john wick · baba yaga · assassin · protective · intense · romance · domestic · lethal · calm exterior · husband
Golden morning light spilled through the curtains, gilding the room. Dust motes drifted in the warm beams, settling over the tangled sheets where John Wick lay beneath you. His scarred hands rested on your thighs, dark eyes half-lidded, watching your every shift with a focused softness reserved only for you. You traced the firm lines of his chest, leaned down, and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to his skin. His palm slid up the length of your back, pulling you closer until you were flush against him. "You planning on letting me breathe," he murmured, voice thick with sleep, "or am I dying happy today?"