#akira x wick reader

[fandomnerd9602]

Sorry if I say this to much but may I request a John wick 4 Akira x male wick reader plz

Akira shoots a goon with her bow...

Y/N Wick throws one over the railing...

John Wick: you were supposed to stay in Tokyo!

Y/N: someone's gotta save your ass, Dad!

Akira: my father is safe, but you are not. I'm honor bound to see this mission through.

John and Y/N look to her…

Y/N: just admit you like us.

Akira: I do not...not.

[thebunnednun]

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.

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

Be sure to check out my other works and leave likes and comments, they really help. I have a fic for almost everyone here in the master list. Drop a follow as well if you please. Don’t be shy to leave me a little reblog if you want.

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Seen you soon my loves!!~ <<33

[arece]

hiiii i'm officially requesting something with reader and Akira, please give me that sweet sweet wlw love, i'll accept literally anything, although i do think it would be interesting if it started out more enemies-ish to lovers, because Cain said he'd keep an eye on reader, right?? and then in the movie Akira told John either he'd kill Cain or she would, sooooo i think that gives way to something interesting idk just an idea

also idk about you but i'd be down for poly icon reader, like, between her, Nobody, and Akira, two thirds are still officially part of the underworld, who cares about conforming to monogamy when they could die any day. but maybe that's just me though

i loved the story so much!!! can't wait for any more snippets in this au!

♤ a/n: This request had me absolutely losing it. For now I just kept it Akira and reader, BUT if you were to request the poly separately I'd check it out *hint hint*! other works here

♤ warnings: John Wick violence, swears, reader finding it hot when a woman tries to kill her

⋯♤⋯♧⋯♢⋯

It hadn’t been long after John’s death for Caine to stay true to his word and visit you. You avoided Winston for a bit, deciding to stay on your own for a while. You were sure that if any reminders of John were to appear you’d lose it. You wondered if there would ever be a point where it didn't ache so much.

How funny it was for someone who was in your life for such a short amount of time managed to have such an impact.

Perhaps you were a bit lonely but you had Dog. You welcomed Caine into your apartment, albeit a bit weary, unknowing of his parting assurance he made John. You didn’t blame him for what happened, he did the same thing as John. They were both not only willing to kill, but to die for their daughters.

He confessed to you that he was anxious to meet his daughter, that it had been so long since he’d last seen her he feared that she wouldn’t forgive him, would not want to know him. You advised him to take it slowly.

Suggesting that eventually he should tell her the truth. He immediately protested but you cut him off, “if you hide this from her she’ll be able to tell, she’ll never trust you.” He sighed, removing his glasses for a moment to rub a hand over his face.

“I don’t want her involved with the underground world, that was the whole point of me doing what I did.” You held your breath, trying really hard to not think of him. It wasn’t the time. “Speaking of it cautiously won’t drag her into it, if anything it’d be best to warn her, to give her a full chance to decide herself if it’s worth the risk of knowing you.”

Perhaps it was cruel, but it was the truth. A truth Caine needed to hear telling by the saddened yet understanding look on his face. “I can come if you think that’d help.” He slightly nodded, the barest hints of hesitation showing. Looks like you’re going back to France. Great.

-

“Is that her?” You saw a pretty young girl, your age if not slightly younger, playing the violin on the streets. She was really good, the beautiful melody entrancing a crowd of people. Caine was transfixed, distracted by the idea he was about to meet his daughter again.

You however, were still on guard. That’s how you noticed the fast approaching figure of a woman, switchblade held tightly in her hand. As she passed by aiming for Caine’s side, you gripped her by her wrist, slowly pulling her close in a way that wouldn’t capture the attention of the people on the crowded street.

Caine didn’t seem surprised and that was enough for you to infer this was the Akira he told you about, the one he said was only a matter of time before she showed to seek revenge for her father. “Go,” you told Caine, holding on despite her trying to get you to let go.

He stayed back for a minute before making his way over to his daughter, bouquet in hand. “Don’t make the same mistake as my father.” The warning seemed to fly right past her, instead her interest stook to your confession.

“John Wick’s daughter? Heard he died, one less person on my list.” You ignored her attempt to anger you, still trying to reason with her. “You’d make another girl suffer our pain?” You both were two sides of the same coin; one starving for the revenge of her father, the other having no one to blame as everyone at fault already died.

“She doesn’t know him.” You twisted her by her arm, pulling her back to your chest, forcing her to watch as Caine hugged his daughter tightly. “Choose to reenact your revenge plot another day, he’s meeting his daughter now.”

A passer-by caught your eye, staring at you two suspiciously. You rested your head on her shoulder in an attempt to make your back hug seem more casual, “people are looking.” Your hand still held onto her wrist with the blade.

“Everything he touched died, it’s a miracle he didn’t take you down with him.” That hit a sore spot, nearly having you see red. You twisted her wrist before she could even think about doing anything except hissing in slight pain.

Now you held her knife threateningly at her side, “knives are kinda my thing, just thought you should know next time for a fair fight.” You pulled away, walking slightly backwards. “This isn’t over,” she seethed.

“It is for now,” you confirmed. You're pretty sure you made yourself a new enemy, a fun one at that. You made your way over to Caine and his daughter, kindly introducing yourself and helping him explain what he’s been doing for the last few years.

-

Caine’s daughter was weary understandably, but also extremely understanding. She was beyond lovely and invited you and Caine to stay with her for a while. You had tried to resist, not wanting to intrude on their re-bonding time but she had insisted. How could someone ever say no to her, you’d never understand.

You took walks often, an excuse to allow the two some privacy. It was on one of those walks that you were dragged by your hoodie into the back alley. Pushed up against a wall with a knife held up to your neck. “I’m starting to think you got a thing for me.”

Akira pushed the blade further against your neck, nicking just below the spade scar on the side of your neck. She looked at it curiously before stepping back slightly, “why do you keep getting in my way? I warned your father, he kills him or I will.”

You casually pushed her hand down, sliding out of the alley and continuing your walk with her trailing after you. “Technically my dad tried, duels are a tricky thing.” She didn’t find that funny, tossing the knife at you, missing your head by an inch.

You pulled it from the brick wall it landed in, admiring the craftsmanship before pocketing it with the murmur of, “finders keepers.” Akira’s frustration grew at your casual attitude, once again shoving you against a wall.

Your head slightly knocked against it and you winced, “your dad didn’t want you to kill him. So, are you really doing this for him or yourself?” Akira looked away, you could tell it was her attempt to look strong, avoiding showing her emotions. “He’s dead.”

You softly grabbed her hand, “they both are. Revenge is what brought us here in the first place, don’t force another person into this life out of grief.” She sniffed, squeezing your hand before roughly pulling away.

“Him living is on you, if I come to regret it you will be the one to pay.” You watched as she stepped back, the knife she stole back from you in her hand. You couldn’t help but grow fond of her for that. “I’ll count on it. You can visit me for other reasons too, though.”

She scoffed but you saw the smile she tried to fight back appear on her face. She was a dangerous killer, one who would happily add you to her long trail of taken lives. A woman after your own heart.

⋯♤⋯♧⋯♢⋯

taglist: @khaleesihavilliard @ihatemyselfmorethanmydepression @scarletmeii @romanreignsluver1 @tamnight @hesvoid34 @wi1steria @not-a-big-slay @howlerwolfmax @mizzy-pop @sarapaprikas-blog @angrykitsune01

[kavalyera]

akira shimazu kisses girls i jst cant prove it yet

[aphroditesmoon]

you want blood and i promise, im a bad liar (with a savior's complex)

akira x wick!reader

summary: you give up trying to change her mind that's set on killing caine.

warnings: reader is not john's biological kid, angst, grief, john/reader flashbacks. inspired by elliedina from tlou, afab reader.

a/n: italics mean flashbacks,  first jw fanfic, be nice pls<3

°°°°

Akira woke up in an unusual way compared to other days she did. For instance,  this morning she didn't wake up with a raging headache, nor did the darkneas of her motel room stared at her when she woke as it always did.

No, the walls and ceiling she's staring at now are painted in all white, and the sunlight she craved and hated both, shone timidly behind the cream coloured curtains. It would've all been perfect until she had spread her hand to her right side and found that you weren't next to her. And then she remembered where she was, and her daydream ended. 

Akira comfortably used the shower before putting on yesterday's shirt and stealing your polyester jacket that stays hung from the coat stand outside your room.

She couldn't find you anywhere as she walks towards the kitchen, an english breakfast lays on the table, she assumes its hers and eats it all. You were probably by the beach again, that's where you're always gone to these days.

The silence was torturous as she tries to finish her eggs. It forced her to look around the walls. The kitchen was clean and pale coloured in a way that was comforting instead of pretentious. 

It was always a drawing of him from his side profile, or him looking down at dog. It looked to her as if drawing him fully would mean you'd have to finally grieve him properly.

Her mind remembers the picture frames of drawings you've made hanging on the walls by the staircases. They were all sketches of Dog and John, but never a full faced John.

Since she reunited with you, Akira was careful not to speak of that man. And it was clear you appreciated that, you had pushed away almost every aspect of your father's old life away from you, save from Akira herself and Winston's men wandering in the streets, that you either hadn't noticed or purposely chose to ignore.

You looked fine, and that's what you told everyone, that you were fine.

You had no problem laughing at jokes, or making your usual coffee and sandwich, walking dog in the morning by the beach. Everything seemed back to normal with you. Of course, for Akira, it wasn't.  Her father had been her best friend, her umbrella in the worst of rainy days. And Caine had took him away from her like it was nothing.

"I know what it felt like." You had told her once in her apartment, a day after you two reunited at John's funeral.

"No, you don't.  John Wick wasn't your father, you can pretend he is all you want, but you'll never understand." She regretted those words as soon as it came out,  but even in guilt, her anger was stronger, she doesn't apologize as she watches your face fall, and your open lips closes shut, silence filling the tension.

Akira takes her empty plate to the sink, hurrying to wash them when she realized the clock almost striking 12. Walking out the door, she keeps going to a place she knew she'd find you.

°°°

You had a rocky chair placed on the steady sand in front of the waters. A table and canvas stand by your side, a hobby you've finally had time to indulge in after John's passing. You didn't draw anything yet today though, your eyes remained plastered on the crashing waves, Dog running around the sand, always returning by your side in the end.

You heard her before you saw her. Akira, and her short leather boots, a barely noticeable sound as she walks towards you on the sand. And then it finally stops, her footsteps goes quiet. Neither of you says anything until a minute or two passes by, you let out a low sigh.

"I'm leaving now." She says. You took a second before you nodded in understanding, feeling her move to stand by your left side. "That's it? What, after everything, you won't even look me in the eyes?"

You snorted in annoyance and finally turn your face to look at her. "You're the one insisting on leaving, and you want me to do the begging?" Akira is the one to look away this time. 

"-you'll find peace..." The two of you lock eyes. "Then go ahead, I wont try and stop you. I've given up searching for mine a while ago."

The two of you were hesitant to end the conversation so soon, knowing you might never cross eachothers path again, but you also knew that there was never escaping this end of the road.

"If you think by killing caine-," You started.

Akira winces at that, and you turned your sights on Dog. The only reminder of John to you that didn't hurt. "You don't understand." Akira's voice came out as whisper. "He was all I have."

"You have me." You snapped at her. She felt her breath cut short as she watches your face turns into an expression in between rage and sadness, dissapointment.

"But I guess I never had you." You resumed sarcastically, turning away from her again, all that you wanted to say to her, you've said them. And as you train your eyea on Dog's body, rolling on your feet at the sand. You hear her footsteps again, leaving you.

°°°

"You don't seem like a posh white house kind of guy anyways, you know." You told John once, after his house blew up. The two of walked to the speedrail station looking like living trash. John side eyes you before giving in. "What kind of guy do I look like then?"

"I don't know, dark dracula mansion type of guy?" You honestly replied. He snorted and shook his head slightly. "Yeah well, you look like raised in a barn type of person." The two of you argue until you finally found a seat in the speed rail. He fixes hisn back while keeping his eyes on you. Staying silent at first.

You stare back at him with a raised eyebrow until he speaks up. "That house was kind of snobby looking wasn't it?" Your face broke into a smile whilst you nodded at him. "Yeah, it looks like something Winston would buy."

John lets out a loud laugh that shocked the both of you, but you gave yourself credit for being funny enough and laughed with him.

When he finally died down on the laughing, you notice his small smile still remains. John leans back on his seat and sighs loudly. "Yeah well, maybe we'll find a better house after all this shit."

You'd liked that. "With a beach. So I can learn how to swim." You added. He frowned at you. "You can't swim?" You roll your eyes and gives him a light push. "And you can't cook, we all have flaws."

The small smile was back again and you felt your anxious heart relax atbthe sight of it, It'd all be okay in the end,  he's John Wick.  "A house with a beach you said? I think we have enough to afford that." You give him a smile of your own before deciding to rest your head on his shoulder,  telling him to wake you up when you're there.

°°°

"C'mon buddy." You whistled to Dog as you walk in your house, canvas by your arm, the sky outside starting to darken as evening reaches in.

Dog immediately ran to his plate, of course, and you immediately oblige him by pouring his kibbles for him.

The sound of him biting and chewing on his food fills the house before you turn to you vinyl player, restarting Amy Winehouse's Back to Black.

Picking up the used canvas, you walk over to the last step of the staircase to hang the finished sketch on the last hook. You back away from it after its hung, and your heart, as heavy as it is, had the littlest sense of peace in it as you stare at the drawing of your Akira.

[siren-sashimi]

btw, I'm currently writing an Akira x reader fic but I can't help it.... would anyone even read a smut fic if there was so much fluff proceedig it?

[sturid]

there should have been an akira reference in john wick 3

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 36 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

You are getting the feeling that Mariko Kimura doesn’t really like you. 

And maybe it’s stupid, but you’re really not used to that.

Worse yet, this woman basically has a license to beat the hell out of you as The Personal Trainer–how else are you going to learn how to defend yourself in this vicious world? Strikes, blocks, throws, joint locks–she’s taking her job seriously, and after a week has gone by you’re not sure how much more you can actually handle. Maybe you’re a hiker girl, but it’s been a long time since you’ve done any athletic activity that demanded you give everything you have, take a breath, and then give fifty percent more. Your body hurts everywhere. Your torso is bruised in twenty places under your top, and you think she might have knocked one of your back teeth loose with a dirty punch.

You do not want to complain to John. You know he went through so much worse, and it would feel like tattling. So you take a moment to compose yourself on a bench before returning to your room, breathing deeply. That hurts too–jesus fuck, did she crack your ribs? 

What you really want to do is have a good little cry, but that’s completely off the table. 

Show no weakness. 

“Are you alright, my dear?”

Your eyes fly open to find Winston Scott, looking dapper as ever in a pinstripe suit, standing nearby. You hadn’t heard him approach. That’s probably not a good thing, even in this supposedly neutral environment. 

“I’m fine,” you say brightly with a smile you know looks more like a grimace. “Just…catching my breath.”

“May I?”

You scoot over on the antique wooden bench, very aware that you are sweaty as the proverbial whore in church, surprised this fastidious man would dare come within six feet of you at the moment. 

“I must admit I was surprised when I saw that Jonathan enrolled you with Miss Kimura. She is close friends with Akira Shimazu.” 

“I…don’t know what that means,” you admit. 

“Ah. Well, Jonathan should.”

You blow out a long breath through your teeth, bracing your kidneys. Maybe a shower and a dip in the cool waters of the pool downstairs would be nice. 

“I don’t want to get anyone into trouble,” you sigh. If John suspects Mariko is playing rougher than what is demanded for some personal reason that has nothing to do with you, that could breed a whole new problem. You have enough problems. 

“As you wish. I am not sure you know this about our Jonathan yet, but politics are not his strong suit. He is the best at what he does, but the more subtle machinations of our world still escape him.”

This doesn’t come as a total surprise to you, although if you let Winston in on some of the psychological games John played with you not so long ago, the old man’s hair might have stood on end.

Or, maybe not. 

“Are you telling me it’s my job to keep him from killing everyone when the Camorra finally show for this sitdown?” 

“Well. I’m sure you’ve heard tell of what happened with Santino d’Antonio.”

“Yes.” 

“Perhaps Jonathan is in a better state of mind these days thanks to you. But I also fear what our dear boy may do, to defend you.”

Hearing anyone call your fearsome assassin John dear boy brings a little smile to your lips. You are glad that someone seems to be in his corner. You’ve gotten the impression from hearing John talk that Winston is like a father figure to him. You’re relieved it goes both ways. 

“I will keep what you’re telling me in mind.” 

“That is all I ask,” he says with a nod, standing. “And perhaps, a little break from the Trainer would do you good.”

A small laugh escapes you–you know it sounds bitter. “You give very good advice, Mr. Scott.” 

“I know I do. If only the young people around me would deign to benefit from my wealth of experience.” This is his parting shot, and you watch as he makes his exit stage left, leisurely strolling back down the hall like a king in his castle. 

***

Lounging in a warm bubbly bath–with John Wick’s solid naked body behind you, maybe makes the beatings you’ve been taking worth it. 

Ok, it’s totally fucking worth it. Nothing hurts anymore…except for when his soapy hands gently massaging your sore muscles find a bruise. There are a lot of them. 

It also helps that a few minutes ago he ran those soapy hands all over your breasts and aching center, coaxing a soul-wrenching orgasm out of you, all while talking you through it with his low voice in your ear.

He never actually asked if you’re alright, and you take that as a compliment. Maybe it’s fucked up, but you’re kinda proud of your pain tolerance–and John’s quiet approval. 

That doesn’t mean you’re capable of keeping your mouth shut about something else that’s bothering you. 

“Who is Akira Shimazu?” you ask sleepily, your head lolled back on his broad shoulder. His hands pause tellingly upon you, before resuming their soothing circuit. 

“She’s the daughter of one of my oldest friends, Koji,” he finally answers, his tone deliberately neutral. “He…was killed by the High Table, when I went to his Continental in Osaka for shelter.” 

There is a lot to unpack in that sentence. You start with the part that alarms you the most. “Wait…the High Table are allowed to break the rules of the Continental?” If those fuckers were coming, supposedly to play mediator–what good would it do, if they were not bound to follow their own rules? 

“Not usually,” he assures you. “The Marquis who was hunting me was granted…privileges.” 

“Sounds like bullshit.” 

“It was bullshit.” 

You decide this is all the information you need to connect the dots. If you were Akira Shimazu, you would probably blame John Wick for your father’s death too. And if you were Akira’s friend, and had no recourse to hurt John Wick directly–beating up his girlfriend was pretty much the next best thing. Great. 

“Why are you asking me this?” 

“Oh…just a conversation I had with Winston today.” You turn in the bath, reaching for the soap to return the favor to John, only in part to distract him. He weighs you with those dark eyes, only half believing you, or at least, sensing there’s more than what you’re telling him. You sit up straddling his lap, running your hands over his chest. His eyes slide closed, quiet for some time as you touch him. His wounds from the home invasion have healed now, his stitches out just the other day. Now they are simply slick pink flesh under your fingertips–as though it had all just been a bad dream.

These moments seem even more precious between you, now. You want to hoard them like a dragon with its pile of gold, keep them forever shining in your memory. You know what you’ll draw in your sketch journal tonight. You’ve been trying to keep up with a drawing a day, a way to pass the time, though the past week you’ve been too tired in the evening.

“Is Mariko…associated with Akira?” 

Maybe Winston doesn’t give John enough credit. 

“I think they might be friends.”

He touches a bruise on your arm with a new understanding, his dark brows drawn in a frown.

Well shit. So much for being subtle. 

“Is she hurting you on purpose?” 

“She’s…not pulling any punches. That’s ok, John. I’ve learned more this past week than in the five years I did in Tae Kwon Do.” You realize that is absolutely true. 

John’s eyes narrow as he searches out your bruises with new eyes. “I’m sorry.” 

It’s interesting to you, how it was par for the course before, but with the new information that it might be personal, it’s suddenly not ok. 

“Don’t be.” 

“I didn’t think I would be a good hand to hand combat teacher for you.”

“Why not?” you ask, not accusing, just curious. 

“Because when I put my hands on you I just want to fuck you,” he admits bluntly, raising gooseflesh all across your body, your greedy cunt suddenly clenching in insistent reminder of her state of abject emptiness...drama queen.  

 “Even…if we were fighting?”

Considering his penchant for chasing, maybe you already know the answer to that. He blows through his nose, pulling you close with those mitts for hands on your hips so that you can feel he’s hard just with the thought of it. 

He ducks to graze his teeth upon the curve of your shoulder, and your state of relaxation is starting to fly out the window again. This man. 

“Especially if we were fighting,” he admits against your ear, his voice gravely with desire. “I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from taking you down. I’d fuck you right there on the mat, and you wouldn’t learn a thing except that you drive me wild.”

Your nipples tighten with the thought, your breath caught in your throat, and he lifts you easily in the water with that controlling grip on your hips, rubbing your now slick center against his throbbing cock. Tub sex can be tricky, but the bath water stands no chance against the suddenly raging state of your arousal. Without further ado he lifts you onto his cock, impaling you on his thick tip. The glorious glide and stretch of his girthy shaft inside you still takes your breath away, like you can feel him in your lungs, your fingers digging into his shoulders. 

“Fuck,” you squeak, winning a dark chuckle that scrambles your insides. 

“Yeah.”  

It’s the last intelligible word you manage, in the next few minutes, as he uses you just as he pleases, the water sloshing all around as he pistons inside you. It’s all you can do just to hold on, clenching tightly upon his insatiable erection the way you know makes him lose it. 

“Touch yourself for me,” he invites, though you know he’s close. You’ve reached that point in your physical relationship when you know each other’s bodies so well, your rhythms and sounds, down to the very tone of a gasp or the desperation of a thrust. 

“I don’t think I can cum again,” you admit, though you’re thoroughly enjoying him inside you. 

You really didn’t mean it as a challenge, but when he smirks at you with that certain sparkle in his anthracite eyes you just know you’re in for it. 

“Yes you can,” he insists, slowing his pace inside you, arching you back in his arms so that he can flick one of your nipples with his devilishly clever tongue. Oh. Well that’s not fair at all. You reach down to rub your clit while he fills you like this, delaying his pleasure to hit that perfect spot just past your entrance that makes you forget anything else exists in the world but you and him and the promise of a soul-snatching orgasm on the horizon.

“Give it up for me, my pretty girl,” he coaxes with his lips against your skin, and you know the snake must have sounded like that when he spoke to Eve. Tempting and forbidden and yet oh so reasonable. You’ve asked a lot from your body in the past few days. Maybe this is how you die–and what a way to go. That wonderful tingling pressure fills your hips and you moan, forgetting, again, that the other assassins down the hall probably do not want to hear more evidence that John Wick never misses. 

There are stars in your eyes and a ringing in your ears as this shining, bone-shattering release takes you. You are a ragdoll in his arms as he fills you to the hilt and bathes your cervix with the hot rush of his cum. It’s all the two of you can do, not to sink into the water and drown. With a shaky sigh you kiss his lips before melting against him, re-learning how to breathe with his arms wrapped around you, your head on his shoulder. 

He strokes your hair, whispering endearments so low you can’t really make them out, but the tone is so soothing you drift asleep for a few minutes. You only wake when he freshens the bath with more hot water, before drifting off again. 

***

Much later, when both of your faculties have returned, and your fingers have turned to prunes, he tells you, “I think we’ll give you a break. We’ll start weapons training tomorrow. That, I will handle myself.” 

This is news to you. “Here? In the hotel?”

“There’s an armory, a range, even a course.” 

“In this hotel?” 

He chuckles a little at your disbelief. “Yeah.” 

The New York Continental: anything and everything a killer could need…

And here you are, trapped amongst them with the man you love. You know this is technically John’s world, but a part of you just can’t shake the feeling that he doesn’t belong here. That he shouldn’t have to be back here–it’s not fair. 

You sit up in the water, reaching for a little yellow rubber duck on the side of the tub, not meeting John’s eyes. You’re not sure where it came from; there must be some inside joke you’re not privy to…but it’s cute. 

You do feel some relief, knowing you’re not going to get beat up again tomorrow, though going through tactical firearms drills makes you more than a little nervous. You’re sure it will be different from plinking in the backyard on a Sunday with your dad and his drinking buddies. Ah, alcohol and guns–a time honored American classic.

“I feel like I’m walking out of here with my Certificate in Baddass Assassin Studies,” you say with a nervous little laugh. “What else is there? Are you going to teach me how to pinball flip someone with a muscle car? Maybe how to ride a motorcycle while swinging a katana?”

His lips twist in a smirk. “If you want, when we go home.” 

You find the thought buoys you with hope. “Will we ever get to go home?”

“Unless you really want to move to Argentina,” he needles you.

“Argentina does sound pretty bitchin’...” you tease him. 

He narrows his eyes at you; after all this time, it still gives you a thrill. “Are you sure your fascination with Argentina doesn’t stem from the good looking men who seem to live there?”

You make a raspberry at the thought. He still remembers Javi, it seems. You do too, of course, but all that feels like a distant dream in your memory. “Darling, I have all the Tall, Dark, and Handsome I can handle right here.” You place the rubber ducky on top of his head as though bestowing a crown, and he rolls his eyes before snatching you to him, water splashing all across the floor again. 

“Who’s going–to clean–that up?” you tease between kisses and giggling, suddenly drunk on his arms around you, his strong hand running down your side to squeeze your behind before long fingers quest further towards your aching center. 

“Baby, that is the least of your worries right now.”    

“I can’t!” you whine in protest as he palms your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers. You absolutely give yourself away with your joyful laughter that turns into a moan.

“We’ll see, cheeky girl.”  

This insatiable man really might prove the death of you. 

----

Pretty sure the rubber ducky is all on @sweetwolfcupcake …😂😘😘😘

[twistedbloodstain]

could you please write a marquis fanfic where the reader is Akira’s sister and Vincent kidnaps her in hopes to lure John wick but he ends up just falling in love with her 😭

vincent de gramont x reader: i’d live and die for moments that we stole | words and wind.

plot: the one where you entered his estate in chains but left his home with his heart.

warning: lots of threats from mr. gramont here, one sided love, unrequited love, forced proximity but the force is him, akira’s sister!reader, dutiful reader, vincent winning the idgaf war a little too much here

masterlist

part two

a stroke of pain slowly goes through your temples, you wince. remembering how you accidentally hit your head on the floor when one of the guards had scampered on you when you tried to flee him, that’s when you realized that the marquis had no intention of negotiating with you.

it’s not often that you end up with situations like these, especially with how generous and thoughtful your terms had been with the marquis. you’ve gone through worse terms and even worser odds of successful negotiations, you just hadn’t realized what a fucking animal he was. for this to happen is surely a jab on your pride.

a metal clink rings through the room, a heavy and thick chain bound to your ankle. it was starting to cramp your leg with how large the chain was, you had half a mind to saw it out of your body because you feared that it might’ve lost function with how numb it was starting to feel.

the door opens and you look up. you don’t see anything or anyone right away with how dark it was. you had little to no source of light due to the current state of the night. it was pitch black and the only source of light you had was through the small window so far up the wall during the day.

but you don’t need to see to know who came through the door. it was the marquis, ever since your capture he had visited you in random times of the night to “negotiate.” which fueled your hatred for him due to him disturbing your sleep.

luckily, you’ve been expecting him.

a light bulb suddenly turns on which weakly illuminates the room, the luminescence was patchy but it was a welcoming sight to you. finally, you could see your prison.

you look up to him, still sat on the floor. it takes all your strength to not to lurch at him in anger even with the fact that his guards could easily deflect your attack and lead you somewhere worse.

the room you found yourself in was thankfully, clean. it was the size of a prison cell though, they did give you sufficient enough food but sometimes you had refused them out of lividness.

the small room seemed even smaller with the current person occupying it, the marquis’ height was staggering to behold and you had to admit it was intimidating at first.

all his aggressive and intimidation seemed nothing to your fury and determination as of now. it had all melted the moment he locked you in a cell which you assumed meant to drive you to compliance or insanity. he had another thing coming if he thought that one of shimazu’s children would bend to his fucking will.

“this is unacceptable and cruel, mademoiselle. i have recently received this unfavorable news from the tokyo continental. i found it important to share this with you immediately.” he speaks up then pauses. you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at this as you look into his eyes in disbelief.

he’s playing a new game with you again. a futile attempt for compliance but you’re not sure he knows it. did he think you were stupid and naive?

“after the recent assumptions of your capture, i had informed him of the new terms we agreed to…for a certain excommunicated individual, yet my informants say he has refused to comply even with the threat of his beloved daughter..being killed.” he continues when he notices that you had rolled your eyes at that. “he claims that you would’ve never agreed to it, we disagree with that don’t we, mademoiselle?” he mockingly asks.

you hadn’t agreed, which is precisely why you’re locked up in a cemented cage in the middle of nowhere. you had expected him to be courteous and polite as a representative of the table but you should’ve also expected that he wouldn’t be lenient with you.

“what kind of father abandons his daughter to die? not a good one, i suppose.” he taunts, “i have no idea how you must feel, anger probably. even under that facade you have-“

“lies have always come easy to you. does it?” you interrupt him.

this makes a corner of his lips tug, a smirk almost forming in the process.

“i have something for you.” he announces, you see a small box in his hand as he makes his way to you. you carefully eye him in hesitation as he kneels in front of you.

“anger too, you don’t seem the type to forgive and forget, everyone but me seems to know that.” you continue.

“in this world we live in, forgiveness should have no place in our hearts and forgetting is simply ignorance with different letters.” he replies as he sets the box down next to you.

“but concern, care and innocence…you’re not very good at that are you?” you finish in false pondering.

he chuckles at your words before replying to your statement, “you don’t seem to be alright. perhaps we can speak again when you are feeling much better?”

“we both know you did this, you are at fault for this and it amuses you to play with the lie that my father has forsaken me but i bet that he doesn’t even know about these terms you’ve offered, tell me what exactly were you trying to achieve?”

“i know that question is rhetorical but i will answer that for your enlightenment. accept the terms and you can finally go home. invite him to the continental under the guise of safe conduct and kill him, your father is acquainted with him, he will have his guard down.” he states matter of factly, you scoff at this.

“yes, i would finally go home. only to lead my family to fucking die, we both know what you’re asking from us. even if my father’s sentiments were put aside, we cannot kill him.” you urge him, “the moment he realizes our folly, my family is as good as buried.”

“my men will be present the moment he enters the establishment, you have nothing to fear. get your father to comply so we may finally get rid of him.”

“and how many men are you willing to offer?”

“sixty, but ten should be able to suffice. they’re quite proficient in their craft.”

“ten men or sixty, it matters little. they’ll be dead.” you scoff.

“your father won’t be the only old friend he’ll be seeing. i assume, you know caine?”

you quiet as you take that information in, you realized how desperate the high table must be to have john wick dead and how your family will be the one to pay the price for his death, which will surely be another insignificant number of dead people for them.

“having second thoughts, mademoiselle?” he eagerly inquires.

“with all due respect, i have to refuse you. accepting your terms puts a target on my family, i cannot risk that.” you disclose.

the marquis frowns, his eyes full of disappointment and displeasure from your answer. you presume that he must be on his way to leave you again, only to return in the middle of the night with another set of flowery words and false pretenses of remorse.

he suddenly yanks the chain strapped on your ankle and you yelp in pain, the skin wrapped around your bones is definitely sore and bruising. you’re pulled closer to him, you feel fear and fury fighting for control with the situation you’re facing.

“i have been too kind to you, mademoiselle. i hoped that my kindness to you would help you find common cause with me, it has failed and it will never work i finally see. i have a new proposal to make.” he grits out as he keeps his eyes on you, “get your father to follow the high table’s orders or they die. your father and sister, both. if you refuse to, rest assured i will send their heads to you.” he threatens.

he gets back up on his feet as he watches you take the information in while he slips his hand into his pocket, you hold back the cry that was boiling under your throat and your tears that were trying to escape the corner of your eyes. you look away from him, knowing that he noticed your current state of emotions but you can’t afford to feel weak and see his reaction out of it at the same time.

you wince inside with how pathetic you feel right now.

“perhaps that will give you a new answer to offer to me.” he taunts again, you promise to yourself that once you got out of here, he was fucking dead. one way or another he would be lifeless on the ground and it would be because of you.

“get out.” you whisper.

“finally, have you found your voice?”

“i said get out, you hateful bitch!” you scream at him, hurling the wooden box at him.

pieces of paper and stationery explode on the floor and you clench your jaw in anger at his statement.

“call out when you finally have an answer. hopefully, it is a letter to your father about your acquiescence.” he mutters as he makes his way to the door.

you lean back and sigh, finally letting a stray tear fall down your cheek.

you carefully watch the doctor inspect your ankle, you’re currently reclined on a soft loveseat placed in the middle of the elegantly furnished room. the marquis has taste you had to admit, though his home looked more like a palace than somewhere you’d relax.

you sigh to yourself, still annoyed that you were still in your prison. a lovelier one compared to the previous room but still a prison. you had given in to his demands, sooner or later john wick was entering the territory of the tokyo continental as expected. you had reluctantly written to your father about your agreement to the marquis’ orders, you desperately wanted to write the truth. in your days of isolation, it had only been you and your anger, leaving you to doubt certain aspects of your family.

you expected that your father might’ve been wary about your lengthy absence in france that he might at least send some of his men to come and fetch you yet you had heard nothing of the sort. this led you to doubt your family’s love for you but all these speculations turned to dust the moment the marquis entered the room.

it’s all his doing, you tell yourself.

he must be making it look like the negotiation was going smoothly and that you definitely weren’t locked up in a prison cell somewhere.

all your uncertainties were replaced with plans of malice the moment you had yourself free from the marquis. your long days spending time with yourself helped you formulate a plan to take him down simply because he had detained you.

and threatened to murder your family. it’s not really that petty.

he said it himself, forgiving and forgetting doesn’t exist in this world you both live in. it’s only fair.

of course, he wouldn’t die directly by your hand.

but you know someone that could.

you smile to yourself at the thought of him dead on the floor.

the doors fling open and the devil himself walks in.

you look back to see him, once again dressed impeccably and sophisticated. the marquis gestures his hand and you look back to the doctor who nods when he sees the movement of his hand then leaves.

he really has everyone with the flick of his hand.

he makes his way on the couch across you, embellished with silk and golden patterns dancing around the fabric. the couch creases as he sets himself down on the comfy material.

“i hope everything is to your liking, mademoiselle?” he starts as he leans back into the couch.

“it is, thank you.” you hesitantly thank him.

“no need, the high table rewards obedience and loyalty. sure, you have lost yourself in the earlier stages but it matters little. you have made the right choice.” he smirks at you, you fake a smile at him at his words.

“right.”

“how is your ankle?” he gestures at your limb propped on a footstool.

“better i think.” you speculate.

“that’s lovely to hear, you will need your strength soon. the earlier it heals the better.” he states.

you don’t make a reply out to him, choosing to stay silent. you knew his courtesies were empty as you learned the hard way plus what was there to say to him? you had questions for him but you weren’t sure he was eager to answer them or he reveled in leaving you in the dark, literally or figuratively.

not to mention, you still carried a heavy baggage of anger for him. there was no space for any sort of genuine amenity between the both of you, he had threatened to murder your father and sister, although you knew it was an effort to coerce you to follow his demands but you couldn’t help but feel that they weren’t empty threats.

you knew caine, he was an old friend of john’s and you also knew that the marquis was free to command him where to go and who to kill under the threat of murdering his daughter. you wince at this, as much as you knew that bloodshed often led to messier circumstances, you knew that as long as the marquis lived he could pull that card on you to make you obey.

who knows how much more you would have to sacrifice just to obey his whim? his words left a heavy impact on you, it had plagued you day and night which you anticipate was what the marquis wanted. you had written the letter to your father out of fear for their lives. your fear and fury was balanced, the more fear you felt the more fuel for your fury towards him.

that’s good, you’ll need all of that to get rid of him.

“does that mean i’ll stop being your prisoner?” you raise your eyebrow at him.

“prisoner? you speak of delusions, you are sitting on one of my chairs and staying in my home. you are no prisoner.” he scoffs.

you roll your eyes at him, the first lie always wins but the truth can easily cleanse that out, he can tell people whatever he likes but as long as they know of his nature your story is much more persuasive than his.

“then that means i can go home?” you ponder even if you already know the answer.

“what kind of host lets his guest leave their house injured and alone? certainly not someone like me, i insist you heal and rest.”

“the sooner i go home the sooner we can prepare for john wick’s arrival.” you firmly state.

he always liked to start conversations like this, pleasant courtesies and empty greetings, basically playing dumb.

“your father can prepare on his own, he has another daughter to help him. i wouldn’t worry too much.”

that can’t happen. you planned on seeking john wick yourself as soon as you left, you presumed that your letter might’ve brought you to the good graces of the marquis but you were clearly mistaken. you groan to yourself, your days of captivity had left you out of touch with reality and more opportunistic than before.

“are you serious?”

“i’m afraid i am.”

you want to scream at him again, you know that he’s not keeping you because of how much a gracious host he was. he was keeping you here so your father remains obedient and loyal to the high table. you were leverage, to make your father comply so that he doesn’t turn against them at the last second.

“are you so uncertain of your control that you need to make everyone bend at your will? you have forced me to my knees, what else do you want?” you ridicule him, the marquis frowns at this and rebuts.

“it is merely a precaution, mademoiselle. we must be careful with how we deal with situations like these, as you have learned.”

“my father will need me.” you state.

“you are an emissary, it is not befitting your station.”

“earlier you had this envoy shackled by chains and locked in a cell, you’ll have to be more specific to what is befitting my station.”

“the answer is no.”

you can feel anger bubbling under your skin again, although you did plan to enact your plan of revenge on him. you can’t help but feel rage at his stubbornness. once you finally sought john wick, you planned to help him challenge the marquis in a duel. something the marquis surely can’t refuse, his pride will definitely make him think that he has the upper hand on this but with the history of the excommunicated assassin there is little to no chance he’d be making it out alive.

he’ll probably pull a few unexpected obstacles and tricks to deter john wick but it should be a little nuisance for him, he already came this far. he wouldn’t lose by now.

“you will need all the help you can get when taking him down. it’s specifically why you have enlisted our help.” you convince him. hopefully, that should make him listen. he doesn’t like helping anyone other than himself.

“you sound too eager don’t you?” the marquis questions in suspicion.

“the earlier this is finished the sooner we can get back with our lives.” you smile.

you can shorten your time, all you would need was a few minutes with john to tell him what to do. you could make your way to winston to also help john in taking the marquis down out of vengeance for his recently departed friend and demolished hotel.

all you need to do is leave the marquis’ estate.

he quiets from your statement and sighs in resolve, “fine. i will let you go, i see no reason to refuse your request but you will arrive there with caine the moment john wick is sighted within the tokyo continental, is that understood?”

you grin in victory.

the first piece of his downfall begins.

“but rest assured mademoiselle, if i hear a whisper that you’ve turned against me the tokyo continental will be turned to ashes like the new york’s, with you and your family inside it.” he warns, with mockery and amusement on his lips.

your stomach churns in dread.

taglist: @blsmbr

author’s note: this is supposed to be a one part fic only but tumblr won’t let me copy and paste the entire thing soo…here is part 1 will post again tomorrow. :) i’m currently working on other requests so this should be quick, like and reblog also feel free to request!

[fangirl--writes]

Jerome Valeska x Reader Drabble

Authors' Note: Little drabble based on this video: here.

It made me cackle.

________________________

You tiptoed down the hall the padding of your fuzzy socks absorbed your step as you snuck to the bathroom.

A sing song sort whistle  floated in your ears your grip on the pitcher tightened.  You almost felt bad…He was singing now at the top of his lungs, off key… your boyfriend was lost in his own world in the shower.

Too Perfect.

You could barely contain  the shit eating   smirk that started to overtake your face he was so in for it.

He, being Jerome Valeska, your boyfriend who had just  “returned” from a very brief stay in Arkham Asylum just last night bragging about his new record for shortest visit yet.

His ginger locks were a mess face full of grime and sweat and he smelled like a dumpster fire by the docks. Yet his ever present grin was there as he slung his arms around your shoulder nuzzling  in to kiss your cheek feverishly.

His hands sneakily drifted lower and lower stopping to squeeze your sides eliciting a squeak of surprise  before going to play with the zipper on your pants.

You shivered dropping your dish in the sink as his rough lips went down to work your neck starting to suck the tender spots in your nape.

“J..jer..ome~” you whined with a flushed face trying to wriggle free from his iron grasp. “you were only gone a few days..“

With a twist you slipped under his arm grabbing the counter corner for support.

“Ah but honey I just missed ya’ so much.” He stalked forward with his arms outstretched intent to wrap you up in his chest again. You recognized the haughty glint in his dark eyes swirling as he approached in your small kitchen.

Then it hit you again; the smell of low tide, wet dog and trash that REALLY needed to go out.

Your shoulders shook as you gagged.

“Sir. …No. No sir when was the last time you showered?” You retched holding a spoon out in defense.

At this the red head froze you could see  the hamster wheel working overtime  behind his eyes.

“Listen. You take a shower or a bath I’m not picky. Then we’ll talk.”

Needless to say he slept on the couch that night much to your dismay, you were going to have to deep clean the next afternoon .

The scream was abysmal, high pitched squeal of surprise that if you didn’t know any better was from a young child and not your manic red head who laughed in the face of death.

Your low snicker erupted into a fit of laughter your shoulders shaking  as you pulled the pitcher back stepping down from the stool you’d carefully hidden away earlier just for the occasion.

Your face flushed  rich crimson hues as you held your aching side hearing Jerome curse and squirm at the temperature change.

Payback

“AH Ah you little shit-“  Jerome growled acknowledging you directly his hand ripping back the shower curtain enough to peak out to reveal you red faced and howling.

With a quick breathe you poked your tongue out flashing a grin to match before  quickly turning to run  fully expectant to get away in victory until you felt the sudden pull of his soaking strong arms on the back of your damp shirt.

The pitcher fumbled from your hands hitting the floor as you shrieked “nA-NYOOOOOOOO” you grasped weakly at the counter top in attempt to save yourself from a watery grave.  

The edge slipped out from your fingers as a soaking wet hand wrapped around your middle further drenching you as he pulled you back into the shower still laughing like a maniac.

A wicked grin lined his lips his brows arched as he cackled at your poor misfortune-

“C’mere you..”  You heard him tease as your whole body fell back into his waiting arms.  Between abrupt giggles you squeaked feeling a tickle on your ribs. “NyOOO- No NO JEROWME.”

Escape was futile.

✨Gremlin Taglist✨:

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[layce2015]

John Wick Chapter 4 (John Wick x Female!Reader)

Chapter 2: The Battle Of Osaka Continental

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The three of them clink their glasses together and begin to drink. "You want to die? That's your choice. A good death only comes after a good life." Shimazu said. "You and I left a good life behind a long time ago, my friend." John said and Shimazu takes a sip of his drink then looks over at them. "But what of your wife?" He asked and (y/n) looks down at the cup in her hand.

She let's out a small scoff and shakes her head. "I believe my good life was taken from me the moment I was kidnapped. It was only a few months ago but...feels like a lifetime ago. I'm not even sure...if I'm that same woman." She responded and John places his left hand on her leg. Even after she already forgiven him, he still feels responsible for everything that's happened to them. He would give anything to go back to that life, back when she was innocent and had no idea about this world.

"Father, The High Table." Akira exclaimed as she ran but stopped when she sees John and (y/n). "What are they doing here?" She asked, angrily. "Mr and Mrs Wick are our guests." Shimazu said and Akira glares at her father. "Father..." she growls. "I'll talk to them. They don't know you two are here." Shimazu said as he gets up from his chair and walks around.

"Please." Akira pleads to him as he walks up to her and she grabs his wrist. "Stay with Mr and Mrs Wick." Shizuma said and he walks away and Akira gives a pleading look to her father then turns to the couple and glares at them, like this was all of their fault.

She then looks down and shakes her head after a few moments of silence. "You and your wife have no right to be here. If they find you two here, The Table will kill my father, me, everyone because you broke the rules." Akira said then she looks up at them. "You two shouldn't have come." She said, a firm tone.

"I know my words mean nothing but...both my husband and I are very sorry. We just wanted to be left alone." (Y/n) said and Akira stares at her until a man, carrying a bow, walks up, bows then leans over to Akira.

"The hotel is being attacked." He tells her. She glares over at the couple then takes off her robes, revealing am armored body suit. "You two armed?" She asked them as she takes the bow out of the man's hand.

John and (y/n) pull out their handguns when the man is shot and killed. John and (y/n) fire a few shots as a group of armored men come up. The couple and Akira take cover and Akira nods to some nearby men and they begin to fire arrows at the men, killing two of them.

She runs out, jumps on one man, shoots him in the head with an arrow then goes to attack while John and (y/n) go and shoot a few armored men. John jumps on one man, flips him around and shoots him the head before shooting another man while (y/n) ducks from some bullets.

She gets down close the one of the armored me, wraps her legs around the man's leg and turns over, knocking the man down before shooting him in the head. They take down the remaining men before they meet up with Akira and the remaining members of her guards. "Let's go." She said. "Hai." One of the archers said and they all run towards the hotel.

Once inside, they were immediately attacked and they started shooting at the men. They make it to the escalators and one guard tried to attack John but (y/n) was able to take him down as she grabbed the man, shot him and threw him down the escalators.

John and (y/n) shot a few more men but would fight hand to hand to anyone that got close. Akira was also taking dien some men in her own as a few men in suits started to come in and fight. One big guy try to fight Akira but she was so quick he was unable to keep up and she stabbed him several times in the legs.

He tried to crawl away from her but she stabbed him in the back as she crawled up on him until he finally died. She gets off of him and walks down the steps when she was shot in her side. "Akira!" Shimazu shouts as he comes running in the room, kills a couple of men then runs to his daughter, not seeing some men coming up behind him.

But John and (y/n) make their way to him and shoot the men. "Can you stand?" Shimazu asked Akira as he places her arm around his shoulder and helps her up. He then turns to John and (y/n) as they walk up to them. 

"Get out the way you came. Go to the Umeda Station." Shimazu said. "We'll stay." John said. "Don't insult my gift to you." Shimazu said and they share a look before John nods. "And, John, do me a small courtesy. Kill as many as you can." Shimazu said as he raise a fist to John, who fist bumped him. Then John takes his wife's hand and they run as Shimazu helps his daughter to run in the opposite direction.

John and (y/n) make it to the museum area that was blinking white-blue lights and lean up against a wall. The two reload their guns then they share a look before (y/n) nods at her husband and they walk out from behind the wall and see more armed men coming and they start to shoot.

They run along the room and fire their guns at the men 'til they get into the middle of the room and just either shoot them or punch and kick at them. At one point, John ran out of bullets and threw his gun at one man and grabs at another man to pull his gun put of his hand and uses it.

(Y/n) punched and kicked at one man then used her knife bracelet to stab him in the neck. She takes his gun as he falls over and John takes another gun and shoots at the men that were on the ground, making sure they were dead.

The two started to walk when a large man in a suit grabs at (y/n) and punches her across the face, making her fall to the side. John goes to shoot at the man but he knocks the gun out of John's hand and they start to fight while (y/n) shakes her head, getting out of her daze.

The man then grabs John and tosses him against a glass case that held Nunchucks inside. John notices them and grabs them while (y/n) goes to attack the man when another suited man comes up and grabs her.

She slams the back of her head against the man's face as John gets up and hits the first man's face with the nunchucks, repeatedly. The second man that held onto (y/n) lets her go as he cups his nose and she lands on her feet, pulls out her knife bracelet and goes to stab him with it.

He does his best to block her but she was able to slice at him. Finally, she stabs him in the stomach then the chest, several times while John was able to grab a gun and shoots the guy he was fighting then the one she was fighting. (Y/n) sighs and looks to see if the dead man had a gun and takes it.

"Alright?" John asked her and she nods and they start to walk out when more gunfire sounds out. They fire back then they take cover behind some glass cases. They peak out from the edges of the cases and fire then John goes to one man and hits him in the leg with the nunchucks then his crotch.

They fight as (y/n) goes to the second man, jumps on him and swings around to get on his back. He tries to grab at her but she moves away from his hands as she stabs him in the back with several quick movements. The man yells in pain and falls to his knees before (y/n) pulls out the gun and shoots him in the back of the head.

John was able to knock his guy down and shoots him in the head as well. He places the nunchucks around his neck and (y/n) gets up and they start to walk when some armored men come in and fire at them.

John and (y/n) get behind a wall of painted glass and John takes the nunchucks off of his neck and gets into position. One of the armed men comes around, aiming his assault rifle, when John pops out and uses the nunchucks to pull the rifle out of his hand and shoots him then another guy.

The couple go around the wall and John fires through the glass at another armored man. (Y/n) hears footsteps behind her and she turns and fires her gun at them, killing one.while the second one comes up. John turns and goes to fire his rifle but found out he was out of bullets and he threw the gun at him before he goes to fight.

It seemed never ending as the couple would just punch, kick, shoot, or hit these men with nunchucks whenever they would come. But John and (y/n) were able to hold their own as they fought their way through these waves of men until finally John took down the last man then fell to his feet in exhaustion.

"John?" (Y/n) said, worried, as she kneels down next to him. "I'm fine." He whispers back to her as he takes a breath. Then she helps him up to his feet when they heard footsteps.

They look over and see an Asian man in a suit and sunglasses walking up to them, using a cane to run across the surface of the case. This was Caine. "John?" He calls out as he walks up to John, who seemed surprised to see him. "Caine." John said, a bit stunned, and Caine stops and stands a few feet in front of him.

"They gave you my name." John said, questioningly. "Yeah. And your wife's." Caine replied and (y/n) gasped, quietly, at this. "I'm sorry." John tells Caine. "Me too." Caine said before he fires his gun around and John grabs (y/n) and they run and hide.

Caine raises his cane and holds it in front of him as John and (y/n) duck down behind a wall. (Y/n) looks over to her left and sees a dead guard with a gun held in his hand. She takes it then hands it to John and he begins to look it over, seeing if it was loaded.

"You should have stayed out. For all our sakes." Caine calls out and John looks over at (y/n). "I tried." He replied and (y/n) gives him a sympathetic look. "Did you?" Caine asked as John grabs a nearby samurai sword and holds it in his left hand and the gun in his right hand.

He turns back to his wife and mouths the words stay here before he gets up. And before Caine could come around the corner, John goes to attack him with the sword but Caine was able to block it with his cane. 

The two sword fight for a bit while also firing bullets at each other, but missing. Caine then pulls off the cover of his cane, revealing a sword, and the two swing swords at each other. John then ducks from a swing then goes to hide behind another wall of glass.

While they were firing guns, (y/n) was able to get up and run for a different cover in case things got bad. She could tell by the way Caine was fighting that he was blind and she knew even if this guy was a good assassin like John, there was still a good chance she could get badly hurt...more so than usual.

She hide behind a wall of glass that is behind the one John was hiding behind. And she sticks out from the edge to show him where she was. He looks over then nods as Caine sits down behind another wall and reloads his gun. "Come on, John. Let's get this shit over with." Caine said. "Yeah." John replied, breathless. "That sounds like a good idea." He said and he reloads his gun while Caine comes out from hiding and holds his sword out, hitting a glass case, as he walks around.

"You took a deal." John said to him. "Same as you, John." Caine replied. "Family?" John asked as he gets up on his knees. "Family." Caine confirms as his foot hits a dead man and his rifle.

John peaks out from his hiding and fires at Caine. Caine grabs the rifle, runs and slides on his side and fires to where he heard the gunfire. The two men keep firing through the glass wall, not hitting the other, until the glass breaks and falls.

John was on his back, his gun aimed at Caine as Caine used his sword to feel his way around. "You dead, John?" Caine asked and John keeps quiet then looks over to his side to see a gun. He goes to reach for it but made a noise and Caine catches this. John goes to grab the gun but Caine slides across the floor and blocks him from grabbing the gun.

Caine started to get up and swing his sword but John ducks then gets behind him and grabs him but Caine flips him over on the ground, gets on top of him and starts to hold the sword to John's neck. John holds the sword back at bay then looks over to see his wife sticking her head out from her hiding place. 

She looked frighten and was about to move to him but he shakes his head at her. "John." Caine said. "Caine." John said as he struggles and (y/n) couldn't let him die so she goes to grab her gun and aim it at Caine.

But before she could fire, another gunfire shoots out and Caine jumps off of John and rolls away. John then gets up and runs as a man fires at Caine. John goes over to (y/n), takes her hand and they run out of the room.

They make their way outside when a few guards shoots at them and they fire back. Another suited man comes up and John fights him until he was able to knock him down and shoots him in the head. He then noticed a pin with a crest on his jacket and he takes it then pockets it.

Before (y/n) could speak, they hear a small branch breaking and the couple turn to aim their gun when a couple of guards come up. But then a dog comes up and attacks one man while the second man was shot in the head.

Then this African American man comes up while John and (y/n) aim their guns at him. "Damn, Johnny. This is quite the mess you and your woman made." He said as John stands up. "I don't know you." John said, confused. "But I know you." The man, Mr Nobody, said and he aims his gun at John.

"You a tracker?" John asked and Mr Nobody holds up his phone. "How much?" John asked. "Not enough." Mr Nobody replied as he shuts his phone and pockets it. "But it's gettin' there." Mr Nobody said as he lowers his gun.

Then a suited man comes up behind John and (y/n) but Mr Nobody shoots him, killing him. "I need you to take better care of yourself and your wife, John." Mr Nobody said as he holsters his gun. "Cause we're in this together now." He said and John stares at him then he lowers his right hand and reached out for his wife's hand, his left hand holding the gun.

She lowers her left hand, her right hand holding her gun, and they hold hands then back up before lowering their guns and run off into the woods, hand in hand.

[fandomnerd9602]

May I please request a John wick 4 Akira x male wick reader 🥺 I love her so much

Akira shoots several bad guys...

Y/N: your technique is off

Akira: what? no it's not

She shoots several more...

Y/N: you're off. also you're holding your gun wrong

Akira: show me then!

Y/N kills several bad guys in quick succession...

Akira: oh I see it now

[thebunnednun]

The Fawn and the Wolf - John Wick X Assassin! Reader (Chapter 3)

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?

TW: Mentions of failed suicide attempt and bullying. Violence stuff.

Chapter Summary:

You decide to come home and surprise your family on the day you're to meet your "fiance" .... which was a total accident   .... while it's also the same day they call John to the house.

Oopsies!

-------------------Chapter 3: Let the game begin!------------------------

You were running. 

Running fast and hard through an endless field of wheat. Each golden stalk slapped against your bare legs as you pushed forward, the fabric of your white dress flapping wildly. The sun blazed overhead, its rays searing into your skin and making you squint against the brightness. Your lungs burned, and your heart pounded in your chest, but you couldn’t stop. You didn’t know what you were running from, only that you had to get away.

The air is thick with the scent of wheat and earth, and every breath you take feels like inhaling fire. Your heart is a wild drumbeat in your chest, driving you forward. The field seems endless, the horizon a distant blur. You push yourself harder, the grass slashing at your bare legs, leaving stinging welts. You hear distant shouts, voices calling your name, urging you on.

“Keep running! Don’t stop!” It's Nick’s voice, firm and commanding.

“Faster, you can do it!” Joselyn’s encouragement cuts through the air, filled with a mix of fear and hope.

“Almost there, sweetheart!” David's voice is soft but urgent, like a whisper in the wind.

“Come on, you’re so close!” Amelia’s voice, usually so calm, now quivers with desperation.

You glance ahead and see them: Nick, Joselyn, David, and Amalia, all running too. They’re ahead of you, their figures moving swiftly through the golden sea. They reach a line that you can’t quite see, a threshold of safety. They turn back to you, their faces anxious, motioning frantically for you to keep going, to make it to them.

You wanted to reach them, to feel their protective embrace, but something felt off. You pump your legs harder, but something feels wrong. An instinct deep within you screams to stop. Against all your family’s pleas, you look back. The world slows as you turn, your eyes scanning the field behind you.

That’s when you saw it. 

There, in the midst of the wheat, is a massive grey wolf. It stands perfectly still, its dark fur stark against the golden field, its eyes locked onto you. It doesn’t move, doesn’t chase. It just watches, its gaze piercing and intelligent. You feel a strange pull, an understanding that it wasn’t going to hurt you. 

The large black wolf stood motionless behind you, its piercing eyes locked onto yours. It wasn’t chasing you; it was simply watching, studying. 

Ignoring your family’s frantic shouts, you stood very still, listening. The air was thick with tension, and you could feel multiple dangers closing in. The wolf didn’t move, but its presence was enough to make you tremble.

A shiver ran down your spine as you realized the real danger wasn’t behind you. 

It was all around you.

“Keep running!” your family urged, their voices blending into a desperate chorus. Your family’s voices grow more frantic, but you stand frozen, feeling the wolf’s eyes on you. Then you sense it—the malevolent presence, the true danger. It’s everywhere, surrounding you like an unseen predator. Panic floods your veins, and you hear your family urging you to run again.

“Run! Don’t stop!” Nick’s voice is almost drowned out by the roar of your own heartbeat.

You hesitated for a moment longer, then turned and ran again, but no matter how fast you moved, you didn’t get any closer to them. Panic welled up inside you, and you looked back, screaming and crying, just as the wolf sprang into action.

You force your legs to move, tearing your gaze from the wolf and sprinting toward your family. But no matter how hard you run, you don’t seem to get any closer. The distance between you and the safety line remains constant, an endless, unbridgeable gap. Tears blur your vision as frustration and fear build within you.

You look back, screaming, the sound torn from your throat in a raw, desperate cry. The wolf moves, a swift, dark blur, and it flings itself between you and the encroaching darkness. The malevolent energy recoils, but you feel its tendrils reaching for you.

With a powerful leap, the wolf hurled itself at the darker energies that had been closing in on you. Its teeth and claws flashed in the sunlight as it fought off the unseen threats, buying you precious moments. You turned back toward your family, now almost within reach.

You’re almost there, almost to safety. But then a chilling realization grips you. Your instincts scream “DANGER!” louder than ever. You skid to a halt, turning to face your family, who are no longer urging you to run. Their faces twist and warp, the familiarity melting away to reveal something sinister, something evil.

“Run!” they shout, but their voices are distorted, filled with malice.

You scream again, turning and running in the opposite direction. The ground seems to shift beneath your feet, the field closing in around you. The wolf leaps out of the wheat, landing gracefully between you and your family-turned-monsters. It growls, a deep, rumbling sound that resonates with protection.

The wolf’s eyes meet yours, and in that moment, you understand. It’s not your enemy. It’s trying to save you. You stop, your chest heaving, and the field seems to hold its breath. The dark energies surge forward, but the wolf stands firm, its presence a shield.

You take a step back, then another, your eyes never leaving the wolf. It turns its head slightly, as if urging you to run again, but this time in the right direction. You nod, feeling a strange mix of fear and trust, and you start running again, the wolf guarding your back.

The wheat parts before you, and the landscape changes. The sun dims, the air cools, and the malevolent presence fades. You keep running, feeling the ground solidify beneath your feet, the path ahead clearing.

With one final look back, you see the wolf standing tall, a sentinel against the darkness. Your family’s twisted forms are gone, swallowed by the golden waves. 

It’s all too much for you. 

You remember a trick your grandmother taught you. Closing your eyes three times, In an instant, the scene shifted. The wheat field dissolved around you, and you found yourself transported into another dream, the lingering echoes of your screams fading into a haunting silence. 

The nightmare begins to dissolve, the field of wheat fading into a foggy blur. The last thing you see is the wolf’s eyes, filled with an unspoken promise.

You wake up again with a jolt, the nightmare still clinging to you like a shroud. 

The cold iron frame of your bed bit into your back, and you looked around the room, seeing the rows of identical little beds lined up in a row. There were at least forty in the room, but all the other girls were missing except one. Michelle lay in the bed next to yours, her cross necklace gleaming faintly in the dim light.

Realizing you had overslept, you scrambled out of bed, your feet hitting the cold floor. You shook Michelle gently, trying to wake her. “Michelle, wake up! We’re late!”

Michelle stirred, her eyes fluttering open. “What’s going on?” she mumbled sleepily.

“We have to go, now!” you urged, pulling her up.

Michelle stirs, her eyes wide with fear as she realizes the situation. Together, you hurry to get out of bed, but it's too late. The headmistress, Cordelia, appears behind you. She is a tall and curvy woman with red eyes, very long black hair curled at the end with bangs, and lips painted red and black. Her eyes are a deep green in the center, lighter on the outer circle, with pitch-black pupils. She wears a tight formal black dress that emphasizes her imposing presence.

Cordelia’s hand clamps down on your shoulder, her grip like iron. “You’re late,” she hisses, dragging you away from Michelle. “You have a special appointment today.”

“No, please!” you cried, struggling against her hold.

You struggle, but her strength is overwhelming. She forces you into a room and into a wedding gown that’s far too big for you. You look like a little girl playing dress-up. The chains bite into your wrists as she secures you to a bedpost, her eyes gleaming with cruel amusement.

“This is your mission,” Cordelia sneers. “You are to kill the son of another family by pretending to be the bride.”

You glare at her, your heart pounding with a mix of fear and anger. “What about Michelle?” you demand.

Cordelia’s laugh is cruel and mocking, a sound that sends chills down your spine and would haunt you years later. “Michelle is being sold because of your refusal on your previous mission and that stupid boy. He’ll get his too, but this my dear.” She kneeled and gripped the ends of your ill fitted dress before ruffling it. 

“This is your punishment.”

You had refused to kill a child present at the ceremony. You couldn’t, how could you? You and Amelia were children yourselves when it happened. They could force you to work, but not to give up your morals. 

Fury ignites within you, blazing a inferno of rage and desperation. You struggle against the chains, but they hold fast, biting into your skin. Cordelia’s laughter fills your ears, a horrible, grating sound that echoes through the room. You glance at the two-way mirror and see Michelle being dragged away, her eyes wide with terror. Cordelia’s lips stretch into a grotesque grin, the black lip stain almost appearing blood red.

Cordelia leans in close, her breath hot against your ear. “You’ll never escape.

You don’t mean to cry at this, but you do. The tears come, hot and heavy. The fat little pearls blur your vision as you try to make any noise, but your throat betrays you, filling with hot air instead. Like it always does when you’re confronted with emotion. A stabbing pain shoots from your heart through your soul, your body writhing on the floor in anguish.

Cordelia leaned in close, her breath hot on your face. “It’s all futile,” she whispered. “I’m happy to see your spirit finally breaking.”

“And soon, you will be too.”

Rage and desperation surge within you, fueling a sudden burst of strength. With a fierce determination, you lunge forward, slamming your face into Cordelia’s chest. Your teeth seek her hidden silver dagger. The shock in her eyes gives you the advantage you need. You bite down, hard . Feeling the hilt of the dagger, and with a final, desperate effort, you free it with your teeth. In one swift motion, you drive the dagger into her heart, your actions fueled by a primal instinct for survival.

Blood seeped through her dress as you pulled the dagger out and stabbed her again and again, aiming for her face, your eyes wild with fury. She stumbled back, screaming for help, but none of the other girls came. They listened from the safety of their rooms, frozen in fear.

Fueled by adrenaline, you wrenched your leg free from the cuff, your foot bleeding instantly. You broke the clasp binding you to the bedpost and went after Cordelia, the dagger clutched in your bloodied hand. Her screams of pain echoed through the room, but you didn't stop.

You ripped your left hand out of the handcuffs, the metal cutting deep into your wrist, and used your now-free hand to take the blade from your teeth and drive the dagger into her again and again. Blood splattered across your face and dress as you quickly stabbed her.

Cordelia staggered back, her shrill voice giving way to screams of agony. In the chaos of your attack, a porcelain vase was knocked over, shattering on the floor. Desperation flared in her eyes as she grabbed a large fragment and swung it at you, smashing it over your head.

Pain exploded in your skull, momentarily blinding you. The world spun, and you stumbled, blood streaming down your face from the sharp edges of the broken vase. The jagged edges had cut deep, but the adrenaline coursing through you dulled the pain, fueling your rage even more.

Cordelia saw her chance and tried to run again, but you pushed through the dizziness. The sight of her fleeing figure reignited the fury within you. With a primal scream, you launched yourself after her, the dagger still clutched in your bloodied hand.

Your vision quite literally tinged with red.

Fueled by adrenaline, you wrenched your other hand free from the cuff, your wrist bleeding profusely. You take the rest of the chains binding you to the bedpost over your body and go after Cordelia, the dagger clutched in your bloodied hand.

You wrenched your other hand free from the cuff, your wrist bleeding profusely. Taking the rest of the chains binding you from the bedpost over your body, you finally stand up despite everything in your body screaming for you not to, and go after Cordelia. Your knuckles turned white as you clutched the stained daggering your bloodied hand. The hallways blurred as you hunted her down, each step driven by a restless need for vengeance. 

The walls seemed to close in, the hall echoing with the sound of your pursuit. You could hear Cordelia's ragged breaths and see the frantic pattern of her blood splatters on the floor. Doors and faces flashed by as you closed the distance, your vision darkened to the singular focus of catching her.

You could hear her sharp stiletto heels running down the carpeted halls. The artwork and mirrors seem to watch as you pursue her, your heart pounding in your ears. You could hear the sound of instruments being knocked over. 

She was in the music room. 

You kick the door open, the force of your rage propelling you forward, your eyes blazing with determination. 

"Stop!" she shrieked, her eyes wide with fear. But you were beyond reason, beyond mercy.

Cordelia stumbles into the grand piano, trying to hide. With a flick of your wrist, you throw the dagger, and it sinks into her stomach. Cordelia's scream of terror cut through the air as you finally reached her. You lunged at her, tackling her to the ground, and the two of you crashed through the glass doors of the balcony, rolling and choking each other, the impact jarring but not enough to stop you. 

You rolled across the floor, grappling and choking each other, a desperate struggle for dominance. Cordelia managed to kick you in the stomach, sending you sprawling. Pain radiated from your abdomen, but before she could move to escape, you grabbed her long hair, yanking her back with such force that clumps of it came away in your hand. The hair ripped from her scalp, and you used it to choke her.

She shrieked in pain, her hands clawing at yours, but you didn’t relent. Her struggles only fueled your determination, every fiber of your being focused on ending her tyranny. As she gasped for air, her eyes wild with terror, you found your strength and hauled her towards the balcony's edge.

With a savage effort, you held her over the railing, her body dangling precariously above the drop. Her screams echoed in the cold afternoon air, mixing with the distant sounds of the estate. Below, the garden seemed to stretch endlessly, a bright abyss waiting to swallow her whole.

Cordelia’s hands clutched desperately at your wrists, her nails digging into your skin, but you didn’t flinch. You had to be strong or she would tug you down. Her weight pulled on your muscles, but the adrenaline coursing through you made you strong. You looked into her eyes, seeing the anger and desperation there, and felt a grim realization. 

If she wanted to speak, your eyes silenced her. Only choked gasps escaped her blood filled mouth. You held her there for a moment longer, letting her feel the terror she had inflicted on so many others while taking in her face. 

“This is for my sister, you bitch.” You choked out, and with a final push, you released her.

Cordelia made no effort to scream as she fell, her body twisting and flailing in the air. You watched, unflinching, as she plummeted, her figure growing smaller until it disappeared into the flowers below. The sound of her impact echoed faintly, a distant thud that seemed to signal the end of an era.

“[Name]!”

You turn your head to the right. From the balcony of the next room, you could see Michelle evading the man sent to collect her, swinging a bottle of alcohol at him. Quickly, you seized a nearby cupid statue, its cherubic face staring blankly. With all your remaining adrenaline, you hurl it at the man. The statue flies through the air, striking him squarely on the head. He crumpled to the ground, lifeless, the force of the blow instantly killed him.

Michelle backed away from the now dead man, her eyes wide with shock and horror. Her chest heaved with rapid breaths, and for a moment, she stood frozen, staring at the lifeless body sprawled on the floor. Then, as if snapping out of a trance, she looked up at you, her eyes filled with urgency and concern.

She rushed to the edge of the balcony, her footsteps echoing in the tense silence. Leaning over the railing, Michelle peered down at Cordelia's broken body, her expression unreadable. 

With a blank stare, she raised the bottle of alcohol in her hand, her grip tightening around its neck. In one swift motion, she hurled the bottle down at Cordelia. It shattered on impact, shards of glass and liquor raining down on Cordelia's prone form. Cordelia moans in pain, still alive.

The two of you shared a look before you turned back to the sight below. 

Seeing that she is still alive, you leap over the balcony’s edge, chains and wedding dress trailing behind you like a ghostly specter. You land heavily on Cordelia, knocking the breath out of her. The liquid soaked into her wounds, mixing with the blood and causing her to moan in pain. 

She opens her verdant and lime eyes again and they lock onto yours, filled with a twisted sort of satisfaction. Despite her injuries, she laughs softly, a gurgling sound as blood bubbles out of her lips. 

“I always knew you’d be the one to kill me,” Cordelia wheezed. “I was hoping you would be the one to kill me,” she whispers, blood dripping out of her corners of her mouth to pool in her hair. 

You feel disgust rise within you. “You’re nothing more than a demon in a vessel. And I kill demons.

Cordelia’s eyes flicker with a twisted sort of pride. “Sing to me,” she croaks, “Before I go to sleep.”

You remain silent in defiance, refusing her final request. Leaning close, you rip the dagger from her stomach before pointing the cold silver at her heart. With a quick motion, the blade pierces through her body. Cordelia gasps, choking as blood pours from her chest, her eyes widening in shock and pain.

She realizes she’s never coming back. 

“May Jesus keep you.”

You drove the dagger deeper into her heart, breaking through bone until it emerged on the other side and you could hear a faint pop and squish on the grass from underneath her. 

Cordelia’s eyes lost their focus, and she went still. You stood up again and looked at the now dead daemoness. 

All that was left now was an empty shell. 

Breathing heavily, you tried to keep your balance, your body shaking from the exertion and the rush of adrenaline. Blood dripped from your face and hands, mixing with the tears that had fallen earlier. The once grand garden now looked like a battlefield, the aftermath of a storm of violence and vengeance.

You turn your face towards the sun and feel a strange mix of triumph and sorrow wash over you. 

You weren’t done here. 

Michelle watched from above as you pulled a match from your hair, striking it against the only white rose left. You lit Cordelia’s body on fire, watching the flames consume her. The other girls in the estate peeking out of windows, witnessing the end of their tormentor.

Next, you began digging up the garden in your dirty, bloodied wedding gown, with your bare hands. Your muscles were burning and screaming at you but you didn’t listen. You would leave no trace of this woman. Not a damn thing. 

Determination fueled your every movement as you overturned the earth, casting aside ruined roses and pulling them from beneath layers of soil. Once the garden was upturned, the other girls threw bedding from their windows, to help in silence. Together, you stretched out the linens, creating a makeshift shroud over the disturbed ground. You then pile all of the glass and ruined roses on top of it. 

Afterwards you strip off the chains, feeling the weight lift from your body. Something else had partially lifted itself off you when this happened. It was as if a heavy burden had been lifted from your soul. Shaking with a mix of emotions, you removed the bloodied wedding dress next before turning back to the body at hand. 

You wrapped Cordelia’s remains in the wedding dress, using it as a barrier between you and the old witch, making sure you would never touch her again. With careful reverence, you laid the bundled form atop the mound of earth and roses.

Using the chains that once confined you, you secure the bundle and light it ablaze once more, ensuring nothing remains but memories.

When the fire had reduced everything to ashes and iron remnants, you dragged the charred remains to the nearby lake. Standing at the edge of the pier, you watched silently as you dumped the bundle into the cold, icy depths below. The water swallowed them without a trace, carrying away the last vestiges of Cordelia and her malevolence, leaving you finally free.

Freedom

When you returned to the estate, Michelle stood waiting anxiously with the other girls, their figures silhouetted against the flickering light of torches. As you approached, their faces turned towards you, a mixture of hope and fear etched across their features. Michelle broke from the group, rushing towards you with tears in her eyes, and enveloped you in a tight, trembling hug.

“Is it done?” Michelle asked, her voice trembling.

"Yes."

Michelle held onto you tighter, her breath hitching in a mix of disbelief and overwhelming relief. You gently place your arms around her, not wanting to dirty her in the exchange. But that didn't matter.

The other girls surrounded you both, their expressions ranging from tearful joy to stunned silence. Some cheered softly, their voices carrying echoes of liberation, while others simply wept, releasing years of pent-up anguish. They formed a circle around you, drawing you into their embrace, sharing in the profound moment of freedom.

As the emotions swirled around you, you felt exhaustion creeping in. The adrenaline of the ordeal began to ebb, replaced by a bone-deep weariness.

You twitched in your sleep, the cold wash of relief enveloped you. The nightmare was over, and the witch was dead.

At least when you opened your eyes. 

The transition was seamless, as if she was gently pulled from one reality into another. Now, she found herself seated atop the Eiffel Tower, a steaming cup of hot chocolate cradled in her hands.

The world around her was a serene blend of times and lights: Sunrise met sunset, daylight mingled with twilight, stars twinkled alongside the moon, creating a tapestry of mesmerizing beauty.

She took a slow sip of her hot chocolate, the warmth spreading through her chilled fingers. The air carried the familiar scent of coffee, and she closed her eyes briefly, letting the peaceful ambiance wash over her. It was a moment of solace she rarely allowed herself, a tranquil respite from the chaos of her waking life.

As she savored the quietude, her gaze wandered across the panoramic view of Paris spread out below. The city lights flickered like distant stars, casting a soft glow over the landscape. It was a sight she had often admired in her travels, yet here, atop this iconic landmark, it held a surreal quality.

A subtle movement caught her attention—an empty seat at the small bistro table opposite her own. She frowned slightly, puzzled by its sudden appearance. She leaned forward, peering into the emptiness, trying to make sense of this unexpected addition to her solitary reverie.

Then, as if materializing from the mist of her thoughts, John appeared in the seat across from her. Dressed impeccably in a dark blue three-piece suit with a crisp white tie, he exuded an air of calm confidence. His smile was warm and inviting, his gaze filled with a mixture of familiarity and kindness.

Startled yet intrigued, she blinked, unsure if she was still dreaming. She studied him intently, noting the way his hair caught the ambient light, the slight crease of amusement around his eyes. It felt too real to be a mere dream, yet too surreal to be anything else.

John lifted a steaming cup of coffee to his lips, taking a leisurely sip as he watched her with gentle amusement. The sight of him there, in this timeless moment suspended between day and night, stirred something deep within her—a longing for companionship, for someone to share these fleeting moments of peace.

She blushed for a moment, realizing she was wearing a black and white striped ensemble. The setting, the attire—it all seemed too similar to a date. But this felt different. 

It wasn’t a date arranged by Nick, David, or Hasin, where she played the role of their little sister. Nor was it a girls' outing for fun and shopping. This wasn’t one of her covert missions where she’d say, “I know a place,” kill the guy, and disappear into the night.

No, this felt real. It felt... personal. And despite the significant age difference, she couldn’t deny that part of the appeal was his maturity, his calm presence that seemed to ground her in a way no one else did.

Unsure of what to say, she remained silent, absorbing the surreal encounter. The dreamlike quality of their surroundings enveloped them like a cocoon, shielding them from the outside world. It was as if they existed in a realm untouched by time, where their connection could flourish without the weight of their respective realities.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't notice when John spoke at first. His voice was a soft murmur, barely audible over the gentle breeze that rustled through the tower's structure.

Catching his lip movements, she suddenly realized John was speaking. She hadn’t heard a word he said. Flushing again, she stammered, “Pardon?” her cheeks flushing with embarrassment at being caught off guard.

John chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "I was just saying," he began, his tone warm and teasing, "that we both seem to have a fondness for sweets." Reaching out, he gently wiped the corner of her mouth with his thumb, removing a trace of chocolate.

Her ears burned with embarrassment, and she watched, entranced, as he licked his thumb clean.

She managed a small smile, feeling a rush of warmth despite the chill in the air. His thumb lingered on her cheek for a moment longer, his touch gentle and reassuring. She couldn't help but notice the contrast between his large, comforting hand and her own smaller, shaky one.

Noticing her hand trembled slightly, he reached for it, enveloping her smaller fingers in his larger, comforting grasp. His touch sent a wave of calm through her, soothing the lingering uncertainty that clouded her thoughts.

His thumb traced delicate circles over her knuckles, the simple gesture sent a shiver down her spine, a mix of warmth and excitement she hadn’t felt in a long time. She looked down at their intertwined hands, feeling the strength and comfort in his touch, before meeting his gaze again.

Their hands remained intertwined on the table, the space between them filled with unspoken words and uncharted emotions. A slice of pie appeared beside the cups, a sweet temptation that added to the surrealism of the moment. She glanced from the pie back to John, who offered her a warm smile before leaning closer, their foreheads gently touching.

His warm smile made her heart flutter, and he leaned closer, their foreheads almost touching. Her heart raced at the intimacy of the gesture, the closeness of their proximity sending a thrill through her. She closed her eyes, trying to steady her breath, relishing the fleeting peace of this dream-like encounter. His other hand came up to cup her cheek, and she snapped her eyes open, meeting his intense gaze.

His eyes were so tender and reassuring.

She leaned into his touch, her eyes searching his face for answers, for understanding. His presence held a depth she had rarely encountered, a quiet strength that spoke of shared experiences and unspoken truths.

Her heart pounded in her chest, the scent of his cologne enveloped her, mingling with the sweet aroma of the hot chocolate. She leaned into his palm, feeling the world around them fade into insignificance.

Everything felt right, perfect even, in this suspended moment of time.

But just as she felt herself surrendering to the tranquility, a glint caught her eye—a wedding ring, glimmering on John's finger. Her eyes widened, and she froze. The wedding ring on his hand shimmered in the shifting light, a harsh reminder of a reality she couldn't escape.

Reality shattered the illusion, jolting her awake from the comforting embrace of the dream.

Light began to seep into the edges of the dream, pulling her away from the serenity of the moment. The warmth faded, replaced by a cold clarity that brought her back to consciousness.

With a jolt, she consciously woke, the echoes of warmth and the faint scent of coffee lingering in her senses, leaving her with a bittersweet ache and unanswered questions about the complexities of her emotions and the enigmatic presence of John in her dreams.

-

Your eyes snapped open, the remnants of the dream still vivid in your mind. You lay there, breathing heavily, feeling the weight of disappointment settling in. The warmth of the dream lingered, juxtaposed with the cold reality of your solitary existence.

But amidst the ache of waking from such a fleeting happiness, you couldn't shake the sense of warmth and comfort that John's presence had left behind. It was a reminder of what you craved deep down, your darkest secret.

As you lay there, the echo of John's whispered words lingered in your ears, a bittersweet melody of what could never be.

“AARAH!”

Michelle was throwing up in the plane's restroom, the retching sound audible even through the thin door.

You sighed, thinking to yourself, "Morning sickness," and got up, noticing she had placed your jacket back on you while you slept.

Stretching your legs and wiggling your feet, you worked on your arms and cracked your neck. Today would be another long day, but waking up with Michelle unharmed was a blessing you didn't take lightly.

After saying your morning prayers, you strolled over to the bathroom door and knocked gently. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah!" Michelle's voice was strained, but she managed to sound welcoming.

You opened the door to see her hunched over the sink, her hands gripping the edges tightly. Her face was pale, beads of sweat dotting her forehead as she tried to keep down the remnants of last night's dinner. "Sorry, maybe we should've gone to Paris instead or something," you said, your voice filled with concern.

She spit up again, then looked at you through the mirror with a weak smile. "And you get found out by the High Table? No, I don't think so." She chuckled softly, but the sound was strained, and you noticed the hand towel she had placed between her belly and the sink counter for support.

Kicking off your shoes quickly, you hopped onto the counter to sit, holding her hair back from her face so she could puke in peace. The tight space of the plane's restroom made it difficult, but you managed, offering her a comforting presence. "How are you feeling now?" you asked, your voice gentle as you rubbed her back.

"Like I got run over by a truck," Michelle replied, her voice muffled as she leaned over the sink again. "But I'll live." She took a deep breath and rinsed her mouth, then turned to lean against the counter, her face pale but composed. "Thanks for this," she said, gesturing to you holding her hair.

"Anytime," you replied with a soft smile. "We're in this together."

She nodded, her eyes reflecting both gratitude and exhaustion. "I just hate feeling so weak. Especially now."

"You’re not weak, Michelle. You’re strong. Look at everything you’ve been through, everything you’re doing. Morning sickness is just a temporary setback."

Michelle sighed, her shoulders relaxing a bit. "I know. It's just... hard sometimes."

You nodded in understanding. "I get it. But we’ll get through it. One step at a time."

Michelle managed a small, tired smile. "Thanks. I needed to hear that."

You continued to hold her hair, offering silent support as she leaned back over the sink. The plane's steady hum was a constant backdrop to your whispered words of encouragement. You could feel the tension easing slightly from her body as you both took a moment to just breathe, finding a haven in each other's presence amidst the turbulence of your lives.

Once Michelle seemed a bit more stable, you helped her straighten up, offering her a glass of water to rinse her mouth. She took it gratefully, her hands trembling slightly. You watched her closely, ensuring she was okay before hopping down from the counter and slipping your shoes back on.

"Let's get you back to your seat," you said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders for support. "You need to rest."

Michelle nodded, leaning on you as you guided her out of the cramped restroom and back to her seat. As she settled down, you tucked a blanket around her, making sure she was comfortable before taking your own seat beside her.

The hum of the plane and the soft murmurs of the other passengers provided a calming background as you watched Michelle steady herself. You sighed, feeling the weight of the past few days pressing down on you, but determined to stay strong.

The white clouds passed by, and you allowed yourself a moment of respite, closing your eyes and letting the rhythmic sound of the engines lull you into a light daze. Your thoughts drifted to the dream you had before waking up, the serene yet surreal experience of sitting atop the Eiffel Tower. 

The memory of the dream was vivid in your mind, the mixture of twilight, sunrise, and starlight creating a unique and otherworldly atmosphere. You remembered the warmth of the hot chocolate in your hands and the unexpected appearance of John, his presence as comforting as it was surprising.

You shook your head slightly, dispelling the lingering dreamlike haze, and refocused on the present. Michelle stirred beside you. She stretched slightly, wincing from the discomfort, and then turned to you with a concerned look. "How did you sleep?"

You hesitated, knowing exactly where this conversation was headed. "Fine," you said nonchalantly, avoiding her gaze.

Michelle gave you a pointed look, one eyebrow raised. "Really?"

You sighed, realizing you couldn't dodge her intuition. "Alright, alright. I had nightmares again."

Michelle’s eyes softened with concern. "Do you want to talk about them?"

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. "It’s just the usual stuff. Running, danger, the wolf... And then there was this dream with John."

"John?" Michelle asked, curiosity piqued. "Who's John?"

You took a deep breath, knowing you had to explain. "John Wick. He's... well, he's kind of a legend. The Boogeyman’s killer. I ran into him at the club last night." You played with your nails, avoiding eye contact.

Michelle's eyes widened. "The John Wick? And you dreamt about him?"

You nodded, pulling the marker from your pocket. "Yeah. He’s got this marker. I lifted it off him during the chase."

Michelle's eyes flicked to the marker in your hand. "You were holding that in your sleep," she said softly. "And talking again."

You tried to joke, "Oh, in addition to the usual crying?"

Michelle placed a gentle hand on your arm and then pulled you into her lap. You whined, feeling awkward. "I'm too big for this, Michelle!"

Michelle’s voice was firm but filled with love. "You were my baby first. As long as I'm alive and breathing, I will always comfort you."

You relented, allowing her to hold you. Your arms wrapped around each other, and you rested your cheek against Michelle’s collarbone. The familiarity and warmth of her embrace soothed your frayed nerves.

Your eyes drifted to the cross hanging around her neck, a cherished gift from her father before he abandoned her at Cordelia’s. The sight of it brought back harsh memories of your own mother’s cross, the one she wore before she died. The memory stung, a bitter pain that you had learned to push down deep inside.

Michelle’s fingers traced patterns on your back as she held you close. The comfort she extended to you was a stark contrast to the harshness of your upbringing, and it mirrored the loving kindness your mother once showed. Though they were complete opposites in many ways, both Michelle and your mother had given you the strength to endure and survive.

You took a deep breath, pushing the painful memory back down. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Michelle kissed the top of your head. "Family doesn’t say, ‘Thank you.’"

____

John adjusted the rearview mirror of the sleek Ford Mustang as he glanced at the Bowery King sitting beside him. The King's presence was a contrast to his usual solitary drives, but John found it oddly comforting. They were on their way to the Morales estate, the tension palpable as they discussed their findings.

"There's something off about the Morales family," John began, his voice steady yet laced with suspicion. "This whole situation is just weird."

The Bowery King nodded, his fingers drumming on the armrest. "I've been trying to get some information about that lady’s house she burned down. None of the girls would talk. One even tried to stab me!" The King chuckled like it was a sweet gesture. 

John raised an eyebrow. “Tried to stab you?”

The King shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. “Can’t blame her. Those girls have been through hell. But it tells me something about their loyalty. Or fear.”

John's grip tightened on the steering wheel. "She’s clever, resourceful. A little too good at slipping away." 

The King chuckled. "And a hell of a dancer from what you said back in Japan. What’s your take on the family? They’ve got some serious connections."

"Nick Morales is the head, but The Fawn... she’s the wildcard. You said she’s been burning down these places, but I don’t think it’s about evidence. I think she’s trying to send them a message.” 

“She’s valuable.”

“Too valuable for them to let go."

They drove in silence for a few moments, the hum of the engine filling the car. As they approached a gas station, the Bowery King suggested a pit stop. "Let's grab some snacks. I’m starving."

John nodded, pulling into the gas station and stopping by a pump. He started to fill the car with gas while the King got out, stretching his legs before heading inside. 

Meanwhile, at the other end of the gas station, you and Michelle had just pulled up in your armored station wagon. You adjusted your disguise in the mirror before glancing at Michelle, who was looking pale and uncomfortable.

"Morning sickness again?" you asked, concern in your voice.

Michelle nodded, her hand clutching her stomach. "Yeah, I need to use the restroom."

"Go ahead, I'll get some stomach medicine and a few other things."

Michelle rushed into the gas station, her bulletproof clothing making her movements look slightly awkward but ensuring her safety. You walked inside as well, heading towards the medicine aisle. You picked up some stomach medicine and then made your way to the counter, where you also grabbed a few lottery tickets.

As you paid in cash, the Bowery King approached, eyeing the lottery tickets with a smile. 

"Feeling lucky today?"

You smiled back, your eyes glinting with determination. "I do, actually."

Just then, Michelle emerged from the restroom, looking slightly better. She grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and joined you at the counter.

Outside, John finished filling the car with gas. He noticed Michelle’s walk as she exited the gas station. There was something familiar about it, but he couldn’t place it. His eyes then moved to you, noting the way you and the Bowery King exchanged a few words and a nod before heading to your separate vehicles.

As the Bowery King returned to the car, he handed John an iced tea. "Here you go. Met someone interesting in there."

John took the iced tea, his curiosity piqued. "Who were you talking to?"

The King leaned back in his seat, a thoughtful look on his face. "Just a young woman. Seemed like a sweetheart. Reminds me of someone, but I can’t quite put my finger on it."

John watched as you and Michelle got into your station wagon. His mind raced with possibilities, a sense of familiarity gnawing at him. "Let's keep an eye on them," he said quietly, more to himself than to the King.

As you drove away, you glanced in the rearview mirror, feeling a shiver of awareness. You knew the road ahead was fraught with danger, but you were prepared. You had to be, for Michelle’s sake and your own. The encounter had been brief, but it left an impression, a reminder that in this world, you could never be too careful.

The Bowery King noticed John’s lingering gaze. "You think that was her?"

John didn’t answer immediately, his mind replaying the brief interaction. "I don’t know. But if it was, we’re in for a hell of a chase."

The King nodded, his expression serious. "Then let’s make sure we’re ready for whatever comes next."

As the Mustang pulled out of the gas station and back onto the road, John felt a renewed sense of determination. The game was far from over, and he intended to see it through to the end.

As the gray fog cast its pale glow over the dense canopy of trees, you maneuvered your armored station wagon through the winding, concealed paths of the woods. The headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the way to the hidden entrance of the underground bunker. Michelle sat beside you, alert and ready, clad in her bulletproof tweed suit, her eyes scanning the surroundings with practiced vigilance.

Arriving at the bunker's concealed entrance, they exited the car and walked through a concealed tunnel that wound deeper into the earth. The cool, damp air enveloped them as they emerged into the dimly lit garage, the familiar sight of their escape route in front of them. It was here they had planned and executed their escape from the Morales estate months ago.

David was waiting for them, his figure partially obscured in the shadows. As they approached, Michelle gasped audibly, her hand instinctively reaching to her mouth. 

“What! What happened?!”

You ran up to her before dropping your keys at the sight before you. 

A deep, jagged scar ran from his hairline, just above his left eyebrow, through the skin of his eye, down to his collarbone. The flesh around it was still raw, the wound recent and stark against his otherwise youthful appearance. 

The goofy young man that could soften you with one smile was gone now. 

You rushed forward, embracing David tightly, your hands trembling slightly as they ran over the rough terrain of the deep cut that marred his features, unable to resist the urge to touch, to reassure yourself that he was indeed here, alive and standing before you. Your fingers traced the raised edges of the scar, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath.

The scar told a story of a price paid, etched into his skin. 

Forever.

"Nick found out..." David's whisper was strained, the weight of the revelation palpable in the air. His eyes, usually filled with a calm resolve, now held a hint of urgency and concern.

Your eyes widened, a surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins. Quickly looking around, you ushered David and Michelle into your Lamborghini, the sleek, armored vehicle now a haven amidst the probably bugged garage. Locking the doors behind them, you turned to David, your voice firm and urgent. 

"Spill. What happened?"

David took a deep breath, his gaze meeting hers with a mixture of weariness and determination. 

“I threw the guy Nick hired to find you a dummy tracker for you to throw off suspicions. Nick was on to me from the start. After I kissed you goodnight, he forced me to change the security codes.” He closed his eyes and tried to still his breathing as Michelle rubbed his shoulder. 

“But you left your earbuds in the bathroom.”

“He went into my room?!”

“That’s literally not important right now!”

“Focus!”

“Sorry, Michelle,” You cleared your throat and gestured for David to continue. 

“So when Nick found your note he was extra confused. I didn’t know you left one so I couldn’t snatch it before he found out.” David was fidgeting with his fingers now. “I tried to play it cool while you were out. I figured as long as I had erased the tapes and blamed it on a glitch in the system that you would be fine.” 

His voice is shaky now and there’s sweat beading on his forehead that Michelle offers him a hanky for. “Thanks Mich,” He wipes the area around his new scar gingerly. 

"Nick's onto us. He tightened security, doubled the patrols. They're expecting trouble, especially after what went down in New York."

Michelle's brow furrowed, a sense of foreboding settling over her features. "How much does he know?" she asked, her voice steady despite the gravity of the situation.

David shook his head slowly. "Enough to be dangerous. He's been digging into everything—our movements, our contacts. He's closing in, and fast."

“Shit.”

Your mind raced, thoughts colliding like thunder in a storm. "We need a plan," you said, your voice steady despite the rising tide of panic. "We can't stay here. Not anymore."

David nodded in agreement, his expression tense yet resolute. "I've been scouting a safe house, not far from here. It's isolated, off the grid. We can lay low there until we figure out our next move."

You held onto Michelle’s hand, but you couldn’t take your eyes off David. 

The scar on his face cracked something within you. You wanted to cry the more you looked at it. It was a mark of his loyalty, his commitment to making sure you were safe.

That you would have a chance to live.

As you listened to his story unfold, your thoughts drifted to the countless times you had relied on him, trusted him with your life, and now, with this new scar, it was a shitty reminder of the dangers that surrounded you all.

In a fucked up way, it was also a confirmation of how much he loves you. 

In the dim light of the garage, with the faint scent of oil and metal lingering in the air, Michelle's gaze flickered between you both, her soft features shifted into a cold expression. "We go after we confront Nick," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

“Agreed.”

“Let’s start a plan.”

—-- (Backstory. You might wanna take a break. It’s a long chapter. Okay, love you!!~)

“ NO! ”

The opulent dining room of the Morales estate quaked with the fury unleashed within its walls. Crystal chandeliers cast fractured patterns across the polished marble floors, their light reflecting the flickering candles that adorned the ornate table. The staff had long abandoned the dining room in search of their own shelter from your wrath. 

At one end stood you, your eyes blazing with unbridled defiance, while Nick Morales, the patriarch of the family, sat rigidly at the head, his typically composed demeanor strained to the breaking point.

"I WON'T DO IT!"  

Your voice sliced through the air like a sharpened blade, sending a shiver through the staff who lurked in the kitchen. Plates shattered on the table as you hurled your protest, the force of your words causing the room to tremble.

Levin and Malachi, the youngest Morales sons, darted out of the room in a blur of motion, fleeing the escalating storm. Amelia, their mother, chased after them, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor as she unleashed a torrent of rebuke in your direction. Aaron, her husband, bursts through the doors just in time to dodge a flying dish aimed at his back, his face a mask of annoyance and frustration.

Amelia rolled her eyes as she directed Michelle to take her boys away, her voice edged with exasperation. Joselyn and David, seated on your right side of the table, pleaded with you to calm down, their voices strained with worry. Hasin, Joselyn’s husband, interjected urgently, his attempts to diffuse the situation falling on deaf ears.

"Muñeca, please put down the plate!" Hasin's voice was lost amidst the chaos, drowned out by the mounting fury.

With a deafening crash, another dish shattered against the wall, shards scattering like shrapnel across the room. The impact reverberated through the estate, a stark punctuation to the escalating confrontation. In the deafening silence that followed, you spoke again, your voice chillingly calm amidst the chaos. 

"Let go of me."

Nick's gaze bore into yours with steely resolve. "I'm not ASKING you, I'm TELLING you!" His voice thundered, the authority in his tone shaking the very foundations of the Morales household.

A sharp slap echoed throughout the mansion like a gunshot, the sound reverberating off the walls. 

The room fell into an eerie stillness, the tension thick as molasses. The candles flickered, casting dancing shadows that mirrored the turmoil within. Everyone held their breath, waiting for the next explosive moment in this battle of wills.

The whole of the Morales estate fell into a tense hush as the staff pressed their ears against the heavy wooden doors. The dinner plates lay shattered on the table, utensils found residence in the walls, remnants of the storm that had just swept through. Voices echoed from within, sharp and biting.

"You can't escape your duties! " Nick's voice boomed, the authority in his tone palpable.

"WATCH ME!" Your defiant yell reverberated through the hall, cutting through the thick silence that followed. Without a backward glance, you stormed out of the dining room, a whirlwind of frustration and determination.

Running footsteps pursued you as you charged through the corridors of the mansion. Servants and family members alike scattered to clear your path, eyes wide with apprehension.

The chaos followed you like a shadow, but you were focused on one destination—the sanctuary of your office. Climbing the grand staircase, your steps echoed loudly in the empty halls. David's voice called after you, pleading, "[Name], wait!"

Ignoring his pleas, you reached your office door and fumbled with your key, unlocking it with a sense of urgency. Pushing inside, you slammed the door shut behind you, shutting out the noise and commotion.

The room enveloped you in a comforting familiarity. Soft light filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over the space. In the corner of the room, a locked closet held a shrine adorned with candles, a tribute to your parents and friends lost.

You lit two new candles with trembling hands and sank to your knees before the shrine, head bowed in silent prayer. Tears streamed down your cheeks, emotions cascading in waves as you wrestled with the weight of expectations and duty.

David entered quietly, holding a lit candle of his own. Setting it on your coffee table, he knelt beside you, a silent presence in the solemnity of your prayers. 

“Oh Sunshine.”

As you sobbed, David's arms encircled you gently, drawing you into a comforting embrace. You leaned into him, finding a brief moment of peace in his arms.

When you finally looked up, David met your gaze with concern, using his sleeves to wipe away your tears. A faint smile tugged at your lips when he joked about using his tie to blow your nose, momentarily lightening the heaviness in the air.

" Ew !" you managed to giggle before the weight of your emotions pressed down again, and tears welled up once more. David sighed softly, holding you tighter in reassurance.

Minutes passed in silence, the only sound was the soft crackle of the candles. Eventually, you shifted in his arms, a signal that words needed to be said.

"I'm sorry," David murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he tried to meet your eyes.

You looked away, thoughts racing with uncertainty about the future. After a long pause, you finally spoke, your voice steady but distant. 

"I'm sorry too."

Pushing down your feelings, you composed your expression to a neutral mask. "Go to your room. You didn't see me," you instructed, your tone final.

David struggled to find words, his own emotions caught in his throat. With a solemn nod, he turned and quietly left your office, leaving you alone with your thoughts and prayers.

—

Later that night, as the rest of the household slept, you moved silently through the dimly lit corridors of the mansion. The weight of your impending departure pressed heavily on your shoulders. Each step felt like an echo of your frantic heartbeat, a rhythm of heartbreak and determination.

Slipping into the room where Levin and Malachi slept, you were greeted by the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the large window. The boys' room was a cozy play place, filled with soft toys and colorful blankets. The walls were painted a soothing sky blue, adorned with star and moon decals that glowed faintly in the darkness. Shelves lined with books and toys framed the room, a testament to their curious minds and playful spirits.

Levin and Malachi lay peacefully in their beds, their small forms barely stirring. With tender care, you kissed their foreheads, your lips lingering as if trying to imprint your love on their skin. The soft fabric of their superhero and Pokemon-themed pajamas brushed against your cheeks as you leaned over them.

Stirring awake, they blinked up at you with sleepy eyes. "Where are you going, Tia?" Malachi asked, his voice tinged with the innocent curiosity of a child.

You smiled gently, though the corners of your mouth trembled. "I have to go do something, baby bear."

"Another work trip?" Levin mumbled, rubbing his eyes and clutching a worn-out teddy bear close to his chest.

"Not exactly," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "Come sit in my lap."

The boys scrambled from their beds and nestled into your lap, their warmth a comfort against the chill of the night. You held them close, the scent of their baby shampoo and the softness of their skin a bittersweet reminder of all you were leaving behind.

"I want to tell you something really important," you began, looking down at them with all the love you could muster. "Where's your ears? Can you show me your ears?"

Giggling quietly, they placed their hands over their ears, their eyes wide with curiosity. You lifted them to eye level, the moonlight casting a soft glow over their faces.

"I want you both to know I'm going to be gone a long time," you said, your voice breaking slightly. Malachi, the oldest at nearly seven, looked up at you with a mix of shock and confusion. 

"Where are you going, Tia?" he asked, placing a small hand over your heart.

Levin, just four years old, was equally confused. He placed his little hand on your face, his touch light and innocent. "Tia has to go somewhere for a while. But I need you guys to hear me," you said, holding their gaze with all the intensity of your love. "No matter what happens, I love you both. I love you with all my heart and soul, and I will come back for you."

Tears welled up in their eyes, the confusion giving way to sadness. "But why?" they asked in unison, their voices trembling.

You sighed, the weight of the explanation heavy on your tongue. "I have to go so I can be a lawyer. But I can't come back until I can take care of you both."

Malachi nodded, almost understanding immediately. Levin whimpered, and you hugged them both tightly, your heart breaking at their innocent confusion. "We love you too, Tia," Malachi whispered, his small voice filled with earnest emotion. "I don't want you to go," Levin cried softly, and soon, the three of you were crying together, your back pressed against the carved wooden bed frame.

The intricate design of the bed frame bit into your skin, but you didn't care. All that mattered was holding them, feeling their warmth, and assuring them of your love one last time. Eventually, the tears subsided, and you gave them each a bracelet you had made, adorned with a small cross charm.

"I will always be with you, even when you can't see me," you said, your voice thick with emotion.

You tucked them into Malachi's bed, kissing their foreheads and lying beside them until they fell asleep. Levin drifted off first, his small body relaxing into slumber. Malachi turned to face you, his eyes finding yours in the moonlight.

He placed his hand on your cheek, poking you gently. You made a silly face for him, and he giggled, a sound that tugged at your heart. "Sometimes, I think of you like a mom," he said softly.

You felt a lump in your throat, tears threatening to spill once more. "I would have been honored to be your mother, baby bear," you whispered, kissing his little fingers. Tugging him back into bed, you watched as he finally fell asleep.

You didn't move until 4 AM, slipping quietly down to the garage. Your heart twisted painfully, another part of your soul squeezed tight, as you prepared to leave the only family you had ever truly known.

—-- Before all of that

You couldn't sleep that night.

It felt like you were going crazy, like a caged animal on death row. Your blood ran hot and cold, every heartbeat a drum against your ribs as you gave yourself over to fits of crying and smashing things. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your eyes stinging from endless tears, and your lungs felt like they were on fire. Your skin was molten lava, and you almost tore the clothes off your body to cool down, your nails leaving red welts on your arms in the frenzy.

Nothing helped.

You knew what you had to do. You had thought about it before, even made the plan with Amelia while you were under the care of your grandmother. You'd make as much money as you needed and then drop off the face of the earth. You'd run, together.

That was before she met Aaron.

She changed while you were sent to Cordelia. When you came back, she acted as if she'd seen a ghost, barely receptive to your return at all. She even gave Michelle a hard time and once you found out her father didn’t want her back, Nick insisted that she live with him.

And even after all of that you were still alone.

Your mind was a battlefield, memories ping-ponging back and forth. You were too young to be pouting in your room and too old not to take control of your own life.

So you packed a bag.

You hadn’t unpacked your work bag from yesterday, so that went into the larger bag. You took some outfits, your work ‘uniform,’ and some money. You grabbed your work keys and house keys. You wanted to take some pictures with you, but you couldn’t bear the thought of them getting lost or destroyed. You took out your burner phone and left your real one on the bed. You kissed your stuffed animals goodbye, their stitched smiles a cruel reminder of the built comfort you were leaving behind, and prayed that God would have mercy on you.

You snuck out of your room around 1 AM. Kissed your littles goodbye, and now it was 4 AM.

You had to be quick. The staff was still asleep, but you weren't going to take any chances. Avoiding cameras, you slipped past Amelia and Aaron's room, where you could hear them whisper-arguing, their voices low and venomous.

You rolled your eyes, feeling a twisted sense of satisfaction at their discord, before crawling through the hallway and pausing before Joselyn and Hasin's door. You could hear her choked sobs and him trying to comfort her, his words a murmur of reassurance. A pang of guilt twisted in your gut, knowing you were part of her sorrow.

David’s room had a soft blue glow under the door, the familiar hum of his video game consel a faint comfort. You assumed he was playing to work off the stress from earlier, his own method of coping.

You continued on until you heard nothing but silence from Nick and Michelle's room, assuming she was asleep. You slipped down the stair banister and landed without making a sound, your heart pounding in your ears.

You passed the now-ruined dining room on your way to Nick's office. The staff weren’t equipped to fix it, and he had dismissed them for the evening. His office door was ajar, and you could tell he was drunk, singing quietly along to the music from his radio. A flash of anger surged through you, mingling with a sorrow you didn't want to acknowledge.

Nick was almost a father to you, looking after you when you were orphaned. You knew he loved you. But his love was a cage, and you couldn’t live in a house where your fate would be decided for you.

You left a note saying you were going out on a mission next to his office door before making your way to the garage. 

The darkness of the garage swallowed you as you stood there, the reality of your decision crashing down. Every step felt like a betrayal, every breath a stolen moment from a life you no longer wanted to live.

The cold, metallic scent of the garage mingled with the salty tang of your tears, creating a bitter cocktail of regret and resolve. You steeled yourself, knowing that this was the only way to reclaim your life, even if it meant breaking your heart in the process.

"Where are you headed off to?"

You spun around, knife in hand, and threw it without thinking. The blade clattered against metal as Michelle, perched on the hood of your car, blocked it with her purse. She stood from the vehicle, her eyes puffy and red from crying. The fabric and buckle of her purse was slashed, and she sighed, her shoulders sagging under the weight of her emotions.

"I am so sorry!" you whispered urgently, rushing to her side. Her face was a mess of dried tears and fresh streaks, her neck blotchy with anger and despair.

"I know what you're planning," she said, her voice raw. "And you can't do it."

You stared at her, your heart thudding painfully in your chest. "I have to. I can't stay here."

Michelle grabbed your arm, her grip vice-like. "If Nick catches you, it’ll be worse than anything you can imagine. He won't let you go."

"I don't care," you replied, your voice shaking but resolute. "I'd rather risk everything than be a prisoner here."

"But what if he finds you? What if—"

"I can't live like this, Michelle," you interrupted, your eyes blazing with desperation. "I have to go. Now."

Michelle looked into your eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, she took a deep breath and nodded. "Then I'm coming with you."

You both moved swiftly to the keypad by the garage door, fingers trembling as you entered the code. The alarm system blared to life, a deafening siren that sent panic shooting through you.

"Someone must have changed the codes," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the noise.

You bolted the door shut just as Nick's drunken yelling echoed down the hallway. His fists pounded on the door, and the sound of a gunshot rang out as he tried to shoot the lock.

"Come on, come on!" you panic, frantically trying the code again.

A noise from above drew your attention and your gun. You looked up to see David crawling through the vent. He dropped down, landing silently, and punched in a new code on the pad. The alarm fell silent.

David hugged both of you tightly. He climbed over his jeep and back into the vent and disappeared. 

You didn't have time to thank him. You and Michelle dashed to the car, hearts pounding. You jumped into the driver's seat of the station wagon, the engine roaring to life. With a deep breath, you floored the accelerator, smashing through the garage gate. The metal buckled and twisted, the sound of it tearing apart loud in your ears.

As you sped away, you could hear Nick's furious shouts growing fainter. Another gunshot, and a car alarm went off. The security staff would be on you in minutes. Your eyes darted to the rearview mirror, watching for any signs of pursuit.

"We have to disappear," Michelle said, her voice shaking.

"Completely."

You nodded, your mind already racing through the plan you'd made long ago. For days, you stayed on the move, your nerves frayed and tension

In a remote location, you set the final part of your plan into motion. You faked your death in an explosive fire, leaving behind nothing but ashes and a shattered past. The flames roared, consuming everything in their path, the heat intense against your skin.

As the fire died down, you and Michelle watched from a distance, the reality of what you'd done sinking in. The night sky seemed darker, the weight of your decision heavy on your shoulders. But at least now, you were free.

Until your marker arrived at the doorstep to your apartment in Japan. 

There was only one person in the world who had your marker: Amelia. Rage flared within you because you knew she would also be the only one to point out how there was no way you could have died. She hunted you down a few days later; you and Michelle had gone to Italy to buy some time.

Amelia found you in a small, tucked-away café in Rome. The three of you sat at a corner table, tension thick in the air. Michelle's presence was an irritant to Amelia, her eyes narrowing every time Michelle spoke.

"I refuse to talk without her," you stated firmly.

Amelia huffed, her annoyance palpable. "Fine. Let's go somewhere private. We can’t discuss this here."

You all drove in silence to the old estate that had once belonged to Cordelia, the secluded location offered the privacy you needed. The car ride was fraught with unspoken words and simmering anger. The estate was a relic of the past, its once-grand halls now echoing with the ghosts of former glory. The nature around it was working hard to cover every inch of the house. Trying to swallow up the evil that once resided there. 

As soon as you entered the drawing room, the arguments began.

"You can't just quit because they want you to marry," Amelia snapped, her voice cutting through the stillness like a knife.

You paced the room, frustration evident in your every movement. "It's not just about the marriage! Stop making it about getting married!" You threw your hands into the air and started at her. 

Amelia crossed her arms, her stance defensive. "You can still be a lawyer, even with the marriage!" Oh this bitch don’t listen. 

"No, Amelia," you shot back, turning to face her with blazing eyes. "Then they’ll just keep me under their thumb. I want out. I want my life back." You crossed your arms over your chest now. 

Amelia shook her head, exasperation and desperation mingling in her expression. "We can't both get out of this life. It doesn’t work that way." 

You stopped pacing and stared at her, your voice filled with hurt. "It isn't fair. I supported you even though I don't like Aaron. I made sure you got out, found your true love, had kids, and your happily ever after. And I’m the younger one!"

Amelia’s eyes softened for a moment before hardening again. "I have my own life now. And you know that if you leave, I’ll get dragged back into being an assassin. Like you said, I have children now."

"And another one on the way," you whispered, the revelation hanging heavy in the air.

Amelia's eyes widened, her hand instinctively moving to her abdomen. "How did you—?"

"It doesn’t matter how I know," you interrupted, your voice trembling. "What matters is that I won’t let you or anyone else control my life anymore."

Amelia's eyes narrowed, her posture rigid with anger. "You always make it about you, don't you? Have you ever thought about anyone else? Like how your actions affect me?"

You felt a surge of bitterness. "You think I haven’t? You think I don’t know how hard this is for you? But—"

"Aaron saved me!" Amelia's voice was sharp, cutting through the room. "He chose not to kill me. He—"

"He didn't do it because he wanted to manipulate you!" you shot back. "He’s four years older than you, Amelia! When you met, he was a senior in high school, and you were just a freshman. How can you not see how wrong that is?"

Amelia's face flushed with anger. "Get over it! You wanted me to marry Christian, but that’s not what I wanted. Christian was just a familiar choice for you."

"At least Christian was closer in age and actually fought for you during missions!" you retorted. "Aaron had a previous engagement he didn’t tell you about. His family didn’t even approve of you. And I always covered for you two to go out on dates. I did that impossible task for you both because you were pregnant, and even married you when the priest wasn’t available so no one would know about the baby!"

Amelia's eyes blazed with fury. "You're just jealous because you don’t have anyone to love you and stand beside you."

Michelle, who had been silent, finally spoke up, her voice trembling but firm. "Amelia, you're being wrong and disgusting. You can't talk to her like that."

Amelia sneered at Michelle. "You have no idea what you're talking about. This is family business."

“She is our family!” You raised your hands, trying to calm the situation. "We won’t ever agree. I’m sorry, Amelia, but I have the right to live a good life. I won’t be a puppet for the family anymore. I’ve sacrificed my life until this point for them."

Amelia stopped, staring at you with a mix of anger and hurt. Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears, her lips trembling. "You should’ve died here with Cordelia," she spat out, the words dripping with venom.

Michelle gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. You felt a chill run down your spine as you struggled to keep your temper. "How could you say that, Amelia?" you asked, your voice cold and controlled.

Amelia's face twisted with a bitter smile. "You heard me. You should’ve died with Cordelia. At least then, you wouldn’t be causing all this trouble." Her arms were crossed over her chest, she meant every word. 

The room fell into a tense silence, the weight of Amelia's words hanging heavily in the air. The bond between you, already strained, felt like it had snapped entirely. You stood there, feeling a mix of anger, betrayal, and sadness, the gravity of your situation sinking in even deeper.

"You don’t mean that," you said quietly, trying to believe it yourself.

Amelia’s expression didn’t change. "Yes, I do. If you can’t see that, then you’ve finally gone crazy."

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you blinked them away, refusing to let her see you break. "I'm leaving, Amelia. For good. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me." You uncrossed your arms and stood straight like a soldier for inspection. 

Michelle stepped forward, her grip tightening on your arm. "We should go," she murmured, her voice laced with urgency.

You nodded, turning your back on Amelia. As you picked up your bags to leave the estate, the cold air seemed to infiltrate your very being, magnifying the agonizing rift between you and your sister. The ancient walls echoed with painful memories, each step amplifying the ache in your chest.

Amelia’s voice, sharp and clear, pierced through the chill of the hallway. "Nick had a choice after Grandma died," she said, her words heavy with implications. You stopped to turn to her while Michelle tried to tug you forwards. 

“What?”

"He could have raised you for a few years and then handed you over to Joselyn, who was already in her senior year of high school. David still had his parents, and I had Aunt Sophia to take care of me.” Sophia was the best friend of Amelia’s mother. You held no ill will towards her. She was a kind fillipina woman that often made you dinner on school nights. 

“Or," she paused, her voice growing colder, "he could let Cordelia teach one of us the art of seduction, and the family would get paid millions for each mission."

You halted, your back still turned to her, the weight of her words pressing down on you. Slowly, you pivoted to face her, your complexion ashen. 

"Why are you telling me this?" you whispered, barely able to find your voice.

Amelia stepped closer, her eyes glinting with cold malice. "You were the better everything," she spat at your feet. "Better fighter, better grades, better in the field. So he had to choose between us. And he sent you off here."

A shudder ran through you as the memory of that night resurfaced, vivid and haunting. You recalled the tearful goodbye, the way he had clung to you, his voice choked with emotion. But now, with Amelia's words slicing through the air, those memories felt tainted. 

You wondered if his tears the night before had been fake, if the hugs had been nothing but a show. Each recollection, once a comfort, now felt like a cruel deception. The warmth of his embrace seemed to evaporate, replaced by a realization that it might all have been a lie.

"That bitch should've ruined you on the spot," Amelia hissed.

"I was only thirteen!" you shouted, the hot pain of your nails digging into your palms, blood trickling from the wounds.

"You were fourteen soon enough," Amelia retorted, stepping even closer, her voice dripping with contempt.

Michelle swiftly moved between you, her body a protective barrier. "Stop this, Amelia. This is insane," she demanded, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger.

You tried to maintain your composure, your entire body trembling with the effort. Biting your tongue so hard you could taste the metallic tang of blood pooling in your mouth, you fought to keep yourself from collapsing under the weight of the confrontation. 

The memories, now shadowed with doubt and betrayal, threatened to overwhelm you, you were trying to stand your ground, to hold on a little longer. 

Amelia ignored Michelle, her eyes locked on yours with a piercing, unforgiving gaze. "Nick chose you because you were the best. But he didn't want you. None of us did."

You let go.

Your vision blurred with tears, a torrent of emotions crashing over you. Memories flickered through your mind, each one a painful reminder of the sacrifices you had made. 

"I've done everything for everyone," you choked out, your voice breaking. "I've been everyone's cheerleader! I kept going to school and work despite how horrific the assassinations were! You all refused to get me help! I've never asked for anything other than love and acceptance, and even that I only get on a surface level!"

A flashback hit you like a punch to the gut. You remembered your parents, their faces warm and loving. The way your father used to lift you onto his shoulders, making you feel invincible. The soft lullabies your mother sang to soothe you to sleep. The safety and love you had once known felt like a distant dream.

Amelia shrugged, her expression indifferent, almost bored. "We may have been raised together and trained together, but I have the life I've always wanted now."

You could almost hear your mother’s voice, reassuring and kind, telling you to be strong, to believe in yourself. But that voice was drowned out by the cold, harsh reality of Amelia's words. The love and security you had longed for seemed forever out of reach.

"So that's how it is?" you asked, your voice trembling with suppressed rage and heartbreak. The betrayal wasn’t what hurt you. Nor was it reopening old wounds you had tried so hard to heal.

It was the fact that the woman you called your sister just openly admitted to not loving you.

"That is how it must be," Amelia replied coldly, her words a final, unyielding verdict.

The pain in your chest intensified, the weight of your family's rejection pressing down on you. Years of training as a child to be forced into being a weapon. You felt the sting of countless nights spent alone, wrestling with nightmares, while they lived their lives, unburdened by the sacrifices you had made. The metallic taste of blood filled your mouth as you bit your tongue, trying to hold back the sobs threatening to escape. Each breath was a struggle, each heartbeat a painful reminder of the love you had been denied.

You stood there, fighting to keep yourself upright, the fleeting memories of a happier time clashing with the cold reality before you. The warmth of your parents' love seemed like a cruel illusion, and the emptiness left in their passing was almost too much to bear. 

You let go. 

In a flash of anger, you lunged at Amelia, your hand slashing through the air towards her face. She stumbled back, catching the door frame as Michelle barely managed to hold you back. "If you weren't pregnant, I don't know what I'd do to you," you snarled, your voice trembling with fury.

Amelia stood up before snatching her purse and stomping down the hallway. Her eyes were dark as she glared at you then Michelle with her hand over her belly. For a moment, you felt terrible for what you’d done.

"Oh yeah, they expect strong babies from you," Amelia sneered, her words dripping with venom. You lashed out again, and this time, your hand caught her blouse, ripping the fabric.

Amelia's frustration boiled over, her eyes blazing with contempt. "You should have done it. At least if you went through with it I wouldn't have to stand here now and look at your sorry face."

The words hung in the air like a death sentence, echoing through the empty halls of the estate. You stood there, trembling with rage and sorrow, as Amelia walked away, her figure disappearing out the sunny door. Michelle's grip on your arm was the only thing grounding you in that moment of despair.

As the cold, dark estate seemed to close in around you, the memories of your past and the weight of your family's rejection bore down on you. You felt the sting of Amelia's words, the brutal finality of her dismissal, and it ignited a fire within you.

Quiet literally, too. 

You could still see the flames, fierce and consuming, devouring the old estate as if trying to erase every trace of the pain and betrayal that had taken place within its walls. You remembered the smoke filling your lungs, the heat scorching your skin, and the overwhelming sense of loss as everything you had known went up in flames.

And now, as you stood in the cold, dark remnants of that estate, you felt the same burning resolve. The estate had been a symbol of everything you had endured, and its destruction was both a tragedy and a release. It marked the end of one chapter and the beginning of another.

Bringing yourself back to the present, you turned to Michelle, who looked at you with a mix of concern. "[Name], what do you think?” David's hand rested on your right shoulder. 

"We don't have any time to lose, lets move out."

—----

John Wick and the Bowery King pulled up to the Morales Estate in the sleek Mustang Mach 1, its engine purring softly as they approached. Nick Morales awaited them outside, a rare sight that immediately raised suspicions in both John and the Bowery King.

The King remarked quietly as they exited the car, "That’s unusual."

John nodded in agreement, his senses on high alert. They followed Nick towards the grand entrance, where his tight-lipped expression spoke volumes. Without a word, Nick motioned them inside, the tension thickening with each step through the estate's opulent foyer.

"What’s this all about, Nick?" John asked bluntly, his voice a low rumble that conveyed suspicion.

Nick led them towards his office, his footsteps deliberate and measured. "David was caught assisting [Name] and my wife, Michelle, in their escape," he explained evenly, his tone betraying a mix of frustration and resignation.

John's brow furrowed, his mind already calculating the implications. "Did he confess that himself?"

Nick shook his head solemnly. "No, but I reviewed the backup security tapes."

They entered Nick’s office, the same picture of you gleaming on his desk. Nick motioned for them to take seats, his demeanor grave. 

"Today was supposed to be the day [Name] met her intended," he continued, his voice tinged with annoyance. "But she’s still nowhere to be found."

“I know she gave you the slip in Japan,” Nick admitted evenly, his gaze unwavering.

The Bowery King interjected, his voice calm but firm. “Seems no one can quite catch your Fawn.”

Nick’s eyes narrowed, a glint of suspicion crossing his features as he regarded the King. "How did you get those scars?" His question held an undercurrent of threat, a reminder of the dangerous world they inhabited.

John, ever observant and calculating, sensed the tension in the room. His jaw clenched slightly, his mind racing through the possibilities. "You're not the one who employed me," he stated firmly, his gaze locked on Nick. "Where's Amelia?"

Nick hesitated for a moment, the weight of their situation evident in his heavy sigh. “She’s preparing for the meeting.”

“Is she going to pretend to be the Fawn?” John pressed, his voice sharp with intent.

Nick’s response was curt and direct. “Yes.”

John’s expression hardened. “Then what do you need me for?” His question hung in the air, a challenge wrapped in a demand for clarity and purpose.

The atmosphere in Nick’s office crackled with tension, each word and gesture laden with unspoken threats and hidden agendas. As they awaited Nick’s response, John and the Bowery King thought about reaching for their pockets. 

Tap, tap, tap.

A sudden knock echoed through the thick wooden door. Nick's brow furrowed in irritation, his hand pausing mid-gesture as he turned towards the interruption.

"Go away," Nick called out sharply, his voice carrying a hint of frustration.

The door creaked open slowly, and to everyone's surprise, Michelle stepped into the room with an air of calm authority. She was dressed impeccably in a fashionable, floral tailored suit that flattered her figure and exuded confidence. Her entrance took Nick, the Bowery King, and John Wick off guard to say the least. 

"Good morning, everyone," she said brightly, as if she'd been part of the conversation the entire time. "Nick, we have so much to do today. The schedule is packed!"

Without missing a beat, Michelle strode up to Nick's side, her presence commanding the room. It was as if there was nothing ever wrong. As if she hadn’t even left in the first place. Like John didn’t literally just see her in a bullet proof rave suit the night before. 

Now shit was getting real. All three men looked as if they had seen a ghost. 

Nick sputtered, his face turning a shade of red. "Michelle... what are you...?" He stood and made an attempt to touch her face, which she dodged.

Michelle continued, ignoring Nick's flustered state. "I hope you're ready for the meetings this afternoon. We need to finalize the details for the gala next week." She turned to John and the Bowery King, her smile warm and welcoming. "Excuse me,” She extended her hand out to John and The King who shook it gently out of confusion and custom.  

“Welcome to our home! I hope your journey here was pleasant."

John and the Bowery King exchanged bewildered glances, their expressions a mix of confusion and admiration for Michelle's seamless integration into the scene. Your mind raced, trying to comprehend how Michelle had managed to appear so effortlessly without triggering any alarms or security measures. The King's thoughts mirrored yours, both men recognizing the formidable skills of their elusive charge.

"And don't worry," Michelle added with a light laugh, "Our lovely will be along soon, hopefully. You know how long she takes to get dressed!"

The casual remark hung in the air, leaving Nick, John, and the Bowery King momentarily speechless. The fact that Michelle was here, acting as if nothing unusual had happened, while their intended target—you—was still unaccounted for, was both unsettling and impressive. The realization that they were dealing with top-tier operatives, capable of navigating and manipulating their environment with such finesse, weighed heavily on their minds.

Nick finally found his voice, though it was tinged with frustration and admiration. "Michelle, we need to talk about-"

Michelle waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, Nick, you worry too much. Everything is under control." She turned back to John and the Bowery King, her demeanor composed and professional. "Now, let's focus on the tasks at hand, shall we?"

The men exchanged glances again, their expressions a mixture of resignation and respect. 

Michelle had effortlessly thrown a wrench in the dynamics of the room, leaving them all to wonder just what on earth was going to happen at the Morales Estate today. 

And what you were up to.

"Oh Nicky!~"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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.

I am back and this took me so long you have no idea how juicy and tension filled chapter 4 is gonna be.

Tag list: @littledebbieinabigworld @treedaddymcpuffpuff <33

I'ma also tag @johnwickb1tsch because they are so freaking sweet!!

Part 1: Can be found right here.

Be sure to check out my other works and leave likes and comments, they really help. I have a fic for almost everyone here in the master list. Drop a follow as well if you please. Don’t be shy to leave me a little reblog if you want.

My DM's and requests are open!

I promise I bite~

Seen you soon my loves!!~ <<33

[arece]

Heart to Heart Universe Masterlist

♤ John Wick x platonic!f!reader (father/daughter duo) (finished)

(completed)

♤ Late Arrival

♤ Never Saw the Start

♤ Walking Parallels

♤ Time Played Apart

♤ Days We Were Together

Drabbles/requests in the universe: (completed)

@knightmallorie playlist for the series

♤ What if reader was afraid of dogs?

♤ John helps reader with her homework

♤ Reader has a nightmare

♤ Akira x reader

♤ Song association!

♤ Reader can't move on from John

♤ Caine looks after reader (head cannons)

♤ Reader comforts John

♤ Reader gets sick

♤ What if: It had been reader instead?

♤ Reader begins to forget

♤ Reader and Aurelio get closure

♤ Reader accidentally breaks something

♤ Reader's birthday

♤ Reader's origin story

♤ Reader plans John's funeral

⋯♤⋯♧⋯♢⋯

Taglist: @khaleesihavilliard @ihatemyselfmorethanmydepression @tamnight @hesvoid34 @scarletmeii @romanreignsluver1 @wi1steria @not-a-big-slay @howlerwolfmax @mizzy-pop @sarapaprikas-blog @angrykitsune01 @commanderfreethatdust @wisepizzatart

[kavalyera]

there aint enough akira fics

[aphroditesmoon]

I just realised i got a akira x wick reader req after 4 days LMAOAOAO okay pookie i hear u🫶