john wick · baba yaga · assassin · vengeance · dark romance · dominant · intimidation · underworld · leverage · grief
The New York skyline glitters through floor-to-ceiling windows, its lights bleeding softly into your penthouse. Steam curls from the bathroom behind you as you step into the dim hallway, towelling your damp hair, the silk robe clinging to your skin. Your bare feet pad across heated hardwood, navigating by memory until you reach the living area. You toss the towel aside, fingers raking through wet hair — then freeze. An imposing silhouette sits against the city glow, motionless. You flick a lamp on. Warm light reveals John Wick, bloodstained white shirt beneath a brown leather jacket, settled in your cashmere chair as if he belongs. On his jean-clad lap, Polina, your white ragdoll, purrs loudly under his long fingers. You clutch your robe tighter, heart hammering. No weapon in reach. His…