you grip the wheel tightly, trying to take a calming breath before trying again, it failing, and subsequently you losing your shit.
It's muffled by the bodies of your cars and the distance between them but it's still distinguishable enough that he catches you cursing out your car.
"Oh, fuck you! Come on! Don't do this to me, man!"
You try again. And again. Nothing but another weak cough from the engine.
Finally, the slither of hope you tried to keep ahold of is as dead as your engine. You fling the door open and step out, muttering curses under your breath that he can tell aren't pretty.
John lets out a quiet sigh through his nose and he's glad that he didn't decide to switch up the routine and leave before you.
He's climbing back out his own car, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, and starting towards you.
You're startled out of your souring mood when John calls out to you, turning to see him approaching.
"Everything alright there, Dale Earnhardt?" It's said with that dry, tired humour that only half hides the concern underneath.
You groan softly, head thrown back like you're cursing the heavens, your exhaustion evident in just how fed up you look and sound.
"Stupid fucking car won't start," you mumble. It drools out of you like a disgruntled child, all pouty and grumbly. "I swear it was literally fine earlier when I went for snacks."
"Yeah, they all say that before they die on you," he lightly jokes, stopping beside you and peering over at the car like it's offended him personally. "Pop the hood."
An eyebrow raised. "You know what you're doing?"
"Fuck no," he says flatly, then adds, "But I can look at it while pretending I do, if that helps."
You laugh despite yourself — small, tired, but warm.
He appreciates that he was able to lighten your mood a little before he changes gears.
"Or, I can just give you a ride?"
"Really?"
John nods and gives a little shrug of his shoulders to appear nonchalant, even if on the inside the thought of you being in his car was making his stomach do summersaults.
"Yeah, it's no biggie."
Stop fucking saying weird, lame shit, dude! She's gonna rather walk then get in a car with you if you keep it up, dumbass!
He's brought out of his internal self berating when you smile so sweetly up at him — you're eyes actually look brighter.
"Holy shit, that'd be awesome." You visually sag in relief. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! You're the best. Seriously."
John turns a shade red as you turn to grab your necessary belongings from the car and lock up. As you turn, he turns — anything to hide his face that's flushing from your gratitude and praise — and begins leading the way to his car.
_______________
You sigh out and finally relax back against the passenger seat as you hang up — you thought it best to call up the front desk at A.R.G.U.S. and inform the security guy of your car stuck in the parking lot. Part courtesy, part subtly asking if they'll keep an eye on it for you until you can call someone in the morning to tow it to a shop. He was reassuring that he'll pass it on when the shift change happens and the guy on morning duty arrives to relieve him.
John, meanwhile, has been nonstop sneaking glances from the corner of his eye.
You look so comfortable now that you've partly handled some of the stress your car's brought on — head resting against the window as you stare out at the passing streetlights that cast an orange glow, eyes occasionally closing as you enjoy the music that's been quietly filling the car since the engine switched on. And you're not freezing your ass off because he switched the heater on.
"So uh..." John starts. He sounds hesitant, nervous even. "Do you uh—I can pick you up for work...if you still need a ride."
Straightening your posture enough to look at him properly, you feel your face heat slightly as you sweetly nod, eyes then averting as you nibble shyly at your bottom lip. "Uh yeah. That'd be—that'd be great. Thanks."
He nods his head once and readjusts his hands on the wheel — flexing his fingers.
Fuck, his hands are huge.
Have they always been that big?
...
Fuck, stop thinking about his hands, pervert!
...
But yeah, it makes sense they're big.
He's super tall.
Like super...tall.
Big...
And his beard.
It looks nice.
I wonder if it feels nice...
"Wonder if it'll feel as nice as I think it would to kiss him with that beard..."
The car suddenly jerks and you're completely snapped out of your trance, your glazed over gaze blinking back to normal.
You're wondering what's just happened when John sputters out as he's turning fire-engine-red —
"What'd you just say?"
Oh fuck.
Oh shit.
Oh no.
Fuuuuck.
The realisation hits you like a truck — quickly and with failed breaks.
Then, it's the embarrassment that's crushing down on you like a steamroller — slow, heavy — you're debating whether diving, tucking, and rolling out of the car is an option.
Okay. Plan.
Denial. Act oblivious.
"What'd ya mean?"
God, you look so shifty.
Now John, he almost backs down — his nerves, his insecurities, his complete lack of confidence — but something new brewing in him pushes on.
"That thing you said. About my...beard? And...kissing..."
God, he's burning in embarrassment and nerves himself
You definitely misheard her, dumbass.
Your mouth opens, then closes again. A pathetic noise slips out — something between a laugh and a squeak.
“What? I didn’t—uh, no, I didn’t say anything about—uh—beards or, like, kissing or anything.”
Smooth. Nailed it. Totally convincing.
...
Fuck sakes.
You can feel your pulse pounding in your neck as you stare determinedly out the window, pretending to find the streetlights utterly fascinating.
John clears his throat, eyes fixed on the road like it might save him from spontaneous combustion.
“Right. Yeah." His shell looks all too inviting to not go back into.
The silence that follows is suffocating, the kind that fills every corner of the car and hums louder than the engine. You swear you can hear your heartbeat over the hum of the tires.
You finally risk a glance at him — his knuckles are white on the steering wheel, jaw tight, eyes locked ahead. He looks… flustered. Like actually flustered.
That thought alone makes your stomach twist — you actually feel bad that you were such a coward and decided against being honest.
A beat passes. Then another.
You exhale slowly and let your head fall back against the seat again, deciding that maybe you’ll both just die of embarrassment before you reach your apartment.
Except—
“For what it’s worth…”
His voice is quiet, rough around the edges. You blink, turning to look at him. He doesn’t meet your eyes, but his mouth twitches — half a nervous smirk, half a confession.
You freeze. Your brain short-circuits completely, and for a solid two seconds, you just stare at him.
He still doesn’t look over, but you can see the red creeping up his neck, the way he shifts in his seat like he’s already regretting opening his mouth.
Then, before you can even think of something clever — or coherent — to say, he clears his throat again.
“Anyway. Seatbelt okay? Heater too warm?”
And just like that, he retreats back behind the wheel — but there’s a small, awkward smile tugging at his lips that doesn’t fade the rest of the drive.
You're absolutely stupified — almost certain your brain has lost any comprehension to function — your jaw is slack and your eyes are locked on the side of his head, which you're certain isn't exactly helping his flustered state.
Only when John slows to a stop outside your place and begins to awkwardly wiggle and tap his fingers against the steering wheel, face burning, does something spark in you that snaps you out of it.
There's a pregnant pause — stifling tension in the air — your eyes dart all along him sat in that driver's seat.
Then, you're calling his name softly.
John hesitates to turn his head. You whisper his name once more.
Now John is helpless to do nothing but turn to you and your gentle beckoning.
He almost stops breathing and his heart almost pauses in its beats entirely as he's surprised by the feeling your lips pressed against his.
When you feel him not return your kiss, you pull back — wide eyed, worried, and embarrassment like a burning inferno.
"I'm—Oh fuck. I'm so sorry." You're actually so genuinely apologetic, and you look and sound like you're on the verge of tears at the thought of crossing a boundary and ever making him uncomfortable.
But it's when you go to hastily pull away further that John acts.
He's quick but gentle in capturing your face between his big, warm hands and kissing you desperately.
John feels you relax instantaneously and sigh into the kiss, your own hands moving to hold his forearms.
He's feeling your fingers softly tighten your grip — like your anchoring yourself.
You're feeling his one hand move to now cradle the back of your neck — like pulling you in impossibly closer.
Oh my fucking God.
Oh my fucking God.
You've slotted together like two perfectly fitted spinning cogs and for all it's worth, your kiss has lasted a lot longer than the kiss should probably last when done stretching over the centre console in a car that you doubt John found uncomfortable as is with its size. But finally, you two pull away — slow, breathless.
Your noses brush as you both breathe shakily, the air heavy with everything that's just happened — everything that's apparently been building between you two without either of you daring to admit it.
Neither of you dare break the silence. You just look at each other, eyes flickering between lips, cheeks flushed, breathing unevenly.
You can feel his pulse thrumming where your fingers still rest on his arm — strong and fast, betraying every ounce of composure he's trying to keep. He could probably feel your pulse just as violently.
John's the first to break, his voice rough and uncertain. "Didn't...didn't mean to make that weird."
The laugh you huff out is faint and breathless as you shake your head. "You didn't. I did."
He audibly swallows hard, still holding your gaze. "Pretty sure we both did."
That earns him a small, nervous smile — the kind that makes his chest tighten painfully, and not from the asthma.
You glance down, thumb brushing absently over the fabric of his sleeve before you whisper, "I've wanted to do that for a while, you know."
John blinks. Slow. Once. Twice.
"You—wait, what?"
You nod, embarrassed but too far gone to even try to hide it now. "Yeah. I just...didn't think you'd ever—"
He interrupted, quiet but firm. "You're fucking kidding, right? You walk in a room and I forget how to do basic functions."
That makes you laugh again, soft and disbelieving, and his lips twitch into something halfway between a grin and a grimace. "Swear to God, you're gonna be the reason my heart finally gives out one of these days."
The air lightens just a touch, tension melting into something warmer. You lean back slightly, studying him in the dim glow of the streetlight spilling in through the windows. "I guess looking back, perhaps we weren't the most subtle..."
"Yeah," he mutters, rubbing a hand over his beard with a shaky exhale. "Real fucking subtle, us."
There's another quiet pause — softer this time, comfortable — before he speaks again, almost shyly. "So, uh...what happens now?"
You smile, tilting your head just a little. "Uhm—How about you pick me up in the morning for work and we...figure it out from there?"
John nods, lips curving into a faint, genuine smile. "Yeah, I can do that."
You linger for a moment longer — eyes meeting, something unspoken and electric still hovering in the air — your hand reaches back and hovers over the door handle.
You take a pause before darting forward and dropping a quick peck against his lips — it's gentle, sweet, and almost reverting back to shy. Almost.
"Goodnight, John." Voice low, sincere.
"Night," he murmurs, watching you step out and go to move towards your place.
You pause and lean back down before closing the passenger side. Your smile is almost playful and your smile reminiscent of a grin. "Your beard, by the way...I was right. It felt nice when we were kissing."
He lets out a short, incredulous laugh as he watches you close the door and offer a quick wave heading inside.
John sits there for a long moment, heart still hammering, wondering how the hell he's supposed to sleep now.
Then, before he can stop himself, he lets out a quiet laugh. The kind that slips out when something feels too damn good to be real.
He's muttering under his breath and grinning like an idiot.
Holy shit.
John's sinking back in his seat for a moment, rubbing his face, still smiling. Then he reaches for the stereo, upping the volume on a familiar track — it hits differently tonight.
By the time he's pulling out of your street, the windows are cracked, the night air is cool against his face, and he's tapping the steering wheel to the beat — a little off-rhythm, a little too happy to care.
For once, the drive home doesn't feel so fucking long or lonely.
_______________
This is not proofread and probably sucks so much
Like, it's so bad in my opinion
Anyways
Constructive criticism is always welcomed and appreciated
Primal play with Adrian but it’s genuinly terrifying how serious he takes it. Running through the woods and he’s pulling you across the floor by your ankles, sticks scraping up your soft thighs while you’re scrambling to get away
OMG WHAT ABOUT economos x fem!reader whos a vampire and hes lowkey like super horny for getting his blood sucked because he got bricked up the first time he ever saw Salma Hayek in duck til dawn.
YOOOOO WAIT I LOVE THISSSSS cause we know adrians a freak but what kind of monster fucker would economos be 🤔 (also as a side note, i only write for GN reader! sometimes afab GN reader bc something something write what you know, but just a friendly PSA!)
economos x vampire!reader
tw: light smut (dry humping if you squint), blood/narsty gory descriptions of blood drinking
i think economos would have to know and trust the fuck outta someone before he’d let them drink his blood (“i’m not gonna let some random vampire suck on me! what if they give me some kind of, fucked up, vampire std? and then i have to eat, i don’t know, fucking garlic every single day for the rest of my life???”). trust issues aside, i think he’d be kinda shy and shameful about it. he wants you to drink his blood so bad, internally he justifies it as “finally being useful for once”, but deep down he knows the real reason.
maybe one time you were so thirsty you had no choice but to snack on him. you thought you’d be able to hold out until the next night, but as the sun began to rise outside, the realisation that you were stuck indoors for the next 12-ish hours with an aching bloodlust hit you like a freight train. you woke economos up with your anxious pacing at the foot of the bed.
“whats wrong? what happened?? did i forget to close the blinds???” john asked, sitting upright in bed and whipping his head around the room faster than lighting.
“no, no its not that,” you assured him, nervously dragging the underside of your thumb nail along your front teeth. you gently pressed your thumb into a fang, trying to ground yourself with the pain, “i thought i could hold out till tonight… i don’t know if i can…”
“oh fuck.”
john sprung out of bed and into action, but as he reached you, he realised his complete lack of a plan. you could smell the iron in his blood, and you could feel your pulse begin to synch with his as it ka-thump, ka-thump, ka-thumped in your ears. and your chest. and your loins. this was bad.
you backed away from him, your insides cursing you as he watched you retreat with a saddened and slightly anxious gaze.
“i’ll find you some blood,” john began to strategise, “i’ll go find a doctor, or a hospital, or-or the blood bank!”
the “b” word had you backing up away from him until your spine hit the wall with a concerning thud, but the pain wasn’t enough to distract you from the saliva gumming up your throat and pooling at the corners of your mouth.
“fuck, i’m not gonna make it that long” you rasped, unfocused eyes darting around the room as your knees buckled slightly and you began to curl in on yourself.
‘be brave, you big idiot. be brave, be bold, make the scary choice,’ john thought to himself, ‘what would harcourt do? or ads, or chris? or, fuck, i’m stood in front of the world’s sexiest vampire in dire need of a drink right now, what would adrian do?’
“dr-“ he hesitated, “drink-“ the words kept dying on his tongue. john dug his nails into his palms and commanded the words to come forth with his chest, “drink me.”
“WHAT???” you hissed, slamming your palms and the back of your head against the wall in protest to the way your carnal instincts responded to his suggestion. your belly ached and burned and grumbled at his offer, but you dug your heels firmly into the ground to keep yourself in place.
“you can drink me. if- if that’s doable without me, uh…” john held back a nervous gag, “dying, or whatever”. as much as this had always been a fantasy of johns, he still didnt particularly want to die as a result of having it finally come true.
you steadied yourself as you tried to calculate the odds in your increasingly foggy head. with the state you were in, it was almost certain you wouldn’t last the day without blood. the mental images of your thirst taking over, sending you sprinting and panting and drooling head first into the walking-blood-bag and sunlight filled daytime to burst into flames.
you could barely speak, tears and spittle running down your chin, “you’ll have to have a safe…” you tried and failed to swallow, “a safe…”
“a safe word?” john asked, face flushing red once the words escaped his lips.
“kind of,” you panted through the lump in your throat, “do you have any garlic? or a cross?”
minutes later, you sat on the coffee table across from john who was sat on the couch wielding a makeshift cross. on the arm of the couch sat a whole bulb of garlic with the top cut off to reveal the potent repellants that lay within.
you white knuckled the coffee table to hold yourself back from him for as long as you could, legs spread semi-wide to keep your heels dug in. you could feel your fingernails begin to dig into the lacquer on the underside of the table lip as you spoke, “are you sure you’re okay to do this?”
“i don’t want you to die,” john stated, though your biting glare told him that wasn’t enough. the words began to stick to the sides of his throat again, but the threat of losing you ripped them out and threw them into the air,
“bite me. i want you to bite me, i want you to dr- holy shit,” john panted, a wave of something rolling over him, “i want you to drink my bl-“
john didnt even finish his sentence before you were on him like a piranha. in hindsight, he was glad it all happened so fast. there was no time to register the pain of your sharp teeth piercing his neck with precision, ever so gently tickling the surface of his jugular vein to coax out the life elixir like you had done countless times before as to not kill your repository. the main difference here was that the groans and mewls that escaped your throat as you supped the hot, thick ichor from john’s throat were ones of personal, intimate pleasure, so much more than the usual routine scratching of that age-old itch.
john could barely think, no, scratch that, he couldn’t think as his brain tried and failed spectacularly to place the sensations he was experiencing. your lips, your teeth, your tongue were touching him in untouchable places, places he thought he’d have to sit in a confessional booth to ever admit that he let someone touch him there aloud. you were so, beyond deeply, inside of him.
john foggily recalled the first time he ever watched from dusk till dawn as your gulping and slurping and huffing drifted into the background. the way his shirt felt ten times tighter and less breathable as salma hayek took centre stage and danced. how over the broken sleep-filled nights that followed, his fantasties slowly shifted their attention from the dancing to the carnage, the sanguine taboo forever leaving a permanent, shameful mark on his sexuality. oh how you’d ripped that mark wide open with your sharp teeth and your pleading eyes and your shaking knees and your unquenchable thirst.
for a fleeting moment, john swore he could feel his clammy palms pawing at your body, holding tight once he’d found what may have been your waist and pulling you down onto his hips which were already rolling all the way up. maybe the beautiful melody tickling his ears was his phone ringing, maybe it was your cries of pleasure tangling themselves together in john’s throat and exiting through the puncture wound. john could feel his tongue begin to stick to the back of his teeth in aridity, and he wondered how long he’d been sat there with his mouth hanging wide open like some sort of pervert corpse. was he panting? was he moaning? was he crying?
john used his last few heartbeats of consciousness to rip a hand from your grinding hips and grope the arm of the couch in search of a “safe word”. his other hand attempted to buy him some time, trying to push you away from himself to no avail as you continued to ingurgitate, locked in with bloodthirsty greed, and his hips continued to buck themselves up into yours against his better judgement. if he hadn’t lost so much blood, this would normally be where he’d start to panic.
a wail of relief croaked out of his dry throat as his fingers met one of the splintery, duct-tape-y right angles of the makeshift cross. john lamely pressed the cross against the skin of your midriff where your shirt had ridden up, his other hand feeling around to find your head, lace his fingers in your hair and rip you off him by your scalp with his last ounce of energy before slipping out of consciousness entirely.
the loathsome burning in your side hurled you back into reality instantaneously, making it easy for john to launch your incapacitated body into the couch cushion beside him as you wailed in anguish. through the pain, you turned to john and felt sweet relief wash over you and soothe you as you watched his chest gently rise and fall, and two small droplets of blood quickly bead and begin to coagulate at the puncture wounds on his neck. you don’t know what you would have done if he bled out, and you quickly stood yourself up as not to think about it too hard. maybe a little too quickly, stumbling towards the kitchen as if you were borderline blackout drunk to get john some orange juice and a cool, wet rag for his forehead.
you almost pulled the faucet out of the sink trying to hold yourself upright, and nearly snapped the fridge door off its hinges as you slammed it open with your body, sighing in relief as your new cross-shaped welt sizzled and cooled against the white plastic shelving. “that’s never happened before” you giggled to yourself on the meander back to your beloved. drinking your fill always felt good, but in all your years it had never felt quite like that. and never had it left you in such an inebriated state. you were too soused to piece together that maybe, just maybe, the lingering smoulder of arousal between your thighs had something to do with it.
as you returned to your lover, you could almost sense his eyelids flutter open the second he returned to the land of the living, feeling so connected to him after the sacrifice he’d just made for you. you sat on the couch beside john and placed the cold cloth on his forehead, hissing quietly in sympathy as you watched him flinch at the temperature. you felt your throat seize up completely as his eyes, heavily-lidded but much more conscious and shining then they were earlier, flick up and down and around your face, and you waited in bated breath for him to break the silence.
if we're gonna be ginger snapping may i propose that "i dont like the way he looks at you" scene (im forgetting the eggsact phrasing sowwy) from the pov of lycanthrope!reader whose changes make them more possessive? adrian who would typically be giddy about that sort of attention is highkey scared of reader who lashes out (in wolf form) at anyone who gets too close to him. 🐺 awooooo
- kronksley
ohhhhhh this is fucking delicious thank u kingslay, absolutelY this this this this this, i loveeeeeeeeee the adrian trope of like “what would it take to actually make him scared” and i think watching someone he loves get body-horrored into something even more gross and blood-thirsty than him miiiiiiight just do it 😈
romaincrisis
kaledo-art
annaxmalina
germansingergirl
