#bodyguard! john wick | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

iovesia · 2 months

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𐚁֙࿐ BE MY DADDY TONIGHT.

keanu mlist.⠀ 𑇓 ⊹ ᳝ ࣪ ⠀bodyguard!con&wick⠀𝑥⠀f!reader.

synopsis: you have one job for tonight's ball: behave. easier said than done, right? well, your two bodyguards will make sure you stay in line. by any means necessary.

contents. bratty!rich!reader. large age gap. threesome. brat taming. oral (m!receiving). hate to gentle sex? double penetration (+ANAL). sir kink. pure filthy filth. 5.0k words.

⋆ 𓂃 ﾟ .⠀josie's little note. mentally, physically WEAK for my fav duo— this is a spin off to you can be the boss, so hopefully you guys will enjoy :3 if u see any grammar or spelling errors, no you don't ♡

“ABSOLUTELY NOT.”

“Why not?” You scoff.

“Take that off.”

You roll your eyes, looking back into the mirror, hands gently smoothing the silk covering your hips. Having people paid to stalk your every move, means you’ll always have a second opinion for your outfits. The downside is that they’re 40 year old men with zero fashion sense.

“No way,” you defend, viewing your body in every angle. The pink satin hugged your figure just right, the slit on the side exposing your smooth leg and thigh. Each mirror perfectly reflected your good side— which was every side. “This is totally, like, ball material.”

The annual Senator’s ball. The one day of the year where your father is forced to interact with you, and acknowledge your existence beyond a weekly check to your bank account. You and your family have attended every single one since you were 5, a begrudging effort to boost your father’s campaigns and image.

Family’s everything.. at least to the voters. Chin up and grin when the cameras point your way.

“Is this ball in the red light district?” Constantine snickers, earning a glare from his associate.

Your two bodyguards were spending their Saturday afternoon watching over you, as they always do. Except now at the painstakingly boring activity of shopping. Constantine and John (your original offer of calling them ‘Beavis and Butthead’ were immediately shot down), a pair of older brawny men in black suits, sat in the comically pink fluffy chairs as you tried on several outfits. As similar as the two men look, they couldn’t be more different personality wise.

Constantine was the fun one; could actually take a joke, and was more lax on the rules, but you knew it was just to irritate John. You had no clue why your father hired him, then you remember the handfuls of other guards you annoyed to resignation. Last resort.

John was the polar opposite. Total grade A military asshole. Knows what you’re gonna do before you do it. Wouldn’t crack a smile to save his life. He was the worse cop to Constantine’s bad cop.

“Find something else,” John stares blankly at you.

“You can’t tell me what to do,” you sneer. The two of you lock eyes in a silent stand-off, with Constantine just smirking on the sidelines. “It’s my money, not yours.”

“No, it’s your father’s money,” John retorts.

“And daddy dearest is gonna have our necks if we let you come dressed like that,” Constantine interjects.

“Change. Now.”

Your face scrunches up into an ugly scowl, as you march back to the dressing room, muttering profanities under your breath. Like a petulant child, you tug and try on new dresses with aggression in your movements. Damn near ripping the seams.

You come out after a few minutes in a new dress: a baby blue silk dress which reaches the floor, hiding your curves and hips. Like a Kate Hudson look-alike, the silky dress left your back exposed.

“Nuh uh,” the older man shakes his head, arms crossed.

“Oh come on!” You exclaim, turning around in a huff. “You want me to show up dressed like the Virgin Mary. Get real.”

“Yeah, John, get real,” Constantine mocks your high pitched voice.

"You stay out of this—" John shoots his partner a side eye.

“John, I’m buying this. I’m not going to that ball lookin’ like a nun,” you reaffirm, as you take one last look in the mirror. Your hands smoothing the dress down over your backside, you grinned satisfied. The soft material on your skin boosted your confidence for the upcoming night.

“Just buy the dress and let’s go,” John mutters, glancing at your reflection. Constantine smirks, whispering something to him. Your brows furrowed, but you waved your hand dismissively, your mind focused on the ball rather than their stares.

The ride to the ball was painful. Mentally at least.

You sat next to your father in the back of the pristine limousine. Your father typed endlessly away on his mobile, answering the string of emails that flooded in daily. He was a busy man, and this upcoming election only soaked up any remainder of his free time. Stupidly, you hoped he would at least talk to you on the way to the ball— a repeatedly unfulfilled hope.

“Please behave at this ball, I need tonight to go well,” Your father drawls, like he has to force out every word. Talking with you always seemed like a chore.

“I always behave,” you try to joke, but it falls flat when your father doesn’t even lift his eyes from his phone. Incessant clicking noises fill the limo, and you clear your throat, shifting to rest your elbow on the car door.

“I mean it,” he says firmly. “You will not embarrass me like you did last time.”

“That was an accident..”

The dreaded accident he’s referring to was the year prior, and the aftermath of it all nearly cost your father his win. Being a politician’s brat means your only other friends included snobby offspring of other politicians, or mobsters who shadowed them. Your then boyfriend at the time: Richard Dubois, son of an alleged mobster, was getting handsy with the Judge’s daughter. Your firey temper got the better of you, and the words “fucking bitch” left you quicker than the common sense did as you threw your drink on her.

The tabloid nightmare that followed that night almost made your father’s head explode. His furious words echoed in your mind.

“Rich brat strikes again! Party-girl daughter of the running Senator spills the gossip AND drink on— Do you see what you’ve done?!” He reads the article out loud, disdain dripping from each word. “What the hell’s the matter with you?! Jesus fucking Christ.”

“I said sorry..”

“Sorry that I cut your allowance in half,” he replies with a roll of his eyes. Your father sets his phone down, his attention briefly flittering to you. His brows furrowed, as he analyses your outfit. The crinkle in his nose marking his disapproval. “Wick and Constantine will be keeping an eye on you.”

“What?!” Your lips part. “You promised I’d get to be on my own tonight.”

“That’s before I remembered you’re a goddamn walking PR nightmare.”

You didn’t respond and he knew he had upset you. Your words were lost as you turned your face away.

“Fine, whatever,” you mumble, hiding the hurt in your tone.

“You pull any stunts, young lady and I’m cutting you off.”

You turn your head back in a shock, not registering what he just said.

“You’re damn near 21 years old, you’re lucky I loved your mother enough to not kick you out,” was the straw that broke the camel’s back. “Wick and Constantine will be keeping me up to date. If I hear a single fuck up from them, you’re done.”

Being monitored and scolded like a child greatly dampened the mood.

Not that these balls were much fun anyways.

The hall was filled with hundreds of familiar faces dressed in the latest fashion. Rival candidates, politicians, judges, criminal affiliates, and of course their children; each more spoiled than the last. There was not a single friendly face in this ball. Each man and woman walked and danced the floors with hungry hearts and dollar signs in their eyes.

Humility was a poor man’s game.

You found yourself talking to a group of girls your own age. Like most rich brats, the conversation turned to competition, each girl showing off whatever luxury adorned her body. Every sly comment or backhanded compliment from them simply bounced off you, as you had no qualms showing off your own expenses.

“My parents are taking us to Cabo next month. We’re staying at the Waldorf,” One of the girls (Aria..? Anna..? You couldn’t be bothered to remember) spoke with amusement at the “awes" coming from the other girls.

“The Waldorf? Oh that cute little place?” You chime in, sipping your glass of champagne. “I’ve been, like, 4 or 5 times already. This is your first time going?” The girl's eyes widened a little at your audacity, influenced to focus on you now. That’s the one thing you were good at: being the centre of attention. You couldn’t help it. The conversation goes in loops, everyone trying to outshine the other, and eventually your glass turns empty.

“Excuse me,” you clear your throat, disbanding from the circle. Scratching at your skin, the boredom in you grew antsier. You needed some stimulation— something remotely interesting to converse about which wasn’t the stock market peaks, or whatever Fox News was blabbering about.

A notification on your phone alerts your attention, and you check your latest message. Your group chat is filled with details about a party going on a few blocks down from here. Unable to stop the grin growing on your lips, you glance around the room. You prayed that maybe your father wasn’t serious about Constantine and John being on your ass all night. With no sight of two men in black, you make your way towards the exit of the ball.

As you walk down the halls of the ball, a hand gently wraps around your elbow.

“Where are you going?”

You were a bit taken aback at the way John holds your elbow.

“Salsa dancing,” you mock, tugging your arm back. “The bathroom, obviously.” The lie flows off your tongue like water. But he wasn’t as stupid as you hoped.

The dark eyed man looks down at you with a blank stare, as though he doesn’t believe you. He straightens his back, his hand moving back to his side. You swallow, trying to bury the goosebumps swimming on your skin.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” you raise a brow.

“Okay. Go then,” he says to you.

“Well.. yeah..” you stammer, pushing a strand of hair from your face. “I didn’t need your permission.”

John’s eyes never leave your figure as you keep walking. Pretending to head to the bathroom, you hide behind the half-wall, occasionally peeking back to make sure he wasn’t looking. Once the coast was clear, your heels clicked against the polished floors as you left the party all giddy.

The techno beat of the music, along with vibrant flashing lights stinging your eyes, made your movements only more sluggish in this dingy club. Having just entered the party, you were whisked away by some “friends” and immediately handed some shots to do.

You were merely four blocks from where the ball was taking place, and you were quite proud of yourself for slipping past your father and his Shining Twins. Not that it was a hard feat, apparently. You haven’t seen those morons almost the entire night.

You down your third shot, the liquor burning your throat deliciously as your friends cheer you on. Granted, they were just people you linked up to get trashed with rather than actual friends— but it beats drinking alone.

“Hey baby, let me get some of that,” a random male voice calls out from behind you.

“In your dreams!” You call back, earning a whistle and a few chuckles from drunk wannabe frat boys. The incessant pick up lines and cat calling rolls off your back at this point, keeping your focus on the party girls who keep taking shots and howling along to the music.

Sure enough, you lose track of time. Beads of sweat form on your forehead while you sway your hips along to the beat, dancing with your girls. Your throat almost raw from shouting the lyrics over the bass, you’re completely amiss to your phone that’s exploding with missed calls.

You’re in the middle of downing another shot when a warm presence is felt on your back. Annoyance etched on your face, realising that frat boy was back, you turn around “Look, asshole— I already said—”

“Ouch, sweetheart."

Your face falls at the sight of Constantine’s contrived smile.

“Oh fuckkkk,” you whisper, a little too loudly. “Constantine— hey— wow—”

“Wow indeed,” Constantine interrupts, grabbing your bicep. With a loud “hey!”, you slap at his tight grip as he drags you through the sea of drunk partygoers. Your anger turns to pleading then to bratty complaints once you begin reaching the exit.

“Constantine— wait— c’mon—” You try to interject. His unusually calm disposition brewed the panic in your bones. If Constantine of all people was calm— that was your indicator you fucked up. Normally you could play off your rule-breaking tendencies with some witty banter, but tonight was not the night.

As the older man hauls you out of the club, onto the chilly New York streets, you lock eyes with your other bodyguard. John stood in front of a black car, his dark suit almost blending into it. His muscular arms crossed on his chest as Constantine nearly shoves you in front of him.

“Look let’s not freak out now—”

“Get in the car,” when he spoke, it was like there was gravel in his throat. You’ve never heard such a commanding tone from him before.

You sat with your tail between your legs in the backseat of the black mustang. The air was suffocating you and slowly sobering you up, nervous chills dancing on your spine. The two men sat in the front, with John driving as always.

“I was just—”

“No.” John says bluntly.

“But I–”

“No.”

“John plea—”

“Save it,” he commands, his tone quiet but deadly. You glance up at the rearview mirror, looking to Constantine for some backup. He barely turns his head from where he’s sat in the passenger’s seat, looking back at you.

“Can’t help you here, kid,” his voice lackluster, before turning back to facing the road.

You were in for it.

“Have you lost your mind?”

The deja-vu nearly makes you sick. You were sitting in your disgustingly pink bedroom, on your soft queen-sized bed. John stood diagonal to you, in his typical stoic position as Constantine boredly spun around in your desk chair.

“No,” you retort in a duh tone. “I was just trying to have fun.”

“Ah yes, drinking and illegal substances— perfect idea of fun,” Constantine scoffs, his face in an uncharacteristic frown.

“There were no drugs!” You defend.

“Like we’re going to believe that,” John says coldly, earning a jaw drop from you. Sure you were spoiled, complained a lot, and lacked common sense— but you weren’t a liar! Swallowing, you look back up at John’s intense gaze.

“I was just having some fun— Jesus!— The ball was so goddamn boring, I literally thought I would fall asleep!”

“So dramatic,” John grumbles, his dismissive tone so similar to that of your father, it makes you snap.

“Go fuck yourself!” you huff bitterly.

“Watch your mouth,” they warned in a chilling tandem, their voices tinged with a cold edge. Your eyes widened a little at their unified scolding, causing your ego to shrink down. The chair squeaks as Constantine stands up, now joining John’s side.

“Look, I’m sorry, I snuck out,” you sigh, your apology as insincere as it gets. “Are we cool now?”

“No we’re not cool now,” John jeers, mocking your inflection. “You realise you could’ve gotten in serious trouble right?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t—”

“Because I had to drag your ass out of there. Who even let you in? You’re not even 21 yet,” Constantine’s brow stitched together, judgement filling his words. Your hands weakly gesture to your figure, the low cut dress speaking for itself. Constantine rolled his eyes, while John released an exasperated sigh.

“Your father’s gonna have a field day with that one..” John taking out his phone made your heart drop.

“Woah—woah— wait no— why are you calling him?” You stammer, jumping up from your spot. The two guards share a look before turning back to you, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Maybe because his daughter not only snuck out, but went drinking on one of the most important days of his life?” John explains, but you were well aware already.

“And so we don’t get fired,” Constantine interjects.

You opened your mouth but John was already scrolling to find your father’s contact information. Suddenly you grab at his wrist, soft pleas leaving your lips. Finally cracking through his blank expressions, he raises his eyebrows a little at how weak you sound.

If I hear a single fuck up from them, you’re done.

You couldn’t get cut off. You weren’t built for anything outside of partying and shopping.

“Please don’t tell him, please,” you ask, the mirth in your voice fading. John clears his throat, his interest clearly piqued and he lowers his phone. You looked uneasily between the two brawny men, as they awaited your next words. “Please.. I’ll do anything. I’m really sorry.”

Batting your lashes, you can see the cogs turning in their heads. You weren’t stupid. You were stupid hot–— but not stupid. Constantine’s little jokes always had some flirty undertones, and as high and mighty John says he is, you definitely caught him readjusting while you were trying on dresses.

Before John could pick his phone back up, Constantine swoops in. “Hang on a minute,” as he holds his hand over John’s wrist. “Anything?”

You bite your lip, nodding.

Constantine side eyes his cohort, his pink lips turning up from a frown into a sly grin. John’s lack of protest or offence at the suggestion only affirmed what you knew. You take a step closer, purposely amplifying the sad bambi look in your eyes. Your delicate hands resting on either chest of John and Constantine, manicured fingers toying with their ties. “It’ll be our secret..”

“Fuck,” was the weak groan that fell from John’s lips. His body betrays him, and he feels his cock twitching underneath the slacks you’re hastily working to get off. The man in black lies back against your fluffy pillows, and headboard, with you on all fours, and Constantine at the end.

Constantine sponges soft kisses from your lower hip, all the way up your spine, his hands sliding the silky dress further up and up. Meanwhile, your own hands are pulling at John’s pants, slowly tugging them down, exposing his dark happy trail.

“No bra on? Dollface, I’m shocked,” Constantine taunts. He’s knelt right behind you on the bed, his huge hands stroking your sides before cupping your pillowy breasts. You whine, looking at John through your long lashes as Constantine toys with your sensitive buds. The bearded man leans up a little, helping to take your baby blue dress off before tossing it to the side. A wave of shyness overcomes you, your naked body aside from panties being eyed hungrily by two men who want nothing more than to taste you.

Constantine pulls you up, your back pressed to his clothed chest as he pinches at your nipples. John’s gaze never leaves your flustered face, and you feel his hands on your hips. Constantine’s lips leave faint kisses on your ear and neck, as both pairs of hands grope and squeeze your soft skin.

“Isn’t she fuckin’ pretty?” Constantine’s baritone voice echoes in the shell of your ear, his huge hands still massaging your breasts. John simply chuckles, his fingers hooking the sides of your skimpy pink panties.

“Prettier when her mouth’s shut,” John muses. The cool draft hits your exposed skin as John slides your underwear down, leaving you bare and ready to be feasted on. John’s calloused finger trails your inner thigh before reaching your slit. His digit traces over your clit, gently stroking it in slow circles.

“John—” you whisper breathlessly.

“Sir,” he corrects.

Constantine pushes you back down, and your face now inches from John. The sound of Constantine’s clothes ruffling as he unbuttons his shirt, piques your excitement, and you can’t help squirming your hips.

The sound that left you was embarrassing as a cold glob of spit trickles from Constantine’s mouth down to your cunt. John watches how you unravel as Constantine’s touch, and he holds tightly onto your jaw. Your big doe eyes are forced to stare into his dark irises, and he drinks in every whimper and squeal coming from those pretty lips.

Constantine pushes his index finger into you, and you bite your lip hard. The two men chuckle quietly at your reactions, and Constantine flusters you when he comments on how tight you are. Your nails gently pinch into John’s thighs, and you feel his hand on the back of your neck.

You take the hint as your fingers pull his cock out from his slacks. Swallowing, your eyes widen a little at the size, your hand barely wrapping around the base. John’s lips press to your temple.

“Suck,” he says lowly,

“Yes.. sir..” the word drips with sin as you lower your head. Pressing pecks to his tip, you generously spit on your hand to lube his cock. John can’t hold back a groan, your pretty little hand stroking his cock while Constantine fingers you was a sight to behold.

Your mouth was so wet and warm, your lips stretched to the brim as you lowered your head even further. John’s large hand rests on the back of your head, keeping you in your place and making you gag. Your heart stuttered at the action, the near lack of oxygen filling your bones with panic and adrenaline. He only lets you up when you choke, and there’s a long clear line of spit connecting from your lip to his cock. You wipe your mouth, using the extra spit to stroke his girth once more.

Meanwhile, Constantine’s slacks dropped as well. You mewl when he pulls his finger back, leaving your needy hole empty temporarily. His pelvis pressed against you, and you felt something hard. Your eyes closed as you welcomed the sensation of his cock teasing you, collecting the slick off your weeping cunt. His tip prods at your entrance, barely filling your desperate hole.

Constantine smirks at your muffled whimpers, the obscene sounds eliciting from you sucking John off only made his own cock harder. “Daddy’s little girl is such a cockslut, who’da thought?”

“You’d do anything to not lose daddy’s money, huh? Even fucking the help?” John croons coldly, and the heat blooms in your cheeks. John’s hand tightens as it finds a home on the back of your head, his fingers pulling at your hair as he drags your mouth up and down his cock.

“Not the first time— probably the only reason the other guards stuck around as long as they did, right?” Constantine lies just to rile you up. He was not gentle as he pushed his way into you, making you gag once again. His hips rolled against you, the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room. Constantine’s fingers dug painfully into your sides, each motion of him pulling you back and forth on his cock rattled your body. Your moans and pants vibrated against John’s cock, your tongue flat against the base.

You gasp for air as John pulls you off once again, his fingers smearing the drool and cum from your lips all across your mouth and chin. Eyes shut in fear as he pats your face condescendingly. “You like being used like this, hm?” John’s tone is gentle even if his words are mean.

You nod mindlessly, hand still stroking his cock. John tilts his head to watch where Constantine’s hips and your ass meet, his cock no doubt buried deep into your sopping cunt, and John licks his lips. “Use your words.”

“I— I like—” you pant, as Constantine leans forward, pressing his now bare chest to your back. You relied on John for support, little squeals falling from your wet lips as he ruts relentlessly into you. “I like being used— yes— yes sir—”

“Oh, she fuckin’ likes it..” Constantine mocks your whines, his lips graze your ear. “What would daddy dearest think if he saw you like this? Fucking the men he pays to watch you?”

Your eyes flutter closed, mouth parted open slightly as Constantine fucks you stupid. His cock sliding in and out of you with ease at this point, as you leave a ring of white at the base of his dick.

His thrusts come to a gradual halt, his cock pulling out of you. He would be lying if he said he didn’t love the sight of you clenching around air, begging to be filled like the needy girl you are. Suddenly you feel John manhandling your hips, pulling your chest against his. He shifts his hips a little lower, lining up your sensitive entrance with his shaft. Your thighs were a trembling mess as you hovered right over him. Like a fleshlight, he lowers you painfully slowly down on him, letting you feel each inch stretching you apart.

Constantine’s lips ghost your shoulder blades and he kisses along your shoulder, his huge hands back on your breasts. You’re surprised that John hasn’t shifted once, and instead is letting himself be snug inside your warm hole.

Your curiosity turns to alarm when you feel a wet sensation on your other opening.

“No— wait— I’ve never—” your stutters were merely shushed by both men, and a sharp spank from Constantine. John’s hands hold your hips tight and Constnatine pushes you down, so you’re chest to chest with John. With a forced arch, Constantine parts your cheeks, further exposing your holes.

You squirm a little, begging for any stimulation from John’s end, but he remains completely still.

“I’ll be gentle.. Promise,” Constantine offers you reassurance in the form of a gentle hand on your back. Inhaling sharply as you feel his tip probe your puckered hole, John’s hand strokes the side of your face. Your breathing was shallow as you looked at him with worried eyes.

“Shh.. look at me,” John whispers, pulling your face close as he slots his lips against yours. This mini distraction allows for Constantine to slide in a little deeper, releasing a hiss of his own. Your whimpers of pain were swallowed by John as you stretched around Constantine. Soon enough, the two men were lodged deep inside you, and you felt full to the brim.

Tears kissed your eyes in the sudden shift in atmosphere, and with the contrasting feel of pain and pleasure of having two men inside you at the same time. Constantine kisses behind your ear, and John along your lips and cheek.

“Taking us so well, dollface,” Constantine croons.

“You’re doing so good for us, c’mon..” John whispers.

Your tears do nothing for your pain, but earn the gentle affection of John and Constantine. The pain spikes when they both begin to move in and out slowly. Your manicure digs into John’s muscular chest, and it pushes out a quiet moan from him.

Their thrusts gradually quicken, and their caring personas begin to drop once again. Constantine’s hands cup the fat of your ass tightly, keeping you spread as he oogles the way he and John’s dicks disappear inside both your holes. The two men can’t help how fucking good you feel. Like the giving gift, they will gladly keep taking.

“It hurts, hurts—” you whine softly, eyes squeezed shut as tears roll down your flushed cheeks.

“I know, baby, I know,” John hums, his words not matching his actions as he keeps moving your hips up and down. Their strokes were fast and hard, and with Constantine pressed against your back, you felt completely sandwiched between them both.

Their pants and grunts mix in with your airy, feminine cries of pleasure. They were too occupied in watching the way your ass jiggled or how your tits bounced with each roll of their hips. The spoiled little brat they once knew, was now a whimpering, flushed mess: your doe eyes all teary and lips swollen from how hard you’re biting them.

“Our girl’s making us feel so good— it’s what we deserve after the shit you put us through tonight,” Constantine pants, putting his foot up which makes his cock plunge even deeper into your ass.

“‘M sorry, ‘m sorry—” your shaky tone comes out, forcing in a painful breath as you cry, the voice of reason in your mind going right out the window.

“No more sneaking out after this right? Gonna be a good girl? Listen to what you’re told?” John coos, cradling your clammy hand on his chest. You can barely speak, so you nod feverishly. You’d agree to anything at this point.

“I think the poor thing wants to cum,” Constantine pulls your head back, and your neck cranes as you look back at him over your shoulder. He sees the fucked out gaze in those pretty irises, and feels the tension in your clench. “Should we let her?”

“I think she’s had enough,” sent relief through your body. You couldn’t even tell who’s fingers pressed against your clit, but all you know is that it made the coil in your belly tighten. The quick circles on your bundle of nerves, was enough to send over the edge, and you exhale a loud moan. The tension in your tummy snaps, as your fluttering walls tighten through your climax.

Meanwhile, your two bodyguards were still chasing their own highs, using your trembling frame like a doll at this point. You could hardly comprehend a thing until the feeling of warm, thick release filled both your holes. All three of your exhausted pants filled the sweaty, sex-smelling room, and you finally collapsed against John’s chest. The animalistic growls came to a halt as they stilled inside you.

“Hey, hey..” a few gentle pats to the face jolt you awake. A little squelch can be heard when Constantine pulls out of you first, with John following. The brawny men lays you on your back, ignoring the dribbles of cum leaking from your holes. “You okay?” Constantine pats your face, a flash of concern on his face.

You nod tiredly, eyes drooping. The mascara stained your face, and the glitter lipgloss was nowhere to be seen anymore.

“Did so well for us,” John says calmly, kissing the corner of your mouth. The stoic, cold, brute you once knew was now gently soothing your sensitive body.

“Good girl.” Your heart flipped.

“Our little secret, right?” Constantine smirks, trying to lighten the mood. Licking your dry lips, you give him a lazy smile.

“Our little secret,” you reaffirm tiredly.

Fin.

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evren-sadwrn · 5 months

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whoever done the costume design for john wick mfers i love you

#john wick #this goes out to #Marquis vincent de gramont #his bodyguards #gianna d’antonio #ares john wick #koji shimazu #akira shimazu #santino d’antonio #and #viggo tarasov #amen to them and their clothing fr

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takiki16 · 1 year

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I've seen you talk about Helen Wick a lot and her relationship with John and how he was totally devoted to her. In the second movie, we have a nice parallel with Gianna and her relationship with Cassian. What do you think? Is it the same level of commitment? I don't remember if we have something similar in the third movie, it's been a while since I've watched it. But I love the idea of John running into men devoted to their women and being reminded of Helen because of that. Can't wait for Chapter 4 next week!

MY JAM MY JAM MY JAM MY JAM!!!!!!! POUR CHAPTER 4 STRAIGHT INTO MY EYEBALLS!!!!!

Short answer: YES. I think Cassian was absolutely ride or die for Gianna. There is just NO REASON to do a Dramatic Zoom (TM) in on Cassian’s face when he discovers Gianna’s body if there isn’t some level of deeper affection and fealty there!!! Why would Gianna say “what would I do without you, Cassian?” To use a TLT phrase, ANOTHER ONE OF DEVOTION’S CASUALTIES!

Long Answer: yes, I think Cassian is just as devoted as John, but because John chose Helen Wick and Cassian chose Gianna D’Antonio, Cassian doesn’t get to express his devotion the same way?

One of the things that makes us all so hype about the JW franchise is the world building - not only is there an Insane Badass, but he lives within a LARGER FRAMEWORK of insane badasses that have COOL AESTHETIC INFRASTRUCTURE to support their various acts of badassery. John and Cassian may be actively trying to kill each other, but they still vibe because they share…it feels weird to call it a ~*social class*~, because that implies politics I don’t think Chadley and Co. have thought about, but that’s kind of what it is! They know that they are both Service, rather than Management! They come from virtually identical positions on the chessboard! It’s also why I love the John and Sofia scenes in Chapter 3, because her exposition adds more depth and detail to this framework. John may be unique in his SKILL LEVEL, but his actual POSITION in the grand politics of this world means that he still has to kneel when he asks for certain favors. (Which is ANOTHER of the things I loved about Chapter 3 :)))

TO EXTRAPOLATE FROM THAT TO BEAUTIFUL FEALTY MUSINGS: you all already know that I love a subby murderbot who is devoted, body and soul, to the object(s) of their devotion, and it’s even better when there is a FRAMEWORK of subby murderbots who share this common understanding. They may have plot-related disagreements, but even through vengeance there’s always this vibe of “I understand. If it was MY beloved, I would do the same. Now we shall fight to the death, but with that understated Respect (TM).” The only other canon example I can think of is Wheel of Time, but that’s where I see John and Cassian #subbymurderbot4subbymurderbot. And the thing is that Gianna ALSO sees this, which is how she knew exactly the most hurtful thing to say to John when he came for her - the idea that Helen would hate him, for what he was.

HOWEVER - as I said, Cassian can’t express devotion the same way because there is NO WORLD where Gianna D’Antonio agrees to give up the potential political advantage of a marriage, or even a long-term relationship, to make a commitment to her bodyguard - no matter how good or devoted he may be. And there is no world where Cassian would even attempt (and fail miserably) to put Gianna in that position. Has Cassian ever said anything about any potential feelings he might have? Has he admitted it to her…or even himself? What good would it do him, other than make him a potential liability? What good would it do Gianna, to acknowledge that one of her employees would die for her out of deeper emotional reasons than gold coins? I DO think that both of them are aware, and that Gianna has some level of reciprocation even, but I also think that neither of them have ever said anything because…what good would it do? The High Table is not a place where you can have emotional indulgences without returns.

Which makes me think that, in a weird way, Cassian might be jealous of John. A lot of subby assassin murderbots in similar situations might be? And that MAYBE that’s the reason everyone, even people who hated John or were jazzed to have him back, kept saying “I’m sorry about your wife.” To a whole class of subby murderbots who have stalled out in the stoic pining stage where Cassian lives, John achieved the Impossible Dream. HIS person wasn’t his underworld employer, or some other similar backstabbing Underworld denizen, but someone who would allow John to wear his heart on his sleeve, so to speak. And yeah, civilian relationships usually had extremely short literal life spans, but of course the motherfucking Boogeyman pulls off the Impossible Task and manages to get himself a whole LIFE with her!!! He got to marry his person! Legally, even! They got a house and a yard together! John did something that was nOT supposed to be possible for anyone at his level in their world. It’s like if your coworker suddenly did every single job in your workplace for a week by themselves, then immediately won the lottery and left the country, only to have all their money immediately lost in some kind of bank failure. AND someone trashes their car and kills their dog.

I’m imagining like…assassin water cooler talk about John. “Oh, did you hear about Wick? Yeah, he dID it, that crazy bastard! He wiped out all those guys in one night, and then he retired, that mad lad! Didn’t think even HE had it in him! I’ll bet he gets bored and comes back real soon. Couldn’t be me, bro, retiring and living a boring suburban life…with the Person of my Affections…not getting treated like a disposable weapon all the time…SO BLAND, right? I give it two months. Fuck that guy, anyway. Oh…oh she died? After only five years? After…after everything? Oh god, who ordered the…oh. Ouch. Hey man, I’m sorry about your wife.”

SO TO RETURN TO YOUR POINT about Cassian reminding John of Helen bc he keeps running into other subby murderbots - YEAH. I DO THINK HE DOES. I know that polite coldness is sort of etiquette in the Continental, no matter how much you might hate someone, but John goes to the trouble of telling Cassian why he did what he did. Heck, he CONFESSES to Cassian what he did in the absolute worst possible context, even though John could easily have lied at the party and said he was there to kill some other famous underworld boss. It would have bought him a few minutes! But no, John tells Cassian everything because HE would want to know, in Cassian’s shoes. John is fresh off a massive murder spree because someone took Helen’s last gift to him - he knows exactly how Cassian feels right now.

I think that John is lowkey both a legend and a cautionary tale to people like Cassian, because hey. Even if all your dreams come true and you get to build that perfect life with your person, you could lose everything just like that (see Marcus: “It’s days like this scattered among the rest.”). Is it better to just keep your mouth shut and serve their interests as best you can right now? Or do you gamble everything on an Impossible Task, with the possibility that you lose everything anyway?

#john wick #Helen wick #oh man i forgot how fun getting Helen anons is #SOME CASSIAN/GIANNA FAN OUT THERE HAD BETTER BE READING MY SUBTEXT AND WRITING A 100K BODYGUARD ROMANCE FIC FOR ME #cassian #Gianna d’antonio #my posts

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elfcow · 5 months

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The choreography in John Wick was SO good.

When Perkins was grappling Wick and she did the wrestler/jiu jitsu rotation while keeping top position so seamlessly. Absolutely phenomenal skill and ferocity.

Not to mention the gun-fu, as Keanu called it, was so top notch. It was just so damn good.

And I expected it to be kinda mindless violence but the plot and pathos that all the actors bring was so intense I actually wasn't ready to move onto the sequels just yet bc the ending was so satisfying and I didn't want any more bad stuff to happen to Wick. Really incredible.

#John Wick #Shout out to Perkins and the head bodyguard dude their fight scenes ripped

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maculategiraffe · 3 months

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man if I was a russian mob boss and my worthless layabout son killed baba yaga's dog I'd just fucking give him up. like immediately. like call john wick's secret basement landline and be like "iosef's at the club. all his goons and bodyguards have been instructed to stand down. there's a new puppy on your front porch. do you want an edible arrangement or anything"

#it's not like little theon is an asset to your empire #just move on with your life #have more sons. make better parenting choices #psir #john wick

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nouearth · 9 months

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a business trip.

john wick x male reader.

warnings: smut, alcohol, blowjob (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), dirty talk, rough!sex, breeding, unprotected!sex, top!johnwick, bottom!reader.

request.

the soft tune of jazz—a sonata that you were never particularly fond of—became comforting in your solitude. though a piano was absent, hidden stereos were more than adequate as you gathered the ambiance would’ve been more or less the same if a pianist had performed.

in the sleepy hours of the continental hotel, patrons of the lounge kept their conversations low, indescribable murmurs to your ears as you sipped on your drink—warm and smooth down your throat.

the time on your phone flicked to midnight, and day two commenced. you came on a business trip. if you could, you would’ve rejected the offer to come to new york, especially when it took away time from your dog. but the rascal was spoiled, and that unfortunately meant you had to step out of your home office once in a while—all to keep her spoiled.

but who ever said you couldn’t have a little fun during your trip?

the seats at the bar were unoccupied except for yours. clients preferred sitting in something that supported their back, you presumed, but that didn’t stop a gentleman from taking a seat next to you.

oh, wow. maybe the lady was right… this cologne is a dick magnet.

unbeknownst to you, his favorite seat was occupied and he was petty—though only slight, because a strong drink to incinerate his stress was his main priority.

“bourbon whiskey,” the gentleman glanced at you, dried blood and cuts lanterned under the muted lights, but his black hair succeeded in shadowing. “please.”

the man didn’t seem phased by the injuries—a nonchalant attitude he maintained—but you were nonetheless surprised. speechless as no one, not even the bartender, seemed to have minded his wounds, the blood stained on his dress shirt, and the purple bruise beating on his cheekbone.

it was… strange.

“uh...” you cleared your throat, directing the sound towards the man to get his attention. he looked, clearly want to be left alone as he kept his gaze front. “sorry, i just… uh… should i be worried about that?”

though he didn’t seem to recognize you, the stranger was hesitant to answer, taking more than a few beats before speaking, low and gritty. “no, just… got robbed.”

“oh, shit, seriously?” you reached for you phone and turned the screen on. ”then, I think we should call-“ before you could take the process to another step, a gentle grasp latched around your wrist, stopping you.

“that’s very kind of you, but i’m fine.” he finally turned to you, a reassuring gaze pierced to your worry before letting go and looking front again.

handsome, even when he’s all beat up. focus, that was not the priority right now.

“dude, you’re bleeding.” remnants of warmth escaped your wrist, but his calloused fingers remained in memory. “you could have a concussion or something.”

“maybe,” the man took a sip of his drink, a simper to his face when it was concluded that you were evidently not from his world. “seemed fine as i walked the way here though.”

“jesus,” you couldn’t pick apart between fact or fiction, especially from a stranger, but he had no reason to lie. you took another sip, watching him and accepting his truth. “did you manage to get a hit on them, at least?”

you missed it, but the man glanced down at the red stain on his dress shirt, small and ruby-ed against the white fabric before taking a sip again. “something like that.”

“hm... i guess i know who to call for a bodyguard when i’m in the city again, then.” the ice between the two of you was slowly melting, puddles of it spreading when you two shared a chuckle. “(m/n), by the way.”

“john.” you can put a name to his face now, and it was fitting. mysterious and aloof, but never intimidating because there was a warmth inside of him that just needed a reason to come out. “never seen you here before, first time?”

“kind of?” by now, the drink has caught up to you and you felt a little more confident, turning your body towards him. “i mean, i’ve been to new york before—just not this hotel. i’m here for work.”

“i see,” when you faced towards him, john never meant to do a double-take. several glances were hidden in between the constant motion of drinking, the heat relieving john’s body whenever he took a sip—he likened it to medicine. “enjoying your stay then?”

but the more john looked at you, warmth began to rise instead. it eventually settled on his chest, neck, and cheeks to his dismay and it does not intent to wear off, no matter how many sips he took in greatest efforts to push it down—in a void somewhere, where he believed his feelings deserved to be buried.

“it could be better.” alcohol was a powerful drug, because you were one-hundred percent sure that the chance of you flirting without a drink would’ve been close to zero.

it came out of nowhere—this feeling. fleeting or not, your pants tightened and you needed a release. if it wasn’t him, then it was going to be someone else. and if you really couldn’t get laid, you’d be content with dry-humping a pillow.

you’ve seen it in the movies before—well, usually from a women—but it should be universally accepted, right? confidence was sexy: show some skin, make your intentions clear, and handle rejection like a real class act.

worst he could do is say no…

“I don’t mean to be crass, but,” you tugged on your necktie, loosening it around the collar, and unbuttoned only the top two buttons. a slight breeze ghosted your neck as it radiated and yearned for lust—kindled further when you downed another drink, a last stop for encouragement, but also a device to handle rejection all at once. “do you want to fuck?”

john watched you stone-faced, but there was clear interest in his eyes—you watched it spread across his dark orbs.

it was telling that you both needed something—a release: you with work and him with being mugged, apparently. your fingers tapped on the counter, impatient for an answer.

after a smooth swig of his drink, john got up and beckoned to you with a small smile. “come on.”

as soon as the door shut, you were backed into it with considerable force—not a single second to spare. you held onto john in blind support, groping at his broad back and hips while john’s needy palms worked at your ass, squeezing tight to aid the erection in his pants.

“fuck.” pressure applied to your clothed bulge as john pressed his hips against you, rutting in irregular rhythms conducted by pure lust, and you desperately returned them, needier as you rubbed into his thigh. your moans caught between his lips when the pair found themselves on you, kissing you with the utmost passion—poisonous, because it stole your breath away.

“i could come just like this.” you spared enough oxygen to breathe out, but later found it swallowed when john kissed you again, eagerly licking the inside of your mouth. his tongue was sloppy, mixing the sweetness of your drink with the burn of his to form an entirely new recipe that only the two of you would share.

complete darkness filled your sight while your neck was then bombarded with rough kisses, only broken when john unwillingly tore himself from your skin to strip himself. it was a tedious process because he was greedy, returning back to your neck and lips whenever a piece of clothing was thrown to the corner of the room.

but you were impatient, as was he, and knew things would never progress if he was submitted under the smell and soft touch of your skin. so you playfully pushed him, squeezing his chest in midst, and constantly knocking him back to his amusement while the glow of the moon became your guide to the bed.

“keep that up,” john held you by the waist again, applying his bare body to your clothed figure, half-undressed with your trousers and shirt left, as you felt his beard against your skin. a gentle brush tickled you, but his darkened, low voice sent goosebumps. “and we won’t make it to the bed.”

“hm.” a hum vibrated in your throat while he kissed your neck again, suckled at his favorite area because he could feel your cock throb against him, desperate to be freed from the fabric.

you watched him in the moonlight as john began undoing your clothes, leaving a wake of hot kisses down your body the more you unveiled before him—cold, but john’s mouth made up for it as it wrapped around you like a warm glove. no warning whatsoever, but you preferred that, shuddering when he worshipped your body like a knight to a prince; calmed caresses to your calves while he polished your cock with godly licks.

john’s fingers spidered up your legs and his palm found its way to your ass again, spanking one cheek hard enough for you to suddenly thrust your cock into his mouth and down his warm throat. “oh, fuck-“

he moaned around you, vibrations riding your thick veins as it would take a electrifying trip up north until you moaned, pleaded with him to be fucked—to no avail, simply because he was stubborn.

briefly, john let you go with a slimy pop to stroke you, standing back up to kiss you in midst. you tasted yourself, the saltiness of your pre-cum lining your taste-buds as his tongue ran over yours in a wet and sloppy affair. “god, you taste so good…”

simultaneously, your hand worked at his cock, under-handing the weight of it with slow strokes—to the intimate arousal of your sluggish tongues moving with one another. it wouldn’t be long until you found yourself pressing into him again, gliding your wet cock against his, spreading and sharing john’s thick saliva between the two muscles.

your lips never his, neither did your hand on his cock—both of your cocks now, clumsily stroking—even when john began to prod at your hole with his finger, lubed up seconds before, teasing. only then, you pulled away when his finger slid into you with careful ease, and you flushed forward.

he embraced you with one arm around your body, holding you still while he worked you open, curling inside of you deeper with quickening intervals. you could practically come undone from this, but you refrained from doing so, distracting yourself with kisses to john’s chest, then his nipples, sucking hard to counter the overwhelming pleasure.

but he had the upper hand on you, only realizing when you immediately flexed around him when he pushed into you with another finger—slight difficulty, and so he worked you open once again. though, it doesn’t last long because he wanted to feel the tight stretch you’d provide for him—a heavenly need you’d happily supply.

without any guidance, you bent over the bed and pushed your hips out, and he held you close. you laid there bare before him, looking back completely vulnerable while john toyed with you, taunting your arousal as he slid his cock in between your ass cheeks, wet and sticky from the lube.

“come on…” you almost whined out into the sheets, refraining yourself from wiggling your hips.

his silhouette didn’t budge and he only agitated your impatience even further by tracing your pucker with the plump tip of his cock, slow and teasing with a smirk you could hear. “you want me that bad?”

“fuck,” you were never one to admit things easily, and this wasn’t going to be the start of it. equally as stubborn as john was, you groaned into bed again and used your core to push back at his taunts. you began reaching back amid his continuing tease to grab ahold of his length. “if you’re not going to fuck me, then i’m going to-“

john’s reflexes were fast. as soon as you wrapped your hand around him, he pinned you further into the bed with a firm shove to your back. your chest stung when it rubbed harsh against the sheets and you immediately let go, lying pliant under his force. “you’re going to what?”

you struggled to move—to escape from his hold—but he was stronger in every way possible. every struggle was met with an ache to your body as he barely used a fourth of his strength to hold you down.

and your cock couldn’t have gotten harder.

“I’m going to-“ before you could respond, your throat dried up as john pushed himself inside of you with one slow yet rugged thrust, pushing heat back in, and filling your hole up with more. “f-fuck!” every muscle in your body tensed and you shouted out, almost a whimper.

his cock was thick inside of you. you can feel every pulse, every vein as he worked himself into you, back and forth with deep and slow thrusts, painfully stretching you out. it knocked the breath out of you and your legs wobbled, feeling your current stance weakening as your toes curled into the floor, desperately clinging onto the arrival of your soreness.

but you loved it. you loved how barely prepped you were because you can feel every inch of him reaching deep inside and violating your hole with the uttermost disrespect. he held your wrists together, your arms back and your chest pushed forward while your cock rubbed against the bed, and fucked into you—faster, harder. “look at you, fuck. you take cock like it’s nothing, hm?“

“m-mmm!” you whimpered out in response, your breath hitching as he repeatedly slammed his hips into you, continuously knocking any thought out of you. the painful pleasure was dizzying, finding solace in muffling your moans into the covers. your breath warmed your cheeks as you rocked into the bed from impact, gliding your cock in between the bed and your pelvis along.

there was an ache in your shoulders, in your arms, in your wrists, but john’s cock overpowered every feeling to the point where they became numb. all there was left was john’s rapture and you basked in it. the heaviness of the sex-filled air, the humidity of your bodies when john decided to push his all of his weight onto you and fuck you like you were nothing but a void, the warmth of his breath when he kissed your shoulder and neck, and the sting when he bit.

overwhelming was an understatement of your current state of euphoria. you took him in and overloaded yourself into his pleasure. every thrust, every breath was submerged into you, compelled to mirror even a fraction of the pleasure john felt, and it was only when his cock drove into your prostate with unbeatable force that you did—tenfold.

“oh, fuck! don’t stop,” you cried out, desperate in pushing back against him because you never knew if john would pull away anytime soon. “fuck me just like that, fuck!”

and he doesn’t. john was a man of promise and he delivered your pleas with force and speed, letting go your wrists to spread your cheeks apart and watch you be fucked open with his thick cock, growing more swollen with every passing second. you can feel his balls following his thrusts, swinging against your sweaty skin and creating the most delectable sounds. “like that, yeah? you like my cock, just like that?”

“f-fuck, yes!”

in this moment, you were his, under his control, and selfishly captured when john devastated your prostate with one more powerful thrust to your demands, and you found the stars. they resided in the back of your eyelids as you came—thick and heavy—in between the sheets and your twitching body.

it wouldn’t be long until john joined you in your trip to heaven, his grasp on your hips hard and bruising as he yanked you back and met your ass to his cock one last time in uniting your body with his.

warmth began to fill you as john came undone, shooting deep inside of you. his hips slowed, but never came to a stop as you clenched around him, tight and yearning for his seed, and with that, he milked himself inside of you, giving you all of him and what was left of him—creamy and thick.

his breath was heavy in your ear as he pressed his chest to your back, and you groaned, coming down from the high that you just experienced. sleep approached for the both of you, but he maintained the steadiness of his hips, spreading his load in you as if he was marking his territory.

“so... how long until you’re leaving?”

“mmmph, four more days….”

"good."

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. andif you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

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ruskaroma · 11 months

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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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johnwickb1tsch · 5 months

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John Wick x You │Tarasov's Daughter

You are the eldest daughter of Viggo Tarasov. You’re smart enough to take over the family business, but you’ve always been overlooked because you’re a girl (their loss). But John Wick sees you. In fact he saw a lot of you, once, when he’d been your bodyguard for a brief time during a turf war back in the day. You’re not sure who seduced who really, but you’ve never forgotten the feeling of his big hands digging into your hips or his teeth in your shoulder while he fucked you against the marble top of your bathroom sink, watching you go to pieces for him in the mirror. Maybe he was even your first! You seethed with jealousy when you heard he left the Underworld to get married to a nice normal American lady and settle down in domestic bliss. You were actually allowed to DO that? No one in this life ever really got out. You can’t help but think that you could have made him just as happy as some boring middle-aged photographer. Helen. What a stupid name. So when the shit hits the fan after your dumbass brother Iosef disrespects John Wick (and kills his dog, what the actual fuck?) you wonder if John will come after you.

Pick your poison: Canon!John Wick │ Dark!John Wick │ Yandere!John Wick

18+, all the warnings, dead dove do not eat! Predator kink, size kink, kidnapping, dub-con, brat taming, dark!john, mean!John, yandere!John , jesus fucking crist tumblr u have broken me…🙃

Canon!John Wick

John doesn’t hurt women unless they are really REALLY giving him no choice (Looking at you, Perkins!). But you are the means to his end, so he doesn’t hesitate to take you for bait for Iosef and your father’s men. He is raw and back in full predator mode after taking a hiatus for five years. Of COURSE you piss him off, and when you try to escape he snaps. He still calls you moya milaya printcessa (my sweet princess)tho while he fucks you against the wall with his hand on your throat. When the idiots your father employs do finally come for you John kills them all, and your brother, and your uncle after taking back his car. He lets you go, and a part of you forever wishes that he’d kept you…

Dark!John Wick

You were always such a fucking brat back when he had to watch over you, and finally he can get his revenge. When you mouth off he undoes his tie and uses it to gag you, something he’s always wanted to do, and as you watch him whip off his belt with such calculated flourish you are practically sliding off your chair. He bends you over his knee, the way someone should have a long time ago, and he taunts you when he finds you’re soaking with slick in between whipping you. Is it just you, or is he not hitting you half as hard as he could tho? You don’t know and you don’t care, you’re 98 percent sure you’re not getting out of this alive, so you at least want to die having had his magnificent manhood inside you one last time. You are delirious by the time he soothes the welts on your ass with the light touch of his fingers. “Are you going to be my good little girl now?” he demands as he tosses you on the bed like you’re just a ragdoll. Like he wants to hear your reply, he removes his tie from your mouth.

“If you fill me up with that big beautiful cock of yours.”

He laughs at you, and you get the feeling he’s delighted by your sass, even in this cruel mood. “You don’t get to make the demands anymore, milaya.” He slaps your thighs apart and goes down on you, licking you relentlessly, bringing you to the edge again and again but never letting you cum.

“Please, please, please,” you beg and tears stream down your face as finally you watch him undo his pants. He has utterly broken you.

“You always were such fucking whiner,” he hisses, pulling your hair hard as he plunges himself inside your swollen cunt. You hate him for how good it feels as he fills every last inch and corner of you, and if you ever get your hands free you’re so going to make him pay for this.

Yandere!John Wick

John always carried a torch for you, but you were so off limits. The boss’s daughter. A sure death sentence, but it almost would have been worth it. He’d thought about you constantly for a good long while, your beauty and your body was burned into his brain, but then he met Helen, and that fire smoldered to red hot coals he kept in the back room of his twisted black heart. But when Iosef starts shit there is absolutely nothing to stop him from taking what he’s always wanted. He’ll make you his perfect little pet, one last bit of revenge against the Tarasovs for disrespecting him after all he’d done for them.

When you see him materialize from the shadows in the mirror behind you, you try to go for the gun you keep in the top drawer of your vanity. You’re half certain he’ll kill you for it, but you’re y/n Viggovna Fucking Tarasov, and you will not fucking beg like your little bitch of a brother undoubtedly did. You’re not surprised when he manages to disarm you in the blink of an eye. You wait for the blade in your throat or the gunshot in your gut but he just holds you in those inexorably strong arms, looking down at you with those burning dark eyes. He’s so tall, he’s so much bigger than you and that always turned you on.

“You’re mine now, printcessa.”

You know you’ve always been his but you hate being helpless. He kisses you hard, unforgivingly, possessively, and you try to bite him but he knocks you out with a headbutt. Ouch!

You wake up in a luxuriously appointed room that you just know in your gut is now your new prison. Wick is no fool. There are digital locks on the doors. There are windows that you know will be unbreakable. Your hands are bound above your head, and though you try to worm free it’s impossible. After a while John enters, straddling you on the bed. Even though your legs are free his weight pins you down, you are trapped, and you’re embarrassingly certain he can feel the heat that’s pooling between your legs for it. His face is covered in cuts, his knuckles are torn. He’s been through Hell, but he came out the other side, the way you begrudgingly knew he would. “Your family’s dead,” he tells you. “No one’s coming for you.” He doesn’t really seem to take any joy in it, his handsome face stoic as stone. “You belong to me now, and I hope your father rolls over in his grave every time I defile you.”

You try not to enjoy it while he rails you into the soft mattress, or when he touches you while he does it, his long fingers so exacting. He is a master of manipulating the human body, for pain or for pleasure. You think he makes you cum out of ownership over anything remotely tender, but he makes you see God so often it almost feels like he cares about you. He becomes your dark deity, the altar you worship on, even if just in the deepest depths of your heart. You still have some pride.

You still try to fight and still try to run, even though he punishes you every time. Maybe you’re made bold by the fact that he hasn’t killed you, where he killed everyone else. They were kind of assholes though. John kept you, after all, and you can’t fault his taste. You think he secretly loves the chase, maybe even admires you for fighting him when there really is no hope. He loves reminding you who is in charge though too, and on nights when he’s in a particular mood you know you won’t be able to sit without feeling it for a week.

#john wick #john wick x you #john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #john wick fic #john wick x you fic #keanu reeves #yandere john wick #dark!john wick #john wick imagine #john wick imagines

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treedaddymcpuffpuff · 1 month

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Beneath Miles of Stone - Part Twenty - John Wick x Plus Size Fem Reader

Summary: John has been in prison for nine months. He’s content to stay if it means appeasing the high table and keeping peace between the owners of each continental. However, he meets someone who erases that willingness. Peace be dammed.

TW: kind of kidnapping if you squint ; mentions of death ; violence ; angst ; nsfw kudos to @scarlettspectra and @lilspookymeh for being music gurus and basically inspiring my entire writing playlist ❤️

“John, I can’t stay here - I have work, Michael.”

“It’s not up for debate.”

She scowls at the way he talks to her like a petulant child, looks over at Winston for help and finds none.

“You can’t make me stay here,” she grits.

He fixes her with a dark, mean look, clears the distance between them in one stride, and grabs her before she can think about running. “I can make you stay, but I don’t want to have to do that.”

He’s really just springing this on her. Because the death of Maria puts a target on his back and therefore a smaller one on hers, John thinks the best solution is keeping her locked in the safe house that is Winston’s massive hotel. No consulting her, no talking about options. Just cut and dry. Do as I say. She’s offered alternative solutions, even - “I’ll walk around with Victor’s - sorry, Viggo’s - bodyguards at my side!” - because, of course, her having a private little secret service of her own is now unnegotiable, too. Imagine that.

“You don’t have to do anything,” she retorts, voice quiet despite her lionhearted words.

“I’m not speaking in metaphors,” John says, “you’re staying here. Either way. I need you safe.”

She tries to tear her arm from his grip, but it’s like attempting to wrestle with a gorilla. “So what? I’m just supposed to stay locked up in your gilded cage and forget I have a life?”

He loosens his hold a little bit, lets her puffy flesh spring back from bruising, and softens, hard rock eyes turning molten. Still, there is fire involved. “You can hate me if you want. You don’t have to look at me or speak to me, but I’m responsible for your safety, now. I need you unharmed.”

Ah, there it is again, that fucking pang in her heart that leaves her whole being bloodless and aching when he reminds her why she’s ultimately here - pity.

Sure, he’s told her otherwise a thousand times now, and his actions are testament to how much he wants her, but that admittance is all she needs to start thinking she’s a charity case again.

Tears swell her eyes.

She can’t believe they’ve gone from bliss to this in such a short amount of time. And now what? She’s trapped here and humiliated? Pitied?

“No, I didn’t-“

“Yeah you did,” she whispers, looking down at the shiny dark floor, watching little tear droplets accumulate on its surface.

He lets her pull away and gathers every ounce of his willpower to avoid following as she walks out of the room and into the bustling hotel.

“That went well,” Winston comments, flipping through the manila envelope of witness statements.

His knuckles ache to punch something. Marcus isright here, downing scotch like it’s his last day on earth - maybe he thinks it is - one little punch wouldn’t hurt him.

More willpower used up to not hit Marcus. He decides to leave the room instead.

Marcus thinks he did it. Winston might as well think so, too. The eight witnesses that put him at the location say he did.

The only person that knows he didn’t do it - because he was instead with her when he supposedly took a round trip flight to El Paso and fixed a bullet into Maria’s skull - wants nothing to do with him when the only thing he wants is to curl up beside her and lament.

He needs an outlet.

———————————

“You need to call the police,” Michael tells her. His voice fades away for a minute while she hears rummaging in the background.

“I don’t want to get anyone in trouble Michael. It’s not like I’m being tortured or something.”

“And?”

“It wouldn’t matter.”

“I don’t know, they could probably come get you out of there?”

“I don’t think cops come here, Michael. I don’t think they’re allowed to be here.”

He pauses for dramatic effect, probably. She’s glad she called him. His usual antics calm her. “They’re not allowed to tear gas peaceful protesters either, but….. ”

“No, I think they kill them here.”

“Sneak out,” Michael concludes.

“That’s my next bid.”

“Damn, your pussy must be god tier if this man is kidnapping you, though.”

She rolls her eyes.

“What?! I’m just saying!” She hears the no good grin and it puts a smile on her face.

“I don’t know how I’m gonna pay rent, Michael. I told work, but they’re probably going to fire me - if they even believe me - and then I won’t have income to pay my share-“

“ Are you serious?” Michael sighs. “You’ve just been kidnapped and you’re worried about me ? Babe, stop.”

“We made a deal Michael, and all I’ve done is fuck it up.”

“Worry about getting out of there, and we’ll sort it out once you’re free of crazy boyfriend.”

“He’s not crazy,” she tries, “he’s just… worried.”

“Uh-huh.” Michael takes another pause. “Anyway, what is this place called?”

“You are not coming here, Michael. You’ll get hurt.”

“Why? I’m not a cop.”

“Michael.”

“Right, right. You’re living the mystery novel life. Is it wrong that I’m a little jealous?”

“No, I guess not. He just kind of makes it seem like he has to keep me here. I feel like a burden.”

“ You ? Feeling like a burden ?” The sharp sarcasm in his voice cuts. “Have you tried telling him that?”

“Well, no, but I’m scared.”

Michael sighs. “Jesus, hun, I’m not sure what to tell you here. Sounds like he’s a little bit dysfunctional. Maybe he’s just not ready for a relationship. I mean, he has to know that holding you against your will isn’t okay.”

She sighs back. It’s like their own little angsty language. “It’s not like I’m normal.”

“Ah, so maybe the darkness in you calls to the darkness in him?” Michael sounds like he’s reciting breathy Shakespeare.

She laughs.

——————-

The Continental is massive, shimmering, crystal chandeliers and intricate, antique carpets.

Spotless, open, airy, a few delicate plants dotted about. Every room or hallway or lobby she enters feels too big - like she’s a kid again, tiny in proportion to everything else. Even the elevators gold and glimmer and loom.

Private clubs with massive polished oak doors to guard against entry, workers in perfectly tailored suits everywhere; one around each corner, in the bars and shops, diligent and watching.

If she had any hope before of getting out of here, now she definitely doesn’t. Seems like every exit has an individual posted on it who would put Benny’s hulking mass to shame.

She sees a woman who is taller than John, in a sleeveless tuxedo dress, muscles rippling over her shoulders and neck. She doesn’t think she has ever envied or admired someone so much. Despite the bodybuilder physique, this towering lady moves like flowing water. She just stares at her for a few minutes, entranced by the otherworldly beauty. How can he even think of liking her when women like this live and breathe?

It’s easy to forget the outside world exists, here. But, she stills feels trapped - heralded off to some magical realm where everyone has a gun tucked under their shirt instead of a magic wand.

She gets lost in the place, always expecting John to be waiting for her around corners or down a hallway. He’s not, though, instead leaving her alone like he said he would. That pisses her off and disappoints her a little bit; she wants him to follow her, fight for her, extinguish her flame of independence, which must mean there’s seriously something wrong here. He can’t just lock her up and then leave.

Ignoring the empty John shaped space in her gut, she walks until she finds the library. Wall to wall shelves, rolling ladders carved in intricate, braided designs, a few cozy reading nooks. Librarian fantasy says hello.

She scowls at the thought, goes to the fairytale section, lying to herself about thinking of John in this instance, too.

As chance would have it, someone she recognizes is here. The older woman from the bookstore in the mall, still sans reading glasses, squinting at the cover of a worn yellow hardback.

“Do you need some help with that?”

“Oh, my dear, nice to see you again.” There is an air of poise about this woman even in her shortcomings. She hands the book delicately to her rescuer, smiling softly. “Would you mind?”

“Oh,” she thumbs the cover, feels the carved gold letters on the front. “This is Alice in Wonderland.”

“Lewis Carroll?”

“Yeah, I can tell you about this without even reading it.” She grins, cheeks puffing, pleased to have someone familiar here.

The woman takes the book from her hands and sticks it back. “As interesting as Alice in Wonderland is, I’d much rather talk to you. You don’t belong here, do you? In a place like this?”

She looks down at her feet. “Ah, no.” Really, she could pose the same question, but she finds herself unsurprised that nice stranger books in this hotel. Maybe it was the men in suits at her side. Maybe it’s because she’s used to this by now - fitting in nicely, snug as a bug in a rug. Meant for the underground.

“So why are you here, dear?”

They end up sitting in one of the lounges. She offers to go grab them both tea, paying for it and tipping despite hospitality, and then settles in to talk. This woman reminds of her of Winston, or like one of the kind, witty grandmothers from sparse foster homes. No matter how mean the rest of the family was, usually the elders were double kind to make up for it.

She ends up telling her small things. Not too much, but more than she can Michael. This woman is already involved in the ancient crime world, so she feels like she can divulge more info. Plus, she’s confident that anyone here could just type her name into some imaginary database and bring up every detail about her, anyway.

“Ah, John Wick, Boogeyman.”

“People keep calling him that. I don’t think he’s that scary.”

The woman laughs. “I don’t know, I’ve only heard. Never met.”

“Well, he’s actually nice,” she supplies, sipping her hibiscus tea. “Stubborn, but nice.”

“And he’s keeping you here to protect you, so he can’t be all bad.”

“Yeah… we’ll go with that.”

The woman laughs. “Oh, there is a fire in you. Misplaced, but a fire all the same.”

“Misplaced?”

“You desire hardness, outer armor, to be strong, but you don’t realize that your true power comes from your softness.”

“I’m tougher than I look.”

“I’ve no doubt.” Her contemplative eyes assess the cementing posture.

“Sorry, I’m just. I’m irritated that I have to stay here.” She drops her shoulders, relaxes her jaw.

“You’ve got a free spirit. You remind me of someone I once knew.”

“Was it you?” She smiles again.

“Indeed. Unfortunately, this old bird had her wings clipped long ago.”

“Your wings are massive and amazing, still.”

The elder beams at her. “You know, my children think I’m out of my mind.”

“Huh? But you’re not.”

She shrugs. “They want my empire. I suppose I am getting older - should probably relinquish it sooner rather than later.”

Just like with John, she feels that deep dive questions would be too forthcoming and intrusive here. “So, they’re making up stuff to get it? Sounds like your kids aren’t that great.”

“Ah, but isn’t that my fault if they are not great, then?” She sighs and leans back into cushions that swallow her small frame.

This is a hard question. She’s spent a lifetime blaming foster parents for fucking her up so much.

“See? You can’t argue with that.” Her crinkled smile widens.

“Mistakes are mistakes. The past doesn’t define the future. You do seem lovely now, regardless of what happened when they were kids.”

“What do you do for work, my darling?”

“I’m a nurse.”

——————————-

After talking for a long time with Ella, her mystery bookstore friend, she goes to knock on Winston’s study door, surprised she can even find it again. It takes a while, and she gets completely lost in the process.

“Won’t find him in there. I think he’s downstairs. Do you need something?” She turns to find a tall, tattooed, beautiful woman folding linens onto a silver cart.

“Oh, I just wanted to talk to him. Sorry.”

“You’re John’s girl?” She holds out a hand, gives a soft smile. “I’m a good friend of his.”

Why in the hell can’t she repress the jealousy raging inside her as she takes this absolutely gorgeous woman’s hand in her own? “Uh, yeah.” She resists asking how everyone seems to know what she looks like and who she belongs to. Maybe it’s just that distinguishable? John Wick with a fat girlfriend.

Ouch . Back to hurting her own feelings again.

“Oh, it’s really nice to meet you. A friend of John’s is a friend of mine. I’m a bell hop, trying to work my way up into bartender. They make more money.” She fixes her pile of cloth and then looks up as if forgetting something. “I’m Addie.”

She’s at a loss for words, feels incredibly sheepish around this girl for no reason - exposed and open, ready for final judgement. Harrowing.

She introduces herself back despite trepidation and tries to give a warmer smile than she’s capable of right now. “Oh, that’s cool. You like bartending?”

Addie laughs at some inside joke. “Oh, God no. Not in this city. But in the hotel, it’s great. Not many other bar owners will let you punch their customers for getting too handsy.”

She laughs. “Serves them right.”

“I don’t mean to pry,” Addie smooths over a crisp sheet. “But how did you meet John?”

Oh, the million dollar embarrassing question. “The prison. I was his nurse.”

“Oh, that’s cute as hell.” Addie’s melodic giggle helps lower her raised haunches. “He hasn’t gone steady in a minute. I’m glad he’s happy. I’ve known him since we were kids, I mean, and he hasn’t been this sunshiny in a long time.”

Ah, another one of John Wick’s long time friends. “He’s a pretty good guy.”

Addie nods. “Ah, we’re not passing the bechdel test.”

She chuckles. “You’re right.”

“We will next time, promise. I gotta get back to work.” Addie gives her a wink and then she’s off. She calls back over her shoulder, “I’ll tell Winston you’re looking for him.”

“Thanks, but you don’t-“

“It’s fine.” Addie grins back. “He’s not busy.”

—————————

She gets lost a few more times, maybe just maybe hoping for a tall, dark hero to come swoop her up and apologize. She’s more disappointed than she should be when that doesn’t happen.

But, she does run into Charon again when she finds the front entrance.

He gives her a small smile. “I trust you are finding the provisions here adequate, Miss?”

She leans on his counter, emboldened by the lack of patrons in the lobby. “Could I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“I was in the library, and I saw the book with you in it. Behind the big glass display case, you know? You were in an orchestra in the pictures. Do you play… cello, right?”

“That’s correct. Well, was correct. I haven’t played in several years. Do you play?”

“Ah, no.” She shrugs. “I just saw you in there and you looked amazing. Like really in your element.”

“Do I look.. out of my element now?” His head tilts, smile broadening.

“No, no, not at all.” Her eyebrows furrow. “Sorry, I just meant - you really looked like you loved it.”

“I did. It was exhilarating.”

“Why don’t you do it anymore?”

“I suppose I just got busy with other duties. I enjoy working at the hotel. The light of the stage was wonderful for a while, but I realized I was meant for a quieter fate. One with less excitement.”

“This is less excitement?” She gestures around.

“Continental ground is sacred. We rarely have to take action against our guests for violence.” He pauses. “I know your experience has indicated otherwise.”

She shakes her head. “Sorry, I didn’t-“

“There is nothing to be sorry for.” His pleasant smile still lingers as testament to that. “It’s alright to be curious. Ask me anything you want.”

She does. She asks who can stay here, who is not allowed to stay here, how long it’s been around, who built it. She asks him about the cello, if his hands got scarred, if he would play again at some point so she could come to his concert.

Charon is infinitely interesting, sports the same dark humor that John does, and she chats with him until he gets customers.

—————————

John stays gone. All day, all night. The more time goes by, the more anxious she gets. She should be angry, seething, but instead she just wants him to be okay, to come back to her. She’s grown so miserably attached to this elusive man, and the insanity that goes with that attachment is eating at her like swarms of locusts on fresh fields of grain.

—————————

He’s all bruised knuckles and blood flecked, sinew and tendon and vein. The smell of diesel and sweet liquor and heavy iron. She can’t help but peak at him from under the comforter while he undresses.

“Good morning.”

Of course he knows. He’s got sonic radar. She flushes, and doesn’t answer him.

“I’d ask if you want to join me in the shower, but that would make me a bigger asshole.”

“I don’t remember even saying you could stay in the same room as me anymore,” she grumbles, shifting under the blanket so a few of her toes peak from the end.

He resists tickling her.

“You’re right. Let me take this shower, and I’ll book another one.”

“Are you rich?” She asks.

“I have money.”

“Like, rich money?”

He raises a dark eyebrow and looks far too good standing nude and bruised on the cold hardwood.

“Does it matter?”

“I feel like you’re trying to buy me off.”

He snorts, rubs a flexing hand down his abdomen and yawns. God, he’s fucking delectable. “Would it work?”

“Fuck you, John.” She tries to make her words hurt, but they’re half assed and weak.

He’s got a smile that makes her seethe and clench at once. Infuriating bastard.

“Want me to fix that attitude with my tongue?” He offers, watches her toes curl up as she turns the other way and becomes a smaller mound under the covers.

“I want you to go away.”

He gives her credit for the control in her thickened voice. Saliva, always giving her away.

“You got it.”

When the bathroom door shuts, she flings the blanket off and goes to get breakfast. For herself.

Winston catches her in the dining room. “Do the clothes I sent up fit?” He asks.

“Yeah, they do. Thank you. I appreciate it.” She looks distraught, out of element.

He hums and threads her arm with his, walking with her to the serving bar. “I’m sure he’ll take you to get your clothes and toiletries soon,” Winston promises. “I offered to have Charon escort you, but Johnathan seems to have faith in your ability to weasel away.”

She huffs a laugh. “I’m not promising I wouldn’t try to escape.”

“Are you angry with me?”

“No, I get it, he’s a bully.”

“Ah, can’t say it’s entirely his fault. I’m concerned for your safety, too.” Winston sits with her as she orders cheesy eggs and toast and orange juice.

“If he would have just explained it better, maybe I would have compromised.”

“Unless you know how to kill someone, I’m afraid there’s little compromise for you here.” Winston pauses, rubbing at the slick surface of the bar top.

“I’m still mad at him.” She’s not sure why she feels so comfortable talking to Winston about her relationship problems, but the man is more than happy to chat and advise.

“I can understand that. What can I do to make you feel better?”

“Oh, no, Mr. Scott, you’ve already done so much. I’m sorry for being like this.”

He smiles warmly, amusement cresting the crinkles of his face.

Normally, she’s wary of being touched, but there is nothing except reassurance in Winston’s hand rested over hers. “My dear, you are human. Flesh and bone. Your feelings and emotions are your power, no matter how overwhelming they may become. Never forget that.”

She feels a little like she has stepped from the mortal realm into fae territory. Everything shines and dazzles, wise figures give her hopeful advice, and there is a beautiful, inhuman man terrorizing her with a small grin from across the room.

She quickly looks away from John, and Winston of course notices the pick up in nerves.

“Do you want me to kick him out?” He asks her.

She giggles. “Will he leave?”

“It’s worth a try.”

Avoiding John Wick is kind of like being a moth who hates light.

When he looks at her, she’s looking at him. And vice versa. She tries to eat, but feels too nervous to finish with coal eyes burning the endless fire in her belly, asks for a to go box and gulps the rest of her orange juice down.

He watches her while she walks out, sipping his black coffee, unabashedly staring directly at her beautiful bottom.

“I’ve thought about it,” Winston tells him, taking the seat across the table. “And I believe you.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” John asks.

Winston ignores his sour mood. “Someone is trying to frame you, Johnathan. Someone wants you dead. With eight witnesses, the high table will come for you. Especially concerning the public knowledge that Maria put a bounty on your head. This is a war that ends one way.”

“I know.”

“So, do something.”

————————-

“I’m sorry.”

She turns around to find him leaning into the door jam.

“I told you I wasn’t good at this.” He motions between them. “But that’s no excuse to be an asshole.”

“I’m not good at it either, in case you didn’t notice,” she replies dryly.

“If you get hurt, I’m not sure what I’ll do,” he admits.

“But I can’t live like a clipped bird, John. And you’re just so forceful about it. I can’t get a word in when your mind is set. Michael has been nothing but good to me, and now I’m bailing on him. I like my job. It makes me feel like I have a purpose.”

“It’s not forever, just until I can figure this out.”

“Is it really that dangerous? If it is why did we start this in the first place?” That kind of sounds like she regrets the relationship, so she doubles back. “Sorry, that’s a stupid question. I would gladly meet you again and again, even if it meant more hardship, John, but I can’t just leave my old life.”

He gives a deep, baritone sigh, running hands through his damp hair.

She gets a little waft of the delicious shampoo he used, and itches to go to him.

“Just give me a day. One day. I’m going to fix this, and I need you to trust me.”

She eyes him, makes him feel vulnerable - raw - with the power of her stare.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.” It sounds more like a plead than a demand, so she provides.

“Are you just doing this because you feel like you have to? Am I inconveniencing your life even more?”

He looks at her for a very long time.

Then, pads over and tips her chin up with his fingers. “I live in a dangerous world. I’m scared to lose you in its chaos.”

“But is it out of obligation or-“

“It’s because I need you.”

“You need me?”

He presses his forehead against her own. “Yes.” There is frustration in his voice.

She cradles the back of his head, inhaling spice and salt, quiet and still. Some kind of storm will rage and destroy her later, but for now she can keep it at bay while he is folding her up and pressing her into the bed.

“This doesn’t solve anything,” she says, trying not to lose her resolve in the delicious wet of his mouth.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, lips trailing the sensitive bridge of her ear.

She doesn’t. Lets him gather her hair back and lick behind her lobe, turn her into a quivering little mess of a human clinging to his sweatshirt.

He can’t get enough of her in his mouth at once, uses his hands to make up for the loss, cups her tummy and groans at how soft she is. God, he could just sink right into her and never come out.

“This is all I wanna do,” he says. “Every time I look at you, you just get more tempting. That cute little smile, pretty skin, soft little body. Who sent you here to destroy me?”

“Th-the FBI.” She’s smiling that sunshine smile, animosity an afterthought, pulling at her new fixation which happens to be his velvet hair, rubbing her fingers into his scalp.

His cock gives a little jump against her thigh, and he vibrates for her again. Ah, of course it’s the hair.

“You like it when I play with your hair?” She asks, voice hitched high and tight as he sucks down her neck.

“Yeah,” he admits.

“I uh, yeah, l-like your hair, Johnny.” She sloppily threads a strand around her fingers, tugging just a little.

And to think he was contemplating getting another buzz cut because of this mess always being in his face. Not now. Now he would never cut it again. Now it was his pride and fucking joy.

He snakes his hands under her shirt, rubs at her bare tummy, pulls and feels and groans about how fucking pillowy she is - about how a bullet would probably just bounce right off of her.

“Fuck, I love this,” he says, making her giggle and grab his fingers.

“Tickles,” she tells him.

Immune to bullets, but not to soft fingers digging into her plump. He can’t help the hells grin while he indulges himself and makes her a giggly, frantic mess. “Where you going? Huh?” Chasing her up the bed, pressing her against the pillows, making her scream and curse his name.

Only a little bit of fun, and then he’s kissing her ribs, pulling her bra up to let these beautiful tits flop in his face so he can nuzzle between them. Giggles into moans, the chant of her hips matching the rhythm of mewling sounds.

“You’re so fuckin sweet.”

Her hands make their way back to his hair.

Big cock pressing and grinding into her giving thigh, fingers running circles around her areolas to tease, mouth nipping at the tips of her breasts.

He gets her begging, whining, needs her to ask him for it.

“Pretty girl wants to cum on my tongue again, huh?”

“Yeah.” Little shimmering tears in her lashes, lips all puffy and big just like her nipples.

“Tell me. Tell me, babydoll.”

Flooding with hot embarrassment, biting her lip, trying not to crumble and break, she does her best for him, tries her hardest to make him happy. “John, make me cum. Please.”

It’s not good enough. “Ah, ah,” he scolds. “Make you cum on what?”

“Y-your tongue. Want your tongue. Please, fuck.”

“There you go.” And how could he ever fucking say no?

How could he not spend a decade between these comfy thighs eating her sweet puffy cunt nice and slow.

Fucking her on his fingers, tickling her little clit with his tongue and making her her hips spark up off the bed, giving her rug burn on top of rug burn while she pulls his hair and curses his wicked mouth. Sometimes it hurts, especially like now when she’s too drunk on his mouth to be careful or sweet - and he fucking loves it.

He may never be able to convince her that he’s sorry with words, but he can still use his mouth to accomplish the same goal.

By the sounds of it, she, at least for now, forgives him.

#john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick fanfic #john wick fanfiction #john wick x plus size reader #x chubby reader #chubby reader #plus size reader #x plus size reader #BMOS

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generalkenobee · 4 months

Text

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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iovesia · 8 months

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✧ ˚ ༘ ⋆ 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐒𝐒.

bodyguard!john wick⠀x⠀bratty!spoiled!fem!reader.

𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔. being notorious for your spoiled, bratty behavior— you have successfully scared off your all previous bodyguards. but you’re stumped when this one just won’t quit.

—⠀੭୧⠀warnings⠀· ˚ ༘⠀large age gap. hyperfem!reader. reader is a bitch. mean!john. oral (m!receiving). dubious consent. brat taming. size kink. face slapping. 2.4k words.

𝒙𝒐𝒙𝒐, 𝒋𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒆 ִֶָ 𓂃 ⊹ for all my hyperfem!reader enthusiasts— this one's for you! i lowkey hate this but i haven't posted a fic in ages ohmygod and i also started school so i might be less active..

#. keanu reeves masterlist. | main masterlist. | request rules.

NO.

It was the one word that was not in your vocabulary.

“No. My decision is final.”

Unfortunately, it was your father’s favorite.

“Daddy, this is so unfair!” You squeal like a petulant child, hot on your father’s trail as he walks through the lavish penthouse which you reside in. Your heels hitting the marble floors reverberate along with your high pitched whining. “I don’t need a babysitter!”

“Bodyguard.” Your father corrects.

“Same difference!” Your father lets out an exhausted sigh at your complaints, rubbing his eyes with his ring-adorned finger. The wrinkles on his face are prominent, displaying his ageing stress. “I can handle myself! I’m not a child anymore!”

“You behave like one!” Your father snaps. “It’s how you’ve managed to scare off the last two bodyguards. So help me God, if this one quits too, there’s going to be mayhem. You hear me, young lady?”

Your soft features contort into a nasty grimace when your father points his finger in your face. Resisting the urge to stomp your Dior, pink heel —ergo proving your father’s point— you let out a defeated scoff. “Fine.”

“Thank you,” Your father gives you a tight lipped smile. “Jesus, you’re just like your mother. God forbid things don’t go your way.” You try to ignore the sting in your heart at your father’s callous words, the venom in his tone as he refers cruelly to his ex-wife, and your mother.

You clear your throat, quickly wishing to change the topic. “Who even is this guy?!”

“His name’s John Wick. He’s highly specialised in martial arts, firearms, and other weaponry. He also has military experience—”

“So basically, you hired The Terminator?” You interject, snapping your gum loudly in between your lip gloss covered lips. “I still don’t understand why the hell he’s here. None of my friends have old bodyguards following them!”

“Your friends are also not daughters of a mob boss,” your father replied bluntly, his patience wearing as thin as his greying hair. Before you could conjure another witty retort— the doorbell rings through the apartment. You follow close behind your father, eyes shooting daggers into the back of his skull when he walks into the entrance area.

The penthouse was adorned with gold trim and marble floors, along with glimmering chandeliers hanging from the tall ceilings, accentuating your father’s immense wealth— your silver platter prison as you liked to call.

“Christ, give me strength,” Your father mumbles under his breath.

“It’s John, isn’t it?”

“I pray it is.”

“If he’s short, bald and old like the last one— I’m going to freak out,” you hold your hands up defensively, briefly admiring your manicured french tip nails. You pride yourself on your appearance— if you’re not complaining and bitching, you’re spending daddy’s credit card on all things girly and pink.

The door slowly opens. From the bottom of your new bodyguard’s Oxford shoes, you eye him up past his lean body under his tight black suit— accentuating his buff arms and chest, up to his slicked back black hair and piercing dark eyes. You stare in slight disbelief at the man ahead, who towered over you.

“Meet John. Your new bodyguard.”

AS ATTRACTIVE AND BROODING as your new bodyguard was, he was also quiet.

Too quiet.

Unlike your previous bodyguards, John was as still as stone, completely unresponsive to any of your nasty quips, bitchy comments or snarky commands. You were lucky to receive even a word of acknowledgement, let alone a sentence.

He was your silent shadow, always standing eerily close by wherever you went. At the mall. At clubs. At the library. Even when you go to public restrooms, he stands waiting outside the door, embarrassingly dragging attention to the both of you.

“Seriously?” You grumble to yourself, adjusting your pink tennis skirt as you walk out of the ladies restroom. The older man merely looks down on you, his unreadable expression only pissing you off more.

“It’s my job.”

That was his famous catchphrase. Like a broken record, or a poor man’s Princess Bride— it was his automated response for any of your complaints. It’s his job.

You huff, tongue in cheek as you lean against the doorframe of the kitchen, watching the brooding bodyguard read a book. John’s leaning against the back of the chair, his arm resting on the countertop of the kitchen island, his veiny hand holding the book upwards as he takes a sip of coffee with his other. The palpable silence was too much for you to bear. You’ve had enough. You needed a reaction out of him— anything— literally anything other than this monotonous apathy.

Your hips sway side to side as you stroll over to John, his attention unwavering from his book. You clench your jaw, tapping your nails on the marble countertop. You take a seat next to him, and lift your leg up, resting your foot on his thigh.

Shockingly, he raises a brow— but still doesn’t look at you.

“Lace up my heels,” you demand, a smug smile on your lips, gently digging the heel of your shoe into his thigh. But he doesn’t twitch. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t even produce a sound of pain.

“You’re not a child, you can do it yourself,” his voice is low, and raspy as he clears his throat. John flips to the next page of his book and your brows stitch together, a small frown etching on your lips.

“Lace up my heels, Jack,” you repeat firmly, the taunt in your voice disappearing as you purposefully get his name wrong.

“John.”

“Whatever.”

John’s attention to his stupid book never faltered, and your annoyance boiled like bile in your chest. Clearly you’d have to try a little bit harder. You remove your foot off his lap, and let out a purposefully loud sigh.

“I’m your boss, John,” you say mockingly, “you better do what I say.”

“Your father is my boss,” his tone is painfully monotonous, if he was anyhow irritated with your bratty behaviour— he didn’t show it. “I work for him.”

There’s another tense silence casted upon the door, and you huff, jumping off your seat before storming out of the kitchen. Blinded by your temper tantrum, you missed the older man’s leering eyes on your ass as you walked away.

YOU WERE FUMING.

A whole month.

A whole thirty days he’s been your bodyguard, and you still have not managed to find out what made John Wick tick. His silent, stoic demeanour seemed impenetrable to your girlish, spoiled wit. John has bested your previous guards by the duration of his stay— most, if not all of them would have packed their bags by this point.

The sun beamed on your soft skin, exposed by the skimpy pink bikini that barely covered your breasts and left little to the imagination. Lying across the sunbed next to the glistening infinity pool, the sun suddenly disappears from your face, and you open your eyes to see John hovering over you.

“Move, you’re blocking the sun,” You roll your eyes, pulling your Cartier sunglasses above your head.

“Get dressed.”

You furrow your brows in confusion at his command.

“Your father says there’s a gala in a few hours, your attendance is mandatory.” John affirms his previous command, before he stalks away from you, his long legs carrying him far as he re-enters the penthouse. Immediately, you sit up from your sunbed, not bothering to cover your skimpy figure with a towel as you chase him.

“I don’t take orders from the help.”

“But, you do take orders from your father,” John quips, quirking a brow as he turns to face you, his staggeringly tall body looming over you. “Get dressed.”

“I don’t take orders from you, I’m not going!” You sneer, and when you attempt to walk past John, his large arm wraps around your forearm, gently but firmly pulling you backwards in front of him. “Excuse me?”

“You’re excused. Get. Dressed.”

“Get fucked, how about that?” You retort, scoffing at his audacity to tell you what to do. “I don’t take orders from the butler.” Roughly tugging your arm back, you take a challenging step closer and you can feel the warmth radiating from his suit covered body.

“Bodyguard.”

“Oh, please— you’re a glorified babysitter,” you chuckle incredulously. “All that military experience is probably a load of crap— I have half a mind to get my daddy to fire you!”

“I have half a mind to shut that mouth of yours,” John’s low voice has goosebumps swimming across your skin. He finally cracked, and now you were just waiting for the pieces to come apart. John takes a step forward, closing the distance as his chest nearly touches yours.

“What did you just say to me?” You speak quietly, your confidence slowly decreasing. A small, devious scowl creeping on his face. “I said: what did you just—”

Your words die in your throat when a sudden hand clutches your jaw, fingers digging into your cherub cheeks. A weak gasp comes out, as John pulls you closer, your exposed stomach and barely-covered breasts pressing against his lean body. His stubbled face leans down, your noses almost touch as he whispers: “I think it’s time you got a taste of your own medicine.”

“GET ON YOUR KNEES.”

Jaw dropped.

“What?”

“You heard me,” John rests against the back of the leather couch, sitting as his legs manspreading with his elbows resting on the leather couch pillows. You stood like a deer in headlights in front of him, hands on your hips, looking down at him. “Get on your knees.”

“I’m not gonna do that, are you out of your mind?!” You squeal, offendedly. John merely licks his bottom lip, his eyes focused on your hips, and thighs. “You are so fired, John! I’m telling my dad!”

“Go ahead, let your precious daddy know you made another one of his staff quit..” John shrugs nonchalantly, scratching his beard. “Your father will be pissed, and will probably cut you off.. And then who will pay for those little bikinis?”

You kiss your teeth, lips pursed as your leg bounces anxiously. He was right.

“Asshole,” you hiss under your breath as you lower yourself down to the ground, your knees scratching against the rough carpet. His penetrating stare made you sweat, a chill tingling down your spine. God, you wished you had taken that towel with you. John’s voyeuristic gaze trailed from your breasts that barely fit in your bikini top, down the curves of your hips to the swell of your ass.

“Come here,” he says slowly.

Reluctantly, you abide his words, and your hands and knees graze the carpet as you crawl over to John— like an obedient little puppy. Sitting on the heels of your foot, you rest your palm on your thighs, an exasperated huff flaring through your nose.

“You are a spoiled little girl, you know that?”

You roll your eyes.

Suddenly, pain blooms in your left cheek as a firm hand smacks across your face— not enough to hurt, but enough to shoot down your attitude, making you mewl. “Ow!”

“Aw.. did that hurt?” John leans forward, his warm breath hitting your face as you look up at him, batting your long lashes. His fingers digging into your cheeks again, holding you in place. “You want me to kiss it better?”

Your face flushes at his question, as you roll your shoulders back. The diva inside you was screaming when you nodded— but you didn’t care. You eyed the older man hungrily, the sting on your cheek had you rubbing your thighs together. Unfortunately, John noticed.

“That’s too bad.” Pushing your face away, he leans back against the couch. John subtly spreads his knees further apart, signalling you to his shiny belt buckle. Eyeing the older man hungrily, the pads of your fingers touch the cool metal as you undo his belt.

His lowered slacks reveal his flushed, hardened cock, with pre-cum already leaking from the red tip. Your hand shakily wrapped around his shaft, your whole hand unable to fit around his full girth. You stroke him gently as his lips part, a soft groan escaping. You swallow nervously, his cock throbbing in your hand when you halt your hand. Spit gathering into a small glob on your lips before stretching down onto his mushroom tip. The saliva made your movements smoother, and more confident.

“I know that mouth does more than complain,” John taunts, his large hand softly caressing the back of your head when he edges your face closer to his thick shaft. Your mouth waters as you wrap your glossy lips around his cock, your tongue flat against his tip, the salty pre-cum satisfying your tastebuds.

Relaxing your jaw to adjust to his size, you lower your head, his cock nudging against the back of your throat. Whatever you couldn’t fit in your mouth, your hands covered, massaging the base of his cock. John grits his teeth, swallowing a groan as you begin bobbing up and down his cock. John’s hand is heavier on the back of your hand, forcing you lower on his cock till your nose is buried in his short, curly pubes— making you gag loudly.

“Does the spoiled brat need some air?” John chuckles raspily, his hand clutching your hair, pulling you back off his cock. A thick line of saliva dribbles down your chin, lips puffy as tears brim your waterline. Your jaw ached, but your tongue was desperate for more. His thumb swipes against your bottom lip, wiping away the pre-cum and spit, before shoving his thumb into your mouth. The pad of his thumb presses down on your tongue, and you gag once again.

“Spent the last month dealing with your little attitude problem,” John eyes squinted into slits, repeatedly patting your face with his other hand. “I think a little appreciation is in check.”

Like a cockdrunk doll, you nod ditzily as he switches his thumb out for the tip of his shaft.

Your father was surprised to see you wearing jeans the next day, as they covered those little bruises on your knees.

john wick taglist : @hamburgerslippers @alwaysinblck @emosludge @nwheregirl @beansricejc @sughcashsaiki @namjoons-crabssss @scream-queen-25 @slutforsoldierboy @hamburgerslippers @redhotelroom. @hearteyedbambi @ilovedilfs4ever @aerangi @spacemonkeyfitz

let me know if you wish to be added/removed ♡

#keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves imagine #john wick x reader #john wick imagine #john wick #john wick smut #keanu reeves smut #nsfw.josie #bodyguard au

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evren-sadwrn · 3 months

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they should have kept thing in i would have loved caine slamming hoes left and right

#he done chewed up the bodyguard AND his boss #thats actually crazy dawg #john wick

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97keanu · 2 months

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˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ Thinking about a bodyguard!au with John Wick where he's this older, stoic, seasoned bodyguard hired to protect reader who is a young rich girl who just wants to have fun in the clurrrb early 2000's style

Like, its comedic implications are almost too much not to write it •ू♡

#started a draft last night but wanted to share with yall #john wick x f!reader #john wick x reader

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tangerinesgirl · 1 year

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The Hourglass

AFAB!Reader x Marquis Vincent de Gramont

Word Count: 1k

Rating: explicit, 18+, no minors

Warnings: smut, choking, slapping, denied orgasm, derogatory language, Marquis is an asshole, Dom!Marquis, Reader uses sex as a weapon, French swears

Summary: Reader is a manager of a hotel being deconsecrated. Think that scene in John Wick 4 in the Marquis' office but the hourglass is timing you having sex as well. Not a happy ending (well, for you anyways) and quite a dark fic. A few French swear words but I'm not a French speaker so I apologize profusely if they are wrong/the context is wrong. Please do message me. My first piece on Tumblr, so be kind! I have written on AO3 before though!

♡♡♡♡♡

Four guards escort you to the office of the Marquis de Gramont. You've heard rumours about the High Table but you've never had the honour of meeting any of them until today. They certainly made an impression on your hotel, threatening you with deconsecration with no solid proof that you've done anything wrong. This is why you're here. Since your grudge is with the Marquis and the Marquis alone, you left your concierge at the hotel, being useful and evacuating all the guests.

You brush yourself down out of nervousness, you have to admit you look good, I mean you do want to make a good impression afterall.

"Come", the voice says from inside the room. The guards open the massive double doors but don't follow you inside. The Marquis already has a handful of bodyguards inside.

Your heels clatter on the concrete floors, reverberating in the massive yet empty room, giving you a sense of power and femininity, a nice ego boost. The Marquis is staring out the window, wearing a very flattering grey three-piece suit. On closer inspection there are also small flecks of glitter. They catch the late night sun every time he moves. You thought you looked good but, damn. There's an hour glass matching the one at your hotel that the High Table so generously gave you, the blood red sands threatening to run out.

"Do you believe in rules, Miss Manager?", the Marquis has a very thick Parisian accent, you wish there were subtitles for this conversation.

"I do."

"And consequences?", the Marquis dramatically pours himself a cup of tea. He stirs in two spoons of sugar and licks the spoon, making direct eye contact.

"Indeed."

"So you don't deny you've been harbouring a fugitive?" It all makes sense now, you have no idea how he knows about John Wick staying at your hotel. There's bloody eyes everywhere. You can't deny helping Wick. You also can't seem to deny how attractive the Marquis looks right now. Or are you just attracted to his power? Or is it the suit? Maybe all three?

"Marquis, as much as I believe in rules, I al believe in second chances... and making amends", you step slightly closer and pick up the spoon on his desk, licking it in the same way he did moments earlier. His guards reacted immediately when you moved, unholstering their guns to point at you in seconds. The Marquis gestures for them to lower their guns, watching you the entire time, never breaking eye contact. He looks you up and down, your back arched and displaying your chest as you put on a little show, pulling it out with a soft but satisfying pop.

"Leave us", the Marquis orders the guards. They do as they are told. You were searched on the way in so they know you were unarmed. They probably also know of your ulterior motives and what's about to transpire, probably why they moved out so quickly. The doors clatter closed.

The Marquis taps the glass on the hourglass, the clink echoing around the room. "A lot of things you can do in an hour", states the Marquis.

"Come on now, give yourself a bit more credit", you lean over his desk to straighten his tie. He grabs your hand just before you do, "Don't think this will save your pretty little ass".

"You think I have a pretty ass?" is your take away. He throws you down on the desk, the cup of tea clattering to the floor. "Turn around". You do as you're told. He hikes up your dress and plays with you through your underwear. You let out a small moan. He stops briefly and you look back and see him unbuckling his belt. "I said turn around", he takes off the belt and wraps it around your neck. His other hand moves your pants to one side and he sheaths himself inside you in one fast motion, winding you. He's incredibly large, almost to the point where it hurts. You let out a gasp as he slams himself into you. He forces you down on the desk, arching your back for him. He grabs both of your wrists to keep them in place behind your back, still holding on to the belt. He slowly tugs on it as he thrusts himself into you. Over. And. Over.

"Such a slut, do you always offer yourself as forgiveness when you break the rules?", he babbles.

"Only for you, Marquis."

He swears under his breath, "fuck, I like it when you say my name... Do it again". He tugs on the belt again, the loss of oxygen turning you on even more.

"Marquis"

"Louder. I want all of the High Table to know how much of a whore you are", he removes the belt from your neck, and slaps it across your ass. You inhale sharply, shocked, "Marquis!" He does it again before suddenly turning you over to thrust into you again.

He grabs the end of the table for leverage, his other hand holding you down by the chest, playing with your breasts through your clothes. He feels even deeper from this angle, "I'm close, Marquis". Your orgasm is nearing, but just before you can come, he removes himself. You look at him, confused, as he strokes himself so he can finish. He lets out small moans and the occasional "putain" as he edges closer...closer... Then, he audibly cums, on your face, and on your dress. You're pissed, first you're denied of your orgasm and now your favourite dress is ruined.

He opens his eyes and tucks himself back in, grabbing and tying his belt, "Clean yourself up, fils de pute". You glance over at the hour glass, it's just about to run out. The Marquis catches your gaze and tuts. "Did you really think this would save your pathetic hotel?" The sands run out and there's an explosion in the distance. The Marquis grabs you by the neck and presses you against the window to watch. He grabs your hair so he can whisper in your ear, "these are your consequences".

#marquis de gramont #reader #reader x marquis de gramont #bill skargard #john wick #john wick 4 #vincent de gramont #john wick chapter 4 #marquis vincent de gramont

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marielschism · 1 year

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Please do talk about the Marquis, all plot bunnies, how an eventual relationship with him would turn out. Any thoughts are most anticipated! 👀

FR?????????????? okay!

so i'm currently working on patron of the arts, a marquis de gramont x artist!reader fic where he is an art patron/cultural sugar daddy who is horrendously down bad for you, an artist in their flop era. i'm making an hc post for it over at my writing sideblog [@marielserif] so if anyone's interested 👀 i'll post it some time next week!

pairing: marquis de gramont x reader note: i think i made him unbearably ooc. whatever warnings: some mature themes/content; unedited; not an entirely healthy relationship (vincent has issues!!!!!!)

general relationship hcs

side note: these hcs operate under the assumption that the reader is unaware of his work.

i am deeply fascinated by yandere stuff, so every time i think of marquis de gramont, i can't help but sprinkle a bit of obsessive yearning on his part (because i honestly think he's the type to do so! he chased john wick all over the world! that should be me!). he is ruthless, ambitious, and determined, and i think this, too, translates into how he deals with his relationships.

i think that he's the type to fall hard for someone, but is also the type to deny the feeling initially, trying to stamp it out of his brain as hard as he can, constantly pretending that he is unaffected by you. he does not need you. he wants you. he has lived through most of his life without your presence, surely he can live through more.

his dedication to denying his feelings leads him into a great number of sticky situations: perhaps he dismisses you a bit too much, and it puts a significant strain on your relationship. he might even end up with you hating him.

he is used to being feared. he is used to being hunted. but he will never get used to the feeling of your hatred, so that could easily force him to act on his feelings before he makes things worse. it is a wake up call for him: he does not want to lose you because of his own pride.

good for you!

when the marquis is in it, good god, he is in it.

i think that marquis de gramont is an incredibly selfish man. if he loves you, you become an extension of himself — and in turn, he will ensure your safety and your joy. you deserve it. you're his.

he's a patron of the arts — he'll get along with you better if you have some appreciation for art and culture. your conversations with him will be longer, too, and sometimes more heated. vincent is very opinionated, and he'll defend his opinions to the death. he'll take you to museums, renting out entire scenic cultural hotspots just for you (and him) to enjoy at your own pace. he is prone to over-explaining when he is excited, so expect that you'll be doing a lot of listening.

if he senses that you're actually listening to him and he's feeling particularly generous, he'll reward you. you know what that entails.

there are times where you're feeling tired, and you're just not in the mood to listen to him ramble about his least favorite painting in the musee d'orsay. he does not fault you for it, but you feel the mild disappointment radiating off him in waves. you'll have to...make it up to him somehow.

he'll appreciate it very much.

anyway, vincent will take you to the ballet, dress you in the finest of things, and take you to the swankiest of establishments. you deserve nothing but the best.

if you inform him that you are uncomfortable with being spoiled like this, he will try to tone it down a little. the code word here is try. he will go back to sending you swarovski-embellished fountain pens in two weeks.

despite this, he's not above accompanying you to places like gas stations or grocery stores. sure, he'll take at least three bodyguards with him to ensure your safety, but he'll be there for you. he's capable of being normal!

(forgot to mention that vincent de gramont is territorial and overprotective at times. what's the use of all of his power if he can't use it protect the one he loves?)

(his brand of protection can feel almost like a prison at times. you'll have to clearly communicate with him about what you want, and you have to be very firm with him if you don't want to feel like you're a bird in a gilded cage. you have to make sure that he knows you won't just take it.)

(you need a backbone to love him. that's the truth of it all.)

vincent is also touch-starved, though he denies this constantly.

he can be an incredibly greedy kisser. he kisses you like he's starving, and he'll hold you like you'll turn into dust if he lets go.

he can be gentle, too — easy does it, and he takes it as slow as you want. languid, lazy, like you have all of the time in the world.

he's also a horrific tease. he's a smug bastard. he'll do everything except kiss you — he'll bite your earlobe, let his lips travel to your pulse, and kiss the corners of your lips. when you whine, he'll pull away with that smirk of his, and leave you to your racing heart. you're flustered as hell, and he looks unaffected by it.

(it's a lot harder for him to keep his composure if you're the one teasing him.)

he reaches out for you in his sleep, even if he is alone. a tired vincent will always reach out for you, no matter what stage of sleep he's in. in his sleep, he'll end up wrapping himself around your entire body like a boa constrictor no matter your size. one time, he fell asleep on top of you, and you had to elbow him awake because he was suffocating you.

(he owns a weighted blanket for when you're not around.)

if you play with vincent's hair, he will complain about you messing up the handiwork of his treasured coiffeur, but he won't say a word. when you pull your hands off his hair, he'll actually whine, and place your hands back. you have to clear your schedule if you want to play with his hair; he will not let you out of his presence until he's dead asleep.

if you really want to see a very stressed vincent, you can deny him your touch for weeks on end. but why would you do that? 😊

he's prone to taking drastic actions to get what he wants. a desperate vincent de gramont is someone you do not want to meet; a desperate vincent de gramont gets results.

so god help those who will try to take you from him.

plot bunnies

i really need to finish this because i have a 7-page paper due in 42 hours

i desperately wanted to write a ballet dancer!reader x patron!marquis de gramont instead of an artist!reader but im going to be completely honest with you i have zero knowledge of the world of ballet and i would NOT be able to do the idea justice.

(your rival dancer goes missing because of your patron. you investigate. things do not go well.)

also another plot bunny: leverage!reader

the marquis keeps an eye on you as leverage over your father, who is under his employ. think caine and his daughter.

he threatens your safety to keep your father in line constantly — but he's grown fond of you, strangely. you have a harmless hobby. it is soothing to watch you work. he is not going to hurt you.

(vincent even has his men protect you from harm. their presence in the area deter would-be muggers. you do not know this.)

at one point, your father grows stubborn, and vincent has to take a very drastic measure to ensure his cooperation.

he kidnaps you. of course he does.

strange things happen.

assistant!reader! you are his faithful assistant, and you get hurt in the line of duty. oh noooo. what happens next??? :OOO

#marquis de gramont x reader #jw4 #marquis vincent de gramont #hello anon thank u for sending me this ask 😭 i desperately want to talk about him more #you unlocked something in me #anon #so little MVDG fics im gnna be sick. i had to add to it! i had to!#even if i am terrible at writing!#vincentposting

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