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lolitarosaa · 1 year ago

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heavy-duty laundry service - chapter 2

Author's note: I wrote this one during my lunch break and I finished when I got home. Such a long write made my shoulder sore. I had fun though. I will be expanding on this while my brain tries to do something with the other story. There are recurring themes in this story and the other one, they're not in the same universe though, I like the way they work together. The rose thing is for me, I have an obsession so y’all will be hearing more of these flowers from me.

Please like always excuse any grammar mistakes,

Thanks for reading my rosebuds. - rosalinda

TW: blood, torture, guns, mentions of sex, reg. John wick stuff.

The cleaning took about two days: one day for drying, one day for dismantling, three days for the order of kevlar to come in, two days to cut and shape the material, and one day to sew it back together and fix the torn suit.

"It’s beautiful," you say to yourself as you admire your handiwork. "I hope Mr. Wick will be happy."

It’s been about a week and a half since you last saw him. The tales you heard, while you were in the Marines and in the underworld, were true. John is a man of focus, commitment, and sheer will, just like a true marine.

Charlie sent you his number. You were a bit nervous to call him, and you had no idea why. It made your tummy twist in knots. It could be because of his reputation, his skill, or just because he was a very handsome man.

You bit the bullet; you called him before you hurled your phone across the room.

Ring, ring, "Hello?" His voice was like bourbon, smooth and burning.

"Hello, Mr. Wick, it’s y/n. Your clothes are ready for drop-off."

"Ah, Ms. y/n, it's good to hear from you again; I thought you had run off with my clothes."

You chuckle at his words: "No, sir, I would never".

"Good, I like that suit. Well, I'm at the Continental; just ask for my information at the concierge. I'll be waiting, dear."

"Of course sir," you hang up, and you exhale, "Wow, that was exhilarating."

The drive to the Continental was nerve-racking; you raced there to see if it would burn off some steam, but it didn't. The suit was next to you, and all you thought about was John. You hoped he would try it on, and you really wanted to see him in your revised suit.

As you swerve to the hotel, you get your suit in hand, hand your keys to the valet, and say, "Please be careful with the car." You hand him two coins, hoping the extra coin will keep your car safe. "Thank you."

As you make your way to the concierge, your heart is racing, pounding out of your chest. As you make your way to the desk, there's a man there with papers in his hand; his name tag says, "Charon."

“Excuse me, Charon,”

“Yes? Oh, Ms. y/n. Mr. Wick has been expecting you; he told me to give you his room key and his room information. He is in room 818, and here is his room key.” He slides you the room key, and as you take it, it feels heavy in your hand; it's steel, but in your mind, it weighs about a stone.

“Thank you, Charon,”

“It’s a pleasure, Ms. y/n.”

As you make your way to the elevators, you think to yourself, "Why would he give you a room key? Couldn't you just knock? What if you find him in a compromising position? Well, you wouldn't mind that.” Ding. The elevator ding startled you from your not-so-clean thoughts; the room at the end of the hall, his room, your blood runs cold, one foot in front of the other, breath, you remind yourself.

As you take the key from your back pocket, you insert it in, you open the door with shaky hands, and you step in, saying, "Mr. Wick, I’m coming in; it’s y/n." You make your way in, you hear the shower running, "Ohh, this could be awkward," you think to yourself, the knot in your stomach getting tighter, your legs running cold. As you walk into the room, you walk to a side table with a chair next to it, and you sit with the suit in hand.

You sit and wait. You look around the room; it’s a standard hotel room with nothing much to see, but you were so nervous for your encounter that your eyes darted across the room. You heard the water stop, and your body tensed up as you waited for the door to open.

As the door opens, your eyes are trained on the door knob. As John steps out, you see him in a towel. Your face perks up a bit. As John enters the room, you stand still, scared to move or make a sound. Your eyes follow him as he sits on the bed.

“So, Ms. Y/N, that’s my suit?”

You take a deep breath as you try to concentrate on the conversations and not on his hair dripping wet or the droplets of water trailing down his body.

“Yes, Mr. Wick, please take a look.” As you stand and turn to open the dust bag, you can feel John’s eyes on you, analyzing and taking you in. As you hand it to him, he makes contact with your hand and says, "It’s warm and rough."

"It’s heavier, and it looks better than before." He takes the suit and studies it, looking at the stitching, the inside of the jacket, the cufflinks, and the patching from the injuries he received the last time they met.

“Tell me, what’s different?” As you step towards him, you take the jacket and show him the inside.

“Well, Mr. Wick, as you can see, the lining has been replaced; the inside of the jacket has two layers of kevlar, and the pantsuits also have two layers of kevlar. The lining was too damaged to be patched, so I had to replace it, as the suit was an older model and didn't have any protection. And as you have come into this line of work in unfortunate circumstances, my best bet was to insert two layers instead of one, which is why I also added it to your pantsuit. Better be safe than sorry. The cufflinks were my personal touch—part of my brand, if you will.” You say this as your hand slides to the silver rose cufflinks.

“Personal brand? Please expand on that, Ms. Y/N.” He said this to you as he looked into your eyes.

"Well, it meant to represent my call signal when I was in the Marines, which then became my alias here in the underworld. My call signal was Rose. I was in the Special Operations Command; I was clean up, and as a woman, the command believed I was not suited for the missions that were taken. It was a load of bullshit. I'll tell you that I was the second best sniper; if you were to ask me, I was number one, but that prick, Miller, had the balls to say he was better." You say that you remember who you're talking to.

"Um.. sorry about that, sir. It’s a touchy subject, since I was KIA," you say, as there is a hot rush of blood going to your cheeks.

John is trying to process what you have said: "So you're a Marine? And you were killed in action?"

“Yes, well, in a way, as you can see, I'm standing here now.”

"So, what happened?"

"It's a long story that I don't mind telling you, but not right now; you are a busy man. The only thing I can say is that Bastard Miller is at the bottom of the ocean."

"Well, Ms. y/n, I am intrigued; I can't wait to hear more."

"Of course, sir. Now, may I see the suit on you? I want to know if there’s anything to fix or adjust."

"Sure, dear. Let me get changed; you can stay here; I'll change in the restroom."

"Sir, are you sure? It's your room after all; I don't want to be a bother."

"Nonsense, Ms. y/n, please stay; it won't take long."

"Very well, Mr. Wick." You say as John stands up and walks to the restroom, your eyes following him, you see his tattoos, "Oh god, give me strength; don’t let my thoughts win." The door closes, you gasp for air, your hands on your knees for support. "Holy shit," you say to yourself as you walk to the chair and sit down. No man has ever given you lightheadedness before; you don't even know how you stood so close to him and did not pass out cold.

Wrapped in your thoughts of what you have been through, you don't hear the click of the hotel door. You are slouching in your seat, hard to see, and the movement behind the plane glass headrest makes you alert.

You may be a cleaner and a seamstress now, but in your past life, you were a Marine, and a damn good one. You always carry weapons on your person. You lean down enough to not be seen and grab your gun behind your back and stay in position. It’s a woman, and as she moves to the left of the room, John comes out of the bathroom. "Well, Ms. y/n, you did a goo-'' The woman moves her gun to shoot; she doesn't see you as she moves. You tackle her down, and her gun shoots upward, hitting John in the shoulder.

"Ahh, shit, Perkins, don't you know the goddamn rules?" You say to her:

"Y/N, what the hell are you doing here?" She struggles to free herself.

"On the job, now stop moving." You sit on her chest, one leg on her legs, one hand on her arm, the other on her neck, and your other leg on her arm.

"Fuck you, uhtu," she spit in your face.

Spit drops from your eye to your nose. "You fucking bitch, I always knew you were fake." Your hands travel to her neck, your legs move to her arms, keeping her still, and you try to choke her out. As she gasps for air, John stands up and runs to you.

"Y/N, let her go; she can help us find where Losefs hiding," John said, with an arm on your shoulder.

You do as told and let her neck go; she sucks in as much air as she can and coughs. "Bitch," you say to her.

As you stand up, John grabs Perkins, and you go to the bed. You move the comforter and grab the flat sheet, ripping it into long strands. You move Perkins, now sitting on the chair where you were sitting, and you tie her hands to each other and her legs to the chair.

"Well, y/n, you sure did not lose your touch; you still fight like a Marine," John says as he looks at you.

"Thank you, sir." You wipe the remaining saliva off your face. "How’s the suit holding up?" you say as you look at the shoulder hit.

"Good, I'm not bleeding." John said it with a smile on his face.

"Oh god, stop trying to get yourselves off and kill me already." Perkins said as she groaned.

"Oh, shut up, Perkins," you say, moving to grab your gun that was under the bed when you kicked it in the tackle. You cock your gun and aim at her foot. You shoot.

"Ahh! You fucking bitch!" she shouted in pain.

"Don't you ever spit on me again, you piece of shit," you say as you put your gun on safety and place it on your back.

John looks at you, a bit surprised at your display but not unimpressed. A little smile on his face.

"Now, Ms. Perkins, will you kindly tell us where Losef is hiding?" John said it with a bit of an evil smirk on his face and a tone of amusement.

"Fuckin’ cocksucker," Perkins said under her breath.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" John asks.

"Fuck you," she said a bit louder.

John steps on her injured foot and says, "Ahh! Shit!" She yelled.

"Now, tell me what you said," John said while gritting his teeth. "No, he can't be hot in this situation; god, he looks good in that suit." you think to yourself as you stand back and let John do his interrogation.

"Fuck!" John places more pressure on her foot, digging his heel into the bullet hole.

"Fine! I'll talk! Ahh!"

"Good, tell me where Losefs is." John grabs her hair and pulls her face upward, looking into her eyes.

"I don't know where he is!" John places his foot on her bloody foot again.

"Then what do you know?" He grits his teeth and digs in the wound again.

"Ahh! In Little Russia, there's a church. It’s a front; it’s where Viggo keeps his stash." He lets go of her foot.

"Good." He moves his hand, and with the hand holding his gun, he hits her with the butt of his gun, knocking her cold. Her body slumps forward.

You turn to the phone, picking it up. "The front desk, please?"

"Hello?"

"Ah, Charon, we need to clean up here."

"Clean up? Did the job go better than expected?" Charorn said with a tone of delight

"Uhh, no, not that kind of fun; we had an uninvited guest try to kill John and me."

"Oh, I see; pardon me. Okay, I’m sending someone up now."

"Thank you,"

"And again, Ms. Y/N, I am so sorry."

"It’s fine; it was funny," you say as you let out a chuckle.

"Okay, thank you, Ms. y/n."

"Sure," you say as you put the phone down.

"So what was that about?" John looks at you,

"Ah, Charon thought we had sex," you say as you walk closer to him.

"Did he now?" He looked at you with his eyebrow going up in amusement; it seemed he was staring into your soul.

"Yeah," you say, looking away from his gaze and trying to compose your red cheeks.

A knock on the door is heard, and John cocks his gun.

"Don’t shoot; it’s clean up," you say to him as you turn your head towards the door.

"Come in; the doors are open!"

“Ms. y/n, Mr. Wick, we are here for clean-up.” The man in uniform is standing near the doorway.

“She is right there;” you gesture to Perkins. “She is alive and just knocked out."

"Okay, we will take it from here." The man said as one of his men cut her from the chair, placing handcuffs into her hands, and putting her on his back.

"Excuse me," the man said, "the management has given you the presidential suit as an apology; we are very sorry for the events that occurred." He hands the new keys to John and says, "Please don't hesitate to ask for anything you both may need; also, please remember to hand your room keys in."

“Thank you, John,” and I say it at the same time.

“Of course,” the man in the suit leaves.

“Well, that was something, wasn't it?” You say this to John with your head looking down. “So what now?”

“Well, we go to the church,” and he looks at you and hands you the extra key.

“I’m sorry, we?” You ask in surprise as your head shoots up to look at him.

“Yes, we. I need your help, and you're a good fighter.” He comes to you with the key in hand.

You take a deep breath. The idea of being on the hunt again excites you to the core; the rush of adrenaline. You sigh.

“Fine, we'll take my car.” You say this as you take the key from his hand. “And now that we will be working together, call me y/n.”

“Okay, deal, but you stay with me until we finish the job, and you call me John no more, Mr. Wick.”

“Got it,”

“Okay, let's get to work.”

#heavy duty laundry service #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #john wick #baba yaga #keanu reeves #rosalinda