johnwickb1tsch

[johnwickb1tsch]

I think i’m in love

[johnwickb1tsch]

I’m sorry but-

[johnwickb1tsch]

Just asking since I adore your pieces- can you imagine Jack Traven as a yandere? He's so sweet and gentle tho...

Nonnie😭😭😭Thank you so much for your kind words! They mean a lot to me! 🖤🖤🖤

So…

There are over 10 types of yandere, but he would most likely (if we set aside real mental health issues) fit as the kind of yandere who watches from the sidelines, quietly hoping you’ll notice him someday. He’d never hurt you or your bf/gf. Thomas Anderson same type of yandere  

Taking it to the next level, Jack could also fit as a stalker or perhaps even a yandere who worships you. Here’s where the problems, though small, start to show.

And if we’re talking about a real, truly terrifying yandere… well…

Yandere characters are deeply obsessive, mentally ill and emotionally unstable. They’re insanely jealous to the point of harming the object of their affection or even killing someone who merely looks at them the wrong way. For Jack to become like that, something drastic would have to happen in his life to fundamentally change him.

At first, I thought maybe a failed special operation, like losing a hostage might push him over the edge. But I think that’s something he could handle. He’s trained for those situations and would have been prepared for the possibility of failure, so I feel like he’d be able to manage the emotional fallout from something like that.

However, if it’s you he’s in love with, and something happens to you? That’s a different story.  Maybe he barely manages to save you from a life threatening situation that might deeply traumatize him. OR perhaps his soulmate died because he couldn’t be in the right place at the right time to save them.

That kind of guilt and heartbreak could mess with his mind.

Imagine Jack as someone who’d do anything to keep you safe and close. Literally, anything. His love is genuine, but unresolved guilt or trauma, his protective instincts and endless love for you could spiral into something far more terrifying... Especially if he believed losing you was even a remote possibility.

Conclusion: The combination of love, loyalty, his strength and mental health issues makes him the perfect, terrifying yandere.

🖤As for me, Jack’s my comfort character, and I could never write him as a yandere. He’s kind, humble, and inherently positive. Even when he says things like

We’re gonna die.

It somehow feels more encouraging than alarming 😂😂😂

Jack’s not someone who resorts to aggression. He doesn’t even raise his voice. He always tries to solve problems with words first, even when dealing with abusers. He’s fully aware of the power he holds, and he only ever uses it as a last resort. His psyche is incredibly resilient, able to handle the pressure and intensity that comes with being in the SWAT team. Getting into it involves a very strict selection process. It’s highly unlikely he would’ve been accepted with even the slightest issues, especially since they conduct regular physical and mental health checks.

He’ll treat you right, no doubt about it. 🥹🫶🏻

[johnwickb1tsch]

Kingman - Arizona - USA (by Heidi Kaden)

[johnwickb1tsch]

that look-

[johnwickb1tsch]

Keanu Reeves

[johnwickb1tsch]

Well, I don't want you to get into trouble, but please know they have been very much enjoyed! 😆 Excuse me i have to go chew on concrete now...

SCARLETTTT YOU ARE KILLING ME WITH THESE NAUGHTY JACK TRAVEN ATTRIBUTIONS!!!🤣🤣🤣😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️

Someone actually appreciated them 🥵 thank you😘 they’ve been living in my drafts rent-free for way too long 🥴 I have more tbh… but at thi point I’m not sure tumblr won’t flag me 😅

[johnwickb1tsch]

KEANU REEVES BY BRAD FIERCE 1991

[johnwickb1tsch]

[johnwickb1tsch]

"WHY ARE YOU SHIPPING A VAMPIRE WITH THEIR VICTIM 🤮🤮" is. is that not the point of vampires.

[johnwickb1tsch]

Premise: When a mission goes wrong, young John “Jardani” Wick is dragged into the dark by something ancient and monstrous, leaving his partner behind to return to the ballet company alone, bloodied and broken. Branded a failure and a liar, she’s forced to dance through her grief under The Director’s cold eye, haunted by the loss no one believes was real. But John isn’t dead. Changed into something unholy, he watches her from the shadows, starving for the taste of her blood, the comfort of her body, and the memory of who he used to be. To return to her without destroying her, he’ll have to master a hunger stronger than death itself.

CW/Tags: vampire!john wick, young!john wick, ballerina!reader, john and reader are partners, intense yearning, bloodlust, horror/drama, soulmates, grief, eventual smut, slowburn.

Words: 2.6k

A/N: reply to this post to be added to the taglist for the next chapter!

Dust ebbs and flows through two ever searching streams of light, your boots crunching on years of built up debris in the run down mansion. You’ve been on missions before, this isn’t close to your first time going out with your partner and hunting down your target as instructed. That thought only barely quells the hairs standing up on the back of your neck and the chill that follows down your back in a hot, cold flash.

Crunch…

“John?” You whisper in the darkness, knowing you shouldn’t talk right now, but not being able to stop yourself, the feeling of danger increasing.

“…yeah?” It takes him a moment to reply, and you imagine his face as he walks behind you, serious as always and searching for any sign of who you’re looking for.

“Something feels…not right…” you try to drop your voice as low as possible, for his ears only.

Crunch…

He doesn’t respond, and you feel your stomach drop as you worry you’re alone in this, trying to calculate in your head just what seems so wrong about this place.

Crunch.

The long, grey dilapidated hallway holds harsh shadows, and your feet try to freeze as your beam of light from your handgun drifts over long, gouged scratch marks on the wall. They end toward the bottom of the wall, where thick black blood is slowly becoming abundant in pools that mix with the grit of the ground.

Crunch…

You can’t help yourself, you turn to John, and you can just barely see his thin, dark brows furrowing together. Your eyes scream at him as if to translate just how much fear is beginning to set in your body.

“Something is wrong here, John…” you plead with him, softly padding closer to him, afraid to be to far away. “Those marks don’t look…”

“…human.” He finishes your sentence, looking away from the deep claw marks and back to you.

His nostrils flare as he tries to assess what to do. He knows if he returns home without the target dead The Director’s punishment will be brutal, and the level of trust they have in him and you will be wavered, setting both of you back, taking on lesser missions from now on.

Crash.

He doesn’t have time to decide. Something from the open doorway to his right sends his partner flying down the hall, your body tossed so easily. You skid through the dirt and blood you saw earlier, scratches and scrapes forming before the later bruises you’ll see later.

If there is a later.

Your mouth falls open in a wordless scream as you watch John being pinned against the hallways wall, and just what exactly is pinning him you can��t comprehend.

It looks human.

Or maybe once human.

Faking being human.

But those claws, that distended jaw that opens and leaves trails of spit between razor sharp teeth. The naked, twisted body, bones not where they should be under grey translucent skin.

Oh god.

The eyes.

They’re looking at you now and you realize the screaming finally broke free from your body, guttural and ancient, a primal scream you had no idea would even come out of you. True fear.

John’s struggling under the creatures grip, his hands gripping the oversized claw that threatens his neck, his face red and breaths spitting between gritted teeth as he fights with all his might.

“Run!” He yells as he connects his boot with the torso of the thing, not helping himself, but attempting to give you time to flee.

The thing recovers its attention to John, and you stumble to your feet, fear making you fumble with your handgun, trying to aim in a way that doesn’t hit John.

You fire.

It hits into Its shoulders.

It doesn’t care.

It’s already driving its fangs deep into John’s tender neck.

It’s slurping.

John screams in agony.

You fire again hitting it in the back, and It growls.

Faster than you can understand it drags John screaming back down the hallway until your flashlight only captures the dust swirling in the dark once again.

You run.

————

It’s like a black hole.

Like the photographs of your memories of that night have been burned in the middle, leaving only the most horrific, over exposed snapshots to haunt you when you least expect it.

A whisper of snowflakes take nest in your hair, the rest dancing around in street lights, the road desolate and quiet save for your whimpering and limping down the sidewalk.

You don’t even know how you stumbled home, the Belarusian cold numbing every part of you. Your tears are frozen against your cheeks as you fling open the doors to the ballet company.

Those on watch have guns on you before you can blink, trying to figure out who and what and why.

They let up when they realize it’s you.

Only you.

You feel them shaking your shoulders, your body seizing in pain and your mouth blubbering a cry.

“Where is he?” They demand.

“Where is John?”

You can hardly make out who exactly is even talking to you, the world too bright and the faces simple shadows that shout questions and give orders.

Another shake.

“Answer me!”

You open your mouth, and your lips tremble, your whole body trembles.

“It…It got him…”

————

It’s been days.

You’ve hardly seen the outside of your room.

They’re treating cuts, the chunk of skin missing on your knee and your swollen ankle, the mild frostbite on your fingers. You hardly even notice when they enter and when they leave.

You’re not sure why you haven’t been punished.

You know The Director doesn’t take failed missions lightly, but you wonder if it has to do with what happened to John.

John.

You just keep hearing his screams bouncing off the walls ringing in your ears. You blame yourself. You blame how you didn’t do anything to stop it, how you didn’t run towards him, try to fight. You also know deep down that if you had, you’d be as good as dead.

Just like him…

Your heart aches so deeply you don’t know what to do with it.

They teach you here not to form relationships with one another for a reason, and you suppose you know why now.

This pain was unimaginable.

You don’t even know how to explain what you and John had. It was moments of softness when all eyes were closed. It was breaths in the cold as you share a secret cigarette on the fire escape outside your window. It was hands exploring just what one another had in the dark beneath your bedsheets.

You aren’t sure if you could call it love. If you deserve to call it love. But the pain of never having it again doesn’t lie.

Your days continue with cooling bowls of soup outside your door, and the covers over your head while your mourn.

————

“Tell me again what happened.”

The Director’s voice has no emotion. She sits back in her chair, her office lush and extravagant, rich smells of incense fill your nose as smoke from their fragrance and her cigarette billow in the room. The fireplace roars and cracks in your silence, your eyes unfocused on the floor.

“It came out of nowhere,” you speak slow, concise about what happened, too many details bringing too much hurt.

“It targeted Jardani, and it bit him. I shot It, but it didn’t matter, It already had him, and It dragged him away.”

“And ’it‘ looked like…?”

“I already told you… It wasn’t like us, it was something else. Something too tall, too skinny, too many teeth…”

“You expect me to believe that пачвара, that a…monster, took Jardani?” Doubt was one of her specialities.

“You can believe what you want. I know what I saw. It was not human.” You grit your teeth, the pain of having to relieve what happened combined with her probing and doubt leaving you short-toned.

Your almost surprised in yourself with how you’re talking to her, but losing all will to care.

She says nothing, mulling over what you’ve said.

The fire sizzles and snaps loudly.

“There still must be a punishment for failing to complete your assigned task.”

“There is no punishment that could hold a flame to what I’ve just experienced.”

—————

You’ve been stripped of everything.

No one is allowed to glance your way. No one shall speak to you.

You take the stage nightly after everyone else has run their routine.

You’ve lost The Director her most prized weapon, her most cherished son. For that, you must pay.

“You are not dismissed. You are reclaimed. You will dance every set he ever touched. Alone. Night after night, until the ghost of him is burned into your muscle memory.” Her voice echoes in your head as you begin, the stage silent except for your breathing.

“No name. No partners. No contact.”

A pause. Her voice softened for just a moment, sickly sweet.

“Perhaps, in your silence, he’ll hear you calling. And if not…”

She turned her back on you like you were already buried.

“Then we dance for the dead.”

Your feet strike the stage with precision. Your muscles tight and controlled, your hands trying to achieve the same strength, the same flow, as that of what John had. You twirl into his signature pose, leg wobbling and forcing you to give up on landing it, and you know it will take weeks before you’ll even come close to being what Jardani was.

You start his routine again.

And again.

And again.

The ghost of him your only partner in this hell.

—————

The days pass, and your body aches nightly, you try to keep your bloody feet from failing you with cloth bandages wrapped around them tight. It feels as if you haven’t slept since that night. You simply lie awake until the hours pass, facing the plain aging wall of your tiny bedroom made for one.

You hold your pillow, eyes following the cracks in the wall when you hear a creaking on the rusty fire escape outside your window.

Instinct takes over and you’ve instantly sat up, head swerving around to monitor just where the sound has emerged from, a shadow crossing your bedroom floor as something moves out of sight from the window.

You jump out of bed, flinging the window open and squinting as the icy night air quickly chills you to the bone. You scan the dark alleyway outside, looking for any sign of movement or life, your body cold in your skivvies.

The night is just as lonely as you are out there.

—————

He watches from the shadows as you close the window, your scent hanging heavy in the freezing night air. His gums are throbbing, and the pit in his stomach aches with want just from smelling you. It’s delicious, sharp and sweet to his senses, a fine liquor mixed with the smell of dark cherries and almond. A shaky hand has to wipe the drool from his chin as his tongue lusts for you.

He doesn’t even know why he’s come.

He knows what kind of monster he is now.

Something that can never be trusted.

Something that can never be safe.

And yet, he’s crawled his way back to you.

His eyes shine animal-bright in passing car lights, fangs extending longer from bloodlust.

Jardani knows he must do what he does best if he’s to ever have a chance of coming face to face with you again.

If he can want you, but not taste you, then he may still be some semblance of a man.

He must learn control.

——————

No human blood. No animal blood. Nothing. Jardani trains in front of mirrors that do not see him, goes through the motions of routines he knows the memory of deep in his muscles. He focuses on how long he can last without breaking, each attempt longer than the other.

“I once learned to throw a knife through a man’s eye without blinking. I can learn this too.”

He repeats this to himself between push ups, keeping his body busy and moving as much as possible.

When he does break, he does so without carnage, without killing and draining his prey dry like a beast. He controls his kill. Leaves no drop of blood undrank, returns back to his chosen hovel, an abandoned warehouse near the studio, without a mess of blood on him.

His first kill, instinct.

His second, survival.

His third, choice.

———————

It wasn’t easy sneaking into the studio, but Jardani knew of the most secret ins and outs of this place. He moves like a wolf in the shadows, slipping across the grid above the catwalk with ease.

He narrows his eyes, zoning in on just who’s below on the stage, carefully studying a few of his former fellow students as they finish up their routine for the night. There’s a few minutes of pause, some chatter backstage as most of the students head back to their rooms for the night. Finally, even The Director leaves and the studio falls silent.

That’s when you float out onto the stage, ballet slippers en pointe, holding all of your pain in the perfect precision of your body. You’re shroud in flowing white, a ghost that dances alone and for no one. His breath is held.

You begin Adagio, slow and fluid, an extension of yourself, before working your way into an Arabesque, arms held out, searching, reaching for someone who’s not there. You twist and flip, having to catch yourself, when you should be dancing with a partner who shares the burden of the dance, who guides your weight to where it should be. You move as if you may fall any minute, as if he may still be there to catch you.

Jardani can smell your scent wafting up into the rafters, the sweat and the rosin on your slippers, that sweet swirling scent of your blood that threatens to drive him mad. He grips the metal of the grid, gritting his teeth and trying to stop the hunger that grows within him.

“You must resist her. You must not give into the temptation of her blood.”

But oh, how he wants.

He wants not only your blood.

But you.

Your body, your warmth, your fingertips on his chest as you moan in pleasure underneath him. He wants to hear you say his name like a prayer in the dark.

Hunger clawed up his throat. His fangs throbbed with want and pressed down against his tongue.

He imagined descending the ropes like a phantom, pressing his mouth to the hollow of your neck, inhaling that sweet scent from the source and feeling your pulse flit against his lips.

Not biting.

Not yet.

Just having you.

He wanted to bury himself in you, take everything with greed. Bury in your scent, your heat, your pain.

But he couldn’t.

Couldn’t touch you without unraveling. He could barely be this close now without thoughts of himself drinking deeply from you creating fuzz of noise in his head he could hardly ignore.

Instead, he steadied himself as much as he could, attempting to hold on as long as possible, to prove to himself that he could stand it, he could be in the same room as you, someone made so perfectly for his new, monstrous tastes.

He crouches in the rafter, shaking with want and salivating at the thought of letting go.

Wanting to hold you.

Wanting to feed.

Wanting to take all that pain away.

But the dead don’t get love stories.

Only hunger. Only distance. Only you, on stage, dancing for the ghost he’d become.

[johnwickb1tsch]

A fic where Reader is turning into a vampire but the process is slow so you mostly just feel ill all the time and you keep visiting your doctor (Julian) who’s actually a good doctor and he can see there’s certainly something not right but no matter how many tests he runs he can’t get any concrete results and then you finally turn and maybe you kill your first victim in a mindless bloodlust and when you come to your senses, finding yourself covered in someone else’s blood, you have no one to turn to except Julian because you’ve spent so much time with him lately, the two of you have inevitably become close and you trust him. Maybe once you both figure out you’re a vampire he supplies you with blood bags from the hospital. Idk where I’m going with this it was a random idea 😭

[johnwickb1tsch]

Keanu Reeves' character in Speed is so damn subversive. Like, he could have easily been the typical annoying action movie lead, your macho wise-cracking types who are somehow hot shit with women. But not this guy, he's like, yeah we are literally in a life-or-death situation and I'm stressed, but I'm going to check in on your wellbeing first, you okay?

[johnwickb1tsch]

dayum tumblr glad that chapter was ready to go 🤣🤣 anybody else notice the SAVE button in the app actually functions as POST NOW in your drafts???

[johnwickb1tsch]

girl, resurrected - 6

a jack traven x reader Bittersweet alternate ending AU. Loosely based on this post but I'm changing some things. Magically setting this in the 1990s because I can. There will be plot holes. I do not care. 😂😘❤ Warnings: adult themes, past mention of captivity & punishment. This is OOC yandere unhinged John Wick we're dealing with here... chapter map

6. cuz maybe, you’re gonna be the one that saves me

Unlike the other passengers in their indignant confusion, you know it’s an explosion. 

You know it in your gut; you recognize the sound and that heart-stopping concussion that rocks you to the marrow of your bones. You’re not proud of it, but you freeze up through the freefall, flashing back on that terrifying night the assassins attacked Wick’s home. 

Despite the ringing in your head, you hear the ear-splitting screeching of metal upon metal, the emergency brakes saving you all from total oblivion–for now. 

By the time you come back to yourself, there is nothing that can be done. The executives in the elevator are yelling and complaining and there’s no calming them down. The doors won’t open, and you know you’re all suspended hundreds of feet in the air, trapped in a steel box.   

Fuck. 

So much for winning the day. 

Eventually the worst whiners tire out, the Karens and Chads figuring out that they can’t get themselves out of this situation by threatening someone’s job, and everyone settles into sitting on the floor, exhausted, scared, and hot. You feel strangely resigned to your fate; it was stupid of you to think that the lucky break you caught in your new life could last. 

It feels like an eternity before you finally hear an announcement from above. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the LAPD.” 

At first you think you must be hallucinating, tricked by wishful thinking when you imagine you recognize that deep voice. It’s a little pathetic that when you’re stuck in a life-and-death crisis, you wish Jack Traven would be the one to ride to your rescue.

There’s no fucking way. 

But then the officers pry open the doors, and through the sliver of light you see him, a hunk of a guardian angel in a tactical vest, the sunshine through the window backlighting him like a halo. It’s stupid, how your heart utterly soars, a tingling lightness that has nothing to do with fear filling you to the tips of your fingers. You are so not over that man, and in that moment you feel like both the luckiest and the stupidest woman in the world. 

What ensues next is nothing less than chaos. 

You watch, frozen in the back, as the SWAT officers do their best to evacuate the besuited passengers through the narrow opening in the door one by one. You help an older lady make her way through to the front before the crowd elbows you back again.

Then there’s another explosion, and the car plummets several feet before bouncing precariously on whatever little support is left. You don’t know that Jack and Harry ingeniously rigged a crane cable from the roof all the way down the elevator shaft. You only have one thought: 

You’re so gonna die. 

Their efforts double, and there’s shouting and scrambling and one by one the rest of the passengers are yanked through the opening to safety, until just you and one last corpo Chad remain. 

That’s when Jack really gets a good look at you. “Holy shit! Y/n?!” 

“Hi, Jack.” You try for nonchalance, but it comes out small and pathetic and scared. The car lurches again, and you lose your footing like a bad bounce on a trampoline, falling hard to the ground of the elevator.

“Fuck! Come on, y/n, take my hand!” There’s only a sliver of an opening left now, and you can feel the elevator practically trembling with anticipation of plummeting into oblivion. As you struggle to get to your feet Chad powers forward, jumping up to grab Jack’s outstretched hands. You see the annoyance on the SWAT officer’s face, but he doesn’t drop the terrified office worker, he and Harry hauling him roughly up through the hole. 

Jack is back in seconds, holding out his long arms to you with a desperation in his dark eyes that almost scares you more than the bomb. 

He thinks you’re going to die too. 

“Come on, y/n, take my hands!” he demands with a force you never could have imagined possible from him, before. Startled, you try to obey but your legs are jell-o. You push up, and the elevator sways, making you stumble. “Now, y/n!” he yells at you. “Come on! You can do it, two steps forward for me, baby, please!” 

You’re not sure if it’s the baby or the please or the authority in his voice that gets your motor going. You find the last reserves of your strength to power forward, jumping for his outreached paws. Those big hands you’d so admired clamp on to you like a vise, yanking you up and out just as the elevator breaks loose, slicing like a shear not but a centimeter from your feet. 

Jack has you wrapped in a crushing grip, your feet barely touching the floor, like he can’t quite believe he actually pulled you through in time. You’re having trouble believing you’re not dead too. You’re both breathing like you’ve just run a marathon, chests heaving against each other; time seems to go still as you pull back to look at each other from so close. 

Adrenaline sings through your veins; it sharpens every detail as you get to look at him again. His handsome face and high cheekbones, that heartbreaking dusting of freckles, those almond-shaped eyes so wide with disbelief–in just the right light his irises are an exquisite shade of amber. 

It all comes crashing back. Every iota of warmth and affection you ever felt for this man hits you like a freight train after this near-death experience. God how you missed him, and GOD you are stupid. 

That moisture blurring your vision isn’t tears. It’s just…something in your eyes from the explosion, surely.  

His heart runs the full gamut too; all the tenderness, the longing, the hurt, and ultimately the total disbelief that in this city of 3.5 million people, he’s the one that saved you. How many extra times a day did he check his machine, hoping he’d missed a message from you? Miguel told him you got another job somewhere at some junk store, didn’t know where. And sure, he’s a cop, and he could have dug a little deeper to find you…but he didn’t want to scare you anymore than he figured you were already scared. It hurt like fucking hell, but he decided to respect your decision, and let you go. 

But now you’re here with him again, in his arms, and that protective streak he’s always felt for you comes back howling with a vengeance. He might not ever let you out of his sight again.   

In the heat of the moment you’re not really sure who moved first. Only that in the next second your mouths are pressed together desperately, a kiss that borders on cannibalism as you war with lips and teeth and tongues. Your fingers latch onto his vest like claws, holding him to you like you never intend to let him go. 

“I’ll have what she’s having,” snarks one of the female executives, clearly trying to play off the pure terror of the situation they all went through not moments ago. 

You both ignore her, pulling back to look at each other with new wonder written across your faces. “Hey,” he greets from inches away, and it’s as adorable as it is redundant. 

Ok. So you might be in love now. You’re certainly in lust, your curves mashed against the unyielding line of his lean form, his strong arms still holding you up like you weigh nothing. Tools and hard lumps affixed to his vest are poking you, but you don’t care.

“Jack...” The brittle laughter that falls from your lips sounds pathetic even to you. 

“Hey, you’re ok. I’ve got you.” 

“Yeah.” Boy did he. You almost died. 

Again. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks, still unable to wrap his head around the coincidence in all this. 

“Working?” 

“Oh. Me too.” 

You grin at him; you both must be in shock. You get to indulge in one caress of your fingertips across the spiky velvet of his hair before Harry clears his throat at his partner. “Hate to interrupt…” 

Reluctantly, Jack sets you back down on your feet, his hands lingering at your waist under your blazer. “Hi, Harry,” you say, embarrassed to the fucking tips of your toes, your ears blazing. 

“Hey, kid. I gotta borrow your boyfriend. We kinda got a perp to catch.” 

With a sheepish look Jack turns to follow Harry down the hall. “Sorry, gotta go.” 

You know it’s stupid, but it feels like watching a piece of your own heart walk away from you, and now that you’ve found him again you just can’t stand it. “Please be careful!” you call after him, and Jack turns back to you with a cocky grin that is somehow both infuriating and insanely hot, the maniac.  

“You sayin’ I got something to live for, sweetheart?”

It’s like no time passed at all, like the beach could have been yesterday, and you didn’t ghost him for months. Is he really that forgiving? Maybe in his line of work, he's learned not to sweat the small stuff. Maybe…you are the luckiest girl in the world after all.

Maybe you shouldn't fucking squander it this time.

You know you’ve gone insane, when you clack forward in your heels to take his hand, producing a pen from your jacket pocket. You scrawl your number across his wide palm, going over the five twice because your hand is shaking so badly it looks like a two. “Call me.”

“Yes ma’am.” There’s a sparkle in his eye that sends you into orbit, and you watch those two insanely brave men trot down the hall, possibly towards more danger. You’re not the praying type, but you admit in that moment you plead with whatever deity might be interested that he makes it home safe today. Please please please protect him, from evil men and himself. And Harry too. And all the rest of them. Jesus fucking christ I’ll light a candle or something just please don’t let them die?

“Y/n? Are you alright?” There’s a light touch on your back, breaking your fixated stare, and you turn to find none other than Donaka Mark towering beside you, with two very intimidating bodyguards flanking him. 

“I’m…fine, Mr. Mark,” you stammer. “Do…you know what happened?” 

“Not yet, but I fully intend to get to the bottom of it.” You guess this is kind of embarrassing, considering his profession. You don’t say that, of course, but he’s got to be feeling it. “Come on, let’s get you to the ground floor.” With a hand on the small of your back he ushers you towards the rest of the crowd of people shuffling towards the stairs at the behest of an officer in uniform.  

You don’t see it, but Jack turns back to look at you one last time, and sees that wealthy businessman touch you like he knows you. Red-hot jealousy flares like a bomb in his chest, but he shakes it off. They’ve got a perp to catch, and he can’t think about any of that right now. 

Easier said than done. 

“I take it…you know that policeman?” asks Mr. Mark as you descend down the stairwell together. You don’t know him well enough to pick up on the chill in his neutral tone–but he’s jealous too. 

Oblivious, and maybe due to all the stress of the past hour, you can’t stop yourself from falling back on your native sarcasm, quipping, “No, we just met.” 

Donaka narrows his eyes down at you like he can’t decide if you're telling the truth or joking at his expense. You’re sure he is not used to the latter, and most of the rest of the long walk down transpires in silence. 

You have no idea what a foolish error you’ve committed. 

That you would turn him down, Donaka Mark, but throw yourself at some neanderthal SWAT officer?

This isn’t over by a long shot. 

There are more police on the ground floor, and you are swept away to be checked by paramedics and give a statement. 

While you’re waiting for the clear to leave the scene, and definitely hoping to see Jack again, a camera crew finds you on the sidelines. “Ma’am, can you tell us about what happened inside?” 

Too late, you throw up a hand to obscure your face. “Sorry, I have no comment,” you say, walking away in the opposite direction. Talking to a news crew is the last thing you want to do. 

You want to go home…and wait by your phone. You were a fucking idiot before, but you’re feeling pretty brave after cheating death, and you are not planning to let that man slip by again. 

TBC...

chapter map

Our playlist so far: hand in my pocket - alanis morissette 6 underground - sneaker pimps come as you are - nirvana miss world - hole even flow - pearl jam wonderwall - oasis

[johnwickb1tsch]

been playing with ellipsus today as an alternative to googie docs.

so far i like it.

took a while to figure out how to make headings for navigating chapters. could not find the outline option in the side menu, like it just was not there. found a shortcut list, highlighted a chapter heading, hit ctl+alt+3 to make heading 3. Suddenly, it was all there on the right side bar, and it had already accepted my headings from the google doc too. so maybe it just needed to catch up? very happy with this.

then wanted to check the continuity from computer to phone. logged in through the duckduckgo browser. it took a while for my doc to show up, but now that it's synced it seems to be working fine. goog takes a while too sometimes, so there. all good. i'm very tickled!

[johnwickb1tsch]

Are you scared of the fuckin’ Boogeyman? I’m not. No? But you should be.