John had her spread open beneath him, one strong hand braced beside her head, the other gripping the back of her thigh and holding her wide as he fucked into her hard and deep. Every thrust dragged a broken, helpless sound from her throat. The wet slide of his dick filling her over and over made it impossible to think. His dark eyes never left hers, that low, rough voice telling her exactly how well she was taking him—how tight she felt, how good she looked stretched around him, how he could feel her trembling every time he bottomed out.
She was already close. Had been for minutes. Her nails dug into his shoulders as he rolled his hips and ground against her clit on every deep stroke, relentless and precise. The pressure built fast, sharp and overwhelming, until coherent thought scattered.
The word slipped out on a particularly hard thrust, half-moan, half-shock, like it had been waiting under her tongue the whole time.
“Daddy—”
His hips stuttered. Just for a second. His eyes flashed, dark and intense, and a low, dangerous sound rumbled in his chest. Then he drove into her harder, deeper, the rhythm turning punishing in the best way.
“Again,” he ordered, voice rough.
She gasped it this time, clinging to him as he fucked her through the aftershocks of the first accidental slip.
“Daddy—please—”
He didn’t slow down. If anything he went harder, one hand sliding up to wrap loosely around her throat, not squeezing, just holding, claiming. His thumb brushed the side of her neck as he watched her face.
“That’s it,” he murmured, almost darkly pleased. “Say it while I fuck you.”
She did. Over and over. Every broken “Daddy” earned her another deep, perfect stroke until she was shaking apart under him, moaning the word like a prayer as she came hard around his dick. He followed soon after, burying himself to the hilt and growling against her mouth, still holding her like he had no intention of letting go.
In your apartment, late, the only light coming from the streetlamp bleeding through the half-open blinds. Frank had shown up without warning, blood still drying on his knuckles, that same quiet intensity in his eyes. He didn’t ask. He never did. One second you were standing in the doorway, the next he had you against the wall of your living room, mouth on yours like he’d been holding himself back for hours.
Your back hit the plaster hard. His hand found your throat—firm, controlled, not cutting air—while the other shoved your jeans and underwear down in one rough motion. He lifted you just enough, lined himself up, and thrust in deep. The sound you made was sharp, startled. He didn’t stop. He never stopped once he started.
Frank fucked you against the wall like he needed it more than air, hips snapping forward in hard, relentless strokes. His forehead pressed to yours, eyes locked on yours the entire time, dark and unblinking. No words. Just the wet sound of him driving into you, the creak of the wall, your broken breaths.
He angled deeper. Found the spot that made your vision white out. Then he stayed there, grinding into it with every thrust like he was trying to carve himself into you. Your legs shook. Your hands scrambled for purchase on his shoulders, his back, anything. Coherent thought slipped through your fingers.
You tried to plead.
“Please— Frank, please, I can’t— slower— fuck— please—”
But every time you opened your mouth, he drove back in harder, deeper, hitting that same perfect spot until the words shattered. All that came out was broken, helpless babble mixed with desperate pleas.
“Daddy— please— Daddy— please— Daddy—”
Frank’s entire body reacted. A low, broken growl rolled through his chest, almost like a moan. His rhythm faltered for half a second, forehead dropping harder against yours, breath shuddering like the word had hit him harder than any bullet ever had. His free hand gripped your hip hard enough to bruise, fingers digging in, holding you tighter against him as if he was afraid you’d stop.
Then he fucked you harder. Deeper. He kept his eyes on yours the whole time, pupils blown, jaw clenched, every thrust a silent answer to every plea. Like he’d been starving for that word without even knowing it. Like hearing it spill out of you in broken, mindless pieces while you begged was the only thing that had ever made the noise in his head go quiet.
You couldn’t stop.
Couldn’t think.
Couldn’t say anything else.
Just “Daddy” and “please” on every thrust, every grind, every time he bottomed out and forced another broken sound from your throat. Over and over until your voice cracked and the only thing left in the room was the sound of him claiming every mindless, desperate plea like it belonged to him.
Smoke was in the kitchen when you arrived—black shirt, tattoos showing, gun on the counter beside him, that same strict, controlled quiet hanging off him like a second skin. He didn’t smile when he saw you. He just looked at you for a long moment, eyes dark and assessing, then nodded once toward the bedroom.
“Go. Now.”
You followed.
He didn’t rush. He never did. Smoke stripped you with the same precise focus he used for everything else—no wasted movement, just steady hands and the weight of his gaze. When he finally pushed you back onto the bed and settled between your thighs, he held your wrists by your head.
“Keep your eyes on me,” he said, voice low and firm. “Don’t look away.”
He pushed inside in one long thrust.
The air left your lungs. Making you gasp. Every thrust was deliberate, deep, exact—like he was teaching your body the rules and expecting perfect obedience. One of his hands came down and gripped your hip, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Take it. All of it. You’re doing so fucking good for me.”
He thrust deeper, grinding against the spot that made your vision blur. He kept talking in that same, quiet tone.
“Feel how deep I am? You’re gripping me so tight. Like you don’t want me to leave. Good girl. Just like that.”
You tried to stay quiet. Tried to keep whatever was building behind your teeth locked down. But he didn’t let up—pace steady, words steady, eyes locked on yours the entire time—until the word tore out of you raw and helpless
“Daddy—”
A low, rough sound left his chest. His grip on your hip tightened. His forehead dropped against yours, breath shuddering like the single word had cracked straight through every careful wall he kept around himself.
Then he started moving again—harder, deeper—voice dropping even lower, rougher.
“Say that again. Let me hear it. You’re taking your daddy so well. Look at you… dripping all over me, whining, still trying to take every inch. Perfect. So fucking perfect.”
Every thrust drove the air from your lungs and another broken whimper from your mouth. He never stopped talking. Never stopped telling you how good you felt around him, how proud he was of the way you whined for him, how he wanted to hear that title again and again.
“That’s my girl. Keep saying it. Don’t stop. You’re mine right now—taking daddy so deep, so good. Fuck… you were made for this.”
His strict control frayed just enough to show how much he needed it—like hearing that word in your voice while you clenched around him was the closest thing to peace a man like him was ever going to get.
You couldn’t stop after that.
Couldn’t think of anything else.
The juke joint was loud. Stack had you laid out on the edge of the table, dress pushed up around your waist, one of your legs hooked over his shoulder. He was on his knees between your thighs like he belonged there, mouth already working your open with slow, deliberate strokes of his tongue.
You gasped, hips jerking. Your fingers flew to his head, pushing at him even as your body arched closer.
“Stack—wait—”
He didn’t wait. He licked deeper, tongue flat and wet, dragging over your clit before sucking it gently between his lips. The sound he made was filthy and satisfied. Your thighs trembled around his ears.
You pushed harder at his head, half-trying to escape the intensity, half-desperate for more. “It’s too much… fuck—”
Stack’s hands clamped down on your hips, pinning you in place. He looked up at you for just a second, mouth shiny, eyes dark and amused.
“You ain’t going nowhere,” he murmured against you. Then he dove back in, sucking harder, tongue circling your clit in tight, relentless strokes.
The pressure built fast. Your fingers gripped his head, pushing and pulling at the same time. You were shaking, breath coming in broken little sounds, trying to get away from how good it felt and failing completely.
“Daddy—”
The word ripped out of you, high and needy.
Stack groaned against you like he’d been waiting for it. The vibration shot straight through you. He ate you like a man starved, tongue fucking into you, then sealing his mouth over your clit and sucking until your vision blurred.
You shoved at his head again, legs shaking, voice cracking. “Daddy—please—it’s too much—”
He only held you tighter, growling low against your soaked flesh. One of his hands slid up to pin both of yours to the table, keeping you from pushing him away. The other stayed locked on your hip, forcing you to take every stroke of his tongue.
You came hard, thighs clamping around his head, crying out the word over and over like a prayer and a confession.
“Daddy—Daddy—oh god—”
Stack didn’t stop until you were twitching and oversensitive, trying to squirm away while still grinding against his mouth. Only then did he slow, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to your trembling pussy, tasting every last pulse.
When he finally lifted his head, lips glistening, that wicked little smile was back.
“That’s it,” he said, voice rough. “Keep calling me that while you fall apart on my tongue.”
He kissed the inside of her thigh, eyes locked on yours.
“Again.”
an: im trying to convince myself that i like this, but eh, lowkey it's okay i did it with all my favorite unhinged men, so yeah bye......uh, why did i write these in different POVs? I'll fix it tomorrow i think.
tags: NSFW, MDNI, John Wick 2 storyline, slightly inaccurate John Wick, strangers to lovers, awkward first meet, knight in shining muscle car type, slooooooooow burn [then we fast af], reader is a vet tech type, descent into darkness/Underworld, adventures in dog sitting, age gap, references to Hades/Persephone mythology, flirting over text [or in John's case, just conversing], clothes on sex, cowgirl position, panties to the side, sliiiight voyeurism [if you squint], not a condom in sight-just the vibes, fingering, multiple org*sms, feelings of grief, shower sex, slightly toxic John Wick [he doesn't mean to, he's grieving], pillow talk, use of g*ns, hostage negotiation, talk of animal de*th and instruments involved, Charon/Winston/Santino/Dog involvement, possible relationship talk, attraction to "bad" men, making out in a car, quickie sex
synopsis: You meet a man named John Wick when he's dropping off his dog "Gunner" for a check up. From there, it's a slippery slope into a new world.
wc: 19. 7 k 😮💨
a/n: okayyy, yes, i did write this before finishing that one River Ward fic but this idea took me by storm in the dead of night. No I was not listening to my River Ward playlist when I thought of this, jeez what's with the third degree? my computer is actually trying to die on itself as i type this rn
You raised a brow at the man entering the clinic, wearing a red-stained dress shirt and tattered suit jacket.
"Hi," he began, walking up to the front counter as you straightened up before him.
"Hi," you repeated, meeting his dark eyes and internally wincing at the cuts on his face.
He was stoic, un-moving as he braced a hand on the counter. But his lips curled slightly in a smile. His hand slid, his forearm bracing the counter as he relaxed.
"Hi," he said again, this time his deep voice echoing through you. You couldn't help but return his polite smile, edging up on your toes to finally look down at his pet.
"Who do we have here?" You asked down at the beautiful dark gray pittie. The dog sat, tilting his head at you and you melted an inch staring into his cute light brown eyes.
"This is..." the man looked down at his dog and tilted his head with a loss of words. You raised a brow at him, waiting as he turned to look at you again with a slightly defeated look. "Gunner."
You huffed an amused air from your nose. "Cute, he looks like a Gunner."
The man nodded as you rounded the counter and took a careful knee before the pittie. "Is he friendly?"
"Absolutely." He barely managed to answer as the dog turned in the direction of you and started nuzzling into you.
His paws pattered the floor, stepping further into you and begging to be pet. You obliged, cooing at the attention-seeking pup, patting at his round body and scratching behind his ears.
You smooched at him, showering praise at this stranger's dog for a minute then looked up at the stranger himself. He was propped up on the counter, watching you love on his pet, with what you recognized as blood on his dress shirt.
"And is Gunner's owner friendly?" You cooed at Gunner, holding the dog's face in your hands to smush his cheeks.
The stranger scoffed, his lips curling in a wry grin before answering: "Gunner thinks so."
Your stomach fluttered at the stranger speaking, though you weren't sure if it was an instance of fight or flight. Meeting the stranger's dark eyes again, you quirked your mouth to the side.
"Does Gunner's owner have a name?" You asked, your bottom lip slipping between your teeth at the last moment.
"He does," the stranger answered as you slowly stood up from your place. His hand extended out for you to take, and you noticed his knuckles tattered with blood and swelling. "John."
You ignored whatever warning pang was rushing through your body as he introduced himself. Your hand reached out to grab his, minding your grip to not bring him pain. When you uttered your name, his smile only grew, finding himself pushing upright to tower over you.
"Nice to meet you." John said, his voice straining a bit.
"Same to you," you said, giving his hand a polite shake before dropping it and returning to your paperwork. "What're you bringing Gunner in for today?"
You stood outside of the clinic, circling through your ring of keys to find the one for your door. It never failed, with how many keys you had, it was always the last one you expected.
You bounced on one foot to keep yourself alert, filing through your keys in the unexpectedly cool night. You were already running late to meet up with friends and now you were battling your stomach rumbling.
As you were nearing the end of your key leash, you heard a few whistles from behind you. A cold ice jutted down your back, making your insides become rigid with the thought of being watched.
Still, you ignored it as best at you could, pretending to not hear whatever calls were over your shoulder. Your bouncing foot quickened, hoping you had found your out before whatever approached you.
With the final key try, you managed to lock the door and turn in the direction of your car only to be stopped by two tall men stood before you.
You excused yourself, backing away from them only to turn around to find two more men behind you. Staring at the men surrounding you, you glanced sideways into the street and stepped out.
"Where you goin' sweetheart?" One of the men called after you.
You held the strap of your bag tighter on your shoulder, your senses heightened as you heard the combined steps of the men crossing into the street.
You picked up your pace, scanning down both ways of the road with minimal cars around, only for their steps to heighten just the same. The rigid gulp that lodged in your throat was now cementing, your heart racing as you found yourself running across the street and onto the opposite sidewalk.
Your vision tunneled as you focused on getting away, unsure of what would happen if the strange men caught up to you. Turning down the perpendicular street, you barely glanced behind you as a car pulled up next to you.
The door swung open, over half of the curb, and you were almost stopped by it but managed around it. Looking at the car, you cautiously peered from a distance to see a slightly more familiar face than the strangers following you.
"Come on, I'll drive you to your car," John offered, his mannerisms unbothered and cool.
You looked behind you at the group of men now turning the corner after you. With another glance into the car, you saw Gunner and opted to take a chance with the slightly better devil you knew.
Climbing in, you shut the door quickly and looked over your shoulder at the goons left in the wake. You turned around to John, ready to share your gratitude but opted to catch your breath first.
You wheezed, holding the dash of the dark muscle car, and held your free hand to your chest. The instant adrenaline rush through your body was now wracking your heart, making your eyes water though you were unscathed.
"Are you alright?" John asked, one hand draped on the steering wheel and his other carefully cradling the gear shift.
You overly nodded, blinking away the mist of tears while your mind started to race with the horrific possibilities of what could've happened.
"T-thank you," you choked out, bringing your eyes away from John's dash to look at him. "I-I..."
John glanced over at you but said nothing else, only nodded in acknowledgement before changing the subject. "Your car's nearby?"
You nodded again, finally peeling yourself to sit back in the leather seat. You admired it for a moment, luxuriated by the curve and plush, but were interrupted by Gunner's wet nose to your ear.
You giggled, shrugging a shoulder up to get the dog to stop then reaching a hand back to pat his head. "Sweet boy."
John smirked dryly at your comment, slowing down to scan the two parking lots on either side of the street. "Here?"
You nodded, pointing to the right side of the street to your little rinky-dink car. "That's me."
You expected John to laugh at it, seeing as his car could literally drive circles around yours. But he didn't, only pulled into the lot and braked in front of it.
"Volvo's are a classic," he commented, gearing his car to remain stationary. He shifted slightly in his seat to face you.
You turned to do the same, noticing that he'd probably gone home to clean up and change; seeing as he was in a cleaner shirt, the blood on his knuckles nonexistent.
"Have a good night, okay?" He offered, meeting your eyes.
The adrenaline in your body pooled in that moment, making you feel jittery though you were pin still. You nodded again, wondering if you were nodding too much.
"Thanks. And thanks again for the ride, I appreciate it," you said quickly, unsure why your nerves were acting up now.
"Yeah," John drew out, looking at the back of his car, past Gunner and through the back windshield. "You gonna be okay?"
You nodded again, noting that you'd have to force something out. "Y-yeah, of course. I just don't know what their deal was. I'll be fine."
John's eyes skirted back to you, taking in your shaken demeanor with a once-over. "If you want, I could give you my number. In case it happens again."
He didn't want to mention how fast he'd be to escort you, but he was aware of his speed.
You held your hands in your lap, glanced down at them then back. "S-sure, it wouldn't hurt."
John watched as you carefully retrieved your phone and nervously unlocked it; turning the bright screen to him, he cradled the device and tenderly put his phone number in then turned it back to you.
You looked at him from your screen then back and saved it to contacts. "Thanks."
John said nothing else, only nodded; you gathered yourself, pulling your keys from your bag and opening the door to get out.
"Bye Gunner," you offered to the dog, reaching to pat his head. "Good night, John."
You climbed out of the car, tenderly shutting the door after yourself as John offered a polite wave through the front windshield. He geared his muscle car in reverse, throwing his arm behind the passenger seat to look behind and turn back onto the road.
You stood in the silence, watching as John drove off with your adrenaline in tow. Your heart pattered with a new sense, unsure of what to call it, but you stashed it away to rush to your car.
You found yourself lying awake, staring at the ceiling, in the middle of the night. Deliciously buzzed by two cocktails, you replayed the moments of the days events.
Hot stoic man walks in, hot stoic man has a dog, hot stoic man saves you from not-so-good guys, hot stoic man makes you feel safe.
You blinked slowly, your phone clutched in your hand while you tried to fall asleep. In a shock of embarrassment and a little confidence, you launched yourself upright and swiped your phone open.
Navigating through your phone, you managed to pause at the draft stage of sending John a text.
-Thanks so much againn for saving me tonight
You stared at your message for a moment, wondering if you should add more but decided against it at the last moment. You watched as the bubble popped up at the beginning of the thread, with the small status of the message as 'delivered'.
You sat still for a moment, your eyes threatening to close but in a long blink, your message went from 'delivered' to 'read'.
You froze, a new warmth starting from the inside of your chest, as your phone flopped onto the bed before you. You barely had the second to think of sending a 'i'm so sorry' text at realizing how late it was.
John: Is that what that was? I thought it was a friendly ride
He hadn't been able to sleep, finding himself at the Continental bar with 'Gunner' at his feet. John fingered around the rim of his glass, expecting the whiskey to dull his nerves but found himself brought back by your text.
You grinned dumbly at his response, snickering to yourself before gearing up your response.
-You're right. Thank you for the friendly ride to my car
You stared long at this response, wondering if did any good for the conversation. If this was even a conversation. You sent it anyways, but added further.
-I'm just thankful you were there when you were
John stared at his phone, glass cradled against his bottom lip as he stared at the messages that came in. His heart cinched for a moment, wondering if he was taking it too far. But it was a simple text exchange, nothing more.
John: I am too. Good night.
He paused in his message, feeling it to be too curt. You were just sharing your gratitude, nothing more. John understood, having felt the similar way of feeling cornered.
"Having a nightcap, are we?" Winston asked, sidling up behind John's seat.
"Winston," John stated.
"Jonathan," Winston offered back, pulling a chair open and sitting down. "I'd have expected you to be in bed already. Preparing for your long trip."
John glanced down at his phone, the open conversation between the two of you left on his end. "Yeah, but what can I say? Nerves got to me."
Winston quirked a brow in John's direction, tilting his head slightly at the sight of his phone upright. "There's no such thing as nerves with you."
John took a sip of his whiskey, letting it be his pause before he smacked his lips in appreciation.
"What is it?" Winston asked, undoing his suit jacket button.
John set his glass down on the bar and circled it under his fingers. "There's a girl."
"A girl?" Winston repeated, raising his eyebrows in slight surprise. "I fear I've heard that before."
John folded his lips together as he nodded, knowing that he'd said it a long time ago. "Yeah."
Winston took John's response with a purse of his lips, a tilt of his head. "So there's a girl."
"A woman," John corrected, turning his head in Winston's direction but not meeting his friend's eyes. "And I want to keep her safe."
"Then it's best not to interfere," Winston offered without a beat missed.
John found himself agreeing, but still opened his mouth. "I can't do that."
Winston's eyes steadied on John's stoic face, watching as his dark eyes finally rose to meet his. The older gentleman opened his mouth in a soft 'ah' then sucked his teeth in consolation.
"What're we going to do, then?" Winston asked, straightening up to the bar and raising his hand in a silent order to the bartender.
John picked up his glass again, sloshed the diminishing liquid around then pursed out a hard air. "I have an idea."
You managed to stretch yourself out at the foot end of your bed, holding your bright phone before your face while you tried to hold off of sleep.
There was no reason for John to respond back to you, especially with the time. You imagined that you had woken up this poor, tired man with diathesis just hours after getting home.
And you groaned in your sleep, feeling awful. With your next minute spurt of energy, you'd apologize to him for waking him up so late.
However, the buzz of your phone steeled you awake. You blinked at the bright screen before your face, eyes focusing on the message you received.
John: I am too. I know this is sudden, but would you like to get breakfast?
In the misty morning, you stood on the curb in front of your apartment building under your umbrella. You were patiently waiting for John to show up to take you to breakfast, hoping that it was the Greek diner just a few blocks from your job.
After a few moments, you expected a text from him saying you two would have to reschedule. It was only a matter a time, something you assumed was in the New York air. Plans were never fulfilled, always to be rescheduled.
Your inner plight was paused by the black, unmarked car that pulled up before you. Your reflection in the tinted windows was perplexed, taking a few steps back to assess your escape.
The driver side door opened and a well-dressed man wearing rimless glasses stood out and buttoned his jacket. You waited a moment, taking in the man's movements as he reached for the back door of the car.
"Miss, I've been sent by Mr. John Wick." The man announced, holding the back door open for you to get in.
You stared at the man for another moment in silence, pondering if you ever learned John's last name. You questioned if this man was trustworthy, even though he gave no reason to not be.
"Okay..." you drew out, looking both ways down the empty sidewalk before stepping cautiously towards the car. You folded your umbrella, setting it on the car floor.
You reluctantly climbed in, your nerves raising on their ends as you sat down and buckled your seatbelt behind the driver seat.
The driver smiled politely at you, shutting the door firmly before unbuttoning his suit jacket and climbing into the driver seat again.
He adjusted his mirror, buckled his seatbelt then geared the car into drive and turned on his veering signal. You held your hands in your lap, letting your bag slide to the empty space next to you.
"How do you know John?" You asked, attempted to fill the silence and calm your nerves.
The driver glanced back in his mirror after veering back onto the street, meeting your eyes with his polite smile reaching his gaze.
"Mr. Wick is a regular guest at my hotel." He offered, which didn't ease you very much.
You grinned cheaply at the driver, then let it drop. "Oh, of course."
You assumed, by John's paperwork for Gunner, that he lived nearby. You turned to look out of the tinted window, trying to map the area you were driving into.
The driver continued, "I am the concierge of the Continental. Mr. Wick has done a lot of work for my hotel."
Your raised your brows at that, glancing in the direction of the rearview mirror to meet the driver's eyes.
"My name is Charon," he finally introduced himself, hitting his turn signal down a caddy-corner street before stopping at the corner before sleek, marble stairs up to ornate glass doors. "Mr. Wick will see you inside."
You flinched as your door opened with a bellhop standing quietly on the sidewalk. Charon nodded after you, with you unbuckling your seatbelt and grabbing your bag and umbrella.
You stood under the bright awning of the hotel as the bellhop shut the door, leaving Charon to drive around the curb to park the car. You held your umbrella under your arm awkwardly, righting the strap of your bag as you took in the darkening sky of the morning.
"Miss," the bellhop instructed, holding his crisp gloved hand in the direction of the dry stairs.
You politely smiled, then walked up to the front door only to be greeted by yet another bellhop. Maybe you should've stopped when you got out of the car, feeling that each step you took brought the warning pangs back.
It felt like a distracted descent, the quiet luxury and decadence of the hotel drawing you in though it felt hostile just the same. The bellhop at the door guided you in the direction of the seating area, where patrons were gathered at white tablecloth tables in front of floor-to-ceiling windows to enjoy their breakfast.
Your heart continued to race as you walked through the lobby and into the seating area, feeling particularly under dressed compared to everyone else around you.
John sat at the table, with Gunner sat next to him, sipping at his black coffee. His eyes were trained at the doorway, glancing at his watch to track how much time he had left to spend in your presence.
Your eyes scanned the room before finally stopping at John. He was dressed in a cleaner suit, his hair combed away from his face and drinking coffee.
He paused in his drink, almost rushing to stand as he rounded the table to pull out your seat. You rested your umbrella on the arm of your chair then sat down, looking up at him with a smirk.
"What'd I do to deserve this?" You asked, allowing John to aid your seat under the table.
"N-nothing," John said, reaching to smooth down his hair as he sat down. "Just wanted to talk."
Your smirk turned into a smile, sitting up straight as if trying to perform for the hotel itself. John breathed in deeply, taking in your demeanor before calling the waiter over.
"Would you like some coffee?" John asked.
You nodded, holding your hands in your lap only for them to be occupied by Gunner's fat snout. You grinned down at the pup, scratching behind his ears as the waiter approached with a pristine cup, pouring into it with a shining french press.
"You know, when I was imagining what you did, I never imagined it was tied to this," you commented as the waiter set your cup down before you, then offered a fresh cream pitcher to the table.
John quirked a brow in your direction, taking another sip to punctuate his next words carefully. "You were imagining what I do?"
You gulped and paused, realizing that you had said your inside thought out loud. "I mean, I do for a lot of people. Mostly just walking by," you sheepishly offered in reason.
Staring across the table at this stoic man, you were reminded of staying up even later after you finally told him good night, picturing his face as your hand rested on your chest.
John gave away nothing, his eyes still while he mapped the soft expression on your face. He bit inside his lip noting the minute flush of your cheeks, how you shifted in your chair.
He scoffed in amusement, letting your excuse slide. "What did you think I did?"
You shrugged, reaching for the cream and pouring it into your coffee cup. You sprinkled in sugar from the decor bowl in the center, then used your own spoon to stir it together.
"Your paperwork said 'retired'," you began, another internal strike with bringing up your interested reading of his and Gunner's papers. "I thought you were maybe ex-military."
John's smirk lifted. "Something like that."
He leaned back in his chair, not wanting to puff his chest in pride. He had to remind himself that this was temporary again, the mantra in his head repeating over and over.
"Have you always wanted to work with animals?" John asked, deflecting the conversation from digging any deeper.
You remembered Gunner's head in your hands, looking down at your lap to playfully mush his face. "Kind of. I love seeing all of their sweet faces. I'd hate to see them in pain though, so it's the best and worst at once."
John couldn't help his trained stare on you, as you bowed your head to pet and praise at Gunner. He knew he was taking things in an odd direction, but he thought that it'd keep both of you safe at once.
"So, that's part of the reason I asked you here." John added, sitting upright as his hand braced the table. "I'm going out of town for work, about three days, and was wondering if you could watch Gunner for me."
You raised your head, immediately meeting John's eyes. "You want to leave him with me?" You metered your question, though you were excited for the opportunity to watch such a sweet dog.
That, and maybe you wanted to do the hot stoic man a favor. Whatever that was, your heart fluttered at the thought of doing what John asked. Even though you didn't know anything about him, even though he came in looking dangerous and was now portraying a clean slate.
It felt that he was the bright sliver in the imposing building, even though it was all cast in the rainy shadows. You were confused, your head almost done in by your survival bells ringing though you were still approaching the 'yes'.
John nodded. "Yeah, but here."
You leaned forward, unsure if you heard him correctly. While you hadn't thought of what your landlord would say about bringing pets back to your place.
John spared a chuckle at you, genuinely amused by your response. With a shrug of his shoulder, he leaned back again.
"I received a comp for my room, so I'd like for you and him to stay."
You stammered, freezing to think of what to say before shaking your head. Your eyes darted around the large darkly painted walls, ornate paintings and decorations nothing to what you were accustomed to.
"John, I mean..." you weren't sure what to say, knowing this wasn't an invitation to stay with him. "That's very generous."
His face softened, dropping his hand from the table to tilt his head at you. "Please. You'd be doing me a big favor."
Your mouth opened to argue him further, but John's expression was un-moving. He was still stoic, no indication that his offer had strings attached. Even with the atmosphere of the place itself, you found yourself caving.
"It's just a few days, right?" You reassured him, and yourself, by asking.
John's face broke, finding himself smiling again. His cheeks were beginning to ache, realizing that it'd been a while since he smiled so long.
"Yeah, of course. And they have in-house breakfast and dinner, a transit service that you can use to get to work." John noted, hoping that you'd take advantage of it all just to keep you safe.
"I can use it to go to work too?" You repeated, looking down at Gunner than back at his owner. "Can I take him to work with me?'
John's nose scrunched. "If you want, but I'm sure Charon would be able to check in on him when you're gone."
You nodded, looking down at Gunner again before reaching to sanitize your hands. "I think I can do that."
"Good," John said, pulling the menu up slightly to glaze over the menu. His eyes glanced to his wristwatch, knowing that he was losing time to make it to his flight.
Still, he made no quick effort to speed up his breakfast with you. You looked at the menu on the table, your mouth watering at the options available. Of course they were were gourmet, nothing short of the place itself.
You looked up from the edge of the menu, taking in more of this stranger's presence before speaking up. "What was the other reason?"
John froze for a moment, unfortunately caught off-guard by your question. His eyes still scanned the menu, trying to keep his expression at a minimum though his mind was now doubling back on his words.
He wryly smirked as he finally drew his eyes up to meet yours. "Just wanted to check in from last night."
John stood awkwardly before the front door of the Continental, wondering what the polite way to depart from you was. You stood before him, having to tilt your head slightly to meet his eyes. He was taller than you remembered, though you were taking him in while on your knees petting his dog.
"I have to go," John offered, reaching his hand out to brace your shoulder. "I'll let you know when I land."
You smiled, nodded. "Okay, and we'll be here. I hope you have safe travels."
John squeezed tenderly at your shoulder, feeling how fragile you were under the weight of his hand. He felt a soft weight off of his mind, knowing that the Continental was a steel trap for any unwanted guests.
His smile softened, dropping his hand to pet Gunner's head. "Good dog. Behave."
And at that, you watched John leave, raising your hand to wave after him before turning to Gunner.
"Your daddy's gone," you pouted, reaching to pat his thick back. "I guess we should get you upstairs."
"Allow me to escort you," Charon chimed in, silently approaching you from behind.
You flinched, sucking in a harsh air between your teeth. Charon offered an apologetic look to you, his hands clasped behind his back.
"My apologies, Miss. Allow me to escort you and Mr. Gunner upstairs," he offered again, waiting for you to regain yourself.
You adjusted your bag on your shoulder, shifting your umbrella under your arm then waved for Charon to lead. He carefully reached his hand out to take your umbrella, holding it as he led you to the elevator then handed it off to one of the bellhops.
"That is the Miss's. Please do not get them confused." Charon stated, calling the elevator button then holding his hand out for you and Gunner to board first.
Inside, Charon hit the 8th floor button, the antique number lever slowly raising from its resting place as the elevator lifted.
"So, you know John well?" You asked, unable to help yourself.
Charon lifted his chin, looking over his shoulder to you. He offered his tight smile, the same politeness as before. "I'd say so."
You nodded, mentally chewing on his short answer before thinking of another question. "How long has he worked for the hotel?"
Charon's lips changed into a smirk, noting your inquisitive nature. "Approximately 20 years."
Your eyebrows raised then, realizing that John had been working around the time you got your first pet. You folded your lips together, feeling your heart flutter while trying to decipher what that meant.
"Oh, so how long have you worked for the hotel?"
Your curiosity was beginning to get the better of you, each bit you were fed only bringing up more. The further you got from the ground level, the lighter you felt away from the depths.
Whatever darkness was harnessed in the lobby, the foreboding rattling snake vibe it gave, did not reach the upper levels. The elevator opened to the ornate, older decorated walls of the hotel.
The floors were carpeted in a sleek line design, the wallpaper an almost unnoticeable fleur design.
"Long enough," Charon said, chuckling at his own joke.
You spat out an amused air, following the concierge to the room. He stopped at the room at the end of the hallway, fishing into his suit jacket to retrieve the key.
Charon turned the lock, propping open the door for you to enter. You paused just inside the room, taken over by the view of the city from wide windows at the crest of the room.
The ornate decor was not scrimped in the room, seeing through the carved accent wall before walking around it. Gunner traipsed through the room, jumping onto the crisp white sheets of the large bed and sighing like he'd had a rough day.
You looked to Charon, who nodded into the room for you to take it in. You took your time walking through the hotel room, taken aback at the quality. Sure, you'd been in nice hotels before, having stayed in some with accrued loyalty points.
But this felt like a new feeling. It was strange, feeling swayed by the elegance of this hotel being used for you, to watch a pup that didn't seem swayed either way.
Pausing at the wet bar, you wanted to pull out your phone to take a picture just to show your appreciation for John's minimal effort. But looking back at Charon, he straightened his lips and exited the room.
When he left, you rushed to the window to look out at the city. Even with loyalty points, it never bought anything like this. You couldn't help yourself, pulling out your phone to take an overhead view of the city before setting your bag down on the accent table behind you.
You rushed around the room, looking at the other cool parts of the triangle-shaped room. Gunner was unfazed on the bed, resting his head down with a groan.
You had to stop yourself in the bathroom, gasping at the oversized mirror with the bright light inlaid inside the reflective surface. Watching such a good boy was not worth this treatment.
Still, you took a picture of yourself in the mirror, scrunching your nose and sent both to John at once.
-Are you sure about this?? Is there something you're leaving out?
John boarded his charter, retrieving his phone as it vibrated in his pocket. The smile on his lips was subconscious, seeing that you'd messaged him.
Opening his phone, he chuckled at the two photos you sent him. He read your message, finding himself lightened at the scrunch of your face in the mirror.
He paused before his seat, finding himself regretting boarding for the nth time since he left the hotel. John thought of what he would do if he went back, if you'd stay around and keep him company on the sacred grounds of the Continental.
John turned and sat, crossing his ankle over his thigh as he typed a response to you.
John: Oh, I did forget. He's a bed hog. And he likes to steal bacon off your plate. So watch out.
You sat on the bed, staring at the text thread between you and the stoic stranger. You smiled at his response, ready to send another text as soon as you retrieved it.
John: I made it to the plane. I'll let you know when I land. I can't thank you enough for this.
You nipped at your inside lip, wanting to thank him back for the outrageous accommodations. Wanting to thank him for breakfast. Wanting to thank him for his company.
-Okay, safe travels. I'd love to see where you're going.
John's smile remained, staring at your response as the ladder was pulled up and the engines turned on. He exited out your text thread, searching through his contacts to find another number.
"Jonathan," Winston answered on the third ring. He sat in the smoking lounge, with Charon approaching to report. "We have Persephone in the Underworld Palace."
John's jaw grit, attempting to skew the view of you having your own free will. You had the freedom to leave, he had to remind himself, though he wanted you to remain on the neutral ground.
"She showed me," John offered in response, feeling the palpable silence on the opposite end.
Winston and Charon shared a knowing look, with Charon raising his chin and checking his watch.
"Are you sure about this?" Winston asked.
John looked out of the small window to his right, sitting back in his seat as he thought of how long it'd take for him to return to the Continental grounds.
"It'll give me time to think of my next step," John said, reaching to buckle his seatbelt with one hand.
Winston sucked at his teeth, tilting his head in deep thought. "You're dangling her over the pond, Jonathan. Are you sure this is the safest thing you could think of?"
John pursed his lips, shutting his eyes for a deep breath. "I'll be done as soon as I can. I can figure it out from there."
Winston raised his brows in Charon's direction, who shook his head in response. "Safe travels."
Upon ending the call, Winston exhaled deeply and directed to Charon. "Make sure our young Miss and her companion are cared for. Don't allow her exit without escort."
Charon barely widened his eyes, pulling his hands behind his back, ready to execute his orders but Winston raised a finger. "And invite her to dinner on the roof. The four of us. For Jonathan's sake."
Charon nodded. "Of course, sir."
You stood in front of your closet, having been escorted back to your apartment by Charon and Gunner.
The concierge extended an invitation to you and Gunner to join the owner of the Continental for dinner. Apparently he was a close friend of John's and wanted to meet you, as it wasn't often John extended invitations to "outsiders".
You would definitely ask about that as you cycled through your clothes, wondering what dining with the manager fell under for dress code. Everything else was just thrown haphazardly to you weekender bag on your bed: clothes for work, some leggings for taking Gunner on walks, anything for comfort because you felt that you would step outside of the hotel room for anything other than work.
When your bag was packed with your toiletries tossed on top, you turned back to your closet to contemplate your dress code.
For a high-class hotel, you opted for a white long-sleeve dress with a built in silk bodice. It'd suffice, you shrugged, because it was your best dress in your closet. You paired it with your most comfortable flats and stuffed it all on top of your bag.
You grabbed your phone charger from the wall then rushed out of the door, making sure everything was off in your apartment. You carefully took the stairs down to the front door, throwing it open to Charon carefully waiting outside of the car for your return.
Gunner poked his happy face out of the driver's side window, staring at other onlookers in silence. You shut the door firmly behind you, grabbing your key to lock it after you.
Charon straightened on his feet, opening the back door of the car while his other hand extended to grab your bag.
"You don't have to--" you tried to argue on holding onto your bag in the backseat, but Charon was firm in taking the straps of your bag.
In a fluid motion, he shut the door after you righted in the backseat then went around the back of the car to open the trunk. You glanced after him, seeing that he didn't linger behind and closed the trunk then returned to the driver's door.
Gunner moved over to the passenger seat, that window open as well, as Charon geared the car into driver and veered back onto the street.
"What's your manager like?" You asked.
Charon glanced in the rearview, his polite grin ever present in his eyes.
"Mr. Scott is an old-fashioned type. Cordial, gentlemanly, with a taste of finer things."
You pursed your lips, looking out of the front windshield, then Gunner. When you looked back at Charon, he was once again fixated at the mirror, expectant of your next question.
"Should I...shape up?" You asked, aware of every movement you were making at that point.
Charon chuckled again, which you were unsure if genuine or sardonic towards you. "I believe you will be fine, miss. I think that Mr. Scott will enjoy your company and questions."
Your lips flattened in a slightly embarrassed smile then turned back to the window. "I'll start thinking of more now."
John paused by the bar of the Rome Continental, steadying his nerves before his mission. He had to remind himself that it would be this would be the last.
Even with the taste of being back, John's mind flashed with the thought of you. He choked on his sip of whiskey, clearing his throat while he stared at the crystal in his hand. Helen.
His mind flashed with the thought of Helen. John blinked, remembering his ring and circling it on his finger. When he felt his chest begin to heave with a new wash of grief, he stifled it with a long pull of his whiskey.
Just as his phone buzzed on the bar. John set the crystal back down, staring at the notification of your message and remembering that he meant to inform you of his landing.
Opening his phone, John was greeted with a photo of you sat on the bed with Gunner sat beside you. You were dressed in a short white dress, the bodice reflecting soft light as you leaned over his dog and hugged his head against your chest.
-We're having dinner with Mr. Scott, hope you made it wherever safely.
John felt struck in his place, staring at the photo in the growing thread of your messages. His heart skipping a beat before he finally picked up his phone to respond.
John: I made it safely. Never knew Mr. Scott extended dinner invitations, you must be lucky.
He looked through his entirely empty photo gallery to share the photo of the Colosseum from his plane window. John sent the message, let his phone clatter to the bar again as he sat back in his chair.
The rushing thought of you instead of Helen made him go askew, knowing that it was wrong to do. He grit his teeth, shut his eyes to remember his late wife's smile and not yours.
This was not what he wanted to happen, hoping to keep you at an arms length but still close enough to be safe.
You stared at your phone as Gunner jumped down from the bed, reading and rereading John's message before staring at the crowded overview of Italy from his plane window.
You zoomed in on the photo, staring at the Colosseum as the flattest fixture amongst all the little buildings, all of it resembling a miniature map.
John pushed himself up from his chair, pocketing his phone as he left the room with determination. He wouldn't be distracted by any feelings, regardless of who they were for, tonight.
Charon knocked gingerly at the door, alerting Gunner to the noise. You slowly stood, straightening out your dress and stashing your phone in its pocket then met the concierge in the hallway.
"This way, miss," Charon stated, starting in the direction of the elevator as before.
Inside the elevator car, Charon turned over his shoulder to look at you. "That is an elegant dress. You look very nice."
You smiled, practically beamed and offered your thanks; you pulled your textured hair behind your shoulder then looked down to Gunner.
The elevator lurched to a slow stop at the top of the hotel. The doors slowly opened to a long hallway, decorated the same as the others, with double glass doors that led out to a concrete patio.
Charon held the door open for you and Gunner, allowing the two of you to step onto the hotel roof patio. The view of the city was surrounding half of the balcony, with a larger building blocking directly beside it.
Your eyes fixated on the black glass patio table, decorated with an ornate black runner and four chairs. At the head of the table, you acknowledged the older gentleman as he stood up.
He approached you carefully, allowing you to take in that he exuded opulence and class, noticing the gilded pocket square in his dark suit jacket.
"Bonsoir chérie," the gentleman offered, gently taking your hand and bringing it up to his lips in a ghostly peck. "My name is Winston Scott, it is nice to meet you."
You smiled politely at him, tilting your head at Mr. Scott. "Nice to meet you too, Mr. Scott."
Winston carefully dropped your hand, his face playfully scrunching in offense. "Nonsense, call me Winston."
Your smile twitched further genuine, forfeiting your nicety to agree. "Okay. It's nice to meet you, Winston."
Winston winked at you, then guided you to your seat at the other end of the table. "You look radiant in that dress. I can see how you caught John's eye."
You giggled nervously, watching the older man pull your chair back. Turning your back to him, you tucked your dress to the back of your legs then sat down as Winston aided your chair to the table.
Winston returned to his seat at the opposite end of the table just as Charon pulled a chair for Gunner to sit to your left then rounded to sit to your right.
You looked at the good boy sat at the table, waiting patiently with his mouth open. You couldn't help but snort at the image, thinking that you should've found him a bowtie so he could've fit in for the dress code.
As Winston sat down, he waved a hand to direct the waiter over to the table. A tall martini glass filled close to the brim with an orchid colored liquid. The liquid held a light shimmer as you shifted the glass closer to grab; your eyes narrowed, looking at the beaded garnish at the bottom in a clump of red seeds.
Just as Winston and Charon received their drinks, the hotel manager raised his glass. "Salud."
You took careful hold of the thin-stimmed glass and raised it from the table, repeating Winston's cheers before bringing the drink to your lips. It was bubbly and light, sweet and tart at once.
From the bottom of the glass, you watched the garnish break apart and you opened your lips to ingest a seed with a gulp. When you were satisfied with your sip, you rested the glass back on the table then savored the taste as the seed slipped down your throat.
"Good cocktail?" Winston asked, smacking his teeth to savor his martini.
You nodded, shifting the glass to your left. "Is that cherry? Almost a shirley temple?'
Winston chuckled, shrugging a shoulder up before setting his glass down. "Close. It's pomegranate."
You hummed, letting the palette of the drink reignite on your tongue with that new knowledge. Charon looked over to Winston, sparing a slightly amused shake of his head.
Winston shrugged fully then, entertained by his own theme. "What is it you do, my dear?"
You straightened in your seat, looking over to Gunner enjoying his lap bowl of water then at Winston. "I work for a vet clinic, very small. That's actually how I met John."
Saying it aloud and remembering the timeline, your mind rushed with how fast things moved. You blinked slowly, your heart stumbling in your chest at remembering John a day ago compared to now.
Winston raised his brows: "Oh?"
You nodded and continued. "He brought in Mr. Gunner here for a check-up."
You reached to pat Gunner's head and he panted happily in your direction. Another soft wave of shock went through you, remembering what he looked like when he came into your clinic.
He should've been off-putting, and yet...
Winston tilted his chin, pursing his lips in intrigue. "Gunner, huh?"
You almost ignored Winston's comment, meeting his interested gaze from across the table.
"And he drove me to my car that night," you added finally, remembering with the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.
You had a nightmare about those men last night, one only fought off by your stoic man in a muscle car. Tightening your jaw, you reached for your drink and wet your lips again.
"Hmm," Winston offered after a moment, turning to Charon for any input.
The concierge was quiet, his own lips pursed in slight interest. Winston smirked waywardly, straightening up to brace his elbows against the table.
He carded his fingers before his mouth, staring across the table at you and wondering what it was that made John choose you.
"Jonathan always has had a soft spot," Winston said after another beat of silence.
You couldn't help your grin again, hearing John's full name. You imagined him as a younger Jonathan, introducing himself as such and Winston never letting it go.
"How long have you known John?" You asked, replacing your glass back to the table.
You realized you were dependent on your drink, noting the glass close to finished. All the garnish was sneakily slipped down with the liquid, leaving the sparkling drink to reflect the encroaching moonlight.
The patio overlights turned on, banishing the darkness and shadows from the area. Your nerves, charged since entering this place, were now directed to performing for John's cohorts.
Not that you needed their approval, you wanted to prove to yourself your etiquette. The nervous inkling in the back of your head was growing louder over the lush warmth, telling you that Winston and Charon would report back to John with their findings.
And you sat back in your chair to come to terms with why you cared. You did like John, but bit your tongue. There was no reason to go forth and ruin something as innocent as a friendship.
Winston chuckled, dropping his hands to the arms of his chair. "Since...he was a young man. Over twenty years, at this point."
You hummed, raising your brows as you looked between the two men across from you. You almost wanted to ask how old John was, the thought making you giggle behind your fingers.
"So a long time, then. Doesn't show for you, Winston." You commented, smirking playfully across the table at the older gentleman.
"Flattery will get you everywhere, my dear," Winston offered, lifting his glass to you and taking another sip.
With that, dinner was served and a plate was placed carefully before you. The seasoned smell of the marsala tickled under your nose and made your stomach engorge with hunger.
The sweet liquor was only making it worse, opening your mouth to drool at the elegant layout of your plate. You glanced over to Gunner, who was fed steak tips on a plate and heartily cleaned his bowl.
Your eyes dragged across the table, to see Charon and Winston staring at you in wait. You smiled politely, allowing the waiter to set a black cloth napkin on your lap before stepping back.
You thanked him, picking up your fork and knife to inspect them a moment before cutting into your chicken. The echo of silverware followed, with Charon and Winston cutting into their food and eating in silence.
You eagerly wanted to call John to talk about this dinner afterwards, but knew it would be better to wait for him to call first.
John sat down to catch his breath, exhausted after yet another night of fighting. Did he enjoy this? Sometimes he had to ask himself, seeing as how he kept going through it. He sat forward in his chair in the lobby, shuddering as adrenaline worked out of his system.
The longer he sat, the more pain that came onset. He winced as he sat back, feeling that he'd bruised a rib from falling through the Roman Continental window with Cassian. John slowly pushed himself up to his feet, approaching the front desk to request his passage home.
He went up to his room, returned back downstairs and awaited in the lobby for the first sign of daylight to make his way to the hotel.
In the meantime, John retrieved his phone and turned it on. When it cycled through, he expected a message from you.
He expected a message from you, especially after dinner. John thought of what awful stories Winston drummed up to entertain you without giving too much away. His top lip peeled back in an embarrassed scowl, already hearing Winston talk about a young Jonathan.
John thought of sending you a message, but thought of the time in New York. He wasn't even sure what he'd say to you. He wanted to ask about dinner.
So he did.
John: How was dinner with the infamous Mr. Scott?
You were escorted back to your hotel room floor as your phone vibrated in your skirt pocket. Gunner rushed up to the door of the hotel room, baring his teeth in a low growl as you stopped to grab your phone.
-Delicious, who knew Winston was such a gossip.
John raised his brows at his phone buzzing again, this time showing Winston calling him.
"Winston," John greeted, sitting back in his chair while his eyes fixated in the direction of the sunrise.
"Jonathan, she's a delightful little sprite. I am not surprised why you're taken with her," Winston offered, carefully taking his stride to the elevator after letting you be excused first.
"I'm sure you've entertained her," John offered, actively ignoring his mentor's comment while his stomach sank.
"She's great at listening, Charon said she was full of questions." Winston looked over his shoulder to his concierge, who shrugged. "Am I off-putting to questions, Jonathan?"
John noised in response, stashing a slight grin. "I wouldn't say that. Maybe Charon is more...approachable in general."
"That is why I hired him," Winston said, pushing the call button for the elevator. "Has she contacted you?"
John scrunched his mouth to keep from reacting, knowing that Winston could hear his lies. "Not yet. I'm sure she's had a long day."
Winston scoffed over the line, stepping into the elevator and motioning for Charon to hit the button for your room first. "I'm sure she has. She seems to fit here, in a sense."
John grit his jaw, stashing the sudden jolt of fear through him. "I'll be home tomorrow."
Winston quickly gave up, nodding at the line. "Bueno notte, Jonathan."
John pulled his phone from his ear and ended the call, receiving your text soon after.
Gunner stood on guard before your front door, nosing at the crack while you waited for Charon to arrive with your key. You stashed your phone again as Gunner wedged himself through the crack of the door then threw it open with a slew of heavy barks.
You ran in after him, narrowly missing a harsh shove from a dark-dressed figure. They attempted to push past you and outside, but you threw a knee out to connect with their gut.
You were a rattled mess as the person fell to the floor, their face covered in a hood and mask. Looking around the room as they tried to crawl away, you grabbed at one of the ornate vases at the entryway and threw it at their head.
Still, they moved and you stamped your foot onto their back as Charon turned the corner with Winston behind. You were frozen, putting more of your weight on the stranger's back as Charon finally assessed the situation and ran to the room.
"My dear, are you alright?" Winston asked, standing aside as Charon picked up the burglar and dragged him out of the room.
You stared fixated after the stranger, your body trembling as your breath was shortened. You heaved, unsure of what you were but aware that you once again could've been hurt.
That if Gunner wasn't around, you would've been attacked. You were stiff, even as Winston touched your arm.
"Come now, let's go downstairs, hmm?" Winston offered.
You barely nodded, feeling your eyes sting with the threat of tears, and Winston guided you to the elevator. Gunner followed suit, leaving Charon to clean up.
John: Let's hope its all good things. I'm leaving first thing in the morning. Let's do lunch.
You sat in the smoking lounge, curled up on the leather couch while Winston offered you a cup of espresso. He'd gone to his office and retrieved a decorative throw blanket to match the rest of the opulent hotel.
He carefully draped the cloth over your legs, allowing you to sit in stunned silence as he sat in the leather chair next to you.
Winston mapped your face, wanting to find the inside of the shock. He wondered if you would question why the person appeared, or for what. But when you gave off nothing, he gave up and sat back as he received a message about John Wick.
Followed by a number, with a lot of zeros. He stashed a gulp, straightening his chin as he glanced over to you again.
"I apologize, my dear, but I urgent business to attend to. Charon will be here with you."
You nodded, bringing the small cup up to your lips for a sip. The instant bitter brought you out of your flight mode, looking after Winston before Charon took his seat before you.
"W-what happened to that person?" you asked, never catching if that person was a man or a woman. You wanted to ask more, but were sure that no answers would help.
Charon sat tall and stiff in his chair. "I phoned the police and they have detained them at the station," he lied, though his face gave no indication.
You shuddered, looking down at your espresso then back. "Did they take anything?"
"No, miss. All of the hotel's belongings are accounted for. I can't say the same for yours, but we can assess that when we change your room."
You knitted your brows in concern. "You're moving me?"
Charon blinked and smiled politely. "If you wish, miss. We would like you to feel safe."
You looked back down, nodded in agreement to his statement. But you didn't feel that the room was tainted, unsure if it was tattered looking for something.
"Is...is the room still intact?" You asked, bringing the espresso cup to your lips again.
Charon nodded once. "It is no detriment to move. It would be the floor below."
The more you thought of it, the dark shadows of your room would be the same on any floor. The new room would only call for the next stranger to slither in. You shook your head.
"No, I'll be fine," you said quickly, setting your cup down as Gunner sighed, resting his head on your thigh. "He'll keep me safe."
Charon glanced to Gunner then back. "He is a good guard dog. He should be employed."
The night went on too long, with you stationed in the smoking lounge to nurse your espresso. Your nerves, despite the coffee, eventually calmed with Gunner finding his temporary bed on the leather couch.
Charon sat with you in silence, allowing you to regain yourself until you were ready. Finally, you patted Gunner's back, waking him then moved to stand.
You threw back Winston's throw on your arm, grabbing your empty espresso cup to return to the bar. Charon took the blanket from you, folding it as he walked you out of the lounge.
He handed off the blanket to the bellhop, leading you and Gunner to the elevator and escorting you upstairs to your room. It hadn't occurred to you how much time had passed, the smoking lounge offering no clock or windows to acknowledge it.
As the three of you ascended, and you found yourself lightening once again the further you got from the ground floor. The trudge back to your room was quiet, with a bellhop stood outside of your door.
"Please let us know of any missing items," Charon offered, holding his hand out for the bellhop to open the door. "If you have any concerns, do not hesitate to alert this kind gentleman."
You glanced to the bellhop, who stood astutely in the corner of the hallway. You looked to Charon and nodded. Charon opened your door and held the door for you to enter, and you took careful steps inside.
The room was untouched, with only the entryway vase missing. You sucked air between your teeth, hoping that John wouldn't be charged for the decoration missing. Charon handed off your room key, letting the door shut after you.
When the door was closed, you kicked off your flats then walked cautiously around the room. Every lamp in the area was turned on, leaving no shadows. You exhaled deeply and sat down on the bed.
You rested on your side, staring over at the bar of the room as Gunner jumped onto the bed behind you. The curtains were pulled to hide the windows, leaving you in the warm glow of the lights.
Slowly, you let the events of the day lull you away to sleep but not without a few startled jolts to double-check the room. Soon, you conceded and drifted off, curling into yourself to keep yourself safe.
You woke up with another jolt at the sudden brightness of the room. The lamps of your room were shut off, the curtains drawn back to show the bustling city and the sun bouncing off of the nearby bridge.
Your eyes curled around the room until you were frozen by the dark dressed figure at the side of your bed. Slowly, your eyes drew up to meet John's scraped face, his hair combed back his ears.
You broke then, rushing up from your place in bed to curl your arms around his neck. You shuddered into his shoulder, your bottom lip pouting as you shut your eyes.
John barely recognized how long he'd been watching you sleep, knowing that it was wrong to do. But he was gauging his next moves.
His attempt had done nothing to keep you safe; his eyes looked around the room, seeing it as a ruined castle. When you hugged him, he was shocked out of his thoughts.
John folded an arm around your waist, holding you against him but not with his full strength. He knew it was better to keep you at an arms' length.
He'd failed you and Gunner, leaving you both in the security of what he imagined as powerful but was now realizing less.
You squeezed closer to him, steadying your breath the more you held on. John shut his eyes to breathe you in, stiffening as he realized his action.
He turned his face into your neck, unable to control himself, and breathed against your skin. Your chest tightened, the warmth of his breath rolling down your body.
Slowly, you turned to meet his cheek, finding your mouth parting in a soft pant. John found himself pulled in further, turning to meet your mouth and lean in to kiss you.
Your hand raked up his neck to clutch the nape of his hair, barely letting the moment be taken as mistake, and kissed him feverishly.
John's hand slid down your back, over your hip to grab the back of your thigh and pull you further into him. His eyes squeezed shut, following the efforts of your lips before taking lead and slipping his tongue in.
You groaned into him, your other hand grabbing at the front of his suit jacket. John pushed down the dull pain in his body, letting all other thoughts take backseat as his lust took over.
Gunner whined, making both of you part in a soft pant. John dragged his eyes from you then to his dog, shaking his head once.
He guided his dog to the front door, opening it to the bellhop. "Would you mind taking him on a walk? I think I've got it from here."
The bellhop nodded, calling after Gunner as John lightly shooed his dog to follow him. After the two were down the hallway, John shut the door and locked it before returning to you.
You thought he'd have regained himself in the moments away, returning to your friendly charade before breaking for brunch. But John resumed at your lips, his hand clutching the back of your thigh before folding you across the bed.
You were overcome with his touch, hazy with the rush. Your hands found their way into his hair, the other at the buckle of his belt as you slowly followed his lead.
John bit back with a hiss, feeling your fingers fumble at his waist. His hand went to cradle your cheek, kiss you deeply, before retracting his hand to grab your wrist.
He slid your fingers further down his waist to acknowledge the urgent swell of his cock. Both of you parted from your kiss in shock; you glanced down your bodies as John stared down at you.
He was approaching an edge he'd never imagined again, his body alight with heat. You shifted up on your side, attempting to roll onto John. However, John's knee shifted onto the floor and turned at the foot of the bed, pulling you onto his lap as he faced the window.
You straddled his waist, your knees on the carpet as you looked down at your hand still rubbing his cock. John stared up at you, his eyes dragging down to acknowledge the open shoulders of your dress.
He carefully reached behind you, unzipping your dress to peel the top of your bodice down, revealing your breasts. You shuddered again, your chest heaving at the sudden cool of the room.
John leaned in to catch your lips again, guiding your hand to undo his belt and pants. The two of you shared a few desperate moans, finding yourselves drawn together.
He freed his cock with a part from your mouth. He attempted to find his words, to ask if this was okay for you two to do. John knew they were careening to something both unavoidable and difficult to walk back from.
You rested your forehead against his, sharing his breaths as you shifted closer. With a lick of your lips, you tasted him on you; you reached under the skirt of your dress, peeling your panties to the side before lining up and sinking down on John's bare cock.
His face was gorgeous as it broke, his brows knitted as his mouth pouted, as if he were about to cry from the feeling. You sighed deeply in his face, your eyes lulling at the slow pop of his hot cock head into your wet pussy.
Your hand found its way into the nape of his hair as you sank down on his length, tilting his head back to ghost your lips before his.
John's tattered knuckles braced your hips, following your direction down onto him. He hissed, letting a moan slip from his lips. Consequences be damned, John thought, rocking your hips into him before ducking his forehead to your shoulder.
You groaned, turning your head back to the ceiling and following his hands rocking you into him. The two of you paused in relief, feeling the heat build between your bodies.
John brought himself back with a peck to your collarbone, then another as he crossed over your chest then down timidly lap at your velvety breasts.
He chastised himself for thinking of squeezing you, hardening his touch and speed on you. John knew that he'd break you eventually, but he'd stave off his darkness for the time being.
You worked up the courage to pull off of his cock, turning to moan into John's ear as you did. You barely made it to his tip, finding your core begging for him again and sinking back down.
John groaned, tilting his head back against the bed to meet your gaze. His dark eyes were dangerous, dark pools yet enriching and inviting. You took hold of his shoulder, working up to a slow ride as you leaned into him.
John trembled, unable to blink as you rode him in the morning light. He was overwhelmed with infatuation, a sickening salacity the more he spent under you.
He was reactive by you, whimpering and twitching as you rode into him, kissed him breathless. John felt that he'd met his match, an unbeatable adversary though he never wanted to cross you.
The sun haloed around your body, making your skin golden in his presence. John came back to you again, hearing your moans heighten as you were brought closer to climax.
You found yourself grinning down at John, seeing his eyes focus back on you. Your hand went to his jaw, then combed through his hair before resting at his neck. "Did I lose you there?"
John spared a blissed-out grin, parting his lips to catch your kiss again. He'd never admit it.
You cried into his mouth, feeling within grasp for your undoing. John hissed and kissed further into you, his other hand reaching under your skirt to touch your clit.
You bent your back into him, panting into his mouth with a cry of his name to follow. You felt the brightness of the room begin to blind you as you approached the edge; your hips rocked a little firmer, trying to pull John overboard with you.
Finally, you broke with a loud moan, twitching on John's cock as he bucked further into you and climaxed. You writhed on him, your fingers clutching hard into the nape of his hair as you tried to catch your breath against his mouth.
"John," you cooed, pushing yourself further into his body to chase his warmth.
He grabbed at your shoulder, attempting to still you over him as your walls begged for his cum. John shut his eyes upon release, snapping back into his conscience and realizing his impulse.
When you regained a bit of yourself, you spared a few amused huffs, pulling upright to meet John's gaze. You watched as his lustful eyes draw back and you combed through his hair.
"Hi," you said, humming at the stoic man against you. "How was your trip?"
John did his best to smile, pulling your elbow in to kiss your bicep. He dragged his lips up to your shoulder and kissed again. "Could've been better."
He didn't want to ask too soon about your night, having already heard from Winston. John knew it was dangerous to return directly to you, but he had to be sure.
And now he knew that wasn't the only reason. The two of you stayed in place for some time, taking in each other. John glanced over your shoulder to the widespread window behind you, noticing a glint from across the roof.
He held you still, staring further as his eyes narrowed on the long barrel of a sniper. John stashed a frown, turning back to you to appreciate you.
He was sickened by himself, seeing you as his shield for the time being. John exhaled, reaching down to tap your butt playfully.
"Why don't we close the curtains, call in some breakfast?" He asked, fighting against his racing heart.
You bit at your bottom lip, slowly pulling off of John's cock with a whine before turning and pushing to your feet. You grabbed the ends of the curtains and pulled them tightly closed.
John deflated against the end of the bed, looking down his battered suit. He was taken aback at how you mounted him in such a disarray.
You reached to unzip the rest of your dress, but was met by John's lips on your shoulder. You shut your eyes, soothed by the warmth of his mouth.
He slipped his hands down your arms, shrugging your dress from your body and leaving you in your panties, bare in the front of the room.
John shrugged off his jacket then circled his arm around your waist to direct you back to bed. "Go on, I'm coming."
You followed his order, climbing onto the bed and peeling the comforter back. John pulled his belt from his pants, did the same for his tie before unbuttoning his shirt and dropping his pants.
He hurriedly undressed, though you never saw any effort. He moved intentionally towards you, resting a knee on the bed then the other as he grabbed your ankle and pulled you back.
You stretched your arms out above your head, finding yourself directly under John. Your faces aligned, his eyes skirting over your face. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb tempted at the corner of your mouth.
At the same time, his other hand circled around your stomach then down your hip before sliding his fingers into your wet pussy. You crooned, raising your hips to chase his touch and meet his body.
John kissed your chin, admiring the breaking on your face. He dragged his fingers in and out of you slowly, tracking every minute pinch and wain of your face.
"You're beautiful," he whispered, finding his words to not be his own.
John felt detached from himself, swirling a dark abyss of desire he hadn't thought of for a long time. You grabbed onto John's bicep, sucking in a breath between your teeth before moaning when his thumb folded against your clit.
"J-John," you stammered, your fingers clutching tighter as you found yourself fighting off another climax.
It was too late when you realized the bruises on his body, the wounds decorating his lean torso. Your mouth gaped with another croon, squeezing your eyes shut suddenly as you came on his fingers.
Warm rushes wracked through your body, causing you to roll further into John while you fought off the sight of his body being your undoing.
John's thumb at the corner of your mouth peeled back your bottom lip, flattening his finger along your gums. You pulled his hand further into your mouth to sensually suck at it before dragging it along your bottom teeth.
John was pulled further, the look in your eyes along with the feeling of your pussy around his fingers making it difficult to find pause. You licked the tip of John's thumb, dragged it down your body as he trailed his eyes after it.
His stomach sank then, his hand paused and flattened between your breasts. Staring back at him, as he felt your heart thrumming under his touch, was his wedding ring.
John's hand began to shake, staring at its placement against your body. You stared up at him, seeing that he was no longer meeting your eyes and was fixated at the placement of his hand.
He felt the room go askew, finding himself getting yanked out the abyss and washed ashore. John half-blinked, pulling his fingers out of you before climbing off of the bed and walking away to the shower.
You sat up on your elbow in John's wake, turning your head to watch him walk away. "John?"
You were unsure of what you did, if anything. But now, you were left bare. Righting yourself on the edge of the bed, you slowly followed after John into the bathroom.
John set his ring on the bathroom counter as he reached around the glass wall to turn on the shower head. He welcomed the silence for a moment, wanting to sieve through his thoughts as tangled as they were.
Stepping under the spray, John sighed and dropped his shoulders. He let the warm water roll over his body, drip down his hair as his muscles began to relax.
You stood at the door of the bathroom, watching John in silence before stepping up to the shower wall.
"Can I join you?" You asked softly, not looking up at him as if you'd done something wrong.
John waited a beat, shutting his eyes as he nodded under the rainfall spray. "Yeah."
You peeled your panties to the floor then stepped out of them and into the shower. You let the warm water dampen your hair, letting you slick it down between your shoulders as you turned your back to John.
The two of you shared the shower as if you were strangers still, the air palpable and dewy.
John raised his head and slicked his hair back, glancing over his shoulder to you. You wrung out your hair, turning under your arm to look at John and taking in his back tattoo.
You were taken in, turning around slowly to drag your eyes along his full back tattoo. You reached a finger out to touch at the center cross behind prayer hands.
John stiffened at your touch, his eyes overly blinking from the weight of the water on his lashes. You traced your finger around, noting the words between his shoulders without understanding what it meant.
"I was married before," John offered in the silent patter of the shower.
It was the least of what he wanted to say, his want for you and his feeling for his wife leaving him suspended in telling the truth. John swallowed, dropping his head to his side as you paused at bruise on his love handle.
"I still wear my wedding ring..." he admitted, his chest shaking for a moment, "it hurt to look at."
You paused dropping your head against his shoulder as your hand circled his side. "I'm sorry. You should've stopped me."
John straightened up then, turning around to face you. His tattered hands cradled your face, searching your eyes for an ounce of disdain towards him.
"I didn't want to stop..." John whispered, leaning in to nudge his nose against yours. "I...don't want to stop."
You let your eyebrows screw up in confusion, wanting to know what this stranger wanted. Because with learning more about him, you remembered again that he was a stranger.
"I want you," he muttered against your lips, tilting your chin to peck your lips, "to make it stop hurting."
Your heart lurched into John, feeling that he was saying it wrong but not wanting to dwell on it. You let your attraction give him leeway, letting him take your mouth again and soothe away your doubts in an instant.
You bowed into him, quavering as his hands slipped down your neck, then shoulders and elbows; he took in the slippery feel of your skin, admired how you molded into him this way.
He inhaled deeply through his nose, circling his fingers down to your hips and around the small of your back. John felt the swirl draw him back in, the taste of your mouth sickly sweet.
He bit away from you, hissing between his teeth as he tried to dampen the muddy thoughts within him.
You held your hands at John's sides, opening your eyes to witness the turmoil on his face. Your own stomach turned, lifting on your toes to kiss him again.
John nipped your bottom lip, pulling back on his hold to turn you around to the shower wall. He felt his vision tunnel on you, dragging his hand down between your legs to greet your pussy with his wet fingers.
Your nipples graced the cold granite of the shower wall, bracing with a soft gasp before John's fingers slipped into you. You rested your forehead against the granite, unable to hold back the moan lodged in your throat.
Your shoulders worked back, spreading your legs to allow John's touch further. John flattened his hand on the granite next to your face, lining himself up behind you.
He pulled his fingers out, using his hand to stroke his strained cock. John bowed his head, guiding his length into you and groaning at the welcoming warmth of your walls.
His hand went to your hip, gripping you tightly as he attempted to level himself. Your nose smushed against the granite, your mouth gaped open as you panted against the hard shower wall.
Your hand reached back to touch John but he took your hand and crossed it behind your back. He pumped into you once, earning another noise from you.
When he withdrew, your walls begged at his return; he pumped in again, making your knees buckle slightly.
John bent forward, kissing at the back of your neck before nipping at your shoulder. You turned, squishing your cheek against the wall to watch John's lips migrate down your back.
Your other arm folded directly before your chest, allowing the dampened air to coagulate in your lungs. John was slow in his pace, metering his noise to hear you echo against the stone walls.
His free hand reached around to ghost his fingers over your clit, allowing himself to get lost in the clench of your walls. John's lips trailed over the back of your shoulders, baring his teeth to nip at your skin.
He was painfully aware of how much he wanted to hoard you, to keep you stashed in this room with him with no end in sight. John knew he'd be able to to protect you alone for how ever long you wanted to stay with him.
The closer you got your climax, the more John became infatuated. Every moan of his name, he was dragged further into you, ready to use his resilience for whatever means to please you.
He pulled you off of the wall, draping your body against his chest; John's hands slipped over your wet body, pushing you further into him as you finally came on his throbbing cock again.
John lost his control, ducking his face into your neck to mutter his praise.
You rested your head on John's lap, staring across the bed at the breakfast tray by his feet. You tried to make yourself small in his dress shirt, wanting to take up as much of his warmth as possible.
Brunch had encroached into lunch, the Continental eggs Benedict turned into a nice club sandwich and fries.
John wanted to remain in the solace of the room a bit longer, knowing that he'd have to leave and face his consequences. As long as you didn't have to, John would task himself to clean up his mess better than before just so you wouldn't suffer.
He folded the newspaper in his hands around to scan the inside pages as Gunner sniffed in the direction of John's abandoned club.
You reached out to grab a few fries from John's plate, dragging them across the white comforter for Gunner to take.
John flipped to the next page, disinterested in the sports section. "I saw that."
You side-eyed Gunner then glanced up at John. "No you didn't."
John shook his head, eyes lazily dragging over the fine print of the newspaper. He looked so comfortable in this state, how you imagined he spent his Sunday afternoons at home.
"How long were you married?" You asked, feeling the comfortable silence grind to a screeching halt. It had plagued you since he mentioned it and no matter how many times John made you cum to keep you quiet, the question still remained.
John's eyes glanced down at you, his face never moving from the direction of his newspaper. His chest tightened at the question, feeling his ring finger pulse when you asked.
He relaxed his shoulders, folding his newspaper haphazardly before resting his hand on your shoulder. You shifted in bed, propping your chin up on the tops of your folded arms; John's hand migrated to the middle of your back, admiring how good you looked in his dress shirt.
He praised the tailor's choice for a dark shirt, hiding the blood staina better. John thought of how dangerous his hand was, how many men he'd taken down with just them. And he was tenderly rubbing your back.
"Five years," he said after a few beats of quiet. John set the newspaper on his lap, holding it there with his hand.
You raised your head, shifting closer to John. The two of you were past the formality of tiptoeing hard subjects, you felt. At this point, you knew that there was two possibilities of this ending: in bitter tragedy or a new beginning for the both of you.
So you asked: "What's her name?"
"Helen," John said, turning his full face to you. He decided to get ahead of your line of questioning, to explain how you were both here now. "She died earlier this year. She told me..."
He was cinched then, imagining her handwriting on Daisy's kennel. John felt the pain bubble up again, seeing his wrongs. "That I needed to love something more than my car."
He chuckled mirthlessly, hiding a gulp that lodged in his throat at his last word. Your brows raised slightly, sitting up on your elbow.
You two were there yet and, while you knew that to be true, you wanted to get there. Hopefully, one day.
"That's why I got Gunner," John added, seeing your reaction and realizing another mistake.
The two of you let the collective sigh alleviate the room, allowing you back down to rest your head on John's thigh.
"I'm sorry for your loss," you offered, reaching your hand out to tenderly caress his bruised side.
John nodded, resuming his hand on your back. The two of you returned to your previous action, your eyes lulling with the temptation of sleep.
The questions were hard to wade through; John understood that if you were going to be around in the dark pond, you would soon learn about the very facade he put forth.
He cleared his throat, ready to admit his hard truths that he left behind; it would be easier for the both of you to leave the Underworld unscathed.
John's phone vibrated from the nightstand and he was tempted to silence it. The precarious bubble surrounding the three of you was already threatened, and John didn't want a call to break the tender surface.
He picked it up, realizing that it was a message from an unknown number. John stared at it, seeing that it was an attachment but made no moves to unlock his phone.
You heard your phone begin to vibrate, somewhere discarded in your dress skirt pocket. You groaned, rolling your head back and forth on your hands with the attempt to convince yourself that it was a text.
But then your ringtone began to chime. John heard it too, turning his head in the direction of it. His hand became heavier on your back, attempting to keep you in place.
"Hold that thought," you said, sitting up to kiss John before climbing out of bed.
John's eyes were trained on you, watching as you pulled his shirt to its full length, barely covering your bare ass. He watched intently as you bent, searching through your dress to find the offending phone.
You stood up, rolled your eyes at the Caller ID and answered to your coworker. "What's up?"
Her voice on the other end was slightly shaken, telling you that there was a puppy brought in that was hit by a car.
"I-I can't deal with putting him down, can you come in?"
You glanced over your shoulder to John and Gunner, both of them enough reason to stay in bed. John sat back again the headboard, draping his arm over it with the invitation for you to return to his side.
You groaned in annoyance, bouncing on one foot in the slightest of tantrums. "Can't you call someone else?"
"I-I tried, but one of them is at a Communion and the other is out of town."
You pouted, knowing that you being the single one in a vet clinic meant that you were left to do the dirtiest of work.
"I guess....I can be there within the hour." You forfeited, turned to John as you said it.
And just like that, John's bubble burst.
"You didn't have to drive me here," you said as you and John sat a red light.
"Why wouldn't I?" He asked, reaching over to rest his hand on your knee.
You scoffed, turning to John. "Because I know you've got to be tired from your travel. I could've gotten Charon to bring me."
You were appreciative of John driving you on such short notice, but you wanted to give him a little space. It still felt too fresh, whatever you had, and you didn't want to impose so much that he ended up pushing you away.
"Please, I'm a faster driver," John said with a grin as the light turned green. He let his foot of the brake, tempting his gas pedal as he tilted his head at you. "And I don't want you depending on Charon when I'm around."
You smiled, reaching over to touch the back of John's neck. You could get used to touching him, running your fingers through his hair or scratching his beard. But you were getting ahead of yourself.
"Thanks," you offered softly just as John pulled up on the curb in front of the clinic. "I'll call you when I'm done?"
John nodded, leaning into your hold as you kissed him. "Maybe we can do dinner?"
You laughed. "Hopefully it won't be that long, but we'll see."
You kissed him again, then a third time before you hummed against his lips knowing that you were on an urgent timeline. "Okay, okay. I'll see you in a bit."
You threw open your door and got out, carefully shutting the door of John's car. He bent across the center, offering a wave to you as you opened the door to the clinic and looked back a final time.
He watched you walk in, though his stomach dropped as the door shut behind you. Something felt wrong and his proven instinct was off.
John's phone buzzed again in his pants pocket and he geared his car to retrieve it. Another attachment sent by the unknown number, this time with a message to follow.
Unknown: Come out, John. We have something you want.
You looked around the clinic, seeing most of the offices shut down for the weekend but the light in the exam room on. You called after your coworker, flipping on the overhead lights in the lobby.
When you got no answer, you looked over your desk for paperwork then started towards the back room.
John reluctantly opened the message thread from the unknown number, his heart clenching at the first photo. Of you and him, from the view of the window earlier that morning.
Though you looked so beautiful on his lap, your dress exposing down your back in the morning light, John was chilled at the angle. The same position of the sniper that morning.
He looked after you, seeing that you'd disappeared further into the clinic, then went to the second photo. You, through the view of a porthole window, wearing the clothes you'd changed into. He noticed his own car from the glass door.
John shut off his car and threw his door open, haphazardly closing it before running after you into the clinic. He tapped his side, acknowledging his gun stashed in his waistband and drew it when he was inside.
He called after you, hearing no answer as he looked around the sterile, quiet clinic. John straightened up, holding his gun out as he continued stepping cautiously.
"Hello John," a voice responded from the double doors into the surgery room. "You've been a hard man to track down."
John grit his teeth hard enough to hear his jaw resound. His nostrils flared as he tried to level himself, knowing that he had to keep a strong front.
"I thought 7 million would've made you an easy target, but you're a smart man to hide."
"I wasn't hiding," John retorted, not allowing the comment to show him a coward.
He stepped up to the wall, trying to see into the bright room. John caught a glimpse of you, petrified against Santino's shoulder as his hand grasped your mouth.
You stared, bewildered through the small porthole window, catching a glimpse of John's face. You barely shook your head at him as Santino raised his gun to shoot out at the glass.
"Right," Santino continued, pointing the gun to your temple and making you panic, crying at the thought of his finger slipping. "You had gotten distracted. Which is dangerous in your line of work, you know that."
You gulped, quivering in the hostile man's hold. John righted himself against the wall, popping the clip to check his ammo. He took another careful breath, turning back in the direction of the window before ducking across to the other side.
"You could've tried getting out again, but you'd just end up owing somebody...again," Santino taunted, playfully tilting his gun about as he thought of it. "And then when the next wife dies along with the next sad pup, the cycle of John Wick would continue."
You whimpered, looking out and darting your eyes back and forth to find John anywhere. John couldn't find an answer, thinking more about what he was putting you through and what it would mean for him to stop.
If he could stop.
He didn't want to admit it, but Santino was right in a sense. John didn't want to keep owing people for the life he'd been luck to have once.
He especially didn't want to do it twice. Not that you weren't worth it. But danger seemed to lurk whether he was in or out.
"It wouldn't happen again," John said finally, after thinking for a moment. "I wouldn't let anything bad happen to her."
Santino tsked, turning the gun back to your head. "It's a little late for that. Look at where we are now."
John shut his eyes, coming to terms with his consequences once again. He carefully put the safety back on his gun and held it to his side.
"Fine," John said, pushing open the double doors. You cried from behind Santino's hand, incoherently begging for John to do anything else. "You're right."
Santino huffed amusedly through his nose then looked down at you. "You need something done, you do it yourself, eh?"
Santino turned the gun onto John, readying to shoot as you noticed the reflection of his pistol in something on the stainless steel table.
Looking down, you noticed a full syringe of clear liquid. You flicked your eyes back to John as he saw your eyes look away.
He barely nodded in your direction as Santino pulled back the hammer of his gun and readied to shoot John. "No hard feelings, John. Just avenging my sister."
At the same time, you felt his arm loosen around you and you took the opportunity to grab the syringe and stab it into Santino's neck.
Your fingers fumbled at the plunger, slowly dispensing half of the clear liquid into his blood stream. Santino grabbed the syringe with his free hand, taking his other to smack you away.
"Stupid bitch! This is men's business," Santino turned the gun on you and John called for his attention.
"Hey! You want to kill me. So kill me," John offered, raising his hands.
Santino narrowed his eyes at John, looking from him to you and back. "You're not...even going to try to beg me?"
John shook his head; you kicked at Santino's ankle, causing him to stumble then crawled after him to grab the syringe again. This time you righted yourself over Santino's body and stabbed the needle into his chest.
You hyperventilated, staring at the man as his eyes widened in fear. You trembled again with the plunger, releasing more liquid into his chest.
Looking over to John, you hoped he would find the words you couldn't. You didn't even understand what this was about, but you were caught in the middle of it.
John met your gaze, feeling his hands going cold at the thought of you getting hurt. The decision was still so muddy, but he was aware of where to start.
"Call it off," John said, reaching to grab Santino's gun and point it at the man. "Call the bounty off."
You turned back to the man, his hair wild as his eyes were twitching in disdain. "Why should I? You gonna kill me too?"
You stared at the plunger in his chest, your thumb on the weapon. You glanced over your shoulder, seeing your coworker dead in her puddle of blood along with the dog that Santino brought in to bait her.
"T-this is pentobarbital," you bluffed, nodding to the syringe in the man's chest. "There was enough in this syringe to kill you twice. But I've on-ly used ha-lf."
Your voice betrayed you in a moment, but you stared at this man under you as if he'd wronged you personally. And he kinda did. He ruined an almost idyllic morning by running egotistical games.
John withheld his surprise, glancing at your profile while you reasoned with this stranger.
"Call it off, and I can undo it," you lied, unsure if you could make such a promise.
"Bullshit," Santino spat at you, looking over to John. However, by the stone-cold look on John's face, he was inclined to believe you.
You straightened up and looked down your nose at this man, floundering to be let up but realizing a lack of options. Your cold thumb tempted at the plunger further.
"Y-you would feel it in your knees first. A dull pain that washes away when you can't feel your legs." You tried to narrate, reluctantly mapping out the process when you so wanted to forget it in pets.
"Your heart will start rushing soon, hoping to pump enough blood to circulate down to your toes, but then your fingers will lose feeling."
Santino gulped and you barely glanced to John as your brows knitted and your eyes watered. "Let's get your phone out before we get to that, because there's no turning back from there."
John watched in stunned silence, holding the gun pointed at Santino for any sudden movements towards you. Santino did as instructed, pulling his phone and typing in his code.
He dialed the number slowly, staring at you strong-handing the syringe. When it rang, he glanced over to John, unfazed.
"Pull the bounty for John WIck." He stated when he got on the phone. "Yes. Santino D'Antonio. 758042."
"Yes sir," the operator on the opposite end stated. The line was quiet for a moment and you held your breath. "Your bounty is rescinded. Is there anything else--"
You smacked the phone away from Santino before he could say anything else then leaned back for John to take the shot. He blinked in the flash moment, then aimed and shot Santino.
The splatter of his blood from his head decorated your face and you were sat in the shocked silence of the past few moments. Santino's dark phone lit up with a message.
Unknown: Bounty: John Wick rescinded. Disregard previous messages of subject.
You let go of the syringe, looking down at your cool trembling hands before you felt a pair of thick arms curl around you. John wasn't sure what else to do in the moment, knowing that nothing he could say would make up for it.
He pulled you up, held you close and swiped the blood from your cheeks. John rested his lips to the top of your head and kept you still when you tried to tremble.
He expected you to cry, ready to coax you down, but you were silent. Grasping at his shirt, you turned your face into him and held tight. Your breath slowly returned to normal, shutting your eyes to rid yourself of the sight of your coworker dead. This strange man dead.
John knew that what came next wouldn't be easy and he was dreading every minute of it.
You sat in the car with John as an unmarked black van pulled up in front of the clinic. Looking over at him, you expected John to get out but he only nodded in the direction of the clinic as the older gentleman stepped out of driver's side.
Without word, the man nodded and patted at the back doors of the unmarked van; the double doors opened and you jumped slightly at the men that followed out. Each of them was dressed in dark clothing, two of them holding mops and buckets while the final two carried unmarked bags into your place of work.
Slowly you turned to look at John, hoping for some sort of explanation. John watched as you did, his face frozen in the sense of unknowing where to start. So he tried going for simple.
"I'm a contractor," he said, turning his body to face yours. "I do freelance work for anyone who pays me and I do most of my work out of the Continental."
You gulped, your eyebrows knitting in concern. "S-so Winston and Charon are..."
"They know about my work and aid me in doing so."
You raised your shocked brows even further, unsure of what contortion your face was in at the moment. "Oh, okay."
Though it was not okay.
You had dinner with assassins, or contractors as John explained it. You fucked a contract killer.
You fucked a contract killer. You gulped, the thought giving you butterflies.
"So you're not like...an assassin that kills for fun?"
John raised a brow in question then shook his head. "Only bad people, and people who've forgotten that they're bad."
Your face flattened a little, ready to ask your next question as you remembered the stranger in the hotel room. "I'm not being targeted, am I?"
John slowly reached for you, taking tender hold of the side of your throat as he leaned in. "No. And this is not a long con. Meeting you was just coincidence. I just...dragged you into my darkness. And I'm sorry."
Your bottom lip trembled, staring into John's dark eyes and seeing them melt with his sincerity.
"I like you," he began, his chest tightening at the confession. He'd slain 200 men in a single night, he'd killed an extra 100 to avenge his dog, but here was when he felt nerves. "I want you to stick around. If you want."
You instinctively reached for him, pressing your lips to his. He lost his breath, putting his other hand to the opposite side of your neck to hold you close.
When you'd had your fill, you parted from him with a trembling sigh.
"Is that a 'yes'?" John asked, rubbing his thumbs before your ears.
You smiled nervously, taking hold of John's wrists to keep him there and nodded. John smirked softly, wondering what was going on in your head in that moment.
"You'll keep me safe, right?" You teased, though you wanted the reassurance.
John nodded.
He let his hands drop and you took hold of them. "I'm guessing you're gonna stay in this line of work a bit longer?"
He tried to keep his face neutral, though it loomed overhead as the next big step. Slowly he nodded and watched your body deflate upon doing so.
"Just a little longer," John said, leaning forward. "I've got a month saved up at the Continental and I'd like to use my points before they expire."
You broke with an amused scoff, turning away from John's face trying to hold back from smiling. You rolled your eyes at him, feeling this as a new beginning for the both of you.
"And it's got your name written right beside it," John added, tilting his head. "I know that room service has been calling your name."
You laughed then, barely sparing a glance to the men as they returned to their van. "It'd give me time to look for a new job."
You didn't want to bring it down, but the reality encroached again. John grabbed your hands and pulled them in to kiss your knuckles.
"We can figure it out together," John said, rubbing his thumbs over your hands.
His darkness paired well with yours, he saw. John only witnessed a glimpse of it, but it would do well if his month stay turned into two. Or five.
Depending on how much trouble he got into. You bit your lip, staring down at your hands intertwined with one another.
"Did you...hurt his sister?" You asked, letting the words spill out before you could stop them.
John was still for a moment, taking in a steady breath. "I made a blood oath before I got out that he'd be able to hold over my head if I ever came back. He used that promise to kill his sister."
Your face scrunched up slightly. "That's so vile."
"Yeah," John said, running his thumb over your knuckles as if measuring each one in size.
You raised your gaze to meet his. "And he crossed you even after that?"
John nodded, letting you get accustomed to whatever this new beginning was starting from. You looked down again, sorting through your biggest thoughts by importance.
"T-there was a person that broke into..." you mindlessly thumbed over your shoulder, remembering the long night you'd had before this one.
"They were trying to gain the bounty." John said, staring after you as if he was losing you to your own personal spiral.
"Charon said he contacted the police." You snapped up to look at John again and he bit back a smile at your concern.
Your eyes were watering again, this time your bottom lip ready to pout from your teeth. He reached up and coaxed a tear away with his thumb.
"No contractor business is allowed on Continental grounds," he tried to offer as solace but knew that the next part would jar you. "It's an excommunication rule."
You stared at him, hoping that he would explain further.
"The consequence is death," John offered as solace. "It's a safe place. That's why I wanted you to stay there."
You dryly scoffed at him, turning into his palm. "You were trying to keep me safe?"
John nodded. "I saw how shaken you were that night when I picked you up. I wanted to look out for you."
You pursed your lips. "Were Charon and Winston looking out for me too?"
John's lip curled slightly. "Charon, yes. Winston as you've said, loves to gossip. The man can't help but know every detail."
You tilted your head against the seat cushion, pinning John's hand against your cheek. "Did you tell him about me?"
It felt wrong to ask in such a situation, but there was no doubt that your meet-cute with a contract killer was fucked up.
John hid a roll of his eyes, his cheeks raising though he lined his lips together. "I told him enough. He called you...my Persephone."
You reached for his hand, shifting it down for his thumb to brace your lips. You blinked, narrowing your eyes at him. "He's funny. I guess this is kind of like the Underworld. Contractors and blood oaths, sacred hotels and clean-up crews."
John raised his brows at you. "Still okay with staying?"
Your stomach, for the first time in the past few days, felt realigned with steel. Though hostage situations were something you never wanted to get used to.
You raised your left hand, pointing your pinkie out. "If you promise me something."
John's lips pouted to the side, never eager to hear about promises in his line of work. He slowly raised his left hand and pointed out his pinkie, waiting to hear what you had to offer.
"Name it."
"You promise to keep me safe if I need it, you can't dump me during a mission and you teach me how to shoot a gun."
John's brows quirked then, his mouth a wormy squiggle to withhold his amusement. He nodded, reaching his large pinkie out to hook around yours. "Deal."
"And..." you added, just as you hooked your finger around his and held him there. "We get dessert in bed and Gunner gets a plate of fries. Also I want to go with you once on a mission."
John's mouth scrunched up under his nose, his cheeks bottling his want to laugh. It felt good to have that still within him.
"I promise."
"Also," you continued, biting your bottom lip. "You help me move out of my apartment."
John chuckled, pointing his finger at you from his interlocked hand. "Now that's too far."
"Said the contract killer," you jested.
John metered his nod back and forth with another soft laugh. "Okay, fine. Also, you don't have to tell me not to dump you."
The two of you stayed locked in your pinky promise as John looked from it to you.
"Promise me something."
"Shoot," you said, scrunching your nose at the poor choice of word.
"You let me know if it gets to be too much. If you want out at any time, I will let you out. I don't want to keep you where you don't want to be."
You hummed, softly smiling at this man. You wanted to stick around for a while, even longer than that. But you didn't want to tell him so.
Even though you were sure this man was the opposite of squeamish. Nothing like boys you'd dated previously.
"Okay."
"And..." John drew out like you had, pursing his lips in soft thought. "I want a full day in bed, with you. Gunner'll have to stay with Charon."
You giggled softly. "Okay," you said, shaking your head in John's direction. "I promise."
The two of you solidified your pinky promise with another soft kiss; John let his hands untangle from you as he felt his ring finger pulse again.
He paused, looking down at his hands and circled his ring on his finger.
You slowly came down from the adrenaline and mushiness spilled and stared at John fiddling with his ring.
"If it's too soon for you..." you tried, but John shut it down with putting his ring hand on the steering wheel.
"I'll be fine," he said with a sigh, aware of when he'd take it off.
It wouldn't be for a while, and he should've asked if it was alright with you. You didn't even notice it, feeling that it was just a part of him.
"So was it pentobarbital in that bottle?" He asked curiously, starting the car and gearing it into drive.
You reached for your seatbelt, glancing out of your window at the vet clinic then buckled yourself in.
"I don't think it was," you said geniunely, unsure if it'd make a difference.
John turned his car into the underground parking garage and circled the top level to find a space. The two of you were going over John's excursion in Rome, why he was really there and what he had to go through to get home.
"That's so fucked up," you offered, unable to create any other cohesive thought.
John shrugged, which gave you the note that this was a normal thing that happened sometimes.
You leaned in, intrigued to learn more about this other half of John. There was John Wick, the mild-mannered dog dad that fucked so hard that you shivering at the thought.
Then there was John Wick, the contract killer who took down a mafia of men in the time it took for you to have dinner with Winston.
"What do they call you?" You asked after John geared his car into park then shut it off.
John raised his brows, glancing over at you. "Don't laugh."
You straightened up in your seat, mimicking a zip of your lips closed before nodding at him to continue. John smirked and undid his seatbelt.
"Baba Yaga," he offered, awaiting your eventual snicker.
But you were perplexed, staring at him. "What is that?"
He blinked once, turning to you fully. "The Boogeyman."
You stared at him, knowing that there was no doubt in your mind that while you feared this man just a little bit, you were attracted to him more.
You looked around the desolate parking lot then back at John. "Anything else?"
"The Wolf, The Devil..." John added, unsure if those names were even true but wanting to amuse you.
You leaned over to John and exhaled a trembling breath. "Is it wrong of me..."
You couldn't finish that sentence aloud, knowing that it was a bit twisted to want him more. The man had just shot another man in front of you...and yet...
You caught John's mouth in a fervent kiss, edging your knee over the center console to sit in his lap. John was surprised, making such a noise as his hands held your hips.
You blindly reached between his seat and the door, finding the handle to recline the two of you back.
John groaned at the sudden movement, but didn't break from you. He pressed his hand into the small of your back and held you tighter against him, allowing you to roll your body against him.
"I-I'm sorry," You offered, parting from him with smaller pecks to follow. "I don't know what came over me."
John looked at you from behind his half-mast eyelids, taking in your trembling chest and legs spread over him. The image of you that morning flashed by again, trying to hide the other twisted side of it.
"Let's go upstairs," he added, his voice hitting a new low.
You felt your body cinch at his utterance, reminding yourself of the euphoric kisses and bites that would come from it.
You nodded, reaching for the driver's side door and climbing out. John attempted to regain himself, righting his seat before grabbing his keys and climbing out.
You didn't expect this place to become a sanctuary to you. The dark foreboding walls, something echoing to the Asphodel, was not inviting like you'd seen most places.
The marble floors, the sharp edges, the posh guests, all of them were out of your wheelhouse of comfort. But you were relieved to enter the lobby of the Continental.
It felt like it held a new charm, one that you prayed never left. You were awash with a sense of security, taking John's hand and leading him to the elevator.
You pinned him against the wall, nudging your nose with his before tempting him with a kiss. He leered after you, his eyes fluttering close with the thought of tasting your lips again.
You nipped at his nose instead, bringing your fingers up to scratch through his beard.
When the two of you made it back to your floor, you grabbed John's hand and started towards your door. At one point, John's arm circled around your waist and he lifted you into him, carrying you to the room.
The two of you stopped at the door, with you fumbling to take the key from John and open the door. You felt his breath over your shoulder, his hands already making their way down the front of your pants.
You shook your head alert, finally making the key open the door and clambering in with John hot on your tail.
You barely made it to get your shoes off before John expertly undid your pants and tugged them down. You bowed onto the bed, readily hiding your shame at how wet you were.
John pulled your pants down to your ankles, then off before turning you onto your back. He took your knee, pulling your legs open and stashing a hard gulp at the sight.
He had no words to say, knowing that the truth would be squeezed out of him soon enough. He reached for his own belt, undoing his pants and freeing his stiffened cock.
You looked down at the comparison, his cock flush against your stomach. You whimpered as he drew himself back, pushing his cock head against your clit before letting it slip over your stomach again.
You threw your head back in frustration, knowing that you wouldn't last long being teased. John watched like an instinctual predator, waiting for his best strike.
His bare hand went to rest at your chest, feeling your racing heart beat hard. John pulled back again, rutted his cock against your clit then let it slide, gathering your wet and streaking your belly.
You whined again, drawing your knees up from the edge of the bed. "John, please."
He would savor every time your lips formed his name; he tilted his head back, soaking it in to puff up his chest when he was normally without flaunting an ego.
John dropped his head again, glaring darkly at you from under his brows. He rutted a third time, earning your writhing. Your head turned back and forth on the comforter, your fingers reaching out for him but never grasping onto him.
"C-c'mon," you hiccuped, finding yourself a disheveled mess. You were flustered and growing on embarrassed, as if John was showing off how turned on you were by him.
By what he did.
By what he did for you.
You gulped, tightening your stomach as you watched him rut a final time; this time he went back and pressed his cock at your entrance, making you drop your head in relief when he slid into you.
John's hand at your chest dropped down to your stomach, leveling your core to feel every inch of him. You practically vibrated upon the new sensation, finding yourself drawn closer to a peak you weren't even acknowledging.
John took his hands away from you to run them under your shirt; he tenderly shrugged your top from over your chin, blinding you the cotton as his cock thrusted into you harshly.
You lost your breath, gasping when he shrugged your shirt over your head and up your arms before pausing there. He flattened himself against you, catching your bottom lip between his teeth with a tender suck.
His fingers threaded through yours, tangling both of you in the cuffs of your shirt until he finally pulled it off of you. John did his with pulling away from you and reaching between his shoulders to rip his shirt over his head.
The cream top yanked up to reveal the yellowing and purple bruises along John's sides, ones you knew now to be wounds for his effort. He went above and beyond in his work, it showed deeply.
John tossed his shirt away, returning over you to feel your chest rise and fall against his. He wanted to undo you further, have you bare to him in the physical and vulnerable sense, but he didn't want to throw off his pace.
You keened when he hit a particularly soft spot within you and he recognized it as your second weakness. John licked his fingers and dove them between the two of you, finding your clit with expert precision and circling it.
You grabbed onto his shoulders, wanting to hook into him if he was going to keep on. Your pants heightened against his mouth, drawing more moans from you as his other hand peeled your leg back to your side.
You broke another inch, your eyes crossing as you glanced to the ceiling. John took it in stride, using his lips to level his chin and meet your eyes. "Did I lose you there?"
Your face scrunched in pleasure, just as your chest tightened with the threat of explosion. "You are the Devil."
He chuckled mirthlessly against your lips, taking them in another kiss as he continued his pace. The two of you found yourselves drawing further up in pleasure, finding the heat culminated between you two enough of a catalyst for you both to cum.
You were first, your mouth falling open in the moans of John's name. Your walls beckoned him further, stunting his thrusts from going too deep before he finally succumbed to your heat.
He rested his elbow next to your head, groaning and hissing in pleasure. The two of you shared your caught breaths, staring at one another in the dim light of the room.
You prodded your tongue to your bottom lip, your eyes raking up and down John's body. He did the same, though he paused at your neck and dove in to kiss you there.
You shied away, raising your shoulder to giggle at his warm breath wafting down your neck. He liked that sound, he wanted to hear more of that.
would you ever be up for writing something smutty featuring john wick and an amab reader? genuinely there's nothing of him with a male reader and i will gladly and lovingly take ANYTHING
$ log - you and john wick are on a stealthy errand somewhere warm and tropical. you decide upon a risqué method to maintain your cover as tourists.
$ warn --nsfw --amab!reader --dom!top!reader --sub!bot!john --positions(doggy) --anal --semi-public
$ cd masterlist / keanu-reeves
# authors-note = sweet and short old man yaoi.
# note = reader's in the same line of work as john.
the tropical heat was oppressive, but the real tension came from the guards loitering near the boardwalk, their eyes scanning the shoreline for anything out of place.
you didn't care. you had john bent over a stack of supply crates, the rough wood pressing against his stomach while you drove yourself into him with wet, sloppy thrusts.
"do we really need to do this right now?" john groaned, his voice strained as he braced himself against the crates. his hips bucked involuntarily when you hit that perfect angle, each thrust making his body shudder.
you scoffed, leaning down to knead the hard muscle of his shoulders, your fingers digging into his skin. "duh, obviously. it's working," you whispered against his ear, your breath hot. "for all those guards know, we're just two tourists getting frisky. we're hiding in plain sight."
"you're insane," he muttered, though he didn't pull away from you. instead, he let out another low growl as you pushed into him again, deeper this time. the sound of your bodies slapping together was wet and obscene, muffled only slightly by the distant crash of the waves.
"just a little while longer, john. just until these guards clear up," you murmured, your pace quickening. you could feel your cock twitching inside you as you drove harder, your hips grinding against his ass with relentless force. you loved the way he tried to maintain control while you systematically broke it down.
"fuck, hurry up," he gasped, his fingers clawing at the wood of the crates as you pushed him to the edge. you just smirked, biting his shoulder hard as you prepared to spill everything inside him, using the adrenaline of the hunt to fuel every filthy inch of the fuck.
you fucked into him one last time, your hips locking against him as you buried yourself to the hilt. john let out a strangled noise, halfway between a curse and a moan. he could feel the heat of your orgasm building inside, matching the frantic rhythm of his own pulse.
"fuck, john," you hissed, your teeth grazing his earlobe as you emptied yourself inside him in hot, pulsing waves. he stiffened, his entire body going rigid against the crates before he slowly deflated, his forehead resting against the sun warmed wood.
you stayed there for a moment, breathing hard against his neck, savoring the way his muscles quivered under your touch. the guards had finally turned their backs, heading toward the main hotel entrance. the coast was clear.
"better?" you teased, withdrawing slowly with a wet sound that made him flinch.
john straightened up with obvious reluctance, adjusting his clothes with practiced,
the usual precision, though his breathing was still ragged and his pupils were blown wide. he wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, glancing toward the boardwalk to ensure no one had witnessed the aftermath of your little performance.
"we're not done here," he said quietly, though there was no real bite in his tone. he turned to face you, his dark eyes scanning your face with that intense, focused stare that always made your blood hum. he reached out, adjusting the collar of your shirt with steady fingers. "the target moves in twenty minutes."
"i know, i know," you smirked, leaning in to press one last, lingering kiss to his jaw before stepping back to gather your equipment. "but now we're both properly focused, aren't we?"
john didn't respond with words. he simply gave a single, curt nod the silent acknowledgment of a partner who understood exactly how you operated.
he checked his weapon one last time, his movements precise and lethal, the momentary haze of pleasure replaced instantly by the cold calculation of a predator.
$ tag @twentytomidnight @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @hisokamywaifu
In the eternal, boundless silence, on a desolate wasteland, John Wick must find the happiness he seeks.
1-1，1-2，2-1，2-2
Finally！I can post the first chapter of this comic! I’m still working hard on the comic, so I haven’t had time to check the dialogue for errors. If you spot any grammatical mistakes or spelling errors, I’ll correct them in the final version.)
Synopsis: After finding Helen’s old recipe book, you decide to surprise John with breakfast for Father’s Day, but of course, surprising an ex-assassin isn’t the easiest thing to accomplish. And unfortunately for you, he’s not particularly pleased with the result.
WC: 3479
Category: Heavy Fluff, Slight Angst, John!POV, Found Family, Grumpy + Sunshine Trope, Reader Is Around 14-15 Years Old, John Being A Dad {TW: Drugging (Not Out Of Malicious Intent), Mentions of Murder/Death}
I know Father’s Day isn’t for another month, but John gives me such girl dad vibes, and I just had to write about it.
『••✎••』
The house was quiet in the way old houses are when they think no one's listening—creaks swallowed by thick walls, the low hum of the fridge in the kitchen below like distant breathing. John Wick woke to none of it at first. Just the headache. A slow, insistent hammer behind his left eye, spreading like spilled ink across his skull. Not the sharp crack of a concussion, not the burn of a hangover. Something duller, chemical. Familiar in a way that made the hair on his forearms stand up before his mind caught up.
He didn't move. Not yet.
The bedroom smelled the same as always: faint gun oil from the night before, clean linen, and something else. Something sweet and burnt, like toast pushed too far. His gun was on the nightstand, right where he remembered leaving it, but the carelessness of it—unsecured, while he slept like a stone—was a warning bell clanging in the silence that only he could hear. Years of conditioning screamed at him. He never slept this deep. Never.
His hands went to his neck, feeling for puncture marks, but all he found was skin, clammy with a sweat that wasn't from exertion. The last thing he remembered... nothing. A book, maybe? The lamplight on the page, the weight of it in his hands. Then this. This void. This unnatural, forced stillness in his limbs, the heaviness in his head that made even lifting it a chore.
A different fear began to creep in, colder than the thought of intruders. He pushed himself up, the room tilting slightly before settling. He ignored it. He moved with a grim efficiency, checking the magazine in the pistol—a full clip, untouched—and chambering a round with a soft, lethal click that was the only real sound in the room. He padded across the hardwood, bare feet silent, checking corners, the empty bathroom, the shadowed space behind the door. Clear.
His next thought was you. Your room. He was at your door in three long strides, the gun now tucked into the waistband of his pants from habit as much as necessity. He didn't knock, only eased it open a fraction, then wider when he saw the empty bed, sheets thrown back in a tangle. You were an immovable object on weekend mornings, a lump beneath the covers until well past noon. Even as late as he’d apparently slept, you should still be there. This wrongness was piling up.
Then came the noise.
A clatter from downstairs. Loud. Metallic. The unmistakable sound of a pan hitting the tile floor, followed by a muttered curse that was definitely yours.
He was moving before the echo even died, fluid and silent despite the fog in his head. He took the stairs two at a time, gun back in his hand, every nerve humming. He cleared the living room, the dining nook, every shadow a potential threat. He rounded the corner into the kitchen, ready for anything—
—and then he saw you.
You were on your hands and knees, muttering under your breath as you swiped at something on the floor with a dishrag. Your back was to him, your movements clumsy, rushed. In front of you, the stovetop was a disaster zone. A pan sat askew, egg sputtering messily over the sides. A bowl was tipped over, spilling what looked like shredded cheese onto the counter. The air was thick with the smell of burnt butter and cooking eggs.
He saw you, unharmed, completely absorbed in your chaotic mission, and the tension drained out of him so fast it left him dizzy. The gun was holstered in his waistband, the motion so fluid and practiced you wouldn't have even registered he'd been holding it.
You wouldn’t have noticed his presence either if it wasn’t for the sudden jolt of pain that flared in his head, causing him to lean against the doorframe with a quiet groan. You froze, spinning around, the rag dropping from your hand.
You looked like a deer caught in headlights, and when your eyes met his, you didn't have to say a word. He saw it. The guilt. The panic. The plan that had gone spectacularly, obviously wrong.
That wrongness from before snapped into focus with crystal clarity, because now he remembered something from the night before, a fleeting image of you handing him a glass of water, your smile a little too bright as you’d wished him a good night. He never took anything from anyone, not even water, without checking it first. Except you. He trusted you.
He straightened up, ignoring the throb behind his eye, letting the silence stretch, letting the weight of it press down on you. If he wasn’t so wrung out, he might have even managed to look angry, but the drug had leeched that away. He had to settle for something far more dangerous: disappointment.
“What did you do?” His voice was rough, low. Not a question. An indictment.
You flinched, picking at a loose thread on your apron. “I... I made you breakfast?” It came out as a squeak. A weak offering.
“The headache,” he continued, stepping further into the kitchen, his eyes scanning the mess, then landing back on your face. “What was it?”
“Just... something to help you sleep,” you mumbled, your gaze fixed on your shoes. “You're a light sleeper. And I'm... well, this.” You gestured vaguely at the culinary crime scene surrounding you. “I didn't want a gun in my face the second I dropped a spoon.”
The logic was infuriatingly, endearingly stupid. And he was about to tell you so, to lecture you on the hundred different ways that could have gone wrong, on the fact that he sleeps light for a reason, on the sheer, unmitigated danger of rendering yourself defenseless like that, of rendering him defenseless. But then he saw it. On the counter, peeking out from under a flour-dusted towel. A small, worn notebook, its pages yellowed with age.
He moved toward it slowly, and you didn't stop him. He picked it up. The cover was blank, but inside, in a looping, elegant script he hadn't seen in years, was a list. A recipe. And at the top, written in the same graceful hand, were the words: “John's Favorite.”
Helen's handwriting.
The breath he didn't know he was holding escaped him in a long, silent rush. He looked from the book to the disaster on the stove, and then to you, who was watching him now with wide, apprehensive eyes. And he understood. Every burnt piece of toast, every spilled ingredient, the whole insane, desperate plan. It wasn't about the noise. It was about this. About this book you'd found, about the recipe you'd tried to recreate.
“I...” he started, and had to clear his throat. He looked back down at the book, at the recipe for a mushroom and cheese omelette that Helen had perfected, that he hadn't tasted in... God. Years. He hadn't even known this book existed. “You found this.”
You nodded, your lower lip trembling slightly. “In a box in the attic. I just... I wanted to... I know it's not the same.”
He looked at the omelette sizzling in the pan. It was lopsided, slightly brown on one side, cheese leaking out like a wound. It was a mess. It was nothing like hers.
But it was there.
He put the book down carefully, reverently, on a clean patch of counter. He turned back to you, and when he spoke again, the anger was gone, replaced by a bone-deep weariness that had nothing to do with the drug in his system. “Why? Why go to all this trouble?”
You looked down at your feet, then back up at him, and for the first time, you looked less like a criminal and more like a child who was desperately hoping they hadn't broken something irreplaceable.
“It's Father's Day,” you said, your voice barely a whisper.
The words hit him harder than any bullet. Father's Day. A day that had never existed in his world. It could’ve, maybe. If things had been different. If she'd still been here, if they'd had a chance... but that path had been closed off long ago. He'd locked it himself, buried it under so much death and violence he'd forgotten the key. It was just another date on the calendar, another ghost to ignore.
But in that moment, as he stood in a kitchen that smelled of burnt butter and a desperate attempt at normalcy, he realized that for you, it wasn't. It was still real. And in your world, he was the closest thing you had.
The day he saved you, the day he took you in, he hadn't been thinking about fatherhood. He'd been thinking about debt. About a promise. About a life that needed protecting from the one he'd made for himself. He was a weapon, a tool, a ghost. Not a parent.
Clearly he wasn’t a very good one, either, if you thought drugging him was an acceptable solution to a problem.
He gestured towards the stove with a slow, deliberate movement. “Turn it off.”
You scrambled to obey, twisting the knob with a clatter. The sizzling died down, leaving only the hum of the refrigerator. The silence that followed was heavy, charged with unspoken words.
“Sit,” he said, not unkindly, pointing to a stool at the kitchen island.
You sat, your hands folded in your lap, looking like you were awaiting sentencing. He leaned against the counter opposite you, the ache in his head a dull thrumming now. He had to get this through your head. He had to make you understand.
“Do you have any idea what you did?” he began, his voice low and even. “What could have happened?”
You started to speak, but he held up a hand, and you closed your mouth.
“Whatever you gave me, it put me out. Completely. Someone could have come through that door,” he nodded towards the front of the house, “and I wouldn't have known. Not until it was too late.” He paused, letting that sink in. “You seen the news lately? You know the kind of people who are still looking for me? They don't knock. They don't care if there's a child in the house. All they care about is settling a score. And in that state, I couldn't have protected you. I couldn't have protected anyone.”
He could see the shame in your eyes, the way you were shrinking into yourself. Good. You needed to feel it. But then he saw something else. Defiance. A spark of it, buried under the guilt.
“We were safe,” you mumbled, so quietly he almost didn't hear it. “I made sure of it. I locked the doors. I was awake.”
“That's not the point!” The words came out sharper than he intended, a crack of thunder in the quiet kitchen. He took a breath, reining it in. “You can't. You can't ever do that again. You hear me?”
You looked up at him, your chin jutting out just a little. That spark flaring brighter. “You slept for eight hours.”
He stared at you. The non-sequitur threw him. “What?”
“Eight hours,” you repeated, a little louder this time. “I checked. You haven't slept for eight hours since I've known you. Probably longer.” You looked him straight in the eye, and your words were a direct hit. “You probably had the best sleep you've had in a long time.”
The silence stretched again. He had no answer for that. Because you were right. He hadn't realized it until you said it, but it was true. The drug had forced a level of unconsciousness on him that was a foreign country. A stolen moment of peace he hadn't even known he was desperate for. He couldn't remember the last time he'd woken up without a phantom pain in his shoulder, without the echo of a gunshot in his memory. This morning, all he had was the headache. And even that was fading.
He looked at the omelette sitting cold in its pan. A mess. A failure by any culinary standard. An insult to Helen's memory.
And yet.
He thought of the hours you must have spent, poring over that book, deciphering her handwriting, trying to mimic a love you could only know secondhand. He thought of the courage it must have taken to spike the water of a man like him, to risk his anger for the sake of a surprise. He thought of the quiet desperation in your voice when you'd said, “Father's Day.”
He sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of every life he'd ever taken. He pushed himself away from the counter and walked over to the stove. He picked up the pan, looked at the sad, lopsided creation within. And then he did something that surprised you as much as it surprised him.
He grabbed a fork from the drawer, stabbed a piece of the omelette, and put it in his mouth.
It was… fine. A little bland. The cheese was clumpy. The mushrooms were slightly undercooked. It tasted of effort and burnt butter and a clumsy, unwavering affection that he hadn't realized he was starving for.
He chewed slowly, swallowed. He looked over at you. You were watching him, your whole body tensed, waiting for a verdict.
“We're going to have a talk about boundaries,” he said, his voice still serious. “A long one. You're going to promise me, on your life, that you will never do anything like that again.”
You nodded, your eyes wide, a tear finally escaping and tracing a path down your cheek. “I promise.”
"Good," he said. He took another bite. He wasn't hungry, not really, but he ate it anyway. He ate it because it was the only way he knew how to say what he couldn't bring himself to say. That he saw you. That he understood. That in the middle of all the darkness, all the blood, all the grief, this ridiculous, burnt omelette was the realest thing he'd touched in years.
Dog finally trotted into the kitchen, drawn by the smell of food and the strange quiet. He looked at John, then at you, then back at the floor, where a small pile of shredded cheese still lay. He sniffed at it, looked up at John for permission.
John gave a short, almost imperceptible nod. Dog promptly began to clean up your mess with quiet enthusiasm.
It broke the tension. You let out a watery laugh, swiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. “He's a better cook than I am.”
“He has lower standards,” John said, finishing the last of the omelette. He put the empty pan in the sink. The silence that followed was different now. Softer. Less like a void and more like a space. A place where something could be built.
He leaned against the sink, watching the way you'd finally relaxed your shoulders, the way you were now trying to subtly wipe down the counter with your sleeve. It reminded him of the day you met.
Aurelio had called him in for a favor. And given everything that he did for him, it was the least John could do. Aurelio never did ask for much.
Of course, John had assumed it was going to be about a body. It was always about a body. A clean-up, a disposal, a message sent.
Instead, he had found you. Huddled in the back office, knees pulled to your chest, not crying, just… staring at the wall with a vacant expression that was far more unsettling than tears. Turns out, you were the lone witness to a deal gone sour. A child in the wrong place at the wrong time. You were a loose end.
And in their world, loose ends get cut.
Aurelio found you in the aftermath, huddled behind a stack of tires. He’d hidden you, kept you safe while he figured out what to do. And what he did was call John. Because John understood loose ends. And because John, for all the lives he had taken, was the one person Aurelio knew if he asked to protect a life, he’d do it. No questions asked.
Granted, you weren’t in immediate danger anymore. The ones who had been there were taken care of, thanks to John. But in this life, any day could be the wrong day, in the wrong place.
Aurelio had told him he'd find you a new life, a safe house somewhere, far away from all of this. He told John he didn't have to make it personal.
But John had looked at you then, at the sheer, stubborn refusal to break, and he'd seen something he hadn't seen in a very long time. A spark. A future that hadn't been extinguished. And he knew he couldn't just drop you off and walk away. He’d already given up one future. He couldn't bear to stand by and watch another be snuffed out.
So he took you home.
He had no idea what to do with you. The quiet, empty house that had been a mausoleum of memories was suddenly filled with the small, living sounds of another person. The creak of a floorboard at two in the morning when you got a glass of water. The thud of a book being dropped. The quiet murmur of you talking to yourself as you did your homework.
He'd given you a room, a key, a set of rules. He'd taught you basic self-defense. How to fire a pistol, though he hoped to God you'd never have to. How to be aware of your surroundings. How to look like you belonged, even when you felt like you didn't.
He thought he was preparing you for the world. But in reality, you were remaking his. Slowly, piece by piece. Daisy would’ve been the first, he supposed. But she was gone before she could truly teach him. Then Dog, a silent, loyal anchor. Then you. You, with your ridiculous television shows, your constant questions about the mechanics of a car, your insistence on leaving the lights on in every room you entered. You, who saw a semi-retired assassin and somehow saw a dad.
He looked at you now, scrubbing at a stain on the counter with a ferocity that suggested it had personally offended you. And he felt something shift inside him, a tectonic plate of grief settling, revealing a new, unfamiliar landscape beneath.
“It needs salt,” he said.
You stopped scrubbing and looked up at him, your brow furrowed. “What?”
“The omelette,” he said, gesturing with his thumb towards the now-empty pan in the sink. “Helen always used a little more salt. And a pinch of paprika.”
A slow smile spread across your face, tentative at first, then brilliant. It was the first real smile he'd seen from you all morning. “I knew I forgot something,” you said, your voice light with relief.
He watched you for a moment longer, the smile still playing on your lips, the way your shoulders were no longer hunched around your ears. The headache was gone, replaced by a feeling he couldn't name. It was close to peace. Close to contentment.
He pushed himself away from the sink. “I'm going for a walk,” he said, the words feeling strange in his mouth. A walk. For no reason other than to walk. He hadn't done that in years.
You nodded, your smile softening. “Okay. I'll... I'll clean up in here.”
He turned to leave, but stopped at the doorway. He didn't look back at you. He kept his gaze fixed on the hallway, on the sliver of morning light cutting across the floor.
“Next year,” he said, his voice quiet but clear. “Wake me up. Normally.”
He didn't wait for an answer. He just walked away, the sound of Dog's claws clicking on the hardwood floor as the dog trotted after him. He didn't need to look back to know you were smiling. He could feel it all the way down the hall.
You were still getting grounded. For a week. Minimum. But right now, as he stepped out into the cool morning air, the sun on his face, he felt lighter than he had in a very, very long time. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the world outside the walls of their house didn't feel like a threat. It just felt... like a Sunday. A quiet, ordinary, perfect Sunday. And for a man like him, that was the most dangerous feeling of all. Because that meant he had something to lose again. And he’d be damned if he let anyone take it away again.
Especially before he could teach you how to properly make an omelette.
warnings: 18+ content, heavy smut, oral (M and F), unprotected sex, p in v, age gap, rough sex, fingering, overstimulation, praising, cursing, use of y/n, virgin reader, porn with plot, pet names
wordcount: 6.5k
masterlist
MDNI
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you didn’t know how you ended up in this situation.
tied to a chair in an apartment of a hotel, your mouth covered with duck tape.
next to you stood a tall man, slick black hair and wearing a suit. but that was all you could make out. the room was pitch dark except for the moonlight shining slightly through the window across from you.
you didn’t know what to do. your body was shaking in fear and inside you was a chaos of emotions. you thought that this was your end, that you were going to die. the man asked you questions, some of them you didn’t even understand. who sent you? what is your mission? who are you working for?
all that didn’t make sense to you.
all you wanted to do there was looking for answers. a few days ago, you found a red folder in your grandpas office at home. winston scott. the only family you had left. but something always seemed off with him. he never let you come to work with him, was always very distant if you asked about his job and was barely at home. you knew that he hid something from you. and you were determined to find out, so all you could think about was looking in his office which you weren’t even allowed to enter.
but you couldn’t hold yourself back anymore. you needed to know what was going on. so, you found that red, promising folder and what you found in there took your breath away.
there were pictures of a hotel you definitely knew and flipping to the next pages you stumbled across the high table, rules- also from the hotel, and the criminal underworld. you didn’t know what to say. it all didn’t seem real. it was like straight out of a movie. you wanted it to be unreal but all this was proof that it was reality. and now everything started to make sense to you. that was the reason why your grandpa never told you anything about his job, let you come along or was gone for weeks. at this point you even wondered how you’ve never heard anything from all that before. it was confusing.
but right now you deeply regretted walking into that hotel. you just wanted answers, wanted to search for your grandpa and talk to him. but that man must have known that you weren’t here, like every other criminal, to seek protection.
you were desperately trying to get out of the restraints that tied you to the chair, tears were streaming down your face like a waterfall and constant whimpers and whines left your mouth- wordlessly begging him to set you free. you had no idea what that man was going to do with you. and that scared you to death. but nothing helped. he acted like you weren’t even there.
"please.“ you mumbled through the tape, your eyes pleading silently. in a matter of seconds he turned on his heels sharply, his patience wearing thin and his fingers immediately wrapped harshly around your gin, forcing you to look up. "one more fucking sound and you won’t get out alive.“ he growled, his voice sending shivers down your spine.
you quickly nodded your head as he let go of your gin and marched across the room, stopping by a table which had a telephone placed on it. you watched him as he dialed a number and waited impatiently, the tight grip on the telephone proof of it.
"hello sir.“ he suddenly said. you could make out a faint male‘s voice but didn’t hear what he was saying.
"yes i‘d like to speak to the manager." a sigh fell from his lips. "no, here in room 818.“ he continued, his voice deep and cold. "thank you.“ he ended the call, tossing the telephone back on the table before storming off to a different room.
you were left alone with your thoughts when suddenly your blood froze.
the manager.
you almost forgot that your grandpa owned this hotel. you started to panic even more. you had no idea how he would react seeing you tied up in one of his apartments. plus, you weren’t even supposed to know about this place. the tears were now getting more and more, blurring your vision completely but you tried your best to keep quiet. you didn’t want to anger that man further.
minutes of heavy, uncomfortable silence passed and there was still no sight of him. your emotions were starting to eat you up, the fear, sadness, anger drove you insane.
but out of a sudden there was a loud knock echoing through the whole apartment. you shrieked up, your head turning to the door‘s direction when the lights turned on. you immediately closed your eyes, blinking a few times to get used to it. again, you looked over to the door and found the man unlocking it.
"johnathan.“ is the first thing you heard before grandpa stepped into the room. your eyes widened and your pulse quickened. there was no going back now.
"winston.“ the man replied, both of them shaking hands.
"is there something wrong johnathan?“ grandpa asked, his eyes fixated on the man.
"there was a little incidence. i thought i’d show you, let you decide what you’d like to do with her.“ johnathan answered, gesturing his head towards your direction. when winston‘s eyes followed johnathan’s gesture, his mouth slightly parted and his movements stopped. the second you had eye contact, you began to whimper, wriggle, trash around, just anything to make him come to you and free you from your position.
fortunately he took that as a sign and ran over to you, immediately kneeling down, untying the ropes around your wrists and ankles before he ripped the tape off your mouth, eliciting a painful hiss from you. in an instant, you got to your feet, wrapped your arms around his neck and began to cry again.
"i‘m so sorry grandpa. please forgive me, i didn’t mean to-" you were cut off mid-sentence when he slightly pushed you away from his embrace, looking at you with a disappointed face.
you glared at him with pure confusion. what was going on? your eyes darted over to that man, or well johnathan, who watched the situation closely with furrowed eyebrows. your eyes snapped back to your grandpa when he suddenly gripped your upper arm, squeezing it harshly. "what are you-"
"what the fuck has crossed your brilliant mind to do such a thing!?“ grandpa suddenly yelled, making you jump slightly. you wanted to answer him but you couldn’t. you didn’t know what to tell him.
"how do you even know about this place? did you snoop around in my office, y/n?“ he continued, his tone cold and angry.
you couldn’t answer him. you broke his highest rule- not entering his office and you did even worse. "answer my question!“ he hissed at you, making you jump a little. your eyes were glued to the floor, not having the confidence to look him in the eye.
"yes, i - i found your folder.“ you quietly mumbled. the grey haired man huffed out in disbelief and released your arm, taking a few steps away before looking at johnathan. they exchanged a weird look, you couldn’t tell the meaning of and it freaked you out.
somehow you didn’t get what the big deal now was. sooner or later you would have found out anyway, he couldn’t have kept that secret forever. you looked up at him, catching him pinching the bridge of his nose.
"do you have any idea what you’ve gotten yourself into? i never wanted you to know about this world.“
your mouth opened to say something but nothing came out. there was nothing to say.
his stare darkened as he continued. "i wanted to protect you, keep you away from that. and now with that stupid and reckless action of yours you ruined everything. there are hundreds of criminals, assassins, brutal murderers in my hotel and they saw you. you’ve got their attention and they’ll talk about you, y/n.“ tears began to form in your eyes, you didn’t even know why but the whole situation made you feel incredibly awful.
"i‘m sorry.“ you quietly whispered, sending him an apologetic look.
johnathan and grandpa huffed out in sync, a playful smirk played on the black haired man’s mouth. "oh, you’re sorry. y/n, a simple sorry won’t do it! you do not understand what this means right now! i do have enemy’s, what if they’ll hunt you down, what if they’ll try to kill you?“ your grandpa sneered at you, eyes narrowed. "i can’t believe it y/n, since when do you do shit like this?“
you frowned, staring at the floor again. on one hand you felt like a disappointment to your grandpa. you always tried to make him proud and he cared for you like the parent you’ve lost at a young age. but on the other hand you were furious. he was giving you all fault. like, did he actually think that you’d never find out? or the fact that he’s a criminal himself and runs a hotel for those people, speaks for itself. to keep something like that from you made you angry, hurt you even.
you furrowed your eyebrows at him angrily, forcefully wiping the tears that stained your cheeks away. both men stared at you impatiently, waiting for your reply. but in their eyes, there was a gleam of hate and disappointment.
"what? cat got your tongue?“ winston stated mockingly and you felt like you were about to loose your temper.
"you want me to talk? fine.“ you replied, your eyes darting between both men. "what do you expect me to do now? turn into some fucking monster like you two are? kill people and torture them? or join your little gangster club you always kept secret from me?“ you raised your voice, laced with pure sarcasm and anger.
a dark chuckled rang through the room, sending unpleasant tingles through your body. johnathan. of course he found the whole situation amusing. he thought that your behavior was childish and funny.
"you know nothing about this world. there is no 'little gangster club', things are serious.“ he pointed out sharply, crossing his arms over his chest. you huffed out, taking a few steps closer to johnathan but you were stopped by a hand on your wrist. your eyes switched to your grandpa who looked at you disapprovingly. "don’t even try it.“ he warned you lowly.
"i don’t even know him? what is he even doing here?“ you yelled at them now, your emotions taking over you, tears forming in the corner of your eyes again. "do you even know how i’m feeling right now? i can’t fucking believe that you lied to me all this time only to find out a few days ago that you’re a fucking criminal!“
"do not raise your voice at me y/n!“ winston snapped, pointing a finger at you warningly. "or what? you gonna ground me for it?“
"no, johnathan and i’ll have a talk now. you stay here, i don’t want a single misbehavior from you. am i clear?“ you wanted to yell at him so badly, but you knew better than that. there would have been no use in discussing further with him anyway.
"mhm.“ you hummed, turning around to sit on the bed. "what was that?“ winston muttered. "yes, i understand.“ you mumbled and watched them as they exited the room.
you collapsed on the bed, your face buried in your hands. you wanted to slap yourself for being this stupid. if you just would’ve listened to winston and followed his rules then you wouldn’t have been in this situation. many thoughts crossed your mind, and your head felt like it would explode. but one thing weighed most on you; you wanted to know what they were talking about and how all that would continue. a while left your lips and you exhaled loudly.
minutes passed and still they weren’t back. and it was frustrating you. what could they possibly discuss this long? just as you wanted to go out and look for them, the door opened and both of them stepped in. you immediately sat up, looking at them curiously.
your grandpa stopped directly in front of you, glaring down at you with a serious mask. and you knew that face. it never meant something good. johnathan had a emotionless expression plastered on his face, waiting for winston to speak up.
"johnathan and i have talked and we’ve come to an agreement. you’ll be staying with him from now on. he’ll teach you how to fight, how to be prepared for-"
"excuse me? what?“ you interrupted, caught off from his words. he must be joking, you thought. he wouldn’t have let you live with a stranger who was a killer, right?
"i‘m serious y/n.“ he snarled, clearly annoyed by your behavior.
"you want me to stay with the crazy killer who tied me to a fucking chair? not gonna happen.“ you replied, crossing your arms. not over your dead parents you would have done that.
"i am not going to discuss with you, y/n. also, you don’t get to decide this, sweetheart. this is the consequence for your action, so face it.“ grandpa pointed out, his voice dripping with sarcasm as a smirk was plastered on his lips. you were stunned, speechless even. you truly didn’t know what to say.
two months later
john‘s house, or villa - how you like to call it - nestled on the outskirts of new york, became your new home. after the argument, back in john’s apartment, he and your grandpa practically forced you to pack your stuff and move in with the assassin. it was hard, for all of you, but especially for you. your world was turned upside down and you felt like you weren’t even real. it all happened so fast -too fast. you were mad at your grandpa, ever since then you haven’t talked to him.
in your opinion, he was the one who was to blame. if he would have just told you about all this calmly, just the two of you, you wouldn’t have been in this awful situation now. of course you missed him, but you felt like he was mad himself and you didn’t have the energy to call him.
however, you slowly got used to living with john. it was strange to be honest, a weird atmosphere that made uncomfortable. he hardly ever talked to you, which bothered you dearly because you thought that it would be a good start to create small conversations but john basically avoided your attempts. the first month turned into grueling routines. mornings, afternoons, evenings -all focused on training.
there were bruises on your arms and legs, soreness in muscles you never knew you had. john wasn’t merciful, not in the least. he pushed you harder than you thought possible, demanding more each time. and whenever you showed any sign of weakness, his responses were brutal and without sympathy. but as difficult as he was, you found yourself watching him more and more. the way he moved -silent, calculated, almost predatory. his voice deep and rough, had a way of making your heart skip even as he issued orders. and not to forget how sexy he was to you. you often imagined fucking with him like there was no morning.
but you tried to hide it, to ignore the way your stomach fluttered whenever he spoke your name, or the way your heart pounded when his hand accidentally brushed against yours. but the feelings for him grew, every day, every lesson, you found yourself falling harder.
compared to now, the training grew more intense, but john’s coldness also seemed to deepen. you couldn’t understand why; you’ve gotten to know each other, you thought, shared so much time together, but he seemed more guarded than ever. you wanted to believe that there was something between that icy exterior, a warmth you’d occasionally glimpsed in his eyes, but he was difficult to read.
one evening, close to 8 pm, you found yourself again in the training room you hated so much. your arms and legs ached, your body was slick with sweat and your head felt like it was going to explode. but even seeing you in such a state, john didn’t budge, he just continued to explain and show you more and more techniques.
"like this.” he instructed, his voice low as his hands adjusted his stance. he tried to come at you again but you dodge his blow. frustration bubbled inside you, fueled by his coldness, his distance, your own feelings. for the last time, you took all your strength together. before he could react, you had one leg wrapped around his torso, one hand around his neck- surprising him with a quick maneuver. with all your power, you used the momentum to throw him to the ground. to your shock, you ended up on top of him, straddling his waist - both hands on his chest- your breathing quick and heavy.
john’s eyes met yours, his usual coldness softened by a hint of something you couldn’t quite read. the tension between you both thickened, your cheeks flushed red as you realized the position you guys were in. you could feel his heart beat beneath you, see the dark glint eyes in his eyes as they held your gaze.
"impressive.” he murmured, his voice rough.
your breath caught and your mouth opened to speak, but before you could, john’s hand was on your waist, the other around your throat as he pulled you down, closing the space between you. his lips met yours, firm, commanding and your heart skipped, every nerve igniting. you gasped, but the kiss grew more intense, he slipped his tongue in your mouth, claiming you. his hand wandered up and down your back, stopping at your ass, giving it a harsh squeeze, eliciting a muffled moan from you.
your fingers gripped his shirt, pulling him closer. the heat began to pool in your panties when you felt his hard- on pressing against your core. your body automatically started to grind down, trying to gain friction to ease the ache that tingled in your abdomen. but john pulled away, stopping your kiss.
"not here.” he muttered, easily getting up with you still clung to him. you wrapped your legs around his waist, your mouths colliding again. his hands on your ass, supporting your weight. he walked out of the room, your lips never parting. john entered the living room and sat down on the couch with you still on top of him. his hands now roamed your whole body, squeezing your breasts, running up and down your back, slapping your ass slightly. again, your hips began to grind down against him, his cock now rock hard, the feeling making you whine out. john also groaned into the kiss, loving the pleasure he received just as much.
then, john let his hands slip under your shirt, caressing the warm skin, before he broke your kiss, pulling the fabric over your head and tossing it away. his eyes admired your half naked body, focusing on your tits which were pushed up plumply from your bra. he immediately bent down and started to suck on your neck, licking and biting the sensitive skin with fever. your body arched into his touch, small moans escaping your lips as you shut your eyes.
you felt john’s hands reaching around your middle to unclasp your bra before pulling both straps down, adding the piece of clothing to the floor. he withdrew from your neck, taking in your bare tits, his eyes turning darker with the desire. "fuck, doll.” he licked his lips before he dipped down, immediately taking one of your hardened nipple into his mouth. his tongue swirled around the bud while sucking on it harshly. "oh, john.” you whined out, his abuse sending jolts of pleasure directly to your cunt. your movements began to fasten, your moans growing louder.
john switched sides, taking care of your other nipple equally. "more, john.” you begged him, your fingers pulling on his raven hair. but john released your nipple and pushed you back slightly. "get on your knees.” he growled, voice full of dominance. you blinked at him a few times, your breath heavy, before you got off his lap and placed yourself between his thighs. "come on, be a good girl for daddy.” he said lowly while gesturing to his bulge, his tone sending shivers down your spine.
hesitatingly, you let your hands ran up his thighs, wrapping your fingers around the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers. you swiftly pulled both down, letting them pool around his ankles before he stepped out of them. your eyes widened a little at the sight of his cock.
thick. long. veiny. he almost looked intimidating, making you wonder how you’ll be able to take all of him. you scooted closer to him, staring up at him with doe eyes. "now don’t be shy, doll. go on.” he commanded, waiting desperately for your next move.
with a slightly shaking hand, you wrapped it around his base before licking a tiny strip along his reddened tip. his dick immediately twitched at the contact, a low groan falling from his lips. carefully, you licked his shaft before dipping the head completely in your mouth. you looked up at him so innocently, so desperate. john placed his hand on your head, slightly gripping the roosts of your hair. he began to push your head further down in his length, your nose almost touching his pelvis. a loud strangled gag rang through the room, as your whole body shivered and tears immediately shot into your eyes. "relax baby, breath through your nose." he rasped lowly, eyeing you with desire.
you blinked your tears away, focusing back on giving him pleasure. you began to bob your head up and down his cock, slow and teasing at first. the loud groans that fell from his lips only urged you to go faster, signing you that you were doing good. you let your tongue swirl around his shaft, massaging it and pressing it strongly against his shaft. john's eyes opened again, falling immediately down to you, growling out when he saw your plump lips wrapped around him so perfectly.
he couldn't hold back anymore.
his hand gripped tighter and he began to move your head on his cock in a fast pace, controlling your movements. you tried your best to relax your throat, letting him use your throat however he pleased. drool was slowly dripping down your gin and your eyes were watery, his size almost bruising your throat. you constantly felt his tip brushing against the back of your throat and his hips began to jerk. your hands held onto his thighs, needing support as he pulled your head down even faster and rougher. you were a mess at that point. your mascara was running down your cheeks, spit practically all over your face and your arms were shaking.
john's cock started to twitch uncontrollably and you knew he was close to releasing, making you swirl your tongue with even more pressure. but before he could empty his load into your mouth, he withdrew your head from his length, a guttural growl escaping his throat. "I'm only gonna fill up your little cunt."
his words sent sparks through your lower half, feeling the heat pooling in your panties, slowly dripping down your thighs from how much you're turned on.
you tried to catch your breath when he already pulled you up to straddle his waist again before he laid you down on the sofa. next, he got rid your shorts, pulling your panties with it. he glared down at your form, sprawled out beneath him and he could feel jolts of pleasure shooting through his entire body.
and that's when your panic set it.
you were still a virgin and he didn't know.
you were unsure if you should tell him, not knowing how he would react. you already felt like he was a little hesitant about doing all this with you, simply out of respect to your grandpa. he was his closest friend, his most loyal and go to person. and then betraying him like that and fucking with his granddaughter?
you just knew that this was eating john up innerly. but his desire seemed to win. nonetheless, you had to tell him, you wanted him to know.
you watched him with a quick beating heart when he removed his shirt and leaned down, his hands and legs trapping you between his body. without a second thought, john bowed his head down and began to suck on your neck, prepping your hot skin with open mouthed kisses. a quiet moan fell from your lips, giving in to his touch. he trailed his kissed down to your breasts, sucking feverishly on your flesh before letting his tongue swirl around your hardened nipple, sucking harshly. john hummed out at the feeling, making his way down your belly, desperately wanting to taste you. but that's when you cupped his face with your hands and forced him to look up to you.
john grinned up at you, coming closer to a point where your lips almost touched. "I can't wait to finally taste you, ruin that little pussy." he groaned in your ear, his hot breath tickling your skin. your breathing got heavier and your hands slightly shook. you had to tell him now before it was too late.
"uhm- john, I-i need to tell you something." you pointed out with a shaky voice, your face turning aside, avoiding eye contact. "anything, baby." he replied, before he went back to kissing your neck.
"it's just... I've never done something like this before." you whispered, practically almost inaudible. "I didn't hear you, say it again." john mumbled between kisses, not even registering your words, being too caught up with worshipping your body.
you sighed out, lips pouting. "I'm a virgin, John." you said now louder, your eyes searching for his. and this time he must have heard it. his movements stopped and his now narrowed eyes met yours. without you even fully understanding what was happening, he removed his body from yours in the blink of an eye, grabbing his clothes which rested on the floor. "john, i-"
"no, don't even start with your stupid excuses. i knew that this would be wrong and that i shouldn't even have let it come so far. but taking you virginity? disgusting." he hisses harshly, voice clearly raised as he turned away.
you felt tears pricking in your eyes. that's not how you imagined it would go. you laid there completely horny, embarrassed but also hurt. you dearly wanted him to be your first time and now he left you all railed up and with wetness pooling between your thighs. "but i want you to continue, please! i want you to take my virginity. and i won't regret you being my first time, i promise. please, john." you bitterly whined, hoping that he would change his mind.
you heard him taking in a deep breath as he turned around again, eyes darker than before.
"please, i need you!" you whimpered, rubbing your thighs uncomfortably together, the painful ache in your core unbearable at that point. "john..." you pleaded him, glaring up at him with puppy eyes.
finally he sighs, dropping his clothes again before getting on top of you again. "are you sure, y/n? i won't be able to control myself. " he said in a dangerous, low tone, sending shivers down your spine.
"yes john, i'm sure. please, touch me." you replied impatiently, wrapping your legs around his torso, arms around his shoulders to pull him in as close as possible. "good, because now there is no going back anymore." he rasped as he leaned in, claiming your lips. you gasped into the kiss when you felt the tip of his cock nudging at your clit, shock waves of pleasure rushing through your veins. "I need you john." you moaned into the kiss, pressing your hips up to gain friction. he groaned out in response, sneaking a hand down your body to let a finger slide between your folds. "fuck, you're so wet." he purred, slowly pushing a finger into your warm hole. your head fell back, breaking your kiss, at finally feeling him. "need to prepare that little pussy first." he growled, while licking the spot right beneath your ear.
with how slick you were, john could easily slip another finger in, moaning out at your tightness. he began to move them in and out rather fast, curling them up to reach your spongy spot. "feels so good." you whined, toes curling from his abuse. a third finger teased at your hole, collecting your juice before pushing it in as well, this time with a little more pressure. your eyes rolled back at the stretch of his thick digits, a slight pain cursing through you.
john scissored his fingers stretching your walls further before he went back to pumping them at a quick pace. he plunged them inside you a few more times before pulling slowly out, deciding that you were ready for his cock. you whined pathetically at the loss, needing him so bad.
you lifted your head to look down when you felt his tip nudging at your entrance. he gripped himself, lining up before looking at you again. "ready?"
you immediately nodded your head yes, excited to finally feel his cock inside of you. never breaking eye contact, john carefully pushed his tip inside of your cunt, eliciting a sharp his from you. "you okay?" he asked you with a soft voice. "yes, continue please." you answered breathlessly.
obeying your request, he pushed his hips forward with a swift motion and to your shock he pushed in his whole length. a yelp tore from your throat, followed by a painful cry. it almost was too much for you. his size stretching you walls to their limit, tip pressing against your cervix and the feeling of being this full made you dizzy. "ah- john!”
"told you i couldn’t hold myself back.” he uttered, his dark eyes fixated on your lips.
your walls clamped helplessly around him, trying to get used to his monstrous size and the burning sensation didn’t make it better. "you’re so big.” you cried out in a high pitched tone, eyes shut.
john looked down to where your body’s connected, gritting his teeth and clenching his jaw at the sight. he could feel his dick twitch being squeezed this tight between your perfect velvety walls. he did his best to restrain him, wanting you to get used to him.
but john couldn’t.
he was already too obsessed with being inside of you, the feeling indescribable for him. it was like you were made for only him.
with a groan he pulled his hips back, almost slipping out of your cunt before thrusting his whole length in again, deep and hard.
"oh god!” you sobbed, tears spilling down your cheeks.
"can’t stop myself, you feel too good wrapped around me.” he mumbled as he began to pound into you with a rather fast pace. strangled hisses left your mouth as he began to fuck you, the pain of the stretch still remaining.
to ease your pain, john sneaked his fingers down to your clit, rubbing it in quick circular motions. your legs immediately began to shake at the sudden pleasure, moans and whines escaping your throat. john groaned out shamelessly while getting you into a new position. he grabbed ahold of your leg, pushing it over his shoulders, allowing him to thrust even deeper. "ah-john!!” you almost yelled out, the pleasure and pain mixing perfectly together.
with every harsh thrusts of his hips, your breasts bounced back and forward deliciously, only adding fuel to john’s high. and hell did it approach fast. he was on the verge of cumming already, enjoying the feeling of your sweet walls way too much. with every roll of his fingers, your walls seemed to tighten more and more around him, making it hard for him to hold in his orgasm. his dick twitched uncontrollably, the veins were pulsating with need.
"fuck, i’m gonna cum princess.” he uttered, rubbing your clit faster and increasing the speed of his hips, determined to coax an orgasm out of you. and you felt the coil in your abdomen tighten too. the overwhelming pleasure you received from him, his dick hitting spots you didn’t even know existed perfectly and the stimulation on your clit made you see stars. "i’m close— ah- don’t stop.” you cried out, hands gripping tightly at his back, your nails digging little moons into his skin.
john took this as a sign, using all of his strength to pound into you in an animalistic way, ignoring the jerking of his hips. "now.” he just growled and with a few more harsh strokes and rubs on your clit you were sent to heaven.
the most powerful orgasm you ever experienced hit you like a lightning. your toes curled uncomfortably, legs were quivering and a moan that even pornstars couldn’t keep up with tore from your throat. "JOHN!!” your release triggered john’s even more and with a guttural groan he finally let his seed spurt deep inside of you, filling you up to the brim. he kept thrusting, making sure that every bit of his cum gets pumped inside you. you threw your head back at the overstimulation, body trashing and twitching at the intense assault.
finally, taking a deep breath in, john stopped his movements and released his fingers from your clit, collapsing on top of you. "you did so good, princess.” he mumbled while pressing soft kisses to your cheek.
“that was…” you exhaled deeply. "amazing.” smiling at him. john couldn’t suppress a grin as well, giving a small peck to your lips. your arms were still wrapped around his neck lazily and the feeling of him still buried inside you made this moment even more intimate.
when you looked up at him, you saw a devilish smirk plastered on his face. “but i didn’t get to taste you.” he pointed out, making you chuckle slightly.
“who said you couldn’t do it now?” you smirked at him, accepting his challenge. “you’re so fucking hot.” he just replied before pressing a last kiss to your lips. he carefully slipped his now soft dick out of your hole, eliciting a whine from you.
in the blink of an eye he was settled between your thighs, spreading them widely. he glanced down to your pussy and the sight of it made him hard again. his cum was leaking out of your entrance, slowly dripping down to your ass. he didn’t waste any time, pressing a few messy kisses to your inner thighs before wrapping his lips around your sensitive clit. you mewled out at the sensation, back arching off the couch.
john gathered his cum with his fingers before pushing it inside of you again, wanting you to have all of it. he curled his fingers up, reaching your g- spot immediately as he let them thrust into you rapidly, licking and swirling around your clit in the process.
you were shaking at the overstimulation, it almost felt too much for you. the pressure on your highly sensitive nub made you feel like your whole body was on fire.
john moaned at your taste, lapping at your cunt like a starved man, the vibrations he caused only added to your pleasure. your hands reached out and immediately gripped his raven hair, tugging on it harshly. "john— too much.” a fervent whimper hung in the air mixing with the squelching sounds of your pussy and the heavy scent of sex which made your brain all fuzzy.
“you can take it, doll.” he mumbled against your cunt, eyes connecting with yours as you saw him smirk mischievously. your lip pouted as you registered his words, head tipping back.
his digits rutted into your overstimulated spot with a unmerciful pace, making your orgasm approach quickly. he knew that you were getting closer and closer, your quivering thighs and constant high pitched moans making it obvious to him. john only increased the pace of his tongue flicking against your clit and began to suck firmly, determined to coax another orgasm out of you. the only thing on your mind was john and how good he fucked you with his talented fingers.
john’s free hand made its way up your body, gently caressing your sides before it gripped one of your breasts that was jiggling in sync with his thrusts, massaging and squeezing it.
your whole body was tingling and you were on the verge of cumming, almost reaching your peak. your grip on his hair tightened and you instinctively pushed his head harder against your cunt, thighs clamping around it.
“shit! i’m gonna cum!” you managed to squeal out, voice shaky and rough. john let out an answering groan, letting you know that you were allowed to cum.
for the last time, john sped up his fingers to an inhuman pace and that sent you straight into oblivion. a strangled cry rattled against the walls as you finally orgasmed, your body trashing around at the indescribable experience. he fucked you through your high, wanting you to feel every last spark of pleasure. tears pricked in the corner of your eyes, heavy breaths falling from your lips as you slowly came down from your release.
john now also slowed down his thrusts, mouth releasing your abused clit. he stared up at your fucked out form, proud of the masterpiece he created. after a few more pounds of his digits he carefully pulled out, immediately taking them in his mouth, licking off every bit of your sweet juices that coated them.
your eyes were shut tightly, trying to calm down from the intense orgasm. you felt john moving and when you opened your eyes again he already had you up in bridal style, you didn’t even notice all that as you were still caught in the after waves of your high.
he pressed your body tightly against his chest, his lips kissing your forehead sweetly. “my good girl.” he whispered in your ear as he began to walk out of the living room. “i’m fucking proud of you.”
you hummed in reply, snuggling up against him. “i’m glad we did this.” you mumbled, exhaustedly closing your eyes. john just quietly chuckled out, kissing you again. “let’s get you to bed, princess.”
