ᴶᵒʰⁿ ᴰᵒᵉ ᵃʳᵗ ᵇʸ ʸᵃᵐᵉᵉᵒʷᵒ ᵒⁿ ˣ
¡ᴊᴏʜɴ ᴅᴏᴇ x 𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒆!𝒉𝒊𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒏-𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓
(🆆.🅲 𝟭𝟬.𝟬𝟬𝟬+)
ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴀ ʜɪᴛᴍᴀɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜱᴛᴀʟᴋᴇʀ ᴡʜᴏ ᴛᴜʀɴꜱ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀ ᴅᴜᴍʙ ᴅᴇᴍᴏɴ.
𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦!: 𝗩𝗶𝗼𝗹𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲, 𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗱, 𝗺𝘂𝗿𝗱𝗲𝗿, 𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁. (𝗛𝗮𝗽𝗽𝘆 𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴)
Nota de la autora: Este es mi primer fanfic y estoy un poco nerviosa. No sé cómo saldrá, pero quiero intentarlo. Pido disculpas por cualquier error gramatical, ortográfico o tipográfico; soy un poco despistado y, además, el inglés no es mi lengua materna.
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A few weeks ago, you had moved to a new city—one with a very bad reputation: mysterious disappearances, corruption, and rumors of paranormal activity. Although the last part was what concerned you the least; you had never believed in ghosts.
You had found an old, rundown apartment. The walls were cracked, there were leaks, the floor was a mess, and every now and then you heard strange noises from the neighbors. Still, none of that bothered you. You knew you wouldn’t be spending much time there because of the nature of your job.
After settling in, you decided to walk around the neighborhood to get your bearings. The atmosphere was suffocating. The sky had a dirty grayish-yellow tone, as if the air itself was polluted. You had looked up little about the city, but enough to know it was the perfect place for someone like you.
A few years ago, you had accepted this job. It wasn’t easy, but it was simple in its own way: they gave you a name and a client, you took care of the target, and you got paid. While walking down the street with one hand in your pocket and the other holding a cigarette, you saw a fast-food place across the road. You were about to cross when a bus passed by. Once it stopped in front of the place, you crossed.
Most of the passengers got off and quickly dispersed. However, one person remained frozen in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at you intently. People bumped into him trying to get by, but he didn’t even flinch. He just kept watching you.
It was unsettling. He had long, curly, messy hair, wore a gray jacket over a black t-shirt with a red eye logo, and baggy pants. His eyes were large, an intense yellow, with very dilated pupils. He stared at you with his mouth slightly open. If you looked closely, there seemed to be a small red heart in the center of each pupil, but you chose not to focus on it.
Uncomfortable, you frowned and entered the restaurant. Still, you could feel his gaze piercing your back, as if he could see straight through your soul. You sighed in relief once inside. You avoided looking toward the window. After five minutes and eating a hamburger, you had almost completely forgotten about him. It hadn’t been fear—just a deep sense of unease.
You didn’t think about that guy again for the rest of the week. Everything continued normally until it was time to work.
You had gotten a client in the neighborhood through your contacts. It was a simple job, as usual. The target left work at midnight. He didn’t have a car, so he had to take the bus. The streetlights were almost all broken: some flickered, others barely lit up, and several were completely out. There was no one else around.
When the man walked past a nearby alley, you stepped out of the shadows, yanked him forcefully, and threw him to the ground. He screamed in terror and tried to get up, but you got on top of him. Your athletic, trained body gave him no chance. You covered his mouth with one hand to muffle his screams and, with the other, pulled the knife from your back pocket. You stabbed it into his throat and dragged it to the side with a clean cut. Blood gushed out immediately. His screams turned into gurgles and his struggles grew weaker. You pulled the knife out and stabbed him in the chest to make sure.
Your hands were covered in blood. You didn’t know who he was or what he had done. You only wanted your payment.
You stored the weapon, still bloody, and stood up. You sighed and looked away from the corpse. That’s when you saw a figure at the end of the alley.
You took a step back, alert.
“Lost something, friend?” you asked, trying to sound casual despite the body still bleeding at your feet.
The figure stepped into the light, and you recognized him instantly: it was the same weird guy from that day. You clenched your fists, ready to attack.
He was smiling from ear to ear, with a strong blush on his cheeks.
“You look perfect like that… covered in blood,” he said in a strange accent, his voice rough. “I wish it was mine.”
You raised an eyebrow, confused.
“What? Who sent you?” you replied, quickly pulling out your knife.
“No… calm down. I don’t want to hurt you… unless you ask me to,” he said, taking another step closer. “I am #$%&/!=#}… but you can call me John Doe.”
The moment he said his name (or whatever that was), a chill ran down your spine, even though you hadn’t understood a word.
He looked excited, almost euphoric, like a fan who had just met his idol. He pressed his hands against his chest with a disturbing smile.
“If I see you again while I’m working, I’ll leave you worse than this guy. Got it?” you warned, pointing the knife at the corpse.
You put the weapon away and started backing up without turning your back on him. You were about to disappear when he stopped you.
You turned around, curious despite yourself.
“What’s your name?” he asked desperately.
“Y/N…” you answered without thinking.
He repeated your name in a low voice, as if it were something sacred he would never forget. You frowned and left. The entire way home, you felt like you were being watched.
When you reached your apartment, another shiver ran through you at what you saw under the door: a heart. You didn’t know if it was human, but you desperately hoped it was from some animal. Blood had stained the floor and the doormat. You didn’t need to wonder who had done it. Only one name came to mind: John Doe.
While throwing it in the trash, questions flooded your mind. How had he found where you lived? Whose heart was that? Why had he done it?
You washed your knife and hands in the sink. That night you felt more watched than ever. You took a bath, ate something, and went to sleep with the light on, door and window locked.
The following weeks were calm on the surface, but you weren’t. You felt hunted everywhere you went. One day, you decided to go for a walk to clear your head. You went to a slightly nicer café than the rest of the neighborhood. You ordered a coffee and a strawberry cake, trying to feel like a normal person.
While staring out the window, lost in thought, you heard someone sit down in front of you. Before turning, you started to say:
When you looked up, there he was. John. With that same disturbing smile and those unblinking yellow eyes.
“What do you want?” you asked angrily, standing up immediately.
“Did you like my gift?” he asked slowly.
“You left that fucking heart at my door? Shit, I knew it… How did you know where I live?”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he repeated.
You sighed. The waitress left your order and quickly walked away.
“Alright, John… I didn’t like your gift. Now tell me: where did you get that heart?”
“The heart… that was my heart,” he answered naturally.
“Your heart?” you repeated ironically.
“Do you want it to be someone else’s heart?” he asked.
A new chill ran through you. You took a sip of coffee before continuing.
“No, John. I don’t want you leaving anyone’s hearts at my door. Why did you do it?”
“I read that it’s an act of love… giving your heart to someone.”
He had probably taken it literally.
You remembered his previous words. An act of love? Love toward you?
“But why did you want to do an act of love for me?”
“Because I love you…” he replied.
At that moment, the logo on his shirt changed: it was now filled with small red hearts. When you looked into his eyes, you saw that his pupils also had a bright red heart in the center.
The atmosphere grew heavy.
“What do you mean by ‘I love you’?” you asked, uncomfortable.
“I fell deeply in love with you the first day I saw you. I’ve been watching you. You’re perfect from head to toe. I want to be with you… I love you.”
It would have sounded romantic if he hadn’t said it so desperately, with his eyes wide open and that disturbing smile, while squeezing his own hands tightly. It confirmed that he was the one who had been stalking you all this time. Nothing he said made you feel safe.
“O-okay, okay. Stop right there. Have you been stalking me? And how can you say you love me if you don’t even know me?”
The questions kept piling up in your mind, but at the same time you were starting to connect the patterns. The discomfort took hold of you once again.
“What is stalking?” John asked innocently.
You felt like he was messing with you.
“John… where are you from?” you asked. It was obvious he wasn’t just a weird-looking normal guy. He was weird. You didn’t want to sound xenophobic, but maybe his place of origin could explain his way of acting and thinking.
“I’m a normal, ordinary human,” he said, nervously looking away. It was obvious he was lying.
“John…” You stared at him, waiting for the truth.
There were a few seconds of silence until he finally spoke:
“I’m a demon… b-but I can be the perfect human for you,” he said desperately.
A demon. You had never believed in fantasies, not in God, not in Satan, not in ghosts. But after everything you had seen from him… it was hard not to believe him.
“Please, just give me a chance,” he pleaded. “I can be the ideal boyfriend… I just need to learn how.”
“So you’re a demon who doesn’t know how to be human?”
“Yes… but if you teach me, I… I could help you kill humans—”
The moment he said that, you quickly grabbed the spoon from the cake, cut a piece, and shoved it into his mouth to shut him up.
“Don’t say that in public…” you whispered, annoyed.
He swallowed the bite and replied apologetically:
You stayed silent for a few seconds, looking out the window while thinking. Having him as an assistant wasn’t a bad idea; after all, he was a demon. You finally sighed.
“Fine… you can stay with me. I’ll teach you how to ‘be human’ and you’ll work for me. But no weird stuff unless I ask for it. Understood?”
“I’d be delighted, Y/N…” he responded.
You sighed deeply, running a hand across your face. You knew this was a terrible idea. You should have killed him right there and ended the threat. However, there was something in that yellow gaze, in that sick and absolute devotion, that caused a strange warmth in your chest. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.
John kept watching you with that disturbing intensity, but now his eyes shone with an almost childlike hope. The red hearts on his shirt pulsed slowly, as if they had a life of their own.
“Alright…” you said quietly, almost to yourself. “But if you betray me, if you do anything weird without my permission… I’ll kill you. And it won’t be quick.”
Instead of getting scared, John smiled even wider, with an intense blush that spread to his ears. He leaned a little over the table, getting closer to you as if he couldn’t stand the distance.
“I understand. You’d kill me with your own hands…” he whispered in a hoarse, almost reverent voice. “I’d like that too.”
A shiver ran down your spine, but this time it wasn’t just fear. There was something fucking attractive about his madness. The fact that someone as dangerous as you could have a demon willing to kneel just for your attention.
You finished your coffee in one gulp and stood up. John immediately imitated you, sticking to your side like an obedient shadow. As you walked together down the street, you felt his constant gaze on you. It no longer felt uncomfortable… it felt heavy, possessive, and hot.
For the first time in a long time, the darkness of this city felt a little less cold.
