#john wick drabble

[feinv]

more john wick writing — ! is nsfw.

female!reader unless stated otherwise.

— asks

is john wick a smoker?

is john experienced in bed?

— drabbles

john wick x shy fem!reader.

john wick + daddy issues.

john taking care of you during your period. part 1 | part 2

ovulating around john wick.

how young!jw and older!jw act in the club.

! john getting jelous when others check you out. gn!reader

john wick + “please. don’t ever leave me.”

admiring john's abs. gn!reader

! john thigh fucking you.

! john overstimulating you.

! john wick + choking kink.

! sweaty tight shirt revealing john's muscles. gn!reader

john wick being hired to assassinate you father. gn!reader

telling john you have a kidnapping fantasy.

! first time doing anal.

! john being intimidating while fingering you.

touch starved john wick.

john taking more missions and being mean to you.

john wick x sensitive partner. gn!reader

john wick x chronically online partner. gn!reader

john wick x goth!reader. part 1 | part 2

! john wick finishing too fast and being embarrassed.

john teaching you russian. gn!reader

john wick as a dirty talker.

using your chest as a pillow to sleep. gn!reader

sitting on john's lap while he cleans his guns. gn!reader

first date, you don’t know what he does for a living. gn!reader

late night drive with john.

john wick x winstons!daughter.

doing each other's hair.

trying for a baby.

[sweetwolfcupcake]

Gaze

Secret Garden

Part II

Category: Drabble

Yandere John Wick x Reader

Warning: None really

The GIF does not belong to me; credit to the original owner.

Unedited

The place is grand. All glitter and gold, clinking glasses and trays floating around with formally dressed staff offering appetisers and drinks to everyone. This ‘party’, if one can call it that, is beautiful to you like a classic piece hanging on the wall of a reputed art museum. You can admire it all you want, but from afar. Admiring the technique and beauty with your limited knowledge about art would be futile, though you can come up with a story .

You are technically a guest because you are accompanying your friend, who is seeking to expand the reach of his art gallery. His collection has caught the eye of a man well-known in the circle, and so came the invitation.

You glance at your friend speaking to... well, you don’t remember. From above, you can see every individual walking into the main hall, mostly with a ‘plus one’. And only a few, alone. You count the people entering out of sheer boredom-

One

Three

Five

Seven

Nine

Eleven

Twelve

Thi—

You stop midway, just looking.

Because this is the first guest who has looked up, directly meeting your gaze. He is handsome, no doubt, but not more than the magazine-worthy faces you have seen today. Yet he stands out somehow. Dressed in all black, ebony, chin-length hair and a maintained patchy beard that calls for your fingers to run over them, he could have easily become one with the crowd. But he does not. 

There is just something about him that strikes out in a way that you straighten up, as if something primal is bringing you to alertness. It’s pure instinct, something years of evolution could not suppress, or perhaps had nurtured. You don’t know, but you stand slightly straighter, more alert, and you look into his. 

Ah, yes. It is his eyes. A strange and alluring studio of softness and steel with a tinge of melancholy that one can miss if they do not look for long. They are observing and assessing you. And you just know that he already knows that you do not belong here, that you are bored, and a silly part of your brain goes the extra mile to be afraid that he can read your thoughts. 

Yet something about his gaze is electric and awakening. What has awakened within you? The sharp heat that takes your spine and your abdomen before warming your cheeks? Or the realisation that you might be somewhere you should not be. His gaze is disarming—not like those giggly romance novels; it is disarming like a dark surrender. As if you know what ever you do, wherever you go, you are powerless here; there is no other option but to surrender.

You want to look away. At least a part of you does, but you simply cannot, you feel compelled to keep looking, drinking in everything his gaze has to offer–dark, soulful eyes—hypnotic, electric gaze, and you are caught, butterfly in a jar.

With sheer will, you manage to drop your gaze to your drink and turn around, baffled and flustered. Maybe it is about time you get laid; hopefully, those eyes will not haunt you the way they have imprinted themselves in your mind at the moment. Every time you close your eyes, you see his them.

Maybe you will find him again.

Maybe he is a stranger to you, but to him, you are not.

Maybe you will never find out that your friend has been explicitly instructed to bring you along in exchange for his gallery’s expansion.

He will only look for now, as he has been doing for so long.

****

Thanks to @johnwickb1tsch's Donaka bots, I got the idea of involving an art gallery. Whew! It has been a while since I wrote a John Wick drabble.

[robbyslittlelamb]

So this is me guys (that’s the doll my mom says I look like and don’t judge bc I know I’m red I have rosacea and I have small freckles that if u zoom in u can see and I’m actually curious to see which Keanu character I go best with heheh)

[charliemorningstaar]

THE FIRE WITCH

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John Wick three shots, AU. Violence. SMUT in third part. SUMMARY: "Magdalena is a young assassin of the Ruska Roma, trained for two years under John’s ruthless discipline. One night, she slips away from their shared room at the Continental Hotel in New York. A mission awaits her—assigned without question. But Magdalena carries a secret. She’s not just a killer. She’s an undercover agent of the magical brigade of the underworld. And her magic? It burns—wild, untamed, and deadly.

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The fire witch. Part 1- The fire witch. Part 2- . ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[fics-not-tragedies]

January 2024 Music Prompts: Day 8

For Your Love ♫ Måneskin

For Your Love ♫ Måneskin x John Wick

I wanna be the first man you look at tonight/I wanna be stuck in your head and make you go wild.

John found himself in the busy city streets, chasing the rhythm of the night. As the neon lights flickered above him, he felt a magnetic pull that drew him into a lively club where the beats of the music echoed through the air.

As he entered the pulsating room, John found himself surrounded by a sea of faces, all lost in the pulse of the music and the lure of the night. The energy was electrifying and he decided to immerse himself in the crowd and surrender to the magic of the moment.

At that moment, he saw you -  a vision in the dim light, your eyes mirroring the rhythm of the music. The world around him seemed to fade away as your eyes met and there was an unspoken understanding between them.

"I wanna be the first man you look at tonight," John thought, captivated by the magnetic connection that transcended the bustling chaos of the club.

As the music enveloped you, John decided to navigate the sea of bodies, each step bringing him closer to the mystery that was you. The pulsating beat of the music served as a backdrop to your silent dance - a dance where glances spoke volumes, and the energy between you became a force of its own.

Your paths finally converged on the crowded dance floor. John, with a confident yet easygoing demeanor, extended his hand, inviting you into their shared rhythm. Your eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief, accepted his invitation, and you both became two strangers bound by the spell of the music.

In the dance's ebb and flow, John felt a desire to be more than just a passing glance in the night - a desire to make a lasting impression on you, who had become the focal point of his evening.

"I wanna be stuck in your head and make you go wild," he thought, his movements mirroring the magnetic energy between you two.

While they danced, the world outside the club ceased to exist. It was a dance that transcended the physical, a celebration of shared energy and unspoken connections. The beats of the music echoed the rhythm of your hearts, creating a symphony of lust that pulsed through the air.

With every turn and every swing, John and you entered a shared realm - a space where time seemed to expand and contract, where the magnetic pull between you grew stronger with every step.

As the music reached its crescendo, you and John found yourselves on the edge of the dance floor, breathless and connected in a way that was hard to capture in words. The night had become a canvas and your dance together a masterpiece, painted with the brushstrokes of desire and shared energy.

As the final notes echoed through the club, John looked into your eyes, a silent question lingering between you two. Without a word, you leaned in, your lips meeting his in a dance of their own - a dance that spoke of the unspoken, of desire that had transcended the boundaries of a crowded club.

"I wanna be the first man you look at tonight," John whispered against your lips, "I wanna be stuck in your head and make you go wild."

In that moment, beneath the neon lights and the pulsating beats, John and you sealed your connection. The night had become a tapestry woven with the threads of desire and shared glances, and as you stepped into the city's embrace, the echoes of your shared dance lingered in the air - a melody that would resonate in their hearts long after the night surrendered to the dawn.

[thewhumpcaretaker]

Henloooo :D

I think I read that one of your favorite prompts is whump character passing out... SO >:)

Santino passing out, for whatever reason, it could be from an injury, panic attack- anything. What do you think? What happened that he passed out? And was John there when it happened or he found him? What does John do in that situation?

Again, I'm making them suffer 😞 (but they still get comfort in return so it's okay)

I’ve been soooo exited to answer this prompt!!! It’s really sweet that you found a topic I like and asked about that. I could talk about passing out all day haha! 🖤

There are so many possibilities with this, but I decided to write about one that’s a favorite for both of us I think: Santino working himself to exhaustion. He passes out because he’s sleepless and dehydrated. Poor Santino!!!!! But John will help him, don’t worry!

TW: not eating or drinking, passing out

●・○・●・○・●

Santino had been worrying John all day. For three days, in fact. Ever since an arms deal overseas had gone bad, Santino had been focused on recovering a large shipment of Camorra assets being held in Germany. He paced on the phone all day and sat working plans and contracts at his desk all night, one hand occasionally ruffling his hair or smacking at his face to try to stay awake. The bags under his eyes, so prominent even under ordinary circumstances, were now puffy and dark. When John caressed his cheek, he sighed miserably and leaned into the touch, but quickly shook himself and told John he couldn’t be distracting him right now.

When he was asked what he wanted, he said coffee, and then, “go away.” John had managed to feed him a couple of times, but it wasn’t enough. He looked visibly weak, and trembled constantly. Something had to give. John was inwardly frenzied in anticipation of that. Outwardly though, his desperation to do something expressed itself as an incredible stillness. He became a statue frozen at Santino’s door, speaking only to turn people away if anyone tried to bother him.

In the late afternoon of that day, as rain came down on the windows of Santino’s study, someone approached the door who could not be turned away. A direct representative from Germany, “sent to speak with Mr. D’Antonio personally, and to no one else.”

Santino admitted him, and that meeting turned into another, held in the conference room, to review his demands with other Camorra members. John walked with him on the way, watching him buzz with nerves. He couldn’t speak to him, couldn’t even touch him in front of everyone, but he could see that their physical proximity meant something to Santino and that he walked close to him. He caught Santino’s eyes lingering on his hand, no doubt wishing they could hold hands as they walked. He must be getting really worn down by this point.

But there was nothing he could do for Santino while the meeting went forward, so he wandered away to the kitchens and got some food for himself. He had neglected to do that as well over the past day, and it felt good to finally sit down for a meal. But it couldn’t last for long. After a few minutes, a guard rushed into the kitchen. “Mr. D’Antonio isn’t well. Please come immediately.”

Adrenaline slammed into him and sent him running down the hall. Santino was already stumbling out of the room saying to another guard, “No, I’m fine, I’m fine, let’s just continue.” But he looked deathly pale and he was supporting himself against the wall, breathing heavily.

John’s voice cut through the commotion, calm but extremely firm. “There is a matter requiring his urgent attention. Santino, please come with me. Now.”

“…John…” Santino looked reluctant, but he couldn’t fight his need for rest and for John any longer. He took an unsteady step towards him, away from the wall. 

Seeing what was about to happen, the guards hurried to form a half circle around them, sheltering them from the eyes of the crime bosses gathered around the conference room doorway. Meanwhile, John reached out to catch his lover just before his knees buckled. He cradled one hand under Santino’s head to prevent it from hitting the tile and lifted him into his arms in a single motion. He felt almost dizzy himself with sympathy, and in his crazed protectiveness, Santino seemed to weigh nothing.

“Wait, what do we tell them?”

John stormed passed the other guards. “I don’t care. Get his sister here to handle it. Now get out of my way and call a doctor.”

He carried Santino straight to his bedroom and set his limp body onto the bed, elevating his legs on some pillows. He was already coming around.

“John? …What did you do?”

“I got you out of there. You need to lay down.”

“No, I can’t, it’s not working out! And if it doesn’t work out, we’ll lose the whole shipment! My family will be so furious with me, I have to make this work - “ He was completely breaking down so John sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled him into his arms. He gave in and hugged him back, tightly, clinging on for a long time.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re what matters. Please rest, okay? For me?”

Santino laughed weakly. “Do I have a choice?”

“I don’t think you’re well enough to go back out there. I’m sorry. Go to sleep. I’m getting a doctor here soon.”

Santino just looked off into the corner and huffed. “What a mess. I can’t believe I started collapsing in front of everyone.”

“All that matters is that you’re okay. And that you rest now.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but his eyelids were already drooping and he wanted so badly to just lay next to John and be held. For the rest of the day, after getting IV fluids to rehydrate him, Santino cuddled against John’s chest while the rain played softly on the windows. He let everything slip away and smiled in his sleep.

[ghcstpyre]

john wick x f!reader

cw: cis female reader, slight dom/sub dynamics, soft dom!jw, sub!reader, unprotected p in v, creampie, squirting, praise kink. MINORS BEGONE!

word count: 1.4k

a/n: i am in a Mood™️ and was inspired to try and write a quick piece. also yes I am procrastinating everything because of animal crossing so this is also to try and get back into the swing of writing lol. enjoy!

Your cheek squished against the flat, cool surface of the rich mahogany desk. Sometime after settling down in John's private library with your usual dark fantasy romance and John following not long after to have a nosey at what you'd been reading, you'd ended up bent over the nearest desk with your skirt yanked up and bunched around your waist and your panties pulled to the side. Thick fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips, keeping your willing body right where he needed it. You were doing your best to be quiet, as per his orders, but it was becoming increasingly difficult with each delicious inch he pushed inside you.

“John…” You whined, wiggling your hips under his iron hold in an attempt to coax his cock further inside you.

This only had John doubling his grip on you. The fingers that held your hips dug in further, hard enough to bruise and leave little crimson crescent moons in your skin. The pain didn't deter you though. It only had that unsatisfied ache pulsing within your centre flaring up tenfold.

“Shush, baby,” John's voice was low and gravelly and sent a thrill rushing down your spine. Really, it was almost pathetic how much of an effect just his voice had on you. “I told you to be quiet. You sure you can do that for me?”

He leaned over, pressing his muscled slab of a body against your back to nip at your earlobe. You bit your lip in an attempt to stifle a whimper of need, just barely succeeding, and nodded.

“Good girl.”

John’s stubble grazed you and his long, dark hair tickled your skin as he pressed a tender kiss to your cheek and the weight of him lifted off of you. Whether it was out of mercy or pity - or both - John pushed the full length of his cock inside you in one swift motion. It took everything you had to not cry out in pleasure and pain as his tip kissed your cervix, filling you completely.

He watched as you struggled to keep any noises from escaping, his gaze heavy enough that you could practically feel it pinning you down to the desk just as effectively as his meaty hands. Seeing you in such a state of utter need while also being desperate to obey had his length throbbing inside you.

John set an unbearably slow pace, slow enough that it had you practically crawling out of your own skin. You so desperately wanted - no, needed him to to just fuck you, but instead it seemed he was determined to make sure you felt every vein and every inch, right up to the ridge where his swollen pink head met his shaft.

“Mmm, that's it, thaaaat's it.”

All you could do was lay there and take it without protest, however he wanted to give it to you. Your hands white knuckled the edge of the desk in front of you, serving as your anchor as you fought tooth and nail to keep any sounds of pleasure trapped behind your teeth. You knew that disobedience would result in punishment and you didn't really feel like being punished and degraded right now.

Right now, you wanted to be showered with praise. You wanted to be adored.

“You're being such a good girl for me. You want more?” He asked, relinquishing the vice grip he had on your hips in favour of smoothing those large, rough palms over the meat of your ass.

You didn't get a chance to nod. John was already parting your cheeks and chuckling deeply at the sight of his shaft, half buried in your soaking cunt and glistening with your slick arousal while the rest of it slowly dripped down your thighs.

“Look how wet you are for me. Of course you want more; you've already soaked my cock.”

With one hand he gripped one of your cheeks, while the other snaked up your spine to tangle in your hair. He pulled on the strands, forcing you to lift your head up and prop your upper body up on your elbows and forearms as his hips finally, finally picked up the pace.

If you weren't struggling to stay quiet before, you sure as hell were now. John knew how you liked to be rocked, what the perfect angle was to hit that sweet spot inside you that made you see stars. 

Tasting the tang of iron on your tongue you stopped biting your lip. You'd been so focused on keeping any noise at bay you hadn't even registered how hard your teeth were clamping down on the soft flesh while John pumped his huge cock in and out of you.

“You're doing so well for me baby, so well. Just a bit more and I'll - ngh - let you cum. I want to enjoy this sweet pussy a little longer.”

God, if his dick didn't push you over the edge then his words might just do it. Knowing that such a sweet, gentle man had the capacity to groan out words so filthy made that sick little part of you sing with glee.

The sounds of your rapid breaths mixed with his grunts of pleasure and skin slapping against skin bounced off the walls and echoed through the rows of bookcases filling John's library. Your legs began to shake as that familiar heat began coiling low in your abdomen. Sensing your building need, John let go of your hair and ass cheek to lean that glorious weight over you once again, propped up on one thick forearm while his other hand moved between your trembling legs to rub your neglected clit.

You keened into his heavenly touch and you couldn't stop a strangled little cry from escaping. You were quick to cut it off however, dropping your head to press your treacherous mouth into the inside of your elbow to muffle the noise. 

“That's my girl. You've been so good, do you want to cum? You want to cum for me? You want to be loud?” John's voice was practically dripping with honey as he whispered in your ear.

All you could do was lift your head again, look at him over your shoulder and nod pathetically while you rocked your hips back against him, meeting his thrusts.

“Cum.” He ordered, slamming into you with his fingers working relentlessly on your clit beneath you. “Cum on my cock baby. Scream for me.”

That was all the encouragement you needed.

Your cries and sobs of pleasure drowned out anything else as you came, your pussy gushing over his length and thighs and the wooden floor beneath your feet while you rode out the waves of your orgasm. John wasn't too far behind, pressing his chest flush against your back to suck a dark bruise into the crook of your neck while he thrusted into you one, two, three more times, and then filled you with his seed with a loud, long groan.

Both of you stayed like that for a short while, catching your breath and begging to sober up from the lust-addled haze you were in just moments ago. Eventually, John lifted his weight from you and pulled out, letting his cum leak from your entrance. He took a few moments to run his hands up and down your back, soothing you as you came down from the high.

“You okay?” He asked, his voice returning to its usual deep, gentle lilt.

Somehow you managed to stand up and turn around to face him on your shaky legs. John was quick to wrap his arms around you to keep you steady. You were all too grateful, immediately leaning your weight against him and letting out a content sigh.

“Yeah. More than okay, I feel amazing.” You smiled up at him, cheeks rosy with happiness, and then nuzzled your face into his broad chest.

John chuckled, the baritone sound rumbling from within. “Good.” With a swift motion he scooped you up into his arms to carry you bridal style towards the door to the library. “Because I've not quite had my fill of you just yet.”

divider by @/strangergraphics

[casuallyobssessed]

If I Tremble - John Wick x Reader Drabble ❥ 190 Words

A/N: idk what this is. thanks for reading.

He will crash against you like a wave, shattering to pieces at your feet. You'll pick up every piece of him. All the good, all the bad. 

His exhaustion will consume him, chewing at his resolve from the inside out. You'll watch as he finally finds rest in the safety of his head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat. 

Even in his dreams, lilac and peach colored visions of you dance behind his eyelids. Those dreams are the healing salve in-between the nightmares where he loses you. 

Over and over you slip out of his blood-soaked hands. All he can do is watch, frozen in place, while you're pulled away from him, kicking and begging and calling his name. 

In those nightmares, he's weak. Powerless. 

So, when he wakes up, he will hold you tighter than he should. His kisses and touches will linger. When he opens his mouth to worship you, love will pour out and cover you in warmth.

John Wick is a man of few words.

And still, he would scream from the rooftops that he loves you until his vocal cords tear themselves to shreds. 

[ruskaroma]

First time with John Wick plssssssssssssssssssss

I truly think that the first time with John would be loving yet rough. I’m sorry, but that’s just how I paint him out to be.

He’s a killer, so it’s no surprise that his hands are naturally heavy and rough. He would touch your body with those large, dangerous hands, forever tainting it with his cruelty and brutality, making you submit yourself to his mercy.

For a man with few words, John sure does have his ways to make you shake and crumble under his touch while he says the most filthy, diabolical shit that could make even the devil blush. For some reason, he just finds you so beautiful wrecked and fucked that he can’t keep his words to himself.

The first time the two of you had sex, it was because he was jealous. You knew he was jealous but he didn’t admit that he was, and that was enough answer for you to get fucked as soon as the two of you arrived at your apartment.

It was a miracle that you managed to make him come with you to a company party even though all he did all night was stand beside you like he’s your bodyguard. Well, in a sense, he was your bodyguard, but his particular outfit that night got your co-workers wondering how the hell you were able to afford one.

John had kept his hand on the small of your back the majority of the night, like that was enough to show everybody that he was not only your bodyguard but also your very loving boyfriend who tolerated everyone in that room just for you.

But when he left to go to the bathroom and came back to a sight of another man being too friendly to you, John only realized that the whole “hand on the back” wasn’t enough to shoo those motherfuckers away.

John settled himself beside you again, but this time, he made sure to wrap his arm around your waist and pulled you closer to his warmth, pretending like the other man beside you wasn’t there, because John could really not bother to care.

“Have I left you for too long?” 

“What?” You furrowed your brows, confused.

John didn’t answer after that, but he did glance at the man who was already staring at him and his actions the moment he arrived. He also didn’t introduce himself, the man simply didn’t deserve it.

“Uh, is he your boyfriend?” The man interjected, and you felt John’s fingers twitch gripping your waist.

“Oh–uh, yeah, he is,” you replied sheepishly, then turning your head to smile tightly at John who was just raising a brow at you. “You probably thought he was my bodyguard, eh? Everyone’s been saying that the moment we arrived.”

“Yeah, I thought that, too,” he laughed awkwardly.

The conversation soon died out. Maybe it had something to do with the man just feeling really awkward because he truly didn’t know John was your boyfriend, or maybe it had something to do with the fact that John had been staring at him dead in the eyes threateningly while you weren’t looking.

When the two of you were on your way home, John had been dead silent with his hand on your thigh the only thing indicating that he’s not as mad as he made himself out to be and he was just really jealous. You know a jealous man when you see one, you just didn’t think you’d see John being jealous first hand.

“Come on, babe, you really not going to speak?” You whined from your seat, grabbing his rough hand to your softer ones as you placed a kiss on the back of it. When you didn’t get a reaction, you pouted childishly. “Jooohhnnnn. Babeeeeee. Babyyyyy.”

John still didn’t react. He kept his eyes on the road.

“You’re for real ignoring me because you’re jealous? Really, John? Bit childish, isn’t it?”

Then, his eyes narrowed as he ripped his focus on the road and onto yours. “I’m not jealous.”

“So that gets you talking?”

“Because I’m not jealous.”

“Sure, sure.” You nodded your head like you’re convinced, and you saw John turned his attention back on the road again. You took this opportunity to continue poking at him. “I mean, it was kinda your fault that he assumed I was single.”

John hit the brakes too hard than usual at the red light, and that was enough to prove your theory that he was, in fact, jealous.

He looked at you offended, and it was kinda hard to believe that you were getting to see that expression on his face first hand considering he rarely ever shows any emotions.

“You know I’m not very big on PDA,” he grumbled under his breath. “I thought my hand on your back was enough. Clearly he didn’t get the memo.”

“So you are jealous?”

Again, he didn’t respond. For a very dangerous well known assassin, John was sure as hell a bit childish when it came to you, but you liked that about him. That only meant he trusted you enough to feel vulnerable around you, show you a side of him he never showed to any one else.

John parked his car in the parking lot and the two of you walked in comfortable silence. You had your arm tangled with his, walking side by side until you reached the elevator. It was only then you had felt the touch of his hand on your ass.

“Well, well, well… Is John Wick finally making the first move?”

Maybe teasing him was a bad idea, because your smirk was immediately wiped off when you’re thrown against the wall and creating a loud bang.

“John, holy shit, I don’t wanna pay for the damage–”

“Shut up,” he growled under his breath, ducking his face down and inhaling your scent, opening his mouth to suck the skin, his sharp teeth bruising your neck that you yelped and wrapped your arms around his broad back. 

“J–John, please don’t fuck me here–I wanna get fu–fucked on a real bed for our first time–”

Before he could even answer, the elevator’s door opened and he hauled himself off you in a matter of seconds. An old woman walked in, not bothering to look at the two of you as she pressed on the button to go up. You’re one floor above, you and John were just sharing side glances the entire ride.

When you reached your floor, John was the one to grip your wrist and pull you out of the elevator, already getting your keys in his suit pocket while you trip and giggle following behind him.

“I’m so excited–”

“I’m glad you find this amusing.”

“Are you kidding? I’m about to get fucked by my boyfriend for the first time in our relationship, of course I’m excited.”

Once John opened the door, he pushed you inside in no time and slammed it behind him. “Who said anything about fucking you?”

“What?” You pouted, growing confused. 

“What if I don’t want to? What if I think you don’t deserve my cock?”

And instantly, you flushed at the words that came out of his mouth that you couldn’t reply anything other than a gasp when he launched himself forward and pressed his lips to you. His beard tickled your chin as his hands went behind your thighs, lifting you off the floor and wrapped your legs around his body.

“I was holding myself back for so long, I was doing so well, I was waiting for the moment to fuck you in a bed of roses like you deserve, but that guy just had to come in and ruin all my self control,” John said against your mouth, pressing his hard cock in his pants against your already wet cunt as he slammed you against the wall.

“I d–don’t want a bed of roses anyways,” you breathed, moaning at the feeling of his hot, throbbing crotch against your own, wanting nothing but to just pull it out and shove it inside you and ride him all night long, but it seemed like John had another idea of how the night would go. “Please, John, just–just fuck me, come on, I know you want to–”

“I don’t like how that guy was looking at you earlier. Like you were some piece of meat,” he nipped at your neck, you felt another wave of wetness drip out of you just from his voice. “Just want to mark you up, bruise your neck and body just so everyone would know you’re fucking mine–”

“Oh god–”

And that’s how you found yourself with legs spread on the bed with John between them. His right hand was around your throat, his other was gripping your hair hard, and his cock was pounding in and out of you like there was no tomorrow.

He’s so fucking big – so huge, so large, Jesus Christ – and you swore you were squealing like a pig. Your cunt was so sloppy and wet, the sound of your wetness squelching around John’s cock was making you so dizzy and lightheaded, not to mention when he was tightening the hand around your throat every few seconds, you were keening and moaning like a whore as you rambled all your dirty thoughts.

“Oh god–oh god, John, please–please, you feel s–so good–” you moaned, nails digging at his back as the bedpost slammed against the wall with each thrust. “Wanted–wanted this for s–so long. So big and huge and–fuck, I’m gonna–”

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” John commented, letting his eyes wander between your bodies as he watched his thick cock plummeling inside your tight little cunt, clit puffy and sore from him sloppily eating you out earlier and he couldn’t be any more proud. You were so sensitive and reactive, every touch delivered a noise out of you. “Cum on my cock, princess. Make a mess all over my dick and I’ll fill you up so deep you’ll feel me until the next week.”

That was the line that threw you over the edge. Head thrown back and screaming, you held onto his back as you came around his cock, knowing the night was only just beginning.

[feinv]

john wick + aftercare

cw. gn!reader. fluff.

⊹ doesn’t matter if it is a slow, passionate love making session or he is just straight up railing you, the aftercare is as important to him as it is to you.

⊹ he physically needs to hold you, and onto you at least for five minutes (clings to you until you literally have to beg him to stop suffocating you)

⊹ always always always says i love you afterwards. granted he chants it over and over during it too, but sex is merely a tool of pleasure for him. he knows it’s extremely intimate for the both of you, so you would never not catch him kissing every single part of your body while he murmurs those three words. he makes sure you know how much he cherishes you and your entire existence :)

⊹ absolutely makes you pee afterwards knowing how important it is. and if you are too tired or just lazy, he scoops you up in his arms and takes you to the bathroom himself. after a specifically steamy session when both of you are just covered in sweat from head to toe, this man urges you into a shower. you don’t have to lift a finger, he gladly cleans you up while being extra careful and gentle when washing your sensitive places.

⊹ if you two fool around before bed, he will put on your pajamas/underwear if you wanted to, but the night usually ends in his favorite way — cuddling one another with no barrier in between your bodies. he loves the intimacy of it, the vulnerability. a side of him only you can see.

⊹ you two drift off tangled in each other's limbs, and while you feel safe in the arms of the man who you knew would protect you from anything and anyone, he is safe and content knowing you were his and he was yours. you gave him the life he always believed not to be deserving of <3

# john wick masterlist. | main masterlist. | join the taglist.

[sweetwolfcupcake]

Daisies

Secret Garden

Category: Drabble

John Wick x Reader

Unedited

“Do you like daisies?”

The question caught (Y/N) off guard. John asked her out of the blue one day. The peace near the pond was unmatched. At least to John, who seldom could taste peace and happiness.

 But sitting there with her was something more. Meant something more.

“I what?” She smiled, confused.

“Daisies. You like’em?”

“Yes, they are sweet, and they mean…” 

He produced a bouquet of daisies and freesia from his back before she could reach a conclusion.

“For me?” She looked up to meet his twinkling gaze, a ghost of a smile bloomed on his otherwise stoic face. 

He shifted in his seat and straightened up a bit.

“Yeah. You like them?”

John Wick was a man of few words but what he lacked in words, he showed in action. She smiled and took the bouquet into her arms, letting the flowers tickle her chin and neck.

“I think so.”

No, she did not like daisies.

She loved them, she decided as she leaned to kiss him.

----

[totallynotashieldagent]

12 with vincent de gramont 🙏🏻😭🫰🏻🫰🏻

💕valentine's day drabble special💕

Vincent was currently running very late. His phone had just the one message from his wife and even that, he wasn't able to really follow.

Don't get blood on your suit. We have reservations at seven.

The message was to the point and direct. However, he was very covered in splatters of blood and when he checked his watch, it was 6:45pm.

Merde, je suis tellement en retard, He cursed mentally as he drove through the streets as fast as he could. He was aware that he was racking up fines but it wasn't anything he couldn't pay off.

He didn't detour to the estate, he drove straight to the restaurant.

He just hoped and prayed to every single deity to have luck on his side today. For his wife to not be as pissed because he was showing up to their dinner date dirty, without any gifts and late.

At 7:30pm, he parked the car and almost threw the keys at the valet as he ran inside to find you.

On the way here, he'd made every call possible to make sure he had somewhat to save face for when he saw but.

"Mon cœur?" Vincent said sweetly as he strode up to your table.

The other guests gasped and stared at the immaculately dressed man who's white suit had very obvious red blood splatters, approach the stunning woman who sat alone, swirling a glass of red wine that matched her dress.

You gave him a once over and sighed, a small pout forming on your blood-red lips.

"No, no," He immediately knelt beside your chair. "Mon amour. Not that face." His knuckles touched at your jawline carefully.

A stark contrast of how violent of a man he was when he wasn't with you.

"Late." You frowned, the single word escaping you.

"I know, I know-" He nodded, his hands clasping over yours. "But I'll make it up to you, mon très cher. I swear it." He gave your hands a little squeeze. "I've arranged for the estate to be ready when he head back and our bedroom will be full of every jewel, every dress that was shown at Milan."

You sighed a little. "I want your attention."

"Chérie..." Vincent started again, kissing your knuckles reverently. "Please?"

He looked up at you, his lips pressed at your hands. His big green eyes so absolutely full of submission and apology that will never truly leave his mouth.

"Please, forgive me-" His kisses drew over your forearms. "Otherwise, it would be a shame to make all these people watch me apologize to my wife." One hand traced up your calf.

Oh... Oh that was a dirty move. You glared at him but the way your swallowed gave you away.

Vincent smirked, knowing, he had you.

"Do you accept or will I need to beg thoroughly?" He purred, his accent becoming more pronounced.

You bit your lip lightly and nodded.

"Parfait." He stood, pulling you up to stand.

The night was young and he was going to spend the next few hours apologizing. Or until you became incoherent enough to forget you were mad at him.

[charliemorningstaar]

THE FIRE WITCH

--------------------------------------------------------------

John Wick three shots, AU. Violence. SMUT in third part.

SUMMARY: "Magdalena is a young assassin of the Ruska Roma, trained for two years under John’s ruthless discipline. One night, she slips away from their shared room at the Continental Hotel in New York. A mission awaits her—assigned without question. But Magdalena carries a secret. She’s not just a killer. She’s an undercover agent of the magical brigade of the underworld. And her magic? It burns—wild, untamed, and deadly.

She moves through the shadows of Chinatown, her steps silent, her senses sharpened. The night pulses with danger. Every corner, every rooftop could hide a gun, a blade, a question she doesn’t want to answer.

Her target is close—too close. But something’s wrong. The air hums with anticipation, the kind she’s learned to trust. Then she sees him. A silhouette in the dark. Calm. Controlled. Deadly."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I crack my collarbone with a long sigh, my phone vibrating relentlessly in the pocket of my long black leather coat. I tie my hair into a tight bun using the elastic band dangling from my right wrist, then tuck it beneath my hood. Night is slowly falling, pulling the shadowed city into its wet wake. I slip into the soaked alleys of Chinatown, heavy boots on the splattered, grimy pavement. The city’s stench makes me nauseous, and I struggle to swallow it down.

 I pull out my phone and read the erratic message blinking on the dimly lit screen. My target is a trafficker from the Five Families. The message insists I’m the only one who can stop his bloodbath. I sigh, rummage through my pockets, and pull out a simple pencil, which I slip between my lips and chew on mercilessly.

 The scent of oil and spices mixes with wet asphalt, creating an atmosphere that’s both intoxicating and oppressive. Here, the night never sleeps. Counterfeit vendors operate from rickety stalls, while local gangs lurk in the shadows, eyes slit like cats ready to pounce. I weave between the stands. The walls are covered in coded graffiti, encrypted messages for those who know how to read between the lines, for those who understand that in Chinatown, information is a currency more valuable than gold. Cops rarely come here. Too many grey zones, too many doors closed to badges. The law here is rumor, debt, and silence.

 Buddhist temples hide older sanctuaries, where incense sometimes masks rituals only spoken of in hushed tones. The elders watch, silent, behind opaque glass, while the younger ones carve their own codes on the asphalt, between deals, ancient magic, and motorbike getaways.

 This neighborhood is a heartbeat in the dark. A world outside the world, ruled by forgotten laws, guarded by vengeful spirits and driven by restrained violence. You don’t just pass through, it pulls you in. And once you step in, even your footprints become a silent pact.

 Here, everything has a price. And sometimes, that price is yourself. I’m not used to missions in this part of the city. I snap the pencil between my teeth. And yet, I feel it in my back—that strange prickling. Someone is following me.

I turn into a dead end, slow, focused. My breath is calm. My eyes scan the shadows, nothing. My hand grips the .45 caliber pistol beneath my jacket. My other hand is more dangerous, already burning with a heat I barely contain.

 My steps guide me to the abandoned warehouse my contacts told me about. Rain pours against the broken, decaying windows. The huge door is blocked by a heavy iron gate. I could melt it, but I prefer a cleaner entrance. I inspect the building for a moment, then move to the side. I climb easily onto a repair scaffold, those years training with the Ruska Roma paid off.

I slip in through the roof, circling around a massive beam, then drop into a pile of old newspapers. The ground is littered with chains, busted crates, and rusted tools. The neon lights overhead flicker, casting pulsing shadows across the tagged concrete walls. I smell rancid metal. Old blood.

 This is where the dead traffic flows. This is where the prey sleeps.

 My mask muffles my breath, but protects me. Anonymity is a weapon sharper than lead. I leap to my feet, adjusting my hood.

 I move silently, my boots barely grazing the floor. My left hand burns beneath the skin. The fire whispers. It waits. It’s hungry. It sleeps just beneath the surface. It breathes with me.

 The silence is heavy, the kind you only hear before death.

 The air is thick, saturated with heat. Shadows stretch, distorted by broken flickering lights. Pipes hang from the ceiling like disjointed limbs.

I walk slowly, my steps barely audible on the wet concrete.

I freeze before a shelf blocking my path, its contents reeking of gasoline and mildew. My skin prickles. I smell it. Not oil or blood, intention.

 Someone’s waiting for me. I feel their presence. Their aura?

Then suddenly, they strike.

I don’t have time to raise my weapon. A fist between my shoulder blades slams me to the ground, ripping pain through me. I roll, my gun skidding out of reach. I raise my left hand in front of my face, a burst of flame shielding me—a fleeting wall that won’t last. My thoughts race.

I can’t die here.

A figure steps through the fire. He didn’t even hesitate. My pupils widen. Bile rises in my throat and burns my lips.

Holy shit.

John.

He doesn’t speak. Not a word. Not a breath. Just that icy stare, surgical and precise, fuck I know it too well.

 I crawl beneath a hanging chain. I fire just past his cheek to buy time. I have to talk to him. He dodges effortlessly, jumps onto a container, shoots mid-dive. The bullet grazes my temple, acidic, searing. I retaliate, igniting a crate near him. Splinters burn mid-air. I hunch over, weakened by pain.

He approaches.

I barely block his next punch. My movements tremble, uncertain. The force of the blow shakes my shoulder. My brain screams at me to speak—but only a groan escapes. He follows through—pivoting foot, hammer fist. He’s faster than before. Colder.

I fire back with a spark of flame from my wounded arm—a short arc, glowing across the air. He dodges, slips into the shadows. I roll, grab my weapon, fire at the noise. A shadow. A wolf. I can barely track his movement.

Holy fucking shit.

A bullet slams a metal plate by my ear, spinning my senses. Too close. I can’t think. Blood pounds against my skull. I raise a reflexive wall of heat, deflecting the next shots. Bullets hiss, melting mid-air. I sense him move—reappears on my left, slides into my blind spot. I block his fist, but his knee crashes into my ribs. Breath gone. He chains attacks, disarms me. A burst of flame escapes my palm, hits his chest. He stumbles back—surprised, not burned.

Then finally, he speaks. Low voice. Controlled.

-They sent you?

Breathless, I whisper one word, clutching my aching throat.

-John...

The mask distorts everything. My voice is deep, like it’s drowning in soaked fabric lodged in my throat. Okay. I’m going to die.

I let go of my throat, reach for my mask—too late. He fires. I barely dive behind a metal crate. The bullet rips the air, scalds past my head. I curse through the mask, fire back. Three shots. Two to the body, one to the head.

 He dodges. He knows my angles, like a fucking puppeteer.

We fight like two predators raised in the same cage. Crouched behind the crate, I catch my breath. His footsteps close in, too fast. I bolt.

 He grabs me hard by the ribs. I shoot to break free. He feints left. I block.

 He tries to choke me, I explode a pinpoint thermal blast between us. He stumbles, breath knocked out.

I strike.He blocks. Grabs my collar, slams me into the wall. My feet scramble for grip.

-Do you know who I am?

-Better than you know yourself, I growl, catching my breath.

He frowns. Just a second. His eyes search for mine. But all he sees is the black mask.

If you’d let go, that’d help.

I push off his chest to shove him away. He counters easily. I’m exhausted. My shoulder pops. I bite my tongue. He hits me—gut, knee. I barely escape. A fireball crackles in my hand before I hold it back, tears blurring my vision.

He freezes. Lowers his weapon. Just for a heartbeat.

 I leap from a ledge, fall on him. Focus returns. I disarm him, unbalance him with a burning pulse. We crash down some stairs.

I land straddling his hips.

 Gun to his chest.

 He lies still, panting.

Our faces just inches apart. My hood falls, revealing a sea of red curls.

 He whispers, stunned:

-Why are you hesitating?

I lower my head. My forehead meets his. Through the mask, I feel him.

 I let my thoughts speak. I lean in and press my lips gently to his.

A silent kiss. Brief. Filled with fear, rage, and magic boiling in my veins.

He freezes.

-Maggie…

His voice is hoarse. Eyes wide. He drops his weapon. I slowly rise. The fire inside me settles. My heartbeat returns. Seconds pass—maybe a minute.

-I would’ve killed you.

I stare at him through my mask for a long time. Then I look away.

-I know.

The flickering light surrounds us. I stay frozen, breath short, muscles taut like wires. Sitting on his hips, I feel his heart beneath my barrel. I could shoot. Should shoot. But I can’t. Not now.

John says nothing. He watches me, those icy eyes trained to kill without blinking. But now… I think I see a crack. A hesitation.

I swallow. My hand trembles. The fire inside still rumbles, ready to burst—but it waits. It listens. It knows.

I crack my fingers.

He moves slowly. His hand rises, nears my face. I let him, fighting the shiver that rips through me. His fingers graze the edge of my mask, sliding it halfway off, revealing my swollen lips, a bruised cheek, sweat and fear on my skin.

-You weren’t supposed to be here, he murmurs. You were supposed to wait.

I stifle a bitter laugh.

-You left me, John. An hour. One damn hour. You thought I’d just wait patiently?

My voice is rough, hoarse. I taste blood and fury. And still, a shiver passes between us. He closes his eyes for a second, head dropping to the ash-and-sulfur-scented concrete. No excuses. No wasted words. Still the same damn wall. I stop myself from kissing him again.

I slowly get up, offer him my hand. An old reflex. He hesitates. Then takes it. And in that brief contact lies everything we never said. I hold back my magic with all my strength.

As he stands, I feel his gaze linger on me. I wish he’d look away. Make this easier.

 But no.

 He stays. Still. Watching me like I’m a puzzle he thought he’d solved.

Like he has for the past two years.

-We don’t have time for regrets, I whisper, stepping back. The trafficker’s here. And I’ve got a target to kill.

He gently grabs my wrist. I feel it broken. I swallow the grimace.

-This isn’t your war, Magdalena. Not tonight.

I raise an eyebrow, heat pulsing beneath my skin again.

-You trained me for nights like this, John. What did you think I came for?

He doesn’t answer. His gaze darkens. He understands. He’s never been stupid—just locked up tight. Like the damn Da Vinci Code. Silence. Then he calmly reloads his weapon. Precise. Methodical. As always.

-You want to do this together?

-Not really. But I’d rather that than chase you down to finish the job.

He barely nods. We don’t say anything else. No need. We understand better in silence.

The kind of silence we’ve shared too often, in training halls, on missions, in this damned world that never leaves room for love or rest.

I already feel the hunt returning. The heat. The focus. He’s at my side. Like a ghost back too soon.

We advance slowly, into the warehouse’s depths. Where the beast waits. Where death lingers.

I feel his steps match mine. I know he’s watching me. He knows I’m hurt. But he says nothing. He respects the pain. He respects the rage.

And as we disappear into the dark, me and him, I know one thing for sure:

Tonight, I might be becoming someone again.

 Or losing myself for good.

But no matter what  I’m not alone anymore.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Pardon my words, I'm french 🥖🏳️‍🌈.

Part 2, in a few days

XOXO

Charlie.

[fernpetals]

In This House #3

Masterlist

Yandere John Wick x Reader The library in the house is a place of solace. Perhaps not as comforting as the room dedicated to your skills with the pen, but close. The second-best. The library, though, has no line drawn to keep John out. No corner of the house has it.

Your personal study used to be but since your last attempt, John has broken yet another promise. He gave you his word, the study would be your space and yours alone. He promised he wouldn't step foot in it if you didn't want him to. But the promise, a 'privilege' as he makes all his false promises seem, was taken away.

So, it does not really matter whether you are in the library, the study, or the bedroom, John can walk in anytime, anywhere he pleases. "What are you reading?"

Of course, he is here. Looming over to catch a glimpse of the story that has kept her occupied all evening. "The Yellow Wallpaper." You respond quietly.

He hums before languidly rounding over the couch and taking a seat.

"Do you feel trapped?"

You do not answer, just glance at him. His deep, dark eyes try to read you, rip off your veils, and your walls like he has always done.

"Who's fault is that?" He raises an eyebrow

You are surprised at the lack of flare in you. No anger, no surprise, or even frustration. You are finally accepting that he will never truly acknowledge that he has brought the two where you both are.

"Keep telling yourself that," You whisper to yourself.

You feel him stiffen beside you, you feel the weight of his gaze. The glare that promises consequences. But you are not bothered anymore. How worse can it get?

-----

The Reader's Cafe.

A typical name, for a typical place. Stuffed with books at every corner except the counter, behind which the magic of teas, coffees and mocktails happens, along with little snacks like sandwiches, cookies, pies, fresh buns and every other lovely thing that goes perfectly with the suggested drink in the menu, put right before the price.

You like tea along with cookies, and sometimes, simply the beverage. This place is convenient---blocks away from your home, warm, cosy ---though stuffy during summers sometimes, the cafe is your little bubble where you can read.

You are halfway through Blake's 'Songs of Innocence', casually looking up at the shelves surrounding you for the 'Songs of Experience'. Reading every twin poem by Blake has a thrill of its own,. 'The Lamb' and 'The Tyger', for instance.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but there are no pets allowed in the cafe."

"I understand, but, it will take only a minute, I will keep him leashed."

Usually, you do not care. Usually. But you have been distracted all day, and this conversation floats in with a 'woof' in between an you find yourself getting up and following the voices.

Right at the entrance is the same man you stumbled across weeks ago, and his adorable companion.

"How about this, you take back this book, lend me the one I want and fill in the records? I will leave him home when I return."

He is a soft-spoken man, with perhaps softer eyes. Sweet whirls of brown. Dark, brown, almost matching his black hair. The woman hesitates before asking-

"Which book it is?"

"Songs of Experience."

You perk up at that, taking a few more steps forward and catching his attention.

"Uh..."

Well, even though his eyes seem soft...there's still something that makes you squirm.

"Actually, I was looking for that too,"

You are by no means an orator. But the way you struggle to hold his gaze, makes you want to dig up a grave for yourself. He hasn't spoken yet and your throat is parched.

"This one? I just wanted to return it. And get a companion book."

"Songs of Innocence? I was reading it. Here."

You take a few more steps, reaching him and offering the book with your finger still between the pages. His adorable companion his tail furiously as you near him, woofing and trying to reach you. Perhaps he remembers you.

"Oh, no it's alright, I can get it sometime later."

"I've read this before. Please, insist. I was searching for the other anyway. In fact, I suggest that you keep this one too. The twin poems are best read together."

You stop yourself just short of rambling longer. He seems to be a quiet man, and you might be weirding him out. But smiles kindly.

"Then you should keep them." You shake your head, ready to refuse but he beats you to it.

"The next time I find myself here, we both can read the companion pieces."

You do not even realise it when you agree, but you end up going home with both books in your possession. You are going to the bookshop every evening, you decide. Every evening until he appears again.

[thewhumpcaretaker]

Hello! Ciao! Pozdrav! Greeted you in three languages lmfaoo-

So, Santino having a nightmare >:]

What would the nightmare be about? Would it be about his traumas or something else? How would John comfort him, help him to calm down? Aahh so many possibilities with this but I'm curious on your opinions! :P

Have a lovely day! ✨️

Grazie! Merci! Thank you for this ask!

Hmmm, the nightmare could be about a lot of things. Trauma is definitely one of them, and the most likely. It could also be related to one of the phobias that you've talked about in the past - spiders make for some very scary nightmares! But I think I'll write about Santino having a nightmare over the fear of losing John. Maybe he dreams that John has died while trying to protect him.

Sorry this took a while! I decided to make this into another mini fic. It's very sad but hopefully sweet as well. I hope you enjoy! 💙

TW: nightmare, crying, discussion of self-sacrifice, slightly suggestive at the end ;)

John opened his eyes to see the darkness and the vague outlines of their bedroom, a fuzzy but familiar space tinted indigo by the night light on the far wall. Why had he woken up? It was certainly still far from sunrise.

It took him a moment to realize that he was hugging a pillow, not Santino. At some point during the night, Santino had rolled away from him and was facing the wall on the other side of the bed. John could see him twitching slightly and smiled, thinking of the way Dog kicked his feet in his sleep when dreaming about running.

But then he heard a small, whimpering sound, almost a sob. John's mind surged with protectiveness. Should he wake him up? He'd had another long day of work, and needed the sleep, but to leave him in distress was not an option. Holding his breath to keep quiet, he shifted closer, propping himself up on one elbow to get a better look. "Hey," he said softly, but Santino didn't awaken. He just stirred even more restlessly, letting out another shuddering breath that ended at a high pitch.

"John…"

Hearing his own name, John couldn't wait anymore. He put a hand firmly on Santino's shoulder and spoke louder, "Hey. Wake up, baby."

Santino gasped, and the gasping gave way to full-on sobbing as he curled into himself further, awake but still not fully aware. John wrapped his arm over Santino's shaking body and rolled him onto his back, leaning over him. "No, hey. It's okay. I'm here."

"You're…here?" Santino looked up at him in some kind of heartbreaking awe. "Grazie a Dio [thank god], I thought…"

"What?"

"I just…never mind, it's stupid. It was just a bad dream."

"Not stupid." John reached over to switch on the bedside lamp, hoping to chase away any more fear with some light. At that, Santino crossed his arms over this chest, trying to force his breathing back to normal.

"Really, it's fine."

John didn't force him to talk, just lay an arm across his body in a silent offer of comfort. After a stubborn few seconds, Santino unfolded his arms to embrace him, and the tears started again.

"I'm so glad you're alive, John. I dreamed…" he sighed heavily, the sound distorted by lungs still heavy with sadness. "I dreamed that the Camorra shot you. You were gone, and it was - it was my fault…"

John pulled him onto his chest, wrapping the blanket over both of them and holding him as close as possible. "I'm not going anywhere." His voice was a low, protective rumble into the top of Santino's head, and he followed it with a kiss. Santino was really this upset over the thought of his death? It twisted at his heart. "I'm too lucky, having a life with you. Anyone tries to take this away from me, they're dead."

Santino gave a choked laugh.

"I'm serious."

"I know. Just…don't give your life for mine, please. If it comes to that."

John went still. "I…can't promise you that. But I can promise that it wouldn't be your fault."

Santino huffed in frustration, but it was no use to argue. They had talked about this many times. John was there to protect him, and that was that. Even to the death, if need be. Frowning deeply, he ran his hands along John's neck and up to his cheek, as if still trying to convince himself that John was really here.

"Santino. I want to hear you say it. It wouldn't be your fault."

Santino didn't respond at first. "It…" another frustrated sigh. "It wouldn't be my fault. It would be the Camorra's fault, and I'd wipe out everyone who hurt you."

A deep laugh rolled out of John's chest, echoing up through Santino's ribcage. "Good." He kissed him again, on the lips this time.

"I was serious too."

"I know." He stared deeply into Santino's eyes, drinking in the fact that this man loved him enough to grieve for him, to kill for him. That they would each give their lives for the sake of the other. Santino's chin rested on his chest, and he met John's gaze with one that was equally loving.

John became very aware that their legs were tangled together under the blankets.

"Don't think about that anyway," he said. "We're together now. Let's enjoy it." And he switched the lamp back off.

[johnwickb1tsch]

its just a warm up

(gif by @scarlettspectra)

You didn't mean to get into a drinking contest with John Wick.

You really didn't.

But you'd just completed a really fucking difficult--some might even say impossible--contract, and he bought you a round. "Just a warm up," he said.

You're not sure if he's talking about the drink, or your blossoming career.

You were kind of the new kid at the Continental, and for some reason the mysterious Mr. Wick seemed to like you. Maybe because he caught you by the pool with an old copy of The Wind in the Willows, and you'd had a little chat about it. Honestly he seemed more interested in the condition of the book than you, and you were fine with that.

But now you're in The Lounge, and you're both two bourbons in, and maybe it's just your alcohol-lubricated imagination but it seems this man's obsidian-sharp eyes have softened in the low light--maybe even just for you.

You wonder if he's as lonely as you are.

After one more, and you'l be honest, the edges of the room have gotten a little fuzzy, to your surprise Wick admits defeat. "It's my bed time," he says with a self-deprecating little smirk. More softly, "Room 523." He lifts his eyebrow slightly, almost like a challenge, before bidding you goodnight.

You do have the self-control to wait a little while, before heading up after him. Thinking you're funny, you snag your copy of Wind in the Willows on the way. When you knock on his door, and he opens it half way, looking delicious in white shirt sleeves with his top buttons undone--you're proud you only lose a moment to oogling this beautiful man before holding up the book.

"Need a bedtime story?"

He smirks, and opens the door wider, inviting you in. You've taken two steps over his threshold before his arm is around your waist and his oh-so-kissable lips are on yours.

"Maybe later," he answers, before absolutely devouring your mouth, his long fingers tangled in your hair.

Later suits you just fine.