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treedaddymcpuffpuff · 10 hours

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✧ ˚ BREAK THE CHAIN

˙ ✩°˖🏛️ ⋆｡˚ Donnie Barksdale x Reader x Kevin Lomax

CW: toxic and abusive marriage, physical abuse, possessive and jealous behaviour, threats of violence.

Synopsis: during the turmoil of your divorce proceedings against your abusive husband, you and your lawyer confront your husband's relentless refusal to accept the end of your marriage. 2.6k words.

˙ ✩°˖🏛️ ⋆｡˚

“How can he do this? How can he get away with spewing such venomous lies about me? He knows the truth. He knows what he put me through. Why can’t he just admit it?!” you emerge from the courthouse, alongside your lawyer Kevin, trying to seek some reassurance after yet another gruelling day in your divorce hearing. You’re on the verge of tears, wondering how much more of this you can take before you reach breaking point.

In a desperate attempt to tarnish your reputation and undermine your credibility, your soon-to-be-ex-husband, Donnie, and his sleaze-ball of a lawyer, hurled accusations of infidelity and deceit against you, claiming that any abuse you endured during your marriage had not been at the hands of your husband. His entire defence was built on a lie, shifting the accusation of abuse onto fabricated lovers, stating that you were trying to pin the blame on him and make him out to be a monster.

The touch of Kevin’s hand grounds you, takes control and pulls you back to reality before you spiral any further. Gently brushing the soft pad of his thumb against your knuckles, you can’t help but compare how smooth and gentle his hands feel to the rough and calloused texture you were used to feeling from Donnie’s.

“Listen to me,” Kevin’s velvet tone pulls your focus away from your intertwined hands and you look up into his gentle eyes that are full of calm determination. “Donnie is grasping at straws, he can make as many accusations as he pleases just don’t let them get to you. These claims only show how desperate he is to regain control over the narrative. His lies hold no weight in the eyes of the law, they’re nothing but baseless accusations. We have the truth on our side, nothing can change that.”

“What if the truth isn’t enough?” you worry, casting your gaze downward. Your mind is plagued with doubt, brought on by the accusations of betrayal to dismantle your claims of abuse.

“Trust me, Y/N,” Kevin gently takes your chin between his finger and thumb to guide your gaze back towards him. “I’ve got this, alright? Donnie will slip up eventually.” promise radiates from his gaze, while he speaks with unwavering confidence.

For Kevin, litigating a case is like playing chess, he has the skill to anticipate every move the opposition will make and he has every counterattack planned in advance. He knows when to sit back and observe and when to strike, possessing the ability to unravel an opponents case with strategic attacks that ultimately secure victories for his clients. He has no reason to believe this case will be any different.

You draw strength from Kevin’s optimism, like a soothing balm over your doubts and anxieties, once again the gentle brush of his thumb against your knuckles grounds you.

“If it wasn’t for you, I don’t think I could get through this.” you mumble as you rest your forehead against Kevin’s shoulder, in return you feel his arm wrap around you, offering the comfort you were seeking.

“Enough of that,” Kevin’s melodic accent whispers in your ear, soft and mellow, as he pulls you closer. “You’re strong, Y/N, stronger than you know, you hear me? I’ll be by your side you every step of the way but don’t for a second underestimate your own strength and resilience.”

Before you can respond, the shrill sound of Kevin’s ringtone interrupts the moment. Withdrawing his embrace, he digs into his suit pocket to pull out his phone and inspect the caller ID.

“I oughta take this real quick. Wait right here, I won’t be a minute.” he sighs while offering an apologetic glance for the disturbance. Your focus lingers on Kevin as he jogs down the remaining steps of the courthouse to take his call in private.

As you stand alone, your attention focused on Kevin as he takes his call, Donnie lurks in the distance, like a predator stalking its prey. His menacing glare is pinned directly on you as he seizes the opportunity and closes in on you. Only once his rough grip is sending a jolt of pain through your arm, do you realise you’re no longer alone.

“We need us a li’l chat away from all these folk tryna fill your head with bullshit.” Donnie’s menacing drawl growls in your ear, dripping with venom as he roughly hauls you to the secluded side of the courthouse, away from prying eyes.

“That slick-talkin’ lawyers got some nerve wrappin’ his arms ‘round what don’t belong to him, I reckon he’s tryna steal you away from me.” Donnie’s rugged face is inches from yours as he cages you in against the red brick wall. “Now you might think I’m stupid but I ain’t blind to what’s been happenin’. You and that fancy lawyer of yours been fuckin’ for months behind my back, ain’t that right?”

“No, Donnie.” your breath shudders through your quivering voice as your estranged husband intimidatingly looms over you. “You’re wrong.”

“Bullshit, Y/N!” Donnie’s tone is laced with distrust as he narrows his suspicious eyes down at you. “Ain’t no way you’d be divorcin’ me if it weren’t for that son-of-a-bitch tryna lead you astray. He’s the one behind this whole fuckin’ mess, whispering his poison in your ear since the start, ‘cause I know you ain’t got the money for no know-it-all lawyer like him, so somethin’ ain’t adding up right.”

“Donnie, that’s enough. Let her go.” Your heart leaps at the sound of Kevin’s commanding voice breaking through the tense atmosphere.

Donnie’s head whips around in the lawyers direction with thunderous expression. “Mind your business, Lomax. This is between me and my wife.”

“It is my business when someone’s threatening my client.” Kevin stands his ground as he confidently steps between you and Donnie. “Now leave her alone otherwise you’ll leave me no choice but to get the police involved. And I’ll give you this tip for free, Donnie — getting arrested for harassment sure as shit ain’t gonna do your case any favours. So if I were you, I’d be on my way.”

With a huff through his flared nostrils and his chest heaving with rage, Donnie begrudgingly relents and takes a step back. “This ain’t over, you hear me?” he stubbornly reminds you both as he takes leisurely steps back with his chin raised in defiance. “I’ll be damned if I let any man think he can steal what’s mine.”

With one final menacing glare, Donnie storms off towards his pickup truck leaving you trembling against the brick wall as all the tension floods out your body. Kevin’s arms are around you within an instant, offering you the security and care you desperately need.

“Told you he’d slip up, didn’t I?” Kevin’s voice carries a subtle note of triumph as he rests his chin against the top of your head.

˙ ✩°˖🏛️ ⋆｡˚

“Mr. Barksdale, earlier in this trial, you made some rather bold accusations against my client, Mrs. Y/N Barksdale. Accusations of infidelity and deceit. Is that correct?” With a professional tone, Kevin addresses Donnie, who is sitting at the witness stand.

“Yeah, that’s right.” Donnie responds as he shifts uncomfortably, his dark eyes bounce between you and Kevin.

“And yet, despite the seriousness of these accusations, you have provided no evidence to support these claims.” Kevin confidently paces in front of the witness stand but his challenging glare never leaves Donnie. “Meanwhile my client, Mrs. Barksdale has provided the court with medical records documenting incidents of abuse at your hands.”

You notice a subtle twitch on Donnie’s face as he momentarily glances away, a sight you were all too familiar with when he was trying to hold back the anger that was starting to boil beneath the surface.

“Just ‘cause she got some bruises don’t mean I put them there.” Donnie shrugs, triggering an uncomfortable twist in your gut as you watch him so nonchalantly reject accountability for the hell he put you through.

"Mr. Barksdale, the medical records clearly indicate patterns of injury consistent with physical abuse," Kevin rebuts, while maintaining a firm and professional manner. "These are not just 'some bruises.' They are documented evidence of repeated incidents of violence against my client."

"Just 'cause she's got some marks, suddenly it's all my fault?” he scoffs, his voice laced with contempt. “Them injuries could've come from any one of them men she was runnin' around with behind my back.”

“You know, Mr. Barksdale, it's getting rather tiresome hearing about these mysterious lovers of Mrs. Barksdale's that you've yet to prove the existence of.” Kevin rolls his eyes as a note of boredom enters his tone.

Donnie’s jaw clenches tightly as he glares at Kevin, fury burning within the dark shadows of his eyes and his nostrils flaring as he barely maintains his composer. A pulsating vein on the side of his neck displays the rage that is threatening to erupt at any moment. Donnie decides to keep his lips sealed.

“Mr. Barksdale, during your marriage to Mrs. Y/N Barksdale, did you ever exhibit signs of jealousy or possessiveness.” Kevin smoothly continues his cross examination, undeterred by Donnie’s visible signs of anger.

Donnie’s face twitches with irritation as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his darkened gaze briefly flickers in your direction before settling back on Kevin.

“I fail to see how it’s any of your damn business.” Donnie’s voice is twinged with the slightest hint of a growl as his chest starts visibly heaving with his poorly concealed rage.

“Order!” The judge immediately scolds Donnie for the slip of his tongue. “Answer the question, Mr. Barksdale.”

“I reckon every man’s got a right to protect what belongs to him.” Donnie finally admits through thinly veiled irritation.

“Is that what you call it, Mr. Barksdale?” Kevin leans forward slightly, as he steps closer to the witness stand. “Is that what you were doing yesterday, outside this very courthouse, when you forcibly hauled my client out of sight of any potential witnesses and pinned her against a wall with the intention of intimidating her?”

Leaning forward in his seat, Donnie grips the edge of the witness stand until his knuckles turn white. “You got some goddamn nerve twistin’ the truth like that.” his menacing voice rises with fury. “I was tryna have a private conversation with my wife but you can’t resist stickin’ your nose where it don’t belong. You’re nothin’ but a snake in a fancy suit, tryna fill my wife’s head with your poison and steal her away for yourself but I ain’t gonna let you have her. She’s my goddamn wife! Mine! She belongs to me and no ones gonna tell me any different!”

“Order!” once again the judge pipes up with an authoritative tone, trying to control Donnie’s outburst. “Mr. Barksdale, I will not tolerate that kind of hostility in my court! This is your final warning.”

“Your honour, I believe Mr. Barksdale’s temperament speaks for itself,” Kevin calmly addresses the judge in a composed manner. “His outburst here today offers us a glimpse at the mere surface of the ongoing abuse and intimation my client has endured throughout her marriage to Mr. Barksdale. I have no further questions.”

“Mr. Barksdale, you are on thin ice. One more outburst like that, and I will hold you in contempt of court. Do you understand?” The judge turns to Donnie with a disapproving frown after acknowledging Kevin’s statement.

Donnie offers the judge a curt nod, but the his clenched jaw and sneering expression betray the anger that is still running through his veins like boiling hot magma.

As soon as Kevin sits back down beside you, your hand is immediately enveloped by his, the soft touch is a soothing comfort easing the discomfort and tension that still lingers within from Donnie’s outburst.

“You alright?” Kevin whispers, his eyes radiating concern as gives your hand a gentle squeeze, understanding how triggering hearing Donnie’s outburst might have been for you. When you offer him a silent nod, he sends you a wink that you find comforting, as it showcases his ease and confidence. “It’s almost over now.”

˙ ✩°˖🏛️ ⋆｡˚

“After careful consideration of the evidence presented in this case, it is clear to this court that Mrs. Y/N Barksdale has endured significant hardship and abuse at the hands of her husband, Mr. Donnie Barksdale. Therefore, it is the ruling of this court that the divorce petition filed by Mrs. Y/N Barksdale be granted. Additionally, a restraining order shall be issued against Mr. Donnie Barksdale, prohibiting any contact with Mrs. Barksdale or her immediate family. Furthermore, Mr. Donnie Barksdale shall be required to undergo anger management counselling and attend regular check-ins with a court-appointed counsellor to ensure compliance with the terms of this ruling.” As the judge announces the ruling, a wave of overwhelming relief rips through your body. Raising a trembling hand to you mouth you sob into your palm as you look at Kevin, just to make sure you are hearing correctly.

The smile of triumph Kevin’s face is enough to confirm that you weren’t imagining it, as sobs of relief continue to shake through you, Kevin pulls you into his embrace. Leaving a kiss on your forehead, his soft hand gently strokes your back, soothing the overwhelming emotion that has taken over your senses. His comforting clean scent envelopes you as you burrow into the crook of his neck and wrap your own arms around his shoulders.

“Let’s get you outta here.” Kevin whispers in your ear, before he helps you out your seat, a sturdy arm around your waist keeping you steady. Only once your on your feet do you realise Donnie is being restrained by security as his fury filled eyes glare daggers at you full of unrestrained rage and malice.

“You filthy whore! You connivin’ bitch! You think you can just walk away from me?!” Donnie’s thunderous voice echos through the courtroom as he’s held back by two security guards, his body thrashing to escape their unyielding hold. His long hair flying around his face as he spits and snarls like a wild beast. “You’ll never get rid of me! You and that damn fuckin’ snake of a lawyer! I’ll hunt you both down, you fuckin’ hear me?”

Kevin tries to get you away from the commotion as quickly as possible with a protective arm around you, urging you to not look at your now ex-husband as he swiftly ushers you out of the courthouse.

As the sunlight strokes your face, you take a deep breath of the cool breeze that welcomes you like a reprieve, sweeping away any echo of Donnie’s rage that still rung in your ears. You lean into Kevin’s side, grateful for his steady and calm presence beside you.

“You’re free now, Y/N. He can’t hurt you anymore.” Kevin whispers into your ear with a confident assurance, dismissing the validity of Donnie’s threats. When you lean your head against his shoulder, he cups the nape of your neck before leaving a tender his on your temple.

“I wanna get away from here.” you whisper, as Kevin gently tilts your chin up to meet his warm gaze.

“I’ll take you anywhere you wanna go.” Kevin promises without any hesitation, “just tell me where.”

Kevin’s promise makes anything seem possible, like no dream is too big and by his side you truly feel like the world is your oyster.

“I’ve always wanted to visit New York…” you look up at Kevin, your eyes over brimming with hope for a new beginning.

“New York it is.” Kevin smiles down at you, mirroring the yearning for an adventure in your eyes and he takes your hand in his and leads you towards his convertible.

⋆｡°✩ note i: in the beginning I kinda wanted to leave Kevin and readers relationship up to interpretation but I think that ending gives away the fact that they’re a little more than just lawyer and client.

⋆｡°✩ note ii: I have an idea for a prequel revolved around how Kevin and reader met and began their affair which I might work on depending on the response to this fic!

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treedaddymcpuffpuff · 18 hours

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⚜ 𝓑𝓮𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓭 𝓙𝓾𝓭𝓰𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽 - 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒱𝐼: 𝒜𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒯𝑜𝓅 ⚜

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ ✧.*★ Thank you again to @evren-sadwrn for the beta read!

TW: masturbation, smut fantasies, mention of drugs

Summary: John Wick and The Marquis de Gramont both faked their deaths on that fateful day at the Basilica. But when Vincent seeks John's help, he isn't expecting genuine compassion.

Vincent wouldn’t have been able to sleep anyway. Too many words circled in his mind, and they were all John’s words. “I don’t know why.” “Back off.” Well, what did he care anyway? Who wanted John, with his brutish bulk of muscle and miserably mournful chocolate eyes? He stared at the darkened silhouette on the armchair, listening to the slow, near-silent song of John’s breathing. It irritated him for being so calming, for making him imagine John’s chest rising and falling against his own, for making him feel so damn safe while being so completely out of reach.

John had left him wanting and gone right to sleep, the bastard. His hand twitched towards his cock but John was right there, and he didn’t trust himself not to moan. It was downright reckless to leave the window unwatched, but Vincent couldn’t help it.

Almost before he knew what he was doing, he was against the bathroom wall, across from the sink, his own flushed face staring back at him from under maple lashes, haloed by a row of bulbs above the mirror. He felt cheap and dirty but powerful at the same time, the way he did with the pretty Paris runway models he fucked sometimes, just for fun, no strings attached. Telling them, “C'est juste notre secret, prince(esse). Ne le dites à personne [It’s just our secret, prince(ess). Don’t tell anyone],” knowing full well that they would, that they’d show off the gold bracelets and diamonds he bought them, that they’d cry to their friends about how he was a playboy and get the next one interested in the dangerous Marquis de Gramont. It never failed.

He looked good, even in replacement clothes from some chain store, and better with the slacks unbuttoned to slide halfway down his hips. John was a fool. He’d like to show him how much of a fool. He shifted his back against the tiled wall, solidifying his grip on himself.

He imagined John seeing him now and begging, reaching out to touch him only to get pushed back by the tip of a blade under the chin, almost cutting the stubble at the base of his jaw. John’s begging only spurred on by the threat, whining even more, for a kiss, for a fuck, caressing the arm that held the blade, the arm that was now flexing in rhythm with strokes that pushed shot after shot of spreading, syrupy heat down through his thighs and up into his abdomen and out the tip in a mercifully slick trickle of precum.

He’d shove John onto the bed (his own bed back home, in his favorite pleasure room, a cloud of silk ruffles and damask), calling him needy and mussing his hair over his face, teasing him for his dishevelment until he was rewarded with that deep growl, so characteristic of John Wick. That low, snarling voice, so pissed off, so…His own throat released an inarticulate whimper of pleasure and he bit his lip, pumping faster.

He’d flip him, and John would let him. He’d let him because he wanted it, wanted it so much he’d be humping into the bedsheets and grabbing them in fistfulls even before Vincent thrusted rudely into him from behind. John would try to bury his face to hide the grunts of desire and Vincent wouldn’t allow it. He’d yank his head back by the hair, twist his neck awkwardly around for a kiss, see John’s eyes shimmering and tearful and pleading and so unbearably tender…

And suddenly the image was slipping out of his control, morphing, melting like wax under the heat that was now starting to white out his vision and ring in his ears. In that realm of unrestrained fantasy near climax, where the purest form of want crystallizes, they were suddenly not one on top of the other, but laying side by side, face to face, kissing tenderly, long and slow. John’s fist closed on the back of his hair, John’s hand wrapped securely around his shaft, taking care of him, John’s arm pressing into his shoulder to roll him onto his back and John’s weight laying over him crushingly just as he had on the couch last night to stop that panic attack. John enveloping him completely. John’s heartbeat pounding through both their aching rib cages into his own chest where its imagined reverberations sunk low into his pelvis and finally undid him completely.

Then Vincent was panting, alone in the silence of the motel bathroom, wiping off his dick. What the hell was that?

He returned to bed, relieved not to have woken John, and laid on top of the blankets, feeling drained of energy but not of racing thoughts. He couldn’t figure John out. He couldn’t figure himself out. His charm had always seen him through, but it was failing catastrophically at the moment. That was no wonder - he certainly didn’t look his best. And he was off his game, unable to get any kind of read on John’s intentions. Perhaps he just needed to figure out who John wanted him to be. The right words to say, the right buttons to push, some way to get the upper hand. If he could just clear his head, he would think of something…and then maybe this man wouldn’t seem so tantalizing. He’d be conquered and done with, just like everyone else. No strange fantasies of…whatever that was.

It was near midnight when headlights swung dimly across the window. “John! Wake up!”

He jumped up and moved to the curtains instantly. The headlights passed them, stopping on the other side of the parking lot. John watched without speaking for what seemed like whole minutes.

“Bon? [Well?] Who is it?”

“Doesn’t look like it’s related to us. Someone at the door of another motel room. I think it’s a drug deal.”

Vincent’s heart leapt. In a moment, he was standing next to John, peering at a dark blue car on the opposite end of the parking lot. Unbelievable luck.

“What do you think you’re doing? Get away from the window.”

“Right, of course.” He fell back onto the bed but his eyes remained glued to John until he finally stepped back. Another wave of disjointed, artificial light bled through the edges of the curtains, passing over John as the car pulled away.

“They left.” He checked the clock. “I slept a couple hours. Should be fine. Do you want to go to sleep now?”

“Yes. Unfortunately, I can’t.” Would that car come back?

“…Want company?”

“Do what you like, it doesn’t matter to me.”

The light switched on, and then the TV. John flipped through channels, finding nothing. He settled at last on some nature documentary that droned dully on about the behaviors of meerkats.

“Pouah, pas ces ordures. [Ugh, not this garbage.]”

“Très bien, tu choisis quelque chose. [Fine, you pick something.]” He tossed over the remote. “De toute façon, que regardes-tu à la télé? [What do you watch on TV anyway?]”

“Pas la télévision. Film. Opéra. [Not television. Film. Opera.]” he said grandly. “…and Big Brother.”

John chuckled. “Je ne vous considérais pas comme du genre à regarder des émissions de téléréalité. [Didn’t peg you as the type to watch reality shows.]”

“Ce n'est pas comme si je le faisais tous les jours. Je suis un homme très occupé. [It’s not as if I do it every day. I’m a very busy man.]”

“Bien sûr. [Of course.]”

He settled on something more dignified though: just a music channel, filling the room with the tail end of a Vivaldi piece. It didn’t do much to alleviate boredom, but at least it was better than silence. It occurred to Vincent that this was an opportunity to figure John out. To test what sort of praise he might enjoy.

“You’ve been through a great deal for me, you know. I have not thanked you properly.” His tone was soft and contrite, a perfect picture of sincerity.

John eyed him suspiciously, but said only, “You’re welcome.”

Always so damn quiet. Vincent tried again. “I will give you this, John: you are a man of genuine prowess.”

“So are you,” he offered matter-of-factly. “You don’t survive within the Table without serious skill.”

A warm bloom of happiness spread over him, more intensely than it should have. He kicked one foot over the edge of the bed, swinging it. “And you’re…nice to me.”

This was the first thing he had said that seemed to touch John at all. He turned to Vincent. “I’m surprised that matters to you. Isn’t everyone falling over themselves to please you at the High Table?”

“Well yes, but…” He was articulating this for the first time. “Niceties are their own currency. People try to ingratiate themselves, to climb the hierarchy. No one does things without knowing why.”

“Sounds like hell.”

“Only if you’re at the bottom.”

“I’d imagine the top is worse. At the bottom, you can’t fall.”

“No. You’re already dead in the ground.” He felt that sick fear take hold within him. “Unseen, unnoticed, uncared for by anyone. One of the nonexistent rabble. Even within the Table, there are those who will live to build a legacy for themselves, and those who will die unrecognized, in misery and failure. Not to mention those who live beneath it.”

“So that’s what it is to you, to not be at the top? To be unseen and uncared for?”

He was suddenly more naked than he had with his pants down in front of the sink. But John was giving him total attention. This…this was it. This was what he wanted. This conversation that felt like pulling off his fingernails one by one. He allowed himself a little mocking exhale but managed not to fully rampage. “That’s not what it is to me, that’s what it is. Once and for all.”

“That hasn’t been my experience. I felt most seen when I was outside the Table entirely. Without hierarchy. But if you disagree…can’t you rule something else? Something that’s not the High Table?”

“Quoi, you want me to run for public office?” Vincent laughed. “Join the local town hall? No, the High Table is everything. More international than any government. It’s the top of the food chain. All my life, I have set my sights on it. As my father did before me.” He leaned back again, staring at the ceiling while Francis Poulenc’s “Mélancholie” flowed past them in glassy, light spinnerets of sound.

“What was he like?”

“A great man. An asshole, and I’m glad he is dead, but a great man. He pushed me to become what I am today: greater than himself. I take many lessons from him. Do you feel the same about The Director?”

“No.” John said nothing further for a long time. Then, “Pushed you how?”

“Oh he never hit me or anything like that. But you know. He had a reputation to maintain. To bring shame on the family was not an option. …I remember I was late to sit in on an important meeting of his, when I was maybe nine or ten, because I spent too long playing with my new pony. He did not look at me for a week.” Vincent laughed, without knowing why. “He pretended, in front of everyone, that I did not exist. ‘I have no son,’ he said. ‘If I had a son, he would be punctual.’ And you know, that was always a possibility. Disownment.”

“Some great man.” John’s shoulders had gone extraordinarily tense, even for him, and he was gripping the arms of the chair.

“Well, now I am punctual. You’re too soft, John. This world isn’t built to coddle you and hold your hand.”

“Fuck that. I will hold its hand instead then.”

“And get yours chopped off?”

He held up the space where his ring finger should be. “If that’s what it takes.”

“…I’m tired now.”

“Do you want the music turned off?”

“No, I want…” I want you to hold my hand. Fuck. Where did that thought come from? He’d rather ask John to suck him off and get rejected twenty times than say that. “I want the light off.”

Darkness again, in which no one looked at him and he did not exist.

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