#keanu reeves x
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𐚁֙࿐ MEET THE WICKS.
keanu mlist.⠀ 𑇓 ⊹ ᳝ ࣪ ⠀boyfriend's dad!john wick⠀𝑥⠀f!reader.
synopsis. fucking your boyfriend's dad was surely one way to leave a good first impression.
contents. cheating all around. everyone sucks here. ooc!john. large age gap (20s/40s). non-john wick universe au. outdoor sex. size difference. tummy bulge. 4.4k words.
⋆ 𓂃 ﾟ .⠀josie's little note: hello hello ! a happy new years to you guys, and here's a gift! i haven't been terribly active lately, i know— so hopefully this makes up for it ♡ haven't written a proper fic in ages so i kinda of hate this ://
“MY PARENTS ARE GONNA LOVE YOU.”
You side eye your boyfriend at his reassuring smile, his hand on the wheel as the two of you drive further up the mountain to his parent’s home. You finally worked up the courage to meet your boyfriend, Michael’s parents. Having procrastinated this moment for almost two years, Michael finally wore you down to saying yes.
The rows of thick, dark trees trapped the two of you on this thin road up the mountains. Pearly white snowflakes float gently down on your window, your chilled breath creating a small fog as you reach to turn the heat up in the vehicle.
“Your parents are gonna think you fell and hit your head,” you roll your eyes.
“Oh c’mon!” Michael tuts, letting out a little huff. His eyes focused heavily on the road ahead, turning the wheel as the car took a left. “You’re way too hard on yourself.”
Truth be told you could’ve gone your whole life without meeting his parents. The prestiges Wicks. Michael was not the son of any run of the mill family, but rather the son of two CEOs of the largest cybersecurity companies in the world, while all your achievements were golden-sticker-on-a-piece-of-homework level at best.
“Says the kid of billionaires,” you say dismissively.
“Millionaires,” he corrects cheekily, earning a playful punch to the arm. “Baby, you gotta relax.. I love you, so by default my parents will love you too— or at least be nice enough to pretend.”
“Not funny, Michael,” your little whines turn into a soft laugh as your boyfriend chuckles. The two of you continue the drive up to Michael’s parents home. You two engage in nonchalant conversation that was periodically interrupted by a series of texts. Occasionally glancing over to Michael’s phone, you see the name “Maggie” popping up.
The hairs on your neck stand up, and your palms sweat onto the leather seat, but Michael’s soft smile reassures you .. a little.
Hours go by before he finally pulls up to the home and your jaw drops. Your eyes meet the sight of the gorgeous villa, decked with greystone walls with a light wooden trim. A small cobblestone bridge that goes over the infinity pool, leading to the large front door with crystal clear windows. This isolated winter wonderland of a villa (that Michael downplayed heavily— the ever humble man he is) was to be your home for Christmas.
“Michael! This place is—”
“Smaller than the one in Italy, but my mother wanted something cozy.”
Your eye twitches a little at how dismissively he talks about this house. His nonchalant demeanour as he parks his car in the driveway of a home you’d never even be able to afford a fraction of. You simply nod, then unbuckle your seatbelt.
Ping.
You glance down at Michael’s hand, which quickly flips the phone face down.
“Pretty popular, huh?” You joke half-heartedly, trying to probe a reaction. Michael smiles at you, shrugging his shoulders. Noticing his shoulders tense up, you try to ignore the pit in your stomach. The two of you get out of the car and unload your suitcases.
Each step across the small bridge and to the front door felt in slow motion, your heartbeat thumping your ears.
“You’re gonna be fine, baby,” Michael reassures, before ringing the doorbell.
Beat.
Beat.
Beat.
Click.
The heavy slategray door glides open slowly, and your fake smile plasters on at the sight of Michaels’ parents. Helen Wick, a graceful woman in her late 30’s. Her flat ironed brunette hair hugged her soft face, and her smile accentuated the faint laugh lines.
On the other hand, her husband John, the older of the pair, stood stoically. His black hair, and black eyes matched with his simple black slacks and button up protruded his muscles. His dark aura almost sucked the light out the area as he stood tall next to his happy wife. Helen’s hazel eyes meet yours as she hides her surprise with a plastic grin.
“Oh Mikey… she’s beautiful!” Helen exclaims, her voice a little pitched.
Michael nudges your shoulder as Helen wraps her arms around you, giving you a stiff hug. You could smell the expensive Chanel No 5 from her neck, and the Michael Kors blouse was silk and soft against your hands as you hugged her back. Mr. Wick, remaining unimpressed as ever, simply watched the interaction unfold.
This was gonna be a long Christmas.
Dinner was painfully awkward. The scratching of gold silverware on the rare china plates filled the air. Inside their villa was just as impressive as the out. The warm lights of the christmas decor and the glorious christmas tree illuminated the luxurious dining room. You rest your elbow on their mahogany table, calmly taking a bite of your roasted turkey.
“Elbows, dear,” Helen hums from across from you, her tone almost motherly. Glancing down at your elbow, you flush embarrassed as you lean back against your chair. Michael sips his wine next to you, sighing at his mother’s uptight behaviour.
John seems to be the quietest of them all, although you can feel his intense stare from across the table. The older man intimidates you to no-end, and some part of you is desperate to earn some form of approval from him. You always liked a challenge.
“So..” Helen breaks the silence again, clearing her throat. The light shines on her expensive bracelets and rings that adorn her hand as she sets her fork and knife down. “Tell us how you met our Michael.”
Michael and you share a glance, and he subtly urges you to speak. You smile softly, sipping your liquid courage before speaking. “We met at the diner I work at. Michael was always a regular, and refused to let anyone but me serve him,” You giggle at the memory, and Michael blushes.
“You’re a waitress?” John chimes in. You swallow at how low and husk his voice was, and you finally meet his dark orbs piercing into you. Like a little ant under a magnifying glass; his simple question felt like a heavy exam, and you were determined to pass.
“Yes.. It’s called Daisy’s Diner on Victory Boulevard” You furrow your brows, a little confused. “Didn’t Michael tell you..?”
“He led us to believe you owned a diner.. Not working in one..” John hums, seemingly returning to his unaffected attitude. Your lips are slightly parted in surprise, and heat rushes to your cheeks as you side eye Michael. He avoids your gaze, focusing down at his plate.
“You told them I owned a food chain?” You huff, annoyance dripping in your voice. The dinner lasted for what seemed forever before the sun finally set and each couple retreated to their respective bedrooms. “Michael, what the hell?”
“It’s not a big deal,” Michael rolls his eyes, fluffing up one of the pillows. He rubs his eyes tiredly, and you can tell he’s getting agitated. “It’s fine— they didn’t mind.”
“Oh really?” You scoff, putting your silk pyjamas shorts on. “He led us to believe you owned a diner.. Not working in one..” you mock John’s voice, making your own deep and nasally.
“My dad does not sound like a nasally Christopher Walken, but okay,” Michael snorts at your impersonation. You toss a pillow at him, hitting his chest.
“Not the point, Michael! You were supposed to be on my side, you just fed me to the wolves!”
“Grow up— you had an awkward conversation with my parents, it wasn’t the end of the world!”
“The whole point of this weekend was to get them to like me! You just sat there cutting your turkey into a million pieces!” The air in the room was thick with tension, the two of your moods souring as your voices raise. You wished your boyfriend had a spine, and he wished you didn’t have one. Letting out another huff, you grab your toiletries purse and head to leave the bedroom to go brush your teeth.
The brightly lit home was now dark and empty, aside from the moonlight shining in through the bright windows. You glance out, and see the snow top mountains faded behind a thick fog as you walk down the hall; feet padding softly on the cold wood.
When you finished in the bathroom, you were hardly paying attention as you opened the door, eyes half shut. Your face instantly pummels into something hard, making your eyes blink rapidly. A quiet hmph can be heard above you, and your eyes dart up to meet John’s. He stood there blankly, wearing nothing but his briefs.
Your face flushed with utter humiliation and you turned your head away. “Sorry— um— I didn’t see you—”
“Wrong bathroom.”
“Huh?” You raise a brow.
“You’re in my wife and I’s bathroom,” He repeats slowly, his tone slightly condescending. His chest rises as he takes a breath, and you can help but watch each muscle that twitches; feeling your throat go dry. You get lost in analysing the tattoos on his arms and shoulders that were so well hidden by his button up.
“Oh..” you clear your throat, snapping out of it. “Sorry.. Michael told me this was the guest one..”
“Michael tells you a lot of things that are not true it seems,” John hums, a curious look on his face.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
No reply.
John simply shrugs, and shifts to the side, allowing you to pass him and you can’t help but take a peek at his toned back. For an older man, he seemed to take care of his body well. His defined muscles, covered in ink of religious tattoos and Latin proverbs, intrigued you to find out more.
“It’s rude to stare,” his deep voice is in a low whisper as he shuts the bathroom door behind him, not even glancing back at you. Embarrassed and fascinated, you hurry back to yours and Michael’s room where you find him already asleep, his mouth open wide as he snores. His typically irritating habits of snoring loudly and taking up space seemed to be the least of your concerns as your mind is flooded with images of his father.
His father’s voice.. His father’s tattoos.. His father’s v-line that disappeared under his briefs..
You were too distracted to even notice Maggie had texted again.
The following days leading up to Christmas were suffocating to say the least. Unless Helen was there to kindly offer comedic relief or keep John occupied— it was as though you were constantly invigilated. Any anecdotes you told, the way you skied when the four of you went, how much or how little PDA you showed Michael: it was one big test, and you were failing, hard.
You had no clue why you were desperate to please Michael’s father. Helen was easy enough to win over.. Perhaps it’s just the masochist in you, but his condescending words began to make you bashful, rather than embarrassed.
Michael’s been aware of your strange behaviour but can’t seem to put his finger on it. Worst part was you knew why he was suspicious— he was projecting. It seemed this trip to get you closer with his parents, ended up straining your own.
“She’s a co-worker— fuck— I can’t keep explaining this to you!” Michael snaps defensively.
“Lower your voice— your parents are right there!” You hiss. The two of you stand outside on the back patio of the villa. Flames from the fireplace crackle, leaving an orange hue on both your faces. The sound of soft wind and smell of dinner oozing from the inside almost created a romantic atmosphere.
Had it not been for Maggie.
“What kind of co-worker texts you on PTO?” You whisper shout. Michael groans, rubbing his eyes as he turns away from you. “She’s been texting you everyday since this trip and it’s not the first time.”
“I’m busy— I work a lot. It’s probably about a project,” your boyfriend replies, almost being unconvincing on purpose. “You’re so goddamn nosy.”
“Nosy? I’m here meeting your parents and you’re probably sexting some random girl right now.”
“She’s not some random fucking girl.”
Your face drops. Your brows furrow together, the anger fading into a gentle hurt. The silence is deafening, and there’s zero remorse in Michael’s eyes for what he’s saying. A stunning realisation sets in that this Maggie is no longer just a notification you notice on his screen— but an actual person who Michael might harbour actual feelings for.
“Michael?” You ask quietly. "Who is she?"
Michael runs his hand through his hair, lips pursed as a sharp sigh escapes. His head hands low, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Agitation fills his figure to the brim, and another pregnant pause occurs. You pinch your thumbnail into your palm, anxiously waiting for his next word.
It never comes.
Michael just mutters to himself as he walks off the patio back inside, sliding the glass door shut loudly. You stand there in the cold, desolate quiet. A thousand thoughts running through your head, but your body stood still— unmoving. What felt like minutes, was hours as the lights inside the villa eventually turned off.
You sat on one of the lounge chairs in a small ball, knees to your chest and your stare fixated on the flames flickering. The ember fire warms your body, but can’t reach your frozen heart. For a strange reason.. Your eyes were dry, your lips weren’t trembling. Rather than a wave of sadness or betrayal— there’s a black hole, numbing you from the inside out.
“(Y/N)?”
Turning your head to the side, you hear the glass door slide open and a tall silhouette emerges from the darkened villa. The moonlight glowed on his face, his black t-shirt and pyjamas sweats only accentuating his pale figure.
“Hello.. Mr. Wick,” You clear your throat, pulling your knees closer to your chest. His faint footsteps become louder as he walks over to you, his looming shadow dimming the fireplace for a second before sitting next to you.
Here he was. The man who shamelessly steered clear of you like water and oil. The man who squinted his eyes at every word you said. The man who was now sitting right next to you in the dead of night.. His legs manspreading a little too close for comfort.
Your leg twitches a little, either from pure anxiety or the Vermont air breezing past your almost bare skin. Perhaps a thin Henley shirt and jeans were not the best choice of clothing, you scold yourself.
Occasionally you glance over at the older man, who simply sits hunched over, his elbows resting on his knees with his fingers interlocked with each other. The gold of his wedding ring glowed like a red warning sign. You were surrounding an intimate fireplace inches away from a married man— your boyfriend’s married father.
“So um—”
“You alright?”
He cuts your sentence off as usual.. But there was a sincerity in his question, albeit his blank expression. Your face softens with genuine surprise, and you scratch your arm, adjusting your sitting position.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” you lie.
“Fine with the way Michael talks to you?”
Biting the inside of your cheek, you shrug. The lines of appropriate conversation topics began to blur, and you worry that trash-talking your boyfriend to his father was definitely crossing something.
“I apologise for his behaviour.” This dude’s a fucking paradox.
“What?”
“Helen and I never raised Michael to raise his voice at a woman, let alone curse at you. And for that I apologise,” John repeats blankly. His amiable words were dampened by his impassive body language and tone.
Was he serious? Was it sarcasm? Was it a test for your reaction?
“Thank you” was your safe option, and he nods at your reply, still not even looking your way. Your leg continues twitching anxiously— and this he notices.
“Cold?” John asks.
“What?”
“Your leg.”
Like an obedient pet, you stop your twitching immediately. You hug yourself a bit, leaning back against the lounge couch, trying to create some distance. John mimics your movements, letting out a soft sigh as he does so. As he rolls his shoulders back— a soft crack hissing— his left arm lifts and reaches back, wrapping around your shoulders.
Eyes widened. Heart beating. Throat dry.
This was definitely crossing the line.
“Mr. Wick—”
“John.”
Chewing your bottom lip anxiously, you shift in your seat again, but his arm remains firm around your shoulders, gently pulling you against his side.
“John..” the name feels foreign on your tongue. “What are you doing?”
“You can do better than Michael.”
His words almost make you chuckle— if it wasn’t for your chest tightening. Your brows snap together as you look at him, full of confusion. The entire week you spent trying to impress, and show you were good enough for Michael son— only to be met with such.. Praise? Could you even call it that?
“You’re kidding, right?”
“You don’t think so?”
“Well..” you pause, repeating the phrase in your head over and over. “You spent this past week completely tearing me down, and mocking me.. Where’s all this coming from now?” Tenacity laced in your voice, and for the first time, John’s pink lips pull into a small smile.
“So just because I’m not explicitly praising your every movement means I’m tearing you down? Are you truly that desperate for me to approve of you?” John licks his teeth, a rare chuckle leaving his mouth. Heat rushes to your face at his taunt.
“I don’t need your approval..” you weakly defend. John tilts his head slightly, his dark eyes surveying you before leaning back. You’re almost disappointed at his retrieval of his arm, letting your warm skin cool down.
“You have it.”
If you jaw wasn’t dropped already, it was on the floor by now.
“You’re nice girl, and you're humble. A diner is hard, honest work. I wasn’t born the boss— everyone has to start somewhere, and I respect that.”
“So why act so.. disappointed?” You stammer, eyes blinking rapidly.
“I was disappointed my son had the balls to lie to me,” John clears his throat. “Lied about where you work, when you met.. He was born with a golden spoon in his mouth, of course he doesn’t respect you.”
He doesn’t respect you.
“... He loves me,” you whisper, almost in denial. But deep down in your frozen heart, you knew the truth. All the arguments, the dismissive tone, the hiding were physical proof right in front of your nose.
“That’s not the same thing,” John hums. “He’s cursing you out at his parent’s home— my home— I can only imagine what else he must be doing.”
You don’t know the half of it, is what you wanted to say. But for the sake of not burning bridges, you kept your lips shut. Suddenly, the pad’s of John's finger brush a strand of hair from your face. His touch was electric. Warm. Intoxicating. Merely a bristle of his touch made your chest tighten.
"Michael was right about one thing.. You are beautiful.”
Before you could come to your senses, your soft lips were enraptured with eyes. He swallows your little squeal of surprise, and your back meets the arm of the couch. A ringing echoes in your ear, like a bomb going off. Your boyfriend’s father.. had just made a move on you.
And you like it.
His tongue slips past your lips, meeting yours. You feel his warm big hand cupping at your hip, the other slipping under your thigh to lay you down better on the couch. His taller frame was much bigger now that it hovered over you, keeping you firmly pinned.
“J-John— stop— we can’t!” You manage to pull your face to the side, your lips leaving his. “Your wife— and my boyfriend— your son are right upstairs! Their rooms are right—”
“So you better be quiet then.”
His firm tone sends shivers down your spine, and you were once again suffocated with his lips. The sound of your jeans unbuttoning hits your ears and you realise there’s no turning back. Your mind flashes with moments of this week where you ogled his body.
No longer were your dreams of his tough hands, his manly shoulders or deep voice just a distant fantasy.. but now a reality. You let out a sharp gasp, when you feel pressure on your nub. His sneaky fingers managed their way under your thin panties. His painstakingly slow circles had you squirming like a puppy.
John chuckles at your needy little whines, looking down at your face and watching as it twists into growing pleasure. Ignoring the cold mountain wind, the two of you are quick to shred your pants, drinking in the absolute tabooness of the situation.
Your nails dig into couch pillows, your leg resting over his shoulder. John hisses softly, his large tip barely kissing your entrance. Your eyes trail away from his gorgeous face up to the open window on the second floor. The lights were off, and a small pit of guilt filled your stomach. But soon to be filled with something else, when John suddenly leans in, letting his tip slide past your folds.
“Fuck—” You bite your lip hard. A baritone chuckle echoes through the empty patio and he continues to slowly slide in, stretching your tiny hole out to the brim. The wind promptly knocked out your lungs as your eyes almost rolled back.
“Look at you.. taking it all in like a good little girl,” John taunts but it only makes you throb, clenching tight around him. You blink rapidly trying to focus, but his mocking coos only fluster you more. “Oh.. someone’s enjoying this.. You like when I praise you, don’t you?”
His hips begin at a gradual pace, and you slap your hand over your mouth, desperately trying to swallow your moans and whimpers. John’s longish black hair was covering most of his face, as he leaned down. Your knee was almost to your face, and you whine at the burn in your legs.
“Y-Yes— I do—” You admit bashfully. Thrust by thrush, his hips rut faster and faster against your small frame. The sound of his heavy balls hitting the curve of your ass were so sinful and sticky, and you feared Helen or Michael hearing you two.
“So desperate to make a good impression..” John’s hand rests above your pussy, completely fixated on the small bump his large cock is causing. His tip kisses your cervix as he fills your spongy walls, a thin white ring forming at the base. “...that you’re slutting yourself out to a man twice your age.”
His mean tone and jeering words make your eyes water with humiliation, but your moans sing a different tune. John lets out a groan as your cunt flutters around him, shifting his grip to your waist, and his fingers pinching painfully.
“Such a filthy little girl..” he coos in your ear. You squeal girlishly against your hand, biting down on your finger. John drinks in the teary look in your doe eyes, the way they almost roll back in pleasure. Your soft lips around your finger, as you clamp down hard when he begins to toy with your breast. “With such pretty tits— and such soft skin.”
John’s head dips down, his lips wrap around one of your nipples and you let out a loud cry. He’s quick to bite when you slip up and start making too much noise. The feel of his tongue swirling your bud, and his cock plunging in and out of you was too much, and the knot in your belly tightened.
“Ohmygod— fuck—” You whisper and pant as quietly as you can. John laughs against your skin, his hands like magic as they hit every button that makes you squeal.
“Baby needed a real man to make her feel good, hm?” John asks rhetorically and you nod hurriedly through tears, as you lie a babbling mess under his powerful stature. He continues fucking you relentlessly, each thrust beginning to bruise your poor pussy.
“D-Don’t stop— please— ohgod—” You stammer and sob.
John leans back up, but keeps your thigh pressed to your chest with his hand. Running another hand through his black locks, and wiping the sweat off his hairline, he groans harshly. The bulge in your stomach popping up and down kept the blood rushing to his cock.
“Gonna cum inside— make you all nice and full,” He pants. “You want that, hm?”
“Yes— yes please— please—” You don’t even care how pathetic you sound. How needy you sounded. Like all sound of mind flew out the window the moment you came here. The moment he even wrapped his arm around you.
His abs contort and his thrusts began to get sloppier. He gripped your soft hips like a vessel, like he owned you. John grins devilishly at your pretty little cries and pleas, enjoying how much you craved him.
“God you make the prettiest noises— all for me, hm? Just for me,” John hisses, snapping his hips faster against you as his fingers work skillfully on your bundle of nerves, sending waves through your trembling legs.
You let out an embarrassingly loud squeal, wallens tightening around his thick girth when you feel climax approaching. He shoots ropes of his warm seed inside you, filling you to the brim.
The air is filled with the sound of your weak moans and his quiet pants. Your bodies drenched in sweat, and the Vermont wind is painfully cold now as the passion fades. The thirst of desperation was now quenched with guilt and horror as you realised what you’ve done.
John returns to his blank expression, pulling out of you with a sloppy sound. You wince when his fingers wipe your sensitive folds, collecting his cum on his fingers as he pushes it back inside you. “These pillows are expensive.”
You lie there in shock at how nonchalantly he behaves: like he didn’t just ravage his son’s girlfriend on the couch, leaving her covered in lovebites and full of warm cum. You watch as he tucks himself back into his sweats, and heads back inside the villa.
Soon enough you follow suit, and dress yourself to come back inside. The house was dark and empty, presumably everyone was asleep at this point. You tiptoe to your room with Michael, and thankfully he lies snoring away— unaware what you just committed.
You change into fresh panties and pyjamas, feeling John’s sticky cum on your thighs as it leaks out of you. The betrayal and sin leaks from your skin as you climb into bed, and guilt drips from your pores when Michael wraps his arm around you.
Guilt that you wish it was John’s arm instead.
Fin.
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© 𝐈𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐀, 2023. do not copy, repost or translate my works.
#keanu reeves x reader#keanu reeves imagine#john wick x reader#john wick imagine#john wick smut#john wick x y/n
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I would describe falling in love with someone much older than you in one sentence; on the nights you cry for him, he sweats on others.
#henry cavill smut#henry cavill#negan smith smut#negan smith#rick grimes smut#rick grimes#mads mikkelsen#keanu reeves#negan x reader#rick grimes x reader#henry cavill x you#henry cavill x reader
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Bodyguard!John Wick who has to follow you everywhere, always lurking behind you like a silent shadow
Bodyguard!John Wick Who definitely glares at anyone you're talking to, god forbid if it's a boy from your school or a boyfriend
Bodyguard!John Wick who always puts your priorities before his own and who would do anything for you at any cost
Bodyguard!John Wick who has to tag along to stupid events such as shopping at the mall, or going into Victoria secret for a new bra because he has to make sure you're safe
Bodyguard!John Wick who is so much bigger then you in every aspect that it's almost funny to watch this large man follow a sweet little thing through a bath and body works
Bodyguard!John Wick who is always honest when you ask his opinion on a new frilly dress you bought (he was there obviously but it's still fun to play dress up) he'd sit on the edge of your bed while you spun around for him asking what he thought
Bodyguard!John Wick who thinks you're the cutest thing ever with how you view the world. In contrast to some of the horrors he's seen you always seem so happy
#x reader#john wick x y/n#john wick x reader#john wick#john whick smut#john wick smut#john wick chapter 4#keanu reeves#keanu reeves smut#keanu reeves x reader#bodyguard! john wick#bodyguard john wick#bodyguard AU#bodyguard au#generalkenobee
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diet mountain dew; john wick/fem!reader (smut, 18+)
dating john wick - the playlist
The Boogeyman is out to get you. Little does he know, that you too are willing to do quite a bunch of things just to stay alive.
warnings: blood, guns, knives, injuries, physical violence/fighting, assassination attempt; dub-con, rough sex, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (female receiving), choking, dirty talk, spanking, a lot of manhandling bc for the love of god he doesn't know how to be soft anymore, gun kink, knife kink, size kink, strength kink, squirting, body worship if you blink, is this hate-fucking? idk; john has a horse cock change my mind; john is in his 50s, the reader is in her 20s; set somewhere after the series i guess? (I refuse to accept he's dead); problematic family relationship as a plot device; let's all collectively ignore the fact that he would actually never touch another woman or even dare to catch the smallest of feelings again; john gets off on the violence
word count: 10,6 k
thank you mel for a) listening to my ramblings and b) reading a good chunk of the first third of this dumpster fire and still going nuts about it, kissies and thank you v for listening to my keanu ramblings without losing faith in me
You wonder, if praying will help you. Probably not.
The sound of carnage, screams and gunshots in the hallway abruptly stops. You hear the assailant's heavy footsteps echoing off the floorboards outside of your hotel room mere seconds before the door bursts open, flies out of its hinges and rattles to the ground, wood creaking and breaking, splinters flying everywhere.
There had been a hit out on you for two days and every single soldier in your father's militia was ready to defend your life with their own.
Literally. You can tell by the man entering your suite.
You can tell by just how much he is covered in blood. You can tell by the way it drips down his forehead and how it soaks his white shirt - even the soles of his shoes creak with it. You can tell by the way he is totally and utterly drenched in red red red, and because you are certain it is not his.
They literally gave their life for you. The thought hits you like a blow to the head. People have died because of you. Fathers, brothers, sons. You recall your last conversation with your own father. They want us dead, they put out a contract on us - you had never seen him so nervous, so disheveled. What does that mean - his anxiety had been washing over you in seeping hot waves, sending cold shivers down your spine. It means, I need you out of the house - now.
Nausea bubbles in your stomach as the man now approaches you, casually strolls into the suite with his finger on the trigger of the gun dangling from his hand and you stare back at him - a deer in the headlights, frozen by fear in the eyes of its deadly predator. One of your father's men jumps from his cover, fires a shot and gets hit back with one straight between his eyes. It happens so quickly, that you can't turn your head away. You see the bullet piercing his forehead, blood splattering as soon as it exits the skull on the other side. His head flies back a little, and then his body goes limp, slack, as he falls to the ground with a heavy thud.
You want to scream. You want to vomit. You want to run. But there is nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide from him.
There's only one soldier left with you in the suite now and he is hiding around the corner, near the bathroom. The stranger - the assassin, the killer - does not lower the gun again, and does not let his eyes stray from you as he carefully enters the room. You feel terribly exposed, dressed only in your negligée, not daring to move.
Now, that the dim light of the suite's living room strikes his face, you can finally see him, see the man who has come to end you. He is older than you, maybe nearly twice your age, with dark hair and even darker eyes, matching his black suit. Lean and athletic, chest heaving slightly with physical exhaustion. The Boogeyman.
You do not know who or what you had expected, what cruel and dreadful images your brain had conjured up in the past 48 hours - 48 frightful hours of being moved around from hideout to hideout by your father's men, not staying in one place longer than necessary - but it certainly was not that. Not him. He is a lot more handsome than his reputation has led on. Seeing him on the subway around rush hour you would have never suspected him to be in this business. He looks nice. And that is exactly what makes him dangerous.
You have heard his name before. Echoing from the walls. Baba Yaga. Whispered with both: fear and respect. The Boogeyman. Blurted out: like a curse or like a blessing. Mister Wick: like redemption, like damnation. Jonathan, the king's son walking the earth as the devil.
John. The sound of his name is oddly human - disturbingly human - for someone looking as calm and collected, focused and concentrated as he does right now, while being drenched in blood and pointing a gun at you.
You must have said his name out loud, because his eyebrows twitch irritatedly, a movement so quick you barely missed it - must've sound desperate too, then.
Vision zeroing in on the barrel of his gun, your hands clutch the sofa's edge. There is so much adrenaline pumping through your veins right now that it freezes your limbs, has your ears ringing. The only thing responding to your brain fully are your eyes, and they snap away from the gun and over to the remaining soldier. It's a quick look, not even a second, but the hitman seems to recognize it and - with near inhumane speed - flicks his gun, and fires two shots. Blood splatters against the white door as the shots pin the soldier's body against it, and is it finally drops to the ground heavily it leaves a nasty trail, all wet and sticky and red.
Could be you.
You want to scream, but your body does not belong to you anymore, does not respond to your commands. It is a desperate, cruel sound that leaves your throat instead as you flinch with the sound of the gun being fired.
"Let's make this quick" his voice is gravelly and rough, like he has seen a thousand grim things and the pain of it has etched its way into his throat, left a nasty mark on every tone that ever dared to cross after.
That is when your fight or flight suddenly kicks in. Well, more specifically, it kicks in while he is speaking, as he starts to swap the empty clip of his gun.
He underestimates you. Everyone does. Your father, your brother. The countless men lying dead littered across the hotel's 25th floor. It will be his mistake.
You latch forward, grabbing the vase from the coffee table in front of you. The weight of it in your hand drags you down.
With all the strength you can muster, which is quite a lot considering the massive amounts of adrenaline that are currently amping up your body - you throw it at him. It connects with his forehead sharply; a deep, irritated noise bursting from his throat as it crashes, splinters and falls to the floor.
You are braver, braver than you should be as your assault does not end there, your body pushing you forward, leaping over the table and crashing into his broad shoulders.
I will not die today
Body ramming into his, he stumbles, as your fist connects with his chin. You have only been partially trained in hand-to-hand combat, after pleading your brother for months until he eventually gave in. Sadly, he wasn't nearly as thorough and honest with it as he was training his drug dealer and gun runners. But now, it is the only thing you can rely on.
There is nothing else; no one else left alive in that building who might be able to help you. It is up to you. So, you might as well try.
And Oh, does desperation fire up your blood.
I will not die today
The diversion does not last long and he - John John John only human only human only human - grabs you by you waist hard, fingers digging into your flesh and into the expensive silk, before he slams your body into the ground. All air leaves your lungs with a dull sound erupting from your chest, just as pain blooms around your ribs.
You cough and he looks down at you, confusion making his brows twitch, before cold-hearted determination takes over once more. John aims his gun at you once more, pulls back the hammer and you do not even think about it, your leg rising as you kick against his hand. The shot misses, buries itself deep into the expensive carpet a few inches next to your skull. You have no time to do either: panic or sigh in relief; instead, you deliver him a kick to his stomach, fighting yourself back onto your feet, punching him straight in the face.
John grunts and grabs your wrist, but you see it coming and throw yourself into his wide frame, wrapping your other arm around his back and thus hooking it underneath his right shoulder, dislocating his arm and preventing him from aiming his gun at you. You claw onto him as he twists your arm close to his stomach, while you wrap your legs around him, making it harder for John to shake you off.
I will not die today
You kick and dig the heel of your foot into his thighs and the back of his knees and he grunts and buckles a little, but turns wild and relentless quicker than you can blink, throws the two of you into the next wall. You gasp sharply as your back connects with the large mirror, splinters digging into your back - not deep enough to actually cut skin, but it stings nonetheless, the impact making you dizzy.
Sharp pain shoots through your back and your neck, but you are not willing to give up yet, as raw energy and rage and desperation surges through your body - one of your legs coming loose and your knee hitting his stomach repeatedly, making John grunt in pain and you use your momentum to dig your hand deep into his back, holding onto him and then swirling out of the deadlock he has got you in, jumping his back like a monkey.
His gun clatters to the ground and for a split second, the room falls silent. Then, roaring like an animal gone wild, he grabs your calves and slams his back into the nearest wall, has you screaming with the impact. You can feel blood pouring from your nose, feel it trickling down your lips.
I will not die today
John is stronger than you are, so so much stronger - the apex predator: all muscle, unbreakable focus and the sheer will to kill. But you are not only a little quicker; you also really want to stay alive. It is a force he rarely encounters. And quite frankly, it irritates him.
He may be older than you, taller than you and stronger than you but you have something he does not have: you actually still got something to lose.
And you fight like it, too. All scratches and sharp yells, as you punch and scrabble at his shoulders and tear at his tie, trying to strangle him with it. John is struggling against it, gasping for air and winding beneath your assault and then his grip around your claves grows hard like iron, seconds before he pulls - throws you over his head like you weigh nothing. You land on the expensive carpet with a heavy thud - groaning as you crash onto your side with sharp pain shooting through your shoulder, down your ribcage.
I will not die today
John sputters and stumbles forward, looking for his gun but you are quicker, kicking it away with your foot. It clatters back onto and slides over the wooden floorboards.
For a second you consider your choices, fighting yourself back onto your feet but John - a practiced and seasoned fighter - beats you to it and lands a blow to your upper back, sends you back down with him - a mess of sputtering saliva and painful groans. His body topples onto yours and he quickly rolls the two of you over the floor.
John is heavy and warm on top of you, as he keeps you in a tight headlock, your chest pressed to the floor and neck bend in a painful angle. He presses his strong forearm down onto your windpipe and you choke and cough, feet kicking, hands dragging across the wood, clawing at it feebly.
You can feel his breath on your cheek, hot and damp. You can feel his torso pressing against your back as he kneels behind you.
I will not die today
Mustering all your remaining strength, you trash against him, ramming your backside into his stomach. He grunts and for a split second, his grip loosens. It is all you need. Throwing your elbow back, you hit him in the chest and he caves in.
You cough, crawling forward and then scrambling back onto your feet, one of your negligée’s straps falling down your shoulder in the process. You hastily pull it back up, seconds before John launches a cascade of punches onto you.
A few of them hit you as you try to block them; dull pain igniting in your body, blooming in your face and arms. Your breath goes heavy as you stumble backwards. You cannot do this. There is no way. You just physically can't.
He is stronger. Taller. Heavier. Deadlier. Your body and every single muscle, bone, nerve in it aches and you wheeze but he is already onto you again, half-tackles you and grabs your waist, ready to smash you back onto the ground.
You cling onto him with all your remaining strength, struggling against his huge frame, wrapping your hands around his neck in an attempt to get him to stumble.
His hair tingles on your naked arms. Oh wait --
Tearing at his hair - which has him grunting in both, pain, and irritation at the unusual attempt - you clumsily pull yourself up onto his shoulders, cutting his face right above his eyebrow with your nails in the process until you finally wrap one leg around his throat and close it around there tightly, choking him. John tries to pull you off him and succeeds after quite the tussle, only to find your frame clinging to him, legs and arms wrapping around his body, hands scratching and feet kicking.
I will not fucking die today
In an attempt to either get rid of each other or submit the last blow, to finally kill the other, you two swirl through the room - a deadly dance of torn skin, smashed glass panes and mirrors, bruises and cuts. Somewhere in between kicks and punches, he managed to pick up his gun - and right now, you are mustering all of your exhausted strength to prevent the barrel from pressing against your skull.
Eventually, John crashes your bodies through a large wooden door, and is not quick enough - unable to stop his own oxe-like strength - to stop himself from stumbling into the room. The two of you only come a halt as his knees hit something soft and ironically that is what finally topples both of you over, landing onto the mattress of your bedroom with a soft thud and deep, exhausted grunts.
Your ears ring, and you are ready to lash out at him again despite the physical exhaustion, to strike him square across the face, as --
There is something hard pressing against your crotch.
The world falls silent.
No. No, there's no fucking way. It's got to bea hidden weapon. Must be.
But clearly, it is not. There, between your spread legs, his hard cock presses snugly against your panty-clad pussy.
And he just feels so huge - mouth-watering huge - that your body responds in its own way, hips snapping up, stuttering against the hard bulge. John lets go off a shaky, ragged breath, hand still clutching his gun. And you know, that this is your window.
Feeling the warmth that his body and his hard dick are radiating through his expensive suit, you roll your hips once - a languid, slow motion, rubbing your pussy over his bulge.
And he groans. A deep, primal sound that sounds a little coarse. John is looking at you, starring you down, but there is a shadow dancing over his eyes, turning his brown eyes into deep and dark, black pits that gives him away.
He is horny. The Boogeyman is fucking horny. You would laugh, if the realization wasn't knocking all air straight from your lungs. Because it just another reminder, proof of what he actually is: human.
And what a sight he is to see - eyes turning darker every second, his chest heaving with every breath and making it seem like his shirt is going to pop a button or two any second now, his cock prodding against its restraints and your clothed cunt.
It makes you want him. The thought leaves you dizzy, makes you gasp.
Apparently, that is all he needs to roll his hips back into yours. And that - that is just unfair. It's playing dirty. It's, it's -- His dick feels huge as it trails along your folds, has the muscles in your abdomen clenching.
"Fuck", you breathe, a little overwhelmed with and helpless at the sudden surge of lust that ignites your body, the wetness pooling between your legs.
John is not saying anything, just stares you down while he continues to slooowly roll his hips into yours, grinds his cock against your cunt. Your pelvis twitches upward as you start to meet his movements, and then you can hear it. He let's go of a deep breath, and it sounds like the faintest moan.
You need to hear more of that. You need more of him, your cunt aching and hole clenching around nothing already.
"John", and this time you say his name - consciously - it sounds a different way of desperate: your voice reduced to a small whisper, torn at the edges by a wanton whimper ripping from your throat.
If it throws him off-guard he does not show it, does not let you see it. Instead, he grabs your chin hard, gaze locking with yours. Dark pupils blown wide, swallowing the honey-brown of his eyes, and your breath hitches.
"Yeah?", he rasps, and it does not take more than one long look from you for him to lean in, to press his lips onto yours.
The kiss tastes of blood and adrenaline and doom, and you relish in it. Relishing the way his lips move against yours and his beard tickles a little, relishing how his tongue presses into your mouth. It feels like he is eating you whole, licking into your mouth, one hand dancing over your waist - featherlight, like he doesn't know how to touch a body without hurting someone, destroying someone.
I will not die today, motherfucker
Your whole body now sings with it, the security of an impending victory, as you roll your hips into his once more, your tongue now licking back into his mouth. For a second you think about how to strike again, now that he is seemingly distracted, but all will to fight leaves your body as one of his hands brushes over your knee, wanders further and eventually rests on your thigh.
The touch is electrifying and then his hand grows braver, his movements more certain, as he grabs your thigh, feels you up. It happens so suddenly, that you gasp into the kiss.
John parts from you, his lips a little plush already. "Oh God", you whisper as you stare Death Turned Human straight in the face, not a single thought remaining in your skull despite your lust.
He doesn't speak, as he gently let’s go off your leg and straightens back up and for a second you think he is going to hurt you, with the way his brows are furrowed - but he doesn't.
Instead, he moves in, right over your comparably tiny frame - a mountain of a man. John kneels above you, his weight pinning you down while he straddles your thighs and Jesus fucking Christ - what a sight he is to see.
Dark locks falling into his forehead, a little sticky with sweat and the bits of blood from the cut your nails gave him moments ago - right above his left eyebrow, still lazily trickling down into his lashes. His chest heaves with ragged breaths, as he hastily gets rid of his jacket, carelessly drops it to the ground. His black button-down clings to his muscular body underneath his waistcoat and his equally as muscular thighs pin you down to the bed, black fabric nearly tearing at the seams. And then there is his hard cock.
It looks as huge as it felt, with the way it bulges his pants, the outline of it clearly visible as it buckles proudly against its restraints. You are certain, you will not be able to close your hand around it fully - not a chance.
One of his hands - the one lacking a finger, which you only now notice and what sends shivers down your spine - wanders over your body, pulling your negligée down in the process, right tit spilling out of the soft silk. He immediately grabs it, cups it with his large hand and squeezes. You mewl, marveling at just how big his hand is, just as his whole body is in comparison to you. His fucked-up finger digs into the flesh, sending shivers down your spine.
John's hand gropes your tit, before he impatiently pulls the neckline down roughly. You sigh, arousal shooting down your spine and tingling in your lower belly, as two of his fingers nudge your nipple, pinch it.
He watches your face intently, as he continues to grope you, rolls your nipple between his fingers. You mewl, breath accelerating a little but it is just not enough and you buck your hips upwards. John grunts in, what you assume is an approving manner, and let's go off your tit, reaches to his belt at his loins.
Quickly pulling a knife from God-knows-where exactly, a sharp blade enters your vision.
You blink, panic seeping through your lust and your legs twitch a little with fear. If John notices it, he neither shows it nor does he say anything, just moves the knife closer to your body.
The blade shines in the dim light as it dances over your exposed thighs carefully, the metal cooly pressing against your skin, before he flicks it and cuts your negligée open. The thin, soft fabric cleanly cut in half it now lazily slides from your aching body, falls to its sides. Your chest heaves, shivers running down your arms and back.
It happens so quickly that you can only blink. As your brain finally catches up with your eyes, you come to realize that he is holding a real fucking tactical knife. You have thrown one once - they are sharp as hell and deadlier than a bullet. The sound of fabric tearing easily, like paper, proves your point.
And John's movements with the blade are so fast that your breath hitches, a little afraid he might cut you. But he does not, instead, he quickly pulls the torn silk off you and away from under you, carelessly tosses it into the dark of the room.
The edge of the blade dances over your skin and you do not dare to breathe, as he trails it up and down your curves, gently nudges your nipples. "I could kill you", he says calmly and then, in lightning speed, presses the blade into the crook of your neck. Your head sinks back into the mattress, in an instinct to flee the sharp edge.
All it does is to expose your neck further and something gleams in John's eyes, as he presses the sharp tip down slowly, carefully nudging your skin with it. The metal is cold and hard and sharp and your breath hitches. Just a little bit more and it might burst your skin, draw blood.
But, to your own confusion, you do not feel threatened anymore. Oddly enough, your nerves tingle with excitement. You blame it on the already high levels of adrenaline that still pump through your veins, rushing back and forth from your brain and your lungs, but a small voice inside of your head whisper gently, deviously, that you know That's not it. And he knows it, too.
It's in his eyes as well, the sheer excitement of it all, the fucked-up pleasure it evokes in the both of you lays heavy in the air.
It turns you fucking on. It turns you on, that the man who - minutes ago - tried you kill you and did hurt you very fucking badly in the process of it, now decides to let you live.
It turns you on, that you are at his mercy.
It turns you on, that he decided to spare you - just for now.
It turns you on, that these large and strong hands holding the knife have that sort of power over you. And thus, as the blade nudges your head back further, you moan.
"I could cut your throat", John's voice is heavy and thick with arousal and you can feel your heartbeat picking up, breath accelerating. His gaze drops down, watches the rapid rising and falling of your breasts hungrily, while another soft moan escapes from your lips.
"Don't", you breathe softly.
The knife practically burns on your skin, and you can feel arousal flooding your clothed pussy, rubbing your thighs together for any sort of friction. John can feel your squirming underneath him, but he can also see your eyes turning watery and dark with lust, pupils blown and a pretty pink spreading on your cheeks, your breath growing shallow. And he just really needs to fucking taste you right now.
As quickly as it appeared, the blade vanishes from your throat before he twirls the knife like the ruthless, reckless professional that he is, and buries it deep to the hilt in the mattress next to you. The sharp sound as it pierces the thick fabric has the hairs on your body standing up, goosebumps rolling over your skin.
"I'll do it later", he rumbles - casually, like he is talking about doing chores or picking up groceries - before hunching over you, grabbing your chin with his fucked-up hand, and kissing you again. His tongue immediately pushes into your mouth, like he is starving to taste you.
John eats you whole, with the way his lips move against yours. His hand cups your face, tongue licking into your mouth, toying with yours. His kiss steals your breath and you start to get dizzy with it, hips bucking. You can feel his lips curling up and then he parts from you, leaving you a gasping mess, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth.
"Let me touch you, John", you whisper, voice a little small because you do not know why you feel that way, and if he will even allow it. But you just need to feel him.
For a long moment his gaze dances over your face and something shifts behind his eyes, like a shadow gets lifted and then very quickly returns. Ultimately, he gives a court nod, so small you nearly miss it and gives you a little more room while straightening back up.
Carefully, as if not to spook him, you dart one hand out, place it on his chest. The muscle is firm underneath his suit and you run your hand along the lapel of his jacket, down and then back up, before it slips beneath it.
John's body radiates warmth under the black fabric of his shirt and your other hand comes up, before you shove the jacket off his shoulders and onto the floor next to the bed.
Your breath hitches.
He is wearing a holster, a reminder of his deadliness, of the gun laying somewhere next to you. Maybe, he sees the fear returning in your eyes, but he is quick to shrug the holster off, throws it into the dark where it clatters onto the wooden floor boards. What is left in front of you are broad shoulders and a muscular chest, the fabric nearly tearing at his movements.
As you run your hands over it, you cannot help yourself - you need to fucking feel him for real.
Quickly making work of his waistcoat and tie you toss both to the side carelessly, before your hands roam his broad chest. His button-down clings snugly against his upper body and you can feel the muscles work beneath the black fabric as your hands brush over them. You tug at the shirt, pulling its tails from his pants before hastily opening the first few buttons. The skin underneath is pale, littered by blue - red - black bruises, birthmarks scattered in between like stars. You pop open the rest of the buttons, greedy to touch him. And as the shirt falls to the sides your hands are already onto his chest, roaming over and admiring the muscular, defined canvas of strength, that violence has painted a pretty picture on.
John is watching you intently as you undress him and then explore his body, your pupils blown wide and dark, mouth agape a little. He is a little taken aback by it - by someone not seeing his body as the ultimate tool of death that it is, but as something else, that he cannot really pinpoint because he can't even look in the mirror without seeing destruction and decay. But the way your gaze wanders over his body, the way you touch him, is different from that and he has not felt anything like it in years.
And John wants. Carnal desire tugs at his brain, shoots arousal between his legs, makes his cock twitch and a low growl escaping his throat.
The sound gets you going: pushing yourself up with one hand, the other wrapping around his strong neck for leverage as you sit up, mouth immediately clutching to his throat. He tastes of sweat and after-shave - sharp and musky - and you run your tongue over his skin greedily, licking and sucking at the skin while your naked body presses against his.
It disarms him. The gentle touch that you put his body up to, while everything still aches from plowing through the better half of your father's militia and beating the hell out of you, confuses him. Your touch, your lips on his skin are soft and not aiming to hurt - instead, they grow more and more needy, wanton and hasty, as you lick over his bruised skin, tasting his sweat. Your hands over his abdomen caress his defined muscles, in awe of his utter strength, thumbs brushing through the soft and dark trail of hair leading beneath the waistband of his trousers. And all John can do, is watch, his gaze locking with yours as goosebumps erupt on his skin.
And you - oh you; your head swims with the way you turn this animal into a human again, unlock a different set of animalistic needs within him and hearing John's breath growing heavy really fucking does it for you, feeling his scarred and beaten-up skin underneath your hands, wrapping them around the deadly machine that is his body. It makes you want more.
Shedding his blood-stained shirt off of his shoulders, your hands roam over his upper back - feeling the scars there: of knives, larger and small ones and round ones of bullets that once pierced his skin. There is something else, a burn scar, in the shape of a cross and he hisses as your fingers brush over it, nails digging into the stunted skin.
It pulls John out of his stasis, reminds him of who he is and you can feel the air swinging with it seconds before he moves. His large hands wrap around your shoulders and then he pulls you off him, throws you back onto the mattress. You yelp, eyes growing wide as you watch his face as it turns from lightly dazed back to stern, wild, with his brows furrowed.
"That's enough", he says, voice coarse and it still feels like a small victory, even though he spreads your legs roughly, hands digging deep into your thighs - hard enough to bruise - before he kneels between them. He yanks your body forward at the back of your knees, watches your tits bounce and then leans in, his lips immediately attacking your throat, your neck.
His lips are surprisingly soft against your skin, his beard tickling a little as it brushes over your tits, your stomach, your thighs while his tongue licks fat stripes over your nipples and down down down your upper body, right to your navel. One of his hands creeps up your body once more and roughly cups your tit, squeezes, and gropes it, rolls your hardened nipple between his index and middle finger. His stunted ring-finger digs deep into your tit and you gasp, hips bucking. John's lips suck and nibble at your skin, before eventually ghosting over your pubic bone, teasing you before assaulting your thighs again, teeth biting down gently into the soft flesh. You gasp and moan while he gropes your body, inhales your scent - as you watch how his lips, tongue, and teeth dance over your thighs, moving closer to your cunt.
John finally, finally, puts his mouth onto your pussy, peppers open-mouthed kisses around your clit, before clothing his lips around it and sucking on it hard through your panties. Your hips buck as a high-pitched moan erupts from your throat, hands flying into his greying locks.
"Fuck", you whine, feeling fresh wetness flooding your folds, dampening the thin fabric further. John can see the outlines of your wet pussy pressing against your panties and parts from your clit momentarily, only to lick a fat stripe over your clothed cunt, watching it twitch.
"That's fucking pretty", he rasps, gaze locking with yours and you feel all air leaving your lungs. His eyes are so fucking dark, like gleaming black pits swallowing you whole, his breath a little flat with arousal.
You want him to fuck you. Really fuck you. To plow you open, rail you until you cannot sit nor walk. He is already so so close to you, but too far away at the same time. "Please", is all you manage to utter out. And it seems to be sufficient enough for him; seems to get across what you want, what you need.
John's fingers wrap around the front of your lace slip, tugging at the fabric - that rubs along your cunt at the sudden motion and has you gasping quietly - and then he pulls. The lace tears easily as he rips it apart, and cool air hits your wet and hot pussy, as he practically peels you out of your underwear, throws it to the side. The look on his face is wild and you can hear him taking a deep breath, smelling your arousal, before he spreads your folds apart with his thumbs, gaze wandering over your plump and flushed cunt.
Teasingly brushing over your clit with his thumb, John watches your reaction intently. And fuck, you do not disappoint. Throwing your head back, you moan, drawing in a deep breath through your opened mouth that heaves your chest, your eyelids fluttering.
You are dying for him to touch you and as he does, it feels like your body catches fire - lust washing away the dull pain in your limbs and near your ribs.
"Oh God", you breathe out as his thumb draws another wide and slow circle over your clit, your hands darting out and grabbing the sheets "Please."
And John complies, his thumb rubbing over your clit in a slow but steady rhythm.
Gasping, your hands clutch the sheets, knees darting away from each other, giving him more space. John accepts the invitation, grabs one thigh hard, fucked up ring-finger digging deep into your skin. His fingers move further, abandons your clit and dance over your folds, down to your hole. It flutters as two of his digits tease it, gently circling around it.
"Please", you whine once more, lifting your hips a little, a desperate noise leaving your throat. John smirks to himself, before pushing two of his fingers into you.
The stretch is sudden and bigger than expected and you moan coarsely, as he pushes his digits along your walls deeply and nestles them into your seeping hot cunt up to his knuckles. And Jesus, you feel so full already; your head swimming as you consider how big his cock must feel, then.
Your breath goes quick and shallowly as he starts to move them, and then he leans in. Nudges your clit with the tip of his tongue, licks over it.
You feel like combusting on the spot: your nerves tingling with arousal, your whole body still aching from the beating you gave each other earlier - the pain in your back blooming as you stretch it with your hips desperately shoving themselves near his touch - your pussy squeezing his fingers.
John pumps his thick fingers in and out of you, his tongue rubbing and circling your clit and soft, needy moans fall from your lips. Obscene, wet sounds fill the air, mingle with your moans and heavy breathing. His lips close in around your clit, sucking at it while his fingers rub along your spongy walls and your cunt squeezes them hard as fresh wetness floods your folds, your squirt wetting his beard and dripping down on the sheets below.
You can hear - feel - John humming against your pussy, peppering the wet skin with open mouthed kisses, licking over it, and tasting your slick.
You feel so fucking good - lust pulsating through your veins, loins on fire - and your head falls to the side, body rocking with sharp gasps and your mouth agape, eyelids fluttering as --
There's the gun. And the knife.
You could easily grab either one or the other next to you, pull the blade out of the matress or the hammer back; put a bullet right between his eyes or plow the blade deep deep into his skull. Killing the Boogeyman. Killing Baba Yaga.
That would do wonders to your family's business. It would emancipate you from it, you would be free. Free to rule.
"Thinking 'bout killing me?", John rumbles, tongue licking a fat stripe over your cunt, nudging your clit. Your gaze flickers back to him: hair a mess, eyes gleaming darkly, hands on your thighs to keep your legs spread. He does not look surprised. Neither does he look worried.
Realization hits you like a blow to the head: he is toying with you. Has been the whole fucking time. The wolf hunting the deer, running a few rounds through the woods to weaken it; its breath whistling with exhaustion, long legs buckling before it collapses - an easy kill. An easy kill for an old wolf, one, that can't quite handle a real hunt anymore.
But maybe, just maybe - judging from the look in his eyes - he got lost in his own game. Its reins slipped from his bloody hands, the wolf tumbling to the ground.
Looking back at him, your lips curl into a sweet smile. "Not anymore", your hand darts out, brushing the loose strands of dark hair from his face - the soft gesture leaving him visibly confused -, "John."
Two can play this game. And maybe, just maybe, the deer can tire the wolf out first.
Something gleams in John's eyes, dances over them like a shadow and he seems to accept the challenge - readying to tire you out - tongue licking over your clit once more, making you shiver and mewl, as he pulls his fingers out of your dripping hole. You feel empty and --
"Do you really think, you could kill me?", he rumbles, voice deep and rough around the edges, "Stupid slut."
And then, quicker than your brain can process it, his hand comes down on your dripping wet pussy.
Your breath hitches, topples over and leaves your throat as a raw, needy moan. Softly stinging pain blooms between your folds and sets your nerves on fire. Blame it on the bruises, blame it on the pain you both inflicted on each other moments ago, but: it riles you up. Mingles with your aching bones and aching cunt, has you arching your back.
"Y'really think you could kill me", he doesn't sound offended, not even amused - voice plain, like he is inquiring if you really believed the earth to be flat. Like you really are stupid.
And you start to feel stupid, too. There was never a chance. You never had a chance. Your death was sealed, determined the second John stepped into the hotel.
You were stupid to believe you could outrun or beat him. You are stupid. And John has every right to show you, teach you, punish you for it.
Giving your cunt another firm slap, John watches your hips twitch, hears your pussy squelching and soft moans falling from your lips. "Shit", you sigh and he slaps your wet pussy once more, feels your slick folds wetting the palm of his hand.
"D'you like that, girl?", and as your only response are wanton gasps falling from your mouth John chuckles deeply, gives your pulsating cunt another two firm slaps. Seeing how he is pulling you apart, how good he makes you feel really seems to do it for him, gets him quite talkative.
"Uh-huh", you make dumbly, quite illiterate, watching him stroking your flushed, hot cunt with two of his fingers. Shivers run down your spine.
And then he leans back in, licks a fat stripe over your sensitive, flushed cunt, from the hole up to the clit.
You squirm, mewl as his beard brushes over your overstimulated skin, leaving a slight burn that mingles deliciously with a fresh wave of arousal that floods your body scalp to toes.
The muscles in your abdomen clench as two of his fingers circle your fluttering hole and then push in, rubbing along your plush walls agonizingly slowly and you can feel yourself tightening around it. Your juices squelch from your cunt as you squirt against his tongue and your slick runs down your folds, wets his fingers and palm while his tongue laps at your pussy, tasting your sweetness.
John pushes is fingers deeper as you moan and sigh, hands fisting his hair and hips moving against his tongue, his digits thrusting into you.
"Oh god", you huff as his lips close in around your clit, sucking on it and the tip of his tongue flicking against it occasionally.
Another wave of fresh wetness floods your cunt as you squirt once more, wetting the sheets below, your slick running down John's wrist.
John parts from your clit, nudges it with his tongue, his beard glistening with your juices.
"Yeah, that's fucking it", another one of his thick fingers pumps itself into your tight little hole and his other hand - also slick with your juices - grabs your thigh, "That's a good girl."
You feel so full, your spine feels like it's on fire and your brain tingles with it, sends wave of pleasure down down down your body; muscles in your loins clenching, chest heaving. It becomes all too much as he leans back in, rubs his tongue over your clit, lips sucking and teasing your folds.
The slight burn of John's beard tickling your plush, hot cunt. His fingers working your open and stretching your tight little hole open far and wide, obscene squelching sounds filling the air as he works you open, brushing against your g-spot occasionally and making you see stars.
But it's too little. It's just not enough.
"Fuck", you whine as John's thick fingers brush over your g-spot with quite some force, tongue lapping at your seeping cunt, "Shit, please. Please, just fuck me, please!"
You can feel him grinning against your wet cunt, beard a little sticky with your juices, letting go of your pussy with an obscene pop. "Yeah", he licks his lips, tastes you on his tongue, "D'you want my cock?"
And that - that might be what makes you lose your mind. Because yes. Yes, you do.
You have been craving to touch it, to feel it since it had pressed against your clothed pussy earlier. Thus, all dignity leaves your body with one, clean whine that breaks free from your throat.
"Yes, fuck - oh god, John", you brabble, legs falling apart further, inviting him in, his digits sinking deeper into your soaking wet hole, "Shit, please fuck me, John - please, please, please --"
Pleas are still falling from your lips like a chant, as a surprising noise breaks the silence, so strangely beautiful that it has you nearly shuddering: John is laughing. It's a nice baritone sound, and the fine lines around his eyes crinkle with it - it's so beautiful, that it drowns the world out. You watch him in awe, as he shakes his head, avoids your gaze.
"Jesus. Look at you", he huffs, voice dripping thickly with amusement, "If you need it that badly--"
Straightening back up and kneeling between your legs, John slips his fingers from your cunt and makes quick work of his belt, trousers, and boxers. The second he frees is cock, you start to drool like a fucking pavlovian-dog.
His dick is so fucking huge. It is nicely curved and cut, the bulbous pink head glistening with pre-cum and a thick, pumping vein at the bottom that rakes from the base to the tip, as it rests between trimmed, dark pubic hair. His cock bobs against his abdomen as it bounces free, smears the pre-cum along the pale skin, twitches at the sudden contact. And Jesus fucking Christ, you just want to fucking touch it, feel its velvety skin in your palm. But you just know that you won't even be able to wrap your hand around its base fully, it's impossible, it--
"I-it won't fit", you whisper, a little taken aback by his sheer size.
"Oh, I'll make it fit, baby."
John takes his cock in one hand, thumb right beneath its head, and rubs it against your slit. And Jesus fucking Christ. Your hips snap up, meet his movements, and he grunts while he spreads his pre-cum along your cunt, gathers your slick. The thick head of his dick prods against your entrance and you take a deep breath, looking down between your legs. You watch how he slooowly pushes in and you gasp at the sudden intrusion, the delicious stretch making you moan.
His cock feels so fucking big, hot, and heavy, as he nestles the tip in, your hole clenching around it. John's brows furrow, and he doesn't wait long until he pushes his cock in further.
The thick base starts to stretch your slim rings of muscles, a sharp pain shooting through it. He can feel your hole protesting, can see you wincing. "Breathe, baby", he hums, "Let me do the rest."
His coarse voice mingles with his words and the waves of pleasure shooting through your body despite the dull pain, conjures up a pretty pretty image that floods your brain - there's sunlight everywhere, orange rays of it hitting a bed covered in white sheets, sweaty bodies on top of it; limbs entangled, hands intertwined with their golden rings shining brightly in the warm light, heavy breathing and sloppy kisses, and lazy thrusts as his cock fucks you awake. The thought makes you dizzy, your legs falling apart and hole fluttering open, inviting him in.
The slight burn leaves you a gasping, whimpering mess as he pushes himself in deep, nestles his huge cock in between your aching, hot, and tight walls.
And John feels like he is going to pass out. No blow to the head, no bullet to the chest, no knife to the stomach could ever make him feel as dizzy as the feeling of your hot cunt squeezing him does right now. His whole body is vibrating with want and lust and he just really hopes that you don't notice that he has gotten a little rusty. The thought quickly gets drowned-out as he looks down, where his thick cock practically splits you open, vanishes in your hole.
"Shit", he huffs out, places one large hand on your stomach and thrusts. Feeling himself moving inside of you has him moaning, gaze shooting up to you, meeting your eyes, as his hand presses down. "You feel me right here, baby?", he rasps and you nod, mouth agape by the sheer force of his thrust, tip of his cock prodding your cervix.
John can see his cock moving inside of you, the way your stomach bulges a little. He gets a little dizzy with, and then his eyes make the mistake of moving up to your face. And it takes a whole lot of fucking will-power of him to not just thrust and thrust and thrust and fuck you until you cry, bleed.
You are so fucking pretty. Mouth agape you watch how his cock vanishes between your legs, splits your cunt open, with his eyes heavy-lidded and cheeks flushed. Your lips are plush and red from his assault.
Your hands grip the sheets and your breasts heave with your deep breaths, that grow a little more flaccid. Next to you lays his gun, knife still buried into the mattress. His eyes drop to the weapons and his breath hitches. And for a split second, like a flash of light, he wonders what in God's name he's doing here. He is a professional. The Ballerina works like that. He doesn't.
A sweet, sweet noise rips him out of his thoughts. "J-john", you mewl, eyes still trained on his massive dick splitting you open, "I-it, it's --"
"Yeah?", he breathes, the sound all soft and careful around the edges.
"Heavy", you breathe.
"Does it hurt?", he kind of wants it to. Make you pay for what you did to him. He kind of doesn't want it to. Make you enjoy what he's got to give.
John realizes he is fucked.
You nod, head flying back into the cushions, while your brows dart together.
John's free hand flies to your clit, nudges it gently, before slowly rubbing wide circles over it. You gasp, as you feel fresh wetness flooding your cunt and dripping down your folds to where his cock splits your hole open, pools around it. He carefully pulls out a little and then pushes back in, assisted by your slick. The way you moan spurs him on and the circles on your clit grow faster and smaller.
Aching your back, you lean into the touch. "That's a good girl", he whispers, voice raw and coarse, dripping with lust and the exhaustion of holding back. John bottoms out, while continuing to rub your clit and he can feel your walls growing plush, your hole fluttering around his dick, relaxing with your hot, seeping cunt inviting him in. "Feels good?"
"Yeah, fuck", you feel like you are being split open, with his thick cock filling you to the brim and rubbing along your walls with every little movement, the thick head prodding gently against your cervix, "Shit, John."
It feels so fucking good, all thoughts being washed away from your brain as he starts to move carefully, thrusts into you once, twice. You moan, lips slightly parted, before your gaze flies to him.
And Fuck. John's chest is flushed a little, muscles of his abdomen flexing with every thrust while his gaze is trained down to where his cock fucks into you, brows darted together a little and his breathing audible.
"John?", you whisper, and his gaze immediately shoots up to you as your comparably tiny hand wraps around the wrist of his hand that is still rubbing your clit.
"Yeah?"
"Fuck me."
For a long moment, he just looks at you and you think - no, you are convinced - that you can see a glimpse of the human being he once was. Caring, sweet and gentle; as he seems to really take it into consideration if you are ready yet, if you know what you are begging for.
Apparently, he does deem you prepared enough, and the soft gaze gets replaced by a dark gleam as all gentleness vanishes from his face once more. Without a warning, John rolls his hips back only to thrust into you again, deep, and hard, immediately picking up a quick rhythm.
It comes as a genuine surprise to you and you gasp, mewling but it quickly feels just so fucking good, practically lights your body up and leaves every nerve-ending on fire, each thrust has you moaning loudly.
It spurs him on, makes him grunt and for a while, you both just watch him gliding in and out of your tight hole, with him feeling your muscles squeezing him and you feeling his cock stretching your open further and further. Your lips as slightly parted and his brows are furrowed as he rolls his hips into yours and you feel time getting lost on you, the only thing of importance remaining is the feeling of him filling you up. John's hands roam your body, wandering over your thighs and your stomach, your hips before angling your leg, pushing the heel of your foot on his shoulder, and grabbing your ankle with one hand, his dick slips into you even further, balls slapping against your ass heavily with each thrust.
You can tell that John has not fucked in a long, long time. It's not the way he does it - all fluid, languid thrust of his hips, muscles dancing under the soft skin. It's mostly the way he pants and grunts - sounds just as desperate as you feel. And still, he has the stamina of a racehorse.
You can feel that he wants to prove it, too, as his free hand grabs your thigh and hoists your other leg over his hip bone, practically pulling your lower half off the bed in the process. Your pelvis now clings to his, obscene sounds of his cock fucking into your wet pussy filling the air while he huffs with his thrusts, yet does not slow down.
The grip on both, your ankle and your thigh are hard, and you are certain his hands will leave a bruise but you just cannot bring yourself to care. Deep down you know, that someone will see them: your maids, your friends, your family.
But all thoughts, all worries get swapped from your brain as your gaze wanders up from where John's dick hammers into you steadily, rakes over his defined stomach and chest and finally, finally lands on his face.
He looks downright, utterly, and breathtakingly -- pornographic.
John's dark pupils blown wide gleaming with arousal, his cheeks are slightly blushed and a thin layer of sweat makes him glow in the dim light of the living room falling onto the bed. It surrounds him like a halo, a Saint of Death and Decay, with his dark hair falling into his forehead and onto his shoulders. He brushes it out of the way with his stunted hand, a ragged breath making his chest heave. There is still some of your slick wetting his beard.
You can't help your mind from going there, from wondering how different things could have been. What it would be like if you had met me in a bar instead of him entering your suite, leaving the hallway behind him looking like a slaughterhouse. Maybe he would have laughed at your jokes, in the dim light of your favorite bar in the city. Maybe he would have liked the same music as you do. Maybe, just maybe, he would have brought you home only to stay the night and fuck you until you would have lost your goddamn mind.
Your hand wanders down your body, strokes your waist and hip in the process, before it languidly drops between your spread legs, two fingers darting out and rubbing circles over your sensitive clit.
John moves quickly, his usual deadly precision shattering your peaceful fantasy, his hand ditching your thigh and closing in around your waist. "Don't you fuckin' touch yourself", he growls, and it's the first time you hear real, actual emotion dwelling in his throat - not his toneless, cold and mechanical rumble. He sounds pissed. Offended.
And the best part is: it seems to get him fucking going.
John leans in, your calf still resting on his shoulder and the slight pain of the stretch is delicious as he nearly folds your body in half. You can feel his dick sliding in even deeper into your hole and you gasp and whine, one hand coming up to dig into his biceps to just hold on. Hold on, while he pounds into you with perfectly angled, deep and strong thrusts, hitting your g-spot with every single one of them.
You know that the suite's door is in shambles, that anyone could walk in here and see you having your brains fucked out by the man who is here to kill you - but you don't care. Part of it is, because the gun is still resting next to your head on the sheets. You could just grab it and shoot anyone dead in heartbeat, whoever is trying to disturb the pleasure that shoots through your body.
But it is also him.
It's the way John is towering over you, back hunched, looking all wide and powerful and deadly, with the way he shields your body from view and harm as he thrusts into you. As he pushes all his rage, adrenaline, and strength into your tight hole, groans, and pants into your ear.
There is nothing you can do, despite holding onto him, nails digging into his back, clutching his broad shoulders, fingers running over his tattoos desperately. He is fucking the living daylight out of you, your body moving like a ragdoll underneath the mountain of muscles and strength. Your cunt is being split open by his cock, as you feel him hammering into you and you feel like you are going to lose your mind, panting and moaning with each of his thrusts.
"John, fuck", you moan sweetly, eyes rolling into your skull as he pounds into you, "You feel so fucking good, shit --"
"Yeah", he huffs, his forehead slowly sinking onto yours, "You too, baby."
You can see his eyelids fluttering, feel his upper body heaving beneath your hands, smell the blood on his skin, mingling with his musky scent. Blaming it on the sickening cocktail of hormones that is flooding both - your brain and your body - you lean in, your lips desperately smacking against his.
And Jesus Fucking Christ. Does John kiss you.
Kisses you like he is starving for it, licking back into your mouth - his body pressing yours into the mattress with his whole weight and muscle, while still thrusting into you.
Your hands tangle into his hair, tugging at it. John moans against your lips and your stomach flutters at the sound, and you want more. One hand moves to lay at the crook of his neck and your tongue presses against his, licking back into his mouth. Adding some force to his neck you invite John deeper into the kiss, and he follows suite, steals you the last bit of air your lungs were holding. Panting you part from him, thumb brushing over the crook of his neck.
Greedily breathing against his lips, you can't help yourself. You feel so alive and you want him to wreck you, to leave something behind that you will remember for every day your heart continues to beat. Greedily breathing against his lips, you can't help yourself but to whisper: "Harder."
John blinks, hips stuttering. And then, he grunts. His hand digs into your waist as he grabs you there, hold you in place will his hips rut into you. Picking up a near brutal rhythm, obscene sounds of your slick being pushed in and out and in out of your hole as he jackhammers into your g-spot, the bedframe rattling as John's thrusts pound it into the wall - leaving you a gasping and moaning mess. His belt clinks with his thrusts and you cling onto him, sharp whines escaping your throat.
"John John John", his name leaves your mouth like a mantra, sharp and high-pitched. His head falls forward, dark locks brushing over your cheek as his temple rests against yours and then you hear it.
John moans.
It's a deep, carnal sound. Your stomach flutters and lust shoots through your body at the noise, your tight cunt squeezing his thick cock as you squirt around his cock like a broken fucking hose, wetting his pubic hair. You can feel it rubbing along your wet folds, the sensation making you mewl, leaves your hips shuddering.
"Shit", you breathe, hands cradling his muscular back and then you can feel his dick twitching inside of you, accompanied by yet another one of his sweet, sweet moans, "Fuck, John--"
He raises his head and your gazes connect, before he leans in, presses his lips onto yours once more. The kiss is surprisingly soft and in stark contrast to the way he ruts and pounds into you and then he hits the spot once more and -
Everything goes white as your muscles clench and unclench suddenly, as you nearly scream against his lips; your hole practically milking his cock as you cum, pussy gushing and squirting around him like a broken hose.
John continues to fuck you through your orgasm and his heavy breathing reaches your ears through the cotton candy, that slowly wraps you in as everything turns light and bright. He moans deeply against your cheek as he comes, too - shoots hot ropes of cum into you and paints your walls with it.
His movements still as he buries himself deep into you, cock twitching with each thick rope of his cum and you can feel him fill you up, as his massive frame slowly sinks down onto you.
Your legs grow heavy and the stretch of your left leg is turning painful and you - a little clumsily - pull it away from his shoulder, stretch it out. Your limbs start to shake and you close your eyes, drawing in deep breaths through your nose.
The room is silent, the air heavy with the musky scent of sex.
Your chest still heaves with the remains of your orgasm, bliss still spreading in your brain and your veins, making you feel like you are flying. Your heart is still racing, as you feel him moving again.
Blinking up at him, you can see him grabbing the gun.
"Don't", you say softly, voice coarse from screaming your lungs out in pleasure just moments ago, "Please, don't." You are not ready to scream yet again. Not ready to scream in pain, instead of pleasure.
John does not reply. He pulls the hammer back, checks the chamber - all with one hand.
"Kill him instead, please."
He freezes, eyes locking with yours. "Who?", he sounds just as exhausted as you. The wolf, tired out. The deer, bleeding, limping.
Call it Post Nut Clarity, call it Finally Taking Your Future In Your Own Hands, call it Emancipating Yourself. Call it Having Wrapped A Deadly Assassin Around Your Pinky.
You were not safer here. You never were. Just more isolated. Easier to locate.
Easier to kill.
Realization hits you like a blow to the head, your vision swimming.
See? I will not die today.
"My father. Kill him."
#i'm back girlies#john wick smut#john wick x reader#john wick x you#john wick imagine#smut#my writing#keanu reeves#keanu reeves x reader#keanu reeves x you#keanu reeves smut
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WHY IS THERE NO WRITING FOR KEANU REEVES CHARACTERS IM ACTUALLY GOING BALLISTIC, I WANT HIM SO BAD WOOF WOOF GRRR, GOING ACTUALLY FERAL, PLEASE SOMEONE WRITE ABOUT HIM, MATRIX, JOHN WICK, BILL AND TED, CONSTANTINE, MATRIX, MATRIX, MATRIX DID I MENTION MATRIX PLEASE SOMEONE WRITE ABOUT HIS CHARACTER FROM THE MATRIX
WHERE DID MY CLOTHING GO?!?! I WANT HIM SO BAD HONESTLY HOW CAN YOU NOT WRITE ABOUT HIM?? ANGST, FLUFF, SMUT ECT ECT BIG ON FLUFF AND ANGST, THERE IS JUST SO MUCH SMUT IN THE WORLD BUT I WILL TAKE ANYTHING
#keanu reeves#keanu reeves x reader#keanu reeves smut#keanu reeves quotes#keanu reeves john wick#keanu reeves imagine#keanu reeves icons#keanu reeves fanfic#bill and ted#john wick x y/n#john wick x reader#john wick x you#john wick universe#john wick smut#john wick series#john wick spoilers#john wick rp#john wick oc#john wick movies#john wick headcanons#john wick au#john wick angst#john wick art#john wick chapter 4#marvel x reader#dc x reader#stranger things x reader#marvel x y/n#marvel x you#xmen x reader
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bittersweet 🖤 a yandere!john wick x fem!reader coffee shop sunshine/grump au
Table of Contents
something sweet
burned
the cougar
the mountain
lamb in the lion's den
avenging angel
the book thief
joyride
pest
drunk text
mondo piccolo
la dolce vita
vino veritas
kitten
walk of shame
bad girl
got u
war and peace
crime and punishment
lost and found
bound for hell
deal with the devil
show me your teeth
bully
knots
breaking point
surprise
haunted
lady of the daisies
say something
run
tbc...
#decided to make a chapter map...#john wick#keanu reeves#john wick fic#john wick x reader#john wick x you#john wick x y/n#keanu reeves x reader#yandere! john wick#yandere john wick#bittersweet john wick imagine
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*checks the age gap between me and my favorite actors*
also me:
#crying in the club#why are older men so attractive#oscar isaac#pedro pascal#keanu reeves#dev patel#chris evans#tom hiddleston#mark ruffalo#matthew gray gubler#andrew garfield#hayden christensen#sebastian stan#adam driver#dylan o'brien#charlie cox#marc spector x reader#steven grant x reader#aaron hotchner x reader#spencer reid x reader#matt murdock x reader#javier pena x reader#jake lockely x reader#din djarin x reader#derek morgan x reader#loki x reader#poe dameron x reader#bucky barns x reader#obi wan x reader#tasm!spiderman x reader
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Johnny and V for @bloodydragam
<3
___________
Links
#cyberpunk 2077#cp2077#v#johnny silverhand#keanu reeves#valerie cyberpunk#silverv#cyberpunk fanart#johnny x v#mikoshi
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Safe - John Wick x Fem!Reader
Summary: John comes home from work and he is wounded, and as his worried wife, you help him.
Warnings: swearing, oral m!receiving, blood/gore, talk of violence, mainly fluff.
Enjoy!
You sit alone in your large kitchen, biting your nails and shaking your leg as you anxiously wait for your husband to come home.
His profession was extremely dangerous. Every time he went out you didn’t know if he was alive. Whenever you heard a car pass by your house, you wondered if it were the police coming to inform you that your husband had passed.
You knew that you had to make certain sacrifices that came with being married to The John Wick, the Boogie Man, as they call him.
You hear the door unlock, and your breath hitched. Running to the door, you are met with John. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding back tears as you nuzzle your face into the crook of us neck. “Oh, John…”
His hands weakily wrap around your waist. “Y/N…” he sighs, resting his chin atop your head.
Your hand trails down the chest of his suit. You find the red substance of blood on his white shirt. “You were shot?”
“Stabbed,” he says. “Not too bad. I’ve been though worse,”
You sigh. “Yeah, just stabbed.” You say sarcastically. “What if next time you get stabbed even worse, or shot, and you don’t make it through?” You question.
John gives you a saddened look. “I’m sorry, Y/N. You have a right to be mad, and worried.”
You give him an angered gaze, but it slowly fades as you hear the sincerity in his voice. You lean up to kiss him. “You’re right,” you say.
You take him to the kitchen where you strip him of his suit jacket and button up shirt. “This is going to sting,” you say. “I know,” he replies.
The wound was shallow, but it was still gushing a fair amount of blood. Once you were able to slow down the bleeding, you begin to clean it. John lightly hisses as you disinfect his wound.
You quickly bandage it neatly, then reward him with a warm kiss on his lips. “You have to stop this, John,”
“I know,” he says again. “I- I can retire, if you want.”
“Will you really do that for me?”
“Of course, baby. You are more important than work.”
You smile softly. “If you think it’s the best, then you can. I will support whatever you do,” you say. “Will you be safe?” You ask.
“We are safe. We will always be safe.”
“No, will you be safe?”
John pauses for a concerning amount of time. “I will be safe.” He says. “And if anybody comes after you, or me, I will kill them.”
“John,” you say like a disappointed mother. But, you couldn’t help but smile. You loved your mass murderer husband.
“That’s the spirit, love,” he smiles and gives you a kiss.
“You should go wash up,” you tell him. His face was cut, as well as his hair slicked back with sweat.
“Join me?”
“Very funny,” you laugh before sending him up to the bathroom to clean off the sins of the night. “Be mindful of your bandages,”
“Yes, ma’am,” John chuckled.
John finds his way to the master bathroom. He strips the rest of his clothes and got into the shower. His bandage inevitably got wet.
He ran his hands through his hair, feeling as the heterogeneous mixture of sweat, styling gel and water ran down his back. It felt so releiving to wash himself of the stress and torment of his job.
He used a musky scented soap to wash off the sweat and grime he had accumulated through the night. He exited the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist before redressing his wound.
John left the bathroom, towel still lazily around his waist. You were in bed, reading a book as you awaited for your husband to join you.
You couldn’t help but look at his chiseled abs and cutting hip bones. Of course, you also couldn’t ignore his broad shoulders and tattoo covered back.
“Y/N. You’re starring,”
“Oh,” you say. “Sorry,” you laugh, and he smirks. “Is it such a crime to appreciate my husbands body?”
“No. Just funny to call you out on it,” he says. He grabs a pair of sweatpants and slipped them on.
“Come lay down, babe,” you pull back the comforter in the empty space for him to fill. He slowly lays down, and he groans as his aching back hits the bed.
“Are you really going to retire?” You ask as your hand gently rests on his chest. You slowly draw circles on his skin, avoiding any bruised areas.
“Anything for you,”
You smile, and he slowly leans in to connect your lips in a gently kiss. “I will love you forever…” he murmurs agaisnt your lips. “I will love you when I’m below the ground, and I will love you after the earth ceases to exist…”
You rest your forehead against his, shakily sighing. “I love you, too. Always and forever…”
John kisses you again, hungerly needing your touch and presence against his skin. He gently grips your hair as he hums against your soft, pillowy lips.
His hand reaches for your waist, pulling your laying body closer to his. He squeezes your flesh though your sleep shirt. You whine at the tight squeeze.
Johns lips trail off yours, adventuring down your jaw to suck hot sores on your neck. His hand on your waist moves up, dangerously close to your chest. He cups your breast with his sore and bruised hands through your shirt, gently massaging it in his palm. He knew just how to make you fold.
“John-“ you whisper.
“What, love?”
“Not tonight. You need to heal.” You tell him.
He rests his head on your shoulder, sighing softly. “You’re right,” he whispers. “It’s just so hard to keep my hands off you.” He glances down at his lap, seeing the tent growing in his sweatpants.
“Y/N?”
“Yes, baby?” You reply.
“I- um. I know you said I have to heal. But, what am I supposed to do about that?” He asks, moving away from the crook of your neck to show the erection in his pants.
You think for a moment, keeping your eyes fixated on his bulge. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t use my hands or my mouth on you,” you tell him, and he grins.
You reach for the waistband of his sweatpants, slowly pulling them off his thighs. Johns cock springs out from his pants. He was hard and throbbing just by touching your breasts.
You grasp his length. His breath hitched at the sight of your hand around his dick. You slowly begin stroking him. You hover above him, letting a string of spit slowly dripping down onto his tip.
“Oh-“ he mumbled as the warm liquid touches his pulsating crown.
You gently kiss the tip, your hand still stroking his shaft slowly.
“Y/N…”
You whimper against his cock at the sound of his voice. You knew you had to resist him. You couldn’t risk opening his wound and causing him any pain. Hopefully an orgasm would help his aching body in some way.
You slowly take in his length. You suck the tip, humming at the salty taste of his pre-cum. You knew he wasn’t going to last too long. He never lasted long when you sucked him off.
“Just like that, baby,” he praised, “don’t stop- fuck. Don’t stop-“
You didn’t stop, and you weren’t going to stop until you pleasured him to your full ability.
You take in more of his cock. John shivered at the sight of his erection engulfed in your mouth.
“I’m close- shit. I’m gonna cum. Fuck.” He moans.
You began sucking him faster. You felt as your lips glided over the thriving veins on his cock, but always focusing on the tip. He loved it when you toyed with his tip.
His hips shudder, causing you to gag. “Sorry, baby,” he quickly says. You don’t reply, gagging again. You didn’t care if you gagged on his cock. You loved it, because you knew that you were doing good.
His hips jerk up again. He grips your hair, moaning your name as you quickly and steadily suck his cock. He began chasing his release.
“Fuck!” He moans. His eyes roll back, head hitting the pillow as his cum shoots into your mouth. You always loved the taste of his cum.
You finish him off with your hand, swallowing all his arousal as you did. Cum continued to shoot out, going all over your hand as he bucked his hips into your palm.
You happily licked it off, humming at the salty, yet at the same time, sweet taste.
“Fuck. Thank you, baby…” he whispers. The pleasure helped ease some of his pain.
“Anything for you,” you smile. You kiss him, and he tastes his own cum off your lips.
“Can I return the favour?” He asks, toying with the elastic band of your sleep shorts.
You shake your head. “Not tonight. You can in the morning once you have some rest,” you tell him. He frowns, but obeys.
“Okay,” John says. He fixes his sweatpants, and you grab a tissue off the night stand to wipe the spit and cum off your hand, and a bit of the white fluid that got on his stomach. John reachs over to turn off the bedside lamp, groaning as his body was strained to make the reach.
“Goodnight, baby…” you lay your head on his chest, yet again mindful of the bruises and cuts.
“Goodnight. I love you…” John whispers
“I love you too…”
#john wick#john wick fanfic#john wick fanfiction#john wick x y/n#john wick franchise#john wick smut#john wick 4#john wick x reader#keanu reeves john wick#keanu reeves
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could you do a little drabble of an au of the reader and jw on their wedding night and tbe reader is like pure and naive and loosing her virginity to john 🤭🤍🪷
oh my god.. can i shake this up a little bit?
arranged marriage with john wick.
let’s say you’re the only child of a very powerful mob syndicate, and all your parents wanted is the best for you, so they don’t want you going around fucking with other guys that are below they’re status because it might ruin the reputation they’ve worked so hard to achieve.
so they kept you isolated.
you’re homeschooled, the only friends you have are the maids, the children of those maids and gardeners, you rarely go outside – and if you do, you have a bunch of bodyguards following you around everywhere you go.
of course, you don’t question it. you know your parents only want the best for you, and you know how dangerous it is to live in a world like this. you can’t exactly blame your parents.
when you turned 20, your father introduced you to a man named john wick.
he’s the definition of tall, dark, and handsome you keep reading about in the books. late forties or mid fifties, you don’t exactly know. you just know that he’s a lot older and probably knows better.
your father had explained how you’re going to be marrying john and you were beyond ecstatic upon hearing the news. having a companion in life could open up to so many different opportunities. it didn’t matter that you just met this man. there’s so much time to learn about each other as you two plan for the wedding.
you didn’t ask your parents why they’re suddenly letting you marry a man because simply don’t care. too naïve for your own good. you didn’t know that your parents are only paying their debt to john and you were the only thing in their life that they could just simply give away.
fast forward to the night of your wedding day, let’s say that you aren’t expecting john to be so... rough during your lovemaking.
his actions are rough but his words are soft. it’s confusing you. you thought honeymoons are supposed to be sweet and slow, yet here you are getting fucked on the bed like some kind of cheap whore as john pulls your hair from behind and whispers filthy praises in your ear like there’s no tomorrow.
“my pretty little wife,” john grunts, snapping his hips against your ass, burying his cock so far deep into your little cunt that you could feel it in your stomach. you drool, stumbling over your words. “my wife got the best pussy – so fucking tight and pink. i bet you’ve never let anyone touch you like this before, hm? only me? only your husband?”
“y-yes – yes, john, o-only you!” you sob, clutching the bedsheets in your first as your pussy clench around his dick. “f-feel so full, j-john, feel s-so full – so big.”
“that means you’re doing a great job, baby,” he praises, letting go of your hair to drop his head on your neck, peppering kisses all over as his beard tickles your skin. “my little wife is taking my cock so well. you’re gonna have to get used to it, baby, because i can assure you that i’ll be fucking your sweet little cunt every single day that i come back home. gonna get you so nice and full again like this.”
#ask#drabble#concept#my works#THIS IS RUSHED IM SAWRY#john wick x reader#john wick x you#john wick x y/n#john wick fanfiction#john wick fanfic#john wick imagine#john wick smut#john wick#keanu reeves#keanu reeves x reader#keanu reeves smut#jw
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I want to write for him but ive got such writers block
#keanu reeves#the matrix resurrections#ted theodore logan#bill and ted#keanu reeves x reader#john wick#john wick x reader
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IN THIS DARKNESS.
❥⠀masterlist. ⠀:⠀ ( keanu reeves masterlist. & gif credit. )
synopsis : sfw & nsfw dating john wick headcanons.
warnings: fluff. breaking up. angst. smut. canon typical violence.
pairings : john wick 𝒙 fem!reader.
josie’s note .⁺ ˖ ⌒ holy fuckkkk, the new john wick movie ignited something in me. i was straight up biting my lip off in the movie theater. enjoy these little headcanons while i try to come up with an actual fic. your media consumption is your own responsibility, read the warnings and enjoy! — reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated !! ♡
⠀
⠀
SFW.
Number #1 Gentleman™. Outside of his profession, he’s quite literally the nicest guy you’ll ever meet, and he'll really try to woo you when you first start dating.
Like, holding the door open for you, carrying your bags, giving you his jacket when you’re cold, paying for dinners, and even buying you expensive gifts.
This man is 100% loaded. Expect him to be buying you all kinds of trinkets and gifts. Whenever he notices you staring at something, or briefly mentions something, he’ll remember it forever.
John is super observational, he notices all the little things. His quietness (and lowkey awkwardness) make him an amazing listener. Because he lives such a chaotic life, in contrast to the one with you— he loves to listen to you ramble about everyday shenanigans.
He has a dry ass sense of humor.
Pet names consist of: sweet girl, and honey. He's a little old-timey like that.
Super protective over you. Like, second shadow level protective— man will not let you out of his sight. He's lost so much in his life, and after Helen, he just can't stand the thought of ever losing you.
While he would try to stay out of fights when he's around you, he'd wouldn't take shit from anyone who tried something with you. He's John Wick after all, so trust that he'd kick their ass.
Not a fan of PDA, and gets a little awkward about it in the early days of your relationship. Growing up in the Ruska Roma, physical affection wasn't exactly number one priority. So he's a little surprised (and touch-starved) when he notices how clingy you are.
Always walking his his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. Random sidenote, but I headcanon that John is warm all the time. Mans is a walking furnace.
You spend all your nights tangled in each others arms. He's always the big spoon, letting you rest your head against his chest and listening to his heartbeat as he encapsulates you with his strong arms.
John loves having you sit in his lap. The two of you could spend hours together, even if it was in silence, just enjoying each others loving embrace.
You end up getting a dog together, and you constantly tease John for his terrible choice in names.
"John, c'mon, don't be boring!" You giggle as you kneel down, rubbing the cheeks of the cutest pit bull you've ever seen. "We can't name the dog, Dog."
"You have any better ideas?" John smirks, kneeling down next to you, pressing his lips to the side of your head.
It'll take a while before he talks about his past and profession with you. He doesn't want to inadvertently drag you into his life of crime, and put you in any danger.
But, soon enough, the walls will lower and he'll let his guard down. John will confess secrets about himself, bit by bit.
It'll be on a random night, when you start tracing his tattoos with your finger. In a quiet whisper, you'll ask him what the one on his back means.
"Fortune favors the bold," he whispers with a raspy voice, his thumb rubbing your forearm, as you lean your head into the crook of his neck. "I got it when I was younger."
You always ask him to teach you some moves, and he's happy to do so, under the guise that it's for self-defense (and not at all that his muscles and figure look amazing when he's doing martial arts).
He can only keep running from the assassin life for so long, until it eventually comes to bite him in the ass. So to protect you, he forces himself to break up with you.
John, unfortunately, carries a large sense of self-loathing. He thinks and knows he doesn't deserve you. For the heinous things, he's done, he knew it was too good to be true.
You cry, and beg him to explain why he's doing this. But, in true John nature, he holds himself together and presses a soft kiss to your forehead before walking out.
You don't see him crumbling, and breaking down as he shuts the door behind him.
⠀
NSFW.
Size kink. Size kink. Size. Kink.
John is 6'1, so you'll be climbing this man like a tree.
He loves how big his hands look, when he presses your wrists down on the bed, or when he grabs a handful of your breast.
Missionary position is his favorite. He loves the intimacy, and being as close to you as physically possible.
You wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him in closer as he leaves several hickeys along your collarbone— Lord, he can't get enough of it.
Corruption kink, I can't lie.
He's a big, scary, assassin— and his moral integrity is a little murky. John almost gets off on the idea of slowly corrupting you, and turning you into his dirty girl.
He is hung. That's all I have to say.
Again, super possessive. Do not ask him to share, he will shut that down.
For someone who never talks, he's suddenly dirty talking in your ear the whole time. His lips pressed against your ear, mumbling all kinds of things that make your cheeks burn.
"Hmm, what was that?" He hums, sending vibrations through your body. "Tell me what you want, sweet girl."
Breeding kink.
Not fully for the reason of wanting kids (although, he'd love to start a family with you and really settle down), but again for the intimacy.
He loves to mark you with his cum, another result of his total possessive protectiveness of you. You don't miss the way his eyes darken when he empties inside you, watching as it comes pouring out.
© iovesia, 2023. do not plagiarise, translate, or repost my work.
#john wick x reader#john wick imagine#john wick chapter 4#john wick#keanu reeves x reader#keanu reeves imagine#keanu reeves#john wick 4#jw4
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#my poor little meow meow#baby gurl#if dangerous why hot?#john wick#keanu reeves#john wick chapter 4#john wick parabellum#john wick x reader
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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.
#x reader#john wick#bodyguard john wick#dilf john wick#john wick smut#john wick x reader#john wick my beloved#generalkenobee#keanu characters#keanuverse#keanu Reeves
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undo me
premise: the relationship between you and john is anything but soft, normal, domestic. it's deeper and more complicated than that. the pleasure and relief of desire that the two of you bring each other the only things clear cut.
pairing: john wick x (f)reader
word count: 904
warnings: eighteen+ content, handjob, dirty talk, references and illusions to oral and fingering, established fwbs, blood mention, reader is in the same 'business' as john.
note: i've never written for this beautiful man and it's honestly a crime because he's so underrated and i want to hold him!
The fire that’s burning in his eyes—lust fueled, hungry, a craving only you can stop that has that underlying anger within it—scalds your senses. Makes the hand that you have wrapped around his cock ache to move faster, to twist, and run your thumb along the leaking head so you can hear that deep groan he lets out against your forehead. The noises he tries to hide with the kisses to the top of your skull that are anything but affection.
Affection he’d never admit to and you’d never claim anything of.
The two of you were the same. Joined in loss and hatred, and the bloodshed that you’ve spilt and tainted your skin with was second nature. Something that felt like you were born into, for, the longer you stayed in the business. The longer enemies piled as high as the bodies you’d claimed along the way of some sort of redemption. A release. A freedom from something that had no end.
It was only when you two were together like this—when John allowed himself to be like this with you—that those enemies, the bloodshed, and freedom didn’t matter.
Weren’t pounding at the door, threatening to take your life before you could take theirs.
You didn’t know if he was a giving lover. Not really. When you were done, he usually finished you off, always with his fingers. A handful of times with his mouth. There were no soft kisses or devotions whispered into the crook of your neck. Pulling him towards the bed and stripping like some domesticated couple was not in the cards. Wasn’t what this was about—why it had kept happening and why you always knew his knock by heart and grew wetter the closer you got to the door.
To invite him another night to give each other the release you needed—that closeness to another person as your hearts would allow—and then he was gone and reality was back with a vengeance.
Tonight is no different.
The same knock.
The same quick work of unbuckling his pants to slide your hand down them to pull out his cock and wrap your fist around it.
Your knees had bent, a descent ready to be made to give him a better release from his tense shoulders with your mouth. But his grip on your hip had stopped you.
His forehead coming down on yours, hair growing slick with sweat the longer you jerked him off, the more his body sank into the pleasure. His breath heavy, “want your eyes on me tonight.” He had said, an overanalysis of the tenor in it, making you want to think it was begging. A desperate plea.
But never from him.
And you had done what he said.
Kept your eyes on him.
Let your eyes move along his face; watch as he wets his lips with his tongue, as his eyes screw shut for half a second when you twist your wrist at the head of his cock the way he liked. The fist he had pressed into the door behind your head keeping himself stationary. His body weight half leaned into you, giving just enough room for him to move his hips.
To fuck up into your hand.
To set the pace he needed.
There was a time and place for you to make conversation while doing this. To ask him if he had a rough day or crack a joke. But tonight, you know he doesn’t need it. He just needs this.
You.
Your hand.
To get off.
For you to help him.
“John,” you murmur softly against his cheek. Bring his attention back to you, popping whatever fantasy he’s letting burn through his gaze, so he can only see you. “Tell me how good it feels; am I making you feel good?”
“Yeah,” his voice has lost all of its normal sternness. All of the frightening edges that have men and women running. He sounds weak, breathless, and overcome. It makes you ache. “Couldn’t–” he curses under his breath. Brings the hand from your hip to your neck to rest and tighten with each downward stroke. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you tonight. I needed to see you. Needed to-”
“To come for me.” The noise he lets out at your words has your gut plummeting. Your thighs closing in around the leg he has positioned between them. You open your mouth to tell him to do it, to come for you, to let go. But his fingers are muffling your words. Stealing them from your tongue as he presses two fingers against it.
“Get them wet.” He demands. Watches as you swirl your tongue around them and coat them in your spit, taking them out when he’s satisfied and moving them down to where your fingers are wrapped around him. Swiping the spit against his head for you to use as more friction—easier, wetter.
You can tell he’s close by the hitch in his breath. The fast rock of his hips, the fingers digging into your neck.
And the way he’s looking at you, the slow trail he makes between your eyes and your mouth, you half expect him to kiss you. To press his mouth to yours in a way he’s never done before.
A slow seeping disappointment is swiped away by arousal when he says, “get on your knees. I want you to taste what you do to me.”
#john wick x reader#john wick smut#john wick x you#john wick imagine#keanu reeves smut#john wick x y/n#john wick fanfic#john wick fic#john wick
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yandere john wick with “I would never hurt you. You know that, right?” he just gives off such over protective/possessive energyyy 🤭
Your Protector
Pairing: Yandere!John Wick x Fem!Reader
TW: Yandere themes, toxic themes, mentioned stalking, kidnapping, possessive behavior, obsessive behavior, pet names, dubious kissing (at first), slightly suggestive. Reblogs are highly appreciated!!
It was infatuation and obsession that drove him to take such drastic measures. Ever since he saw you, he was absolutely convinced that you were meant for him. His second chance at happiness and love since the passing of his wife, Helen.
It was also fear, fear that if he didn't kidnap you, you would be somehow hurt or even killed. John has spent many nights without sleep, worried over your safety. He knew that if he didn't take action, something was bound to happen.
You never met him before, never spoke with him, and it was a shock when he finally kidnapped you. A complete stranger. The last thing you could remember was walking home from another late-night shift and being grabbed from behind. In a millisecond, your mouth was covered by a cloth and your vision went black.
When you finally came to, you realized you did not recognize your surroundings. You were resting in a lavish guest room and you were still trying to wrap your brain around what was happening. While you were gathering your bearings, a man appeared. He was standing over you by the side of the bed.
"Good morning, sweetheart." The man said with a smile, greeting you in an affectionate tone. "I hope you slept well."
At first glance, he was a very attractive man and of great wealth. His towering stature, long black hair and wearing a seemingly expensive black tailored suit.
“Who are you?” You asked in fright, staring at him with wide eyes.
“W-What’s going on?” You scooted back against the headboard, trying to maintain some distance between you and the man. “What do you want?” You continued to stare at him, fearful of what he might do.
His gaze held a disturbing mixture of kindness and menace as he looked down at you. "Don't be afraid, I'm not going to hurt you." He paused for a moment, as if weighing his next words carefully. "I just want to make sure that we're together. Forever."
“Who are you?” You were confused, having not ever met this strange man before in your entire life. You thought that this man was clearly delusional, could be mistaking you for someone else. He wanted the two of you to be together, but you could not understand the reasoning behind it. You needed to figure out who he is and hopefully find means of escaping.
"I'm John Wick," he says simply, leaning over you. He has this strange, almost otherworldly quality about him that's difficult to explain. A sense of danger, but not necessarily violence. He's calm and collected, but you also feel the threat of his presence. It's like looking into the eyes of a predator, one who's just been waiting for the right moment to strike. It's terrifying, yet compelling at the same time.
Noticing your fear, he slowly moved to sit on the edge of the bed, bringing himself a little more to your level of height. However, he still continued to tower over you. With slight hesitation, he reached out and placed his hand on your cheek, his thumb brushing gently against your cheekbone. It's a gesture of familiarity and affection, yet there's a sense of darkness and danger to it.
"Don't be afraid, sweetheart." He said with a small smile, his intense dark-brown eyes locking onto yours. It was almost hypnotic, the way he was looking at you. Almost as if he truly knew you and for quite some time too. It left you feeling conflicted, complicated emotions infiltrating your heart.
His touch that was so gentle against your cheek, prompted your cheeks to grow a little warm. His affection was breaking down your resolve and leaving you quite nervous. Not nervous as if you were fearing for your life for feeling anxious, but rather the form of butterflies forming in your stomach and your heart in your throat.
The warmth creeping onto your face seems to embolden John, and he leans in closer to you, his hand still resting on your cheek as the other trails its way down your thigh. He stared at you, his dark eyes taking in every detail of your appearance.
"You're so beautiful.” He whispers, his warm breath fanning across your face. There's an intensity to him that's almost frightening. He appeared like a wild animal, one that could snap at any moment. It was undeniable that there was something primal about him, something you can't help but be attracted to.
You couldn’t reply, unable to form any coherent sentences from the intensity and electrifying touch of his hand on your thigh. Slowly, you were feeling less uncomfortable but rather shy from his affectionate touches. However, your walls were starting to return when you remembered that you didn't even know this man.
“John…why are you doing this? You don’t even know me.”
"Because you're mine." He replied, his gaze was intense and there was undeniable heat in his voice. It was more than enough to make you feel a little dizzy. Almost as if you were falling into some dark abyss. There's no question that this man is dangerous, but you can't help feeling drawn to him. He exudes a primal, dangerous energy that is almost addictive, and you find yourself craving more of his attention and touch.”And I do know you, I know everything about you, (Y/N).”
You glanced towards the door, noticing that it was left open. Your logical side was screaming for you to wake up and understand that you were involved with something, someone, extremely dangerous. In that second, you were broken out of your spell.
You hesitate before launching yourself from the bed in an attempt to escape.
John's smile fades as you attempt to flee, his expression turning dark and deadly. Without even seeming to move, he blocks the door, his body looming over you like a shadow of death.
"Don't." He says, his voice low and dangerous. “You'll only make this harder for yourself, sweetheart." His eyes are cold and calculating, but there's also a strange desire behind them.
One that's both terrifying and alluring.
With wide eyes, you backed away, feeling small in comparison to his looming figure and his predatory stance. The size difference between you two was incredible. You continued to keep your distance, placing yourself between furniture.
With slow and deliberate steps, he follows you around the room, seemingly getting closer with each passing moment. He had the patience of an animal on the verge of a hunt. You can feel his eyes on you, tracking your every move. When he speaks again, his voice is calm, but there's something dangerous hidden beneath the surface. He's like a calm sea hiding the storm underneath.
"You can't get away from me, sweetheart." He begins to move closer again, this time grabbing your wrist and holding it tight, his grasp like iron. "You belong to me."
“Yeah, right!” You struggled, trying to rip your wrist away from his grasp, he could only stare at you in slight amusement and anger. “I don’t belong to you or anyone! Nothing you will ever do will make me think otherwise!”
He raises an eyebrow and smirks at you, before he replies.
"Alright then."
Without warning, he pulls you towards him, kissing you passionately. His body is firm and strong, holding you tightly in his arms. His kiss is passionate and intense, like he's pouring all of his feelings and desires into it. The kiss was passionate and borderline possessive, trying to make you submit and accept him as your lover and protector. His grip around your wrist and waist is tight, becoming a little painful. You’re completely at his mercy and helpless in his arms.
You gasp from the sudden kiss, feeling intense emotions swirling within you and making your heart skip a beat. After a small moment, you began to return the kiss, thoughts of escaping melting from your mind. He also seemed to relax more into the kiss, it turning softer and loving, feeling that you were slowly but surely returning his affections. He pulls away after a moment, staring at you with a hungry and passionate gaze.
"Are you convinced?" He asks, his voice low and husky, his gaze very heated and full of immense desire. He's still holding you tightly in his arms, not letting you go anywhere. He simply couldn't get enough of you. It's adamant that this animal has a lot of pent-up desire and passion. Now, he was looking forward to releasing it all onto you.
"Y-Yes..." You muttered, your brain currently in a state of mush. You simply looked up at him with wide eyes, your cheeks warm from the intensity of his affections.
Slowly, he released your wrist, bringing his hand up to caress your cheek, his thumb brushing just underneath your eye. His touch was gentle and even a little soothing. He looked into your eyes, his heated stare now full of softness towards you. “I would never hurt you. You know that, right?” His voice, similar to his touch, was also full of softness.
“Y-Yes…” Your resolve was completely demolished, he has successfully twisted your feelings around and made your heart scream out for more of his attention. Thoughts of finding a way to escape barely crossed your mind, your logical side slipping further away from your grasp.
You simply didn’t care.
"Good." He whispers, his voice was husky once more, full of want and desire for you.
With another powerful pull, he brings you into another kiss, one that is even more passionate than the first one. Knowing that you finally submitted left him with an animalistic excitement. He's hungry for you, almost starving for your touch and affection, and you can barely keep up with his ravenous desires. His excitement continued to grow, his grip on you tightening as he held you in his arms.
"You're mine now, my love." He continues, his eyes glistening with desire.
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Taglist: Comment to be added!!
@prettywhenibleed
#john wick#john wick series#john wick fanfiction#john wick fanfic#john wick headcanons#john wick imagines#john wick x fem!reader#yandere!john wick x fem!reader#john wick x reader#yandere john wick x reader#john wick x y/n#yandere john wick x y/n#john wick x you#yandere john wick x you#yandere john wick#yandere#male yandere#keanu reeves
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