#please enjoy your weekend dose 😂😂

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 19 all chapters

“Jane! Will you hear reason? (he stooped and approached his lips to my ear); “because, if you won’t, I’ll try violence.” -Rochester, Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte

WARNINGS: NSFW, POSSESSIVE BEHAVIOR, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T, PLZ TAKE CARE, LOVE U ALL 😘😘😘😘

-It is unfathomable, the amount of dread that manages to build inside you as you make that short walk up the stairs and down the hall. Back to the bedroom, which may as well be your jail cell. The locks on the door engage with what is to you, an ominous click.

Did you really think you were going to get one over on a man who was a professional predator?

You little fool.

You find it hard to read John’s expression. Not mad, exactly, but not happy either. Pensive. You realize he’s deep in thought, and that almost scares you more than if he’d peppered you with threats.

What is he going to do to you?

He drops you down on the bed, hard enough that you bounce. Your first instinct is to try to scramble away, but he is on you in a second, pulling you closer with hands on your thighs that will not be denied.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

He leans over you, trapping you in the cage of his arms and his torso. He is so much bigger than you, and you hate it that you find his looming body equally titillating as it is terrifying. Your hands gravitate to his chest, as though to keep him at bay, but mostly…just resting there, on muscle that is like warm carved granite.

You dare to look up meet his gaze, and find his eye has turned from swollen red to a vibrant royal purple. You know it must hurt.

Even more fucked up, you actually start to feel bad about it.

You reach up to touch his cheek lightly. “John…I’m sorry.”

His eyes narrow, and he looks you up and down so neatly trapped beneath him. “Oh, you’re going to be,” he practically purrs.

A trill of fear skitters down your spine.

“My ankle hurts,” you whine, angling for sympathy.

“And whose fault is that?”

“Pretty sure it’s yours.”

He chuckles at you, though there is a dark note beneath it all that lifts every hair on your body.

You are so fucked.

You cannot help but think he is savoring your nervousness, like a cat toying with a mouse. You are shaking like a leaf, and you flinch when he lifts a hand to your face. But he doesn’t strike you, just caresses the curve of your cheek.

You know deep down that he’s just priming you for what is to come, but fuck if it doesn’t feel wonderful to lean into his touch, and you can nearly pretend that he cherishes you. It almost puts you at ease—but you have already learned this man offers no comfort without exacting some impossible price for it later.

He settles farther into you with a low sound like a growl, rubbing the scruff of his beard against your face as though marking you. It is so primal, so far removed from anything civilized, and you…cannot suppress a sigh.

You should struggle and bite and kick—but in that moment, you just...don't want to.

“Hmm,” he grumbles, a sound from deep in his chest that you feel as much as hear. “My fierce little kitten. What am I to do with you?”

“Let me go?”

You don't know why you even ask. You already know his answer, but you just can't stop yourself. You are filled to the gills with the most agonizing mix of arousal and fear, nearly sick with the adrenaline racing through your veins.

This man will kill you just with the threat of waiting, it seems.

He answers by pressing his mouth to yours, taking your lips in a possessive and probing kiss that curls your toes. He pulls you closer, offering you a firm thigh between your legs to grind upon, and goddamn it that if lost in the moment, you don’t take him up on it. You feel him smile against your mouth, nipping at your lower lip.

 It leaves you dizzy with desire, and he takes advantage of your stupefied state, suddenly flipping you on your stomach. You scream a little with surprise, finding yourself bent over the edge of the bed, his narrow hips flush against your backside. You try to struggle up on your elbows, but he pins you down with a large hand between your shoulder blades. 

“Stay there,” he warns you. “Or I'll make you stay.”

Your heart is a thunderous timpani roll in your ears. With your face down in the soft sheets that smell so deliciously like him, you fear you know what’s coming next. Yet he takes his time about it, his gentle fingertips tracing your curves, down to the sensitive skin of the backs of your thighs. It makes you shudder—why does he have to be so gentle, while he’s being so terrible?

You feel his fingers bunch in your hem a moment before he wrenches your skirt up past your waist. 

You cry out, writhing on instinct, but again he pins you with his torso moulded against your back. The warmth of him, and the weight of him…is a damnably delightful thing.

“My bad bad girl.” You feel his fingertips ghosting up your thigh, up to trace the line of your panties over your buttock, teasing just inside the elastic. Your hands fist in the sheets; you can hardly stand it. His light touch feels uneasily wonderful, and your fruitless squirming beneath him is equally fueled by desire and dread. You can feel his erection pressing into your flesh. It does not help the growing ache between your thighs. It's possible you arch into him for a moment, before you regain your wits again, grinding your teeth against every iota of tainted pleasure this man makes you feel.

He cups the round of your butt with a groan of approval, the breadth of his paw making you feel impossibly small. 

“Such a perfect ass. Just made for spanking.”

A spear of cold fear pierces your insides.

“Please don't hit me.” You hate how utterly pathetic you sound, whimpering into the counterpane.

“No? You hit me first.”

“I...you kidnapped me!” 

“Hmm.”

You are realizing that's not going to be a viable defense with this man. 

“Just remember, kitten. Anything you can do.” He kisses the knob of your spine on the back of your neck, making you shudder.  “I can do to you.” Another kiss, lower on your exposed spine, that absolutely fries the wires in your brain. “Ten times worse. Understood?”

“Yes.” You are proud that your voice sounds somewhat level, because all you want to do is sob into the sheets. It makes you so angry, that he can manipulate your body this way, and that the threat of his brutality merely seems to serve as an amuse bouche to your arousal. What the fuck is wrong with you?

“So. My darling doesn't like hitting. I don't either. Should we make a deal?” 

“A deal?” 

“You won't hit me, and I won't hit you.”

“Ok,” you sigh, relieved yet knowing this is not something that in a sane world, should win your gratitude. Little by little, he's tying your hands more, stealing your ability to fight back, catching you up in the web of his game.

His voice drops low as he warns you, “Don't break a deal with me, sweetheart. You won't like it.” 

“I won't.” Your voice is so small, you hardly recognize it.

He makes a sound of approval from deep in his chest, running his hand down your back, almost like he’s petting you.

“But now we're back to square one. How am I to punish you?”

You make a squeak of surprise.

“But—”

“I’m going to have a black eye for at least a week. You owe me something.”

He kidnapped you, and you hit him trying to escape, so you owe him.

Class, welcome to Gaslighting 101.

Worse yet, you know it, but there’s not a goddammed thing you can do about it.

When you remain silent in your fury he further prompts, “Any suggestions?”

You cannot stop yourself from spitting, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He actually laughs at that, a low sound that tugs at your belly and makes you pulse between your thighs.

“I think I have an idea.”

His fingertips hook in the sides of your panties, drawing them down to bare your ass to him. “No…” You try to roll away, but he pins you again with his hips against the bed.

“Feeling shy now? I literally had my tongue inside your sweet little pussy a few days ago.” The reminder of this invokes a throbbing in your cunt that is not helpful at all.

“That was different…”

“Was it?”

A lump rises in your throat, and you barely manage to speak around it. “I trusted you then.”

“I’m still the same man, y/n.” He caresses the curve of your ass cheek, so gently. His fingertips stray agonizingly close to your weeping center, and you know you are a broken thing, for the flood of slick that answers him between your legs. You tremble as you fight not to strain towards him, like a flower seeks the sun. “I think you knew I was dangerous, even then.”

Your breath escapes in a shuddering sigh. He might be right about that…but the rest. There’s no way you could have even dreamed all the rest. You did not sign up for this. You’re going to have to keep reminding yourself of that, no matter how tenuous your reality becomes.

A small sound escapes you, as he bends to kiss the small of your back.

“Here’s what we’re going to do, y/n.” His lips stray lower to the globe of your ass, and you quiver in a mixture of anticipation and fear. His thumb rests at the crease where your thigh meets your butt cheek, so close to your center that you could scream. “A bruise for a bruise.”

“Wait—”

His teeth sink into your ass, hard, and you squeal. 

“John!”

He holds you down, sucking mercilessly, leaving what you realize will be the worst hickey in the history of hickeys. It hurts, but a little voice inside your head sings out, it could be so much worse... and as it goes on...his mouth working on your flesh sort of feels good. You force yourself to remain still, gripping the sheets so hard that you feel like they should tear.

When at last he finishes with you, planting the gentlest kiss over the site he just utterly ravaged, you whimper with relief...and want. He continues his soft kisses, feather light, up your spine again, until his body is draped over yours once more, his erection in his pants fitting snugly in the crack of your ass.

Fuck.

You are a quivering mess beneath him, and there is a chaotic knot in your chest made of fear, desire, revulsion, and yearning. You are coiled tight as a spring, and you know, you just know that if he moved to take you like this you would absolutely let him, weeping with relief, even if you would loathe yourself for it later.

He kisses your cheek, ever so sweetly, as though he hadn’t just scared the bejeezus out of you and practically tried to take a bite out of you besides. “That’s my good girl. You took that so well.”

You can hardly believe the intoxicating flood of warmth that fills you at hearing those words. For the umpteenth time you wonder what the fuck is he doing to you?

You feel him start to move off of you, and before you can stop yourself you make a sound of protest, not wanting him to go.

“Shh. I’ll be right back, sweetheart.” He claps your behind just enough to make a sound—and a spear of longing to shoot through you.

Before you can complain about your deal of no hitting, he’s gone, leaving you cold and exposed upon the bed, wondering what the fuck just happened.

-By the time he returns you’ve righted yourself again, pulled up your big girl panties and got in a quick, semi-cathartic cry against the pillow that smells so wonderfully of him.

Dog is at John’s heels, and he is ever so happy to scarf down the remains of your sandwich that still littered the floor.

John scoops up the book that nearly took his head off. You can see his left eye is swelling angrily. He should have iced it immediately—but he had other things on his mind.

“Did it have to be War and Peace?” he grumbles with a frown.  

“Seemed fitting.”

He snorts, though the look he pays you isn’t exactly kind. “Remind me to hide Anna Karenina,” he says, but just replaces it on the shelf, not even bothering to take it away from you.

You guess he won't fall for the same trick twice. 

You're right about that.

After he wraps your ankle with ACE bandage and sits for a while with frozen peas on his eye, he installs a camera up in the corner of the room, right where you can see it. 

“This will stay here until you prove to me you can be trusted with privacy.” 

You frown, but say nothing in return.

-Later, you are resting together in bed, almost like a normal couple. At his demand you agreed to snuggle with him, settling in at his side. His arm is around your shoulders, your head on his chest. The scene is almost sweet, but he has the cold pack on his eye again, and you are elevating your ankle on a pillow.

What a pair you make.

He adjusts the compress on his eye, and you are taken aback after he so insisted on punishing you, he seems to find it funny, a huff of laugher escaping him. “Don't tell anyone you got one in on John Wick, they'll want to hire you.”

Though you should be cautious after everything that just happened, this piques your voracious curiosity once more.

“Were you a big deal, in your world? 

“I was...good at my job.”

“How did you get into that?”

He juts his bottom jaw, the way you've noticed he does when he's agitated, or thinking about something he doesn’t like. 

“I never really had a choice,” he answers finally. “I was an orphan, and the people who took me in trained me to be a killer.” 

You blink at that, trying to decide if he's fucking with you or not. 

“That's like, some Agent Salt shit.”

He tilts his head, not following. 

“You know. Like, KGB Russian sleeper agents?”

He snorts. “Sure, I guess. I might have liked KGB training, compared to what we went through.” 

Before you can stop yourself, you reach up to touch his face, stroking his beard with the blade of your thumb. 

Jesus, you should not feel sorry for this man. But Goddammit. Something tells you that he's absolutely telling you the truth. Something about the way he delivers it, and the way he is…it tracks. He’s not trying to sound tough, or brag, or make up a good backstory about his past.

It just…is, and it breaks your heart in two.