#john wick kinktober

[iovesia]

❛⠀TAKE MY BREATH AWAY.

kinktober 2023. — day one.

synopsis. a simple job as a counselor at your local summer camp becomes more than what you bargained for when bodies start dropping.

✶⠀ ׅ⠀ ࣪⠀warnings. slasher!john wick 𝑥 f!reader — extreme dub-con. fuck or die. murder. gore. doggy position. machetes. size kink. major character death. friday the 13th au. 1.5k words.

josie's little note. slutty slasher szn's officially begun! i'm vv excited to share this with you guys! had to postpone this fic for a hot second— but hope you enjoy ♡🔪 !!

THE CHILDREN’S SCREAMING ECHOED THROUGH YOUR BRAIN.

You groaned, rubbing your temples tiredly as the sun beamed down on you. Your terribly short camp counsellor uniform allowed the rays to gently warm your skin, as you adjusted the sun glasses on your face. It was a nauseatingly hot summer’s day in July— and the joyus screams of the campers festered a migraine. 

“Hey, don’t run!” You call out to the two little girls whose feet padded alongside the lake bend. The two pigtailed wearing campers merely giggle at your expense, before continuing to run down to the dock filled with other campers. 

Lifeguard duty was truly your least favourite shift. You’d give anything to trade places with Michela’s aerobics group or Jake’s hiking activity. Anything to get out of this unbearable July sun. Sweat beads spouted on your forehead as you weaky fanned yourself with today’s schedule. 

A sudden loud burst snaps you from your sweaty daze as you jump up in surprise. Your eyes catch the sight of two older kids and a sad, torn inflatable toy. The plastic swims along the lake as the two boys look awkwardly at you.

“Are you kidding me?!” you groan, irritation burning on your skin along with the heat. Pulling your red shades back down, you make your way down to the dingy, old shack near the docks. A dusty little storage unit that your camp director keeps putting off on rebuilding. You let out a cough when the cloud of dust hits your face. The door damn near tears off from its weak, copper hinge. 

“I’m so not doing this gig again,” you mumble bitterly as you enter. The soft rays of sunshine in through the cracked window as you search for a replacement inflatable. The dusty plastic toy catches your eye on the bottom shelf, and as you lean down to grab it— 

Ch. Ch. Ch. Ah. Ah. Ah.

The hoarse quiet whisper that’s been haunting you for the last two weeks of summer. The whisper that echoed in your ears, and sent the cool breeze down your spine. The whisper that had a pair of eyes watching you. 

YOU RAN.

Your worn out converse hit the bark of the forest, the tree branches slapping roughly against you as you hurry through the dark outdoors. The stain of Michela’s blood on your face, and the stench of it that burned your nostrils boiled bile in your throat.

 Ch. Ch. Ch. Ah. Ah. Ah.

That whisper rings through the forest, along with the sound of metal slashing and a masculine scream… then a loud thud. Your friends were being slaughtered left right and centre. The memories of Jake’s decapitated head rolling towards you made you want to hurl, scream and cry all at once. But, for now you just ran. Ran from the 6’1, machete wielding maniac.

You heard the folk stories, and the legends of John Wick— the boogeyman. What was supposed to be one of Brad’s stupid stories to scare the boys and girls at camp, became your unfortunate reality. 

Stupidly, you run onto the docks, leaving you in the wide open. For a moment, all goes quiet. You pant loudly and weakly, sobs wracking your chest as you look around tearfully for any means of escape. 

Ch. Ch. Ch. Ah. Ah. Ah.

Creak.

A heavy footstep rests on the dock. Followed by another.. And then another.

You’re too terrified to turn around— or too slow to do anything as a large hand snatches your shoulder, and spins you around to face the inevitable. Letting out a blood curdling scream when you come face to face with your worst nightmare. John.

The brutish giant who towered over you, wearing what appears to be a leather coat and jeans— all gloriously painted with the blood and guts of your fellow counsellors. He glared at you coldly, his hand damn near pushing you back off the dock and into the murky waters. You watch frozen in fear as his blood covered hand lifts his machete, preparing you for your demise.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait!” You sob desperately, the moonlight bouncing off the machete and shining onto your face as John holds you over the ledge of the dock. “Please, don’t do this! I’ll do anything!”

John stares at you blankly, his firm hand still gripping tightly onto your top. Time freezes for what feels like ages before he lifts you back up off the ledge. He quirks his brow, his facial expression speaking for himself.

“Anything, please, just don’t kill me,” you beg desperately. John’s eyes trail from your puffy red face, past your breathing neck, to your breasts that rose up and down with each shaky breath. The colour drains from your face when you follow his eyes that scan your body hungrily. Wordlessly, you knew. John’s quick in his movements to push your helpless body down to the dock floor. 

A loud wooden crack rings out and pain blooms in your side as your head bangs against the docks. Your delicate face scratched along the rough wood of the docks as John’s machete slices cleanly up the pant-leg of your shorts. The bloodied metal snags at your underwear as well as the flimsy material falls off your body and you gasp at the sudden cold wind hiding your rear and cunt. Humiliating tears brim your eyes when John’s grimy hands spread you apart, his knee pushing yours further out— almost putting you on display. 

John’s low breathing reverberates in your ears and you hear the glob of spit forming between his lips as it stretches down, hitting your cold skin. Your body trembles as John’s fingers slide the spit in between your folds, and rip a gasp from your throat as he plunges his index and pointer finger into your small hole. 

“Shit— fuck—” you hiss under your breath.

John simply hums at your reaction, his face remains stoic. If he’s enjoying your reactions, he’s not showing it. He slides his fingers in and out of your cunt, his one act of mercy to prepare you for his final kill. Your dignity. The squelching of your wet cunt plays over the sound of crickets and the lake moving. His agonisingly slow movements serve to prolong this tortuous and depraved experience. You whimper when John’s hands disappear, leaving your empty cunt to clench the air. 

Ziiiipppp.

Swallowing the lump in your throat as you hear John’s belt buckle hit the floor. His large hand suddenly presses your head down harder against the wooden dock, the faint splinters digging into your soft cheeks. Tears well in your eyes, and you internally pray to the souls of your dead colleagues for forgiveness for what’s about to happen. Just as you try to lift your head up against his hand, your eyes meet your reflection as the machete violently stabs into the dock… Right next to your head.

“Don’t.”

He says firmly, sending chills down your spine. You whimper, like a little lamb to the slaughter. John’s hand returns to your head, his grip tighter as he holds you down. The head of his thick tip teasingly slides up and down between your wet folds. His other hand holds tightly onto the fat of your waist, dirty nails digging into your soft skin as his fat cock plunges slowly into your cunt.

His cock just hit so deep, and your small pussy is stretched to the brim. A choked sob dies in your throat as John’s eyes grow half-lidded, and a quiet sigh escapes from him. Your warm cunt engulfed him so well as he gradually moved his hips back and forth. His mushroom tip kissed your cervix, you swore you could feel him in your stomach.

You whimpered and sobbed, your lower lip in between your pearly white teeth as you bite down. The maroon copper taste fills your mouth with John’s unrelenting thrusts only getting faster. As a fruitless attempt to dry your tears up, you squeeze your eyes closed. John’s cock keeps rhythmically moving in and out of your walls, using your warm body like a ragdoll. Hot tears slide down your face, and John’s sweat hits your back, his dark strands of hair sticking to his forehead. His eyes never left the sight of his cock disappearing inside you.

Something stirred in your lower belly, and your toes curled in your converse shoes as guilt swam in your chest. You opened your legs, and spread your cunt for the assailant who murdered your friends.. and you were enjoying it.

John’s hold on your body grew harder, when his thrusts got faster and faster. Through short huffs and tight grips, you could tell he was close. Suddenly, you felt John spurt a thick rope inside of you, filling your exhausted cunt to the brim with his seed. The pants and sobs fall from your mouth as your body collapses against the dock. The pleasure quickly be replaced with shame and horror, as John stands up, towering over your frame. 

You wince at the sharp sound of the machete being pulled from the docks. Your eyes follow his every move as his bloodied hand holds the handle of the machete, lifting it above his head, his dark eyes squint at you. Your eyes widen.

“No.. No, no, wait!”

Fin.

— taglist. @alwaysinblck @sickzmbie @hearteyedbambi @worldsgreatestsinner @rizunaur @cillivnz @beansricejc @97keanu @the-trash-site @keanuthot @sulibbyyyyy @20s7nn @aerangi @alyssagames01 @prongsio @starrgurl46 @nogr4vity

join the kinktober taglist here.

[beansricejc]

juices like wine

werewolf!john wick x f!reader

synopsis: on a full moon’s night, you think you’ll be safe in this house alone with your fellow monster hunter.

warnings: monster!jw, cursing, pussy drunk activities, oral (f receiving), squirting, sniffing, watered down spec of masochism, dbf!john, age gap, dub con(?)

authors note: thx for all of ur messages, life is just too much rn and I’m attempting to keep up haha, here’s that spooky thing I promised

“Uh, are you sure this will-“

“Of course it will!” I rolled my eyes, tightening the cuffs on the iron cuffs on John’s wrists. “My dad’s book says that werewolves can’t break through iron. And his book is never wrong.”

John flashed me a skeptical look with his eyebrows raised before rolling those thin brown eyes. Hunting monsters has always been our side gig. Although, things became a little tricky when he had accidentally been bitten by a now dead furry friend, almost a month ago now. Tonight was the full moon, and there haven’t been any side effects but John insisted on taking no chances.

My partner in crime sighed, grunting a bit with discomfort as the iron restraints dig into his flesh a little.

“It better not be wrong. I won’t be able to forgive myself if something happened.”

My hand grabs his bearded and chiseled face, forcing John to give me his attention. There’s always been… tension, between the two of us. Yet neither have acted on it. He was my dad’s best friend after all, before my dad became vampire food on a job gone awry.

“Nothing is gonna happen.” I reassured him, my fingers squeezing his face a bit harder this time. John nods to himself, taking a few deep breaths. “It’s only for a night. Hell, I can just turn The Office on for you while you’re in here.”

Light hearted humor got me nowhere tonight. I’m an idiot. A fool. A fucking moron. That’s what I’m telling myself as I creep through the house on the second floor. A silver dagger in one hand, a phone in the other, with Charon on the other line, the closest Hunter in proximity to us in the state.

“His senses are better, he’s faster, stronger, you need to get out of there or just kill him.” Charon pleads. I grunt quietly.

“I can’t leave-“

A loud and bone rattling howl bounces off of the walls of the house, startling me. I froze in my tracks, cursing under my breath. I hang up the phone and slip it into the pocket of my leggings.

“You smell even better during a full moon.”

My breathing stops as I feel the breath of another behind me. I know damn well who that person is, his voice is much deeper and gravelly than normal, this isn’t him. This isn’t the John I know.

A yelp escaped my lips as two paw-like hands grab me from behind, tossing me over a huge shoulder. John’s shirt is mostly ripped all the way off, since his transformation took place under just a simple tee shirt and flannel pants.

“John! Put me down!” I shouted, legs thrashing as my fists beat at his huge back. Thud, thud, thud, it did nothing. I hadn’t even noticed that John had tossed the silver blade aside until I had tried to use it.

A deep throaty chuckle erupts from John’s mouth, right before he tossed me onto the bed of the master bedroom. I land on silken sheets as my eyes widen, experiencing John as half man, half wolf, for the first time. Fangs peek from his lips as his beard had become much more untamed and wild, even his hair is much longer and crazy.

Muscles bulge from his shirt, before he gets frustrated and rips it off with an irritated roar. The shreds of the fabric land on the wood floor, as his evolved muscles ripple over my cowering form on the king sized bed.

“Such a pretty girl. I’ve always known better than to have a piece of you to myself.” John speaks lowly, his red eyes linger over me. “But I can’t control myself tonight. I’m sorry sweetpea.”

“Wait, John, just, wait!” I know damn well it’s to no avail. His paws grab my thighs and push my legs to the mattress, as his nose buries itself in my clothed crotch. Frowning, I scream in objection but my squirming and resistance is futile. I can’t even beat John while we spar, of course I won’t even have a chance while he’s half man, half creature.

“Fuck, you’re ovulating.” John salivates and takes in a deep breath to get the scent of my cunt imbedded into his feral brain. With one tiny motion of his razor sharp claws, despite my avid protests, he sliced the crotch of my leggings open like butter.

“Hey hey hey! No! John, this can’t happen!” I stammer out quickly. John is far too heavy and I don’t stand a chance.

“Don’t worry. My cock is too big to give you right now.” John insists, dropping his pajama pants and tugging on his huge erection. It matches his insanely big body, one that I’m just realizing has been growing larger and larger ever since he began his chase.

My jaw dropped as I notice he’s got to be at least seven feet tall now, with a cock that’s about 10 inches long, but 4 inches wide. John seriously had a comically large and furry dick at the moment, and I had no idea if I should have laughed or just stayed quiet. So I picked the latter.

John drops to his knees, as both of his hands spread my thighs even further, taking a longer inhalation of the heat between them. Squirming under him, I couldn’t help but whimper and whine out of the pure tickling sensation. The feeling of his beard and nose on my folds were unfamiliar to say the least.

“John, get o-“

I stop talking and let out a moan as his big nose brushes against my clit. His long spongy tongue swiped efficiently on my folds, making them pliable enough to then plunge in a finger.

John let’s go of my thigh for half a second so he can shred apart my sleeping shirt, my tits falling out of the fabric. My nipples harden from the sudden air exposure. John growls against my cunt in response to that sinful visual. One of his paws smack my left breast, earning a gasp from me, while his tongue worked overtime inside of me.

Head like this only existed in porn, right?

Apparently not. Apparently, you can get head like this from your local werewolf.

My fingers dug at the bedsheets and also his head of messy long hair. My fingers even brush against his newly grown canine-like ears, I keep forgetting that this is only happening because John has turned. That meant, he was eating my pussy and needing to inhale my scent on pure instinct. If he doesn’t, he’d go insane. He’d lose control. Maybe even kill someone.

The mere thought of my vagina actually being the death of someone kinda has me in a chokehold at the moment.

“Mine. Mine. Mine.”

John continued to lick, suck, thrust, whatever he could to with his tongue to get my taste and scent locked into his memory. He’s even so desperate that he has managed to scratch up my thighs and stomach in the process. The cuts aren’t anything too deep, maybe a bit more than a cat claw. But I’d be in denial if I claimed the slight sting of his nails and there euphoric head I was receiving wasn’t a delectable combination.

A knot forms in my lower region, an unusual feeling. Not like an orgasm, no, this was something else entirely. I had no idea what to expect, but it sure as hell was shocking when I began to squirt all over John’s bearded face.

My cum splashed onto his cheeks and nose, even a bit of his forehead. The dribbles from my pussy coat his unkempt beard, and he catches his breath with an exhausted smile when he pulls away.

With my legs trembling and moans spilling from my mouth, I laid under his beastly frame, helpless. Exposed to my elder Hunter, it was a shock to see him as some vicious monster. My heart was nearly about to give out from the intensity of the orgasm, and from the pure shock I was still trying to comprehend.

While he collected my juices from his face and sucked them off of his fingers, my mind is racing as I wonder, is he even going to remember this tomorrow? When he shifts back, is it going to be awkward between us from now on? There’s no way he actually felt so strongly for me… right?

If he didn’t recall eating me out like it was his last day on earth, how am I going to drop that bomb? John’s hands grab my face, much like how I had a few hours earlier. His moist nose and forehead press against mine, smushing in a little. My own juices smear against my small face. John’s red eyes demand my full attention from mere centimeters away.

That same rough voice gives me a growling chuckle.

“Been waiting three years for that one, babygirl. Maybe now you’ll notice me.”

[midnight-talescape]

Despise (John Wick x Reader)

Kinktober Day 5: Enemy or hate sex

I really want to write assassin hate sex

Warning: biting, hate sex, swearing, blood, gun, mention of murder, bdsm, also implied consent, ooc a little bit, etc, etc you get the point not for kid

Genre: filthy filthy smut

｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡

You put the gold coin onto the desk paying for your room for the next few days, and after refusing the offer to go to the doctor you directed yourself to your room.

Once you reach your room, you slammed the door shut, too in pain to care who it bothers. Before promptly collapse onto the floor holding onto the wound on your side.

“Motherfucking bitches,” you cursed under your breath as you wince in pain trying to pull yourself to the first aid kit,

This was a mission gone wrong thanks to those backstabbing son of a bitch. If they think that this was gonna kill you, they have another thing coming for them.

You snarl under your breath as you remember how your teammate is apparently hired to kill you, which lead to you killing all of them. You swear that you will hunt down the fucking bitch that hired them.

But first you will have to patch yourself up, not particularly trusting anyone else right now, despite the no killing rule in the hotel.

Just as you finished your quote on quote patching up, by removing the bullet, pouring some alcohol on it, then wrapping it in bandage. You could probably try better but honestly you don’t really care right now, when you hear a knock on the door.

You let out another swear under your breath, knowing full well you didn’t order shit and the hotel staff knows better then to knock on your door right now. You grabbed your gun preparing for a fight, when the door was unlock and in came none other then John Wick himself.

You secretly let out a sigh of relief, knowing that despite the fact that you guys despise each other, unlike you he actually has a sense of moral. So he shouldn’t be here to kill you, although it’s weird how he manage to get into your room.

You hold onto your gun and gave a wave, before leaning on the wall for support and asking,

“Isn’t it the legendary John Wick, what are you doing here in my humble abode?”

He closed the door behind him before looking at you again,

“I heard you got severely injured, so I decided to come see,”

You hold your hand to your chest and let out a fake gasp,

“Oh my god, The John Wick caring about silly old me? I can’t fucking believe it,”

Despite your very fake attempt of being relax, you tense as you see him started to walk toward you.

“Let me see your wound,”

You stopped slightly baffled about the request. Why would he want to see your wound, it’s not like he care, so why? Questions for later, you do not like how this scenario is turning out.

“How about fuck no? My wound is none of your business and how the fuck did you even get in, in the first fucking place?”

Seemingly unfazed by your rejection he merely walked closer and ask again with more aggression,

“I said, show me your wound, (Y/N),”

You back up farther acknowledging the fact that you’re really fucking close to the wall and start searching for a escape route.

Seeing how you’re absolutely not gonna show him your wound, John Wick let out a sigh and just as you darted across the room trying to run (as best as you can with a bullet wound in your fucking side) he easily caught you. Then before you have time to react he trapped you between the ground and his body.

You attempted to punch him, which didn’t work out as he grabbed your arm and hold it above your head, before tying a knot with his tie. Before you had a chance to attack him again, he forced a leg between yours and pinned you down with his weight.

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT, WICK?!?! ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY?!?!” you screamed completely freaking out as he pulled up your shirt,

“Calm down, im checking your wound,”

He skillfully unwrapped your bandage that you wrapped (terribly) and checked on your wound. He touched your bullet wound gently and seeing how terribly you fixed your wound, he let out a sigh and started fixing up your wound. Just when he was about done, he accidentally wrapped your wound too hard and you let out a hiss of pain.

Hearing your sound of pain, suddenly angry, he change his original gentle touch and dig into your newly bandage wound harshly.

“OW! MOTHERF-“ you scream and arched your back in pain, tear staining your eyes,

John Wick looked up and removing his hand from your wound, and pulled your face to face him.

“I wouldn’t have had to do this, if you had just listen to me,”

“What the fuck is wrong with y-oomph!”

John Wick effectively shut you up by slamming his mouth on yours.

You stayed there frozen, too shocked from the event that is happening. You eventually unfroze when you felt him slipped his tongue into your mouth and you guys wrestle for dominance. Which you lost but let’s move on. Eventually he pulled away, with nothing but a silver strand of saliva connecting you guys.

He lift your face up, so he can looked into your eye,

“Every single fucking time, (Y/N). Every single bloody time. You just fucking go off to who knows where and come back bloody, the entire time not giving a rat ass about your life,”

Finally catching your breath, and regain some control of your brain from the weird ass situation you’re in, you ask the only question on your mind,

“So? Why the fuck do you care?”

“Because (Y/N) I’m fucking tired of hearing how you almost fucking died again,”

“Too fucking bad, you can’t stop me from hunting down those bitches that paid for my head, and I don’t fucking like waiting for my kills,” you hiss feeling angry of being in such a vulnerable position and another feeling that you can’t pinpoint,

“Then I will just have to make sure you don’t have the energy to fucking leave then,”

“I’m sorry, wha-“

Right as you said that, you knew what he meant. Not because you can read mind but because he has literally ripped off your clothing and tied each of your leg to something. By this point you don’t give enough fucks.

“I’m gonna fuck you, until you can’t remember your own fucking name. And if you tried to get out of this fucking room before you fucking heal or come back half dead again, I will make you fucking regret it,”

As soon as he whisper those word into your ears, he bit down on your neck, hard enough to draw blood.

You hiss out a sound of pain, and soon you felt his hand squeezing your breast and pulling on your nipple.

And how he lick and bit down on your skin leaving his mark, as he travel farther and farther down.

Eventually he reached your core and you felt him biting your inner thigh getting ever so close to your clit, but never there.

Occasionally he will tease it but never enough to satisfied your need.

You bite down on your lip, refusing to show weakness in a situation so absurd.

Seeing your resistance, he just continue doing what he was doing. After all he has never lack patience.

Eventually you broke down after you were close to a orgasm, but was cruelly denied.

Seeing the blood on your lip, he rescue your bottom lip from your teeth, licking away the blood. Before whispering in your ears,

“Just say please, and this can be over. One word and I will give you what you want,”

“Please…”

“Im sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,”

Pretending to not hear you, he gave your clit a flicked, sending a shock through your body.

You grit your teeth and practically yelled,

“I said, please just fucking fuck me!” In frustration,

“Good girl,” was all he said before he inserted 2 of his fingers into your holes, stretching you out in a scissoring motion.

He slowly went from 2 to 3 and before you know it, 4 of his finger was in you.

Feeling the stretch of your tunnel (?) and suddenly very scared of what’s going to happen, you tried to back out,

“Wait- nevermind I back ou-“

“I’m a man of my word, you know that,”

You felt him insert his 5th finger and slowly forced the rest of his hand inside you.

“I want you to know this is all your fault, princess,” his hand bottomed out, “if you hadn’t been such a hothead, then I wouldn’t have to do this,” 

You let out cry’s of pain as his hand went into your tunnel which is way too small for it.

You started crying from both your body tightening around him and him starting to hit all the spot you didn’t even know existed.

“Take it out- please- I’m fucking sorry-“ you sobbed out in a desperate cry for him too stop,

He didn’t even looked up as he found your cervix and started prodding the entrance.

You let out sound of pain and discomfort as you clawed at the rug (or at least the part you can reach) desperate for some sort of distraction.

Eventually he bring out a orgasm both so painful and so blissful you started to see bright light. Seeing this John Wick pull his hand out with a wet ‘pop’ and your hole desperately try to return themselves to their original shape.

You eventually came down from your high and laid on the floor panting, and with a weak voice you ask,

“I-is it over? Will you leave me alone now?”

He clicked his tongue,

“(Y/N), I didn’t know you were so fucking naive. I said I was gonna fuck you till you don’t remember your name. We’re not exactly there yet, are we?”

He directed his cock at your hole, and that’s when you finally notice at some point he has undressed himself and wrapped your leg around his waist.

Seeing the size of his cock, you started shivering from fear.

You’re not sure wtf happen there but if his hand was already causing you pain, that might just fucking killed you.

“N-no- you can’t fucking do this- that thing isn’t going to fit!”

“That’s your problem, princess,” with that he slammed into you, and you let out a scream of pain,

He didn’t give you time to adjust as he hold onto your waist, and started to slam deep inside you.

Your wound started bleeding again from the way he was roughly fucking you.

Through your cry, occasional moan and multiple orgasm, your overstimulated mind realize the thing tying your arm together has come loose. You clawed into John Wicks back, wanting him to feel at lease a little part of the pain your going through.

He let out a little groan as he picked you up and started readjusting you so he can hit deeper inside you. Eventually he broke past your cervix (this just happen a lot in my smut, you should get use to it) and you bit into his shoulder trying to control your sob.

Eventually he pulled out and painted your belly and chest with streams of cum.

“N-no more, please…” you choked out, your entire body spasming from what you went through,

“If the word please work, then there won’t be people like us, (Y/N)…”

｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡

When you wake up again, your wound was freshly bandaged and John Wick looked like he just came back from a blood bath.

You wince as you got up as much as you can,

“What the fuck happen to you?”

He looked up as he put back his weapon,

“I took care of the people that hired to kill you, so you have no reason to leave,”

Surprised that’s he will do that for you, you said the greatest thank you of all time,

“What if I leave anyway?”

He look up and said matter of factly,

“I don’t mind fucking you again, then chaining you to a bed so you can’t leave,”

‘Okay, maybe I should move on from this conversation’

“Why?”

“Why, what?”

“Why did you do any of this? Why did you kill them, why did you…” you gestured wildly across the room, before you gestured at yourself, “We despise each other,”

John Wick let out a little laugh,

“I have never despise you, you’re the only person that thinks so,”

“Oh…”

“In fact, I think I might have loved you since the day we met,”

“Oh- I’M SORRY WHAT?!?!”

[thecandywrites]

Kinktober 2023- Dirty Talk

Mary Magdelene

This is a continuation of last year's story for this Prompt. Which is with a John Wick Twist. So this is actually doesn't have "Dirty Talk" in the traditional sense. But there's a ton of Innuendo.

So for Dirty Talk - #20 on @imaginejolls, #30 on @kroas-adtam, #22 on @darthglitterfanfiction, #13 on @kining-the-evil, #1 on @biryu13 For Friends Kinktober. And then all the thanks to @starsandskies, @darthglitterfanfiction, @jingyuansbird , @quefish77 , @myfictionaldreams, @thecrystalroom, @absurdthirst, @raeny-thorns, and @uwusillygirl for being wonderful, creative, amzing people and came up with amazing kinktober prompt lists too. Go check them out. I would have loved to do all of them from every list. But, sadly, real life won't let me. But what I do have, I'm doing my best to do well.

This one isn't really all that explicit but there is the threat of assassination and murder. So PG? PG-13 maybe? I know, a bit of a let down if you're here for hardcore stuff. But I had SO MUCH FUN with this prompt last year and then I immediately knew I wanted a continuation from the story last year. So this is just pure self indulgence for me. Sorry, not sorry.

Kinktober 2023- Dirty Talk- John Wick AU

Mary Magdalene 

“Mr. And Mrs. Marriongnois-Chantemont, welcome to The New York Continental.” Frederick greeted cordially to the couple as they came into the newly rebuilt and reconsecrated New York Continental Hotel. 

“It’s always a pleasure to be here.” Falicia offered before she slid the gold coin across the counter before Fredrick picked it up and put it in the appropriate drawer and traded it for the room keys for their stay.  

“Has Mr. and Mrs. Shawarma checked in yet?” Falicia asked. 

“Yes, they are waiting for you in the Starlight Lounge.” Frederick answered. 

“Excellent.” Falicia beamed happily before had her luggage taken to her suite as her and husband Thomas went with her to the elevator to the roof where the Starlight Lounge was on on the roof of the hotel. 

“Falicia!” Valencia greeted happily as she recognized her friend and went to hug her friend over her friend’s baby bump. 

“Valencia!” Falicia greeted as she hurried her waddling steps to hug her friend tightly. 

“Hey Emon, how are you?” Thomas grinned as he shook Valencia’s husband, Emon’s hand. 

“Good, and you? You ready for the pitter patter of little feet?” Emon teased.  

“Can’t wait.” Thomas beamed happily. 

“So? What are we having?” Valencia asked Falicia. 

“A little girl. Her name will be Willow.” Falicia informed her friend as she pulled back and moved her friend’s hands over her pregnant belly to feel for kicks. 

“Aww, hi Willow. I can’t wait to meet you. You’re going to be so stinkin cute!” Valencia cooed. 

“So what’s up? Why’d you need to meet us here?” Valencia asked before she had them sit with them. 

“No more food poisoning I hope.” Emon noted. 

“No, no food poisoning. But we do have a small issue. Because of what’s happened with the Marquis, my father, as you know, has a seat at High Table. And with little Willow on the way, I’m worried about becoming like Gianna. As you know, I not only have 1 brother, I have six.” She began as worry seemed to cross her features as she hugged her pregnant belly protectively.

“And being your father’s favorite, despite six sons, you’re worried you now have six targets on your back.” Valencia noted. 

“Not my back, Willow’s. Not only am I the only daughter but Willow will be the only granddaughter and if I thought my father was doting before. He’s especially doting now. He’s already named her heir of his most precious possessions and the best of his assets and she isn’t even born yet.” Falicia explained in a low, hushed murmur. 

“A Joseph and his jealous brothers situation.” Emon noted. 

“Exactly. She’s Joseph and Willow might as well be Benjamin.” Thomas noted. 

“I see. So do you need a Joseph and Benjamin?” Valencia asked. 

“No, I need a Davinci Mary Magdalene, for Willow.” Falicia answered as Valencia and Emon both blinked in surprise as their eyebrows rose in surprise. 

“Does your father know you’re asking for a Mary Magdalene? Let alone, a Davinci Mary Magdalene?” Valencia asked. 

“No. Because to ask, is to imply that there are already problems with his disciples and my brothers have not said anything to me. But there has been suspicious activities and the whispers of rumors. I just can’t help but worry that they’ll smile to my face but plot Willow’s downfall before she’s even out of the womb. I know you’re a very valuable tool and that the Red Shed has every right to reserve you for any number of jobs. And I know that I’m only halfway through my pregnancy. But I still worry and I’m scared. Genuinely terrified. And I still fear that with every new gift my father bestows to me, especially for Willow’s sake, will earn more enemies out of my brothers and their sons.” Falicia offered. 

“Please don’t tell me it’s my pregnancy brain talking, I know some women get unusually worried or start to get unduly paranoid while they’re pregnant…” She began to argue. 

“Oh God no! No! Not at all! No. This is not paranoia, in this line of work and in this business, these are of course, very real fears. And usually if your intuition is telling you this, you need to listen. This isn’t pregnancy brain, this is just your regular brain. I know your brothers, I can see the need to have these fears too. I’m just trying to wrap my head around how I’m going to give you the Mary Magdalene.” Valencia reassured her friend as she reached out to hold her hand. 

“Do you have a specific way you want me to do this or do you not want to know- for your own safety and just trust me to handle the details?” Valencia asked. 

“I just need to know that you’d do it, that I can trust both of you to come together for Willow.” Falicia offered before she pulled out a Marker as Valencia gave Emon a quick, but meaningful glance as Emon gave her the subtle nod but otherwise kept his mouth shut and turned to look at Thomas who was blushing but seemed resigned, if not a little defeated and guilty. 

“It’s not your fault.” Emon offered to Thomas.   

“I feel like it is. If I hadn’t knocked up my wife, I wouldn’t have put her in this position.” Thomas argued. 

“We both wanted a baby Tom. We’re in this together and we’re doing this together. And this is just us getting a safety net in place for Willow. That’s all this is.” Falicia reassured her husband. 

“And all this is- is another safety net in place for her. That’s all this is. Don’t feel bad or feel guilty. You should be applauded for being responsible enough and using your own intuition and your own intelligence to try to figure out variables. Best case scenario, you guys never have to use this. Worst case scenario is that you guys needed this and didn’t live long enough to get it in time for Willow. It’s always better to have it and not need it, than to need it and not have it.” Emon reassured them as he reached out to clasp his hand on Thomas’s shoulder as Thomas wiped away a stray tear but gave Emon a grateful smile. 

“Will you do this for me? For Willow?” She asked as she held it up to her friend. 

“Absolutely, without a second thought or hesitation.” Valencia readily agreed as she took the Marker, after she slid the front off to make sure Falicia put her thumb print in it before she put it away into her pocket as Falicia finally breathed a huge sigh of relief as Emon and Thomas gave each other a nod of understanding. 

“Thank you.” She thanked her as tears came to her eyes as she pulled her friend into a hug and couldn’t help but cry as Thomas handed Emon the paperwork before Emon signed his name, as Valencia’s husband and partner before Thomas handed Emon a whole, very heavy care package as Valencia kept one arm around Falicia’s shoulders to sign the documents before going back to hugging and holding and comforting her friend. Since it was clear that this had been weighing on Falicia since Willow’s conception. 

“Thank you so much. You have no idea how much this means to me. I know I can’t trust anyone else with this.” Falicia blubbered. 

“You’re welcome. I’m so relieved to know that you trust me enough for this. I’m honored and privileged that you do. And I will not let you down. If you and especially Willow need this, I’ll do it, or die trying.” Valencia readily reassured her friend. 

“I just don’t want anything to happen to either us, or her, or you or Emon.” Falicia offered as she got some tissues from her bag and tried to wipe up her streaking eye makeup. 

“I hope nothing does either, but we’ll be prepared for the worst. Just leave it to me and Emon. We will take care of everything.” Valencia reassured her friend. 

“And so far, here’s a copy of everything. If anything gets changed, I’ll let you know and send it to you.” Thomas murmured to Emon as he got into his computer case and  Emon quite the folder of all the paperwork and copies of wills. 

Thomas got the file folder out and handed that over to Emon as well as Emon simply put it with the care package before Thomas pulled out a key chain out of his pocket and handed it over to Emon as well. 

“Everything else you will need will be on this. But otherwise, here’s the key’s to the Kingdom as they say.” Thomas said as he handed the keys over by a special key chain that held a thumbdrive before Emon took the keys and inspected them before he put them into his pocket. 

“Do you have anything you want to add?” Emon asked Thomas thoughtfully. 

“There’s another hard drive in the care package. And should we need to use the Davinci Mary Magdelene, use it to cripple the Marringnois infrastructure and then freeze their assets that don’t automatically go to you and Valincia or to Willow. And when Willow becomes of age, the key to unfreeze them is with it. It’s in the locket, on a nano chip behind her mother’s picture. And if Willow ever needs to vanish again. Another shield and vanishing act will be on the nano chip behind my picture.” Thomas breathed in a low murmur. 

“I see. Anything else?” Emon asked. 

“Yeah, if they go after Falicia or Willow, give them Food Poisoning.” Thomas insisted. 

“With a side of Blood Pudding.” Emon nodded as Thomas nodded in agreement. 

“I see you taught Tommy how to Talk Dirty.” Valencia teased Falicia.  

“Yeah, I’ve given him a crash course on it ever since the Food Poisoning incident.” Falicia laughed through the last of her tears as she began to try to pull herself back together. 

“Hey, it’s going to be ok. We have the Marker. You have Tom, you have me and you have Emon and you have the whole Red Shed and you have the High Table. If your brothers really want to start shit, you got them outgunned and outmatched and outsmarted. And if I have to bring Management and even Upper Management into this, I will. There are rules damn it. ‘Without them, we live with the animals’ remember?” Valencia supplied. 

“I know. It’s just…I just hope I’m making a mountain out of molehill. Or that I’m really worried for nothing or wasting a Marker on this.” Falicia breathed as she reached for water bottle and took a few long pulls. 

“Hey, even without the Marker, I would and will do this for you. After all we’ve been through? And all that we’ve done for each other? This is a given. And you know what, I’ll add a Changeling, if it will make you feel any better.” Valencia added. 

“Or even a Persephone.” Emon added. 

“Ooh.” Falicia and Thomas oohed in delight. 

“Oh, why stop there? If you want a Davinci Mary Magdelene, I’ll give you a full Hail Mary and an Our Father with a full Fibonacci Sequence.” Valencia volunteered. 

“Oh, you don’t need to go full Fibonacci.” Falicia tried to contest. 

“Fine, Art of War it is then.” Valencia insisted. 

“Enough, enough. Ok, ok, I’ll take the Fibonacci.” Falicia laughed as she put up her hands in defeat but smiled adoringly at her friend before they hugged and kissed each other’s cheeks again. 

“There’s that smile. It’s ok. We got this. Just worry about taking care of yourself and Thomas and nurturing little Willow for now. Everything else will be taken care of, I promise. Because I’ll be the one to take care of it and you know me. I don’t do anything half assed or half hearted. Willow’s practically a princess. And if she needs to be raised as a pauper in order to inherit her crown and her seat on her throne, so be it.” Valencia encouraged. 

“Thank you.” Falicia thanked her. 

“You’re welcome. How long are you here for?” Emon asked. 

“Just tonight, we fly out to the Chataux tomorrow.” Thomas answered. 

“Hungry?” Valencia asked. 

“Always.” Falicia nodded. 

“Come on, let’s get a bite at Prime.” Valencia urged her friend before she helped her friend to stand up and walked with her to the elevators while Emon put everything into a bag and then took a detour to drop it off at their room before rejoining them in the lobby before the four of them went out to dinner.  

[bluelolblue]

In the Hotel

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: John Wick

Relationship: Santino D'Antonio/John Wick

Chapters: 1

Warnings: Nothing serious, again. Smut for kinktober (I wanted to join and managed to write only one for that month lol). See the tags on AO3.

Sumarry: During a meeting in the Continental hotel, Santino managed to sneak away with John into a private room. Since John is Santino's bodyguard and his lover, he has to obey his every command. Even a risky move like this.

Snippet ⬇️

Santino got bored easily being around all these people who he really didn't care for. But then again being a part of the High Table meant following their rules or whatever.

Luckily for him, he had his bodyguard with him. John.

John noticed how Santino was already on his fourth glass of wine. He was thinking about stopping him but he can't get into his boss's way just like that.

He didn't even have to come to Santino, Santino already slightly spanked his ass from behind as a joke when he joined him. No one saw that, thankfully.

"Having fun?" Santino asked quietly and smirked at him. "Not really. You?" John said, glancing from him to others to see if anyone is watching them. "No. The wine is good, that's all." Santino said.

"Yeah. You had, what, four glasses of it? You sure you're okay?" John asked. "Don't worry about me, John. I'm better when you're this close to me." Santino winked at him. John knew he was flirting with him and there was no stopping him.

"I'm glad." John smiled at him. "You know...I could use some fresh air. Follow me." Santino said, tugging on John's suit.

Well, Santino leaded him into a private room away from others. There's no balcony there.

"That's better, don't you think?" Santino smirked when he closed the door. "It is. So this is what you wanted?" John smirked, leaning back on the edge of the table. "Ah, you finally figured it out. Took you long enough." Santino pulled John's tie, locking his lips with John's.

John hummed into the kiss, cupping Santino's ass cheeks, pulling him closer to himself. "Mm...Santino." John said, breathing against Santino's lips. "I know you want it just as much as I do. It's gonna be more exciting knowing other people are around here." Santino smirked, pressing kisses on John's cheek, chin and neck.

"If someone finds us, it's your fault." John smirked, caressing Santino's face. "I'm ready to risk it."

Of course he's ready to risk it. If he wants it, he gets it.

...

Read the rest on AO3

Notes here for Tumblr: This was my first fanfic for kinktober. Unfortunately, I managed to write only one for that month. I was working on another fic, then I kinda stopped and just made this one which was done faster. Plot? Don't worry about it- it's somewhere here. I tried to create a plot that would fit with the hotel which to me meant Santino drinking wine.

[call-sign-shark]

Day 3: Engraved in the Flesh || Finn Shelby x Reader

Requested by a lovely anon 🖤

TW: Kinktober prompt- marked, canonical violence, violent sexual practice, spanking, marking kink, non-protected sex, allusion to anal

Words: 630.

Notes: This work is a part of the Peaky Kinktober Event you can find here. Comment on the event post if you want to be tagged in the future works for Kinktober. The length of each prompt is random, but it’s never less than 600 words.

The family never suspected something to be wrong with the youngest of the tribe. After all, he had been lucky enough not to know the ugly truth of war nor the physical and emotional torment of hunger or poverty. If anything, Finn had grown up under Polly’s loving wing. Even if he was accustomed with gangs violence, he never truly took part of it before his brothers deemed him old enough. Arthur, Tommy and John worked hard so that he would never had to take a bullet like they did. They wanted him to be a general, not a disposable and vulnerable soldier. When he started to hang out with the pastor’s daughter, his Aunt was delighted. All of Birmingham knew how kind and quiet Y/N was. Holy Saint among the sinners, the young woman often wandered in the gritty streets of Small Heath with a basket filled with food she usually distributed to the poorest souls. Y/N left a bright sunshine in her wake, all the darkness of the place caught in her long coal black hair. Rumors said that when she smiled, even the most wicked men couldn’t lay a finger on her, all blissed out by her beauty and her divine aura of peacefulness. The bruises on her delicate skin? She was just incredibly clumsy. That was what her father always told her! And when she wasn’t bumping or tripping, the heavy basket she carried marked the flesh of her forearms.

But when the night came and the devils danced under the pale moonlight, she disappeared through her window and ran away from home, swallowed by the dull forest nearby. Y/N hid in an old vargo that belonged to the Shelby family, guided by the weak string lights hanging at the door, and she impatiently waited for Finn Shelby to appear in the doorway with a bottle of whisky in one hand, and a red rose in the other. Then their sordid and obscene ritual started, always following the same order: He slipped the flower in her hair, its crimson and velvety petals enhancing her beauty and suiting the color of the lipstick she had stolen from her mother. Then, they made the temperature rise, hands roaming on flesh clothes flying across the vardo. Only when the bottle of whisky was empty and their arousal reaching its limits, he assaulted her tight cunt with violent and rapid thrusts. A glistening and fragile pussy that only knew his cock. No one else’s. The way her warmth and wetness wrapped him sent his soul to heaven, making his lashes flutter. He was supposed to be a nice boy. She was supposed to be a holy and virginal girl.

So why? Why were they fucking like animals each night in the woods, filling the air with moans, flesh snapping sound and sweat? Why did he bend her over and spank her with his suit’s belt — and why did she enjoy it, her love juice trailing down her thighs more and more at each new beating? Finn grunted in her mouth when he came, painting her walls white and keeping her full til the morning. That was how Y/N liked him: engraved in her flesh, and dripping from her sore holes.

“Tsss, be more careful Y/N. You’re black and blue.” Her father scolded her, eyes rolling with annoyance at his daughter’s carelessness that revealed itself through her purplish bruises on her legs, thighs and neck. Little he knew that all her skin had been painted blue, immaculate flesh turned into a masterpiece by the brush of a mad artist. Y/N was both the canva and the muse, letting Finn Shelby turned her into what their love had always been: nothing gentle but the embodiment of Sin.

If you have appreciated what you've just read please take the time to reblog and/or comment. Your reactions are the real fuel and motivation of writers.

Taglist: @emotionalcadaver @peakyswritings @mollybegger-blog @hwangrimi @munson24 @tommyshelbywhore @devotedlyshadowytheorist @stevie75 @brummiereader @triplethreat77 @sebastianstangirl01 @izzy10369 @peakyltd @dreamy-caramel @kimvolturicullen

[l1tw1ck]

Masterlist: Miscellaneous

Kinktober '22 | Valentine's Month

[Saiki K + BNHA + HK!!], [TWST, OM!, ST], [Genshin]

#wicks🕯️series to see all posted series masterlists

Danganronpa

Nagito | Sleepover With Nagito

Spree

Kurt | Fuck (Marry, Kill)

Pokémon

Arven | Mysterious Herba Mystica | What's Cooking Good Looking?

Monster Prom

Brian | A Shirt | Sober Thoughts

Damien | Well Crafted Trap

Stardew Valley

Alex | Being Provoked

Elliott | Fooling

Kent | A Stardew Valley Affair

The Last of Us

Joel | Supply Run? | 2003

Resident Evil 4

Leon | Stamping a Tramp

Marvel

Steven Grant | New Boss 2

Peter Parker | Because of a Party

Miguel O'Hara | The Fall of Spider-Man | 100 Degrees | From Neighbors to Newlyweds

Steve Rogers | Dysfunction or Wrong Direction

FNAF

William Afton | William's Puppy

Supernatural

Sam Winchester | In Exhange

Dean Winchester | No Longer a Mentor

Misc.

John Doe | Clingy

[samanddean76]

Master Post for Kinktober 2023 Fics by SamandDean76 on Ao3

Oct 1st - Call Me Anytime - Phone Sex - Dom Sam/Sub Dean

Oct 2nd - Dreams Given Form - Size Kink - Sam/Dean

Oct 3rd - Baby (Boy) Doll - Panty Kink - Sam/Dean

Oct 4th - What Can I Get For You? - Exhibitionism - Sam/Dean

Oct 5th - One Night Angel - One Night Stand - Gabriel/Sam

Oct 6th - The Devil Is In The Details - Cock Cages - Jack/Demon Dean

Oct 7th - Backroad Memories - Cockwarming - Sam/Dean

Oct 8th - What Have We Here? - Piercings - Sam/Dean

Oct 9th - Not An Ordinary Sacrifice - Bestiality - Human Sam/Wolf Dean

Oct 10th - His Perfectly Good Boy - Wing Kink & Praise Kink - Gabriel/Sam

Oct 11th - Don't Speak - Deepthroating - Boy King Of Hell Sam/Consort To The Ruler Of Hell Dean

Oct 12th - Alas, Such A Pity - Felching - Endverse Castiel/Dean

Oct 13th - For Always? - Spitroasting - Omega Jimmy/Alpha Dean/Alpha Sam

Oct 13th - Two Is Better Than One - Spitroasting - Sam/Dean/Clay Miller

Oct 14th - Feels So Good - Sensation Play - Sub Sam/Dom Dean

Oct 15th - Keep Your Hands To Yourself - Lapdance - Sam/Dean

Oct 16th - Holding His Sammy Tight - Cuddling - Sam/Dean

Oct 17th - Wicked Games - Role Play - Sam/Dean

Oct 18th - An Evening Out - Bondage - Dom Sam Wesson/Sub Dean Smith

Oct 19th - See That You Do - Striptease - Sam/Dean

Oct 20th - To Love, Honor, & Cherish - Impregnation - Omega Castiel/Omega Gabriel/ Alpha Sam

Oct 21st - The Ride Of His Life - 69 - Sam Campbell/Dean Winchester

Oct 22nd - Bold Words - Edging - Sam/Lucifer

Oct 23rd - Don't Torture Him - BDSM - Dom Jimmy/Sub Dean/Dom Sam

Oct 24th - Teacher's Pet - Mpreg - Omega Castiel/Alpha Sam

Oct 25th - Educational Channels - Daddy Kink - Jack/Dean

Oct 26th - Unexpected Complications - Fuck-Or-Die - Alpha John/Omega Sam

Oct 27th - Shush Now - Gags - Soulless Sam/Dean

Oct 28th - Do You Take This Archangel - Wedding Night - Gabriel/Sam

Oct 29th - Win/Win - Coming Untouched - Sam/Dean

Oct 30th - Negotiations - Grace Kink - Boy King Of Hell Sam/Angel Dean

Oct 31st - Not Their First Lifetime Together - Free Space - Jensen/Jared

[sweetandabitspycho]

Masterlist

What took you so long to get here!

Kinktober

Rules at the bottom!

Grimm show

Sean Renard x Grimm Reader

Kdramas

Supernatural

Marvel

Fast And Furious

The Crow 1994 Eric.

The crow soul mate

The peaky blinders all characters.

Fast and Furious

House Of The Dragon

Hawaii Five-O

Warrior HBO

Snake Eyes 2021

The Umbrella Academy:

Jayme Hargreaves HC

John Wick fandom

Fear of the walking dead

RULES!

I want everyone to feel safe, and I write for everyone. If you request I'll do my best to make it how you want. I will not allow bullying or anything like that.

What I don’t write.

Big age gaps, example anyone under 20, dark smut, example forced/sa, self harm, example anything that is in full detail. Incest.

that’s all for now. Feel free to request anything, but I have a right to say no.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Finished Cyberpunk 2077

I’m sad now.

So I’m off to write some requests, finish up some kinktober things annnd think about write stuff about John Wick or Johnny Silverhand

[iovesia]

❛⠀SEEING DOUBLES.

kinktober 2023. — entry three.

synopsis. don't answer the door, don't leave the house, don't pick up the phone, but most of all, don't scream.

✶⠀ ׅ⠀ ࣪⠀warnings. ghostface!john wick 𝑥 f!reader 𝑥 ghostface!john constantine — threesome. breaking and entering. extremely dubious consent. non con elements. use of knives. oral (m receiving). reader's hair can be grabbed.

josie's little note .. ignore the fact that this is a month late.. i'm so sorry y'all. i hate writing threesomes, so probs my last time doing it LMAO but i hope you guys enjoy !!

YOU WERE HOME ALONE. 

How cliché.

The muffled sound of the ads on tv filled the eerie silence in your house. You laid comfortably on your couch, flicking through your newest edition of 'Seventeen’ magazine. Your roomates were out for a night in the city, leaving your recluse self to enjoy proper solitude for once.

The landline snaps you from your reading as the obnoxious ring echoes through your desolate house. You groan annoyedly, tossing your magazine to the side as you lazily stroll to the kitchen. 

“Who the hell is calling me now?” you huff. 

Taking the white phone off the wall, you put it to your ear, gently toying with the phone cord. 

“Hello?” You sigh, a tinge of annoyance in your voice. The hoarse breathing on the other end makes you quirk your brow. “Uh… hellloooo?”

The voice breathes hoarsely before clearing its throat, then a gravely melody follows. “Hello.”

A long silence fills the phone line. A sudden crackle of the popcorn cooking on the pan snaps you into conversation. “Who is this?”

“Who’s this?” The gravelly voice repeats my words back. 

“You called me, man,” you roll your eyes, resting your head against the wall. The raspy voice just breathes quietly on the other line, slowly ticking you off. A second wave of silence washes over this dry exchange. “Okay, then…”

You hang up the phone. Just as you turn away, the damn landline starts ringing violently again. With another groan, you harshly grab the landline. “Hello?” Your tone switched 180, getting more irritated the longer you’re away from rotting on the couch with your magazine.

“What’re you up to?” The same raspy voice chuckles softly. You squint your eyes, raising a brow as an incredulous laugh escapes your throat. 

“Is this your pickup line? Calling random strangers and asking what they’re up to?” You retort, holding the landline with your shoulder as you walk further into the kitchen and rummage through some snacks. 

“Aw, I wouldn’t say we’re strangers,” the unknown man replies with faux-hurt in his voice. Resisting to roll the eyes out of your skull, you hum in response. You take out a small packet of popcorn.

“Oh yeah? You don’t even know my name,” you scoff, using your teeth to rip the plastic wrap before carelessly tossing the popcorn package into the microwave.

“I’d like to,” the raspy voice teases, and you can envision the cheeky grin. The gravely stranger finally manages to weasel out a weak laugh from you. 

“Is that so?”

“Don’t be a tease.. How about we play a game for it?” The voice offers. Now you were intrigued. The microwave beeps in the background as you rest against your marble countertop. There’s a pregnant pause before you shrug.

“Fine, what the hell,” you indulge this stranger. “What game?”

“20 questions. Think of someone, and I’ll guess.”

A snort and giggle comes through your nose. Jesus, how old is he? 

You take a brief glance out your kitchen window, eyeing the empty garden and illuminated pool in your backyard. You roll your shoulders back, elbow resting on the countertop. There’s quiet breathing on the other end again before it coughs. 

“Ew,” you whisper at the sound of the hacking cough.

“Are they a woman?” The voice murmurs in your ear. 

“Yeah,” you smirk. Trying to screw with this guy a little, you think of yourself, knowing this random stranger would never get it. 

“Are they famous?”

“I wish,” you snicker, enjoying your own little inside joke. Your childish snickers suddenly died at this mysterious stranger’s next words. 

“Do they like to read girly Seventeen magazines, like the one on your couch?”

Beep. Beep. Your popcorn finished snapping in your microwave.

The landline nearly fell from your hand as you froze. You felt your chest tighten, and you furrow your brows in confusion. “What did you say?” Your voice drops to a mere whisper, the colour draining from your face. Goosebumps swim on your skin, and out the corner of your eye, you glance back at the living room.

The magazine was gone.

“I’m more of a Playboy guy myself,” The voice continues, completely ignoring your worried tone. “Maybe I’ll see you on the cover one day,” he teases.

“This isn’t funny, asshole!” You blurt angrily, but the voice cracks alert him of your fear. Your mystery caller simply laughs at your cursing, his voice sounding more ominous than playful by the second.

“At least now we’re not strangers anymore.”

“I’m calling the cops,” the threat is empty, but you hope to strike fear into this (hopefully) prank-caller. Your bare feet pad against the wooden floor, rushing to the front door and checking the locks. 

“Aw, but I still have 16 questions left..” the voice pouts mockingly. 

“Fuck you,” you spit, hanging up the phone with a trembling hand. The sound of your shaky breath fills the vacant home. Crickets chirping out the window fail to ease your nerves as they set in your unfortunate reality. 

You’re home alone.

Immediately, you rush to your porch to make sure the door’s lock and immediately come to see a dark figure standing by your lit pool. A bloodcurdling scream erupts from your throat at the sight, and you stumble over your feet to lock the glass sliding door. 

The light of the pool barely illuminated the figure’s face— a mask. The pale white mask, with a long mouth, and big blacked out eyes. His silhouette was concealed by the long black cloak.. Like a babadook. The face of a ghost. The unknown stranger lifts his hand up, revealing a small black flip phone. He waves it mockingly before holding it to his ear.

Ring. Ring.

Your landline rings again, unbreaking your eye contact with the looming stranger in your backyard. Cautiously and carefully stepping back from the glass door, you reach for the phone once again.

“H—”

“Hang up on me again and I’ll gut you like a fish,” this time the voice was at least 4 octaves lower, and growled at you. Your lower lip trembled, as your eyes stung with tears. 

“W-What do you want?” You whisper, swallowing a lump in your throat. 

“Next question..” the voice pauses. “Does she have an unlocked backdoor?”

Suddenly, a booming crack of wood followed by the sound of shattering glass echoed in the back of the home. Another weak squeal leaves your lips when you instinctively turn your head to the hallway, seeing a broken vase on the ground. When you turn your head back to the porch, and scream again when the stranger is pressed up against the glass door. His mask now flashing in all its plastic glory.

“Let me in, baby..” his disgusting pet name only makes you whimper. Your big eyes well up with fearful tears and you quake right where you're standing.

“Go away.. Please go away..” you sob. 

His black gloved hand pressed against the glass, his index finger tapping in a rhythm against the transparent door. Your brows furrowed in confusion, more sobs falling from your quivering lips. 

A breath hits your neck.

You watch as the stranger pressed against the door starts laughing, his head lolling back and his ominous laughter rings in your ear. Turning around painfully slowly, the landline falls from your hand, smashing to the ground. 

Any sound dies in your throat, jaw dropping when you crane your neck up to a twin of your intruder on the porch. With the same jarring ghostface mask, and long black cloak, the second stranger tilts his head to the side. 

Your wobbling legs only take you so far back away from the nightmarish figure, a pair of arms wrapped around your waist. Held in his vice grip, you instinctively start kicking and sobbing desperately, accidentally (yet successful) managing to shove your foot into the groin of the second intruder.

He lets out a sharp groan, barely bending in pain as the first intruder continues holding you in his tight grip. He’s unrelenting in his hold and damn near picks you off the ground, as if you were a sack of flour. 

“Oh, now you’re gonna get it.”

The once comforting feel of your living room carpet felt like smaller daggers as the broken glass of your porch door dug into your knees. The two matching intruders towered over you, the shorter one holds a tight grip on your hair, while his blade rests under your chin. 

“Please—” Your begs were silenced when the blade pressed against your delicate skin, a small slice stinging your neck. The taller masked figure’s scratchy gloved fingers stroke the side of your tear covered face. 

“Question 15... is she a pretty crier?” the slightly shorter ghostfaced figure tugs your hair, making you whimper. 

“Enough, Constantine,” the other chimes in. His voice much lower than his partner in crime’s— a baritone, authoritative sound that did nothing to soothe your fears. It’s clear the accomplice with a death grip on your scalp was the one on the phone, his husky voice that was a melody to your ears, had this been under any other circumstance.

“I thought we said no names, Wick.”

Constantine and Wick. You finally matched names to the two psychos.

“It’s not like she’ll be alive to remember them.” 

The two go back and forth, their argument silenced when “John” grabs the bottom of his plastic mask, and whips it off his face. Your lips part slightly, eyes widened at the sight. An older man, mid 40s at most. His short black beard decorated across his lower face, and his piercing black eyes piercing down at your trembling figure. His calloused hand reached for your chin, redirecting your head side to side, as if you were cattle being inspected.

“She’s pretty,” he hums, almost sounding impressed. This older man speaks as if you’re not even forcibly knelt down before him. The other man, who you now know to be Constantine, tugs your hair once again and this time makes you gasp sharply. 

“Ow—”

“Be quiet,” Constantine hisses, the blade pressing an millimetre deeper, releasing a few droplets onto your tight t-shirt. The cool metal shifts from under your neck, and now presses against your cheek, a faint crimson line staining your face. 

“Please just let me go. I won’t say anything!” your voice is shaking, as you desperately plead with the two burglars. “Take whatever you want! I won’t say anything! I promise!”

A pregnant pause fills the air, and the two men share a sly glance. The sinister look in their matching dark irises only made you squirm more. Like a mouse caught under the sharp metal trap.

“Anything we want?” Wick raises a brow, his monotonous tone barely masks the innuendo in his words. The older man nods to Constantine, and your second assailant finally reveals himself, taking off his own ghost mask. 

Constantine was presumably a few years younger than Wick, lacking in the facial hair department with only a 5 o’clock shadow, but it defined his sharp jawline more. He almost mimicked Wick to a T. 

The sinister look in their matching dark irises only made you squirm more.

“I think you need to apologise for your little tantrum earlier,” Constantine taunts, his tug on your hair, forcing you to crane your neck fully upwards to Wick. Horror hits you like a bucket of ice water when Wick’s large hand slowly rubs over his clothed groin. “Maybe you should kiss it better—”

“Fuck you!” You blurt out, absolutely appalled at the suggestion from these two devilish older men. Another pathetic whimper echoes from you as Constantine, still death gripping your hair, shoves your face against the rough felt material of his cloak. The sadistic asshole only chuckles at your whimpers whereas Wick remained stoic, and unreadable.

“You can either make it up to my friend here,” Constantine’s taunting tone shifts to menacing, “or we’ll find out what your insides look like with this little thing,” he pats the cold blade on your each with each word. 

A bead of sweat rolls down your face, mixing in with your salty tears. The hiccups and measly cries release from your frozen figure. Helplessly you watch as Wick rolls his cloak up to his hips, the sharp sound of the belt unbuckling jumps your heartbeat. 

“Just one little kiss..” Constantine coos with mockery, his hand finally loosening ever so slightly. Wick’s eyes betray his stone demeanour when you notice a cruel glint in his iris. Biles builds in your throat at the ominous zip of his jeans opening. 

Your eyes grew in disbelief when Wick actually took his cock out from under his pants. His cock was flushed, and already hardening. A thick vein ran from the bottom of his thick shaft all the way up to his pink mushroom tip that leaked pre-cum. You look up at him tearfully, almost begging for mercy, only for him to shoot it down by tapping his large dick against your cheek and lips.

“You know what to do..” Wick finally speaks, his baritone voice was soft on your ears. The salty pre-cum made you grimace as Wick pressed his tip against your plump lips, slowly penetrating your mouth. You let out a loud gag and couch, your lips fully stretched around Wick’s cock, and his tip almost hitting the back of your throat.

Constantine’s hand grips your hair tightly again, guiding your harsh movements like a ragdoll. He tugs you back and forth on the older man’s cock, before suddenly forcing your nose against Wick’s short pubes, his shaft fully lodged in your throat. 

Guttural moans fall from Wick’s lips, as he clenches his cloak tight, his knuckles widening. You struggle to breathe as you gag on the intrusion in your mouth. Your fingernails found their way to Wick’s thighs, pinching through his jeans. Constantine holds you in this position, until your eyes begin to roll backwards. 

“She’s already crying...” Constantine scoffs when he tugs you back. A thick string of spit and saliva connects from your puffy lips to Wick’s glistening cock. You cough harshly, as your throat already begins to ache, and globs of spit dribble down your chin.

“I think you can do better than that..” Wick purrs, his large hand grips your jaw, before gently patting your cheek. You hiccup on your spit, eyes fully blurred with tears when Wick presses the tip of his cock back onto your lips. You flatten your tongue against the underside of Wick’s shaft, taking kitten licks to stall time. Swirling your tongue around his tip, tasting his pre-cum once again, you elicit another husky groan from Wick.

Meanwhile Constantine’s hands venture down from your hair and lower on your body as he kneels behind you, his gloved fingers meticulously feeling each bump of your spine before reaching the swell of your ass. His hot breath hits the back of your neck, and his intruding fingers slide in between your legs, over your silk pajamas shorts.

You squeal suddenly, turning your head to look over your shoulder. Wick grabs your hair once again, focusing your attention back on him, his dick promptly thrusted right back in your mouth. 

“I think she’s enjoying this,” Constantine’s chuckles darkly, his thick fingers sliding under your flimsy shorts, feeling the damp spot on your panties with his digits. He presses hard on your bundle of nerves, and a girly whimper is muffled by Wick’s intrusion. Your toes curl, and your hips involuntarily buck when Constantine’s digits move in a slow circle. 

“So pretty with my cock in her mouth..” Wick says with a smug smile on his lips, his hand pushing your head aggressively. Your head bobs up and down Wick’s thick cock, your throat sore and your jaw aching as you cling to the fat of his thighs for support. 

“She does fucking like it. What a dirty little girl..” Constantine’s slippery fingers managed to hook your panties to the side, your juices coating his digits and only making him laugh cruelly at your expense. Two of his thick fingers slide past your folds, and your spongy walls clenched tightly. 

This seesaw movement of your hips grinding on Constantine’s hand as Wick abuses your mouth, has your body trembling, and legs burning from the uncomfortable position. But the two older men drink in every whimper, every cry and every tear— sickeningly getting off on your pain.

Your hair is ruthlessly pulled once again by Constantine. Coughs fill your lungs as you try to catch your breath, your lips completely smeared in spit and pre-cum. Wick’s fingers gather the globs of white spit and shoved into mouth, making you choke. Your throat throbbed, eyes borderline fluttering closed, and your knees were definitely bruised. 

Like a fucked out doll, your body was rendering submissive to your two burglars. 

“Last question..” Constantine snickers, his lips pressed against your ear. 

“How long can she last before she breaks?”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Fin.

— taglist. @alwaysinblck @sickzmbie @nyxblessed @hearteyedbambi @worldsgreatestsinner @slutforsoldierboy @rizunaur @alox @sughcashsaiki @cillivnz @starrgurl46 @beansricejc @97keanu @the-trash-site @keanuthot @sulibbyyyyy @20s7nn @aerangi @alyssagames01 @nogr4vity @gea-chan96

[fics-not-tragedies]

Hello! I’m a relatively new follower. I found your blog a few month ago while looking for santino d’Antonio and John wick fics when I was in the beginning of obsessing over them hehe. Anyways I’m so glad your posting again and will you be writing for them for kinkoctober?

Hi love! 💖 Great to hear we have the same obsession hehe. Yes, I will be writing for them for KINKtober. I will post more details regarding this event around September 20th I think 😄

[bluelolblue]

Master and his Guard dog

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: John Wick

Relationship: Santino D'Antonio/John Wick

Chapters: 1

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence! However I'd say it's mild, just John killing and torturing people Santino told him to. Smut, as well. See the tags on AO3.

Sumarry: John started to get the "obsessive behavior" over Santino, he gets jealous whenever Santino is talking or hanging out with anyone. Since John is his bodyguard, he is constantly near him or near his sight since that's his duty. However, with Santino's flirting and teasing, it was hard for John to suppress himself, waiting for his master to give him the permission. Yet, they're both obsessed over each other, Santino just didn't gave that away so easily.

Snippet⬇️

John becoming Santino's bodyguard was kinda unexpected.

Santino didn't bother with anyone's comment, he knew why he did that. Everyone's heard of John, so seeing him with Santino would be more intimidating.

Since Santino and John know each other for a long time, they get along alright even though Santino has his moods and moments when he snaps at John but John is used to that so he doesn't really react, it's better to just stay quiet when Santino is like that. He doesn't want to piss him off even more.

And since John has some kind of...attachment issues, his feelings grew stronger towards Santino.

John was standing in a dark corner of the huge room, he kept his focus on Santino who was talking with someone. It wasn't anyone from the High Table which was already a bad sign to John.

Seeing the way Santino smiled at the man and how he returned the smile made John want to kill the man.

It was some kind of a business talk, as far as John could understand since he was too busy fighting his own demons in his head.

"John?"

He heard Santino's voice calling for him. He quickly snapped back to reality and looked at Santino. He walked up to him, "Yes?" He asked, his voice soft and quiet. "Please escort our guest. We had a nice talk." Santino said with a smile.

'I could kill him outside.' John thought as he glanced the man and nodded at Santino's order.

Santino knew John was thinking about something. And he could guess about what but he likes that about him.

When John returned, Santino immediately went up to him and patted his shoulder. "I got what I wanted. Well...not quite yet. I have to do something for him." Santino explained, a slight blush appeared on his face when he said the last sentence.

"What does he need you for?" John asked and immediately regretted forming a sentence like this. He sounded defensive. He quickly cleared his throat when Santino raised an eye brow in confusion at him. "I-I mean, if he needs you to kill someone I can do it for you." That's a bit better.

Santino chuckled, "No, no. He doesn't need that." He said, smiling at him and nervously scratched his nose. "Don't worry about what he wants me to do."

What Santino needed to do was...well, something that made John's blood boil.

...

Read the rest on AO3

Notes here for Tumblr: Okay so this one is long and it took me a while to finish it. This was supposed to be for Kinktober...but I couldn't finish it. Now it's here and I hope it's good enough :).

I'll write fluff with them one day dw.

[the-darklings]

♱. phonecall

◜KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

♡ week 1, day 2

♡ pairing: santino d'antonio/v (coa)

♡ warnings: explicit (18+), phone sex, mutual masturbation, teasing, a dash of dirty talk, a mention of past oral (m receiving), dom!v rights, santino is thirsty af but nothing new there.

♡ word count: 1.9k+

♡ song rec: 505 by arctic monkeys

The shrill ring of your phone jolts you from your musings.

Your mind falters midthought, permitting the fragile idea to flutter away like ribbons cut loose. Whatever shred of concentration you’ve managed to muster up on this night flees when you glimpse the name lighting up your screen.

The silken sheets of the bed beneath you stroke against your bare thighs as you stretch your limbs across it. Your work notes now lay abandoned to the side. All in a favour of answering a man so eager to call you in the middle of the night. Perhaps it shouldn’t startle you that Santino knows your habits — that he’s well aware you will not be asleep although the clock on your bedside table displays a glaring 1:24AM.

“Miss me already?” you greet with a grin when you press the phone to your ear.

The line crackles, followed by an exhale which promptly informs you Santino has rolled his eyes an ocean away. Shifting in your spot, you lift one leg up, bending it at the knee before dropping the other over it. Fans whirl above head, but they do little to dispel the balmy heat of this particular Naples night. Outside, moonlight gleams across the bay, dark water glittering silver. It makes the bed feel a little too cold, the room a bit too dark, now that you’re reminded Santino is not here with you physically. It’s the first time he had to leave in months and there was too much of a schedule conflict for you to travel with him. He respects your position too much to ever complain about it… much.

“Amore,” he purrs, his voice breathy, low. “You know how much I always miss you, no?”

His words are once again articulated in a familiar, cocky manner. So sure of himself, so hungry for you, it forces the hairs at the back of your neck to stand to attention despite the heat of the room.

You hum distractedly, shifting your intertwined legs from side to side, the dip in your knee holding your attention. Your lacy slip has slid down, pooling around your hips, practically baring you to an invisible audience.

“You always give me a good reminder whenever you return,” you admit, feeling a distinct, gyrating pang low in your gut, savouring his controlled inhale in your ear. No doubt recollecting your reunions. Hands and teeth and moans. Sweat and his head beneath your legs, your nails scratching against his scalp, forcing groans of satisfaction out of him. “How is it going?”

“I’ve missed you awfully,” he declares, a touch dramatic, and every bit Santino. But there’s sincerity to be found in his voice that manages to soften your features. “I miss kissing you, hm? Your scent. Your laugh even more so.”

“Well, well,” you muse playfully, feeling a palpable burn in your own veins at his confession. “Who knew I had Santino D’Antonio so smitten with me? Whatever would people say?”

People know you’re together. You’ve lived together for months now. Many are whispering how it’s only a matter of time before Santino gets on one knee and declares you Lady of Camorra to be. But Santino understands you and understands your need for time. You enjoy just having him, no titles or expectations attached.

He doesn’t answer you but his silence feels potent. Teeming with things unspoken, his intentions practically kissing you where you lay still on your shared bed. A bed you’ve both more than broken in, tangled together and clawing at the sheets.

“Anything else?” you prompt.

Santino hums; a long, pensive sound of contemplation. But you can sense the shift in the air, how he’s about to plunge you both into something different. You’ve grown rather good at anticipating him after so many years of knowing him.

“Fucking you,” he admits brazenly, his accent thickening, deepening the vowels where they tangle in each other. “I’ve missed you calling my name when I make you come, bella. Cazzo. The sounds you make—”

Your chest rises with a deep inhale, holding oxygen inside your lungs until they start to ache. “Oh?” you breathe, an encouraging sound permeating the silence between you. “What else?”

Santino breathes in your ear for a moment, strangled. Your eyes flutter closed, and you can almost sense him near you — his heat, scent, taste, the way his hands glide across your skin, touching you everywhere, claiming you and worshipping you alike. His fingers at the back of your head, holding you close to him. His hiss of choked breath while his fingers clinch the flesh of your thighs, hooking your legs over his hips. A thousand such scenarios play through your mind.

“Tell me where you are.”

It’s more so a demand than a question and while usually, such a tone would have prompted a scowl or a glare, this time it only kindles a fire in your gut. Your thighs press tightly together, rubbing together to quell the rising urge in you. Eyes still resting shut, you only offer him a distracted, sly, “On our bed. I can smell you. Your cologne still lingers on the sheets.”

Santino mutters something under his breath. A shuffle on the line and you can hear him moving. Another rustle of cloth and—

“Are you dressed, amore? Or are you laying on those sheets naked?”

You have a preference to do so, he knows as much. It’s not your fault the Italian climate is still taking time to adapt to fully after you’ve lived for years in Moscow and New York. More adept in dealing with cooler temperatures than heat. It’s even less your fault he’s a furnace of heat and impossible to sleep against.

“Just my slip,” you answer throatily, licking your lips, squirming in your spot, too hot all over. “The one you gave me. The green one.”

He never hides his preference for seeing you in his favourite colour. How it hugs your figure, brings out your features and compliments you, drives him insane. Even the silk you both tangle in so passionately is oftentimes varying shades of emerald.

“Ah, my favourite. No underwear, I presume?” he drills, his voice thick, all pretence of arrogant disposition waning word by word. Barely leashed desire exposes him and his impatience even more so. “Devil woman. Mhm. Are you wet, amore mio? Waiting for me to pleasure you again? Fuck you so well you’re sleepy and full of me in those sheets.”

He would know. Not like you’re going to give him the satisfaction of a stroked ego though. “Who knows? I could have anyone here to keep me busy.”

A low growl filters from the other end; agitation, mixing with Santino’s own possessiveness, slivers of jealousy. Perhaps it’s an unfair thing to say but you’ve never been particularly merciful on him.

“Touch yourself,” he urges, his voice silky and downright sinful. Empty of the darkness to have peeked through moments prior. Now, his words trickle through the phone gently. Impossibly coaxing all at once, and he’s more than aware of it. “Imagine I’m there with you. Let me remind you why you’re on my bed and not someone else’s, yes?”

“Demanding.”

“Cara mia,” the endearment rips out of him as a near savage snarl, but ever so hungry. “Let me hear you.”

You contemplate hanging up, contemplate reminding him how he’s hardly in the position to demand anything of you. How the ring of your command is more frequent than his in the bedroom. How his glazed, drunk eyes focus on you wherever you use that tone with him, devouring those instances with unnerving intensity. How he lowers his head in reverence just as you do. Albeit much more frequently than you. How satisfied he is with both, how eager for your claws and fangs.

But you can be merciful, and you have missed him. So you allow your fingers to skate down your body, not lingering anywhere in particular. Your legs uncross, still bent at the knees when you part them. Night air kisses exposed flesh and you wither on the sheets, running your tongue over your teeth with a brief, hoarse laugh.

“Seems like I’ve missed you too, Santi,” you inform him lazily, your fingers stroking down your core, spreading the wetness slowly starting to pool there. “Maybe I have missed you fucking me after all.”

Santino listens so intently there’s only eerie silence in your ear. Only broken apart by occasional, haggard breath from him — so controlled, fragmented, as if not to break the delicious, heated spell cocooning you both.

You slip a finger inside yourself, feeling the stretch, the tingling rush of excitement scorching through the nerves of your inner thighs. Such a good stress reliever. One you’ve employed many times in your years of solitude where no lovers were welcomed into your bed.

“Mhm.”

Your sigh fills the air, your chest rising and falling in a shallow rhythm. Your wrist strains, bending, and it prompts a moan; hushed, lazy, wanton. Santino seems to be breathing with you, in and out. You can feel phantom of his presence, slotting between your parted legs, stroking himself as he peers down at you. Mouth parted and limbs trembling with the urge to leap forward and sink into you. Fuck you with an urgency he often employs, teeth grit and brow damp from exertion. Always so impatient for his release.

“Having fun, Santi?” you moan, breathless, sensing the heat bubbling in your lower stomach.

You curl your fingers, delighted by the sensation of pleasure, of friction, webbing through your quivering limbs. Wet, sloppy sounds join your muffled breathing, and all you hear from Santino is a rumbling groan. You can picture him perfectly. His hand gripping his length harshly — but not as harshly as you do. Stroking up and down with building, sloppy urgency, holding the pulsing, hot weight of himself in his palm — but not as feverishly, or as deliciously as you do.

“Are you picturing me on my knees, Santi? It’s been a while since you came into my mouth.”

A seething curse tumbles from his mouth. You’re not quite sure if it’s your name that precedes it but all you do know is that he’s most certainly picturing you on your knees now. Your mouth heavy with the weight of him, and jaw straining to accommodate him. Eyes hooded and sly while you watch him watch you.

A gargle of broken Italian fills your ear and you increase your pace, a second finger slipping inside. It’s not enough — not nearly enough after you’ve gotten used to having Santino inside you — but the sounds of his groans, splintering into a desperate moan of your name, sends you over the edge right after him.

Sweat pools at the crevices of your skin, your hips raised slightly from the bed beneath you. Thighs closing, you grind them together, your fingers still inside you. Pressure, pressure — it scratches its way through your clit, and you hiss between clenched teeth, grinding into the heel of your palm desperately. Prolonging the floaty, addictive sensation as long as you can.

It takes several minutes for you both to come down from your high. Your eyelids flutter, suddenly sleepy, content.

“You’re not leaving that bed when I’m back,” Santino hisses and you can hear the indignation stark in his scratchy voice. Oh, the predictability of D’Antonio pride. “This I promise you, cara mia.”

You stretch indolently, dragging your hand from between your legs and popping the slippery digits into your awaiting mouth. Purposely noisy, so you’re sure every sound is audible, amplified. So he hears every last bit.

“Looking forward to it, grumpy.”

[hardknockwrite]

Day 12: Against A Wall (John Wick)

The minute you felt your back hit the wall, you knew you were in trouble. He never fucked you in public, but brattiness was not in the cards tonight. You dealt your hand anyways. 

The look in his eyes as he led you from your table at the Continental to the restrooms down the hall had you quivering. You just had to open your mouth.

When you felt your back hit the wall and him pull your underwear to the side, you had all of 10 seconds to prepare yourself. His fingers quickly find your clit and he rubs just long enough to get you dripping. 

The second he felt you run down his fingers, he stopped. You knew this was as much of a punishment he could give you in public. You also knew this was him letting you off easy. 

You apologized quickly after acting like a brat, and that worked in your favor. 

Tonight was not the night to do that again, and you wouldn’t. Besides, you prefer a happy John anyways.

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

KINKtober Day 13: Lingerie

Soo... It’s Lingerie Day today at kinktober headquarters and I know I haven’t written anything for kinktober (and i most likely won’t write anything else LOL) at all but today I felt inspired and that happened. Enjoy?

with John Wick

He had been gone for 4 weeks. She didn't even know where he was. Or what exactly the job was this time. All she knew was, that he was still alive. He made sure to let her know that. He'd been home in less than an hour. It wasn't often that John was away that long. He wasn't keen on taking any job that was offered to him anymore.

She looked at herself in the mirror. Just thinking about what his hands could make her feel, made a blush creep to her cheeks. He was very clear when he said she wasn't allowed to touch herself when he was gone. She had no idea how he would be able to check if she did. But she didn't. Shuddering she ran her fingertips over her arms up to her shoulder. Over the thin strap of her black lace bra. There was close to no fabric covering her breasts. Her fingertips running over her already hard nipples. Smiling at herself she grabbed the stockings, putting them on. Standing up she looked over her whole body. Many straps run over her stomach, connecting with the G-String she wore. Smirking she put on the high heels and walked down the stairs.

All John wanted to do was get a shower and go to sleep. The job had been on big fuck up. Sure he got it done, and he got one big bonus out of it, but still. Getting out of the taxi he paid the driver and got out his suitcase, walking up his driveway. The lights were out. It was late. She probably was already fast asleep. His girlfriend. He chuckled to himself. Girlfriend was the wrong word for her. She was his partner. His love.

As silent as possible he opened the door, setting his suitcase down next to the wardrobe and locking the door behind him. He pulled his suit jacket off, throwing it over the chair in the entry, before he pulled his shoes off.

Closing his eyes he put his arms above his head, stretching himself. His bones cracking. Sighing he opened his eyes and finally saw that a light was on on in the living room. Carefully he made his way over.

The anticipation was killing her. She heard the door open, and she hear his steps. She turned away from the door, facing the fireplace, where a little fire was burning.

“Babe?” She heard his voice. Slowly she turned around.

Every trace of tiredness was washed away as he saw her standing in front of the fireplace. Wearing next to nothing. The black stockings stretching up her thigh, the tinniest G-String he had ever seen, the bit of lace that covered her breasts connected to many straps over her whole upper body.

“John.” She breathed. He could feel himself getting harder with every step he took towards her. His hands both connecting in a slap on her ass as his lips captured hers hungrily. Kneading her ass, he rubbed his pelvis over hers. Whimpering she tilted her head back.

“I missed you.” She breathed. Johns lips on her neck.

“I can see that.” He groaned as he felt one of her hands opening his belt and button of his pants. Nibbling on her collarbone his tongue tracing a line down to her lace covered nipples, biting her over the fabric. She moaned and threw her head back.

“John...” She breathed as her hand worked it's way under his boxers, finally reaching his cock. Her other hand grabbing his shoulder, as she felt his fingers brushing over her lace covered pussy. Biting her lip, she closed her hand around his cock, slowly rubbing him.

“You're so wet for me.” He whispered against her ear.

“Did you touch yourself, while I was gone?” He asked. His fingers pushing the fabric that covered her to the side.

“No...” She bit her lip, as she felt his long fingers drawing circles over her clit.

“Good girl.” Two of his fingers entered her.

“Fuck...” She moaned, as his fingers began to move within her. Rubbing repeatedly over her G-Spot. His lips closed around one of her nipples, lightly sucking on it.

“John...” She moaned.

“Yes baby?” He groaned.

“Fuck me.” She whimpered. He picked her up, her legs closing around his hips, as he carried her up the stairs. Carefully he sat her down on their bed as he made quick work of his pants and shirt. She lay on the bed, her weight on one of her elbows, as she watched him undressing, biting on her lip. He was a work of art.

Like a predator he climbed on top of her, pushing her legs to either side of him, to settle between her legs. One of his hands pushed the fabric of her string to the side. He kept running the tip of his cock through her wet folds, earning a low moan from her.

“Stop teasing, John.” She groaned.

In one fluid motion he buried himself fully into her. His upper body coming down on hers, his weight on one of his arms, as his other hands pushed the fabric that still covered her nipples to the side, biting into one of them.

This right here, buried fully into her, his lips closed around her nipple, that was his happy place.

“Harder, babe.” She scratched his back, making him curse, her legs around his waist, as he began to fuck her harder. He licked his fingers before he brought them between their bodys to circle her clit. The smile on her face as she bit her lip, breathing hard, was a sight he would never grew tired to see. He felt her legs beginning to shake.

“You gonna cum?” He groaned into her ear, before he kissed her, swallowing the cry of pleasure as he felt her inner walls closing around him, taking him over the edge with her as he spilled himself deep into her. Parting they lay next to each other, trying to catch their breaths.

“You didn't even tear one strap. I'm impressed.” She chuckled after a while. John pushed himself to lay on his side facing her, as his fingertips ran over one of the many straps over her body.

“Next time.” He said as he leant down, kissing her on top of her breast, making her gasp.

“Is that a promise?” She asked as he looked up at her, his finger playing with one of the straps over her breasts.

“What do you think, baby girl?”