#John Wick fic

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet + ch 46

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

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

46. rude awakening

When finally you wake, you sense you are in a confined space in total darkness. Your whole body hurts, and your mouth is dry as a cotton ball. You feel as though you are swaying, and it takes you a while to figure out that it’s not just in your head. You are in something that is on the move. 

It’s hard to tell what, and so you concentrate on righting yourself. The surface you lay on is surprisingly soft. A bed? You try to push up, and a searing pain jets from your left hand up your arm. Is it broken? 

Fuck. 

Gingerly, you feel your appendage, probing the skin and bones. All seems well, until you get to your fingers. There is a big pad of bandaging on your hand, and it’s hard to make sense of what you’re feeling. Whimpering in panic, you frantically count your fingers. 

One. 

Two. 

Three. 

Your ring finger is gone–and your diamond with it. 

Somehow in the darkness, the room spins, and you let out a scream. 

No one comes, and with nothing better to do, you cry alone in the dark.

John. 

You pray that he’s alright. You know that so long as there’s breath left in his body, he will hunt for you. It’s only a matter of time…if you can survive long enough for him to find you.

That’s when you remember the necklace you’d been wearing under your shirt when you went out for your ride. The gold lavalier he’d gifted you for Christmas. With clumsy fingers you grope for the chain, and breathe a sigh of relief when you find it still hanging there. You feel for the little pearl dangling at the base of the narcissus pendant. 

John had given you a choice. He’d told you that day that there was a micro-tracker inside the faux pearl, and that if you were wearing the necklace, he would know where you were. But you don’t know how long it’s been, or if your captors will allow you to keep this bauble. 

With shaking fingers you bend the soft gold jump ring to remove the little pearl from the larger pendant, and swallow it down. 

Come find me, John. 

With a strangely detached resignation, you just know he’s going to kill them all.

 ***

You’re not sure how much time goes past, before they come for you. Two big, Italian-accented men with rough features and very fine suits open a door and flip on a light, nearly blinding you after so long in the pitch black. You don’t fight them, when they tell you to come with them. 

There is no point. 

All you have to do is bide your time. 

You follow them down a narrow hallway, and you realize that you are on a boat. An expensive one. You feel the steady sway of waves beneath your feet, a weird feeling that might go to your head if you don’t get some fresh air soon. 

You are finally able to get a look at your hand. You resemble a mummy, but the wrapping is very neatly done. A professional job even, perhaps, though it aches like a motherfucker. You wonder if you can talk someone into a pain pill. 

Probably wishful thinking, considering. 

Your hand looks strange, without that finger, but maybe because you are so used to looking at John’s, it does not bother you quite as much as it should. 

Or maybe, you’re in shock, and still feeling weird from your crash and whatever it was they injected in you.  

Or maybe…you’re just so dead certain of the retribution coming their way that you find this injury laughable, in comparison. 

How could anyone be so stupid? 

The answer to that question is answered for you as the nattily-dressed thugs lead you up a steep set of stairs, into a luxurious dining area enclosed by windows all around. 

Dante d’Antonio sits at the head of the high-polished walnut table, GQ-cover ready in a pressed white shirt unbuttoned at the throat, looking smug and sure of himself as a Roman emperor upon his throne. 

This fucking kid. 

“Buonasera, y/n.” 

“Signor.” 

One of the toughs pulls out a chair for you, but spoils the illusion of manners when he forcibly pushes you down into it. After your training with Mariko, you think of three ways in which you could have used that close contact to hurt him–but you don’t. 

You can tell through the darkened windows that you are out to sea, god knows where with no lights in the distance. You have to bide your time. 

You notice one of the bodyguards standing behind Dante sports a nice bandage across his nose. The look he pays you is less than kind, and you guess he must have been the one who took your helmet to the face. 

There is quite a feast set out upon the table. Gilded crystal, china, and silver, the whole nine yards. Though your stomach aches with hunger, you don’t dare touch any of the sundries. Dante just stares at you, waiting, you suppose, for tears or begging or a tirade of questions. But you keep your cool, waiting. You’ve learned from John that silence can be way more unsettling than idle threats.

He tries to mask his annoyance, but it’s written all over his fine features when he sits up in his chair, leaning towards you. “That was quite a little chase you gave my boys. How are you feeling?” He looks pointedly at your hand, obviously craving a reaction. 

You shrug, looking down at your missing digit. “A little lighter on the left side,” you muse, winning a sneer. 

“Forgive us. Usually we are not so barbaric, but we had to let your fiancé know that we’re serious. He’s a little thick headed, when it comes to these things.” 

He makes it all sound so reasonable. 

“I see.” You lift an eyebrow. “Serious about what, exactly?” 

Dante, however, goes off on his own little tangent. “You know, my mother never told me the identity of my true father? I think she wanted me to believe I came about like a little god, sprung from her skull like Athena, or maybe like the immacolata concezione. Ah, but my mother was no virgin. That I know.” 

You think it’s a little odd to be sitting here at the table speculating with this man about his dead mother’s sex life, but maybe it’s just your ingrained puritanical American ethos that you can never quite seem to totally shake.  

“I…imagine it was hard, not having a father around,” you offer.

He waves that off as though it was a stupid thing to say. 

“I lacked for nothing. I loved my uncle Santino very much. Something else I owe your John for.” 

You start to lose some of your cool as you try to reason with his circular logic. It gives you whiplash. 

“Your uncle literally caused your mother’s death. Isn’t that what you’re so mad about?”

He makes a so-so motion with his beautifully manicured hand, smirking at you. “You know, when I was a boy, the adults around me spoke of John Wick like he was a god of Death. My mother couldn’t keep the fondness from her voice, when his name was upon her lips. I think a part of me hoped that he was my real father in those days. So foolish.”  

You blink at this–for the life of you, you cannot tell where the fuck this kid is going with all this. It dawns on you that maybe he’s not just infuriatingly entitled and poisoned by hubris, but also maybe, a little mad. 

That does not bode well for you at all.  

“If he knew…I’m sure he would have tried to do right by you.” You think about how badly young Jardani wanted to be a father with his ballerina. Would the older, more calloused John Wick have felt the same?

Dante laughs like you’ve said something exceptionally stupid. “My mother was practically a queen. She would not have borne the seed of a dirty zingaro peasant like John Wick.” 

You sit back in your chair, shocked by the blistering remark, though maybe you shouldn’t be surprised. All thoughts of keeping your cool fly out the window as you fire back, “I hope that someday, someone’s going to wash out your filthy fucking mouth.” 

The bandaged bodyguard makes a threatening move to cross the room to you, but Dante holds up a hand, smirking. You suppose he won, finally getting a rise out of you. 

It didn’t make him any less of a piece of shit. 

Gritting your teeth, you look around. The boat is moving fast over the waves, but you can’t really see anything. You’ve got to hand it to this young man. He’s succeeded in talking you in circles. 

“So…what is it you want, exactly?” 

“I want John Wick dead, of course,” he sneers. “You are the bait. Is this not obvious to you?” 

You look at him across the table for a long beat. 

“What do you think you gain exactly, by taking such a risk?” 

The young man sighs, massaging his temples. “Dio mio. He soiled the honor of my family! Killing my mother was a grave insult. I cannot suffer him to live.” 

“Aren’t you…aware of what happened, when the High Table tried to kill him?” 

Again, he makes that dismissive gesture, and then he grins at you like a wolf. “Ah, but they did not have you. What will John Wick give, to see his lady love go free?”

Maybe you are a little thick. When the logic catches up with you, your blood turns to ice in your veins. 

The answer, you fear, is a lot.

Shrugging, you hold up your mutilated hand. “Don’t know. I’m kind of damaged goods now.”

Dante just smirks at you. “There are worse things we could have cut off.” 

Ugh. 

“Yeah. Thanks?” 

This actually wins you a laugh. “You know…the man who kills John Wick will be a legend amongst our kind? What better way for the new capo dei capi to prove his power? No one will dare challenge me.”

“What about…the bosses in charge now?” You think about the two older gentlemen who you’d met at the negotiations table at the Continental. One of whom, whose finger you broke. 

“Oh. I have plans for them. John Wick is going to kill them for me.” 

You blink, wondering how he managed to frame the capi for your disappearance. You have a feeling your missing finger comes into play somehow. 

Someone’s been reading too much Mario Puzo. 

You’re smart enough not to say that aloud too. 

This reminds you of the end of the Godfather, when Michael Corleoni kills everyone who ever insulted his family in one fell swoop to prove to everyone that he’s not fucking around. It was a great twist in the book. In real life, however…you think he’s bitten off more than he can chew.

If this brat intends to rise to the highest office of the Camorra…it will take more than killing a retired if legendary assassin to cement his powerbase. 

Your control regained, you say nothing in response, and he gets bored, waving you away. “Take her back,” he gripes. Again, the bodyguard with the nose gear moves towards you, but again Dante waves him off again. “Not you, Luca. You might get carried away, and I need her in good health.” He grins at you. “In case we need to cut something else off to make our point.”

The man in question glares down at you, and kudos where kudos is due: he succeeds in scaring the snot out of you. Gooseflesh raises down your arms; uneasiness hardens like a ball of ice in your belly. 

“He’s a little cross, after what you did to his nose. But that’s what he gets for underestimating John Wick’s woman, eh?”

You press your lips, smart enough not to bait either of them any more. 

“You can thank Luca for your finger. Doesn’t he do nice work?” You glare up at Luca, but keep silent, and Dante sniggers. “So, behave yourself, or I’ll let Luca have his way. Andare.” 

One of the bodyguards who brought you takes your shoulder, leading you back down below. You’re a little disappointed you don’t get to eat any of that beautiful food. 

You guess he notices the glint of gold around your neck–quick as a cutpurse, he snatches the fine chain and breaks it, paying you a nasty smile before pushing you back into your tiny little cabin and locking it behind you.

As sorry as you are to lose the cherished necklace, you are so glad you swallowed your tracker. You hope that doesn’t cause you a problem later…but it just might save your life. 

Cold, hungry, and you suppose a little seasick, you settle back into your little closet of a berth. You sit on your bed with your fucked up hand and think to yourself that when John descends on Dante and his cronies with all the fury of the apocalypse…you won’t feel sorry for them at all.

—

all chapters

*zingaro - gypsy, offensive usage *capo dei capi - boss of bosses, the head honcho, the biggest cheese

[babsharrison]

Safe Haven - John Wick

(Prologue)

Pairing | John Wick x Original Fem! Character

Summary | In search of a breath in his tumultuous life, John Wick finds himself in a charming bookstore where he meets a sweet and welcoming woman. As they grow closer, John questions whether she can love him despite the dark secrets he carries. While battling the shadows of his past, he must protect the love that is blossoming and discover if hope and redemption are truly possible.

A/N | Hi luvs, I'm going to post the prologue of this fic I'm writing, but I'm in doubt about whether to continue this series or if it's good enough to keep going. Any feedback would help me a lot!

John Wick walked down the quiet streets, the soft glow of streetlights reflecting on the damp pavement. The air was cool, carrying the scent of rain and earth. He wasn’t running, wasn’t being chased. For once, the silence of the night wrapped around him like a comforting blanket, though his guard was never fully down. He needed a moment to breathe, away from the endless chaos.

Passing by a small bookstore, his steps slowed. The window display was simple—old books stacked in rows, with a single potted plant resting in the corner. It wasn’t the kind of place that drew much attention, but for some reason, John felt drawn to it.

He opened the door, the bell jingling lightly above him. Inside, the store smelled of leather, paper, and something sweet—like freshly brewed tea. The place was cozy, a contrast to the hard, cold streets outside. A soft voice drifted from the back of the shop.

“I’ll be right with you!”

John stayed still, scanning the shelves as his fingers brushed against the spines of books, some worn and aged, others new. His eyes caught a glimpse of a small table in the corner, where a tea set sat beside a worn book, pages marked with a ribbon.

“Sorry for the wait!”

A woman appeared from behind a stack of books. She was holding a mug in one hand, her other hand adjusting the frames of her glasses. Her smile was warm, her eyes kind—completely unaware of who stood before her.

John offered a slight nod, still not speaking. She didn’t seem fazed by his silence, instead setting down the mug and stepping closer.

“Not many people come in this late. Are you looking for anything in particular?”

John opened his mouth to respond, but found himself hesitating. He didn’t need anything. At least, not in the way she thought. “No,” he finally said, his voice low. “Just… looking.”

She gave a gentle laugh. “I get it. Sometimes it’s nice to get lost in a book, or in the quiet.” She leaned against the counter, her gaze soft as she studied him. “You seem like someone who appreciates quiet.”

John’s jaw tightened for a second, not out of discomfort, but because her words struck deeper than she realized. “Yeah,” he muttered.

“Well, if you need a recommendation, I’m here,” she said with a small shrug, her tone light. “Otherwise, feel free to wander.”

John gave a small nod of thanks and continued walking through the aisles. Something about the bookstore—about her—was soothing. For the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel the weight of his past bearing down on him.

He wasn’t John Wick, the assassin. Not here. Not with her.

Next chapter!

[twistedbloodstain]

marquis x assistant! reader: back when i was livin' for the hope of it all. [ i’d do anything to make you love me ]

plot: the one where he wants you to stop.

warning: obsessed marquis, baby trapping 2x, yandere/dark themes, 1k words

masterlist

the boy babbles at your knee while you're seated on a soft cushioned chair, although this boy is your boy. your baby boy who has learned to walk and talk for the past year but he isn’t just only your boy, he’s his too.

you sip your refreshment as your baby boy tries to climb on your lap, holding your knee in place to steady himself from falling on the ground, he calls out a sweet mummy for a shred of your attention but you can’t bring yourself to think properly at the moment when vincent’s in the room speaking with the doctor.

”mu..mmy!” your boy cries from the floor with a cherubic smile on his face.

you wanted to shush him from his calls so you could hear whatever vincent was saying to the doctor, vincent notices your silence to your son’s words taking a brief moment to look away from the conversation to inspect his small family. you meet his gaze and scowl at him. he glances at your boy again, quietly urging you to comfort the child. you scoff and simply stare at him.

you do it then, you’re the one that wanted him. you thought.

a small smirk curves his mouth and continues his conversation to the doctor. annoyedly, you call out for the nanny. aurene rushes in and greets you, you instruct her to take the boy for an afternoon nap even if it's noon. the boy yelps when he is raised to the nanny’s arms, once leveled to you eye to eye, he giggles reaching out to you expecting to be cradled by his mother but is sorely disappointed when he is slowly distanced away.

the small child begins to kick and scream at his nanny, wanting to be within the presence of his mother’s embrace, his cries begin to lower as he is brought out of the room. clingy like his father, you observe.

you don’t bother to look at vincent knowing he is somehow taken back at your coldness towards your son, you know he’ll talk about it later. massaging your temples, you pour a glass of whiskey for yourself whilst you wait for vincent to hurry up with his conversation.

several minutes later, the doctor takes his leave and you’re on your third class of whiskey. the door shuts and vincent walks towards you neither warmly or coldly. you don’t bother to comport yourself in his mood and sink back into the chair, abandoning the glass, you take the bottle and begin to chug it down your throat.

a hand wraps around your wrist and pulls back the bottle spilling a few drops over your dress, you look up and glare at him.

”that’s enough for today, my love.” he whispers.

“can i leave now?” you spit out.

”and go where?” he laughs. fucking asshole, you curse.

you don’t bother to reply and look away from him as you lower the bottle from your mouth, vincent tilts your chin up and smiles, too happy you observe.

”the doctor has brought good news for us today.” he chuckles as he begins to kneel in front of you.

ever since the gunshot incident, vincent has insisted on monthly check ups for your health and for your boy ever since he was born. if things had been different maybe you would’ve teased vincent about it, but it’s not. as far as you knew you were in perfect health and so was your son with him, unless he wanted to get rid of you and a disease was going to render you dead. you hope there is.

fool yourself all you can but you know what it is. vincent was gracious with showering his affections on you from expensive presents and to his bedroom. 

this is another child.

another chain to tie you down to him, to make you love him as much as he loves you. 

he grins as he cradles your stomach and rests his head on your lap.

”i pray for a girl. a princess to spoil and a companion for our boy. how lovely is that, my love?” 

you don’t reply and you feel a retching disgust building in your stomach, you try to take another swig of whiskey but is stopped again by vincent.

”you must stop drinking that, it can affect our child. you know that. our marriage has been blessed by another child, why waste something gifted by the angels?” he sternly questions.

”get off!” irritatedly, you shove him off you to the floor, throwing the bottle at the floor next to him a loud smash crashes through the room.

”i fucking hate you!” you scream at him as he gets up from the floor, his clothes damp from the whiskey.

“don’t i fucking know it.” he laughs at you fueling your rage. you try to grab another thing to throw at him but is abruptly halted when he grabs your arm and grips your chin.

”i am getting sick of your behavior, mon cher. i can stand your disgust of me but i beg you to never direct it at our sweetly blessed son.” he growls at your ear, you push away from him but is harshly pulled back, his grip tightening on you.

”then tell your kid it’s your fucking fault. tell him and your daughter that their mother can’t bear to fucking love them as a mother should because his father imprisoned her in this fucking place!” you scream at him, “you can put sons and daughters in this body all you can, call them children blessed by angels but i assure you sir. the only blessing you will ever have from them is the one from below and i will never love them because of you.” 

vincent is shocked by your words, never in your marriage had you spouted hateful words that were harsh to him and especially towards your own children. for a moment he doesn’t say anything but he doesn’t let you go either. you start to pull away slowly to catch your breath until vincent yanks you towards the nearest table.

”vincent, get off me right now.” you yell at him, smacking his shoulder as he hoists you on the table.

vincent grabs your chin harshly and looks at you sternly.

”heed my words, my love. you will never mutter those words ever again to anyone, especially to our children, do you hear? or i’ll treat you like the rest of them. bloody and dead.” he threatens, hiking your dress up to get a feel of your warm skin.

you shove his hands away from your thighs and slap him hard, this disorients him for a while.

”when you die before me, and you will. I’m gonna have a big smile on your face while i feed your ashes to your children. go to fucking hell, vincent.” 

vincent’s aggression begins to fade and is replaced by an empty slate, you thought he was going to leave you alone until he lurches back at you and claims your mouth, his hand returns to your thigh before you hear the unbuckling of his belt.

”our children, mon amour. ours. not even you can change that.” he chuckles before he’s greeted by another slap.

author’s note: spontaneous drop…blackout got me so riled up bc it detaches me from socmed and acads sb. this for the anonymous anon, hope u enjoy it :) anyways enjoy! don’t forget to like & reblog <33

[inklore]

undo me

premise: the relationship between you and john is anything but soft, normal, domestic. it's deeper and more complicated than that. the pleasure and relief of desire that the two of you bring each other the only things clear cut.

pairing: john wick x (f)reader

word count: 904

warnings: eighteen+ content, handjob, dirty talk, references and illusions to oral and fingering, established fwbs, blood mention, reader is in the same 'business' as john.

note: i've never written for this beautiful man and it's honestly a crime because he's so underrated and i want to hold him!

The fire that’s burning in his eyes—lust fueled, hungry, a craving only you can stop that has that underlying anger within it—scalds your senses. Makes the hand that you have wrapped around his cock ache to move faster, to twist, and run your thumb along the leaking head so you can hear that deep groan he lets out against your forehead. The noises he tries to hide with the kisses to the top of your skull that are anything but affection. 

Affection he’d never admit to and you’d never claim anything of. 

The two of you were the same. Joined in loss and hatred, and the bloodshed that you’ve spilt and tainted your skin with was second nature. Something that felt like you were born into, for, the longer you stayed in the business. The longer enemies piled as high as the bodies you’d claimed along the way of some sort of redemption. A release. A freedom from something that had no end. 

It was only when you two were together like this—when John allowed himself to be like this with you—that those enemies, the bloodshed, and freedom didn’t matter. 

Weren’t pounding at the door, threatening to take your life before you could take theirs. 

You didn’t know if he was a giving lover. Not really. When you were done, he usually finished you off, always with his fingers. A handful of times with his mouth. There were no soft kisses or devotions whispered into the crook of your neck. Pulling him towards the bed and stripping like some domesticated couple was not in the cards. Wasn’t what this was about—why it had kept happening and why you always knew his knock by heart and grew wetter the closer you got to the door. 

To invite him another night to give each other the release you needed—that closeness to another person as your hearts would allow—and then he was gone and reality was back with a vengeance. 

Tonight is no different. 

The same knock. 

The same quick work of unbuckling his pants to slide your hand down them to pull out his cock and wrap your fist around it. 

Your knees had bent, a descent ready to be made to give him a better release from his tense shoulders with your mouth. But his grip on your hip had stopped you.

His forehead coming down on yours, hair growing slick with sweat the longer you jerked him off, the more his body sank into the pleasure. His breath heavy, “want your eyes on me tonight.” He had said, an overanalysis of the tenor in it, making you want to think it was begging. A desperate plea. 

But never from him. 

And you had done what he said. 

Kept your eyes on him.

Let your eyes move along his face; watch as he wets his lips with his tongue, as his eyes screw shut for half a second when you twist your wrist at the head of his cock the way he liked. The fist he had pressed into the door behind your head keeping himself stationary. His body weight half leaned into you, giving just enough room for him to move his hips.

To fuck up into your hand.

To set the pace he needed. 

There was a time and place for you to make conversation while doing this. To ask him if he had a rough day or crack a joke. But tonight, you know he doesn’t need it. He just needs this.

You.

Your hand. 

To get off. 

For you to help him. 

“John,” you murmur softly against his cheek. Bring his attention back to you, popping whatever fantasy he’s letting burn through his gaze, so he can only see you. “Tell me how good it feels; am I making you feel good?” 

“Yeah,” his voice has lost all of its normal sternness. All of the frightening edges that have men and women running. He sounds weak, breathless, and overcome. It makes you ache. “Couldn’t–” he curses under his breath. Brings the hand from your hip to your neck to rest and tighten with each downward stroke. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you tonight. I needed to see you. Needed to-”

“To come for me.” The noise he lets out at your words has your gut plummeting. Your thighs closing in around the leg he has positioned between them. You open your mouth to tell him to do it, to come for you, to let go. But his fingers are muffling your words. Stealing them from your tongue as he presses two fingers against it. 

“Get them wet.” He demands. Watches as you swirl your tongue around them and coat them in your spit, taking them out when he’s satisfied and moving them down to where your fingers are wrapped around him. Swiping the spit against his head for you to use as more friction—easier, wetter. 

You can tell he’s close by the hitch in his breath. The fast rock of his hips, the fingers digging into your neck. 

And the way he’s looking at you, the slow trail he makes between your eyes and your mouth, you half expect him to kiss you. To press his mouth to yours in a way he’s never done before. 

A slow seeping disappointment is swiped away by arousal when he says, “get on your knees. I want you to taste what you do to me.” 

[hope-to-hell]

Broken and reset, or: what to do with a man like that. Smut, oral (f receiving), restraints, mild pain play, d/s tones, sub!john. We like our man banged up, right? A little blood, a little bruising: it paints him in the most delightful colors. Maybe he likes it, too. Given the right circumstances, he finds clarity in the midst of chaos. It doesn’t do to discover these things alone, though. Won’t you give him a hand?

———

Bind him, arms behind. Put him on his knees. Look, can you see the pretty boy beneath the blood and gristle? He’s there, peering out behind liquid brown eyes. Here is a man seemingly without fear, a legend, the goddamned boogeyman, and yet. And yet there’s trepidation there. This is new to him: the hand firm on his shoulder sending him down, the chains that bind without a beating to follow. What is this?

He’s just so fucking gorgeous looking up like this, all long lashes and the sleepless nights that cling below his eyes. And look, there’s the most beautiful bruise blooming, such that he can hardly see out of his right eye. The coming days are going to be hell on his aim, with his depth perception on vacation. You can tilt his head back oh so gently with the very tips of your fingers, maybe scratch your way through the stubble on his chin, but be mindful of those sharp teeth. His shirt is hanging open, stained with red, and though very little of it is his own, the blood and bruising suits him.

It’s a good look for you. Pat his cheek once or twice, then give him a good slap, hard enough to turn his head and rock his body to the side. All you’ll get out of him is a grunt as he rights himself, mind. He’s a man of few words on the best of days. So you’ll do the talking, and he’ll kneel there and take it. If he hangs his head it’s only to gather himself— to find the burning stone at his center and grip it tight. He may be all sweat and blood and the tearing ache of overused muscle but he is fierce, and he is silent, and when he looks up at you again he bares teeth that shine like knives.

There he is. There’s that fighting spirit. And he is all yours, to use as you please. What am I going to do with you? But you already know, don’t you? As does he. Circumstances may change, but this kind of dance is as old as time. Power ebbs and flows, gathering around those who best can hold it. And so he may have strength, but here he watches closely for his cues, fully aware of his position, letting power flow through him and away. How can he be surprised when you drop your panties to the ground? He shouldn’t be. But his body knows what’s coming even if his mind is still playing catch-up. He licks at his lips and they’re so pink, so slickly shining. Hey. Put that mouth to use.

Lean back. Let the edge of the desk press its mark into your ass. Make him work for it. It costs him so much effort to balance himself like this, to strain toward you. Admire the way he trembles with the effort of holding himself bowed tight, core burning, trying so very hard not to fall. He shifts his knees wider and it steadies him, but now he cannot reach. Such a quandary. What’s he going to do about it? He’s clever, your John, but most of all he’s stubborn: he would dig his way barehanded through a mountain if his goal lay on the other side. So just watch, and wait, and don’t give him a hand. Let him work through this.

He shuffles forward on his knees and if he winces it’s a fleeting thing; then again, it could be a snarl. But he’s closer now, close enough to look up between your legs with his one good eye. There’s my good boy. Aren’t you clever?

Definitely a snarl.

There is danger here: this is a man who can kill with whatever he has to hand; the legend most-repeated is that he killed a man with a pencil, of all things. And perhaps he doesn’t have the use of his hands, but he has teeth. He has a body stronger than you’d ever guess to look at him. And right now all of that is focused on you. Do you think he knows what that does to you— the arousal that spikes hard and sudden, sending liquid need smearing down your thighs?

His hair is lank, oil shining slickly through it; from head to toe he is a man in dire need of a wash, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is the sound that slips from his lips when you grab a hank of hair and pull him closer. He moans, the sound catching low in his throat, crushed down like a secret he didn’t mean to share. But it's such a pretty sound, so you do it again. It seems like it shouldn’t be possible, that he should remain silent on his knees. Yet here he is, the legend himself made flesh, and he is yours.

You know what to do. His breath is hot against your tender flesh, and he is so close to where you need him. Pull him that last fraction of an inch and let him fix his mouth to you. He eats at you like a starving man: now lapping through your folds, now suckling at your clit. At any other time he would take you apart with purpose, but this is sloppy, filthy, squelching. This is the animal drive to feed, to consume. And when he draws back to breathe he is shining wet from brows to beard. You’re so pretty like this, maybe I’ll keep you there forever.

Can you feel the shiver that runs through him? Fuck.

Who said you could talk?

Pull him close again and close your thighs around his ears this time. Trap him there and feel his desperation grow to a fever pitch. There’s no breath left in him and still he eats at you, his own hips hitching in a useless search for friction, hands curled hard into fists behind his back. But it does the trick: heat coils inside you and you’re so close, so close, just a little more, like you mean it and maybe he can’t hear with your thighs over his ears and his blood roiling through him in search of oxygen, but he feels it. Curl around him and let your strings be pulled tight. Be greedy. Be selfish.

Let this all come crashing through you, thighs shaking, holding his head there so tightly his face will be forever imprinted upon your flesh. Give him the reward of a job well done: ride out your release against his face and don’t try to hold back any part of it. Fuck. Fuck, that was good. Fall back against the desk and feel him rest his head against you, filthy and wet. Let his breath slow and soften, though he must be so very hard and wanting. Now ask him this: you okay?

Yeah.

Hey. You must be— Jesus, that was— hey. You think you can fuck like this?

A pause. Considering. Yeah.

Now steady him as he stands. Listen close and you can almost hear the thud of his heart pounding. Open his belt with one hand while the other is firm at his hip. Oh, he likes that. Look, you can see his cock twitch and you haven’t even opened his fly yet.

Neat trick. There's gravel in his voice and even if that’s all he says, he’s still shuffling closer, head bowed, good eye fixed on your hands. And when you draw him out, his cock is heavy and hot, trailing silvery precum. A sigh judders up and out of him, relief and uncertainty at once.

Listen to me very, very closely. I want you in me, and I want you not to hold back. Let’s see what you can do like this.

Guide him home. Feel him pulsing thick and needy in your hands, and feel yourself twitch in kind. Already your body claims that too much has become not enough. But he’s being so damned careful and that has to change; he is strung so very tight with the effort of holding himself still above you. So grip the collar of his open shirt and haul him down— I’ll tell you if you’re too damned heavy, now move— and just. Look at him: red blush blooming down his throat, tendons standing taut, face turned down like he could drive the bruising right off his face onto the desktop and breath rolling hot across your shoulder.

You can wrap your legs around him now. Steady him against you. He’s grinding sweat and filth into your skin, but how can you possibly care when the friction of rough hair and bone is relentless, driving you closer to the edge? How could anything be more compelling than the grunts and gasps that sear your flesh? He is overcome by the need to bury himself deep, to rise up on his toes and squeeze the breath from your body. And if you dig your nails into his hip it’s even better: those bright points of pain catch at him, unmooring him and he is lost, pulsing inside you with the release he can no longer keep at bay. Do it again and he’ll paint the air with a gasp and a garbled oh. Oh hell.

Roll him over and off you; loose his wrists and press your thumbs into the bruises gathering there; if he whines, the sound is lost to this moment, small and secret. And when he looks up, watch him closely. Something in him has lifted. Stroke the handprint rising red across his cheek, and when he leans into the feeling, don’t take your hand away.

[97keanu]

john wick and reader’s first christmas together 🤩

*˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ I just love this idea! Thank you so much for sending it in ❄️.*ㅤ

Premise: John wants to give his wife the best Christmas he can. He decides to surprise you by taking you to a remote cabin he owns(typically used as a safehouse from his work if need be). Features John who tries to finally let his guard down and relax, hot cocoa kisses, and sexy times by the roaring fire ♡.゜

Tags/CW: FLUFFY, domestic bliss!John, loving husband!John, some much needed down time for the Wicks, blizzards, cabin in the woods, eventual smut, soft but still dominant!John, pretty tame but sensual smut, you learn things about your husband that you never knew, you see a side of john you never thought you would, daddy kink, spanking, commanding John, p in v, doggy, edging.

The roads twisted between thick fur and pine trees of the deepest and most vibrant hues of green your eyes have ever seen. You're used to your concrete jungle, the city life of New York being all you've ever really known. You had never taken a camping trip before John, let alone a getaway in some private cabin up in the mountains. You didn't know there were even mountains near where you two usually lived, but with the secret blindfolded plane ride, you're not sure you're even in the same state anymore.

John's large hand rests on your thigh, giving little squeezes every so often and warming the skin there. His other hand keeps a hold of the wheel, driving the slick black-as-night car. He had trade in for the SUV styled vehicle instead his usual Mustang so that you two could make it through the snowy terrain. The visibility is getting less and less as the darkness of night begins to settle in and the snowflakes blasting against the cars windshield get bigger and thicker by the minute. You're grateful for how warm the heaters are keeping you, your short skirt and leg warmers no match for this weather, but you had wanted to wear something cute for your getaway trip and John had only said it was a "little chilly". You curl up in the giant black leather seats of the car, sleep wanting to take you after so much traveling. You spy John peeking over at you, and hear him speak for the first time in a few miles.

"It won't be long now," He let's your thigh have another reassuring squeeze. "We'll be away and in the warmth of the cabin soon. I had it prepped for our arrival, so it should be nice and toasty when we get there."

You hum a small response, eyes wanting to shut so badly. Your head leans against the seatbelt, letting the thick strap cradle it.

The trees grow thicker and seem to be devouring the car as the road turns into a tiny trail. You wonder for a moment how or who John would send to keep the cabin prepped. You notice how the trail has been plowed already, and slowly but surely a warmth of yellow glows as John turns the last corner towards the cabin. You see the large structure, it's windows vibrantly orange against the cold whites and blues of the winter forest around it. The chimney already billows with smoke, lazily getting pulled away by the wind. It looks expensive and inviting.

John gets out of the car first, the wind blowing in flakes of snow already, melting on the warm leather seats almost immediately. John spies the chill that shakes through you from the sudden cold, and takes off his warm winter jacket. He walks over to your side of the car, opening it, that burst of frost blasting you once more. He helps you out, wrapping you tightly in his jacket, his warmth radiating into you through it.

John carefully takes you inside, careful of any ice that may be lingering. He opens the wooden door of the cabin, and you can already feel the warmth on your cheeks once more as you step inside.

"Not so bad, huh?" John says with a small smile, rubbing up and down your arms to try to keep you warm.

"Yeah, but I would have dressed warmer if I'd know there was a blizzard waiting for us!" You say with false concern, not really that upset when you're in such a luxury cabin as this, and all the thought that John put into it apparent to you.

"The storm wasn't supposed to set in so quickly, that was my mistake of underestimating it..." His voice remains brighter, but you can tell he wishes he had calculated it better. That sort of thing means a lot to him.

You pull your loving husband in, taking his bearded face in your hands and planting a long, soft kiss on his lips. You pull back and look into those deep brown eyes of his. For the first time in a long time, he looks content, excited, happy. There's a significant lack of the usual worry there, but even so, his dark brows always show a hint of it.

"Listen, why don't you take a moment to warm up by the fire in the livingroom, and I'll start getting our things inside..." He is obviously up to something else, you can always tell, but you have an idea of it either way.

You shrug off the jacket he gave you, his masculine scent of pine and mint cologne going with it, and give him a kiss on the cheek as you do.

"Keep warm out there..." You whisper to him, a hand pushing one side of his long dark hair back behind his ear.

"Always..." He returns the kiss and slips out the door, snow billowing in onto the hard wood as he does, and the wind being extinguished as he closes the door once more.

For a moment, you glance out the window, fogged up by the heat of the inside fighting the cold of the wilderness. You check the car, where your husband should be, and see nothing, thinking he's disappeared into that dark winter night. Then, you catch a glimpse of him moving past a different window, farther from the car than he should be if he were to be unpacking.

Checking the perimeter. You've known him to do this when you two travel. No other man you've dated has done such a thing, but no other man was John Wick. You still were unsure about his work since he kept you at such a distance, but you could take a few guesses at this point. You don't like him being out in the cold like this, but if it makes him feel better, maybe takes his mind off everything so that you two may enjoy your Christmas vacation together, then you'll let him do so without bringing it up.

That was your duty as a loving wife. A loving wife who didn't ask questions. Who knew but said nothing of it. Who doted without wanting to know more. And for now? That was enough for you.

You know it will be a second before he gets back, so you decide to take in the cabin while he's away. You look at the grand living room area you're standing in, two massive staircases encircling the largest Christmas tree you've ever seen, twinkling with a million tiny lights. The dark wood of the enterior is rich and inviting. To your right, a fireplace, couches and seating around it, the mantel hung with green garland and deep red bows. In front of the fire rests a white bear hide, you wonder if it's real or not, but you don't think you've ever seen John hunting. Animals, that is.

Beside that are the largest windows you've ever seen, over looking the forest and you think a lake if you can spy that correctly out in the mess of the blizzard. It makes your heart tense to think of John out there in that, but he's a grown man, he can make his own decisions, you tell yourself, as the good, loving wife you are.

You walk there, looking out, seeing all the freezing cold that you're happy to be away from dancing out there beyond the thick trees. You turn towards the fire, walking over, letting the bare of your legs and arms get warm. Your thin little scarf did just about as much as you tiny skirt and white fluffy leg warmers did to warm you, but a lively fire should do the trick. You close your eyes, hands out and feeling the warm down to your bones, listening to the wood crackling and dying inside the flame.

After a while, you end up curling yourself the coziest and plushest couch you've ever been in. It's deep brown in color, and has the feeling of soft leather, the kind that still has a bit of fur on it. The crocheted cream blanket hung over it quickly becomes yours, and you watch the fire as your eyes slowly drift closed, and the flames twirl behind your eyelids.

❄️.*ㅤ

You're not sure when you fell asleep, or for how long, but when you feel cold lips kiss upon your cheek, your eyes flutter open to meet John's. The fire behind him has significantly died down.

"Sorry to wake you sweetheart," his voice is hushed and soft. "I finished unpacking for us. I started our late dinner as well, so that will be done soon if you're hungry."

You hadn't really thought about it, but as John mentions it, and you smell that delicious scent of a home cooked meal, your stomach growls despite yourself. John smiles at the response and stands up, holding a hand out to you. You take it, enjoying the feel of his rough hands engulfing your tiny soft ones for a moment.

The two of you go towards the left of the cabin, through two double doors grand with subtle embellishments, and the wonderful smell of the kitchen grows larger as you walk through. You see the brightly lit kitchen before you, the appliances a mix of modern and old styled, the color of them all deep greens and brandished golds. A small, simple chandelier hangs down over the middle of a black marble island in the center of the room. There are nice, large, comfy stools made of wood and black leather waiting for you there, the high backs of the stools perfectly curved to lean against. You take seat, and John opens the oven to check what's cooking in there.

"I always forget how good of a cook you are." You say with a soft smile.

"I don't do it often, but I hope you enjoy it when I do." He responds with a small chuckle, pulling a chefs apron in black off a golden hook on the wall, and wrapping it around himself so he may continue cooking.

He gets out a medium golden saucepan, opening the old styled fridge and getting out cream and milk, mixing them into the pot. You watch with fascinated eyes as he does so, then spotting him open the pantry door and seeing it fully stocked with snacks and goodies.

"You really had this place set up, huh?" You comment as he takes out a hefty bar of high quality dark chocolate from the pantry.

"Only the best for my wonderful wife..." He says with that small smile of his, walking over near you and setting up a cutting board.

"Do you wanna learn how to make homemade hot chocolate?" He continues, bringing a sharp chefs knife with him.

You're actually really interested, you've never had John 'teach' you anything so far, so you wonder what kind of mentor he would be.

"Yes, I'd like that."

John nods, and begins to show you and tell you what he's doing. First, he takes the chocolate bar, then sets it on the cutting board. He then explains how sharp these types of knives are and how you have to be careful, showing you how to cut with your knuckles out instead of your fingers.

"Always cut away from yourself..." He explains as he does so himself, chopping the chocolate into finely shredded pieces. "It's kind of hard because you don't want the chocolate to melt too much from your hands, so you have to work fast."

You watch a few more times, a question or two being answered with patience and honestly, and finally you feel your ready. John comes behind you, his hands guiding yours to the right places, then traveling up to your shoulders. You shiver from his touch.

He watches carefully as you cut, making sure to tell you if you're getting too close to your knuckles. You work slower than he does, the chocolate beginning to melt and stick to your fingers, but he doesn't stop you. He wants you to be able to make mistakes and figure it out on your own.

He pulls his hands down to yours a few times when you ask for help, his hands helping yours to get the motion. You feel a blush settling in your cheeks as you think about how close he is, his scent easily inhaled from this distance. You know you're already married to the man, but you can't help but retain that crush you've had on him since the very beginning. He had such a way with being suavely romantic like that, as if he wasn't even trying to do so.

Finally, all the chocolate is cut, your chunks not nearly as fine as John's, but he reassures you it will all melt the same in the end. You both move to the pot of milk that's on the stove, John igniting the gas and the blue flame rising to meet the bottom of the pot. John let's you carefully brush the chocolate off the cutting board into the pot.

He then opens a nearby cupboard, bringing out spices and such.

"I like to put vanilla, cinnamon, and a bit more sugar into mine..." He admits almost sheepishly.

You have to agree, it's interesting to see John, his buff arms on display from his dark undershirt, scars here and there, in a chefs apron talking about his favorite way to prepare hot cocoa. It's not that he can't do such a thing, John could do anything, you know that. It's that he's usually never allowed to be so tender, to have such opinions, to show off this side of himself, even to you, his wife. You're already starting to cherish these moments of bliss with him.

He let's you add the other ingredients yourself with the help of his verbal instructions, and you're happy he does so. You may be his wife, but he knew when he married you that you didn't sign up to be the cook in the family. And you're glad that he never pushed that, but right now, you're enjoying creating something with him, even if it is a recipe.

"So, where up here for 5 whole nights, what do you have planned for me, John?" You say over your shoulder as you stir the heating liquid on the stove.

John is taking what's in the oven out as he responds, the delicious smell of roasted chicken and vegetables filling your nose.

"Oh, a little of this, a bit of that," he plays coy then continues. "Would you prefer if I don't keep it a surprise?"

You think about his question, asked in ernest, and consider it.

"No, but, I guess I'm just excited since what you've already given me has been so wonderful..." You smile and glance at him, watching as he prepares two plates for the evening.

Even this, he does with precision.

"If I didn't know any better, I would have thought you were a real chef." You comment on his culinary skills.

"Ah," he says with a sigh as he wipes clean a spot of loose sauce on the sparkling white plate. "Perhaps, in another life..."

You know John doesn't speak of his work often, but every so often you get a glimpse into his true thoughts and feelings about it. You go back to finishing the hot chocolate without a word.

❄️.*ㅤ

Soon, the two of you have dined and enjoyed your delicious meal, lazing on the livingroom couch together with a mug half filled with cocoa each, the whipped cream all gone.

You lean into John's form, enjoying the feeling of his body against yours, the way the curves fit just perfectly. You listen to Christmas vinyl, all instrumental pieces, softly playing on a record player in the room. You watch outside as the snow piles up and drifts against the room filling windows, letting it block the two of you in here alone with ease.

"Aren't you worried we'll get snowed in?" You whisper to your husband, voice languid and relaxed.

"Not one bit," John chuckles softly in your ear, playing with a strand of your hair between your fingers. "We have more than enough food and resources to last well over a month. Besides, I'm used to the cold."

He kisses your cheek with the last word, and you can't help but smile back.

You bite your lip, thinking about what you want to say back, what you dream of asking, but you know you're not supposed to ask questions into his past. That's not what you're meant to do as his loving wife.

A few moments pass, and you just can't help yourself.

"Where did you grow up, John?" The words fall from your mouth, and you feel the muscles in John's chest tighten, almost reflexively.

He doesn't say anything for a long time, then a breath he seems to have been holding slips out low and slow.

"I grew up as an orphan." He says it slowly, and your eyes widen when you hear, you're grateful your back is against John so he can't see your surprise.

You say nothing, digesting the words, having learned so much from so little. You can imagine that it wasn't at all easy growing up as an orphan, but a part of you wonders, no hopes, that the story has a better end.

"I was born in Belarus," he continues. "And stayed there until I eventually made my way to New York."

Shadows, once again, from your husband. There is so much he's omitting, you know that, and there's so much you wish to ask him for details. You swallow those questions hard, instead remaining silent, in case he wishes to tell more, but not pressing anything.

"The winter's there were pretty harsh, so I find it somewhat comforting to be back in it." he finally says after a long pause. "Reminds me of how far I've come from that."

You feel John's hands move for the first time since this conversation, suddenly no longer frozen against you. It's as if the warmth has begun to flood his body against, forgetting that freezing past of his. He pulls you in tighter, wrapping his arms around you and feeling you there with him. You hear his sigh, and you know that's all he will say about it tonight. He buries his face in your hair, ready to forget for now. You let him.

❄️.*ㅤ

The days at the cabin pass like the last of the snow fall on the peaks of the trees, quiet, hushed, a whisper to a lover with lustful intent. You spend time with John that feels like a century, and as the night of Christmas Eve arrives, you find yourself feeling closer and closer to him without having to say much.

With his away at work all the time, you're cherishing these moments as they come, happy to stay inside with him and the cozy warmth of the fire that John keeps from going hungry. Tonight, you lead him into the living room, where the fire crackles and welcomes you once more. He let's you dance as you do so, helping twirl you as the jazzy songs of the records he puts on dazzle in response.

You pull him to the couch, letting him take a seat before you decide his lap is yours, straddling him. He looks wonderful tonight, his beard trimmed clean and his suit retired for a relaxed fit of a black v-neck that shows off his muscular form wonderfully. You're surprised to see he can even wear jeans, so used to his formal attire he usually comes home from work in. There's no blood splatters or blood holes to be found either. Nothing for you to repair, patch up without a word, the dutiful wife who knows her place in this gone for these moments.

You feel like when you just met, and John was just a charming, handsome man who woo'ed you into his life. No secrets were insight, not quite yet, back then. Just typically lack of knowledge of one another. More equal than ever in those moments.

You kiss him, the fire silhouetting the two of you. Your kiss is passionate and deep, your lips finding his and crushing against them with want and warmth from so deep inside you, you wonder if a flame hasn't ignited there as well. You feel your stomach flutter as you kiss, his hands starting at your back, holding you there as you grind into his lap slowly, as if you're trying not to let him know you're doing it at all. He smiles into the kiss, his hips returning the sensation, obviously knowing what you want.

When the kiss finally breaks, your breathless and looking into those dark eyes, the fire dancing twinkling yellow light on them so you can see the amber inside. You watch him for a moment, watch your handsome husband who breathes heavy beneath you, eyes full of want that he is barely holding back. You know he could take you whenever he wishes, flip you like you weighed that of a feather and fuck your brains out just as easily. But he wants to let you play with him, let you enjoy this and watch you as you do.

"Show me how badly you want it," he says, and you already know what he means.

You lift your skirt, your lacy, delicate panties revealing for just a moment as you straddle one of his thighs. You get in position, slowly taking your top, fluffy sweater off, your bralette matching your panties beneath. He watches with curiosity, a lone hand gently, as light as a moth's wing, gliding against your curves, taking them in.

You shudder as if a chill has found you, but all you have inside is that fiery passion that John flames within. You kiss him again, moving down his neck, pulling down to his chest and trying to get as much surface area as you can from his v-neck. Your hips begin to gently grind against his thigh, the feeling of being able to control your pleasure there wonderful. John chuckles while he watches you struggle to kiss deeper, and you think for a moment he may take his shirt off as well.

"Rip it off," he says with a laugh, and you pull back to look at him.

"I don't think I'm strong enough..." You admit with a smile, waiting for him to tease you.

"I want to see you try." He isn't teasing per se, but he is curious to see the strength you wield.

You laugh for a moment, then see how serious his eyes are about it, and bite your lip. You know he wouldn't make fun of you for not being able to do such a thing, you're no trained fighter the way he is, after all. But you do want to impress him.

You grip that V of his shirt a little harder, and clench your fists tight around it, giving it a testing tug. Nothing happens, and you glance to John, who's bemused by the sight.

"You'll have to try harder than that, love." He whispers, still encouraging you with his tone.

You pull harder this time, using all the muscles in your arms as you can. Still, not much, but you think you hear a few seams tear. You try one more time and finally, a decent part of the V rips open, exposing more of his deliciously defined chest.

"That's a good girl, I knew you could do it." He reassures, cupping your face and letting his thumb rub against your lower lip.

You open wide, letting his thumb enter there, playing with your tongue for a moment, before settling in your mouth. You suck joyfully on it, letting him praise you for being so good, rubbing your wetting cunt on his thigh more. He watches you with a pleased grin, his free hand on your hip, guiding you into his thigh. You let your hands explore his chest as much as you want, enjoying the feel of hard muscle against soft skin there.

"Are you going to be a good girl for Daddy and show him how badly you need his cock?" He says with his head tilted in curiosity, watching your reaction.

You moan and nod, still enjoying letting your mind slowly fade away, turning into the dumb little whore you love to be for him. You keep your body rocking against his and he takes his thumb from your mouth, reaching up to your designer skirt, and ripping through it much faster and easier than you did his shirt. He does away with the rest of that as well, and hears your pouting about the ripped skirt.

"Don't worry, I'll buy you another one." he smirks. "I like it better when I can see all of you."

And with that he unzips your bralette from the front, letting your breasts, heavy with want, fall into his large hands. He takes both of them, rubbing them perfectly in unison, enjoying the feeling there. He likes how soft you are, how all your edges are smooth without sharpness. He enjoys how plump and soft your skin is, telling you such things in a whisper, making the heat of a blush rise to your cheeks and chest. You reach back and center your hands on his legs, giving him a better view of what he desires, and note leverage to grind deeper into his thigh. You needy whines begin to echo in the cabin.

"Oh, is that all, darling?" he says. "I think you can show me how much you want it more than that."

You breathe out, your chest heaving, letting your breasts entice him with each lung full of air.

"I need you so bad..." You whisper, your pussy soaking through your panties.

"Oh really? Should Daddy check?" He says, letting one of his hands move to your awaiting cunt, and testing out how wet you are over your panties.

He rubs there, and you lose it, your eyes rolling back and closing with pleasure that runs through you as he plays with your clit. You grind into his hands, so big and waiting for your pretty little cunt to do such a thing. He stops moving, making you whine more from lack of stimulation, but you know he wants to watch you rub yourself against him first.

"I'm not convinced yet." John raises a skeptical eyebrow and you pretend hate how much work he's making you do.

You touch your own breasts, grinding harder and whining louder, calling his name.

"Tell me what you want, baby girl. Tell me how you want me to fuck you."

"I-I..." You try to get that lustfully full and dumb head of yours to bring coherent words from your moans. "I want you to fuck me in front of the fire. On the floor, from behind, and hold me down like the naughty girl I am..."

You feel a shiver run right down to your cunt from how John smirks at you, happy with your response.

He says nothing, and for a moment you're not sure if you've begged enough yet. But then, without warning, he grabs you, flipping you into his arms, and rising from the couch. He pulls you to him, the heat of his skin against yours giving you tingles. Soon, you're on all fours, the pelt of that bear rug thick and soft between your fingers. You look back, and John's hands are already at your panties, and with a gasp from you, he's ripped those off as well and discarded them.

He in zips his jeans, his cock flopping out, girthy and ready for you.

"Put yourself on Daddy's cock, show me that you want it." He breathes with his own lust only barely concealed.

You back up on your knees, feeling his cock flop against your ass, the size of it so intimidating already. You can already feel your cunt clenching from how badly you want it. Your hand reaches back and moves it so his cock is between your legs underneath you, and you slowly stroke it, enjoying the soft breaths John let's out from the pleasure.

You start by letting it slide between your wet folds, letting it rub it's tip against your clit, enjoying the friction there. Then, finally, as John commanded, you line his cock up with your needy entrance, and slowly let the head breach your folds there, popping inside of you as you moan out.

"That's it. Ease yourself onto me."

You do so, slowly letting your ass back up into him, his cock getting deeper and deeper as you do, stretching you out slowly. He may be your husband, but with a cock like that, you've always had to take your time to accomadate him if you didn't want it to be painful. Other times, the slam of his cock so suddenly inside you was desired, but tonight, you two are taking it slow.

You gasp as you feel his full length slowly fill you, so tight and deep inside of you. John's hands play with gripping your ass, before letting a light, but loud slap go on them. 

“Fuck, your tight little cunt feels so good, baby…” He sighs out as he carefully pulls his hips back, starting to pump inside you after. 

You moan, loving the way he praises you like that, loving being a good girl for him who takes all of his girthy cock whenever he wants. You hate to admit how mindless you go when he fucks you like this. You feel like every worry and thought is fucked right out of your pretty little head. 

John's cock begins to pick up speed, and with your sudden gasps and moans from the faster stimulation he asks if you're taking it alright. 

You give a confirming noise and nod, but you can barely speak from how good you're feeling right now. 

“That’s a good girl,” John says, his voice tight and husky from how much he's enjoying fucking you. “I want you to touch yourself for me, baby. I wanna feel you cum all over my cock.”

You feel tingles run across your back as his hands station there, plunging his cock deeper as he does. At this rate, you feel like you might even just cum from what he's doing right now. Yet, your clit aches from the lack of attention, so you shift your weight and body so your hand can reach beneath yourself to get to that tender spot. 

“Yes, baby…Show me how much you love me fucking you.” John’s voice hushes to you, soft, but commanding. 

You do just that, feeling yourself in just the right way, you pleasure doubling as he continues to fill you up with his cock over and over again. You find your cheek against the fur rug, the heat from the fire prickling your skin, at this point making you almost start to sweat. You close your eyes, mouth open and moans uncontrollable. 

“Look at me.” John commands, and your eyes flutter open, your head turned to look back at him. 

John is just so gorgeous. His ripped, lean body, the glisten of sweat gleaming and twinkling in the fire light. But what really turns you on is his eye contact. Those wolf-like eyes, so deep and dark, looking at you. You can't help but feel like prey to him when he's like this, the way he looks at you like a predator who's just about to earn his hunt. You feel your cunt tightening as you do what he says, your own eyes look at him with scared little doe eyes, afraid to disobey, to not please. 

You watch as your husband continues to pound your cunt into oblivion, taking more and more, picking up speed despite how brutal it's already starting to feel. You love the feeling, the feeling of allowing your husband so much power over you, of letting him take your body however he wants. You feel your eyes flutter closed from how close you are, cunt tightening to try to get closer, breath held. 

You also hear a deep, animalistic growl from John, and you know you're breaking the rules. He commanded you to look at him, and now you're losing yourself in your pleasure without doing so. Even after you correct yourself, eyes meeting his, you know you've earned a punishment. 

He wrenches your hips back into his cock, keeping you there with one hand in a steel grip, the other lifting off and pulling back to slap your ass. You cry out at the first hit, feeling a sting reverberate there. The worst part was how much wetter it made you, how closer you were from every spank he laid upon you ass. He continues, a small smirk on his lips, he knows what he's doing to you. 

“Tell me how much you like. Tell me how you deserve to be fucked like this.” John's voice wavers and you know he needs to hear it just as much as you do.

“I…” You try to make your brain work, another gasp and another slap, your ass now red with his hand print. “I need you to punish me for being a bad girl, and not following your rules.”

Your hand is viciously rubbing your swollen and wet cunt, being pushed to its edge by how deep and hard John thrusts into you. 

“And?” John urges you on, his cock feeling harder and harder, swollen and ready to fill you as soon as he lets himself do so. 

“And I want you to spank me until I'm left with a mark to remember to be a good girl next time…!” You cry out, so close, wanting to close your eyes and focus on your pleasure, but forcing yourself to keep that eye contact with him. 

You hear John growl once more, this time from how much he's holding back right now. You know he wants to cum, but he's waiting on you. Your legs begin to shake as you continue to hastily play with your clit. John seems as if he can't take it anymore, and he grabs your hips, pulling them up, his hand snaking under you and pushing yours aside. 

“Let Daddy do it for you.” He says as if he's frustrated beyond your comprehension, but you love the way he touches you, so you allow it. 

His large hands take up so much more space, engulfing your clit, milking it in the perfect way that makes your breath leave your body and your muscles clench with shivers. You take all he is giving you, watching him as he begins to lose himself in you. You tighten around his cock to a point you don't think you can do more, and begin to feel yourself come over the edge, cunt fluttering and spasming around him.

“That’s my girl…” He sighs out, obviously there is relief in the fact that he can do this for you. 

You try your hardest to keep eye contact, but in the end, you close them, finding yourself lost in your own competition. You relish in the feeling of his hand taking your pleasure from you, slowing down and making it last. You feel as he reaches his own point, and finally with a groan, John spills inside of you as you're on the tail end of your finishing. His cum feels hot, almost tingly inside of you, making your head fall against the rug as you take his rutting against you, digging his cum in as deep as he can into your tight little cunt. 

When he's done, he slowly pulls out, his hand swiping any stray cum and slipping it back inside you with ease. You feel completely exhausted, and he can tell. John takes you into his arms, pulling you onto his chest as he lays next to the fire with you. You feel yourself softly drift off to sleep as John pets your hair, whispering sweet praises in your ear. 

“I love you…” He ends on after complimenting your body and everything else he adores about you. 

You softly mumble a return, and with that sleep has taken you. 

❄️.*ㅤ

John surprises you for the rest of the trip. Ice skating down at the lake, amazing dinners, long baths together with glasses of bubbly champagne just to name a few. 

When it comes to the day of Christmas Eve, he's somehow managed to make some of your favorite family dishes. You look over the feast, and feel at home here with him. You never want to leave this cabin, but you know in the coming days you will have to. You love how close you and John have gotten here. 

“How did you know?” You say after he reveals tonight's dinner, John’s arms wrapped around you while he snuggles into the crook of your neck. 

“I have my ways…” He says mysteriously, and you know he will just leave it at that. 

You two dine, laughing and carefree, something you didn't think you would see from John this often. 

When you're done, you curl up on a couch near the tree, and John begins to pull out a few presents. 

“Don’t you want to wait until tomorrow?” You ask him.

“I know your family always celebrates on Christmas Eve instead of day…” And for a moment you try to remember if you've told your husband that, or if this is another one of his mysterious ways. 

You decide it doesn't matter, because you're just happy he cares and is thoughtful enough for any of this. 

He hands you a small silver wrapped box first. He watches as you accept it and begins to open it with a smile twinkling in his dark eyes. You can tell he enjoys this. 

You open the present, and are met with the most beautiful necklace you’ve ever seen. It's perfectly your taste, and when John goes to put it on you, it hangs beautifully on your neckline. You feel him kiss up your neck as you thank him for something so gorgeous. 

“You don't need to thank me,” he whispers in your ear. “Someone as beautiful as you deserves beautiful gifts.” 

You can't help the smile creeping on your lips from that line, and you turn so your lips can crush against his with a grin. He turns the kiss, his soft, plump lips enjoying yours. 

Then, it's your turn. You hand him a gift from you, and you feel a little nervous in comparison to what he's just given you. You know yours is less expensive, and you wonder if you should have gone for something so handmade. 

John slowly and carefully tears off the red and green wrapping, and when he's done he's met with a small leather-bound book. He glances up at you with curiosity, then opens it. 

What he finds is a photo album filled with photos of you two over the time you've been together. There's pictures of you on some of your first dates with him, pictures of your honeymoon, vacations you've had together. There's even some of you two around the apartment being silly together. John says nothing, but slowly turns each page, looking over each photo with care. 

You fiddle with the edge of your sleeve, wondering if he likes it or not. 

Finally, he gets to the end where you've left a heartfelt message to him about how you feel. He reads it, then to your relief, a smile slowly finds itself on his lips. 

“This is…” He starts, then loses the words. “I can't describe to you how perfect this is.” 

You feel the breath you were holding leave your lungs, and you lean into him next to you on the couch. He wraps an arm around you and brings you closer, kissing the top of your head as he does. 

“I…will cherish this, thank you, my love…” He whispers into your ear, and you feel your heart swell. 

You two continue exchanging smaller gifts, John somehow getting everything on your list, and you outfitting him with things he likes. You know the first gift was his favorite from how he keeps looking through it. You two end the night with rum and eggnogs while watching your favorite Christmas show, happy to be with each other. You couldn't ask for a better Christmas. 

[wickblr]

October is coming up soon! What if we had a spooky Wicktober event, like those writing events with a prompt for each day of the month (or every other day or something)? People could answer the prompts with a piece of writing or a drawing, and the prompts could be things like:

Helen Wick’s Ghost

Vampire AU

Serial Killer Santino

Dog’s Halloween Costume

That sort of thing! Would anyone be interested in that?

I’m supposed to be replying w nothing but this is a great idea!

This should have been done like a month ago but I really didn’t think anyone would be interested, so, uh anyways;

I’ve made 2 versions of this since I know a lot of the writers on Wickblr are adults who only do writing as a hobby, so here’s both Wicktober and Wick Week! I don’t know if there’s been a writing event for the John Wick community, but here!

Wicktober is a month long event where people submit their drabbles/fics based off the prompts listed! Considering we aren’t really a strict fanbase, you can switch around the days and prompts—skip a day or few, or just do one! You’re free to use this as a writing ask game for October. Any day can be switched around except Day 24 which is the ten year anniversary of the first John Wick movie and the John Wick series as a whole (happy birthday to the movies!!!)

Feel free to run rampant on the prompts with your own interpretation of it, be more symbolic, be more realistic—just as long as you want to contribute to this event and want to write for it.

Wick Week is a seven day long event, which can be started on any day in October honestly since it’s a week of prompts. It has the same thing going as with Wicktober.

Rules:

- No harassment (some anons are really mean when it comes to people’s writing which is no good since Wickblr is a pretty damn small community)

- No derogatory comments made in the ask box of this blog since I know SOME people really wanna fucking discuss how “bad” some fics are (which you should write yourself if you really think it’s that bad)

- NSFW is allowed, and unlike this blog; x readers, x OCs are allowed, or cc x ccs (ex: helen x john which I will be doing on @marquisedegramont if you wanna see that)

- Make sure to tag #wicktober 2024 or #wick week 2024

- Creators can produce fics/drabbles or drawings

- Add the necessary warnings before every fic, thank you! Some fics may be triggering for some people and they would appreciate warnings beforehand :)

- Post it on ao3! (If you want)

- Do as little or as much as you want. Be self indulgent

- Prompts are free to use after October ends

shameless plug from the mod: art -> @evrensadwrn | writing -> @marquisedegramont and on ao3

and also my furry friends: art -> @tobytheeggo | writing -> @bluelolblue

reblog maybe ?

cr ; cross divider

[velvainee]

✦ ⎯⎯ ㅤִㅤ ୭ 𝑡𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑏𝑢𝑛𝑛𝑦 ( dr.wick x reader )

ᨳ ꒰ précis ꒱. oneshot. In 2236, Dr. John Wick leads "Wick Industries" in human experiments to extend life and youthfulness. But behind the facade of progress, test subjects like you are unknowingly involved, their consent ignored.

୨ৎ warnings. manhandling, non-con, forced relationship, breeding, evil intent, large age gap, p in v, blackmailing, mentions of blood, torture, bdsm, size kink. dead dove. do not eat. 2.6k words.

𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟, this is my first fic on this blog ! please excuse any mistakes and lmk if you like it, reblogs comments & likes are very appreciated! if you have any requests for another fic don’t be afraid to reach out. ( has not been proof read ) !

As you step into the sterile corridors of Wick Industries, the faint hum of machinery fills the air, a constant reminder of the scientific endeavors unfolding within. It's 2236, an era where the boundaries between progress and ethical considerations blur into a murky haze.

You find yourself here not out of choice, but out of dire necessity, your financial woes pressing upon you like a weighty burden. Volunteering as a blood donor is your ticket to survival, a means to secure the funds desperately needed to support your ailing mother and keep a roof over your head.

You needed the money, your mother's illness draining your savings faster than you could replenish them, while the relentless march of automation threatened your livelihood in the retail sector.

With each passing day, the gap between what you earned and what you needed widened, leaving you with little recourse but to turn to unconventional means to make ends meet.

A giant in the industry, Wick Industries looms large in the landscape of scientific research, its reputation as a leader in biomedical advancements drawing both admiration and scrutiny.

When news broke of their call for volunteers to participate in cutting-edge experiments aimed at extending human youth, you saw it as an opportunity—a chance to alleviate your financial woes while contributing to the greater good. Little did you know the true cost of admission into this world of scientific ambition and moral ambiguity.

Entering the facility, you're greeted by the sight of a bustling lobby, volunteers milling about in varying states of anticipation and apprehension.

The air is charged with nervous energy, a palpable undercurrent of uncertainty running through the crowd as each individual grapples with their own reasons for being there.

At the registration desk, you join the queue, your heart pounding in your chest as you inch closer to the counter.

The old woman behind the desk is brisk and efficient, her voice a steady rhythm in the cacophony of voices around you.

“Next,” she called out, an old woman behind the counter waved her hand, urging you to move forward.

“ID?” She spoke. Your hands making their way into your little pink hand bag as they shuffled to take out your wallet, waiting for the nod of approval before tucking your things back into your purse.

“Third door down the hallway to the left,” she directed.

Guided by her directions, you navigate through the maze-like corridors of the facility, the sterile environment and the click of your heels against the polished floors adding to the surreal atmosphere.

The waiting room is a sea of faces, each one bearing the weight of their own struggles and uncertainties, their eyes betraying a mixture of hope and trepidation.

As you take your seat among the other volunteers, you can't help but feel a sense of camaraderie tinged with unease. The steady stream of departures catches your attention, prompting a question to the person beside you.

“Why are people leaving?” You ask.

Their answer, though matter-of-fact, does little to assuage your growing apprehension.

“I hear the doctors are looking for a specific blood type within the volunteers,” the man next to you replied, his eyes going back to the bright screen of the phone he held.

Amidst the ebb and flow of volunteers, two figures emerge, their presence commanding attention as they make their way down the line of chairs. The older man's piercing gaze sends a shiver down your spine, while his companion's whispered exchange only serves to heighten your sense of foreboding.

When they finally reach you, the weight of their scrutiny feels suffocating.

The bearded man leans in to murmur something inaudible into his assistants ear, the man’s eyes flicker in your direction.

“Her,” he whispers slightly, their eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary.

As their stares bore into yours, the man’s assistant gestures for you to stand, and you comply, feeling a mixture of curiosity and trepidation. With a barely perceptible nod from the older man, they lead you away from the crowd, down a series of sterile corridors lined with gleaming metal doors.

Down the labyrinthine corridors you go, each step bringing you closer to the unknown. The air grows colder, the atmosphere thick with anticipation and trepidation. What awaits you behind those imposing doors remains a mystery, one that gnaws at the edges of your consciousness with relentless persistence.

Finally, you come to a stop before a nondescript door, its surface devoid of any indication of what lies beyond. With a silent exchange, the older man and his assistant confer, their words lost to you in the deafening silence of the corridor.

As the door slides open, revealing a sterile room bathed in harsh fluorescent light, you steel yourself for what comes next.

Alone in the room with these enigmatic figures, you can't help but feel a sense of trepidation. Their welcoming smiles offer little comfort, their words ringing hollow against the backdrop of uncertainty that looms over you like a dark cloud.

"Welcome," the man with the clipboard begins, his voice a mere whisper in the vast emptiness of the room. "My name is Dr. David. Thank you for volunteering,”

As the assistant quietly slips out of the room, leaving you alone with Dr. John Wick, a sense of unease settles over you like a heavy blanket. Yet, in his presence, there's a strange calmness that washes over you, his reassuring smile and soothing voice momentarily easing the knots of tension in your stomach.

"Please, have a seat," he gestures towards a chair, his tone gentle yet authoritative. You comply, sinking into the plush cushion as he takes a seat across from you, his piercing gaze never leaving yours.

"Let me assure you, you're in good hands here," he begins, his voice smooth as silk. "Wick Industries is at the forefront of groundbreaking research, and your participation in our experiments is invaluable."

Despite his words, a nagging feeling of apprehension lingers at the back of your mind, a whisper of doubt that refuses to be silenced. Yet, you push it aside, clinging to the hope that perhaps this is just the opportunity you've been waiting for.

“I’m Dr. Wick—but please, call me John,” He gives you a charming grin once more, reaching out his hand for you to shake.

As he continues to speak, his words seem to fade into the background, your focus shifting to the way the harsh fluorescent light casts shadows across his angular features.

“Tell me about yourself,” he speaks up once more, trying to strike a conversation with his patient.

There's something magnetic about him, something that draws you in despite your better judgment.

“There’s not really much to me,” you chuckle softly, a pink shade flushing against your cheeks.

“I work in retail—heard of the small cafe Allure? Im a barista,” you say bluntly, as if you were having a normal conversation with your friend.

“Ah really?” John turns to you, his brown eyes boring into yours. “I’ll have to try it sometime, I’ve never been,” he revealed.

Your conversation starts to become more intimate, sort of like you’re speaking to a therapist.

"You're special, you know," he murmurs, his voice low and intimate. "There's something about you that sets you apart from the others."

A flush creeps up your neck at his words, a warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the temperature of the room. His proximity is intoxicating, his presence commanding yet strangely comforting.

“People don’t usually say that about me,” you scoff, rolling your eyes, yet you felt cared for, embracing the feeling of praise.

“A shame for such a pretty girl like you,” He jokes, rubbing his chin with his fingers.

You find yourself hanging onto his every word, his charisma and intelligence captivating you in a way you never expected.

As he shares stories of his past achievements and future aspirations, you can't help but feel a sense of admiration for the man before you.

But beneath the surface, there's a tension that simmers, a palpable electricity that crackles in the air between you. You can sense the shift in his demeanor, the subtle change in the way he looks at you, as if seeing you for the first time.

As the conversation lulls, he rises from his seat, his movements fluid and purposeful. With a slight smile, he disappears into the adjacent room, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Minutes pass, the silence broken only by the soft hum of machinery in the distance. And then, he reappears, a small vial in his hand.

"I've prepared something to help ease the discomfort during the blood extraction process," he explains, his tone reassuring. "It's a simple elixir, but it should make the experience more bearable."

You nod, accepting the vial with a mixture of gratitude and apprehension. As you raise it to your lips, you can't help but wonder what exactly is in the concoction he's given you.

But the pain of the extraction process looms large in your mind, overshadowing any doubts or reservations you may have.

With a deep breath, you swallow the elixir in one swift motion, its taste bitter and metallic against your tongue. And then, as the liquid courses through your veins, a wave of dizziness washes over you, your vision blurring at the edges.

You reach out for support, but John is already there, his strong arms catching you before you hit the ground.

Your head throbs, the sensation reverberating through your ears as you grimace in pain, your face contorted in a grimace as you watch the overhead lights flicker rapidly.

Panic surges within you, your heart racing as you realize your arms are restrained above your head, the cold metal of the cuffs biting into your skin. Your feet barely brush against the worn tiles below.

"What the hell?!" you exclaim, your voice trembling with fear. Memories elude you, leaving you disoriented and bewildered.

Surveying your surroundings, you find yourself in a stark white room, its pristine walls offering no solace. A single door stands in the corner, ominous in its silence as you hang suspended in the center, the flickering lights casting eerie shadows across the sterile space.

Suddenly, the door creaks open, revealing Dr. John Wick as he steps into the room. Clad in gloves and his white coat, he exudes an unsettling air of authority as a wave of realization washes over you.

"What's happening?!" you demand, your voice trembling with uncertainty as fear grips you tightly.

"Hush now," John soothes, his voice calm and measured as he approaches you.

Despite your frantic struggles against the chains, he moves closer, his hand deftly manipulating a remote control in his grasp. With a click, the chains lower, the sound of metal clanking echoing in the sterile room as your body descends.

“I didn’t lie about how you were special,” he smiles creepily, now eye level with the man as he lifts your chin slightly.

“We just need to text you for some experiments, nothing too big,” he added, hot tears already brimming your waterline.

“P-Please get me out this isn’t what I signed up for—“ You whined, your wrists still trying to undo the chains that bound them together.

“I’m sorry but I cannot do that. You’ll be my little test bunny for today, is that alright with you, love?” He chuckled softly.

You shriek, tears already streaming down your cheeks as John’s fingers stroke against your jawline.

“You wouldn’t want to let your poor mother die now, would you?” He whispered, leaning into your ears as you grit your teeth, jaw clenching.

“Your mother has been transferred to a better hospital—under my industry. Resist and you die, let me use you this once and I’ll ensure your mother’s safety,” he’d add.

Before you are able to say anything, he grabs a handkerchief from his pocket, wrapping it around your head.

Your body stops shaking, your mother was at risk and you were unable to do anything.

He first took a knife from the steel cart that was placed against the wall across from where you were, his movements precise as you felt your clothing slither from your body, down your legs and eventually onto the ground.

Unable to resist, you stood there, crying, your makeup making marks on your cheeks as you shuddered from the embarrassment you felt as you were exposed to the older man.

“So young, so beautiful,” his voice tantalizing as he admired your curves, his hands starting to graze against your skin, the goosebumps visible from your fear.

“Don’t be afraid, it’s only procedures,” he teased, before pushing the button on his remote once more, your body lowering down as you gazed up at the man like a dog.

His fingers made their way under your chin, lifting them up slightly before he slowly undid the handkerchief.

“Please don’t scream, you’ll only make it harder for yourself,” he rambled, his lips now pressing against yours as you moaned in both surprise and disgust.

His tongue swirled with yours, the both fighting for dominance as he held your jaw in one hand, the other one starting to undo his pants.

John’s eyes glinted with a cold detachment as he advanced towards you, his movements deliberate and predatory.

“I promise, you’ll like it,” he drawled, his voice dripping with arrogance as he surveyed your trembling form.

You tried to protest, but the words caught in your throat as he pinned you against the wall, his hands rough and possessive as they roamed over your body.

“Don’t fight it,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your earlobe as he leaned in close.

“Resistance is futile.”

You could feel the heat of his breath against your skin, sending shivers down your spine despite the fear that gripped your soul.

“Please,” you whispered, but the desperation in your voice only seemed to amuse him.

With a smirk, he silenced you with a bruising kiss, his lips crushing yours with a ruthless intensity that left you gasping for air.

And as he claimed you as his own, you found yourself surrendering to him completely, your body a playground for his darkest desires. Each touch sent shockwaves of pleasure and pain coursing through your veins, your cunt throbbing with a mixture of agony and ecstasy.

But amidst the chaos, there was something else - a twisted kind of love that dared not speak its name.

“You like that, don’t you?” he taunted, his voice dripping with malice as he watched you squirm beneath him.

You moaned in response, unable to deny the twisted pleasure that his touch ignited within you.

With a guttural grunt, John released his load deep inside your cunt, his cock throbbing with the force of his climax. Your walls clenched around him, milking every last drop of pleasure from his pulsating shaft as he claimed you as his own.

“Take it, you filthy whore,” he spat, his voice dripping with disdain as he buried himself inside you.

“You like being used, don’t you?”

You moaned in response, unable to deny the twisted pleasure that his rough treatment ignited within you.

Each thrust was a reminder of your submission, a testament to the depths of your depravity.

As he reached his peak, his grip on you tightened, leaving bruises in his wake as he marked you as his property.

“There we go little bunny,” he sneered, his words a cruel echo of the pleasure that coursed through your veins.

And as he finally pulled away, leaving you empty and spent, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. In his arms, there was no room for love or tenderness, only the raw, unbridled passion of two souls consumed by darkness.

♡ 𝑡𝚑𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑑

[slippinninque]

🕐Never Far Behind🌇

prt 2.

Koji Shimazu x blackfemreader

You and Koji begin to make up for lost time.

warnings: MINORS DNI, 18+, fluffy, some spice, cursing, flashbacks, mentions of heartbreak, long fic

---------

Koji was really set on spoiling you, not only did he personally bring your luggage in--the man wouldn't let you bring anything in aside from your purse and personal duffel.

You were grateful for the penthouse's discretion as you would never be able to live it down if someone saw how besotted you were with this princess treatment.

A bouquet of roses and sumire violets nestled among the heaps of hospitality that was left at the door with your belongings. More fruits, then chocolates and other tasty snacks.

"How did you even get this made so fast?" You spun around with the sweeping robe held up to your chin. Your initials monogramed to match the cozy slippers still waiting in one of your goody-baskets.

"If you talk about magic, it makes it too shy to work you know." Koji wagged a finger at you as he came to watch you unwrap and unpack.

Lounge wear and pajamas to artisan soaps and body creams. You gasped in delight when you saw your favorite strawberry-crème cookie pack. When you got to the several silk headscarves you became suspicious and asked Koji how much extra effort he went through.

"I'll have you know we make such things available for all our guests!" Koji said so honestly that you almost believed him.

When you reached the cloud-like bonnet, patterned gorgeously with your favorites--gingko leaves--you looked over at him, "Oh, really?"

Koji suddenly found interest in reading the material for the exfoliating glove that was included, "Did you know this was made from respectably sourced loofahs?"

You watched him try to wait you out, bringing the label closer to his eyes as he peered from the bottom of his glasses, "Oh, wow...oh my gosh*, that's so interesting..."

"Koji, stop being so cute." You went over and kissed him anyway, "I love all of my gifts--even if you won't tell me they're gifts."

"Very good--here," Koji took the slippers and set them on the ground for you to step in, "The floor is too cold for bare feet. I'll show you where to put your things."

While you made good on your promise and wore only Koji's haori from the night before, your toes were starting to get cold. You narrowed you eyes at him but gave him your hand.

"We'll revist that--lead the way, Manager-sama."

Koji showed you where the closet was, you hung your clothes. A few drawers were quickly emptied for your underclothes and scarves. He walked you to the bathroom, you set up your shampoo, soaps, and toothbrush.

When you returned to the bedroom--you sat yourself on the edge of the bed feeling very much like a spoiled cat. Koji came closer as he looked at you as if you were wearing chocolate and cherries.

"What, no knives this time?"

"You got so scared last time you saw one--so I decided I'll keep 'em with my delicates."

Koji moved in your way when you tried to leave bathroom now that you've properly set up shop.

His eyes crinkled in amusement as you rose your brow at him. Koji put on a smooth tone.

"Put your things away first in the closet--girls always take up so much room, after all."

"I think you just want to see where I put my knives, Ji-chan..."

"Ugh, why'd you call me that? Don't you take me serious?"

"It's only when you act so serious that I call you that...don't say you're telling me what to do?"

Koji put his hands flat on either side of your head. His hair was getting a bit long but you thought it suited him. It framed his dark eyes, the gaze aimed at you.

"I am. Look at how you're bullying me after all..."

You hummed and would have seemed truly uninterested if it weren't for the way you were bringing him closer by the loose fabric of his t-shirt.

"Cook me a good dinner and maybe I'll consider callin' you something else, Ji-chan..."

"What has you so lost in thought?"

"Hm? Oh nothing, just remembering the time I shared a room in Kodaira with a young rouge."

Koji came to sit flush beside you, "Oh my. What sort of man he must have been to have you thinking of him while you're in my arms?

You stretched and purred as you recalled those balmy afternoons-nights-morning spent between Koji and the mattress.

"Don't act like you don't know..."

Koji sighed a laugh and dropped a kiss to your shoulder, then up your neck, then to your cheek.

"Yes, yes--I suppose I do...."

-----------

You woke to Koji's ringing phone and his following apologetic expression as he rolled out of bed enough to grab it. Your response was to blow him a kiss as you gathered some things to shower.

If you added an extra sway to your walk, that was between you and your booty.

The shower felt immaculate. You grinned up into the spray the entire time as you lathered over the refreshing aches and deep marks left over from your last go. The more time you spent with Koji, the more it felt like he's never left your arms.

This man he's become was so damned attractive. You had the pleasure of absolute trust mixing in with new territory. It pleased you even more to see how Koji reacted to you--just hungry after all these years.

Lucky for you Koji had a call to take less you would be cheek-to-tile.

Koji had you feeling like you were 20 again. All the grace you cultivated over the years fell away beneath his focus, turning you back into the same greedy thing that always wanted more. It felt more than good.

Giving yourself a good scrubbing and rubbing, you let your locs down from their bun so they could dampen and get some steam. You took your time in oiling your hair and massaging your scalp, all on the Osaka Continental's water bill.

Feeling perfectly polished after sampling the loofa gloves, which were amazing, you waltzed out of the bathroom in nothing but your slippers and a coat of steam.

Koji was tapping at his phone, now posed to get out of bed but pausing when he saw you bend over to retrieve one of the body butters you forgot to bring with you.

You winced at the dryness of your hands when you opened the container but you were intercepted, Koji covered one of your hands with his to bring you to sit beside him.

"Shimazu...?"

"I may have had a small ulterior motive," He nodded to the container in your hand, "Allow me this small pleasure."

You scoffed but relaxed back onto the bed with your free hand bracing you. Koji spoke as if he hadn't spend the last few hours giving pleasure after pleasure.

He squeezed the perfect amount and set to work, massaging the palm and fingers of your hand. You sighed and wriggled your toes, feeling very much content.

He straightened and peered down the bottom on his glasses as if he could see your aches better this way. You were sure that he was cataloguing every scar he was unfamiliar with.

"Yeah, they aren't as princess-pretty as they were a while ago." You joked as you enjoyed his careful kneading, "Went from cracking necks to cracking skin, y'know?"

"Nonsense. They're just as wonderful as they've always been. Strong and true." Koji pressed and rocked the pad of his thumb along yours, the perfect fit, "And that's just your eczema."

He kept his eyes on his task but you kept yours on him as he rubbed up your lifted arm and down your side to your leg. The butter smelled light, crisp without being overpowering. You eyes found the gleaming greys in his hair, followed the lines of his collarbones and admired the subtle strength in his hands.

Suddenly, he was too far away. You traded hands when Koji gestured but laced your fingers with his and pulled, catching his eyes with yours.

"Come here." You whispered. Koji's eyes fell down to your lips and you beckoned him again, giggling. Only half of you will be ashy, it's well worth it.

This man between your thighs, his chest to your chest, still kissed the same. You curled up around him and felt yourself surrender. He purred when your nails scratched along his scalp, the noise roughened when you gave a cheeky tug.

"You're making me soft, Ji-chan." You mumbled when he moved down the side of your neck. You pressed up against Koji when you felt his hardness prodding and poking. A slow rhythm started as you rocked into him.

"Am I Ji-chan again?"

"You'll always be my Ji-chan, baby."

Koji's fingers wandering down between your legs had you stuttering over your next tease. Your legs fell open encouragingly as you grabbed onto the sheets below.

He stared into your eyes as he dipped two fingers, carefully at first but deeper when you moaned for more. Koji adjusted so he could cradle you with his free arm as he worked you with his other.

"You always got so soft when you need me," Koji's eyes roamed your face, "Still so warm and tasty like my favorite cake..."

Koji could read the terms and conditions of an oscillating fan in Japanese and you'd probably come. He made a coaxing noise when your hips rocked down. How is it that this man could have you like this so easily?

"If I ask nicely, can I have another taste of your frosting? My darling cake?"

"You haven't had enough of it yet?"

"Enough? As if there is such a thing. Not having you on my tongue is enough discomfort. I feel cheated, in fact."

He wickedly crooked his fingers, massaging your spot hard and echoing your startled moan. You arched as the sensation went right up your spine and back down to our toes.

A laugh bubbled from your lips , "We-we're n-ah, never gettin' out of this bed..."

"Hmn. Dessert first, then lunch?"

Koji's low laugh was a forecast for the rest of your afternoon and fuck were you game.

------

✨ending notes✨: 2nd part down!!! I'm so obsessed with these two it's so funny! thank you so much reading and please feel free to tell me what you think! Thank you!! (prt3 coming eventually promise lol)

*this 0: 18 is the oh my gosh that inspired this whole chapter tbh🤣

💕taglist:💕 @megamindsecretlair @sageispunk @harmshake @blowmymbackout @miyuhpapayuh

@ellethespaceunicorn @astoldbyaja @miyuhpapayuh

@kindofaintrovert @ms-angiealsina @coilyqueen

[smuttyfantasyrecs]

John Wick

🦋 alone together 🦋

@ficsnroses

🦋 compliant 🦋

@thatfanficstuff

🦋 can it wait 🦋

@reevesdriver

🦋 bedroom window 🦋 wedding bells 🦋 burning desire 🦋

@fanficsrusz

🦋 dirty little secret 🦋

@fics-not-tragedies

🦋 santa baby 🦋

@fortheloveoffanfic

🦋 I licked it so it's mine 🦋

@ladyreapermc

🦋 motorcycle man 🦋

@keanuvibe

🦋 worn out 🦋

@iworshipkeanureeves

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet 🖤 a yandere!john wick x fem!reader coffee shop sunshine/grump au

Table of Contents

something sweet

burned

the cougar

the mountain

lamb in the lion's den

avenging angel

the book thief

joyride

pest

drunk text

mondo piccolo

la dolce vita

vino veritas

kitten

walk of shame

bad girl

got u

war and peace

crime and punishment

lost and found

bound for hell

deal with the devil

show me your teeth

bully

knots

breaking point

surprise

haunted

lady of the daisies

say something

run

hard lesson

suits & guns

quite continental

purgatory

rough play

ruse

the honorable thing

pool time

parlay

reprieve

home sweet home

surprise

the god of death

halcyon daze

rude awakening

tbc...

[babsharrison]

Safe Haven - John Wick

(Chapter Seven)

Pairing | John Wick x Original Fem! Character

Summary | In search of a breath in his tumultuous life, John Wick finds himself in a charming bookstore where he meets a sweet and welcoming woman. As they grow closer, John questions whether she can love him despite the dark secrets he carries. While battling the shadows of his past, he must protect the love that is blossoming and discover if hope and redemption are truly possible.

Word Count | 3.0k

Trigger Warning: This scene contains themes of intimidation, unwanted physical proximity, verbal harassment, and implied violence. Reader discretion is advised.

A/N | I'm really excited about the direction I'm taking with the fic. I hope you guys enjoy it too! 🥰

Previous chapter!

John stood motionless, but every fiber of his being was on alert, his eyes fixed on Marco's. His appearance there was more than just a coincidence, and both of them knew it. Marco held John's gaze, as if it were a silent challenge, a reminder of how close he still was to the shadows of the past.

Mia, however, seemed oblivious to the silent confrontation between them, and a soft smile appeared on her face as she thanked him for the purchase. "I hope you enjoy the book, Mr. Vitale," she said, gesturing to the volume with the kindness that was her trademark.

Marco smiled with a touch of malice, and before stepping away, he gently took Mia's hand, leaning in to plant a kiss on its back. "The pleasure was all mine, Miss," he said, his voice laden with calculated charm. "I hope we can meet again."

That gesture made something ignite in John's eyes, but he did not react. Instead, he remained silent, his expression now cold and almost impassive, though the look he gave Marco was sharp as a blade.

Marco stepped back, giving John one last glance, a smile full of intent lingering on his lips, before disappearing into the park. His presence still seemed to weigh, even from a distance, and the air around them became thick with an invisible but palpable tension.

When Marco finally disappeared, Mia turned to John, her eyes shining with curiosity. "Quite the gentleman. Do you know him?"

John looked away, his face even colder after Mia's comment. He kept his tone dry and direct, almost as if trying to end the conversation before it even began.

"I know enough to say you should keep your distance," he replied, his voice low but heavy with seriousness, causing Mia's smile to falter.

She stared at him, surprised by his intense reaction and sudden distance. It was the first time she had seen John like this—a rigid and impenetrable figure, almost as though he were building an invisible wall around himself. Her response was only a restrained nod, realizing the importance that warning seemed to have for him.

For a moment, silence hung between them, thick and uncomfortable, until John, without offering further explanation, gave a slight nod and walked away toward the opposite side of the makeshift bookstore. Mia watched him with mixed confusion and unease growing in her chest.

Even though she didn’t understand the reason for the warning, she felt a strange sense of security in his seriousness—a side of him that rarely showed. And although she couldn’t guess what John was hiding behind that look, one thing was clear: he carried, in silence, a weight much heavier than anyone she had ever known.

Mia followed John's stiff movement as he walked away through the park's grass, his back straight, almost impenetrable in his distant posture. He didn’t look back, and the sound of his footsteps was swallowed by the gentle breeze that danced among the leaves. Watching him slowly disappear among the trees, a bitter feeling took over her.

She suddenly felt alone, as though the brief moment of closeness they had shared had been nothing more than an illusion, unraveled too quickly. A sharp pang of hurt throbbed in her chest as the question echoed in her mind: What had she done to deserve such coldness?

Mia turned to the stack of disorganized books on the small table, trying to distract herself with the familiar covers and spines. The touch on the worn volumes should have been comforting, something that always brought her silent peace, but now everything seemed to lose its luster. She let out a soft sigh, her gaze drifting into emptiness, trying to shake off the persistent discomfort that John's presence—and sudden absence—had left behind.

Days turned into weeks, and with a certain heaviness in her chest, Mia noticed that John no longer came to the bookstore. At first, she tried not to pay it too much attention, but over time, she realized she missed that unusual customer, the few words, and that deep look that seemed to carry a silent burden. Every time the door opened, her heart hesitated, hoping to see him cross the threshold and give her that almost imperceptible nod.

Despite everything, Mia felt deeply grateful for the success of the event. New customers arrived every day, drawn by the welcoming atmosphere of the bookstore, and Tom seemed to share her gratitude, with a satisfied smile that rarely left his face. But even with the positive movement, Mia found herself distracted, unable to shake a certain thought. Every time she tried to relax and enjoy the moment, the memory of that man returned—how he had walked away through the park with a coldness that still unsettled her.

She wanted to ignore it. After all, he wasn’t anyone special, just a customer. But it was strange how the memory of that encounter insisted on lodging itself in her mind, making her heart race in a way she considered foolish. It was almost as if his absence left behind an unease. She shook her head as though she could push the thoughts away, but they always returned, stronger, leaving behind curiosity and a slight desire to see him again, even though she would never admit it to herself.

As the days passed, the restlessness grew. With every new opening of the door, her eyes involuntarily turned, hoping—or perhaps fearing—to find him there. And while she tried to convince herself that he was just any other person, the silent interest continued to grow inside her, like something delicate and unexpected that she didn’t quite know how to handle.

On the other side of the city, John moved with the same silence, but in a much more hostile setting. He had tried to read the book Mia said was her favorite, as if those pages were the only bridge still connecting him to her. The idea that Marco Vitale or any other dangerous man had come close to Mia filled him with a mixture of rage and, to his own surprise, jealousy. He didn’t know where that feeling came from, but there was something about Mia, the way she cared for the bookstore, that he felt was meant only for him—a peace she had unexpectedly brought into his life.

The danger, however, had come too close, and John knew he needed to pull away to protect what, in some way, had become important to him. He moved through the shadows of the alley, senses alert, as the muffled voices of Marco Vitale’s goons cut through the heavy night air.

"You thought you could show up here and leave unscathed, Wick?" one voice mocked from the darkness, dripping with contempt. One of the goons raised his weapon, the threat clear in his eyes.

John didn’t respond. His eyes focused on the thug in front of him, quickly assessing the situation, planning his next moves with near-calculating precision. In one second, a snap echoed through the alley—a sudden move, a precise strike. The nearest goon collapsed, the weapon falling from his hands with a dull thud.

The second man hesitated, but it was too late. John was already in motion, moving like a shadow. In seconds, he had subdued the thug, holding him at gunpoint and pressing the truth with a firm, threatening voice:

"Tell me where Marco is, and maybe you’ll get out of here today."

The thug gasped for air, fear blatantly written on his face. “You… you don’t know?” His voice trembled, and his pale face glistened with sweat under the faint light of the alley. With John’s unyielding gaze fixed on his eyes, the thug gave in, mumbling what he knew. “Vitale… he wants to settle scores with… with that girl… the one from the bookstore…”

The words fell like stones. John froze for a moment, his eyes hardening. Marco was going after Mia. She had probably caught Marco’s attention during their encounter at the bookstore—and upon noticing John’s silent interest in Mia, he now saw her as a vulnerability, something to be exploited or eliminated. John knew he had no time to waste.

With a swift motion, he shot the thug, with no chance for pursuit, and disappeared into the shadows.

At the bookstore, Mia was finishing the last stack of books, the shop now shrouded in a dimness that seemed heavier and more unsettling. As she locked the door, a muffled sound echoed through the shelves, and she quickly turned, her heart racing. There, in front of her, was a man she had never seen before. His gaze was a mix of disdain and perverse pleasure, and the smile he gave was cold and unsettling, sending a chill down her spine.

“Sorry, we’re closed,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady but feeling a chill spread through her body.

He simply smiled, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, carrying a nearly palpable malice. “Closed? Oh, I know. But I thought we could… extend the hours,” he said, taking a step forward, his gaze predatory.

Mia felt a lump form in her throat, her heart quickening. “Please, leave,” she repeated, her voice trembling, instinctively taking a step back. But the man continued to approach slowly, and she noticed he was watching her with unsettling intensity, like a hunter about to strike.

“Don’t be so rude,” he murmured, reaching out to grab something from the counter—an almost casual movement, but one that made Mia step back even further. Every inch of distance felt precious, and she felt like an animal cornered. He kept moving forward, his expression too relaxed, making everything even more unnerving.

She tried to think quickly of an escape, but he was already in front of the door, blocking any chance of fleeing. “I said we’re closed,” she repeated, almost whispering, her courage wavering with every word.

The intruder let out a low, cold laugh, stepping closer. “Relax, girl. I just want to talk. Is that so hard?”

Mia felt a knot form in her throat, her heart racing. “Please, leave,” she repeated, her voice trembling as she instinctively took a step back. But the man continued to move closer, and she noticed how he watched her with a disconcerting intensity, like a hunter about to strike.

“Don’t be so unfriendly,” he murmured, reaching out to grab something from the counter—a casual move, but it made Mia retreat even further. Every inch of distance felt precious, and she felt like an animal cornered. He kept advancing, his expression too relaxed, which made everything even more unsettling.

She tried to think quickly of an escape, but he was already in front of the door, blocking any chance of fleeing. “I said we’re closed,” she repeated, almost in a whisper, her courage wavering with each word.

The intruder let out a low, cold laugh, moving closer. “Relax, girl. I just want to talk. Is that so hard?”

Mia took another step back until her back touched the counter, with no more room to retreat. “Please, just go,” she insisted, her tone now a plea masked by authority, but he only watched her, relentless.

“Do you work here alone?” he asked, ignoring any trace of formality or boundaries. He got so close that Mia could smell cigarette smoke on his clothes, making her feel a wave of nausea and panic.

She tried to move to the side, attempting to escape, but he stretched out his arm, blocking her path. His eyes were fixed on her, as if testing her, relishing the terror that was beginning to dominate her gaze.

Mia clenched her fists, trying to control the trembling in her hands. Her heart pounded so loudly that she could barely hear her own thoughts. “If you don’t leave now, I… I’ll call the police,” she threatened, though her voice betrayed the desperation she was trying to hide.

He laughed again, as if amused by her words. “Really? Good luck with that.” His voice dripped with mockery, and he reached out to touch a loose strand of hair by her face, causing her to instinctively pull back, though there was nowhere else to retreat.

Mia’s throat was dry, fear paralyzing her, and her mind was spinning. She felt her breath quicken, her heart racing, the panic growing with every passing second. She knew she had no strength to push him away and that she was completely alone. The environment that once felt like a refuge now seemed like a suffocating prison.

Suddenly, a distant, heavy sound broke the silence, and the figure of the man turned for a moment, just enough for Mia to notice a shadow in the doorway. In an instant, John was there, and the relief she felt was so intense that she could barely contain a shaky sigh.

John entered slowly, his eyes fixed on the man with deadly intensity, his face impassive and unshaken. He didn’t say a word, but the coldness in his gaze spoke for itself. With a smooth, but firm movement, he placed himself between Mia and the intruder.

The invader looked at John, his earlier confidence beginning to fade in the face of John’s threatening presence. “Who the hell are you?” the man asked, trying to regain control of the situation.

John tilted his head slightly but remained silent, and the stranger quickly realized that any move he made would be a mistake. John took a step forward, forcing the intruder to retreat another step until his back hit the shelves, with no room to escape.

The man gave a derisive, challenging smile, eyeing John up and down. “You know, you seem pretty brave for someone who hangs around a bookstore, Boogeyman…” he taunted, his tone dripping with disdain, trying to break John’s unshakeable calm.

John narrowed his eyes, his posture rigid as steel. Slowly, he took off his jacket and placed it on the counter next to him, revealing a discreet holster on his belt. “Last chance to leave in one piece,” he said, his voice low and controlled, with no trace of threat—just the promise of something inevitable.

The henchman laughed and lunged at John, but before his punch could land, John moved. In an instant, he grabbed the man’s wrist and twisted it behind his back, making him groan in pain. Without giving him time to react, John spun him around and landed a precise blow to the back of his knee, forcing him to drop to the ground with a grunt.

Mia, leaning against the counter, watched everything with a mixture of fascination and fear. Each of John’s movements was calculated, like a dangerous dance—quick and precise. The man tried to get up, but John held him firmly, his voice now slightly more intense. “Who sent you here?” he asked, giving no room for excuses.

The henchman, panting and panicked, mumbled something incoherent. John abruptly released him, only to knock him down again with a direct blow to the face. When the man fell, dazed, John grabbed him by the collar and lifted him, forcing him to look at him.

“I asked who sent you,” John repeated, his tone threatening. At the man’s hesitant silence, John let him go without ceremony, letting him fall to the ground with force. The intruder, terrified, looked at John and finally gave in, revealing the name Marco Vitale and the order to attack Mia.

John approached the henchman, each step a silent reminder of the imminent danger. His eyes remained steady, as cold as blades, while the cornered man tried to disguise his panic. John stopped, close enough to intimidate him, but with a deadly calm that threatened to explode at any moment.

“You… you’re not going to do anything to me here, are you?” The henchman tried to maintain a challenging tone, but his voice came out shaky, revealing his fear.

Mia, still leaning against the wall, watched everything without being able to look away. John’s presence, usually so enigmatic, now seemed like an impenetrable wall between her and the danger. But the way he stared at the man in front of him—the ruthless firmness in his eyes—brought out something she hadn’t imagined. This was a side of John she had never dreamed of seeing: a patient, calculating predator, capable of deciding life and death with a simple look. She was terrified.

Taking a deep breath, John leaned toward the henchman. For a moment, Mia feared he was going to end the man’s life right there. But instead, he stepped back, his cold gaze unwavering. His decision to spare the intruder seemed to reflect a strange kind of respect, as though he was considering Mia's presence in the room.

"Leave," John murmured, his voice low and threatening. "Tell Marco he made a mistake. He’ll only get one chance to fix it."

The henchman didn’t hesitate; he stumbled out, breathing heavily, while Mia stood frozen in place, trying to process the violence that had just unfolded before her. The silence in the room felt thick, charged with the weight of what had happened. Mia's heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing with confusion and disbelief.

John, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, took a slow step closer. His voice was softer now, almost gentle, but there was no mistaking the urgency in his words.

"It’s too dangerous for you to stay here," he said, his gaze lingering on her. "You need to come with me, at least until I can ensure your safety."

Mia stared at him, struggling to find words. Her hands trembled, and her body was still frozen from the shock. She could feel the weight of his presence, the raw tension in the air between them. Her mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts: she knew the danger she was in, but something about John—his control, his coldness, the way he spared the man’s life—made her hesitate.

Yet, the situation was beyond her control. Without a word, she nodded, her eyes avoiding his. It wasn’t trust that led her to follow him—it was instinct, the need to get out of there, to find safety. Her pulse raced, and every part of her felt on edge, but she didn’t know where else to go.

John noticed her hesitation, the way she couldn’t quite meet his gaze, the invisible distance that had formed between them. He understood it. But it still hurt in a way he wasn’t used to. Usually, when he extended protection, it was accepted without question. But not from Mia.

Without a word, he turned to lead the way, and Mia followed, her movements slow and cautious. Every step felt heavy, as though the weight of their unspoken tension pressed on her chest. John’s presence was no longer the source of comfort it once might have been. Now, it only added to the confusion and fear that had taken hold of her.

[twistedbloodstain]

could you please write a marquis fanfic where the reader is Akira’s sister and Vincent kidnaps her in hopes to lure John wick but he ends up just falling in love with her 😭

vincent de gramont x reader: i’d live and die for moments that we stole | words and wind.

plot: the one where you entered his estate in chains but left his home with his heart.

warning: lots of threats from mr. gramont here, one sided love, unrequited love, forced proximity but the force is him, akira’s sister!reader, dutiful reader, vincent winning the idgaf war a little too much here

masterlist

part two

a stroke of pain slowly goes through your temples, you wince. remembering how you accidentally hit your head on the floor when one of the guards had scampered on you when you tried to flee him, that’s when you realized that the marquis had no intention of negotiating with you.

it’s not often that you end up with situations like these, especially with how generous and thoughtful your terms had been with the marquis. you’ve gone through worse terms and even worser odds of successful negotiations, you just hadn’t realized what a fucking animal he was. for this to happen is surely a jab on your pride.

a metal clink rings through the room, a heavy and thick chain bound to your ankle. it was starting to cramp your leg with how large the chain was, you had half a mind to saw it out of your body because you feared that it might’ve lost function with how numb it was starting to feel.

the door opens and you look up. you don’t see anything or anyone right away with how dark it was. you had little to no source of light due to the current state of the night. it was pitch black and the only source of light you had was through the small window so far up the wall during the day.

but you don’t need to see to know who came through the door. it was the marquis, ever since your capture he had visited you in random times of the night to “negotiate.” which fueled your hatred for him due to him disturbing your sleep.

luckily, you’ve been expecting him.

a light bulb suddenly turns on which weakly illuminates the room, the luminescence was patchy but it was a welcoming sight to you. finally, you could see your prison.

you look up to him, still sat on the floor. it takes all your strength to not to lurch at him in anger even with the fact that his guards could easily deflect your attack and lead you somewhere worse.

the room you found yourself in was thankfully, clean. it was the size of a prison cell though, they did give you sufficient enough food but sometimes you had refused them out of lividness.

the small room seemed even smaller with the current person occupying it, the marquis’ height was staggering to behold and you had to admit it was intimidating at first.

all his aggressive and intimidation seemed nothing to your fury and determination as of now. it had all melted the moment he locked you in a cell which you assumed meant to drive you to compliance or insanity. he had another thing coming if he thought that one of shimazu’s children would bend to his fucking will.

“this is unacceptable and cruel, mademoiselle. i have recently received this unfavorable news from the tokyo continental. i found it important to share this with you immediately.” he speaks up then pauses. you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at this as you look into his eyes in disbelief.

he’s playing a new game with you again. a futile attempt for compliance but you’re not sure he knows it. did he think you were stupid and naive?

“after the recent assumptions of your capture, i had informed him of the new terms we agreed to…for a certain excommunicated individual, yet my informants say he has refused to comply even with the threat of his beloved daughter..being killed.” he continues when he notices that you had rolled your eyes at that. “he claims that you would’ve never agreed to it, we disagree with that don’t we, mademoiselle?” he mockingly asks.

you hadn’t agreed, which is precisely why you’re locked up in a cemented cage in the middle of nowhere. you had expected him to be courteous and polite as a representative of the table but you should’ve also expected that he wouldn’t be lenient with you.

“what kind of father abandons his daughter to die? not a good one, i suppose.” he taunts, “i have no idea how you must feel, anger probably. even under that facade you have-“

“lies have always come easy to you. does it?” you interrupt him.

this makes a corner of his lips tug, a smirk almost forming in the process.

“i have something for you.” he announces, you see a small box in his hand as he makes his way to you. you carefully eye him in hesitation as he kneels in front of you.

“anger too, you don’t seem the type to forgive and forget, everyone but me seems to know that.” you continue.

“in this world we live in, forgiveness should have no place in our hearts and forgetting is simply ignorance with different letters.” he replies as he sets the box down next to you.

“but concern, care and innocence…you’re not very good at that are you?” you finish in false pondering.

he chuckles at your words before replying to your statement, “you don’t seem to be alright. perhaps we can speak again when you are feeling much better?”

“we both know you did this, you are at fault for this and it amuses you to play with the lie that my father has forsaken me but i bet that he doesn’t even know about these terms you’ve offered, tell me what exactly were you trying to achieve?”

“i know that question is rhetorical but i will answer that for your enlightenment. accept the terms and you can finally go home. invite him to the continental under the guise of safe conduct and kill him, your father is acquainted with him, he will have his guard down.” he states matter of factly, you scoff at this.

“yes, i would finally go home. only to lead my family to fucking die, we both know what you’re asking from us. even if my father’s sentiments were put aside, we cannot kill him.” you urge him, “the moment he realizes our folly, my family is as good as buried.”

“my men will be present the moment he enters the establishment, you have nothing to fear. get your father to comply so we may finally get rid of him.”

“and how many men are you willing to offer?”

“sixty, but ten should be able to suffice. they’re quite proficient in their craft.”

“ten men or sixty, it matters little. they’ll be dead.” you scoff.

“your father won’t be the only old friend he’ll be seeing. i assume, you know caine?”

you quiet as you take that information in, you realized how desperate the high table must be to have john wick dead and how your family will be the one to pay the price for his death, which will surely be another insignificant number of dead people for them.

“having second thoughts, mademoiselle?” he eagerly inquires.

“with all due respect, i have to refuse you. accepting your terms puts a target on my family, i cannot risk that.” you disclose.

the marquis frowns, his eyes full of disappointment and displeasure from your answer. you presume that he must be on his way to leave you again, only to return in the middle of the night with another set of flowery words and false pretenses of remorse.

he suddenly yanks the chain strapped on your ankle and you yelp in pain, the skin wrapped around your bones is definitely sore and bruising. you’re pulled closer to him, you feel fear and fury fighting for control with the situation you’re facing.

“i have been too kind to you, mademoiselle. i hoped that my kindness to you would help you find common cause with me, it has failed and it will never work i finally see. i have a new proposal to make.” he grits out as he keeps his eyes on you, “get your father to follow the high table’s orders or they die. your father and sister, both. if you refuse to, rest assured i will send their heads to you.” he threatens.

he gets back up on his feet as he watches you take the information in while he slips his hand into his pocket, you hold back the cry that was boiling under your throat and your tears that were trying to escape the corner of your eyes. you look away from him, knowing that he noticed your current state of emotions but you can’t afford to feel weak and see his reaction out of it at the same time.

you wince inside with how pathetic you feel right now.

“perhaps that will give you a new answer to offer to me.” he taunts again, you promise to yourself that once you got out of here, he was fucking dead. one way or another he would be lifeless on the ground and it would be because of you.

“get out.” you whisper.

“finally, have you found your voice?”

“i said get out, you hateful bitch!” you scream at him, hurling the wooden box at him.

pieces of paper and stationery explode on the floor and you clench your jaw in anger at his statement.

“call out when you finally have an answer. hopefully, it is a letter to your father about your acquiescence.” he mutters as he makes his way to the door.

you lean back and sigh, finally letting a stray tear fall down your cheek.

you carefully watch the doctor inspect your ankle, you’re currently reclined on a soft loveseat placed in the middle of the elegantly furnished room. the marquis has taste you had to admit, though his home looked more like a palace than somewhere you’d relax.

you sigh to yourself, still annoyed that you were still in your prison. a lovelier one compared to the previous room but still a prison. you had given in to his demands, sooner or later john wick was entering the territory of the tokyo continental as expected. you had reluctantly written to your father about your agreement to the marquis’ orders, you desperately wanted to write the truth. in your days of isolation, it had only been you and your anger, leaving you to doubt certain aspects of your family.

you expected that your father might’ve been wary about your lengthy absence in france that he might at least send some of his men to come and fetch you yet you had heard nothing of the sort. this led you to doubt your family’s love for you but all these speculations turned to dust the moment the marquis entered the room.

it’s all his doing, you tell yourself.

he must be making it look like the negotiation was going smoothly and that you definitely weren’t locked up in a prison cell somewhere.

all your uncertainties were replaced with plans of malice the moment you had yourself free from the marquis. your long days spending time with yourself helped you formulate a plan to take him down simply because he had detained you.

and threatened to murder your family. it’s not really that petty.

he said it himself, forgiving and forgetting doesn’t exist in this world you both live in. it’s only fair.

of course, he wouldn’t die directly by your hand.

but you know someone that could.

you smile to yourself at the thought of him dead on the floor.

the doors fling open and the devil himself walks in.

you look back to see him, once again dressed impeccably and sophisticated. the marquis gestures his hand and you look back to the doctor who nods when he sees the movement of his hand then leaves.

he really has everyone with the flick of his hand.

he makes his way on the couch across you, embellished with silk and golden patterns dancing around the fabric. the couch creases as he sets himself down on the comfy material.

“i hope everything is to your liking, mademoiselle?” he starts as he leans back into the couch.

“it is, thank you.” you hesitantly thank him.

“no need, the high table rewards obedience and loyalty. sure, you have lost yourself in the earlier stages but it matters little. you have made the right choice.” he smirks at you, you fake a smile at him at his words.

“right.”

“how is your ankle?” he gestures at your limb propped on a footstool.

“better i think.” you speculate.

“that’s lovely to hear, you will need your strength soon. the earlier it heals the better.” he states.

you don’t make a reply out to him, choosing to stay silent. you knew his courtesies were empty as you learned the hard way plus what was there to say to him? you had questions for him but you weren’t sure he was eager to answer them or he reveled in leaving you in the dark, literally or figuratively.

not to mention, you still carried a heavy baggage of anger for him. there was no space for any sort of genuine amenity between the both of you, he had threatened to murder your father and sister, although you knew it was an effort to coerce you to follow his demands but you couldn’t help but feel that they weren’t empty threats.

you knew caine, he was an old friend of john’s and you also knew that the marquis was free to command him where to go and who to kill under the threat of murdering his daughter. you wince at this, as much as you knew that bloodshed often led to messier circumstances, you knew that as long as the marquis lived he could pull that card on you to make you obey.

who knows how much more you would have to sacrifice just to obey his whim? his words left a heavy impact on you, it had plagued you day and night which you anticipate was what the marquis wanted. you had written the letter to your father out of fear for their lives. your fear and fury was balanced, the more fear you felt the more fuel for your fury towards him.

that’s good, you’ll need all of that to get rid of him.

“does that mean i’ll stop being your prisoner?” you raise your eyebrow at him.

“prisoner? you speak of delusions, you are sitting on one of my chairs and staying in my home. you are no prisoner.” he scoffs.

you roll your eyes at him, the first lie always wins but the truth can easily cleanse that out, he can tell people whatever he likes but as long as they know of his nature your story is much more persuasive than his.

“then that means i can go home?” you ponder even if you already know the answer.

“what kind of host lets his guest leave their house injured and alone? certainly not someone like me, i insist you heal and rest.”

“the sooner i go home the sooner we can prepare for john wick’s arrival.” you firmly state.

he always liked to start conversations like this, pleasant courtesies and empty greetings, basically playing dumb.

“your father can prepare on his own, he has another daughter to help him. i wouldn’t worry too much.”

that can’t happen. you planned on seeking john wick yourself as soon as you left, you presumed that your letter might’ve brought you to the good graces of the marquis but you were clearly mistaken. you groan to yourself, your days of captivity had left you out of touch with reality and more opportunistic than before.

“are you serious?”

“i’m afraid i am.”

you want to scream at him again, you know that he’s not keeping you because of how much a gracious host he was. he was keeping you here so your father remains obedient and loyal to the high table. you were leverage, to make your father comply so that he doesn’t turn against them at the last second.

“are you so uncertain of your control that you need to make everyone bend at your will? you have forced me to my knees, what else do you want?” you ridicule him, the marquis frowns at this and rebuts.

“it is merely a precaution, mademoiselle. we must be careful with how we deal with situations like these, as you have learned.”

“my father will need me.” you state.

“you are an emissary, it is not befitting your station.”

“earlier you had this envoy shackled by chains and locked in a cell, you’ll have to be more specific to what is befitting my station.”

“the answer is no.”

you can feel anger bubbling under your skin again, although you did plan to enact your plan of revenge on him. you can’t help but feel rage at his stubbornness. once you finally sought john wick, you planned to help him challenge the marquis in a duel. something the marquis surely can’t refuse, his pride will definitely make him think that he has the upper hand on this but with the history of the excommunicated assassin there is little to no chance he’d be making it out alive.

he’ll probably pull a few unexpected obstacles and tricks to deter john wick but it should be a little nuisance for him, he already came this far. he wouldn’t lose by now.

“you will need all the help you can get when taking him down. it’s specifically why you have enlisted our help.” you convince him. hopefully, that should make him listen. he doesn’t like helping anyone other than himself.

“you sound too eager don’t you?” the marquis questions in suspicion.

“the earlier this is finished the sooner we can get back with our lives.” you smile.

you can shorten your time, all you would need was a few minutes with john to tell him what to do. you could make your way to winston to also help john in taking the marquis down out of vengeance for his recently departed friend and demolished hotel.

all you need to do is leave the marquis’ estate.

he quiets from your statement and sighs in resolve, “fine. i will let you go, i see no reason to refuse your request but you will arrive there with caine the moment john wick is sighted within the tokyo continental, is that understood?”

you grin in victory.

the first piece of his downfall begins.

“but rest assured mademoiselle, if i hear a whisper that you’ve turned against me the tokyo continental will be turned to ashes like the new york’s, with you and your family inside it.” he warns, with mockery and amusement on his lips.

your stomach churns in dread.

taglist: @blsmbr

author’s note: this is supposed to be a one part fic only but tumblr won’t let me copy and paste the entire thing soo…here is part 1 will post again tomorrow. :) i’m currently working on other requests so this should be quick, like and reblog also feel free to request!

[cynic-spirit]

Orchid garden iv

Yn, ever the playful spirit, decided to test John’s attentiveness and perhaps provoke a reaction. One afternoon, as she was rummaging through the kitchen cabinets, she spotted an old recipe book she wanted from the top shelf. It was just out of her reach, but that only added to the fun. She grabbed a tall stool from the corner, balancing herself precariously on it to reach the book.

She knew John was nearby, possibly within earshot, and reveled in the idea of him discovering her in this slightly risky situation. Yn stretched on tiptoe, the stool wobbling a bit under her weight. The precariousness of the situation made her heart race—not just from the physical effort but from the anticipation of John's reaction.

Just as she was about to grasp the book, John appeared seemingly out of nowhere. His expression was a mix of concern and exasperation. “Yn, what are you doing up there?” he asked, his voice laced with both authority and worry. His gaze fixed on her with an intensity that made her heart skip a beat.

Before she could even respond, John had moved to steady the stool and gently guided her down to the floor. His hands, firm yet gentle, ensured she was safe as he helped her down. Yn looked up at him with a playful grin, trying to mask the slight tinge of embarrassment she felt.

“What do you need from up there?” John asked, his tone shifting to one of calm practicality as he gestured toward the shelf.

“It’s just the recipe book,” Yn said, still grinning. “I thought I could manage.”

John shook his head slightly, a mixture of relief and disapproval in his eyes. “Don’t take such risks,” he chided gently. “Just tell me what you want, and I’ll get it for you.”

Yn couldn’t help but chuckle at his response. The way he cared, though seemingly stern, was endearing. John’s concern for her safety was palpable, and it made her feel cherished in a way that went beyond mere words.

As John reached up to retrieve the book, Yn watched him with a mix of admiration and amusement. His actions, while practical, were underscored by a deeper sentiment—one that was evident in the way he went out of his way to ensure her well-being. The subtle way he took care of her, even in such mundane tasks, revealed the depth of his feelings for her.

When he handed her the book, his gaze lingered on her with a touch of softness. “Next time, just ask,” he said, his voice gentler now. “I’d rather you stay safe.”

Yn took the book from him, her heart warmed by his protective nature. “Thank you, John,” she said, her voice tinged with gratitude and affection. The playful exchange had not only brought them closer but also highlighted the caring side of John that she cherished deeply.

----

Yn sat at her desk, her brow furrowed in concentration as she struggled with the assembly instructions for the project she was working on. The steps seemed convoluted and the diagrams were more confusing than helpful. She muttered to herself as she attempted to piece together the various components, each instruction feeling like a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit.

The frustration of the previous evening had left her feeling defeated. She’d spent hours attempting to make sense of the instructions, her patience wearing thin. The more she tried, the more tangled and chaotic the project seemed to become. Finally, she sighed in exasperation and decided to put it aside for the night. She resolved to tackle it again with a fresh perspective the next day.

When she returned to her project the following morning, Yn was greeted by an unexpected sight. The project, which had been a jumble of parts and confusion, was now fully assembled and completed with meticulous precision. Each component was perfectly in place, and the overall result was a flawless execution of what she had been trying so hard to achieve.

Yn stood in the doorway of her study, her eyes wide with disbelief. She approached the table slowly, her fingers tracing over the perfectly assembled pieces. The project was not just completed; it was assembled with a level of care and skill that she could hardly have managed herself. It was clear that someone had taken their time to ensure every detail was perfect.

As she absorbed the sight, a wave of realization washed over her. John, with his characteristic attentiveness, had noticed her struggle and taken it upon himself to complete the project for her. His understanding of her frustration and his desire to help her had led him to quietly solve the problem she had been grappling with.

Yn’s heart swelled with gratitude and affection. She felt a profound sense of appreciation for John’s gesture. The way he had taken the initiative to assist her, without any fanfare or expectation of recognition, spoke volumes about his caring nature. It wasn’t just about the finished project—it was about the thoughtfulness and dedication behind it.

With a soft smile, Yn touched the project gently, feeling the warmth of his consideration. She knew that John’s actions were a testament to the depth of his feelings for her, a silent expression of his support and love. The realization made her heart flutter with a mix of emotions—happiness, affection, and an even greater appreciation for the man she had come to cherish.

She resolved to thank him properly, her mind already planning how to express her gratitude for such a meaningful and selfless act. The project was more than just a task completed; it was a symbol of John’s unspoken care and commitment to her, and it deepened the connection between them in ways she had never fully understood until now.

-----

As Yn sat down for dinner that evening, she was focused on the meal in front of her, her thoughts drifting from the day’s events and her recent struggles in the garden. She was unaware of John’s keen observation as he noted the small, conspicuous bandaid on her finger. It was a subtle mark of her earlier encounter with the thorny weeds she had been neglecting.

John’s mind was preoccupied with a storm of concern. Although he did not mention the bandaid, his thoughts were far from idle. He knew the potential pain and irritation that could come from such minor injuries, and the sight of that small bandage stirred a protective instinct within him. He appreciated how Yn never made a fuss about such things, but it only deepened his resolve to care for her in every way possible.

Dinner proceeded with the usual quietude, punctuated by the sound of cutlery and the soft murmur of conversation. John’s silence about the bandaid was deliberate; he respected Yn’s tendency to downplay her own discomfort. But his mind was already set on taking action.

The following day, Yn came home from college feeling a mix of relief and fatigue. As she stepped into the garden, her thoughts were on other matters—perhaps grading papers or preparing lectures. She intended to take a moment to appreciate the orchids, which were her pride and joy.

To her surprise, the garden looked completely different. The thorny weeds that had previously intermingled with her orchids were now gone. The area had been meticulously cleared. The once menacing thorns were no longer a hazard, and the orchids were left unhindered and radiant.

Yn stood in awe, her gaze sweeping over the transformed garden. It was clear that someone had put a considerable amount of effort into removing every single one of those thorny weeds. The task was not only labor-intensive but required a delicate touch to avoid damaging the orchids.

She immediately thought of John. His silent gesture of kindness resonated deeply with her. It was as if he had understood not just the physical pain of the thorn but also the emotional weight of her delay in dealing with the garden. By clearing the weeds, he had not only made her physical environment better but had also alleviated a burden she hadn’t even fully realized she was carrying.

Yn walked through the garden, her heart swelling with gratitude. The sight of the pristine, thorn-free garden made her eyes misty. She knew that John’s actions were motivated by a genuine care for her well-being. The attention to detail and the quiet manner in which he had handled the task spoke volumes about his affection for her.

As Yn stood amidst the cleared garden, her eyes lingering on the vibrant orchids now free from the thorny weeds, she whispered to herself with a mixture of awe and resolve.

"Jesus, John... you are a saint," she murmured, her voice filled with genuine admiration. "I think I really am in love with you. And if you are really doing this out of love for me, then you cannot go on for long without saying it."

Her words, though spoken softly, carried a weight of truth and emotion. She felt a surge of affection that had been building within her for some time, now reaching a point where it could no longer be ignored. The meticulous care John had shown, from the restoration of her favorite book to the surprise clearing of the garden, had not only been acts of kindness but had deeply touched her heart.

Yn resolved that it was time to confront her feelings and the reality of their relationship. If John’s actions were indeed driven by love, she needed to address it openly. The unspoken emotions between them had reached a threshold where words were necessary to bridge the gap between their silent understanding and a more profound, explicit connection.

---

As Yn got out of the car , she glanced around at the familiar surroundings. The crisp morning air was filled with the usual bustle of students hurrying to their classes, their conversations forming a backdrop of youthful energy. As John approached her, he offered a warm, genuine smile, a subtle contrast to his otherwise composed and serious exterior. "Have a good day at college, Yn," he said, his voice smooth and reassuring. His eyes, usually so intense and guarded, held a softness reserved for her alone.

As John approached Yn, the murmurs and sidelong glances of the students were hard to miss. Some of the girls whispered excitedly to one another, their eyes following John as he walked. A few others were bold enough to openly admire him, their expressions ranging from admiration to curiosity. It was clear that his appearance and demeanor had made a significant impact.

Yn, standing nearby, couldn't help but notice the effect John had on the people around him. She felt a mixture of pride and self-consciousness. The way he carried himself, the confidence in his stride, and the respectful, almost reverent manner in which he interacted with her made her heart swell.

When John's car pulled up, it was hard to ignore the ripple of interest that followed. The vehicle was sleek and polished, a reflection of John's own meticulous nature. As he stepped out, the sight of him in his impeccably tailored suit captured the attention of several students. His attire was formal yet effortlessly stylish—a perfectly fitted dark suit, a crisp white shirt, and a silk tie that added a touch of sophistication. His polished dress shoes gleamed under the morning sun.

John's presence was magnetic. His tall, broad-shouldered frame seemed to exude a quiet authority and grace that drew the eyes of those around him. He moved with a natural ease, every gesture understated yet precise. There was an aura about him that suggested both power and poise, a combination that was hard to ignore.

Yn could feel the eyes of her peers on them, a mix of envy and admiration that she was all too aware of. She gave John a smile that was both grateful and shy. "Thank you, John. You really didn't have to do this."

John's response was characteristically simple. "It’s no trouble at all, Yn. I’ll be here to pick you up after your classes."

As he watched her walk towards the entrance of the college, John’s gaze lingered for a moment. He took in the sight of her disappearing into the crowd, his expression reflecting a blend of satisfaction and a deep, unspoken affection.

In the midst of the admiring glances and the murmurs of the students, John remained focused on Yn, the center of his world, the person who had managed to penetrate his carefully guarded emotional walls.

----

As Diana approached Yn with a teasing grin, she couldn't help but make a playful comment, "So someone finally decided to show off her husband! Damn, he is a fine man!!! I think some girls might have fainted just looking at him."

Yn blushed deeply, her cheeks flushing a bright shade of red. She swatted Diana lightly on the arm, trying to hide her embarrassment. "Diana, stop it! You're making me self-conscious."

Diana laughed, clearly enjoying the moment. "I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking. You’ve got yourself quite the catch, Yn. It’s hard not to notice."

Yn tried to deflect the attention, her smile betraying her amusement despite her attempt at maintaining composure. "Well, he’s just doing me a favor. He’s very attentive, that's all."

Diana raised an eyebrow, a teasing sparkle in her eyes. "Attentive, sure. But don’t think I haven’t noticed the way he looks at you. It's not just 'attentive,' it's something more."

Yn's smile softened, her thoughts drifting back to John’s gestures and the lingering touches that spoke volumes beyond words. She glanced back toward John, who was now getting back into the car, his presence still radiating a quiet confidence.

"I suppose," Yn said, her voice trailing off. "But you know how it is. It’s just… different from what I expected."

Diana's eyes sparkled with mischief as she continued her teasing. “And did you see him? Dressed up in a three-piece Armani just to drop you off at college. I mean, seriously? It’s like he’s making a statement!”

Yn’s face reddened even more, feeling a mix of embarrassment and amusement. She swatted at Diana playfully again. “Diana, stop it! He’s just being helpful. He didn’t have to dress up like that.”

Diana laughed, her voice light and playful. “Come on, Yn. It’s not every day someone makes a fashion statement just for a regular college drop-off. He’s clearly making an effort.”

Yn glanced back at John, who was now getting back into the car, his presence still commanding attention. “Well, he certainly made an impression,” she admitted, her tone softening. “But he really is just being nice.”

Diana gave her a knowing look. “Sure, sure. But don’t underestimate the power of a well-dressed man. You’ve got something special there.”

As Yn walked into the college, Diana’s teasing lingered in her mind. She couldn’t deny the warmth and appreciation she felt for John’s attention and thoughtfulness. It was a reminder of how much he meant to her and how much their relationship had grown beyond its practical beginnings.

----

As the time for John to pick Yn up approached, Diana couldn’t resist teasing her once more. She pointed out, “Looks like he’s arrived early today. And, of course, he’s waiting patiently while all the young girls here give him those looks.”

Yn glanced over to where John’s car was parked, spotting him waiting outside. His impeccable suit and commanding presence certainly drew attention. Diana continued, “Seriously, Yn, he’s looking so sexy and hot. I bet the entire girl community here is seething with envy.”

Yn tried to hide her blush, feeling a mix of embarrassment and amusement. “Diana, stop it! You’re making me feel self-conscious.”

Diana grinned, clearly enjoying the effect of her teasing. “I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking. Your husband’s got the whole campus swooning. It’s no wonder, though; he’s a total catch.”

Yn couldn’t help but smile, her eyes returning to John. His calm demeanor and confident stance were undeniably attractive. As she made her way to him, she felt a surge of pride and affection. Despite Diana’s playful comments, Yn was simply grateful for John’s thoughtful gestures and the way he made her feel cherished.

-----

John was well aware of the admiring glances and giggles directed his way from the college girls. His acute awareness of his surroundings allowed him to notice the way they looked at him—some with open admiration, others with barely concealed envy. Yet, despite the attention, his focus remained unwavering.

His eyes were locked on Yn, who was making her way toward him with a mixture of shyness and gratitude. The soft, genuine smile she wore was the only thing that mattered to him amidst the sea of youthful admiration and curiosity. John’s gaze was filled with a quiet intensity, reflecting both his affection and his devotion to her.

As Yn approached, the world seemed to narrow down to just her. The way the light played on her hair, the elegance of her stride, and the warmth of her smile—all of it captured his complete attention. While other eyes were drawn to his striking appearance and polished attire, John’s heart and mind were entirely consumed by Yn. To him, her presence was a reassuring constant in a world of fleeting admiration and superficial glances.

He didn’t let the attention from the girls distract him; instead, he stood there with a reassuring presence, focused solely on Yn. His pride and love for her were evident in the way he watched her approach, his expression softening as she neared. The outside admiration was irrelevant compared to the deep connection and affection he felt for the woman walking toward him.

---

As Yn approached the car, she could feel the intensity of the gazes from the college girls. The murmurs and hushed conversations were punctuated by occasional glances in her direction, their eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and envy. Despite the pleasant autumn weather, there was a noticeable chill in the atmosphere, amplified by the palpable sense of jealousy directed at her.

John, as if perfectly attuned to the dynamics, opened the car door with a practiced grace. His every movement exuded calm confidence, a silent declaration that he was utterly devoted to Yn. The simple, courteous gesture of holding the door for her seemed to underscore his attentiveness and consideration.

Yn felt a flush of warmth rise to her cheeks as she noticed the envious stares. The feeling of being the center of attention was both flattering and disconcerting. The girls’ admiration was unmistakable, their expressions a mix of wistfulness and intrigue. Yet, as she moved closer, she found solace in the familiar comfort of John’s presence.

John’s eyes, however, remained steadfastly on Yn, his focus unwavering. He offered her a reassuring smile, a silent promise of his unwavering affection amidst the external attention. As Yn slid into the car, the soft leather of the seat embracing her, she felt a wave of gratitude and affection for John. His gesture was more than just a physical act—it was a testament to his unwavering commitment and the special place she held in his life. The envy of the campus faded into the background, eclipsed by the genuine connection and love she shared with him.

---

As Yn settled into the plush leather seat of the car, she cast a sidelong glance at John, who was now seated behind the wheel. The interior of the car was quiet, the gentle hum of the engine a comforting backdrop to their conversation.

“John… you look nice today,” Yn remarked, her voice light and cheerful. She offered him a warm smile, her eyes reflecting genuine admiration.

John’s gaze remained on the road as he drove, but he turned his head slightly to acknowledge her comment. “Thank you,” he said, his tone calm and measured. “I wanted to look presentable for the esteemed professor.” His lips curved into a faint, reserved smile, his eyes twinkling with a hint of amusement.

Yn chuckled softly, the sound carrying a note of playful teasing. “Presentable, John? Really?” she said, shaking her head with a lighthearted grin. “I think the entire college just swooned over you.”

John glanced at her with a subtle, almost imperceptible smirk. His expression, though understated, carried an air of quiet satisfaction. “I noticed,” he admitted, his tone even but laced with a touch of dry humor. “But I assure you, my focus is entirely on you.”

Yn’s smile widened, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Well, mission accomplished then. It’s not every day I get to see my husband looking so dashing.”

John’s gaze softened as he looked at her, his eyes reflecting a depth of affection that spoke volumes despite his typically reserved demeanor. “I’m glad you think so,” he said softly. “You deserve someone who makes you feel special, even if it’s just a day out.”

Yn’s heart fluttered at his words, touched by the sincerity in his voice. “Thank you, John. It means a lot to me,” she replied, her tone gentle and appreciative. The conversation, though simple, carried an undercurrent of their growing intimacy and the deep connection they shared.

As they continued their drive, the soft hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of the car’s interior seemed to amplify the warmth between them. For a moment, the outside world and its envious glances were forgotten, replaced by the simple pleasure of being together.

----

The following day, as the first light of morning filtered through the elegant windows of John’s mansion, he was impeccably dressed and ready. The three-piece suit he wore was a rich charcoal gray, tailored to perfection. The vest fit snugly under the jacket, and the crisp white dress shirt peeked out from beneath a sophisticated tie. His polished black shoes completed the ensemble, their shine reflecting the soft glow of the early light.

John stood by the front door, his posture straight and dignified, exuding an air of effortless elegance. His usually stoic demeanor was softened by a subtle, yet genuine smile as he awaited Yn. He glanced at his watch, noting the time, and then looked up as Yn’s footsteps approached.

Yn emerged from the hallway, her presence a striking contrast to John’s formality. She was equally polished, her outfit complementing John’s suit in a sophisticated manner. She wore a tailored navy dress that accentuated her figure while maintaining an air of refined elegance. Her hair was styled neatly, and a delicate necklace added a touch of understated glamour.

As she entered the room, her eyes met John’s, and a bright, appreciative smile spread across her face. She took in the sight of him—his meticulous dress and the polished demeanor—and couldn’t help but feel a swell of admiration. “John, you look incredible,” she said, her voice filled with genuine warmth and a hint of playful teasing.

John’s smile widened slightly at her compliment, a rare show of affection that made his eyes twinkle with an affectionate gleam. “Thank you, Yn,” he replied, his tone soft yet confident. “I wanted to match your elegance today.”

Yn’s cheeks flushed with pleasure at his words. She took a moment to admire how the suit accentuated his strong frame, the tailored lines emphasizing his broad shoulders and the authoritative air he carried. It was clear that John had put as much thought into his appearance as he always did into everything else.

As they walked to the car together, John opened the door for Yn with a courteous gesture, and she slid into the seat with grace. The brief but intimate exchange between them was underscored by a shared understanding and mutual respect.

John’s eyes lingered on Yn as she settled into the car, his gaze reflecting a deep, unspoken admiration. He closed the door gently, then took his place behind the wheel, his movements precise and deliberate.

The drive to college was marked by a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the hum of the engine and the occasional exchange of glances. The morning sun cast a warm glow over the car’s interior, highlighting the ease and affection that had become a hallmark of their evolving relationship. As they ventured out, the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them in a cocoon of shared moments and unspoken understanding.

As John and Yn arrived at the college, the sleek black luxury sedan came to a smooth stop in front of the bustling entrance. The vehicle's glossy exterior caught the sunlight, adding an extra layer of sophistication to John’s already impressive presence.

John stepped out of the car, his tailored suit and polished shoes making an immediate impact. The college grounds, usually filled with the hum of student chatter and the bustle of everyday activities, seemed to momentarily pause as John emerged. Heads turned, and a noticeable buzz of excitement rippled through the crowd. The students, familiar with the occasional sight of high-profile figures due to the college’s elite reputation, couldn’t help but be captivated by the blend of John’s charisma and the luxury of his car.

Groups of students, both male and female, whispered among themselves, their eyes following John as he moved with an effortless grace. Some exchanged envious glances, while others openly gawked, their admiration palpable. A few students approached, attempting to discreetly catch a glimpse or snap a quick photo with their phones. The admiration wasn’t just for the car but for the man who exuded such an aura of authority and style.

Yn, accustomed to the attention John drew, watched with a mix of amusement and appreciation. She noted the way John handled himself—graciously, with a reserved but noticeable pride that seemed to make the admiration even more pronounced.

As John opened the door for Yn to exit, he smiled at her, his expression warm and genuine. “Have a great day at college today. I’ll be on time to pick you up,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring.

Yn stepped out of the car, the students’ eyes still following her as she moved. She glanced back at John, her face illuminated by a soft smile. “Thank you, John,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of gratitude and affection.

Before she turned to head towards her classes, Yn paused and looked back at John with a glimmer of excitement in her eyes. “Hey John, when you come to pick me up, there’s something I want to show you here at college. Remind me,” she said, her tone carrying an intriguing blend of eagerness and mystery.

John’s eyes softened as he responded, a small, knowing smile on his lips. “I will, Yn. I’ll be looking forward to it,” he said, his voice carrying a note of genuine interest.

As Yn turned and walked towards the college, her steps were light and purposeful. She could feel the lingering gazes of the students, and she couldn't help but feel a mix of pride and nervous anticipation for the moment she had planned. John, meanwhile, watched her with a sense of contentment, knowing that his presence, though attracting considerable attention, was a testament to the connection he and Yn shared.

In the staff room, Diana watched from the window as John stood beside the sleek luxury sedan, his tailored three-piece suit creating a striking contrast against the college’s everyday hustle. She couldn’t resist teasing Yn, who was at her desk, deep in grading papers.

Diana grinned and called out, “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Mrs. Armani herself!”

Yn looked up, clearly annoyed but trying to maintain her composure. “Shut up, Diana,” she muttered, her cheeks flushing slightly.

Diana continued, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm, “Seriously, Yn, he’s dressed up in a three-piece suit just to drop you off and pick you up. And he opens doors for you! Argh, I’m so jealous. How are you still not in love with him?”

Yn’s face turned a deeper shade of red as she shot Diana a sharp look. “Shut up, Diana,” she said again, this time with more emphasis. “You know the situation is complicated.”

Diana wasn’t done yet. “He’s so sexy! You shouldn’t leave his bedroom at all,” she teased, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Yn groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Jesus, Diana, please stop.”

Diana leaned closer, her voice lowered but still teasing. “Come on, Yn. All the girls here were practically drooling, and some of the boys too. It’s like they’ve never seen a man in a suit before!”

Yn sighed, trying to refocus on her work. “You know it’s not that simple. The situation is complex, and we’re just…” She trailed off, struggling to find the right words.

Diana rolled her eyes playfully. “You’re just what? Stubbornly ignoring the obvious? Look, I get it, but come on. He’s clearly into you. It’s more than just a practical arrangement at this point. You can’t deny the chemistry.”

Yn bit her lip, clearly conflicted. “I know it’s complicated, but it’s not that easy. And besides, I don’t want to make things awkward between us.”

Diana softened her tone slightly, seeing the genuine concern in Yn’s eyes. “I get it, Yn. But sometimes, you’ve got to stop overthinking and just go with what feels right. You deserve to be happy.”

Yn looked down at her papers, her mind swirling with thoughts of John and the recent events. “Thanks, Diana. I’ll think about it.”

Diana gave her a sympathetic smile. “Anytime, Yn. Just remember, sometimes the best things come when you least expect them. And if you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”

Yn nodded, grateful for her friend’s support, even if it came with a generous helping of teasing. As Diana returned to her work, Yn found herself lost in thought, contemplating the complexities of her feelings and the relationship with John.

----

As John arrived to pick up Yn, he stepped out of the car and approached her with his usual poised demeanor. His eyes, however, held a hint of curiosity and warmth as he saw Yn approaching with a light, carefree smile.

“What is it that you want to show me?” John asked, his voice gentle but inquisitive.

Yn, her cheeks slightly flushed from the day's activities, opened the car door and began placing her belongings inside. “Oh, it’s nothing too grand,” she said, glancing up at him with a hint of mischief. “There’s a beautiful lake behind our campus. I just felt like walking with you for a while before we head back.”

John’s face lit up with an appreciative smile. “That sounds wonderful,” he replied, genuinely interested. “I’d love to.”

With her things secured in the car, Yn led the way, and John followed closely behind. They walked together towards the edge of the campus, where a winding path led to the serene lake. The air was crisp and cool, with the late afternoon sun casting a golden glow over the tranquil water.

As they approached the lake, Yn pointed to a bench under a canopy of trees. “I thought we could sit there for a bit. It’s a peaceful spot, and I thought it would be nice to share it with you.”

John nodded, his gaze appreciating the serene beauty of the place. “It’s beautiful,” he said, taking in the view of the gently rippling lake and the lush greenery surrounding it.

As they began their walk around the lake, John offered his arm to Yn with a gentle, almost unspoken grace. Yn looked up, a soft smile playing on her lips, and took his arm, letting it rest comfortably against her own. The gesture was tender, yet spoke volumes about their growing connection.

Their steps fell into a comfortable rhythm as they strolled along the path, the lake’s gentle ripples mirroring the tranquility between them. Every now and then, a student would approach them, recognizing Yn and offering a polite greeting. “Good evening, Professor Yn,” they would say with a respectful nod.

Yn responded with her characteristic warmth, nodding and returning the greeting with a smile. Each interaction, though brief, seemed to underscore her esteemed position and the affection her students held for her.

John observed Yn’s interactions with a quiet admiration. He noticed how she carried herself with grace and how her genuine demeanor made each student feel seen and acknowledged. He was particularly struck by how naturally she blended her professional role with the personal connection they were sharing.

As they walked, John glanced at Yn and asked, “Do you like this, Yn? The greetings, the respect?”

Yn looked at him, her eyes reflecting a mix of modesty and satisfaction. “I do. It’s nice to feel appreciated and to be recognized for the work I do. But sometimes, it’s nice to escape from it all, like now, when we can just enjoy a simple walk together.”

John nodded, appreciating her perspective. “I understand. It’s wonderful to see how much your students respect you. It speaks to your dedication and kindness.”

Yn smiled, squeezing his arm gently. “Thank you, John. That means a lot coming from you.”

They continued their walk, the conversation flowing easily between them. The path was lined with tall trees, their leaves rustling softly in the breeze. The sun had dipped lower, casting a golden hue over the landscape. The ambiance was serene, and John felt a deep sense of contentment, enjoying both the beauty of the surroundings and the closeness of Yn by his side.

With each passing moment, John grew more certain of his feelings for Yn. The walk by the lake, with its peaceful setting and shared intimacy, had reinforced his sense of connection and his growing affection for her.

John looked around, taking in the serene beauty of the lake and the soft glow of the setting sun. He then turned to Yn, his eyes reflecting a deeper, more personal sentiment.

How do you find this place John? yn asks

“I find it quite enchanting,” he said, his voice gentle. “But what makes it truly special is sharing it with someone who makes every moment feel even more meaningful.”

Yn's heart fluttered at his words, sensing the subtle, yet profound, undercurrent of his feelings. She smiled, touched by the sentiment.

As they continued walking slowly towards the car, the silence between them was filled with a comfortable warmth. John’s arm remained gently draped around Yn, and she felt a growing closeness that made the simple act of walking together feel deeply intimate. The evening air was cool and soothing, and the lake's reflective surface seemed to mirror the quiet, yet intense connection forming between them.

As John and Yn walked along the path, Diana, coming from the opposite direction, spotted them and couldn’t resist a playful remark. Her eyes twinkled with mischief as she approached.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the lovebirds,” Diana teased, her tone light and teasing. “Enjoying the stroll?”

John, with his usual calm demeanor, greeted her with a warm smile. “Diana, always a pleasure,” he said, his gaze briefly shifting to Yn with a hint of affection before returning to Diana. “I’m merely trying to match my wife’s elegance.”

Diana raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Well, you’re certainly raising the standards around here. You nearly have every woman on campus having a heart attack,” she teased, giving John a playful nudge.

John chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked at Diana. “I assure you, Diana, it’s all for the sake of maintaining balance. And besides, it’s a joy to be here with Yn.”

Yn blushed slightly at the comment, her hand gently resting against John's arm. Diana's eyes softened at the sight, understanding the affection between them.

“Alright, you two,” Diana said, her tone warm. “Enjoy your evening. And try not to cause too much excitement around here.”

With a final wink, Diana continued on her way, leaving John and Yn to their quiet, intimate stroll. The air around them felt lighter, filled with the soft rustling of leaves and the distant hum of campus life fading away.

As the evening sky began to darken, casting a soft, golden glow over the landscape, Yn looked up at John with a gentle smile. “Should we go back?” she asked softly, her voice almost a whisper against the serene backdrop of the setting sun.

John turned to her, his gaze warm and affectionate. “Of course,” he replied, his tone equally soft. He offered his arm once more, and Yn took it, feeling the comforting steadiness of his presence.

They began walking back towards the car, the path now bathed in the twilight's embrace. The air was cool, carrying the scent of blooming flowers and freshly cut grass. The soft crunch of gravel underfoot was the only sound that accompanied their quiet conversation, their steps in sync with each other.

John’s attention remained focused on Yn, his heart filled with a deep contentment. As they reached the car, he opened the door for her, his gestures as attentive and caring as ever. Yn settled into the seat, her eyes reflecting the fading light as she looked up at John with a tender smile.

As they arrived home, the evening’s tranquil ambiance lingered, casting a calm over their usual routine. John and Yn went through the familiar motions of freshening up, but there was a subtle shift in the air—a quiet, unspoken understanding that today had changed something between them.

Yn, still feeling the warmth of their walk and the closeness they shared, moved with a newfound lightness. She changed into comfortable clothes, the soft fabric a contrast to the crisp, tailored outfits of the day. As she made her way to the kitchen, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, mingling with the soft sound of John preparing their usual evening brew.

John, for his part, was unusually serene. His actions, though routine, were infused with a gentle attentiveness. He poured the coffee with care, his movements deliberate and smooth. He set the cups down with a sense of purpose, his eyes often flicking towards Yn, as if to reassure himself of her presence and the newfound intimacy they had shared.

When Yn joined him at the table, the space between them felt different—less formal, more personal. They sat close, their chairs almost touching, the distance between them diminished in a way that spoke of a deeper connection. The usual banter was replaced by a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the occasional shared glance and the soft clinking of their coffee cups.

John’s heart was full, his love for Yn swelling with each passing moment. He looked at her with a profound sense of contentment, feeling that the walls of formality that had once stood between them had indeed been lowered. The walk by the lake had been more than just a leisurely stroll; it had been a moment of genuine connection, where barriers had softened and true feelings had begun to surface.

Yn, too, felt the change. There was a comforting familiarity in John’s presence, a sense of being truly seen and understood. She noticed the way he looked at her, with an intensity that spoke of deep affection and care. The evening had brought them closer, the shared experience forging a bond that felt more real and enduring.

As they sipped their coffee in the soft glow of the kitchen light, both John and Yn savored the moment. The routine, while familiar, now carried a new significance. It was not just about the daily rituals but about the subtle, powerful connection they were building. The walls that had once kept them apart were now down, and in their place was a burgeoning intimacy that promised to grow deeper with each passing day.

[hope-to-hell]

John Wick. The one good thing about being alone with nothing to do. Smut, masturbation, blood, blood as lube, spit as lube. He’s got a little downtime alone. What’s a man to do but take the edge off?

This began as a single, very specific mental image that then, naturally, needed a story to go with it.

———

The house always wins. You can’t fight fate. All that is, and was, will be again. The lesson’s on an infinite loop, round and round like ribbon, like rope, and yeah, sure. Maybe it’s true: maybe our lives are measured by blood moving through the body one heartbeat at a time. But it’s not like there’s nothing beyond the chains of fate— there has to be something that makes this all worthwhile, something beyond the gilded cage of order. Even if it’s just a single moment— one spark in the darkness—

One blinding white jolt of pleasure, brutal and unforgiving, a tracery of veins crossing your vision and oh, Johnny boy, there’s always one more, one more

One more

One more job (one more stroke)

and it’ll be done. You’re gonna go out wet and sticky, maybe moaning a little, more likely stoic and silent. But, hey. You’ve got a little time, old friend, so go ahead and lean back; try to pull the iron from your spine far enough to curl in and over yourself. The wall’s cold— these rooms aren’t made for comfort, after all— but soon it’ll be blood-warm in the shape of your body. Take a few breaths and slide down down down til your ass is freezing on the floor; your seat’s all shivery-wet but the rest of you’s still soaked anyhow so who gives a fuck.

And anyway, you look like hell but that’s a distant concern; if— when— this ends you can patch yourself up, butterfly bandages and rough stitches telling the story of this long night. But while you’re here with nothing to do but wait, how about you take the edge off a little? After all, with the way you’re straining at your trousers, it’s a wonder you’ve been able to think at all. You’re a man of focus, right? Focus on yourself a minute. Get your mind quiet so you can put your thoughts in order. So open your fly and feel the cool air on your cock; swipe your hand across the wound that’s oozing sluggish on your belly. Fuckin hurts, right? That’s okay. Look at how you’re already twitching with anticipation.

There’s nothing like a palm full of blood to get things going; it’s still a rough burn but it just looks so pretty on your cock, doesn’t it? Savor it. Admire the way it streaks bright across your knuckles and drips along your shaft. Yeah, yeah. You’re itching to spit, to see if you can get it right on the head cause it just feels so dirty when you twist and drag your hand to spread it around.

And you are not going to think about— no. Don’t even think of what (who) you’re doing your damnedest to keep out of your head. Blank it all out. Put that focus to good use— this is between you and your hand. Go ahead and tighten your grip just that little bit more. Grab the bud of that dirty shameful little thought and crush it before it can bloom. You’re gonna need a clear head, and isn’t that what this is all about? Weeding out distractions?

Nevermind the way need ripples down your spine when you see yourself all red and white, sticky and twitching and oh, John, baby, that nasty deep-down voice is saying these hands of yours weren’t made for gentleness and maybe that’s so; but you’ve had five years to give yourself some balance and don’t you dare lose that part of yourself now. Nevermind the calluses on your thumb and fingers, raised in the shape of a pistol grip, and how their friction is so fucking sweet. There’s something you need. Dig down and root it out.

‘Course, you’re still listening for muffled footfalls just outside; you may be stuck in the liminal space between one firefight and the next, but you never really rest. You’ve got so many what-ifs and contingencies racing through your head. Aren’t you tired, trying to find a single path through it all? Yeah, you’re worn to the bone but that’s the life. You get through one way or another, even when you’re worn down to nothing but wet red footprints on the tile.

Hey, Johnny boy—you disaster, you gorgeous ruthless singleminded sonuvabitch— do you feel that? The gold thread at the base of your spine coiling tighter and tighter but not quite breaking? That’s your climax just out of reach, the candle wick that’s just a hair’s breadth too far from the flame. That’s clarity. You know what you need to get there: a little more spit for slick, tinged red from the sting of a split lip, maybe another drag through the slow bleed on your belly. Hold your breath. Curl your toes inside your shoes. Focus. Take all those aches and pains, those cuts and stabs, those bone-deep bruises. Gather them up and pour them into your hand.

That’s it. That’s good— you’re so very nearly there. Your balls are drawn up so damned tight, you’re like a gift to be torn open. All you need’s a little ribbon and a tag: to John, from your right hand. Keep holding your breath until the edges of your vision haze out— there’s that focus, that pure unadulterated will that keeps you going until you’re ready to give. The precipice is right there, knife-sharp, waiting. Go ahead—

exhale—

And fall.

There, now. Doesn’t that feel better? Sure, you’re a little sticky but it’s not like it matters. You’re filthy already, so a little semen’s just another drop in a deep well. Tuck yourself away and prick your ears for the sound of distant footsteps. Someone’s coming.

[97keanu]

₊‧꒰ঌ ໒꒱‧ ° Hi all! I made this community group on here for keanuverse fan fiction/fandom writers/readers to share fanfiction/fanart/etc.

I'm hoping it can be used to promote community members work and as a good way to stay in touch in the fandom! Potention for collabs, community wide events, or other fun ways to get to meet new people in the fandom. Beta readers/editors welcome!

If you're at all interested in joining link is here !