johnwickb1tsch

[johnwickb1tsch]

[johnwickb1tsch]

ok but what about...a destination wedding au crack fic where Kevin Lomax is your ex, Frank begrudgingly has a thing for you, but he's up against...Donaka Mark?

[johnwickb1tsch]

𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐘 𝐈

chapter warnings. psychiatric hospital of dubious origin. medical violence. mentions of mental disorders. hallucinations. mental and physical abuse. needles and injections (scene disclaimed in red) not proof read.

pairing. witch!hunter!constantine x witch!reader

synopsis. humanity always feared witches and their power. They viewed them as creatures that couldn’t exist. you, once a feared witch, had a red string connecting you to your past.

Lennox house was inhospitable. A mental hospital for clinically insane girls, where they promised to treat them and make them mentally stable to live in society again. Of course, that rarely happened. No woman hospitalized there would ever be able to live in society again. Forever a danger to themselves and others.

— Girls, your new roommate will arrive today, her name is Isabel. Please, clean the room and receive her with care! — The head nurse, Olivia, appeared in the door with the news. A new roommate, of course, as if the place wasn’t already small enough. Part of you wished that no one ever needed to find this place, but things never worked in your way.

With no other choice, all the girls nodded, humming in knowledge, not allowed to break the silence with defiance. Everyone moved to make their beds and mop the floors, but no amount of alcohol could make this place welcoming, never.

It was around noon when the new intern arrived. A tall, redhead woman, screaming from the top of her lungs as the male nurses, more like security guards, dragged her inside. The four girls in the room were all glued by the window, watching the unusual scene on their monotonous lives. By the glass, you could see it blurredly, the rain fogging the view. a car waiting outside, hosting a family. There was a elderly couple, their faces destroyed as they watched their daughter. A younger girl on the backseat, which you assumed to be the sister. One more family being ripped apart, one more woman being condemned for the rest of her life. Welcome to Lennox.

When Isabel arrived to the room, she was already calmer, medicated with heavy drugs that made her steps wobbly and unsure. By close, you could see her beautiful yet rough face, red curls wild like fire. Her pupils were dilated, her face swollen.

There was no one friendly in this hell of a place. Friendship and love were things that couldn’t flourish here, but one thing they all needed; loyalty. A friend meant the chance of being backstabbed at any second, but a partner could help you to mutually achieve things to survive for more a single day. That’s why everyone moved to help Isabel, laying her in her bed. She was shaking even under the covers, her face a mix of pleading and desperation. It didn’t took much for her to fall longer in the effect of the sedatives, sleeping for hours interrupted.

— What do you think it happened to her? — Aliyah asked, always the less sensible of the four, now five girls in the room.

— None of your business, Aliyah. — Helen was the older in the room, around twenty-nine, hospitalized after not being able to recover from the death of her husband. She was the more mature, more sensible, the one that helped us to never get in danger. Helen was always the older sister to us in every situation. By what we picked up, Helen never had no one in life, only her late husband. When he died, his family felt like they didn’t had any obligation to look after Helen, even if she was paralyzed with grief.

Aliyah only scoffed, rolling her eyes. Everyone else just stayed quiet, even you. Defying Helen meant to lose the most important alliance they all had. Helen was the most sane in Lennox, close enough to prove her sanity again, and finally leave. But she had nowhere to go, nowhere to live. That meant she could apply as a nurse in Lennox, changing much things for everyone. They all hoped for this one chance with all of their hearts.

The night arrived soon enough, and you slept right soon after the prayer, and the night medicines. You could feel it intoxicating your system, your blood, but you never, ever had choice. Specially not here.

toc, toc, toc.

The persistent noise continued, making you rise from your feet, unsure and afraid. You scanned around the room, but there was no explanation for it. The noise moved, now coming from the hall. Looking behind your shoulder, you saw every one of your roommates was asleep, even Isabel.

With shaky hands, the door was open, showing the pitch black corridors. The noise continued to guide you, finally reaching the end, where the backyard started. A block of green grass, fenced by thick walls that seemed to reach the sky.

A tall figure could be seen standing, moonlight accentuating the pale figure. You have seen it before. He would never look at you, always facing the moon, never allowing you to see his face.

— You’re closer to be free than you think. — The voice was eerie, light and soft. Condescending, even. You sighed, taking a tentative step closer.

— How so? — Your voice was so low and weak it surprise the creature in front of you could hear it.

— From dust to dust…— You were close to open your mouth, express your confusion, when the floor opened under you, swallowing the grass, the concrete, lava shining, your body failing with the velocity of a comet.

When you wake up, there’s three pair of hands holding you down to your bed, pressing your mouth to muffled you screams.

— Isabel, open the window! — The command came from Helen, and when the window was open, you could feel the cold breeze calming you down.

— Are you going to scream again if we let you go? — Abigail, the shorter one, the one holding your mouth, asked. You shook your head, gasping for air was you were free. It wasn’t usual for everyone here to have nightmares, but if any of the nurses heard it, the consequences weren’t any pleasurable. Ashley was a patient long time ago, who used to have sleep terrors every night. They decided a lobotomy would be the best resource to treat her. She doesn’t have any terror anymore, but the only thing she does is to sit at a wheelchair and drool on her gown.

— Want to speak about it? — Helen murmured, hand resting in the back of your head. You only shook your head, in no mood to say any word. The dream was to realistic, like you still could feel it. With a sigh, all of them moved to their beds again.

You didn’t slept again after the dream. Only staring at the ceiling, still thinking about the figure. How many times it would appear to you, until you finally discovered what it meant?

You skipped breakfast to knock at the therapist door. Technically, you only had sessions at Fridays and Tuesday’s, but Mrs. Bernardi always attended you when you need. Allies.

— One more nightmare, miss? This can end up badly for you. — She said, not with real worry, but only recognition. You huffed, nodding your head, locking the door behind you.

— I need to talk with the oracle. — You asked, sitting in her chair. Her eyes darkened, posture straightening. In moments like that, you remembered exactly why you ended up on a place like this. If anyone caught you and Mrs. Bernardi, that wouldn’t end up well.

She opened her drawer, the top part full of papers, clips and pens; a normal and common drawer of a therapist. But on the side of it, there was a fake comportment, hiding a pack of cards. Tarot of Marseille. seventy eight cards that could read your past, present a future, but rarely gave you more than a broke direction.

Bernardi shuffled the deck in front of you, and you picked the cards. Five cards after, and she seemed shocked, looking at the cards with disbelief.

— What? — you were getting nervous, hand shaking again. — Your past life, dear… the cards are talking about your past life.. — She explained, eyes glued to the table.

— I see… I see a protector, someone bound to help you. Always by your side, a almost divine connection. All of your lives have this presence — She explained, pointing to the empress card. You were incredulous, but heard her anyway.

— There’s also a hunter, someone who wants to banish your existence. Someone who despise your very own existence. His divine mission is to destroy your soul. — She flicked the magician card towards me. It seemed almost comical, her wide, attentive eyes.

— The tower. That means it will come to and end. Only one of them will perish, only one of them will fulfill the mission. To destroy you, or to save you. — You couldn’t help when a scoff came from your lips.

— Well, we don’t need a oracle to discover it, do we? I am already destroyed, look at me! I came for help, not for quackery! — The chair squeaked you got up with all of your speed, slamming the door behind you. You asked yourself repeatedly, did you really skipped breakfast for this? To hear about some type of magical curse following you towards reincarnation?

— Any news? — Aliyah asked once you sat at the breakfast table. You were relieved to see her pushing a bowl of yogurt towards you. It was plain, unflavored, but it was what you could have after missing the breakfast time.

— No, I guess that she’s really just a crazy witch. — You murmured, the word leaving a sour taste to your mouth. Witch, that word seemed almost forbidden, cursed.

— Don’t lose faith. — She answered, and you choose to not answer. How could someone not lose faith after all that happened?

— What are you talking about? — Isabel, the redhead, spoke for the first time after her arrival. Everyone moved to look at her, seconds of heavy silence perpetuating before Helen spoke up.

— I’m sorry, but we can tell you yet, not until we are sure you’re trustable. — Her words were calm but assertive. Isabel nodded, but didn’t looked offended.

— I see creatures. Demons, since I was a kid. No one believes me. — Isabel blurted out. Everyone sighed heavily, as if acid were being poured on their wounds. It was.

— I could speak with the dead when I was a kid. I saw spirits, my ancestors. My father thought I was crazy. Sent me here when I was twelve. — Aliyah spoke, eyes fixed on the floor.

— I had visions, I could see things happening before they did… I had a vision, where I saw my younger step brother dying. I told my stepmother, but she didn’t believed me. She said I was being mean and paranoiac. When he died, she believed it was my fault. She was so angry… she wanted to kill me. But instead my father interned me here. — Abigail told her story too. She seemed more comfortable with that part of her, eyes straying around.

— What about you, Helen? — Isabel asked, and Helen sighed, staring a dirty spot on the table.

— My husband died. I couldn’t grief for long… I was catatonic. My mother-in-law was tired of dealing with me, so she sent me here. — Helen spoke up. From all of the stories… hers was the only one that didn’t made sense. Maybe it was for the distant look in her eyes, for the trembling in her voice. But we learned to never press on anyone.

— And what about you? — Now, the redhead gaze was directed to you. Swallowing your saliva, a short silence hanging around that meant you were preparing yourself to speak up.

— It’s not… a story I can remember well. I came here when I was around ten, and I don’t see civilization since ever. But… what I do remember it was that I was a very paranoid, imaginative kid. I used to do weird things… talking to the plants, to the animals, to the sky… I could see creatures, I could speak with them… but I don’t remember anything. I read my record once, where my mother said I used to do uncommon things. I was a danger to myself and others around me. — Your explanation was long but vague, like a puzzle missing a piece. Isabel hummed, and the uncomfortable silence paired on the air again. As no one had much activities to do, they all settled for a card game, playing cards until the medicament time arrived.

A long line, full of mentally disoriented girls was formed every Monday, three p.m, no fail.

— Next one, please! — The nurse called from her room. The security guards made sure that every girl was headed to take their medicines, even if they cried and squirmed and pleaded.

(START INJECTION SCENE)

When your time arrived, you where shaky, blood rushing faster as your heart beat pounded wildly against your chest. You watched the nurse fill the huge syringe with a transparent liquid, you heart beat only quickening as the needle came closer to you. It was thick as your pinky finger, unforgiving as you felt it breaching your skin until it poked your bone. You whimpered as she squirted the liquid inside your body, your head feeling lighter.

After she threw the empty syringe away, a cup of medicines was handed of you like a colorful cocktail. She ensured you swallowed one by one, watching you like a hawk. You were completely numb when you leaved the room, walking like a zombie.

(END OF INJECTION SCENE)

It was what the guards called “Monday of peace”. No girl talking, moving, barely breathing, barely alive. Behind your dull stupor, you could hear Isabel screaming again. You wanted to get up, tell her how the first time is always difficult, but you couldn’t find your movements neither your voice. But you were comforted by the fact that it would end soon. Someday.

The patients headed back to their rooms around nine pm, everyone still dazed. This night was calmer, more tranquil, the girls in a dreamless state, until Isabel woke up startled, her loud steps distressing everyone around her.

— Isabel? — Helen was the first one to ask, waking up from the hassle. — Isabel, go back to bed! — Helen commanded, getting up too. You, Abigail and Aliyah sat in your beds, watching the scene unfold.

— Angela.. they are going to get Angela…— Isabel murmured to herself, moving towards the window. She started to blow the windows, fogging the glass. Helen tried to pull her, but it only ended up on her gaining a elbowed to her guts. Isabel started writing on the foggy windows with her finger, everyone in the room startled. She seemed out of her mind, completely crazy.

— He is going to kill Angela! You have to save her! — Isabel moved towards you, her hands wrapping around your shoulders, shaking you frantically. Her pupils were blown wide, staring at you with the fear of a caught prey. You could only gasp, trying to escape from her hands. Isabel locked her gaze to a spot on the corner of the room, then ran away like a wolf deer.

All of them were paralyzed, watching Isabel ran for her room. You were the only one to move, going after her. Helen tried to argue, but her voice didn’t reach your ears as you followed Isabel, screaming for her.

Her red curls bounced in front of you, until she arrived the rooftop. You looked at her, watching as she climbed on the parapet of the hospital.

— Isabel… — you murmured tentatively, hands in the air as to proof you wouldn’t try to touch her. Isabel ripped her identification bracelet, throwing it to the air.

— Constantine…— You were the one to hear her last words, your scream ragging in the air as Isabel jumped. You closed your eyes, not being able to watch the scene unfold, but being cursed to hear the thump of her body reaching the end.

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet 🖤 a yandere!john wick x fem!reader coffee shop sunshine/grump au - 110,355 words 😲 - NOW COMPLETE!

Table of Contents

something sweet

burned

the cougar

the mountain

lamb in the lion's den

avenging angel

the book thief

joyride

pest

drunk text

mondo piccolo

la dolce vita

vino veritas

kitten

walk of shame

bad girl

got u

war and peace

crime and punishment

lost and found

bound for hell

deal with the devil

show me your teeth

bully

knots

breaking point

surprise

haunted

lady of the daisies

say something

run

hard lesson

suits & guns

quite continental

purgatory

rough play

ruse

the honorable thing

pool time

parlay

reprieve

home sweet home

surprise

the god of death

halcyon daze

rude awakening

just business

hostile takeover

consequences

last woman standing

don't cry for me, argentina

the end of the world

Complete!

BONUS-spin off AU featuring Tom Ludlow and Jack Traven...

[johnwickb1tsch]

[johnwickb1tsch]

Kai's aesthetics from 47 Ronin has older Don John vibes...

Complex, morally grey anti-hero, haunted by the tragic circumstances of his birth and the unfairness faced in life. Yeah, definitely NOT related to how I see him...

(GIF not mine, credit to the rightful owner)

He is full of rage, hungry for power.

Restless, ambitious, and cynical to a fault.

But he would burn down this world for you without a second thought, topple it all.

Kingdoms and empires are meant to return to dust, and people are all forgotten graves and ashes.

But love stays, and he thinks his is the greatest of all; he shall be canonised for his unflinching devotion.

[johnwickb1tsch]

[johnwickb1tsch]

gif by keanuree-ves div by konatasoup

[johnwickb1tsch]

Honey, Honey - Jack Traven x You

What starts as a cozy home cooked dinner turns into a wickedly sweet seduction when Jack Traven sets his sights on dessert and it’s not on the menu. @scarlettspectra grab your man.

Jack was sitting cross legged on the floor, his back resting against the couch. His short hair was still damp from the shower and he was wearing only a comfortable pair of sweatpants. 

He watched you as you moved gracefully around the kitchen, a small smile on his face.

He leaned his head back and rested it against the couch, his eyes following your every move. As you prepared the meal, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of calm wash over him. It was moments like this, just the two of you together, that he cherished the most.

After a moment, the silence is broken by the sound of Jack’s stomach growling.

Jack huffs a laugh and rubs his belly. “Can’t wait for you to finish, I’m starving.”

He says with a playful grin. You laugh and turn to look at him. “Impatient much?” you tease as you continue stirring the pot on the stove. 

Jack laughs and shrugs. “Can you blame me? I haven’t eaten all day.” 

He says as he glances at the clock, it’s approaching 7 pm. “Plus, your cooking is the best.” He adds with a grin. “Flattery won’t make the food cook any faster.”

You reply with a smirk and give the pot a final stir before placing it on the back burner and turning the stove off. “But lucky for you it is done.” 

You say with a knowing smile. Jack grins and gets to his feet, crossing the room to come stand next to you.

“Awesome, I’m starving.” He puts his hands on your waist and pulls you close, nuzzling his face into your hair. He inhales deeply, taking in the scent of your shampoo.

You lean into him, enjoying the feel of his hands on your waist and his face in your hair. You let out a soft sigh and close your eyes, enjoying the moment.

He presses a kiss to your neck and chuckles. “I smell food.” He murmurs into your ear and you can tell he is teasing you. You laugh and give his chest a playful shove.

“Food can wait, you need to set the table first.”  You say with a smirk and give him a gentle push towards the cabinets.

He lets out an exaggerated sigh and dramatically claps a hand to his forehead.

“You ask the impossible.” He pretends to swoon and puts on a theatrical voice. 

“To set the table while I am famished, it is a crime against nature!” You laugh and shake your head, knowing his overdramatic nature all too well.

 “Oh, quit being so dramatic. You’ll survive.” You swat playfully at his ass and gesture towards the cupboard. “The plates are right there.”

“Swatted like a common peasant.” He says with an exaggerated wounded expression. But his hand comes down to retrieve plates from the cupboard, a hint of a grin on his lips.

You roll your eyes and shake your head, trying to suppress a smile. You love his playful nature and his ability to bring lightheartedness to any situation. You watch as he sets the table, his movements familiar and comfortable in this domestic routine.

Once the table is set, Jack turns back to you with a satisfied smirk.

“There, all set. Now can I have my food?” He asks, a hint of impatience in his voice.

You laugh and give him a little nudge. “Yes, you can eat now. Go sit down.”

You ladle the food onto a plate and hand it to him. He takes the plate with a grateful smile and sits down at the table, already starting to shovel food into his mouth.

He takes a big bite and moans appreciatively.

“This is amazing. You know, I’d marry you just for your cooking skills.” He jokes between bites, the food disappearing quickly.

You roll your eyes and laugh, leaning your hip against the counter as you watch him eat.

“That’s all? Just my cooking skills?” You pretend to be offended, though your smirk betrays you. Jack pauses his eating long enough to give you a cheeky grin.

“Well, I mean, there are other qualities that make you wife material too. Like your intelligence, your patience, and of course, your looks.” He winks dramatically, clearly enjoying himself.

You laugh and give him a playful swat on the arm. You try to keep up a mock-indignant front, but the smile on your face betrays you. “You’re just trying to butter me up now.”

Jack shrugs unapologetically. “Well, it seems to be working.” He grins and takes another bite of food. He glances up at you as he chews, his gaze raking over your figure appreciatively. 

Then his expression changes, curiosity sparkling in his eyes.

You notice the change in his expression and raise an eyebrow in question.

“What’re you looking at me like that for?” You ask, trying to keep the smile off your face.

He swallows the food in his mouth and sets his fork down on his plate. “I was just wondering something.” He says, a wicked gleam in his eye. You lean back against the counter, folding your arms across your chest. 

Curiosity piqued, you arch an eyebrow in anticipation. “What were you wondering about?”

Jack leans back in his chair, drumming his fingers against the table as if contemplating something. Then a slow smile spreads across his face.

“I was wondering if I could have a taste of something sweet after this. AND DON’T SAY CAKE! Because I’m not talking about dessert…y’know?” He winks playfully at you.

You try not to laugh at his outburst and pretend to think about it, tapping your chin with your finger in mock contemplation. Then a sly smile forms on your lips.

“Hmmm...I suppose that could be arranged. On one condition.”

He leans forward now, his chin resting on his hands, clearly interested in your condition.

“Conditions, hm? Let's hear it then.” 

You lean in closer to him, lowering your voice to a sultry whisper.

“You have to guess what flavor I have in mind. If you get it right, then you get your treat. If you get it wrong, then no treat for you.” You raise an eyebrow, a challenge in your eyes.

Jack’s eyes light up at the challenge. He loves a good game and the chance to win a special prize is too tantalizing to pass up. He sits up straighter, his smile turning more impish.

“You drive a hard bargain, but I’m up for the challenge. Tell me, what flavor should I be guessing here? Sweet, tangy, or maybe...spicy?” 

You laugh at his eagerness.

“Those are all excellent guesses, but not quite right. Think a bit more specific. Something...intimate, sweet, and utterly enticing.”

You let your gaze linger on his face, enjoying the way his eyes are lit with excitement.

Jack raises an eyebrow at your description, a sly grin spreading across his face.

“Sweet, intimate, and utterly enticing, you say? Sounds like someone I know.”

He pauses, his gaze roving over your face, taking in every detail.

“Hmm...I think I have an idea of what it could be. But I want to make sure I get it right. Is it by any chance...honey?” You smile, a small laugh escaping you. The fact that he guessed correctly so quickly makes your heart flutter.

“Very good. You’re right, it is honey. You were quite quick to guess it though. Almost too quick.” You cock your head to the side, a sly smile on your face.

“It's almost like you had some kind of...inside information.”

He grins, clearly pleased with himself. “Well, I do have a certain...connection, let’s say, that might’ve given me an edge.” He stands up and pushes his chair back, taking a few steps towards you. He stands at the edge of the kitchen, his eyes locked on yours.

“You know...I do feel in the mood for some honey right about now.” 

You feel a shiver run down your spine at the look in his eyes. Your breath hitches, anticipation building in the air between you.

Jack closes the distance between you in slow, deliberate steps. His smirk is pure trouble, eyes darkening with something deeper than mischief. His hands come to rest on your hips, his thumbs stroking soft circles against your skin through the fabric of your clothes.

“You know,” he murmurs, voice low and full of heat, “you didn’t say where the honey was supposed to go.” You tilt your head, playing along. “Why? Got a plan for it?”

“Oh, I’ve got plans, sweetheart.”

Without breaking eye contact, Jack reaches behind you, opening the nearest cabinet. He pulls out a small jar of honey, the golden liquid catching the light like a promise.

He dips a finger into it, slow and deliberate. Then, holding your gaze, he brings that honey slick finger to his lips and sucks it clean, his eyes never leaving yours.

You feel your knees weaken a little.

Then he grins boyishly and unscrews the jar completely.

“Your turn,” he says.

You blink. “My turn to…?”

“To paint me.”

Your lips part. “Excuse me?”

He sets the honey down on the counter and starts peeling off his sweatpants, not shy in the slightest. “You said the flavor was honey. I say we make this interactive.”

Now he’s standing in front of you, gloriously naked, muscles taut, skin warm from the shower. You hold the jar in one hand, heart thumping wildly as he leans back slightly against the kitchen counter, arms spread in a casual invitation.

You dip your fingers in the honey, and Jack’s breath catches when the first line of golden sweetness touches his chest.

You trail it slowly over his collarbone, letting it glide over the sharp line of his pec, down the center of his torso. He shivers beneath your touch, watching you like you’re some divine goddess and he’s at your mercy.

“Honey looks good on you,” you murmur, losing your breath at the sight.

“I’d ask how it tastes,” he breathes, “but I’m guessing you’re about to show me.”

You lean in and let your tongue follow the trail, slow and unhurried. Jack gasps, his hands gripping the edge of the counter behind him. The heat of his skin, the sweet tang of honey, and the sound he makes when your mouth finds the sticky path down his abdomen, it’s almost enough to undo him completely.

Without warning, he lifts you onto the counter, taking the jar from your hand.

“My turn,” he growls, and dips his fingers into the honey.

He lets it drip down your neck, then follows it with his mouth licking, kissing and sucking gently until you’re trembling against the marble surface.

“I told you,” he murmurs against your skin, “I was in the mood for honey.”

He lingers at your throat, nipping lightly as he works his way down, worshipping every inch with sticky sweet kisses that blur the line between hunger and reverence.

The kitchen fills with the scent of honey, the heat of your bodies and the breathless sounds of a night that started with dinner… and turned into dessert.

Jack pulls back slightly, eyes raking over your body, lips glistening with honey and sin. His breath is uneven, his skin flushed, chest rising and falling with barely contained restraint.

He grabs the jar again, and this time, he pours it directly, slowly onto the curve of your chest. The warm golden liquid slides down, pooling between your breasts, trailing toward your stomach. You suck in a sharp breath, your body already reacting before his mouth even finds you.

But when it does….oh god.

His tongue is hot, deliberate. He licks every drop off you with a reverence that borders on worship, his hands gripping your thighs as though anchoring himself to this moment. He groans low in his throat as he tastes you, the combination of honey and your skin clearly fucking his mind.

“You taste better than anything I’ve ever had,” he growls against your skin. “Sweet, sinful... fuck, you’re addicting.”

You whimper when his mouth finds your nipple, sticky with honey. He suckles it into his mouth, humming around it like it’s a piece of candy, his tongue flicking, teasing, savoring. One hand cups your other breast, slick and firm, while the other slips between your legs. No teasing, no delay.

You’re soaked. And when his fingers slide along your folds, gathering the evidence of your desire, he exhales shakily.

“Shit,” he whispers. “You’re dripping. Just for me.”

He lifts his honey slick fingers to his mouth, tasting you now, and groans like it’s the first drop of water after a desert drought.

Then he’s between your thighs in a blur of heat and hunger, kneeling like a man on a mission. He throws one of your legs over his shoulder, locking eyes with you and says, “Now this... this is the sweetest fucking thing I’ve ever tasted. My favorite kind of honey…”

And then his mouth is on you. Hot, wet, devastating. His tongue drags slow, flat strokes along your folds, then circles your clit with maddening precision. He moans into you, and the vibration nearly rips a cry from your throat.

You reach down, fingers gripping onto his head, pulling him closer, anchoring yourself against the spiraling heat.

He doesn’t stop. Not when your hips buck. Not when you beg. Not when your thighs threaten to clamp around his head. He keeps licking, sucking, plunging his tongue deep like he wants to consume you whole.

And when you finally fall apart, body shaking, eyes fluttering shut, a cry ripping from your throat. Jack holds you through it, his mouth never stopping until he’s sure you’ve given him everything

Only then does he rise, chin glistening, pupils blown wide, cock hard and leaking with cum..

“You ready for the main course, sweetheart?” he pants, already reaching for you again. “Because I’m not done tasting.”

You gasp, barely catching your breath as Jack pulls you up onto the counter like you weigh nothing. The cool surface kisses your thighs, a stark contrast to the fire burning inside you. You’re still trembling from the first orgasm, hips slick and thighs sticky with honey and his tongue.

“God, Jack,” you pant, voice breathy and wrecked, “I can’t—you just devoured me like you’ve been starving.”

Jack smirks as he lines himself up, his hands firm on your waist. His lips are still glistening, and that damn tongue of his swipes across them like he’s savoring every drop. He leans in, nose brushing yours, breath fanning over your lips.

“You say that like it wasn’t your idea to pour honey all over yourself, babe.”

You let out a breathless laugh, swatting at his shoulder with no real force. “I didn’t say pour it. I said a taste, you menace.”

Jack grins wide, devilishly. “Nah, you gave me a riddle. Said if I guessed right, I’d get a treat. You never specified what kind, sweetheart. So I helped myself.”

Before you can fire back, he thrusts into you with one deep, slow stroke that knocks the air clean out of your lungs.

“Jack!” you gasp, head falling back against the cupboard.

His hands tighten on your hips, holding you still as he begins a brutal, delicious rhythm, slamming into you with the perfect blend of hunger and control. The counter creaks under the force, your body jolting with each thrust but it’s the look on his face that undoes you. That mix of adoration and filthy satisfaction.

“Still complaining?” he huffs, breath hot against your neck.

You try to answer, but all that comes out is a broken moan.

“That’s what I thought,” he chuckles darkly, grinding in deeper. “Every time you look at that honey jar from now on, you’re gonna remember this. Me, fucking you so hard against the kitchen counter, you saw stars.”

You whimper, arms clinging to his shoulders, legs wrapped around his waist like he’s the only thing holding you to earth which he might be, because your body is unraveling all over again.

Then he grabs the honey jar again, tips it slightly, and lets a slow stream drizzle down between your bodies. Onto your breasts, your stomach, your clit…his cock.

Jack groans, watching the honey coat your skin and drip down over where you’re joined.

“Sweet fucking hell,” he growls. “Look at that. Look what you’re doing to me.”

He starts to thrust harder, the wet slap of your bodies louder now, dirtier, as the honey makes everything sticky and obscene.

“Gonna make you come like this,” he mutters against your ear, “dripping in honey, moaning my name, too ruined to even tease me anymore.”

And god you do.

You fall apart with a cry, nails digging into his back, body writhing as your climax hits like lightning. Jack follows moments later, groaning your name like a prayer, burying himself deep as he spills into you, panting and trembling and utterly spent.

He doesn’t move right away, just presses his forehead against yours, both of you sticky, sweaty and ruined in the best possible way.

Then you murmur with a lazy, satisfied smirk, “Still your idea.”

Jack laughs breathlessly and kisses you slowly.

“You’re never living this down, honey girl.”

Jack stands there for a moment, still inside you, chest heaving against yours, both of you covered in sweat and syrup. He brushes your hair off your face with the gentlest touch, those eyes softening into something quieter, something caring and sweet.

“You good?” he asks, his voice low and rough, still catching his breath.

You nod, too blissed out to speak just yet. He leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips, soft and slow, like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

“You’re a goddamn masterpiece,” he whispers against your skin.

With one strong arm wrapped beneath your thighs and the other across your back, he lifts you off the counter effortlessly. You giggle, arms looping around his neck.

“Jack…I’m literally dripping,” you protest, laughing as the honey slides in slow, lazy trails across your skin and his.

He smirks, eyes dark with mischief but glowing with affection. “I know. Gonna clean you up properly.”

He carries you to the bathroom, the tiles cool against your feet as he sets you down in front of the mirror. The two of you look like something out of a dream or a porn magazine. Your skin glistens, flushed and glazed in amber gold. Jack stands behind you, just as marked up and messy, his eyes locked on your reflection.

He reaches up and turns the shower on, warm steam already curling around you both. He stands and pulls you in under the water, letting the heat wash away the honey bit by bit. The syrup melts from your skin in golden streams, and Jack watches each rivulet with fascination, his hands never leaving your body.

He lathers soap slowly between his palms, then spreads it across your back, your arms, your breasts. He kisses the slope of your shoulder, your collarbone, your jaw, working his way up with maddening patience.

He murmurs. “You taste like sin and sunlight.”

You shiver as his hands slide down your curves, soapy and smooth, then grip your ass and press you against him. His hard length is already pressing between your thighs again, hard and insistent.

Jack leans in, pressing his forehead to yours as the water rushes down your bodies. “One more time, baby,” he whispers. “Slow. Deep. I wanna feel everything.”

And when he finally pushes inside again, it’s like the whole world stops.

After a quick round in the shower, he lifts you again, his hands slick against your hips, still damp from the shower. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, your mouths meeting in a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth and gasping need. Water trails down your bodies as he carries you out, but neither of you care. You’re leaving a wet path through the apartment, and it just adds to the thrill.

The bed groans beneath your weight as he lays you down carefully. His eyes drag over your naked form.

“Jesus,” he mutters, brushing his fingers along your ribs, your hip, your inner thigh. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You smile, pulling him down by the back of the neck. “Nah, not gonna let you die.”

He groans against your lips, kissing you deeply as he presses his body over yours. His weight against your body feels like safety.

Jack doesn’t rush this time. He slides back inside you slowly, watching your face as he does, eyes locked on yours like it’s the only anchor he has. You moan, your body arching into his, and he hisses through his teeth.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Just like that.”

His thrusts are slow and deep, hips grinding into yours with slow, deep movements. The wet slap of skin echoes in the quiet room, mingled with the sound of your breathy whimpers and his low, rasping groans.

“Feel that?” he whispers against your neck. “That’s what you do to me.”

You nod, fingers gripping his back, nails digging into his skin as he rolls his hips just right, hitting that spot that makes your toes curl.

“You’re mine,” he growls, the pace still unhurried, but now each thrust has a purpose. “I love you…god, I love you.”

“Yours,” you gasp, dragging your nails down his spine. “I’m yours, Jack..-FUCK…I love you too!”

He kisses you then, filthy and tender all at once. His tongue tangles with yours as he pushes deeper, harder now, but still so slow it drives you insane.

“I wanna come with you,” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours, his voice thick with emotion and lust. “Can you do that for me, baby?”

You nod feverishly, your body already unraveling beneath him, every nerve ending strung tight with pleasure.

He brings a hand between you, his fingers finding your clit, circling just right, his hips never faltering.

“Come on, honey,” he coaxes, voice smooth as fuck. “Let me feel you.”

You shatter with a cry, clinging to him as wave after wave crashes over you. Jack moans your name like a prayer, his thrusts growing erratic as he follows you over the edge, groaning deep in his chest as he spills inside you for the third time today.

The room falls quiet, just the sound of your breathing, your heartbeats syncing.

He doesn’t pull away. Not yet. He just buries his face in your neck and holds you like he never wants to let go.

“You,” he murmurs out of breath, “are dangerous.”

You smile sleepily, stroking his little damp hair. “You started it, remember?”

He lifts his head just enough to meet your eyes, that grin returning. “Yeah, but you’re the one who said ‘honey.’ So it’s basically your fault.”

You laugh, and he kisses the corner of your mouth.

“Round four after a nap?” he teases.

“Might need snacks first,” you murmur.

“Oh, baby… we’re gonna need a feast.”

[johnwickb1tsch]

☕ ❀･. ˳ . Coffee Shop AU

Pairing: Barista!Ted Logan x college student!F!Reader AU Tags: Fluff Warnings: - Word count: 2.5k

A new coffee shop had just opened near your campus - small and cozy. One morning, running late and barely awake, you ducked inside. You were half-buried in your phone, scrolling through lecture notes with one hand, gripping your backpack strap with the other, too focused on cramming to bother looking around.

“G’mornin’!” came a cheerful voice.

“Hi, uh… flat white, please,” you mumbled, barely glancing up.

“That’ll be five bucks,” a mellow voice replied.

You blinked, finally lifting your eyes. The barista was tall, a little lanky even, with a wild mop of dark hair and long bangs nearly swallowed his eyes. A crooked badge was pinned to his apron with TED scrawled across it in sloppy handwriting. He gave you a lazy but sweet smile, waiting patiently.

“Oh… right.” You fumbled for some cash, dropped the bills on the counter, and let your eyes fall straight back to your screen.

A couple minutes later, your coffee appeared on the counter. You grabbed it with one hand and tossed out a distracted thanks, already turning to go, your eyes locked on the next line of notes.

Behind you, his voice followed, cheerful and bright. “Have a most excellent day!”

But the door was already swinging shut.

The next morning, you came back. 

“G’mornin’!” the barista greeted, just as cheerful. His hair was somehow even messier than yesterday, all stuck in every direction. The corners of his mouth twitched before spreading into a full grin. 

“Uh… hi,” you said, snapping out of it. “A flat white, please.” You offered a small, almost timid smile.

Ted gave a little nod, brushing his bangs out of his face. “Comin’ right up,” he said, slipping in his earbuds before turning to the espresso machine.

You tried to keep your focus elsewhere, but your eyes kept sneaking back to him. Behind the counter, he moved loose and relaxed, his large hands sure and light. Leather straps circled his wrists, tangled with so many colorful handmade bracelets they overlapped in a vibrant mess of beads and threads, some frayed from wear. Among them were faded concert bands, a few that looked familiar, from shows you’d been to as well.

Your gaze wandered up to his face. That soft curtain of hair fell partly over his features, but you could still catch the flash of thick silver rings swinging from both ears every time he tilted his head, bobbing faintly to whatever beat was pulsing through his earbuds. His eyes were half-lidded, lashes dark and long, fluttering gently with each blink. He looked zoned out, completely in his own world, but his hands didn’t miss a step - tamping coffww, steaming milk, going through the motions as if it was his second nature.

There was a light dusting of stubble along his jaw, patchy and uneven, kinda sloppy in a boyish way, but it suited him. And then there was his mouth - soft-looking, naturally inviting, pulled into the tiniest smile.

Every now and then, his lips would part just enough to reveal the glint of a silver tongue piercing. He toyed with it absentmindedly, catching the bar between his teeth and slowly sliding it from one side of his mouth to the other. Without realizing it, your own lips parted slightly. You watched him, completely entranced, not even bothering to look away.

In that moment, without warning, his eyes flicked up and met yours. It lasted only a heartbeat, but it was enough to send a wave of heat rushing straight to your cheeks. Flustered, you quickly looked away, grabbing the nearest chocolate bar and pretending to study it as if your life depended on knowing its exact carbohydrate content.

You stared blankly at the tiny text, but curiosity got the better of you. Risking a sideways glance, your stomach flipped when you caught him doing the same. His eyes darted away the second they met yours, a soft blush creeping up his cheeks. Caught red-handed, you snapped your eyes back to the chocolate bar, reading the same line for what felt like the hundredth time, hoping it would somehow save you from the embarrassment burning across your face.

“Here ya go.” Ted’s voice cracked just a little as he set your flat white on the counter. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing his bangs out of his eyes, and when they fell back into place, his big brown eyes met yours. For a second, your breath caught.

“T-Thanks,” you stammered, quickly grabbing the cup.

You glanced down and blinked. A delicate little twig, perfectly shaped, was carefully nestled into the foam. When you looked up again, Ted’s expression had shifted. He was biting his lip, chest gone still, watching you with wide, unblinking eyes as you lifted the cup to your mouth.

You took a sip. This time, you really tasted it. The coffee was ridiculously good. Rich, smooth, perfectly balanced. You gave a small nod, lips curling into an approving smile.

“Tasty.”

Ted’s grin spread across his face, open and impossibly radiant. You couldn’t remember ever seeing someone smile like that.

“Thanks!” he said, chuckling. The flush on his cheeks deepened, only making him look even more unfairly beautiful. “Have a most excellent day!”

You smiled back, trying to play it cool even as you felt your own cheeks warming. “Likewise,” you said, turning to go.

Later that week, you bombed a project. Your mood was at zero, and you found yourself dragging your feet to the coffee shop, hoping the coffee would fix it.

“Hi!” Ted greeted, his voice cheerful as always. “Usual?”

“Hi...yeah,” You tried to muster a weak smile.

A few moments later, he quietly slid your coffee across the counter. 

“Have a most excellent day,” he said softly.

“Yeah… thanks,” you said with a small nod. As you stepped outside, eyes dangerously close to watering, you glanced down at your cup. A goofy little doodle - a smiley face right in the center of the foam. And despite everything, you smiled back. That tiny, thoughtful gesture had brightened your day more than you’d expected.

After that, you started visiting more. Sometimes twice a day.

You told yourself it was because the coffee was really good.

But you knew better.

The little things started adding up. The shy glances Ted kept sneaking when he thought you weren’t paying attention. The goofy foam art with cats, dogs, and even a wobbly little unicorn made you giggle into your sleeve, flustered all over again at the thought of him trying to impress you. The casual small talk slowly stretched into a kind of ease that felt more comfortable. And then there was the soft pink that always crept into his cheeks whenever your gaze lingered on him a little too long.

Your heart nearly skipped one day when he set your cup down, and without thinking, you reached for it at the same time. Your fingers brushed his by accident, and it was only then you realized what had just happened. Neither of you said anything, but the silence between you buzzed louder than words ever could.

Then came that cloudy afternoon.

You stepped inside the coffee shop and immediately felt something was different.  Ted looked up when you came in, smile was smaller today, a little unsure.

“Hey,” he said, voice quieter than usual, fingers nervously fiddling with a stack of napkins.

“Hey,” you replied. “Flat white, please.”

Ted gave a short nod. 

You watched him work, noticing how he didn’t sneak any glances your way this time. His focus stayed locked on the espresso machine, his movements a bit more tense. His earbuds were looped idly around his neck.

“No music today?” Your brow furrowed a little.

“Huh? Uh, nah. Just… y’know. Quiet mood.” He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes.

When he slid your coffee across the counter, his hands were just a little unsteady, placing the cup down with a folded napkin tucked beneath it in one quick, nervous motion.

“What’s this?” you asked, the corners of your lips twitching into a smile as you picked it up.

He froze for a moment, his gaze darting down. “Uh… just... napkin.” His voice cracked slightly, and he rubbed the back of his neck again. “To, uh... keep the cup from being too hot, y’know.”

His cheeks and neck flushed a deep shade of red fast, and he seemed ready to vanish into thin air.

You decided not to press him further, offering a soft thanks as you took the cup and headed out.

But halfway down the street, curiosity got the best of you. You stopped and unfolded the napkin.

I really like u. text me if u want :) /number/ Ted was scrawled in messy, slightly shaky handwriting.

You stared at it for a moment, stunned. Then slowly, your lips curled into a grin so wide it actually made your cheeks hurt. Standing there in the middle of the sidewalk, grinning at a napkin, you guessed you looked like a total idiot, but you couldn’t have cared less.

Of course, you texted him that same night.

And that was the start of it. Late-night texts that stretched into the early hours, dumb memes, little flirty messages.

A whole month flew by before one night, in the middle of one of those late chats, he suddenly dropped: 

so I wanna ask u smth u wanna hang out sometime? 👀 w me? like a date kinda thing?😅 I mean like  a real date?👀👀👀

You froze, eyes scanning the messages one by one. Awide grin broke across your face as you yanked the blanket over your head, burying yourself fully beneath it. Curled onto your side, clutching your phone, jaw aching from how hard you were smiling. Without a second thought, you typed out a quick 

yes 😌

let out a quiet giggle, and pressed the phone to your chest, heart racing.

The first date was simple but perfect. You wandered through the park side by side, Ted kept sneaking glances when he thought you weren’t looking followed by a guilty little grin when you caught him. He bought you both slushies, and you took turns stealing sips from each other’s cups without making a big deal out of it. 

When he walked you home, you lingered at your door. Neither of you quite knew what to do, so you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. His eyes went wide, then his whole face lit up like someone had flipped on a searchlight. He let out a bashful laugh, grinning so big it made your heart stutter.

On your second date, you went to the movies - some low-budget horror flick you both picked out on purpose. The plot made zero sense, ete acting was wooden, the effects were hilariously fake, and the jump scares were so predictable you started whispering them before they happened. You were both stifling giggles, trying not to be the loudest people in the theater.

Another overly dramatic death scene played out on screen, and you turned to whisper a joke but the words caught in your throat. Ted leaned in at the same time, about to say something too. You both froze, suddenly face to face.

The screen flickered in the darkness, casting flashes of red and shadow across his face. You could just make out the soft shape of his lips, the glint of silver in his earring, and the faint sparkle in his eyes as they locked onto yours.

Without thinking, as if you were following the same invisible thread, you leaned in.

The first brush of your lips was feather-light, tentative. Then you tilted your head, your hand brushing his arm just as his big, warm palm cupped your cheek. That kiss deepened on instinct. His lips moved with yours, soft and a little eager, and your heart pounded so loud you were surprised the whole theater couldn’t hear it.

His hand stayed soft against your cheek, thumb gently brushing your skin as his tongue slipped past your lips, slow and curious. The smooth glide of the piercing against your tongue stirred a delicious twist in your chest. Your fingers curled into the sleeve of his faded jacket as his hold on you tightened just slightly, deepening the kiss and coaxing a quiet, breathy sound from his lips that melted into yours.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads rested together, breath mingling in the space between, eyes dazed.

“Woah…” he whispered.

“Yeah... woah,” you murmured back, unable to wipe the smile from your face.

In the background, someone screamed, and you both laughed at how completely wrong it was for the moment. His hand, now held you just a bit firmer, and the pressure felt perfectly and impossibly right.

From then on, things picked up without either of you needing to say it. Texts like “don’t forget your chargers” and “get home safe,” voice notes, inside jokes, and silly selfies you took together that still made you smile became part of your everyday routine.

Stealing pecks turned into making out in quiet corners at loud parties and in the middle of crowded concerts. Tucking hair behind ears became fingers tangled in it. Ear-tickling whispers grew bolder, teasing. Warm hands now more on hips and slipping under clothes. Movie watching became a backdrop, too focused on each other. And late-night meetups turned into early morning goodbyes. 

Ted took care of you when you were tired or stressed, always there with a comforting bear hug or a goofy joke that had you laughing even when you didn’t want to. And you always brought him a meal when he was working late, sitting in the corner of the room, studying, waiting for him until the coffee shop closed. 

Even now, after moving in together, you slip through the door, just like always. Some things haven’t changed: the rich smell of coffee in the air, the soft hiss of steam and Ted, behind the counter with his earbuds hanging around his neck, wearing that same soft smile that, now, is just for you.

Your usual is already halfway done by the time you reach the counter. He still draws little foam doodles, but now there’s almost always a heart floating in the center of your flat white. When he slides the cup toward you, his eyes find yours, and his fingers brush against yours on purpose just for an excuse to touch you one more time. 

You’re not just another customer. You’re his favorite part of the day.

[johnwickb1tsch]

[johnwickb1tsch]

𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐘

witch!reader x witchhunter!john constantine

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. magic beings are always bound to be hunted and destroyed by the human race. it’s not different to you, a witch in the modern world, always being hunted down by humans, some greedy for your magic, some hateful. That’s when you stumble in John Constantine, a human which you shared something from all your past life’s.

this is a small mood board teaser since this trope has been on my mind since ever. This may come this month, or if not, it may turn on a Halloween fic for October!

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet + ch 52

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

WARNINGS FOR THIS FIC: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, VIOLENCE, YANDERE SH!T. Minors DNI. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

52. the end of the world

You wake feeling as though you are buried beneath a ton of bricks. Your mind is foggy, and it takes you a while to focus your eyes and gather your bearings. The room is dark, though you can tell through the quality of the shadows that the space is large. Slowly, your eyes adjust, and you take in the high ceilings and tall windows, slivers of moonlight or streetlight shining through the drapes. You’re in a soft, canopied bed, tucked under the covers. In a panic you sit up quickly, your head spinning, pushing off the blankets. You’re relieved to see you’re still in the same sundress you started the day in, though your shoes are gone. 

You swing your legs off the bed, sliding to the floor. Luckily your legs hold you, and your first instinct is to check the window. It’s locked, of course. You shove aside the drape to find that you are high above the street, at least on the third story. Fuck. You are not steady enough to climb down a building, that’s for fucking sure. 

You look around for your shoes, but find nothing in the dark room, though you manage to bang your knee on an ornately carved chair. You’re afraid to hit a lightswitch or try a lamp. For now, darkness is probably your friend. Even in the twilight you can sense the old-world opulence of this room, the baroque details and crown moulding accenting the high ceilings, the fine furniture all seemingly placed with a diabolical perfection to trip you. Whoever took you clearly has money, and you suddenly cannot shake the idea that some remnant of the Aragón cartel has decided to enact some unsavory form of revenge upon you. 

Consequences.

You decide you’re not sticking around to find out. 

Now that you’re up and moving some semblance of coordination starts to return to you. The door is locked, of course, but the hardware is antique, maybe original to the construction of this place. You make use of a heavy brass candlestick, slamming it down on the doorknob to destroy the mechanism. With a good push you’re able to open the door, and you spill out into a long dark hallway. 

You don’t waste any time, scurrying like a scared rat down the corridor. 

When a tall, dark figure appears from a door at the end your heart falls, but you do not slow down, knowing you can’t waste your element of surprise. You sprint, jumping at the last moment to hit him in the midsection with your knee. Utterly stunned, he goes down with an “Ooofff,” the breath knocked out of him. You scramble to get back to your feet, knowing there must be a door or a staircase somewhere ahead. You make it one step before he catches your ankle, sending you tumbling to the ground again. 

“Y/n.” 

You hear it, yet it does not register in your frenzy. It’s like the boat all over again; maybe there’s an element of PTSD to your rage. In full fight and flight mode, you are determined to escape, to survive. You did not come this far to lose it all now, like this. 

You kick out at your captor, dislodging his grip for a few seconds. But then he has you again, this time his grip unforgiving as iron upon you, bruising. It just makes you fight harder. You kick out with your other leg, but he blocks it. He’s strong, his forearm solid as a tree. 

“Let me go!” you snarl, thrashing and growling like a wild animal in a trap. Unseeing, unreasoning, only desperate to get away, but he climbs your body, pinning you to the floor with his solid weight, trapping your hands above your head. 

“Y/n!” 

Finally, you look up at him, really look at him, breathing too fast, your heartbeat a deafening thunder in your ears. 

The lines of his face have deepened. His hair has grown long, waving down in a dark curtain around you. His eyes have not changed a bit, that devouring gaze searing straight into your soul. 

You whimper like you've seen a ghost. 

“John?”

He has the grace to look apologetic as he reaches to smooth your hair out of your eyes, both your hands still pinned by one of his own over your head like he doesn’t quite trust you yet. For a long minute you just look, transfixed, in absolute awe that this man is truly in front of you.

It's all you've wanted, the only thing you've wanted, for nearly a year. This precious, imperfect man, all yours, in your arms.

“It’s me, sweetheart. It’s me. You gonna calm down now?” 

As the reality of it sets in…so does your self righteous anger. He's been alive all this time? And he let you dangle, thinking he was dead? Suddenly you’re tempted to headbutt him, the jackass, but you crane your head to press your lips to his instead, kissing him with as much teeth as tongue. 

A low growl vibrates from deep in his chest; you feel it in your bones, in your blood. He falls on you, claiming you with those soft, full lips you thought you’d never get to kiss again. His fingers tangle in your hair, holding you closer, until you’re not sure where you end and he begins. 

“John,” you say between kisses, your legs wrapping around his as though he might disappear if you do not coil yourself around him. “What. The ever-loving. Fuck? You. Asshole!” 

“I’ll explain everything,” he grumbles low against your skin, kissing the bend of your neck, his teeth grazing your collarbone. “But first…” He claims your mouth again, and there’s no question of his need, or his intentions. 

You should stop this, of course. You should bite him, pinch him, something until you can get an explanation for why you’ve been living like a wraith for nearly a year, dying from the sheer weight of your grief and your longing for him. 

Can this be real? Or did you finally snap? Are you hallucinating? The pain in your back and your knees feels very real. You have a million questions, but you can’t give voice to any of them as he devours you like you are a dying man’s last meal. 

You are very aware of the fact that your skirt has ridden up your thighs, as you grind against each other like teenagers on the hardwood floor. Your need is sharp, and fierce, and with a leg over his hip you hold him to you, desperate to have him against you, inside you. It’s John who breaks your kiss with a snarl. 

“I am too fucking old for this shit,” he grouses, dragging you up off the floor and sweeping you into his arms. 

No matter the changes time has wrought–he is still very strong.

“What did you do to my door?” he grumbles, kicking it open wider churlishly so that the two of you can pass back into the bedroom. 

“You’ve got to stop locking me up!” you fire back. 

His answer to this is forgotten as you both sigh with relief when you sink down together onto the soft bed. “Much better.” He kisses you again, a little less urgently, but with no less feeling. You didn’t really realize that you’ve had tears streaming down your cheeks this whole time, until he reaches up to wipe them away. 

“Don’t cry, baby girl. Please don’t cry anymore, it breaks my heart.”

“I’ve been so lost without you,” you choke out, clutching him to you again. “Why? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because Caine was right. My love is a curse. I wanted…you to have a chance to be free.”

The magnitude of this confession stuns you. It echoes from the very beginning of your relationship, when he’d tried to resist this attraction between you, then even tried to warn you, in his way, before things spiraled. Yet you’d fought so hard and the two of you had come so far. That he still carried that doubt of himself, and of you, twists the knife in your heart even more.  

“Fuck Caine,” you snarl, your fury like a venomous snake coiled in your belly. “You are mine and I needed you.”

How did he not know? How badly you failed him, if he thought for a moment that you would not always choose to be at his side? 

There is some mercy in that he doesn't argue with your outburst, looking down at you with those sad dark eyes, stroking your cheek.

“Did you really think I could be happy without you?” you demand hotly past the lump in your throat.

“Eventually. I thought…you might be relieved.” 

Your heart breaks all over again, hearing him say this with such sincerity. You reach up to cup his face, stroking his beard, tracing the lines of his face that are so precious to you. “I would have done it all over again, to have you in the end,” you tell him with your own earnestness. “I would have endured worse, to have you again. John…I can’t believe you didn’t know that! I’m sorry you didn’t know that!” 

He growls at this, rolling over and pulling you to rest on his chest, wrapping you up tightly in his arms. You listen to his heart beating steadily beneath your ear, feeling like it’s nothing less than a miracle, questioning your sanity again and again. Can this truly be real? 

“Don’t be sorry, baby. None of this is on you.” He strokes your hair, his big hand on your head like a shield from the world. You lay in his arms digesting this, your thoughts spinning like a maelstrom, even while the rest of you just wants to savor the pure relief. 

“Wait. Did César know? Did Winston know?”

If that canny old bastard kept this from you…

“No, baby. As far as the Underworld knows…John Wick is dead.”

“But it was you who sent the brochure to me?”

“Yes.”

It was like an old espionage signal, subtle enough not to draw outside attention, but loud enough just between the two of you.

“Why? Why wait so fucking long?”

“Because…I could tell you weren't moving on. And I needed you, too.”

He kisses you sweetly, and for a few moments you allow yourself to melt into the miracle of having his lips on yours again. 

But you pull back as the next question occurs to you: “You’ve been watching me?!” 

“Shhh, just on the house cameras,” he soothes you, sensing you getting excited again. “Well…after I woke up.” 

“What?!” 

Suddenly your attention turns to his shirt. You have to know, and you sit up to straddle him so you can attack his buttons, wrenching them from their holes, popping the thread off of two of them with your shaking fingers. As though he understands your need he lets you, going so far as to reach out to flick on the bedside lamp so you can see. 

You’d memorized the constellations of his scars so well, you zero in on the new marks immediately. A gash that knitted badly in his side, the scar tissue still raised and angry red. A purple blossom of mottled flesh at his shoulder, just under his collar bone; the aftermath of a bullet. You run your fingers over a similar but larger wound on his abdomen, between his hip and his lowest rib. 

You know that Caine shot him three times, and you know that man didn’t miss. 

“The third?” you ask, your voice hushed and tinny. 

He points to his heart, though there’s no scar. “Vest,” he answers to your puzzled look. 

You remember what it felt like to take a bullet to the side with the help of kevlar. It cracked three of your ribs. You can’t imagine how traumatic that must have been over his heart–especially after all the other damage he’d taken that night.

“John…how are you alive?” He must have fallen into the water. How did he not drown? 

“Dumb luck.” 

That might be part of it, you know, but there is something to his fortune being helped along by the sheer power of his determination. He has it tattooed upon his skin, after all.

When he sees you’re not satisfied with this answer, he goes on, “A fisherman picked me up out of the water. Took me back to his house, fixed me up best he could. Infection set in. I was in the hospital for…a long time.” 

“Where? I checked the villages! I checked the hospitals!” 

Did you miss him by a fucking inch? 

“It was…more like a clinic.”

You picture him in some tiny makeshift bush hospital in the jungle, delirious with fever, fighting off death, alone. 

“Oh, John.” The waterworks start again, and he kisses away your tears. “I'm sorry!”

“Don't be, honey.” You look down at him, unbearably filled with so much emotion roiling inside you. Relief, regret, disbelief, and so much love you can hardly contain it all. As though he can sense it, the corner of his mouth quirks a little, though he’s wise enough not to outright tease you. 

“John…why?” you ask again. “Why didn’t you meet me at the fucking airport?” You’re certain he knew the moment you landed, now. 

“I had to be sure you weren’t being followed. I'm trying to be more careful. For us. For you. I think…we can have a fresh start here. If…you still want me?”

You nod slowly, understanding, even if it frustrates you so much you want to scream. “Of course I want you! But…did you have to drug me?”

The corner of his mouth pulls slightly. “I thought sedation might help with the shock. Clearly, I was mistaken.”

“You fucking think?”

He takes your smaller hand in his, pressing his lips to the small stump of your missing finger before inspecting the ring you still wear next to it, for him.

“I never took it off.” 

“I know.” 

“I never will. Your love is not a curse. It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

Finally he looks fully up at you, his dark eyes shining with unshed tears, reaching to engulf your cheek in his catcher’s mitt of a hand. You lean into him, closing your eyes, taking a deep breath. This room is filled with his intoxicating scent, and you don’t know how you didn’t notice it before. Did you forget so soon? The thought hits like a blade between the ribs.

“I love you, y/n. It’s been hell, without you.”

“Hearing that shouldn’t make me so happy,” you tease shakily around the tightness in your throat. 

“I deserved it, I suppose.” 

“Maybe.” You narrow your eyes down at him, your lip quivering. “You took three bullets for me.” 

He nods slowly, his hands upon you your anchor as you start to shake. 

“You didn’t even think about your answer that night.” 

“No.”

The magnitude of his sacrifice still moves you to the bottom of your soul, even if it was your worst living nightmare. 

“Don’t ever do that again, okay?” 

He gives you that restrained huff of laughter you’ve missed so dearly. “I’ll try not to.” 

“I mean it, John!” You poke him in the ribs, making him wince. Immediately you retreat. “Sorry.” 

“That’s ok.” He rubs his midsection. “Glad to see you didn’t forget your training.” 

“I didn’t get away very effectively.” 

Again, his torso shakes with his internal mirth. “You got close. Did I hurt you?” 

Maybe there is a bit of the devil in you. With mischief in your heart you point to your thigh, all shining eyes and pouting mouth. “Here.”      

“Oh. My poor, sweet girl.” His hand disappears under your skirt, rubbing your skin in soothing circles. You sigh with closed eyes, the fire in your loins returning with a vengeance. You feel safe and sated with some of the answers that you needed��and you rock yourself against his hard bulge as his thumb sweeps the sensitive skin further inward. 

“Everything hurts,” you complain, and considering the year you’ve had, it’s not exactly an exaggeration. 

“Then let me kiss it all better,” he offers, his voice low and soft as velvet as he scoots down in the bed, guiding you to his face with those strong arms under your thighs. And with his clever tongue in your weeping slit, his generous lips teasing your aching clit until you cry with pure relief…maybe it does feel like everything will be alright.  

***

That is…until he brings you to the shining edge of release, just to retreat at the last moment. The frustrated sound that escapes you is barely human. “Shhh,” he scolds you, and somehow you can hear the delight in that small, soft, sound. “Greedy girl. I need you.” 

You might have argued more just for the sake of it, but John Wick is still strong, and so fast, and suddenly you are under him, the delicious weight of his muscle-strapped body and his demanding mouth over yours pinning you down, and there was never anywhere you’ve felt you more belonged. You tug at buttons and push at fabric until at last his bare skin is against yours, and your frustrated growls diminish to a satisfied purr. He chuckles at your neediness, as though he has not been dying in the exact same way all these months. 

The only difference is that he knew there was some hope, whereas you had been left in the dark. You express your displeasure with this injustice with your teeth in his shoulder; he answers you with a glorious thrust that fills the aching void in your body to the brim, tearing the breath from your throat.   

“If you ever die on me again I’ll kill you,” you threaten breathily into the bend of his neck, and he laughs now because he at least partly believes you. 

“Baby…” Yet he forgets what point he meant to make, as you move against him, canting your hips in the way that’s always drove him wild. There are no more intelligible words, until you are writhing on his cock in ecstasy, stuffed full with the hot rush of his seed.

“I love you,” you pant against his chest, your head in the divot of his shoulder that was so perfectly sculpted in the divine clay for Helen, and then, by some miracle of fate, also for you.   

“I love you more than I can ever tell you,” he answers in kind, and with the steady drumbeat of his heart beneath your ear, you believe him. 

***

You make love twice more before surfacing for air, and mostly only because John’s stomach growls audibly beneath your ear. 

“Are you hungry?” he asks, drawing light circles on your bare shoulders as you press languorous kisses to the new scar on his abdomen. 

“For food?” you clarify cheekily, running your fingers over the crisp hairs of his muscled thigh. 

This wins you a dark chuckle that makes you gush between your legs all over again. You’ve lost track of how many times he’s made you cum tonight. It’s almost embarrassing, how much you want him. How quickly he brought you with his mouth again, more slowly but no less ruinously with his cock buried inside you, and then his thick fingers stroking through the gloriously silky slick of his spend between your legs while he spoke low in your ear while taking you from behind. 

This is your natural state, you’ve decided. In bed, fucked senseless by this man who you love with your whole heart. 

“For starters,” he answers, pulling you up into a tooth-counting kiss with his hand tangled in your hair. “Can I take you to dinner?” 

It seems late, but Buenos Aires is a city that does not sleep. 

“Ok, but all I have is that wrinkled sundress.” 

“Check the closet.” 

You might have known he’d be prepared. 

***

You get your wish, sharing a table for two with John in the glow of candlelight at a family-run parrilla, eating delicious food with a bottle of good wine and his long legs tangled with yours under the table. You cannot stop staring at him; it’s not just because in a black t-shirt and a jacket he’s still the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. It still feels so unreal. Too good to be true. A golden-edged dream you've clung to for so long. You hold hands while you talk about the months you’d been apart. You laugh, and you cry, and you whisper sweet nothings as though all the room cannot see that the two of you are deeply in love. 

It’s late when you walk home together arm in arm as though you have all the time in the world now, taking in the city at night, marveling at the miracle that you get to lean on his broad shoulder once more. You’re making your way through the Plaza Dorrego again when you see a different pair of performers plying the tango for tips, the mournful airs of the violin and the bandoneón drifting through the night from their accompanying stereo.

Maybe John notices that you slow with interest, watching the romantic dance through a different lens, now that you’ve been reunited with your love. “Want to try it?” He squares with you with his elbows out, your hand in his. 

You scoff at the thought, grinning up at him. “I don’t think I can.”

“Oh?” He pulls you close, his torso flush against yours, and a spear of heat jets through your body, molten hot desire igniting within you all over again. His voice rasps low, his lips against your ear as he tells you, “I think you can, if you follow my lead.”

“You mean do as I’m told?” you tease him, relishing this closeness, even if you’re not moving. Is it just a fancy of yours, that your hearts are beating in time?

“Mmm. A man can dream…” 

Rolling your eyes, you counter, “I will if you will.” 

Fair’s fair, afterall. 

“I guess I’ll have to,” he teases you. “You have all my money now.” 

You laugh at the absurdity of it, and not just because he obviously had a little extra stashed away offshore. Through the joy you marvel at how far the two of you have come. Once you were this broken man’s prisoner, a cherished possession kept under lock and key. Yet by the force of your wills and in the forge of your love, the two of you managed to put the pieces back again, filling the gaps with shining gold until you were both made whole. 

Stronger, better, together. 

You press your lips to his, and he smiles against your mouth, leading you through a few steps with his feet pushing yours across the cobblestones before both of you decide you are in need of that soft bed again, pronto. 

Epilogue:

“Let’s stop up here.” 

You park your motorcycles in a little lot by the harbor, pulling off your helmets. For the umpteenth time this past month, you are starstruck by the sight of this man by your side, even with his fluffy hair sticking up in every direction, his dark gaze glittering just for you. When you offer him a warm smile he repays it in kind, and you feel like you are the richest woman in all South America. 

The moment is shattered when you are whipped in the face by a gust of salt-tinged wind coming off the cold sea; it hits you both hard as a slap. But miraculously, the sun shines like a blessing just for the two of you. You lift your faces to the warmth with a laugh and a smile. In the distance the jagged white-capped peaks of the Andes mountains tower majestically over this tiny town.  

A handmade sign declares Ushuaia - Fin del Mundo. 

The metropolitan lifestyle of Buenos Aires suits the two of you well enough, but you wanted to explore your new chosen home country, maybe find a place to retreat in the countryside. The wild beauty of Patagonia called to you both, and maybe just because you could, the two of you kept going until you reached the literal End of the World. 

You rode through grasslands and desert, marveling at the vast tracts of open land, the distant mountains and the glittering blue sea. You beheld grazing guanaco and herds of sheep, solitary rhea and flocks of chattering green conures, and beaches littered with plump seals sunning themselves after gorging on fish in the rich waters off the Peninsula Valdes. 

Perhaps your favourite, a thing you will hold in your heart for the rest of your life, was the sight of Juan Carlos Rivas, formerly known as the notorious assassin John Wick, holding a serious discussion with a magellanic penguin, their respective arms and flippers held out in a gesture of shared consensus (that the day was rudely scorching for the season). Since that day you have caught John chuckling over penguin videos on his phone more than once, a thing of which you find endlessly endearing. 

It is as though a great weight has been lifted from both of you, and finally you feel free to simply be as you are meant to be, together. For the practical purposes of records and the small matter that John Wick is supposed to be dead, you have decided you will not officially marry, not even in John’s new fake name. 

The decision didn’t disappoint you. You’ve always been more interested in actions than titles. But maybe, it bothered John. The next day you found your custom-bound copy of Jane Eyre on the nightstand, (a prized possession you had deemed necessary to bring with you), with some small object tenting the pages. Afraid you had used something for a bookmark in an absent-minded moment that would damage the spine, you raced to open it–just to find a delicate silver ring encircling the first line of the last chapter: Reader, I married him. 

It’s possible that you squealed with the delight of a schoolgirl and whirled to go find your own personal Rochester, just to run straight into his arms. You exchanged your own form of whispered vows between kisses, your bodies entangled in the soft sheets. Later you procured a ring for his middle finger too, and you reckon this commitment made to each other is as binding to the both of you as anything ever officiated in a church. It was written in tears, and blood, and all your stubborn devotion; that is enough for the both of you for now. 

You plan to make one more trip home to New York, to collect Dog, and maybe a few essential sentimental things. After that, you’re not sure if you will ever return to the United States again. You know you can live wherever now; on the road, or in a city, or out in the wilds–because your true home is with John, wherever you may roam.

You know that it is a bittersweet blessing, to love someone so deeply. A boon and a curse, a glimpse of heaven and the promise of hell if ever you are parted. But you endured the latter once already, and maybe it’s not sane, or good, or right…but you can soundly say you would do it all over again–lie, cheat, steal, kill, for just one more taste of your man, John Wick.  

The End—

Or maybe, just a new beginning, the way all ends are…

Afterword:  You guyssssssssssss!!!😭😭😭 I can’t believe this is it! From the bottom of my heart, I cannot thank you all enough for the love you have shown this story over the past year! It NEVER EVER would have become what it did without all of you! Your enthusiasm, your support, your comments, your ideas, your speculations and our mad spirals of unhinged brain rot! 😂😂😂 Thank you for your likes and your reblogs, and a very special thank you to anyone who took the time to comment, you truly did keep me going at times when I might have given up on this behemoth of a fucking fic. This thing took on a life of its own and I am so grateful for this experience. I love you all, and I can’t tell you how much fun it was to write this story here with you!! ❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤  

[johnwickb1tsch]

Ma’am, I reallllyyyyy miss sympathy for the devil, will you be updating it anytime soon? I love your work so much omgggg

ahhhhhhhhhhh thank you!!!!! yes, i'm right there with you, def down to work on that after finishing up bittersweet. which I'm about to do right now.... 😱😱😱

[johnwickb1tsch]

*gasps dramatically* you never read the hunger games? How could you, Julia?!?

i was just a little too old to get into it when it came out? 😂😂 i'm an old lady. I was shooting a bow before katness made it cool. like...when mastadons roamed. the first time. 😂

[johnwickb1tsch]

Keanu Reeves in Henry’s Crime (2010)

[johnwickb1tsch]

Which Hunger Games District do you think Keanu's characters belong to?

i don't know what this means 😂😂😂