#john wick request

“So,” Y/n pursed her maroon stained lips, “What the hell should I do with you?” When the one with her attention didn’t answer, opting to stand before her like a broken animal, knees shaking and sweating like a pig, Y/n glanced around the room, her eyes passing over four of her most trusted men, “What do you think gentleman? Think he’s any use to us?”

Even they seemed reluctant to answer, desperately avoiding being on her bad side. That was a side one never lived to come back from. “Well?” Her tone was now heavy with annoyance, “Do we tolerate scum?”

Seeming to find some misplaced courage, the man finally spoke up for himself, “Vila,” he pleaded, his frumpy form racked with sobs, deep down, knowing that the end was nigh, and inevitable, “I can serve you. I can…...I can….”

“You can what?” She smirked, “Give me something I need?” Y/n mocked, reaching into her desk drawer, she produced a custom handgun with abstract designs carved about it and gold embellishments emphasizing the beauty of the matte black. Slowly, her lithe fingers worked on loading it, “You know,” Y/n’s words were absent and careless, “Vilas, in Slavic folklore, they’re fairies, extraordinarily beautiful. Do you think I’m beautiful Johan?”

Y/n stood from the chair, letting it roll back a little and as she walked around to the other side of the table, she was sure to make a show of swiping the gun off the top. Her heels thudded softly as she approached him, and her men stepped out of her way, eyeing Johan closely, making sure he didn’t try anything. “Well?”

“I do,” he nodded vigorously, whimpering, as he was shoved down to his knees, his beaten face bloodied and sweaty, “So beautiful,” in an attempt to earn her forgiveness he planted his hands on the floor at her feet, “Please, please Vila, it was mistake, it won’t happen again.”

“You’re right,” she smiled slyly, “Do you do what happens when someone betrays a Vila?” Sighing as she awaited his answer, Y/n brushed some hair out of her face with the tip of her red polished nail. Shifting her weight from her left leg to her right, “Answer me!” Her snarl was venomous and her henchmen jumped; it was rare for her to lose control of her anger like that. Y/n got angry, of course, she was only human, but she had enough self control to maintain her cool demeanor. Always emanating danger but never out rightly so.

When Johan still couldn’t muster up the response, she grabbed him by the hair, violently yanking his head up, “Let me tell you, when scum like you betrays the hand that has given them so much, it dies.” Letting him go, Y/n clenched her jaw, snapping for two men to hold him in place, “I’ve had enough of this bullshit,” she managed, pressing the gun to his head, and before he could even beg again, the sound of the shot being fired resounded, bouncing off the walls of her office. Blood splattered, droplets clinging to her pristine white blouse while some flew to her face, though most of it was on her hands.

“Great,” Y/n rolled her eyes when they dropped the limp body, the heavy thump being followed by blood pooling on her rug. “What a fucking mess,” she huffed, tossing the gun to the table for cleaning later, taking the handkerchief offered by a man just about ten years her senior, Donavan, he was a loyal one, her right hand when she needed one, and quite the treat to look at, among other things.

Tossing the kerchief back to Donavan not caring if he caught it or not, Y/n was already walking out of the room, sure to evade the saturated parts of the rug, her heels thumping softly when she was out in the hallway, “Call clean up, and get a replacement for that rug before I’m back this evening.”

“Yes ma’am,” Donavan was just a couple paces behind her, already getting out his phone to make arrangements. When he slipped the cell back into his breast pocket, they were already descending a spiral staircase that led down to an open floor, where most of the business took place; packing for exports, accounts in another corner and stocks kept in the back. All in all, the nondescript warehouse on Staten Island was where Y/n spent the majority of her day, running the empire that had been built long before there was even an inkling of her conception. It was the base and brain of operations, where her office was and where the dirty work happened. 

Typically, upon her arrival at around nine am, Y/n didn’t didn’t leave the lot until late in the evening, but that day, in addition to her very busy morning, she had a meeting with the High Table, her first one since being inaugurated. Her father would be proud.

But Y/n?

She was downright terrified.

Not that she would admit it. Y/n wasn’t the kind of person who admitted to fear. Or any sort of human emotion, she preferred to keep those around her guessing, that way they’d be sure to fear her, and by consequence submit to her rule. At least, that was what she’d told herself.

Just as they stepped outside, Donavan opened up an umbrella for her, guarding Y/n from the slight drizzle that overcast New York offered. Awaiting her was a black Rolls-Royce, it’s sleek coat shining even in the dimness of the day while the heavily tinted bullet-proof windows were spotless. Another hand held the back door open, and as Y/n slipped into the vehicle, Donavan handed her a thick long coat and large designer handbag;  peeking out of the opened top was a fresh blouse, a charcoal colored, silk one. Without as much as a word to part them, he closed her door, letting the car pull off.

The minute they were out of the lot, she got to work on her blouse, quickly untucking it from her skirt, pulling it over her head and casting it aside before hastily pulling out the clean one, shrugging on the cool material. The inside of the blouse was rough against her skin and Y/n’s nimble fingers made short work of the mimicked crystal buttons and when she was finished, she haphazardly tucked it into her black pencil skirt and pulled on her coat. Afterwards, she ran a corrective comb through her tresses and freshened her lipstick. 

She was finished by the time her driver was taking her over the Verrazano-Narrows, the Continental wasn’t too far off there, right in the thick of the city and Y/n opted to occupy the rest of her drive with a drink from the limited selection.

The burning twinge of the whiskey was paired with a smoky note, both pleasantly welcome, cooling Y/n’s nerves. Finally, in the quiet security of the car, she could think. Think about what she’d gotten herself into. Taking up the seat at the High Table wasn’t a decision that she’d made lightly, Y/n knew what came with it; with power came enemies, and her line of work had already fitted her with many. There were those who didn’t approve of her induction, older heads who felt that Y/n was too young to be held in such esteem, she couldn’t have known much, she was nothing more than a daddy’s girl who didn’t have to claw, or fuck, her way to the top. There were even a select few who’s reservations were contained solely in their jealousy too; one twenty something shouldn’t be afforded that much power when others twice her age were still scurrying for scraps.

However, their opinions on her weren’t what contributed to Y/n’s unease, she never paid much mind to what others thought of her, only the insecure spent time worrying about something as frivolous as public perception, and Y/n was anything but. Optics were the least of Y/n’s problems, her issue was with what people would do to ensure her untimely downfall. There were only so many enemies a girl could kill before starting to seriously worry for her life. Y/n didn’t want to die, no one did, not by a bullet to the head or poison in the rum. But Y/n knew that there were those that would go the lengths, that would do anything to see her gone just so they could snatch up what was rightfully hers.

The troubling thoughts were consuming, and the more her mind worked, the more Y/n felt like she’d just been tossed into the Hudson without a life raft, paddling clumsily just to stay afloat, icy water frosting her insides. Blinking quickly, Y/n downed the rest of her drink, hoping to swallow the feeling and return it to where it belonged; deep down for none, herself included, to find. Fear meant that something had power over you, and she couldn’t be the one without control. She was in control.

Before Y/n could think to pour herself another, the car was stopping in front of the Continental, where the meeting was being held. A person, who’s face she didn’t care to commit, held the door open for her and Y/n walked straight past him without as much as a thanks. Eyes followed her as she strode towards the concierge’s station, some adoring, other’s with glares as sharp as daggers. No doubt, they all knew who she was, the only Romanov daughter; a pampered princess turned ruthless bitch. It was impossible to be a working fraction of the criminal underbelly of New York and not know her. But whatever they thought they knew; it wasn’t nearly enough.

Her expensive perfume carried in the air like a siren song, calling attention from all around, making hotel staff temporarily stop their jobs and guests raise their heads and hang their jaws. Upon reaching the desk, Y/n drummed her fingers on the cool surface. That was one thing everyone knew about her; impatience ran in her veins; no one made a Romanov wait. “Charon,” Y/n purred.

“Miss Romanov,” his professional politeness was one she was used to, Y/n wouldn’t really call him a friend, but he was certainly an acquaintance that she didn’t mind sharing drinks with, “How do you do?”

“Delightful,” she chirped, and, as always, it was a scramble to figure out if the word was meant in sarcasm or not, “You?”

“No complaints yet,” he nodded astutely, “I assume you’re here for the meeting?”

“I am,” Y/n confirmed, shifting her weight from on leg to the other. Absently, as Charon hit some keys on his computer, she shifted a lock of hair away from her face, vaguely aware that someone had come to stand a couple feet behind her. As much as Y/n wanted to know who it was, she didn’t dare look back, instead straightening her back and awaiting service. 

Minutes later, Charon was directing her to where the meeting was being held and bidding her a good afternoon. Before she was out of earshot, he seemed to move on to the next client, with the same friendly disposition, “Hello, Mr. Wick.” The name rang a bell, though, Y/n couldn’t really place it. Not spending too much time on something that didn’t concern her, Y/n pushed the thought away continuing her walk towards the elevator.

The meeting had been just as she’d expected, boring and political. Many might have thought that bloodshed and drugs might have made criminal politics more entertaining than that of the conventional kind, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. It was still dominated by people twice and three times her age, unable to accept the opinions of anyone their junior. Over drinks and stiff banter, most of which could have been likened to sneers and insults directed towards whoever sat opposite them, the Table voted on a couple matters, mainly on who they collectively needed gone and how to keep their connections in law enforcement and various civil arms in check without too much speculation. They’d also traded updates on their personal empires as if it were housekeeping and at the end, they’d set a place for their next biannual meeting, Vienna.

Y/n was among the first to leave the room, and she hadn’t realized that Winston was a close second until he called out to her, “Y/n, dear!” He chuckled, pulling her into a hug.

“Uncle Winston,” she smiled, her first genuine one in months. Winston wasn’t any sort of biological relative, but he was someone that her family had greatly considered, he and her parents had a long history, and after they’d passed, Y/n had remained close to him. Besides her them, he was the only one privileged enough to really know her. “How have you been?”

“Better now that my goddaughter’s paid me a visit. Though, I’d hope that it wouldn’t take a High Table meeting to drag you out here,” his teasing was light and Y/n felt herself relaxing, letting Winston lead her to the lounge, where they slipped into their usual booth, away from the fuss. Without as much as a request, two martinis were placed in front of them.

“I’m sorry,” Y/n smiled lightly, looking down at her beverage, “I’ve just been busy.”

“I know,” Winston hummed, his gaze trained on her, “Trying to rule the world, as usual,” hesitating for a moment before continuing with more regard, “You know that you’ll never be able to do it, right?” He wasn’t talking about ‘ruling the world’ anymore and Y/n knew it, “You can’t just kill away your fears.”

Her shoulders slumped and Y/n brought the glass to her lips, sighing at the taste, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she shook her head.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. You think being like him will give you some kind of immunity to the dangerous world we live in. It didn’t do it for him, and it won’t do it for you,” Winston was talking about her father; he’d lived just like she did, running his operation with an iron fist and without and ounce of empathy, thinking it was some kind of wall that would ultimately make him invincible. It was an assumption that couldn’t be further from the truth and the memory of a bloodied Channel carpet and the gurgle of blood filled lungs was enough to send a painful pang to Y/n’s chest, forcing her to take another drag of her drink.

“I’m just saying; I think you need to consider your options,” Winston sighed when Y/n didn’t answer, deciding that he’d have better luck at getting through to her in another way, “You look like Meredith with your hair like that.” Meredith, it was a long time since Y/n had heard her mother’s name. Even before her father died, he’d never had the stomach to utter it, for with the name, were a slew of jerking memories. She had been gone for a long time, long before Y/n could understand what death was, but once in a while, she’d think about her, wonder what her life would be like if she had lived, “You know what she’d have wanted.”

“I barely know her,” Y/n countered, trying to deny the real effect that Winston’s words had. “Look, if it’ll make you feel better, then I’ll think about it, okay?”

Winston smiled triumphantly, “It’ll make you feel better too,” he reached over and patted her hand, it was a fatherly gesture, the kind she found herself missing in quieter moments, “He’s here, if you want to talk to him before you leave.”

Truthfully, Winston was right, having someone to protect her, watching her back would make her feel better. It would be nice knowing that she wouldn’t have to keep looking over her shoulder. Nodding, Y/n agreed, “Sure, the sooner the better, right?”

“Right,” Winston mirrored, “His name is John Wick, and he’s in room 214.”

214

It looked like all the other rooms, though for some reason, that one specifically made her nervous. Maybe it was because she wasn’t used to seeking people out, she was used to them coming to her. She wasn’t used to asking for things either. No, Y/n was the type of woman that got what she wanted, when she wanted it, no questions asked. But still, there she was, standing in front of a hotel room, a little shaken, about to ask for the Boogeyman’s help 

Taking a deep breath, Y/n raised her enclosed fist, hitting the cream wood in three short knocks. It wasn’t long before the door was being pulled open, revealing a well-dressed man with nearly a foot on her height, eyes as dark as whiskey and neatly combed hair just past his ears. His three piece suit was missing its jacket, though Y/n could tell that it was a tailored piece that probably cost a considerable amount.  He was attractive, Y/n didn’t think that any man had ever had that kind of effect on her. The kind that made her breath hitch and her heat speed up. Usually, it was the other way around, she was the one racing hearts. “You must be John Wick,” Y/n had to raise her head to meet his gaze, maintaining her unbothered disposition. 

John continued his hold on the brass knob as his other hand slipped into the pocket of his black slacks, “It depends on who’s asking,” he didn’t seem to be interested in small talk or anything that would cost any more of his precious time. Already, Y/n liked him.

“Why don’t we cut the bullshit?” She moistened her lips, hooking her handbag in the crook of her elbow, “You know who I am, I know who you are, introductions are a waste of time. I have a proposition.”

John eyed her with silent intrigue, the toe of his shoe soundlessly tapping the carpet, “Well?” Reluctantly, he ushered her into the room, pouring them a couple drinks before leading them to a small table in the center of the room. Smoothing her dress as she sat, Y/n discarded her bag on the table, crossing her legs, letting the slim heel of her stiletto gently knock her shin. 

“I need personal security,” there was no point in dancing around it, if she wanted John’s attention, then her best bet was to be straight forward, “And I heard that you’re the best at what you do.”

“You should also know that I’m not a bodyguard,” John countered bluntly. 

Y/n nodded slowly, trying to not let her demeanor melt away just just because he could easily match her stoicism, “I can pay you well. Whatever you’re making on your current job, I can triple it, quadruple it if that’s what you want. And that’ll be you’re monthly salary”

“Not interested,” John brought his glass to his lips, taking a tentative sip of his bourbon, “You have money, you can find someone else.”

“I don’t want someone else,” Y/n dismissed coolly, mirroring John when he took another sip of his drink. By that rate, someone else might have been drunk, but Y/n was known to hold her own when it came to booze, “I want John Wick.”

“Not. Interested,” he repeated and Y/n clenched her jaw, trying not to show the flare in her anger.

Setting her glass down, Y/n scooped up her bag by its short leather strap, she wanted John’s protection, but she wasn’t going to grovel, she would rather die, literally. “Very well,” she stood, casually dusting off her dress. At least she could tell Winston she tried. “Thank you for the drink, Mr. Wick.

Maybe it was the way she said his name, the way “Mister” just seemed to carelessly fall off her plump lips. Maybe it was because she was a pretty little thing or because John could see her fear past the bravado. Whatever it was, it had John changing his mind faster that he could register. Before Y/n was even a few feet off, John was standing again, grabbing her by the forearm, “Wait,” she turned, now standing close enough for him to see her lace clad breasts down her top and smell her perfume mixing with her shampoo. Put together, it was enthralling, and John wondered if she looked like that on purpose; no woman could be that alluring without effort. “Why does a Romanov need protection? And don’t lie to me, I’ll know.”

Y/n raised her head a little accentuating her neck, briefly glancing at John’s grip on her forearm before turning to him again, “Fine. Truthfully,” she exaggerated the word, hoping to downplay her next ones, “I’m scared of dying. I know who I am, and I know that there are those who’d do anything to see me gone, and I’m not ready to end up like my father.” Or worse yet, like her mother. 

John was quiet for a minute, and finally he let her arm go, taking a step back, “I work alone,” he began, “I don’t care who the rest of your team is, you won’t need them. I make all security decisions, and I don’t ask before shooting. Got it?”

Y/n cocked a curious eyebrow, “Got it. We’ll discuss the rest of this arrangement soon. Thank you, Mr. Wick,” Y/n winked, swaying her hips as she walked towards the door, letting herself out. 

*****

”After the movie” you add while placing a finger on his delicious lips, preventing him from kissing you. He rolled his eyes at you as you turned your attention back to the movie.

”You and your movies” He jokes as he presses yours against his body. You felt his groin warming up through your sweatpants, causing a soft pink to appear on your cheeks. You softly bit your lip as you pressed yourself against John’s erection.

John felt you grinding against him and he enjoyed it a lot until he heard a noise upstairs. It sounded like glass breaking. He immediately switched to work mode, it was probably nothing, but he still needed to check.

“Would you like something to drink babe?”John asked you while he got off the couch. “Do we still have that bottle of Chardonnay?” You asked him while watching on the tv screen.

“We do, I will grab it for you,” He said while placing a kiss on your head and sneaking his gun into the back of his jeans. “Thank you, John” You reply while holding onto a pillow.

John sneaked through the kitchen to the hall where he sneaked upstairs. He took the safety lock-off his gun as he walked up the last steps of stairs. 

He heard small noised coming out of your bedroom and he prepared himself for an ambush. John kicked your bedroom door open, standing face to face with the ones who caused the noise. --- Sudden gunshots pulled your attention away from the movie. You quickly stood up and turned around.”John?” You asked while walking over to the kitchen.

“John?” you yelled as you entered the kitchen, looking for him. But he wasn't there, but three men in full black suits were.

“Grab her,” One said to the others as you ran out of the kitchen. You ran towards the front door because you knew that there was a baseball bat you could use to defend yourself with.

When you reached the front door you were locked in with the men, and more men entered your hallway from upstairs. “John!”

Your hands reached out for your baseball bag, slipping your hand into the compartment of your bat. “John!” you called out, hoping that he would respond.

“Look, miss, we don't have to hurt you if you cooperate,” One man said to you as you pulled your bat out of your bag.

“Cooperate, my ass” you calmly said as you placed your hand on the knob of your front door. The men were thinking and calculating their next move, giving you enough time to exit your house through the front door and sprinting into your garden.

The men ran after you. In the middle of your garden, you turned around, while turning around you hit a man in the face with your bat. He fell onto the ground as his colleagues ran towards you.

A rush of adrenaline coursed through your body, giving yourself the courage to attack the men that chased you. You swung at the second men trying to hit him in his face, but he grabbed the bat with both his hands. You struggled with keeping control of your bat as the men tried to take it away from you.

Out of irritation, you kicked him in the balls causing him to drop onto his knees. And eventually, his body dropped onto the ground as a result of the fatal swung against his head.

Your body was covered in the men their blood as you turned around with your bloody bat. You held your bat in both hands as you turned around to face the other men.

“So who’s next?” You asked irritated and out of breath. ---- “John?” John heard your voice saying behind him. “Love?” he asked while turning around, ready to embrace you into his arms. 

Sadly enough it wasn't you who he embraced, but a 9mm parabellum bullet did. 

The boss had his hand wrapped around your neck, keeping you in your place as you screamed Johns name. You struggled against his grip as you saw John’s body hitting the ground.

John did not move, and it didn't look like he was breathing either. “He is dead, lass. Baba Yaga has passed away tonight.” The boss laughed as you looked at John.

“John?” You softly asked, not wanting to believe that this was happening. You froze as you saw his blood flowing out of bullet wound. Your body froze and the tears you have been holding back finally rolled over your cheeks. 

“Is this everyone who survived?” The boss asked as he tightened his grip on your neck. “Yes Sir, What about her?” One of the men answers and asked his boss.

The boss his eyes roamed your body as he pushed your top a down with his gun. “His bitch is mine now!” he said as he looked at your now exposed cleavage.

He gave his gun to one of his men while pulling you closer. His hand was so tight that it became hard to breathe. “Can I call you mine?” He asked with a honeyed voice while he placed his other hand onto your hip.

“She is mine,” A deep voice said as three shots were fired, causing three men around you to fall towards the ground. Dead. John stood up smoothly as he placed a bullet into the last henchmen his head. 

“Baba Yaga,” The boss said as he let go of your throat. Quickly stepping over his now-dead men and running into the hall. 

“John,” You said happily while leaning against the wall, finally being able to breathe properly again. Slowly you slide down onto the ground as you felt the air entering your lungs.

“Hey Honey,” John said while reloading his gun. The two of you shared a lazy smile as John walked over to you. He kneeled and placed a kiss on your forehead. “I will be right back love, please stay here”

“Kill that son of a bitch Johnny,” you say as you looked into his deep brown eyes. John smiled and nodded before leaving the room. John walked downstairs and out of the house.

The boss ran towards an abandoned car. John took a deep breath before he shot all of his bullets into the boss his head. finally killing the last of them.

After finishing the ben off he ran back upstairs and into your bedroom, where you were still sitting. John sat down in front of you, opening his arms for you. You accepted the invite, scooting over to John, placing your body in his arms and between his legs. You wrapped your own arms and legs around his body as John told you that it was over.

“But I saw you die, John!? How, why did you do that?” You asked while listening to his heartbeat. John chuckled at your question. 

“That my love is called acting and manipulating the situation.” He jokes as his hands roamed your body, looking for wounds and bruised.

“Just shut up and kiss me already, Wick” You joke while pulling him towards you. Your kiss was full of passion, and it quickly got heated. John pulled you on top of his lap as your hands landed onto his shoulders. 

Moans filled the room as your body’s ground against each other. John’s hands disappeared under your shirt to massage your breast. Your body shivered as he rolled your nipple between his fingers. 

“John, please take i-it off,” You asked him as he teased both of your nipples with his big strong fingers. “As you wish” John quoted as he lifted your shirt halfway up, ready to throw it away towards the dead men in your room. 

“Aargh” John suddenly growled as his hand quickly applied pressure to the bullet wound. “Fuck, shit I forgot,” You said while climbing out of Johns lap and running towards the bathroom. 

You ran back into the room with a towel and his spare phone. You gave the phone to John as you applied pressure to the wound with the towel. He dialled a number and brought the phone to his ear.