Most wanted | p.jm x reader

0.9

9 months later

"What are you thinking about right now?"

I snap out of my trance, looking back up in front of me.

I was so out of it that I didn't even notice that I had spaced out of the conversation and drifted my attention to the falling rain outside.

The dismal mood of the outside atmosphere completely contrasted with the retro bright style of the nearly empty diner that we were sitting inside of at the moment.

"Nothing." I respond. It didn't seem all too convincing though.

His hand reaches out for mine from across the table, his thumb rubbing small circles on the back of my hand. I look down lovingly at the motions, mesmerised by his beautiful hands.

How could someone be so perfect?

"You're obviously thinking about something if you're spacing out like that." He says, still rubbing circles on the back of my hand, but with more pressure added.

I continue to look down at the table, avoiding his gaze as I shyly sweep a strand of hair away from my face.

"I said it was nothing." I tease.

"Aren't you the cutest?" He giggles.

"Of course, isn't that the reason we're together?" I continue to tease, enjoying the attention.

"Come here. I've been dying to place my mouth on those lips for the longest time now."

I don't reject the order. I've been as eager as he is to kiss him, but because of the open atmosphere, we've had to been cautious. But with the diner now empty at this point, there was no reason to hide any displays of affection at this point.

"Anything for you."

I look up at him, his face still quite hidden by the oversized hoodie he was wearing.

"Pull down your hoodie, handsome." I tell him.

He obeys, but what I find underneath doesn't seem to connect at all.

His face is there, but it only shows as a big blur, a series of distorted and blurred out shapes mashed together on a canvas.

For some reason, I don't take this as some sort of red flag that something's wrong here.

Maybe I should book myself an eye doctor appointment next week

I feel the grip on my hand start to tighten suddenly.

At first, I thought he's just squeezing it with a little more pressure, but soon it turns into a bone crushing grip. I continue to ignore it until I can feel some bone beginning to take on the early stages of cracking.

"C-can you stop g-gripping my hand? It really hurts." I gasp as I start to feel the loss of blood flow in my fingertips.

He doesn't respond as his grip only continues to grow tighter.

I use my free hand to try to pull my crushed hand from his grip, but no amount of force would pull it out from his iron claw.

It's when I hear a bone crack that I start screaming in horror.

"ARE YOU MENTAL?! LET GO OF ME!" I shout from the top of my lungs.

I whip my head to the back where the cashier was and start screaming at him to get help.

"CALL THE POLICE, PLEASE! HE'S HURTING ME!"

But to my shock, the man doesn't even react. He doesn't even flinch at the amount of noise I'm making, continuing to wipe down all the dishes with a dingy towel as he hums some rickety tune that is playing on the tiny old school radio.