#Keanu/reader

[h-yalexaaaa]

gotta love the nerdy weird awkward but confident at times men that are so attractive for no reason

[keravnous]

diet mountain dew; john wick/fem!reader (smut, 18+)

dating john wick - the playlist

The Boogeyman is out to get you. Little does he know, that you too are willing to do quite a bunch of things just to stay alive.

warnings: blood, guns, knives, injuries, physical violence/fighting, assassination attempt; dub-con, rough sex, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (female receiving), choking, dirty talk, spanking, a lot of manhandling bc for the love of god he doesn't know how to be soft anymore, gun kink, knife kink, size kink, strength kink, squirting, body worship if you blink, is this hate-fucking? idk; john has a horse cock change my mind; john is in his 50s, the reader is in her 20s; set somewhere after the series i guess? (I refuse to accept he's dead); problematic family relationship as a plot device; let's all collectively ignore the fact that he would actually never touch another woman or even dare to catch the smallest of feelings again; john gets off on the violence

word count: 10,6 k

thank you mel for a) listening to my ramblings and b) reading a good chunk of the first third of this dumpster fire and still going nuts about it, kissies and thank you v for listening to my keanu ramblings without losing faith in me

You wonder, if praying will help you. Probably not.

The sound of carnage, screams and gunshots in the hallway abruptly stops. You hear the assailant's heavy footsteps echoing off the floorboards outside of your hotel room mere seconds before the door bursts open, flies out of its hinges and rattles to the ground, wood creaking and breaking, splinters flying everywhere.

There had been a hit out on you for two days and every single soldier in your father's militia was ready to defend your life with their own.

Literally. You can tell by the man entering your suite.

You can tell by just how much he is covered in blood. You can tell by the way it drips down his forehead and how it soaks his white shirt - even the soles of his shoes creak with it. You can tell by the way he is totally and utterly drenched in red red red, and because you are certain it is not his.

They literally gave their life for you. The thought hits you like a blow to the head. People have died because of you. Fathers, brothers, sons. You recall your last conversation with your own father. They want us dead, they put out a contract on us - you had never seen him so nervous, so disheveled. What does that mean - his anxiety had been washing over you in seeping hot waves, sending cold shivers down your spine. It means, I need you out of the house - now.

Nausea bubbles in your stomach as the man now approaches you, casually strolls into the suite with his finger on the trigger of the gun dangling from his hand and you stare back at him - a deer in the headlights, frozen by fear in the eyes of its deadly predator. One of your father's men jumps from his cover, fires a shot and gets hit back with one straight between his eyes. It happens so quickly, that you can't turn your head away. You see the bullet piercing his forehead, blood splattering as soon as it exits the skull on the other side. His head flies back a little, and then his body goes limp, slack, as he falls to the ground with a heavy thud.

You want to scream. You want to vomit. You want to run. But there is nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide from him.

There's only one soldier left with you in the suite now and he is hiding around the corner, near the bathroom. The stranger - the assassin, the killer - does not lower the gun again, and does not let his eyes stray from you as he carefully enters the room. You feel terribly exposed, dressed only in your negligée, not daring to move.

Now, that the dim light of the suite's living room strikes his face, you can finally see him, see the man who has come to end you. He is older than you, maybe nearly twice your age, with dark hair and even darker eyes, matching his black suit. Lean and athletic, chest heaving slightly with physical exhaustion. The Boogeyman.

You do not know who or what you had expected, what cruel and dreadful images your brain had conjured up in the past 48 hours - 48 frightful hours of being moved around from hideout to hideout by your father's men, not staying in one place longer than necessary - but it certainly was not that. Not him. He is a lot more handsome than his reputation has led on. Seeing him on the subway around rush hour you would have never suspected him to be in this business. He looks nice. And that is exactly what makes him dangerous.

You have heard his name before. Echoing from the walls. Baba Yaga. Whispered with both: fear and respect. The Boogeyman. Blurted out: like a curse or like a blessing. Mister Wick: like redemption, like damnation. Jonathan, the king's son walking the earth as the devil.

John. The sound of his name is oddly human - disturbingly human - for someone looking as calm and collected, focused and concentrated as he does right now, while being drenched in blood and pointing a gun at you.

You must have said his name out loud, because his eyebrows twitch irritatedly, a movement so quick you barely missed it - must've sound desperate too, then.

Vision zeroing in on the barrel of his gun, your hands clutch the sofa's edge. There is so much adrenaline pumping through your veins right now that it freezes your limbs, has your ears ringing. The only thing responding to your brain fully are your eyes, and they snap away from the gun and over to the remaining soldier. It's a quick look, not even a second, but the hitman seems to recognize it and - with near inhumane speed - flicks his gun, and fires two shots. Blood splatters against the white door as the shots pin the soldier's body against it, and is it finally drops to the ground heavily it leaves a nasty trail, all wet and sticky and red.

Could be you.

You want to scream, but your body does not belong to you anymore, does not respond to your commands. It is a desperate, cruel sound that leaves your throat instead as you flinch with the sound of the gun being fired.

"Let's make this quick" his voice is gravelly and rough, like he has seen a thousand grim things and the pain of it has etched its way into his throat, left a nasty mark on every tone that ever dared to cross after.

That is when your fight or flight suddenly kicks in. Well, more specifically, it kicks in while he is speaking, as he starts to swap the empty clip of his gun.

He underestimates you. Everyone does. Your father, your brother. The countless men lying dead littered across the hotel's 25th floor. It will be his mistake.

You latch forward, grabbing the vase from the coffee table in front of you. The weight of it in your hand drags you down.

With all the strength you can muster, which is quite a lot considering the massive amounts of adrenaline that are currently amping up your body - you throw it at him. It connects with his forehead sharply; a deep, irritated noise bursting from his throat as it crashes, splinters and falls to the floor.

You are braver, braver than you should be as your assault does not end there, your body pushing you forward, leaping over the table and crashing into his broad shoulders.

I will not die today

Body ramming into his, he stumbles, as your fist connects with his chin. You have only been partially trained in hand-to-hand combat, after pleading your brother for months until he eventually gave in. Sadly, he wasn't nearly as thorough and honest with it as he was training his drug dealer and gun runners. But now, it is the only thing you can rely on.

There is nothing else; no one else left alive in that building who might be able to help you. It is up to you. So, you might as well try.

And Oh, does desperation fire up your blood.

I will not die today

The diversion does not last long and he - John John John only human only human only human - grabs you by you waist hard, fingers digging into your flesh and into the expensive silk, before he slams your body into the ground. All air leaves your lungs with a dull sound erupting from your chest, just as pain blooms around your ribs.

You cough and he looks down at you, confusion making his brows twitch, before cold-hearted determination takes over once more. John aims his gun at you once more, pulls back the hammer and you do not even think about it, your leg rising as you kick against his hand. The shot misses, buries itself deep into the expensive carpet a few inches next to your skull. You have no time to do either: panic or sigh in relief; instead, you deliver him a kick to his stomach, fighting yourself back onto your feet, punching him straight in the face.

John grunts and grabs your wrist, but you see it coming and throw yourself into his wide frame, wrapping your other arm around his back and thus hooking it underneath his right shoulder, dislocating his arm and preventing him from aiming his gun at you. You claw onto him as he twists your arm close to his stomach, while you wrap your legs around him, making it harder for John to shake you off.

I will not die today

You kick and dig the heel of your foot into his thighs and the back of his knees and he grunts and buckles a little, but turns wild and relentless quicker than you can blink, throws the two of you into the next wall. You gasp sharply as your back connects with the large mirror, splinters digging into your back - not deep enough to actually cut skin, but it stings nonetheless, the impact making you dizzy.

Sharp pain shoots through your back and your neck, but you are not willing to give up yet, as raw energy and rage and desperation surges through your body - one of your legs coming loose and your knee hitting his stomach repeatedly, making John grunt in pain and you use your momentum to dig your hand deep into his back, holding onto him and then swirling out of the deadlock he has got you in, jumping his back like a monkey.

His gun clatters to the ground and for a split second, the room falls silent. Then, roaring like an animal gone wild, he grabs your calves and slams his back into the nearest wall, has you screaming with the impact. You can feel blood pouring from your nose, feel it trickling down your lips.

I will not die today

John is stronger than you are, so so much stronger - the apex predator: all muscle, unbreakable focus and the sheer will to kill. But you are not only a little quicker; you also really want to stay alive. It is a force he rarely encounters. And quite frankly, it irritates him.

He may be older than you, taller than you and stronger than you but you have something he does not have: you actually still got something to lose.

And you fight like it, too. All scratches and sharp yells, as you punch and scrabble at his shoulders and tear at his tie, trying to strangle him with it. John is struggling against it, gasping for air and winding beneath your assault and then his grip around your claves grows hard like iron, seconds before he pulls - throws you over his head like you weigh nothing. You land on the expensive carpet with a heavy thud - groaning as you crash onto your side with sharp pain shooting through your shoulder, down your ribcage.

I will not die today

John sputters and stumbles forward, looking for his gun but you are quicker, kicking it away with your foot. It clatters back onto and slides over the wooden floorboards.

For a second you consider your choices, fighting yourself back onto your feet but John - a practiced and seasoned fighter - beats you to it and lands a blow to your upper back, sends you back down with him - a mess of sputtering saliva and painful groans. His body topples onto yours and he quickly rolls the two of you over the floor.

John is heavy and warm on top of you, as he keeps you in a tight headlock, your chest pressed to the floor and neck bend in a painful angle. He presses his strong forearm down onto your windpipe and you choke and cough, feet kicking, hands dragging across the wood, clawing at it feebly.

You can feel his breath on your cheek, hot and damp. You can feel his torso pressing against your back as he kneels behind you.

I will not die today

Mustering all your remaining strength, you trash against him, ramming your backside into his stomach. He grunts and for a split second, his grip loosens. It is all you need. Throwing your elbow back, you hit him in the chest and he caves in.

You cough, crawling forward and then scrambling back onto your feet, one of your negligée’s straps falling down your shoulder in the process. You hastily pull it back up, seconds before John launches a cascade of punches onto you.

A few of them hit you as you try to block them; dull pain igniting in your body, blooming in your face and arms. Your breath goes heavy as you stumble backwards. You cannot do this. There is no way. You just physically can't.

He is stronger. Taller. Heavier. Deadlier. Your body and every single muscle, bone, nerve in it aches and you wheeze but he is already onto you again, half-tackles you and grabs your waist, ready to smash you back onto the ground.

You cling onto him with all your remaining strength, struggling against his huge frame, wrapping your hands around his neck in an attempt to get him to stumble.

His hair tingles on your naked arms. Oh wait --

Tearing at his hair - which has him grunting in both, pain, and irritation at the unusual attempt - you clumsily pull yourself up onto his shoulders, cutting his face right above his eyebrow with your nails in the process until you finally wrap one leg around his throat and close it around there tightly, choking him. John tries to pull you off him and succeeds after quite the tussle, only to find your frame clinging to him, legs and arms wrapping around his body, hands scratching and feet kicking.

I will not fucking die today

In an attempt to either get rid of each other or submit the last blow, to finally kill the other, you two swirl through the room - a deadly dance of torn skin, smashed glass panes and mirrors, bruises and cuts. Somewhere in between kicks and punches, he managed to pick up his gun - and right now, you are mustering all of your exhausted strength to prevent the barrel from pressing against your skull.

Eventually, John crashes your bodies through a large wooden door, and is not quick enough - unable to stop his own oxe-like strength - to stop himself from stumbling into the room. The two of you only come a halt as his knees hit something soft and ironically that is what finally topples both of you over, landing onto the mattress of your bedroom with a soft thud and deep, exhausted grunts.

Your ears ring, and you are ready to lash out at him again despite the physical exhaustion, to strike him square across the face, as --

There is something hard pressing against your crotch.

The world falls silent.

No. No, there's no fucking way. It's got to bea hidden weapon. Must be.

But clearly, it is not. There, between your spread legs, his hard cock presses snugly against your panty-clad pussy.

And he just feels so huge - mouth-watering huge - that your body responds in its own way, hips snapping up, stuttering against the hard bulge. John lets go off a shaky, ragged breath, hand still clutching his gun. And you know, that this is your window.

Feeling the warmth that his body and his hard dick are radiating through his expensive suit, you roll your hips once - a languid, slow motion, rubbing your pussy over his bulge.

And he groans. A deep, primal sound that sounds a little coarse. John is looking at you, starring you down, but there is a shadow dancing over his eyes, turning his brown eyes into deep and dark, black pits that gives him away.

He is horny. The Boogeyman is fucking horny. You would laugh, if the realization wasn't knocking all air straight from your lungs. Because it just another reminder, proof of what he actually is: human.

And what a sight he is to see - eyes turning darker every second, his chest heaving with every breath and making it seem like his shirt is going to pop a button or two any second now, his cock prodding against its restraints and your clothed cunt.

It makes you want him. The thought leaves you dizzy, makes you gasp.

Apparently, that is all he needs to roll his hips back into yours. And that - that is just unfair. It's playing dirty. It's, it's -- His dick feels huge as it trails along your folds, has the muscles in your abdomen clenching.

"Fuck", you breathe, a little overwhelmed with and helpless at the sudden surge of lust that ignites your body, the wetness pooling between your legs.

John is not saying anything, just stares you down while he continues to slooowly roll his hips into yours, grinds his cock against your cunt. Your pelvis twitches upward as you start to meet his movements, and then you can hear it. He let's go of a deep breath, and it sounds like the faintest moan.

You need to hear more of that. You need more of him, your cunt aching and hole clenching around nothing already.

"John", and this time you say his name - consciously - it sounds a different way of desperate: your voice reduced to a small whisper, torn at the edges by a wanton whimper ripping from your throat.

If it throws him off-guard he does not show it, does not let you see it. Instead, he grabs your chin hard, gaze locking with yours. Dark pupils blown wide, swallowing the honey-brown of his eyes, and your breath hitches.

"Yeah?", he rasps, and it does not take more than one long look from you for him to lean in, to press his lips onto yours.

The kiss tastes of blood and adrenaline and doom, and you relish in it. Relishing the way his lips move against yours and his beard tickles a little, relishing how his tongue presses into your mouth. It feels like he is eating you whole, licking into your mouth, one hand dancing over your waist - featherlight, like he doesn't know how to touch a body without hurting someone, destroying someone.

I will not die today, motherfucker

Your whole body now sings with it, the security of an impending victory, as you roll your hips into his once more, your tongue now licking back into his mouth. For a second you think about how to strike again, now that he is seemingly distracted, but all will to fight leaves your body as one of his hands brushes over your knee, wanders further and eventually rests on your thigh.

The touch is electrifying and then his hand grows braver, his movements more certain, as he grabs your thigh, feels you up. It happens so suddenly, that you gasp into the kiss.

John parts from you, his lips a little plush already. "Oh God", you whisper as you stare Death Turned Human straight in the face, not a single thought remaining in your skull despite your lust.

He doesn't speak, as he gently let’s go off your leg and straightens back up and for a second you think he is going to hurt you, with the way his brows are furrowed - but he doesn't.

Instead, he moves in, right over your comparably tiny frame - a mountain of a man. John kneels above you, his weight pinning you down while he straddles your thighs and Jesus fucking Christ - what a sight he is to see.

Dark locks falling into his forehead, a little sticky with sweat and the bits of blood from the cut your nails gave him moments ago - right above his left eyebrow, still lazily trickling down into his lashes. His chest heaves with ragged breaths, as he hastily gets rid of his jacket, carelessly drops it to the ground. His black button-down clings to his muscular body underneath his waistcoat and his equally as muscular thighs pin you down to the bed, black fabric nearly tearing at the seams. And then there is his hard cock.

It looks as huge as it felt, with the way it bulges his pants, the outline of it clearly visible as it buckles proudly against its restraints. You are certain, you will not be able to close your hand around it fully - not a chance.

One of his hands - the one lacking a finger, which you only now notice and what sends shivers down your spine - wanders over your body, pulling your negligée down in the process, right tit spilling out of the soft silk. He immediately grabs it, cups it with his large hand and squeezes. You mewl, marveling at just how big his hand is, just as his whole body is in comparison to you. His fucked-up finger digs into the flesh, sending shivers down your spine.

John's hand gropes your tit, before he impatiently pulls the neckline down roughly. You sigh, arousal shooting down your spine and tingling in your lower belly, as two of his fingers nudge your nipple, pinch it.

He watches your face intently, as he continues to grope you, rolls your nipple between his fingers. You mewl, breath accelerating a little but it is just not enough and you buck your hips upwards. John grunts in, what you assume is an approving manner, and let's go off your tit, reaches to his belt at his loins.

Quickly pulling a knife from God-knows-where exactly, a sharp blade enters your vision.

You blink, panic seeping through your lust and your legs twitch a little with fear. If John notices it, he neither shows it nor does he say anything, just moves the knife closer to your body.

The blade shines in the dim light as it dances over your exposed thighs carefully, the metal cooly pressing against your skin, before he flicks it and cuts your negligée open. The thin, soft fabric cleanly cut in half it now lazily slides from your aching body, falls to its sides. Your chest heaves, shivers running down your arms and back.

It happens so quickly that you can only blink. As your brain finally catches up with your eyes, you come to realize that he is holding a real fucking tactical knife. You have thrown one once - they are sharp as hell and deadlier than a bullet. The sound of fabric tearing easily, like paper, proves your point.

And John's movements with the blade are so fast that your breath hitches, a little afraid he might cut you. But he does not, instead, he quickly pulls the torn silk off you and away from under you, carelessly tosses it into the dark of the room.

The edge of the blade dances over your skin and you do not dare to breathe, as he trails it up and down your curves, gently nudges your nipples. "I could kill you", he says calmly and then, in lightning speed, presses the blade into the crook of your neck. Your head sinks back into the mattress, in an instinct to flee the sharp edge.

All it does is to expose your neck further and something gleams in John's eyes, as he presses the sharp tip down slowly, carefully nudging your skin with it. The metal is cold and hard and sharp and your breath hitches. Just a little bit more and it might burst your skin, draw blood.

But, to your own confusion, you do not feel threatened anymore. Oddly enough, your nerves tingle with excitement. You blame it on the already high levels of adrenaline that still pump through your veins, rushing back and forth from your brain and your lungs, but a small voice inside of your head whisper gently, deviously, that you know That's not it. And he knows it, too.

It's in his eyes as well, the sheer excitement of it all, the fucked-up pleasure it evokes in the both of you lays heavy in the air.

It turns you fucking on. It turns you on, that the man who - minutes ago - tried you kill you and did hurt you very fucking badly in the process of it, now decides to let you live.

It turns you on, that you are at his mercy.

It turns you on, that he decided to spare you - just for now.

It turns you on, that these large and strong hands holding the knife have that sort of power over you. And thus, as the blade nudges your head back further, you moan.

"I could cut your throat", John's voice is heavy and thick with arousal and you can feel your heartbeat picking up, breath accelerating. His gaze drops down, watches the rapid rising and falling of your breasts hungrily, while another soft moan escapes from your lips.

"Don't", you breathe softly.

The knife practically burns on your skin, and you can feel arousal flooding your clothed pussy, rubbing your thighs together for any sort of friction. John can feel your squirming underneath him, but he can also see your eyes turning watery and dark with lust, pupils blown and a pretty pink spreading on your cheeks, your breath growing shallow. And he just really needs to fucking taste you right now.

As quickly as it appeared, the blade vanishes from your throat before he twirls the knife like the ruthless, reckless professional that he is, and buries it deep to the hilt in the mattress next to you. The sharp sound as it pierces the thick fabric has the hairs on your body standing up, goosebumps rolling over your skin.

"I'll do it later", he rumbles - casually, like he is talking about doing chores or picking up groceries - before hunching over you, grabbing your chin with his fucked-up hand, and kissing you again. His tongue immediately pushes into your mouth, like he is starving to taste you.

John eats you whole, with the way his lips move against yours. His hand cups your face, tongue licking into your mouth, toying with yours. His kiss steals your breath and you start to get dizzy with it, hips bucking. You can feel his lips curling up and then he parts from you, leaving you a gasping mess, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth.

"Let me touch you, John", you whisper, voice a little small because you do not know why you feel that way, and if he will even allow it. But you just need to feel him.

For a long moment his gaze dances over your face and something shifts behind his eyes, like a shadow gets lifted and then very quickly returns. Ultimately, he gives a court nod, so small you nearly miss it and gives you a little more room while straightening back up.

Carefully, as if not to spook him, you dart one hand out, place it on his chest. The muscle is firm underneath his suit and you run your hand along the lapel of his jacket, down and then back up, before it slips beneath it.

John's body radiates warmth under the black fabric of his shirt and your other hand comes up, before you shove the jacket off his shoulders and onto the floor next to the bed.

Your breath hitches.

He is wearing a holster, a reminder of his deadliness, of the gun laying somewhere next to you. Maybe, he sees the fear returning in your eyes, but he is quick to shrug the holster off, throws it into the dark where it clatters onto the wooden floor boards. What is left in front of you are broad shoulders and a muscular chest, the fabric nearly tearing at his movements.

As you run your hands over it, you cannot help yourself - you need to fucking feel him for real.

Quickly making work of his waistcoat and tie you toss both to the side carelessly, before your hands roam his broad chest. His button-down clings snugly against his upper body and you can feel the muscles work beneath the black fabric as your hands brush over them. You tug at the shirt, pulling its tails from his pants before hastily opening the first few buttons. The skin underneath is pale, littered by blue - red - black bruises, birthmarks scattered in between like stars. You pop open the rest of the buttons, greedy to touch him. And as the shirt falls to the sides your hands are already onto his chest, roaming over and admiring the muscular, defined canvas of strength, that violence has painted a pretty picture on.

John is watching you intently as you undress him and then explore his body, your pupils blown wide and dark, mouth agape a little. He is a little taken aback by it - by someone not seeing his body as the ultimate tool of death that it is, but as something else, that he cannot really pinpoint because he can't even look in the mirror without seeing destruction and decay. But the way your gaze wanders over his body, the way you touch him, is different from that and he has not felt anything like it in years.

And John wants. Carnal desire tugs at his brain, shoots arousal between his legs, makes his cock twitch and a low growl escaping his throat.

The sound gets you going: pushing yourself up with one hand, the other wrapping around his strong neck for leverage as you sit up, mouth immediately clutching to his throat. He tastes of sweat and after-shave - sharp and musky - and you run your tongue over his skin greedily, licking and sucking at the skin while your naked body presses against his.

It disarms him. The gentle touch that you put his body up to, while everything still aches from plowing through the better half of your father's militia and beating the hell out of you, confuses him. Your touch, your lips on his skin are soft and not aiming to hurt - instead, they grow more and more needy, wanton and hasty, as you lick over his bruised skin, tasting his sweat. Your hands over his abdomen caress his defined muscles, in awe of his utter strength, thumbs brushing through the soft and dark trail of hair leading beneath the waistband of his trousers. And all John can do, is watch, his gaze locking with yours as goosebumps erupt on his skin.

And you - oh you; your head swims with the way you turn this animal into a human again, unlock a different set of animalistic needs within him and hearing John's breath growing heavy really fucking does it for you, feeling his scarred and beaten-up skin underneath your hands, wrapping them around the deadly machine that is his body. It makes you want more.

Shedding his blood-stained shirt off of his shoulders, your hands roam over his upper back - feeling the scars there: of knives, larger and small ones and round ones of bullets that once pierced his skin. There is something else, a burn scar, in the shape of a cross and he hisses as your fingers brush over it, nails digging into the stunted skin.

It pulls John out of his stasis, reminds him of who he is and you can feel the air swinging with it seconds before he moves. His large hands wrap around your shoulders and then he pulls you off him, throws you back onto the mattress. You yelp, eyes growing wide as you watch his face as it turns from lightly dazed back to stern, wild, with his brows furrowed.

"That's enough", he says, voice coarse and it still feels like a small victory, even though he spreads your legs roughly, hands digging deep into your thighs - hard enough to bruise - before he kneels between them. He yanks your body forward at the back of your knees, watches your tits bounce and then leans in, his lips immediately attacking your throat, your neck.

His lips are surprisingly soft against your skin, his beard tickling a little as it brushes over your tits, your stomach, your thighs while his tongue licks fat stripes over your nipples and down down down your upper body, right to your navel. One of his hands creeps up your body once more and roughly cups your tit, squeezes, and gropes it, rolls your hardened nipple between his index and middle finger. His stunted ring-finger digs deep into your tit and you gasp, hips bucking. John's lips suck and nibble at your skin, before eventually ghosting over your pubic bone, teasing you before assaulting your thighs again, teeth biting down gently into the soft flesh. You gasp and moan while he gropes your body, inhales your scent - as you watch how his lips, tongue, and teeth dance over your thighs, moving closer to your cunt.

John finally, finally, puts his mouth onto your pussy, peppers open-mouthed kisses around your clit, before clothing his lips around it and sucking on it hard through your panties. Your hips buck as a high-pitched moan erupts from your throat, hands flying into his greying locks.

"Fuck", you whine, feeling fresh wetness flooding your folds, dampening the thin fabric further. John can see the outlines of your wet pussy pressing against your panties and parts from your clit momentarily, only to lick a fat stripe over your clothed cunt, watching it twitch.

"That's fucking pretty", he rasps, gaze locking with yours and you feel all air leaving your lungs. His eyes are so fucking dark, like gleaming black pits swallowing you whole, his breath a little flat with arousal.

You want him to fuck you. Really fuck you. To plow you open, rail you until you cannot sit nor walk. He is already so so close to you, but too far away at the same time. "Please", is all you manage to utter out. And it seems to be sufficient enough for him; seems to get across what you want, what you need.

John's fingers wrap around the front of your lace slip, tugging at the fabric - that rubs along your cunt at the sudden motion and has you gasping quietly - and then he pulls. The lace tears easily as he rips it apart, and cool air hits your wet and hot pussy, as he practically peels you out of your underwear, throws it to the side. The look on his face is wild and you can hear him taking a deep breath, smelling your arousal, before he spreads your folds apart with his thumbs, gaze wandering over your plump and flushed cunt.

Teasingly brushing over your clit with his thumb, John watches your reaction intently. And fuck, you do not disappoint. Throwing your head back, you moan, drawing in a deep breath through your opened mouth that heaves your chest, your eyelids fluttering.

You are dying for him to touch you and as he does, it feels like your body catches fire - lust washing away the dull pain in your limbs and near your ribs.

"Oh God", you breathe out as his thumb draws another wide and slow circle over your clit, your hands darting out and grabbing the sheets "Please."

And John complies, his thumb rubbing over your clit in a slow but steady rhythm.

Gasping, your hands clutch the sheets, knees darting away from each other, giving him more space. John accepts the invitation, grabs one thigh hard, fucked up ring-finger digging deep into your skin. His fingers move further, abandons your clit and dance over your folds, down to your hole. It flutters as two of his digits tease it, gently circling around it.

"Please", you whine once more, lifting your hips a little, a desperate noise leaving your throat. John smirks to himself, before pushing two of his fingers into you.

The stretch is sudden and bigger than expected and you moan coarsely, as he pushes his digits along your walls deeply and nestles them into your seeping hot cunt up to his knuckles. And Jesus, you feel so full already; your head swimming as you consider how big his cock must feel, then.

Your breath goes quick and shallowly as he starts to move them, and then he leans in. Nudges your clit with the tip of his tongue, licks over it.

You feel like combusting on the spot: your nerves tingling with arousal, your whole body still aching from the beating you gave each other earlier - the pain in your back blooming as you stretch it with your hips desperately shoving themselves near his touch - your pussy squeezing his fingers.

John pumps his thick fingers in and out of you, his tongue rubbing and circling your clit and soft, needy moans fall from your lips. Obscene, wet sounds fill the air, mingle with your moans and heavy breathing. His lips close in around your clit, sucking at it while his fingers rub along your spongy walls and your cunt squeezes them hard as fresh wetness floods your folds, your squirt wetting his beard and dripping down on the sheets below.

You can hear - feel - John humming against your pussy, peppering the wet skin with open mouthed kisses, licking over it, and tasting your slick.

You feel so fucking good - lust pulsating through your veins, loins on fire - and your head falls to the side, body rocking with sharp gasps and your mouth agape, eyelids fluttering as --

There's the gun. And the knife.

You could easily grab either one or the other next to you, pull the blade out of the matress or the hammer back; put a bullet right between his eyes or plow the blade deep deep into his skull. Killing the Boogeyman. Killing Baba Yaga.

That would do wonders to your family's business. It would emancipate you from it, you would be free. Free to rule.

"Thinking 'bout killing me?", John rumbles, tongue licking a fat stripe over your cunt, nudging your clit. Your gaze flickers back to him: hair a mess, eyes gleaming darkly, hands on your thighs to keep your legs spread. He does not look surprised. Neither does he look worried.

Realization hits you like a blow to the head: he is toying with you. Has been the whole fucking time. The wolf hunting the deer, running a few rounds through the woods to weaken it; its breath whistling with exhaustion, long legs buckling before it collapses - an easy kill. An easy kill for an old wolf, one, that can't quite handle a real hunt anymore.

But maybe, just maybe - judging from the look in his eyes - he got lost in his own game. Its reins slipped from his bloody hands, the wolf tumbling to the ground.

Looking back at him, your lips curl into a sweet smile. "Not anymore", your hand darts out, brushing the loose strands of dark hair from his face - the soft gesture leaving him visibly confused -, "John."

Two can play this game. And maybe, just maybe, the deer can tire the wolf out first.

Something gleams in John's eyes, dances over them like a shadow and he seems to accept the challenge - readying to tire you out - tongue licking over your clit once more, making you shiver and mewl, as he pulls his fingers out of your dripping hole. You feel empty and --

"Do you really think, you could kill me?", he rumbles, voice deep and rough around the edges, "Stupid slut."

And then, quicker than your brain can process it, his hand comes down on your dripping wet pussy.

Your breath hitches, topples over and leaves your throat as a raw, needy moan. Softly stinging pain blooms between your folds and sets your nerves on fire. Blame it on the bruises, blame it on the pain you both inflicted on each other moments ago, but: it riles you up. Mingles with your aching bones and aching cunt, has you arching your back.

"Y'really think you could kill me", he doesn't sound offended, not even amused - voice plain, like he is inquiring if you really believed the earth to be flat. Like you really are stupid.

And you start to feel stupid, too. There was never a chance. You never had a chance. Your death was sealed, determined the second John stepped into the hotel.

You were stupid to believe you could outrun or beat him. You are stupid. And John has every right to show you, teach you, punish you for it.

Giving your cunt another firm slap, John watches your hips twitch, hears your pussy squelching and soft moans falling from your lips. "Shit", you sigh and he slaps your wet pussy once more, feels your slick folds wetting the palm of his hand.

"D'you like that, girl?", and as your only response are wanton gasps falling from your mouth John chuckles deeply, gives your pulsating cunt another two firm slaps. Seeing how he is pulling you apart, how good he makes you feel really seems to do it for him, gets him quite talkative.

"Uh-huh", you make dumbly, quite illiterate, watching him stroking your flushed, hot cunt with two of his fingers. Shivers run down your spine.

And then he leans back in, licks a fat stripe over your sensitive, flushed cunt, from the hole up to the clit.

You squirm, mewl as his beard brushes over your overstimulated skin, leaving a slight burn that mingles deliciously with a fresh wave of arousal that floods your body scalp to toes.

The muscles in your abdomen clench as two of his fingers circle your fluttering hole and then push in, rubbing along your plush walls agonizingly slowly and you can feel yourself tightening around it. Your juices squelch from your cunt as you squirt against his tongue and your slick runs down your folds, wets his fingers and palm while his tongue laps at your pussy, tasting your sweetness.

John pushes is fingers deeper as you moan and sigh, hands fisting his hair and hips moving against his tongue, his digits thrusting into you.

"Oh god", you huff as his lips close in around your clit, sucking on it and the tip of his tongue flicking against it occasionally.

Another wave of fresh wetness floods your cunt as you squirt once more, wetting the sheets below, your slick running down John's wrist.

John parts from your clit, nudges it with his tongue, his beard glistening with your juices.

"Yeah, that's fucking it", another one of his thick fingers pumps itself into your tight little hole and his other hand - also slick with your juices - grabs your thigh, "That's a good girl."

You feel so full, your spine feels like it's on fire and your brain tingles with it, sends wave of pleasure down down down your body; muscles in your loins clenching, chest heaving. It becomes all too much as he leans back in, rubs his tongue over your clit, lips sucking and teasing your folds.

The slight burn of John's beard tickling your plush, hot cunt. His fingers working your open and stretching your tight little hole open far and wide, obscene squelching sounds filling the air as he works you open, brushing against your g-spot occasionally and making you see stars.

But it's too little. It's just not enough.

"Fuck", you whine as John's thick fingers brush over your g-spot with quite some force, tongue lapping at your seeping cunt, "Shit, please. Please, just fuck me, please!"

You can feel him grinning against your wet cunt, beard a little sticky with your juices, letting go of your pussy with an obscene pop. "Yeah", he licks his lips, tastes you on his tongue, "D'you want my cock?"

And that - that might be what makes you lose your mind. Because yes. Yes, you do.

You have been craving to touch it, to feel it since it had pressed against your clothed pussy earlier. Thus, all dignity leaves your body with one, clean whine that breaks free from your throat.

"Yes, fuck - oh god, John", you brabble, legs falling apart further, inviting him in, his digits sinking deeper into your soaking wet hole, "Shit, please fuck me, John - please, please, please --"

Pleas are still falling from your lips like a chant, as a surprising noise breaks the silence, so strangely beautiful that it has you nearly shuddering: John is laughing. It's a nice baritone sound, and the fine lines around his eyes crinkle with it - it's so beautiful, that it drowns the world out. You watch him in awe, as he shakes his head, avoids your gaze.

"Jesus. Look at you", he huffs, voice dripping thickly with amusement, "If you need it that badly--"

Straightening back up and kneeling between your legs, John slips his fingers from your cunt and makes quick work of his belt, trousers, and boxers. The second he frees is cock, you start to drool like a fucking pavlovian-dog.

His dick is so fucking huge. It is nicely curved and cut, the bulbous pink head glistening with pre-cum and a thick, pumping vein at the bottom that rakes from the base to the tip, as it rests between trimmed, dark pubic hair. His cock bobs against his abdomen as it bounces free, smears the pre-cum along the pale skin, twitches at the sudden contact. And Jesus fucking Christ, you just want to fucking touch it, feel its velvety skin in your palm. But you just know that you won't even be able to wrap your hand around its base fully, it's impossible, it--

"I-it won't fit", you whisper, a little taken aback by his sheer size.

"Oh, I'll make it fit, baby."

John takes his cock in one hand, thumb right beneath its head, and rubs it against your slit. And Jesus fucking Christ. Your hips snap up, meet his movements, and he grunts while he spreads his pre-cum along your cunt, gathers your slick. The thick head of his dick prods against your entrance and you take a deep breath, looking down between your legs. You watch how he slooowly pushes in and you gasp at the sudden intrusion, the delicious stretch making you moan.

His cock feels so fucking big, hot, and heavy, as he nestles the tip in, your hole clenching around it. John's brows furrow, and he doesn't wait long until he pushes his cock in further.

The thick base starts to stretch your slim rings of muscles, a sharp pain shooting through it. He can feel your hole protesting, can see you wincing. "Breathe, baby", he hums, "Let me do the rest."

His coarse voice mingles with his words and the waves of pleasure shooting through your body despite the dull pain, conjures up a pretty pretty image that floods your brain - there's sunlight everywhere, orange rays of it hitting a bed covered in white sheets, sweaty bodies on top of it; limbs entangled, hands intertwined with their golden rings shining brightly in the warm light, heavy breathing and sloppy kisses, and lazy thrusts as his cock fucks you awake. The thought makes you dizzy, your legs falling apart and hole fluttering open, inviting him in.

The slight burn leaves you a gasping, whimpering mess as he pushes himself in deep, nestles his huge cock in between your aching, hot, and tight walls.

And John feels like he is going to pass out. No blow to the head, no bullet to the chest, no knife to the stomach could ever make him feel as dizzy as the feeling of your hot cunt squeezing him does right now. His whole body is vibrating with want and lust and he just really hopes that you don't notice that he has gotten a little rusty. The thought quickly gets drowned-out as he looks down, where his thick cock practically splits you open, vanishes in your hole.

"Shit", he huffs out, places one large hand on your stomach and thrusts. Feeling himself moving inside of you has him moaning, gaze shooting up to you, meeting your eyes, as his hand presses down. "You feel me right here, baby?", he rasps and you nod, mouth agape by the sheer force of his thrust, tip of his cock prodding your cervix.

John can see his cock moving inside of you, the way your stomach bulges a little. He gets a little dizzy with, and then his eyes make the mistake of moving up to your face. And it takes a whole lot of fucking will-power of him to not just thrust and thrust and thrust and fuck you until you cry, bleed.

You are so fucking pretty. Mouth agape you watch how his cock vanishes between your legs, splits your cunt open, with his eyes heavy-lidded and cheeks flushed. Your lips are plush and red from his assault.

Your hands grip the sheets and your breasts heave with your deep breaths, that grow a little more flaccid. Next to you lays his gun, knife still buried into the mattress. His eyes drop to the weapons and his breath hitches. And for a split second, like a flash of light, he wonders what in God's name he's doing here. He is a professional. The Ballerina works like that. He doesn't.

A sweet, sweet noise rips him out of his thoughts. "J-john", you mewl, eyes still trained on his massive dick splitting you open, "I-it, it's --"

"Yeah?", he breathes, the sound all soft and careful around the edges.

"Heavy", you breathe.

"Does it hurt?", he kind of wants it to. Make you pay for what you did to him. He kind of doesn't want it to. Make you enjoy what he's got to give.

John realizes he is fucked.

You nod, head flying back into the cushions, while your brows dart together.

John's free hand flies to your clit, nudges it gently, before slowly rubbing wide circles over it. You gasp, as you feel fresh wetness flooding your cunt and dripping down your folds to where his cock splits your hole open, pools around it. He carefully pulls out a little and then pushes back in, assisted by your slick. The way you moan spurs him on and the circles on your clit grow faster and smaller.

Aching your back, you lean into the touch. "That's a good girl", he whispers, voice raw and coarse, dripping with lust and the exhaustion of holding back. John bottoms out, while continuing to rub your clit and he can feel your walls growing plush, your hole fluttering around his dick, relaxing with your hot, seeping cunt inviting him in. "Feels good?"

"Yeah, fuck", you feel like you are being split open, with his thick cock filling you to the brim and rubbing along your walls with every little movement, the thick head prodding gently against your cervix, "Shit, John."

It feels so fucking good, all thoughts being washed away from your brain as he starts to move carefully, thrusts into you once, twice. You moan, lips slightly parted, before your gaze flies to him.

And Fuck. John's chest is flushed a little, muscles of his abdomen flexing with every thrust while his gaze is trained down to where his cock fucks into you, brows darted together a little and his breathing audible.

"John?", you whisper, and his gaze immediately shoots up to you as your comparably tiny hand wraps around the wrist of his hand that is still rubbing your clit.

"Yeah?"

"Fuck me."

For a long moment, he just looks at you and you think - no, you are convinced - that you can see a glimpse of the human being he once was. Caring, sweet and gentle; as he seems to really take it into consideration if you are ready yet, if you know what you are begging for.

Apparently, he does deem you prepared enough, and the soft gaze gets replaced by a dark gleam as all gentleness vanishes from his face once more. Without a warning, John rolls his hips back only to thrust into you again, deep, and hard, immediately picking up a quick rhythm.

It comes as a genuine surprise to you and you gasp, mewling but it quickly feels just so fucking good, practically lights your body up and leaves every nerve-ending on fire, each thrust has you moaning loudly.

It spurs him on, makes him grunt and for a while, you both just watch him gliding in and out of your tight hole, with him feeling your muscles squeezing him and you feeling his cock stretching your open further and further. Your lips as slightly parted and his brows are furrowed as he rolls his hips into yours and you feel time getting lost on you, the only thing of importance remaining is the feeling of him filling you up. John's hands roam your body, wandering over your thighs and your stomach, your hips before angling your leg, pushing the heel of your foot on his shoulder, and grabbing your ankle with one hand, his dick slips into you even further, balls slapping against your ass heavily with each thrust.

You can tell that John has not fucked in a long, long time. It's not the way he does it - all fluid, languid thrust of his hips, muscles dancing under the soft skin. It's mostly the way he pants and grunts - sounds just as desperate as you feel. And still, he has the stamina of a racehorse.

You can feel that he wants to prove it, too, as his free hand grabs your thigh and hoists your other leg over his hip bone, practically pulling your lower half off the bed in the process. Your pelvis now clings to his, obscene sounds of his cock fucking into your wet pussy filling the air while he huffs with his thrusts, yet does not slow down.

The grip on both, your ankle and your thigh are hard, and you are certain his hands will leave a bruise but you just cannot bring yourself to care. Deep down you know, that someone will see them: your maids, your friends, your family.

But all thoughts, all worries get swapped from your brain as your gaze wanders up from where John's dick hammers into you steadily, rakes over his defined stomach and chest and finally, finally lands on his face.

He looks downright, utterly, and breathtakingly -- pornographic.

John's dark pupils blown wide gleaming with arousal, his cheeks are slightly blushed and a thin layer of sweat makes him glow in the dim light of the living room falling onto the bed. It surrounds him like a halo, a Saint of Death and Decay, with his dark hair falling into his forehead and onto his shoulders. He brushes it out of the way with his stunted hand, a ragged breath making his chest heave. There is still some of your slick wetting his beard.

You can't help your mind from going there, from wondering how different things could have been. What it would be like if you had met me in a bar instead of him entering your suite, leaving the hallway behind him looking like a slaughterhouse. Maybe he would have laughed at your jokes, in the dim light of your favorite bar in the city. Maybe he would have liked the same music as you do. Maybe, just maybe, he would have brought you home only to stay the night and fuck you until you would have lost your goddamn mind.

Your hand wanders down your body, strokes your waist and hip in the process, before it languidly drops between your spread legs, two fingers darting out and rubbing circles over your sensitive clit.

John moves quickly, his usual deadly precision shattering your peaceful fantasy, his hand ditching your thigh and closing in around your waist. "Don't you fuckin' touch yourself", he growls, and it's the first time you hear real, actual emotion dwelling in his throat - not his toneless, cold and mechanical rumble. He sounds pissed. Offended.

And the best part is: it seems to get him fucking going.

John leans in, your calf still resting on his shoulder and the slight pain of the stretch is delicious as he nearly folds your body in half. You can feel his dick sliding in even deeper into your hole and you gasp and whine, one hand coming up to dig into his biceps to just hold on. Hold on, while he pounds into you with perfectly angled, deep and strong thrusts, hitting your g-spot with every single one of them.

You know that the suite's door is in shambles, that anyone could walk in here and see you having your brains fucked out by the man who is here to kill you - but you don't care. Part of it is, because the gun is still resting next to your head on the sheets. You could just grab it and shoot anyone dead in heartbeat, whoever is trying to disturb the pleasure that shoots through your body.

But it is also him.

It's the way John is towering over you, back hunched, looking all wide and powerful and deadly, with the way he shields your body from view and harm as he thrusts into you. As he pushes all his rage, adrenaline, and strength into your tight hole, groans, and pants into your ear.

There is nothing you can do, despite holding onto him, nails digging into his back, clutching his broad shoulders, fingers running over his tattoos desperately. He is fucking the living daylight out of you, your body moving like a ragdoll underneath the mountain of muscles and strength. Your cunt is being split open by his cock, as you feel him hammering into you and you feel like you are going to lose your mind, panting and moaning with each of his thrusts.

"John, fuck", you moan sweetly, eyes rolling into your skull as he pounds into you, "You feel so fucking good, shit --"

"Yeah", he huffs, his forehead slowly sinking onto yours, "You too, baby."

You can see his eyelids fluttering, feel his upper body heaving beneath your hands, smell the blood on his skin, mingling with his musky scent. Blaming it on the sickening cocktail of hormones that is flooding both - your brain and your body - you lean in, your lips desperately smacking against his.

And Jesus Fucking Christ. Does John kiss you.

Kisses you like he is starving for it, licking back into your mouth - his body pressing yours into the mattress with his whole weight and muscle, while still thrusting into you.

Your hands tangle into his hair, tugging at it. John moans against your lips and your stomach flutters at the sound, and you want more. One hand moves to lay at the crook of his neck and your tongue presses against his, licking back into his mouth. Adding some force to his neck you invite John deeper into the kiss, and he follows suite, steals you the last bit of air your lungs were holding. Panting you part from him, thumb brushing over the crook of his neck.

Greedily breathing against his lips, you can't help yourself. You feel so alive and you want him to wreck you, to leave something behind that you will remember for every day your heart continues to beat. Greedily breathing against his lips, you can't help yourself but to whisper: "Harder."

John blinks, hips stuttering. And then, he grunts. His hand digs into your waist as he grabs you there, hold you in place will his hips rut into you. Picking up a near brutal rhythm, obscene sounds of your slick being pushed in and out and in out of your hole as he jackhammers into your g-spot, the bedframe rattling as John's thrusts pound it into the wall - leaving you a gasping and moaning mess. His belt clinks with his thrusts and you cling onto him, sharp whines escaping your throat.

"John John John", his name leaves your mouth like a mantra, sharp and high-pitched. His head falls forward, dark locks brushing over your cheek as his temple rests against yours and then you hear it.

John moans.

It's a deep, carnal sound. Your stomach flutters and lust shoots through your body at the noise, your tight cunt squeezing his thick cock as you squirt around his cock like a broken fucking hose, wetting his pubic hair. You can feel it rubbing along your wet folds, the sensation making you mewl, leaves your hips shuddering.

"Shit", you breathe, hands cradling his muscular back and then you can feel his dick twitching inside of you, accompanied by yet another one of his sweet, sweet moans, "Fuck, John--"

He raises his head and your gazes connect, before he leans in, presses his lips onto yours once more. The kiss is surprisingly soft and in stark contrast to the way he ruts and pounds into you and then he hits the spot once more and -

Everything goes white as your muscles clench and unclench suddenly, as you nearly scream against his lips; your hole practically milking his cock as you cum, pussy gushing and squirting around him like a broken hose.

John continues to fuck you through your orgasm and his heavy breathing reaches your ears through the cotton candy, that slowly wraps you in as everything turns light and bright. He moans deeply against your cheek as he comes, too - shoots hot ropes of cum into you and paints your walls with it.

His movements still as he buries himself deep into you, cock twitching with each thick rope of his cum and you can feel him fill you up, as his massive frame slowly sinks down onto you.

Your legs grow heavy and the stretch of your left leg is turning painful and you - a little clumsily - pull it away from his shoulder, stretch it out. Your limbs start to shake and you close your eyes, drawing in deep breaths through your nose.

The room is silent, the air heavy with the musky scent of sex.

Your chest still heaves with the remains of your orgasm, bliss still spreading in your brain and your veins, making you feel like you are flying. Your heart is still racing, as you feel him moving again.

Blinking up at him, you can see him grabbing the gun.

"Don't", you say softly, voice coarse from screaming your lungs out in pleasure just moments ago, "Please, don't." You are not ready to scream yet again. Not ready to scream in pain, instead of pleasure.

John does not reply. He pulls the hammer back, checks the chamber - all with one hand.

"Kill him instead, please."

He freezes, eyes locking with yours. "Who?", he sounds just as exhausted as you. The wolf, tired out. The deer, bleeding, limping.

Call it Post Nut Clarity, call it Finally Taking Your Future In Your Own Hands, call it Emancipating Yourself. Call it Having Wrapped A Deadly Assassin Around Your Pinky.

You were not safer here. You never were. Just more isolated. Easier to locate.

Easier to kill.

Realization hits you like a blow to the head, your vision swimming.

See? I will not die today.

"My father. Kill him."

[baka-bakeneko]

Give Yourself Peace

John Wick x Fem!Reader

tags: NSFW, MDNI, John Wick 2 storyline, slightly inaccurate John Wick, strangers to lovers, awkward first meet, knight in shining muscle car type, slooooooooow burn [then we fast af], reader is a vet tech type, descent into darkness/Underworld, adventures in dog sitting, age gap, references to Hades/Persephone mythology, flirting over text [or in John's case, just conversing], clothes on sex, cowgirl position, panties to the side, sliiiight voyeurism [if you squint], not a condom in sight-just the vibes, fingering, multiple org*sms, feelings of grief, shower sex, slightly toxic John Wick [he doesn't mean to, he's grieving], pillow talk, use of g*ns, hostage negotiation, talk of animal de*th and instruments involved, Charon/Winston/Santino/Dog involvement, possible relationship talk, attraction to "bad" men, making out in a car, quickie sex

synopsis: You meet a man named John Wick when he's dropping off his dog "Gunner" for a check up. From there, it's a slippery slope into a new world.

wc: 19. 7 k 😮‍💨

a/n: okayyy, yes, i did write this before finishing that one River Ward fic but this idea took me by storm in the dead of night. No I was not listening to my River Ward playlist when I thought of this, jeez what's with the third degree? my computer is actually trying to die on itself as i type this rn

You raised a brow at the man entering the clinic, wearing a red-stained dress shirt and tattered suit jacket.

"Hi," he began, walking up to the front counter as you straightened up before him.

"Hi," you repeated, meeting his dark eyes and internally wincing at the cuts on his face.

He was stoic, un-moving as he braced a hand on the counter. But his lips curled slightly in a smile. His hand slid, his forearm bracing the counter as he relaxed.

"Hi," he said again, this time his deep voice echoing through you. You couldn't help but return his polite smile, edging up on your toes to finally look down at his pet.

"Who do we have here?" You asked down at the beautiful dark gray pittie. The dog sat, tilting his head at you and you melted an inch staring into his cute light brown eyes.

"This is..." the man looked down at his dog and tilted his head with a loss of words. You raised a brow at him, waiting as he turned to look at you again with a slightly defeated look. "Gunner."

You huffed an amused air from your nose. "Cute, he looks like a Gunner."

The man nodded as you rounded the counter and took a careful knee before the pittie. "Is he friendly?"

"Absolutely." He barely managed to answer as the dog turned in the direction of you and started nuzzling into you.

His paws pattered the floor, stepping further into you and begging to be pet. You obliged, cooing at the attention-seeking pup, patting at his round body and scratching behind his ears.

You smooched at him, showering praise at this stranger's dog for a minute then looked up at the stranger himself. He was propped up on the counter, watching you love on his pet, with what you recognized as blood on his dress shirt.

"And is Gunner's owner friendly?" You cooed at Gunner, holding the dog's face in your hands to smush his cheeks.

The stranger scoffed, his lips curling in a wry grin before answering: "Gunner thinks so."

Your stomach fluttered at the stranger speaking, though you weren't sure if it was an instance of fight or flight. Meeting the stranger's dark eyes again, you quirked your mouth to the side.

"Does Gunner's owner have a name?" You asked, your bottom lip slipping between your teeth at the last moment.

"He does," the stranger answered as you slowly stood up from your place. His hand extended out for you to take, and you noticed his knuckles tattered with blood and swelling. "John."

You ignored whatever warning pang was rushing through your body as he introduced himself. Your hand reached out to grab his, minding your grip to not bring him pain. When you uttered your name, his smile only grew, finding himself pushing upright to tower over you.

"Nice to meet you." John said, his voice straining a bit.

"Same to you," you said, giving his hand a polite shake before dropping it and returning to your paperwork. "What're you bringing Gunner in for today?"

You stood outside of the clinic, circling through your ring of keys to find the one for your door. It never failed, with how many keys you had, it was always the last one you expected.

You bounced on one foot to keep yourself alert, filing through your keys in the unexpectedly cool night. You were already running late to meet up with friends and now you were battling your stomach rumbling.

As you were nearing the end of your key leash, you heard a few whistles from behind you. A cold ice jutted down your back, making your insides become rigid with the thought of being watched.

Still, you ignored it as best at you could, pretending to not hear whatever calls were over your shoulder. Your bouncing foot quickened, hoping you had found your out before whatever approached you.

With the final key try, you managed to lock the door and turn in the direction of your car only to be stopped by two tall men stood before you.

You excused yourself, backing away from them only to turn around to find two more men behind you. Staring at the men surrounding you, you glanced sideways into the street and stepped out.

"Where you goin' sweetheart?" One of the men called after you.

You held the strap of your bag tighter on your shoulder, your senses heightened as you heard the combined steps of the men crossing into the street.

You picked up your pace, scanning down both ways of the road with minimal cars around, only for their steps to heighten just the same. The rigid gulp that lodged in your throat was now cementing, your heart racing as you found yourself running across the street and onto the opposite sidewalk.

Your vision tunneled as you focused on getting away, unsure of what would happen if the strange men caught up to you. Turning down the perpendicular street, you barely glanced behind you as a car pulled up next to you.

The door swung open, over half of the curb, and you were almost stopped by it but managed around it. Looking at the car, you cautiously peered from a distance to see a slightly more familiar face than the strangers following you.

"Come on, I'll drive you to your car," John offered, his mannerisms unbothered and cool.

You looked behind you at the group of men now turning the corner after you. With another glance into the car, you saw Gunner and opted to take a chance with the slightly better devil you knew.

Climbing in, you shut the door quickly and looked over your shoulder at the goons left in the wake. You turned around to John, ready to share your gratitude but opted to catch your breath first.

You wheezed, holding the dash of the dark muscle car, and held your free hand to your chest. The instant adrenaline rush through your body was now wracking your heart, making your eyes water though you were unscathed.

"Are you alright?" John asked, one hand draped on the steering wheel and his other carefully cradling the gear shift.

You overly nodded, blinking away the mist of tears while your mind started to race with the horrific possibilities of what could've happened.

"T-thank you," you choked out, bringing your eyes away from John's dash to look at him. "I-I..."

John glanced over at you but said nothing else, only nodded in acknowledgement before changing the subject. "Your car's nearby?"

You nodded again, finally peeling yourself to sit back in the leather seat. You admired it for a moment, luxuriated by the curve and plush, but were interrupted by Gunner's wet nose to your ear.

You giggled, shrugging a shoulder up to get the dog to stop then reaching a hand back to pat his head. "Sweet boy."

John smirked dryly at your comment, slowing down to scan the two parking lots on either side of the street. "Here?"

You nodded, pointing to the right side of the street to your little rinky-dink car. "That's me."

You expected John to laugh at it, seeing as his car could literally drive circles around yours. But he didn't, only pulled into the lot and braked in front of it.

"Volvo's are a classic," he commented, gearing his car to remain stationary. He shifted slightly in his seat to face you.

You turned to do the same, noticing that he'd probably gone home to clean up and change; seeing as he was in a cleaner shirt, the blood on his knuckles nonexistent.

"Have a good night, okay?" He offered, meeting your eyes.

The adrenaline in your body pooled in that moment, making you feel jittery though you were pin still. You nodded again, wondering if you were nodding too much.

"Thanks. And thanks again for the ride, I appreciate it," you said quickly, unsure why your nerves were acting up now.

"Yeah," John drew out, looking at the back of his car, past Gunner and through the back windshield. "You gonna be okay?"

You nodded again, noting that you'd have to force something out. "Y-yeah, of course. I just don't know what their deal was. I'll be fine."

John's eyes skirted back to you, taking in your shaken demeanor with a once-over. "If you want, I could give you my number. In case it happens again."

He didn't want to mention how fast he'd be to escort you, but he was aware of his speed.

You held your hands in your lap, glanced down at them then back. "S-sure, it wouldn't hurt."

John watched as you carefully retrieved your phone and nervously unlocked it; turning the bright screen to him, he cradled the device and tenderly put his phone number in then turned it back to you.

You looked at him from your screen then back and saved it to contacts. "Thanks."

John said nothing else, only nodded; you gathered yourself, pulling your keys from your bag and opening the door to get out.

"Bye Gunner," you offered to the dog, reaching to pat his head. "Good night, John."

You climbed out of the car, tenderly shutting the door after yourself as John offered a polite wave through the front windshield. He geared his muscle car in reverse, throwing his arm behind the passenger seat to look behind and turn back onto the road.

You stood in the silence, watching as John drove off with your adrenaline in tow. Your heart pattered with a new sense, unsure of what to call it, but you stashed it away to rush to your car.

You found yourself lying awake, staring at the ceiling, in the middle of the night. Deliciously buzzed by two cocktails, you replayed the moments of the days events.

Hot stoic man walks in, hot stoic man has a dog, hot stoic man saves you from not-so-good guys, hot stoic man makes you feel safe.

You blinked slowly, your phone clutched in your hand while you tried to fall asleep. In a shock of embarrassment and a little confidence, you launched yourself upright and swiped your phone open.

Navigating through your phone, you managed to pause at the draft stage of sending John a text.

-Thanks so much againn for saving me tonight

You stared at your message for a moment, wondering if you should add more but decided against it at the last moment. You watched as the bubble popped up at the beginning of the thread, with the small status of the message as 'delivered'.

You sat still for a moment, your eyes threatening to close but in a long blink, your message went from 'delivered' to 'read'.

You froze, a new warmth starting from the inside of your chest, as your phone flopped onto the bed before you. You barely had the second to think of sending a 'i'm so sorry' text at realizing how late it was.

John: Is that what that was? I thought it was a friendly ride

He hadn't been able to sleep, finding himself at the Continental bar with 'Gunner' at his feet. John fingered around the rim of his glass, expecting the whiskey to dull his nerves but found himself brought back by your text.

You grinned dumbly at his response, snickering to yourself before gearing up your response.

-You're right. Thank you for the friendly ride to my car

You stared long at this response, wondering if did any good for the conversation. If this was even a conversation. You sent it anyways, but added further.

-I'm just thankful you were there when you were

John stared at his phone, glass cradled against his bottom lip as he stared at the messages that came in. His heart cinched for a moment, wondering if he was taking it too far. But it was a simple text exchange, nothing more.

John: I am too. Good night.

He paused in his message, feeling it to be too curt. You were just sharing your gratitude, nothing more. John understood, having felt the similar way of feeling cornered.

"Having a nightcap, are we?" Winston asked, sidling up behind John's seat.

"Winston," John stated.

"Jonathan," Winston offered back, pulling a chair open and sitting down. "I'd have expected you to be in bed already. Preparing for your long trip."

John glanced down at his phone, the open conversation between the two of you left on his end. "Yeah, but what can I say? Nerves got to me."

Winston quirked a brow in John's direction, tilting his head slightly at the sight of his phone upright. "There's no such thing as nerves with you."

John took a sip of his whiskey, letting it be his pause before he smacked his lips in appreciation.

"What is it?" Winston asked, undoing his suit jacket button.

John set his glass down on the bar and circled it under his fingers. "There's a girl."

"A girl?" Winston repeated, raising his eyebrows in slight surprise. "I fear I've heard that before."

John folded his lips together as he nodded, knowing that he'd said it a long time ago. "Yeah."

Winston took John's response with a purse of his lips, a tilt of his head. "So there's a girl."

"A woman," John corrected, turning his head in Winston's direction but not meeting his friend's eyes. "And I want to keep her safe."

"Then it's best not to interfere," Winston offered without a beat missed.

John found himself agreeing, but still opened his mouth. "I can't do that."

Winston's eyes steadied on John's stoic face, watching as his dark eyes finally rose to meet his. The older gentleman opened his mouth in a soft 'ah' then sucked his teeth in consolation.

"What're we going to do, then?" Winston asked, straightening up to the bar and raising his hand in a silent order to the bartender.

John picked up his glass again, sloshed the diminishing liquid around then pursed out a hard air. "I have an idea."

You managed to stretch yourself out at the foot end of your bed, holding your bright phone before your face while you tried to hold off of sleep.

There was no reason for John to respond back to you, especially with the time. You imagined that you had woken up this poor, tired man with diathesis just hours after getting home.

And you groaned in your sleep, feeling awful. With your next minute spurt of energy, you'd apologize to him for waking him up so late.

However, the buzz of your phone steeled you awake. You blinked at the bright screen before your face, eyes focusing on the message you received.

John: I am too. I know this is sudden, but would you like to get breakfast?

In the misty morning, you stood on the curb in front of your apartment building under your umbrella. You were patiently waiting for John to show up to take you to breakfast, hoping that it was the Greek diner just a few blocks from your job.

After a few moments, you expected a text from him saying you two would have to reschedule. It was only a matter a time, something you assumed was in the New York air. Plans were never fulfilled, always to be rescheduled.

Your inner plight was paused by the black, unmarked car that pulled up before you. Your reflection in the tinted windows was perplexed, taking a few steps back to assess your escape.

The driver side door opened and a well-dressed man wearing rimless glasses stood out and buttoned his jacket. You waited a moment, taking in the man's movements as he reached for the back door of the car.

"Miss, I've been sent by Mr. John Wick." The man announced, holding the back door open for you to get in.

You stared at the man for another moment in silence, pondering if you ever learned John's last name. You questioned if this man was trustworthy, even though he gave no reason to not be.

"Okay..." you drew out, looking both ways down the empty sidewalk before stepping cautiously towards the car. You folded your umbrella, setting it on the car floor.

You reluctantly climbed in, your nerves raising on their ends as you sat down and buckled your seatbelt behind the driver seat.

The driver smiled politely at you, shutting the door firmly before unbuttoning his suit jacket and climbing into the driver seat again.

He adjusted his mirror, buckled his seatbelt then geared the car into drive and turned on his veering signal. You held your hands in your lap, letting your bag slide to the empty space next to you.

"How do you know John?" You asked, attempted to fill the silence and calm your nerves.

The driver glanced back in his mirror after veering back onto the street, meeting your eyes with his polite smile reaching his gaze.

"Mr. Wick is a regular guest at my hotel." He offered, which didn't ease you very much.

You grinned cheaply at the driver, then let it drop. "Oh, of course."

You assumed, by John's paperwork for Gunner, that he lived nearby. You turned to look out of the tinted window, trying to map the area you were driving into.

The driver continued, "I am the concierge of the Continental. Mr. Wick has done a lot of work for my hotel."

Your raised your brows at that, glancing in the direction of the rearview mirror to meet the driver's eyes.

"My name is Charon," he finally introduced himself, hitting his turn signal down a caddy-corner street before stopping at the corner before sleek, marble stairs up to ornate glass doors. "Mr. Wick will see you inside."

You flinched as your door opened with a bellhop standing quietly on the sidewalk. Charon nodded after you, with you unbuckling your seatbelt and grabbing your bag and umbrella.

You stood under the bright awning of the hotel as the bellhop shut the door, leaving Charon to drive around the curb to park the car. You held your umbrella under your arm awkwardly, righting the strap of your bag as you took in the darkening sky of the morning.

"Miss," the bellhop instructed, holding his crisp gloved hand in the direction of the dry stairs.

You politely smiled, then walked up to the front door only to be greeted by yet another bellhop. Maybe you should've stopped when you got out of the car, feeling that each step you took brought the warning pangs back.

It felt like a distracted descent, the quiet luxury and decadence of the hotel drawing you in though it felt hostile just the same. The bellhop at the door guided you in the direction of the seating area, where patrons were gathered at white tablecloth tables in front of floor-to-ceiling windows to enjoy their breakfast.

Your heart continued to race as you walked through the lobby and into the seating area, feeling particularly under dressed compared to everyone else around you.

John sat at the table, with Gunner sat next to him, sipping at his black coffee. His eyes were trained at the doorway, glancing at his watch to track how much time he had left to spend in your presence.

Your eyes scanned the room before finally stopping at John. He was dressed in a cleaner suit, his hair combed away from his face and drinking coffee.

He paused in his drink, almost rushing to stand as he rounded the table to pull out your seat. You rested your umbrella on the arm of your chair then sat down, looking up at him with a smirk.

"What'd I do to deserve this?" You asked, allowing John to aid your seat under the table.

"N-nothing," John said, reaching to smooth down his hair as he sat down. "Just wanted to talk."

Your smirk turned into a smile, sitting up straight as if trying to perform for the hotel itself. John breathed in deeply, taking in your demeanor before calling the waiter over.

"Would you like some coffee?" John asked.

You nodded, holding your hands in your lap only for them to be occupied by Gunner's fat snout. You grinned down at the pup, scratching behind his ears as the waiter approached with a pristine cup, pouring into it with a shining french press.

"You know, when I was imagining what you did, I never imagined it was tied to this," you commented as the waiter set your cup down before you, then offered a fresh cream pitcher to the table.

John quirked a brow in your direction, taking another sip to punctuate his next words carefully. "You were imagining what I do?"

You gulped and paused, realizing that you had said your inside thought out loud. "I mean, I do for a lot of people. Mostly just walking by," you sheepishly offered in reason.

Staring across the table at this stoic man, you were reminded of staying up even later after you finally told him good night, picturing his face as your hand rested on your chest.

John gave away nothing, his eyes still while he mapped the soft expression on your face. He bit inside his lip noting the minute flush of your cheeks, how you shifted in your chair.

He scoffed in amusement, letting your excuse slide. "What did you think I did?"

You shrugged, reaching for the cream and pouring it into your coffee cup. You sprinkled in sugar from the decor bowl in the center, then used your own spoon to stir it together.

"Your paperwork said 'retired'," you began, another internal strike with bringing up your interested reading of his and Gunner's papers. "I thought you were maybe ex-military."

John's smirk lifted. "Something like that."

He leaned back in his chair, not wanting to puff his chest in pride. He had to remind himself that this was temporary again, the mantra in his head repeating over and over.

"Have you always wanted to work with animals?" John asked, deflecting the conversation from digging any deeper.

You remembered Gunner's head in your hands, looking down at your lap to playfully mush his face. "Kind of. I love seeing all of their sweet faces. I'd hate to see them in pain though, so it's the best and worst at once."

John couldn't help his trained stare on you, as you bowed your head to pet and praise at Gunner. He knew he was taking things in an odd direction, but he thought that it'd keep both of you safe at once.

"So, that's part of the reason I asked you here." John added, sitting upright as his hand braced the table. "I'm going out of town for work, about three days, and was wondering if you could watch Gunner for me."

You raised your head, immediately meeting John's eyes. "You want to leave him with me?" You metered your question, though you were excited for the opportunity to watch such a sweet dog.

That, and maybe you wanted to do the hot stoic man a favor. Whatever that was, your heart fluttered at the thought of doing what John asked. Even though you didn't know anything about him, even though he came in looking dangerous and was now portraying a clean slate.

It felt that he was the bright sliver in the imposing building, even though it was all cast in the rainy shadows. You were confused, your head almost done in by your survival bells ringing though you were still approaching the 'yes'.

John nodded. "Yeah, but here."

You leaned forward, unsure if you heard him correctly. While you hadn't thought of what your landlord would say about bringing pets back to your place.

John spared a chuckle at you, genuinely amused by your response. With a shrug of his shoulder, he leaned back again.

"I received a comp for my room, so I'd like for you and him to stay."

You stammered, freezing to think of what to say before shaking your head. Your eyes darted around the large darkly painted walls, ornate paintings and decorations nothing to what you were accustomed to.

"John, I mean..." you weren't sure what to say, knowing this wasn't an invitation to stay with him. "That's very generous."

His face softened, dropping his hand from the table to tilt his head at you. "Please. You'd be doing me a big favor."

Your mouth opened to argue him further, but John's expression was un-moving. He was still stoic, no indication that his offer had strings attached. Even with the atmosphere of the place itself, you found yourself caving.

"It's just a few days, right?" You reassured him, and yourself, by asking.

John's face broke, finding himself smiling again. His cheeks were beginning to ache, realizing that it'd been a while since he smiled so long.

"Yeah, of course. And they have in-house breakfast and dinner, a transit service that you can use to get to work." John noted, hoping that you'd take advantage of it all just to keep you safe.

"I can use it to go to work too?" You repeated, looking down at Gunner than back at his owner. "Can I take him to work with me?'

John's nose scrunched. "If you want, but I'm sure Charon would be able to check in on him when you're gone."

You nodded, looking down at Gunner again before reaching to sanitize your hands. "I think I can do that."

"Good," John said, pulling the menu up slightly to glaze over the menu. His eyes glanced to his wristwatch, knowing that he was losing time to make it to his flight.

Still, he made no quick effort to speed up his breakfast with you. You looked at the menu on the table, your mouth watering at the options available. Of course they were were gourmet, nothing short of the place itself.

You looked up from the edge of the menu, taking in more of this stranger's presence before speaking up. "What was the other reason?"

John froze for a moment, unfortunately caught off-guard by your question. His eyes still scanned the menu, trying to keep his expression at a minimum though his mind was now doubling back on his words.

He wryly smirked as he finally drew his eyes up to meet yours. "Just wanted to check in from last night."

John stood awkwardly before the front door of the Continental, wondering what the polite way to depart from you was. You stood before him, having to tilt your head slightly to meet his eyes. He was taller than you remembered, though you were taking him in while on your knees petting his dog.

"I have to go," John offered, reaching his hand out to brace your shoulder. "I'll let you know when I land."

You smiled, nodded. "Okay, and we'll be here. I hope you have safe travels."

John squeezed tenderly at your shoulder, feeling how fragile you were under the weight of his hand. He felt a soft weight off of his mind, knowing that the Continental was a steel trap for any unwanted guests.

His smile softened, dropping his hand to pet Gunner's head. "Good dog. Behave."

And at that, you watched John leave, raising your hand to wave after him before turning to Gunner.

"Your daddy's gone," you pouted, reaching to pat his thick back. "I guess we should get you upstairs."

"Allow me to escort you," Charon chimed in, silently approaching you from behind.

You flinched, sucking in a harsh air between your teeth. Charon offered an apologetic look to you, his hands clasped behind his back.

"My apologies, Miss. Allow me to escort you and Mr. Gunner upstairs," he offered again, waiting for you to regain yourself.

You adjusted your bag on your shoulder, shifting your umbrella under your arm then waved for Charon to lead. He carefully reached his hand out to take your umbrella, holding it as he led you to the elevator then handed it off to one of the bellhops.

"That is the Miss's. Please do not get them confused." Charon stated, calling the elevator button then holding his hand out for you and Gunner to board first.

Inside, Charon hit the 8th floor button, the antique number lever slowly raising from its resting place as the elevator lifted.

"So, you know John well?" You asked, unable to help yourself.

Charon lifted his chin, looking over his shoulder to you. He offered his tight smile, the same politeness as before. "I'd say so."

You nodded, mentally chewing on his short answer before thinking of another question. "How long has he worked for the hotel?"

Charon's lips changed into a smirk, noting your inquisitive nature. "Approximately 20 years."

Your eyebrows raised then, realizing that John had been working around the time you got your first pet. You folded your lips together, feeling your heart flutter while trying to decipher what that meant.

"Oh, so how long have you worked for the hotel?"

Your curiosity was beginning to get the better of you, each bit you were fed only bringing up more. The further you got from the ground level, the lighter you felt away from the depths.

Whatever darkness was harnessed in the lobby, the foreboding rattling snake vibe it gave, did not reach the upper levels. The elevator opened to the ornate, older decorated walls of the hotel.

The floors were carpeted in a sleek line design, the wallpaper an almost unnoticeable fleur design.

"Long enough," Charon said, chuckling at his own joke.

You spat out an amused air, following the concierge to the room. He stopped at the room at the end of the hallway, fishing into his suit jacket to retrieve the key.

Charon turned the lock, propping open the door for you to enter. You paused just inside the room, taken over by the view of the city from wide windows at the crest of the room.

The ornate decor was not scrimped in the room, seeing through the carved accent wall before walking around it. Gunner traipsed through the room, jumping onto the crisp white sheets of the large bed and sighing like he'd had a rough day.

You looked to Charon, who nodded into the room for you to take it in. You took your time walking through the hotel room, taken aback at the quality. Sure, you'd been in nice hotels before, having stayed in some with accrued loyalty points.

But this felt like a new feeling. It was strange, feeling swayed by the elegance of this hotel being used for you, to watch a pup that didn't seem swayed either way.

Pausing at the wet bar, you wanted to pull out your phone to take a picture just to show your appreciation for John's minimal effort. But looking back at Charon, he straightened his lips and exited the room.

When he left, you rushed to the window to look out at the city. Even with loyalty points, it never bought anything like this. You couldn't help yourself, pulling out your phone to take an overhead view of the city before setting your bag down on the accent table behind you.

You rushed around the room, looking at the other cool parts of the triangle-shaped room. Gunner was unfazed on the bed, resting his head down with a groan.

You had to stop yourself in the bathroom, gasping at the oversized mirror with the bright light inlaid inside the reflective surface. Watching such a good boy was not worth this treatment.

Still, you took a picture of yourself in the mirror, scrunching your nose and sent both to John at once.

-Are you sure about this?? Is there something you're leaving out?

John boarded his charter, retrieving his phone as it vibrated in his pocket. The smile on his lips was subconscious, seeing that you'd messaged him.

Opening his phone, he chuckled at the two photos you sent him. He read your message, finding himself lightened at the scrunch of your face in the mirror.

He paused before his seat, finding himself regretting boarding for the nth time since he left the hotel. John thought of what he would do if he went back, if you'd stay around and keep him company on the sacred grounds of the Continental.

John turned and sat, crossing his ankle over his thigh as he typed a response to you.

John: Oh, I did forget. He's a bed hog. And he likes to steal bacon off your plate. So watch out.

You sat on the bed, staring at the text thread between you and the stoic stranger. You smiled at his response, ready to send another text as soon as you retrieved it.

John: I made it to the plane. I'll let you know when I land. I can't thank you enough for this.

You nipped at your inside lip, wanting to thank him back for the outrageous accommodations. Wanting to thank him for breakfast. Wanting to thank him for his company.

-Okay, safe travels. I'd love to see where you're going.

John's smile remained, staring at your response as the ladder was pulled up and the engines turned on. He exited out your text thread, searching through his contacts to find another number.

"Jonathan," Winston answered on the third ring. He sat in the smoking lounge, with Charon approaching to report. "We have Persephone in the Underworld Palace."

John's jaw grit, attempting to skew the view of you having your own free will. You had the freedom to leave, he had to remind himself, though he wanted you to remain on the neutral ground.

"She showed me," John offered in response, feeling the palpable silence on the opposite end.

Winston and Charon shared a knowing look, with Charon raising his chin and checking his watch.

"Are you sure about this?" Winston asked.

John looked out of the small window to his right, sitting back in his seat as he thought of how long it'd take for him to return to the Continental grounds.

"It'll give me time to think of my next step," John said, reaching to buckle his seatbelt with one hand.

Winston sucked at his teeth, tilting his head in deep thought. "You're dangling her over the pond, Jonathan. Are you sure this is the safest thing you could think of?"

John pursed his lips, shutting his eyes for a deep breath. "I'll be done as soon as I can. I can figure it out from there."

Winston raised his brows in Charon's direction, who shook his head in response. "Safe travels."

Upon ending the call, Winston exhaled deeply and directed to Charon. "Make sure our young Miss and her companion are cared for. Don't allow her exit without escort."

Charon barely widened his eyes, pulling his hands behind his back, ready to execute his orders but Winston raised a finger. "And invite her to dinner on the roof. The four of us. For Jonathan's sake."

Charon nodded. "Of course, sir."

You stood in front of your closet, having been escorted back to your apartment by Charon and Gunner.

The concierge extended an invitation to you and Gunner to join the owner of the Continental for dinner. Apparently he was a close friend of John's and wanted to meet you, as it wasn't often John extended invitations to "outsiders".

You would definitely ask about that as you cycled through your clothes, wondering what dining with the manager fell under for dress code. Everything else was just thrown haphazardly to you weekender bag on your bed: clothes for work, some leggings for taking Gunner on walks, anything for comfort because you felt that you would step outside of the hotel room for anything other than work.

When your bag was packed with your toiletries tossed on top, you turned back to your closet to contemplate your dress code.

For a high-class hotel, you opted for a white long-sleeve dress with a built in silk bodice. It'd suffice, you shrugged, because it was your best dress in your closet. You paired it with your most comfortable flats and stuffed it all on top of your bag.

You grabbed your phone charger from the wall then rushed out of the door, making sure everything was off in your apartment. You carefully took the stairs down to the front door, throwing it open to Charon carefully waiting outside of the car for your return.

Gunner poked his happy face out of the driver's side window, staring at other onlookers in silence. You shut the door firmly behind you, grabbing your key to lock it after you.

Charon straightened on his feet, opening the back door of the car while his other hand extended to grab your bag.

"You don't have to--" you tried to argue on holding onto your bag in the backseat, but Charon was firm in taking the straps of your bag.

In a fluid motion, he shut the door after you righted in the backseat then went around the back of the car to open the trunk. You glanced after him, seeing that he didn't linger behind and closed the trunk then returned to the driver's door.

Gunner moved over to the passenger seat, that window open as well, as Charon geared the car into driver and veered back onto the street.

"What's your manager like?" You asked.

Charon glanced in the rearview, his polite grin ever present in his eyes.

"Mr. Scott is an old-fashioned type. Cordial, gentlemanly, with a taste of finer things."

You pursed your lips, looking out of the front windshield, then Gunner. When you looked back at Charon, he was once again fixated at the mirror, expectant of your next question.

"Should I...shape up?" You asked, aware of every movement you were making at that point.

Charon chuckled again, which you were unsure if genuine or sardonic towards you. "I believe you will be fine, miss. I think that Mr. Scott will enjoy your company and questions."

Your lips flattened in a slightly embarrassed smile then turned back to the window. "I'll start thinking of more now."

John paused by the bar of the Rome Continental, steadying his nerves before his mission. He had to remind himself that it would be this would be the last.

Even with the taste of being back, John's mind flashed with the thought of you. He choked on his sip of whiskey, clearing his throat while he stared at the crystal in his hand. Helen.

His mind flashed with the thought of Helen. John blinked, remembering his ring and circling it on his finger. When he felt his chest begin to heave with a new wash of grief, he stifled it with a long pull of his whiskey.

Just as his phone buzzed on the bar. John set the crystal back down, staring at the notification of your message and remembering that he meant to inform you of his landing.

Opening his phone, John was greeted with a photo of you sat on the bed with Gunner sat beside you. You were dressed in a short white dress, the bodice reflecting soft light as you leaned over his dog and hugged his head against your chest.

-We're having dinner with Mr. Scott, hope you made it wherever safely.

John felt struck in his place, staring at the photo in the growing thread of your messages. His heart skipping a beat before he finally picked up his phone to respond.

John: I made it safely. Never knew Mr. Scott extended dinner invitations, you must be lucky.

He looked through his entirely empty photo gallery to share the photo of the Colosseum from his plane window. John sent the message, let his phone clatter to the bar again as he sat back in his chair.

The rushing thought of you instead of Helen made him go askew, knowing that it was wrong to do. He grit his teeth, shut his eyes to remember his late wife's smile and not yours.

This was not what he wanted to happen, hoping to keep you at an arms length but still close enough to be safe.

You stared at your phone as Gunner jumped down from the bed, reading and rereading John's message before staring at the crowded overview of Italy from his plane window.

You zoomed in on the photo, staring at the Colosseum as the flattest fixture amongst all the little buildings, all of it resembling a miniature map.

John pushed himself up from his chair, pocketing his phone as he left the room with determination. He wouldn't be distracted by any feelings, regardless of who they were for, tonight.

Charon knocked gingerly at the door, alerting Gunner to the noise. You slowly stood, straightening out your dress and stashing your phone in its pocket then met the concierge in the hallway.

"This way, miss," Charon stated, starting in the direction of the elevator as before.

Inside the elevator car, Charon turned over his shoulder to look at you. "That is an elegant dress. You look very nice."

You smiled, practically beamed and offered your thanks; you pulled your textured hair behind your shoulder then looked down to Gunner.

The elevator lurched to a slow stop at the top of the hotel. The doors slowly opened to a long hallway, decorated the same as the others, with double glass doors that led out to a concrete patio.

Charon held the door open for you and Gunner, allowing the two of you to step onto the hotel roof patio. The view of the city was surrounding half of the balcony, with a larger building blocking directly beside it.

Your eyes fixated on the black glass patio table, decorated with an ornate black runner and four chairs. At the head of the table, you acknowledged the older gentleman as he stood up.

He approached you carefully, allowing you to take in that he exuded opulence and class, noticing the gilded pocket square in his dark suit jacket.

"Bonsoir chérie," the gentleman offered, gently taking your hand and bringing it up to his lips in a ghostly peck. "My name is Winston Scott, it is nice to meet you."

You smiled politely at him, tilting your head at Mr. Scott. "Nice to meet you too, Mr. Scott."

Winston carefully dropped your hand, his face playfully scrunching in offense. "Nonsense, call me Winston."

Your smile twitched further genuine, forfeiting your nicety to agree. "Okay. It's nice to meet you, Winston."

Winston winked at you, then guided you to your seat at the other end of the table. "You look radiant in that dress. I can see how you caught John's eye."

You giggled nervously, watching the older man pull your chair back. Turning your back to him, you tucked your dress to the back of your legs then sat down as Winston aided your chair to the table.

Winston returned to his seat at the opposite end of the table just as Charon pulled a chair for Gunner to sit to your left then rounded to sit to your right.

You looked at the good boy sat at the table, waiting patiently with his mouth open. You couldn't help but snort at the image, thinking that you should've found him a bowtie so he could've fit in for the dress code.

As Winston sat down, he waved a hand to direct the waiter over to the table. A tall martini glass filled close to the brim with an orchid colored liquid. The liquid held a light shimmer as you shifted the glass closer to grab; your eyes narrowed, looking at the beaded garnish at the bottom in a clump of red seeds.

Just as Winston and Charon received their drinks, the hotel manager raised his glass. "Salud."

You took careful hold of the thin-stimmed glass and raised it from the table, repeating Winston's cheers before bringing the drink to your lips. It was bubbly and light, sweet and tart at once.

From the bottom of the glass, you watched the garnish break apart and you opened your lips to ingest a seed with a gulp. When you were satisfied with your sip, you rested the glass back on the table then savored the taste as the seed slipped down your throat.

"Good cocktail?" Winston asked, smacking his teeth to savor his martini.

You nodded, shifting the glass to your left. "Is that cherry? Almost a shirley temple?'

Winston chuckled, shrugging a shoulder up before setting his glass down. "Close. It's pomegranate."

You hummed, letting the palette of the drink reignite on your tongue with that new knowledge. Charon looked over to Winston, sparing a slightly amused shake of his head.

Winston shrugged fully then, entertained by his own theme. "What is it you do, my dear?"

You straightened in your seat, looking over to Gunner enjoying his lap bowl of water then at Winston. "I work for a vet clinic, very small. That's actually how I met John."

Saying it aloud and remembering the timeline, your mind rushed with how fast things moved. You blinked slowly, your heart stumbling in your chest at remembering John a day ago compared to now.

Winston raised his brows: "Oh?"

You nodded and continued. "He brought in Mr. Gunner here for a check-up."

You reached to pat Gunner's head and he panted happily in your direction. Another soft wave of shock went through you, remembering what he looked like when he came into your clinic.

He should've been off-putting, and yet...

Winston tilted his chin, pursing his lips in intrigue. "Gunner, huh?"

You almost ignored Winston's comment, meeting his interested gaze from across the table.

"And he drove me to my car that night," you added finally, remembering with the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.

You had a nightmare about those men last night, one only fought off by your stoic man in a muscle car. Tightening your jaw, you reached for your drink and wet your lips again.

"Hmm," Winston offered after a moment, turning to Charon for any input.

The concierge was quiet, his own lips pursed in slight interest. Winston smirked waywardly, straightening up to brace his elbows against the table.

He carded his fingers before his mouth, staring across the table at you and wondering what it was that made John choose you.

"Jonathan always has had a soft spot," Winston said after another beat of silence.

You couldn't help your grin again, hearing John's full name. You imagined him as a younger Jonathan, introducing himself as such and Winston never letting it go.

"How long have you known John?" You asked, replacing your glass back to the table.

You realized you were dependent on your drink, noting the glass close to finished. All the garnish was sneakily slipped down with the liquid, leaving the sparkling drink to reflect the encroaching moonlight.

The patio overlights turned on, banishing the darkness and shadows from the area. Your nerves, charged since entering this place, were now directed to performing for John's cohorts.

Not that you needed their approval, you wanted to prove to yourself your etiquette. The nervous inkling in the back of your head was growing louder over the lush warmth, telling you that Winston and Charon would report back to John with their findings.

And you sat back in your chair to come to terms with why you cared. You did like John, but bit your tongue. There was no reason to go forth and ruin something as innocent as a friendship.

Winston chuckled, dropping his hands to the arms of his chair. "Since...he was a young man. Over twenty years, at this point."

You hummed, raising your brows as you looked between the two men across from you. You almost wanted to ask how old John was, the thought making you giggle behind your fingers.

"So a long time, then. Doesn't show for you, Winston." You commented, smirking playfully across the table at the older gentleman.

"Flattery will get you everywhere, my dear," Winston offered, lifting his glass to you and taking another sip.

With that, dinner was served and a plate was placed carefully before you. The seasoned smell of the marsala tickled under your nose and made your stomach engorge with hunger.

The sweet liquor was only making it worse, opening your mouth to drool at the elegant layout of your plate. You glanced over to Gunner, who was fed steak tips on a plate and heartily cleaned his bowl.

Your eyes dragged across the table, to see Charon and Winston staring at you in wait. You smiled politely, allowing the waiter to set a black cloth napkin on your lap before stepping back.

You thanked him, picking up your fork and knife to inspect them a moment before cutting into your chicken. The echo of silverware followed, with Charon and Winston cutting into their food and eating in silence.

You eagerly wanted to call John to talk about this dinner afterwards, but knew it would be better to wait for him to call first.

John sat down to catch his breath, exhausted after yet another night of fighting. Did he enjoy this? Sometimes he had to ask himself, seeing as how he kept going through it. He sat forward in his chair in the lobby, shuddering as adrenaline worked out of his system.

The longer he sat, the more pain that came onset. He winced as he sat back, feeling that he'd bruised a rib from falling through the Roman Continental window with Cassian. John slowly pushed himself up to his feet, approaching the front desk to request his passage home.

He went up to his room, returned back downstairs and awaited in the lobby for the first sign of daylight to make his way to the hotel.

In the meantime, John retrieved his phone and turned it on. When it cycled through, he expected a message from you.

He expected a message from you, especially after dinner. John thought of what awful stories Winston drummed up to entertain you without giving too much away. His top lip peeled back in an embarrassed scowl, already hearing Winston talk about a young Jonathan.

John thought of sending you a message, but thought of the time in New York. He wasn't even sure what he'd say to you. He wanted to ask about dinner.

So he did.

John: How was dinner with the infamous Mr. Scott?

You were escorted back to your hotel room floor as your phone vibrated in your skirt pocket. Gunner rushed up to the door of the hotel room, baring his teeth in a low growl as you stopped to grab your phone.

-Delicious, who knew Winston was such a gossip.

John raised his brows at his phone buzzing again, this time showing Winston calling him.

"Winston," John greeted, sitting back in his chair while his eyes fixated in the direction of the sunrise.

"Jonathan, she's a delightful little sprite. I am not surprised why you're taken with her," Winston offered, carefully taking his stride to the elevator after letting you be excused first.

"I'm sure you've entertained her," John offered, actively ignoring his mentor's comment while his stomach sank.

"She's great at listening, Charon said she was full of questions." Winston looked over his shoulder to his concierge, who shrugged. "Am I off-putting to questions, Jonathan?"

John noised in response, stashing a slight grin. "I wouldn't say that. Maybe Charon is more...approachable in general."

"That is why I hired him," Winston said, pushing the call button for the elevator. "Has she contacted you?"

John scrunched his mouth to keep from reacting, knowing that Winston could hear his lies. "Not yet. I'm sure she's had a long day."

Winston scoffed over the line, stepping into the elevator and motioning for Charon to hit the button for your room first. "I'm sure she has. She seems to fit here, in a sense."

John grit his jaw, stashing the sudden jolt of fear through him. "I'll be home tomorrow."

Winston quickly gave up, nodding at the line. "Bueno notte, Jonathan."

John pulled his phone from his ear and ended the call, receiving your text soon after.

Gunner stood on guard before your front door, nosing at the crack while you waited for Charon to arrive with your key. You stashed your phone again as Gunner wedged himself through the crack of the door then threw it open with a slew of heavy barks.

You ran in after him, narrowly missing a harsh shove from a dark-dressed figure. They attempted to push past you and outside, but you threw a knee out to connect with their gut.

You were a rattled mess as the person fell to the floor, their face covered in a hood and mask. Looking around the room as they tried to crawl away, you grabbed at one of the ornate vases at the entryway and threw it at their head.

Still, they moved and you stamped your foot onto their back as Charon turned the corner with Winston behind. You were frozen, putting more of your weight on the stranger's back as Charon finally assessed the situation and ran to the room.

"My dear, are you alright?" Winston asked, standing aside as Charon picked up the burglar and dragged him out of the room.

You stared fixated after the stranger, your body trembling as your breath was shortened. You heaved, unsure of what you were but aware that you once again could've been hurt.

That if Gunner wasn't around, you would've been attacked. You were stiff, even as Winston touched your arm.

"Come now, let's go downstairs, hmm?" Winston offered.

You barely nodded, feeling your eyes sting with the threat of tears, and Winston guided you to the elevator. Gunner followed suit, leaving Charon to clean up.

John: Let's hope its all good things. I'm leaving first thing in the morning. Let's do lunch.

You sat in the smoking lounge, curled up on the leather couch while Winston offered you a cup of espresso. He'd gone to his office and retrieved a decorative throw blanket to match the rest of the opulent hotel.

He carefully draped the cloth over your legs, allowing you to sit in stunned silence as he sat in the leather chair next to you.

Winston mapped your face, wanting to find the inside of the shock. He wondered if you would question why the person appeared, or for what. But when you gave off nothing, he gave up and sat back as he received a message about John Wick.

Followed by a number, with a lot of zeros. He stashed a gulp, straightening his chin as he glanced over to you again.

"I apologize, my dear, but I urgent business to attend to. Charon will be here with you."

You nodded, bringing the small cup up to your lips for a sip. The instant bitter brought you out of your flight mode, looking after Winston before Charon took his seat before you.

"W-what happened to that person?" you asked, never catching if that person was a man or a woman. You wanted to ask more, but were sure that no answers would help.

Charon sat tall and stiff in his chair. "I phoned the police and they have detained them at the station," he lied, though his face gave no indication.

You shuddered, looking down at your espresso then back. "Did they take anything?"

"No, miss. All of the hotel's belongings are accounted for. I can't say the same for yours, but we can assess that when we change your room."

You knitted your brows in concern. "You're moving me?"

Charon blinked and smiled politely. "If you wish, miss. We would like you to feel safe."

You looked back down, nodded in agreement to his statement. But you didn't feel that the room was tainted, unsure if it was tattered looking for something.

"Is...is the room still intact?" You asked, bringing the espresso cup to your lips again.

Charon nodded once. "It is no detriment to move. It would be the floor below."

The more you thought of it, the dark shadows of your room would be the same on any floor. The new room would only call for the next stranger to slither in. You shook your head.

"No, I'll be fine," you said quickly, setting your cup down as Gunner sighed, resting his head on your thigh. "He'll keep me safe."

Charon glanced to Gunner then back. "He is a good guard dog. He should be employed."

The night went on too long, with you stationed in the smoking lounge to nurse your espresso. Your nerves, despite the coffee, eventually calmed with Gunner finding his temporary bed on the leather couch.

Charon sat with you in silence, allowing you to regain yourself until you were ready. Finally, you patted Gunner's back, waking him then moved to stand.

You threw back Winston's throw on your arm, grabbing your empty espresso cup to return to the bar. Charon took the blanket from you, folding it as he walked you out of the lounge.

He handed off the blanket to the bellhop, leading you and Gunner to the elevator and escorting you upstairs to your room. It hadn't occurred to you how much time had passed, the smoking lounge offering no clock or windows to acknowledge it.

As the three of you ascended, and you found yourself lightening once again the further you got from the ground floor. The trudge back to your room was quiet, with a bellhop stood outside of your door.

"Please let us know of any missing items," Charon offered, holding his hand out for the bellhop to open the door. "If you have any concerns, do not hesitate to alert this kind gentleman."

You glanced to the bellhop, who stood astutely in the corner of the hallway. You looked to Charon and nodded. Charon opened your door and held the door for you to enter, and you took careful steps inside.

The room was untouched, with only the entryway vase missing. You sucked air between your teeth, hoping that John wouldn't be charged for the decoration missing. Charon handed off your room key, letting the door shut after you.

When the door was closed, you kicked off your flats then walked cautiously around the room. Every lamp in the area was turned on, leaving no shadows. You exhaled deeply and sat down on the bed.

You rested on your side, staring over at the bar of the room as Gunner jumped onto the bed behind you. The curtains were pulled to hide the windows, leaving you in the warm glow of the lights.

Slowly, you let the events of the day lull you away to sleep but not without a few startled jolts to double-check the room. Soon, you conceded and drifted off, curling into yourself to keep yourself safe.

You woke up with another jolt at the sudden brightness of the room. The lamps of your room were shut off, the curtains drawn back to show the bustling city and the sun bouncing off of the nearby bridge.

Your eyes curled around the room until you were frozen by the dark dressed figure at the side of your bed. Slowly, your eyes drew up to meet John's scraped face, his hair combed back his ears.

You broke then, rushing up from your place in bed to curl your arms around his neck. You shuddered into his shoulder, your bottom lip pouting as you shut your eyes.

John barely recognized how long he'd been watching you sleep, knowing that it was wrong to do. But he was gauging his next moves.

His attempt had done nothing to keep you safe; his eyes looked around the room, seeing it as a ruined castle. When you hugged him, he was shocked out of his thoughts.

John folded an arm around your waist, holding you against him but not with his full strength. He knew it was better to keep you at an arms' length.

He'd failed you and Gunner, leaving you both in the security of what he imagined as powerful but was now realizing less.

You squeezed closer to him, steadying your breath the more you held on. John shut his eyes to breathe you in, stiffening as he realized his action.

He turned his face into your neck, unable to control himself, and breathed against your skin. Your chest tightened, the warmth of his breath rolling down your body.

Slowly, you turned to meet his cheek, finding your mouth parting in a soft pant. John found himself pulled in further, turning to meet your mouth and lean in to kiss you.

Your hand raked up his neck to clutch the nape of his hair, barely letting the moment be taken as mistake, and kissed him feverishly.

John's hand slid down your back, over your hip to grab the back of your thigh and pull you further into him. His eyes squeezed shut, following the efforts of your lips before taking lead and slipping his tongue in.

You groaned into him, your other hand grabbing at the front of his suit jacket. John pushed down the dull pain in his body, letting all other thoughts take backseat as his lust took over.

Gunner whined, making both of you part in a soft pant. John dragged his eyes from you then to his dog, shaking his head once.

He guided his dog to the front door, opening it to the bellhop. "Would you mind taking him on a walk? I think I've got it from here."

The bellhop nodded, calling after Gunner as John lightly shooed his dog to follow him. After the two were down the hallway, John shut the door and locked it before returning to you.

You thought he'd have regained himself in the moments away, returning to your friendly charade before breaking for brunch. But John resumed at your lips, his hand clutching the back of your thigh before folding you across the bed.

You were overcome with his touch, hazy with the rush. Your hands found their way into his hair, the other at the buckle of his belt as you slowly followed his lead.

John bit back with a hiss, feeling your fingers fumble at his waist. His hand went to cradle your cheek, kiss you deeply, before retracting his hand to grab your wrist.

He slid your fingers further down his waist to acknowledge the urgent swell of his cock. Both of you parted from your kiss in shock; you glanced down your bodies as John stared down at you.

He was approaching an edge he'd never imagined again, his body alight with heat. You shifted up on your side, attempting to roll onto John. However, John's knee shifted onto the floor and turned at the foot of the bed, pulling you onto his lap as he faced the window.

You straddled his waist, your knees on the carpet as you looked down at your hand still rubbing his cock. John stared up at you, his eyes dragging down to acknowledge the open shoulders of your dress.

He carefully reached behind you, unzipping your dress to peel the top of your bodice down, revealing your breasts. You shuddered again, your chest heaving at the sudden cool of the room.

John leaned in to catch your lips again, guiding your hand to undo his belt and pants. The two of you shared a few desperate moans, finding yourselves drawn together.

He freed his cock with a part from your mouth. He attempted to find his words, to ask if this was okay for you two to do. John knew they were careening to something both unavoidable and difficult to walk back from.

You rested your forehead against his, sharing his breaths as you shifted closer. With a lick of your lips, you tasted him on you; you reached under the skirt of your dress, peeling your panties to the side before lining up and sinking down on John's bare cock.

His face was gorgeous as it broke, his brows knitted as his mouth pouted, as if he were about to cry from the feeling. You sighed deeply in his face, your eyes lulling at the slow pop of his hot cock head into your wet pussy.

Your hand found its way into the nape of his hair as you sank down on his length, tilting his head back to ghost your lips before his.

John's tattered knuckles braced your hips, following your direction down onto him. He hissed, letting a moan slip from his lips. Consequences be damned, John thought, rocking your hips into him before ducking his forehead to your shoulder.

You groaned, turning your head back to the ceiling and following his hands rocking you into him. The two of you paused in relief, feeling the heat build between your bodies.

John brought himself back with a peck to your collarbone, then another as he crossed over your chest then down timidly lap at your velvety breasts.

He chastised himself for thinking of squeezing you, hardening his touch and speed on you. John knew that he'd break you eventually, but he'd stave off his darkness for the time being.

You worked up the courage to pull off of his cock, turning to moan into John's ear as you did. You barely made it to his tip, finding your core begging for him again and sinking back down.

John groaned, tilting his head back against the bed to meet your gaze. His dark eyes were dangerous, dark pools yet enriching and inviting. You took hold of his shoulder, working up to a slow ride as you leaned into him.

John trembled, unable to blink as you rode him in the morning light. He was overwhelmed with infatuation, a sickening salacity the more he spent under you.

He was reactive by you, whimpering and twitching as you rode into him, kissed him breathless. John felt that he'd met his match, an unbeatable adversary though he never wanted to cross you.

The sun haloed around your body, making your skin golden in his presence. John came back to you again, hearing your moans heighten as you were brought closer to climax.

You found yourself grinning down at John, seeing his eyes focus back on you. Your hand went to his jaw, then combed through his hair before resting at his neck. "Did I lose you there?"

John spared a blissed-out grin, parting his lips to catch your kiss again. He'd never admit it.

You cried into his mouth, feeling within grasp for your undoing. John hissed and kissed further into you, his other hand reaching under your skirt to touch your clit.

You bent your back into him, panting into his mouth with a cry of his name to follow. You felt the brightness of the room begin to blind you as you approached the edge; your hips rocked a little firmer, trying to pull John overboard with you.

Finally, you broke with a loud moan, twitching on John's cock as he bucked further into you and climaxed. You writhed on him, your fingers clutching hard into the nape of his hair as you tried to catch your breath against his mouth.

"John," you cooed, pushing yourself further into his body to chase his warmth.

He grabbed at your shoulder, attempting to still you over him as your walls begged for his cum. John shut his eyes upon release, snapping back into his conscience and realizing his impulse.

When you regained a bit of yourself, you spared a few amused huffs, pulling upright to meet John's gaze. You watched as his lustful eyes draw back and you combed through his hair.

"Hi," you said, humming at the stoic man against you. "How was your trip?"

John did his best to smile, pulling your elbow in to kiss your bicep. He dragged his lips up to your shoulder and kissed again. "Could've been better."

He didn't want to ask too soon about your night, having already heard from Winston. John knew it was dangerous to return directly to you, but he had to be sure.

And now he knew that wasn't the only reason. The two of you stayed in place for some time, taking in each other. John glanced over your shoulder to the widespread window behind you, noticing a glint from across the roof.

He held you still, staring further as his eyes narrowed on the long barrel of a sniper. John stashed a frown, turning back to you to appreciate you.

He was sickened by himself, seeing you as his shield for the time being. John exhaled, reaching down to tap your butt playfully.

"Why don't we close the curtains, call in some breakfast?" He asked, fighting against his racing heart.

You bit at your bottom lip, slowly pulling off of John's cock with a whine before turning and pushing to your feet. You grabbed the ends of the curtains and pulled them tightly closed.

John deflated against the end of the bed, looking down his battered suit. He was taken aback at how you mounted him in such a disarray.

You reached to unzip the rest of your dress, but was met by John's lips on your shoulder. You shut your eyes, soothed by the warmth of his mouth.

He slipped his hands down your arms, shrugging your dress from your body and leaving you in your panties, bare in the front of the room.

John shrugged off his jacket then circled his arm around your waist to direct you back to bed. "Go on, I'm coming."

You followed his order, climbing onto the bed and peeling the comforter back. John pulled his belt from his pants, did the same for his tie before unbuttoning his shirt and dropping his pants.

He hurriedly undressed, though you never saw any effort. He moved intentionally towards you, resting a knee on the bed then the other as he grabbed your ankle and pulled you back.

You stretched your arms out above your head, finding yourself directly under John. Your faces aligned, his eyes skirting over your face. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb tempted at the corner of your mouth.

At the same time, his other hand circled around your stomach then down your hip before sliding his fingers into your wet pussy. You crooned, raising your hips to chase his touch and meet his body.

John kissed your chin, admiring the breaking on your face. He dragged his fingers in and out of you slowly, tracking every minute pinch and wain of your face.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, finding his words to not be his own.

John felt detached from himself, swirling a dark abyss of desire he hadn't thought of for a long time. You grabbed onto John's bicep, sucking in a breath between your teeth before moaning when his thumb folded against your clit.

"J-John," you stammered, your fingers clutching tighter as you found yourself fighting off another climax.

It was too late when you realized the bruises on his body, the wounds decorating his lean torso. Your mouth gaped with another croon, squeezing your eyes shut suddenly as you came on his fingers.

Warm rushes wracked through your body, causing you to roll further into John while you fought off the sight of his body being your undoing.

John's thumb at the corner of your mouth peeled back your bottom lip, flattening his finger along your gums. You pulled his hand further into your mouth to sensually suck at it before dragging it along your bottom teeth.

John was pulled further, the look in your eyes along with the feeling of your pussy around his fingers making it difficult to find pause. You licked the tip of John's thumb, dragged it down your body as he trailed his eyes after it.

His stomach sank then, his hand paused and flattened between your breasts. Staring back at him, as he felt your heart thrumming under his touch, was his wedding ring.

John's hand began to shake, staring at its placement against your body. You stared up at him, seeing that he was no longer meeting your eyes and was fixated at the placement of his hand.

He felt the room go askew, finding himself getting yanked out the abyss and washed ashore. John half-blinked, pulling his fingers out of you before climbing off of the bed and walking away to the shower.

You sat up on your elbow in John's wake, turning your head to watch him walk away. "John?"

You were unsure of what you did, if anything. But now, you were left bare. Righting yourself on the edge of the bed, you slowly followed after John into the bathroom.

John set his ring on the bathroom counter as he reached around the glass wall to turn on the shower head. He welcomed the silence for a moment, wanting to sieve through his thoughts as tangled as they were.

Stepping under the spray, John sighed and dropped his shoulders. He let the warm water roll over his body, drip down his hair as his muscles began to relax.

You stood at the door of the bathroom, watching John in silence before stepping up to the shower wall.

"Can I join you?" You asked softly, not looking up at him as if you'd done something wrong.

John waited a beat, shutting his eyes as he nodded under the rainfall spray. "Yeah."

You peeled your panties to the floor then stepped out of them and into the shower. You let the warm water dampen your hair, letting you slick it down between your shoulders as you turned your back to John.

The two of you shared the shower as if you were strangers still, the air palpable and dewy.

John raised his head and slicked his hair back, glancing over his shoulder to you. You wrung out your hair, turning under your arm to look at John and taking in his back tattoo.

You were taken in, turning around slowly to drag your eyes along his full back tattoo. You reached a finger out to touch at the center cross behind prayer hands.

John stiffened at your touch, his eyes overly blinking from the weight of the water on his lashes. You traced your finger around, noting the words between his shoulders without understanding what it meant.

"I was married before," John offered in the silent patter of the shower.

It was the least of what he wanted to say, his want for you and his feeling for his wife leaving him suspended in telling the truth. John swallowed, dropping his head to his side as you paused at bruise on his love handle.

"I still wear my wedding ring..." he admitted, his chest shaking for a moment, "it hurt to look at."

You paused dropping your head against his shoulder as your hand circled his side. "I'm sorry. You should've stopped me."

John straightened up then, turning around to face you. His tattered hands cradled your face, searching your eyes for an ounce of disdain towards him.

"I didn't want to stop..." John whispered, leaning in to nudge his nose against yours. "I...don't want to stop."

You let your eyebrows screw up in confusion, wanting to know what this stranger wanted. Because with learning more about him, you remembered again that he was a stranger.

"I want you," he muttered against your lips, tilting your chin to peck your lips, "to make it stop hurting."

Your heart lurched into John, feeling that he was saying it wrong but not wanting to dwell on it. You let your attraction give him leeway, letting him take your mouth again and soothe away your doubts in an instant.

You bowed into him, quavering as his hands slipped down your neck, then shoulders and elbows; he took in the slippery feel of your skin, admired how you molded into him this way.

He inhaled deeply through his nose, circling his fingers down to your hips and around the small of your back. John felt the swirl draw him back in, the taste of your mouth sickly sweet.

He bit away from you, hissing between his teeth as he tried to dampen the muddy thoughts within him.

You held your hands at John's sides, opening your eyes to witness the turmoil on his face. Your own stomach turned, lifting on your toes to kiss him again.

John nipped your bottom lip, pulling back on his hold to turn you around to the shower wall. He felt his vision tunnel on you, dragging his hand down between your legs to greet your pussy with his wet fingers.

Your nipples graced the cold granite of the shower wall, bracing with a soft gasp before John's fingers slipped into you. You rested your forehead against the granite, unable to hold back the moan lodged in your throat.

Your shoulders worked back, spreading your legs to allow John's touch further. John flattened his hand on the granite next to your face, lining himself up behind you.

He pulled his fingers out, using his hand to stroke his strained cock. John bowed his head, guiding his length into you and groaning at the welcoming warmth of your walls.

His hand went to your hip, gripping you tightly as he attempted to level himself. Your nose smushed against the granite, your mouth gaped open as you panted against the hard shower wall.

Your hand reached back to touch John but he took your hand and crossed it behind your back. He pumped into you once, earning another noise from you.

When he withdrew, your walls begged at his return; he pumped in again, making your knees buckle slightly.

John bent forward, kissing at the back of your neck before nipping at your shoulder. You turned, squishing your cheek against the wall to watch John's lips migrate down your back.

Your other arm folded directly before your chest, allowing the dampened air to coagulate in your lungs. John was slow in his pace, metering his noise to hear you echo against the stone walls.

His free hand reached around to ghost his fingers over your clit, allowing himself to get lost in the clench of your walls. John's lips trailed over the back of your shoulders, baring his teeth to nip at your skin.

He was painfully aware of how much he wanted to hoard you, to keep you stashed in this room with him with no end in sight. John knew he'd be able to to protect you alone for how ever long you wanted to stay with him.

The closer you got your climax, the more John became infatuated. Every moan of his name, he was dragged further into you, ready to use his resilience for whatever means to please you.

He pulled you off of the wall, draping your body against his chest; John's hands slipped over your wet body, pushing you further into him as you finally came on his throbbing cock again.

John lost his control, ducking his face into your neck to mutter his praise.

You rested your head on John's lap, staring across the bed at the breakfast tray by his feet. You tried to make yourself small in his dress shirt, wanting to take up as much of his warmth as possible.

Brunch had encroached into lunch, the Continental eggs Benedict turned into a nice club sandwich and fries.

John wanted to remain in the solace of the room a bit longer, knowing that he'd have to leave and face his consequences. As long as you didn't have to, John would task himself to clean up his mess better than before just so you wouldn't suffer.

He folded the newspaper in his hands around to scan the inside pages as Gunner sniffed in the direction of John's abandoned club.

You reached out to grab a few fries from John's plate, dragging them across the white comforter for Gunner to take.

John flipped to the next page, disinterested in the sports section. "I saw that."

You side-eyed Gunner then glanced up at John. "No you didn't."

John shook his head, eyes lazily dragging over the fine print of the newspaper. He looked so comfortable in this state, how you imagined he spent his Sunday afternoons at home.

"How long were you married?" You asked, feeling the comfortable silence grind to a screeching halt. It had plagued you since he mentioned it and no matter how many times John made you cum to keep you quiet, the question still remained.

John's eyes glanced down at you, his face never moving from the direction of his newspaper. His chest tightened at the question, feeling his ring finger pulse when you asked.

He relaxed his shoulders, folding his newspaper haphazardly before resting his hand on your shoulder. You shifted in bed, propping your chin up on the tops of your folded arms; John's hand migrated to the middle of your back, admiring how good you looked in his dress shirt.

He praised the tailor's choice for a dark shirt, hiding the blood staina better. John thought of how dangerous his hand was, how many men he'd taken down with just them. And he was tenderly rubbing your back.

"Five years," he said after a few beats of quiet. John set the newspaper on his lap, holding it there with his hand.

You raised your head, shifting closer to John. The two of you were past the formality of tiptoeing hard subjects, you felt. At this point, you knew that there was two possibilities of this ending: in bitter tragedy or a new beginning for the both of you.

So you asked: "What's her name?"

"Helen," John said, turning his full face to you. He decided to get ahead of your line of questioning, to explain how you were both here now. "She died earlier this year. She told me..."

He was cinched then, imagining her handwriting on Daisy's kennel. John felt the pain bubble up again, seeing his wrongs. "That I needed to love something more than my car."

He chuckled mirthlessly, hiding a gulp that lodged in his throat at his last word. Your brows raised slightly, sitting up on your elbow.

You two were there yet and, while you knew that to be true, you wanted to get there. Hopefully, one day.

"That's why I got Gunner," John added, seeing your reaction and realizing another mistake.

The two of you let the collective sigh alleviate the room, allowing you back down to rest your head on John's thigh.

"I'm sorry for your loss," you offered, reaching your hand out to tenderly caress his bruised side.

John nodded, resuming his hand on your back. The two of you returned to your previous action, your eyes lulling with the temptation of sleep.

The questions were hard to wade through; John understood that if you were going to be around in the dark pond, you would soon learn about the very facade he put forth.

He cleared his throat, ready to admit his hard truths that he left behind; it would be easier for the both of you to leave the Underworld unscathed.

John's phone vibrated from the nightstand and he was tempted to silence it. The precarious bubble surrounding the three of you was already threatened, and John didn't want a call to break the tender surface.

He picked it up, realizing that it was a message from an unknown number. John stared at it, seeing that it was an attachment but made no moves to unlock his phone.

You heard your phone begin to vibrate, somewhere discarded in your dress skirt pocket. You groaned, rolling your head back and forth on your hands with the attempt to convince yourself that it was a text.

But then your ringtone began to chime. John heard it too, turning his head in the direction of it. His hand became heavier on your back, attempting to keep you in place.

"Hold that thought," you said, sitting up to kiss John before climbing out of bed.

John's eyes were trained on you, watching as you pulled his shirt to its full length, barely covering your bare ass. He watched intently as you bent, searching through your dress to find the offending phone.

You stood up, rolled your eyes at the Caller ID and answered to your coworker. "What's up?"

Her voice on the other end was slightly shaken, telling you that there was a puppy brought in that was hit by a car.

"I-I can't deal with putting him down, can you come in?"

You glanced over your shoulder to John and Gunner, both of them enough reason to stay in bed. John sat back again the headboard, draping his arm over it with the invitation for you to return to his side.

You groaned in annoyance, bouncing on one foot in the slightest of tantrums. "Can't you call someone else?"

"I-I tried, but one of them is at a Communion and the other is out of town."

You pouted, knowing that you being the single one in a vet clinic meant that you were left to do the dirtiest of work.

"I guess....I can be there within the hour." You forfeited, turned to John as you said it.

And just like that, John's bubble burst.

"You didn't have to drive me here," you said as you and John sat a red light.

"Why wouldn't I?" He asked, reaching over to rest his hand on your knee.

You scoffed, turning to John. "Because I know you've got to be tired from your travel. I could've gotten Charon to bring me."

You were appreciative of John driving you on such short notice, but you wanted to give him a little space. It still felt too fresh, whatever you had, and you didn't want to impose so much that he ended up pushing you away.

"Please, I'm a faster driver," John said with a grin as the light turned green. He let his foot of the brake, tempting his gas pedal as he tilted his head at you. "And I don't want you depending on Charon when I'm around."

You smiled, reaching over to touch the back of John's neck. You could get used to touching him, running your fingers through his hair or scratching his beard. But you were getting ahead of yourself.

"Thanks," you offered softly just as John pulled up on the curb in front of the clinic. "I'll call you when I'm done?"

John nodded, leaning into your hold as you kissed him. "Maybe we can do dinner?"

You laughed. "Hopefully it won't be that long, but we'll see."

You kissed him again, then a third time before you hummed against his lips knowing that you were on an urgent timeline. "Okay, okay. I'll see you in a bit."

You threw open your door and got out, carefully shutting the door of John's car. He bent across the center, offering a wave to you as you opened the door to the clinic and looked back a final time.

He watched you walk in, though his stomach dropped as the door shut behind you. Something felt wrong and his proven instinct was off.

John's phone buzzed again in his pants pocket and he geared his car to retrieve it. Another attachment sent by the unknown number, this time with a message to follow.

Unknown: Come out, John. We have something you want.

You looked around the clinic, seeing most of the offices shut down for the weekend but the light in the exam room on. You called after your coworker, flipping on the overhead lights in the lobby.

When you got no answer, you looked over your desk for paperwork then started towards the back room.

John reluctantly opened the message thread from the unknown number, his heart clenching at the first photo. Of you and him, from the view of the window earlier that morning.

Though you looked so beautiful on his lap, your dress exposing down your back in the morning light, John was chilled at the angle. The same position of the sniper that morning.

He looked after you, seeing that you'd disappeared further into the clinic, then went to the second photo. You, through the view of a porthole window, wearing the clothes you'd changed into. He noticed his own car from the glass door.

John shut off his car and threw his door open, haphazardly closing it before running after you into the clinic. He tapped his side, acknowledging his gun stashed in his waistband and drew it when he was inside.

He called after you, hearing no answer as he looked around the sterile, quiet clinic. John straightened up, holding his gun out as he continued stepping cautiously.

"Hello John," a voice responded from the double doors into the surgery room. "You've been a hard man to track down."

John grit his teeth hard enough to hear his jaw resound. His nostrils flared as he tried to level himself, knowing that he had to keep a strong front.

"I thought 7 million would've made you an easy target, but you're a smart man to hide."

"I wasn't hiding," John retorted, not allowing the comment to show him a coward.

He stepped up to the wall, trying to see into the bright room. John caught a glimpse of you, petrified against Santino's shoulder as his hand grasped your mouth.

You stared, bewildered through the small porthole window, catching a glimpse of John's face. You barely shook your head at him as Santino raised his gun to shoot out at the glass.

"Right," Santino continued, pointing the gun to your temple and making you panic, crying at the thought of his finger slipping. "You had gotten distracted. Which is dangerous in your line of work, you know that."

You gulped, quivering in the hostile man's hold. John righted himself against the wall, popping the clip to check his ammo. He took another careful breath, turning back in the direction of the window before ducking across to the other side.

"You could've tried getting out again, but you'd just end up owing somebody...again," Santino taunted, playfully tilting his gun about as he thought of it. "And then when the next wife dies along with the next sad pup, the cycle of John Wick would continue."

You whimpered, looking out and darting your eyes back and forth to find John anywhere. John couldn't find an answer, thinking more about what he was putting you through and what it would mean for him to stop.

If he could stop.

He didn't want to admit it, but Santino was right in a sense. John didn't want to keep owing people for the life he'd been luck to have once.

He especially didn't want to do it twice. Not that you weren't worth it. But danger seemed to lurk whether he was in or out.

"It wouldn't happen again," John said finally, after thinking for a moment. "I wouldn't let anything bad happen to her."

Santino tsked, turning the gun back to your head. "It's a little late for that. Look at where we are now."

John shut his eyes, coming to terms with his consequences once again. He carefully put the safety back on his gun and held it to his side.

"Fine," John said, pushing open the double doors. You cried from behind Santino's hand, incoherently begging for John to do anything else. "You're right."

Santino huffed amusedly through his nose then looked down at you. "You need something done, you do it yourself, eh?"

Santino turned the gun onto John, readying to shoot as you noticed the reflection of his pistol in something on the stainless steel table.

Looking down, you noticed a full syringe of clear liquid. You flicked your eyes back to John as he saw your eyes look away.

He barely nodded in your direction as Santino pulled back the hammer of his gun and readied to shoot John. "No hard feelings, John. Just avenging my sister."

At the same time, you felt his arm loosen around you and you took the opportunity to grab the syringe and stab it into Santino's neck.

Your fingers fumbled at the plunger, slowly dispensing half of the clear liquid into his blood stream. Santino grabbed the syringe with his free hand, taking his other to smack you away.

"Stupid bitch! This is men's business," Santino turned the gun on you and John called for his attention.

"Hey! You want to kill me. So kill me," John offered, raising his hands.

Santino narrowed his eyes at John, looking from him to you and back. "You're not...even going to try to beg me?"

John shook his head; you kicked at Santino's ankle, causing him to stumble then crawled after him to grab the syringe again. This time you righted yourself over Santino's body and stabbed the needle into his chest.

You hyperventilated, staring at the man as his eyes widened in fear. You trembled again with the plunger, releasing more liquid into his chest.

Looking over to John, you hoped he would find the words you couldn't. You didn't even understand what this was about, but you were caught in the middle of it.

John met your gaze, feeling his hands going cold at the thought of you getting hurt. The decision was still so muddy, but he was aware of where to start.

"Call it off," John said, reaching to grab Santino's gun and point it at the man. "Call the bounty off."

You turned back to the man, his hair wild as his eyes were twitching in disdain. "Why should I? You gonna kill me too?"

You stared at the plunger in his chest, your thumb on the weapon. You glanced over your shoulder, seeing your coworker dead in her puddle of blood along with the dog that Santino brought in to bait her.

"T-this is pentobarbital," you bluffed, nodding to the syringe in the man's chest. "There was enough in this syringe to kill you twice. But I've on-ly used ha-lf."

Your voice betrayed you in a moment, but you stared at this man under you as if he'd wronged you personally. And he kinda did. He ruined an almost idyllic morning by running egotistical games.

John withheld his surprise, glancing at your profile while you reasoned with this stranger.

"Call it off, and I can undo it," you lied, unsure if you could make such a promise.

"Bullshit," Santino spat at you, looking over to John. However, by the stone-cold look on John's face, he was inclined to believe you.

You straightened up and looked down your nose at this man, floundering to be let up but realizing a lack of options. Your cold thumb tempted at the plunger further.

"Y-you would feel it in your knees first. A dull pain that washes away when you can't feel your legs." You tried to narrate, reluctantly mapping out the process when you so wanted to forget it in pets.

"Your heart will start rushing soon, hoping to pump enough blood to circulate down to your toes, but then your fingers will lose feeling."

Santino gulped and you barely glanced to John as your brows knitted and your eyes watered. "Let's get your phone out before we get to that, because there's no turning back from there."

John watched in stunned silence, holding the gun pointed at Santino for any sudden movements towards you. Santino did as instructed, pulling his phone and typing in his code.

He dialed the number slowly, staring at you strong-handing the syringe. When it rang, he glanced over to John, unfazed.

"Pull the bounty for John WIck." He stated when he got on the phone. "Yes. Santino D'Antonio. 758042."

"Yes sir," the operator on the opposite end stated. The line was quiet for a moment and you held your breath. "Your bounty is rescinded. Is there anything else--"

You smacked the phone away from Santino before he could say anything else then leaned back for John to take the shot. He blinked in the flash moment, then aimed and shot Santino.

The splatter of his blood from his head decorated your face and you were sat in the shocked silence of the past few moments. Santino's dark phone lit up with a message.

Unknown: Bounty: John Wick rescinded. Disregard previous messages of subject.

You let go of the syringe, looking down at your cool trembling hands before you felt a pair of thick arms curl around you. John wasn't sure what else to do in the moment, knowing that nothing he could say would make up for it.

He pulled you up, held you close and swiped the blood from your cheeks. John rested his lips to the top of your head and kept you still when you tried to tremble.

He expected you to cry, ready to coax you down, but you were silent. Grasping at his shirt, you turned your face into him and held tight. Your breath slowly returned to normal, shutting your eyes to rid yourself of the sight of your coworker dead. This strange man dead.

John knew that what came next wouldn't be easy and he was dreading every minute of it.

You sat in the car with John as an unmarked black van pulled up in front of the clinic. Looking over at him, you expected John to get out but he only nodded in the direction of the clinic as the older gentleman stepped out of driver's side.

Without word, the man nodded and patted at the back doors of the unmarked van; the double doors opened and you jumped slightly at the men that followed out. Each of them was dressed in dark clothing, two of them holding mops and buckets while the final two carried unmarked bags into your place of work.

Slowly you turned to look at John, hoping for some sort of explanation. John watched as you did, his face frozen in the sense of unknowing where to start. So he tried going for simple.

"I'm a contractor," he said, turning his body to face yours. "I do freelance work for anyone who pays me and I do most of my work out of the Continental."

You gulped, your eyebrows knitting in concern. "S-so Winston and Charon are..."

"They know about my work and aid me in doing so."

You raised your shocked brows even further, unsure of what contortion your face was in at the moment. "Oh, okay."

Though it was not okay.

You had dinner with assassins, or contractors as John explained it. You fucked a contract killer.

You fucked a contract killer. You gulped, the thought giving you butterflies.

"So you're not like...an assassin that kills for fun?"

John raised a brow in question then shook his head. "Only bad people, and people who've forgotten that they're bad."

Your face flattened a little, ready to ask your next question as you remembered the stranger in the hotel room. "I'm not being targeted, am I?"

John slowly reached for you, taking tender hold of the side of your throat as he leaned in. "No. And this is not a long con. Meeting you was just coincidence. I just...dragged you into my darkness. And I'm sorry."

Your bottom lip trembled, staring into John's dark eyes and seeing them melt with his sincerity.

"I like you," he began, his chest tightening at the confession. He'd slain 200 men in a single night, he'd killed an extra 100 to avenge his dog, but here was when he felt nerves. "I want you to stick around. If you want."

You instinctively reached for him, pressing your lips to his. He lost his breath, putting his other hand to the opposite side of your neck to hold you close.

When you'd had your fill, you parted from him with a trembling sigh.

"Is that a 'yes'?" John asked, rubbing his thumbs before your ears.

You smiled nervously, taking hold of John's wrists to keep him there and nodded. John smirked softly, wondering what was going on in your head in that moment.

"You'll keep me safe, right?" You teased, though you wanted the reassurance.

John nodded.

He let his hands drop and you took hold of them. "I'm guessing you're gonna stay in this line of work a bit longer?"

He tried to keep his face neutral, though it loomed overhead as the next big step. Slowly he nodded and watched your body deflate upon doing so.

"Just a little longer," John said, leaning forward. "I've got a month saved up at the Continental and I'd like to use my points before they expire."

You broke with an amused scoff, turning away from John's face trying to hold back from smiling. You rolled your eyes at him, feeling this as a new beginning for the both of you.

"And it's got your name written right beside it," John added, tilting his head. "I know that room service has been calling your name."

You laughed then, barely sparing a glance to the men as they returned to their van. "It'd give me time to look for a new job."

You didn't want to bring it down, but the reality encroached again. John grabbed your hands and pulled them in to kiss your knuckles.

"We can figure it out together," John said, rubbing his thumbs over your hands.

His darkness paired well with yours, he saw. John only witnessed a glimpse of it, but it would do well if his month stay turned into two. Or five.

Depending on how much trouble he got into. You bit your lip, staring down at your hands intertwined with one another.

"Did you...hurt his sister?" You asked, letting the words spill out before you could stop them.

John was still for a moment, taking in a steady breath. "I made a blood oath before I got out that he'd be able to hold over my head if I ever came back. He used that promise to kill his sister."

Your face scrunched up slightly. "That's so vile."

"Yeah," John said, running his thumb over your knuckles as if measuring each one in size.

You raised your gaze to meet his. "And he crossed you even after that?"

John nodded, letting you get accustomed to whatever this new beginning was starting from. You looked down again, sorting through your biggest thoughts by importance.

"T-there was a person that broke into..." you mindlessly thumbed over your shoulder, remembering the long night you'd had before this one.

"They were trying to gain the bounty." John said, staring after you as if he was losing you to your own personal spiral.

"Charon said he contacted the police." You snapped up to look at John again and he bit back a smile at your concern.

Your eyes were watering again, this time your bottom lip ready to pout from your teeth. He reached up and coaxed a tear away with his thumb.

"No contractor business is allowed on Continental grounds," he tried to offer as solace but knew that the next part would jar you. "It's an excommunication rule."

You stared at him, hoping that he would explain further.

"The consequence is death," John offered as solace. "It's a safe place. That's why I wanted you to stay there."

You dryly scoffed at him, turning into his palm. "You were trying to keep me safe?"

John nodded. "I saw how shaken you were that night when I picked you up. I wanted to look out for you."

You pursed your lips. "Were Charon and Winston looking out for me too?"

John's lip curled slightly. "Charon, yes. Winston as you've said, loves to gossip. The man can't help but know every detail."

You tilted your head against the seat cushion, pinning John's hand against your cheek. "Did you tell him about me?"

It felt wrong to ask in such a situation, but there was no doubt that your meet-cute with a contract killer was fucked up.

John hid a roll of his eyes, his cheeks raising though he lined his lips together. "I told him enough. He called you...my Persephone."

You reached for his hand, shifting it down for his thumb to brace your lips. You blinked, narrowing your eyes at him. "He's funny. I guess this is kind of like the Underworld. Contractors and blood oaths, sacred hotels and clean-up crews."

John raised his brows at you. "Still okay with staying?"

Your stomach, for the first time in the past few days, felt realigned with steel. Though hostage situations were something you never wanted to get used to.

You raised your left hand, pointing your pinkie out. "If you promise me something."

John's lips pouted to the side, never eager to hear about promises in his line of work. He slowly raised his left hand and pointed out his pinkie, waiting to hear what you had to offer.

"Name it."

"You promise to keep me safe if I need it, you can't dump me during a mission and you teach me how to shoot a gun."

John's brows quirked then, his mouth a wormy squiggle to withhold his amusement. He nodded, reaching his large pinkie out to hook around yours. "Deal."

"And..." you added, just as you hooked your finger around his and held him there. "We get dessert in bed and Gunner gets a plate of fries. Also I want to go with you once on a mission."

John's mouth scrunched up under his nose, his cheeks bottling his want to laugh. It felt good to have that still within him.

"I promise."

"Also," you continued, biting your bottom lip. "You help me move out of my apartment."

John chuckled, pointing his finger at you from his interlocked hand. "Now that's too far."

"Said the contract killer," you jested.

John metered his nod back and forth with another soft laugh. "Okay, fine. Also, you don't have to tell me not to dump you."

The two of you stayed locked in your pinky promise as John looked from it to you.

"Promise me something."

"Shoot," you said, scrunching your nose at the poor choice of word.

"You let me know if it gets to be too much. If you want out at any time, I will let you out. I don't want to keep you where you don't want to be."

You hummed, softly smiling at this man. You wanted to stick around for a while, even longer than that. But you didn't want to tell him so.

Even though you were sure this man was the opposite of squeamish. Nothing like boys you'd dated previously.

"Okay."

"And..." John drew out like you had, pursing his lips in soft thought. "I want a full day in bed, with you. Gunner'll have to stay with Charon."

You giggled softly. "Okay," you said, shaking your head in John's direction. "I promise."

The two of you solidified your pinky promise with another soft kiss; John let his hands untangle from you as he felt his ring finger pulse again.

He paused, looking down at his hands and circled his ring on his finger.

You slowly came down from the adrenaline and mushiness spilled and stared at John fiddling with his ring.

"If it's too soon for you..." you tried, but John shut it down with putting his ring hand on the steering wheel.

"I'll be fine," he said with a sigh, aware of when he'd take it off.

It wouldn't be for a while, and he should've asked if it was alright with you. You didn't even notice it, feeling that it was just a part of him.

"So was it pentobarbital in that bottle?" He asked curiously, starting the car and gearing it into drive.

You reached for your seatbelt, glancing out of your window at the vet clinic then buckled yourself in.

"I don't think it was," you said geniunely, unsure if it'd make a difference.

John turned his car into the underground parking garage and circled the top level to find a space. The two of you were going over John's excursion in Rome, why he was really there and what he had to go through to get home.

"That's so fucked up," you offered, unable to create any other cohesive thought.

John shrugged, which gave you the note that this was a normal thing that happened sometimes.

You leaned in, intrigued to learn more about this other half of John. There was John Wick, the mild-mannered dog dad that fucked so hard that you shivering at the thought.

Then there was John Wick, the contract killer who took down a mafia of men in the time it took for you to have dinner with Winston.

"What do they call you?" You asked after John geared his car into park then shut it off.

John raised his brows, glancing over at you. "Don't laugh."

You straightened up in your seat, mimicking a zip of your lips closed before nodding at him to continue. John smirked and undid his seatbelt.

"Baba Yaga," he offered, awaiting your eventual snicker.

But you were perplexed, staring at him. "What is that?"

He blinked once, turning to you fully. "The Boogeyman."

You stared at him, knowing that there was no doubt in your mind that while you feared this man just a little bit, you were attracted to him more.

You looked around the desolate parking lot then back at John. "Anything else?"

"The Wolf, The Devil..." John added, unsure if those names were even true but wanting to amuse you.

You leaned over to John and exhaled a trembling breath. "Is it wrong of me..."

You couldn't finish that sentence aloud, knowing that it was a bit twisted to want him more. The man had just shot another man in front of you...and yet...

You caught John's mouth in a fervent kiss, edging your knee over the center console to sit in his lap. John was surprised, making such a noise as his hands held your hips.

You blindly reached between his seat and the door, finding the handle to recline the two of you back.

John groaned at the sudden movement, but didn't break from you. He pressed his hand into the small of your back and held you tighter against him, allowing you to roll your body against him.

"I-I'm sorry," You offered, parting from him with smaller pecks to follow. "I don't know what came over me."

John looked at you from behind his half-mast eyelids, taking in your trembling chest and legs spread over him. The image of you that morning flashed by again, trying to hide the other twisted side of it.

"Let's go upstairs," he added, his voice hitting a new low.

You felt your body cinch at his utterance, reminding yourself of the euphoric kisses and bites that would come from it.

You nodded, reaching for the driver's side door and climbing out. John attempted to regain himself, righting his seat before grabbing his keys and climbing out.

You didn't expect this place to become a sanctuary to you. The dark foreboding walls, something echoing to the Asphodel, was not inviting like you'd seen most places.

The marble floors, the sharp edges, the posh guests, all of them were out of your wheelhouse of comfort. But you were relieved to enter the lobby of the Continental.

It felt like it held a new charm, one that you prayed never left. You were awash with a sense of security, taking John's hand and leading him to the elevator.

You pinned him against the wall, nudging your nose with his before tempting him with a kiss. He leered after you, his eyes fluttering close with the thought of tasting your lips again.

You nipped at his nose instead, bringing your fingers up to scratch through his beard.

When the two of you made it back to your floor, you grabbed John's hand and started towards your door. At one point, John's arm circled around your waist and he lifted you into him, carrying you to the room.

The two of you stopped at the door, with you fumbling to take the key from John and open the door. You felt his breath over your shoulder, his hands already making their way down the front of your pants.

You shook your head alert, finally making the key open the door and clambering in with John hot on your tail.

You barely made it to get your shoes off before John expertly undid your pants and tugged them down. You bowed onto the bed, readily hiding your shame at how wet you were.

John pulled your pants down to your ankles, then off before turning you onto your back. He took your knee, pulling your legs open and stashing a hard gulp at the sight.

He had no words to say, knowing that the truth would be squeezed out of him soon enough. He reached for his own belt, undoing his pants and freeing his stiffened cock.

You looked down at the comparison, his cock flush against your stomach. You whimpered as he drew himself back, pushing his cock head against your clit before letting it slip over your stomach again.

You threw your head back in frustration, knowing that you wouldn't last long being teased. John watched like an instinctual predator, waiting for his best strike.

His bare hand went to rest at your chest, feeling your racing heart beat hard. John pulled back again, rutted his cock against your clit then let it slide, gathering your wet and streaking your belly.

You whined again, drawing your knees up from the edge of the bed. "John, please."

He would savor every time your lips formed his name; he tilted his head back, soaking it in to puff up his chest when he was normally without flaunting an ego.

John dropped his head again, glaring darkly at you from under his brows. He rutted a third time, earning your writhing. Your head turned back and forth on the comforter, your fingers reaching out for him but never grasping onto him.

"C-c'mon," you hiccuped, finding yourself a disheveled mess. You were flustered and growing on embarrassed, as if John was showing off how turned on you were by him.

By what he did.

By what he did for you.

You gulped, tightening your stomach as you watched him rut a final time; this time he went back and pressed his cock at your entrance, making you drop your head in relief when he slid into you.

John's hand at your chest dropped down to your stomach, leveling your core to feel every inch of him. You practically vibrated upon the new sensation, finding yourself drawn closer to a peak you weren't even acknowledging.

John took his hands away from you to run them under your shirt; he tenderly shrugged your top from over your chin, blinding you the cotton as his cock thrusted into you harshly.

You lost your breath, gasping when he shrugged your shirt over your head and up your arms before pausing there. He flattened himself against you, catching your bottom lip between his teeth with a tender suck.

His fingers threaded through yours, tangling both of you in the cuffs of your shirt until he finally pulled it off of you. John did his with pulling away from you and reaching between his shoulders to rip his shirt over his head.

The cream top yanked up to reveal the yellowing and purple bruises along John's sides, ones you knew now to be wounds for his effort. He went above and beyond in his work, it showed deeply.

John tossed his shirt away, returning over you to feel your chest rise and fall against his. He wanted to undo you further, have you bare to him in the physical and vulnerable sense, but he didn't want to throw off his pace.

You keened when he hit a particularly soft spot within you and he recognized it as your second weakness. John licked his fingers and dove them between the two of you, finding your clit with expert precision and circling it.

You grabbed onto his shoulders, wanting to hook into him if he was going to keep on. Your pants heightened against his mouth, drawing more moans from you as his other hand peeled your leg back to your side.

You broke another inch, your eyes crossing as you glanced to the ceiling. John took it in stride, using his lips to level his chin and meet your eyes. "Did I lose you there?"

Your face scrunched in pleasure, just as your chest tightened with the threat of explosion. "You are the Devil."

He chuckled mirthlessly against your lips, taking them in another kiss as he continued his pace. The two of you found yourselves drawing further up in pleasure, finding the heat culminated between you two enough of a catalyst for you both to cum.

You were first, your mouth falling open in the moans of John's name. Your walls beckoned him further, stunting his thrusts from going too deep before he finally succumbed to your heat.

He rested his elbow next to your head, groaning and hissing in pleasure. The two of you shared your caught breaths, staring at one another in the dim light of the room.

You prodded your tongue to your bottom lip, your eyes raking up and down John's body. He did the same, though he paused at your neck and dove in to kiss you there.

You shied away, raising your shoulder to giggle at his warm breath wafting down your neck. He liked that sound, he wanted to hear more of that.

[keanusbabydoll]

consequence

paring: john wick x virgin!fem!reader

warnings: 18+ content, heavy smut, oral (M and F), unprotected sex, p in v, age gap, rough sex, fingering, overstimulation, praising, cursing, use of y/n, virgin reader, porn with plot, pet names

wordcount: 6.5k

masterlist

MNDI

. • °✧༺ ༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ . • °✧༺ ༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ . • °✧༺ ༻*✫

you didn’t know how you ended up in this situation.

tied to a chair in an apartment of a hotel, your mouth covered with duck tape.

next to you stood a tall man, slick black hair and wearing a suit. but that was all you could make out. the room was pitch dark except for the moonlight shining slightly through the window across from you.

you didn’t know what to do. your body was shaking in fear and inside you was a chaos of emotions. you thought that this was your end, that you were going to die. the man asked you questions, some of them you didn’t even understand. who sent you? what is your mission? who are you working for?

all that didn’t make sense to you.

all you wanted to do there was looking for answers. a few days ago, you found a red folder in your grandpas office at home. winston scott. the only family you had left. but something always seemed off with him. he never let you come to work with him, was always very distant if you asked about his job and was barely at home. you knew that he hid something from you. and you were determined to find out, so all you could think about was looking in his office which you weren’t even allowed to enter.

but you couldn’t hold yourself back anymore. you needed to know what was going on. so, you found that red, promising folder and what you found in there took your breath away.

there were pictures of a hotel you definitely knew and flipping to the next pages you stumbled across the high table, rules- also from the hotel, and the criminal underworld. you didn’t know what to say. it all didn’t seem real. it was like straight out of a movie. you wanted it to be unreal but all this was proof that it was reality. and now everything started to make sense to you. that was the reason why your grandpa never told you anything about his job, let you come along or was gone for weeks. at this point you even wondered how you’ve never heard anything from all that before. it was confusing.

but right now you deeply regretted walking into that hotel. you just wanted answers, wanted to search for your grandpa and talk to him. but that man must have known that you weren’t here, like every other criminal, to seek protection.

you were desperately trying to get out of the restraints that tied you to the chair, tears were streaming down your face like a waterfall and constant whimpers and whines left your mouth- wordlessly begging him to set you free. you had no idea what that man was going to do with you. and that scared you to death. but nothing helped. he acted like you weren’t even there.

"please.“ you mumbled through the tape, your eyes pleading silently. in a matter of seconds he turned on his heels sharply, his patience wearing thin and his fingers immediately wrapped harshly around your gin, forcing you to look up. "one more fucking sound and you won’t get out alive.“ he growled, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

you quickly nodded your head as he let go of your gin and marched across the room, stopping by a table which had a telephone placed on it. you watched him as he dialed a number and waited impatiently, the tight grip on the telephone proof of it.

"hello sir.“ he suddenly said. you could make out a faint male‘s voice but didn’t hear what he was saying.

"yes i‘d like to speak to the manager." a sigh fell from his lips. "no, here in room 818.“ he continued, his voice deep and cold. "thank you.“ he ended the call, tossing the telephone back on the table before storming off to a different room.

you were left alone with your thoughts when suddenly your blood froze.

the manager.

you almost forgot that your grandpa owned this hotel. you started to panic even more. you had no idea how he would react seeing you tied up in one of his apartments. plus, you weren’t even supposed to know about this place. the tears were now getting more and more, blurring your vision completely but you tried your best to keep quiet. you didn’t want to anger that man further.

minutes of heavy, uncomfortable silence passed and there was still no sight of him. your emotions were starting to eat you up, the fear, sadness, anger drove you insane.

but out of a sudden there was a loud knock echoing through the whole apartment. you shrieked up, your head turning to the door‘s direction when the lights turned on. you immediately closed your eyes, blinking a few times to get used to it. again, you looked over to the door and found the man unlocking it.

"johnathan.“ is the first thing you heard before grandpa stepped into the room. your eyes widened and your pulse quickened. there was no going back now.

"winston.“ the man replied, both of them shaking hands.

"is there something wrong johnathan?“ grandpa asked, his eyes fixated on the man.

"there was a little incidence. i thought i’d show you, let you decide what you’d like to do with her.“ johnathan answered, gesturing his head towards your direction. when winston‘s eyes followed johnathan’s gesture, his mouth slightly parted and his movements stopped. the second you had eye contact, you began to whimper, wriggle, trash around, just anything to make him come to you and free you from your position.

fortunately he took that as a sign and ran over to you, immediately kneeling down, untying the ropes around your wrists and ankles before he ripped the tape off your mouth, eliciting a painful hiss from you. in an instant, you got to your feet, wrapped your arms around his neck and began to cry again.

"i‘m so sorry grandpa. please forgive me, i didn’t mean to-" you were cut off mid-sentence when he slightly pushed you away from his embrace, looking at you with a disappointed face.

you glared at him with pure confusion. what was going on? your eyes darted over to that man, or well johnathan, who watched the situation closely with furrowed eyebrows. your eyes snapped back to your grandpa when he suddenly gripped your upper arm, squeezing it harshly. "what are you-"

"what the fuck has crossed your brilliant mind to do such a thing!?“ grandpa suddenly yelled, making you jump slightly. you wanted to answer him but you couldn’t. you didn’t know what to tell him.

"how do you even know about this place? did you snoop around in my office, y/n?“ he continued, his tone cold and angry.

you couldn’t answer him. you broke his highest rule- not entering his office and you did even worse. "answer my question!“ he hissed at you, making you jump a little. your eyes were glued to the floor, not having the confidence to look him in the eye.

"yes, i - i found your folder.“ you quietly mumbled. the grey haired man huffed out in disbelief and released your arm, taking a few steps away before looking at johnathan. they exchanged a weird look, you couldn’t tell the meaning of and it freaked you out.

somehow you didn’t get what the big deal now was. sooner or later you would have found out anyway, he couldn’t have kept that secret forever. you looked up at him, catching him pinching the bridge of his nose.

"do you have any idea what you’ve gotten yourself into? i never wanted you to know about this world.“

your mouth opened to say something but nothing came out. there was nothing to say.

his stare darkened as he continued. "i wanted to protect you, keep you away from that. and now with that stupid and reckless action of yours you ruined everything. there are hundreds of criminals, assassins, brutal murderers in my hotel and they saw you. you’ve got their attention and they’ll talk about you, y/n.“ tears began to form in your eyes, you didn’t even know why but the whole situation made you feel incredibly awful.

"i‘m sorry.“ you quietly whispered, sending him an apologetic look.

johnathan and grandpa huffed out in sync, a playful smirk played on the black haired man’s mouth. "oh, you’re sorry. y/n, a simple sorry won’t do it! you do not understand what this means right now! i do have enemy’s, what if they’ll hunt you down, what if they’ll try to kill you?“ your grandpa sneered at you, eyes narrowed. "i can’t believe it y/n, since when do you do shit like this?“

you frowned, staring at the floor again. on one hand you felt like a disappointment to your grandpa. you always tried to make him proud and he cared for you like the parent you’ve lost at a young age. but on the other hand you were furious. he was giving you all fault. like, did he actually think that you’d never find out? or the fact that he’s a criminal himself and runs a hotel for those people, speaks for itself. to keep something like that from you made you angry, hurt you even.

you furrowed your eyebrows at him angrily, forcefully wiping the tears that stained your cheeks away. both men stared at you impatiently, waiting for your reply. but in their eyes, there was a gleam of hate and disappointment.

"what? cat got your tongue?“ winston stated mockingly and you felt like you were about to loose your temper.

"you want me to talk? fine.“ you replied, your eyes darting between both men. "what do you expect me to do now? turn into some fucking monster like you two are? kill people and torture them? or join your little gangster club you always kept secret from me?“ you raised your voice, laced with pure sarcasm and anger.

a dark chuckled rang through the room, sending unpleasant tingles through your body. johnathan. of course he found the whole situation amusing. he thought that your behavior was childish and funny.

"you know nothing about this world. there is no 'little gangster club', things are serious.“ he pointed out sharply, crossing his arms over his chest. you huffed out, taking a few steps closer to johnathan but you were stopped by a hand on your wrist. your eyes switched to your grandpa who looked at you disapprovingly. "don’t even try it.“ he warned you lowly.

"i don’t even know him? what is he even doing here?“ you yelled at them now, your emotions taking over you, tears forming in the corner of your eyes again. "do you even know how i’m feeling right now? i can’t fucking believe that you lied to me all this time only to find out a few days ago that you’re a fucking criminal!“

"do not raise your voice at me y/n!“ winston snapped, pointing a finger at you warningly. "or what? you gonna ground me for it?“

"no, johnathan and i’ll have a talk now. you stay here, i don’t want a single misbehavior from you. am i clear?“ you wanted to yell at him so badly, but you knew better than that. there would have been no use in discussing further with him anyway.

"mhm.“ you hummed, turning around to sit on the bed. "what was that?“ winston muttered. "yes, i understand.“ you mumbled and watched them as they exited the room.

you collapsed on the bed, your face buried in your hands. you wanted to slap yourself for being this stupid. if you just would’ve listened to winston and followed his rules then you wouldn’t have been in this situation. many thoughts crossed your mind, and your head felt like it would explode. but one thing weighed most on you; you wanted to know what they were talking about and how all that would continue. a while left your lips and you exhaled loudly.

minutes passed and still they weren’t back. and it was frustrating you. what could they possibly discuss this long? just as you wanted to go out and look for them, the door opened and both of them stepped in. you immediately sat up, looking at them curiously.

your grandpa stopped directly in front of you, glaring down at you with a serious mask. and you knew that face. it never meant something good. johnathan had a emotionless expression plastered on his face, waiting for winston to speak up.

"johnathan and i have talked and we’ve come to an agreement. you’ll be staying with him from now on. he’ll teach you how to fight, how to be prepared for-"

"excuse me? what?“ you interrupted, caught off from his words. he must be joking, you thought. he wouldn’t have let you live with a stranger who was a killer, right?

"i‘m serious y/n.“ he snarled, clearly annoyed by your behavior.

"you want me to stay with the crazy killer who tied me to a fucking chair? not gonna happen.“ you replied, crossing your arms. not over your dead parents you would have done that.

"i am not going to discuss with you, y/n. also, you don’t get to decide this, sweetheart. this is the consequence for your action, so face it.“ grandpa pointed out, his voice dripping with sarcasm as a smirk was plastered on his lips. you were stunned, speechless even. you truly didn’t know what to say.

two months later

john‘s house, or villa - how you like to call it - nestled on the outskirts of new york, became your new home. after the argument, back in john’s apartment, he and your grandpa practically forced you to pack your stuff and move in with the assassin. it was hard, for all of you, but especially for you. your world was turned upside down and you felt like you weren’t even real. it all happened so fast -too fast. you were mad at your grandpa, ever since then you haven’t talked to him.

in your opinion, he was the one who was to blame. if he would have just told you about all this calmly, just the two of you, you wouldn’t have been in this awful situation now. of course you missed him, but you felt like he was mad himself and you didn’t have the energy to call him.

however, you slowly got used to living with john. it was strange to be honest, a weird atmosphere that made uncomfortable. he hardly ever talked to you, which bothered you dearly because you thought that it would be a good start to create small conversations but john basically avoided your attempts. the first month turned into grueling routines. mornings, afternoons, evenings -all focused on training.

there were bruises on your arms and legs, soreness in muscles you never knew you had. john wasn’t merciful, not in the least. he pushed you harder than you thought possible, demanding more each time. and whenever you showed any sign of weakness, his responses were brutal and without sympathy. but as difficult as he was, you found yourself watching him more and more. the way he moved -silent, calculated, almost predatory. his voice deep and rough, had a way of making your heart skip even as he issued orders. and not to forget how sexy he was to you. you often imagined fucking with him like there was no morning.

but you tried to hide it, to ignore the way your stomach fluttered whenever he spoke your name, or the way your heart pounded when his hand accidentally brushed against yours. but the feelings for him grew, every day, every lesson, you found yourself falling harder.

compared to now, the training grew more intense, but john’s coldness also seemed to deepen. you couldn’t understand why; you’ve gotten to know each other, you thought, shared so much time together, but he seemed more guarded than ever. you wanted to believe that there was something between that icy exterior, a warmth you’d occasionally glimpsed in his eyes, but he was difficult to read.

one evening, close to 8 pm, you found yourself again in the training room you hated so much. your arms and legs ached, your body was slick with sweat and your head felt like it was going to explode. but even seeing you in such a state, john didn’t budge, he just continued to explain and show you more and more techniques.

"like this.” he instructed, his voice low as his hands adjusted his stance. he tried to come at you again but you dodge his blow. frustration bubbled inside you, fueled by his coldness, his distance, your own feelings. for the last time, you took all your strength together. before he could react, you had one leg wrapped around his torso, one hand around his neck- surprising him with a quick maneuver. with all your power, you used the momentum to throw him to the ground. to your shock, you ended up on top of him, straddling his waist - both hands on his chest- your breathing quick and heavy.

john’s eyes met yours, his usual coldness softened by a hint of something you couldn’t quite read. the tension between you both thickened, your cheeks flushed red as you realized the position you guys were in. you could feel his heart beat beneath you, see the dark glint eyes in his eyes as they held your gaze.

"impressive.” he murmured, his voice rough.

your breath caught and your mouth opened to speak, but before you could, john’s hand was on your waist, the other around your throat as he pulled you down, closing the space between you. his lips met yours, firm, commanding and your heart skipped, every nerve igniting. you gasped, but the kiss grew more intense, he slipped his tongue in your mouth, claiming you. his hand wandered up and down your back, stopping at your ass, giving it a harsh squeeze, eliciting a muffled moan from you.

your fingers gripped his shirt, pulling him closer. the heat began to pool in your panties when you felt his hard- on pressing against your core. your body automatically started to grind down, trying to gain friction to ease the ache that tingled in your abdomen. but john pulled away, stopping your kiss.

"not here.” he muttered, easily getting up with you still clung to him. you wrapped your legs around his waist, your mouths colliding again. his hands on your ass, supporting your weight. he walked out of the room, your lips never parting. john entered the living room and sat down on the couch with you still on top of him. his hands now roamed your whole body, squeezing your breasts, running up and down your back, slapping your ass slightly. again, your hips began to grind down against him, his cock now rock hard, the feeling making you whine out. john also groaned into the kiss, loving the pleasure he received just as much.

then, john let his hands slip under your shirt, caressing the warm skin, before he broke your kiss, pulling the fabric over your head and tossing it away. his eyes admired your half naked body, focusing on your tits which were pushed up plumply from your bra. he immediately bent down and started to suck on your neck, licking and biting the sensitive skin with fever. your body arched into his touch, small moans escaping your lips as you shut your eyes.

you felt john’s hands reaching around your middle to unclasp your bra before pulling both straps down, adding the piece of clothing to the floor. he withdrew from your neck, taking in your bare tits, his eyes turning darker with the desire. "fuck, doll.” he licked his lips before he dipped down, immediately taking one of your hardened nipple into his mouth. his tongue swirled around the bud while sucking on it harshly. "oh, john.” you whined out, his abuse sending jolts of pleasure directly to your cunt. your movements began to fasten, your moans growing louder.

john switched sides, taking care of your other nipple equally. "more, john.” you begged him, your fingers pulling on his raven hair. but john released your nipple and pushed you back slightly. "get on your knees.” he growled, voice full of dominance. you blinked at him a few times, your breath heavy, before you got off his lap and placed yourself between his thighs. "come on, be a good girl for daddy.” he said lowly while gesturing to his bulge, his tone sending shivers down your spine.

hesitatingly, you let your hands ran up his thighs, wrapping your fingers around the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers. you swiftly pulled both down, letting them pool around his ankles before he stepped out of them. your eyes widened a little at the sight of his cock.

thick. long. veiny. he almost looked intimidating, making you wonder how you’ll be able to take all of him. you scooted closer to him, staring up at him with doe eyes. "now don’t be shy, doll. go on.” he commanded, waiting desperately for your next move.

with a slightly shaking hand, you wrapped it around his base before licking a tiny strip along his reddened tip. his dick immediately twitched at the contact, a low groan falling from his lips. carefully, you licked his shaft before dipping the head completely in your mouth. you looked up at him so innocently, so desperate. john placed his hand on your head, slightly gripping the roosts of your hair. he began to push your head further down in his length, your nose almost touching his pelvis. a loud strangled gag rang through the room, as your whole body shivered and tears immediately shot into your eyes. "relax baby, breath through your nose." he rasped lowly, eyeing you with desire.

you blinked your tears away, focusing back on giving him pleasure. you began to bob your head up and down his cock, slow and teasing at first. the loud groans that fell from his lips only urged you to go faster, signing you that you were doing good. you let your tongue swirl around his shaft, massaging it and pressing it strongly against his shaft. john's eyes opened again, falling immediately down to you, growling out when he saw your plump lips wrapped around him so perfectly.

he couldn't hold back anymore.

his hand gripped tighter and he began to move your head on his cock in a fast pace, controlling your movements. you tried your best to relax your throat, letting him use your throat however he pleased. drool was slowly dripping down your gin and your eyes were watery, his size almost bruising your throat. you constantly felt his tip brushing against the back of your throat and his hips began to jerk. your hands held onto his thighs, needing support as he pulled your head down even faster and rougher. you were a mess at that point. your mascara was running down your cheeks, spit practically all over your face and your arms were shaking.

john's cock started to twitch uncontrollably and you knew he was close to releasing, making you swirl your tongue with even more pressure. but before he could empty his load into your mouth, he withdrew your head from his length, a guttural growl escaping his throat. "I'm only gonna fill up your little cunt."

his words sent sparks through your lower half, feeling the heat pooling in your panties, slowly dripping down your thighs from how much you're turned on.

you tried to catch your breath when he already pulled you up to straddle his waist again before he laid you down on the sofa. next, he got rid your shorts, pulling your panties with it. he glared down at your form, sprawled out beneath him and he could feel jolts of pleasure shooting through his entire body.

and that's when your panic set it.

you were still a virgin and he didn't know.

you were unsure if you should tell him, not knowing how he would react. you already felt like he was a little hesitant about doing all this with you, simply out of respect to your grandpa. he was his closest friend, his most loyal and go to person. and then betraying him like that and fucking with his granddaughter?

you just knew that this was eating john up innerly. but his desire seemed to win. nonetheless, you had to tell him, you wanted him to know.

you watched him with a quick beating heart when he removed his shirt and leaned down, his hands and legs trapping you between his body. without a second thought, john bowed his head down and began to suck on your neck, prepping your hot skin with open mouthed kisses. a quiet moan fell from your lips, giving in to his touch. he trailed his kissed down to your breasts, sucking feverishly on your flesh before letting his tongue swirl around your hardened nipple, sucking harshly. john hummed out at the feeling, making his way down your belly, desperately wanting to taste you. but that's when you cupped his face with your hands and forced him to look up to you.

john grinned up at you, coming closer to a point where your lips almost touched. "I can't wait to finally taste you, ruin that little pussy." he groaned in your ear, his hot breath tickling your skin. your breathing got heavier and your hands slightly shook. you had to tell him now before it was too late.

"uhm- john, I-i need to tell you something." you pointed out with a shaky voice, your face turning aside, avoiding eye contact. "anything, baby." he replied, before he went back to kissing your neck.

"it's just... I've never done something like this before." you whispered, practically almost inaudible. "I didn't hear you, say it again." john mumbled between kisses, not even registering your words, being too caught up with worshipping your body.

you sighed out, lips pouting. "I'm a virgin, John." you said now louder, your eyes searching for his. and this time he must have heard it. his movements stopped and his now narrowed eyes met yours. without you even fully understanding what was happening, he removed his body from yours in the blink of an eye, grabbing his clothes which rested on the floor. "john, i-"

"no, don't even start with your stupid excuses. i knew that this would be wrong and that i shouldn't even have let it come so far. but taking you virginity? disgusting." he hisses harshly, voice clearly raised as he turned away.

you felt tears pricking in your eyes. that's not how you imagined it would go. you laid there completely horny, embarrassed but also hurt. you dearly wanted him to be your first time and now he left you all railed up and with wetness pooling between your thighs. "but i want you to continue, please! i want you to take my virginity. and i won't regret you being my first time, i promise. please, john." you bitterly whined, hoping that he would change his mind.

you heard him taking in a deep breath as he turned around again, eyes darker than before.

"please, i need you!" you whimpered, rubbing your thighs uncomfortably together, the painful ache in your core unbearable at that point. "john..." you pleaded him, glaring up at him with puppy eyes.

finally he sighs, dropping his clothes again before getting on top of you again. "are you sure, y/n? i won't be able to control myself. " he said in a dangerous, low tone, sending shivers down your spine.

"yes john, i'm sure. please, touch me." you replied impatiently, wrapping your legs around his torso, arms around his shoulders to pull him in as close as possible. "good, because now there is no going back anymore." he rasped as he leaned in, claiming your lips. you gasped into the kiss when you felt the tip of his cock nudging at your clit, shock waves of pleasure rushing through your veins. "I need you john." you moaned into the kiss, pressing your hips up to gain friction. he groaned out in response, sneaking a hand down your body to let a finger slide between your folds. "fuck, you're so wet." he purred, slowly pushing a finger into your warm hole. your head fell back, breaking your kiss, at finally feeling him. "need to prepare that little pussy first." he growled, while licking the spot right beneath your ear.

with how slick you were, john could easily slip another finger in, moaning out at your tightness. he began to move them in and out rather fast, curling them up to reach your spongy spot. "feels so good." you whined, toes curling from his abuse. a third finger teased at your hole, collecting your juice before pushing it in as well, this time with a little more pressure. your eyes rolled back at the stretch of his thick digits, a slight pain cursing through you.

john scissored his fingers stretching your walls further before he went back to pumping them at a quick pace. he plunged them inside you a few more times before pulling slowly out, deciding that you were ready for his cock. you whined pathetically at the loss, needing him so bad.

you lifted your head to look down when you felt his tip nudging at your entrance. he gripped himself, lining up before looking at you again. "ready?"

you immediately nodded your head yes, excited to finally feel his cock inside of you. never breaking eye contact, john carefully pushed his tip inside of your cunt, eliciting a sharp his from you. "you okay?" he asked you with a soft voice. "yes, continue please." you answered breathlessly.

obeying your request, he pushed his hips forward with a swift motion and to your shock he pushed in his whole length. a yelp tore from your throat, followed by a painful cry. it almost was too much for you. his size stretching you walls to their limit, tip pressing against your cervix and the feeling of being this full made you dizzy. "ah- john!”

"told you i couldn’t hold myself back.” he uttered, his dark eyes fixated on your lips.

your walls clamped helplessly around him, trying to get used to his monstrous size and the burning sensation didn’t make it better. "you’re so big.” you cried out in a high pitched tone, eyes shut.

john looked down to where your body’s connected, gritting his teeth and clenching his jaw at the sight. he could feel his dick twitch being squeezed this tight between your perfect velvety walls. he did his best to restrain him, wanting you to get used to him.

but john couldn’t.

he was already too obsessed with being inside of you, the feeling indescribable for him. it was like you were made for only him.

with a groan he pulled his hips back, almost slipping out of your cunt before thrusting his whole length in again, deep and hard.

"oh god!” you sobbed, tears spilling down your cheeks.

"can’t stop myself, you feel too good wrapped around me.” he mumbled as he began to pound into you with a rather fast pace. strangled hisses left your mouth as he began to fuck you, the pain of the stretch still remaining.

to ease your pain, john sneaked his fingers down to your clit, rubbing it in quick circular motions. your legs immediately began to shake at the sudden pleasure, moans and whines escaping your throat. john groaned out shamelessly while getting you into a new position. he grabbed ahold of your leg, pushing it over his shoulders, allowing him to thrust even deeper. "ah-john!!” you almost yelled out, the pleasure and pain mixing perfectly together.

with every harsh thrusts of his hips, your breasts bounced back and forward deliciously, only adding fuel to john’s high. and hell did it approach fast. he was on the verge of cumming already, enjoying the feeling of your sweet walls way too much. with every roll of his fingers, your walls seemed to tighten more and more around him, making it hard for him to hold in his orgasm. his dick twitched uncontrollably, the veins were pulsating with need.

"fuck, i’m gonna cum princess.” he uttered, rubbing your clit faster and increasing the speed of his hips, determined to coax an orgasm out of you. and you felt the coil in your abdomen tighten too. the overwhelming pleasure you received from him, his dick hitting spots you didn’t even know existed perfectly and the stimulation on your clit made you see stars. "i’m close— ah- don’t stop.” you cried out, hands gripping tightly at his back, your nails digging little moons into his skin.

john took this as a sign, using all of his strength to pound into you in an animalistic way, ignoring the jerking of his hips. "now.” he just growled and with a few more harsh strokes and rubs on your clit you were sent to heaven.

the most powerful orgasm you ever experienced hit you like a lightning. your toes curled uncomfortably, legs were quivering and a moan that even pornstars couldn’t keep up with tore from your throat. "JOHN!!” your release triggered john’s even more and with a guttural groan he finally let his seed spurt deep inside of you, filling you up to the brim. he kept thrusting, making sure that every bit of his cum gets pumped inside you. you threw your head back at the overstimulation, body trashing and twitching at the intense assault.

finally, taking a deep breath in, john stopped his movements and released his fingers from your clit, collapsing on top of you. "you did so good, princess.” he mumbled while pressing soft kisses to your cheek.

“that was…” you exhaled deeply. "amazing.” smiling at him. john couldn’t suppress a grin as well, giving a small peck to your lips. your arms were still wrapped around his neck lazily and the feeling of him still buried inside you made this moment even more intimate.

when you looked up at him, you saw a devilish smirk plastered on his face. “but i didn’t get to taste you.” he pointed out, making you chuckle slightly.

“who said you couldn’t do it now?” you smirked at him, accepting his challenge. “you’re so fucking hot.” he just replied before pressing a last kiss to your lips. he carefully slipped his now soft dick out of your hole, eliciting a whine from you.

in the blink of an eye he was settled between your thighs, spreading them widely. he glanced down to your pussy and the sight of it made him hard again. his cum was leaking out of your entrance, slowly dripping down to your ass. he didn’t waste any time, pressing a few messy kisses to your inner thighs before wrapping his lips around your sensitive clit. you mewled out at the sensation, back arching off the couch.

john gathered his cum with his fingers before pushing it inside of you again, wanting you to have all of it. he curled his fingers up, reaching your g- spot immediately as he let them thrust into you rapidly, licking and swirling around your clit in the process.

you were shaking at the overstimulation, it almost felt too much for you. the pressure on your highly sensitive nub made you feel like your whole body was on fire.

john moaned at your taste, lapping at your cunt like a starved man, the vibrations he caused only added to your pleasure. your hands reached out and immediately gripped his raven hair, tugging on it harshly. "john— too much.” a fervent whimper hung in the air mixing with the squelching sounds of your pussy and the heavy scent of sex which made your brain all fuzzy.

“you can take it, doll.” he mumbled against your cunt, eyes connecting with yours as you saw him smirk mischievously. your lip pouted as you registered his words, head tipping back.

his digits rutted into your overstimulated spot with a unmerciful pace, making your orgasm approach quickly. he knew that you were getting closer and closer, your quivering thighs and constant high pitched moans making it obvious to him. john only increased the pace of his tongue flicking against your clit and began to suck firmly, determined to coax another orgasm out of you. the only thing on your mind was john and how good he fucked you with his talented fingers.

john’s free hand made its way up your body, gently caressing your sides before it gripped one of your breasts that was jiggling in sync with his thrusts, massaging and squeezing it.

your whole body was tingling and you were on the verge of cumming, almost reaching your peak. your grip on his hair tightened and you instinctively pushed his head harder against your cunt, thighs clamping around it.

“shit! i’m gonna cum!” you managed to squeal out, voice shaky and rough. john let out an answering groan, letting you know that you were allowed to cum.

for the last time, john sped up his fingers to an inhuman pace and that sent you straight into oblivion. a strangled cry rattled against the walls as you finally orgasmed, your body trashing around at the indescribable experience. he fucked you through your high, wanting you to feel every last spark of pleasure. tears pricked in the corner of your eyes, heavy breaths falling from your lips as you slowly came down from your release.

john now also slowed down his thrusts, mouth releasing your abused clit. he stared up at your fucked out form, proud of the masterpiece he created. after a few more pounds of his digits he carefully pulled out, immediately taking them in his mouth, licking off every bit of your sweet juices that coated them.

your eyes were shut tightly, trying to calm down from the intense orgasm. you felt john moving and when you opened your eyes again he already had you up in bridal style, you didn’t even notice all that as you were still caught in the after waves of your high.

he pressed your body tightly against his chest, his lips kissing your forehead sweetly. “my good girl.” he whispered in your ear as he began to walk out of the living room. “i’m fucking proud of you.”

you hummed in reply, snuggling up against him. “i’m glad we did this.” you mumbled, exhaustedly closing your eyes. john just quietly chuckled out, kissing you again. “let’s get you to bed, princess.”

REQUESTS ARE OPENED<3

[reedusdaily]

[monsoonsosoon]

how can I be normal when he looks like this?

[ridingreeves]

𝖲𝗎𝗀𝖺𝗋 𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗒

𝖩𝗈𝗁𝗇 𝗐𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗑 𝗌𝗎𝗀𝖺𝗋 𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗒

𝖲𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒－In this dark, luxe romance, you’re the sugar baby of John Wick—quiet, spoiled, and deeply protected. While the world knows him as a deadly legend, you know him as the man who runs your baths, buys you bags, and finds peace in your arms. You don’t ask questions about the blood on his hands or the enemies he leaves behind—you just wait for him to come home. And every time he does, he reminds you: in a world full of war, you’re the one thing he won’t lose.

𝖠／𝖭－𝖨𝗍’𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖺 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗆𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝖽𝗂𝖾𝗌💋

You didn’t ask too many questions.

That was rule number one.

John liked it that way—quiet peace, soft touches, and no need to explain why he came home at 3AM smelling like gunpowder and smoke, knuckles bruised, eyes tired but still locked on you like you were the only safe thing in his world.

He didn’t talk much, but the way he treated you? That said enough.

Gucci boxes on the bed. Black cards with your name on them. Silk sheets and warm baths he’d run for you after a long day—not yours, his. You didn’t work. You didn’t have to. His world was chaos. Yours was luxury, comfort, and him.

You curled up in his lap in the penthouse, wrapped in one of his oversized button-downs while he nursed a whiskey and ran his fingers through your hair. The lights were dim, the city skyline glittering beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows like stars begging for your attention, but your eyes were only on him.

You didn’t ask what happened. You never did.

You just whispered, “You’re home,” and kissed the corner of his jaw.

His voice was low, gravelly. “You good?”

“Always,” you murmured. “With you, always.”

⸻

He wasn’t much for small talk, but when he loved, he did it loud in silence.

Like the time you offhandedly mentioned your favorite city, and a week later, there was a private jet waiting on the tarmac. You blinked at the pilot, then back at John, standing there in a tailored black suit, no tie, sunglasses tucked into his collar.

“You said you liked Florence,” was all he offered, his hand warm at the small of your back. “So we’re going.”

The trip was perfect. No security detail you could see, but you knew they were around. John’s eyes never stopped moving, even when he had one arm around your waist and the other holding a glass of wine. But he still gave you all his attention. Took you shopping down cobblestone streets, sat with you at outdoor cafés, took pictures of you when you weren’t looking, and pressed slow kisses to your shoulder at night, like you were something fragile he couldn’t afford to lose.

You started to realize that being his didn’t just come with luxury. It came with a kind of safety nothing else in this world could buy.

⸻

There were nights when he didn’t come home until dawn. You’d hear the lock turn just as the sky started to pinken, and by the time you sat up in bed, he was already inside—dark jacket slung over the arm of a chair, blood on his hands, sometimes a cut on his face. You never flinched.

You’d just reach for him wordlessly, and he’d climb into bed without even changing clothes. Just held you, arms wrapped around your waist, breathing against your shoulder like the war in his chest finally quieted.

“Go back to sleep,” he’d murmur. “I’m here now.”

And you would. Because he always came back.

⸻

The world knew him as a myth. A name you whispered when you wanted someone gone.

But you? You knew him as the man who bought you first editions of your favorite books just because he overheard you mention them. The man who watched you try on clothes in high-end boutiques and didn’t say a word until you walked out, only to tell the staff, “Wrap them all.”

You knew the man who pressed kisses to your hand before slipping it into his coat pocket when it was cold. The man who never smiled for anyone else—but gave you soft ones at midnight, just for existing in his arms.

⸻

One night, after dinner at the rooftop of a five-star hotel, you were sprawled across his chest in bed, your leg draped over his hip. You were quiet for a while, tracing the faded scars along his ribs.

“You ever get tired of it?” you asked softly, not even sure what “it” meant—his world, the weight he carried, the violence he wore like a second skin.

His fingers brushed through your hair slowly. “I do.”

You didn’t speak. You just let your lips press gently to the spot over his heart, and he let out the quietest sigh you’d ever heard.

“I stay for you,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “You make it worth coming home.”

That night, he didn’t leave. Didn’t disappear into the dark to fight whatever war waited for him.

He stayed.

Held you like you were the calm after every storm, like you were more than a pretty face with a soft voice. Like you were his reason.

And that’s when you realized… you weren’t just a sugar baby.

You were his peace.

His penance.

The one thing in this world John Wick wouldn’t let go.

@enchanthings

[sweetwolfcupcake]

Can you please write yandere headcanons for John wick x female reader? Thanks 🫶🫶

Sure! Here is what I could come up with. A cliche plot, but discussions with @johnwickb1tsch, and @treedaddypuff inspired this. I hope you like it.

Secret Garden

Category: Headcanons

Yandere John Wick x Reader

Word count: 3.3k

Warning: Sexual themes, predator/prey coded, hints of cannibalism if you squint (not intended, only used as metaphor), NSFW, hints of power imbalance and the general yandere toxicity, the reader is a bit naive, allusions to violence and darker themes

Dividers by @cafekitsune

GIF belongs to the rightful owner, I am simply thankful to be able to use it.

Unedited. Pardon the errors.

In John’s eyes, you are a rabbit. Sniffing about with thumping feet and twitching ears. You are adorable in his eyes. But what do rabbits do when they sense a wolf nearby? Salivating, sharp-toothed creatures with eyes burning through your skin and peering into your very soul?

They run, of course. They run and hide away in their little burrows where no wolf can reach, even if it pleads that its intention was never to eat the rabbit.

In John’s eyes, you are a rabbit, and he knows that if you ever come to know of his true nature, you will run. And even thinking about that fills him with an odd cocktail of fury and arousal.

John knows that he is the worst of them all— the biggest, the baddest, with sharp claws and pointed teeth. If he were, literally, a wolf, he would practically drool at the very sight of you.

So he wraps himself up with a sheep’s skin. Drops his ears, curls his tail and lets his sharp eyes dilate into puppy-softness. He looks inviting, approachable, harmless and gentle. He bends to your level, wipes off the drool around his mouth, hides his tongue and teeth and waits. He waits and moves with an easy steadiness that wouldn’t startle you to alertness but will gently introduce him into your territory.

It does not come as terribly hard or boring, for the most part. John does not intend to sink his teeth into you; after all, he truly means no harm. He has to work on it, yes, but you are worth it; his love for you is worth it. 

To his relief, you do not sniff the danger that trails with his shadow, to his utter delight, you welcome him—not immediately, but you warm up to him eventually. The warmth seeps into his form. Maybe deep down, something in you knows that he means no harm?

You are a cautious person. Reserved in nature, the cautious trait has evolved within you with the life-lessons that came along the perks of being a wallflower. You observe, and try to learn. And over the years, you have learnt that precaution is always better than cure. Unless it’s love.

Love is supposed to be a free fall, surrender, and trust. But before that, you get to choose who you let in. That is where the role of caution begins and ends. Deciding whether someone is worth the free-fall after all.

If anything, John Wick has proven to be more than just worth it. He is everything and more. He is kind without noticing, his hands are calloused, but you feel the tenderness with which he holds you. A gentleman. That’s what John is. In more than a few ways.

He is gentle with the way he tries to read you and your perception, like he is admiring and trying to decipher you at the same time. You feel it in his gaze as it runs over your form with the perfect blend of heat and adoration. You feel it in the sincerity of his sweet brown orbs when they look into your eyes. 

He is considerate in the way he listens to you—even those drunken rambles—he leans in close and nods and smiles, laughs at your terrible jokes and scoffs when you laugh at yourself. He is considerate in the way he fixes your sink without you even having to say it, or even notice at times. He is considerate in the way he never forgets to restock your favourite seasonal fruits or snacks. He is considerate to keep track of your cycle even without you having to tell him.

John is considerate in many subtle and obvious ways, you often lose count of—because he brings consideration into mundane things, barely noticeable until you take a second look—you see ot then, and it warms your heart in dangerous ways. In ways you are afraid to imagine—like having a ring on your finger.

John is observant too. He notices the smallest of twitches, the slightest of falters and changes and he is grasping it like he has a special training on it or something. You admit that initially, it was unsettling, but you settled eventually. You are now used to him mentioning something you do not even remember telling him. It must have been one of the many unconscious or off-handed comments you make in passing. But nothing escapes John’s notice, you realise. Dog nose. He has a dog nose, but for information. 

John makes you feel heard, seen and appreciated. What more can you ask for? What more would you want? What more would anyone want?

John is more than what you could ask for. 

And yet, there is something deep inside your brain that holds back from that freefall, the complete surrender. You are in love with John, you do not doubt that because it seeps into your every thought, your every action. Every other thing reminds you of something related to him, or of him. It’s like every road leads you to him. And yet, something in you simply refuses to settle in and be at complete ease.

Not that you are not comfortable with him, he makes sure that you are. But you are a cautious creature by nature. Skittish even at times.

And you feel that tiny part of your brain throbbing, calling your attention when you realise that John listens deeply, for long, but prefers not to speak much. He works in the ‘crisis management’ department of an expansive and looming organisation. And there are various non-disclosure documents he has already signed, so digging for more information is futile. He follows the rules, you realise–with military precision and discipline. 

You feel that part of your brain flutter along with your stomach when his reflexes show. The glass of water about to fall and ruin your dress? His hands stop it faster than you can succumb to your fate. Sure, must be a stressful and demanding job, you surmise when he waves his hand and says ‘practice’ with a tone that feels deliberate in its casual approach.

You feel that part of your brain nudging at you when you trace his tattoos. The ink on his skin, mostly his back and the slump of his shoulders. You trace and map them with your fingers and feel the faintest of shivers passing through his body, and then the stiffness when you question. ‘Fortune favours the bold’, the Latin words translate. Something he learnt in his early years and decided to etch on his skin, he tells you. He has a reason and tale for every other tattoo of his– fascination, local band, his birthplace, his childhood. You believe every story behind each of the tattoos, you have no reason not to. 

And yet, that tiny, annoying part of your brain is persistent. It points out that his stories are either too vague or too specific. Short and flat. There is no fondness in his tone or eyes, not even close to the kind of tenderness and excitement they have when talking about you and your relationship— his thoughts, his experience involving you. No, these stories sound more or less like reports. That tiny part of your brain keeps telling you that he is holding back. 

But it is tiny, hence easier to ignore, especially when his hands are parting your thighs, especially when he looks at you with reverence. There is the kind of vulnerability in his soulful brown eyes that swats away all the wisps of doubts. 

And yet you cannot bring yourself to squash that part of your brain. Not when his eyes darken the way that makes him seem like something that sits on the top of the food chain and a part of you wants to run. But you tell yourself it is the light that falls that way, an illusion, a lie. 

The mindful part of your brain screams when you play chase with him. It is the loudest then. You feel his feet drumming against the floor, but barely hear him. You run as fast as you can—adrenaline pumping, heart thundering. You know that the fear is never real, just something primal. But it overtakes your senses as you push yourself to outrun him, not with any competitive intent, but with a deep-seated survival instinct that rings abruptly shrill and persistent, telling you to run and hide.

But John is fast, quick and silent on his feet. Quiet and precise to the point it feels dangerous. His grip is iron when he catches you, taking the impact on the ground if you both lose balance, or simply picking you up like he is picking his favourite fruit from the ground—easy, smooth and quick. You feel weightless and powerless at those moments, and that instinct in you screams, makes your legs fail, and your heart drop to your stomach. As if you are being hunted. 

But how can it be true? It is just John, smiling, laughing, breathing, mixing with yours when he slants  his lips on yours, swallowing every little sound you make. You are safe, you are safe, you are safe. You have to keep reminding yourself for a few moments before the bells stop ringing and the instinct and fear return to their burrows.

But that faint throb in your brain refuses to be silenced. It turns bolder when you look into his dark eyes, when he wrestles you under him. You may laugh playfully, but your stomach flutters with anticipation and a kind of thrill that one gets on dancing with danger. His eyes always appear darker after a chase, like you have struck the right spot and something in him is howling. He looks wild with his tresses over his face and his eyes peering through them—something close, barely hidden, but still out of your reach. 

That faint throb in your brain, however, is no match for the fire that ignites in your abdomen when his hands reach all the right places. Sliding between your legs, fingers in your mouth, or around your throat. Just caressing, never pressing, simply testing.

Everything is forgotten with the taste of milk and honey. You can barely remember your name with just his fingers against your walls, slow, deliberate and precise. Curving the right way, at the right place and you have the moon and stars floating before your eyes. You want to remember nothing, you remember nothing but John. Your John, who makes you feel craved and desired. Who is not shy of showing how hungry he is for you. All the time, every time.

Oh, how beautiful bliss is! The sense of surrender when his manhood slides beyond your throbbing, slick nether lips, fitting right in where it belongs. As if something had been taken away from you by the divine and then returned as a reward. As if your years without John had been your penance. You are his and he is yours. In this moment, you feel the ring wrapping around your finger. You feel you need no ring, you have him inside you, fusing into your soul, reaching and discovering the deepest parts of you in ways you could have never imagined before.

But every time you dare to and are compelled to open your droopy eyes, you see a crazed look— a storm being, a darkness that can swallow you whole, and you shiver. You shiver with something unknown. The tiny part of your brain never stopped throbbing, you realise. It is just easier to ignore when you are at the pinnacle of passion.

You often gasp when he dips down at the curve of your neck and his teeth graze against your pumping vein. Your mind is a battlefield there— the urge to surrender and embrace whatever agony he feels to be capable of rewarding you with, fights against that deep-rooted survival instinct that makes you squirm and try to move. It ends with your leg thrown over his shoulder and body bent to an angle that has your vision darkening with each thrust. The most delicious, intense torment, hell and heaven merging, and you tip-toe between salvation and damnation. 

Instincts, doubts, caution, everything is overshadowed by his name. John, John, John. It leaves your lips like prayers, but it is you who feels worshipped. A part of your soul feels infected with him, and you will gladly take it. You will take his energy, his deeds, his past, his present, every part of him. 

You bloom, only for him, to your fullest, to your widest, to your happiest.

Like the fragrance of a delicate dawn-bloom on the damp soil, he lingers in you long after he has pulled out. He lingers in you in the form of the essence that dribbles down your thighs, he lingers in the form of the musk that surrounds you. He lingers in the form of the comforting numbness that comes when he caresses you like you can break with one wrong press. His lips kiss over every mark, every place you have felt his hold tightening. He lingers with you, holding you, and that is when that tiny, annoying and persistent part of your brain goes completely silent.

You have never felt any safer, no pair of arms has managed to bring you the comfort and elation like John’s do. So you close your eyes and sit with him in the bathtub, imagining that the world is empty and it is just two of you as he tends to you like he is tending to a garden— precise, careful, loving and attentive. 

Instincts are always powerful. John has learnt that a long time ago. But for you, he can manage it. As long as he has to wait. At least until he has his ring binding you to him forever. He has donned the sheep skin for so long, it now feels like a second skin. Maybe it has even grown into him— but for you. Only you.

His teeth still glint and his claws remain sharp. But he is patient and loving. He does not give in to his instinct of devouring you whole, even if something in him keeps screaming and demanding to do so. No, he does not want to frighten his little rabbit. 

John loves you with every atom of his being, but he cannot deny what that surprised and fearful flash in your sweet eyes does to him. It makes his teeth itch and his claws sharpen.

The chase only makes it worse. When he catches you, his manhood throbs, demanding a reward. You, lying under him has the most primal gears of his brain turning. 

John’s instincts demand that he sinks his teeth into you and tear and twist you until he has your soul and devour it. Have the taste of the light he is so undeserving of yet so tempted by.

He has been trained to hunt, and watching at your endearing efforts to outrun him make his limbs move even before he realises it.

But John is not a monster. Not to you, at least. He loves you. So he satisfies himself with only grazing your delicious skin with his teeth, plunging his length as deep as he can into you, hoping to touch every part of you until he has you tained by him and shielded from the world. 

John’s instincts demand that he claims you– body, mind, heart and soul. Yes, your soul is what he covets the most. And he knows he is closer when your eyes flutter cloe in momentary surrender.

You fall apart so beautifully for him. Eyes wide with desire with wild mewls and screams. The wolf in him is temporarily sated, to see you so plaint under him, so welcoming, so receptive, so responsive. 

He takes pride at the traces of your nails behind his back, your nails, your fingers bruising his biceps and your teeth marking his shoulders.

You do not even bite down, just hold, ground yourself and he lets you. But a part of him wants you to bite down, to scratch harder until he bleeds, dig your nails over those cursed inks and overpower his past deeds with you light, with your love. He wil have something permanent of you on him, something permanent he actually wants. 

But alas! You don’t. You hold back, just like the way you hold back from complete surrender that he wants, needs. He cannot have your soul if you do not let yourself go and embrace the free fall. He will catch you, he always will. But his little rabbit is cautious by nature.

He feels it when he looks at you from between your legs. He sees it in your eyes when you sink on your knees for him. He feels it in the tremble of your lips, the movement of your head with his hand siting your hair while your mouth devotes itself to him, taking him deep and good. But it can never match his devotion, not until you surrender to this love like he has. 

You hold back, not wanting to hurt him, and it makes John chuckle. Sweet thing, as if you can ever hurt him. 

But he is close, he knows he is. He can almost taste it on his tongue, like he tastes you.

Like morning dew on flower petals, your arousal sticks on your nether lips, served for him to lick clean. He can settle for devouring this for now.

You squirm as if you have any chance to run. Escape? From him? It makes him want to throw his head back and laugh, but it so makes something boil in him. So he holds you tighter. If you you can never silence that caution in your brain, he will. He will bend you to silence it, tear it out of you and fill that part of your brain with his name. 

That faint throb never goes away. It may be silenced for a while, but it comes back every time. Slow and steady, it climbs to the surface of your brain, the closest it has ever been, when you return to your shared home from work hours earlier one day.

It rings a bell. Faint, when you catch John’s cologne lingering in the air as soon as you unlock the door. But slightly louder when you see the basement door, that is always locked, unlocked for the first time since you moved in with him. 

The cautious, alert part of your brain turns bolder and bolder with a strange flutter in your stomach when you descend down the stairs.

The bells ring louder when you see a perfectly clean and secure basement when he has told you that it has some faulty walls and doorways so he had to shut it down permanently.

The bells, though begin to ring shrilly when you find two briefcases laying on the floor and a work table with a vintage phone sitting on it .

When you click open the briefcases, your ears are ringing. The faint voice of caution in your head now screams for you to flee as you look at the various knives, guns and syringes in one briefcase and lines of gold coins on the other.

You move on pure instinct then, following  the voice, glad that it never gave up on you, relieved and horrified that it proved to be right. As you climb the stairs, your hands are sweaty, stomach is in knots and your heart paces erratically, as if you have run miles.

But your heart skips a beat and the bells turn into drums that beat at your survival instinct when you see John casually leaning against the kitchen island, on your way. Right on your path, blocking it.

He looks the same but feels foreign. Eyes once so kind are now dark and stormy. You know that you are looking into the eyes of something that is ready to pounce, something that is at the top of the food chain and it knows that.

His eyes move between the basement door wide open and you before his lips curve into something unfamiliar and cruel, like the glint in his eyes.

“Run” John whispers gleefully.

And you do, despite knowing the outcome already, you give into your instinct, just like he does. Finally.

****

[eternalslover]

WHY IS THERE NO WRITING FOR KEANU REEVES CHARACTERS IM ACTUALLY GOING BALLISTIC, I WANT HIM SO BAD WOOF WOOF GRRR, GOING ACTUALLY FERAL, PLEASE SOMEONE WRITE ABOUT HIM, MATRIX, JOHN WICK, BILL AND TED, CONSTANTINE, MATRIX, MATRIX, MATRIX DID I MENTION MATRIX PLEASE SOMEONE WRITE ABOUT HIS CHARACTER FROM THE MATRIX

WHERE DID MY CLOTHING GO?!?! I WANT HIM SO BAD HONESTLY HOW CAN YOU NOT WRITE ABOUT HIM?? ANGST, FLUFF, SMUT ECT ECT BIG ON FLUFF AND ANGST, THERE IS JUST SO MUCH SMUT IN THE WORLD BUT I WILL TAKE ANYTHING

[pointbreakvhs]

Blood and Silence

genre : one-shot - hurt/comfort pairing : John Wick x female reader notes : first time writing him so I'm testing the waters with a short one-shot I wrote in a rush of inspiration. summary : Bloodied, John Wick cradles your face, his gaze raw and unguarded in a fleeting moment of quiet.

John Wick plunged his dark eyes into yours, his gaze usually cold and unreadable seemed raw and deep. Almost vulnerable at that instant. His strong hands that usually killed were delicately cradling your worried face, his thumb stroking the soft skin of your cheek as if you were something fragile, something precious. A long heavy silence stretched between you. As if he was afraid to break you. Your glassy eyes settled on the droplets of blood on his face and you blinked, lips parted. Did you need to say anything? With him, you knew you didn’t have to. The gesture felt almost intimate coming from him, a man who lived in shadows and violence. Your heart raced, not from fear, but from the intensity of his gaze. This was a side of him few ever saw; raw, unguarded, and human. His thumb stilled on your cheek, and for a moment, the world outside ceased to exist.

“You’re safe now…” He uttered, voice deep, genuine and echoing faintly in the hollow space of the church.

Your heart was hammering in your chest,a chaotic mix of adrenaline and relief. The memory of bloodshed that took place before still lingered but his presence, his touch, anchored you. You searched his eyes, seeing not just the killer, but the man beneath. The man who had risked everything for you.

"John…" you whispered, your voice trembling but soft. Almost like a prayer. His name was all you could manage, but it carried everything you couldn’t say. Your fear, your gratitude, your unspoken feelings.

His gaze softened, just for a moment, and he leaned in, his forehead gently resting against yours. The warmth of his breath mingled with yours, and for the first time since this nightmare began, you felt safe. Truly safe.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Always.”

[ficsbb]

Moments with John Wick II

》 Pairing: Loving!John Wick x Reader

》 Warnings: pet names, gross misconduct of lovey doviness

》 Word Count: 1.3k+

Part 1

Note: I've been overthinking about these snippets for too long, so here I go, I release them! 🤭 Enjoy! Apologies for any error in tense use, spelling, grammar etc. Credit to @toastray for the cute dividers!

It was hard at first, getting to know him better. You could feel the heaviness of his grief all around him. It was in everything he looked at and everything he touched, lingering in doorways after he'd walk through. He knew you could see it. It was all in your eyes and how you interacted with him during moments the sadness gathered in his throat.

“I'm okay,” he says, “I promise.” You put your hand on his cheek and nod.

"I know."

He doesn't know what it is with your touch, but it unravels that monstrous grief with ease. You watch him close his eyes briefly and bring your palm to his lips, letting out a sigh, followed by a kiss.

“You save me.” It's genuine, and every part of you knows it's true. There's been a lingering doubt with others, but never with him. When John tells you this, time and time again, it makes you feel lighter and warm.

“What do you think?” You're leafing through a pamphlet for a train vacation. It's not something you would have expected John would like. In fact, you were the one more inclined to do something like this.

“When are you thinking?” He lets out a sigh of relief, happy that you're interested at least. He's waiting for you to spot the destination on the trip he circled, the one he knows you've always wanted to go on. John pauses, waits a moment and then sees your eyes glow.

You look up at him, “Is that the one we're going on?” He nods. “Like, we're actually going, for real?” You watch as he laughs, head tipped back and adam's apple moving slightly. It warms you up just as a nice cup of hot chocolate always does.

“What about work?” John shakes his head, knowing you'd ask.

“I can work anywhere, but I'm taking a full break for the trip. I don't want to miss a moment with you.” He watches your eyes flutter, your breathing change. For a second he's worried he said the wrong thing. He worries about that all the time, but when you pull him into a tight hug, arms around his middle, he feels that pull of the string. The way it snaps straight from the center of his chest to yours and he wonders if you can feel it too.

“Thank you, John. Thank you.”

“You never have to thank me, beautiful.”

A phone call comes through in the middle of the night. It startles you awake and you feel John put his arm over you. He knows when your nervousness or anxiety is heightened more than usual. It didn't take long for him to notice your mannerisms when you're under stress while you've been together. These things were part of his work and work has had some ways of bleeding through. Whether it was through his clothes or in the ways he could keep you safe, it bleeds through.

“Is everything okay?” You ask, voice laced in sleep. You rub at his arm as he pats your stomach a couple times before he sits up. Your eyes are adjusted to the dark as you sit up with him, watching his hand sift through his hair. He hates these moments. Similar conversations come to mind, blurred and racing as the quiet around you both becomes deafening.

“A job. I have to go.” 

“Oh.”

“I know.” 

He hates these moments. He hates the way your sleep is interrupted and the sadness so easily conveyed in the ‘oh’s’, ‘right now?’, ‘when will you be home?’ gnaws at him. 

“I'll have to be on a plane soon.” You nod, quiet, rubbing at your arm. Self soothing. John turns over to look at you and it doesn't get any easier for him when he sees that shimmer of tears gloss your eyes.

“Come here, sweetheart.” You take a deep breath to brace yourself and get out of bed to go to his side. He leans back slightly as you stand between his legs, both hands on either side of his face. His eyes close. You know he loves when you do this. It calms the both of you down in a way and any chance to touch him is a chance you'll grab at greedily.

“How long will this one take?” 

“Not long. A couple of days.” You kiss his forehead as he pulls you in closer. When he rests his head on your chest, he can hear your heartbeat. It's a little fast, but it's comforting. It's a song to him, the melody striking and forceful always swallowing him up. As he pulls back, he looks up at you and wipes at the rest of the tears you seem to have messily swept away.

“How about you come with me?” 

“Is that allowed?” You're genuinely surprised since he's never asked. John tells you very little about these things, hoping that sparing you details will keep you safe.

“I'm allowing it.” A rush of heat goes to your cheeks and he smiles when that twinkle is back in your eyes.

“May I kiss you?” He pulls you both into bed so you're lying down again.

“I'll allow that too.” You laugh, and he kisses you.

You slam the back door behind you and walk purposefully to the shed. It's a crisp and foggy evening. You've left John in the house somewhere, calling after you.

“Fucker,” you say under your breath, exasperated. He knows you hate big gatherings being popped up on you. While it's exhilarating being at his side at events, it also comes with your own anxieties about being seen. Apart from that, you've already made plans with close friends that you hadn't seen in a long time and it makes you angry that he's forgotten again.

“I'm sorry.” His voice startles you a bit, your thoughts swirling in an irritated bubble around you. John's voice always breaks through. You grab a bag of dirt to prep for the plants in your greenhouse.

“I'm sorry,” he says again, his voice closer than before. You sigh and pause scooping the dirt from the bag into your own mixture.

“I hate this.”

“I know, I'm sorry. I really am.” You continue what you're doing, preferring to stay quiet instead of saying something you'll regret later on. It's not long before John is right next to you, bringing his sleeves up and mixing the dirt by hand. It softens you up. The sight of him helping you always has really, and it makes you smile despite yourself.

“I can do it, John.” 

“I know you can. Let me.” You stop what you're doing and watch his hands. Watch how they sift through the dirt like he was mixing butter into a short puff pastry. So delicate and without any thought, just as natural to him as it is to breathe. John can see you from the corner of his eye. You've seemingly forgotten the mixing altogether and are leaning closer, almost shoulder to shoulder. 

“I like being here with you,” he starts, taking a used rag nearby to wipe his hands, “I can lose my focus and it doesn't cost me a life. It feels freeing.”

“I didn't know that.” You move things out of the way, cleaning as you go.

“Well, I know this is your space to get away so I try not to barge in.” He wipes some dirt from the tip of your nose.

“I always love when you're here with me.”

“Even if I upset you by being a dumb, forgetful man?” He sort of pouts and a giggle bubbles out of you. John smiles, hoping to hear that sound every moment of his life. He finds a wayward hair falling out of place and tucks it behind your ear.

“I love you.” 

“I love you too.” He pulls you into him, enveloping you completely. There's nothing else for you to do but fall in deep, deeper still. The smell of him calming all of your senses and somehow, some way you feel that peaceful quiet making you sleepy.

“How about this? We go inside, warm up with some hot chocolate and put on a spooky movie.” 

“Yes, please.” You say, taking his hand and following him back to the house.

You’ve never been one to push him on expressing his feelings. You learned quickly that John would come to on his own, as did you whether you realized it or not. It took an accident, a simple fall really. You were out on a walk and something struck you in how these tiny flowers, or weeds, really, stuck out from the side of the road you were walking on. The Sun shining pointedly at them and they seemed to have pointedly been reaching out to you. John had a meeting to take somewhere in town even though it was supposed to be your vacation together, so as soon as you woke in the morning to find him gone and a beautiful note at your bedside, a walk was due.

You only meant to pick a few to press when you got back to the rental, but before you knew it, your ankle rolled and you found yourself tumbling in the ditch. It wasn’t deep or far off at all, but when John found out, you might as well have fallen straight to the Earth’s core.

“You should’ve waited until I got back,” he started, pacing in the hospital room. The nurse was tending to your ankle, gently. “What if you got really hurt? How would I have known?”

“I was clumsy. I can be clumsy, John. I’m okay.”

“And if you weren’t?”

“Then I wouldn’t be.”

For some reason, that stops him. You still wonder what it was you said that calmed him down, but you remember him kneeling down in front of you and softly, deftly, taking your sprained ankle into his hands. You were going to stop him from unraveling the nurses' handiwork, but stop yourself and let him, curious. He looks you over, careful not to cause any pain or discomfort, and wraps it back better than it just had been.

“You’re okay.” You nodded, understanding what he needed at that moment. He sighed heavily, looking up at you and saying, "Getting that call scared me. I don’t want you getting hurt ever again.” And there it was.

“I can’t promise that.” You both laughed quietly. He placed a kiss on your ankle and stood up.

“I know, but do it anyway. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

You'll never forget that look in his eyes. Brown eyes, matching yours, shimmering with so much love. You swore in that moment that if you had reached out to put your hand on his chest, your hearts beating would be indistinguishable from the other. Not a single wave, lurch, or pulse different in any way. How curious all of this was. How lovely. How lucky.

"I promise, John." You remember saying again and he kissed you. A soft and sweet kiss that always lingers, still.

[florhibiscus]

DAISIES

request - none

pairing - John Wick x fem!reader

summary - You love daisies, so John gets you your very own

warnings - established relationship (married), just straight fluff (I refuse to believe Daisy is dead), kissing, whipped John, John loves his wife

word count - 1k+

masterlist keanuverse masterlist

Daisies were your absolute favorite flowers, and John had taken notice from the moment you started dating. He quickly saw how captivated your love was for them and went out of his way to make sure you're never without a bouquet. Overtime he became somewhat of a daisy connoisseur, keeping track of all the different varieties and their meanings, thanks to you and your frequent conversations on the topic. He noticed the way you lit up at the sight of the bouquets, it only made him keep his commitment of keeping bouquets close by. 

He had taken you to an outdoor flower market later on and you two walked around hand in hand, looking at all the different flowers (daisies too) all while basking in the heat of New York. It was summer so you and John were out of the house more, going on picnics, walks, going to farmers markets, etc. It was a dream truly, but you were living the dream. You and John do this every summer, just enjoying each other every moment with one another. You continue to walk around pointing out various flowers going over to read the labels and inspecting them. The sun seemed to get a little brighter when you two had stepped out of the shade into a different section of the market, where you had seen hibiscus, lavender, peonies, and daisies, the flowers that require lots of sun of course.

“I want to start gardening.” You say unexpectedly, glancing at John then the flower that caught your attention, it was of course beautiful daisies, not the white and yellow ones, no, these were different, they were African daisies their beautiful purple hue had caught your attention. 

John had hummed in acknowledgement glancing over at you before giving a light smile focusing his attention on the flowers once he saw your full focus was on the flowers in front of both of you. You spoke up again, “can we get these?” You look at John raising a brow, you already know the answers yes, yes indeed.

“Yeah.. anything else you want while we're here sweetheart?” John had made an effort to talk low, not like his voice is already low, low and soothing to be exact, but that nickname you wanted to fold right then and there.

You open your mouth once more, getting ready to name off a whole list and he knew, he always knew. Whenever you’d be at the grocery store, or any store he would ask you the same question and it never failed because you always managed to name a grocery list if you had to, it was captivating, you're using that word again because it truly was. The way John looks at you anywhere could make anyone tear up, with so much love and fondness he always knew what you wanted, how you wanted it, and when you wanted it. You were truly blessed, he was truly blessed to have you. Today was no different, same look, different setting, different needs that only he wants to provide for you until the end of times.

You were back in the car, bag in hand with seeds, floral scissors, clippers, a watering pot, and whatever else you had gotten. You were more than content and wanted nothing more than to go home and start gardening right away, it's something you’ve been wanting to do for a while, just that you never had the time. As a kid your parents used to garden all sorts of flowers, vegetables, fruits, and you figured that's why your love for daisies is the way it is now.

On your way home you and John talked the whole ride, your hand engulfed in his on the center console while his other hand was on the wheel. You're seriously ovulating, the small gestures or the usual that John has been doing today you’d never paid attention to until now it was sickening you were practically thirsting for him even though he’s your husband. The way his biceps look in his shirt when he's not wearing a jacket in the crisp New York weather it's ridiculous how someone looks good all while doing that.

You forgot to mention as you were checking out the older woman, about in her 70’s, was admiring you and John as a couple, making lighthearted jokes about how he’s a keeper and that she wishes her husband was still alive doing the things you two do. It's been a pleasant day and the interactions you’ve had today had made you want to bask in his presence a little longer

“Certain daisies require certain amounts of sunlight Johnathan, the ones I picked out are called African daisies and they thrive in full sun, at least 6-8 hours, watering is key too.” Your smile was a little wider at that statement you had been sitting in the grass and John standing helping you plant the various seeds and of course the daisies you had gotten, although he had been too distracted. The way the sun beamed on your skin your bronzed glow giving you a sunkissed look, and the way the sweat had lightly trickled on your forehead, but that didn’t bother him not one bit and the way you called him Johnathan when it was something important made his heart flutter 

Furrowing your brows you speak, “you haven't said much today what's on your mind? I appreciate you listening, but it seems like I'm the one that needs to.” Motioning that your lips are sealed and your ready for him to talk expecting something John opens his mouth to speak, but closes it slightly.

“No, I’m fine..” He mutters still lost in thought of you.

You don't say anything, you just stare before speaking up. “I’m gonna go shower, feel free to join.” Getting up you kiss him on the lips letting it linger before you walk back to the house.

John enters the house a few minutes after you go upstairs to take a shower, but what you didn't know is he had a surprise for you, he’d been planning this all week and today was the day he finally got to give you this gift. The doorbell rings just in time for John to go to the door and sign for this gift, (if you guessed) it's a puppy, a beagle to be exact, John was over the moon and so were you gonna be in a few. He sets the puppy carrier on the chair busying himself with stuff around the house like looking at old pictures of you two years back.

“John?” You interrupt walking down the stairs now comfy in your pajamas, your hair wrapped away, to John you looked better like this, scratch that you look good all the time, every hour.

John looks up as you make your way up to him he can smell your fresh shower scent, that body wash you use and the body oil you use at night that makes your skin glimmer in the dim hues of the house, this is the only time he's wanted to be home is with you and your presence you make him as a whole.

“I have something for you..” He trails off glancing in your eyes before looking at the couch, you raise your brows before turning to see what he's looking at.

“Is that a dog..?” Surprised you pace over opening the carrier immediately, “John, you did not.” Your eyes a little wider as you stare at the dog picking him up.

John walks over not uttering a word, when you came down the stairs just a few minutes ago he held his breath, worried, you never question his tendencies because that changes with you. “One more thing.” He reaches in his pocket pulling out a velvet box opening it to reveal a dainty gold daisy necklace. 

You don’t say anything, you just smile, setting the dog down, you just embrace him in a heartfelt hug, letting you turn around so he can put the necklace on for you which he obliges. You pick up the dog before uttering a heartfelt sentence. “That's why you've been quiet, what name do you think suits him, Daisy I would say?” You look up at John once more smiling, that sickening smile that gets him every time, the one that he dreams about constantly.

“Daisy it is.” A short and sweet sentence he gives you, embracing you in a kiss, dog still in hand he couldn't ask for more this is all he needed from now ‘till the end of time.

[johnwickb1tsch]

A John Wick x Shy!Reader shorty vaguely based on this FRIENDS imagine… 

A little something for my beloved @sweetwolfcupcake . P.S. there’s bonus torture at the end 🤭❤❤ No xtra warnings really. Voyeurism? 😅 If you can handle the movies, you can handle this. 

I.

At first you don't mean to spy on the man across the street in his apartment…you just happen to notice him. A lot of him, in fact, because he was roaming around his two bedroom flat without a shirt.

That is not why you find yourself looking for him the next night, and the night after that… (Ok, maybe a little.)

He's ridiculously handsome. 

So sue you, ok? What's the harm in peeking? 

But peeking turns into looking, and looking turns into watching. It’s possible you acquire a little pair of binoculars from a second hand store. Perfect for the casual birdwatcher, or…creeping on your unfairly good-looking neighbor.

You know it's wrong…but there’s just something about him, and you cannot look away.

He seems lonely, and maybe that's something you relate to all too well in this city of 8 million people.

He likes to read. 

He drinks amber colored spirits from a cut crystal glass.

Tattoos span the breadth of his wide shoulders; his towels are the slate gray of storm clouds.

Sometimes when he comes home late he moves stiffly, as though he's in pain. 

He's so beautiful that a part of you wishes you could keep him like this forever, like a butterfly behind glass.

The first time he waves at you, you are so startled you nearly drop your tea.

You’re smart enough to do your serious creeping with your lights off. But tonight you are just sitting by the window with a book after a long day, taking it all in.

You don't know where you get the courage after a long pause, to lift your hand in return.

Longing weighs upon your chest like a cold stone.

Nothing will ever come of this.

That's what you think, anyway, until two nights later when there is a knock on your door.

II.

You are innately shy, and a certain sense of premonition makes you cross to the door even slower than usual. 

When you open it to find him on the other side, tall and handsome as your darkest dreams, with a bottle of wine in his [obscenely] large hands, you shut the door right in his face.

With your heart in your throat, you open it again five seconds later to find him standing exactly as he was, only with a bit of a smirk pulling the corner of his full mouth.

“Hi.”

His voice is a deep, smooth baritone that short circuits something crucial in your brain.

Is it actually possible, for one’s eyes to truly bug out of their head?

“I know this might seem kinda strange…” he plows through the thick silence between you. “But I see you all the time, and I thought…”

As though he's having trouble articulating that thought exactly, he holds up the wine as his visual aid.

You will never know what possessed you, when you step back on shaking legs to invite a perfect stranger into your apartment at midnight in the East Village.

Lucky you, that he doesn't turn out to be a serial killer. (As far as you can tell). 

You're cautious about drinking the wine at first, so you stick to your tea while you sit on the couch together and stumble through the initial social introductions. 

His name is John. He works in security at a club called the Red Circle. He likes bookbinding, old cars, and the classic works of the Russian literary greats.

By the time he leaves hours later, you’re afraid you’re half in love.

III.

These midnight talks become a thing.

He is on a nocturnal schedule, because of his work, and you get by with less sleep than you need, because you are young, and you’ve come to suspect, somewhat addicted. 

Since that first night he insists on turning the conversation to you. How was your day? What is your favorite book? What did you think about that art house film? It is as though hearing it all brings him some indefinable solace to him.

There is an air of tragedy about this man that you sense but fear you cannot touch. The dark shine of his soulful eyes speaks volumes, and though he never complains, you think he has not had an easy life. 

Though you have noticed that the two of you sit closer and closer upon the couch as time goes on, he does not try to touch you. He knows you are skittish, perhaps, and your trust is precious to him. The first time his fingers accidentally brush yours you think your soul just might evacuate from your skin. 

You begin to think that it’s for the best that nothing seems like it is going to happen, when he asks if you would like to take a daytrip upstate with him. 

“Do you have a car?” 

His answer is the uptick of one dark sculpted eyebrow that makes you feel simultaneously foolish and cherished. He wants to spend one of his precious days off with you. 

It’s not a car though. It’s a beast. The look on your face as the two of you roar off into traffic makes John Wick laugh, a surprised huff of mirth, and you realize that somehow this is the first time you’ve heard it. This man says so much with his eyes, rather than his mouth.

On this trip while speeding down the straightaways and hugging the curves of the wilderness roads, you learn the rhythm of the Mustang’s transmission by holding and letting go of his long-fingered hand. 

He takes you to lunch at a lovely Michelin starred restaurant by a lake. You eat and talk and get tangled with his endless legs under the table. The fleeting glitter of happiness in his eyes is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, and you will take the triumph of that accomplishment to your grave.  

He clocks a milestone too, when he drops you off at your door that evening. When he presses his soft mouth to yours with a hand on your waist, you are so enchanted you do not even flinch.

IV.

In fact, your toes curl in your shoes, and your fingers in the lapels of his smart sports jacket. It is as though you simultaneously want to pull him to you, and hold him at bay.

You are not the only one who has been holding on by a thread. You are so cute and sweet and soft and the way your eyes sparkle while you gently roast his ego on a slowly turning spit…it’s been exquisite torture, keeping his hands off you, but now that he’s got you in his grasp he can't bring himself to let go. 

Maybe you're both surprised, when he backs you into your door, the delicious solid line of his body pressed against yours. And does it shock you, when you throw your arms around his neck, finally running your fingers through that luxuriously soft cloud of raven hair?

“I could…open the door?” you suggest breathlessly as his increasingly wicked lips trail down the curve of your neck. 

“Good idea,” he grinds out. “It’s illegal to do what I intend to do to you here in the hall.”

This is the thing that gives you pause, and for the first time he is slow to pick up on your cues, love-drunk as he is on the taste of you.

“John…?”

“If…you want me to,” he quickly amends, looking down at you with his hair in his eyes like a man who is drowning just below the surface, this close to a lifesaving breath of air.

Do you want him to?

Usually you are so cautious, so reserved. You've had your heart broken before, and you never intended to give anyone that power again. But for the first time in a long time, you actually trust a man. John Wick has you in his hands, and you know he could break you like a twig, but he’s so careful with you that your skin aches.

“I…want you to,” you answer slowly, and the wonder in his eyes is as precious as it is heartbreaking.

“My sweet, sweet girl,” he sighs between kissing you, drinking you down, tasting your mouth like you are the delicate French wine you had with lunch. “You are so precious to me.”

You’re embarrassed to admit that your legs sort of melt out from under you after that. It doesn’t matter though. He is strong, and he holds you with such ardor that he half carries you as he clutches your soft body to his. Looking back, you'll remember that halting walk in flashes. There are pauses for kisses, and pushing jackets from shoulders to forget them on the floor. There is hushed laughter, and joyful fumbling, and his lips pressed to every inch of bared skin you offer him. 

V.

You feel like a goddess, in John Wick’s arms. 

Worshipped. Adored.

In the temple of your bedroom, you are both deity and acolyte, and for the first time in your life you are eager to get on your knees for a man, just to give him a taste of the ecstasy he drives you to. 

John Wick likes kisses.

It’s endearing, maddening, how eager he is to give and receive them. Upon your lips and your shoulders, the soft curves of your breasts and down your belly and between your thighs. It is a whirlwind of sensual delights, and you are naught but an aching vessel hungry to receive it all. 

How complete he makes you feel, with his manhood buried inside you. As though this is the only proper place to be, tangled up with him in your soft bed. What were you so afraid of? For the moment, you cannot remember. You can't think much at all, really, just feel, and it feels glorious to be in his arms.

Afterwards you doze. When later you wake and he's not there you’re sad but resigned. 

Of course he's gone. 

But when you pad out to get a glass of water in your robe you find him at the window, eyeing those little binoculars of yours with an amused smile.

“I…can explain…” you stammer, mortified, the rush of guilt like poisoned lightning in your veins. 

“It’s ok, sweetheart,” he says with a gentleness in his eyes that floors you. “I like to watch you too.” 

You wonder how long he’s known? All the times he seemingly paraded around with that mouth watering chest on display…was he showing off for you? Was he baiting you??

You don't have time to ask him, because seconds later his arm is around your waist and his mouth is on yours, and he is sweeping you into his arms– destination: Round 2.

Later while he's holding you in the quiet, savoring this rare sense of peace with your precious head tucked upon his shoulder, his arms wrapped snugly around you, does he begin to wonder…

Just how unattainable, really, would Viggo make the Impossible Task? 

He has everything he’s ever truly wanted in his arms, and he’s ready to tell the rest of the world to go to hell. 

VI. 

The next few months go by like a golden-edged dream. Dinners at fine restaurants. Long walks in Central Park. Sunday brunches and afternoons spent browsing antique stores and bookshops, looking for treasures. You go to shows and art exhibits and sometimes you just meet in the middle of the day for fifteen minutes because you need to see each other. 

Magical as it is, your innate skepticism makes you wonder if it’s too good to be true. 

As time goes on you start to form a rough sketch of John’s professional duties, but out of willful blindness or your own naivete with such things, never a perfect picture. 

You ask if you can come see him at the Red Circle sometime, and he outright forbids it. “Nothing good happens there. It’s no place for a sweet girl like you.” 

“Then why do you work there?” 

“Because I have to.” 

But one day when you are engaging in your playful routine of pantomiming at each other from across the street you see a shadow creeping up behind him. In a panic you wave and point. He regards you with a tilted head, not understanding. 

You scream as the intruder makes his move. 

Maybe you vaguely knew that John should be able to handle himself, but the scene that unfolds makes your jaw hit the floor. Frozen in shock, you watch as your sweet boyfriend John dodges blows and throws his assailant over his shoulder, twisting his suited opponent’s arm backwards, surely breaking it. 

Then you realize there are two more people in John’s apartment, and you find yourself running for the door. 

Why don’t you call 911? 

Your lungs are burning by the time you soar down your stairwell, cross the street absolutely improperly, winning shouts and honks and the close brush of a side mirror at your back, and scale the steps to the third floor. 

As you rush down the hall you realize you have no weapons. And so before you enter John’s apartment you take off your shoe, holding it threateningly at the ready. If you’d allowed yourself to think before any of this you might have been too terrified to open the door, but you are running on supercharged adrenaline and fear for the life of the man you love. 

The man you love. 

You haven’t actually said that aloud yet, but you realize with an unequivocal certainty in that moment that it’s true. 

You expect to walk into the cacophony of a battle in full tilt. 

What awaits you is the silence of a graveyard. 

John sits on his couch, catching his breath, his hand pressed over a wound on his arm. 

Three bodies lay at his feet in various angles. 

You don’t need to check pulses to know that they're dead. 

You have no words. You just stand and stare dumbly, though you must make some small sound that alerts him of your presence. He leaps to his feet, crossing the room like a panther, gathering you in his arms and ushering you into his bedroom. 

Madder yet, you let him. 

“Sweetheart…I never wanted you to see this.” 

He says it like this is something that happens regularly. 

You sink to sit at the foot of his bed, eyes wide as saucers as you look up at him. “Should we…call the police?” 

It’s the most sensible thing you can think to say. 

“No, baby. No police.”

Something must cross your expression. He sinks to his knees before you, clasping your hands in his. Yet he does not beg or threaten or make excuses. He tries twice before finding his voice, with the glitter of moisture in his eyes he grates out: “I understand, if you never want to see me again.” 

The surge of anger inside you wakes you from your stupor more than anything. “Don’t be stupid, John! They tried to hurt you! It was self defense!” 

He just looks up at you, and now somehow you know the weight of his silent dark gaze is made up of an unquantifiable amount of dark deeds just like this.  

You think back on what he told you earlier about his job with a greater understanding. Because I have to. 

Your sweet, wonderful John, is a killer. 

What does it say about you, that your feelings for him do not change with this new knowledge?

You reach up to stroke his beard, and he leans into your touch like a lifeline, that obsidian-sharp gaze closed for a moment from the world. 

“You shouldn’t be with a monster like me, sweet girl.” 

If he’s trying to break up with you…you have no intention of letting him. 

“You are not a monster, John.” You kiss him sweetly upon the forehead, and he folds for you, his head falling to rest upon your lap. You stroke his hair like that for you don’t know how long. 

He bleeds on you–you do not care. 

You stay like that until someone named Charlie comes to clean up the mess. You hear them talking through the door–you stay out of sight in the bedroom. You hear something exchange hands, like the clinking of coins. 

“I’m getting out,” he tells you later, when you are wrapped up in his arms in the blue twilight of early morning. 

“Is that even possible?” You cannot hide the tremulous note of hope in your tone.

“Nothing’s impossible.” 

You can tell by now that there’s something he’s not telling you, but you cling to this small modicum of hope as you finally drift off to sleep. 

As you lay tangled together beneath the high-thread count sheets, John Wick holds you tightly and decides then that he will be free…or he will be dead. 

It’s the least you deserve, and maybe…he does too.

[johnsbunny]

Love to see middle-aged man with long hair suffering ♡

Ss by me

[triniicat]

yandere!john wick headcannons

cw: obsessive behavior, stalking, manipulation, sexual themes, implied violence

sorry if this is nonsensical i had the idea and just had to get it written down <3

(inspired by my c.ai bot — you can find it here!)

- The first time you see him is at the library, eyes meeting through the endless aisles of books. His gorgeous brown gaze disarms you, nearly taking your breath away.

- After that day, you start noticing him everywhere

- At the grocery store, the coffee shop, the gas station…

- It happens just infrequently enough to seem like coincidence by his design

- Eventually the two of you start talking. He invites you out for dinner at a quaint, peaceful little place you’ve never heard of. It seems fitting for his reserved, stoic nature.

- As he pulls out your chair you catch a whiff of his cologne, and you swear you recognize that scent.

- It smells like the scent that lingers around your room each morning, the scent that’s always stronger when you wake up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom

- Like the smell that shows up in your car every once in a while, that sticks to your laundry

- You brush it off, assuming it’s nothing more than a weird connection your brain is making, something nonsensical and completely coincidental.

- A few months and quite a few dates later, the two of you are getting more serious.

- John is so attentive; so loving and sweet, and yet so strong and intimidating all at once. Sometimes it’s hard to believe his hands, the ones that touch your body with such delicateness it’s like he thinks you might break, have killed so many people before.

- Yes, he told you of his past as an assassin. He couldn’t hide it forever, he knew that. It came out one night when he was walking down the street with you, a man you’ve never seen in your life lunging right for him.

- He had taken the man down with such skill and familiarity, you knew something was wrong. No normal man could do that…

- So, he did what he had to do to keep you by his side, to keep you feeling safe. He told you.

- He explained everything, from his job, to his late wife, to his second time retiring. Honesty is the best policy, and all that.

- But never too honest

- It paid off, exactly as he planned. In your eyes, John was now an open book. An open book with many chapters you haven’t read, of course, but an open book nonetheless.

- He clouds your senses, makes you feel like the only woman in the world. And to him, you are.

- You’re everything to him. The moon and stars above, the sun that shines and warms the Earth.

- He would do anything to keep you safe, even if that meant orchestrating little events that would keep you running back into the safety of his arms.

- You don’t even realize when he happens to know things about you that you’ve never told him, assuming you must’ve just forgotten. He’s so good at what he does, at keeping you comfortable, never raising suspicion.

- He makes you feel safe, and why wouldn’t you?

- He protects you, keeps you nestled safely in his arms every night, whispering sweet words in your ear as his hips grind against yours, arms wrapped tightly around you as he pulls you closer to him, wanting to feel every bit of your skin against his.

- John gives you the illusion of freedom. He lets you go out, see your friends, whatever you might like.

- But he’s too nervous to let you go unsupervised, he needs to know you’re safe, at all times.

- You never notice the trackers on your phone, or strategically placed in your car. You don’t question it when he happens to show up at the bar you never told him the address of, just in time to save you from a handsy creep.

- You’re his.

- His Persephone, lured in by Hades’ charm, trapped in his world after he so delicately fed you the seed.

- And the best part? You don’t even know it.

[monsoonsosoon]

i can't stop thinking about slowly falling for your older, handsome, mysterious neighbor! john wick (´ 3｀)

you'd swoon when you looked out the window and saw him walk out to the curb to check his mail, the way he looked in those grey sweatpants and that white t-shirt...

he'd give you a polite smile and a slight nod when you passed his house on your daily walk while he was working in his front yard, which made your face heat up instantly.

you'd build up the courage to interact with him more, make excuses to be around him. you'd share your baked goods with him or ask for help around your house with something... anything to get closer to him.

your hand would brush against his as you hand him a container of cookies you'd baked for him to try...the electricity of his touch lingering long after.

john could tell you had a crush on him, so he'd occasionally tease you, make you squirm under his intense gaze and soft smiles, his voice sending chills down your spine.

he'd lean on the fence between your yards, listening intently while you chatted with him about your day. his muscular arms flexing as he gripped the wooden post.