7 Devils part 3
Hell Fire —-
Chapter 3 ;;; this is a long ass chapter!!! Xx
Warnings: Smutttt, dirty talk, flashbacks.
Darkness glided across the streets of New York; the moonlight prevailed its harrowing decent onto the streets.
It wasn’t long before the familiar sounds of souls being torn from their bodies erupted below you; your eyes shut at the horrors you could only imagine as you sat there with John, your breathing rapid. His hand found your back, rubbing sweet circles with his thumb against your spine.
“Breathe, Y/N.” He said softly as to not startle you with the sound of his gravely voice. You looked at him as if you were a lost child, unable to keep composure.
His eyes had fire in them but yet held a special residue of something like honey, maybe dust of the books he bound. Bourbon and 15th century novels.
You thought back on the four years, four tiring and alone but never in fact lonely years.
Flashing to the past; a grip on your wrist, your father in a death glare battle for the upper hand; your life.
“You hear me and you hear me now —.” He seethed, his anger and worry melting together in a disgusting act of possessiveness. “If you do so much as to get killed out there — I will make sure he has a price on his head.” He glared at the figure who had already had a strict grip on his weapon, ready to take on the most revered man in the underworld; The Elder, your own father.
“Papa, I will be fine. I can handle myself.” You said rubbing his hand that held its ferocious latch onto you.
With a final warning to John your father made his threat known.
“If you come back to tell me my daughter is dead... there will be a heavy price on your head.” He spoke through his gritted teeth; John simply nodded to your father.
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Four years of making your way through a mans world, a heavy weight on any female; but you weren’t just any female — you were firstly, the Elders precious and targeted, daughter and secondly you were the Baba Yaga’s partner; that was also a target on your back.
John would never stop worrying about you; if you had eaten or gotten enough sleep before a mission; you were such a bright young thing but quick to get angry and shoot the gun. John would have to come calm your rage with soft words.
His touch made you break into a cold sweat even in the heart of winter in Moscow. It was an uneventful evening as you two had made your way into a hole in the wall bar; but however, shadows do lurk.
Soon enough there were words exchanged with some local gang, and soon thereafter, a fire fight engaged. You had taken a bullet to the chest; no Kevlar to protect your most important organ — your heart. John quickly rushed to you, you were laid sprawled on your back, you were in shock as you tried to get up.
“Johnathan let me up, I’m ok, I just got the wind knocked out of me. That’s all.” You said looking at him, your attempts to gain a solid breath came to no avail. His eyes broke into a sorrowful expression.
“Mia Amata, you’ve been shot.” He said with a tone only known as regret, his hand pushing onto the wound to stop the profusion of the blood that leaked. Your eyes shut in horror and pain. Soon darkness wrapped you up in its warm blanket.
“We’re losing her!” A voice shouted, your eyes fighting to open but the heavy black spots wouldn’t allow that; your body fell back into the darkened state it was formerly in.
“She’s stable, Mr. Wick. However, we aren’t out of the woods yet.” A heavy Russian accent pierced your ear.
“Yes, thank you. Please thank your staff for me.” John’s voice rang into your mind followed by a gentle grasp of your hand. You subconsciously relaxed into his touch, still unable to force your eyes open.
“Is she dead, Johnathan?” He spewed hatefully — Papa.
“I told you I’d keep her safe. Even though I don’t see what business it is to you.” John spoke fiery without fear.
“Seeing as I’m her father —..” the voices fell off as you had succumbed to the darkness once more.
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“Y/N?” A soft voice called out to you.
Ringing in your ear began to sound, as if a satellite was falling out of orbit, your eyes snapped out of the daze.
Suddenly you were under John’s touch, his hand on your back still. His eyes burning into you, trying to figure you out.
“Are you alright, Mia Amata?” There was that name again, but this time it made lightening and fire erupt in the pit of your stomach — anger.
“Would you stop calling me that?!” You hissed as you stood, suddenly his touch burned and all the fever rushed over you.
You grunted as you began pacing the darkened floor, only illumination was the pale moonlight that shown through the slit in the curtain.
John sat there, bewildered at your actions; unusual behavior for a girl like you. His index finger tapped on his leg; it was like every movement of his illicit a violent response from your being.
“You need to calm down...” He began, shortly a hiss erupted from your lips as you began to start verbally tearing him a new one. But before you could begin your assault he silenced you with a hand over your mouth. “Before you dig yourself into a deep filthy hole you cannot escape.” His eyes glared down at you as he was now standing, his frame hovering over yours. Your lips parted, sneaking your tongue forward, tasting the sweat from his palm.
“This damn moonlight...” he muttered quietly as he watched your eyes. His sharp intake of breath reverberated through the room as he felt your tongue glide over his palm. Soon, his fingers gripped your chin forcing you to directly look into his eyes.
“Don’t fight me on what I should call you. You’re Mia Amata, understood?” He said lowly, his voice changing. You nodded silently as you gazed up at him, a sensation making its way to your lower body. Arousal.
“What do you say?” He said anticipating your correct response.
“Yes sir.” You said softly, innocently.
“Tell me — should I punish you for that little tantrum?” He asked as he slid his arm around your waist pulling you closer to him; his grip still firmly on your chin, pushing his index thumb into your bones, hurting a bit but secretly welcomed.
“Mm, I - I..” You stumbled out, unsure of what to even speak.
A smirk placed on his lips, his eyes were seemingly darker even though really you couldn’t tell. You just knew one thing; you were ready for whatever he gave you.
“You wanted to play with Hell Fire, Mia Amata?” He purred devilishly.
“You’re about to fucking get it.” He growled lowly into your ear.
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His hands swiftly forced you over the desk that was tucked away in the corner of the room, the sounds of his belt being ripped from its loops made your wetness grow; you subconsciously squeezed your thighs together as if to stop it.
“Spread your legs, now.” He commanded.
“Squeezing your thighs together won’t make you any less wet for me.”
His hand quickly found its way to your ass, warming the flesh with a firm grip and kneading motion before it was replaced by a stinging slap of the belt. Then another, then another.
“You.. know how many times...” He said through pleasurable grunts as if he were getting off to your pain. “I’ve thought of taking you, taking every hole you had to offer to me.. you know how many fucking times I’ve came to the thought of you.. even when you were sleeping right beside me..” His unholy confessions made you involuntarily moan out, your red and bruising backside pushed into his clothed erection; making him grunt loudly.
“You’re such a needy little thing... I don’t even know what to do with you..“ He said leaning over you, his mouth next to your ear, growling and whispering nasty praises to you. “I need to feel how tight you are.. how you fuck.. how you taste.. fuck even how you smell.." he groaned pulling her to him, his hips snapping as he bounced her backside off his clothed erection, simulating fucking her.
“Tell me, Mia Amata, what do you want me to do? Huh? Tell me.” He growled.
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Tags: @johnfuckingwick @keanuchillz @meetmeinthematinee @fanficsrusz @fan-wicktion and to whomever I forget, may this find you —— satisfied.. for now. 🖤
