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johnwickb1tsch · 4 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 · 3 months ago

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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 · 4 months ago

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Sympathy for the Devil ~ Part 11

A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on @discoscoob 's concept & bot! Though this is where the c.ai help ended because I was breaking the bot's pea pickin' mind. 😆

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

Eleven. 十一

You wake with a start.

You’re naked, and Donaka is sprawled out in his bed beside you. Your eyes roam over the long lines of his powerful body, taking in his angles and curves. His broad muscled back, and tapered waist.

A more bitable little ass was never created by God or man.

That bit of sanity you’d been hoping for once the hormones subsided mercifully returns to you. No matter how gorgeous this man is–no matter how good he fucks, or how many times he made you cum the night before with his hands and his cock and his tongue (sweet Confucious, Buddha, and baby Jesus, his tongue)–you have got to get out of here.

It’s early morning, the blue light of pre-dawn. You slip out of bed, nearly dying of a heart attack when he stirs beside you–but does not wake. Quickly you throw on the tatters of your dress, and on bare feet you race as quickly and quietly as possible out the door, and down the hall.

With your heart thundering in your ears you start rummaging through your drawers for that most essential of travel documents: your passport. The servants were not given access to lockers or any way to secure their belongings, so you’d hidden it in the bottom of your suitcase, inside a slit in the lining. As you stick your hand in it, fishing around, your hopes drop like a stone.

It’s gone.

You feel again, frantic this time, finding once more–it’s not there.

“Missing something?”

Donaka’s voice from the doorway makes you start; you lose your balance, tumbling over on the floor.

Anything you might say turns to ash on your tongue, as you look up at him, forbidding in a pair of black lounge pants, and nothing else. Why oh why does he have to be such a beautiful bastard?

You realize there’s no lying to him, so you stick out your chin. “Where is it?” you demand.

“In a safe place,” he answers, his lips pursing as he tries not to smile. “You have to admit…that wasn’t exactly secure.” He nods at your suitcase, and you clench your fist, the desire to hit him burning real in your bones. He made sure you didn’t have a safe place to put it.

“How dare you?” He just rolls his eyes, and crosses the floor to you in two strides, pulling you up off the floor.

“Come back to bed, darling. I was sleeping so peacefully before you had to go skulking around.”

“You can’t do this.”

You’re not sure who you’re trying to convince–him, or you?

He just lifts an eyebrow, sweeping one of those big hands across your cheek, into your hair. His hold on you is just this side of menacing. “There’s not a place in the world you could hide from me, y/n. Remember that.”

He tugs on your hand…and fuck you, if you’re not so flabbergasted, you don’t follow him like a starstruck idiot, absolutely flummoxed by his nerve.

Fine, you think. No passport? You just have to make it to your embassy. Surely they would put you in protective custody or something?

“You’ll never make it that far,” he tells you conversationally, his arm around your waist as you walk together down the hall.

“Where?”

“The Embassy, of course.”

Motherfucker.

He makes you pause at the window in the living room with him, the first rays of dawn beginning to shine through the massive windows. The forest looks like a gilded emerald; the water beyond it a blanket of diamonds. He follows your gaze, taking in the marvelous sight. Shouldn’t it be storming outside? Rain falling down, on this bleak day?

“How can you live with such an awful view?” he asks wryly, turning your attention back up to him. Before you can answer he kisses you, claiming your mouth for his as he presses you back against the window. His hand makes its way beneath your skirt, unimpeded as you did not take the time to even pull on your panties before making your escape from his bedroom.

“Donaka…” you protest, feeling utterly exposed like this, in the big open room, with nothing but glass behind you. The rest of the staff will be waking soon. The thought of one of your colleagues walking in on you like this makes you want to die all over again. “Please not here…someone will see.”

He scoffs at you, of course. “No one will interrupt us. This is my house. You are the only one here who never knew your proper place. We’re fixing that now.”

A small sound escapes you, something between a whine and a growl. All it earns you is a hushed, dark laughter, and this terrible man lowers himself to his knees before you, pinning you against the glass with one large hand spanning your torso. He smirks up at you, delighting in your self-righteous rage, your tears of frustration glittering in the corners of your eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he taunts you. “Isn’t this what you wanted all along? The bad man on his knees for you?” His smile is like a baring of teeth, and you both know who holds the real power here, no matter who is on their knees. His other hand has made its way up your thigh again, cupping your ass, squeezing hard enough to make you squirm against him, almost hurting you.

“No,” you whimper, fighting the urge to cry, your legs about to collapse out from under you.

“No?” he demands. “That’s not what I read.” His long fingers reach to test your center, finding your treacherous little cunt has cast her own vote for him yet again, moist and willing. You try to shy away but he pins you with his superior strength, utterly and completely.

“You missed the subtext,” you choke out, your heart breaking all over again. You were so resolved to fight the night before. That fire seems to have suffocated under the wet blanket of hopelessness again.

“Were there underlying themes in all that filth?” he asks incredulously.

Feeling idiotic all over again, your words lodge in your throat. But Donaka has paused in his ministrations, looking up at you with that laser-sharp gaze. “This isn’t what you wanted?” he asks with a deceptive gentleness. “My hands?” He pops the last buttons at the bottom of your dress, the garment gaping to bare all of you to his possessive gaze. “My mouth?” He presses an open-mouthed kiss to the curve of your lower belly, those plush lips upon your flesh making you tremble, curling your toes. He strums at your slick center, his sultry voice dropping low. “You didn’t want my cock to fill that aching emptiness inside you?”

You writhe against the window, crying out as two of those clever fingers press up inside you, pleasuring you and pinning you as his tongue seeks out your needly little clit. You could murder him, for the way he makes you hate him and want him all in one breath.

He stops as suddenly as he started, looking up at you expectantly. “Well?”

You feel like the dumbest woman who ever walked the earth–but then, you suppose he already knew that about you. He’s had your measure from day one, and has simply been playing with you like a cat with a mouse ever since. Yet now, you would rather die than tell him what you’re really thinking. You shake your head tearfully, locking your heart up tight.

It doesn’t matter, because it seems this man can read your fucking mind.

“Did you hope I would fall in love with you, y/n? You young, sweet thing.”

His words slide past your ribs and pierce your heart, deadly as a stiletto. You really were a fool.

“Maybe I did want your love,” you admit, voice rough as you force it past the lump in your throat. “But all you want is submission.”

He told you as much, over and over the night before.

Yet he does not laugh at you, the way you expect him to. He looks up at you with such a weight in that dark gaze, you cannot breathe. “What is love, y/n? Do I not provide for you? Protect you? I let you talk to me with insouciance I would never tolerate from anyone else. I am not a tender man, but what little I have, I have given to you. Tell me, what is love, y/n?”

It’s almost as though he’s truly asking you.

Suddenly you feel as though the floor has dropped out from under you. Does he love you? Or is he just fucking with you, the way he has been the whole time you’ve been here? You need to make up your mind about this, because the whiplash of wondering is going to be the end of you.

“Donaka…”

Then he narrows his eyes, that fire returned therein. “You are the one who taunted me with talk of leaving. Do you love me?”

“You scare me,” you finally answer, which should be a no…but isn’t exactly.

“You knew all along what I am, deep down. You sensed it, even without proof. You could have fled, but you stayed. You know why, bunny?”

You make a keening sound as he curls his fingers inside you, tormenting you with another wet kiss to your clit. “Do you know why?” he demands again.

You can hardly find your voice. “Why?”

“Because I fascinate you, the same way you fascinate me. I’m more than willing to try to fuck it out of our systems, but I suspect–” He presses your clit with his thumb, tearing a sob from your throat, stealing your ability to think, to breathe. Your head rocks back against the glass, hard enough to bruise. “I’ll be keeping you for a long time.”

Then his tongue dips into your slit, lapping at your clit, and you forget everything for a long while.

#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

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johnwickb1tsch · 4 months ago

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Sympathy for the Devil ~ Part 6

A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on @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, eventual dubcon/nsfw.

one. two. three. four. five.

Six. 六

Your dark mood lasts for days. You do not shirk your duties, but you definitely brood, hating everything, most of all yourself. A part of you hopes that Donaka decides you’re not worth the trouble after a glimpse of this other side of you. He does not prod you further, seemingly steering clear of you. He had his fun taking you down a peg–what more could he want with you? Surely he has better things to do… The more time goes on, the more certain you are that his proposition was mostly in your head.

Amusingly, it’s little Mrs. Wong who gets you out of your funk, yelling at you in Cantonese and smacking you with a wooden spoon when (maybe?) you didn’t move out of her way fast enough in the kitchen. You are determined that someday she’s going to let you call her Auntie, but apparently you still have some distance to cover. Her temper is like a firecracker, loud but shortlived. She’s adorable and terrifying, and it’s all so ridiculous that you cannot stop laughing as you flee, and the shroud of your depression lifts again like the sun penetrating through the clouds.

The absurdity of life has always saved you in times like this. What do you have to be sad about, anyway? You are healthy, you are housed, and you are fed in this beautiful place. You are having an adventure. So what, if your diabolically handsome employer does not approve of you? You’re just here to clean his floors, for fuck’s sake.

Maybe Donaka Mark is rich, but that doesn’t mean he has all the answers to the mysteries of life. You find your mental state improves, when it seems like he’s ignoring you.

Flirting with the cute gardener’s assistant doesn’t hurt your state of mind either. His name is Jun, he has an infectious laugh, and he offers to show you around the city on your next day off. Thinking some down time with someone your age will do you good, you are set to meet him at the bus stop down the hill from Mr. Mark’s house.

However, he never shows. You try not to take it too hard, but it still bums you out.

He does not return with the gardener the next week either, and then you start to worry. The kind old man who tends Donaka Mark’s plants just shrugged at your inquiry and said, “He quit.”

It seems odd, but you brush it off. You suppose you’ll just have to explore the city on your own. You ask for the day off for your birthday, wanting to go do the touristy things, like ride the historic ferry and take the tram up to Victoria Peak. Maybe visit a temple, do some shopping at the Night Market, and definitely indulge in some local eats. Something about living in Hong Kong has you dreaming about noodles. It’s an affliction. You want to try them all.

On your day there is a little carved wooden box on the table where you usually partake your breakfast in the common area of the servants’ quarters. You’re not sure why your heart falls to your feet with something like dread, but somehow you just know that Mr. Mark has not forgotten about you after all.

With a forbidden thrill you flip the lid carefully, finding a domed-link silver filigree and enamel bracelet set with dreamy jade cabochons. The little details are exquisite, and you’re instantly enchanted. When you look carefully at the bauble, you realize the stylized blue designs aren’t flowers–they’re bats.

He remembered that conversation you’d had, that very first day. It warms you to your toes, and maybe scares you too. He's good to the staff, but you don't think he usually buys them jewelry.

Goddammit.

You just know, deep down, that you shouldn’t accept it. You even set it back down in the box again, just looking at it with hands on your hips.

But therein lies the crux of temptation: you want it. It’s pretty and well made, not cheap tourist junk, and…he’d put thought into this gift for you.

This bait for you, you remind yourself. It’s still hard for you to believe that he’s propositioning you, if for anything, because a man like him could have a supermodel on each arm if he wanted. What the fuck would he want with a girl like you?

Maybe…it’s just an apology?

Not likely, but surely he’s not going to expect you to sleep with him for a silver bracelet??

You have a problem, and possibly, a screw loose. You know this is a flame you should not play with. You are toeing the line, dangerously close to falling in.

What if…you just wear it today, then give it back? It’s not like he’ll know. You doubt you’ll even see him today.

It feels like a guilty secret, as you pick it up again, clasp it on your wrist, and set out for your big day. You like the weight of the heavy silver on your skin–worse yet, you like knowing that Mr. Mark selected this bauble just for you. It feels…like a badge of honor, and you know it’s stupid, to feel proud of yourself for catching the attention of a man like him–but you can’t help it.

You are smart, but sometimes? Your heart is really really stupid.

You do not return to the house until well past after dusk, nearly midnight. You made a day of it, actually able to enjoy the city since Mr. Mark pays so well. You will remember the hand pulled noodles with beef you had for dinner in the Night Market for the rest of your life, they were so delicious. Watching the chef stretch them out from a lump of dough was like a religious experience.

Having your fortune told in the Night Market was memorable too, but maybe a little unsettling. Squatted on a stool in the older woman’s stall, you paid 100HK dollars for her to look at your right hand and frown. She told you that money would never be a problem for you, but the men in your life would always cause you difficulty. Looking at your relationship with your father and every man after that, you reckon she was probably right. You know you should take it with a grain of salt, but you can’t quite shake the hum of unease in the back of your mind.

On tired feet you walk through the garden, around to the entrance to the servant’s quarters.

"Did you have a nice day?" asks a voice from the shadows. You start, then realize Mr. Mark is sitting on the carved stone bench, on the path to the servants' wing of the house, tucked back in the manicured trees.

Fuck.

Immediately you tuck your wrist behind your back.

“Mr. Mark?”

“Come here.”

His voice is deliberately neutral–you can’t quite gauge his mood as you approach, feeling like a teenager caught staying out past her curfew. You have no way of knowing he has been waiting for hours, growing more and more annoyed that you are away from him, not under his watchful gaze, where you belong.

He knows where you were, if not exactly what you did. Unbeknownst to you, there is a tiny tracker inserted in your new bracelet you wear with such foolish avarice.

“Well?”

“Yes, I had a wonderful day,” you confirm, coming to stand before him, committed now even if you are walking into the lion’s den. You find it odd he’s waiting up for you, but it is a beautiful night to be out in the garden. A cool breeze is coming off the water, lifting your hair.

“Let’s see it then.” He points at your hand so casually held behind you, and you know you are caught out.

Almost guiltily, you extend your arm to show off your new acquisition in situ.

He props your hand with just the tips of his fingers, his touch maddeningly light on your sensitive palm as he turns your wrist to inspect the bracelet, sending a thrill down your arm. He likes seeing the gift that he selected upon you.

“It suits you,” he finally assesses, though you still can’t tell if he’s displeased. “Do you like it?”

“Yes,” you answer, barely above a whisper, feeling as though you are sealing something between you as you admit it.

“Well, that’s convincing.”

Your heart feels like a sea urchin lodging in your throat. You’re not sure what it is about this man that makes you want to please him–and tell him to fuck off–all in the same breath.

Then he gets to the fun part–for him. “You shouldn’t have stayed out so late alone,” he scolds you.

You cant your head and press your lips, holding in the smart remark that burns on your tongue as his coal-black eyes bore into you, settling for, "I didn't mean to worry you…but it is my day off. I think I'm free to do what I want." You just can't stop yourself from adding the last bit, and you wonder from his darkening expression if it will be your undoing.

He imagines in that moment what it would be like to reach out and put you over his knee. Instead, he stands abruptly, startling you into taking a step backwards.

He likes that.

It irks him, that you dare defy him, like he doesn’t know what’s best for you. If you insist on acting so tough, he’s tempted to throw you over his shoulder and show you just how little it would take to actually break you.

"Were you drinking?" he asks darkly, hating the thought of you out in a bar, with other men, enjoying yourself. Laughing, like you were with the young gardener not so long ago. The moment he saw that on his camera feed that he constantly watches of you, Donaka saw red. You should not give your joy to others so freely. You sprinkle it around everywhere you go, and he covets it all for himself.

That boy had to go.

"No," you defend, and you’re telling the truth. "I just...walked around." There was plenty to see in Kowloon district.

Donaka takes another step closer, his body almost pressing against yours, the heat of it warming you. He watches your reaction as he speaks, his voice low and firm. “You should have let me arrange a driver for you.”

This again. It feels as though he wants to cloister you away from experiencing the world, by shoving you in a car. "Donaka..." you sigh, slipping into using his first name for the first time ever, because you’re tired, and your feet hurt, and he is standing very close, talking to you like he has a say in what you do…

It’s maddening and arousing all at once, rubbing with a velvet touch against some long long cavewoman instinct in your brain, and if you’re not careful this just might be the night he outmaneuvers you.

Donaka’s eyes narrow at hearing you dare to be so familiar with him, even if deep down he secretly loves it. He takes another step into you, crowding you against the stone wall, caging you in with an arm. He’s blocking your path to a quick exit into the servants’ quarters, you can’t help but notice. Your heart pounds in your ears–but you’re not half as afraid as you should be of this man.

“Hong Kong is pretty safe, as it goes…” you continue to protest around the sound of your heart drumming in your ears, earning a scoff.

“You have no idea, the sorts of things that could happen to a girl like you in this city.”

You can’t help but think you’re not sure if you feel safe here at home now.

“If something happened…I would have called you,” you offer up, appealing to his ego as protector, the role he’s apparently decided to take on for himself without asking you.

However, he sees right through you, rolling those beautiful dark eyes. “You should have let me take you out,” he suggests in a low tone that curls your toes in your sandals. He says it like it had been some option on your menu that you’d rejected. Never in a million years would it have even occurred to you to ask.

You find yourself doing your best impression of a fish out of water, like the ones you’d seen stacked like cord wood in the market. His other hand lifts to touch your chin lightly, closing your mouth. “Would you have liked that?”

You honestly don't know the answer to that.

This man fascinates you and repulses you. He's handsome and commanding and oh so forbidding. He scares you, but he draws you like a moth to a flame. Having these little flirtatious interactions around the house are one thing. Going out with him would be...something else entirely. The thought of what it could mean to socialize with a man like him, where you are so far from being equals, makes you uneasy. It's much safer to just...write about what might have been in your journal, later.

"I'm not sure that would be appropriate," you finally answer breathily.

His smile for you is nothing less than the wolf baring its teeth. “Why not?”

"You're my boss..." you try to defend. You scare the shit out of me is the real answer you don't dare say aloud.

Donaka can’t help the dark laugh that falls from his lips at your answer, the way you flounder as you grasp for a defense, utterly drowning. A part of him wants to claim you right here and now, for being such a sweet, soft, naive little thing in his claws.

He leans down closer to you, his head dipping down to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “Is that the best excuse you’ve got?”

For a moment, you think your soul might evacuate from your body.

"Pretty sure it's a good one," you barely manage to reply above a whisper.

“You still don’t understand what I’m offering you, do you?” he asks, his voice deceptively gentle, a dagger clothed in velvet.

You love it how he makes you out to be the obtuse one, when he is the one who has spoken so cryptically.

“I…might,” you answer. You’re not a complete innocent, or a total philistine.

What would a VIP experience on the arm of Donaka Mark be like? Although he can be charming when he wants to be, it makes you feel more anxious than intrigued. You imagine a dinner at some high-end restaurant you could never afford. Somewhere people go to be seen, more than to eat, though the food would undoubtedly be amazing. Somewhere you would feel incredibly out of place. Then what? A ride in one of his ugly but wicked fast sports cars? A night of hedonism at some exclusive club for millionaires only? And what would he expect as payment for all this? You can’t even say you wouldn’t be willing to give it. You want this man with a voracity that is–frankly–terrifying to you.

You’ve never felt anything like it.

What you wouldn’t like is the inevitable aftermath of later: he's offering you the opportunity to give yourself up–then get thrown away, with the enjoyment of some perks in between. You could repeat your mother’s history all over again, a thing you always swore up, down, and sideways you would never do.

Donaka watches all these thoughts play across your face, without a word aloud to accompany them. You just stare, unable to speak, and he narrows his eyes at you.

“Say one sentence of the novel you just wrote in your head out loud,” he challenges.

You open your mouth to try, but nothing comes out. All you can do is look up at him with what you are sure is a pathetic expression on your face, paralyzed. He is so close, and your eyes fixate for a long, damning moment on his mouth. In the end you have to close your eyes against that laser-like stare, shaking your head.

“You know something I find interesting about you,” he goes on. You open your eyes, though your tongue is still tied. “I think if I made you choose between an Hermès purse or that cheap bauble on your wrist this morning, you still would have chosen the bracelet, wouldn't you?”

“Yes,” you answer immediately, maybe not to your advantage. Then you feel a little relieved, glad it didn’t cost a fortune.

“Comparatively cheap,” he clarifies, as though he doesn't want you to feel too at ease. How did he know?

You narrow your eyes, lifting your wrist towards him. “Maybe…you should take it back.”

You think you might die of a heart attack, when he folds your smaller hand in his, and kisses your knuckles lightly. “It’s too late for that.”

You’re not sure what that means, but as he strokes your thumb lightly with his, you start to tremble.

“Sir…”

He pins you with his stare, looming over you, but makes no move, waiting.

“It’s getting late…and I have to work tomorrow.”

He lifts an eyebrow, smirking down at you. “And whose fault is that?”

“Mine…though it’s starting to be yours.”

He snorts. “Then ask me for the day off again,” he dares you. When you answer him with yet more paralyzed silence he gets frustrated, tilting your face up with his huge hand engulfing your jaw. For a man who works in tech…his fingers are calloused, and strong, and your legs just might go out from underneath you. “Ask me. Say it out loud, y/n. Tell me what’s going on, behind those big eyes.”

You, however, just shake your head against his masterful grip. “You don’t want to know.”

“I like secrets, y/n. I want to know everything.” You suppose that is his bread and butter, with his security business and all his cameras…you don’t know why it never occurred to you before now, that it could be a personal obsession, as much as professional.

You’re tempted. God, are you tempted, with this beast of a man looming over you, touching you, looking through you with those piercing dark eyes. Like he wants to eat you as much as he wants to fuck you…

Somehow you know if you dare go down that path…there will be no turning back.

You choose the coward’s road.

“Please…I think…it would be best…to call it a night.”

He weighs you with a heavy gaze for so long that you start to doubt he will let you go–in the darkest dungeon of your heart, you know that a part of you doesn’t want him to. It would be convenient, if he would make the choice for you. Let you taste the forbidden fruit with none of the blame…

You are losing your goddamned mind over this man. You need to stop.

You never really know why in the end he releases you, pushing back from the wall to give you space. You side-step towards the door of the servant’s quarters, afraid for the predatory look he’s paying you, that he might change his mind.

"Good night, Mr. Mark," you say quietly, before disappearing into the little building where you sleep. A rush of frustration flares inside him as you scamper away–again. He narrowly resists the urge to kick down your door and show you who you belong to.

“Good night,” he answers back through gritted teeth, only the crickets left to hear him. He’ll have your secrets, one way or another. He can genuinely say he tried–a first, in so long he can’t remember when. For what happens next…you will only have yourself to blame.

#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 #that gif is from tumblr via google #if its yours ill credit u!

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johnwickb1tsch · 3 months ago

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Sympathy for the Devil ~ Part 15

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. 十五

As the first rays of dawn break through the window you start awake, your internal clock telling you it’s time to get up, even though you’ve set no alarm.

You start to try to disentangle yourself from Donaka, but he only pulls you close again. “Where do you think you’re going?” he grumbles sleepily.

“Work.”

For some reason, he chuckles darkly at your answer. “Don’t be stupid. Go back to sleep.”

You’re not sure what that means, but you relax back down into his arms. You close your eyes again, enjoying the haze of lazing in bed, snuggling, as unlikely a word that seems with a man like Donaka Mark–but you do not fall back asleep. You cannot stop wondering what he meant. Don’t be stupid.

Well it’s too fucking late for that, you suppose.

An hour later he stirs, running a possessive touch over your body, almost as though he’s taking inventory. You turn to find him looking at you with a small smile that makes your heart beat double-time in your chest, for some reason. What is he up to now?

“Shall we have breakfast on the terrace?”

“Okay?”

He is the boss. He reads the confusion in your expression, and you get the sense that he’s enjoying it too.

“If you haven’t figured it out yet, you’re fired as my housekeeper.”

You blink in surprise at that.

“I am?”

“Yes. And if anyone ever asks for a reference, I will inform them that you bite.”

You press your lips, unsure if he is now amused, or still mad about that.

You do not, however, say that you’re sorry.

“Then what…are you going to do with me?”

“I’m going to take care of you, obviously.”

At hearing that your blood runs cold. He presses his lips to yours, but you do not kiss him back, alarmed by his proclamation. This annoys him–he kisses you harder, weighing you down with his larger body, shifting on top of you. “Where is my sweetly begging little bunny from last night, hmm?”

“She’s nocturnal,” you grouse, winning a snarl of a smile.

“That’s fine. So am I.”

But then he proceeds to contradict himself, using you as he likes for his own gratification, twisting you up like a pretzel while he fucks your bruised little hole. He does not offer you pleasure this time, and you do not ask for it. Your body is sated, and sore, and for once your mind is almost clear.

He’s going to take care of you.

What the ever loving fuck does that mean?

You find that you’re afraid to ask just yet, and you watch him quit the bed, stalking into the bathroom for a shower. He does not ask you to join him, so you are relieved to lie there, alone, and stare at the ceiling for a few minutes of peace.

***

After your own ablutions you join Donaka on the terrace, wearing a robe you found that seemed to match your lovely new nightgown. He pays you a steely look from across the table, and you are not sure if you’re in trouble again or not.

There is fresh fruit, boiled eggs, congee rice porridge, and tea on offer. You take some slices of mango and pour yourself a cup while you wait to see what your future holds.

“Well?” he demands, clearly still annoyed. “Aren’t you going to ask about the new terms of your existence here?”

You find you are grateful, for some ridiculous reason, that he does not say employment.

“You like to play god, don’t you?” you ask instead, taking a sip of tea. “Always watching, and pulling everyone’s strings...”

You do not expect this observation to please him. The smile he pays you isn’t exactly nice, but it’s better than one of his thunderous frowns.

“Why play at god when you may as well be one?”

Wow.

You raise your eyebrows to that, but give no answer, sitting back a little in your chair with your cup of tea. You look at him from across the table, feeling strangely zen about whatever he’s going to say next. Resigned, perhaps. But also you realized, while you were taking your shower, washing away the remnants of his essence on you and inside you, that you will never beat this man with force. Your only hope will be to go with the flow, and see what opportunity arises.

You are not hard like stone like he is, so you must be water instead.

Easier said than done, because you think the element that comes most naturally to you in a crisis is fire.

“Very well. Do enlighten me.”

He narrows his eyes at you, clearly not enjoying this brave face you’re putting on. He’s a bully, at his core. He wants a reaction, and you don’t feel like giving it to him.

“Come here,” he demands, holding out a hand.

Your stomach lurches.

“I’m fine over here.”

“You want to play this game again?”

You think about the ridiculous game of chase you played the day before. Then you imagine pushing Donaka over into the koi pond, and you crack a spiteful little smile. “Maybe.”

He, however, is looking out over the steep ledge of the terrace with some concern. “You’re not foolish enough to harm yourself out of protest, I hope? It won’t work.”

You snort in answer. “I don’t like being in pain, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Maybe, but your tolerance for it is admirable.”

Hearing that should not make you feel as proud as it does.

Water, you remind yourself. Flow, bitch flow.

Rolling your eyes, you stand from your place to go crawl into his lap. His big hands on your thighs pull you closer, settling your body just so–and there is that kindling flame inside you again. Godammit.

“Alright, darling,” you sigh in the bend of his neck, entirely too comfortable for your own good. “Tell me your evil plan.”

Like flipping a switch he laughs, delighted with your sass again. “Maybe I should just keep you locked up in my room,” he muses into your hair, nibbling at your ear. “Perhaps that would tame you properly.”

“Or perhaps I would chew through the fucking drywall,” you retort, and you feel his laughter more than hear it.

“Watch that filthy mouth.”

“I think you like my filthy mouth.”

“For some things.” The look he levels at your lips should not send a frisson of heat across your skin. Suddenly you swear that if someone sprayed you with water you would steam. You definitely have a screw loose.

“I’m willing to give you run of the house,” he tells you, sliding fingers down your thigh. “And if you behave yourself, I will arrange for a proper escort to accompany you on outings while I’m at work during the day.”

“Like…a babysitter?”

“The person I have in mind was Chinese Special Forces, but sure. Call her a babysitter to her face. See where that gets you.”

You grumble a little into his neck, but not like you mean it. This is interesting. Because leaving the house…means opportunity.

“Fine.”

“Fine?” He actually sounds surprised, clearly having expected you to fight him more. But you know if you resist him…he will lock you up, and then you will be up the proverbial creek.

“For now.” This wins the wicked smirk that signals he’s having fun again. And maybe…you are too, which is a whole other forbidden box you don’t really want to get into.

“As if you have a choice.”

“I am aware you have me over a barrel, dear.” The dark chuckle he directs into the bend of your neck should not make your clit purr the way it does.

“Now there’s an idea.”

“Ugh.”

“Hmm.” He kisses your jaw, grazing your cheek with his teeth. You let him, laying passive in his arms.

“But…what am I supposed to do with myself all day?”

It’s not as though you like working, but...it’s what you do here. He scoffs at this. “Anything you want. Write. Peruse the library, Use the gym. Anything but sitting around eating potato chips.”

“Damn.”

He pinches your thigh, making you squirm in his lap. “What is it with you and junk food?”

“Not all junk food. Just fried potatoes.”

“Hmm,” he growls.

“Oh come on. Tell me you don’t have a favorite food that you can’t resist?” He narrows his eyes at you, and you nibble his neck. “I bet you do...” you singsong playfully.

“Watch those teeth.”

So you lick him instead, and he frowns at you, though not in his usual forbidding way. “I should put you over my knee again,” he grumbles, his hand disappearing beneath your nightie, squeezing the curve of your sore behind. You are turning into a wet little mess all over again, sitting in his lap like this, and you hate yourself all the more for it.

“I haven’t done anything!” you protest, and maybe it’s the genuine note of fear in your tone that satisfies him.

“Maybe not yet, but I know you will.”

“You can’t spank me for projected infractions. That’s not how punishment works.”

The smile he gives you is all fang. “You want to lecture me on how punishment works?”

You whimper, hiding in the bend of his neck–and it’s not for show. You really are pathetic.

He lets you, stroking your hair for a good minute like the pet you are, before answering your earlier question: “It’s possible…I could eat my body weight in shumai.”

Imagining this forbidding man excited about yum cha, drinking tea and eating delicious dumplings Hong Kong style, is surprisingly…endearing.

You imagine what it might be like to go eat together at a restaurant, like a normal couple. Which is stupid, because you certainly are not.

Just because he was willing to let you go out with a bodyguard–a keeper, more like–didn’t mean he planned to be seen in public with you. How would that go, if you ran into one of his high flying acquaintances in the city? What do they do, when the wealthy encounter each other in the wild with their mistresses? Do they exchange a wink and a nod? A pat on the back and a well done ol’ boy? The thought of being regarded as a sex object in public makes you clench your jaw again.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, almost as though he can hear the gears in your sad little brain grinding.

What can you say to him? That in a fleeting moment of lunacy, you wish he was actually your boyfriend?

That you wish he actually cared about you?

You know you have to tell him something, so you force out past the lump in your throat, “I like shumai too.”

He hears it, of course. There’s no getting one over on this laser-focused man. You tell yourself that it is some cruel joke of the universe that he is so attuned to your emotions, yet somehow does not truly care about how you feel.

“What’s wrong?”

You shrug. “This is all…a lot to process,” you deflect, which isn’t in fact a lie.

“Is it? I think deep down, you knew where this was headed.”

You dare to let out a shaking sigh.

“You can mope and feel sorry for yourself,” he muses with his lips against your temple. “Or you can accept it, and enjoy it for what it is. It’s your choice.”

Easy for him to say.

Another dark thought occurs to you, and before you can stop yourself you ask in a whisper, “And what happens when you get tired of me?”

“Good question, little one. I suppose you’d better make sure I don’t get bored.”

It feels like a threat, and in that moment you cannot fathom he would ever let you go free. You don’t really know anything incriminating, aside from what he’s done to you. Technically, it’s a crime, though women are treated badly all the time to little or no consequence, especially for men like him. All he’d have to do is present your notebook as evidence of your complicity. But a part of you just knows he wouldn’t let it go that far…he’d never let you just walk away.

You sigh again, and then unexpectedly–you laugh. At the absurdity of all this, and at your own stupidity.

“Is something funny?”

“It’s just…does it ever feel like we really are doomed to become our parents?”

You never aspired to be a kept woman, but your mother was another story. You think it’s the whole reason she even had you, blindsiding your wealthy father with a pregnancy after a fling and milking it for all it was worth. You always had an understanding as a child that you were a meal-ticket first, and her daughter second. Strangely your father had never actually treated you badly, though he’d never really been present in your life either. You rarely saw him, the court-ordered summers you spent at his home. Mostly his third wife, and your half-sisters, who were all too happy to make your life a living hell.

This is far enough off base that you think you surprise him into giving you a real answer.

“I never knew my father,” Donaka admits. “He left my mother when we were very young.”

This shouldn’t pull at your heartstrings for him the way it does. “We?”

There’s a very long pause, before he admits, “I have a sister.”

“Where are they?”

He lifts an eyebrow at you now. “Somewhere else.”

“Do you ever see them?”

“No.” You hope he’ll elaborate, but he remains silent.

“Why not?”

He seems amused by your prying. “Why are you on the opposite side of the globe from your family, y/n?”

You shrug. Part of the answer is that you like adventure. The other reasons are a can of worms you do not want to open right now–same as him, you suppose.

“I’ve seen your mother’s Facebook page. She is a ridiculous woman.”

For some reason you find it hard to imagine Donaka Mark, on the iPad he carries around, social media snooping. “What do you mean you’ve seen her Facebook page?”

“You can’t be surprised that I would check into your background. It’s so easy, in this digital age.”

You’re not sure why the thought of Donaka Mark looking over your Facebook mortifies you. All your trip photos, and stupid memes, and existentialist Bourdain-esque travelog pieces that make you want to bury yourself in a hole these days, but still you keep them. Your old boyfriends, who still try to talk to you now and then, realizing what they lost much too late. Your assorted cousins who occasionally reach out before disappearing into the ether of their own lives again, and your half-sisters who all wish you were dead so they possibly don’t have to split their father’s money four ways someday. It’s not something you’ve ever banked on.

“I guess…you must find me ridiculous too.”

Inexplicably his hold upon you tightens a little. “No.” He speaks softly against your temple. “What I meant, is that you seem nothing like her.”

You’re not sure if he knows it, but it’s possibly the nicest thing he’s ever said to you, and your grip on his arms involuntarily tightens. This man is just full of surprises, it seems.

“So…was this…development the surprise you were talking about yesterday?” you dare ask. You suppose the announcement of not having to work anymore could be considered a prize, though you’re not sure you like the trade off.

“No.”

“Oh.”

He’d just planned this all along, regardless. Lovely.

The silence between you stretches on, until strangely he breaks. “Don’t you want to know what it is?”

“Is? I thought it was all past tense now.”

“It should be,” Donaka agrees. “Look at this.”

He pulls up the loose sleeve of his robe to show you your handiwork on his forearm. The distinct imprint of your teeth, some broken skin, and a fabulous purple bruise. You trace the outline of the bite feather-lightly, morbidly fascinated by your mark on his skin. He watches you with an attention you perhaps should be wary of.

“You like it, don’t you? You bloodthirsty little thing.” He kisses you, a sweet, full-mouthed affair that melts your insides, until it ends in his teeth clamped upon your lower lip, biting just this side of too hard. You whimper in alarm, and he laughs wickedly, releasing you.

“Hmm. I’ll get you back, bunny.” There is a heat in his eyes you don’t entirely understand.

If he’d voiced it, he would have told you that the thought that he is already corrupting you into something more like him, excites him.

“No, thank you.”

This amuses him, but he tips you out of his lap with a pat on your behind that turns into a squeeze. “Finish your breakfast, naughty girl.”

He says nothing more about your surprise, and you do not bring it up again, deciding it’s better not knowing.

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#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 8

one. two. three. four. five. six. seven.

Eight. 八

After that encounter in the screening room, you are extra vigilant as you go about your days, to not get caught in a room alone with Donaka Mark. It's not that you think he will hurt you...just that you don't think you would have the strength to resist him again. But a few days later the staff is in a flurry getting ready for a dinner party to entertain some of Mr. Mark's clients and friends, and you don't have time to think about it at all.

Later, you have been conscripted to help in the kitchen. You dare ask the cook, Mrs. Wong, what tou zai yee means. She is busy prepping food, so she impatiently answers, “Rabbit. Little cute rabbit. Wash these.” She shoves a bushel of bok choy at you, and you get to work. Maybe you defy Donaka Mark on the reg, but Mrs. Wong? You aren’t crazy.

You help the kitchen staff with serving for the party. The guests are all well heeled and glamorous, which is to be expected. But there is one woman who clearly has her sights set on Mark, laughing at his jokes and finding any and every reason to touch him, placing her manicured hand bedecked in a ruby the size of a quail's egg on his arm--who you cannot help but feel utterly spiteful towards. You keep your eyes down, praying Mr. Mark won't see it on your face.

Donaka enjoys the bustle of the party, his staff scurrying around like minions to wait on him and his guests. It makes him feel powerful, but the greatest satisfaction comes from watching you, watching her fawn over him.

She is absolutely gorgeous, undoubtedly rich, and you feel...stupid, and small as a little mouse. Donaka seems to be enjoying her attentions, and you wonder if she will stay, after all the other guests have gone. Of course he would seek the company of a woman more his equal. All you could ever be to him is a plaything to pass the time in between more glamorous assignations.

Donaka eats it up as the beautiful woman continues to touch his arm, continues to laugh and throw herself at him, clearly desperate to be close to him. His eyes dart over to where you are standing on the other side of the room, watching him between offering drinks to his guests on a tray. He decides to teach you a lesson.

You know its ridiculous, but you are green with envy, as Donaka ducks to say something in her ear, and the two of them disappear from the room. Going to the garden, maybe, or his office. Or even...his bedroom. The thought of it makes you physically ill...and knowing that you’ll have to change the sheets, tomorrow...Goddammit. You have to leave the room to compose yourself, finding that you are trying not to cry.

Donaka walks out of the room, his hand holding onto the woman’s slender arm, her laughing and giggling at his side. He leads her down the hall, not paying attention to the way she keeps talking, her hand touching his arm, her body practically pressed against his. You never see where they go. You stay in the kitchen the rest of the night, helping to clean up the mess.

It's late when everyone has finally left. You are the last one in the living room, tidying everything, cleaning up some broken glass hiding under a chair from one of the guests.

Donaka silently joins you, standing in the doorway of the sitting room when the guests are all finally gone, watching you pick up glass from a broken champagne flute, admiring your skirt riding up your thighs as you crawl on the floor. When you finally stand you gasp to find his towering dark figure there. You’d thought that he'd retired, possibly with that beautiful woman he'd had on his arm. The thought of her makes you stew inside all over again.

“You did a good job tonight,” he says, his voice low as he steps into the room.

"Thank you, sir. I think...your party was a success." Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves immensely at his expense.

Donaka hums softly at your words, closing the space between the two of you until he’s towering over you. “Mmm, yes,” he says. “Everyone had a good time. Especially me.”

The bastard just can’t restrain himself from rubbing it in.

You exhale through your nose, practically squirming with the effort to remain professional. "I'm glad, sir." He certainly enjoyed himself with that woman. Your hand clenches involuntarily–on the broken glass you’d been cradling so carefully before. You yelp at the pain, the shard stuck in your palm, blood bright as cinnabar welling forth. "Shit," you curse, dashing for the kitchen before you can drip on his expensive silk rugs.

The kitchen is deserted as you go to the sink. The razor-sharp shard is really embedded in the meat of your palm, and you feel light headed just looking at it. You fucking little idiot, you admonish yourself. Well, you hope Donaka enjoys the reaction he got out of you. You wish you were better at shutting down your emotions. It’s a skill you could really use about now. Tears well in your eyes, and your injury is only half to blame.

“Let me see.” His deep voice comes from somewhere behind you, and you shake your head. His help is the last thing you want right now.

“I’m fine, Sir,” you say through gritted teeth. “Please don’t bother yourself.”

But then the solid line of his warmth is behind you, so close, and he reaches around your smaller form with those long arms, taking charge of your injured hand in his. He clicks his tongue at the sight of it.

Your first instinct is to shy away, but he pins you against the cabinetry with a low, warning growl. “Be still,” he commands, and for once, you obey, every cell in your body aware of this man pressed against your back. You can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears, your breathing shallow, and not just because of his weight pressing into you.

Maybe you will pass out. That would serve him right.

“If you’re squeamish, don’t look,” he instructs, and before you can say a thing he’s plucked the glass from your skin, and replaced it with a dish towel, holding pressure on your wound. "You should be more careful."

You clench your jaw, biting down on your first, second, and third scathing replies.

A good thirty seconds pass, before you’re able to offer the appropriate, “Yes, Sir.”

For once, this meek reply does not please Donaka.

He bends down to speak softly in your ear. “You think I fucked her?”

Furious, you struggle again, to absolutely no avail. His hips and muscular thighs brace you into the edge of the sink, his arms are around you and his hands are holding yours–you’re the one who’s fucked, and not in any nice way.

“Answer me.”

You’re pretty sure he can hear you grinding your teeth.

“Yes,” you admit, sounding as small and miserable as you feel inside.

“Why would you care, if all you do is run from me?”

Therein lies the million dollar question. You realize tears are rolling down your cheeks when you feel the moisture dripping from your chin.

“Because I’m an idiot,” you answer, your throat suddenly raw.

“I know you’re not stupid. Try again.”

“You’re being cruel,” you protest, praying that somewhere, deep down, this man might possess a modicum of compassion for you.

“I am seeking the truth, y/n. What more noble pursuit is there in life?”

You laugh, a ragged outburst of sound. You can’t tell if he’s being serious, or his usual sardonic self. Either way, it’s a spring trap set for you with big sharp teeth.

“I think you pursue truth for the power in it, Mr. Mark. That’s hardly noble.”

You feel him chuckle behind you, more than hear it. How right you were. The security business paid well, but he made his first real fortune plying secrets gleaned from all his cameras watching the wealthy. Some of those secrets were worth more when kept, and some, worth more sold.

“Touché. Fine. We’ll trade. I’ll tell you that I would sooner go to bed with a viper, than that woman tonight.”

You are not proud of the way you relax in his hold, even if minutely, at hearing that unexpected confession. “This is none of my business, Sir,” you try to evade.

“Nice try. Now you tell me why that information pleases you.”

“I need to bandage my hand.”

Goddammit if the first aid kit isn’t easily in reach for him. He doesn’t even have to let go of you, to take it down from the overhead cabinet and flip open the lid, carefully removing the towel to administer to your wound with an alcohol wipe and a bandage, all while still trapping you in the circle of his arms. “I’m still waiting,” he tells you, as he wraps your palm with gauze neatly.

“I think you’ve done this before,” you deflect, floundering for anything else to talk about.

“A few times.”

“I guess it’s not a party until someone bleeds…”

This earns you a huff of laughter. “You have no idea…”

You’re not sure why his answer unsettles you. When he fastens the end of your gauze you feel a little like a mummy. This was probably overkill, but you were glad for the distraction. You fear the interim is over, when his big hand moves to hold the front of your throat, ever so lightly. It’s possessive, and titillating, and not half so off-putting as it should be.

“Y/n?”

“Sir.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

With the solid, scalding line of his body pressed against your back, you can feel his heartbeat drumming against your spine, and the bulge of his arousal against you too. It’s all so maddening that you think you might have slid to the floor on your weak knees, if not for him pinning you. You’re going to have an indent in your skin from the edge of the sink biting into your flesh. Your silence stretches on, your body trembling in his arms. You’re not sure you could form a word, even if you knew what to say.

You have no idea how to quantify your feelings for Donaka Mark. He scares you and fascinates you. He’s so handsome it hurts, but even so, if that had been the sum total of your attraction you could have gotten over it. It’s the way he looks at you, speaks to you–challenges you. Your libido votes to climb him like a tree and fuck him, your higher brain functions insist it’s not worth the price of your soul. As much if not more than your body, this man craves your complete submission. You sense it like a coming storm.

“I’d prefer you to let go of me.”

Again, you feel him growl behind you more than hear it.

Maybe it's the alcohol he consumed that evening, or the sight of the blood, the act of caring for you. His control is paper thin tonight, and he just can't stop himself from shifting his hold to your jaw, tilting your head up to him, and pressing his mouth to yours.

You always thought a kiss from Donaka Mark would be a soul-searing act of domination–something that bordered on pain. Brutal tongue and clashing teeth and those long fingers tangled in your hair–you can hardly believe it, when this powerful man is actually considerate of you, big hands that could snap your neck holding you with care, his plush lips and his clever tongue sliding against yours. He is not exactly gentle, releasing you only so that he can turn your body in his arms, pressing your front to his. He takes what he wants, and does not apologize for it

Yet you also feel he is asking you a question with this kiss, and even though you have turned to jelly in his capable hands, your answer is still this: that you are a coward, and maybe a cynic too.

You cannot believe that Donaka Mark could truly be so caring. It is the enticing glow of the angler fish’s lure, so pretty and soft–beyond lays a monster with teeth waiting to devour you.

You’ve never wanted to chance it so badly in your life, but in the end self-preservation wins again.

He actually lets you slide from his grasp, until the last part of you that is touching is your seeking mouths. You hold your hands behind your back, so that you do not reach out for him, the way you really want to.

You draw back to look up at him, his pupils blown so wide his eyes are truly the jet black of a shark’s. This is the reality of your situation: he is the king of the reef–you are naught but a tasty little angelfish. You are not clever enough, fast enough, mean enough to play with the likes of this man. He would eat you alive.

Wide eyed, it’s all you can do to shake your head, your words caught in your throat until you’ve backed away a few steps. “I’m sorry…I can’t.” Donaka watches you disbelievingly, as you flee him, yet again, on those quick little feet.

With a fist clenched at his side, he decides this will be the last time. A seething storm roils within him, and you have no idea the beast you have unleashed in rejecting him, when Donaka Mark offered you tenderness over an iron fist.

You are going to be sorry.

#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

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