#john wick fanfiction

[imajinxnation]

my request is a fluffy John wick x reader tickle fight 👉🏽👈🏽\ _( #* u *#)\_

Who Knew??

John Wick x FEM!Reader

SUMMARY // You were just trying to be sweet.. but found something even better..

TW // Fluff, Suggestive, Cussing..

Omgggg this is so fukkin cute!!

ALL GIFS FROM PINTEREST

John had had a long day, and you knew the moment he got home that he wasn't in a particularily good mood, so you did what any other loving girlfriend would do; you decided to pamper him. Now, to clarify, the moment you suggested to John a day of relaxation for himself, he looked at you as if you were the most insane individual in the world.

To which you only responded with a roll of your eyes and a very annoyed glare back. He deserved a day off and to relax, whether he thought so or not, you would give him his relaxation anyways. After the life he had lead before you two got together, he deserved every bit of peace he could get, and if that meant oiling up your hands and rubbing his back for 30 minutes.. well, let's just say, you weren't complaining..

And this leads us to where you are now, your slick, oily hands rubbing his scarred and tattooed back as he lay on the couch, towels underneath him so the oil didn't stain the couch. Usually, John is a fairly quiet man, in both pain and pleasure, but this is what got a rise out of him.. Your hands kneading into his tense shoulders and back, rubbing out the painful knots in his muscles with your thumbs got him groaning and moaning like you had never heard before, which was making your panties wetter than the ocean..

At one point, you had accidentally grazed his side and he twitched away, tensing at the tickling sensation of your finger tips on his sensitive flesh. You stopped immediately, thinking something was wrong.

"Are you alright, Honey? Did that hurt?" You ask, concerned.

John sucks in a shakey breath at your question, wondering whether he should tell you the truth or not.

"..No.." he says simply, deciding to just leave it at that, not wanting to give you another advantage to him.

You raise a brow in suspicion and experimentally drag your oily fingers along his side, make him flinch away, a small, huffy laugh coming out through his nose. It clicks in your head at that moment; the infamous, deadly, pencil-stabbing, Baba Yaga.. is fucking ticklish.

You're glad that John can't see your face, because then he would be able to see the face of Satan smirking down at him, ready to attack him with your slick fingers.

John's eyebrows furrow as he realizes how long you've stopped, the silence making him uneasy. And he was right to be uneasy, because not two seconds later, your fingers were tickling and digging into his sides and ribs. For the first time in John's entire life, he yelps and laughs uncontrollably as you poke and prod at his flesh, teasingly, and mischieviously.

"Oh! (Y/n)- STOP! OH MY GO-D FUCKING STOP!" He exclaims between laughs, unable to remove you from him due to how weak he felt at the moment, and how hard he was laughing.

"Nuh-uh! Make me!" You giggle, tickling him harder, making him laugh even harder.

Eventually, he pulled himself from your grip, falling off the couch and onto the floor on his back, the oil covering his skin sticking to the floor. John calms down quickly, sitting up and glaring at you, a gleam of fire and mischief in his chocolate coloured eyes. Your eyes widen as you realize what he's about to do and you hop over the back of the towel covered couch, trying to run away from his incoming retaliation.

Obviously, you're no match for John Wick, because he catches you in no time, tackling you to the floor in the middle of your hallway, pulling up your shirt to reveal your own stomach and ribs. He digs his fingers into your soft flesh, tickling and squeezing your sides, stomach and ribs. You scream and squeal, trying to push him off with weak, jelly-like arms, squirming and laughing underneath him, tears forming in the corner of your eyes as you laugh your head off.

"I-I'M SORRY! I SURRENDER, JOHN, I SURREN-DER!" You cry out, barely intelligable due to your laboured breaths and giggles, tears streaming down your face in jovial laughter.

John lets out the most genuine laugh you've ever heard from him and finally stops, but leans down to give you one last shock. He shakes his head and blows a raspberry on your stomach, making you squeal one last time. He climbs off of your body and sits on the hallway floor in front of you, letting you catch your breath for a few minutes before you sit up aswell.

"Wow.. why didn't you tell me?" You ask, out of breath and smiling hysterically.

"This.. this is exactly why I never said anything, you mischievious little she-devil!" John grins back teasingly.

"Oh God.. now I gotta mop the floor, we covered it in oil!" You laugh, majority of the oil on your hands now on the floor.

"Yeah.. You'll be doing that, seeing as this is your fault!" John laughs back.

You pout playfully, but smile immediately after.

"Alright.. understandable. By the way.. your laugh is adorable," you grin and get on your knees, leaning foreward to kiss him gently.

John chuckles breathily, kissing you back softly in pure bliss.

Who knew the Baba Yaga could have such a sweet laugh..

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[matthew-gray-gublers-babygirl]

Safe - John Wick x Fem!Reader

Summary: John comes home from work and he is wounded, and as his worried wife, you help him.

Warnings: swearing, oral m!receiving, blood/gore, talk of violence, mainly fluff.

Enjoy!

You sit alone in your large kitchen, biting your nails and shaking your leg as you anxiously wait for your husband to come home.

His profession was extremely dangerous. Every time he went out you didn’t know if he was alive. Whenever you heard a car pass by your house, you wondered if it were the police coming to inform you that your husband had passed.

You knew that you had to make certain sacrifices that came with being married to The John Wick, the Boogie Man, as they call him.

You hear the door unlock, and your breath hitched. Running to the door, you are met with John. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding back tears as you nuzzle your face into the crook of us neck. “Oh, John…”

His hands weakily wrap around your waist. “Y/N…” he sighs, resting his chin atop your head.

Your hand trails down the chest of his suit. You find the red substance of blood on his white shirt. “You were shot?”

“Stabbed,” he says. “Not too bad. I’ve been though worse,”

You sigh. “Yeah, just stabbed.” You say sarcastically. “What if next time you get stabbed even worse, or shot, and you don’t make it through?” You question.

John gives you a saddened look. “I’m sorry, Y/N. You have a right to be mad, and worried.”

You give him an angered gaze, but it slowly fades as you hear the sincerity in his voice. You lean up to kiss him. “You’re right,” you say.

You take him to the kitchen where you strip him of his suit jacket and button up shirt. “This is going to sting,” you say. “I know,” he replies.

The wound was shallow, but it was still gushing a fair amount of blood. Once you were able to slow down the bleeding, you begin to clean it. John lightly hisses as you disinfect his wound.

You quickly bandage it neatly, then reward him with a warm kiss on his lips. “You have to stop this, John,”

“I know,” he says again. “I- I can retire, if you want.”

“Will you really do that for me?”

“Of course, baby. You are more important than work.”

You smile softly. “If you think it’s the best, then you can. I will support whatever you do,” you say. “Will you be safe?” You ask.

“We are safe. We will always be safe.”

“No, will you be safe?”

John pauses for a concerning amount of time. “I will be safe.” He says. “And if anybody comes after you, or me, I will kill them.”

“John,” you say like a disappointed mother. But, you couldn’t help but smile. You loved your mass murderer husband.

“That’s the spirit, love,” he smiles and gives you a kiss.

“You should go wash up,” you tell him. His face was cut, as well as his hair slicked back with sweat.

“Join me?”

“Very funny,” you laugh before sending him up to the bathroom to clean off the sins of the night. “Be mindful of your bandages,”

“Yes, ma’am,” John chuckled.

John finds his way to the master bathroom. He strips the rest of his clothes and got into the shower. His bandage inevitably got wet.

He ran his hands through his hair, feeling as the heterogeneous mixture of sweat, styling gel and water ran down his back. It felt so releiving to wash himself of the stress and torment of his job.

He used a musky scented soap to wash off the sweat and grime he had accumulated through the night. He exited the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist before redressing his wound.

John left the bathroom, towel still lazily around his waist. You were in bed, reading a book as you awaited for your husband to join you.

You couldn’t help but look at his chiseled abs and cutting hip bones. Of course, you also couldn’t ignore his broad shoulders and tattoo covered back.

“Y/N. You’re starring,”

“Oh,” you say. “Sorry,” you laugh, and he smirks. “Is it such a crime to appreciate my husbands body?”

“No. Just funny to call you out on it,” he says. He grabs a pair of sweatpants and slipped them on.

“Come lay down, babe,” you pull back the comforter in the empty space for him to fill. He slowly lays down, and he groans as his aching back hits the bed.

“Are you really going to retire?” You ask as your hand gently rests on his chest. You slowly draw circles on his skin, avoiding any bruised areas.

“Anything for you,”

You smile, and he slowly leans in to connect your lips in a gently kiss. “I will love you forever…” he murmurs agaisnt your lips. “I will love you when I’m below the ground, and I will love you after the earth ceases to exist…”

You rest your forehead against his, shakily sighing. “I love you, too. Always and forever…”

John kisses you again, hungerly needing your touch and presence against his skin. He gently grips your hair as he hums against your soft, pillowy lips.

His hand reaches for your waist, pulling your laying body closer to his. He squeezes your flesh though your sleep shirt. You whine at the tight squeeze.

Johns lips trail off yours, adventuring down your jaw to suck hot sores on your neck. His hand on your waist moves up, dangerously close to your chest. He cups your breast with his sore and bruised hands through your shirt, gently massaging it in his palm. He knew just how to make you fold.

“John-“ you whisper.

“What, love?”

“Not tonight. You need to heal.” You tell him.

He rests his head on your shoulder, sighing softly. “You’re right,” he whispers. “It’s just so hard to keep my hands off you.” He glances down at his lap, seeing the tent growing in his sweatpants.

“Y/N?”

“Yes, baby?” You reply.

“I- um. I know you said I have to heal. But, what am I supposed to do about that?” He asks, moving away from the crook of your neck to show the erection in his pants.

You think for a moment, keeping your eyes fixated on his bulge. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t use my hands or my mouth on you,” you tell him, and he grins.

You reach for the waistband of his sweatpants, slowly pulling them off his thighs. Johns cock springs out from his pants. He was hard and throbbing just by touching your breasts.

You grasp his length. His breath hitched at the sight of your hand around his dick. You slowly begin stroking him. You hover above him, letting a string of spit slowly dripping down onto his tip.

“Oh-“ he mumbled as the warm liquid touches his pulsating crown.

You gently kiss the tip, your hand still stroking his shaft slowly.

“Y/N…”

You whimper against his cock at the sound of his voice. You knew you had to resist him. You couldn’t risk opening his wound and causing him any pain. Hopefully an orgasm would help his aching body in some way.

You slowly take in his length. You suck the tip, humming at the salty taste of his pre-cum. You knew he wasn’t going to last too long. He never lasted long when you sucked him off.

“Just like that, baby,” he praised, “don’t stop- fuck. Don’t stop-“

You didn’t stop, and you weren’t going to stop until you pleasured him to your full ability.

You take in more of his cock. John shivered at the sight of his erection engulfed in your mouth.

“I’m close- shit. I’m gonna cum. Fuck.” He moans.

You began sucking him faster. You felt as your lips glided over the thriving veins on his cock, but always focusing on the tip. He loved it when you toyed with his tip.

His hips shudder, causing you to gag. “Sorry, baby,” he quickly says. You don’t reply, gagging again. You didn’t care if you gagged on his cock. You loved it, because you knew that you were doing good.

His hips jerk up again. He grips your hair, moaning your name as you quickly and steadily suck his cock. He began chasing his release.

“Fuck!” He moans. His eyes roll back, head hitting the pillow as his cum shoots into your mouth. You always loved the taste of his cum.

You finish him off with your hand, swallowing all his arousal as you did. Cum continued to shoot out, going all over your hand as he bucked his hips into your palm.

You happily licked it off, humming at the salty, yet at the same time, sweet taste.

“Fuck. Thank you, baby…” he whispers. The pleasure helped ease some of his pain.

“Anything for you,” you smile. You kiss him, and he tastes his own cum off your lips.

“Can I return the favour?” He asks, toying with the elastic band of your sleep shorts.

You shake your head. “Not tonight. You can in the morning once you have some rest,” you tell him. He frowns, but obeys.

“Okay,” John says. He fixes his sweatpants, and you grab a tissue off the night stand to wipe the spit and cum off your hand, and a bit of the white fluid that got on his stomach. John reachs over to turn off the bedside lamp, groaning as his body was strained to make the reach.

“Goodnight, baby…” you lay your head on his chest, yet again mindful of the bruises and cuts.

“Goodnight. I love you…” John whispers

“I love you too…”

#john wick #john wick fanfic #john wick fanfiction #john wick x y/n #john wick franchise #john wick smut #john wick 4 #john wick x reader #keanu reeves john wick #keanu reeves

[ruskaroma]

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

[6lostgirl6]

yandere john wick with “I would never hurt you. You know that, right?” he just gives off such over protective/possessive energyyy 🤭

Your Protector

Pairing: Yandere!John Wick x Fem!Reader

TW: Yandere themes, toxic themes, mentioned stalking, kidnapping, possessive behavior, obsessive behavior, pet names, dubious kissing (at first), slightly suggestive. Reblogs are highly appreciated!!

It was infatuation and obsession that drove him to take such drastic measures. Ever since he saw you, he was absolutely convinced that you were meant for him. His second chance at happiness and love since the passing of his wife, Helen.

It was also fear, fear that if he didn't kidnap you, you would be somehow hurt or even killed. John has spent many nights without sleep, worried over your safety. He knew that if he didn't take action, something was bound to happen.

You never met him before, never spoke with him, and it was a shock when he finally kidnapped you. A complete stranger. The last thing you could remember was walking home from another late-night shift and being grabbed from behind. In a millisecond, your mouth was covered by a cloth and your vision went black.

When you finally came to, you realized you did not recognize your surroundings. You were resting in a lavish guest room and you were still trying to wrap your brain around what was happening. While you were gathering your bearings, a man appeared. He was standing over you by the side of the bed.

"Good morning, sweetheart." The man said with a smile, greeting you in an affectionate tone. "I hope you slept well."

At first glance, he was a very attractive man and of great wealth. His towering stature, long black hair and wearing a seemingly expensive black tailored suit.

“Who are you?” You asked in fright, staring at him with wide eyes.

“W-What’s going on?” You scooted back against the headboard, trying to maintain some distance between you and the man. “What do you want?” You continued to stare at him, fearful of what he might do. 

His gaze held a disturbing mixture of kindness and menace as he looked down at you. "Don't be afraid, I'm not going to hurt you." He paused for a moment, as if weighing his next words carefully. "I just want to make sure that we're together. Forever."

“Who are you?” You were confused, having not ever met this strange man before in your entire life. You thought that this man was clearly delusional, could be mistaking you for someone else. He wanted the two of you to be together, but you could not understand the reasoning behind it. You needed to figure out who he is and hopefully find means of escaping. 

"I'm John Wick," he says simply, leaning over you. He has this strange, almost otherworldly quality about him that's difficult to explain. A sense of danger, but not necessarily violence. He's calm and collected, but you also feel the threat of his presence. It's like looking into the eyes of a predator, one who's just been waiting for the right moment to strike. It's terrifying, yet compelling at the same time.

Noticing your fear, he slowly moved to sit on the edge of the bed, bringing himself a little more to your level of height. However, he still continued to tower over you. With slight hesitation, he reached out and placed his hand on your cheek, his thumb brushing gently against your cheekbone. It's a gesture of familiarity and affection, yet there's a sense of darkness and danger to it.

"Don't be afraid, sweetheart." He said with a small smile, his intense dark-brown eyes locking onto yours. It was almost hypnotic, the way he was looking at you. Almost as if he truly knew you and for quite some time too. It left you feeling conflicted, complicated emotions infiltrating your heart.

His touch that was so gentle against your cheek, prompted your cheeks to grow a little warm. His affection was breaking down your resolve and leaving you quite nervous. Not nervous as if you were fearing for your life for feeling anxious, but rather the form of butterflies forming in your stomach and your heart in your throat. 

The warmth creeping onto your face seems to embolden John, and he leans in closer to you, his hand still resting on your cheek as the other trails its way down your thigh. He stared at you, his dark eyes taking in every detail of your appearance.

"You're so beautiful.” He whispers, his warm breath fanning across your face. There's an intensity to him that's almost frightening. He appeared like a wild animal, one that could snap at any moment. It was undeniable that there was something primal about him, something you can't help but be attracted to.

You couldn’t reply, unable to form any coherent sentences from the intensity and electrifying touch of his hand on your thigh. Slowly, you were feeling less uncomfortable but rather shy from his affectionate touches. However, your walls were starting to return when you remembered that you didn't even know this man.

“John…why are you doing this? You don’t even know me.”

"Because you're mine." He replied, his gaze was intense and there was undeniable heat in his voice. It was more than enough to make you feel a little dizzy. Almost as if you were falling into some dark abyss. There's no question that this man is dangerous, but you can't help feeling drawn to him. He exudes a primal, dangerous energy that is almost addictive, and you find yourself craving more of his attention and touch.”And I do know you, I know everything about you, (Y/N).”

You glanced towards the door, noticing that it was left open. Your logical side was screaming for you to wake up and understand that you were involved with something, someone, extremely dangerous. In that second, you were broken out of your spell. 

You hesitate before launching yourself from the bed in an attempt to escape.

John's smile fades as you attempt to flee, his expression turning dark and deadly. Without even seeming to move, he blocks the door, his body looming over you like a shadow of death. 

"Don't." He says, his voice low and dangerous. “You'll only make this harder for yourself, sweetheart." His eyes are cold and calculating, but there's also a strange desire behind them. 

One that's both terrifying and alluring.

With wide eyes, you backed away, feeling small in comparison to his looming figure and his predatory stance. The size difference between you two was incredible. You continued to keep your distance, placing yourself between furniture. 

With slow and deliberate steps, he follows you around the room, seemingly getting closer with each passing moment. He had the patience of an animal on the verge of a hunt. You can feel his eyes on you, tracking your every move. When he speaks again, his voice is calm, but there's something dangerous hidden beneath the surface. He's like a calm sea hiding the storm underneath. 

"You can't get away from me, sweetheart." He begins to move closer again, this time grabbing your wrist and holding it tight, his grasp like iron. "You belong to me."

“Yeah, right!” You struggled, trying to rip your wrist away from his grasp, he could only stare at you in slight amusement and anger. “I don’t belong to you or anyone! Nothing you will ever do will make me think otherwise!”

He raises an eyebrow and smirks at you, before he replies. 

"Alright then." 

Without warning, he pulls you towards him, kissing you passionately. His body is firm and strong, holding you tightly in his arms. His kiss is passionate and intense, like he's pouring all of his feelings and desires into it. The kiss was passionate and borderline possessive, trying to make you submit and accept him as your lover and protector. His grip around your wrist and waist is tight, becoming a little painful. You’re completely at his mercy and helpless in his arms.

You gasp from the sudden kiss, feeling intense emotions swirling within you and making your heart skip a beat. After a small moment, you began to return the kiss, thoughts of escaping melting from your mind. He also seemed to relax more into the kiss, it turning softer and loving, feeling that you were slowly but surely returning his affections. He pulls away after a moment, staring at you with a hungry and passionate gaze. 

"Are you convinced?" He asks, his voice low and husky, his gaze very heated and full of immense desire. He's still holding you tightly in his arms, not letting you go anywhere. He simply couldn't get enough of you. It's adamant that this animal has a lot of pent-up desire and passion. Now, he was looking forward to releasing it all onto you.  

"Y-Yes..." You muttered, your brain currently in a state of mush. You simply looked up at him with wide eyes, your cheeks warm from the intensity of his affections.

Slowly, he released your wrist, bringing his hand up to caress your cheek, his thumb brushing just underneath your eye. His touch was gentle and even a little soothing. He looked into your eyes, his heated stare now full of softness towards you. “I would never hurt you. You know that, right?” His voice, similar to his touch, was also full of softness. 

“Y-Yes…” Your resolve was completely demolished, he has successfully twisted your feelings around and made your heart scream out for more of his attention. Thoughts of finding a way to escape barely crossed your mind, your logical side slipping further away from your grasp. 

You simply didn’t care. 

"Good." He whispers, his voice was husky once more, full of want and desire for you.

With another powerful pull, he brings you into another kiss, one that is even more passionate than the first one. Knowing that you finally submitted left him with an animalistic excitement. He's hungry for you, almost starving for your touch and affection, and you can barely keep up with his ravenous desires. His excitement continued to grow, his grip on you tightening as he held you in his arms.  

"You're mine now, my love."  He continues, his eyes glistening with desire. 

Spam Liking W/O Reblogging = Blocked

Taglist: Comment to be added!!

@prettywhenibleed

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[greenmanalishi]

*CHAPTER 4 SPOILER*

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[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

ACITHYCS.

“a crack in the heart you call stone” (john wick/fem reader)

Running away from John Wick is never a good idea. TW: nsfw, noncon, dead dove, abuse, violence, power dynamics except the reader doesn’t have any power, smacking, spanking, choking, rough, awful shit. Your assassin sweetheart is not sweet in this. He’s fucked in the head, but I mean it is your fault.

It was a really, really, really.

Really. 

Bad fucking idea. 

Bad fucking idea to turn cottontail and run away in the night. 

Run from him.

But you did, didn’t you? Maybe because you didn’t realize what a stupid decision you were making, maybe because you were too scared to stay, maybe because you didn’t know what else to do. 

Maybe because running away from monsters is the standard of sane and you needed to prove that you were not crazy. 

“That’s bullshit,” you know he’d say, “your decisions are your own and you will deal with their consequences.”

And, oh fuck, you haven’t heard his voice in so long - that sweet honey heroin aphrodisiac infused growl - but somehow little drops of it still sit sticky inside your ears. 

Your cotton panties feel uncomfortable and clingy, and you have to squirm several times in your seat to pull fabric from damp folds. 

That’s the worst part, the one that makes you want to put a 9 mm barrel in your mouth because surely - guaranteed - you’re sick in the head for almost - ha, who are you kidding - for definitely - wanting him to find you. 

Insane after all, even through the trouble to prove otherwise. 

You shouldn’t get out of the cab, you shouldn’t walk upstairs to your apartment, you shouldn’t open the already unlocked door, you shouldn’t start curling your toes and burning when you see him casually sitting at your dining table, drinking a cold beer and eating leftover pizza. Like he just belongs here, in the life you picked specifically void of him.

He ignores you, favoring the newspaper clutched in his fist, munching and relaxing and as handsome as any husband should strive to be.

You take the chair opposite from him and press your thighs together in anticipation of that involuntary, awful clench of your cunt when his broody eyes meet yours. You try to rest your hands on the table, but pull them back into your lap when you notice they are visibly shaking. 

“John.” You’re surprised you can talk through the saliva filling your mouth. 

“Hello, honey,” he says, then kicks the table out of the way and muffles your scream with the loud crash into the kitchen counter. No barrier between the two of you now - really, you’re a fucking idiot to think anything could keep this beautiful, horrifying human wrecking ball away from you - and he fists the loose fabric dress over your tummy and tugs you forward. 

“You know what happens now?” He asks, terrifying you with a smile. 

You blink owlishly up at him, tears globbing on your bottom lashes, body shaking violently, and ask: “wh-what?” 

Instead of answering, he grabs your throat, takes you off your feet and slams you - not gently - against the wall. Picture frames smash to the ground, scatter glass over the linoleum. One minute you’re breathing, and the next you’re wondering what delicious air even tastes like.

You claw at his hands, face swelling up and turning a shade of beautiful blue that grabs his cocks attention - the length of him fattens up against your tummy and he grinds into your soft, plump skin, hard and unforgiving. 

There’s black hellfire in his eyes, a dark promise to make you sorry for your miserable little John-free existence, and, for a second, you resign to the notion that he is going to keep his iron grip around your suffocating throat until you pass out. Your vision is already blurring and darkening, claws scratching pitifully at his arms. A little woodland creature in a big bear trap. 

But, he lets you go, dropping you right on the hard floor, and you land on your ass, gasping for air, face soaked from tears, dress ripped down the middle. He jams his pointy shoe in between your legs, pressing the tip into your cunt, hurting you. 

“John, please,” you whimper through grit teeth, trying to push his leg away and only getting a big black dress shoe crushing your pussy as reward. 

Your head flips back, neck craning just enough to put agonizing tension on your scalp and spine. His fist nets what feels like every tearing hair on your head, and you can’t help but screech in pain. 

“Please,” he repeats, voice eerily calm even as he’s shoving his fingers down your throat and making you choke. He pulls out and leaves thick white spit dripping onto your pouty lips and chin. He smears the excess on your cheek and smiles down at you - almost lovingly - “you’re begging already? Fucking pathetic.” His foot digs deeper into you and you let out a cry, proving his point. You are pathetic. 

“Oh, I missed this tight little cunt,” he sighs and closes his eyes as if talking to himself. “Thought about her every fucking day.” 

“John, I’m sorry, I-“ 

“Shut up.” He slaps you on the cheek, hard enough to leave a big red welt, then lugs you up by your hair. He doesn’t bother to move his leg, so your bare skin scrapes raw on the rough fabric of his pants. “The only thing that’s gonna come out of that pretty mouth from now on is ‘yes, John.’”

He spins you around, manhandles you onto the counter, presses his cock into the cotton of your panties and slaps your ass harder than he had done to your face. He watches your plump jiggle and retract, wets his lips, grunts. “Did you hear me, babydoll?” He slaps the same spot, and you yelp and claw at the counter. 

“Yes, John.” The phone is right beside your head, you see the screen light up with worried texts from your friends, asking if you’re home yet. You could try and pick it up, call someone, dial 911, but this is John, and you know there’s not a chance in hell you could touch that phone without him crushing it in one grip. 

“Oh?” He sees where your eyes are, of course he does. He’s a fucking lethal predator, and you’re just a stupid girl. “You wanna call somebody to come save you? Do it. Call them. But you’re gonna watch attentively while I kill them all, I can promise you that, honey.”

Fat wet tears run down your cheeks and puddle on the counter. You can’t help but feel partially responsible for the crazed, lightless black fire in his eyes. The way he’s completely gone and fucked in the head. No, not partially. This is all your fault. You drove him to madness, left him with a broken heart that turned black and rotten over time, and now you’re gonna deal with the repercussions. 

He grinds up against your cunt and ass, so smashed in that you feel his plump cock head chafing your clit. He tugs on your hair to bring your face off the counter. “My little cry baby’s gonna be sobbing a lot more often, now.” He tsks as if disappointed. 

He slaps your ass for a good bit, alternating each cheek, using the tips of his fingers to make the sting unbearable. You almost move your hands to cover the raw red skin, but he tugs your head back harshly in warning. 

You whimper and put your hands back on the cool counter, wishing it was your ass instead - the tissue is on fire, a new level of burning every time his hand meets your flesh. 

His palm is worse than his fingertips. It’s a throbbing pain that shoots over your back, legs, and tummy, and he gets you screaming with a big, ruthless swing. Screaming and crying and kicking your feet and biting your lip hard enough to taste pennies. 

Sharp slaps on your plump little cunt turn you into a sobbing, begging wreck of a human. Then, he pulls your panties to the side and pinches your burning labia, tugging and stretching, making it snap and swell. 

“She missed my cock, huh? How many times did you try and fail to fill her up?” 

He unzips himself and pushes his pants and boxers down, then jams his massive cock into your unprepared hole and you wail into the counter. 

“How could you fucking do this to this to her?” he laments with a snarl, thrusting into you with shattering, slow slams. 

You try and nudge yourself onto the counter to get his raging tip away from your cervix, but he pulls you farther down on him instead and starts taking what he wants, hard and unforgiving, hair fisted in his hand so that your back arches for his cock to pound deeper into you.

“John. Please. I can- can’t. Fuck. Too much. It hurts.”

He smacks your ass with palm again, only this time latching to your skin, fisting a pound of flesh and fat. That familiar flop flop flop of your body accommodating his intrusion tells you that you’re soaking his dick and making it easier for him to fuck you harder. Traitorous fucking whore. 

“What did I say?” He asks you, that poised voice cracking into growls and grunts and groans, slick with impending orgasm. 

You don’t answer soon enough, and he digs further into your ass with blunt nails. You feel like he’s going to rip the meat right off your body. 

“Yes, John.” But he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t let up. He gets meaner, lifting your feet up off the ground and your head impossibly higher in the air, making so the only thing holding you up is his brutal cock. You feel fucking impaled. 

You’re helpless, trapped, humiliated, and all you can do is take the rough slap of his pelvis against your abused skin. When he reaches down and pushes his fingers into your swollen lips to find your clit, you can’t help but hate yourself for enjoying this - this consuming fire spreading, overtaking, the choice to orgasm from this brutality ripped away from you as he rubs and fucks you toward blinding, white hot release. 

He leans over you, puts one foot on the counter beside your ass to give him an impossibly deeper angle that reads like his cock is in your womb. 

With all senses overwhelmed by excruciating pleasure - an impending orgasm that’s going that’s going to wreck you - the only thing you can really do is cry and take it until he decides to baste your burning cervix in cum. 

It’s immediately spurting from you, coating your thighs, his legs, dripping pearly rivulets onto the floor. He replaces his dick with two fingers, wrenching away any hope of release, gathers some fluid and brings it up to the only unstained place - your asshole. He costs the outer tissue, pushes two fingers in and curls them down, rubs at your delicate insides harshly. 

“Think you can handle my cock in your ass, Mrs. Wick?” He leaves two fingers inside your anus and pushes his thumb into your snapping, gaping, runny cunt. You push back onto his finger, trying to fuck the almost orgasm free from your aching hole. 

John snorts as if to laugh at this whorish attempt. 

“Tell you what, I’ll give you two choices: I shove my dick into your ass and fuck it as hard as I want til’ I cum again. Or. I spend a few hours prepping you to take my cock. What do you think?”

“Need a break,” you mumble, fresh tears rolling down your cheeks in shiny rivulets. 

He smacks your thigh. “That wasn’t an option, honey.”

“Okay��� okay.” Your frantic, hissing tone makes him smile for the first time in a long while… For the first time since you ran away from him and left a sobbing, drunk, blood hungry mess of a man on the kitchen floor; surrounded by glass and blood and splintered wood, screaming, smashing everything in the house to tiny pieces. You don’t know how many people have died terrible deaths for the absence of this spongey, tight, beautiful pussy - Christ, he even dabbled in torture just to see if it would get him off like you could. 

But he’s going to spend the rest of your life reminding you - reminding you that if you ever fucking leave again he’ll kill everyone until you have no one left but him. 

“Ten seconds and then I’m picking for you,” he murmurs, kissing behind your ear. 

He has to press his weight into your hips to keep them from rocking down onto his fingers - the ones he’s got shoved up to the hilt of his hand inside you, teasing your front wall with languid little rubs. 

The resigned, pathetic defeat in your tone warms his heart. “Second option.”

“Which one was that again?” 

“Prep me.” 

He nips your cartilage with his teeth, wrenching a little beaten whine from deep in your throat, the loss of his bully fingers making you clench and spasm and writhe. 

He picks you up, cradles you to his warm heartbeat, kisses your head. You can’t help it, you fold into his embrace, cling to the John you once knew, hands clutching at the lapels of his suit in some desperate attempt to find comfort. 

“I’m sorry, John.” You choke on whimpers, smothering your tears into his collar. 

“Oh, babydoll,” he coos, smoothing your sore scalp. “No you’re not. But you will be.” 

#john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick fanfic #john wick fanfiction #yandere john wick

[beansricejc]

THE CLIENT - John Wick x F!Reader

my masterlist.

synopsis: you go to some extreme measures to make sure you get your rent paid on time.

⚠️ warnings ⚠️: DUB/NON con, s3x work, cursing, sugar daddycore, implied violence, brief descriptions of violence, misleading job descriptions, good & bad name calling, chasing, financial / emotional manipulation, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT! MINORS DNI! 4379 words.

author’s note: I am so sorry about not being active, I’ve been meaning to take this off of the back burner for some time now. If you follow me you probably have noticed that this is based off of a short blurb I uploaded a few months ago. I’ve been avoiding writing because of several anon hate messages I’ve gotten about Fake It, and it put a huge damper on my writing process. but I’m back and I hope you all enjoy!

This economy is shit.

That's the sentence you continue to repeat in your brain. Should you have to work more than your full time accounting job at that stupidly high skyscraper downtown? Absolutely not, but your rent was bumped up by 15%, and a mere 40 hour work week won’t cut it anymore.

“Can you work nights?” The temp agent asks from across his desk. The florescent lights of his office (that is desperately in need of an update) are giving you a headache. The pot of coffee on the table in the corner is starting to burn.

“Yeah. Anytime after 6.” You quickly answer, your leg that’s crossed on top of the other is bouncing. The worker nods his head and clacks his vintage looking keyboard in front of his computer monitor.

The thick silence in this small space might kill you.

The worker’s eyes squint at his screen, before they trail back to you, seeming to give your face and your body a look over.

“Do you have any experience with housekeeping?” The worker asks, which makes your head tilt. Your printed and slightly crumpled resume is right there in front of him. Idiot.

“I mean, not houses, but when I worked retail I would have to clean the store from time to time.” You tell him and raise your eyebrows.

He nods and continues to stare at you. Creep.

“There’s an opening for a private housekeeper gig a bit north. You wouldn’t be tied to an agency, the client would pay you directly.” The man informs you. “Can, can I just do one thing first? Usually our employers, uh, they typically request pictures of their applicants.” The temp agent stammers and grabs his smartphone from his desk drawer. “Let me just…”

You don’t have any time to decline, since the flash is already going off in your direction.

“Uh- I’ve never heard of anything like that.” you question while the man types on his phone.

“Have you been employed through a temp agency before?”

“Well, not exact-“

“Then clearly you’re unfamiliar with how this works.” He interjects before setting the device down. “The pay is very good, although the employer hasn’t told me specifics. 3 nights a week after 6:30. 3 to 4 hour shifts. Does that work?” the worker asks and pushes up his glasses.

You feel a bit dumbfounded, and you have a strange suspicion that this man is gaslighting the hell out of you. But what can you do? You’re about to be 3 weeks late on rent.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” You mumble out.

It wasn’t fine. You hate the fact that instead of being able to snuggle up with your dog and watch reruns of New Girl, you have to pick up a second job.

“Great. I’ll have him give you a call.” was the last thing the man told you before you left the building. Secretly, you hope whoever this ‘employer’ is, they just forget about contacting you.

Hours later, you’re putting groceries into your fridge when your phone starts to vibrate in your pocket. You answer of course.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this, uh…” a deep male voice on the other line asks, accidentally mispronouncing your first name. Chuckling, you quickly correct him. “My mistake, forgive me. Ah, I heard you’re looking for a job?”

Your eyes bulge and you suddenly straighten up as if the man is having a face to face conversation with you. There was no way he was already calling you! Totally unprepared, you cleared your dry throat.

“Yeah, yep, that’s me.” you answer his question. His voice is so sultry. The man is clearly older than you, and it’s clear that he thinks before he speaks.

“Perfect. Pay is 1200 an hour, and if you swing by around 6:45 tomorrow that would be great. Can I email you my address?” The man offers online. You frown and choke on the water you were sipping.

“Woah, woah, excuse me. You said… 1200 an hour?” You repeat his payment offer.

“Yeah, is that a problem? All in cash.”

You almost have a heart attack.

“Nope, nope no problem at all.”

“Excellent. And, by the way, wear something, comfortable.” He says over the phone. You frown.

“Comfortable?” You question.

“Yeah. Comfortable.” He replies.

In hindsight you should have thought this through. You should have seen this coming, since men are disappointing and so vile. And you even know that you’re an idiot for agreeing.

So you do, and end the call.

6:45 comes faster than you thought it would. Your finger presses the door bell, and as you look around the neighborhood he’s in, the only thing you can think of? This dude is in a completely different tax bracket than you.

As for the comfortable clothing, you opted for some leggings and a long sleeve tee shirt that accidentally accentuates your waist and chest. You didn’t think anything of it. Did you think $1200 an hour was a bit off? Totally. But the guy was probably desperate for someone to clean this enormous house up.

You’re completely wrong.

The large door creaks open, and you come to face a man, middle aged, with long dark hair that seems to be tied in the back. A man bun? Really. You don’t say anything about it. Instead you smile and give the classic:

“Hi! You had a cleaning scheduled for 6:45?”

The words are bubbly and of course higher pitched. Like any customer service job, you’ve trained yourself to fake a smile and a friendly voice.

His rugged features surprise you. The way his jaw clenched and unclenched, his dark beard that grows on his face. The way his thin brown eyes trace over your body as he pressed his lips together. As if you were on display, only for him.

You couldn’t deny that he was handsome. But you’re not here for that. You’re here to work.

Are you?

“Yeah, you’ll do.” The man nods and allows you to enter his domain.

What the fuck did that mean? You don’t allow him to see the way your eyebrows scrunch up at his remark.

His house that reeks of modern contemporary architecture, the bachelor pad vibes were insane in this place. Regardless, the home seemed almost empty, even though it wasn’t. The vast size of it makes it so every little noise is able to bounce off the walls.

“Do you want something to drink?” Your new boss asks. He looks down at you with little to no expression on his handsome features. Despite the lack of emotion, a tinge of determination lingers in his narrowed brown eyes. “Call me John, by the way. Mister Wick will make me feel like a senior citizen.”

You just laugh. He already knows your name. Of course he does, why didn’t you expect otherwise? That temp agency definitely gave it to him.

“John it is.” You test out the name on your tongue; the simplicity of it is so right for him.

But something doesn’t sit right with you. It’s as if your body is subconsciously ringing all of the woman alarms that you should listen to.

Oh but you could use the cash! It’s the uneasy pit in your gut that churns and twists, attempting to pry yourself out of the situation.

Of course you ignore it.

“Right. So. There’s this particular spot I need help cleaning.” John’s hand guided you by the small of your back, you didn’t even notice how close he was standing to you. As if John were nothing but a ghost in the wind.

He leads you right in the living room, where a large crimson stain has set itself into the oak flooring. Your eyes widen, instinctively backing away, forgetting that John was directly behind you. Your shorter body runs into his, and he sets his strong hands on your shoulders.

Oh my god. A serial killer hired you. Or at least a murderer. The sheer size of the blood stain definitely was a fatal amount to lose. It’s as if someone had taken a liter of blood and dumped it onto his expensive flooring.

“I’m sure you can understand why this is such a lucrative deal, right?” John’s voice rumbled into your right ear. Chills trickle down your spine, caused simply from his touch and his murmur. But this is bad. You need to leave. You can’t just clean up murder messes for a living!

“I, I don’t know if I can-“

“Oh I know you can. Say, are you a good multi-tasker?” John asked, his grip on your shoulders becoming a bit tighter. It feels possessive almost. You should have listened to your woman warnings your body gave you.

Your canine teeth dig into your soft tongue.

“I mean, yeah.” You squeak out to answer the man who’s paying you. A throaty laugh leaves his mouth.

“Oh, good to hear.”

The scent of his cologne enters your nose. Tobacco, ginger, cocoa even. It’s intoxicating, the way his smell lingers in the air; and how it’ll imprint itself onto your own clothes and skin. You can’t let this man’s Dior Sauvage distract you from getting the fuck out of this house.

“Listen, I don’t-“

“2156, 45rd Avenue. Apartment 5. Right?” John suddenly asks. Those chills that ran down your spine seem to be more sinister than you initially realized. You turn around and glare up at him.

“How do you know that?” You immediately question him with a brash voice.

John lets out a deep chuckle, his handsome smile is so stupid. You don’t want to be attracted to him.

“You should take the job. I could buy your building, your rent could go down significantly.” John smirked down at your trembling form. “But, I’ll need you to be good at more than just cleaning.” His voice grumbles into your ear. His hot breath sticks to your neck. His voice is deep and almost off putting, in a good way. God the way he speaks. The way he looks you over with those pretty brown eyes.

Your mouth lets out a gasp as you suddenly feel his large hand reach around and grab one of your breasts. His unwanted touch feels like fire against your clothing. Your body tries to squirm.

“Shh, dear, let me touch you. I like it more if there’s less of a reaction.” John whispered, you feel his erection grow as he presses his groin into your ass.

“Woah, WOAH!” You yell, shoving him away. Surprisingly he backs away, with his hands in the air. There’s a smirk that plays on his rugged face, as he bites his tongue and lets his eyes devour your body.

“Really? You want to refuse me? Do you know who I am, little girl?” John chuckled, taking a few steps forward.

“You know what? I think I’m good on the job, you’re a fucking weirdo.” Is all you have to say to that. His rugged face has the meanest scowl you have ever seen in your life.

The tension in the air is so uncomfortable, and you want to punch yourself for not listening to your gut. The churning. The accelerated heart rate.

This was all wrong, that creepy temp agent had set you up with some gig that was clearly not legitimate in the slightest, of course it was too good to be true. Men only want one thing, and you don’t know how you didn’t manage to connect the dots.

You grimace at the thought of what he just did to you as your legs sprint towards the door.

“Not so fast, little one.” John growls, it seems he’s got you pinned against his entryway door. Your face is pressed against the wood, and you cry out in pain from the abrupt slam of your body.

“What if I bought your apartment building, and raised your rent? That’s why you have this job, right? That’s why a pretty thing like you waltzed into that temp agency and expected some help. God, I’m glad that agent sent me a picture. Do you know how much I came looking at your confused face?” John huffs out, biting his lip and moaning at the thought. His brown eyes roll to the back of his head for a split second as he recalls the orgasm he had, just thinking about you.

When he was hunched over in his shower, canines digging cuts into his bottom lip and drawing blood as John fucked into his balled up fist. When he whimpered your name like a pathetic needy bitch, the noise bouncing off of the bathroom walls to remind him of what a sick piece of shit he is. The mere idea of him taking advantage of a woman in a predicament like this made his balls ache in excitement. His toes would curl on the wet bathtub floor just imagining you being his good little fuck toy.

The ragged tone in his breath and voice make John sound desperate, deprived even.

“God I want you to swallow my cum so bad, I bet you’d look like a good girl, taking me in your mouth, huh? You wanna swallow daddy’s load?”

You elbow him right in the chest, but fall to the wooden floor while you do so. Too bad you’ve always been a clumsy bitch.

You groan as the pain shoots up your spine. And you panic. This absolute dilf of a man was a freak! And by the looks of all of that blood on his floor, a monster. A serial killer maybe! What the fuck was the point of listening to all of those podcasts if you didn’t take the god damn hints John had shown several times?!

John doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around your waist, lifting you up as you kick, scream, struggle, he even gives your left asscheek a swift smack just for fun. You let out a yelp.

“Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to go into the other room, and I’m going to buy your building. All I have to do is make a call. And you, cutie, get to make a decision.” John chuckled. “You leave, and I’ll have a group of men take out all of your shit from your place; and replace your doorknobs. Or,” John grabs your waist, your hand swats him away as you give him a glare. John sighs and gives you a smile, ruffling your hair with his large hand. “Or you let me have my way with you; while you clean up my little mess. And you won’t have to worry about paying a thing ever again.” John whispers. The man takes a step back, biting his lip at the sight of you being scared of him, before leaving and going into the other room.

You groan, tears brim your eyes as you contemplate your choices. Seeing the vast wealth displayed by just his household furnishings, you figured he wasn’t bluffing. The sting from holding back the cry hurts like a bitch, realizing you have no choice in the matter.

“God dammit.” You mumble, grabbing the cleaning supplies. You can’t help but wonder how the hell this much blood got on this asshole’s floor anyhow. Maybe you didn’t want to know. Either way, baking soda would do the trick here; with some water and dishwasher fluid.

So you get to work, scrubbing and finishing away the blood stain from the wooden floor. It wasn’t nearly as easy as it sounded.

Your stomach churned as you hear him approaching, his Oxford shoes clicking on the ground.

“Oh, good girl.” John snickered from above, you looked up at him with an icy stare, only to see something you certainly didn’t expect.

John and his hand, expertly stroking his hard cock to the sight of you cleaning.

John’s a good size. Bigger than average. Not something straight out of some unrealistic porn video online. The 7 inch long and slightly girthy dick in his grasp twitched, while it dripped precum from the pink shaded tip.

You start to feel something stir in you. This is wrong. You know it’s wrong. But fuck. His lip bite, the way he stroked himself to the sight of you, it’s not like he was ugly or anything. Quite the opposite.

He’s everything every woman dreams about in a man. Dark, brooding, with chiselled features and a symmetrical face. His olive skinned forehead is slick with sweat, definitely from being all hot and bothered at the sight of lil’ ol’ you.

Realistically, there could be worse out there to have fuck you.

“No no, little one. Keep cleaning,” John takes in a sharp breath. “Don’t mind me. Just pretend that this is normal, don’t be distracted. This will be your new normal. You’ll do various tasks around my house, and you let me touch you however I want.”

Now despite what your brain is telling you, the churning in your stomach drifts into butterflies. This isn’t right. In fact, it’s fucking vile. But why is your breath caught in your throat? Why does your head feel like it’s spinning?

You’re too much in your head at the moment, and you don’t notice the sound of a switchblade opening. With one quick motion, you can feel your leggings slice open. Before you have time to gasp, next comes your thong, he’s cutting the fabric and peeling it from your body.

John pressed the soaked cloth to his large nose, taking in a deep breath to get a whiff of your essence. Chills run down his spine as he grows even harder, your pure femininity smells absolutely divine to him.

“Oh you’re so wet for me, you like this, don’t you? You bad fucking girl,” he laughs. Your yelp escaped your dry lips as one of his long fingers swiped your moist entrance, pushing one in to test the waters. Your soft grunt of surprise and disdain covers your pleasure as you continue to try to clean up this stupid blood stain on the wooden floor.

You have to wonder, what the fuck happened here? Your mind goes haywire, imagining the man behind you potentially taking a life in the very spot that you’re in. How did he do it? A gunshot wound? Cutting someone’s throat? Torture? Tying them up by their feet to hang upside down, only to stab their jugular and letting gravity do its job? And why exactly are you thinking of it while John adds another finger, pumping the long calloused digits into your soaking cunt.

You catch yourself backing up against him, moaning a bit as you bite your lip to punish yourself for it. You’re not supposed to like this! What the fuck are you doing?

A suit jacket is tossed aside out of the corner of your eye, as a deep throaty chuckle echoes from the walls of his large house.

“Oh? So I’m right. You do like it.” John chuckles, pulling his fingers out. You let out a whine, almost angry that he would stop fingering you all of a sudden. John slaps your folds with the tip of his cock just for fun.

Your whine is replaced with a sharp squeal, his large hands grip the roots of your messy hair, pulling your head back as his fat tip eases into your pussy. The burn of your head and the burn of his dick throws you in a loop, especially at the sight of John.

John. This perverted, sick and despicable example of a human being, who’s eyes look so soft as he inches in and out of you. There’s a wicked smirk on his face when your eyes shoot to his lips, nothing that the cut up remains of your thong are in his mouth.

And you’re not sure if it’s hot or nasty. The obscene view of him damn near chewing on your underwear has you… well, fucked up. But it’s the way he begins to snap his hips against your ass that makes you forget about it. The other hand whacks your right asscheek, earning another yelp from you.

“You’re a fucking pig!” you sputter out, trying your best to show absolutely revulsion to the way he’s fucking you.

John can see through you like a piece of cling wrap.

You’re not making any progress in cleaning the blood stain, as he thrusts harder into you. You mew loudly while he takes his hand in your hair and instead presses your pretty little face into the floor. Your cheeks and nose throb as scratches embed themselves into your skin, as if you hardly notice. The way John’s cock feels as he has his way with your fluttering cunt is too good to even put into words. You have to remind yourself to breathe while he speaks to you.

“Fuck, you take me so well, princess. I didn’t take you for a good little slut, who’s my slut?”

Gritting your teeth, his tip brushed your cervix, and that will certainly give you an aching feeling tomorrow. You don’t want to admit anything to this monster. But his fist tightens at the roots of your hair, sending pain down your scalp right as his other hand reaches your clit and draws quick circles on it.

“I asked you something, sweetheart. Now fucking answer me.”

“I’m your slut! I’m your slut!” You repeat out, shame fills your belly as you give in to John’s desires, and he giggles in return.

“What an obedient girl you are.” John praises, his thrusts become slower, more passionate even, as if he’s rewarding you for answering him. Somehow, the slower and more sensual movement of his dick feels even better, especially with John incorporating those finger movements on your clit.

“Stop fuckin’ cleanin’, you’re doing a shit job anyway.” John grunts, swatting the brush out of your tiny hands and flipping your body over like a ragdoll. I mean, he’s not wrong, he just doesn’t have to be a dick about it.

“You think you can take me? You’ve been doin’ a good job so far. Better than cleaning, you got a talent for letting me fuck you like this.” John’s words are almost garbled and incoherent but you’re too afraid to shake your head. Before you can even respond, he shoves your cut up panties into your mouth, covering your lips with those calloused large hands, much to your dismay.

You muffle loudly, an attempted “What the fuck?!”, but he only snickered before pumping his cock back into your cunt, lifting your legs so your ankles could have resembled earmuffs on him. Your eyes roll back. He’s so fucking deep, John’s hand moved from your mouth to your throat, restricting your oxygen intake by squeezing as he fucks into you. Using you as his little play thing. Your sticky sweat coated flesh smacks against another, sending the sound throughout the house, along with your softened moans and whimpers.

“Your cunt belongs to me. Got it, bitch?” John asks, these things he is saying to you are fucking terrible, but you can’t help but be excited when they come out. You nod and bite down on what used to be your thong as he continued to rub your wet nub and fuck you hard. Your sharp fingernails dub themselves into his bare thighs, which will definitely leave marks later.

John hisses, but continues plowing into you nonetheless.

“Cum for me. Do it before I change my mind.” John ordered. Say less.

He didn’t have to ask you twice. While your eyes cross, your pussy pulses around his dick, as you become undone under him. Your walls flutter and you whimper loudly, your climax unraveling and finally giving you that oh so satisfying release. John grunts over you.

“That’s it, cum for me, who’s making you cum?” He asks.

“You are! Shit- you are, John,” you mumble into your underwear as your cock drunk state leaves you unable to adjust your body.

John laughs at your undoing, pulling your thong out of your teeth and slipping out of your cunt. It doesn’t take long for him to use his immense strength to lift you up onto your knees, as he gives his slick cock a few jerks with his hand.

“Open.”

In a state of euphoria, you don’t question the man who just gave you a mind blowing orgasm. Your lips part, and he bites his lip as the tip of his dick reached the back of your throat. Your eyes widen as he moans, fingers gripping into your hair once more as he fucks into your mouth a bit more. It doesn’t take long before he climaxed, spurts of cum that you’re forced to take and swallow, like the naive little thing you are.

The things a girl will do to make sure rent is paid in full.

The next few days are certainly something. There are scratches on your face and some light bruising here and there on your body from your, ahem, shift, with John the other night. A male coworker even asked if you had a sprained ankle or something from the way you were walking into the office the next morning.

How embarrassing.

And now you find yourself, checking your mail and getting your rent bill in for the upcoming month. You roll your eyes, tearing the envelope open as your little dog jumps up on your leg, excited that you have arrived home. You aimlessly scratch his head, setting the invoice on your kitchen counter before feeding your pet a scoop of food, and grabbing the checkbook.

It’s almost like it slipped your mind that John had actually acquired your apartment building.

John does many things, but he doesn’t bluff.

Your eyes scan the piece of paper as it hits you like a brick.

Thank you for your business. Please send your payment of: $0.00 by March 1st, 2024.

What the fuck?

The stack of a few thousand dollars stares at you from your desk, and you swallow the lump in your throat. Your mouth dries up when the words in scribbled writing at the bottom read:

See you next week, pretty girl.

xoxo, J.

#john wick #jw #john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #john wick x you #keanu reeves #john wick imagine #jw4 #keanu #john wick fanfic #john wick fanfiction

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 17 all chapters

WARNINGS: THE MOST YANDERE CHAPTER OF THIS YANDERE FIC YET. POSESSIVE BEHAVIOR, NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT. PLZ TAKE CARE. I LUV U ALL.😘

-In the haze between sleep and waking, you are vaguely aware of strong arms wrapped around you, a lean and long body spooned at your back. You feel warm, and safe, and by some signal of scent or touch or cosmic connection from your hindbrain, somehow you just know that it’s Mr. Wick who has you folded up in his embrace. How perfectly you fit, with the curve of your backside tucked against his hips, your legs tangled under the covers.

Your Half Asleep Brain is totally fine with this cozy arrangement. You don’t really remember how you got here, but maybe something for once actually went right.

You let yourself doze.

But then he shifts against you, (that inevitable male hardness poking against your backside), and you wake up a little more, your faculties returning to you as the dreamy curtain of slumber slips away. You start to remember what happened before—the chase, and the murder—and Awake Brain is suddenly not ok with your current arrangement at all.  

Awake Brain is ready to freak the fuck out.

You stiffen in his arms, trying to sit up, but that inexorable grip tightens around you.

“Easy.”

You struggle, but he effortlessly pins you, wrapping a long leg around yours. Between his greater strength and solid weight pressing you down into the mattress, you are stuck. 

“Let me go,” you growl. 

“Not until we have a little talk.” 

Under different circumstances this position could have been interesting. The hard line of his lean body is pressed against you…the length of him against the curve of your bottom.

At least someone is having a good time. 

Even like this from behind, you can tell it’s something to be reckoned with. The thought fills you with an inconvenient bloom of heat, your body betraying you while skipping into the darkness with a song. Your own reaction to him almost makes you angrier than his own actions.

“What the fuck, John?” You strain against him again, naturally, to no avail. He doesn't taunt you, just holds you immobile, and you are a butterfly against a hurricane. 

“Calm down.” 

“Then let me go.” 

You feel him breathe in the scent of your hair behind your ear, before releasing a shuddering sigh.

“We’re in a predicament, y/n.”

“No shit.”

“I think after what you saw...you know I can't let you go.” 

Oh, what's a little quadruple homicide between friends? 

You have the sense to keep this to yourself, at least.

“I won't say anything.” 

“Uh huh.”

“I didn't say anything about the guys in the van.” 

“Well, you didn't have any real evidence then. Just suspicion.” 

“But...you so killed those guys in the van.” 

There’s a long pause before he finally admits, “Yeah.”

You’re not sure why that makes you try to struggle again. It’s just as fruitless as before.

“Who were those guys you killed?” 

You are met with silence. “In Venice?”

Jesus, do you actually have to clarify with this man?

“They were not nice people, y/n.”

“I gathered that. But... who were they?” 

John sighs against you, and you take some heart as you feel his grip loosen slightly so he’s not absolutely crushing you. “They were enforcers for the Camorra crime syndicate.”

“And...why did they have such a problem with you?” 

“Bad blood, from an old job I did in Rome.”

A job. You’ve seen enough movies to know what that means. He really was a hitman. Jesus H Christ.

“You thought they wouldn't want revenge, if you went back to Italy?” 

“I had to risk it.” 

“Did you?” 

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

You’re baiting him, but you just can’t help it. You’re angry, and you’re sore, and he’s pinning you down like you’re just a feather and you do not fucking like it.

You feel him growl behind you, and fuck you if the low vibration does not strike some primal cord in your body, something left over from the time when your ancestors still lived in caves.

He moves so fast you have no chance to take advantage, turning you so that you are laying chest to chest. His erection presses into your hip, and he pins you with those beautiful dark eyes boring down into yours. It takes every iota of self-control you possess not to spread your legs so that he can settle into the cradle of your hips, where you fear he would fit so very well. 

He traps your small hands above your head with just one of his, using the other to hold the side of your face, keeping your attention on him. You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t, but you are finding you like it when he touches you like this, like he is your master and you are his pretty little doll to manipulate how he pleases.

Your eyes close, just for a moment, before you force yourself to keep them open. Keep your eye on the danger, a voice in your head tells you. 

A less helpful voice suggests that you just give in and let him fuck you silly. 

You ignore that one, for now. 

“Because,” he grouses with a scowl. “I was afraid you’d meet some handsome dipshit your own age, and…move to fucking Argentina!”

You don’t know where you get the pluck to frown back up at him. This poor, dear, deranged man.

“John…”

Do you know how crazy you sound?

You don't dare say it out loud. 

Maybe it would have been smart to try to win points by assuring him you were coming back to him. It was even 100 percent the truth at the time. But something spiteful in you doesn’t want to offer him that declaration now. You feel like he lost his right to it.

That laser-like stare shifts from your eyes to your mouth, a moment before descending to press his lips to yours. His lips are soft, but the kiss is nothing less than possessive. Even so, you have to fight not to let him lull you with his clever mouth and the tantalizing slide of his tongue. 

A fresh wave of anger hits you, because you want this. You want him, and he could have had you so easily, without having to…what? Stalk you? Take you?

You realize you don't even know where you are. 

All this accumulates in you in the matter of a second, and you express this frustration by clamping his lip between your teeth. It's more a warning, than anything. You do not draw blood, but you bite hard enough to make him pause. 

“I wouldn't do that if I were you.” It’s almost funny, the way he sounds talking around his lip in your teeth. Yet somehow, he still manages to sound absolutely menacing.

“Or what?” you challenge. “Are you going to hurt me, John?”

Yes, taunt the man you saw kill four people easy as pouring a bowl of cereal.

“No. But I will punish you. Remember that, as we go forward.” 

You let him go, thinking on that.

It makes a chill run down your spine.

He tries to kiss you again, but you turn your face away. 

“Please let me up.” 

He is silent and still as the mountain, for long enough that you don’t think he will. You imagine he’s weighing his options, and you know as well as he does that he holds all the cards in his oh-so-capable hands. He could finally take you, like this, and you couldn’t stop him. As fucked up as it is…you’re not even sure you wouldn’t enjoy it, and you battle with yourself not to squirm beneath him in this fucked up stew of fear, desire, and anticipation.

That will not help your cause, you know.

He surprises the hell out of you when finally he agrees, “I will, if you promise to be calm.”

“I’m cool as a fucking cucumber.”

He ducks to huff a laugh into the bend of your neck. You feel it stir your hair more than hear it. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your pulse that makes you flush, a spear of longing jetting through you, and you barely manage not to wrap your legs around his narrow hips.

This man. It’s just not fucking fair.

Then he sucks, hard enough to hurt, and you know there will be a bruise.

He’s fucking marking you.

“I’m serious.”

You breathe in as deeply as you can with his solid, delicious weight piled on you, and let it out slow. “I’m good. Please, let me up.”

Though you can tell he’s reluctant to do it, very slowly he shifts his weight from you, rolling onto his back at your side. You sit up, pushing off the covers, and find the room is spinning slightly.

What the fuck did he drug you with?

You look around. The room is painted in dark shades, the ceiling vaulted high. Bookshelves take up the wall behind the bed.  A bank of windows affords a view of the woods beyond. You are up high, the second story, at least.

You recognize these woods, and the feeling of this interior. 

“Are we back in fucking Clear Forks?”

“Yes. We’re safe here.”

You blink down at him. He sounds almost reasonable now, and maybe the fact that he let you up makes you think you can reason with him.

“John…you have to let me go.” 

“Can't.” 

“You have to.” 

He just shakes his head. 

“So...what? You're going to keep me locked up here forever?” 

He licks his lips, pressing them in thought as he choses his next words. “Until... we've reached an understanding. That might take a while.” 

You stare down at him, open mouthed.

“John...you can't just keep me here.” 

“I can, actually.” He just looks at you with his hands behind his head, resembling for all the world a lazy lion on the plain, deadly but at ease like it's not your entire life he's casually high jacking for his own gratification. Then strangely he looks away, as though he actually is embarrassed about something, letting out a slow breath. “And...I want to.” 

“What?”

His gaze returns to yours, his glittering black eyes sharp and as obsidian. “I. Want. You. To stay here with me. I need you.” 

God damn if hearing him say those words doesn't make your traitor of a heart go pitter pat pat.

Keeping your eyes on him as though you are in bed with a tiger, you slide off the edge, your legs jelly beneath you. How long have you been out? What did he drug you with? Your mouth is so dry. Maybe you should be grateful he didn’t hit you to knock you out, at least. That’s never so nice and neat as it is in the movies.  

You're still wearing your same little pink sundress from Italy, which maybe is a little heartening, not that it provides much protection. 

Your heart in your throat, you want to run mad circles around the room yelling, banging on the windows and rattling the doors. Instead you make yourself stay calm as you look around, checking your options, not caring if John is watching.

You don't care, because deep down, you already know it's hopeless. He's not a stupid man. You inspect the door, finding no door handle, no lock that could be picked. There is simply a keypad and what looks like a fingerprint scanner. You notice it is mounted high over your head, so it would be hard for you to access even if somehow you managed to render him unconscious. 

You knock on the window with your fist, just for the hell of it. 

“Ballistic grade, bullet proof. Good luck.”

He sounds so bored about it, like it's not a big deal that his armored glass stands between you and your freedom. Yet, you doubt the glass was originally for your benefit.

“Bulletproof, in case the Camorra come for you?”

“Them, or others. I’ve made a few enemies over the years.”

You’re not proud that this freaks you out a little.

“And you really think you’re safe here?”

“So far, so good…”

You glare at him over your shoulder, and damn him for looking utterly scrumptious while being such an asshole.

He's wearing a black henley and sweatpants, and he's still the most beautiful man you've ever seen. You could write sonnets about the little strip of pale flesh exposed between his hem and his waistband.

Despite how fit he is, you notice his tummy is just a little soft. It's endlessly endearing, and in different circumstances you would have delighted in pressing your lips to that line of dark hair, and pulling down his sweatpants with your teeth…

You realize you are staring, and with cheeks aflame you avert your gaze. You notice he’s smirking at you, and it makes you mad all over again, your fists clenching at your sides.

He seems to find this amusing as hell.  

“You don’t have to look away,” he coaxes, surprisingly gentle. “I like it, that you like my body.”

You huff indignantly, inevitably remembering how adamantly he’d prevented you from undressing him, what feels like a lifetime ago now. “Then why wouldn’t you let me see you?”

“That was…different.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t think you were ready. I didn’t want to scare you.”

You can’t help but raise an eyebrow at that. “Gee, are your guns that big, Mr. Wick?”

This wins you a small laugh, and only belatedly do you realize how sick it is that you’re joking around with him again.

This is not normal. This is not normal. This is not normal.

You have a feeling it’s going to have to become your new mantra.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” he says enigmatically. It makes the hairs stand up all over your body, even as your idiotic nether regions clench with desire at the thought.

You have got to get out of here.

“Aren’t they going to think it’s weird I just disappeared without a trace from the hostel?” you pose.

“Probably not. You collected your things, and you paid in full.”

Of course he’d taken care of that.

Then the scope of this coup really dawns on you. 

“You clever motherfucker. No one will even look for me here, because they think I'm in Europe for weeks more.” 

He lifts an eyebrow at you. 

“You have a filthy fucking mouth, my dear. I'd watch that, if I were you.” 

You narrow your eyes at him, but don't push your luck just yet. 

“But no, no one will be looking for you. Your family and your friends are so busy...”

You close your eyes against his cruel—but perfectly accurate—words. My, how the truth cuts deep.

His tone softens as he tells you, “You don't need them, y/n. You have me. And I promise I'll take care of you.” 

You don’t bother to argue again that you don’t need taking care of. You��re beginning to anticipate his answers, and it’s like arguing with a stone wall.

You’ll need a different tack, you think.

Agitated, you stalk to the next door in the room, flinging it open. It’s a walk-in closet, filled with his clothes, and you realize, clothes for you as well. They’re cute, and to your taste, the bright colors an almost comical contrast to his monochromatic wardrobe. But they’re more expensive than anything you can usually afford. They’re all your size.

Your heart sinks to your feet as you realize this means he’s actually been planning this for a while. 

The next door is half cracked. You push it all the way open.

To say that it's a bathroom seems like an understatement. All dark marble and black cabinetry, there are two sinks and a long countertop, a walk-in rain shower that could fit 6, and a tub that could be mistaken for a small swimming pool. The corners are accented with lush houseplants, ferns and philodendron. It looks wonderful, and you’re furious all over again, because you can't fucking enjoy it like this. 

“Why?” you spit, whirling. Only to start when you find him standing right there behind you. You didn't hear a thing. “Why did you have to do it this way?” With him standing so close, you find your words lose some of their intended venom. 

He crowds you against the doorjamb, lifting a hand to your face again.

“Because I was afraid you wouldn't come back to me.” 

This tall, powerful man sounds ridiculously vulnerable just then. 

But like flipping a switch, he frowns, his long fingers resting lightly around your throat. A chill runs down your spine, and you're sure he can feel your pulse in your neck speeding against his fingers. He doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t hurt you. Just…holds you, and you are ever so aware that you are at his mercy.

“You ran away from me,” he accuses.

Maybe your sense of self-preservation is a little broken.

“I can't imagine why.” You punctuate it with an eyeroll, and suddenly you find yourself pushed into the wall with a hand spread over your chest, the ridges of the jamb biting into your spine. His thumb presses over your lips, preventing you from speaking further. 

“That fucking mouth of yours.” 

Before you can blink he is on you, pressing his lips to yours in a punishing kiss that leaves you weak in the knees. Maybe you start to slump down the wall, but he wraps you up in his arms, holding you up effortlessly. 

“This is how it's going to be,” he pants, his forehead pressed to yours. You get the sense that he is on the verge of losing control, and you are on pins and needles, wanting to know what that would be like, and fearing it too.

You fear it a lot.

“You can run that sassy mouth of yours all you want, but I will enjoy disciplining you for it every time. You might want to start thinking before you speak.”

“You want to hurt me.” 

Tears fill your eyes at the thought of it. Maybe you’re a little broken yourself, after seeing him kill people, but this is the thing that really makes you cry. Of course he probably has some kind of fucking red room around here filled with restraints and whips and toys you've never even fucking heard of… 

“No, baby. I never want to hurt you.” 

You don't believe him in the slightest. 

With a big hand on your jaw he turns your face up to look at him. “Please don't cry.” 

“Then don't do...whatever the fuck this is! You fucking kidnapped me, John!”

“I took what's mine,” he insists in a dark tone that makes inexplicable heat flood between your legs. “You forced my hand.”

It’s all your fault, of course.

“Did you really think I was just going to follow you after all that?”

He cants his head as he looks down at you, his dark hair swinging into his eyes. Your fingers itch to brush it away, and you hate the way the sight pangs deep in your chest. You shouldn’t feel anything for him, after what he’s done—your heart has not gotten the memo, it seems.

“You asked me not to let you go.”

Motherfucker took that literally, it seems.

The ironic thing is, you’d 300 percent meant what you said, at the time.

“I did not sign up for this,” you insist anyway.

“I’ve tried to warn you…since the moment we met,” he tells you. “But you just kept coming back. And now…I need you, y/n. I love you, and I’m never going to let you go.”

What a ridiculous creature you are, that hearing this moves you to the marrow of your bones, makes you almost sick with a medley of triumph and remorse, desire and fear. You’d so determinedly pried open the lid of this Pandora’s box with the dogged insistence of your affection; look at what a marvelous horror you unleashed. Mr. Wick: your very own monster made of dark need and twisted devotion.

This is all so…crazy.

Yet...he doesn't seem like he's crazy. Just absolutely, unmovingly, resolute in his conviction. And right now, that conviction involves his possession of you. 

You close your eyes against his gaze boring a hole through you. Your voice barely lifts above a whisper, your strength suddenly sapped. “I could have loved you.”

It’s a lie, of course.

A lie, because you are already hopelessly, totally in love with this man, despite what he’s done to you, and despite everything you’ve seen him do.

You’ve seen the other side of his coin, you know how sweet and wonderful he can be. Where is that man when you need him? Once upon a time, he absolutely was your safe space, your protector, someone you could turn to when you truly had no one else.

Now, who would protect you, from him?

 It breaks your heart, because you fear the answer is that no one can.  

“You will love me, y/n,” he insists without a hint of doubt. To be so certain...of anything. He brushes your hair behind your ear with such tenderness you could weep.

A single tear does escape from the corner of your eye. He catches it on the pad of his finger, bringing it to his lips. 

“It will be alright, y/n. I've got you.” 

That is exactly what you're afraid of. 

#john wick #john wick fic #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #yandere #yandere john wick #john wick fanfiction #bittersweet john wick imagine

[lovelymortifiedmango]

Quick Drabble..

❥ HEAVY NSFW ;)

John Wick x Plus Size! Wife Reader

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

Imagine angry sex with John..

He's normally loving, with soft touches and words of praise. Only this time he's angry and horny.. As soon as he came home from an annoying day out in the field, he quickly stole you away to the bedroom.

Now you're here, barely able to think because of your pissed off husband. And you loved it. Such an embarrassing thing to admit..

"John.. n-not so rough." You stutter out, but he could feel how you clench around him. It's not nice to lie!

John reaches between your legs and pinches the inside of your thigh.. so close to where you beg for him to touch.

"Don't pull that with me. I can feel you, bunny.." he groans as his thumb finally starts rubbing your clit. With that single move, you falter. So close and so far away..

"P-please, John.. I'm gonna cum!" You start drooling from the pleasure he's causing between your legs.. He only chuckled as he digs his fingers harder into the thick flesh of your hips. Thrusting deeper each time, making you squeal with pleasure.

You feel your knees buckle and you shiver as you cum around him, feeling him finish soon after.

"Good girl.. but I'm not satisfied yet." He smirks a he places a kiss to the back of your neck, spinning you around to face him.

"You h-have serious a-anger issues.." you whine as he moves slowly into you, "That's why I have you.." he whispers as he nips at your neck.

Enjoy darlings! ~ Juicebox♡

#john wick x reader #john wick x you #keanuverse #john wick fanfiction #john wick au #john wick #john wick fanfic #chubby reader #x reader #keanu reeves

[wiinterz]

once lost, now found | john wick

pairing: john wick x black plus size fem!reader

genre: established relationship, one-shot

warnings: canon!john, typical violence, kidnapped!reader, physical violence, character death, angst, fluff

word count: 1.5k

summary: being in the crossfire of john’s old life, there’s a realization that he’ll always pick you over anything and anyone in his life; himself included.

☏ ᴛᴀʏ’s ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛs: old one-shot!

recs | taglist | help hub | keanu reeves m.list

PATTERS OF RAIN HIT against a tin can that was laid on a concrete slab. The moon’s crescent-shaped the city into one walking circle. And street lights flickered as sounds of drunks, cars, and sobers moved around to find somewhere they could call home.

Chestnut-colored eyes peeked at a nearby building, white paint completely blocked out with graffiti, and cigarettes crushed up and tossed on the floor. Feeling your tired body being dragged to the empty building, your stomach turns as your bottom eyelashes catch your slipping tears, making sure they stayed on your waterline as the peculiar man had closed your mouth with tape. Your hands and legs were roped up, your body resting on the stranger’s left shoulder as he grumbled about your man, John. 

Hearing his grating voice complain about John, and how stupid he is to have a woman knowing his job takes anything pure from him. Your chest raises high and fast, trying to keep yourself from freaking out as he places your body down on a metal chair, the coldness of the metal shocks your body, making you whimper. 

He makes a hoarse laugh, pulling the tape off your mouth as he stuffs a shirt in your mouth, forcing you to gag on it.

He pushed your chair against a metal table, sitting beside you as he picks up a bottle of water and drink it.

“Ora aspettiamo The Babayaga.” He lets out another laugh, sighing to himself as he drinks the water, his watch ticking for a show.

John was in the middle of slicing a man’s arm off in a closed clothing store, the lights still on as dead bodies piled up around him. The more he killed, the more they ran to him, only to be shot down by his gun. 

Anger riled his soul, hurt taking over in his eyes as his mind replayed the screams that left your mouth. He wondered how did you slip away from him in such little time?

Killing the last man as he placed a sword against his neck and his gun behind it, John shoots and pulls the sword back, watching the man fall to the floor, face hitting against someone’s dead body.

John’s hair was now messed up and wet with sweat and blood, his face had tiny splatters, some so close to his eye as his blue t-shirt and black pants became stained permanently. He had lots of wounds on him, the back of his shirt slightly ripped showing a large diagonal cut on him.

Picking up another gun, he checks to make sure there was enough ammo in it. Once he walks out of the shop, he grunts, feeling like he lost a huge part of himself and dignity as the night prolongs.

He could only think back to you, worrying if you were in pain, if you were bruised or cut up. He could only imagine what he would do if he saw even a little paper cut on you by the man that caused this to happen.

His shoes scrape against the floor, knowing where to go. He knew deep in his heart who caused this, who betrayed his promise.

A groan escapes from his lips, his bloody hands falling to rest on the wall before he walks into the empty building. He stands there for a moment, regaining his strength and energy.

Once he breathes out heavily, John’s eyes ignite with despise as he hears a muffled laugh.

Making his way in, he pushes a door open down the long hallway, seeing a dim light create the ability to see. His heart stops in seconds, breath caught in his mouth as your eyelash lets a tear escape like a leaf letting a raindrop hit to another leaf.

There he stood, the man you fell in love with for a lifetime and more. He held a gun under his arm, his eyes soften at the sight of you. Your hair is a mess, your mouth is forced to bite against the shirt, and you sitting patiently and scared. 

He then looks at the man that sat beside you, looking at his expensive silver watch with gold in the middle. Silver-fox short hair, with skin pale as sand, fingernails clipped, his pinky finger long and slim as possible. His lips were light pink and plump and wrinkles appeared under his eyes as he smiled at John.

“So glad you could make it to the family dinner, Wick.” The man announces, a hearty laugh escaping his lips while John rolls his eyes, then looks back at you, motioning his fingers to see if you were okay. You motioned back to him a no, and he sighs.

“Giosuè,” is all he mutters out, keeping himself calm and collected as always as if you didn’t exist in the room. He had to do that, to keep you alive, to see you breathe. A fraction of his heart had been shut down from the death of Helen and the last thing he needed was to see you murdered; something that can be prevented.

Giosuè looks back at you, pushing your chin up a little, forcing you to stare at John while tears continue to fall, trickling to Giosuè’s fingers.

“Pretty girl, sad to see you like this.” He points out, moving his hand away as John squints a little, feeling his heart become slashed. 

“You see, you made a promise…that if and when you come back, I would be the first person to see you. You also promised me the killing of my brother and father, we made that promise when you were leaving home. To go to what? Normalcy? John Wick, The Babayaga…begs to find normalcy in a cold world, that he, made people fear him. Damn.”

Giosuè’s Italian accent comes out, standing from his chair, a gun resting in his back pocket, your eyes widened once you see it, alarming John.

“I’m mad now, because of you and your broken promises, my brother and father…hm whatever, you know the story.” He chuckles, sighing heavily once he finally reaches John, standing in front of him as John’s face stays relaxed, not a smirk, or a sign of worry.

John looks down at Giosuè and scoffs, “And you bring my girlfriend into your family affairs.” His voice showed no emotion, John went into a state you’ve never seen him in.

“She’s a pretty girl, and you know how I am…I like pretty things…I see pretty I take it.” Giosuè looks back at you and tilts his head with a smile. “You crying? John look she’s crying.” He lets out a maniacal laugh as he turns back to John whose eyes pierce your soul.

He had a different type of attitude when it came to your safety, your life before his, forever and always.

“Mmh.” The only thing that slips out from his lips, you continue to cry, trying to believe John will get you out of here safely. His hand pulls out a dart, one of the darts an assassin tried to use on him. Giosuè was too busy mocking you, calling you adorable for becoming hysterical in a situation like this.

John walks up behind Giosuè, the dart held between his index and middle fingers. He held his breath, making mental notes on how Giosuè moved his body.

As a ticking bomb, John’s fingers stifled Giosuè’s neck, the dart pushing into him. In hindsight, John hasn’t been sure if his plan would work out correctly. The only way to know was the outcome, and each ending dealt with you being freed.

Yet as Giosuè abruptly stopped taunting you, his hand quickly goes to behind his neck where John pulls the dart swiftly. Once he sees Giosuè's hand, he shoves the dart back in the middle of it, making Giosuè yell in terror. John then takes out a gun from behind him and shoots his spine, then Giosuè’s knee pit.

Giosuè’s body plummets down to the floor, and a terror of screams leaves his lips. His fingers scrape the floor, trying to crawl to you yet, John shoots him in the head, watching his body jolt a little.

John’s eyes dart back at you and puts up his gun while picking up Giosuè’s. You soaked the t-shirt with your saliva and tears, your dark brown skin bruise with purple and a bit of red from the tight bounds. Making his way to you, his right hand pulls your face up to him, he has tears ready to fall, yet he doesn’t.

His soul had become a cage of his nightmares, banging against his heart each time he saw you. If he could create heaven, he would simply make you the goddess of it. If he had a paint brush he would paint calligraphy and fill empty canvases of you and about you. His heart rang out for you, slipping into your hands and hoping you would restore whatever was taken away from it.

Taking a pocket knife out, John cuts the ropes off you, pulling the t-shirt out of your mouth as you could finally relax your jaw. His thumb comes across your face, catching pretty salts. Your breath pattern started to slowly go back to normal. Feeling his right hand pick up your wrist, he grunts at the makeshift bruises and cuts on your pretty skin.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.” He lets out a staggering breath, his voice almost getting caught in his throat. He rubbed your wrists, wrists that had fibers of straw in them. He brings up your right wrist to his lips and kisses it, taking up your other wrist he kisses it up to your shoulder. Looking back at you, his hands immediately wrap around you, holding you tightly as if he relives the time he was told Helen was dying.

You take a moment to wrap your arms around him and when you do, your body is in alarm from the pain that spikes you. You rest your head on his shoulder, allowing your body to be loose on him. Your tears soaked the wounds he earned.

You held onto Johnathan as if you both were at sea, bodies laid on a raft, and the ocean roared throughout the night with tides trying to pull you in a different direction.

John pulls away, looking at you with tears, your weakened hand rests on his cheek. Pulling him closer to you, you press your lips against his, holding him for a moment as your tears intertwine with his.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.” He repeats, his words getting stronger each time, making you believe it.

You lay your body on him, permitting him to pick you up bridal style. His eyes fixated on yours as his heart beats at the same rate as yours, finally back to normalcy again.

When he went too far he returned to the same man you fell in love with years ago. When you disappeared you came back as the goddess of his dreams, the one that lit the candles in his heart when they left.

John found his normalcy once again and this time, he promised to not fail like the last.

#john wick #john wick fanfic #john wick fanfiction #john wick x y/n #john wick franchise #john wick angst #john wick fluff #fluff #john wick x black!reader #john wick x reader #x black reader #x black!reader #plus size reader #black!reader #keanuverse #keanu reeves #keanu reeves john wick #jw #keanu reeves imagine #john wick imagine

[howlsofter]

Hellfire.

You’ve been working for John Constantine for a little. He’s been too protective to let you learn anything but he wants to keep you close. Just my usual one shot smut with a little plot.

Words: 2.8k

Tags/warnings: m/f penetration, cunnilingus, drinking, smoking, a little dirty talk, choking, idk sex mostly

John Constantine hates being bothered.

But he needs a new driver.

Just temporarily.

He’d found me on one of his previous endeavors, but many already know who I am. Taught of the occult and arcane by a small circle on the streets after my parents passed, my skills are above most.

Not that I ever get to use them with John. He’s worrisome, shaking as he presses his cigarette back up to his mouth, inhaling like it was his last breathe. He is peering outside.

“John, this time please,” I beg as I round up to the building, John doesn’t even look my way, tossing his cigarette to the ground the moment he opens the car door. He rushes inside and I sigh, tapping my fingers against the steering wheel and letting my head fall back.

30 minutes or so and he’s back, staggering with another goddamn cigarette between his lips. He climbs into the car and I drive forward,

“Where to?” I ask, glancing in the mirror. He’s been crashing at mine for this stent, but he’s been talking about something West. Something I could help him with.

My life is in Brooklyn. I pursed my lips together when he told me. I agreed. He knew I would. I’ve been following John blindly these past few months, yet I don’t know if he really gives a fuck about me.

“Fuck,” he spreads out in the backseat, closing his eyes and pressing his cigarette up to his lips, “anywhere. Do you have alcohol?”

That’s code for my place, because I almost always have alcohol. He’s not a terrible house guest. He doesn’t touch my food, he crashes on the couch fully clothed, no blankets no pillows. That’s only if he’s tired, otherwise he sits and, thinks. I guess.

I pour us a glass and leave the bottle in the middle of table. John sits back and retrieves his cigarettes from his pocket, knocking out another and putting it up to his lips.

He lights it before taking a long sip of his drink. He’s sat back in his seat but leaned forward in a long folded over shape. He takes another drag as soon as he’s swallowed the liquid, huffing out and looking around my apartment.

Nothing has changed since the last time he’s been here, he realizes quick and settles back to me. I reach out, “may I?” He seems annoyed but he snatches the pack from his side pocket where he’d returned them.

I scoot my chair over closer as he grabs the lighter. He holds the cigarette up and I lean forward, taking it from his fingers between my lips. I still, following his hands as he takes another long drag, looking at me waiting for him. I raise an eyebrow and begin reaching for the lighter myself. John’s eyes dart to it and he reaches out quick, flicking his wrist to open it and swiftly sparking it up. I inhale just enough to light it before taking a real drag and sitting back.

“Any plans here, John.”

He takes another sip, “always asking me shit. No, there’s no plans. I’m waiting for someone to slip up.”

“I haven’t found anything about the soul stones,” I’ve been researching, asking around, “most people say they haven’t heard of them.”

“Then you’re asking the wrong people.” He takes a hit after every sentence, this man breathes no oxygen.

“Maybe it’s not in Brooklyn anymore?”

“West…” he mentions again, “but it’s just another gamble.” He turns his head away, like he’s tired of the conversation and finally I take another drag of mine. I can feel the nicotine buzz in my body, I only ever palm one off of John occasionally. It mixes well with a little alcohol.

John leans back up, resting his elbows on the table and taking another large sip of his drink. “Are you really coming?” He asks, suddenly so serious. He takes his last sip of his drink, putting it to rest on my tabletop, he flicks his ash into the ashtray I have specifically for him.

“I said I was.” I respond, lifting my own cup, I swirl the liquid around and take a small sip.

“You don’t have to.”

“Do you want me to?”

John puts the cigarette out, leaving it in the ash. “Only if you want to.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“You’re… useful to me. But I don’t want to uproot your life.”

“I have no other life. Do you want me to go?” I’m shifting closer as I speak, John watches me careful, like I’m about to lunge at him.

“None at all?” He almost teases me, I watch his lips form the words, he tilts his shoulders towards me, leaning in.

I’m not going to engage, he tilts his chin up, like he’s going to kiss me, but I know John’s games and I turn my head. Quickly cutting him off to take a long drag.

John wants to roll his eyes, snaking a hand past me to take the short stick from my hands. He takes an equally long drag, burning through the rest of the cigarette before casting it out with his first.

“I want you to come,” he tells me. He says it like I’m holding a gun to his head, but his body is open, pulling me in slightly. I have to tilt my head up to him.

“Then I’m there,” I almost whisper it. He bites his lip for a moment, pats his blazer for his smokes and fills the gap between us. It’s sweet, one careful kiss. I capture it, silently allowing him to continue. He has his stance open, on either side of my chair. He leans in closer, sliding his hands around my hips and pulling me to the edge. I moan against his lips, he we taste the same almost, the same brand of cigarette. He pulls away and leans back, licking my saliva off his lower lip.

“This is your obligatory one minute to reconsider.”

“Reconsider?”

“To reconsider being with me. You have 45 seconds.”

I reach out and wrap my fingers around his tie, pulling him back closer to kiss him again. He stops the count, swallowing me up hold. He pulls me over into his lap and stands, holding me up against his waist.

I’m straddled up against his cock, which poked at me through his loose slacks. He fumbled to my room, forgetting which door it is at first, setting me up on my dresser when we were there. He bites at my neck, sinking his teeth in hard enough for it to hurt. I hiss, going to shove him away. No matter there I pushed or pulled him, he didn’t budge. John secures his arm he already has around my waist, his other hand reaches into his pocket. He retrieves his smokes and sets them beside us on the dresser. He kisses where he was just attacking me, hand sinking into his pocket to retrieve his lighter. My break is short lived, he runs his nose down my neck and delves into a soft spot there. I choke and stretch away from him, knocking his lighter from his hand on accident.

I hear it bounce around on the ground with a few soft thuds then silence. John follows it with his eyes before they snap back to me. I dont know why it’s so embarrassing, I can feel my face burning and John simply moves on. He presses more pretty kisses to my neck, coaxing me again. I give in easy, wrapping my legs up around him. He moves to kissing me again, going to undo his belt. I groan, reaching out to knock his fingers away and do it myself. My shaky fingers fumble over the black leather, pulling it from the matching black belt loops. I wait to break the kiss once I’m done, blinking up at John through my lashes. He takes over, pulling it completely out and dropping his belt to the floor, he’s completely hard now. His slacks sink down his waist without his belt, his briefs waistline visible and the tip of his cock pressed against the edge, waiting.

He sits back up, running his hands along my thighs and yanking me closer to the edge of the dresser. He forces me to sit back when he undoes my jeans, looming over me and nudging my nose with his.

I push my hands flat against the wood, lifting my hips up and letting him slide them off of me. He sinks down, the flat of his hand running from my outter to my inner thigh slowly, making sure they’re well apart before he’s sliding over my panties. I grip the edge of the dresser, looking down at John for once. One hand curves around my thigh, fingers hooking my underwear and holding them to the side with his ring finger, the rest of his hand flat between my hip bones. He presses there with minimal pressure, wasting no time sliding his tongue right between my folds. He opens his mouth wide, running right from my entrance up to my vulva then a few open mouth kisses, his tongue seeking out my clit and pressing in rough circle. He has his eyes closed until he’s found a rythme, looking up at me and shifting his free hand down, palming himself through his slacks.

It feels way too good, really, I’m trying hard not to wriggle out of his hold in pleasure. I can only grind down and shake, unable to rip my eyes from him. I snake my hand into his short dark hair, pulling at it then fixing it to the side.

John’s tongue slips down, exploring my entrance as his hand finally manages to get his button off and he’s exposed himself. He stroked himself slowly, lustfully, trying to fuck me with his tongue.

I switch between his hand and his face, I’m getting closer. His mouth feels better and better each second, I begin to freeze up, focusing on the sensation. I’m almost smirking, I’ve never thought I’d have John Constantine in this position. Jacking off while I grind against his face.

He sees my smirk and he just can’t help but be an asshole. Slowing his tongue, he licks one more slow strip up me before pulling off, he practically rips my underwear off as he stands back up.

I groan, edging myself back from the dresser and cursing quietly, “getting too cocky there, Hellfire,” he warns me, brandishing my nickname he’s almost called me one before. He goes back to holding my hips, lulling me forward as he drags his cock right up against me. His saliva mixed with my pleasure coats his cock and he groans into my ear, “protection?”

“Already casted,” he nods.

He runs his hands up my hips and finally slips my top off, letting it fall with his other clothes beside us in the pile. He undoes a few of his shirt buttons quickly, pulling it off over his head when he’s had enough.

John assumes position. “Hold my shoulders,” he commands, bringing his hips back, one hand adjusting himself and the other holding my side. He presses the tip in carefully, my body rejects him. It aches, I tighten my hold around his shoulders, encircling him closer to me. “Fuck, relax,” he tells me to like it’s easy. I inhale stiff and sharp and he runs his hand around me to my back, “breathe,” he tries again, speaks slower. I do, inhaling again slowly. He’s pushing into me on my exhale, carefully, steady. We both make a noise when he’s, passed the hardest part for me. John is hungry, running his hand up to cup my breast, he sinks his hips into me further.

I lean back on one hand, supporting most of our weight, my other arm is still encased around John. I can’t go anywhere as he fills me up, pushing him away only makes him smile. He gets halfway in before he snaps up into me. His name falls past my lips, not given a moment to regain my composure before he’s fucking me. Quick and rough, his body makes a slapping sound every time we meet.

He groans over me, following the curve of my open mouth with his brown eyes. His pupils blown, he grabs at my neck, encasing his large hand around it and holding me still.

He’s gripping me just rough enough to steady me but I can still breathe. My gasps are raspy against his palm, the pain is all pleasure. I gaze at him through my eyelids, going weak against his grasp on me. I paw at him with my free hand, running the line of his collarbone and trying not to let my eyes shut.

John yanks me forward, my useless hand coming up quickly to his wrist as the rest of my body sits up in order. He speeds up his thrusts, holding me by my neck right up his face. He’s so focused in, there’s not a thought behind those dark eyes besides need.

I let my sticky forehead press against this, eyes eyes dip down, not realizing how hard he’d started choking me. He loosens his grip but only moves his hand when his hips have slowed, scooping me back up while he’s still pressed inside of me. I wrap both arms around him around, barely assisting him in the transition from my dresser to my low bed.

He gets on his knees, falling out of me as he sets me back on the bed. I fall back doll, letting my arms rest above my head as I lift my hips and stretch out. He runs his hand over himself a few times, trying to really take in his view before crawling back up to hover above me. He pushes my legs apart with one hand, still touching himself as he leans over, pressing an open mouth kiss to the soft spot of my thigh. The niceties never last long. Next he’s biting me again, holding my leg down when I immediately begin my escape.

“So pretty,” he hums, running his nose up my leg, licking my hip bone and adjusting himself to press against my entrance. It’s easier for him to slide into me in this position, he grabs my arm when I go to block my blush.

He eases slowly, shuffling to find the best position where he has at least one free hand. He runs it down my side, squeezing my hip and bringing me closer. With his thumb he presses more slow circles against my clit, I lay still and lazy, following his slow motions with my hips as encouragement.

“Am I being good?” I prompt him, my voice scratchy from him grip before. I say it quiet, unsure if he even heard me. But John most certainly did, unconsciously picking up speed.

“That’s what you want?” He snaps up in me, moving his thumb over me with a matching thrust. My hips jut out, trying to push my legs apart further. The same tingling heat building up inside of my groin.

I only kinda nod, too close to be embarrassed. I ghost over the tattoos on his forearm and grip his upper, pleading with him with my eyes. “You’re being so fucking good,” he murmurs, coaxing my orgasm with every thrust, “letting me use you.”

“John,” I whimper his name, trying to get him to keep talking and attempting to drag him closer. He’s getting closer, not daring move from where he is now he’ll spill. His arm is shaky, flexing under my grip. He is losing his breath, mouth ajar.

He sucks in quickly, “fuck, you can cum, baby,” he says it in a growl, edging himself as I spill. My body grips around him and his head falls slack against my shoulder, he bites into the skin there but I don’t even register it past the pleasure that’s hits me.

It rings out through my whole body, John slows, sloppy thrusts as he continues to use me. When I’m settling he pulls out, letting out a delicious moan and cumming. Warm spurts all over my bare stomach, I hum in delight, running my fingers to scoop some up and lick them clean.

John sits up slowly, huffing as he pushes his sweaty hair back. “Fuck, Hellfire,” he mumbles, climbing off the bed to grab his smokes and lighter. I’d knocked it off halfway beneath the dresser. He lights one up swiftly, how he’s done it a thousand times before, and grabs a random shirt off my floor. I don’t protest, it’s dirty anyways. I steal the cigarette from his lips as he wipes me clean.

#john constantine #constantine #constantine 2005 #john Constantine 2005 #constantine fanfiction #constantine fanart #john wick gif #john wick fanfiction #fanfiction #constantine x reader #john wick x reader #constantine smith #smut #john wick #keanu reeves #alternative #john wick smut #john wick fanfic #john wick x y/n

[imajinxnation]

Please could you write smut with John Wick x reader with a massive size kink? (only if you're comfortable writing smut tho)

Icecream Cone

John Wick x FEM!Reader

SUMMARY // Surprisingly, eating Icecream can be very rewarding when done right..

TW // Fluff, Smut, vaginal sex, size kink, hand kink, body worship, Age Gap(though not touched on), Dom!John, raw sex(unless you want kids, don't do dat)..

ALL GIFS FROM PINTEREST

this.. ooooh, this..❤️‍🔥

Writing detailed smut is amaaaazzziiinnggg

Also, idk Russian, I just used Google Translate😭 please forgive me if the translation isn't quite right!!

Pretty sure this is the longest fic I've ever wrote, and I'm pretty fuckin' proud of it!!

You and John are out in a small town, window shopping, his hand in yours, your fingers linked together as you walk down the sidewalk of the cozy little town. The sun is hot shining down on you, but the breeze is just enough to cool you off and be the perfect day. You stop in front of an Icecream shop, your stomach grumbling at the sight of all the yummy flavours that can be seen.

John notices you staring and chuckles a bit.

"Seems like a good day for Icecream, don't you think?" He asks rhetorically, and leads you inside to buy you a sweet treat on this hot summer day.

John stands in the lineup and waits to order while you go and sit down. He already knows your favourite, so he doesn't ask you what you want before you find a seat. You wait patiently for John to come to your table with your Icecream, people-watching out the window to pass the time. Soon enough he comes and sits down across from you, handing you your cone of Icecream.

"Mm.. My favourite!" You say, taking the cone from his hand and begin to lick at the creamy treat. John chuckles at your enthusiasm and starts to eat his aswell.

"What did you get? You usually don't stray from dark chocolate," You ask, noticing the two different flavours on his cone.

"Coffee and Caramel, thought I'd try something new," he explains and continues to eat his Icecream.

John finishes his in no time, whereas you've still got a ways to go, so you decide to keep on walking through town and just have it as you go along.

At one point on your walk, John looks down at you and watches as your small pink tongue laps at the frozen treat. He licks his lips, his mind wandering to all the other things you can lick with your tongue. He growls a bit under his breath and tries to shake the thought from his head. You were in public!

You hear his slight growl and look up at him. Oh.. you knew that look anywhere. That look was the look he gave you when he wanted something.. Usually something pleasurable. You grin a bit and bite your lip, ideas swirling in your mind. You feel your stomach drop and a rush of warmth spread to your core at the dirty things filling your head.

You finish the Icecream as quick as you can and throw out the remaining napkins.

"I'm starting to get a little sleepy, we've been out all day, you know.." you trail off, a small grin on your face.

John takes the hint and huffs out a small laugh, turning you both around and walking to his car which was parked not too far away. As you walked, hand in hand to his car, John leans down and whisper in your ear darkly.

"When we get home, you're going to show me exactly what that tongue can do.." he growls into your ear before straightening up, and looking as if he hadn't just made your pussy turn into Niagara Falls.

The moment you walk through that front door, John throws you over his shoulder and kicks the door closed behind him, taking you to your shared bedroom. He drops you onto the bed roughly and pulls you to the edge by your hips, his hands nearly covering your whole stomach.

He slides his hands up your T-Shirt and pulls it off of your body swiftly, revealing your sportsbra covered breasts.

"You see what you do to me..? You were just licking Icecream and you were still able to make me hard.." he grinds out, bringing his large hand to grip your jaw, your cheeks squishing at the contact, "моя любовь (my love).."

"Jardani.. please, I need you so bad.." you whimper out, pressing your thighs together to try and find some friction.

John groans at the use of his birth name. Only you could call him that and it would make him hard. John pulls off your shorts next, leaving you in your bra and underwear, your form significantly smaller than his. He takes his hand away from your jaw and caresses your body, his hands roaming over your stomach, hips, and breasts. He pulls off your sportsbra and squeezes your tits, his hands covering them whole.

He takes one of your perky nipples into his mouth and sucks at it, pulling at it lightly with his teeth while his hand massages the other, pinching and pulling your other nipple. You arch your back, pushing your tits further into his face and hand, and he groans when he hears you moan softly.

He pulls off of your nipple with a pop and slides his hand down your soft stomach, reaching down to your panty-clad pussy. He tugs down your panties and throws them to the floor with all your other clothes. The contrast between you being fully naked and him being fully clothed makes your core ache.

His middle finger rubs through your slick folds a few times before prodding at your entrance and slipping into your awaiting hole. Even having one of his fingers inside of you is filling enough, everything about him being thick and large. He slides a second finger in and starts to pump them in and out of you hard and fast, gentleness going right out the window. His fingers curl inside of you, his thumb rubbing your clit.

"Oh God.. John, fuck!" You moan, hips bucking into his hand.

Your thighs try to close around his arm, but he quickly pins one of your legs down with his other hand while his fingers continue their assault on your dripping pussy.

"You gonna cum for me, Маленький кролик..? (Little Bunny)" He asks, condescendingly.

You nod and moan, unable to form a sentence as his fingers pounded your sweet little pussy.

"Очень жаль.. (Too bad)" He says, his voice dark and deep as he suddenly pulls his fingers out.

"No! Please, John.. need to cum!" You whine out grasping at his forearm to try and make him continue.

John growls and climbs fully on top of you, grabbing your wrists and pinning them over your head, his chocolate coloured eyes darkening, a fire burning within them. He only needs one hand to pin both of your wrists, he grips your face with his other hand, making you look him in the eye.

"Who's in charge? Hm, Принцесса (Princess)?" He asks, a small smirk on his lips. He leans down and kisses you hotly, his tongue invading your mouth, making you moan at the sensation of his hot tongue tangling with yours.

"Hnn.. please, John.. I need you.." you moan into his mouth softly, begging and whining for his touch.

John lets out a dark chuckle, "That mouth.. that tongue of yours.. Those will be put to better use than talking or licking Icecream.." He whispers into your ear, his breath hot on your flesh.

He releases your wrists and pulls you up to stand, your feet touching the floor softly. John lets go of your body and sits down at the edge of your shared bed, undoing the button of his jeans and pulling down the zipper. He pulls his pants and underwear down, finally making it fair by making himself as naked as you are, pulling off his white shirt after his jeans and underwear, throwing his clothes to the floor with the rest.

"Get on your knees, Маленький кролик.. You know what to do, (Little bunny)" John grinned, spreading his legs for your torso to slide between.

You do as he says, knowing if you disobeyed him, it would have great consequences, uncluding him denying you your right to cum. Your small hands caress his abdomen, hips and thighs before taking his hard cock in your hand stroking him a few times. He groans at the feeling of your hand pumping his cock slowly, his hand snaking its way into your hair and tugging your head back harshly.

"Stop teasing, малышка.. (little girl)" he warns, looking you in the eye, making sure you know he isn't playing around.

You suck in a breath, your pussy clenching at the fire in his eyes. You nod slightly and kiss his leaking tip, licking away the precum dripping from his slit. You then wrap your mouth around his thick cock, taking in as much as you can without gagging, your hand helping with the rest. You begin to bob your head on his cock while your hand strokes the rest of his shaft in sync with your mouth.

John keeps his hand tangled in your hair, but doesn't force his hips up into your mouth, he may be rough, but he doesn't want to hurt you, so he lets you do what you can with your mouth. He groans and leans his head back, enjoying the feeling of your hot mouth and tongue suck and lick his cock, your hand adding to the pleasure. Eventually he pulls your mouth off of him with a sharp tug at your hair, not wanting to finish in your mouth, as if you were a whore.

He drags you up off your knees, standing up aswell, towering over you, picking you up and dropping you onto the bed once again. He positions himself between your legs, bringing one of your knees up over his shoulder to get the perfect angle. His cock prods at your entrance, rubbing his shaft in your warm slick before anything.

"Ready, моя любовь? (my love)" He asks softly, knowing his cock was big and would hurt stretching your small pussy out for the first minute or two. It always did.

You nod and whisper, "Yes.. please, love, I need it.."

He pushes in slowly and gently, groaning at the sensation of your pussy squeezing around him, tight and wet, all for him. Only for him.

"Ah! John! So fucking full.." you moan in both pain and pleasure, your nails digging into his broad shoulders.

He grunts and grips your hips, his hands nearly wrapping around your whole waist. His fingers dig into your flesh, trying to control himself, to stop himself from just pounding into you with no remorse. He takes your other leg and places it on his shoulder along with your other one, making him slide deeper into you.

Your eyes widen at the sensation, and you gasp, moaning at the feeling of his cock, deeper than ever.

"Please.. move, John. And don't hold back.." you pant out, a shaky breath leaving your lips as your pussy adjusts to his thickness.

John grunts and nod, doing as you say, fucking into your small, tight pussy with little remorse. You moan loudly at the feeling of his cock slamming into you, throwing your head back at the immense pleasure. With every harsh thrust, your tits bounce, and John is mesmerised. He wasn't going to last long tonight.. but neither were you.

You cling to John's body as he fucks you fast and hard, your nails scratching at his back and shoulderblades, your body contorted, your knees practically over your head as they rest on top of his shoulders. Who knew you were so flexible..

John fucks you as if fucking a toy, his hands pushing you onto his cock further as he thrusts into you desperately, his large form covering yours, your body looking absolutely tiny compared to him, as if you were his little.. doll..

"Gonna cum for me, Принцесса? (Princess) Gonna cum around my cock, like the good Маленький кролик you are..? (Little bunny)" he growls out, grunting, removing a hand from your hip to rub his thumb violently on your clit.

You scream at the sensation, your stomach bubbling with immense pleasure, the band in your stomach about to snap at any second.

"Yes! Fuck, John, wanna cum so bad! Please let me cum, I've been a good girl for you, haven't I?" You stutter out, the knot in your stomach getting tighter as his thrusts and his assault on your clit continue, starting to become sloppy and losing their rhythm.

"Then fucking do it! Cum on my cock, let me feel you.." he growls and presses his thumb harder onto your clit.

That was enough to make the band snap. You scream out his name and spasm around his cock, legs twitching, your head thrown back in a silent moan, losing your voice in the pleasure.

John roars your name and gives one last hard thrust before pulling out and cumming on your stomach. He slumps over your body, bringing your legs down gently on the bed from off his shoulders. His body covers yours, his arms wrapped around your shoulders, stroking your hair as you both come down from your highs.

"Fuck.. моя любовь, you are absolutely amazing, (my love)" He praises, kissing your forehead, taking in your sweet, post-coital scent.

"You're tellin' me.. holy shit. I think that's the hardest you've ever made me cum.." you say, letting out a breath, a sigh of relief.

"I can tell. Maybe next time I'll make you squirt.." John suggests, kissing your cheek with a playful smirk.

"Oh, I'm looking forward to that day.." you reply, grinning. John chuckles and leans down, kissing you sweetly. That was a promise.

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[ruskaroma]

thinking of pissing john wick off so fucking bad that he fucks you into the fucking wall🤤🤤 he’d been so patient with you, but you just kept pushing his buttons so here you are, his hand clamped over your mouth as he fucks you full of his cum….

everybody pull up a chair cuz we are going to have a talk.

john wick is a soft dom. that’s up to no debate. he could be a mean dom sometimes, but that rarely happens. but the point still stands.

john wick is a soft dom.

and of course, a soft dom would be incomplete without a bratty sub.

john doesn’t like it when you talk back, but during this time you’re feeling a bit naughty. a simple denial from john ruined your entire day, and so of course it’s your job to ruin his too.

he has been on the edge all day long since morning because of your constant backtalk. the snarky little remarks. the murmurs you’d say that he wouldn’t hear just to rile him up even more.

john tries to talk the brattiness out of you, but unfortunately for him, he might have to do it the hard way.

he had just come back from work when you immediately bombarded him with your attitude. still dressed in his work attire and you in your pajamas, john thinks this is the perfect time to strike.

as he stands in front of you in the living room, your mouth immediately snaps shut when a large hand comes slapping your cheek. it’s not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to get some senses in your brain and tell yourself that you’re absolutely fucked.

literally.

a yelp leaves your mouth as you touch the spot he slapped, but when you look at him, he’s staring straight back at you challengingly.

“got any more to say, brat?”

your lips wobble. it’s not always mean john comes to play, but when he does, it scares the living shit out of you. not only because he’s mean MEAN, but also because that means there’s a 99% chance that you won’t be able to sit properly for weeks.

“d-daddy–”

“now you want daddy?” he mocks, then gripping your jaw with one hand and forces you to look at him. “daddy has been real patient with his little girl all day long, but you just won’t fucking listen to a word daddy says, don’t you?”

you’re half scared, half horny. john is fucking seething. he must be so pissed at you that he even cussed.

“d-daddy, ow, you’re hurting me–” you try to move away from his grip, but that only leads you to being slammed against the wall as john forcefully pulls your pants down along with your panties, revealing your wet cunny that’s already dripping from this whole thing. “d-daddy–”

“this must be what you fucking wanted then. for daddy to be pissed at you.” he roughly unbuckles his belt and pulls his already hard cock out, not giving you enough time to comprehend what’s truly happening when he’s already pushing his fat cock inside your little pussy, stretching it open and making you scream. “now you’re crying, can’t form a single fucking word. what happened to that bratty little girl earlier that won’t stop running her mouth, hm? you got anything to say?”

your legs are wrapped around his waist as you sob hysterically on his shoulder, ruining his perfectly good black suit. your shared wetness is dripping down the floor as his heavy balls slap against your ass.

you clench around his dick, babbling incoherent pleas for him to slow down, but all you receive is another slap on the cheek.

“shut your mouth and take it. don’t make me shove my cock so far down your throat you wouldn’t be able to speak for weeks.”

#ask #so........ #yeah...... #drabble #concept #jw #soft dom!john #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #john wick imagine #john wick fanfiction #john wick fanfic #john wick smut #john wick #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves smut #i actually enjoyed writing this #JESUS HE’S MEAN

[6lostgirl6]

Heyo! Love your recent post on the marquis de gramont. Could you do a one shot where the reader manages to escape yandere marquis and manages to hide in another country for a few months before the marquis confronts them in a motel they were hiding in

No Escape

Pairing: Yandere!Vincent De Gramont x Fem!Reader

TW: General Yandere Behavior, Toxic Relationship, Mentions of Stockholm Syndrome, Mentions of Imprisonment, Mentions of Codependency, Controlling Vincent, Panic Attack, Cursing, Arguing, Forced Kissing (At first), Happy Ending. Reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Word Count: 1.5k

It took you months to earn his trust, which he scarcely showcased to anyone. The months you pretended you were finally falling in love with him, with lovely words and tender affections that gradually lowered his guard with each passing day.

There were privileges that came with trust, which you soaked up like a sponge. He eventually permitted you to roam around the mansion without him or a bodyguard, which led to him permitting you to spend time outside within the gates. Finally, you were allowed to sleep in your room without someone monitoring your door during the night.

However, you ultimately reached a breaking point when you recognized one day that those affectionate words and acts had transformed into something more…sincere. You'd lay awake in your room, your mind racing at the prospect of succumbing to Stockholm Syndrome.

Your altered phone, gifted by Vincent, lay in pieces on the bedroom floor when you made your escape. You crept out under the beauty of the moonlight, and your efforts during the day allowed you to memorize Vincent's men's routine patrols. You wore only the clothing on your back and a little satchel containing your monthly allowance, which Vincent would give you as a reward for your good behavior. The hardest thing was climbing over the fence, but you made it out with only minor cuts. Despite the joy of finally experiencing independence, you couldn't shake the sadness in your heart. You couldn't help but think you were doing something wrong.

'It isn't love; it isn't love.' Throughout your entire voyage to Canada, you would repeat those words in your head like a broken record. When the landlord handed you the keys to your flat, you couldn't help but feel awful. When you received your new cell phone a week later, you resisted the urge to call him.

You missed him terribly and despised yourself for it.

A month has gone by, and you weren't any better off than you were a few weeks before. You did, however, have a job interview coming up in the next month, and you were pleased that you were making progress toward regaining independence. You even purchased a new cell phone for amusement purposes.

Vincent had certain expectations for you as his lover while you were imprisoned. He wanted you to be entirely reliant on him, letting him make decisions for you and requiring his permission to do everything or walk outdoors. He promised to take care of you, to make you want for nothing, and to give you the wedding of your dreams. However, beneath the surface, you became less and less of yourself.

Sitting on the edge of your bed, you couldn't help but wonder if you would have been happier at ho-Vincent's mansion. Your eyes threatened to shed tears as you glanced at the screen of your phone.

Vincent's number was illuminated in the darkness of your room, casting a chilling glow across your face. The call button begged you to merely press it in order to make amends.

You tapped the button and placed the phone to your ear with a nervous exhale. As the phone continued to ring, your eyes were wide and stared into space. As you waited for him to pick up, your heart was racing in your chest, and you nervously chewed your nail.

'He'll be mad...'

The thought occurred to you, and you immediately regretted making the phone call. You were aware that Vincent had a temper, and while he never took it out on you, you weren't immune to his stern lectures when you got in trouble, or how he destroyed his possessions in front of you. Even his patience with you can waver, and you weren't planning on finding out.

When the person on the other end of the line picked up the phone, you hurriedly hung up, unable to handle the sound of his voice. You tried taking a few deep breaths, but your heart refused to stop pounding rapidly as you stared down at the phone.

Within the first five seconds, your phone rang, and you felt your heart was about to stop. When Vincent's number came across your screen again, you screamed and threw the cellphone against the wall. Your phone was scattered in pieces on the carpet, similar to the altered phone you left at the mansion. You prayed to whatever higher power that the call wasn't long enough for Vincent to track it down.

"Fuck!" You exclaimed, rising from your bed and walking about your room, your hands grasping the sides of your head, attempting to stabilize yourself. "Fuck, fuck!"

You couldn't sleep that night.

You were strolling to your apartment, finally entering the elevator with a spring in your step. A month had gone by with no occurrences, and your concern was fading, with your confidence progressively taking its place.

The job interview went well, and you were hired at the local supermarket in the little town where you resided. It was extremely discreet, and you preferred it that way. Anything too extravagant would have drawn Vincent's attention, which was the last thing you needed.

When the doors reopened, you proceeded to head towards your apartment door, fishing out your keys from your satchel. Sorting through your keys, you unlocked the door and walked into the dark apartment, shutting the door behind you. You walked over to the wall, flicking on the lights.

The next thing you heard caused a chill to run down your spine.

"Did you enjoy your interview, chérie?" A familiar voice spoke, prompting you to press your back against the wall in panic.

Vincent stood in front of the window, his back to you, watching the beauty beyond the glass. His hands were in his pants pockets, and his posture was rigid.

"V-Vincent I-" You stuttered but came to a pause when Vincent turned to face you.

His brow furrowed, his eyes narrowed, and his big lips formed a stiff line. He was clearly furious with you, but he tried to remain calm.

"Do you have any idea how worried I was?" He demanded, taking a few steps closer to you. His stature was imposing, towering well over six feet tall, and you hoped he'd keep his distance.

You could only stay silent; your eyes were locked on him.

"Do you?" He asked once more, his tone becoming darker.

"I-I'm sorry, Vincent, I just-" Your mind was blank, unable to generate a suitable explanation. Your heart was attempting to burst from your chest, and your breathing was growing shaky.

How can you explain your mixed feelings to your kidnapper?

Vincent's patience was clearly wearing thin as he strode towards you, seizing your upper arms and dragging you close. He disregarded your terrified yelps as you struggled to keep your distance. However, because you were close to the wall, Vincent quickly trapped you against it. Your faces were barely a few inches apart, and you struggled to keep the warmth from flowing into your cheeks.

"How could you do something like this? I thought we were happy together and that you finally accepted our love! Why would you run away and scare me to death?!" He yelled, shaking your body somewhat as he spoke. "Do you understand what you put me through?!"

Suddenly, there was a fire that was ignited in your heart that you'd never felt before. All those months poured through you and you didn't think before you opened your mouth.

"What I put you through, what about me?! You kidnapped me and kept me inside your stupid mansion like I was some doll to do your bidding! How dare you stand there and act like you didn't hurt me first!"

Before he could reply, you continued, "But, I fucking love you! Even after everything, I still fell for you, and I hate myself for it! So, I ran! I ran away from you-"

You were cut short as Vincent yanked you into a kiss, his body crushing you against the wall. As you struggled, his arm curled around your waist, and the other gripped your hair to prevent you from pulling away.

However, the longer the kiss persisted, the less you struggled and ultimately succumbed to your predicament. He's kissed you several times before in the past, but this kiss was different. It was the first kiss where you two were finally on the same page.

You returned his kiss, your arms wrapping around his waist. He growled slightly into the kiss, drawing away slightly and planting a gentle kiss on your brow. You leaned against his chest, tears welling up in your eyes as you understood what had transpired.

Vincent brought his lips to your ear, his fingers twirling in your hair as he murmured darkly, "You will never do this again, do you hear me?"

His words sent shivers down your spine, full of ownership, and you knew your independence was gone. You softly agreed, allowing him to bring you closer to him in an embrace that was everything but sweet.

"You'll never escape me; I'll always find you." He murmured again, planting a firm kiss against your temple. "Always, chérie."

Spam Liking W/O Reblogging = Blocked

Taglist: Comment to be added!!

@prettywhenibleed @britany1997 @bookworm-with-coffee @leiasolo77 @rottent33th @slaasherslut @bloodywickedvamp @daddy-issues-99 @kirishimasfiance @cynic-spirit

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[greenmanalishi]

The John Wick franchise (2014-2023)

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[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Good Cop, Bad Cop feat. John Wick

Basically Soft!JW and Mean!JW brain rot - can’t get this shit outta my head or my drafts. Do not read this. I had to take a damn shower after I wrote it. NSFW / Eplicit Content / hitting & name-calling & dubcon

Of course, he’s soft John, who holds opens doors, pulls out chairs, gives away his coat

Little kisses all over your face til’ his jaw is sore just to make you breathless and giggly

Sickeningly sweet and charming, magnetizing in his kindness 

Master of tickle fights 

Deep laughter that rumbles through his entire body

Languid, big tongue never in a hurry

Of course, he takes mental note of your erogenous zones and sensitive spots

Makes sure you come first 

John Wick sucks toes. If you’re ticklish, oh well, he’s putting your foot in his mouth and holding you down or tying you up. Also gives fantastic foot massages with hands and tongue. 

Patient, frustrated John, big plump tip leaking and twitching, giving your fluttering cunt time to stretch and settle around it

Holding your hips down into the mattress and suckling your bloated pussy until the blue light of dawn - until he drinks you dry - don’t worry, though, he’s got the bottle of unscented, water based lube right there and plenty of saliva to keep you slippery - “we don’t want you to chafe, baby,” he coos, worrying a sloppy kiss to your overworked clit

He’s self-aware enough to recognize that his smooth voice is an effective weapon, especially when he’s talking you through taking his cock. Man of few words doesn’t mean he can’t use them the exact right way

“That’s my girl.” “Yeah, that feel good?” “Right there?” “Look at you.” “Gorgeous,” thrust, “irresistible,” thrust, “so fuckin’ sexy.”

Don’t get me started on the Russian dirty talk. Do you know what he’s saying? Absolutely not. Is it still more effective than English? Absolutely yes.

But, realistically, there’s also bully John, who always gets what he wants one way or another

Doesn’t matter how tough you think you are, this man is made of tall, corded muscle. 

Huge, mean, committed and determined, stalking toward you and letting you know, without words, that you’re fucked

Doesn’t matter how soft he tries to be, there’s still that rough undertone that always gets the best of him

You know he’s such a sweetie, but he gets so jealous sometimes. It’s to the point where he doesn’t let you touch yourself or use vibrators unless he’s controlling the scene

The charade of your innocence is over when, one night, you’re drunk, straddling his lap and kissing his collar and you can tell he’s trying not to fuck you stupid

“John,” you say, “you know I’m a big girl. You can do what you want.”

“It’s gonna hurt,” he replies, smoothing over your flushed cheekbone

“Good,” you tell him, “hurt me.”

You’ll live to regret it

He feels a little guilty that that’s all the more coaxing he needs to keep you stuffed full of his dick and crying from overstimulation as often as he can

“We’re lucky you’re on birth control,” he grits out, the wet slap of his balls against your ass as he destroys your cervix 

More filthy, awful shit from his mouth as he manhandles you into a position where he can bite your flesh and whisper in your ear and bottom out in the sanctuary of your cunt

“Cockdrunk slut, huh?” - “It would be easier if this stubborn pussy would ever loosen up a little bit. Shame.” 

He keeps you fat and red and sore and full of cum, always 

You stopped begging him for reprieve - eventually

Heavy handed John, bruising your ass a little too much, hitting you hard enough to make your teeth knock together. 

One day, he’s gonna keep you locked up in a big house, collar around your neck, always wearing too-tight clothes and overly feminine fetish outfits that would make a stripper blush 

Run, hide, fight 

There’s no getting away from the Boogeyman

Plus, he likes the chase

#john wick fanfic #john wick fanfiction #john wick x reader #john wick x you