#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?

[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

JW 1 Masterlist

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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.

[the-illiterate-pirate]

JoJo Masterlist

* = Nsfw

° = Angst

× = Yandere

≈ = Family fic

© = Crack fic

Robert Speedwagon

• If I Was Your Vampire

Dio Brando

• In Due Time°

• Shame on the Night*

Joseph Joestar

• In-A-Godda-Da-Vidda°

Caesar Zeppeli

• In-A-Godda-Da-Vidda°

Pillarmen

• Pillow Talk

• Coddling Santana and Wamuu (HCs)

• Pillarmen with a child "hostage" (HCs)

Wamuu

• Love Machine*

Crusaders

• Them falling in love (HCs)

• Singing "Tequila" on karaoke night (HCs)

Jotaro Kujo

• One Shot, 2 Shot ©

• Bring on the Night*

• Feel Good Inc.

Mohammed Avdol

• Burnin' for You

Terence D'Arby

• Holding on to You*

Josuke Higashikata

• Don't Stop Me Now

Rohan Kishibe

• Finding out their S/o is pregnant (HCs)

Akira Otoishi

• Pepper

Hayato Kawajiri

• A Little Bit Off Today ≈

Yoshikage Kira

• Beggin'*

• Modern Love*

Guido Mista

• Looking for a Kiss*

La Squadra

• Japanese Mythology HCs

• Seducing La Squadra* (HCs)

• NSFW headcanons*

• No Rest for the Wicked AU HCs

Melone

• Him with your pet tortoise (HCs)

Diavolo / Vinegar Doppio

• Head Like a Hole, Ch. 1

Weather Report

• Selkie out of Water, Ch. 1 || Ch. 2 || Ch. 3 || Ch. 4

• Dancing in the Moonlight

• Canned Heat

• Electric Love ×

• Dad Report ≈

• Dreams of a Samurai*

• Cold as Ice

• What's New Pussycat*

• Finding out their S/o is pregnant (HCs)

• S/o is on their period (HCs)

Emporio Alnino

• Thank You (for sending me an angel) ≈

Narciso Anasui

• Dating HCs

• S/o is on their period (HCs)

Jotaro Kujo

• Drive*

Enrico Pucci

• Fallen Angel*

• Lady in Red*

• My Light*

• Saints an' Sinners*

• Take Me to Church*

• That's Life

• Finding out their S/o is pregnant (HCs)

• S/o on their period (HCs)

Johngali A.

• White Room*

Thunder McQueen

• SFW & NSFW HCs*

• (You) Shook Me All Night Long*

D an G

• SFW & NSFW HCs*

Donatello Versace

• To Heal*

Perla Pucci

• General platonic HCs

Gyro Zeppeli

• Hayloft*

• Hayloft II*

• Kickstart My Heart*

• Whole Lotta Love*

Diego Brando

• Moonage Daydream*

Sandman

• Tell Him That His Lonesome Nights Are Over, Pt. 1 || Pt. 2*

Mountain Tim

• Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy)*

Funny Valentine

• Cupid's Chokehold ×

Oyecomova

• Oye Cómo Va*

Blackmore

• I Surrender*

• Twisted Nerve ch. 1

D-I-S-C-O

• Dating HCs*

Josefumi Kujo

• Dating HCs (Ft. Kira)

Jobin Higashikata

• Hard Lovin' Man*

Aisho Dainenjiyama

• Keep On Loving You

Tooru

• Can't Help Falling in Love

• Bad Case of Lovin' You

• Tooru HCs* (SFW and NSFW)

• Yan!Tooru HCs*

• Doctor play with Tooru* (HCs)

• Tooru x Nurse!reader*

Paco Lovelantes

• Good Old-fashioned Lover Boy

[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 (Part 2)

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

Summary:

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

Notes:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shouldn’t I be telling you this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Will do," the King replied. 

"And John?”

“Yeah?”

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

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

“But I’m good at chasing ghosts."

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

("Like Aaron and Amalia?")

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

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

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

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

("The check, please.")

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

("Come with me to the bathroom.")

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

("Always.")

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

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

‘Annoying ass Fucker.’

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

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

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

("Do you want to go shopping?")

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

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

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

("I’m sorry.")

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

("No problem.")

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Michelle!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Stay with me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You should know how it feels (hey!)"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“ FUCK ! ”

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

“Over here!~” 

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

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

From the game she was spitting in my ear

You would think that she know me (know me)

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

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

“So I got up and followed her to the floor

She said, 'baby, let's go'

When I told her (let's go)

I said..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘ Wonderful.~ ’

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

God, he even smelled wonderful. 

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

He looked even better up close. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“ So she's all up in my head now

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

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

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

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

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

“ (Let's go)

And I gotta keep it real now

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

But that just ain't me, hey-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just where's it gonna lead

But what I do know is the way she dance

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

The way she get low-"

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

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

‘No.’

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

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

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

And I say ”  

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

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

It was infuriating and exhilarating.

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

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

“(Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah  

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah!)”

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

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

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

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

You should know how it feels (hey!)-”

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

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

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

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

From the game she was spitting in my ear  

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

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

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

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

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

“(Yeah!) Yeah!  

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

(Yeah!) Yeah!  

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

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

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

“So I got up and followed her to the floor  

She said, "baby, let's go"  

When I told her (let's go)  

I said-”

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

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

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

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

“So I got up and followed her to the floor  

She said, "baby, let's go"  

When I told her (let's go)  

I said-”

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

“Shit!”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Meet me at the usual spot."

—-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She took my guns too.” 

“ DAMN !”

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

“What didn’t she take?”

“Don’t you start now, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And now, you had his marker.

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

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

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

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

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

You understood him.

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

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

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

You always survived.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn’t fair. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No matter the cost.

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

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

Tag list: @littledebbieinabigworld @treedaddymcpuffpuff

Part 1: Can be found right here.

Thank you both for the sweetness!! <<33

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!

Feedback is always welcomed.

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🫶