#keanuverse

[spiderfangirl22]

Don’t Say That It’s Over I’d Kill To Be Closer IV

Two updates in 1 day wow!!! Even I’m surprised it might take some time for part 5 so maybe by Thursday I should have part 5 out

Warnings: Blood, Yandere, Violence

John Wick, the Baba Yaga, the man they called Johnathan, moved with a purpose that belied the years he'd tried to leave behind.

Winston's voice echoed in his mind, the urgency in his tone a stark reminder of the stakes.

He pieced together the fragments of information Winston had provided. A former colleague, a missing daughter, a car heading north. It was a thread, a fragile one, but John knew how to pull.

He activated his network, the web of contacts he'd cultivated during his years in the underworld.

Information flowed, whispers in the dark, digital breadcrumbs leading him closer to his target.

The car had been spotted, heading towards a remote cabin in the Adirondacks.

He traced the license plate, a phantom vehicle registered to a shell corporation. The former colleague remained elusive, a ghost in the system.

John prepared with meticulous care. He donned his signature suit, tailoring hiding a lightweight ballistic vest.

Underneath, he strapped a holster with his preferred handgun, a Heckler & Koch P30L.

He checked the magazine, the weight of the rounds reassuring in his hand. He packed a duffel bag with additional weapons, ammunition, and the tools he might need for infiltration.

His vehicle of choice was a black 1969 Ford Mustang, a muscle car resurrected from his past.

It was a symbol of the life he'd briefly tasted before it was ripped away, a reminder of the price he'd paid. He drove north, the Mustang devouring the miles, the city lights fading behind him.

He arrived at the location Winston had provided, a winding dirt road leading to a secluded cabin.

He parked the Mustang deep in the shadows, concealed by the thick foliage. As he scanned the area, he spotted a dark charger parked near the cabin, its tinted windows obscuring the interior.

A closer look revealed the telltale markings of a police interceptor, stripped of its official livery but still bearing the subtle modifications of surveillance equipment.

A cop? Involved in a kidnapping? The pieces didn't quite fit. He waited, patience a weapon honed over years of experience.

The car remained stationary, its occupants unseen. After what felt like an eternity, the Charger finally pulled away, disappearing down the dirt road.

John emerged from the shadows, his movements fluid and silent. He approached the cabin, his senses on high alert.

He circled the perimeter, searching for points of entry. The windows were reinforced, the doors were solid, but the framing wasn't perfect.

He found a weakness near the back, a loose panel in the wooden wall.

He reached into his bag, withdrawing a slim jim and a lock pick set.

He worked quickly, bypassing the rudimentary security system. The panel gave way, revealing a dark space behind the wall. He slipped inside, moving with the silence of a predator.

He found himself in a storage room, boxes stacked against the walls. He moved to the door leading into the main cabin, pressing his ear against the wood.

He could hear voices, hushed but distinct. He recognized Y/N's voice, thanks the recordings of her from Winston, laced with a hint of fear.

He kicked the door open, bursting into the room, his gun leveled. Y/N stood frozen, her eyes wide with shock. Her black green eyed  kitten, Shadow, scurried behind her, her fur standing on end.

In that moment, John felt a pang of protectiveness, a flicker of genuine concern for this woman he had never met.


His presence hadn't gone unnoticed. Y/N,  scrambled to her feet, instinctively backing away. Then, she noticed the resemblance.��

The eyes, the set of the jaw… it was almost uncanny. She had spent weeks staring at Tom, imprinting his features onto her memory. 

And here stood a man who could have been his twin, save for the subtle differences – the stubble shadowing his jaw, the sharper lines etched around his eyes, the air of lethal competence that radiated from him.


She stumbled back, fear warring with confusion. "Who... who are you?" she stammered, instinctively seeking cover behind the armchair.


John Wick raised his hands slowly, palms open, a gesture of peace that felt almost absurd in his line of work.

”My name is John Wick," he said, his voice a low, soothing rumble. "I'm here to help you. Your father is worried about you." He kept his voice calm, slow, and gentle, the same way he would with an unpredictable animal.


Relief washed over Y/N, so potent it almost buckled her knees. Her father had sent someone and not just anyone it seemed as she had heard stories of the infamous baby yaga and here he was at her door…She was going to be free.

"You... you're here to rescue me?" she whispered, her voice trembling with hope.


"That's right," John replied, offering a small, reassuring smile. "Let's get you out of here."


But the complex knot of emotions that had been tightening in Y/N's chest for weeks refused to unravel so easily.

Despite everything, despite the fear and the uncertainty, there was a thread of connection between her and Tom Ludlow, a bond forged in the crucible of shared trauma. And she couldn't just abandon him.

"I can't leave him," she said, her voice stronger now, laced with a desperate plea. "I won't."


As if summoned by her words, a figure appeared in the doorway, silhouetted against the dim light. Tom Ludlow.

He had seen the car parked in the distance, that so desperately tried to hide from view but, Tom being a cop was as observant as ever. He knew something was wrong.


His eyes fixated on John, and then on Y/N. Comprehension dawned, followed by a surge of raw, desperate anger. He raised his pistol, aiming it directly at John.


"Get the fuck out of here," Tom snarled, his voice shaking. "This doesn't concern you, fucker!”


John didn't flinch. "This does concern me," he countered, his voice still calm but with an underlying edge of steel. "I'm here to take Y/N home."

Without another word, Tom fired.


The bullets slammed into John's chest, the impact muffled by the bulletproof vest. He grunted, the force momentarily staggering him, but he didn't fall.


Y/N screamed, a high-pitched, piercing sound of pure terror. "Tom, no! Stop it! Please!"


But Tom was beyond reason, his mind consumed by fear and desperation. He fired again, and again, the cabin filling with the deafening roar of gunfire.

John moved with blinding speed, a blur of lethal motion. He dodged one shot, deflected another with his forearm, and closed the distance between them in a heartbeat.

He lashed out, his hand a lightning strike, hitting Tom's wrist with brutal force. The gun flew from Tom's grasp, clattering to the floor.


Before Tom could react, John had him pinned against the wall, his forearm pressed against his throat, cutting off his air supply.

He reached down, retrieving the spare pistol holstered at Tom's waist. He brought it up, the cold steel pressing against Tom's temple.


"Please! Don't!" Y/N shrieked, her voice hoarse with desperation. She rushed forward, grabbing John's arm, pleading with him. "Please, don't kill him! There has to be another way!"

John hesitated, his gaze locking with Y/N's. He saw the raw fear in her eyes, the desperation, but also something else – a flicker of something that looked like… compassion? He lowered the gun slightly.


"There is another way," Y/N insisted, her voice trembling but firm. "We can go to my father. He can pay off your debt. Tom and you can be the heroes. If Winston finds out Tom took me, he will kill him himself, but if we bring him back as the man who saved me, he will be spared."


The suggestion hung in the air, absurd and improbable.

But John saw the logic in it, the desperate attempt to salvage a situation spiraling out of control.

And he saw something else too – he saw why Tom a cop would risk everything even jail time for this women.

Y/N was beautiful, pure, innocent, with a hint of raw spirit, and she seemed to see the good in people as she had stopped him from ending the pathetic cops life.

Y/N had to be more pure and innocent than his late wife, Helen. 

John slowly looked at Tom, his face contorted with fear and desperation. He saw the weakness, the misguided love that had driven him to this point. He could have easily ended his life, but he stopped himself.


John released Tom, shoving him away. "Alright," he said, his voice flat. "We do this your way. But one wrong move, and I won't hesitate." To make a point John touched the gun attached to his waist.

The uneasy truce was struck. They gathered their belongings, the atmosphere thick with tension and unspoken recriminations. As they prepared to leave, Y/N approached John, her expression a mixture of gratitude and concern.


"You're hurt," she said, gently touching his arm. "Let me clean those wounds." John hesitated, unused to such gestures of tenderness. 

But he allowed her to guide him to a chair, her touch surprisingly gentle as she examined the bruises left by the bullets. She cleaned the skin with a damp cloth, her brow furrowed in concentration.


As she tended to his wounds, John found himself studying her face. He saw the resilience in her eyes, the quiet strength that had allowed her to survive this ordeal. He saw the beauty that Winston had spoken of, a beauty that went far beyond mere physical appearance.


He understood now. He understood why Tom had been driven to such desperate measures. He understood the possessive love, the fear of losing something precious.

He wasn't sure he condoned it, but he understood it. He realized that he, too, would have been in the same place as Tom right now as he’d would have also taken drastic measures to keep Y/N by his side..Such an innocent and pure soul.

As Y/N cleaned the blood, she could see the pain etched on Johns face, the weariness in his eyes.

She realized that beneath the ruthless exterior, there was a man who was burdened by his past, a man who was capable of empathy….She was tempted and couldn’t resist and gently cupped his cheek his facial hair tickling her fingers slightly.

At first John tried to pull away but the sweet and gentle touch of this women had him conflicted. So he gave in and leaned into her touch. 

"Thank you, John," she said softly. "For saving me. For not killing Tom."

John looked at her, his eyes searching. "You shouldn't thank me. I did what I had to do."

Y/N nodded and removed her hand from his cheek and went to check on Tom who had finished packing John’s mustang.

They had to leave Tom’s charger behind much to his displeasure, as Winston knew the car model that had taken is daughter and wouldn’t hesitate and shoot Tom Where he stood.

They all sat into the Mustang, John behind the wheel, Tom and Y/N in the back. 

The ride to the Continental was silent, each lost in their own thoughts. 

As they drove, John couldn't shake the feeling that he had crossed a line. He had spared a life, not out of mercy, but out of understanding. He had seen a reflection of himself in Tom, a man driven by love and desperation.

Finally, they arrived at the Continental, after a few grueling Days, the imposing building a beacon of neutrality in a world of violence. 

Y/N was astonished at the building only having see it once as her father didn’t want her involved in this life. She once again reached into her almost empty back of ranch Doritos and offered and Tom and John some and they politely declined.

John parked the Mustang up front and handed his keys to the Valet and led them inside, the familiar atmosphere of the hotel washing over him.

He approached the front desk, where Charon, the concierge, greeted him with a knowing smile. 

"Welcome back, Mr.Wick," Charon said, his eyes flickering towards Y/N “ I trust everything went according to plan?"

"More or less," John replied, his voice noncommittal. "I need a room for three."

Charon nodded, handing him three keycards. "Of course, Mr. Wick. And as always…Enjoy your stay."

They went up to their room, the opulent suite a stark contrast to the rustic cabin they had left behind. Y/N turned to John, her eyes filled with gratitude.

"Thank you, John," she said again. "For everything."

John nodded, his gaze fixed on her. "Get some rest, Y/N. You've been through a lot."

He turned to leave, pausing at the door. He looked at Tom, his eyes filled with a silent warning. "Don't make me regret this," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

He stepped out of the room, leaving Y/N and Tom alone. As he walked down the hallway, he couldn't help but wonder what the future held. 

He had broken his own rules, defied his own code. He had allowed love and compassion to cloud his judgment.

He knew that Winston would be pleased that he had rescued his daughter. 

But he also knew that Winston would be suspicious of his actions. He had spared a life, a life that deserved to be taken after what they did.

As he reached the lobby, he saw Winston waiting for him, his face etched with concern. "Johnathan," Winston said, his voice grave. "Tell me everything."

John nodded, preparing to recount the events of the past few days. He knew that he had a lot to explain, a lot to justify. But as he looked into Winston's eyes, he saw not judgment, but understanding. 

He realized that Winston knew him better than anyone else in the world.


He began to speak, his voice low and steady, recounting the events of the past few days. 

As he spoke, he couldn't help but feel a sense of relief, a weight lifting from his shoulders. He had done what he had to do, even if it meant breaking his own rules.

As he finished his story, Winston remained silent, his expression unreadable. Finally, he spoke, his voice soft but firm. 

"You have done well, Johnathan. You and this man I have yet to meet myself..have saved my daughter's life. And for that, I am eternally grateful."

John nodded, accepting Winston's praise. He knew that he had earned his gratitude. But he also knew that he had changed, in ways that he couldn't yet comprehend.

He had seen the power of love, the strength of compassion. He had spared a life, and in doing so, he had perhaps saved himself.

And he hoped that the officer didn’t mind sharing such an innocent soul such as, Y/Ns

[brookie-kookie1943]

Where are you sitting?

Personally I’d say the safest way to go is 5 but I’m definitely one for a little danger so I’d choose 7…

Just wanted to update y’all that I’ve been working on my asks recently so no one thinks I’ve abandoned my account🙏🏻

[gothreeves]

Was having a decent day till I remembered these quotes exist

[monsoonsosoon]

how can I be normal when he looks like this?

[ashesfordayz]

Keanu Reeves being cast as Shadow was the best casting decision ever!!

[harvestingsun]

Was literally just about to sleep when I heard the news and I was FLABAGASTED

I actually don't believe it. Like that's just. 🤯

[indeedgoodman]

[letmelickyoureyeballs]

Had to quit studying and make this cause I couldn’t get it out of my head

[generalkenobee]

Imagine John Wick fucking you in his big kitchen, he has you bent over the counter screaming while grabbing at anything you can, the sinks, cutlery, holding out your hand as a sign that you want him to grab it.

So now John is fucking into you, telling you how good you're being whilst your hand rests in his gently. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear "yeah? Ya like that sweetheart" and if you don't answer he'd just chuckle to himself knowing how fucked out you are.

[97keanu]

Premise: After some fun in the snow, you’ve come down with a cold, and John has to take care of you.

Tags/CW: Drabble, Fluff, john tries his best to take care of you, he worries for you so much, extremely fluffy and loving!john, short n sweet <3

Words: 700

“I told you that you were going to get sick going out like that.” John’s low and soft voice says as he takes the termometer out of your mouth gently, checking the indicator.

”I just wanted to make a snowman…” You pout, your body getting another chill despite how hot you feel.

“I know, darling, but snow from the streets of New York…?” He tsks and hands you more water.

“Drink up, you need to stay hydrated.” You take the straw of the glass into your mouth and eagerly slurp, your throat so sore and so dry.

“I’ll go make you something to eat, you need to keep your strength up.” John stands, tucking you tighter into bed and making sure you’ll all set for the few moments he will be away, a worry hidden in his brow.

You nod, your eyes beginning to feel heavy, and your body so weak from fighting off your sickness. You watch through the soft vignette of your closing lashes as John leaves the room.

John’s shoulders drop as the door closes softly behind him. He lets out a long sigh, and he would never let you know, but he’s very worried about you. He knows you will likely be alright, and he’s doing his best to be there for you. Still, he’s never had to care for another person like this. Sure, he could patch you up, any wound or scrap or cut, but not many people in his life have been just plain sick. It was a strange feeling. He knows that all he can do is keep you hydrated, administer medications, and let you get lots of rest, but somehow the waiting game of seeing if you’ll be alright is killing him. He closes his eyes, not getting a lot of rest himself as he’s been up watching over you all night and leans against the wall for a moment, before pushing off and heading to the kitchen.

Soon, he returns to the room, a tray of soup and tea and assortments that he thought you might like in one hand. John gently opens the door with his freehand, the other balancing the tray precisely and his dark eyes gaze across the still room, his lavish home and bed hiding you in a million different blankets that you requested when your chills got too bad earlier. You don’t stir as he enters the room. John carefully pads across to you, setting the tray down next to the bedside, and softly pulling back one of the covers you’ve cocooned yourself with.

Your breathing is slow, rhythmic, through your mouth since your nose is so stuffed up. He can hear a low rattle from your lungs, a sound that makes his brows furrow deeper, and his worry gather. You cough for a moment there, and he sighs. He doesn’t like the sound of this at all, but he’s utterly helpless. He’s had you examined by the best doctor he knows, and been assured it’s just a common cold, and that it will pass, but he hates seeing you have to go through this.

The Babayaga has found something that he cannot simply kill.

Something he cannot take over with violence, but instead requires a gentle hand.

A new territory for him, all this love, all this kindness.

All he can do now is try his best not to wake you, as he knows how much you need your rest, while he sits down next to you on the bed. The tea and soup give soft flutters of steam as they cool, and John doesn’t mind having to remake whatever it is you desire when you wake up. The back of his hand flits against your forehead, as light as a butterfly's wing, and he wonders if your head is hot, or his hands are just cold. He’s not sure he has the instinct for knowing such things.

You stir just a moment as he touches you, and John freezes, before you mumble something. He worries you have some request that he’s not fulfilling so he leans his ear in closer to you.

“John…?” You say weakly, barely awake.

“Yes, my dear?” His voice brushes against your cheek cool and sweet.

“Will you hold me?”

In calculated, but soft movements, John gently eases himself next to you, wrapping his arms around you until you’re completely safe and sound there.

The world drifts away once more, and you sleep knowing that no harm can come to you while John has you in his arms.

[xalala]

SONIC THE HEDGEHOG 3 (2024) dir. Jeff Fowler

[spiderfangirl22]

Yandere John Wick x Reader x Yandere Tom Ludlow

TWO IS BETTER THAN ONE

Warnings: Abuse of Authority, Kidnapping, Yandere

Y/N, a 26-year-old with kind eyes and a warm smile, worked as a barista at a cozy little coffee shop nestled in the heart of the city. Her life was simple, predictable, and, for the most part, peaceful.

That is, until the day two very different, yet strikingly similar-looking men walked into her life.

It happened on a particularly stormy evening. The first man, Tom Ludlow, a hardened cop with a weary look in his eyes, stumbled in, clutching his side. He was bleeding, and the rain plastered his dark hair to his forehead.

Moments later, another man, John Wick, entered, his tailored suit soaked through, a grim determination etched on his face. He too, was injured, a palpable aura of danger surrounding him.

Instinct took over. Y/N, despite her fear, ushered them both into the back room. She cleaned and bandaged their wounds, her gentle touch a stark contrast to their rugged exteriors.

They watched her, their eyes, so similar yet so different, following her every move. Tom, with a quiet intensity, and John, with a silent, watchful gaze.

As she worked, Y/N couldn't help but notice the uncanny resemblance between them.

It was as if they were two sides of the same coin – one lawful, the other… not.

Both men were undeniably handsome, their features captivating, but it was their shared vulnerability in that moment that truly touched her.

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N couldn't shake them from her mind.

Then, she started noticing things. A bouquet of her favorite lilies appearing on her doorstep. A rare first edition of a book she’d mentioned in passing left anonymously on her porch.

At first, she was flattered, then confused, and finally, deeply unnerved.

The gifts escalated. A designer handbag, a piece of exquisite jewelry. They were clearly from someone with means, someone who knew her tastes intimately. Paranoia began to creep in.

Was she being watched? Was she in danger?

Desperate, Y/N confided in her best friend, Jasper. A kind, artistic soul with a hidden crush on her, Jasper listened intently, his brow furrowed with concern.

He offered to stay with her, to help her figure out who was sending the gifts, but his protective offer only fueled the unseen observers' jealousy.

Meanwhile, Tom and John, operating on a frequency only they seemed to understand, were waging their own silent war.

They followed Y/N, ensuring her safety, their protectiveness morphing into a dangerous obsession.

One day, their paths crossed. A tense standoff ensued, the air thick with unspoken animosity. They recognized the other's obsession, the shared desire for Y/N. After a tense discussion, they came to a twisted agreement: they would share her.

They would both have her, protect her, and love her, in their own unique, possessive ways.

Tom, being a cop, had access to information and resources that John, with his… specialized skill set, did not.

He used his position to his advantage. He framed Jasper, planting evidence that suggested he was the one breaking into Y/N's house and sending the gifts.

One afternoon, as Y/N and Jasper were enjoying coffee at her shop, Tom arrived, sirens blaring. He arrested Jasper right in front of her, accusing him of stalking and harassment.

He painted a picture of Jasper as a possessive, unstable man, claiming he had been the one invading her privacy.

Y/N was devastated. She couldn't believe Jasper, her kind, gentle friend, was capable of such a thing.

Tom, with a comforting arm around her, promised to keep her safe.

A few weeks later, while Y/N was still reeling from Jasper's betrayal, she ran into Tom again. He was charming, attentive, and genuinely seemed to care about her well-being.

One day, as they were walking through a park, they "accidentally" bumped into John. The two men greeted each other with a familiarity that surprised Y/N.

"Do you two know each other?" she asked, curiosity piqued.

Tom and John exchanged a knowing glance, a silent conversation passing between them. They chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent shivers down Y/N's spine.

"Not really," Tom answered smoothly. "It's a small world, that's all."

The three of them started spending more time together. Tom, the protector, the lawful guardian. John, the silent observer, the dangerous enigma. Y/N found herself drawn to both of them, despite the growing unease she felt.

But as time went on, Y/N noticed a subtle shift in their behavior. They were becoming increasingly controlling. They dictated where she went, who she talked to, what she wore. They showered her with attention, but it was a suffocating kind of attention.

One night, driven by a growing sense of dread, Y/N decided to investigate. She knew Tom had left his phone at her apartment earlier that day, and she decided to take a look.

After several attempts, she managed to unlock it using his birthdate. What she found was horrifying.

A series of texts between Tom and John, detailing their plan to frame Jasper, their surveillance of her, their twisted obsession.

The truth crashed down on her like a tidal wave. Tom and John were not her friends. They were her captors, her stalkers, the source of all her fear.

Panic seized her. She had to get out, she had to escape. But she knew it wouldn't be easy. John, with his unparalleled tracking skills, and Tom, with his access to law enforcement resources, would be able to find her anywhere.

She packed a bag, gathering only the essentials, and slipped out into the night. She drove for hours, putting as much distance between herself and them as possible. But it was no use.

The next morning, she awoke to find John standing over her. He hadn't broken into her motel room; he'd simply been waiting for her. His face was etched with concern, but his eyes held a chilling possessiveness.

"Y/N," he said softly, his voice low and soothing. "We can't let you leave. We love you too much."

Tom appeared behind him, his expression a mixture of regret and determination. "We did what we had to do to protect you," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

Y/N tried to fight, to scream, but John was too strong. He gently, but firmly, subdued her, his grip surprisingly gentle.

He knew how to hurt people, but never her.

She woke up in John's house, a luxurious mansion hidden away in a secluded part of the city. She was trapped, surrounded by wealth and opulence, but a prisoner nonetheless.

She tried to escape, but the house was a fortress. Every door, every window, was secured. The only way out was through the main entrance, which required John's fingerprint.

She found John in the living room, talking to Tom on the phone. They were discussing her, their voices low and conspiratorial.

As she moved to swipe his phone and therefore his finger print, he swiftly grabbed her wrist pulling her into his chest before she was shoved against the wall.

Tom entered seconds later caging her between them.

"Why?" Y/N cried, her voice trembling. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"Because we love you," Tom said, his eyes filled with a desperate intensity. "We love you more than anything in the world."

John leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "We can't live without you, Y/N. You're our everything."

They pressed in closer, their bodies trapping her against the wall. They began to kiss her, their lips demanding, possessive. At first, Y/N resisted, pushing against them with all her strength.

But John's hands grabbed her wrists, not hard, but firm, pinning them to the wall. The gentle restraint, the controlled power, sent a shiver down her spine.

A strange sensation washed over her. A mixture of fear and excitement, repulsion and attraction.

She had always been drawn to them, to their strength, their intensity, their undeniable charm. And now, faced with their raw, unbridled obsession, a part of her couldn't help but feel…thrilled.

Slowly, reluctantly, she gave in. She stopped fighting, and let them kiss her. The kiss deepened, becoming more passionate, more consuming.

A small part of her enjoyed it, she secretly loved this side of them.

Tom smiled, a predatory glint in his eyes. "Welcome home, darling," he whispered, his voice dripping with possessiveness.

John echoed his sentiment, his voice a low rumble that resonated deep within her soul. "Welcome home, Y/N."

[fernpetals]

Boogeyman (Part II)

The second part of THIS drabble.

Masterlist

Yandere John Wick x Reader

Warning: Forced proximity, prolonged captivity, forced feeding, details and mention of stalking, patronizing obsessive and creepy behaviour.

As you are forced to spend your days with your captor, you begin to learn more about him.

I do not own this GIF or any GIFs used in any of my fics. Credit to the owner of this GIF

Unedited piece.

The narrative oscillates between the past and present.

On your first day in your new 'home', as he likes to call this prison, you were shaking and sobbing. You refused to look into his eyes. You could not. But he was patient. You were expecting an outburst–even his fist raining down on you, like in all the crime documentaries you have watched and heard of. But he surprised you with his gentle hold, touching you as if you were made of glass, coaxing you to relax.

Instead of relaxing, of course,  you were on edge. You had no idea what would make him tick. That was until you refused to eat or drink anything. He was patient at first, taking a bite from the food, trying to prove that it was safe to consume. But you felt so sick, you wanted to puke.

But then, he slammed the plate down and before you knew it, you were on his lap. You screamed and tried to scratch, but one stern look had you frozen.

"You either eat, or I will make you, whether you like it or not." You knew right away that you would not like what he would do to make you eat.

So with shaking hands and trembling lips, you emptied the plate.

John is a patient man, you have come to this conclusion in your time spent here, with him. Extremely patient. But the moment he feels that you are neglecting your wellbeing or putting yourself in danger, he is right on his feet, ready to take any action necessary to ensure that you are healthy, safe and not out of his sight.

"It's such a cruel place for a sweet little thing like you. People would tear you apart and lick the remnants."

He told you on your second day when you managed to gather courage and confront him. All you wanted was to go home. You still want to go home—except you can't anymore.

A fire destroyed your apartment and apparently, they found a burnt-down body with your hair sticking out. More or less, you are dead to the world.

You know whose body it was and that even if the authorities suspect something, you are a cold case, at most.

You cried when he made you watch the news, and while he comforted you, every touch, every word prickled. You lost it that morning, screaming at him about how much you hated him, throwing things at him, trying to keep him away.

But John was calm. Almost stoic---like he was expecting the outburst.

But then, you refused to eat again. You were burning with rage and you threw the plate across the room.

You will never repeat it.

You know the consequences now. You do not want to test his patience.

No amount of rage could keep him from overpowering you. You were in tears as soon as the adrenaline left your body with all the screaming and attempts to scratch him, you had even managed to leave a reddened mark on his bearded cheek.

But that was all, your hands were tied to the bedposts before he pinched your nose firmly, compelling you to open your mouth. Wordlessly, he shoved the food into your mouth. No matter how much you gagged or coughed, he did not let a single morsel spill out, keeping his large paw of a hand firmly over your mouth.

You have not refused food or water since that day.

He was perhaps a bit softer after that---you don't know for sure---you were reduced to a sobbing mess. But his gentle touch almost felt tender.

It changed nothing though.

You still hate him. However, with the lack of human interaction, other than John, you have not crossed the line of 'not being able to stand him'.

You try to keep up with the dates—the calendar in the hallway hall, the digital clock in the living room, and Joh's phone—anything to help you tally the days. But being mostly confined to the bedroom with a lock system customised by him makes it a challenge to keep up.

If you are not wrong, it has been a month since he took you. And you have found a lot more than the taste of his anger until now.

Like your clothes hanging in your wardrobe. Most of your closet contains the clothes and shoes you kept in your online cart or wishlist or perhaps fancied in some place months ago. You never used to be stingy with your money but could manage it well. You could because now, you have nothing to manage other than your emotions and overall mental health.

"How long have you been stalking me?" You manage to gather the courage to ask him one morning.

It is one of the rare times he has let you out of the room, bringing you to the dining table for a meal.

"Over a year."

That's that thing about him---it unnerves you how he never even denies what he has done, nor justifies it. John is not delusional. No, he knows exactly what he has done and he knows he is wrong. He simply doesn't seem to care.

He gazes into your eyes, already anticipating another question. Maybe he can read you far better than you can read him. It makes sense, he has been observing you for more than a year, and you have come to know of his existence only a month ago.

Suddenly, it is difficult to gulp down the food. Your hold on the spoon tightens. It bends so easily under pressure, reminding you how he has detailed everything to work in his favour and against yours.

"I know it is scary, and I know it is difficult for you." He speaks up "But you must understand that I will never hurt you. You are safe here, with me. If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done that by now."

This is perhaps the most he has spoken in one go. He is a man of few words. The silence, the stealth, it unsettles you, but there is not much you can do about it of course.

"You know it is wrong to keep someone against their will, don't you?"

He holds your gaze for a moment of tense silence before responding.

"I have done far worse."

There, your answer and a warning, wrapped in one response.

As if sensing your rising unease and fear, he adds-

"But you don't need to be scared of me." He sounds oddly sincere. No malice or mirth.

But your lips are already trembling.

"How dare you act like this is acceptable?" You hiss out quietly, it's a struggle to speak through the tense emotions coiling in your throat.

You flinch when his hand touches your face, but it does not keep him from cupping your cheeks and wiping away the tears.

"I know this is hard, but you will see one day. This is where you truly belong to."

That makes you break into sobs once more, and you can do nothing when he collects you in his arms, holding you as if he is not the cause of your misery.

At night, you find yourself awake despite it being way past your 'bedtime' as he has fixed. You think, for once, you have been discreet enough to earn yourself some moment of peace despite his arm coiled around your waist and his warm body pressing against your back.

"Why aren't you asleep yet?" His voice is quiet and gruff, making your heart skip a beat.

Of course, he would know.

He can sense the slightest shift in your breathing pattern. He knows when you are asleep and the moment you are awake. Being forced to share the same bed as him, it has taken you a while to be even able to sleep properly.

But John never misses anything when it comes to you. He makes sure you get at least eight hours of sleep, he makes sure you are eating a balanced meal and he makes sure that you have access to every self-care item you are used to and more. It freaked you out when you first opened the cabinets to find the exact brands you use.

The make-up is a different case though. The shades and the overall type remain more or less unchanged, it is the brands that have made your eyebrows raise. They are sitting untouched. What is the point anyway? You are not leaving this house any time soon. Unless you are successful in escaping.

Not that you haven't tried. You have, and each attempt has ended in an epic failure. Finally, you have lost your privacy during bathing as well. Now, it is only a curtain that stands between you and him. And you feel no less than a camper in the middle of the forest, who has a tent between her and a bear.

But you know that a mere curtain can do nothing to save you the day he decides that he has waited enough. And you do not know how much longer he would wait. You see the way his eyes darken every time you wear the dress he has picked for you. And he chooses your outfit every day. You feel the heat of his gaze, the lingering touch, the way he breathes into your neck like he is seconds away from sinking his teeth into your flesh.

Maybe he gets a sense of claim over you by dressing you up as he pleases. You had opposed it initially, determined to stand your ground even though you cannot deny how flattering each outfit is.

"It's either this, or you wear nothing at all. I wouldn't mind that."

By then, you had understood that he was a man of action indeed, he never said anything he did not mean to. So gulping down your rage along with your dignity, you put on the dress of his choice.

And you have been putting on the dress he chooses for you every day since then.

Over a month of your 'stay', you have come to learn that John is a dangerous man, fully capable of hurting you if he wants to (as if his previous actions weren't obvious enough). You have felt it when he chased you down the the hallway on your first escape attempt. You thought you were fast, but his thundering and swift footsteps were faster than your racing heart. You felt his strength when he wrapped his arm around you firmly while you struggled and screamed. No amount of hitting or scratching could move his hold. You felt the weight of it, you felt that his arms could easily crush you if he wanted to. But when you got to look into his eyes again, they seemed amused.

"Nice try, Darling. But please do not make me chase you again, for your good."

You might have not understood what he meant had you not been pinned underneath him with his hardness pressed against your exposed thighs.

You realised that day that you need to be smarter than that. You can’t outrun him, can’t overpower him. Even the house seems to be in the middle of the woods. As far as your eyes can reach, you can only see the vast stretches of green.

Where are you?

You have no idea. He has been so thorough with everything, that it has begun to gnaw at your mind--like a beast ready to tear its way out out and destroy everything.

For now, you can only force yourself to relax in his unyielding hold and imagine that you are somewhere else, in your lover's embrace. Maybe someday, you can be smarter, you can read him without going mad.

Someday.

You tell yourself as you feel his lips on the back of your neck.

The day better come sooner than he manages to push way past your boundaries like he does so subtly now.

******

Shall I write another part? It gets only darker from here. What do you think?

Addition: I have been reading 'Bittersweet' by the lovely @johnwickb1tsch and now that I re-read this part, I see clear inspirations. I apologise for not noticing it before, it has been more or less a subconscious act. There is so much inspiration from your amazing fic, thank you for that @johnwickb1tsch

And those who have not read Bittersweet yet, what are you even doing? Go read the fic.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Didn't think it was possible for Keanu Reeves to get any hotter yet here we are.

His smile is so adorable 🥹.

[monsoonsosoon]

raw. next question!

[johnwickb1tsch]

lessons in anatomy XVI

a yandere art professor John Wick x drawing model muse! reader AU... (also featuring Matt from River's Edge. If you haven't seen the movie that's ok, I will fill in the gaps as we go...) warnings: dark adult themes, violence, sex, drugs, obsession, yandere shit. plz don't read if u can't handle it ->chapter map

XVI.

John Wick adjusts his hold on you, gathering you close with his nose in your hair. “I told you, y/n, I would never hurt you. I won’t let anyone else hurt you either.” 

Your pulse thunders like an angry drum in your chest. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you demand, and he lets you turn in his arms again, lets you pound on his chest for all the good it does. “I’ve been driving myself crazy over this for weeks! Why wouldn’t you just tell me?” 

“I thought it was best.” 

“Best?” you snarl, so frustrated you could scream. “For who?” 

“Both of us,” he answers simply, as though it should be obvious. You think about that, and your next question comes with a quaver in your tone. 

“What did you do with them, John?” 

There is a long pause before he answers, “You don’t want to know.” He actually sounds contrite about it, which surprises you to no end. 

“What if I do?” 

“I’m still not going to tell you.” 

“I could tell the police,” you say, if only to be contrary.  

He might sense this when he answers with zero fear, “You have no evidence.”

“I have your mask.” 

He sighs, like you’re being intentionally difficult. “They’re gone, y/n. That’s all you need to know. They’ll never hurt you or anyone else ever again.” 

Is he saying…he killed them? 

He killed them. 

You’re not stupid. You can read between the lines. This man is a murderer and he’s got you in his arms…and all you want to do is argue with him. 

Maybe your survival instincts could use some work.  

Your heart pounds in your chest, but still you have to ask, “John…how?” 

He levels you with a long and piercing gaze that you feel all the way to the base of your spine, your senses clamoring with alarm. Maybe you knew it all along, deep down, that he was a dangerous man. “I wasn’t always a mild-mannered drawing teacher, y/n. And we’re going to leave it at that.” 

You stare up at him, wide eyed as your brain races to keep up as the bombs keep dropping. What could that mean? Was he a government agent? A cop? A spy? …A criminal?

“Y/n…” He sweeps your hair from your face with those long fingers, and you let him, frozen as you stare up at him like some star-struck idiot, trying to process what is going on. “Please, don’t be afraid of me.” There is a fragility in his voice that moves you to your toes. Even if he’s freaked you out tonight, you hate to admit…that deep down, you don’t believe he would hurt you. 

Foolish, perhaps, but it’s the truth. 

You’d wanted to get away so badly before. Why is it now, that all you want to do is hide from that x-ray gaze against his chest? So…you do, and gladly he lets you. Your head feels like a pinwheel, as you try to suss out your emotions from everything you’ve learned tonight. 

You suppose you should be feeling some sort of guilt or remorse–you find you have none. Is there something missing in you? Or are you allowed to be glad that those two creeps can’t hurt you or anyone else anymore? The system failed you. But your savior balanced the scales of justice in a way The Law never seems to when it comes to abusers of women. You find that all you can really manage is relief, and the growing warm glow inspired by being in this man’s arms. 

“John…” You whisper his name like a prayer, tucked under his chin. “I wanted it to be you.” You find it’s a lot easier to admit this, when you don’t have to look him in those anthracite eyes. 

“Did you?” He actually sounds surprised, and it tears you to shreds all over again. 

You grip fistfuls of his shirt, your fingers like claws as you fight to hold on to something solid while the world feels like it's spinning out of control. 

“Why didn’t you just show me your face that night?” you demand, suddenly so frustrated you could scream. All the bad things that had happened could have been avoided, maybe, if he hadn’t been so bent on toying with you. 

“I was going to, later,” he tells the top of your head. “But you were having fun with your friends. I didn't want to take that from you. When I went to find you again…I found those assholes throwing you into their van.” His voice goes dark as he recalls this, the hairs on your body lifting again. There is definitely something dangerous about this man that swims beneath the surface. Something not to be trifled with, you’re beginning to understand all too well. 

“I don’t remember much at all,” you admit quietly. “The big one, Samson. He hit Matt hard enough to knock him out. Right before that, Matt was trying to tell me something about them.”

“You know I looked up the little town where they're from.”

“Yeah?”

“A few years ago, a girl was found dead on the side of the river there. No arrests were ever made. She was in their class.”

“That doesn't mean–”

“Have you ever looked through Matt’s sketchbook?”

You think of that haunting drawing he’d taken out of your hands. Oh god.

“I can't believe Matt would hurt anyone,” you say meekly, tears in your eyes. 

“Maybe not. But I think he knew, y/n. And he nearly got you killed for it. So yeah. I hate his guts.”

You let out a long sigh, leaning against him, your knees gone weak. The truths keep coming tonight. You're not sure you can handle whatever comes next. Your fingers clench in his shirt, your throat swelling shut as the tears well up. 

Your sweet sad Matthew, the boy with the drowning dark eyes… He knew. He knew all along and he didn’t protect you. Maybe not maliciously, but how much complacency can a girl be expected to forgive? They were probably going to rape you, and murder you, and he practically let you walk right into it.

If not for John… He saved you. The true gravity of this finally sinks in. That if he hadn't been looking for you, watching out for you…you’d be another story on the five o’clock news that people shake their heads at before going back to dinner, muttering about the sad state of the world. 

Maybe initially the scope of his obsession had scared you–but no one else cared for you so much. It leaves you reeling in a freefall, and you try to hold it in, but when the first sob breaks it's like the cracking of a dam. “Shh, you’re alright,” he soothes you, holding you against his chest with one of those big hands on the back of your head as though he can shield you from the world. “I’ve got you. You’re alright.” 

“I feel so stupid!” You hiccup between sobs. “I thought you were just being mean…but it's like you knew all along!”

“I've just been around, y/n. I've seen a lot of bad things.”

I wasn’t always a mild mannered drawing teacher.

Who is this man? You don’t have the courage to ask just now. You don't feel like you have the right, after behaving like such a brat.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper against his chest, feeling impossibly small and dumb and raw after this reality check. What a weird fucking night this has turned out to be.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He holds you against his broad chest, letting you cry it out, and as you listen to his strong heartbeat you feel, for the first time in a long time, like you've finally found some sense of peace. 

In fact, you feel so secure that it's possible you go temporarily insane in this man's strong arms. Where do you get the courage, to turn your face up to his so entreatingly? Just minutes ago you were trying to run from him, and now here you are in his grasp, meek as a lamb. 

You are a ridiculous creature. You know it, but you cannot stop now. 

“You know I do remember…that you kissed me.” 

He caresses your cheek with his thumb, his dark eyes fixed upon your mouth. There is a low-burning hunger in his gaze that takes your breath away. 

“Did you like that?” he asks, his bass rumble of his voice sending a shiver down your spine. 

“It was alright.” 

He narrows his eyes at you with mock indignation, no doubt remembering the way you positively melted in his arms. “Alright?” 

“Mmm hmm.” 

He dares to rub his thumb over your lower lip, as though testing your plump flesh for the proper consistency. You've never been more tempted in your life to bare your teeth and bite. Not out of defence–but for taste.

“Sounds like I should try again.” 

“I’ll think about it.” 

“Brat.” 

He handles you like he owns you now, taking you in hand, turning your face up with his massive paw upon your jaw. Onyx orbs fix upon your mouth, and you close your eyes in anticipation, suddenly certain that you will wither and die if he does not kiss you. 

Yet he doesn’t move, and you are so caught up in the torment of that suspended moment that the most embarrassing little whine squeaks forth from the back of your throat. You open your eyes a sliver, and you realize he’s looking at you, as though he means to memorize every inch of you, down to the pore. It’s flattering, and a little unsettling, and you must make some minute projection that you intend to move away, because his hold tightens upon you. 

“You’re perfect, y/n,” he says gently, as though he knew exactly what you were thinking. 

You are far from it, which you know very well. 

“I’m not, John.” 

“You are, to me.” And finally, he lowers his mouth to yours, sweeping you up in a tooth-counting kiss that curls your toes and at least at the moment, quiets your fears.

TBC...

___

*further analysis of this chapter 😅 ->chapter map pinterest board/ photo credits