#i have a whole ass photoshoot with johns dead body

[aristomal]

[fan-wicktion]

Sparrow - The Final Chapter (15)

MASTERLIST

warnings: bad language, angst, smutttt

a/n: I am here to finish this. The final chapter!!! I’m so grateful to all of you for supporting me this whole time, even though I am so sporadic. ♥️

SUMMARY: You are an assassin who stole a kill from John Wick. You royally piss off the High Table during a trip, and Winston orders John to hunt you down and bring you back in order to kill you. John finds you (of course), and you both accidentally end up bonding a bit on your travels back to New York. A call from Winston breaks the daydream, and you attempt to escape John’s captivity. He catches you.

——————————————–

John tosses you back in your room. Considering the circumstances, it might as well have been a prison cell. You couldn’t escape this building without him knowing. Even if you managed to flee, he would catch up to you eventually.

Seething, you stalk back and forth in the enclosed space, hot tears staining your face.

Paid for the whole fucking building, huh? Your eyes lock on the lamp by the bed. Shouldn’t be a problem if—CRASH! Your boot collides with the ceramic surface, sending shards everywhere. A strange thrill grips your stomach as you survey the wreckage. Rage.

You’re a wildcat caught in a trap. A tornado confined to a room. Who fuckin cares anymore?

A primal shriek of fury rips out of you and your fist breaks through the drywall. Panting, you shake the bits of wall off your knuckles and fondle the hilt of one of the knives strapped to your thigh.

“STUPID—” Thud. The blade embeds itself in the opposite wall.

“FUCKING—”

Thud.

“JOB—”

Thud.

“STUPID—”

Thud.

“FUCKING—”

Thud.

“RULES—”

Thud.

“STUPID—”

Thud.

“FUCKING—”

Thud.

“JOHN—” Your fingers wrap around air, and you realize you’ve run out of knives.

“GrrRRRRR!” Pulling at your hair, you give up.

Your body slumps onto the bed in physical and mental exhaustion. Weakly, you punch at a couple pillows before sobbing yourself to sleep.

———————————————

You refuse to look at John or speak to him at all on the ride to the airport, and the silent treatment continues on your flight. You sit as far away from him as possible, glaring out the window.

To his credit, John makes no attempt to interact with you…which is…fine…

Except you almost wish he would. Wish he would act upset at all, or angry even! Yell at you, fight with you, drag you in screaming or…or save you.

But he doesn’t do any of that. He just sits there silently at the front of the plane, hands in his lap. Doing nothing.

Fuckin asshole. I never should have trusted him. He never cared about me…he just wanted to bring me in. He—

A lump threatens at the back of your throat. No. I won’t cry anymore. Time to take it like a fucking man. You decide at that moment that there will be no hysterics, no crying or begging from you. You’d rather take a bullet to the brain with dignity than flounder like an apologizing idiot in front of Winston. Maybe even get a few wise-cracks in just to piss him off…

Plus, who knows. Maybe you’ll find a way out of it.

——————————————

The glow of the streetlights dance off the wet pavement in front of the Continental. Your sleek vehicle pulls up to the steps. You climb out behind John, the dull ache of acceptance sitting heavily in your chest. At the top of the stairs you pause, turning to look out over the city. Your home. Yeah, New York was a rat-infested hellhole sometimes…but it was your rat-infested hell hole. Ugh. Why’d I have to go and be a little shit head and get myself killed?

John catches your arm just as you’re turning towards the door. What’s this? Our daring escape?! He leans down and whispers in your ear:

“Trust me.”

What?! The click of cool metal around your wrists adds to your surprise.

“ExCUSE ME—??” So much for escaping into the sunset.

John jostles you through the door, and you do your best to walk gracefully while handcuffed. You can feel the eyes of a hundred assassins on you as you make your way through the lobby, a few wolf-whistles punctuating the light chuckling. You should be self conscious, but honestly? This is legendary. You manage to squeeze in a couple winks and bows as John drags you to the elevator. At least I’ll die a legend.

As the doors slide shut, you sneak a glance up at Mr. John Wick. His brown eyes are steely and staring straight ahead, jaw set menacingly. He seems so cold and aloof that you wonder if you were imagining things earlier. ‘Trust me’? What does that mean?

A shaky bundle of nerves forms in your chest, banging about your ribcage as the floor numbers fly by. It settles into a hard knot somewhere deep in your stomach.

Ding! The elevator stops.

Without looking at you, John grips your arm and steps through the threshold. You try not to stumble as he drags you forward. Your eyes lock on to a behemoth wooden desk. Oak? Maple? Why is this what I’m focusing on right now?! Shifting your gaze upwards, you see the short, grim figure of the man who wants you dead. Winston.

You lift your chin and stare down your nose at him.

“Hey there, big guy.”

John’s grip tightens fractionally around your bicep; Winston chuckles darkly.

“Ah, Sparrow. Always such a…joy…to see you. Couldn’t fly out of this one, could you?” He rounds the desk, leaning on it casually. A quick glance at John, and next thing you know you’re on your knees before him. You shift your weight slightly, cursing the handcuffs. If I could just—

The back of your head brushes the cool metal of the gun. Oh.

Every nerve in your body is aflame, screaming FIGHT OR FLIGHT? FIGHT OR FLIGHT? FIGHT? FLIGHT? SOMETHING? ANYTHING? Your fingers tremble as you realize there’s no way out. Nowhere to run that you wouldn’t be found. No safety. No life. No options.

“You know, John volunteered to do this. Said he’s really enjoy finally putting an end to all of your nonsense. Ha! I can only imagine the trouble you’ve put him through. I would feel bad but, well, he deserves it.” He laughs, taking a sip of his expensive-ass liquor.

Volunteered? You swallow the lump in your throat and glare up at Winston. “So, you didn’t like what you saw, hm? Why don’t we recreate my little photoshoot, just you and me?” And the bullet to seal the deal.

He scoffs. “Sweetheart, there are rules. And they must be followed. I don’t need unprofessional amateurs sullying the craft. The behavior you displayed cannot be tolerated by me or the high table. It is necessary for me to uphold these traditions, or we will crumble into a band of mediocre thugs. This is much more than just a photo, darling.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, fuck off. You just wanted to see me on my knees I bet.”

Winston doesn’t acknowledge you, looking at John instead. “Good lord, is she always like this? I see why you wanted to off her yourself.”

The corners of your eyes prickle with angry tears. Angry with Winston, angry with John, angry with yourself. How could I let this happen? How could I trust—

Trust?

“Go ahead then, whenever you’re ready Mr. Wick.”

Wait—

The safety comes off with a sickening click.

You feel the air move behind your scalp. You throw yourself out of the way just in time to watch John step around you, leveling the barrel of his gun at Winston’s forehead.

Winston slowly sets down his glass, raising his hands slightly in surrender.

“John, what’s this? Don’t tell me—”

“Listen to me.” John’s voice is low and menacing. “I’m done. I want out. I’m sick of living like this. I want a life, do you hear me?” You can practically hear how hard he’s clenching his jaw.

“Well I hardly think—”

“I SAID, do you hear me?”

“Yes, but—”

“I’m buying my freedom. And hers. I think you oughta comply.” He kicks a heavy briefcase over to Winston and it jingles ominously. Gold coins? Holy shit— “Let’s not forget all I have done for you.”

Winston takes his time staring at the case, then locks eyes with John, seemingly weighing his options. On one hand, he had all the power. He could refuse. On the other…was John Wick. The Baba Yaga. The angel of death himself.

He sighs. “Have it your way John. We’ll see if it sticks this time. I’ll speak with the High Table.”

You feel your entire body melt with relief, muscles you didn’t realize you were clenching quivering in release. John eyes Winston critically, then stoops to pull you to your feet.

“Hey, I—” You try to form a sentence to thank him, but the words won’t come.

“Don’t,” he grunts.

Glancing at Winston, you have the urge to stick out your tongue and gloat, but decide not to press your luck. You nod at him and follow John out the door.

———————————————

John strides towards the sleek Mustang waiting at the curb. Unsure, you trail behind. Is he expecting me to like, go home?

Judging by the look he gives you as he yanks open the driver’s side door, you guess you’re supposed to get in. Is he mad? He looks kinda mad…

You climb in to the passenger seat, noting his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.

“My apartment’s right around the co—EEP!” Suddenly, you find yourself in the backseat. How did—

John’s frame looms above you. He leans down, so close his beard tickles your cheek. One hand snakes up to grip your jaw.

“I’ve waited so fucking long for this,” he turns your face towards his, and locks eyes with you for the first time in over 24 hours. Raw need grips your core as his animal desire envelopes your mind. Grabbing fist-fulls of his sleek hair, you pull him towards you. Your teeth crash together in a desperate kiss, hands hungrily undoing belts, buttons.

“Think you can handle this, sweetheart?” A cocky grin interrupts you tugging his bottom lip.

“You’re on, old man.”

He cocks an eyebrow at you and slides his hand down the front of your underwear. The pads of his fingers glide over your soaking slit, and a low groan escapes his lips. You yelp as he tears your undergarments off completely, shoving your pants down around your ankles. You’ve managed to free him of his pants as well, and gasp as you unveil his throbbing cock.

You start pulling him towards your entrance, but John snatches your wrists and pins them above your head roughly. He holds them there as he grasps his length.

“No, baby. After all you’ve put me through? I’m in charge.” He lines up and thrusts into you abruptly, causing you both to moan loudly. “Fuuuckkk.”

After all this time waiting, fantasizing, pining over and hating him, feeling John Wick fill you up with his thick cock was nearly too much to handle. You could feel every vein, every inch of his dick against your walls, stretching you out.

The long-held tension between you snaps, and you’re all over each other. He pounds you into the back seat of his car mercilessly, pinning you with one arm, the other alternating between slapping your ass and fingering your mouth. You wail and moan, crying his name over and over as spit coats his fingers and your own face, and your wetness coats his cock. The entire Mustang is rocking, windows steaming up, and you know—you know—people can see exactly what’s going down. You don’t care. Somehow, knowing the entire Continental is watching John Wick fuck your brains out makes this entire situation a thousand times hotter.

John takes his spit-coated thumb and begins rubbing quick circles over your clit. The building heat in your core intensifies, sending you over the edge. Your orgasm crashes over you, and you feel yourself clenching around his girth. John growls with pleasure, bearing down and increasing his speed. His hand finds its way back up your body and around your neck as he chases his own climax.

The pleasure of your orgasm and the lack of oxygen makes you see stars. John pulls you into a filthy kiss, and you climax again. Your throbbing hole sends him over the edge, and you feel his warm cum fill you up. He nips at your neck playfully while you both lay there, panting.

“I was going to wait until we got home, but I couldn’t fucking resist any longer. You drive me so crazy that I think I hate you,” John mumbles in your ear. You grin mischievously.

“Hate me enough to fuck me harder next time?”

He yanks your head back by your hair. “Fuck you. You know I’ll destroy you.”

John slides his length out of you with a groan, admiring the slow leak of cum from your pussy. He pulls up your pants, sternly ordering you to keep his seed inside you for the ride back to his place. You both emerge from the back of the car very ruffled, and you nod at the doormen cheekily as you climb in the passenger seat once more.

You gaze at John as he speeds homeward, his cum leaking down your leg, and can’t help but think your future seems pretty damn bright.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you all again for all the support and love! ♥️

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