#John Wick X Reader

[huunni]

a man who's intimate.

a man who adjusts to your every need. who kisses you every morning. who never lets you go to sleep angry with him. a man who knows every inch of you, every scar, mole, bump.

a man who never raises his voice at you. who lets his body language talk when he's angry. whose skin bubbles with heat as he crosses his arms and tilts his head, listening to your rant before nodding. "you're right, sugar. im sorry."

a man who practically begs you to let him make it better, kissing from your toetips all the way up to where your night shorts stop, barely covering any of your brown skin. who takes them down with his teeth because even though he's sorry, he's still got his pride.

a man who doesn't let up on your pleasure. who stays nursing on your clit like he's a baby. who makes you cum three times before even thinking about fucking you, your thighs sticky with sweat as he settles between them.

a man who fucks you in heavy, slooooww strokes that drag every vein through your walls. whose groans are low and sensual, driving fire to your clit and ovaries as he sweats, his body hot against yours. he notices how your stomach twitches softly as he lays his hand over it, how your walls suddenly close tight enough for him to halt his movements.

"like it when i lay my hand here, honey? when i feel my cock inside you? you like that?" his voice is taunting. he knows you like it. he knows because your moans suddenly pick up in volume, and your feet next to either of his ears nearly fall from his shoulders. he doesn't let you run from him, though. he wraps one of his arms around your knees, keeping your feet hopelessly in the air as he thrusts into you with debaucherous vigor.

a man who overstimulates every nerve in your body at once, sending you floating off as you come. who holds you through it, watching as your eyes roll like you're possessed. he can't get enough of it, not until you're practically choking, stumbling over how good it feels, how you can't take it anymore. the screams of his name into the heavy air of your bedroom just egging him on to make you cum again. to push your limit. to watch your soul wander from your body for a moment.

a man whose job and life purpose is to please you, a man who's intimate.

[monsoonsosoon]

how can I be normal when he looks like this?

[be-xkyy]

I really have a type 👀

(Handsome men who scream "daddy" vibes and are lethal 😏)

[lalafral]

You'd been in the bath with John, the conversation having faded to a comfortable lull. With your back to his chest as you sat in his lap the gentle pattern of his heart was the soundtrack to the moment. You'd been playing with his hand as you both relaxed in the intimate atmosphere. John just barely heard your small mutterings, the same phrase again and again. He almost missed it but was sure it was meant for him.

"Louder." He asked though he spoke soft. What came out was unexpected but gave him a smile that was more than threatening to peak out, his hand reaching out to turn your chin to him.

"Lyubov Moya." You said quietly. The pronunciation needed some work but John knew what you were saying. His arms going around you, pulling you closer if that was even possible. He wasn't used to hearing sincerity or softness in such a tone.

"And where did you hear that?" The grin clear on his face. You just shrugged, the blush creeping up that he even heard you. Hoping that you didn't utterly butcher it. The idea you had searched it up, had been practicing it for him, it was surprising. He hadn't even thought of such a thing to ask since it was so far in his past, but hearing that from you.. It was more than enough to remind him why he loved you so much.

"Simply perfect, Zhizn Moya." He leaned in, giving a gentle kiss. He knew you had no idea what he said, that he'd tell you later, but for now you were smiling, things were at peace, and the moment was perfect.

[feinv]

more john wick writing — ! is nsfw.

female!reader unless stated otherwise.

— asks

is john wick a smoker?

is john experienced in bed?

— drabbles

john wick x shy fem!reader.

john wick + daddy issues.

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

ovulating around john wick.

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

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

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

admiring john's abs. gn!reader

! john thigh fucking you.

! john overstimulating you.

! john wick + choking kink.

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

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

telling john you have a kidnapping fantasy.

! first time doing anal.

! john being intimidating while fingering you.

touch starved john wick.

john taking more missions and being mean to you.

john wick x sensitive partner. gn!reader

john wick x chronically online partner. gn!reader

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

! john wick finishing too fast and being embarrassed.

john teaching you russian. gn!reader

john wick as a dirty talker.

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

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

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

late night drive with john.

john wick x winstons!daughter.

doing each other's hair.

trying for a baby.

[asuperconfusedgirl]

how I read the most toe-curling, spine-shattering, nerve-wrecking, nastiest smut ever written in this god forsaken app

[ridingreeves]

Hello, how are you? So… I don't know if you accept any kind of request, but if you do, could you do something with John Wick dating a younger assassin?

English is not my first language and I'm not very good at it… so sorry if there are any mistakes, anyway, thanks.

𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗄𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾

𝖯𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂��𝗀－𝖩𝗈𝗁𝗇 𝗐𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗑 𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗌𝗌𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇

𝖲𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒－Being with John Wick wasn’t about romance—it was about survival, trust, and quiet intensity. You met on opposite sides of a contract, but somehow, through blood, bruises, and shared silence, you became each other’s only peace. He loved you without words—through protection, presence, and the way he held you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

𝖠／𝖭－𝖨 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍𝗉𝖾𝖺

Being with John Wick wasn’t like the movies.

There weren’t candlelit dinners or weekend getaways. No flowers on the kitchen table, no grand gestures. The world didn’t let men like John love like that.

But he loved you in his own way.

In the way he cleaned your wounds before his own. In how he always walked on the outside of the sidewalk. How he noticed when you were down to your last magazine, even in the middle of a firefight. How he memorized the rhythm of your breathing while you slept—just in case it ever changed.

You met on a job in Morocco. Two professionals. Two contracts. Same target. You nearly killed each other in a hallway before realizing the contract was double-booked.

You cracked the first joke.

He didn’t laugh—but he didn’t shoot, either.

Now, two years later, you lived in a hidden townhouse outside of Naples. The walls were reinforced. The basement had three exits. And your bedroom had blackout curtains and a drawer full of unregistered weapons. Still, it was the closest thing to peace either of you had known in years.

Mornings with John were… surprising.

You always expected him to be cold. Stoic. But he was quiet in the mornings in a way that felt tender. He made coffee just the way you liked it, always handed you your mug before touching his own. Sometimes, you’d find him out on the patio before sunrise, barefoot, wrapped in a robe, staring into the trees like he was waiting for something—or someone—that would never come.

You never asked what he was thinking about.

You just sat beside him.

No words. Just presence.

Training together was… violent foreplay.

Sparring in the basement usually ended in bruises and heavy breathing. He never went easy on you, and you wouldn’t have respected him if he did. You learned each other’s rhythms. The way he favored his left side after taking a bullet last spring. The way you dipped your shoulder before every hook.

One time, you had him on his back, your knee against his chest, hair falling in your face. You smirked. “You’re slipping, old man.”

His response was to grab you by the waist and flip you in one brutal, fluid motion.

He was on top of you now. Breathing heavy. Hands planted on either side of your head.

“You were saying?”

You just smiled.

Sometimes, the fights ended in sex. Sometimes, in bruised egos and ice packs.

Either way, it was always honest.

The work never really stopped. You still took contracts. So did he. Sometimes together. Sometimes apart.

The part no one warned you about?

The waiting.

When John was out, the house was too quiet. You cleaned your weapons. You sharpened your blades. You stared at your phone like a rookie.

Because as skilled as he was… you knew how fast things could go wrong.

And when you were the one out in the field? He’d be waiting with the front door cracked open and a first aid kit on the counter—never asking questions unless you needed to talk.

Because that’s the kind of love you had.

No demands. No ultimatums. Just survival and understanding.

Nights were the best part.

He didn’t like to be touched much in public. Not in front of other assassins, not in front of enemies. But at home? He was starved for it.

He held you like he couldn’t believe you were real. Slow. Careful. One arm around your waist, the other tangled in your hair, like he was scared you’d disappear if he let go.

“You trust me?” you asked him once, voice soft against his chest.

“With everything,” he said, no hesitation.

You didn’t respond. You just kissed the scar on his collarbone, the one you’d stitched yourself six months ago.

You argued.

You were reckless. He was stubborn.

Sometimes you came home bleeding, grinning, high on adrenaline, and he’d pace the hallway like a man trying not to scream.

“You’re not untouchable,” he’d growl, patching you up rougher than necessary.

“Neither are you,” you’d spit back, eyes flashing.

But then he’d stop. Look at you like you were glass. Like he was afraid one day you wouldn’t walk back through that door at all.

And he’d say nothing. Just pull you close, bury his face in your neck, and hold you like you were slipping through his fingers.

“I can’t lose you too,” he whispered once.

You didn’t say anything.

Just held him back tighter.

The world called him the boogeyman.

You just called him John.

He wasn’t perfect. He was broken. Haunted. Still wore grief like a second skin.

But so were you.

And maybe that’s what made it work. Two broken people. Two survivors. Finding peace not in safety—but in each other.

The world never stopped chasing him. Not really. And by being with him, it came after you too.

But you never wanted safety. You wanted something real.

You wanted him.

And John, for all his damage—for all the ghosts he carried—chose you.

He didn’t say “I love you” often.

But he said it in the way he bandaged your ribs.

In the way he never turned his back on you during a fight.

In the way he’d sit on the edge of the bed, watching you breathe like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to earth.

Even if the world burned tomorrow, you’d die knowing you were loved in a way few ever are

Fully. Quietly. Fiercely.

You were his war

And he was your peace

But somehow, the two of you found something between the two.

Something that felt like a future—even if it came one bloody day at a time.

With John, everything started slow.

There was no rush. No fumbling. No words wasted.

He touched you like a man who’d thought about it too many times. Like he’d memorized the lines of your body long before his hands ever got the chance to trace them.

It always started with silence.

His fingers on your jaw, his thumb brushing your lips. A low look in his eyes that asked permission without ever saying a word. You nodded, breath caught in your throat, and that’s all he needed.

He kissed you like he was starved for it. Like you were the only thing tethering him to this world. And when he pulled back just enough to breathe, he looked at you—really looked at you—and said things with his eyes he never said out loud.

“You’re mine.”

“I need this.”

“I need you.”

When he finally got you into bed, he took his time—at first.

Hands on your waist. Mouth trailing down your collarbone. He was slow, methodical. Like he was cataloging every sound you made.

“You always make that noise?” he murmured, lips brushing the inside of your thigh.

“Only for you,” you gasped, fingers tangling in his hair.

That made him smirk. The kind of rare, quiet smirk only you ever got to see.

And then he wasn’t slow anymore.

He flipped you, dragged your body beneath him like he couldn’t stand the distance, and bit your shoulder as he slid inside you for the first time.

It wasn’t gentle.

But it wasn’t careless either.

John was the kind of lover who held you down, but kissed your temple. Who grabbed your throat, but stroked your cheek afterward. Who made you feel it—every thrust, every grip, every shaky breath.

He fucked like a man with something to prove—like he was trying to erase every man who came before him. And you let him. Welcomed it.

Because with John, it wasn’t just about sex.

It was about claiming. About trust. About needing someone so badly it hurt.

Afterward, he didn’t say much.

Just pulled you against him. Held you so tight your bones ached in the best way.

His fingers traced lazy patterns along your spine while your heartbeat slowly steadied. And eventually, his lips brushed your hairline, and he whispered something so soft, you almost missed it.

“I don’t deserve you.”

You looked up at him, sweat-damp and dazed.

“You’ve got me anyway.”

And in the quiet of that moment—in his arms, with his scent all over your skin—you knew you’d let him ruin you a hundred times over.

Because John Wick didn’t take what he didn’t mean to keep.

And you’d never be the same again.

[baka-bakeneko]

Give Yourself Peace

John Wick x Fem!Reader

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

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

wc: 19. 7 k 😮‍💨

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Thanks so much againn for saving me tonight

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

John: I am too. Good night.

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

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

"Winston," John stated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Would you like some coffee?" John asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

John nodded. "Yeah, but here."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you sure about this?" Winston asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Charon nodded. "Of course, sir."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Winston raised his brows: "Oh?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So he did.

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

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

-Delicious, who knew Winston was such a gossip.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And just like that, John's bubble burst.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If he could stop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Call it off, and I can undo it," you lied, unsure if you could make such a promise.

"Bullshit," Santino spat at you, looking over to John. However, by the stone-cold look on John's face, he was inclined to believe you.

You straightened up and looked down your nose at this man, floundering to be let up but realizing a lack of options. Your cold thumb tempted at the plunger further.

"Y-you would feel it in your knees first. A dull pain that washes away when you can't feel your legs." You tried to narrate, reluctantly mapping out the process when you so wanted to forget it in pets.

"Your heart will start rushing soon, hoping to pump enough blood to circulate down to your toes, but then your fingers will lose feeling."

Santino gulped and you barely glanced to John as your brows knitted and your eyes watered. "Let's get your phone out before we get to that, because there's no turning back from there."

John watched in stunned silence, holding the gun pointed at Santino for any sudden movements towards you. Santino did as instructed, pulling his phone and typing in his code.

He dialed the number slowly, staring at you strong-handing the syringe. When it rang, he glanced over to John, unfazed.

"Pull the bounty for John WIck." He stated when he got on the phone. "Yes. Santino D'Antonio. 758042."

"Yes sir," the operator on the opposite end stated. The line was quiet for a moment and you held your breath. "Your bounty is rescinded. Is there anything else--"

You smacked the phone away from Santino before he could say anything else then leaned back for John to take the shot. He blinked in the flash moment, then aimed and shot Santino.

The splatter of his blood from his head decorated your face and you were sat in the shocked silence of the past few moments. Santino's dark phone lit up with a message.

Unknown: Bounty: John Wick rescinded. Disregard previous messages of subject.

You let go of the syringe, looking down at your cool trembling hands before you felt a pair of thick arms curl around you. John wasn't sure what else to do in the moment, knowing that nothing he could say would make up for it.

He pulled you up, held you close and swiped the blood from your cheeks. John rested his lips to the top of your head and kept you still when you tried to tremble.

He expected you to cry, ready to coax you down, but you were silent. Grasping at his shirt, you turned your face into him and held tight. Your breath slowly returned to normal, shutting your eyes to rid yourself of the sight of your coworker dead. This strange man dead.

John knew that what came next wouldn't be easy and he was dreading every minute of it.

You sat in the car with John as an unmarked black van pulled up in front of the clinic. Looking over at him, you expected John to get out but he only nodded in the direction of the clinic as the older gentleman stepped out of driver's side.

Without word, the man nodded and patted at the back doors of the unmarked van; the double doors opened and you jumped slightly at the men that followed out. Each of them was dressed in dark clothing, two of them holding mops and buckets while the final two carried unmarked bags into your place of work.

Slowly you turned to look at John, hoping for some sort of explanation. John watched as you did, his face frozen in the sense of unknowing where to start. So he tried going for simple.

"I'm a contractor," he said, turning his body to face yours. "I do freelance work for anyone who pays me and I do most of my work out of the Continental."

You gulped, your eyebrows knitting in concern. "S-so Winston and Charon are..."

"They know about my work and aid me in doing so."

You raised your shocked brows even further, unsure of what contortion your face was in at the moment. "Oh, okay."

Though it was not okay.

You had dinner with assassins, or contractors as John explained it. You fucked a contract killer.

You fucked a contract killer. You gulped, the thought giving you butterflies.

"So you're not like...an assassin that kills for fun?"

John raised a brow in question then shook his head. "Only bad people, and people who've forgotten that they're bad."

Your face flattened a little, ready to ask your next question as you remembered the stranger in the hotel room. "I'm not being targeted, am I?"

John slowly reached for you, taking tender hold of the side of your throat as he leaned in. "No. And this is not a long con. Meeting you was just coincidence. I just...dragged you into my darkness. And I'm sorry."

Your bottom lip trembled, staring into John's dark eyes and seeing them melt with his sincerity.

"I like you," he began, his chest tightening at the confession. He'd slain 200 men in a single night, he'd killed an extra 100 to avenge his dog, but here was when he felt nerves. "I want you to stick around. If you want."

You instinctively reached for him, pressing your lips to his. He lost his breath, putting his other hand to the opposite side of your neck to hold you close.

When you'd had your fill, you parted from him with a trembling sigh.

"Is that a 'yes'?" John asked, rubbing his thumbs before your ears.

You smiled nervously, taking hold of John's wrists to keep him there and nodded. John smirked softly, wondering what was going on in your head in that moment.

"You'll keep me safe, right?" You teased, though you wanted the reassurance.

John nodded.

He let his hands drop and you took hold of them. "I'm guessing you're gonna stay in this line of work a bit longer?"

He tried to keep his face neutral, though it loomed overhead as the next big step. Slowly he nodded and watched your body deflate upon doing so.

"Just a little longer," John said, leaning forward. "I've got a month saved up at the Continental and I'd like to use my points before they expire."

You broke with an amused scoff, turning away from John's face trying to hold back from smiling. You rolled your eyes at him, feeling this as a new beginning for the both of you.

"And it's got your name written right beside it," John added, tilting his head. "I know that room service has been calling your name."

You laughed then, barely sparing a glance to the men as they returned to their van. "It'd give me time to look for a new job."

You didn't want to bring it down, but the reality encroached again. John grabbed your hands and pulled them in to kiss your knuckles.

"We can figure it out together," John said, rubbing his thumbs over your hands.

His darkness paired well with yours, he saw. John only witnessed a glimpse of it, but it would do well if his month stay turned into two. Or five.

Depending on how much trouble he got into. You bit your lip, staring down at your hands intertwined with one another.

"Did you...hurt his sister?" You asked, letting the words spill out before you could stop them.

John was still for a moment, taking in a steady breath. "I made a blood oath before I got out that he'd be able to hold over my head if I ever came back. He used that promise to kill his sister."

Your face scrunched up slightly. "That's so vile."

"Yeah," John said, running his thumb over your knuckles as if measuring each one in size.

You raised your gaze to meet his. "And he crossed you even after that?"

John nodded, letting you get accustomed to whatever this new beginning was starting from. You looked down again, sorting through your biggest thoughts by importance.

"T-there was a person that broke into..." you mindlessly thumbed over your shoulder, remembering the long night you'd had before this one.

"They were trying to gain the bounty." John said, staring after you as if he was losing you to your own personal spiral.

"Charon said he contacted the police." You snapped up to look at John again and he bit back a smile at your concern.

Your eyes were watering again, this time your bottom lip ready to pout from your teeth. He reached up and coaxed a tear away with his thumb.

"No contractor business is allowed on Continental grounds," he tried to offer as solace but knew that the next part would jar you. "It's an excommunication rule."

You stared at him, hoping that he would explain further.

"The consequence is death," John offered as solace. "It's a safe place. That's why I wanted you to stay there."

You dryly scoffed at him, turning into his palm. "You were trying to keep me safe?"

John nodded. "I saw how shaken you were that night when I picked you up. I wanted to look out for you."

You pursed your lips. "Were Charon and Winston looking out for me too?"

John's lip curled slightly. "Charon, yes. Winston as you've said, loves to gossip. The man can't help but know every detail."

You tilted your head against the seat cushion, pinning John's hand against your cheek. "Did you tell him about me?"

It felt wrong to ask in such a situation, but there was no doubt that your meet-cute with a contract killer was fucked up.

John hid a roll of his eyes, his cheeks raising though he lined his lips together. "I told him enough. He called you...my Persephone."

You reached for his hand, shifting it down for his thumb to brace your lips. You blinked, narrowing your eyes at him. "He's funny. I guess this is kind of like the Underworld. Contractors and blood oaths, sacred hotels and clean-up crews."

John raised his brows at you. "Still okay with staying?"

Your stomach, for the first time in the past few days, felt realigned with steel. Though hostage situations were something you never wanted to get used to.

You raised your left hand, pointing your pinkie out. "If you promise me something."

John's lips pouted to the side, never eager to hear about promises in his line of work. He slowly raised his left hand and pointed out his pinkie, waiting to hear what you had to offer.

"Name it."

"You promise to keep me safe if I need it, you can't dump me during a mission and you teach me how to shoot a gun."

John's brows quirked then, his mouth a wormy squiggle to withhold his amusement. He nodded, reaching his large pinkie out to hook around yours. "Deal."

"And..." you added, just as you hooked your finger around his and held him there. "We get dessert in bed and Gunner gets a plate of fries. Also I want to go with you once on a mission."

John's mouth scrunched up under his nose, his cheeks bottling his want to laugh. It felt good to have that still within him.

"I promise."

"Also," you continued, biting your bottom lip. "You help me move out of my apartment."

John chuckled, pointing his finger at you from his interlocked hand. "Now that's too far."

"Said the contract killer," you jested.

John metered his nod back and forth with another soft laugh. "Okay, fine. Also, you don't have to tell me not to dump you."

The two of you stayed locked in your pinky promise as John looked from it to you.

"Promise me something."

"Shoot," you said, scrunching your nose at the poor choice of word.

"You let me know if it gets to be too much. If you want out at any time, I will let you out. I don't want to keep you where you don't want to be."

You hummed, softly smiling at this man. You wanted to stick around for a while, even longer than that. But you didn't want to tell him so.

Even though you were sure this man was the opposite of squeamish. Nothing like boys you'd dated previously.

"Okay."

"And..." John drew out like you had, pursing his lips in soft thought. "I want a full day in bed, with you. Gunner'll have to stay with Charon."

You giggled softly. "Okay," you said, shaking your head in John's direction. "I promise."

The two of you solidified your pinky promise with another soft kiss; John let his hands untangle from you as he felt his ring finger pulse again.

He paused, looking down at his hands and circled his ring on his finger.

You slowly came down from the adrenaline and mushiness spilled and stared at John fiddling with his ring.

"If it's too soon for you..." you tried, but John shut it down with putting his ring hand on the steering wheel.

"I'll be fine," he said with a sigh, aware of when he'd take it off.

It wouldn't be for a while, and he should've asked if it was alright with you. You didn't even notice it, feeling that it was just a part of him.

"So was it pentobarbital in that bottle?" He asked curiously, starting the car and gearing it into drive.

You reached for your seatbelt, glancing out of your window at the vet clinic then buckled yourself in.

"I don't think it was," you said geniunely, unsure if it'd make a difference.

John turned his car into the underground parking garage and circled the top level to find a space. The two of you were going over John's excursion in Rome, why he was really there and what he had to go through to get home.

"That's so fucked up," you offered, unable to create any other cohesive thought.

John shrugged, which gave you the note that this was a normal thing that happened sometimes.

You leaned in, intrigued to learn more about this other half of John. There was John Wick, the mild-mannered dog dad that fucked so hard that you shivering at the thought.

Then there was John Wick, the contract killer who took down a mafia of men in the time it took for you to have dinner with Winston.

"What do they call you?" You asked after John geared his car into park then shut it off.

John raised his brows, glancing over at you. "Don't laugh."

You straightened up in your seat, mimicking a zip of your lips closed before nodding at him to continue. John smirked and undid his seatbelt.

"Baba Yaga," he offered, awaiting your eventual snicker.

But you were perplexed, staring at him. "What is that?"

He blinked once, turning to you fully. "The Boogeyman."

You stared at him, knowing that there was no doubt in your mind that while you feared this man just a little bit, you were attracted to him more.

You looked around the desolate parking lot then back at John. "Anything else?"

"The Wolf, The Devil..." John added, unsure if those names were even true but wanting to amuse you.

You leaned over to John and exhaled a trembling breath. "Is it wrong of me..."

You couldn't finish that sentence aloud, knowing that it was a bit twisted to want him more. The man had just shot another man in front of you...and yet...

You caught John's mouth in a fervent kiss, edging your knee over the center console to sit in his lap. John was surprised, making such a noise as his hands held your hips.

You blindly reached between his seat and the door, finding the handle to recline the two of you back.

John groaned at the sudden movement, but didn't break from you. He pressed his hand into the small of your back and held you tighter against him, allowing you to roll your body against him.

"I-I'm sorry," You offered, parting from him with smaller pecks to follow. "I don't know what came over me."

John looked at you from behind his half-mast eyelids, taking in your trembling chest and legs spread over him. The image of you that morning flashed by again, trying to hide the other twisted side of it.

"Let's go upstairs," he added, his voice hitting a new low.

You felt your body cinch at his utterance, reminding yourself of the euphoric kisses and bites that would come from it.

You nodded, reaching for the driver's side door and climbing out. John attempted to regain himself, righting his seat before grabbing his keys and climbing out.

You didn't expect this place to become a sanctuary to you. The dark foreboding walls, something echoing to the Asphodel, was not inviting like you'd seen most places.

The marble floors, the sharp edges, the posh guests, all of them were out of your wheelhouse of comfort. But you were relieved to enter the lobby of the Continental.

It felt like it held a new charm, one that you prayed never left. You were awash with a sense of security, taking John's hand and leading him to the elevator.

You pinned him against the wall, nudging your nose with his before tempting him with a kiss. He leered after you, his eyes fluttering close with the thought of tasting your lips again.

You nipped at his nose instead, bringing your fingers up to scratch through his beard.

When the two of you made it back to your floor, you grabbed John's hand and started towards your door. At one point, John's arm circled around your waist and he lifted you into him, carrying you to the room.

The two of you stopped at the door, with you fumbling to take the key from John and open the door. You felt his breath over your shoulder, his hands already making their way down the front of your pants.

You shook your head alert, finally making the key open the door and clambering in with John hot on your tail.

You barely made it to get your shoes off before John expertly undid your pants and tugged them down. You bowed onto the bed, readily hiding your shame at how wet you were.

John pulled your pants down to your ankles, then off before turning you onto your back. He took your knee, pulling your legs open and stashing a hard gulp at the sight.

He had no words to say, knowing that the truth would be squeezed out of him soon enough. He reached for his own belt, undoing his pants and freeing his stiffened cock.

You looked down at the comparison, his cock flush against your stomach. You whimpered as he drew himself back, pushing his cock head against your clit before letting it slip over your stomach again.

You threw your head back in frustration, knowing that you wouldn't last long being teased. John watched like an instinctual predator, waiting for his best strike.

His bare hand went to rest at your chest, feeling your racing heart beat hard. John pulled back again, rutted his cock against your clit then let it slide, gathering your wet and streaking your belly.

You whined again, drawing your knees up from the edge of the bed. "John, please."

He would savor every time your lips formed his name; he tilted his head back, soaking it in to puff up his chest when he was normally without flaunting an ego.

John dropped his head again, glaring darkly at you from under his brows. He rutted a third time, earning your writhing. Your head turned back and forth on the comforter, your fingers reaching out for him but never grasping onto him.

"C-c'mon," you hiccuped, finding yourself a disheveled mess. You were flustered and growing on embarrassed, as if John was showing off how turned on you were by him.

By what he did.

By what he did for you.

You gulped, tightening your stomach as you watched him rut a final time; this time he went back and pressed his cock at your entrance, making you drop your head in relief when he slid into you.

John's hand at your chest dropped down to your stomach, leveling your core to feel every inch of him. You practically vibrated upon the new sensation, finding yourself drawn closer to a peak you weren't even acknowledging.

John took his hands away from you to run them under your shirt; he tenderly shrugged your top from over your chin, blinding you the cotton as his cock thrusted into you harshly.

You lost your breath, gasping when he shrugged your shirt over your head and up your arms before pausing there. He flattened himself against you, catching your bottom lip between his teeth with a tender suck.

His fingers threaded through yours, tangling both of you in the cuffs of your shirt until he finally pulled it off of you. John did his with pulling away from you and reaching between his shoulders to rip his shirt over his head.

The cream top yanked up to reveal the yellowing and purple bruises along John's sides, ones you knew now to be wounds for his effort. He went above and beyond in his work, it showed deeply.

John tossed his shirt away, returning over you to feel your chest rise and fall against his. He wanted to undo you further, have you bare to him in the physical and vulnerable sense, but he didn't want to throw off his pace.

You keened when he hit a particularly soft spot within you and he recognized it as your second weakness. John licked his fingers and dove them between the two of you, finding your clit with expert precision and circling it.

You grabbed onto his shoulders, wanting to hook into him if he was going to keep on. Your pants heightened against his mouth, drawing more moans from you as his other hand peeled your leg back to your side.

You broke another inch, your eyes crossing as you glanced to the ceiling. John took it in stride, using his lips to level his chin and meet your eyes. "Did I lose you there?"

Your face scrunched in pleasure, just as your chest tightened with the threat of explosion. "You are the Devil."

He chuckled mirthlessly against your lips, taking them in another kiss as he continued his pace. The two of you found yourselves drawing further up in pleasure, finding the heat culminated between you two enough of a catalyst for you both to cum.

You were first, your mouth falling open in the moans of John's name. Your walls beckoned him further, stunting his thrusts from going too deep before he finally succumbed to your heat.

He rested his elbow next to your head, groaning and hissing in pleasure. The two of you shared your caught breaths, staring at one another in the dim light of the room.

You prodded your tongue to your bottom lip, your eyes raking up and down John's body. He did the same, though he paused at your neck and dove in to kiss you there.

You shied away, raising your shoulder to giggle at his warm breath wafting down your neck. He liked that sound, he wanted to hear more of that.

[slutoru1207]

Varient!Invincible x reader

cc: I've been wanting to wrote this for weeks but intil I saw @tokoyamisstuff post their version of it I haddd to do it ! i hope you all like it ! let me know if you would like a part 2.

Imagine: Multiple versions of Mark Grayson from different dimensions find the reader, each desperate to keep her because they lost their version of her. Now, they refuse to let her go.

Something was wrong.

You’d been feeling it for weeks—shadows flickering just out of sight, the sensation of being watched even when you were alone. Your gut told you something was coming, but nothing could have prepared you for this.

Ellis Tower was in ruins. Glass and steel littered the streets, alarms wailed uselessly in the distance, and the air smelled like burning metal. The Guardians of the Globe were still reeling, struggling to figure out what the hell had just happened.

But you knew.

Because standing in front of you—blocking every possible escape route—were three Marks.

Not just one. Three.

Each of them was slightly different, but they all looked at you the same way—like you were something fragile, precious, irreplaceable. Their eyes held a deep, almost haunted longing that made your stomach twist.

The one closest to you had a fresh gash along his cheek, his suit darker than Mark’s usual colors. His golden eyes burned with something desperate as he took a step forward.

“You’re alive.” His voice cracked, like he didn’t believe his own words.

You staggered back. “No—no, this isn’t—what the hell is going on?”

Another Mark—this one’s suit looking more like battle-worn armor, bloodstained and torn—exhaled shakily. “We lost you.” His voice was hollow. “In every world, in every fight, we lost you.”

You swallowed, hands shaking. “I—I don’t understand—”

The third Mark, the one with the most familiar uniform, tilted his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. “But not in this one.” His fingers twitched, as if resisting the urge to reach for you. “We finally found one where you made it.”

Your blood ran cold.

They weren’t your Mark.

Not the Mark who held your hand when you were nervous. Not the Mark who kissed your temple when he thought you were asleep. Not the Mark who fought beside you, loved you, chose you.

But they looked at you like they had. Like they had lost you a thousand times and wouldn’t let it happen again.

A shuddering breath left you. “Where’s… my Mark?”

The first one—scarred, desperate—let out a bitter chuckle. “That’s the thing, sweetheart.” His golden eyes gleamed.

“You don’t need him anymore.”

[marks-bby]

men who for some reason love to see the sight of you withering in pleasure. crying for that sweet release you are oh so desperately chasing. but the attempt is futile without him. you need him. you’ll crack without the attention required.

his favorite sight is to see your bottom in the air as your face is pressed against the pillow, drool slipping from the side of your lips, tears soaked into the fabric. your arms are tied behind you as you take every last drop of what he’s giving you. mumbling something about “this is gonna take”. all five senses are gone. the feeling of his cock drilling into you is pure bliss. every thing turns white in your mind as you feel white ropes of his seed full your cunt to the brim; some even spilling out.

“nuh uh, sweetheart.” he pulls himself out, using his two fingers to catch the stray droplets before pushing them back into your sensitive, abused hole, making your body jolt.

men who like to have you on your back after a long day at your job, perfectly placed between your legs as he ravishes your cunt like the dog he is. he’s been waiting to see the sight of your dewy cunt, waiting to hear your incoherent whine of you begging for him to slow down. but the pleas fall deaf on his ears. all he can hears are the lewd noise that your sl*tty c*nt makes on impact.

ignis , DANTE , vergil , sam drake , joe goldberg , JOEL MILLER , aki hayakawa , KISHIBE , SUKUNA , GETO , nanami , toji , leon kennedy , JASON TODD , JOHN WICK , JOHN CONSTANTINE , wolverine , plus your favs !!

guidelines to request .

[keravnous]

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

dating john wick - the playlist

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

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

word count: 10,6 k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Could be you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I will not die today

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

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

And Oh, does desperation fire up your blood.

I will not die today

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

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

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

I will not die today

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

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

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

I will not die today

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

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

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

I will not die today

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

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

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

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

I will not die today

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I will not fucking die today

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

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

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

There is something hard pressing against your crotch.

The world falls silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I will not die today, motherfucker

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Don't", you breathe softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your breath hitches.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There's the gun. And the knife.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Heavy", you breathe.

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

John realizes he is fucked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah?"

"Fuck me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it is also him.

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

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

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

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

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

And Jesus Fucking Christ. Does John kiss you.

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

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

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

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

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

John moans.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The room is silent, the air heavy with the musky scent of sex.

Your chest still heaves with the remains of your orgasm, bliss still spreading in your brain and your veins, making you feel like you are flying. Your heart is still racing, as you feel him moving again.

Blinking up at him, you can see him grabbing the gun.

"Don't", you say softly, voice coarse from screaming your lungs out in pleasure just moments ago, "Please, don't." You are not ready to scream yet again. Not ready to scream in pain, instead of pleasure.

John does not reply. He pulls the hammer back, checks the chamber - all with one hand.

"Kill him instead, please."

He freezes, eyes locking with yours. "Who?", he sounds just as exhausted as you. The wolf, tired out. The deer, bleeding, limping.

Call it Post Nut Clarity, call it Finally Taking Your Future In Your Own Hands, call it Emancipating Yourself. Call it Having Wrapped A Deadly Assassin Around Your Pinky.

You were not safer here. You never were. Just more isolated. Easier to locate.

Easier to kill.

Realization hits you like a blow to the head, your vision swimming.

See? I will not die today.

"My father. Kill him."

[discoscoob]

⋆⭒˚.⋆ JOHN WICK’S ESCORT SERVICE

˙ ✩°˖💍⋆｡˚ Escort!John Wick x Reader

Synopsis: in order to combat the loneliness and isolation of his retirement, John starts an escort business. Things are going well, until you hire him to pretend to be your new partner at your ex’s destination wedding and he starts breaking all his rules. 3.4k.

A/N: this would not have gotten written without the help of @treedaddypuff’s ideas, some of which I have included, thank you for your help! 🫶

JOHN WICK

The events of the first John Wick movie happened. He’s got Dog, he’s got his car back and Santio didn’t come and bother him so he hasn’t had very much to do.

He starts to become isolated, he spends all that time alone in his house. His only company is Dog but he’s starved of human contact, except for his weekly visits to Aurelio’s garage to check on the progress of his car repairs during which Aurelio remarks how John needs to ‘get out more.’

He suggests some type of bounty work, kind of like Tracker in JW4, let’s say that type of business isn’t directly afflicted with the high table as long as you do it right and keep your nose clean. It’s the type of work that would be a walk in the park for someone like John Wick, easy money and it’ll give him something to keep him occupied, but John isn’t interested. He doesn’t want to hurt people anymore, he insists he is content with his life as it is but Aurelio isn’t convinced, he can see he’s depressed and lonely.

Aurelio suggests he should at least try and find someone, John is even more against this idea. At this point he isn’t interested in finding another partner and he doesn’t believe he ever will be. However, there are certain things he misses, going on dates, the conversations, taking care of someone but he feels it wouldn’t be right to date when his heart is not really in it, he doesn’t want to feel as though he’s stringing anyone along.

That’s when Aurelio, half-joking, brings up escort work. It takes out all the complicated and messy feelings involved with real dating. He doesn’t have to worry about stringing anyone along because it would be a purely transactional service. It’ll get him out of the house, some human interaction and he’ll earn some money. (not that he needs it but it’s always a bonus.)

He discovers he actually really enjoys it and he’s good at it. One of his favourite parts about being with Helen was spoiling her, performing acts of service and romancing her. This allows him to do all those things without any attachments. He doesn’t sleep with his clients, it’s strictly dates. I headcanon him as demisexual so he doesn’t really experience sexual attraction unless there are feelings involved. He does on occasion have to stop a few clients when they try to take things further - who can blame them? But he’s really sweet at letting them down gently.

He’s been doing escort work for about six months by the time you hire him, however this job is a little different, it requires travelling for a destination wedding which means multiple days. By this point, he’s only ever done single dates but he reasons that a few days away would be a nice change and he leaves Dog in the care of Charon.

READER

You’ve been invited to your exes destination wedding. This is a disaster.

It’s a disaster because you still haven’t quite gotten over him. You’re coworkers, you see. You work at the same hospital - it’s Dr. Julian Mercer.

“It’s a plus one so you can bring your boyfriend along, it’ll be nice to finally meet him.” he cordially dropped the wedding invitation on your desk.

The thing is, you don’t actually have a boyfriend. That was just something you made up in a moment of panic and you’ve been desperately clinging to the lie ever since. In reality, you’re tragically single and you haven’t dated anyone since your relationship with Julian ended. To say you were freaking out would be an understatement.

What were you going to do? You thought about skipping the whole thing entirely, telling him your (nonexistent) relationship ended and you’re just not in the right headspace to attend a wedding so soon after a break up. No! Pretending to be going through a break up while your ex is getting happily married would be even more tragic than being single. What kind of mess have you gotten yourself into?

Confiding in your best friend, you tell her your predicament. Of course she doesn’t tell you to do the sensible thing. “You need to go to that wedding and you need to show everyone that you’ve moved on and you’re happy!” You’re certain you’re neither of those things but god forbid anyone should actually know that! Especially your perfect ex and his perfect soon-to-be-wife. She tells you to hire someone to pretend to be your boyfriend for the weekend.

Your immediate reaction is absolutely not! But you quickly realise how limited your options actually are. With the help of some Dutch courage, you bite the bullet and do some research into male escorts.

Upon seeing the prices you quickly realise this is way out of your budget, until you come across John Wick. His prices are far more reasonable. (John doesn’t charge very much since he isn’t doing this because he needs to make a living, so he sets his rate pretty low, feeling as though he doesn’t want to rip anyone off.) It almost seems too good to be true but you decide to call the number anyway.

Your breath hitches when you hear his voice for the first time over the phone. It takes you a moment to collect yourself and start talking, nervously enquiring that this is in fact John Wick and he is available to hire as an escort.

You explain that you would like to hire him to attend a destination wedding with you as your plus one. You decide to leave out the major details that it's your ex's wedding and he’ll need to pretend that he is your long-term partner. You've already elected that you will reveal all this on the plane so that if he thinks you’re batshit crazy it’ll be too late for him to back out. Maybe that’s sneaky but… *shrugs*

JOHN AND READER

John meets you for the first time at the airport, introducing himself with a polite kiss on the back of your hand.

Your reaction isn’t quite what he was expecting. You seem distracted.

“Oh… you don’t have to switch that on until we get to the wedding.” Switch that on? That’s a first. John has never been told to switch off the charm by a client before. Perhaps that’s the moment you intrigue him.

It’s obvious you find this whole thing quite awkward, you barely say two words to him while you both wait in the flight lounge. John is used to that. He has had many clients who need coaxing out of their shells and persuaded to indulge, without any shame, in the services he provides.

It’s not until the seatbelts are on and the plane is speeding up on the runway to take off that he hears the full story.

“It’s my ex’s wedding.” you tell him over the whir of the plane engine, your eyes locked on the fasten seatbelts sign. “I sort of told him I have a boyfriend so he gave me a plus one invite, expecting me to bring him with me. But I don’t have a boyfriend so I need you to pretend you're my boyfriend.”

This isn’t new for John. He’s played boyfriend’s, husband’s, even side pieces if the situation calls for it. He doesn’t judge.

“You want to make him jealous.” It’s more of an observation than a question.

“No!” you answer almost immediately, “no, I’m showing him that I’m happy and I’ve moved.”

“Right.”

John is not convinced.

Usually in cases where he is playing the part of a partner, there’s an alias and some backstory.

“Does your “boyfriend” have a name?”

“It’s… John, actually.”

What were the chances? That earns a slight chuckle.

“What? John is a very common name and I was under pressure when I made it up.”

“Maybe it’s kismet.” he can’t help but tease.

Obviously when you arrive at the hotel and check into the room there’s only one bed. Why wouldn’t there be? You’re supposed to be a couple yet somehow this arrangement hadn’t crossed either of your minds.

“I’ll take the floor.” John breaks the awkward silence that had encapsulated you both while you stood in the doorway staring at the bed.

The way he says it tells you that it’s not up for debate so you don’t even bother.

The part you were looking forward to most was the look on Julian’s face when you stepped into the dinner rehearsal with John by your side. It hadn’t gone unnoticed to you that Julian wasn’t entirely convinced about your claims that you had a boyfriend, you weren’t the best liar. He had caught you stumbling up a few times and was more than happy to call you out on it and watch in delight as you stumble over yourself to cover up the mishap. Clearly he had given you the plus one invite to his wedding to catch you out and prove once and for all that you had made the whole thing up.

Seeing that smile wiped off his face, even if only for a moment, as he caught sight of the tall, dark and handsome stranger next to you was quite satisfying to say the least.

“I’m pleased you could make it.” Julian welcomes you both, sizing up John. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet this allusive boyfriend I’ve heard so much about.”

John returns with some underhanded remark about how he hasn’t heard much about him in return, insinuating that you’re so moved on you barely talk about him.

You can almost see the bruise forming on Julian’s ego.

John is totally locked in and committed to the assignment.

It’s safe to say that John takes an instant dislike towards your ex. He finds the overly extravagant destination wedding to be an ostentatious display of his wealth and status. He can’t help but compare how private and intimate his and Helen’s wedding was in comparison - it was something sacred and precious just for them.

Throughout the dinner rehearsal, John is attentive and sweet towards you - really “switching it on” as you put it. But you’re still distracted. He’s out here giving his best performance, trying to really sell how happy and moved on you are but your longing eyes keep straying towards Julian and his soon-to-be-wife.

It’s frustrating but John has never backed down from a challenge.

A long since forgotten feeling begins to stir in John’s gut. A feeling he used to feel whenever Helen’s attention was stolen too much by someone else or she reminisced about her past lovers.

John has been on dates with married clients before who spent the whole time talking about their partner and he never felt even an ounce of jealousy. Why should he care that you're still so hung up on your ex? Why does he want your attention so much?

Later that night, when John steps out of the ensuite freshly showered, he finds you sitting on the edge of the bed with your face buried in your hands. He can’t hear it, but from the jerky movement of your shoulders, he can tell you’re crying.

“Are you okay?”

You jump. Jesus, when did he come back? You didn’t even hear his footsteps. Despite the obvious state you’re in, you try to dismiss his concern and pretend you’re okay. Of course John doesn’t buy it and he persuades you to open up.

He can be very persuasive.

You tell him about how you had imagined all this with you and Julian. The perfect, beautiful wedding. Seeing it become a reality right in front of your eyes with someone else in your place hurts you more than you ever thought it could.

John wants to ask you why you still give a shit about that jerk, but he understands more than most that love can make us do and feel crazy things, even when it doesn’t make rational sense. So instead, he wraps an arm around your shoulders, tucks your head under his chin and lets you cry as much as you need.

“We can leave if you want.” he offers, not wanting you to endure anymore of this weekend if it is causing you distress but you refuse, you want to see this through.

That night you ask John to hold you, just until you fall asleep. Of course, he obliges.

He would happily continue to hold you long after you have fallen asleep, but you didn’t ask for that and he reminds himself of his rules. He carefully slips away from you, tucking the quilt snugly around your shoulders and resists the urge to leave a kiss on your forehead.

The following morning, the day of the wedding ceremony, you can’t even hide how utterly miserable you feel.

His hands quiver as he zips up the back of your dress, his eyes trailing along the dips and curves of your skin as it disappears behind the fabric.

He stops you just before you both step out of the hotel room. He needs to tell you something.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he tells you about Helen. He recounts the story of their wedding day and how perfect it was. He tells you how he felt like the luckiest man in the world and it was far beyond anything he believed he deserved.

He tells you that whatever Julian is feeling for his bride is not even close to how he felt for Helen.

You see, John is good at reading people, it’s something he had to learn in his line of work. He tells you that Julian is not in love, at least not with anyone but himself.

You ask him why he’s telling you all this.

He is telling you this because you want to be in his bride's place so bad but the whole thing is a facade. He tells you that you deserve something honest and real. Something like he had with Helen.

This occupies your mind the whole way to the ceremony.

When Julian walks past your seats on his way down the aisle to wait at the altar for his bride, your gaze follows him until John catches your chin and pulls your focus towards him, pressing a firm and deliberate kiss to your lips. Neither of you notice the way Julian glances over his shoulder at you both.

Something clicks inside you and you melt into the kiss, your fingers finding purchase in the long strands of soft hair that frame his face to hold him in place.

The complicated thing with hiring an escort is, you can’t be certain that any of this is real.

John hardly ever takes his hands off of you for the rest of the day. If your fingers aren’t interlocked, his arm is around your waist. If he’s not stroking strands of hair away from your face, he’s caressing your cheek.

He wants your attention. He wants you.

At the reception, when Julian sits himself down in the chair next to you, John hooks his foot into the leg of your chair, pulling it closer to his so he can rest his arm over the back of it while glaring at Julian.

Credits: [x] [xx]

“I’d love to know how you two met.”

“Online.” answers John, in his famously deadpan delivery, without any further explanation. Did he lie?

It clearly wasn’t an answer Julian was expecting.

John seems to be the only one who is unfazed by the awkward silence that follows, taking a sip of his bourbon.

“And what is it you do, exactly?” Julian continues his line of questioning.

“I’m retired.” John almost seems bored.

“From what?”

John pauses, taking a moment to enjoy another sip of his bourbon.

Credit: [x]

“Management.”

Before Julian can ask anymore questions, John stands and offers you his hand.

Without another word or so much as a glance towards your ex, he leads you to the dance floor.

I headcanon that John loves to slow dance. For years he has been trained to move and use his body in ways to hurt, kill and maim, but slow dancing allows him to utilise his precision, control and coordination in a way that is intimate and tender. The synchronicity of your bodies, the closeness - it’s vulnerable. He first developed a love for slow dancing with Helen, until then dancing reminded him of Ruska Roma. She gave it a whole new meaning for him.

You fit perfectly in his arms. In that moment, with your cheek pressed against his, he doesn’t know how he is ever going to bring himself to let you go. This job was supposed to be easy and cut out the complications of dating by making it transactional but John has found himself in a situation he never once believed possible. He is falling for one of his clients.

Silently, he leads you away from the function, offering no explanation to your puzzled glance.

In the elevator ride to the floor of your shared hotel room, away from prying eyes, he slowly backs you against the wall. The moment is charged with longing, tension and barely concealed feelings.

There is an unmistakable flash of determination in the bottomless depths of his dark gaze that, without a single touch, firmly pins you in place against the wall.

There is no mistaking that this is real.

“John, what about your rul-”

Before you can even finish that sentence, he’s shutting you up with his lips firmly planted against yours.

NSFW

Ever since he lost Helen, John has starved himself of physical touch and intimacy with another person and you have awoken his insatiable appetite.

Similarly, you haven’t been with anyone since your relationship with Julian ended.

There are definitely some nerves there for you both.

It really hits once you stumble into the hotel room with your lips attached and your tugging his dress shirt out from his pants.

John halts your movements, engulfing your hands in his. God, they’re huge!

He takes a beat, his forehead pressed against yours, rough breaths escaping his parted lips, fanning over your neck.

Holding his eyelids shut to hide the conflict behind his eyes, he struggles against himself in his own mind.

All he can think about is how you might react when you see his scars.

“Sit down.” he gently urges you to sit on the edge of the bed.

Standing before you, he slips off his tie, strips off his jacket and slowly unbuttons his black shirt without breaking eye contact.

You gulp when you see his scars, releasing a shuddering breath. A suffocating ache snatches your heart in its cruel icy grip.

In one big stride, he’s standing between your legs, dwarfing your face as he cradles your jaw in his hands, urging you to look up at him.

“Do you want this?” Do you want me?

All it takes is a subtle nod before John is peppering a constellation of kisses across your face. Pressing his knees into the mattress on either side of you, his fingers delve into your hair gripping it just enough to hold you steady as he looms over you.

For John, your pleasure comes first. He will worship you. But he needs to know that there are no distractions.

“You with me, baby?”

He needs to hear you say it.

Drives you to the brink of insanity with his face buried between your thighs, legs hooked over his shoulders and his hands against your stomach holding you down. No matter how much you pull and tug on his tousled mane, he simply growls and teasingly nips at your poor overstimulated flesh.

Fingers you until the pads of his fingertips begin to prune.

Stretching you open as he sinks in at an agonising pace, it feels never-ending. A sheen of sweat clings to the taut muscles of his arms and a string of moan enveloped curses slip from his tongue.

Breathlessly praises you and whispers sweet names in your ear while stroking his hand through your hair when you come on his cock.

Continues to praise you and tell you how good you were for him as he rolls the both of you over until you’re spooning.

He wants to make you feel precious and treasured.

He could stay awake longer if he needed to but he feels so safe with you he allows himself to let his guard down and sink into a deep sleep.

The following morning, a tickle wriggles through your body, stirring you awake as John’s coarse facial hair scrapes against the sensitive junction between your shoulder and your neck.

“I’ve got something for you.” he presses an envelope into your palm, wrapping your fingers around it. It’s full of cash - the fee it cost to hire him. “I can’t keep this now. But I hope I can keep you instead.”

He can keep you forever.

[eternallyniah]

Every time I see a big tall guy I just think damn I need that

[keanusbabydoll]

consequence

paring: john wick x virgin!fem!reader

warnings: 18+ content, heavy smut, oral (M and F), unprotected sex, p in v, age gap, rough sex, fingering, overstimulation, praising, cursing, use of y/n, virgin reader, porn with plot, pet names

wordcount: 6.5k

masterlist

MDNI

. • °✧༺ ༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ . • °✧༺ ༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ . • °✧༺ ༻*✫

you didn’t know how you ended up in this situation.

tied to a chair in an apartment of a hotel, your mouth covered with duck tape.

next to you stood a tall man, slick black hair and wearing a suit. but that was all you could make out. the room was pitch dark except for the moonlight shining slightly through the window across from you.

you didn’t know what to do. your body was shaking in fear and inside you was a chaos of emotions. you thought that this was your end, that you were going to die. the man asked you questions, some of them you didn’t even understand. who sent you? what is your mission? who are you working for?

all that didn’t make sense to you.

all you wanted to do there was looking for answers. a few days ago, you found a red folder in your grandpas office at home. winston scott. the only family you had left. but something always seemed off with him. he never let you come to work with him, was always very distant if you asked about his job and was barely at home. you knew that he hid something from you. and you were determined to find out, so all you could think about was looking in his office which you weren’t even allowed to enter.

but you couldn’t hold yourself back anymore. you needed to know what was going on. so, you found that red, promising folder and what you found in there took your breath away.

there were pictures of a hotel you definitely knew and flipping to the next pages you stumbled across the high table, rules- also from the hotel, and the criminal underworld. you didn’t know what to say. it all didn’t seem real. it was like straight out of a movie. you wanted it to be unreal but all this was proof that it was reality. and now everything started to make sense to you. that was the reason why your grandpa never told you anything about his job, let you come along or was gone for weeks. at this point you even wondered how you’ve never heard anything from all that before. it was confusing.

but right now you deeply regretted walking into that hotel. you just wanted answers, wanted to search for your grandpa and talk to him. but that man must have known that you weren’t here, like every other criminal, to seek protection.

you were desperately trying to get out of the restraints that tied you to the chair, tears were streaming down your face like a waterfall and constant whimpers and whines left your mouth- wordlessly begging him to set you free. you had no idea what that man was going to do with you. and that scared you to death. but nothing helped. he acted like you weren’t even there.

"please.“ you mumbled through the tape, your eyes pleading silently. in a matter of seconds he turned on his heels sharply, his patience wearing thin and his fingers immediately wrapped harshly around your gin, forcing you to look up. "one more fucking sound and you won’t get out alive.“ he growled, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

you quickly nodded your head as he let go of your gin and marched across the room, stopping by a table which had a telephone placed on it. you watched him as he dialed a number and waited impatiently, the tight grip on the telephone proof of it.

"hello sir.“ he suddenly said. you could make out a faint male‘s voice but didn’t hear what he was saying.

"yes i‘d like to speak to the manager." a sigh fell from his lips. "no, here in room 818.“ he continued, his voice deep and cold. "thank you.“ he ended the call, tossing the telephone back on the table before storming off to a different room.

you were left alone with your thoughts when suddenly your blood froze.

the manager.

you almost forgot that your grandpa owned this hotel. you started to panic even more. you had no idea how he would react seeing you tied up in one of his apartments. plus, you weren’t even supposed to know about this place. the tears were now getting more and more, blurring your vision completely but you tried your best to keep quiet. you didn’t want to anger that man further.

minutes of heavy, uncomfortable silence passed and there was still no sight of him. your emotions were starting to eat you up, the fear, sadness, anger drove you insane.

but out of a sudden there was a loud knock echoing through the whole apartment. you shrieked up, your head turning to the door‘s direction when the lights turned on. you immediately closed your eyes, blinking a few times to get used to it. again, you looked over to the door and found the man unlocking it.

"johnathan.“ is the first thing you heard before grandpa stepped into the room. your eyes widened and your pulse quickened. there was no going back now.

"winston.“ the man replied, both of them shaking hands.

"is there something wrong johnathan?“ grandpa asked, his eyes fixated on the man.

"there was a little incidence. i thought i’d show you, let you decide what you’d like to do with her.“ johnathan answered, gesturing his head towards your direction. when winston‘s eyes followed johnathan’s gesture, his mouth slightly parted and his movements stopped. the second you had eye contact, you began to whimper, wriggle, trash around, just anything to make him come to you and free you from your position.

fortunately he took that as a sign and ran over to you, immediately kneeling down, untying the ropes around your wrists and ankles before he ripped the tape off your mouth, eliciting a painful hiss from you. in an instant, you got to your feet, wrapped your arms around his neck and began to cry again.

"i‘m so sorry grandpa. please forgive me, i didn’t mean to-" you were cut off mid-sentence when he slightly pushed you away from his embrace, looking at you with a disappointed face.

you glared at him with pure confusion. what was going on? your eyes darted over to that man, or well johnathan, who watched the situation closely with furrowed eyebrows. your eyes snapped back to your grandpa when he suddenly gripped your upper arm, squeezing it harshly. "what are you-"

"what the fuck has crossed your brilliant mind to do such a thing!?“ grandpa suddenly yelled, making you jump slightly. you wanted to answer him but you couldn’t. you didn’t know what to tell him.

"how do you even know about this place? did you snoop around in my office, y/n?“ he continued, his tone cold and angry.

you couldn’t answer him. you broke his highest rule- not entering his office and you did even worse. "answer my question!“ he hissed at you, making you jump a little. your eyes were glued to the floor, not having the confidence to look him in the eye.

"yes, i - i found your folder.“ you quietly mumbled. the grey haired man huffed out in disbelief and released your arm, taking a few steps away before looking at johnathan. they exchanged a weird look, you couldn’t tell the meaning of and it freaked you out.

somehow you didn’t get what the big deal now was. sooner or later you would have found out anyway, he couldn’t have kept that secret forever. you looked up at him, catching him pinching the bridge of his nose.

"do you have any idea what you’ve gotten yourself into? i never wanted you to know about this world.“

your mouth opened to say something but nothing came out. there was nothing to say.

his stare darkened as he continued. "i wanted to protect you, keep you away from that. and now with that stupid and reckless action of yours you ruined everything. there are hundreds of criminals, assassins, brutal murderers in my hotel and they saw you. you’ve got their attention and they’ll talk about you, y/n.“ tears began to form in your eyes, you didn’t even know why but the whole situation made you feel incredibly awful.

"i‘m sorry.“ you quietly whispered, sending him an apologetic look.

johnathan and grandpa huffed out in sync, a playful smirk played on the black haired man’s mouth. "oh, you’re sorry. y/n, a simple sorry won’t do it! you do not understand what this means right now! i do have enemy’s, what if they’ll hunt you down, what if they’ll try to kill you?“ your grandpa sneered at you, eyes narrowed. "i can’t believe it y/n, since when do you do shit like this?“

you frowned, staring at the floor again. on one hand you felt like a disappointment to your grandpa. you always tried to make him proud and he cared for you like the parent you’ve lost at a young age. but on the other hand you were furious. he was giving you all fault. like, did he actually think that you’d never find out? or the fact that he’s a criminal himself and runs a hotel for those people, speaks for itself. to keep something like that from you made you angry, hurt you even.

you furrowed your eyebrows at him angrily, forcefully wiping the tears that stained your cheeks away. both men stared at you impatiently, waiting for your reply. but in their eyes, there was a gleam of hate and disappointment.

"what? cat got your tongue?“ winston stated mockingly and you felt like you were about to loose your temper.

"you want me to talk? fine.“ you replied, your eyes darting between both men. "what do you expect me to do now? turn into some fucking monster like you two are? kill people and torture them? or join your little gangster club you always kept secret from me?“ you raised your voice, laced with pure sarcasm and anger.

a dark chuckled rang through the room, sending unpleasant tingles through your body. johnathan. of course he found the whole situation amusing. he thought that your behavior was childish and funny.

"you know nothing about this world. there is no 'little gangster club', things are serious.“ he pointed out sharply, crossing his arms over his chest. you huffed out, taking a few steps closer to johnathan but you were stopped by a hand on your wrist. your eyes switched to your grandpa who looked at you disapprovingly. "don’t even try it.“ he warned you lowly.

"i don’t even know him? what is he even doing here?“ you yelled at them now, your emotions taking over you, tears forming in the corner of your eyes again. "do you even know how i’m feeling right now? i can’t fucking believe that you lied to me all this time only to find out a few days ago that you’re a fucking criminal!“

"do not raise your voice at me y/n!“ winston snapped, pointing a finger at you warningly. "or what? you gonna ground me for it?“

"no, johnathan and i’ll have a talk now. you stay here, i don’t want a single misbehavior from you. am i clear?“ you wanted to yell at him so badly, but you knew better than that. there would have been no use in discussing further with him anyway.

"mhm.“ you hummed, turning around to sit on the bed. "what was that?“ winston muttered. "yes, i understand.“ you mumbled and watched them as they exited the room.

you collapsed on the bed, your face buried in your hands. you wanted to slap yourself for being this stupid. if you just would’ve listened to winston and followed his rules then you wouldn’t have been in this situation. many thoughts crossed your mind, and your head felt like it would explode. but one thing weighed most on you; you wanted to know what they were talking about and how all that would continue. a while left your lips and you exhaled loudly.

minutes passed and still they weren’t back. and it was frustrating you. what could they possibly discuss this long? just as you wanted to go out and look for them, the door opened and both of them stepped in. you immediately sat up, looking at them curiously.

your grandpa stopped directly in front of you, glaring down at you with a serious mask. and you knew that face. it never meant something good. johnathan had a emotionless expression plastered on his face, waiting for winston to speak up.

"johnathan and i have talked and we’ve come to an agreement. you’ll be staying with him from now on. he’ll teach you how to fight, how to be prepared for-"

"excuse me? what?“ you interrupted, caught off from his words. he must be joking, you thought. he wouldn’t have let you live with a stranger who was a killer, right?

"i‘m serious y/n.“ he snarled, clearly annoyed by your behavior.

"you want me to stay with the crazy killer who tied me to a fucking chair? not gonna happen.“ you replied, crossing your arms. not over your dead parents you would have done that.

"i am not going to discuss with you, y/n. also, you don’t get to decide this, sweetheart. this is the consequence for your action, so face it.“ grandpa pointed out, his voice dripping with sarcasm as a smirk was plastered on his lips. you were stunned, speechless even. you truly didn’t know what to say.

two months later

john‘s house, or villa - how you like to call it - nestled on the outskirts of new york, became your new home. after the argument, back in john’s apartment, he and your grandpa practically forced you to pack your stuff and move in with the assassin. it was hard, for all of you, but especially for you. your world was turned upside down and you felt like you weren’t even real. it all happened so fast -too fast. you were mad at your grandpa, ever since then you haven’t talked to him.

in your opinion, he was the one who was to blame. if he would have just told you about all this calmly, just the two of you, you wouldn’t have been in this awful situation now. of course you missed him, but you felt like he was mad himself and you didn’t have the energy to call him.

however, you slowly got used to living with john. it was strange to be honest, a weird atmosphere that made uncomfortable. he hardly ever talked to you, which bothered you dearly because you thought that it would be a good start to create small conversations but john basically avoided your attempts. the first month turned into grueling routines. mornings, afternoons, evenings -all focused on training.

there were bruises on your arms and legs, soreness in muscles you never knew you had. john wasn’t merciful, not in the least. he pushed you harder than you thought possible, demanding more each time. and whenever you showed any sign of weakness, his responses were brutal and without sympathy. but as difficult as he was, you found yourself watching him more and more. the way he moved -silent, calculated, almost predatory. his voice deep and rough, had a way of making your heart skip even as he issued orders. and not to forget how sexy he was to you. you often imagined fucking with him like there was no morning.

but you tried to hide it, to ignore the way your stomach fluttered whenever he spoke your name, or the way your heart pounded when his hand accidentally brushed against yours. but the feelings for him grew, every day, every lesson, you found yourself falling harder.

compared to now, the training grew more intense, but john’s coldness also seemed to deepen. you couldn’t understand why; you’ve gotten to know each other, you thought, shared so much time together, but he seemed more guarded than ever. you wanted to believe that there was something between that icy exterior, a warmth you’d occasionally glimpsed in his eyes, but he was difficult to read.

one evening, close to 8 pm, you found yourself again in the training room you hated so much. your arms and legs ached, your body was slick with sweat and your head felt like it was going to explode. but even seeing you in such a state, john didn’t budge, he just continued to explain and show you more and more techniques.

"like this.” he instructed, his voice low as his hands adjusted his stance. he tried to come at you again but you dodge his blow. frustration bubbled inside you, fueled by his coldness, his distance, your own feelings. for the last time, you took all your strength together. before he could react, you had one leg wrapped around his torso, one hand around his neck- surprising him with a quick maneuver. with all your power, you used the momentum to throw him to the ground. to your shock, you ended up on top of him, straddling his waist - both hands on his chest- your breathing quick and heavy.

john’s eyes met yours, his usual coldness softened by a hint of something you couldn’t quite read. the tension between you both thickened, your cheeks flushed red as you realized the position you guys were in. you could feel his heart beat beneath you, see the dark glint eyes in his eyes as they held your gaze.

"impressive.” he murmured, his voice rough.

your breath caught and your mouth opened to speak, but before you could, john’s hand was on your waist, the other around your throat as he pulled you down, closing the space between you. his lips met yours, firm, commanding and your heart skipped, every nerve igniting. you gasped, but the kiss grew more intense, he slipped his tongue in your mouth, claiming you. his hand wandered up and down your back, stopping at your ass, giving it a harsh squeeze, eliciting a muffled moan from you.

your fingers gripped his shirt, pulling him closer. the heat began to pool in your panties when you felt his hard- on pressing against your core. your body automatically started to grind down, trying to gain friction to ease the ache that tingled in your abdomen. but john pulled away, stopping your kiss.

"not here.” he muttered, easily getting up with you still clung to him. you wrapped your legs around his waist, your mouths colliding again. his hands on your ass, supporting your weight. he walked out of the room, your lips never parting. john entered the living room and sat down on the couch with you still on top of him. his hands now roamed your whole body, squeezing your breasts, running up and down your back, slapping your ass slightly. again, your hips began to grind down against him, his cock now rock hard, the feeling making you whine out. john also groaned into the kiss, loving the pleasure he received just as much.

then, john let his hands slip under your shirt, caressing the warm skin, before he broke your kiss, pulling the fabric over your head and tossing it away. his eyes admired your half naked body, focusing on your tits which were pushed up plumply from your bra. he immediately bent down and started to suck on your neck, licking and biting the sensitive skin with fever. your body arched into his touch, small moans escaping your lips as you shut your eyes.

you felt john’s hands reaching around your middle to unclasp your bra before pulling both straps down, adding the piece of clothing to the floor. he withdrew from your neck, taking in your bare tits, his eyes turning darker with the desire. "fuck, doll.” he licked his lips before he dipped down, immediately taking one of your hardened nipple into his mouth. his tongue swirled around the bud while sucking on it harshly. "oh, john.” you whined out, his abuse sending jolts of pleasure directly to your cunt. your movements began to fasten, your moans growing louder.

john switched sides, taking care of your other nipple equally. "more, john.” you begged him, your fingers pulling on his raven hair. but john released your nipple and pushed you back slightly. "get on your knees.” he growled, voice full of dominance. you blinked at him a few times, your breath heavy, before you got off his lap and placed yourself between his thighs. "come on, be a good girl for daddy.” he said lowly while gesturing to his bulge, his tone sending shivers down your spine.

hesitatingly, you let your hands ran up his thighs, wrapping your fingers around the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers. you swiftly pulled both down, letting them pool around his ankles before he stepped out of them. your eyes widened a little at the sight of his cock.

thick. long. veiny. he almost looked intimidating, making you wonder how you’ll be able to take all of him. you scooted closer to him, staring up at him with doe eyes. "now don’t be shy, doll. go on.” he commanded, waiting desperately for your next move.

with a slightly shaking hand, you wrapped it around his base before licking a tiny strip along his reddened tip. his dick immediately twitched at the contact, a low groan falling from his lips. carefully, you licked his shaft before dipping the head completely in your mouth. you looked up at him so innocently, so desperate. john placed his hand on your head, slightly gripping the roosts of your hair. he began to push your head further down in his length, your nose almost touching his pelvis. a loud strangled gag rang through the room, as your whole body shivered and tears immediately shot into your eyes. "relax baby, breath through your nose." he rasped lowly, eyeing you with desire.

you blinked your tears away, focusing back on giving him pleasure. you began to bob your head up and down his cock, slow and teasing at first. the loud groans that fell from his lips only urged you to go faster, signing you that you were doing good. you let your tongue swirl around his shaft, massaging it and pressing it strongly against his shaft. john's eyes opened again, falling immediately down to you, growling out when he saw your plump lips wrapped around him so perfectly.

he couldn't hold back anymore.

his hand gripped tighter and he began to move your head on his cock in a fast pace, controlling your movements. you tried your best to relax your throat, letting him use your throat however he pleased. drool was slowly dripping down your gin and your eyes were watery, his size almost bruising your throat. you constantly felt his tip brushing against the back of your throat and his hips began to jerk. your hands held onto his thighs, needing support as he pulled your head down even faster and rougher. you were a mess at that point. your mascara was running down your cheeks, spit practically all over your face and your arms were shaking.

john's cock started to twitch uncontrollably and you knew he was close to releasing, making you swirl your tongue with even more pressure. but before he could empty his load into your mouth, he withdrew your head from his length, a guttural growl escaping his throat. "I'm only gonna fill up your little cunt."

his words sent sparks through your lower half, feeling the heat pooling in your panties, slowly dripping down your thighs from how much you're turned on.

you tried to catch your breath when he already pulled you up to straddle his waist again before he laid you down on the sofa. next, he got rid your shorts, pulling your panties with it. he glared down at your form, sprawled out beneath him and he could feel jolts of pleasure shooting through his entire body.

and that's when your panic set it.

you were still a virgin and he didn't know.

you were unsure if you should tell him, not knowing how he would react. you already felt like he was a little hesitant about doing all this with you, simply out of respect to your grandpa. he was his closest friend, his most loyal and go to person. and then betraying him like that and fucking with his granddaughter?

you just knew that this was eating john up innerly. but his desire seemed to win. nonetheless, you had to tell him, you wanted him to know.

you watched him with a quick beating heart when he removed his shirt and leaned down, his hands and legs trapping you between his body. without a second thought, john bowed his head down and began to suck on your neck, prepping your hot skin with open mouthed kisses. a quiet moan fell from your lips, giving in to his touch. he trailed his kissed down to your breasts, sucking feverishly on your flesh before letting his tongue swirl around your hardened nipple, sucking harshly. john hummed out at the feeling, making his way down your belly, desperately wanting to taste you. but that's when you cupped his face with your hands and forced him to look up to you.

john grinned up at you, coming closer to a point where your lips almost touched. "I can't wait to finally taste you, ruin that little pussy." he groaned in your ear, his hot breath tickling your skin. your breathing got heavier and your hands slightly shook. you had to tell him now before it was too late.

"uhm- john, I-i need to tell you something." you pointed out with a shaky voice, your face turning aside, avoiding eye contact. "anything, baby." he replied, before he went back to kissing your neck.

"it's just... I've never done something like this before." you whispered, practically almost inaudible. "I didn't hear you, say it again." john mumbled between kisses, not even registering your words, being too caught up with worshipping your body.

you sighed out, lips pouting. "I'm a virgin, John." you said now louder, your eyes searching for his. and this time he must have heard it. his movements stopped and his now narrowed eyes met yours. without you even fully understanding what was happening, he removed his body from yours in the blink of an eye, grabbing his clothes which rested on the floor. "john, i-"

"no, don't even start with your stupid excuses. i knew that this would be wrong and that i shouldn't even have let it come so far. but taking you virginity? disgusting." he hisses harshly, voice clearly raised as he turned away.

you felt tears pricking in your eyes. that's not how you imagined it would go. you laid there completely horny, embarrassed but also hurt. you dearly wanted him to be your first time and now he left you all railed up and with wetness pooling between your thighs. "but i want you to continue, please! i want you to take my virginity. and i won't regret you being my first time, i promise. please, john." you bitterly whined, hoping that he would change his mind.

you heard him taking in a deep breath as he turned around again, eyes darker than before.

"please, i need you!" you whimpered, rubbing your thighs uncomfortably together, the painful ache in your core unbearable at that point. "john..." you pleaded him, glaring up at him with puppy eyes.

finally he sighs, dropping his clothes again before getting on top of you again. "are you sure, y/n? i won't be able to control myself. " he said in a dangerous, low tone, sending shivers down your spine.

"yes john, i'm sure. please, touch me." you replied impatiently, wrapping your legs around his torso, arms around his shoulders to pull him in as close as possible. "good, because now there is no going back anymore." he rasped as he leaned in, claiming your lips. you gasped into the kiss when you felt the tip of his cock nudging at your clit, shock waves of pleasure rushing through your veins. "I need you john." you moaned into the kiss, pressing your hips up to gain friction. he groaned out in response, sneaking a hand down your body to let a finger slide between your folds. "fuck, you're so wet." he purred, slowly pushing a finger into your warm hole. your head fell back, breaking your kiss, at finally feeling him. "need to prepare that little pussy first." he growled, while licking the spot right beneath your ear.

with how slick you were, john could easily slip another finger in, moaning out at your tightness. he began to move them in and out rather fast, curling them up to reach your spongy spot. "feels so good." you whined, toes curling from his abuse. a third finger teased at your hole, collecting your juice before pushing it in as well, this time with a little more pressure. your eyes rolled back at the stretch of his thick digits, a slight pain cursing through you.

john scissored his fingers stretching your walls further before he went back to pumping them at a quick pace. he plunged them inside you a few more times before pulling slowly out, deciding that you were ready for his cock. you whined pathetically at the loss, needing him so bad.

you lifted your head to look down when you felt his tip nudging at your entrance. he gripped himself, lining up before looking at you again. "ready?"

you immediately nodded your head yes, excited to finally feel his cock inside of you. never breaking eye contact, john carefully pushed his tip inside of your cunt, eliciting a sharp his from you. "you okay?" he asked you with a soft voice. "yes, continue please." you answered breathlessly.

obeying your request, he pushed his hips forward with a swift motion and to your shock he pushed in his whole length. a yelp tore from your throat, followed by a painful cry. it almost was too much for you. his size stretching you walls to their limit, tip pressing against your cervix and the feeling of being this full made you dizzy. "ah- john!”

"told you i couldn’t hold myself back.” he uttered, his dark eyes fixated on your lips.

your walls clamped helplessly around him, trying to get used to his monstrous size and the burning sensation didn’t make it better. "you’re so big.” you cried out in a high pitched tone, eyes shut.

john looked down to where your body’s connected, gritting his teeth and clenching his jaw at the sight. he could feel his dick twitch being squeezed this tight between your perfect velvety walls. he did his best to restrain him, wanting you to get used to him.

but john couldn’t.

he was already too obsessed with being inside of you, the feeling indescribable for him. it was like you were made for only him.

with a groan he pulled his hips back, almost slipping out of your cunt before thrusting his whole length in again, deep and hard.

"oh god!” you sobbed, tears spilling down your cheeks.

"can’t stop myself, you feel too good wrapped around me.” he mumbled as he began to pound into you with a rather fast pace. strangled hisses left your mouth as he began to fuck you, the pain of the stretch still remaining.

to ease your pain, john sneaked his fingers down to your clit, rubbing it in quick circular motions. your legs immediately began to shake at the sudden pleasure, moans and whines escaping your throat. john groaned out shamelessly while getting you into a new position. he grabbed ahold of your leg, pushing it over his shoulders, allowing him to thrust even deeper. "ah-john!!” you almost yelled out, the pleasure and pain mixing perfectly together.

with every harsh thrusts of his hips, your breasts bounced back and forward deliciously, only adding fuel to john’s high. and hell did it approach fast. he was on the verge of cumming already, enjoying the feeling of your sweet walls way too much. with every roll of his fingers, your walls seemed to tighten more and more around him, making it hard for him to hold in his orgasm. his dick twitched uncontrollably, the veins were pulsating with need.

"fuck, i’m gonna cum princess.” he uttered, rubbing your clit faster and increasing the speed of his hips, determined to coax an orgasm out of you. and you felt the coil in your abdomen tighten too. the overwhelming pleasure you received from him, his dick hitting spots you didn’t even know existed perfectly and the stimulation on your clit made you see stars. "i’m close— ah- don’t stop.” you cried out, hands gripping tightly at his back, your nails digging little moons into his skin.

john took this as a sign, using all of his strength to pound into you in an animalistic way, ignoring the jerking of his hips. "now.” he just growled and with a few more harsh strokes and rubs on your clit you were sent to heaven.

the most powerful orgasm you ever experienced hit you like a lightning. your toes curled uncomfortably, legs were quivering and a moan that even pornstars couldn’t keep up with tore from your throat. "JOHN!!” your release triggered john’s even more and with a guttural groan he finally let his seed spurt deep inside of you, filling you up to the brim. he kept thrusting, making sure that every bit of his cum gets pumped inside you. you threw your head back at the overstimulation, body trashing and twitching at the intense assault.

finally, taking a deep breath in, john stopped his movements and released his fingers from your clit, collapsing on top of you. "you did so good, princess.” he mumbled while pressing soft kisses to your cheek.

“that was…” you exhaled deeply. "amazing.” smiling at him. john couldn’t suppress a grin as well, giving a small peck to your lips. your arms were still wrapped around his neck lazily and the feeling of him still buried inside you made this moment even more intimate.

when you looked up at him, you saw a devilish smirk plastered on his face. “but i didn’t get to taste you.” he pointed out, making you chuckle slightly.

“who said you couldn’t do it now?” you smirked at him, accepting his challenge. “you’re so fucking hot.” he just replied before pressing a last kiss to your lips. he carefully slipped his now soft dick out of your hole, eliciting a whine from you.

in the blink of an eye he was settled between your thighs, spreading them widely. he glanced down to your pussy and the sight of it made him hard again. his cum was leaking out of your entrance, slowly dripping down to your ass. he didn’t waste any time, pressing a few messy kisses to your inner thighs before wrapping his lips around your sensitive clit. you mewled out at the sensation, back arching off the couch.

john gathered his cum with his fingers before pushing it inside of you again, wanting you to have all of it. he curled his fingers up, reaching your g- spot immediately as he let them thrust into you rapidly, licking and swirling around your clit in the process.

you were shaking at the overstimulation, it almost felt too much for you. the pressure on your highly sensitive nub made you feel like your whole body was on fire.

john moaned at your taste, lapping at your cunt like a starved man, the vibrations he caused only added to your pleasure. your hands reached out and immediately gripped his raven hair, tugging on it harshly. "john— too much.” a fervent whimper hung in the air mixing with the squelching sounds of your pussy and the heavy scent of sex which made your brain all fuzzy.

“you can take it, doll.” he mumbled against your cunt, eyes connecting with yours as you saw him smirk mischievously. your lip pouted as you registered his words, head tipping back.

his digits rutted into your overstimulated spot with a unmerciful pace, making your orgasm approach quickly. he knew that you were getting closer and closer, your quivering thighs and constant high pitched moans making it obvious to him. john only increased the pace of his tongue flicking against your clit and began to suck firmly, determined to coax another orgasm out of you. the only thing on your mind was john and how good he fucked you with his talented fingers.

john’s free hand made its way up your body, gently caressing your sides before it gripped one of your breasts that was jiggling in sync with his thrusts, massaging and squeezing it.

your whole body was tingling and you were on the verge of cumming, almost reaching your peak. your grip on his hair tightened and you instinctively pushed his head harder against your cunt, thighs clamping around it.

“shit! i’m gonna cum!” you managed to squeal out, voice shaky and rough. john let out an answering groan, letting you know that you were allowed to cum.

for the last time, john sped up his fingers to an inhuman pace and that sent you straight into oblivion. a strangled cry rattled against the walls as you finally orgasmed, your body trashing around at the indescribable experience. he fucked you through your high, wanting you to feel every last spark of pleasure. tears pricked in the corner of your eyes, heavy breaths falling from your lips as you slowly came down from your release.

john now also slowed down his thrusts, mouth releasing your abused clit. he stared up at your fucked out form, proud of the masterpiece he created. after a few more pounds of his digits he carefully pulled out, immediately taking them in his mouth, licking off every bit of your sweet juices that coated them.

your eyes were shut tightly, trying to calm down from the intense orgasm. you felt john moving and when you opened your eyes again he already had you up in bridal style, you didn’t even notice all that as you were still caught in the after waves of your high.

he pressed your body tightly against his chest, his lips kissing your forehead sweetly. “my good girl.” he whispered in your ear as he began to walk out of the living room. “i’m fucking proud of you.”

you hummed in reply, snuggling up against him. “i’m glad we did this.” you mumbled, exhaustedly closing your eyes. john just quietly chuckled out, kissing you again. “let’s get you to bed, princess.”

REQUESTS ARE OPENED<3

[yeyinde]

i'm sure it's been done 1000000x before but stripper!reader x John Wick would go so hard esp if you're not even a willing participant.

like maybe he's there to scope out the club (and maybe he ran into you at the museum earlier, and his interest was piqued the moment you started rambling about ursus arctos californicus and followed you to your second job. it's whatever), and your paths keep crossing. he's just the polite (weirdly so) older man in your bracket, always sitting in the shadows and drinking nothing but sparkling water. and that should be it.

but you can't stop staring at him. and that's quickly becoming a problem so you offer him a lap dance (because at the very least, if he's like every other man who pays for an hour of your time behind closed doors then you can give up on this confusing muddle of emotions whenever you feel his eyes on you), but it doesn't go as planned. instead of leaning back and grunting at you, he peels his jacket off, eyes politely averted, and slips it over your bare shoulders, unbothered by the glitter and the stench of secondhand smoke that clings to your skin, and now soaking into his expensive, Italian-cut suit.

he offers you lapsang souchong from a small thermos tucked inside his jacket, and seems content to just watch you drink tea and make idle conversation about your job, your boss, your life. Twilight Zone—he's never watched it, he confesses with his palms pointed skyward. you stumble just a little when the flashing neon lights catch the milk-white of his rough skin. he's a beautiful man—tall and lean and soft spoken—and sometimes you wish he'd just disappear because there's too much politeness inside of him, and it feels like battery acid on your skin. but you don't. don't ask him to leave. don't change shifts. you just tell him that's a travesty because sometimes you think you could listen to Rod Sterling talk about oddities for hours.

soul-soothing, you say, instead of what it really is: a mindless distraction from the feeling of unwanted hands on your skin—sticky with nicotine; leaving stains behind—but he looks at you—through you—like he knows what you refuse to say. brooding eyes fossicking through the lies you lay on the table until he chisels the truth from your glitter-stained head, cradling it like a precious gem as he nods, slow and measured, and tells you he'll watch it later on as he pours you another cup of tea. he always says drunk up when he does, but you swear that sometimes it sounds like he's saying i'll take care of it.

and it becomes a little bit of a gag, too, because he never, ever gets a proper lap dance despite paying for one each time. things come up—he has to leave only minutes after you walk through door, leaving behind food that he insists you eat, or comfortable clothes he makes sure you put on. ones he never accepts back, and that always fit you perfectly. or he just wastes his hour listening to you prattle on about whatever it is that has your attention that week, offering a small smile and a slow shake of his head when you try to give him more to make up for it. a little wink, too. a secretive this is just for us he keeps tucked inside the rucksack he carries, filled with homemade food, tea, and gifts you don't deserve. all crammed beside the bits and pieces you tell him about yourself. your life. your wants, dreams.

and it's weird. he's weird. a fifty-something widower who is much too good to be in a place like this, to spend time with a broken, sad little thing more than half his age. they'd write tragedies about this, you joke, flipping through an original print of The Idiot that you didn't believe he actually had. but he just shrugs, palms open, skyward, and says he's stopped believing in the desolate outcome of Russian romance a long time ago.

(he leaves his rare copy of The Idiot behind despite giving away a small fortune.)

but it's difficult to escape the fatalistic nature of your relationship. one built on debt and obligation—a transactional affair. services rendered. money deposited. and it doesn't surprise you much when the financial elephant in the room moves, shattering the illusion of choice when the man holding the end of your leash says he's sending you to Europe. a business partner thought you were a pretty little bird, and you're easier to giftwrap than a couple of Lamborghinis.

and it comes to a head when you catch him killing your boss—and maybe it's your fault for letting it slip that he's giving you away, but you thought you could trust him to keep that secret—and reflectively, you grab the gun lying on the floor, but he's just as unbothered by you shakily pointing it at him as is he by the gurgling man lying at his feet, staining the bottoms of his expensive leather loafers with blood. even calmly corrects your form, a little "hold it like this, honey," slipping out as he instructs you how to handle a gun to his own potential detriment. and the that's it, that's my good girl that follows when you obey his instruction is almost too much. so you run. and he follows—straight to the stage where your boss' men stand around, guns drawn, and try to take him down.

futilely, of course, and all you can do is stand there—wide-eyed—on stage as the gentle, polite man who refused every sly attempt of yours to seduce him takes down every man in the room until it's just the two of you remaining in a bloodsoaked room. neon lights slipping through the mess until it glints like the glitter they slathered over your skin. music blaring. smoke dissipating. if your feet didn't ache from the heels they picked for you, you might think it was a dream. a nightmare, maybe. except the monsters are the ones being slaughtered, and you can still taste the faint curl of smoke from the cup of pu'erh between your teeth. hear the buzz of his voice in your ear—i won't let them take you from me, honey.

and when he's finished, he sits at the end of the platform in the "throne," your leash held in his pale hand, and asks if you'd like to dance for him. only him.

(and he'll tuck you into bed later on that night after bathing you—refusing to let you lift a single finger as he gently scrubs the glitter from your skin, thumbs sliding over the indents in your wrist, the marks of your shackles the only remnants of the club that was burned to the ground, no survivors—the Twilight Zone theme playing softly in the background as he curls his lean body over yours, murmuring into your ear to sleep before leaning over to tuck your leash into the drawer of his bedside table.)

[bxunyx]

𝐁𝐱𝐮𝐧𝐲𝐱 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬

𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞(𝐄𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐬*𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐤*𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐞)

𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐧(𝐄𝐥𝐢𝐣𝐚𝐡*𝐒𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐞*𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐞)

𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫(𝐄𝐥𝐢𝐣𝐚𝐡*𝐒𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐞*𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐞)

𝐀𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧(𝐄𝐥𝐢𝐣𝐚𝐡*𝐒𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐞*𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐞)

𝐀𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐥(𝐄𝐥𝐢𝐣𝐚𝐡*𝐒𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐞*𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐞)

𝐌𝐫 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠(𝐄𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐬*𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐤*𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐞)

𝐓𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐜(𝐄𝐥𝐢𝐣𝐚𝐡*𝐒𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐞*𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐞)

𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬(𝐁𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐰)

𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝(𝐄𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐬*𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐤*𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐞)

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬(𝐄𝐥𝐢𝐣𝐚𝐡*𝐒𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐞*𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐞)

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬𝟐(𝐄𝐥𝐢𝐣𝐚𝐡*𝐒𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐞*𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐞)

𝐃𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞(𝐄𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐬*𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐤*𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐱𝐄𝐥𝐢𝐣𝐚𝐡*𝐒𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐞*𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐞)

𝐂𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 ’𝐞𝐦 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞(𝐄𝐥𝐢����𝐚𝐡*𝐒𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐞*𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐞)

𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐬(𝐄𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐬*𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐤*𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐞)

𝐒𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐚(𝐄𝐥𝐢𝐣𝐚𝐡*𝐒𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐞*𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐞)

𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐚(𝐄𝐥𝐢𝐣𝐚𝐡*𝐒𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐞*𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐞)

𝐓𝐨𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐫 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞(𝐄𝐥𝐢𝐣𝐚𝐡*𝐒𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐞*𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐞)

𝐏𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐬(𝐄𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐬*𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐤*𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐱 𝐄𝐥𝐢𝐣𝐚𝐡*𝐒𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐞* 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐞

𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞(𝐄𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐬*𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐤*𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐱 𝐄𝐥𝐢𝐣𝐚𝐡*𝐒𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐞*𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫)

𝐀 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬(𝐄𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐬*𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐤*𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐞)

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐧(𝐒𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐱𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐱𝐒𝐡𝐲𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐖𝐢𝐜𝐤

𝐀𝐝𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲(𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐜𝐤)