You crack your neck as you lounge in the blood red leather chair that rests in the lobby of the Continental. A few people walk past you, some alone and some with friends, but you're busy staring at the front door. Every so often, someone will leave or enter the grand entrance of the hotel, but it's never who you're really wanting. You know that he's excommunicado right now, but that's not really stopping him and everyone knows it never will.
John will always live, that much is certain.
A sudden voice interrupts your thoughts and you tear your eyes away from the door to look in the direction of the lobby's front desk. Charon has just greeted a guest, an adjudicator from the looks of it, who's asked specifically for your name. You lock eyes with the hotel manager and give him a warning glare, slowly starting to rise from your seat, but he points the adjudicator in your direction and you force yourself to sit back down.
The high table official is clad in all black and sports a nearly shaved head, but while their face is pretty and their clothes are intriguing, their eyes mean business and they wear no smile. "You're the vampire hunter, aren't you?" The adjudicator asks in a sharp but punctual voice. You take a moment to look them over, noticing how the official clasps a pair of black gloves in one hand and a briefcase in the other.
"I kill the assassins that just so happen to be immortal, yes." You answer, sighing heavily as your bored tone seeps through your voice. The adjudicator isn't phased at all, they just press further. "I'm sure you're aware of the situation involving an assassin by the name of John Wick, am I wrong?" You blink a little at his name, trying to play off the fact that it still makes you beat faster, but you nod wordlessly and look up to meet the clad-in-black adjudicator's eyes.
"Since no one else seems to take him down, and you are obviously something of a specialist in that area around here, we're willing to pay you very handsomely to kill Mister Wick." You purse your lips and cock your head to the side as you narrow your eyes. "It's going to be dangerous." You reason, trying to see just how much they're willing to give you for the job. The adjudicator narrows their eyes back, obviously reading into what you're trying but nods anyway.
"How does 30 million sound?" You raise an impressed eyebrow at the amount, double what it currently is, but nod slowly and look back to Charon who's eyeing your conversation in interest. You give him an amused widening of your eyes as the adjudicator continues. "Very well. Can we count on you to have it done in, say, three days?"
You roll your eyes and meet theirs again, giving them the most bored expression you can muster. "I'll do it in three hours." With that, you rise from the leather chair and brush past the stern official, cracking your neck once more to get rid of the last few air bubbles as the sound of your boots click on the marble flooring. The elevator is empty when you enter and you silently thank God that it is, knowing you're going to have an anxiety attack as soon as the doors close.
John Wick is no stranger to you.
He obviously can't be since he never fucking ages or dies.
However, you weren't always on killing terms with the unstoppable assassin.
You'd been tasked with this job before, when you were still new to the business and unknowing that he was one of, if not the , hardest vampire to kill. And yet, they'd sent you in there with barely a year of experience under your belt and no idea who he was. He'd known it too the minute he saw you walk through the doors of the fucking club. It barely took him two seconds to disarm you of your gun, break your backup stake, and hide the hand which wore the ring to protect against the sun. And after all of that, he'd given you an amused grin and bought you a drink.
That started a long and complicated romance that proudly lasted a year and a half before you broke it off due to the fact he'd gotten greedy and wanted you, well, forever...
You hadn't seen him since and were proud of the long three year gap, but now you had no choice. You were going back to the same job, the first job you'd ever gotten, except this time you had old feelings and way more knowledge. With a sigh, you exit the elevator that lands on your floor and fish for the key in the back pocket of your jeans. You push the plastic black card into the key slot by the handle and push into the room, looking around it with a blank expression.
This is not how you expected your day to go. Shutting the door adamantly behind you, you walk towards the bed where your suitcase rests and flip it open, staring at the weapons that rest packed below you. Pistols, stakes, assault rifles, grenades of holy water, case of pencils, shotguns, hand guns, bolt-action firearms... you name it, you've got it. Crosses don't work, unfortunately, but you keep one tucked away just for luck.
Picking up the double-barrel shotgun, you sit on the edge of the bed and fumble for a pack of shells floating around below all the weaponry and manage to grab a small pack. It's not hard to load a slug filled with silver, but they're heavy and make your fingers slow sometimes. You take your time loading every single gun with their proper bullets, then put them back into the suitcase and stare down at what you're going to decide to take with you.
The black pistol goes into the back of your jeans, the double-barrel shotgun rests cracked open over one arm, two kinds of assault rifles with straps get draped over your shoulder and a black leather sash with distinguished holding loops crosses over the other shoulder and your chest. In the loops you tuck two of the grenades, two stakes, and a pack of pencils. As an afterthought, you stuff the cross into your back pocket and look for some knives next.
One karambit goes into your right boot with a protective cover and one M9 bayonet knife goes in your left boot with it's own sheathing. Silver brass knuckles are the last thing to go on your body and they still fit perfectly around your slim fingers. You squeeze your hands into fists and nod at the appearance, sighing to yourself when you realize you're really about to try and kill your ex vampire boyfriend.
It's no problem already knowing where he is, you know the cool fucker is at the damn club where he always hides, the problem is getting there without getting some looks. Walking over to the nearby phone, you dial the front desk and wait for Charon to pick up. "I need a car to Red Circle." You state before he can even speak when the phone picks up. "Of course." He replies, as pleased as ever to help you out. You hang up afterwards and head to the door of your room, pushing out and heading back down the hallway.
A couple walking down the same hallway nervously shuffles past, but you pay them no mind. There's another person in the elevator when you're going down, but they also move a little closer to the back corner of the machine and stare at the number signifying the dropping levels. The doors open with a light ding and you step out, loving the way your heeled boots always sound on these floors.
Charon waits by the front door with a warm smile, an umbrella in one hand. "Careful miss, it's raining." He follows close by and opens the black umbrella above your head before a drop of rain can even land on your hair. It's pitch black and pouring, but the nearby street lights glow wetly and cast blurry colors on the sopping streets and sidewalks. He walks you to the black car waiting by the curb and you climb inside, setting the shotgun to the side as you adjust against the cold metal weapons.
"Best of luck." Charon winks and you flip him off, knowing full well he thinks you're just going to fall for the stupid vampire again and give up the job. You ignore the way your heart skips a beat at that thought. The car pulls away as soon as Charon closes the door and all you can do is stare out the window as the driver wordlessly carries you to an uncertain future. The white building with glowing neon lights sits beside you before you know it and you stare at it's grand structure with hollow eyes.
Finally, you open the door and push the shotgun back over your arm, ignoring the looks of terror you get from people waiting in line under umbrellas and wet hair. Your own hair gets soaked in seconds and your black shirt and jeans stick to your skin as you pull the bent shotgun upwards and hear the satisfying click when its barrel connects and locks in place. Your other hand pumps it loudly and the slug entering the chamber is like music to your ears.
Immediately, people start screaming and running- even the bouncers abandon their positions as you walk up the stairs with dead eyes. The club thunders with shitty music and no one pays attention to you as you walk into the entryway, scanning the crowd for those familiar dark eyes. "You look like you're on business." A recognizable voice states beside you. "Shut up, Perkins." You hiss, avoiding her snake-like blue eyes.
"Here for Wick?" She continues anyway, mixing a drink noisy as she takes a few steps closer and faces the crowd as well. "No, why? You seen him?" You ask plainly, your eyes still dancing across every face. "Maybe." She plays, taking a sip of her drink as she eyes you in amusement. "I should've killed you a long time ago." You grumble, finally glancing to her and the damn ring sitting on her index finger.
"But you haven't. Why is that?" You know she's distracting you, so you just shake your head and start forwards, shoving yourself into the crowd of dancing bodies without another word to her. She's gone within the next second, but you don't have to look behind you to know that. Raising the shotgun into the air, you fire one shot, pump, then shoot again with heavy jolts to your arms. Screams and yelling follow as usual as people swarm around you to escape the club, clawing at each other in a mad dash for the entrance.
You swallow hard and watch all of them leave, only a few remaining- but they're familiar faces. Very familiar . When the club empties about five minutes later, all that's left is pounding music and six people. The music comes to a sudden stop when a seventh figure steps out from the shadows and pulls the plug on it, only leaving the neon lights behind. You know his frame better than anybody else, but that doesn't help your heart when it skips a beat at the sight of him.
His back is turned to you and he stares down at the DJ booth, nobody moving.
"Here to kill me?" He asks in that usual raspy voice, still keeping his focus on the equipment before him. "Yeah..." You grumble, breaking the shotgun open to let the used slugs drop to the floor and roll away. You snap it closed again and pump the barrel, aiming it at his head. John doesn't move and you don't pull the trigger. "Do it then." He states, finally turning to look you dead in the eyes.
He looks exactly the same, but that's no surprise to you. A fond emotion rests behind those stony eyes, but you will yourself to ignore it and give him your emotionless face. "Everyone, leave." The five henchmen you’ve known for years standing around the dance floor hesitantly start to move, finally leaving the club late with the others and closing the heavy doors behind them. "Drop the gun. I don't like it in my face." John mutters, turning back around with no zero interest.
"It's not in your face." You snap back, unprepared when his forehead is suddenly against the barrel in the next second. His chocolate eyes look black in the dark room and you swallow visibly, shifting anxiously on your feet at the sight of him- long black hair, trimmed beard and mustache, clean suit, tall build, full lips. You hate yourself for looking at the last body part, but John notices your glance instantly.
"Still thinking of me?" He asks, behind you now and moving silently against your back as his lips get near your right ear and continue, "Do you still want me?" Your hold on the gun drops a little and your nervously adjust your grip, moving to turn around, but his hands are on your arms in a flash, holding you in place as he whispers in your other ear, "Do you still feel me?" His palms are ice cold and his breath is warm, a stark contrast that would make any normal person squirm.
"I'm here to kill you, John, not reminisce in our past. It's a lot of money I'm being offered." You tell him sternly, your eyes flicking wildly over the empty space as he loosens his grip but remains behind you. His fingers push your soaking wet hair to the side, exposing the left side of your neck, and your breath hitches in your throat at the action. "I have a lot of money, if that's what you really care about. I could've made you happy... forever. You don't even have to love me, I just want you."
His lips are getting closer and closer to your neck and while part of you wishes he'd just sink his teeth in and do the deed already, the other half knows you've got a job to do. You spin around and shoot the gun blindly, but he's already long gone. John's large hand on the barrel the next second scares you, but it's soon out of your hold and across the room as he glares at you. "All I ever wanted was to make you mine." He sneers.
Growling in frustration, you bend down and grab the karambit from your right boot, holding the grip tightly as the knife juts out to the side. "You always liked knives, didn't you? Is my name still carved in your ass next to the scars of my teeth?" You can't help but whimper at his words and that seems to please him as he grins and moves from across the room to gripping your wrist in the next second.
John's grasp is like ice on your burning skin and he leans into your face, eyes blazing and face suddenly angry. "I loved you. You were mine and I was yours, hmm? Isn't that what we always said? And now you're here to kill me." His grip is tight and your bones ache below his fingers, willing you to drop the knife and open your mouth in a pained grimace. His face visibly softens at that and he loosens his grip just enough to still be uncomfortable, but not agonizing.
"I remember when you used to scream my name and beg for me to bite you, now... what? You want to stab me with silver and throw water at me. If I fucked you right now in this club, would you still try to kill me afterwards? Sore and bloody and stumbling? Tell me... tell me right now you'd still want to kill me if I fucked you senseless."
You open your mouth to speak, eyes jumping from one chocolatey eye to the other as he glares down at you with lust and hatred. No words come out of your mouth and he gives a slow, but curt nod before dropping your wrist. You can hear the sizzling of his skin when his fingers grab the silver brass knuckles on your fingers and yank them off, but his face remains unfazed and he moves to the next thing. His hands are ripping the guns off one shoulder and the leather sash on the other, throwing all things across the room with raw strength before you can even comprehend he's doing anything.
"I always hated that fucking sash. Too much shit on it." He growls, a moving blur in front of you as he pats your wet body down for any other weapons. He tosses the pistol in the back of your jeans to the floor, bored, then continues once more. His fingers slip slowly into your back pocket when he returns to a natural speed and he pulls out the metallic cross- the only thing that isn't harmful to him. "You still carry my ticket?" John murmurs, admiring the thing in front of both of your faces. "Yes." You manage to get out. His dark eyes flick to yours with a devilish look.
"I knew you still loved me." He groans before tossing the thing to the side to grab your damp face in his large hands instead. His lips are hot and full against yours and you all but melt in his touch, sinking into his body which he has no problem supporting. The icy hands on your cheeks move to grip your ass and back, pulling you flush against his strong body as your own fingers tangle into his long black hair.
"I want to fuck you hard with the lights on." John growls against your jaw as he moves his lips down it's angular feature then further down your neck. You know what he's going for immediately, but you can't speak because your body is buzzing with pleasure and you're all but begging him to do what he wants with you. The feeling of his teeth is a familiar pain- sharp and burning, but followed by a wet heat that mixes with the same feeling in your panties.
He groans around your tanned skin at the taste of you and greedily sucks whatever is spilling out for a good few seconds before pulling away to latch his lips back to yours. "Off, off." You murmur, pushing your hands into the suit jacket on his shoulders as he hurriedly shakes it onto the floor, still moving his now metallic tasting mouth against you. The abrupt feeling of warm air on your upper body makes you open your eyes, but your back is against one of the black pillars in the next second- John's giant hands under your thighs as your sopping wet legs wrap around his lower half.
It doesn't take a genius to know he's managed to take your shirt off somehow, but you fondly let the memories of him doing that in the past flow through your head as you curse him for always using his speed to his advantage. Instead of wrapping your hands around his neck like you usually would, you start to work on the buttons on his white dress shirt next, a few drops of your own blood from your neck staining the collar area.
Not that he'll care .
The shirt comes off easily with some help from him and is tossed to the floor with your own soaked shirt, wherever it may be. You can't help but glide your palms over those muscle filled shoulders, silently loving the way your fingertips graze over raised ink that covers the majority of his back. You can imagine the mural perfect in your head- praying hands, latin words, crosses, and other shit you've raked your nails down many times before.
"Get this off, why don't you?" John growls suddenly, burying his teeth into the other side of your neck as soon as the question is posed. His fingers tug angrily at your somewhat damp black bra and you hastily reach behind you to fumble with the hooks as your eyes roll to the back of your head at the feeling of him draining what he wants from your body. When he pulls away, the bra is tumbling to the floor and his mouth is stained a deep red color.
His eyes are dark and wild, but you don't get to admire them for long because your stomach is flat against the DJ stand in the next instant and your sopping wet jeans are being tugged down with enough velocity, there'll probably be a burn on your legs tomorrow. "Jesus Christ, John!" You hiss, moving to look over your shoulder at him, but he's already on his knees, slowly running his hands up your long legs as if he's never seen a pair of them before in his life.
The jeans lay torn by your feet which are still sporting your fucking black boots.
"You haven't changed a bit." He tells you intensely, rubbing his rough palm over the ass cheek which bears the mark WICK carved from a shitty knife and four puncture wounds around it. There's a small jolt of electricity that comes from his action over the scars, but you bite back a moan and rest your cheek on the uncomfortable buttons below you as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties and pulls those down swiftly as well. If the fucker could breathe, you know his breath would've gotten stuck in his throat at the sight of you.
You wonder if you have any scarring down there, too...
John's thumb pushing between your folds and up to your clit is what brings you back down to earth in an instant. The cold touch contrasting against your warm wetness is a surprisingly pleasing feeling and you grip the edge of the DJ table as you let your eyelids flutter closed. "Pretty and pink, just like I remember." John informs you, rolling the pad of his thumb deep against your rosy and sensitive nub.
"Fuck..." You breathe out, letting yourself break as his smirk widens behind you. Fucker knows exactly what he's doing. The neon glow of the lights around the club glimmer in front of your closed lids, but you're already seeing color from the pleasure he's sending through your body. It doesn't help when he lifts his other hand to your tight entrance and pushes his middle finger in deep.
You suck in a deep breath and arch your back against the unpleasant DJ table, feeling the knobs and dials and switches dig into your already sweating skin. "That's a good girl." John worships, pushing his long finger in deep until there's a subtle ache in your lower abdomen. "Shut up and give me another. Thought you wanted this fast." You growl, barely opening your eyes to give him a weak glare over your heaving shoulder. You didn't realize you were breathing so hard.
"Fast? I can give you fast." John doesn't hesitate to add another finger to the mix, pushing the two digits in against your wet walls and giving a professional curl of his fingers as soon as he finds that soft spot within you. "Fuck!" You whimper, your eyes shooting open as white hot pleasure courses through your veins. "Easy." John warns, pulling the thumb still working at your clit away as he rises to his feet effortlessly. His free hand rests firm and controlling on your lower back, making sure you aren't going anywhere as he picks up a relentless pace with his fingers and begins the pattern of out, in, curl.
You can feel your own wetness coating his hand and your thighs as his stare burns holes into the back of your head- always watching and never tired. You're biting your lip to hold back whorish sounds, but you're failing miserably and know it. "Come on, I know you're louder than that." John coaxes, giving a harsh push of a third finger into you alongside the others. "John!" You gasp, letting your mouth fall open as your whole body jerks against the stand.
"There we go." He all but snarls, moving the hand on your lower back to the flat spot in between your shoulder blades, pressing your tits against the jarring buttons of music below you. "I-I'm gonna... fuck ." You can barely get the warning out, but he knows what you're meaning. Determined, he stills his fingers inside and curls this pads of his fingertips ceaselessly against the bundle of nerves buried deep.
You're seeing stars by the time your stomach knots into a deep tension, then breaks with a wet release. The incoherent whine of his name leaves your lips as a milky cream coats his hand and drips down your thighs. "You really haven't changed one bit." He muses darkly, pulling his hand out of you and up to his mouth to lick away whatever juices you've left behind as the hand on your back leaves to start unbuttoning his pants.
You pant heavily on the table, waiting for him to completely undress which, of course, takes mere seconds. "And where would you like me to fuck you? On the dance floor? On the counter of the bar? Right here? Against a wall maybe?" You roll your eyes and roll over onto your back bitterly, ignoring the way your spine protests against the knobs and dials. "Why not all four?" You breathe out in your best bored tone, spreading your legs open as you grip the edge of the stand and stare at his jet black eyes which are now focused on your lower half.
His cock is achingly hard and stiff in front of him and you forgot how fucking huge it was, swallowing hard at the sight of it. He wastes no time moving forward to grab your calves, throwing them over his shoulders as one hand presses on your stomach and the other lines up his cock against your entrance. "Might be tight." You warn with an amused glare. He scoffs and looks back down as he mumbles, "I think I'll manage."
His tip is the first thing to go in, then 8 inches of solid dick filling you up in every crevice that exists within you. A pornographic moan passes your lips as you let your head fall backwards against the table and give in to the stuffed feeling. "Told you." He growls, moving his hands to your thighs as he tugs you forward roughly, getting a yelp out of you.
His teeth dig into the side of your knee as he thrust forward, moving your whole frame against the records beneath your shoulder blades. "John!" You mewl, tossing your head to the side as the burning feeling in your knee mixes with the pleasure of his cock pumping into you. It's icy and hot all at the same time and it's enough to make a tear slip down your cheek as he hits each pleasurable spot within you over and over at a merciless speed.
"Tell me you've missed me." John demands, thrusting into you with a rather hard shove. Your back arches off the table and you moan loud enough for any person still standing outside to hear, "I've missed you!" John licks his bloody lips at that and moves to the other leg, pushing his knife-like teeth into the soft skin there just because he can. He doesn't even swallow what comes out of the punctures, just makes sure you've got his mark on you.
"Tell me no one fucks you like I do." Another deep thrust has your cervix screaming and skin tingling, but you lazily whimper, "No one fucks m-me like you do." John nods at that and bends over you now, grabbing your cheeks with a rough hand as he holds himself up with the other. Blood leaking down your legs drips by your head now due to the new position and his brown eyes hinted with red stare deep into your soul.
"Tell me you still love me." You don't hesitate to hiss, "I still love you." With a snarl, he leans down and pushes the fangs back into the already open wound on the left side of your neck as he gives a few more relentless thrusts, then gathers you up and fucks you against one of the walls in the next moment. Your legs are limp and numb around his waist as he presses his wet lips against yours and grips your thighs with a punishing hold.
There will be bruises tomorrow for sure, but you can't be bothered right now. He holds you perfectly in place and does all the work of thrusting upwards, your walls screaming as another fast orgasm wrecks your body and leaves you rolling your forehead onto his shoulder while disjointed words and sounds fall from your lips. The bar counter is next and you're unsure if you're even awake by the time your stomach hits the marble surface.
"No, no, I need you conscious." John snarls, fisting a hand into your hair as he yanks you backwards at a nearly painful angle, his cock punishing as he bruises your insides with a pace not normal for humans. You remember now why you loved the sex so much in your relationship. Inhuman sex is incredible. "Then fuck me harder." You manage to get out, giving him a challenge you're unsure you can even take.
John just sneers at the suggestion and pulls away from the bar, moving to the final place he promised- the dance floor. He's got you on all fours before you can even register you've moved again, but your arms give out below you as soon as he shoves his cock back inside of you. "There you go, that's better." He praises, his fingertips digging into your ass as your face jolts against the dirty floor that's been stepped on by a million people and probably barely cleaned.
He gives your right ass cheek a harsh slap, right over the old scars, and you yelp, "John!" brokenly. "Give me another orgasm, yeah?" He lures with that seductive voice, making you nod painfully as you ball your hands into fists and focus on the tension slowly growing in your lower half for a final time.
His hand left hand is suddenly in one of the boots you still surprisingly have on and he growls when he drags out the bayonet knife you forgot was in there. "I sure hope you weren't planning on using this against me while I fuck you good and hard." He snarls, still pushing his length into you and hitting that soft spot of nerves with an accuracy that could kill. "N-No. I couldn't even if-if I tried." You get out through hiccups, ignoring the slight ache in your tits as they bounce with the thrusts below you.
"Good girl," he admires, throwing the thing to the side with such ferocity, the blade jams into the wall with its sheath still on, "now come for me." He licks the tips of his middle and ring finger on his right hand, then reaches around your thigh and starts to push deep circles against your clit as he pounds your cervix. The pleasure is building higher and higher and with a wide mouth and fluttering eyelids, you hit your third climax with a high pitched whine and dig your nails into your palms.
John gives a few deep thrusts and finally stills inside of you, his hot seed filling every inch of you and then dripping down your thighs with your own white slick when there isn't any more he can cram inside. He pulls out with a groan, carefully pushing his hands expertly under your legs and around your back so that in the next instant he's carrying you bridal style to the back rooms of the club.
Your eyes can barely focus on the neon lights glowing around you, let alone the face just inches from your own. You notice the red stains around his mouth and dried droplets of blood in his facial hair, but it only makes your clit twitch and you whimper at the feeling. "You smell, feel, and taste as good as I remember you." He tells your gruffly, easing the both of you down stairs until your body is submerged in warm water.
Pools. Right. They have those here.
A pink cloud slowly forms around the two of you as you rest limply in his strong arms while he moves leisurely through the water. "You didn't change me, did you?" You murmur tiredly as he looks down at you with amusement behind that usually stone cold face. "You'd feel it by now if I did." You blink lazily and speak softly the next time, "I meant what I said... I still love you." He looks away from you at that and hums deeply, his eyes scanning around the room as he circles the pool and tries hard to ignore the scent of your blood dying the water pink.
"That's good because I still love you too, even though you brought the whole fucking artillery with you to kill me." He glances down unsurely at you when he says it, but you just smile and nod with a yawn, probably getting tired from the blood loss. "Sorry… I'm not going to bleed out though, am I?" You question him quietly, moving a little closer to his freezing chest as he instinctively grips you tighter. "No. I've always been careful about that."
It goes quiet for a while longer and the ache of the bites and being fucked so hard starts to set into your bones. "Does this mean we're together again?" He asks, finally stopping his circular motions around the pool to rest and sink a little into the water. "If we are, then I've just made an adjudicator really mad and lost 30 million."
John scoffs at that and looks down at your rosy face which can barely look up at him. "That much for an assassin they can't catch or kill?" You nod with a faint smile and yawn again, pressing your cheek against his bare chest as you cross your ankles and sigh, "You know I could never kill you."