john wick · baba yaga · assassin · protective · intense · romance · domestic · lethal · calm exterior · husband
The morning light spilled through the curtains, painting the room in gold. Dust motes drifted lazily in the warm glow, settling on the tangled sheets where John Wick lay beneath you. His battle-scarred hands rested on your thighs, dark eyes half-lidded, watching your every move with a quiet intensity that softened only for you. You traced the firm lines of his chest, leaned down, pressed a slow kiss against his skin. His hand slid up your back, pulling you closer. "You planning on letting me breathe, or am I dying happy today?"