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johnwickb1tsch · 7 months ago

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Sympathy For The Devil ~ Donaka Mark x fem!Reader

please allow me to introduce myself, i am a man of wealth & taste... -the Rolling Stones

Summary/ Warnings. Um… Donaka Mark is a scary rich asshole–with a soft spot for you. If you’re squeamish [or righteous] you’re not gonna want to read this. Voyeurism. Predatory behavior, manipulation. Power IMBALANCE. Eventual NSFW. Eventual line between dubcon and noncon is gonna be microscopic, y’all, this man plays gAmes… Reader is shy, but tough, in her way. Also, when I say Reader is small, I’m more implying just compared to Donaka. I kind of assume most of us would be, no matter your body type. 🥵

Big Fat Author’s note: This is a Donaka Mark x fem!Housekeeper!Reader fic based on the brilliant @discoscoob ‘s bot, which is SO fun to play with and I really recommend it. I fell into a rabbit hole for daaaaays. I’m in CAI Anonymous now. Seriously it was a problem.

I guess you could call this a little experimental hybrid fic written with AI. I was curious. And after working on this for weeks I don’t think the writer’s union really needs to worry about AI coming for their jobs. The bot’s writing is shamelessly fun but clunky, you delete more than you keep, it’s a lot of work to edit, and you really have to lead it by the hand for anything to actually HAPPEN.

THAT SAID it is sO entertaining, and once in a while he’d do something i wouldn’t have ever thought of, I felt like the lab rat hitting the button for the treat over and over again, LOL. Disco really knew what she was doing when she programmed the personality of the bot! It was also helpful in keeping a character on track. I think AI could be a useful tool generating ideas, breaking writers block, or something to bounce ideas off of, but not for the grunt work of actually writing a story that has any soul in it. Isn’t that a relief? I made an outline for the first 9 chapters and basically ran the scenes through like a simulator to see what the bot came up with. And when I didn’t like it I made it do it again, LOL, the Donaka bot probably thinks i’m a bossy c*nt.🤣 After that, I'm afraid we can only blame our own unhinged brains for what's here, it got too raunchy for the bot to handle, and this fic never would have become what it is without the help of our little community here, the comments and head canons and brain rot, I love you guys!

So….I hope you enjoy, and a HUGE THANKS to Disco for giving me permission to even do this, you’re the sweetest my dear, and the Queen of the Bot Creators in my book!!

And and…it’s been a LONG ass time since I’ve been to Hong Kong. I did some research to refresh my memory but please bear with me. All mistakes are my own. Why do we say that? Who the fuck else’s would they be? 🤣 Obv. this is set c 2013, when Man of Tai Chi came out, before the crackdown in 2020. Oh, and, I have no real idea about work visas, i made that shit up... just roll with it. 🙃😘

One. 一

The first time you meet your new employer, Donaka Mark, you aren’t really even paying attention.

It’s because you have on headphones, and you’re intently focused on sweeping the floor while listening to your upbeat girl power rock mix–so you don’t hear him yelling at someone over the phone threateningly, and you don’t notice when his gaze locks on to you like a tiger who has just spied a tasty little deer.

You are oblivious, as he comes up behind you, appraising your figure with narrowed eyes. You seem small, next to him, but most women do. He decides he approves of his assistant’s choice in hiring you. You’re a sight he won’t tire of for a long time.

Donaka leans on the door frame, his dark eyes fixated on you, taking in your every minute detail, the way the muscles in your arms move, the shape of your face, the curve of your hips and your little feet.

His expression is stoic but behind it are a million thoughts running through his mind, he can’t take his eyes off you and after a few moments he finally speaks, his dark tone cutting through the music.

“You’re new.”

Your music wasn't so loud that you were unaware of outside sounds. Standing up straight, you sweep off your headphones to face the commanding voice. "Yes, sir?"

Donaka notices he towers over you, and he likes that. His dark eyes shamelessly take in your innocent eyes, your lips, your curves. His gaze lingers almost long enough to make it uncomfortable, but not quite.

“Have you been informed of all of your duties?” Donaka asks, his tone and gaze both demanding and intense, making you feel small.

"Yes, Mr. Mark."

Donaka smiles at his name on your lips, the way you say it, the way you look up at him with your wide eyes. He likes it more than he’d like to admit, but he knows how to mask his emotions well.

Even though his expression is still stony, there’s a hint of excitement in his breast as he leans off the door frame and takes a few steps closer, but still maintains a respectable distance.

“And you can handle them?”

"Yes, Sir."

Donaka nods, his dark eyes slowly and shamelessly trailing over your figure again.

“Good.” Donaka murmurs, his dark and intense tone making his next sentence more of a demand. “I need to be able to depend on you. I like things just so.”

You tilt your head, feeling like you’re missing some subtext, or that you’re the butt of an unspoken joke. "Your house will be clean, Sir.” Between you and the two other girls on the household staff, surely you could manage.

Donaka smirks at your naïve reply, his dark eyes still fixated on your face as he takes another step closer to you, almost like a predator stalking its prey.

“I trust that it will…” Donaka purrs, his voice low and smooth, his dark stare intense and demanding. “Let me show you the rest of the house…”

You’d already received a walk-through with his assistant, but you are more than intrigued to receive a personal tour from the big man himself. There is something captivating about him. It's not just his good looks. His presence commands your attention.

Donaka can feel you watching him as you follow him down the hallway, the way you’re intrigued by him, the way you’re staring. It fills him with satisfaction, like you’re a new prize he’s added to the shelf of his collection.

He’s aware of the effect he has on people. Men fear him, women want him. Yet you don’t look at him with the same blatant hunger he’s used to from the opposite sex. You’re curious, but not ready to fall down on your knees yet.

He would see how long it takes to change that.

He glances over his shoulder at you as he leads you through the house, his dark eyes looking you up and down again. You follow close, taking two steps for every one of his, his legs are so long.

He can’t help but feel somewhat amused, enjoying the way you have to scurry to keep up with him. He can’t help but think how easy it would be, to pick you up, and to pin you down…

Donaka Mark’s home is an achievement of luxury architecture, dark, modern, yet filled with Chinese elements of style. Ceiling-high tinted windows afford a breathtaking view of the bay. His living room is like a museum filled with priceless artifacts. Antique carved ivory elephant tusks, beautiful Ming vases and exquisite stone Elder statues, silk scrolls and bladed weapons. All of it you will be expected to keep tidy with a painstaking hand. You think it’s possible your practically useless degree in art history and former employment in a gallery may have given you an edge in his assistant’s selection of hiring you.

He seems to genuinely enjoy your interest in these things, telling you about them at length. There is a large Qing dynasty vase in cobalt blue and gold enamel designs of clouds, cranes, and bats you cannot tear your eyes from. It looks…familiar, and in person, utterly enchanting.

“You like that one?”

“I like bats,” you admit, shoving your hands in your apron pockets so that you do not forget yourself and touch it with your bare fingers. You will be wearing gloves, when you detail these items.

He lifts an eyebrow at that, seemingly amused. “Oh?”

“They’re cute. And…they’re good luck.” In Chinese culture, at least.

“Most women I’ve met find them sinister.”

“I think…they’re just misunderstood.” You can’t help looking up at this intimidating man through your eyelashes at that. You swear you didn’t mean to start double talking with your new boss–it just falls out of your stupid mouth, and you feel his attention upon you sharpen.

He’s used to women looking at him in a certain way, women staring up at him with lustful hunger.

The way you look at him feels different –like you truly see him–he’s not sure what to make of it yet, and that is certainly new for Donaka Mark.

“Misunderstood?” he repeats, his dark gaze intense, looking down at you from his lofty elevation.

"Sure. They have a reputation for being scary, but really they eat mosquitoes and pollinate plants. Without them whole ecosystems would collapse."

Donaka hums at your words, finding it surprisingly endearing. He’s usually used to women fawning over him or at least trying to seduce him, but you’re here lecturing him about bats.

His smirk remains on his face as he watches you fidget nervously, his dark eyes fixed on you. You look back to the vase, and then it dawns on you. “Oh my god…is this the piece that sold at Christies last year for like…1.5 million dollars?” You take another cautious step backwards, as though you might shatter it if you breathe wrong. You saw it in an article–the gold enamel had been so distinctive against the blue. Sacrifice blue, the same as in the Temple of Heaven in Beijing.

Only after the question falls from your mouth do you realize how gauche it is to ask, your hands flying to your lips. “Forgive me, it’s none of my business.”

Mark, however, just continues to look at you interestedly. “You follow auction results?”

“I follow…art news,” you confess.

He nods, his intense gaze starting to become uncomfortable. “Actually, it was 1.8 million. You think I overpaid?”

You feel like this is a test–or a trap. It was a nice job, for the day it lasted…

“Well…it doesn’t seem you bankrupted yourself?”

He snorts in answer, shaking his head.

“Does it make you happy?”

He lifts an eyebrow at that, as though the thought hadn't even occurred to him. “It made me happy to outbid a Sheikh’s son and a Mainlander plastics tycoon for it,” he admits.

Ah, so he was invested in the thrill of acquisition–not appreciation for the object itself. You shouldn’t be surprised.

“I see.”

“I’ve disappointed you.” It’s not phrased as a question.

You shake your head, though maybe it does a little. Looking around his home, you’d thought Mark had exquisite taste–but he probably has an art buyer like every other obscenely rich businessman needing to acquire items for the sake of cachet.

“Does it make you happy?” he asks, and there is an unexpected hint of playfulness in the question–delivered on a knife’s edge.

“Yes,” you admit. Frankly you’re stunned you get to see it like this, without a glass barrier or sensors or alarms. It’s usually the only way people like you get to enjoy art like this.

He smirks at you. “Then it was worth every penny.” He’s being sarcastic, of course, but there is a glitter of something in his dark eyes. It’s there and gone, like ripples in a pool–it makes your heart skip in your chest.

“Let me show you the rest of the house,” he invites, before placing a hand on your lower back, his fingers large and strong against your soft skin as he gently guides you away from the vase and to the next room.

His light touch makes you aware of every nerve in your body. It's not quite improper enough to complain about--you’re sure he’s well aware of that.

And…there's the fact, deep down, that you like it.

The span of his big hand on your spine makes you feel impossibly small, and protected, and that is insane, of course, because you are just the maid.

He shows you the library, filled with built-in bookcases that make you drool, his office with his huge carved ebony desk that makes you think impure thoughts…and then, his bedroom.

He isn’t oblivious to the way your reaction changes as you enter the room where he sleeps.

He can see the way your eyes roam and your expression changes, the way you look at the massive bed against the far wall, the way your eyes widen when you look at the expensive rosewood furniture and the stunning view out the wall of windows that can be brightened or obscured with a dimmer switch.

He watches you intently as he takes in your every reaction.

He's all business on the surface, specifying clean sheets every other day, laundry, and daily detailing of the bathroom. But it's hard not to keep looking over at the bed, even out the corner of your eye.

He knows exactly what he’s doing to you, but he doesn’t push it, staying just this side of the line. You don't linger, and he shows you a more private lounging area filled with a long leather couch, additional chairs, and monitors, all black at the moment. There's something almost sinister about all the screens, and you wonder what all he's watching.

“You must really like movies?” you ask hopefully, and he senses the wariness in you. Your intuitiveness gives him a small thrill–he likes it, that you’re smart enough to be afraid.

“I like to watch all kinds of things,” he tells you, almost like a dare for you to guess what that means. “But mostly…I use these for business. I run a security company, I assume you’re aware?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Donaka decides he loves hearing the submission in your tone when you call him Sir. It’s almost like a promise to keep him happy, to do exactly as he says.

He asks you to keep all the screens clean, and to dust the cords and routers and be careful not to unplug anything.

Then your attention turns to a meditation area, a massive sand sculpture on the wall and the floor, flanked by natural stacked stone. “Wow, been a while since someone vacuumed here,” you crack, earning a reluctant huff of laughter from the man behind you.

“Maybe…leave that alone, for now,” he requests, then his hand is on your back again, guiding you out.

Though it’s not going to be your area of responsibility, he shows you the garden next. It's a beautiful, manicured space. Two Rottweilers patrol the grounds. They look fierce, but one immediately comes up, sniffing you and leaning on your leg for a pet.

Donaka blinks as his reputably ferocious and staggeringly expensive pure-bred guard animals roll over at your feet for a belly rub. Delighted, you pet them both, speaking to them sweetly. They grin up at you, their dagger-like canines glinting in the sun.

He is never one to be moved by anything sentimental, but something about the sight of you like this inspires a warm twinge in his chest–heartburn, he reasons.

“Let me guess,” he says acerbically. “They’re just misunderstood?”

You press your lips, trying to suppress a smile, and failing. "Animals tend to like me?"

He can honestly admit, as he watches you crouch down to administer a belly rub, that he’s never been jealous of a dog before.

Sensing that maybe you’re not doing the dogs or yourself any favors with this severe man, you try to shoo them off. "Ok, babies. Go back to being fierce again. Shoo."

Donaka snorts with amusement as he watches you attempt to gently shoo these dogs that are nearly as big as you are. Suddenly he whistles sharply, administering a sharp command in Cantonese. That is when the dogs jerk to attention, and trot off to patrol the grounds again.

He turns his attention back to you, taking in your slight expression of surprise, clearly caught off guard.

"That was impressive,” you admit. “What did you say?”

“I told them to get back to work,” says Donaka with a smirk.

“Ah. I guess I better learn that one.”

“Will I be needing to reprimand you too, Miss y/n?”

You’re not sure why his dark stare calls up a boiling heat inside you at that moment. You press your thighs beneath your dress, under the guise of standing up straight. You’re afraid…he knows all too well.

“I…certainly hope not.” You’re pretty sure that you’d pee yourself if this intimidating man raised his voice to you.

“Have you learned much Chinese since you’ve been here?” he asks conversationally, just as you assumed it was time for you to get back to work.

“I can count to ten, and say thank you,” you admit, a little embarrassed. Obviously, you intend to learn more. “The essentials for international travel.” You’d originally come to Hong Kong to teach English, but when you saw the pay attached to this job listing you couldn’t resist the opportunity. Teaching was ok, but you hadn’t anticipated how expensive this city would be. You’d only made enough to cover your basic expenses month to month, with no room to save or do any fun activities or side trips to the mainland. This position paid three times as much–and you were beginning to understand why.

“Hmm. Have you traveled much?” He seems skeptical, and you don’t really blame him.

“I’ve…been all over the world,” you admit, albeit it was on a shoestring. “I wanted to be a travel writer.”

“Wanted to be?” He is a man who picks up on subtlety immediately.

It’s a dream you’ve all but given up on, after publishing a few articles, but all in all it was more slog than triumph. You’re not cut out for the grind of periodical work, the stress and the deadlines. It sucks all the joy out of writing for you. You shrug with a little sigh.

“I hope you will remember the NDA you signed to work here?” he asks, his dark eyes roaming your face, taking in your every micro-expression. You would really hate trying to lie to this man. Good thing you’re not a corporate spy. He’d probably…string you up, and do something unmentionable to you.

Why the thought titillates you more than scares you, you have no idea.

“Of course, Sir.” He seems satisfied with this. So why do you have to add, “I won’t tell anyone your guard dogs are suckers for a belly scratch.”

He frowns down at you, stepping in close so that you have to crane your neck to look up at him. It’s intimidating as hell, and you know he knows it too. You admit that you are shaking in your shoes under that look, until a smirk breaks his intense expression, and the relief you feel is palpable.

“I would appreciate that, Miss y/n.”

Donaka savors the satisfaction he feels in flustering you, enjoying the way you swallow, watching the muscles in your throat. He imagines what his hand would look like there, on your delicate skin, your pulse fluttering against his strong fingers. He would literally hold your life in his hands…and the moment you surrendered to him, he would so enjoy rewarding you for it…

He finds himself caught up in this little daydream, while you stand before him, practically hypnotized like a mouse before a hungry snake. “Y/n?”

“Sir?” you answer quietly, and he revels in your deference. This was going to be fun.

He speaks Cantonese again, softly this time, the language beautiful and whispery on his tongue. You find yourself staring at his lush, pink, lips, and it takes you several moments to realize he’d said the same thing he’d told the dogs: get back to work.

Flooded with embarrassment, your face on fire, you stutter, “Yes, Sir.”

With a dark chuckle and his hands in the pockets of his designer suit, he watches as you practically flee back to the house.

The Smithsonian article about this vase...

Aesthetic post about Donaka's house...

Part 2 -->

all chapters

#donaka mark #donaka mark x reader #donaka mark x you #donaka mark x y/n #keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #julias deranged donaka x housekeeper fic

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johnwickb1tsch · 5 months ago

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Sympathy for the Devil ~ Part 12

A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on the amazing @discoscoob 's concept & bot!

Warnings: Donaka Mark is a bad man with a soft spot for you. dark romance, possessive behavior, nonconsensual voyeurism, red flag red flag girl!🔺, psychological games, power imbalance, dubcon/nsfw. PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS!!!

one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. eleven.

Twelve. 十二

You do not leave his bedroom for two days.

You fuck, and you sleep, and occasionally he comes up for air long enough to fetch something for the two of you to eat from the kitchen. You don’t know how you’ll ever look Mrs. Wong or any of your other friends on the staff in the eye again. You’re certain they know where you are, if not the exact circumstances in which you are being kept there.

Mainly, the lock on the door, the key to which is a 6 digit passcode only Donaka Mark knows. You never gave that keypad a single thought, until the first time he activated it while you watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, your body rendered into a lump of despondent limbs and orgasm-melted bones. He is a demanding lover, but a generous one. You still don’t know if you can take comfort in that. He knows how to manipulate people, how to give them what they want to bring them to heel.

You are taking the opportunity while he is out to clean up in the bathroom, and you look at yourself in the mirror. You almost don’t recognize the reflection of the wild-eyed thing with a mane of bedroom hair. Your body is covered in small bruises, love-bites and imprints just the size of the tips of Donaka’s fingers. Yet these small aches are nothing compared to what you feel inside your body.

You don’t know how porn stars do it, because that man has wrecked you, and you quickly found out that begging for mercy only encouraged him to give you more. His cock is a weapon of mass destruction, and you would laugh about it if you didn’t think it would hurt. You lean on the sink and take a deep breath, bracing your lower abdomen with your hand. Help, my hot-as-fuck millionaire captor has a huge dick, and other problems no one ever wants to hear about…

“Are you hurt?”

You jump at the sound of Donaka’s voice in the doorway. You were so absorbed in your self-pity you didn’t even hear him return. You find his tall form darkening the doorway, a frown pulling his severe features.

“I’m fine,” you answer immediately, remembering what you got from him the last time you complained.

However, he clearly doesn't believe you.

“You don’t look fine.”

“I’m…sore,” you admit, afraid he’ll use this information to punish you for weakness, pushing your boundaries even farther.

“Are you bleeding?” He crosses the bathroom in two strides, swiping between your legs like he owns you, inspecting his fingers. Despite all the depraved things you’ve done in the past two days, you still start from his presumptive invasion.

“No.”

He nods, looking over you with a frown. “Let’s have a warm soak,” he suggests. “It will help you.” He opens the taps on the massive tub, and he could have pushed you over with a feather when he gathers you in his arms, pressing a kiss to your forehead with a tenderness that makes you dizzy.

He never apologizes. Not then, and not while you are lounging together in the soothing warm water of the tub, your head resting back against his broad shoulder. You nearly fall asleep more than once, and you might have drowned if he didn’t hold you with a long arm wrapped about your waist. You realize it’s the first time in the entirety of knowing this man that you feel secure in his presence. The realization makes you blink with surprise, turning your head to look at him.

He regards you sleepily with one eye open. “Rest,” he tells you, and even though it’s a command, he delivers it gently. “I’ve got you.”

You’re not sure you understand Donaka any better than when this whole fiasco started, but with an uneasy thrill you realize that you want to. The one and only thing you should want is to run…but in the meantime, maybe you’ll unravel some of the mystery.

You’re just going to have to be patient, the sane part of you reasons. For now, you have to bide your time. Behave so he doesn’t make things worse for you. Eventually, he’ll slip up. He has to.

Right?

You’re not so sure about anything anymore.

***

When at last you emerge from the warm water he wraps you up in his robe; he smiles for the way his garment utterly engulfs you. It smells intoxicatingly like him, and you think your brain chemistry might be developing a dependency on him like a drug.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, cupping your cheek in his big hand. “I ordered some supper brought to the terrace.”

You nod, and he kisses your forehead with a tenderness that makes you see stars. He couldn’t have shocked you more, had he slapped you. “Come on.” He pulls on a pair of black lounge pants on the way, apparently unbothered by the cooler evening air on the terrace outside.

You admit you are grateful when you see dinner is already waiting on the table, and you do not yet have to look Lin or Mei in the eye just yet.

Donaka surprises you again when he holds your chair for you, sliding you in closer to the table. When he removes the cover from your bowl, you see it is your favorite beef noodle soup that you raved so much about in the entry in your journal on your birthday. “Oh.” You couldn’t imagine better comfort food in that moment, and you look up at him with moist eyes. He touches your cheek again, but says nothing, taking his seat across from you.

You realize in a way this man knows you better than anyone, because he has read the textbook of your innermost workings. The thought still makes you squirm, though maybe a little less than two days ago. Perhaps because rather than toss you out on your ear after reading your darkest yearnings–he fucked you silly, and seems to have no intention of letting you go.

At first dinner is silent as you tuck in to Mrs. Wong’s excellent cooking. And then…your conversation proceeds almost as though things are normal between you, and this is just a day like any other. To any random onlooker you would appear to be a couple taking sustenance after a marathon session of lovemaking, and Donaka ordered your favorite food made. It’s the sort of thing one does for a mate, not a captive.

For the umpteenth time in the past few days, you feel as though a war is being fought inside you, for your heart, for your soul, and winner take all. You look up to find Donaka is watching you from across the table. When you dare meet his eyes he smirks at you, before popping half a boiled egg in his mouth with his chopsticks.

That’s when you know that maybe this is a pleasant reprieve, but he is not done with you yet by half.

***

He could break you as easily as dropping a teapot on a slate floor.

He knows all the ways to mix psychology with physical pain to get what one wants. It is a game he relished as a younger man, but he finds he wants something else from you. Is he going soft in his older age? He does not think so, so much as his tastes have simply become more refined.

He wants a game.

Any asshole can bend a woman to his will with his brawn. But what he craves is a balance between defiance and obeisance. You are strong, and spirited, and taming your little spats has become one of the highlights of his day.

He likes your fire. He does not like your little ideas about running away from him.

He will chase you, but he doesn’t want to.

Maybe he is getting old.

He does not think he is capable of love. He never was–except maybe for his sister, a lifetime ago. The act of sacrifice for anyone’s well being but his own is utterly beyond him now. But he cannot deny he feels a certain warmth, when he thinks of you. Something cloying and addictive, that has slowly seeped into his blackened core like poisoned honey.

Something more than lust.

Whatever it is, it’s certainly new, and it’s been a while since Donaka Mark has found something that interested him this much.

He will see how long the fun in this game lasts, and then he will decide what to do with you.

You look across the table at him with those big eyes that take everything in, so bewildered yet daring to hope. He knows that you’re trying not to, but you are not built that way. It’s almost enough to make him wish he had a heart to give you. After reading your writing, he’s sure you could describe this scene down to the minutest detail later. You would make a good witness.

Something to be wary of later, perhaps.

#donaka mark #donaka mark x reader #donaka mark x you #donaka mark x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves #dark romance #plz be warned #keanuverse #keanuverse fic

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johnwickb1tsch · 4 months ago

Text

Sympathy for the Devil ~ Part 16

A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on the amazing @discoscoob 's concept & bot!

one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. eleven. twelve. thirteen. fourteen. fifteen.

Sixteen. 十六

When Donaka leaves for work you get dressed and walk around the grounds, surveying your finely appointed prison with new eyes. The garden walls are tall, but not insurmountable. The dogs…are still your friends, though you’re not sure their liking against a command to run you down would save you.

At the driveway, you notice that Jason is manning the guardhouse at the gate. You’ve never exactly flirted with him, but you are friendly. He kind of comes off as a bro, like he learned English from watching eighties teen movies and Adam Sandler films. Honestly, you’ve always thought he was kind of dumb, and he’s usually watching tv over watching the road, and you wonder…if this might be your opportunity, before the new order of things really settles in over the household.

You put on your running gear, your iPod on your arm and your hair tied back. You do some stretches in the driveway as you pump yourself up, mentally going over your plan, trying and failing to calm your nerves. If this works, it will be a bloodless coup. If it doesn’t…you don’t want to think about what Donaka will do.

You can’t stop yourself from looking back one last time over the beautiful house with a surprising pang in your heart. You should want one thing and one thing only: to get the fuck out of there, but you find it’s not that simple. Because when things are good with Donaka…God. You’re still undecided, as to if you’re in love with that man, or hypnotized by him, the way the cobra bespells the mouse before striking.

It’s clear that your heart and your brain are not communicating on the same wavelength, and its really fucking you over this time.

You are leaving, you resolve, and before you can talk yourself out of it you jog up to the gate, giving Jason the Guard a finger wave with your heart in your throat. You’re just out here to get some exercise, the way you do every week on your day off. Please please please open the gate.

He looks apologetic, when he steps from the guardhouse. “Hey, y/n.”

“Hey Jason.” You are jogging in place, ready to run. Boy, are you. “Can you let me out?”

“Umm…”

Fuck.

“Sorry, but…Mr. Mark said no one leaves today?”

“What?” You play dumb.

“Yeah…I can’t let you go?”

You put a hand on your hip, playing coy.

“I just want to make a loop around the neighborhood.”

“You…want me to call Mr. Mark?”

Fuck no.

“Nah. Don’t bother him at work.”

“I think you can use the gym though?”

“Okay, I will.”

Great. Now you have to go run on the treadmill, which you fucking hate, just to make it seem like you really only had exercise in mind. Resigned, you go back inside, a slow trill of panic uncoiling down your spine. You’re sure you were on camera, but you hope Donaka had better things to do today, than watch you.

***

“I saw your little stunt today.”

Donaka would confront you about this while you’re in the shower.

He’s come home early, you reason, just to do so. Fuck.

“What do you mean?” you say, rinsing the shampoo out of your hair like nothing’s wrong. You do not look at him, but it feels like you have your back turned to a snarling tiger in the jungle.

“Don’t be coy. Did you actually think you were going to…jog out of here?”

You turn to face him, pushing your wet hair out of your face.

“...No?”

You turn off the water, trying not to feel completely vulnerable while you’re naked in front of this ferociously imposing man. He’s seen it all, touched it all, inside and out. What’s left to be embarrassed about?

“I wanted to blow off some steam. I didn’t think it was a problem,” you play off. You’re new to gaslighting, but if Donaka thinks he can give you the runaround, maybe you can do the same. “It’s not like…” You laugh at the absurdity. “I could run to the other side of the island?”

Your embassy is located in the Central district at the north shore, with all the other banks and high-end shopping of Hong Kong Island. Donaka’s house is located in an exclusive development of the lush mountainsides of Shek O, on the southeast side.

“I have no money for a bus or a cab, because you took it all.”

Along with your passport, he took your cash and your bank card. You had to hand it to him. The man was thorough.

He looks you up and down, like you are the stupid one. “Oh, I’m sure you could have convinced someone to give you a ride.”

You’d absolutely banked on that. You’ve always been lucky with the kindness of strangers in a pinch while traveling. You were lucky–until Donaka got his claws into you.

“Get in a car with a stranger? That’s a great way to get kidnapped.” The irony of your statement does not escape you. Attempting to place a cherry on top of your little act, you make to nonchalantly walk past him to your towel.

In the blink of an eye he pushes you back against the hard tiled wall of the walk-in shower, his massive hand spanning your chest at the base of your throat. He doesn’t hurt you, per se, but it definitely startles you. It is more a threat, a suggestion what he could do.

As if you didn’t already know.

He looms over you as he speaks to you, his tone low and menacing. “You cannot talk me in circles, little one. I invented that game. You will not convince me of your untruths as facts, because I know what is in your heart. I. Know. You. Better than you know yourself.” By the time he has finished the heart in question has frozen in your chest, your fingertips gone ice cold, despite the steam in the room.

“Fine,” you say, gritting your teeth.

“Fine, what?”

“I won’t do it again.”

“I know you won’t. You disappoint me, y/n. I thought we had an understanding.”

He thinks his word is law–but he never asked you about any of this, did he? That wildness in you begins to rear its head, and he is not the only one baring his teeth. “Then I want my GI-Jane companion, because I will lose my fucking mind being cooped up here while you’re gone.”

A part of you hopes he will do something terrible in return for this impetuous demand. Something you can finally, truly, hate him for.

He actually laughs at you, like he knows exactly what you’re about.

“You’ll have her when you’ve earned her, you brat. You think I’ll actually let you leave the house now?”

You only growl in response, glaring up at him. It inspires a snarl of a smile, Donaka looking your naked body up and down again. You know better than to think you’re safe yet; it feels like a trap.

“So, you thought Jason was the weak link in my security detail?”

With a heaving sigh you’re kind of relieved the ruse is up. “Yeah.”

“Not a bad choice, but the boy is unfalteringly loyal.”

“So I found out.”

“And what do you think I would have done to Jason, if he’d let my prized possession walk out my front gate?”

You honestly hadn’t thought about that in your single-minded pursuit of your freedom, and your heart falls like a stone.

“Fired him, I guess.”

Donaka scoffs. “You hope that’s all.” The horror of what he’s suggesting must be written plain on your face, and he relishes it with glee.

Eyes shining, he sticks out his lip in a mocking pout, and a part of you wants to sink your teeth into it until you taste blood.

“Clever little thing, aren’t you? If you didn’t have such a big heart, you’d almost be dangerous.”

He wraps his long arms around you, pulling you against him and not seeming to care that you are still soaking wet, and he’s in his suit. He kisses you deeply, savagely, tongue and lips and teeth claiming possession of your mouth, his fingers digging into your sides hard enough to bruise.

“If you want to leave so badly,” he growls between devouring you, “Then why did you look back?”

You do not answer, fear lodged like a sea urchin in your throat.

“Why?” he demands again, nipping at you. There is an uncharacteristic desperation in this line of questioning that puts you even more on edge. When you remain silent he pinches your bottom hard. “Why?”

“Because I wasn’t sure,” you confess in a rush of breath, squeezing your eyes closed against the intensity of his gimlet stare.

“Sure of what?”

You actually laugh then, or maybe it's a sob. “Everything. You make me doubt everything I’ve ever known.”

“Then trust in me. Submit to me, and you’ll never have to doubt again.”

You want to laugh at that too, but somehow you have the sense not to.

“You know what I think?”

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.” He finds this amusing, though he expresses it with a snort.

“I think that deep down, you didn’t want to leave me. I think you knew that you’d miss me, bunny.”

It’s so true that you freeze for a single, telling moment. Trying to cover it, you scoff with extra gusto, tears in your eyes. “Yes. I would miss being scared, and hurt.” You flinch as his big hands squeeze your flesh just this side of too hard.

“I haven’t really hurt you, sweetheart. Not yet.”

Strangely from the flat way he says it, you’re genuinely not sure if it’s a statement, or a threat.

Then he pulls you from the shower, leading you back into the bedroom with an iron grip on your arm. When you try to resist he simply picks you up, tossing you onto the bed. He looks down at you with a possessive fire in his eyes that raises gooseflesh all across your body, your nipples tightening to painful peaks. A part of you wants to scramble away, to scream and run, but somehow you know it would do no good, and only make things worse for you now.

So you sit up on your elbows, waiting for your doom.

Watching you collect yourself, resigned to whatever he has in mind next, brings a cruel smile to his lips. “I think I need to give you something, bunny.” He removes his jacket and loosens his tie methodically, pulling the silk free of his neck. You hate it, how it moves you, to watch him undress, and you are relieved, when he simply tosses it away to the foot of the bed. “Something, so that you will always remember, no matter where you are, who you belong to.”

This is when you lose your nerve, certain he means something fucked up like a homemade tattoo or a brand or something you can't even imagine. You try to scramble away with a whine, but his big hands catch your ankles like manacles, holding you down.

“Please don’t.”

“You don’t even know what I have in mind.” He forces your legs apart, but kisses the inside of your thigh with such a contrasting tenderness that you freeze beneath him. He chuckles darkly, a sound that somehow seems to resonate all the way to your womb. Jesus Christ, this man. You really have lost your goddamned mind. “Oh, bunny likes that, doesn’t she?”

“I like it when you’re sweet,” you confess in a whisper, watching him warily as he trails higher and higher up your leg, your treacherous body relaxing little by little as he goes. Maybe you’re damning yourself as you say it, but you can’t stop yourself from confessing, “That’s why I looked back. That’s what I knew I would miss, for the rest of my life.”

He pauses in his ascent to look up your body at you, a storm brewing behind those intense dark eyes. Finally, he tells you, “You wouldn’t get the chance to miss me for long, y/n. You belong to me, and I will never let you go.”

He strikes like a snake, sinking his teeth into the tender flesh of your inner thigh before you have a single chance to react. He’d warned you that he’d get you back, and he bites you just as hard as you’d bit him, breaking the skin with his sharp teeth and sucking, leaving his mark upon you. You scream, because it hurts, and because you know that once again you’ve lost the battle to this man.

He climbs your body to silence you with a punishing kiss, and you taste your own blood in his mouth. You know it’s insanity, when it’s a relief when he frees himself to bury his manhood inside you, not even bothering to undress before he fucks you into a complacent, needy little pile of wanton desire. Maybe because he makes you forget, forget everything but the fact that he is the one person in the world who wants you forever, and you believe now to the marrow of your bones that he would burn down the world to keep you. He’s like a drug that deep down you know is poisoning you–but you’re in too deep, and you just can’t stop.

He makes you cum with a vicious efficiency, his fingers tangled in your hair and his gaze bearing down on you, as though this man can see straight into your soul. Maybe he does know you better than anyone else. Maybe he knows everything, and you may as well just give in. He fills you soon after with a roar that you think is equal parts fury and triumph, his seed dripping from between your thighs. He doesn't seem to care at all about the mess when he rolls onto his back and pulls you into his arms.

In the quiet after the fury you curl your naked body around his, and he holds you just this side of too hard, his massive hand on the back of your head. Whether he is your shield, or your jailer, depends on which side of the bars you’re standing.

It might be a while, before you build up the courage to try again.

#donaka mark #donaka mark x reader #donaka mark x you #donaka mark x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves #dark romance #plz be warned #keanuverse #keanuverse fic #yandere fic #yandere donaka mark #this tag probably fits now ��

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johnwickb1tsch · 13 days ago

Text

Sympathy for the Devil ~ 23

A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on @discoscoob 's concept & bot! An unlikely flirtation turns into a dark obsession... Warnings: Donaka Mark is a bad man with a soft spot for you. dark romance, possessive behavior, nonconsensual voyeurism, red flag red flag girl!🔺, psychological games, power imbalance, eventual dubcon/nsfw/involuntary captivity. -> all chapters

Twenty-Three.

Now that you've fallen into the new lifestyle of a kept woman, Donaka usually rises before you do. He works out or trains or swims, or sometimes he's already gone to the office by the time you stumble out of bed.

In your defense, he keeps you up late.

One morning, you wake to find an old photograph on your night stand, resting on the Tai Chi book you've been making your way through.

It looks like it's from the 80s, a young man seated on a tattered couch in a studded leather jacket, a teenage girl beside him. They look similar, pretty, with fine features and dark eyes. The boy has a dusting of a moustache on his upper lip.

It takes you an embarrassing amount of seconds to realize it’s Donaka. He must be in his early twenties, glowering at the camera, and yet…somehow he’s a little awkward too. His hair is long, past his chin, and so fluffy you would have died to touch it had you been there. Beneath the young man’s unapproachable facade, even through the photo, you sense a melancholy in this boy that squeezes your heart.

It’s creased down the middle between the two subjects, as though it's been folded for years.

You wonder if the younger girl is his sister.

You'd asked him what he looked like when he was younger, that day in the restaurant. You never actually expected him to deliver.

You clutch the image to your chest, thinking about the journey that young man had undergone to get to that moment, and what he must have done to get to where he is now. You don't know the details of that in between, but you want to. Someday, you hope he'll trust you enough to tell you.

Donaka took your old journal, but you have a new one tucked into the drawer. You haven't actually managed to write anything in it yet. Something about absolutely knowing he will read whatever you write has stymied your creativity. But it feels like a safe place to store this new treasure, and you tuck it gingerly between the acid free pages.

You hope he hasn't left yet, and you get out of bed to look for him, pulling on your long robe as you go out the door. You slip out onto the terrace, the sub-tropical morning like magic before the heat of the day sets in. Quietly you pad barefoot on the stone, and you pause at a distance to admire the object of your search.

To say he swims like a fucking merman is putting it lightly, crossing the infinity pool with powerful strokes, back and forth. You seat yourself silently on one of the deck chairs, watching him make his laps.

He erupts over the edge of the pool, his gaze immediately zeroing in on you. “Spying on me, bunny?”

You smile in answer. “You're not the only one who likes to watch.”

“Is that so?”

“The view from here is a solid ten.”

He smirks, because he knows he's beautiful, damn him. He crooks a finger at you. “Come here.”

“I don't have on my suit.”

“That's a problem why?”

“It’s too cold.”

“Don’t make me come get you.” He says it with a gleeful menace that suggests he would relish the chase.

Knowing you are doomed, you shrug out of your robe, and slowly pull your nightie over your head. You have long since numbed yourself to going about the house naked when Donaka demands it. All the staff have probably gotten an eyeful at some point, for which you are sorry. The heated look he pays you more than makes up for your embarrassment, going straight to your clit, and you narrow your eyes playfully, annoyed by your own desire, but totally resigned by now. You walk to the edge, stopping just out of reach with a hand on your hip.

“Closer.”

“Make me,” you taunt, diving over his head into the water.

You're an ok swimmer. You won't be winning Olympic gold anytime soon, but you can usually manage not to drown.

All that goes out the window when Donaka Mark is after you.

You barely make it mid-pool before he's got you in his clutches, his strong arm around your waist, and you almost drown yourself because you are laughing.

“Breathe, bunny,” he scolds you, hoisting you out of the water and patting your back too hard, punishing you a little for defying him.

You cling to his solid form like a limpet, coughing and laughing. He presses you back against the infinity edge of the pool, the water sluicing over. All too pleased with yourself, you smile at him, blinking the water out of your eyes.

“Someone’s up early.”

“Hmm.” You kiss him, running your fingers through his wet hair. You think back on that photograph, remembering those luxuriously dark curls that framed his face.

“You should grow your hair out,” you tease, spiking the hair at his temples.

He lifts an eyebrow to this, smirking at you.

“Ah, you liked your little gift?”

You nod, biting your lip. “You were so pretty.”

“Were? Thank you, ingrate.”

“Well. You're devastatingly handsome now. If it's any consolation…” you begrudgingly admit.

An approving grumble emanates from deep in his chest, and he presses you into the side of the pool a little harder with a kiss, his hold on you migrating down to cup your bare ass.

“Who…is the girl?”

“Jealous?”

“I think it's your sister.”

“Clever little rabbit.”

“Where was that taken? Toronto?”

“New York. We moved there for one of my mother’s numerous boyfriends.”

“Oh. Does…she still live there?”

He shakes his head, but offers you no more, pinning you with that dark gaze.

“What…was your life like, when that photo was taken?”

“Chaotic.”

“How so?”

He growls at your litany of questions, grazing your shoulder with his teeth. “Were you in a motorcycle gang?” you tease him, thinking of that bitchin’ jacket.

“Not exactly,” he deadpans. You pause, wondering if he means he was in a gang, period. “Would you believe me if I told you I was an angry young man?”

Nooooo, not at all.

You bite back your sarcasm, hoping for more. “I might.” You run your nails through the short hair at the back of his head, but he doesn’t elaborate, the silence stretching between you. You think that maybe he wants to tell you about his past. He wouldn’t have given you that photograph otherwise. But maybe, he doesn’t know how.

So you hold him closer, kissing his neck and enjoying the warmth of his bare skin pressed to yours in the glittering blue water.

“Don’t pity me,” he grouses, like he can feel what you're thinking.

“I’m not,” you assure him. “I’m fascinated by you.”

“Hmm. Nosey girl,” he growls into your hair.

“Like you can throw stones.”

This earns you a grumble of laughter from deep in his chest. “Most of what I know about you, you put out there for anyone to find, if they knew where to look.” You’re pretty sure he also hacked your email, but you suppose that’s mostly true.

“Ok. So why did you look?”

“I was curious about you.” It’s the understatement of the century. He doesn’t admit to you that he uses his knowledge like power. You suppose he doesn’t have to.

“Well. I’m curious about you.” You try to draw this parallel for him, hoping he’ll return the favor.

It earns you a grumble and another long silence, this imposing man holding you just this side of too hard in the serenity of the early morning with the water lapping around you. You rest your head on his broad shoulder, savoring the quiet with him, feeling his pulse through the fever-heat of his bare skin pressed to yours. Even if he doesn’t want to talk anymore…this is enough.

At the moment you come to accept the finality of the silence between you, he begins to speak. “We were dirt poor, and constantly moving from house to apartment to house, depending who my mother was fucking at the time. She had a steady stream of boyfriends, but no one who wanted to be a father to us. I hated being home, if you could call wherever we were crashing at the time that, so I was always out on the street, getting into trouble. Big trouble. I think I left for Macau…a week after that photo was taken.”

You can’t help but think that it makes sense in a way, that enduring such a childhood with no stability made a man who relishes absolute control over everything.

“You were so young.”

“In face only. How old were you, when you left the country on your own for the first time?”

“Nineteen.”

“We’re not so different then.”

You’d left to see the world, and maybe to look for something to fill the hole that we all have inside–not to avoid prosecution for a crime–but maybe it was similar in the end.

“Why did you have to leave?” you dare ask, insufferably curious.

“One of mom’s boyfriends thought that my little sister came with the package. I had to correct him of that notion.”

Your eyebrows raise high, a sick feeling in your belly. It’s possible you know more than you’d like about that scenario from your own mother’s selfish choices. You’re not sure if he’s implying he killed this man, or simply beat him, but you find…you don’t care.

“Your sister’s lucky she had you.”

“Maybe. My mother disowned me though. She said I was just like my father.”

“Oh, Donaka. That’s not fair. What did you do then?”

“I went to go find him.”

“How?”

“I had my ways.”

“Oh come on.” You nip at the bulging muscle of his shoulder, winning a growl that curls your toes under the water.

“Macau is a place where you can gamble on anything in the back room. I found out he’d finally become a wealthy man running an underground, high stakes fighting ring.”

“This is starting to sound like the plot of a JCVD movie.” In your perhaps misguided way, you try to cheer him by cracking jokes.

“JCVD? I don’t even merit your beloved Jackie Chan?”

You giggle. “Ok. Jet Li, maybe. Do you remember Romeo Must Die? I think it changed my brain chemistry as a teenager.”

He snorts at that. Afraid that you’ve derailed his story, you prompt, “So…you got into the fighting ring?” You’ve seen him training, and he is scary. You imagine a younger version of him in the octagon could have drawn a hell of a crowd.

He grunts in acknowledgement, distracted by kissing a line down your neck, his long fingers inching towards your center, and you hitch in your speech as you ask, “Did he…know who you were?”

“Not at first.” There’s no emotion in those three words, but you sense a sea of fury beneath them, deep deep down.

“What…happened?”

“I won enough fights to get his attention. He was so impressed he offered me a place in his organization. Then, I destroyed him.”

You go still in his arms as this sinks in. You can’t shake that he means that he killed his father, and maybe many others too. But after what Donaka told you his father did when he was just a child…practically a baby…maybe you don’t blame him. Maybe you understand his need for revenge all too well. “Are…you worried the 14k might come after you someday for that?”

“They split themselves into smaller factions of operation to limit liability, if someone gets caught. Anyone who ever knew anything about my involvement is gone. Except for you, now.”

Gooseflesh erupts down your arms as you realize there is a responsibility as well as a threat folded into this information you so badly wanted to possess. Not that you would ever be able to prove anything to anyone, but the power of a stray word can turn into a big wave, in the right circumstances. He is both trusting you–and binding you even further to him.

“Then what?” you ask, realizing with a new finality just how deeply you’re in now. You can’t say you were still actively thinking about going home lately, but something about this new revelation succeeds in pushing you off center somehow.

“I came to Hong Kong with the nest egg I’d earned. I had inside experience with how the Triads worked. I used it to offer wealthy businessmen protection from them. And as you can see…that’s gone well for me.”

You draw back to look at him, studying his handsome features. You’d sensed from the very beginning that he was a man who was quite capable of terrible things. But then, sometimes that’s what it takes in this hard world, and it’s hard to feel sorry for the boyfriend who made a pass at an underage girl, or his father, a man who wanted to hurt his own children, then abandoned them. Are your morals so flexible, or do you just know you’re no one to judge amidst the life you’ve lived in comparison?

You should be horrified, but you're not.

You shouldn't want him, but oh, you still do.

“That would make a hell of a Jackie Chan movie,” you tell him with a small smile, lightening the mood just enough to win you that sardonic smirk you’ve come to hold so dear.

“Finally, the recognition I deserve,” he scoffs, fixing you with that gimlet stare that should scare the piss out of you, but instead…fills you with something effervescent and light.

You do need your head examined.

“So you like martial arts movies,” he muses, paying you a contemplative look that makes you nervous somehow. “Have you ever watched a real fight?”

You know, because he’s told you, that that’s where he goes on the evenings when he doesn’t return until the wee hours of the morning. You realize he must have a particular appreciation for the sport, after having participated in such things himself.

“I’ve been to a few peewee tae kwon do tournaments in my day,” you tease. “I’ve even got the little gold plastic trophy to prove it.”

This makes him throw back his head with wicked laughter, amused, as ever, by your cheek. No one else in the world would dare, he thinks to himself. He knows that part of your bravery comes from the fact that you still don’t understand, even after his confession to you, what kind of monster has you in his arms. And part of it…part of it is just you, and he is never going to let you go.

“Pee wee tae kwon do. Aren’t you adorable.”

“So I hear.”

“How did I not know that about you?”

“It was a dark time, before every move we made was immortalized on the internet…”

He huffs with reluctant laughter. “I see. So you’re initiated. Does that mean you’d like to see a real fight with me?” There is a sudden hunger in his gaze, his lips parted with the eagerness of a tiger tasting the wind. You can’t help but notice that he is rock hard between your legs, his cock pressing insistently against you as his gaze bores into yours.

Perhaps you whetted his appetite, accepting his confession of his past sins so easily, but he finds he wants to share this with you.

But you, oblivious to the sudden firestorm erupted in his heart, backpedal at the sudden bloodlust in his eyes. “Do people get really hurt?”

“The fights I attend are a test of true warriors, not a suburban blackbelt league.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling uneasy, partly at the thought of the bloodsport, and partly for the hungry way he’s suddenly looking at you. “Can I think about it?”

You know you’ve disappointed him, for the way his expression immediately closes off from you. “Nevermind, bunny. I don’t think you’d like it.” Maybe he was tempted by the chance to be accepted completely by you for everything that he is, horns, claws, and all…what a foolish notion. He knows better than to expose that underbelly to anyone who is not blooded. What was he thinking?

Perhaps it’s not only teenage boys, who forget to reason with their real brains when a beautiful woman is around.

You find you’re disappointed to have the chance to go with him to these mysterious nocturnal outings snatched completely from the table. You stick out your lip, sensing you’ve let him down.

“Maybe…let me watch some more tournaments with you first. I do like that.”

“Hmm.” His interest sharpens again; you feel it like the weight of a blade upon your skin. “Do you miss doing martial arts?”

You shrug. “I was very young.”

“Are you liking your book on Tai Chi?”

“It’s interesting.”

“Alright, bunny. We’ll see then.”

Before you can answer his mouth is slanted over yours, and with a pull at the fabric of his shorts he has buried himself inside you. He fucks you against the side of the pool, your nipples in his mouth as he bends you back over the edge.

You feel like you might fall off the side of the world, with him thrusting inside you, your body tumbling off into the void, right behind your sanity. As he fills you with hot ropes of his seed, your greedy cunt milking his cock through your own ecstasy, you know that you’re utterly lost to this man–you’re just lucid enough to recognize it, but much too far gone to care.

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