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thebunnednun · 7 months ago

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The Fawn and the Wolf John Wick X Assassin! Reader (Part 1)

Warning: Eventual smut and violence. Size difference, predictor/prey, and other kinks.

Summary:

"Who the hell wants to marry a man they've never met?" Certainly not you. After staging your own death to escape a forced marriage orchestrated by your ruthless family, they retaliate by sending the infamous John Wick after you. Now, you're fucked in more ways than one. Evading Baba Yaga himself is no easy feat, especially when he's sympathetic to your plight but bound by a marker to bring you back. Amidst the chaos, you find yourself unexpectedly drawn to John, his allure undeniable as you embark on a thrilling game of cat and mouse across the globe. As the stakes escalate and the danger intensifies, you're caught between loyalty and freedom, you face a daunting choice that could change your life forever. What are you going to do? Marry the man your family has picked for you? Or do you start over with the surprisingly kind killer you meet?

Notes:

This is my First John Wick fanfic! I just finished the movies and wish I watched them sooner. In this narrative, certain deceased characters resurface, their roles pivotal to the plot, although not all events adhere strictly to canon. The timeline aligns closely with the events leading up to the fourth movie The only original characters are your family members. I will add a playlist for this later.

-----------------------Chapter 1: A Rainy Reception-----------------------

The rain fell heavily, each drop a tiny hammer against the pavement, as John Wick stepped out of his car, the relentless downpour quickly soaking through his coat. Beside him, the Bowery King emerged from the passenger seat, his fedora pulled low over his brow.

They moved with purpose toward the grand mansion ahead, its lights a faint beacon in the night. A tall, silent butler waited at the entrance with an umbrella, shielding John and the Bowery King from the worst of the rain as he led them inside. The transition from the cold, wet night to the warm interior was jarring. The mansion was dimly lit, corridors lined with rich, dark wood and plush carpets that muffled their footsteps.

The butler ceremoniously pushed open the imposing wooden doors, revealing a cavernous living space ensnared in a palpable tension. In one dimly lit corner, two figures loomed, engaged in an intense, hushed altercation, their silhouettes etched with conflict against the subdued light.

Across the room, a woman occupied a plush armchair, bathed in the soft glow of a nearby lamp. Her posture rigid, she seemed lost in the glow of her phone screen, oblivious to the charged atmosphere enveloping her.

Meanwhile, at the love seat, another woman's furrowed brow betrayed her vexation as she meticulously sifted through a stack of papers. The lamplight cast harsh shadows across her features, accentuating the strain etched upon her face as she wrestled with the weight of her responsibilities.

John and the Bowery King exchanged a glance, their senses keenly attuned to the tension in the air.

The first man broke off his argument and approached John, extending a hand. "Mr. Wick, thank you for coming," he said, his voice a mixture of relief and urgency. He was a man of moderate stature, with a tailored suit that bespoke both elegance and authority. His dark red hair was meticulously styled, framing a face marked by sharp angles and a gaze that flickered with a blend of admiration and barely contained arrogance.

John shook his hand, noting the faint red marks on the man’s face, resembling a slap with claw-like scratches. "You called, I came," John replied, his tone neutral.

John’s eyes swept the room. This family was different from the others he had encountered in his line of work. There was a genuine sense of concern here, a seeming desire to protect one another was rare among the families he typically dealt with.

"Please, follow me," the man said, leading John to a side room—a cozy, well-appointed office. The décor was traditional, dominated by dark wood and leather. A photograph on the desk caught John’s eye: a young girl, smiling brightly as she held a bouquet of flowers at what appeared to be her birthday party. Her expression was one of pure, unfiltered joy.

"We appreciate you taking the time to meet with us," he said, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken concerns. "I'm Nick. Nick Morales."

The man gestured to a chair. "Have a seat," he said, taking his own seat across from John. "We need your help to bring back our Fawn."

John raised an eyebrow. "Fawn?"

The man nodded. "That’s what we call her. She has these big, doe eyes." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "She’s gone missing, and we can’t let this disrupt the family’s image."

The younger man who had been arguing with him followed them into the room. He looked noticeably younger, perhaps in his early twenties, with a lean build and an intense expression. His eyes darted between Nick and John before he took a step back, clearly sensing Johns curious gaze.

He had a slight smirk on his face as he glanced at his older counterpart. "A tantrum," the younger man said, prompting a glare from the elder.

John's curiosity was piqued. "Tantrum?"

The elder man sighed, the red marks on his face catching the light. "Yes. Things got out of hand."

The younger man chuckled, earning another glare. "She’s got spirit, I’ll give her that." After a brief moment, he excused himself and slipped out of the room, leaving the three of them to the tense atmosphere of the spacious living room.

John leaned back in his chair, assessing Nick. "I’ll need more information. Each of you will give me your version of what happened. Maybe then I can piece together the truth."

The elder man nodded. "Fine. We’ll tell you everything you need to know. Start with me."

As John prepared to dive into the first interview, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone in this room wasn’t being entirely truthful. The question was who, and why. He would have to tread carefully, piecing together the fragments of their stories to uncover the real reason behind the young woman’s disappearance.

John and the Bowery King sat side by side, facing Nick across his expansive wooden desk. The photograph of the young woman at her birthday party stood prominently, her smile bright and full of life. John noted the detail—it was clear Nick valued tradition and perhaps had stood in for her father during the celebration.

Nick leaned back in his chair, his expression one of contemplation mixed with worry. "She’s always been spirited," he began, a hint of fondness in his voice. "Born stubborn. We often butt heads over it.Trying to punish her was often futile. She usually gets the upper hand."

John listened intently, his gaze unwavering. "Tell me more about the night she disappeared."

Nick sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "She was frustrated. We had a disagreement about the future. The family has... other plans for her. It escalated, and she stormed out. Later that night, we realized she was gone."

The Bowery King interjected, "And the slap mark on your face?"

Nick’s hand unconsciously moved to his cheek. "During our argument, she lashed out. It’s not the first time. She’s got a fiery temper, but this time... it was different. She was more determined, more desperate."

John leaned forward slightly. "What about her aspirations? Getting out isn’t a typical path for someone in this... environment."

Nick nodded, his expression softening as he looked at the photograph. "She’s smart, driven. Always wanted to do something more with her life. I understand her wants, but we have to do what's best for the family. Sacrifices have to be made. Everyone does their share here. We all do."

John’s eyes narrowed. "So she left because she felt trapped?"

"Partly," Nick admitted. "She’s always been our Fawn, the youngest, so we’ve always looked out for her. Losing her means losing more than just a family member.”

The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of Nick’s words hanging heavy in the air. John considered everything he’d heard so far. The story was starting to take shape, but there were still pieces missing.

Nick broke the silence. "Each of us has a different opinion on the matter. Maybe talking to the others will give you more insight."

John nodded. "I’ll speak with everyone.”

Nick met John’s gaze, his eyes filled with a mix of conflicting emotions. Within a slip second, his gaze hardened.

"We just want her back. Safe and sound."

With that, Nick stood, signaling the end of the first interview. The Bowery King gave Nick a reassuring nod as they both followed John out of the office, ready to piece together the rest of the story from the other family members.

“I’m coming in!”

As David entered Nick's office without hesitation, his presence was like a gust of wind, stirring up the calm atmosphere. He was dressed in a casual yet refined style, reflecting his laid-back personality. His dark blue curly hair, with streaks of vibrant colors, framed his face, giving him a distinctive look. The family symbol faded into the sides of his haircut, a subtle nod to his roots.

Ignoring the usual formalities, David addressed Nick directly. "I'm here to poach them, Nick," he declared, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Nick, slightly annoyed, waved them off, knowing David's penchant for impulsive decisions.

As they made their way to David's office, the Bowery King couldn't help but notice the change in David's appearance. "What's with the hair?" he asked, curiosity piqued.

David chuckled, running a hand through his colorful locks. "Bright Eyes did this. She wanted to leave her mark before she left."

“So, David, we heard you got some insight into what happened with the Fawn,"John said, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity.

David, slightly shorter than Nick, sported dark blue curly hair cut in a taper, with the family symbol faded into the sides. He exuded a laid-back demeanor, contrasting with Nick's more formal disposition. His tanned skin was complemented by his navy suit. "Yeah, we've been trying to piece it all together. Starshine’s been like a ghost since she left."

John nodded, his mind was still processing the details Nick had provided. David had led them down a hallway and stopped at a painting of a log cabin seven doors down from Nick’s office. John watched as David’s fingers quickly found a latch allowing the image to pop open. They reached another door, which opened to reveal David’s office. The room was more personal, less formal than Nick’s, with a distinct sense of nostalgia hanging in the air.

“Welcome to the lounge!”

In David's office, the fusion of modern technology and Caribbean aesthetics was striking. Colorful tapestries hung on the walls, complementing the sleek gadgets scattered around the room. The space felt inviting, with comfortable couches inviting them to relax.

David gestured for them to take a seat on the comfortable couches, a contrast to the formal setting of Nick's office.

"Make yourselves at home, fellas," David said, his voice warm with hospitality. "Take a load off, fellas," David said, gesturing to the couches with a sweep of his hand. "Can I get you something to drink? Rum? Whiskey? I've got a few options that might suit you."

John nodded appreciatively, while the Bowery King opted for a glass of rum. As David poured the drinks, John's eyes wandered to the photograph on the coffee table. In the picture, you were clad in pajamas, and beamed with youthful joy. Surrounded by the family on what appeared to be a Christmas morning.

"That's a beautiful photo," John remarked, his voice soft with genuine admiration.

David's gaze softened as he glanced at the picture. "Yeah, it's one of my favorites. That was a good day, you know? We were all together, no worries, just enjoying each other's company."

He paused, a wistful smile playing on his lips. "Those eyes of hers... they've seen a lot, but they still have that same innocence somehow."

John leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. "You mentioned the nickname 'Sunshine.' What's the story behind that?"

David chuckled, a hint of fondness in his tone. "When she's grumpy, I call her Sunshine to lift her mood or be an ass. Just depends, really."

The Bowery King studied the photographs adorning the walls of David's office, his gaze lingering on one in particular. "Ironic you call her a Fawn. Her eyes... they're so bright."

David's expression softened as he glanced at the picture. "Yeah, she hates it when we call her that. But you can't deny the resemblance.” He chuckles and hands the men a different picture. “She looks just like a deer in headlights if you startle her. The nickname stuck through childhood." He leans back into the coach with his eyes trained on the photos.

As John methodically flipped through the binder Nick had handed him, each page revealed a new layer of the Fawn’s past assignments. His gaze shifted to David, a silent promise reflected in the depths of his steely eyes.

The Bowery King leaned forward, his curiosity evident. "What sort of tasks did she undertake while she was with the family?"

David's features darkened, a bitter edge seeping into his expression. "She had her hands in everything," he admitted, his voice heavy with emotion. "From infiltrating crime rings by posing as innocent girls, ransoms or kidnappings, to carrying out seduction missions. She mostly got rid of the garbage."

John's jaw tensed as he absorbed the weight of each revelation. "And her age when she started?" he inquired, his tone betraying his growing concern.

David's face contorted with bitterness as he spoke the words. "Seven," he admitted, the syllables heavy with the burden of the truth. He set down his glass and faced the men head on. Now, he was serious.

The gravity of that admission settled heavily upon John's shoulders, John's resolve only strengthened. Seeing the shift in David, John settled into his chair, the Bowery King beside him, both men attentive.

The Bowery King's brows furrowed in disbelief. "Seven? That's young to be involved in all of this," he remarked, his voice tinged with questioning.

David's expression grew more solemn. “Despite everything she's been through, she still sees the good in people. With her job I don’t know how the fuck she does it."

John shot him a sharp glance, a silent warning to tread carefully. He understood the implications of such a revelation. But dwelling on it now would only distract them from their goal.

"We need to focus on finding her," John said, his tone clipped and to the point. "The past is done. We're here to bring her back, no matter what it takes."

David nodded, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. He knew better than to dwell on the past, to let it cloud their judgment in the present.

"Tell me about the night she left."

David sighed deeply, his eyes reflecting the weight of his memories. "We were all here, trying to have a family dinner. But tensions were high. She and Nick had another argument. It was about her future again. She’s been so focused on becoming a lawyer, but... the family business demands sacrifices."

He paused, his voice thick with emotion. "After the argument, she left the table. I thought she just needed some air. It wasn’t until later that we realized she was gone."

The Bowery King spoke up, his tone probing. "And the slap mark on Nick’s face?"

David’s expression darkened slightly. "She’s got a temper, no doubt about it. She slapped him, her sharp nails left those claw marks. But it wasn’t just about anger. There was hurt there, deep hurt. She feels like we’re holding her back, trapping her."

John leaned forward, his eyes sharp. "Do you think she left to pursue her dreams? Or is there more to it?"

David hesitated, glancing at the photograph again. "She wants to be free, to follow her own path. But it’s not just about becoming a lawyer. She feels suffocated by the expectations, the pressure. She wants to help people. And here... she feels like she’s just a pawn."

John considered this, the pieces of the puzzle slowly coming together. He needed something more. "What does she mean to you, David? Personally.”

As David hesitated, his gaze shifting to the photograph once more, he spoke with a mixture of fondness and concern. "She's everything," he admitted, his voice softening. "More like a daughter to Nick and a sister-like cousin to me."

John nodded, understanding what he meant. "What do you think happened to her?" he asked, his tone edged with urgency.

David sighed deeply, a troubled expression crossing his features. "I'm not sure," he confessed. "Starshine turned off all her trackers before she left. Here," he reached for a remote on the coffee table, selecting a video of a burning estate. "This might shed some light."

As they watched the footage, David explained, "During her youth, Nick was taking care of her while in the military. He sent her away while on tour." He paused, his voice tinged with bitterness. "She was sent to live under the care of Cordelia, a terrible woman of the underground. She was known as a prominent matchmaker. She used stolen girls to carry out arranged marriages. If you weren’t married off she’d use you for…. other missions."

As David played the video of the burning estate, the screen flickered with images of flames engulfing the once-grand structure. The news report accompanying the footage described the scene in vivid detail, with some locals referring to it as an inferno that consumed everything in its path.

"The fire broke out in the dead of night," David explained, his voice grim as he recounted the events. "It spread quickly, devouring the estate within minutes. The rest of the area is fine though."

The news anchor's voice echoed through the room, detailing the confusion of firefighters about the containment of the blaze as it raged on. Smoke billowed into the night sky, casting an eerie glow over the surrounding area.

"Authorities are still investigating the cause of the fire," the anchor continued, "but eyewitnesses report seeing mysterious figures fleeing the scene before the flames erupted."

John's brow furrowed as he absorbed the information, a sense of unease settling in the pit of his stomach. The Fawn’s connection to the estate and its destruction raised more questions than answers, adding another layer of complexity to the mystery surrounding her disappearance.

As the news report concluded, David turned the volume off and kept his eyes on the screen, the room enveloped in a heavy silence. The burning estate loomed large in their eyes.

“You know, you live with someone your whole life and watch them grow up to be so sweet. It makes you forget how dangerous they can be.”

David's caramel skin contrasted with the cooler tones from the TV. "I suspect she's somewhere near New York by now," he added, a note of concern creeping into his voice.

The Bowery King, intrigued by David's role in the family, posed a question. "What do you do, David?"

David hesitated, his gaze shifting to John before answering. "I work as the family accountant and tech personnel," he replied before shifting back into his easy going nature. "If you mean in the familiar sense, I'm the one who often stirs the pot, taking Bright eye’s side in most arguments and helping her wiggle out family duties so she can live her life."

John studied David's features, noting the similarities between him and the Fawn.

"Nick and I often clash over what's best for her," David admitted, a hint of defiance in his tone. "But we both want her to be safe, no matter what. You know what happens in this life when your family isn’t there to protect you."

While David's gaze turned back to the flickering images of the burning estate John absorbed his words, the weight of their meaning settling heavily upon him. He couldn't help but mentally note the differences between David and Nick, their contrasting appearances reflecting their divergent personalities.

Turning his attention back to David, John posed a question that had been weighing on his mind. "Between you and Nick, who do you think she'd listen to more?"

David's brow furrowed in thought, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. "It's hard to say," he admitted, his voice tinged with resignation. "Nick is stricter but he does love her. I've always been the one she turns to when she needs a favor."

John nodded, but he couldn't shake the feeling that they were on the cusp of uncovering something more sinister.

Before John could stand, David opened a drawer and pulled out a small box. He slid it across the desk to John. "I almost forgot. We’ve placed trackers in her earrings and her earbud case. I can’t get a read on her location yet. Once I override the bugs you’ll be able to track her exact location."

John opened the box, inspecting the discreet tracking devices. "This will be useful. Thank you, David."

The room fell into a contemplative silence, the weight of their shared mission hanging heavy in the air. With each passing moment, the urgency of their task became more apparent.

The silence was broken by the clicking of the lock, a sound that reverberated through the corridor like a distant echo. John and the Bowery King exchanged a quick glance, their senses sharpened by the unexpected interruption. Instinctively, John's hand drifted towards his holster, ready for whatever might come through the door.

As the woman skillfully undid the lock, David couldn't help but whine, "You better not teach Nick the code, Joselyn."

She chuckled, her fingers deftly working the mechanism. "Oh, come on, David. It's not that much of a secret. If Nick wanted to come in, he absolutely would."

With the lock finally disengaged, Joselyn swung the door open, greeting John and the Bowery King with a warm smile. "Welcome, gentlemen," she said cheerfully. "Please, follow me."

She led the way down the corridor, her lively persona filling the air with energy. As they walked, Joselyn couldn't resist taking the Bowery King's arm, a simple gesture of respect for her elders.

"We're just across from David's office," she explained, her voice bright and welcoming. "I've got some tea brewing if you're interested. And maybe a few snacks, too."

As they reached her office, Joselyn ushered them inside, the space reflecting her eclectic tastes and organizational prowess. With a wave of her hand, she gestured for them to make themselves comfortable, her warm demeanor putting them at ease.

Her office was meticulously organized, with a sense of order and precision. A picture of the reader, much younger, wearing a kindergarten graduation cap and holding a diploma for "Best Future Lawyer," was prominently displayed. Another picture of her wedding stood next to it

Joselyn gestured for them to sit, taking her place behind the desk. "Would you like some snacks?" she offered, pointing to a tray of assorted nuts and dried fruits on her desk.

The Bowery King nodded appreciatively. "Don't mind if I do," he said, reaching for a handful. John politely declined with a slight shake of his head.

"Now, what can I do for you gentlemen?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "How can I assist in your endeavors today?"

As John and the Bowery King settled in, John couldn't help but ask, "Joselyn, what exactly is it that you do here?

The Bowery King, always one for understanding the full picture, pressed on. "But the jobs you do now, what are they exactly? And the Fawn’s current role?"

Joselyn leaned back, her demeanor shifting to one of professional seriousness. "I run an agency that focuses on finding missing children and disrupting human trafficking networks. It’s dangerous work, but it’s what drives me. The Fawn, when she isn’t in hiding, assists with some of the more covert operations. Her skills make her invaluable in rescuing those who have been taken and dismantling trafficking rings."

"And she started this life so young," the Bowery King mused, shaking his head.

"Yes," Joselyn replied, her voice tinged with regret. "It’s a harsh reality, but it's also what makes her so effective. A double edged sword, really.”

John nodded, appreciating the gravity of what Joselyn was saying. "Thank you for sharing this with us. It helps us understand the stakes."

Joselyn smiled softly, though her eyes remained serious. "Just be careful. Mamita is young but she isn’t someone you want to underestimate. She's survived this long for a reason."

“And what’s the story behind the Fawn being sent to Cordelia?"

The mention of Cordelia sent a noticeable shift through Joselyn. She took a deep breath, her usual warm demeanor clouding with anger. Her voice lowered to a hushed tone. "Unfortunately, I am still a ‘made woman’. As for the witch, I tried to get custody of her, you know. But I was denied because I was 'too young' and not married yet. That poor girl... Cordelia was a nightmare. It was impossible to get her out of the contract."

She took a deep breath, composing herself before speaking. "Mamita was just a child when she began her training. It’s something I never agreed with. She was far too young, as was Amalia, who was trained at the same time. Amalia, fortunately, has retired now."

John’s curiosity was piqued. "How did Amalia manage to retire?"

Joselyn's expression softened slightly. "Mamita always loved Amalia like a blood sister. She made sure that when Amalia wanted out, she could get out safely. I don’t know what she did. She refuses to tell us. Amalia now leads a quiet life and can keep her children away from all this."

The Bowery King nodded, absorbing the information. "And what about your marriage?”

A wistful smile touched Joselyn's lips. "Yes, when it came to my marriage, I had to complete an impossible task. She was my cheerleader. I can’t go into the details, but she did it because she really wanted my now-husband in the family."

John's curiosity deepened. "Why was that so important to her?"

Joselyn's eyes sparkled with warmth and a hint of mischief as she recounted, "Mamita’s exact words were, 'Because you're soulmates,’ cute, isn’t it?

Turning the conversation, John asked, "Tell us about the Fawn’s relationship with your husband." He couldn’t allow his mind to start flooding with images of Helen.

Joselyn smiled wistfully. "He calls her 'muñeca,' meaning baby doll. He respects her dream and sees her as the goofy kid he once met. She gifted him a pair of golden-rimmed glasses that he often wears to match mine. Despite everything, he tries to make her feel safe and loved."

The Bowery King interjected,”The sister he never had?”

“Exactly.”

"Would he be hiding her?" John probed.

Joselyn shook her head firmly. "No. If he knew where she was, he would have taken her home, even though he doesn't agree with everything we do."

John leaned forward slightly. "And why didn't you leave to join your husband’s family?"

A shadow passed over Joselyn’s face. "He's an orphan. We decided not to have kids until we can raise them without worrying about the family’s constant turmoil."

The Bowery King nodded, appreciating the depth of Joselyn's commitment. "You've sacrificed a lot."

Joselyn shrugged with a sad smile. "We all have. But we do what we must to keep those we love safe."

The Bowery King’s curiosity was piqued. "And who is this 'Mamita’s' best friend, Michelle?" He passed over a picture of a young woman with platinum hair and a slender figure from the binder.

Joselyn’s expression softened slightly. "Michelle is actually Nick's age. She was almost sold off when Nick tried to rebel and leave the service.” Her hands turned to shredding a stress ball on her desk.

Joselyn’s shoulders were tense as she recounted the night. “Mama assassinated Cordelia and helped the other girls escape. We had to pay billions to cover it up.” She closes her eyes before sighing deeply through her nose. “Michelle disappeared the same night Mama left after going to confession, and we assume they're together. Nick wants to find Michelle on his own."

The Bowery King frowned. "Confession?”

"Michelle is Catholic, and Mama enjoys going with her to pray for her victims," Joselyn explained. John noted this mentally, intrigued by the implication of an assassin clinging to religion.

Joselyn took a moment, her expression grave as she met John's gaze. "I think it's time I'm completely transparent with you. Mama isn't just an assassin for our family's interests. She's a hired gun, servicing the highest bidders, whoever they may be."

John's eyes narrowed slightly as he absorbed her words. It struck him as peculiar that a family would send one of their own daughters to carry out such perilous tasks instead of relying on their established network of operatives. His mind raced with conjecture, weaving a tapestry of suspicion and intrigue.

Why would they entrust such responsibilities to someone so young and potentially volatile? Was there more to the Fawn's involvement than met the eye?

As Joselyn's voice faded into the background, his thoughts grew more insistent. Perhaps the Fawn had stumbled upon a secret, something she wasn't meant to see. And this arrangement—her role as an assassin—could be the family's way of ensuring her silence. It was a chilling possibility, but one that resonated with the shadows lurking beneath the surface of their world.

He blinked, refocusing on Joselyn's earnest gaze. "Thank you for being honest with us, Joselyn."

Joselyn's nod held a hint of understanding. "Just be careful, John. You know an animal is more dangerous when wounded."

John acknowledged her warning with a curt nod, his mind already racing with strategies and contingencies. As they delved deeper into the intricacies of their mission, he couldn't shake the feeling that they were treading on treacherous ground.

John leaned forward, his eyes fixed on Joselyn. "Where do you think your Fawn might have gone?"

Joselyn sighed, tapping her fingers lightly on the desk as she considered the question. "There are two likely places. New York or Japan. She has an apartment in Japan, and New York was our home base."

"Where would she be in those cities?" John pressed.

"In New York, you'll most likely find her in a park or casino. She doesn't like to gamble—it's more about the thrill of the card games. If you need to keep her attention, playing a game with her might be your best bet. But be warned: she's very cunning and deceptive. If she thinks you're a threat, she'll leave. Mama doesn’t like to fight unless absolutely necessary."

"And in Japan?" John asked.

"Adores the scene culture there- especially dance clubs. She could be hiding Michelle in one of her apartments there. If you find Michelle, she will come after you. But you need to be extremely careful.” Her hands were now flat against the polish glass of her desk. “If she believes Micheale is in any danger, she'll kill you on sight. She's fiercely protective."

The Bowery King interjected, his voice thoughtful. "And why would she hide Michelle in Japan?"

"Japan's a place where she can lay low and blend in. She has friends and safehouses there, and it's far enough from here to avoid immediate detection. Michelle didn’t agree with the decision either and she probably wants time away from Nick." She slowly slides her hands into her lap. “I couldn’t go with her because of work. So I’m glad someone is with her.”

John nodded, digesting the information. "So, New York or Japan, dance clubs or casinos. And if it comes down to it, I should be prepared to play a game with her."

"Exactly," Joselyn affirmed. "But remember, she's unpredictable. She's been through a lot, and her instincts are sharp. Approach with caution."

"Thank you, Joselyn," John said sincerely. "This gives us a direction."

Joselyn nodded, her expression a mix of concern and determination. A debating look crossed her face before Joselyn reached for a small frame on her desk, a recent picture nestled inside. With a gentle smile, she handed it to John.

"Here," she said softly, her voice carrying a hint of sadness. "You should take a more recent picture of her. She's... she's quite beautiful, isn't she?"

As John accepted the picture from Joselyn, his breath caught in his throat as he took in the image. His eyes were drawn immediately to the subject—you. In the photo, you exuded a softness that seemed to radiate from within. Your complexion was flawless, with a natural glow that hinted at youthful vitality. Your features were delicate yet defined, each contour lending an air of elegance to your appearance.

Your hair cascaded in soft waves around your shoulders, framing your face in a way that accentuated your delicate features. A gentle smile played at the corners of your plump lips, adding a touch of sweetness to your expression.

But it was your eyes that captured John's attention the most. Large and doe-like, they held a sweet mischievousness that seemed to pierce through the photograph, drawing him into their depths. At the same time, they were pools of warmth and innocence. He could tell you had a figure under the sweater dress you sported. Yet beneath the outfit, there lay a quiet strength in your arms and legs that spoke volumes.

In that moment, you really did reminded him of a deer, graceful and vulnerable yet capable of resilience.

As John studied the picture, he couldn't help but marvel at her beauty. She was a vision of purity and innocence, a stark contrast to the harsh realities of their world. And yet, there was a strength in your gaze as you looked into the camera.

"She is," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Joselyn's gaze softened as she watched him, her own sadness mirrored in her eyes. "I’m still fighting the marriage order.”

The Bowery King leaned over to glance at the picture, his expression contemplative. "She looks too young," he remarked quietly, his voice tinged with concern.

The words snapped John out of his reverie, his thoughts jolting back to the task at hand. Whatever he was thinking, he dismissed it immediately. John nodded in agreement, his mind shifting gears as he placed the photograph in his suit's breast pocket.

"Thank you," he said, his voice steady once more. "We appreciate your help, Joselyn. We'll be in touch."

The Bowery King nodded in agreement. "Yes, we appreciate everything you've done for us."

Joselyn smiled warmly, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. "It's been my pleasure. Thank you for trusting me."

A small, soft knock echoed through the office, drawing the attention of John, the Bowery King, and Joselyn. They exchanged a glance, a silent acknowledgment of the interruption. Rising from their seats, they approached the door together.

As she stepped aside to open the door, a figure appeared in the doorway. With a soft smile, Joselyn stepped back to allow the newcomer to enter.

"Amalia," she greeted warmly, her voice tinged with affection.

Amalia, the retired operative, stepped into the room, her presence calm and composed. She nodded politely to John and the Bowery King, acknowledging their presence with a small smile.

"Joselyn," she said, her voice gentle. "I heard you had visitors. I hope I'm not intruding."

Joselyn shook her head, her smile widening. "Not at all. These gentlemen were just leaving. Thank you again for your help, John, Mr.King."

With a final nod of farewell, John and the Bowery King made their way out of the office, leaving Joselyn and Amalia alone together. As the door closed behind them, the room fell into a comfortable silence, filled with the quiet camaraderie of old friends reunited.

“Come along, mine is the second to last one.”

The hallway was dimly lit, the only source of illumination coming from the sporadic flashes of lightning that streaked across the sky outside the large window at the end of the corridor. As John and the Bowery King made their way towards Amalia's office, the sound of rain battering against the windowpane filled the air, adding to the somber atmosphere of the building.

Amalia's office stood apart from the others, a solitary beacon of light as almost everything inside was creme or white with black accents. Situated next to the expansive window, it offered a view of the storm raging outside, the turbulent clouds casting eerie shadows across the room. The minimal decorations within only served to accentuate the starkness of the space, a far cry from the warmth and liveliness of Joselyn's office.

As they approached, John and the Bowery King couldn't help but notice the scattered toys strewn about the room, a stark contrast to the seriousness of their mission. Squishy toys lay abandoned on the floor, their bright colors standing out against the muted tones of the office. A small play kitchen sat in one corner, its plastic utensils and pretend food scattered haphazardly across the miniature countertops.

Amalia greeted them with a weary smile as they entered, her tanned skin glowing softly in the dim light. Her long wavy black curly hair cascaded down her back, framing her face in a halo of darkness. Despite her petite stature, there was a quiet strength in her gaze that spoke volumes, a resilience forged through years of hardship and sacrifice.

"Excuse the toys on the floor," she said quietly, her voice tinged with resignation. "I haven't had much time to tidy up."

John and the Bowery King exchanged a glance, a small chuckle escaping them as they gently set aside a squishy toy that had been inadvertently sat upon. The tension in the room eased slightly, replaced by a sense of camaraderie amidst the chaos.

Before they could ask their questions, Amalia took a deep breath, her expression serious. "I'm over this," she said firmly. "I'll be explaining everything."

Her words hung in the air, a solemn promise of revelations to come. And as the storm raged outside, it seemed as though the tempest within was about to be unleashed.

"We were inseparable," she explained, her voice tinged with nostalgia. "After my father was taken out during an assignment and my mother was killed in a tuff war, we only had each other. Our grandmother raised us, but it was [Name] who became my rock.”

John couldn't help but notice that it was the first time anyone had used your first name, and he couldn't deny how lovely it sounded. But he quickly refocused, his attention returning to the weight of the conversation at hand.

"The same thing happened to [Name]," Amalia continued, her voice heavy with emotion. "We witnessed it, and we killed the people responsible. And that's when it was decided that we would become assassins."

John and the Bowery King listened intently, the gravity of Amalia's words hitting home. They knew that the life of an assassin was fraught with danger, but hearing about the tragic events still spurred something within them.

Amalia paused, her gaze flickering towards the window where the storm raged on outside. "I'll spare you the whole sob story of the training," she said, her voice tinged with bitterness. "But I hated having to be both people. A daughter of a prominent family and a trained killer. And [Name] hated it too. It was destroying her mental health."

The notion of Amalia's last name caught John's attention, and he couldn't help but wonder about its significance. "Morales," he said, his voice thoughtful. "Is that your husband's last name?"

Amalia shook her head, her expression somber. "No," she said quietly. "But I only kept it out of obligation. The truth is, I've never felt like I truly belonged to that family. And now, with everything that's happened... I'm not sure I ever will."

John and the Bowery King exchanged a glance, recognizing the significance of the family name in the context of their world. They knew that in the shadowy underworld they operated in, family ties ran deep, binding individuals to a legacy of blood and loyalty.

"I see," John replied, his tone respectful. "Family is everything, especially in our line of work."

Amalia nodded, a hint of resignation in her eyes. "Yes, it is," she agreed quietly. "But sometimes, family can also be a burden, a weight that drags you down when all you want is to break free."

Her words hung in the air, a poignant reminder of the complexities of their shared existence. And as the storm raged on outside, it seemed as though the tempest within her heart was taking physical form.

The Bowery King's question hung in the air, the weight of its implications sinking in. "What happens hypothetically if we can't find her?" he asked, his tone somber.

Amalia's reaction was immediate, a surge of anger bubbling to the surface. "I have to take over!" she exclaimed, her voice laced with frustration. She paused, taking a moment to collect herself before continuing, her tone tinged with bitterness. "I never wanted this life, but I have no choice. If [Name] isn't here to fulfill her duties, then it falls to me."

John and the Bowery King exchanged a glance, the gravity of Amalia's words not lost on them. They had known that the consequences of your disappearance would be severe, but hearing it spoken aloud by someone who would bear the brunt of those consequences drove home the reality of their situation.

Amalia's anger simmered beneath the surface as she continued to speak, her voice strained with emotion. "You want to know why I'm so angry?" she asked, her eyes flashing with intensity. "BecauseI fell in love with the oldest son of a rival family."

John's eyebrows shot up in surprise, his shock mirrored by the expression on the Bowery King's face. "You did?" he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Amalia nodded, her anger momentarily overshadowed by the weight of her confession. "We dated for years in secret," she explained, her voice trembling with emotion. "But none of the elders in his family approved of him. They saw me as nothing more than a pawn in their game of power and influence."

As Amalia recounted the demands placed upon her by the elders, a bitter laugh escaped her lips, carrying with it the weight of years of resentment and frustration. "Finally, one of the elders agreed to our union, but only if I agreed to do the impossible," she continued, her voice filled with bitterness. "They demanded that I take on a series of missions that no one could possibly accomplish."

John's eyes widened in shock, his mind struggling to comprehend the enormity of what Amalia was revealing. "But how... how did you manage it?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Amalia's expression hardened, her anger and fear surfacing. "I didn't," she said, her voice trembling. "I was secretly three months pregnant and terrified. So, [Name] offered me a way out. She pretended to be me and did all of the missions herself in a single month."

John was struck silent, his shock evident. The Bowery King interjected, his voice tinged with disbelief. "That's impossible."

Amalia shuddered, closing her eyes briefly. "I don't know how she did it," she admitted, her voice heavy with emotion. "But she did. And now I have two children and one on the way." She placed a hand tenderly on her growing belly, a mixture of love and fear swirling in her eyes.

The Bowery King glanced at John, then back at Amalia. "She must have liked your husband," he remarked.

Amalia's anger flared again. "She hates him," she spat, her words dripping with venom. "But she did what she had to do to protect our family, just like I'm doing now."

John leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as the pieces began to fit together. "You were the one who commissioned me?"

Amalia nodded, a faint, weary smile tugging at her lips. Without another word, she reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a marker. John recognized it immediately as one of his. Before he could ask where she had gotten it, she tossed it to him. "Give my sister-in-law my regards."

Now he understood why the family had been so open.

She stood up, motioning for them to follow her across the hallway to the last office. As they walked, she reached for a chain around her neck, pulling out a key to unlock the door. With a click, the door swung open.

Inside, [Name]'s office was a sanctuary of unexpected tranquility. The walls were painted a soft, inviting color—clearly her favorite—creating a serene and almost ethereal atmosphere. Several carefully chosen works of art adorned the walls, each piece adding depth and personal significance to the space. The large windows allowed the stormy light to filter in, casting a moody yet gentle glow over the room. Plants adorned the windowsill, their flowers in full bloom.

Scattered toys on the floor hinted at a lingering sense of playfulness, an odd juxtaposition to the gravity of their conversation. A locked closet stood ominously in one corner, suggesting secrets guarded closely. John’s gaze was drawn to a large stereo system complete with CDs and vinyl records, a record player sitting proudly beside a plush, inviting sofa.

The desk was strategically placed in the corner, maximizing the room's openness and making it feel expansive despite its purpose. Weights lay neatly under the desk, alongside a pair of fuzzy bunny slippers—unexpected touches that spoke volumes about [Name]'s need for both comfort and stress relief. A large bookshelf, filled to the brim with an eclectic mix of titles, suggested a mind constantly in search of knowledge or escape.

John took a moment to absorb the room's details. Every element seemed meticulously curated to reflect [Name]'s duality—her strength and vulnerability, her chaos and order. It was a room that spoke of a life lived in the shadows yet yearning for more.

Amalia watched him closely, her expression a complex mix of pride and sorrow. "This is her office," she said softly, her voice heavy with unspoken memories and regrets. "It's where I saw her last."

John nodded, the seriousness of the situation settling heavily on his shoulders. The room was a testament to [Name]'s resilience, a stark reminder of what she had been forced to endure and what she sought to protect.

The Bowery King glanced around the room, his eyes falling on the scattered toys. "What’s with the toys in her office?" he asked, his tone curious yet cautious.

Amalia sighed, her eyes softening as she glanced at the toys. "Some of them belong to my children," she explained. "Even though [Name] hates my husband, she's always been kind to my kids. They adore her."

The King raised an eyebrow. "If she hates him, why does she keep toys for your kids here?"

Amalia's lips curved into a bittersweet smile. "Because despite her feelings towards Aaron, she's still family. She loves my children as if they were her own." She walked over to a shelf, plucking a picture frame from it and handing it to John and the King.

The photo depicted [Name] in a church, taking vows, with two small children standing beside her. The image captured a rare moment of softness and grace, a gentle smile on her face as she knelt before the altar.

Amalia chuckled softly, a hint of irony in her voice. "It’s funny, really. She hates Aaron but was the one who married us. She stood as our officiant and performed the ceremony herself."

John studied the photograph, his eyes lingering on [Name]'s serene expression and the tender way she held the children. It was a side of her he hadn’t expected to see, the Bowery King leaned closer, inspecting the picture with a critical eye.

"She does look genuinely happy here," he remarked, almost to himself.

Amalia nodded, her expression distant as she recalled the day. "She hides her pain well, but it’s there, just beneath the surface. She did it all for the family, even when it tore her apart."

John’s mind raced, the weight of Amalia's words settling heavily on him. He glanced at the toys again, then back at the picture, a new layer of determination forming within him. He had to find her, not just for the mission, but for the person she truly was beneath the layers of duty and sacrifice.

John studied the photograph in his hands, a soft, reflective expression crossing his face. He looked up at Amalia, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "You feel for her, don't you?"

Amalia's gaze drifted past him, landing on the various pictures decorating the office. Each one seemed to tell a story, snapshots of moments frozen in time. The pictures were clearly taken by [Name], as they rarely featured her but captured the world through her eyes.

One photo showed Amalia's children playing in a sunlit park, their laughter almost audible through the image. Another depicted a serene beach at sunset, the colors vibrant and warm, evoking a sense of peace and longing. A third photo captured an intimate family gathering, everyone smiling, with [Name]'s presence felt more than seen, the angle suggesting she was just out of frame, watching over them all.

As Amalia's gaze traveled through the photos, she took a deep breath. "My duties as a mother come first," she said quietly, her hand gently resting on her growing belly.

"Everything I do is for my children. [Name] understands that, even if it means making sacrifices."

The room fell into a contemplative silence, the weight of Amalia's words settling heavily in the air. John and the Bowery King exchanged a glance, both sensing the depth of emotion and history that lay beneath the surface of this family's intricate dynamics.

John's eyes wandered to more photos. There were pictures of Nick and [Name], their bond evident in the way he looked after her with a protective gaze. There were pictures of David being goofy and pranking Nick, capturing the lighter moments. Another series of photos showed Joselyn and her husband from high school until their wedding day, her husband looked to be of middle eastern decent.

Pictures of Amalia were abundant, spanning from her youth to the present day. There was a photograph of her debutante ball, and another of her wedding, noticeably absent of Aaron. Images of her pregnancies were also displayed, as well as breathtaking shots of the sky during sunrise and sunset, capturing the fleeting beauty of those moments.

A picture of the family at Christmas, dancing in their home country with your face obscured by your country’s flag, added a sense of tradition and unity. There were also photos of Nick and Michelle together, and some of Michelle at a café and in a casino bar, her expression pensive yet serene.

John’s gaze lingered on Michele at the casino bar. "Can I take this one?" he asked, his voice low but firm.

Amalia glanced at the picture and then at John, nodding slowly. "Yes, take it. It might help you find her."

John carefully pocketed the photograph, feeling the weight of the mission settle more heavily on his shoulders. He turned back to Amalia. "She’s given up a lot for the family, hasn’t she?"

Amalia nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "More than anyone knows. She’s carried burdens that weren’t hers to bear, all for the sake of duty and love."

The Bowery King looked at the picture of the children again, then at Amalia. "And yet, despite everything, she’s still kind to your children."

Amalia’s smile was bittersweet. "Because that's who she is. No matter how much she’s hurting, she always finds it in herself to care for others. That’s why I owe her everything. And that’s why we have to find her."

John’s resolve hardened. The mission was no longer just about finding a missing person; it was about bringing back someone who had given so much of herself for the sake of others. And he knew, deep down, that he wouldn't rest until she was safe.

John's eyes drifted to the other shelves in Amalia's office, noticing a collection of academic accolades. Certificates and plaques attested to [Name]'s intelligence and dedication, showcasing her achievements in various fields. He took a moment to absorb the extent of her talents, feeling a pang of admiration mixed with sorrow for what she had become.

The Bowery King broke the silence with a pointed question. "If the family wants to marry her off, why bother finding her?"

Amalia's gaze sharpened, her expression fierce. "Have you ever heard the expression, 'The child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth'?"

She paused, looking around the room as if searching for the right words. Slowly, she walked to the bookshelf. "We were always taught to honor those that came before us, but no one remembers the saying, 'Do not provoke your children to anger.'" Her fingers traced the spines of the books before she pulled out a green one. As she did, a section of the wall shifted, revealing a hidden room.

"Don’t get me wrong," Amalia continued. "She really is a sweetheart when you get to know her. But she changed after I got married. She always had a bubble around her and she's picky about who gets inside. She never gives out markers because she hates the idea of owing anyone anything."

The hidden room was a stark contrast to the main office, its coldness sharply contrasting with the warmth just outside the concealed door. John scrutinized the space, feeling as if he had stepped through a portal into another world. Though small, the office was meticulously organized.

A wall on his left was covered in photos and leads of your targets, with notes scribbled next to each photo detailing information about them, their families, and whether they had children. Strings connected some of the photos, forming a complex web of connections and motives.

Your monitor and desk were tucked away in the corner just before he walked in. The desk was devoid of personal touches, looking meticulously clean and functional, with only essential items—pens, a notepad, a closed laptop—neatly arranged. John ran a hand over the smooth surface, noting the absence of fingerprints and the almost clinical precision.

Across from the wall of target photos was a glass-fronted weapons case, showcasing a variety of deadly instruments. Swords, daggers, and firearms were displayed in an orderly fashion, each item meticulously maintained. The glass glinted under the dim lighting, revealing the sheen of polished metal.

However, John noticed that a few weapons were missing, leaving empty slots that hinted at recent use. He bent down slightly, examining the labels below each empty slot, trying to deduce what had been taken.

The Bowery King nodded, his gaze shifting back to the empty slots in the weapons case. "Looks like someone's been busy.”.

As he continued to take in the room, John noticed a faint scent of gun oil and leather, a reminder of the deadly purpose behind the immaculate setup. He straightened up and turned his attention back to the wall of photos, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the detailed notes and connections.

Behind him, the Bowery King entered the hidden office, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. He paused just inside the doorway, taking in the scene with a discerning eye.

"Quite the setup you've got here," he remarked, his voice low and appreciative. He walked over to the weapons case, his fingers tracing the edge of the glass. Amalia let out a hum of acknowledgement having not moved from her place between both worlds.

"Does she have a boyfriend? Any friends outside the family?" John inquired, his voice slicing through the tense silence as he turned to face Amalia.

Amalia, standing in the door frame, shook her head slowly, her fingers drumming a restless rhythm on the polished wood. "She never dates. As for friends, she keeps quiet about them. She doesn't delve deeply into relationships, fearing they might die or she might have to eliminate them."

John's gaze continued to roam the room, finally landing on an unexpected sight: a photograph of himself, discreetly tucked into a corner of the wall behind a stack of books. His brows knitted in surprise, but he chose to remain silent about it. Meanwhile, the Bowery King, who had been pacing near the weapons case, stopped and leaned in to scrutinize its contents again.

"Why aren't these weapons readily accessible?" he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and confusion.

Amalia sighed, her gaze softening slightly as she looked at the King. "Because [Name] doesn't want my kids stumbling upon any of this stuff and easily accessing it out of curiosity. We actually appreciate the precaution," she replied, standing up and walking over to join the King. She carefully unlocked the case with the same key and retrieved a small, intricately designed dagger, holding it up for him to inspect.

John, still taking in the details of the room, pressed on with his questions. "What's her daily routine like?" he asked, moving to stand over his own photo, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp.

Amalia returned on her heel, the dagger still in her hand, and settled back against the wall. "[Name] is primarily focused on school when she's home. She rarely makes calls or texts anyone. She attends family meetings and diligently performs her duties. The only time she engages socially is during or after her missions. She doesn't typically stay out for long," she explained, her voice tinged with melancholy as she placed the dagger on your desk, its blade catching the light.

The Bowery King, still appraising the room, turned his attention back to Amalia. "Do you trust her, Amalia?" he asked, his voice low and probing as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

She paused, her eyes reflecting a turbulent mix of emotions. "I don't know anymore," she admitted, her gaze dropping to the dagger in her hand, the weight of her uncertainty hanging heavy in the air. She gently placed the dagger back before locking the case again. She glared at the glass before turning to face John.

"The arranged marriage was the straw that broke her back," Amalia sighed, her frustration palpable. "Joselyn and I are married so she’s the only girl left.”

John scanned the room, disturbed by the shift in atmosphere. "I know what she's like out there," Amalia continued. "She's a completely different being. So cold, quick, and effective. If someone couldn't handle a job, she dismissed them and did it herself. No one escapes her. She's made a career out of being unknown."

John frowned, puzzled. "Is that why I have never heard of 'The Fawn' before?"

Amalia's eyes darkened. "She only works for the highest of the elite. You can't just request her services. There are rules for that. Dear God, she hates rules."

John’s gaze returned to the hidden room, a mix of awe and sorrow washing over him. The woman they sought was a paradox—capable of immense kindness yet driven to cold efficiency by circumstances beyond her control. As he studied the evidence of your dual life, he realized the depth of the challenge before them. Finding you would be hard enough; convincing you to come back might be impossible.

Amalia, noticing his troubled expression, sighed. "She always looked like she was a deer caught in headlights, vulnerable yet ready to flee or fight. That's why they called her 'The Fawn.' It's ironic, really. So delicate yet deadly. They underestimated her, thinking they could control her. But she’s smarter and stronger than any of them ever gave her credit for."

Without warning, Amalia grabbed John by the neck and slammed him against the door, her small frame vibrating with rage. The Bowery King instinctively backed up, his eyes wide, but John, sensing her condition, didn't reach for his gun.

"Don't you fucking dare underestimate her," Amalia hissed, her eyes blazing. "I don't care how innocent she looks. If looks could kill, you'd be dead twelve times over before you even knew what happened, Baba Yaga." She spat out his nickname with palpable disgust.

John remained still, the intensity of her anger washing over him. "She's strong, she's smart, and she's anything she wants to be. If you fuck up, she'll get you. I know her fight better than anyone else. I've seen what she can do. You cannot fail at this."

Her grip on his neck tightened momentarily before she released him, stepping back to compose herself. John's hand instinctively moved to his throat, feeling the lingering pressure of her grasp. He could see the raw emotion in her eyes, the desperate need for him to understand.

The Bowery King watched in silence, the gravity of the situation sinking in. John straightened, meeting Amalia's gaze with renewed determination. He knew she was right. Failure was not an option. He had to find you and bring you back, not just for the family.

But how could he not feel for the woman who had already sacrificed so much to protect those she loved?

Amalia's breathing slowed, and she placed a protective hand on her belly. "You can’t fail at this, John. Promise me."

John nodded, his voice steady. "I promise."

With a final glance around the room, Amalia led them back out into the office. The storm outside seemed to mirror the turmoil within the mansion.

Amalia’s grip loosened, and she let go of John gently, straightening his tie and collar with a shaky hand. “She hated this job because she felt like a murderer. I understand why she wants to be a criminal defense attorney. But if her marriage keeps our family safe…” She looked into his eyes, her own filled with tears. “If it means my children never have to grow up in this life, so be it.”

Tears began to spill down her cheeks as she stepped back, turning away quickly to hide her emotions. The weight of her words hung heavily in the room. Overwhelmed, she excused herself, rushing to the office trashcan and spitting up. The Bowery King, his face a mix of concern and respect, offered her some tissues, which she took gingerly to wipe her mouth.

John's mind raced, running through the information he'd gathered from each family member. There were inconsistencies and gaps, pieces of a puzzle that didn’t quite fit together. He replayed the details: Nick’s exclusion of Michele and his focus on the marriage. David’s guilty expression and lack of knowledge about your whereabouts despite having trackers on you. Joselyn’s warm yet firm demeanor, her openness to share. The anger and protectiveness in Amalia’s voice, the deep-rooted family loyalties, and the sacrifices made.

Amalia, now composed but visibly drained, leaned against the desk. “She’s not just a tool, John. She’s my sister. We grew up together, suffered together. She deserves more than this. But I have a family of my own now.”

John nodded, his thoughts aligning. He needed to understand why [Name] had been forced into this role, why the family insisted on her marriage, and what it all meant for her future. He couldn’t afford to overlook any detail, any potential lead. The stakes were too high, not just for [Name], but for the entire family.

The Bowery King broke the silence, his voice gentle yet firm. “John, we need to get started. We can’t miss anything. Every detail matters.”

John agreed, his resolve strengthening. He turned to Amalia. “We’ll find her. And we’ll make sure she’s safe.”

Amalia nodded, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears. “Thank you, John. Please… bring her home.”

With a final, solemn nod, John and the Bowery King left the office, as they were escorted out of the estate by the butler, Nick emerged from the shadows, his expression a mix of concern and curiosity. John and the Bowery King exchanged nods with him, acknowledging the unspoken agreement between them. Nick watched them until they disappeared from view, his mind undoubtedly swirling.

Back in the car, the atmosphere was heavy with the weight of their conversation. The engine hummed softly as John navigated the winding roads, the only sound the occasional patter of rain against the windshield. After a few minutes of silent driving, John broke the silence.

“Alright,” he said, his voice cutting through the quiet. “Let’s go over everything.”

As John drove away from the estate, his mind buzzed with thoughts and suspicions. The Bowery King sat beside him, his eyes fixed on the road ahead as he recounted their discussions with each family member. They dissected every statement, every subtle nuance, searching for inconsistencies and hidden truths, trying to piece together the puzzle of your disappearance.

“I don’t trust Nick,” John said, his brow furrowing in thought. “He’s hiding something, I can feel it.”

The Bowery King chuckled, shaking his head. “You never trust anyone.”

John nodded in agreement, his gaze distant as he replayed their conversations in his mind. “And what about David? He seemed sincere, but there’s something he’s not telling us.”

As they delved deeper into their analysis, John and the Bowery King couldn’t shake the lingering questions that gnawed at them. The road stretched out before them, winding through the darkness as their conversation veered into speculation.

“What’s with the contrast between Joselyn’s husband and Amalia’s?” John mused, his voice tinged with skepticism. “Joselyn’s husband seems to have passed her test, but Amalia’s… I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to him than meets the eye.”

"She also didn't mention Michelle and Nick's marriage during the interview."

The Bowery King nodded in agreement, his brow furrowed in thought. “And what about Amalia? She seems genuinely sad about everything happening. But she’ll let her ‘sister’ take the fall before she does. It’s… unsettling.”

Their conversation turned to the possibility of David’s involvement in your disappearance. “Do you think David helped her escape?” John asked, his tone grave.

“Something about his demeanor… it’s off.”

The Bowery King considered this, his mind racing with possibilities. “And Michelle… is she really hiding out, or is there more to her story?” he pondered aloud. “She’s been missing for too long, and Nick’s desperation… it’s barely palpable.”

John furrowed his brow in thought, a realization dawning on him. “I didn’t know Sofia had a brother…” he murmured, his voice trailing off as he mulled over this new information.

The Bowery King chuckled lightly, a wry smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Maybe they aren’t close,” he quipped, a hint of amusement in his tone.

Despite the levity of the moment, John couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that settled over him. There were still too many unanswered questions, too many pieces of the puzzle that didn’t quite fit together. But he was determined to uncover the truth, no matter where it led.

How hard would it be for the Big Bad Wolf to find a little Fawn?

______________________________________________________________

This was long as shit, also posted on my ao3. If you see any mistakes just let me know. I don't have an editor yet.

Part 2 is here.

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thebunnednun · 7 months ago

Text

The Fawn and the Wolf - John Wick X Assassin! Reader (Part 2)

Warning: Eventual smut, Violence, Size difference, predictor/prey, and other kinks. Age gap as well as Angst.

Summary:

"Who the hell wants to marry a man they've never met?" Certainly not you. After staging your own death to escape a forced marriage orchestrated by your ruthless family, they retaliate by sending the infamous John Wick after you. Now, you're fucked in more ways than one. Evading Baba Yaga himself is no easy feat, especially when he's sympathetic to your plight but bound by a marker to bring you back.Amidst the chaos, you find yourself unexpectedly drawn to John, his allure undeniable as you embark on a thrilling game of cat and mouse across the globe. As the stakes escalate and the danger intensifies, you're caught between loyalty and freedom, you face a daunting choice that could change your life forever.What are you going to do? Marry the man your family has picked for you? Or do you start over with the surprisingly kind killer you meet?

Notes:

In this narrative, certain deceased characters resurface, their roles pivotal to the plot, although not all events adhere strictly to canon. The timeline aligns closely with the events leading up to the fourth movie. The only original characters are your family members. I will add a playlist for this later.

-----------------------Chapter 2:First meetings---------------------------

The lively bar in Tokyo buzzed with energy, a stark contrast to the looming tension back home. Neon lights flickered across the walls, casting vibrant hues over the patrons. Laughter and chatter filled the air, blending with the clinking of glasses and the soft hum of music.

[Name] leaned back in her seat, nursing a ginger ale. She wore a black wig with blunt bangs that framed her face, the strands falling just above her shoulders. Her eyes, usually a striking color, were hidden behind dark contacts, and her eyelids were painted with black eyeshadow that accentuated the intensity of her gaze. Deep red lipstick added a touch of drama, contrasting sharply with her glowy skin. Her attire was simple but effective—a fitted black dress paired with heeled ankle boots, perfect for blending into the bar's eclectic crowd.

Michelle sat across from you, elegant and poised despite the chaos around them. She sipped her cocktail with a graceful motion, her platinum blonde hair cascading in gentle waves over her shoulders. The small crucifix at her collarbone glinted in the neon lights. Her calm, serene demeanor contrasted sharply with the raucous energy of the bar. She adjusted the black mask on her face, a precaution you insisted upon. Draped over her shoulders was a bulletproof suit jacket, a subtle but necessary measure of safety.

Michelle sipped her cocktail, her eyes thoughtful as she glanced around the bar. "You know we have to go back eventually," she said, her voice barely audible over the din.

[Name] rolled her eyes, taking another sip of her ginger ale. "You know why I'm not going back," she replied, her tone carrying a hint of amusement.

"But staying here isn't going to solve anything."

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "It’s not about solving things, it’s about taking a breather. We’re not robots, Michelle. We need to live, even if it’s just for a night."

“Shouldn’t I be telling you this?”

[Name] glanced around the bar. Groups of locals were engaged in animated conversations, a couple shared a quiet moment in the corner, and a group of salarymen laughed loudly at the bar, their ties loosened and faces flushed from alcohol. A DJ was setting up in the far corner, preparing to spin tracks for the night ahead.

You were smart enough to call your friends ahead of time and make sure you’d never be alone. Just trying to lay low on your own would’ve been fine. But you weren’t going to chance things with Michelle, again. She came with you and now you were responsible for her until you could sneak her back home.

As Michelle finished her drink, she leaned back and observed [Name] with a mix of concern and curiosity. "You can’t hide forever, you know. They’ll find you."

[Name] shrugged, her expression unreadable. "Let them try."

Michelle reached out and touched your hand gently. "Just... be careful. You know Nick worries about you." She wrapped her soft fingers around yours in a gesture of comfort.

“Good, then he should be worried about what I’ll do if he doesn’t call off the marriage.”

“I think he should worry about what you’ll do if he does find you.”

A shadow passed over [Name]'s face at the mention of Nick. You glanced at your best friend, seeing the genuine concern in her eyes.

"I’ll be fine, Michelle. I always am."

The two women sat in silence for a moment, the vibrant energy of the bar continuing to swirl around them. Michelle adjusted her mask, her eyes scanning the room for any potential threats, while [Name] tried to allow herself a brief moment of peace, knowing that their respite in this lively Tokyo bar was only temporary.

—--

John sat in a dimly lit room, the low hum of the bustling Tokyo nightlife seeping through the thin walls. The room was modest, a stark contrast to the opulence of his previous visit to the Morales estate. A single lamp on the bedside table cast a warm glow, illuminating the map of the city spread out before him. He traced a route with his finger, eyes narrowing as he considered his next move.

His phone buzzed, the name "The King" flashing on the screen. He picked up, leaning back against the headboard, and let out a sigh. "What’s the news?"

"John," the Bowery King's voice was a low rumble, tinged with concern. "Fawn doesn’t seem to be in New York. I can’t catch a word of this girl anywhere. Nick’s old apartment was torched a few days ago. Same situation like that Cordelia lady. Tenants are fine, but it’s clear someone wanted to cover their tracks."

John ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in his eyes. "So she’s on the move. Any leads?"

"Seems that way. Any luck on your end?" the King asked, the sound of shuffling papers in the background.

John glanced around the small room, the city’s neon glow seeping through the window, a sense of weariness settling in. "Japan's been a maze. I’ve been to enough local bars to last a lifetime. No sign of her."

The King chuckled softly. "Well, Japan’s a big place. Maybe you’re just not looking in the right spots."

John rubbed his temples, trying to stave off the exhaustion. "I’ve tried using the tracking devices, King. She’s still off the grid. Whoever’s helping her knows what they’re doing."

“What if no one’s helping her at all?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, the sound of the King's thoughtful hum barely audible. "Then she’s resourceful, I’ll give her that. But everyone slips up eventually. Maybe she’ll reach out to someone, or make a move that puts her back on our radar."

John’s eyes drifted to the window, where the neon lights of Tokyo flickered like distant stars. "I’ve been watching for any signs. But it’s like she’s vanished into thin air."

"Keep at it, John," the Bowery King said, his voice a mix of encouragement and command. "You’re the best at what you do. If anyone can find her, it’s you."

John's grip tightened on the phone. “Thanks. Just keep feeding me any information you get."

"Will do," the King replied.

"And John?”

“Yeah?”

“Be careful. She’s not just any mark."

John's lips twitched into a faint smile. "I know. She’s a ghost.”

“But I’m good at chasing ghosts."

“Get back out there, I’ll be down in a minute.”

As the call ended, John placed his phone on the table and looked at the map once more. His mind raced with possibilities, each lead a thin thread that could either unravel the mystery or lead him deeper into the labyrinth. He stood up, stretching his muscles, and walked to the window, the city’s glow reflecting in his eyes.

He would find you. It was just a matter of time.

---

In the heart of Tokyo, amidst the sea of neon and noise, John blended into the crowd. He moved with purpose, his sharp eyes scanning every face, every corner. The bar scene was familiar now, each visit a repetition of the same routine—asking questions, showing pictures, observing reactions. Tonight, he entered another bar, its exterior marked by a flickering sign in kanji.

Inside, the atmosphere was lively. Patrons crowded around small tables, sharing drinks and stories. The air was thick with the scent of sake and grilled skewers. John made his way to the bar, ordering a drink to blend in. As he sipped his whiskey, his eyes never stopped moving.

He pulled out his phone, checking the tracker’s line David slipped him once more. The small dots representing the tracking devices were still offline, lost in the ether. Frustration gnawed at him, but he kept his expression neutral. He leaned back, casually observing the room through the mirror behind the bar.

A group of young professionals laughed loudly at a nearby table, their animated gestures creating a stark contrast to his stillness. A couple whispered to each other in a corner, their heads close together. The bartender moved with practiced ease, serving drinks and chatting with regulars.

John's mind wandered back to the conversation with the Bowery King. The Fawn was good—too good. Your ability to stay off the grid was impressive, but it only fueled his determination. He would find you, and when he did, he’d have to decide what came next.

The bar door swung open, a gust of cool night air swirling in. John glanced up, his heart skipping a beat as a familiar figure entered. But it was just a fleeting resemblance, another false lead. He sighed, finishing his drink and signaling for another.

As he waited, he pulled out his phone again, scrolling through the messages and photos the King had sent him. Each one a piece of the puzzle, a clue to her whereabouts. He focused on photo of Michelle, studying the background details, searching for anything that might give her away.

The bartender placed another glass of whiskey in front of him, nodding respectfully. John acknowledged it with a brief nod, his mind still deep in thought. He’d been to bars, clubs, and underground spots all over Tokyo. The city’s nightlife was a labyrinth, and somewhere within it, you were hiding.

John Wick, the Baba Yaga, was on your trail. And he wouldn’t stop until he found you.

–

The two women conversed in hushed tones, their words masked by the surrounding noise. “Tu sais que tu dois rentrer un jour,” Michelle began, her French elegant and measured.

("You know you have to go back one day.")

[Name] rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her drink. “Je sais pourquoi je ne veux pas rentrer,” she replied, her tone crass and tired.

("You know why I don't want to go back.")

Michelle’s eyes softened as she looked at her friend. “Ce que tu as fait à l’appartement de Nick… des gens auraient pu être blessés.”

("What you did to Nick's apartment... people could have been hurt.")

[Name] shrugged, her expression unrepentant. “J’ai fait ça des dizaines de fois. Je m’en fiche plus.”

("I've done this dozens of times. I don't care anymore.")

Michelle shook her head, clearly disapproving. “Je n’ai jamais été d’accord avec les actions de mon mari,” she said quietly.

("I've never agreed with my husband's actions.")

[Name] leaned back in her chair, her gaze hardening. “Vous aimez Nick, mais vous n’auriez jamais dû vous marier.”

("You love Nick, but you should never have married.")

Michelle’s calm demeanor remained unshaken. “Comme Aaron et Amalia?” she countered coolly.

("Like Aaron and Amalia?")

The mention of Amalia’s marriage made [Name] clench her jaw. She didn’t lash out at Michelle, but the anger was evident. “Je souhaite que nous soyons nés dans un monde sans de telles horreurs cachées. Que nous soyons tous nés normaux et heureux.”

("I wish we were born into a world without such hidden horrors. That we were all born normal and happy.")

Michelle reached out, wrapping her arms around [Name], pulling the smaller girl into a comforting embrace. [Name] never cried, especially not in public, but she felt that familiar pressure behind her eyes. She took a deep breath, pushing the emotion down, and exhaled slowly through her nose.

As the feeling subsided, she coughed lightly and signaled to the bartender. “お会計をお願いします,” she requested, handing Michelle some money for the tab.

("The check, please.")

“Viens avec moi aux toilettes,” she added, standing up.

("Come with me to the bathroom.")

Before leaving, [Name] caught the eyes of a few young people in the bar—old acquaintances. You signaled that you were heading home, and they acknowledged you with nods and thumbs up. Together, You and Michelle made your way to the restroom, the bar patrons oblivious to the gravity of their conversation.

In the restroom, you splashed water on your face, the cold liquid grounding her thoughts. Michelle stood beside you, silently offering support. The restroom was quiet, a stark contrast to the lively bar outside. The fluorescent lights buzzed softly, casting a harsh light on their reflections.

“Tu sais que je m’inquiète pour toi,” Michelle said softly, her voice filled with concern.

("You know I'm worried about you.")

[Name] looked at her reflection, seeing the weariness in her own eyes. “Je sais, Michelle. Mais je dois faire ça.”

("I know, Michelle. But I have to do this.")

Michelle sighed, wrapping an arm around [Name]'s shoulders. “Je comprends. Mais fais attention, d’accord?”

("I understand. But be careful, okay?")

[Name] nodded, taking a deep breath. “Toujours.”

("Always.")

They left the restroom together, [Name] signaling to the young men again as they exited the bar. The night was still alive with activity, the neon lights casting colorful reflections on the wet flooring. [Name] pulled her coat tighter around her, the chill of the bar air a sharp reminder of the world she was trying to escape.

As they walked, [Name] couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, the sense of an impending confrontation looming over her. She had evaded many hunters before, but Nick was different. He was relentless, and she knew that eventually, their paths would cross.

‘Annoying ass Fucker.’

For now, you would continue to evade, continue to survive.

But the game of cat and mouse was far from over.

[Name] turned to Michelle, a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Veux-tu aller faire du shopping?” she asked in French.

("Do you want to go shopping?")

Michelle smiled, about to respond when [Name] abruptly bumped into a figure she hadn't noticed. Startled, she stumbled slightly, and strong hands caught her waist, steadying her. She looked up to see a man with a chiseled jawline, piercing chocolate eyes, and a ruggedly handsome face framed by slightly tousled dark hair. His presence was commanding, his stance solid, and his suit impeccable, tailored to perfection. His broad shoulders and muscular build made him stand out, even in the crowded bar.

[Name] felt her heart skip a beat, but she quickly masked her shock, not wanting to draw attention.

“Je suis désolée,” [Name] stammered in French, still shaken by the sudden contact.

("I’m sorry.")

John’s grip was firm but gentle. He replied smoothly, his French impeccable. “Pas de problème.”

("No problem.")

Their eyes locked momentarily, and a subtle feeling passed between them. She noticed the rugged features of the person before her, his warm hands on her waist, and the sharp lines of his suit. He noticed how her eyes seemed to emit light even in the dimly lit bar and how soft her hands were on his chest. There was an unspoken connection, a magnetic pull that took them both by surprise. Realizing his hands were still on her, she gently pulled away.

John, ever the gentleman, released her immediately. Michelle, quick on her feet, began to apologize in a mix of broken English, French, and Japanese. “We’re so sorry, sir! It was an accident. Désolée. 本当にすみません。”

John responded in both languages, his tone calm and reassuring. “It’s fine. No harm done. Ce n’est rien. 大丈夫です。”

Both women avoided eye contact, feeling the weight of the moment. [Name] bowed to John before grabbing Michelle’s hand, pushing her forward. “We’ve had a bit too much to drink,” she said, her voice carrying a false lightness.

John insisted on walking them to a door. “Let me help you get a cab. It’s safer.”

The bar around them was lively, with patrons laughing and drinking, oblivious to the tension. The bartender glanced over, recognizing the signal from [Name], and subtly nodded. [Name]’s comrades watched from a distance, trying to act normal. Even the DJ lowered the music subtly. Michelle accepted John’s offer to avoid suspicion, while you debated whether to take his life in the alleyway. Instead, you dismissed the thought, knowing it would complicate everything.

The mental strain was evident as you finally accepted John’s help. He hailed a taxi, assisting you both into the cab with a courteous smile. “Have a good night. Be safe,” he said in both languages, waving them off.

"Bonne nuit," they replied, waving as the cab pulled away.

John returned to the bar, the encounter replaying in his mind. There was something familiar about the younger woman. He took out the photo of [Name] again, studying her eyes. A curse slipped from his lips as realization struck—you had just slipped out of his hands, quite literally.

Inside the taxi, You sighed, leaning back against the seat. “That was too close,” you muttered.

Michelle, still processing the encounter, nodded. “Did you know who that man was?”

You shook your head, trying to dispel the lingering warmth of John’s touch. “Whether I know him or not doesn’t matter. As long as he didn’t see me.”

The taxi sped through the bustling streets of Tokyo, neon lights flashing by. As they drove away, [Name] couldn’t help but glance back through the Taxi mirror, a part of her still caught in the intensity of John’s gaze.

[Name] leaned back in the taxi, the tension of the encounter still palpable. She turned to Michelle. "Hand me your mirror. I need to fix my lipstick."

Michelle, ever prepared, reached into her bag and pulled out a small compact mirror. [Name] flipped it open, but as she checked her reflection, her heart sank. Her colored contacts were gone. Your natural eye color, a distinguishing feature, was now visible.

You leaned back in the taxi, your fingers trembling slightly as you adjusted the mirror.

Michelle, noticing your distress, asked, "Did you lose them in the restroom?"

[Name] cursed under her breath. "He saw my real eyes."

Michelle's calm demeanor faltered, a flicker of concern crossing her face. "Shit."

“Michelle!”

Trying to steady her breathing, [Name] grabbed her phone, dialing her contact at the bar. Meanwhile, in the bar, John sipped his new drink, his sharp eyes scanning the room, every detail scrutinized. The bartender kept a close watch on him, noting his every move. Some of [Name]’s friends discreetly slipped out the back door, readying a safe passageway.

When the call connected, [Name] spoke urgently, "Has he been asking about us?"

At that moment, John approached the bartender. "How long were those two women here?"

The bartender, careful not to reveal too much, replied, "Not long. They were just passing through."

Lowering his voice, the bartender spoke into the phone, "The Wolf is after you."

A chill ran down [Name]’s spine. "Thanks," she whispered, ending the call.

You stopped the French and caught the driver's attention in Japanese. “The club on 43rd street please. And step on it.”

As they sped through the neon-lit streets, [Name] tried to focus on the task at hand, pushing down the emotion and fear that threatened to overwhelm her.

Michelle looked apprehensive. "What's going on?"

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady. "The family sent death himself after me. We need to get you back home, now ."

Michelle sighed, pulling the suit jacket tighter around her stomach. "Of course they did."

The taxi driver sped through Tokyo's neon-lit streets, each light casting fleeting shadows across their faces. Within minutes, they arrived at a bustling dance club, its neon sign flickering in the rain. The pulsating music and vibrant lights offered a temporary refuge. As they stepped out of the cab, [Name] pulled Michelle close.

"Stay with me."

Inside, the club was a riot of color and sound. The dance floor was packed with people, their bodies moving to the heavy beat of the music. Patrons laughed and shouted, oblivious to the danger that just walked in. [Name] quickly scanned the room, her eyes darting from face to face, searching for any sign of threat or familiarity.

"We'll blend in here for a bit," You said, guiding Michelle to the dance floor. "Then we’ll make our move."

Michelle nodded, her trust in you unwavering. "Lead the way."

As they danced through, [Name] tried to focus on the rhythm of the music, but her mind was racing. The encounter with John had rattled her more than she wanted to admit. His presence was a stark reminder of the life she was trying to escape. She had to stay focused, keep Michelle safe, and stay one step ahead of the hunter on her trail.

Back at the bar, John was piecing together the clues. He pulled out the photo of Michelle again, studying the neon sign, now realizing it was the same bar he was sitting in. He flipped it over on the back to find a phone number. When he called it, it found the dance club you had just escaped to.

On the dance floor, [Name] and Michelle moved through the crowd, their movements purposeful yet unassuming. The beat of the music pounded in [Name]’s chest, a constant reminder of the urgency of their situation. You had to keep moving, stay ahead of John, and find a way to escape the tightening noose of your family's relentless pursuit.

–

[Name] pushed Michelle into the bathroom, her grip firm yet protective. She quickly scanned the stalls, ensuring they were empty before locking the door. The pounding beat of the club's music was muffled but still palpable through the walls.

"Michelle, we need to change now," [Name] said, urgency threading her voice. She opened her purse, pulling out a neatly folded bulletproof suit. The fabric was deceptively lightweight, designed to look like part of a club scene, complete with strategic glow stick attachments that would make it blend seamlessly into the flashing lights and neon ambiance of the dance floor.

Michelle, visibly shaken, looked at [Name] with wide eyes. "You planned this?" she asked, her voice a mix of disbelief and admiration.

"Of course. I won’t let anything happen to you," [Name] replied, handing her the suit. "Now, hurry."

Michelle stepped into one of the stalls, quickly shedding her previous clothes. When she emerged, she was a vision of tactical elegance. The suit, covered in iridescent panels that glowed under UV light, hugged her frame perfectly. She looked like she belonged in the club, yet was protected head to toe.

[Name] handed her a short red wig, which Michelle slipped on, adjusting it to cover her natural hair. As Michelle finished, [Name] began her own transformation, changing into a sleek two-piece outfit . She topped it with Michelle’s previous black suit jacket, which added a layer of sophistication and protection.

Next, [Name] took off her makeup, wiping away the bold black eyeshadow but keeping the deep red lipstick. Her face now almost bare, she looked at Michelle, who had tears brimming in her eyes.

"We have to get you home, Michelle. I’ve already made the arrangements. Just act natural and stay calm. I won’t let anything happen to you. Do you have your gun?"

Michelle nodded, her eyes red from holding back tears. "I just… I don’t want to leave you," she sniffled.

[Name] squared Michelle’s shoulders, looking her in the eye with unwavering determination.

"You have to go. We don’t have a choice."

Michelle took a deep breath, steeling herself. [Name] hugged her tightly, a fierce protectiveness emanating from her. You pulled a small pistol from the cleavage of your outfit and slipped it into one of Michelle’s sneakers.

"That’s for just in case," You said, your voice low and serious.

Michelle nodded, feeling the weight of the gun but also the reassurance of your careful planning.

They exited the bathroom, blending seamlessly back into the chaotic energy of the club.

The pulsating rhythm of the music reverberated through the crowded club, filling the air with an electrifying energy. [Name] and Michelle moved in sync with the beat, their bodies swaying to the music as they navigated through the sea of dancers.

As they made their way toward the back of the club, [Name]'s beeper buzzed in her pocket, signaling a message from her friends. "They're waiting for us in the back," you shouted over the music to Michelle, gesturing in the direction of the exit.

But before they could reach safety, you felt a familiar aura appear in the crowd. You craned your neck to the entrance and saw him—John Wick. His presence sent your nerves to drop in the pit of your stomach, but you pushed aside your apprehension and focused on getting Michelle to safety.

Just as John spots you and begins to make his way over, the DJ, recognizing the perfect moment, cranks up the volume and declares, "It's time to BOOGY, people!" The crowd erupts into cheers, their enthusiasm fueling the atmosphere with an electric buzz.

"We have to go, now!" [Name] urged, her voice barely audible over the booming bass of the music. She tightened her grip on Michelle's hand and quickened their pace, dodging through the crowd as John began moving closer in on them.

As the pulsating rhythm of " YEAH !" by Usher and Lil Jon floods the club, [Name] and Michelle find themselves swept up in the contagious energy, their bodies barely avoiding the onslaught of dancers shaking to the beat. The sickening neon lights strobe around them, casting dynamic shadows on the dance floor as they weave through the crowd.

Seizing the opportunity, you grabbed Michelle's hand and broke into a sprint, pushing through the mass of dancing bodies as John's figure faded into the chaos behind them. The lyrics of the song echoed in your mind, driving you forward as you raced toward the safety of the back exit, your hearts pounding with adrenaline. Just before you passed another stage, a man with a red electric guitar caught your eye.

“Go with Bonnie and don’t leave until I get there!” You pass Michelle's hand to your old friend. He had appeared out of the crowd with his easy smile and a cheeky look in his large green eyes. His long turquoise hair was tied into two pigtails with his bangs framing his cheekbones. He waved to both of you before grabbing the older woman's hand and bowing slightly to her.

“I got you, lady. Go take care of business.” He spun Michelle close to him before joining the other musicians on stage. You breathed out a sigh of relief before turning around.

"Up in the club with my homies, trying to get a lil' V-I

Keep it down on the low-key (low-key)

You should know how it feels (hey!)"

As the pulsating beats of the music filled the air, [Name] materialized before John like a phantom emerging from the shadows. She offered him a curt nod of acknowledgment before speaking, her voice cutting through the cacophony of the club.

In the midst of the chaotic crowd, a sly smile playing on her lips. "Fancy meeting you here," she quipped, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she assessed him with a knowing gaze. "Got business with me?"

John's response was a simple nod, his expression unreadable as he regarded you. His expression guarded yet determined. Your outfit had changed as well as your makeup. You were smaller than he had anticipated, yet there was an undeniable aura of danger that surrounded you, casting a mesmerizing allure that drew his gaze. Your eyes, bright with a fierce determination, practically glowed with an intense energy as you regarded him with an intensity that sent warm tingles down his spine.

He knew he had to tread carefully with you, aware of the danger that lurked beneath your composed facade.

With a heavy sigh, you glanced around at the innocent club-goers, your mind racing with the implications of the encounter. Professionals had standards, after all. With a resigned eye roll, you gestured for John to follow you, leading him towards the center of the dance floor.

As they weaved through the pulsating mass of bodies, their exchange grew heated. Your eyes flashed with defiance as you warned John of the consequences of meddling in your affairs.

"Leave, or I'll burn this club down around us," you spat, your tone laced with a deadly promise.

John, caught off guard by your forwardness, couldn't help but feel a pang of admiration for your unwavering resolve. But his curiosity got the better of him, and he couldn't resist testing your waters.

“What about your little friend in the red wig?”

The mention of Michelle ignited a fire within you, your anger simmering just beneath the surface. You offered John a sweet smile and for a moment he forgot himself as he looked into your eyes. Even in the dim lighting of the club he could tell the pictures didn’t do you justice.

Too bad for him. Without hesitation, you delivered a swift heel to John's crotch, a silent warning that spoke volumes.

“ FUCK ! ”

As John winced, doubling over in pain. Looking up, he realized that in the second it took him to look down, you had already vanished. Leaving him cursing under his breath as he pushed through the throng once more. “ Bratty little- ”

“Over here!~”

John redirected his attention to a nearby dance stage, where the music beckoned them with its seductive rhythm. With a playful smirk, you mouthed the lyrics of the song, your movements fluid and enticing while unbuttoning your suit jacket.

"I saw this shorty, she was checking up on me

From the game she was spitting in my ear

You would think that she know me (know me)

She's saying 'come get me' (come get me)”

Mouths moving in sync with the lyrics, you tantalize John with a mesmerizing display of movement. You drop the jacket past your ass before dipping low in a squat position. Your back arching gracefully as you wiggle, accentuating the curve of your backside before picking your body back up again. You give him a coy look before using your finger to gesture for him to come forward.

“So I got up and followed her to the floor

She said, 'baby, let's go'

When I told her (let's go)

I said..."

Unable to resist the challenge, John approached you with a confident stride, his gaze fixed upon you with an intensity that made your heart race. As he drew nearer, you couldn't help but notice the stark contrast between his dark imposing figure and the vibrant club you found yourselves in.

He was just another name in the network. Who were you kidding, he was even better in person. The booyman’s killer himself was here with you tonight. You should've been shitting bricks in all honesty.

Maybe it’s because you fancy strange people. Maybe it was the thrill of danger or perhaps the remnants of your past experiences, but you found yourself slightly drawn to this man. Yes, he was here to kill you.

Yet, there was something magnetic about him, something that drew you in despite the unease that prickled at the back of your mind. His eyes, deep and penetrating, seemed to hold a world of secrets, sparking a flicker of danger that sent a thrill down your spine.

You held his gaze, your own eyes glowing with a fierce determination as you sized him up. Despite the tension between you, there was an undeniable attraction—a clash of wills that promised an exhilarating dance of power and intrigue.

You were not going to hand your life over without a fight. And you were certain this man in front of you was going to give you one hell of a challenge.

‘ Wonderful.~ ’

Finally, John stood before you, his eyes betraying a cold distrust. You offered him an apologetic smile before leaning close to his chest, inhaling the faint scent of his cologne and aftershave. It was a heady mixture that only added to the tension crackling between you.

God, he even smelled wonderful.

With a subtle gesture, you indicated for him to come closer. John paused, his curiosity piqued, before leaning down to your level so you didn’t have to strain your voice over the crowd and booming music, his ear mere inches from your lips. The wisps of his hair tickled your cheeks and nose as you leaned in, your voice a seductive whisper against his ear.

He looked even better up close.

“ Cat and Mouse ? ” you murmured, your breath warm against his skin, the words dripping with both challenge and invitation.

John's thoughts swirled with conflicting emotions as he stood face to face with you in the midst of the pulsating club. Your doe eyes, wide and pleading, bore into his, casting a spell that momentarily clouded his resolve.

For a fleeting moment, he found himself ensnared by the vulnerability reflected in your gaze. The softness in your eyes seemed to whisper of a hidden depth, a complexity that belied the fierce exterior you presented to the world.

Sensing his hesitation, you held his gaze, silently beseeching him to grant you this small reprieve. It was a subtle yet powerful plea, one that tugged at something deep within him, stirring a sense of empathy he hadn't anticipated.

As the song's beat thumped around you, you pressed closer to John, your small frame fitting against his chest. The man was large, easily clearing almost 3 feet over you. And his body was sooo tense.

You tilted your head, resting your cheek against his chest, and looked up at him with a pleading expression. Your lips formed a delicate pout, and your doe eyes, wide and shimmering with a mixture of mischief and innocence, gazed up at him imploringly.

John felt a rush of unexpected emotion. Your expression, so sweet and vulnerable, stirred something deep within him, something he hadn't felt since his wife, Helen, passed away. He was momentarily transported back to a time when life was simpler, when the love he shared with Helen was the center of his world.

The softness of your pout, combined with the warmth of your cheek against his shoulder, created an almost intimate connection. He could tell without your heels that you’d barely reach his chest. He continued to look down at you without moving his neck. Your soft hair was tickling his jaw and he wasn’t sure if it was your perfume or shampoo that smelled so heavenly.

You looked up at him, your eyes, full of a pleading innocence, seemed to search his soul, seeking understanding and compassion. It was a look that disarmed him, breaking through the hardened exterior he had built over years of loss and survival.

John's hand, almost instinctively, moved to gently rest on your waist. The sensation of your warmth, the delicate way you leaned into him, brought back memories of quiet moments with Helen, of her gentle touch and the way she could calm him with just a look.

His resolve wavered. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to feel, to remember the man he used to be before his world was shattered. Your presence, your expression, brought a flicker of that old self back to life, if only for an instant.

As the music played on, the world around him seemed to blur, leaving just the two of you in that moment. Your cute pouty expression and the innocent way you rested your hand on his chest had reached a place in his heart he thought was long buried, awakening feelings he had almost forgotten existed.

With a resigned sigh, John relented, his resolve crumbling in the face of your silent entreaty.

" Until the song ends ," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the din of the music.

Before he could reconsider his decision, you used this moment of hesitation to your advantage. With a swift, graceful movement, you tipped backward and vanished into the crowd, leaving him to navigate the chaotic dance floor in search of you. John sighed, knowing this was just the beginning. He glanced around, his eyes scanning the dancing masses, and began his pursuit.

The memory of your doe eyes lingered in his mind, haunting him as he moved through the throng of bodies. It was a gaze he couldn't shake, one that spoke volumes without uttering a single word.

Despite himself, John found himself drawn into the exhilarating game, the tension between you crackling in the air like electricity. With each passing moment, he grew more determined to catch you, even as you skillfully eluded his grasp, slipping through his fingers like smoke.

As the song remixed, John's resolve hardened once more, his focus sharpening as he redoubled his efforts to capture you. But even as he closed in, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that this encounter was far from over.

The game of cat and mouse unfolded, John found himself drawn further into your orbit, the intensity of your gaze imprinting itself upon his memory. In that fleeting moment, he realized that there was more to you than met the eye, a depth and complexity that intrigued him in ways he couldn't explain.

You moved through the throng of people like a ghost, your soft frame slipping easily between bodies. John followed, using his height to his advantage to keep you in his line of sight.

You felt his presence behind you and grinned. Turning abruptly, you pressed yourself against a pillar, letting him walk past you before you tapped his shoulder. John spun around, only to find you already disappearing into the crowd again. He couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of frustration and admiration.

“ So she's all up in my head now

Got me thinking that it might be a good idea to take her with me

'Cause she's ready to leave (ready to leave now) "

John's mind raced. He couldn't let you slip away, but the playful, taunting glances you threw over your shoulder were making it difficult to stay focused. You were enjoying this, turning the chase into a game.

He saw you again, near the bar, and made his way through the dancers. Just as he was about to reach you, you darted away, leaving him standing there, momentarily bewildered. Then he felt a slight tug at his belt. His hand immediately went to his side – one of his knives was gone.

“You’re losing your touch, Mr. Wick,” you called out over your shoulder, your voice carrying a hint of laughter. You waved the blade at him teasingly before pocketing it for later.

“ (Let's go)

And I gotta keep it real now

'Cause on a one to ten, she's a certified twenty

But that just ain't me, hey-”

John frowned, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “You won’t get away that easily.”

“You're just here to kill me, aren't you?” you asked, a teasing lilt in your voice as you darted through the crowd again.

John's lips tightened. “That’s for me to know.”

You stopped briefly, turning to face him. “So you always follow ladies from the bar to the club on a first meeting or am I just that special?”

John hesitated. “It’s not that simple.”

“Maybe, I think it is,” you said, and before he could respond, you were gone again.

“'Cause I don't know, if I take that chance

Just where's it gonna lead

But what I do know is the way she dance

Makes shorty alright with me (hey, hey, hey)

The way she get low-"

Turning your back to John, you spun away from him, your back arching gracefully as you dropped low, showing off the curve of your backside. John’s eyes followed your every move, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something in his gaze—hesitation, maybe even desire.

With a tantalizing sway of your hips, you picked it back up and strolled further into the dance floor. The air crackled with tension as John's body lingered, his desire warring with his sense of caution.

‘No.’

He found you again, this time near one of the dance stages. You were smiling, eyes glittering with mischief and danger. “Come on, Mr. Wick. Let's see if you can keep up!”

“ She asks for one more dance, and I'm like "yeah"

How the hell am I supposed to leave? (Let's go, bring the beat back!)

And I say ”

The song blared, and John couldn’t help but smirk.

You led him on a chase through the club, sometimes allowing him to get close before slipping away again. Each time, you’d taunt him, your fingers brushing against his hips, your laughter ringing in his ears.

It was infuriating and exhilarating.

Just as the moment intensified, your beeper went off again, cutting through the tension like a knife. You glanced at it and then back at John, a smirk playing on your lips. “It seems I have to go, Mr. Wick. Until next time.”

Before he could respond, you dashed for the exit. John lunged forward, his hand catching you by the hips. The music pulsed around you, the crowd cheering, thinking it was part of the act.

“(Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah!)”

You twisted in John's grip, your body moving in perfect sync with the thumping beat of the music. The crowd around you roared, forming a tight circle and transforming the dance floor into a stage for your impromptu battle. John's strong hands held you steady, but you weren't about to let him win so easily.

Spinning around to face him, you locked eyes with John, your expression fierce yet playful. His gaze was intense, filled with determination and, perhaps, a hint of admiration. The dance was not just a dance—it was a duel, a battle of wills played out through the rhythm and movement.

“Up in the club with my homies, trying to get a lil' V-I

Keep it down on the low-key (low-key)

You should know how it feels (hey!)-”

John stepped forward, his movements sharp and precise, his body language commanding and powerful. He reached for you, but you spun away, your body fluid and graceful, evading his grasp. The crowd’s cheers grew louder with each expertly executed step.

You countered his advances with a series of quick, intricate footwork, your body weaving through the air like a dancer in a deadly ballet. Each spin, each twist, was designed to keep him off balance, to keep him guessing. John responded with equal fervor, his movements growing more aggressive, more urgent.

He lunged, trying to trap you in his arms, but you ducked and rolled under his reach, springing back up with a teasing smile. The crowd erupted in applause at your daring move. John’s eyes flashed with a mixture of frustration and admiration, the heat of the moment stoking the fire between you.

“I saw this shorty, she was checking up on me

From the game she was spitting in my ear

You would think that she know me (know me)-”

In a daring move, you stepped close, your chest brushing against his as you stared up at him. The tension was palpable, a mix of challenge and undeniable attraction. Before he could react, you spun away, your hands grazing his shoulders as you moved, a fleeting touch that left him momentarily stunned.

John recovered quickly, his eyes narrowing with renewed determination. He mirrors your movements, his body a shadow to yours, matching your pace and intensity. The two of you circled each other, the dance floor your battlefield, the music your weapon.

You didn’t give him a chance to recover. With a quick movement, you slipped behind him, your fingers brushing against his holsters. You lifted them deftly, tucking them away before he even realized what you had done.

John turned, his eyes widening slightly as he realized he was unarmed. You gave him a cheeky smile, your eyes practically glowing with danger as you regarded him. He lunged at you again, but you were ready, moving with the beat, teasing and taunting him.

“(Yeah!) Yeah!

Shorty got down low and said "come and get me"

(Yeah!) Yeah!

I got so caught up, I forgot she told me-”

With a sudden burst of energy, you launched into a series of rapid spins, your hair flying around you like a halo. John stepped back, momentarily caught off guard by your display of agility. Seizing the moment, you closed the distance between you, your body pressing close to his as you moved in perfect harmony with the beat.

John’s hands found your waist, gripping you firmly as he pulled you into a complex series of lifts and turns. You responded with equal fervor, your legs wrapping around his waist as you twisted and spun, using his strength to propel your movements. The crowd's cheers reached a fever pitch, the energy in the room electric.

“So I got up and followed her to the floor

She said, "baby, let's go"

When I told her (let's go)

I said-”

John watched, a mixture of frustration and anger crossing his face. You dropped back into the throng of dancers, blending in seamlessly. He pushed through the crowd, trying to keep sight of you, but you were already slipping away.

John cursed under his breath in Russian, feeling around his pockets with growing frustration. His hand came up empty where the marker should have been.

"Damn it," he muttered, realizing Amelia's marker was missing. He cursed again, more vehemently this time, as the weight of the situation settled on him.

On top of being an evasive little brat, you also had sticky fingers.

“So I got up and followed her to the floor

She said, "baby, let's go"

When I told her (let's go)

I said-”

You maneuvered your way through the club, your eyes scanning for Bonnie and Michelle. They were waiting near a door in the wall, their expressions tense. You could see the worry in Michelle’s eyes, the determination in Bonnie’s. Turning around, you saw your dance partner practically parting the ocean of people behind you.

“Shit!”

You ran through the floor, almost toppling the bystanders while Bonnie punched a code into the door, the keypad beeping urgently as he worked. He grabbed you and Michelle, yanking you through the opening before slamming in a new code to shut it shut. Just as the door began to slide, you could see John closing in, his eyes locked onto yours with a burning intensity.

You reached the door a split second before John, your heart pounding in your chest. With one last defiant glance back at him, you blew him a kiss, the gesture both taunting and strangely intimate. The door swung shut, Bonnie and Michelle slipping through behind you. The sound of the door closing echoed through the narrow hallway, a stark finality that cut you off from John and the chaos of the club.

Breathless and tense, the three of you paused. The narrow hallway was dimly lit, the sounds of the club muffled but still palpable through the thick walls. Michelle’s eyes, red-rimmed but fiercely determined, met yours.

“What now?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, yet brimming with urgency.

You glanced at Bonnie, who was already moving, checking the security of the door. "We keep moving," you said, your voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins. "We need to get to the extraction point."

Bonnie nodded, his expression grim. “We don’t have much time. John’s not going to let this go.”

You took a deep breath, your mind racing. The memory of John’s intense gaze lingered, a reminder of the close call. You couldn’t afford to dwell on it now. "Let's move," you said, leading the way down the hallway.

As you hurried through the dimly lit corridors, your senses were heightened, every sound and shadow scrutinized. The air was thick with tension, each step echoing in the silence. You could feel Michelle and Bonnie close behind you, their presence a small comfort amidst the anxiety.

Reaching a junction, you paused to get your bearings. Michelle squeezed your shoulder, her touch grounding you for a moment. "We're almost there," she said, her voice a mix of hope and fear.

You nodded, pushing forward. The extraction point was close, but so was John. You could almost feel his presence, a relentless force closing in. The adrenaline surged anew, sharpening your focus.

Finally, you reached the end of the corridor, a door marked with an emergency exit sign. Bonnie quickly punched another code into the keypad, the door unlocking with a soft click. You pushed it open, leading the way into the cool night air.

As the three of you emerged into the alleyway, you could hear the distant sounds of the club, the thumping bass a reminder of how close you still were to danger. A black car was waiting, engine idling. The driver, Bonnie's older brother, Freddy, gave you a curt nod.

“Hurry!” he urged, glancing nervously at the alley entrance.

You and Michelle slid into the back seat while Bonnie took the front. The car sped off, tires screeching against the pavement. You leaned back, closing your eyes for a moment, trying to calm your racing heart.

Michelle looked at you, her expression a mix of relief and lingering fear. “Do you think we lost him?”

You opened your eyes, meeting her gaze. “For now,” you said, your voice resolute. “But we need to stay alert. John’s not someone who gives up easily.”

As the car sped towards the airport, you couldn’t shake the image of John’s eyes, the intensity of his stare. The encounter had been too close, too intense. But you had made it out, and for now, that was enough.

At the airport, you boarded a private jet, the tension finally beginning to ease as the plane took off. As you settled into your seat, you pulled out the marker, tracing over its intricate design. A small, triumphant smile played on your lips. John had underestimated you tonight, but you knew the game was far from over.

Michelle sat next to you, her gaze fixed out the window. “What’s next?” she asked softly.

You looked at her, the determination in your eyes mirrored in hers.

John Wick was formidable, but you had something more important. And nothing, not even the infamous John Wick, would stand in your way.

“We take you home and I take out the trash.”

The plane soared into the night, leaving the chaos behind. But in your mind, the game with John was just beginning.

John's phone buzzed, interrupting his thoughts. He glanced at the screen and saw Nick's name flash. Answering the call, he heard Nick's voice, but something was off.

"John, it's Nick. Listen, I need you to come back to the mansion. There's... something important we need to discuss."

John frowned, his instincts tingling with suspicion. "What is it, Nick?"

Nick's voice faltered slightly. "Just... come back to the mansion. You'll see."

Before John could press further, the line went dead. He stared at the phone, unease settling in his gut. Something wasn't right.

As John was contemplating his next move, another call came in, this time from the Bowery King.

"Hey, John. Made it to Japan in one piece," the King said, his voice low and calm. "How about we get some ramen?"

John recognized the code immediately. "Sounds good. Where?"

"Meet me at the usual spot."

—-

John entered the dimly lit izakaya, the atmosphere thick with the aroma of simmering broth and grilled skewers. He spotted the Bowery King and Shimazu Koji seated in a private booth. The three men exchanged nods as John settled into the booth, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly in the familiar presence of allies.

"John," the Bowery King greeted, his eyes twinkling with curiosity and concern. "What happened tonight?"

John leaned back, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. "I was chasing her—the one they call 'The Fawn.' They weren’t kidding about her. She's elusive, agile. Looked young, but incredibly professional."

The Bowery King leaned forward, curiosity etched on his face. "What was she like?"

John narrowed his eyes slightly. "Why are you so interested?"

"Because you're interested," the King replied smoothly. John nearly choked on his water, coughing to clear his throat.

John's lips twitched into a rueful smile. "She was good. Used the crowd to her advantage. Managed to lift my knife and marker without me noticing. Made me dance with her before she took off."

The Bowery King chuckled, a rich, throaty sound. "You got beat in a dance fight? I would've paid to see that."

Shimazu Koji, who had been quietly listening, nodded thoughtfully. "I've heard of her. She’s been seen around Japan, keeping a low profile. Frequenting dance clubs and high-end shops, never causing a stir but supporting the business quietly."

John's mind raced, replaying the evening's events. "She's not just an assassin. There's more to her."

Koji sipped his sake, his expression contemplative. "No doubt. Those who underestimate her pay the price."

John took a deep breath, his eyes meeting Koji's. "She's been burning down all evidence of her existence. She's dangerous and valuable to her family. And if I don’t get to her first, God only knows what’s going to happen to her."

“No offense John, but I think she can handle herself out there.”

Koji leaned back, his eyes narrowing slightly. "And you're bound by your marker to bring her back. But she lifted the marker off you?"

John nodded, his expression grim. "Yeah, she did."

The revelation sent a ripple of concern through the group. The Bowery King and Koji exchanged worried glances before the King spoke up. "That's serious, John. Without that marker, you're at risk. She could give it to anyone and that’s the last thing we need."

“She took my guns too.”

“ DAMN !”

“John, did you even try to put up a fight?”

“What didn’t she take?”

“Don’t you start now, too.”

“It’s not my fault you were too busy flirting with the target- OW !”

The Bowery King rubbed his arm while Koji leaned in, his tone serious. "Maybe you should let her stay away. Pursuing her could be more dangerous than it's worth."

John shook his head. "I can't. She's too valuable. And besides, she's been erasing her tracks meticulously. She's up to something."

The Bowery King sighed, running a hand over his face. "Alright, we need to go back to the Morales estate. Figure out our next move from there."

Koji placed a reassuring hand on John's shoulder. "I'll stay in Japan and keep an eye out. If she pops up again, you'll be the first to know."

John nodded, gratitude and determination mixing in his eyes. "Thanks, Koji."

The three men clinked their sake cups together, as they dug into their steaming bowls of ramen, the conversation continued, weaving together their knowledge and insights to uncover the truth and stay one step ahead.

—

Meanwhile, thousands of feet above the ground, you and Michelle were safely aboard a plane heading back home. The hum of the engines provided a soothing backdrop as you traced your finger over the intricate design of John’s marker, lost in thought.

Michelle leaned over, her eyes still red but filled with determination. “We’re safe for now, but what about when we land?”

You looked up from the marker, meeting her gaze. “I’ve got everything arranged. We’ll be met by a secure team. Just stay close to me and follow my lead.”

Michelle nodded, her trust in you unwavering. “Thank you.”

You smiled slightly, trying to offer some reassurance. “Family doesn’t say ‘Thank you,’ Michelle.”

You reach over and place your hand over hers. “We’ll get through this, Micky. We’ve been through worse.”

She sighed, leaning back in her seat. “I know. I just... I worry.”

You placed a comforting hand on her arm. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”

As Michelle closed her eyes, trying to get some rest, you turned your attention back to the marker. Its design was intricate, almost mesmerizing. The weight of its significance wasn’t lost on you. John Wick was a force to be reckoned with, but you had your own strengths, your own skills.

And now, you had his marker.

You wondered what he would do once he realized it was gone. Would he come after you with even more determination, or would he take a step back to reassess? Either way, you knew you had to stay one step ahead.

The plane continued its journey through the night sky, a temporary haven from the chaos below. You took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of thoughts in your mind. This was far from over.

Your thoughts drifted back to your family, an ever-present weight on your mind. Memories of your childhood, the laughter, the arguments, and the bonds that held you together, floated through your consciousness. You traced the design of John’s marker absently, the intricate patterns both a comfort and a reminder of the peril you were in.

You had always dreamed of being a lawyer, of standing in a courtroom and fighting for justice. The thought brought a wistful smile to your lips. You imagined a life where you could have pursued that dream without the shadow of your family's expectations looming over you. A life where you could have made a difference in the world, using your skills to help those who couldn't help themselves.

Your mind wandered to John. You knew he had a wife once, that he had temporarily retired from the assassin’s life to be with her. Something had happened to bring him back, though. You wondered if he ever thought about having a family again, if he ever wished for a return to a normal life. The marker in your hand felt heavy with meaning, a symbol of the life he couldn’t escape.

You understood him.

You didn't burn Nick’s apartment down to destroy evidence. It was already empty, stripped of everything that made it a home. You had gone there to say goodbye to the place that was once your home. Your fingers traced the spot under the bed where you had carved your name as a young girl, a childish claim to a space that had felt like yours alone. How your little mind had worked back then. But it was over now, and even the light filtering through the window hurt your eyes.

You burned down Nick’s old apartment because it was a loose end, a place tied too closely to your past. It wasn’t just about evading capture; it was about severing ties, about cutting away the parts of your life that could be used against you. But the guilt lingered, an unwelcome companion. Too many memories. Too much grief.

Training with Nick had given you the confidence to take down any man who tried to harm you, but it also meant he kept you locked up tight until they sent you off to Cordelia. A shudder ran through you at the thought of it, a nightmare from Hell you could never forget. You placed John's marker down, your fingers lingering on its cool surface. That woman had been a torment, but you had survived.

You always survived.

You glanced over at Michelle, her peaceful expression a stark contrast to the turmoil inside you. You thanked God that she was safe, that she could rest even if just for a moment. You whispered a silent prayer for forgiveness for what you did, what you had done, and for what you were about to do.

You hoped that somehow, in the end, it would all be worth it.

Your mind drifted back to the apartment, to the countless hours spent training with Nick. The memory of his stern face, the pride that occasionally softened his features when you mastered a new skill, was etched deeply in your heart. But there was also the pain of confinement, the loneliness that gnawed at you almost your whole life. The light through the window of that apartment had once been a symbol of hope, now it was just a painful reminder of a past you couldn't reclaim.

You felt a complex mix of emotions—anger at the chaos that had engulfed your life, sorrow for the innocence you lost, and a fierce protectiveness for those you loved.

You glanced over at Michelle, her platinum hair peeking out from the wig in the dim cabin light. She was asleep, exhaustion etched into her delicate features. Gently, you tucked your suit jacket over her, offering a small semblance of comfort. Your heart ached with the knowledge that she was pregnant and didn’t want to tell Nick. The thought of bringing a child into this chaotic world was terrifying, but you understood her reasons for keeping it secret.

Joselyn and her husband, Haris, came to mind next. They wanted to have kids but couldn’t, not with the constant chaos and danger that surrounded your family. She tried to fill that motherly roll for you even when it was smothering at times. Haris was a good man, he lived up to his name and was never once unkind to you. To you, he may as well have been your blood brother.

It wasn’t fair.

Then there was Amelia’s children, Levin and Malachi, innocent lives caught in the crossfire. Your little God-children, that you picked up from school everyday and who trusted you with every fiber of their little beings. Who make you cookies when you're sad and always give you their art projects for your office. Your annoyance with Aaron, Amelia’s husband, always so self-righteous and insufferable. And David, with his loving quirks and teasing attitude, always trying to take the heat off of you.

You missed them all, despite the anger that simmered beneath the surface. You were terrifyingly angry with all of them, with your elders who had orchestrated this mess, the high-table that protected them, and with yourself for not being able to break free. You just wanted your parents, the sense of security and unconditional love that only they could provide.

But they could only do that if you died tonight and met them again.

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them away. You couldn’t afford to be weak now. There was too much at stake. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your emotions.

The marker in your hand was a cold reminder of the mission ahead, but also of the strength you possessed. Looking at Michelle, you felt a swell of determination. First, you would get her home safely.

Then you would deal with John Wick. One step at a time.

You would ensure her child was born into a world with at least a sliver of peace. Your own dreams of being a lawyer, of fighting for justice, seemed distant now, almost unattainable.

But you wouldn’t stop fighting for your right to live life.

As the plane continued its journey, you leaned back in your seat, closing your eyes for a moment. Just a moment. The storm of emotions inside you was overwhelming, but you channeled it into cold resolve. You would fight for yourself, for your dreams, and for the future you wanted.

“I will fight. I will protect. I will survive.”

No matter the cost.

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This was long as shit, also posted on my ao3. If you see any mistakes just let me know. I don't have an editor yet.

Please check out my other works posted in the master list.

Tag list: @littledebbieinabigworld @treedaddymcpuffpuff

Part 1: Can be found right here.

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