#yandere john wick x chubby reader

[sweetwolfcupcake]

Rainy Days

Secret Garden

Yandere John Wick X Plus Size Reader

Warning: Implied fatphobia, self-loathing, obsessive behaviour, mild dub-con angst and smut

GIF by @scarlettspectra

Unedited.

This is a random drabble. My first plus-size reader fic, kindly excuse the errors or any miscommunication, I do not have the intention to offend anyone.

Even if you love rainy days, sometimes the term is a metaphor for your mood. It's maybe a perfectly sunny day, but you feel awful. You feel awful about yourself, awful about your life, your accomplishments. Every unsavoury aspect of you simply jumps into your face and smears your psyche.

You wish you weren't the way you look, the way you think, the way you speak. You wish, on such gloomy days, that you weren't you. You know better than to let those thoughts get to you. You know that your mind can be mean sometimes. But there are those days when you are squeezing your pudgy stomach and looking down at it with hateful eyes, even if that is the very place John had kissed you so reverently a few nights ago, and a hundred times before that--worshipping every inch of you.

These are the days when you simply drown. Let these thoughts consume you. Despite knowing the truth, you begin to question things, and mull over all the wrong indications and instances. John chose you and you chose John, despite the odds, you both chose each other. And yet you wonder if he is better off without you, if he only 'settled' for you.

These are the days when you end up ignoring all his messages, never being able to pick up his calls. You simply stare at the phone screen with uncertainty that you hate.

But you often forget-

John Wick doesn't like to be ignored.

You see, despite what you think, he has his fears, he has so little to fear but the ones he has are so deep that the oceans can shake. And he fears, losing you above all.

Back from work, the apartment is empty and plunged into darkness, as it is supposed to be. You walk in, the clouds still over your mind, the slumped shoulders and downcast eyes while you remain in your head, not really paying attention to anything. That is why you are startled when he emerges from the darkness of your bedroom, greeting you with silence and a piercing stare that makes you weak on your knees.

“John, you scared me!” 

“You have been avoiding me.” Straight to the point. That only shows how concerned and desperate he is, but you do not see it. 

You see nothing of the storm brewing.

“I haven’t…” The words die in your mouth when you look up at him, really look up.

“You did not pick up my calls or reply to my texts. You are in fact, ignoring me.”

“John, I’m not ignoring you.” 

You sigh out and move past him towards your bedroom, not because you want to, but because you must. 

You feel the tears at the corner of your eyes and it embarrasses you. He is so beautiful, and ethereal, and you do not want him to see you like this and realise that you come with way more baggage than he might have anticipated. The clouds grumble and darken over your mind, ready to weep and all you can do is to curl yourself back in your shell.

“Look at me.” 

Of course, he is right behind you like a stubborn shadow that only grows in the dark. 

“Is something bothering you? Is someone troubling you? That manager—”

“It’s not the manager…It’s no one.” You sigh and try to turn your chin away, but his grasp remains firm. 

He wants you to look at him so he can drown in those pretty eyes. Only if he realises how beautiful his eyes are, especially when the sunlight hits them just right. Even if not under the sun, they are soulful, deep swirls of enigma and melancholy in them. In those eyes, you find a dark abyss somewhere, a fire simply resting before it erupts with volcanic fury, reducing everything in its way into ashes.

You try in vain to turn your head away, to prevent him from reading you and baring your soul as he does so effortlessly. Any other day, you would have let him do that, any other day, you would know better than to fight him on it. But it is not ‘any other day’. It is a rainy day for you. And the storm within you keeps you from seeing the ones swirling in John’s eyes. And each attempt of yours to pull away, and keep a distance only makes the storm brew stronger and deeper and faster until it is ready to erupt.

“Do not look away from me” He is upon you in a blink.

Lips over your lips, hands roaming, squeezing in places you hatefully stare at. As if John can read your thoughts, he picks you up when his mouth leaves yours. 

“Bad thoughts baby?”

You want to look away, the anger and the fear have now come up with claws of guilt gnawing at your chest. But how can you? How can you look away from the eyes that look at you as if you have given him the whole world on a silver platter?

“Just a rainy day, John.” You admit at last. 

It is impossible to lie, it is impossible to look away, you are a willing prisoner of his arms and his haunting eyes. 

“Do you know, every time I look at you, I wonder how I got to be the you love out of billions? Every moment that has led me to you is the moment I would do anything for. My life is wrapped in moments with you. You are all that matters. And you doubt the miracle that has created you and led me to you?”

You are left speechless. Even if it is a thunderstorm ranging within you, you cannot bring yourself to think of anything other than the man who has you raised against the wall with his big hands digging into the meat of your thighs. 

It’s a delicious feeling.

And maybe he likes the feeling too.

.

Oh boy, only if you knew.

John is partly relieved, and partly mad at how little you can decipher the depth and intensity of his love for you. He is mad for you. Utterly, completely mad. He feels empty if he is not touching you and every time he paws at your beautiful soft, plump body, he feels like a sculptor exploring a masterpiece only he gets to touch and experience. John thinks he can spend a lifetime, measuring and experiencing your body, experiencing you—physically, emotionally, spiritually.

Only you.

People say that he was born to kill. People are wrong–what do they know of him anyway? John knows that he was born to love you, worship you, fill his every sense to the brim with your essence, and pour himself into you—fusing his soul with yours as your bodies merge.

It is the bedroom where he is the most vulnerable with you. It is the bedroom where he lets out the darkness that has consumed his soul, where he allows you to see how truly sharp his teeth are, and how lethal his claws are. He can tear into you bite you and shred you into pieces—instead, he kisses you softly, like you are the most delicate and the most delicious offering he has ever received—an unexpected gift from the universe that has eternally been cruel to him. 

And yet, here you are letting some silly thoughts and doubts consume you. You? The one he has his eyes twinkling for? You, the woman he ravishes and worships in equal measures of a beast and a devotee?

He ignores your whines and squirms to get away and your attempts to hide from him as he pins you down—big hands, corded muscles and a body made to hunt down. You are his most beloved prey. His lips take yours—it’s not a kiss, not the way he puts his lips on yours and lets his tongue explore your mouth like he has found treasure in a cave. It is like he first claims your lips with his, before moving to your throat, biting into your soft, plump skin, taking your full cheeks into his mouth. 

Oh, he has always wanted to devour you. Bite and gobble you up before burping out like he has had the last meal of his life.

You are just so cute, and so magnetic. With eyes that electrify his soul, lips that form a cloud in his chest, fog his mind and simply send him floating. With a skin so soft, he is torn between biting on it hard and then licking it clean, and kissing it with tenderness only reserved for you, his sweet angel. With a body made to be mapped out and pleasured, kissed, caressed and grabbed.

John is baffled at how oblivious you are to your own power—bringing him to his knees without even moving a finger—are you some ancient demi-goddess? A result of something divine meeting with something earthly? Or is it a cosmic miracle that you saved a monster like him from eternal damnation?

He takes time with your body, each curve, each scar, each spot, every pudgy part and roll is burned in his mind, due to the times he had grabbed and squeezed them to his heart's content like he wanted to the moment he saw you for the first time (no, he just wanted to engulf you in a protective hug and never let go, this was inappropriate afterthought). He knows where to caress, how much to press, where to kiss and where to suck. He relishes devouring you thoroughly—-that is why he is so sow, but firm, tender but so hungry.

John thinks he is always hungry for you—each moment, every day, he longs for you. 

His teeth graze your skin, lips and tongue and trace your body—purple and red blossoms bloom from your neck to your stomach. He cannot bring into words how much he loves to squish, kiss and suck on it. Your attempts to escape his exploring hands and hungry mouth return with a vengeance, but they only earn a dark, throaty chuckle from John. 

“Give it up, doll, you are not going anywhere until you see yourself how I see you. How dare you think anything less of yourself?”

.

Your vision swims at how good it all feels yet how conflicted you are with the storm still raging within you. But for now, all you can do is take what he gives you, he forces it down your throat like a life-saving medicine. You feel his saliva all over you—your lips, chin, cheeks, breasts and stomach. It should feel nasty.

But if anything, it fills you with an odd, toe-curling thrill. Seeing a man like him, one to be always in control, losing it, for you fills you with a sense of power you never thought you could enjoy. Yet here it is-- fusion—a heady cocktail of vulnerability and power getting you drunk on it.

 His fingers can wrap around your neck so easily and squeeze while you lay under him, and you could do nothing but give up. But his fingers simply rest over your throat, sliding sensually, never squeezing, simply holding—holding you down, grounding you, being your anchor in the storm.

His hand slides down to your thigh, and it feels like he has marked your soul with his essence. Maybe he already has, he is simply retracing them, something precious, like a treasure, a code only he can see. It is not surprising yet it startles you when he goes down on his knees, pinning your knees to the edge of the bed, settling snug between your spread thighs like he is home. His thick fingers dig into your skin as he gives your plump thighs appreciative squeezes.

.

John feels like he is home indeed like he is home with his most desirable servings laid out for him. Indeed, you are spread out in front of him, dripping like nectar of beauty and love from a sacred cave—offering him salvation. Who is he to deny it? 

John leans further and takes your clit into his mouth, sucking it, slow but deep, making you yelp as you try to squirm around, to get away from the sensation he knows is overwhelming you. But he does not let go, he savours every moment, every drop, every quiver as he keeps his lips wrapped until you are gushing and swollen. Then he licks—one long, firm lick tracing your slit, pushing your swollen nether lips open as the tip of his tongue teases your inner folds. 

John Wick knows your body like the back of his hand, the difference is, that he is much, much more careful, reverent and loving to your body than he ever would be to anything in himself. That is something you, and only you can pull off, protecting him from his demons as he protects you from yours—-even if it means he has to snatch you away from that storm.

Your surrender comes the moment his tongue pushes past your puffy lips. Your hands go straight for his hair, fingers disappearing and rising like dolphins in his mane before gripping the luscious hair when his tongue curls. It is like you have been soared high, and now soaring higher, and higher with each flick and curl of his deft tongue until you fall, crashing. The rawness of your throat tells that you have screamed. All that is left to feel is the breathlessness as the pleasure comes in waves, weakening with each crash, but it lingers.

You are dazed and dizzy, only whining when you feel and hear his thick finger sliding in, slow but firm, curling just right to make you see divinity. Your eyes finally roll back and tears roll from the corner as you let yourself go with the waves, soaked, overwhelmed and feeling the intense heat bursting from your abdomen into every little vein and capillary

John might be a ranging wildfire to the rest, but he is the hearth to you, and you are his home. You come again, in tears, mewling and as his lips find their way back to your clit while he adds another finger into your womanhood. It is a sweet torment, slow, delicious but leading you,  never letting you slip away until you have gulped down all that he has to give you and are full to the brim, glowing, swaying, floating into the highest of clouds.

When he is away, you are left aching for him, wanting more, wanting all of him, no other thought crosses your mind but him and him being inside you.

“Shh, I’ve got you.” 

There is no edge or even aggression, it’s simple, sweet John. The way he is usually to you when he is not feeling any threat of you leaving him. It’s funny to you—how he fears that you will leave him one day (or maybe try to).

It has always been you, who, for the longest time, had thought that once John realised how much better he deserved and could have, he would leave. It was you, who, in the first months of your relationship was convinced that he simply settled for you. Why would he go for someone who does not look like the women posing for the top magazines and fashion brands? Especially when he was often surrounded by such women? They would claw at each other to have a hair of him, and yet he sees none of them, spares no glance anywhere. He simply walked up to you and pulled you into his arms, and he has held you ever since. And you have snuggled into his inviting warmth. 

Eventually, though, you have come to realise that his arms, never loosened—they are just as tight, slowly suffocating you when you as much as try to squirm and pull away. They become much tighter when he feels the threat of you slipping away. But you are not going anywhere. There is no place to go, hide or run to anyway. Where will you go? Why will you go? 

You whimper and moan out his name endlessly as the final wave crashes, with his slow, deliberate and deep thrusts. Your one leg is thrown over his shoulder while his eyes remain locked on you, the tip of his dangling locks tickle your skin, sweat, essence and shared heat blanket both of you. He stays inside you for a while before you feel him pulling out with a squelch that makes you cover your reddened face with your hands.

“Hey, no more hiding, come here.”

.

 John huffs, taking your cute little hands off your face and peppering butterfly kisses all over it—tracing every mark, every bump—everything that is you is beautiful to him. You are beautiful to him, and he hopes that one day, you will see yourself through his eyes. You are his. His moon, his sun, his universe—that’s what you are. You are in his every thought, in his every action. You are the one he sees when he closes his eyes, the first name that comes to him when he wakes up, and the last before he finds sleep. 

Hell would have to freeze before he ever lets you go. The universe can try and tear you away from him like it always has torn away the people he has ever loved, and the universe will have to watch him burn the world and then, himself. 

“No more dark thoughts, hmm?”

John’s voice is sweet so deliciously deep, comforting as it floats into you. You blink slowly, realising that the storm has passed and you did not even realise that until now. Suddenly, being close to him is all that makes sense. You snuggle closer to him, feeling his damp skin rubbing against yours.

You know it is not the end, you know the cycle can begin anytime—maybe tomorrow, maybe a week later, even months later—the rainy days will return. But for now, the clouds have passed, and it’s warm all over again.

For now, you can sleep in peace, because you know that you will heal every time until the clouds can weep no more.

****

Dedicated to all the beautiful girls who at times feel weighted down by expectations, who may feel they are not good enough, or worth it, but the truth is far from that. They will always be worth it, they make the world a better place.

@treedaddymcpuffpuff and @johnwickb1tsch