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treedaddymcpuffpuff · 11 months ago

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Beneath Miles of Stone - Part five - John Wick x Plus Size Fem Reader

Summary: John has been in prison for nine months. He’s content to stay if it means appeasing the high table and keeping peace between the owners of each continental. However, he meets someone who erases that willingness. Peace be dammed.

TW: Bullying

Michael has a lot of stuff. A lot of heavy stuff. Despite him assuring her that he can move it all in on his own, she still wants to help.

It would be kind of a dick move if she didn’t assist with all of this. An hour in, and the apartment is already transformed from bland and empty into a hoard of pastel rainbow decor and soft white staple pieces.

She takes a break to admire the painting of a fluffy white angel cat over watercolor Van Gogh scenery. Michael comes through the door, panting, with his White Cottage microwave in tow.

“Who painted this?” She asks him.

He smiles, blushes, puts the microwave down and then his hand on his hips. “I did.”

Her eyes grow wide. “This is amazing.”

He chuckles. “Thank you.”

She likes Michael a lot already, but she’s also very jealous of him and his many talents and cool possessions. He makes her want to decorate and be creative, both skills she’s never been able to possess correctly.

She hasn’t gotten the key made yet, so she goes out and does that while he starts unpacking his things. By the time she’s done, her apartment looks astonishing. Fairy lights twinkle over gauze white curtains and a big speaker plays soft hiphop music in one corner of the living room. Her couch is full of comfy white and grey fluffy throw pillows. An incense burner releases gourmand, smoky aroma into the air.

Michael is stretched out on the couch, taking a break, watching Legally Blonde on DVD. Her small TV is now in her room and his bigger flatscreen dwarfs the stand that it was on.

She sits down beside him with two glasses of water. Before she can set hers down on the coffee table, he stops her. “Wait! Coasters!”

He digs through two boxes of stuff before he finds new marble coasters for them to set their drinks on.

She laughs at him and he grins back. “I know, I know,” he tells her, “typical trust fund kid BS.”

“You’re fine,” she says. “I was laughing at the coasters because the table is already a mess.”

“Listen,” he says, “this table just needs some tee ell cee. A sander and some paint would do her wonders.” He pats the wooden top.

“Can I help?” She asks, excited and jumping at the opportunity a little too eagerly.

“Of course you can,” he assures.

She remembers him telling her that his mother is an artist. “Did your mom teach you to paint?”

He nods. “She also taught me how to make miniatures. You know, like dollhouses but for adults?”

“That’s amazing. Do you trade art with her?”

“I do,” he says, “we send things back and forth in the mail. Although my dad says it ‘clogs up their post office box’.”

“He’s not a fan of art?”

Michael snorts. “He hates everything except golf. Sometimes I think he hates me.”

She shakes her head. “Does he really hate you? You’re the perfect son.”

Michael sighs. “No, but he hates gay people, so it’s close enough. When I first came out to him, if my mother wouldn’t have been there, he would’ve probably shot me. He’s a real man’s man if you know what I mean...”

She nods, smiling ruefully. “Oh, I know exactly what you mean.”

Michael thinks for a moment. “We should get a dog.”

“I would love that, but it’s no pets here.”

He raises his eyebrows and sips at his water. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

They decide it has to be a quiet dog, one who’s comfortable being alone at night, and there are an abundance of local shelters displaying perfect furry candidates online.

“Rocky. Pitbull mix. Potty trained, good with kids and other pets, sweet and loves everyone.” She shows Michael a picture of a medium sized black, stout dog with shiny grey eyes.

Michael shows her his own selection, a retired service beagle named Winnie. “Short for Winnifred,” he reads, “loves people and other pets, very polite, and hardly ever barks.”

“I love them both,” she groans, leaning back into the couch cushions.

“Same,” Michael sighs. “It’s one in the afternoon. Do you work tonight?”

“Yup.” She presses an arm over her face, blocking out the ceiling light.

“Don’t you have to sleep?” He asks.

She’s not tired at all because she slept through the night—wet dreams work wonders on insomnia—but she agrees because Michael sounds like he needs some alone time. Plus, her DVDs and TV are in her room now, and if she can’t sleep she can watch an old, comfortable flick.

The problem isn’t getting to sleep, it’s staying there—waking up sweating, gasping, whining John’s name. She slaps her mouth shut, presses her face into her pillow, and prays to any deity listening that her voice wasn’t loud enough for Michael to hear. First day in the new place and his roommate is a fiend. It would make any sane person want to revoke their rental agreement immediately.

She should be embarrassed and anxious that Michael potentially heard her, but instead she’s grinding against her sheets and thinking of tall men handcuffed to beds.

This won’t work. This isn’t working. She’s so pent up that it’s borderline painful. She sticks her hand into her sleep pants, past her underwear, and into a sloppy mess, tries to think about anything but John while she rubs herself raw, but in doing so her brain latches onto the thought of him and pretty soon he’s the only thing on her mind.

She tries to paint a decent fantasy of what she would like sex with him to be, but really she doesn’t give a shit as long as it’s him. And that’s what scares her. He could be absolutely celibate and she’d still crave whatever he wanted to give her whether it be a rough kick or a soft caress—she’d be his dog, and **this is the worst time for her to realize that because her alarm is going off for work.

She orgasms at the cost of being ten minutes late.

The locker room lights are off when she goes to put her things away, which is unusual. Since she started, they’ve been lit around the clock. In fact, she’s not even sure where the light switch is in here because she’s never had to use it. Fumbling around in the pitch black is making her even tardier. Finally, when she finds the switch and flips it, the room illuminates, and standing under the migraine-inducing glow is someone who makes headaches seem like a dream come true.

Benny grins from his seat on the bench, which he quickly abandons in favor of looming over her. Once again, the sweaty, edematous mass of him blocks her exit.

She’s too busy contemplating if anyone would hear her scream to see him hold his open palm out expectantly.

“Give it to me,” he says.

“What?” She asks, imagining in another universe she sounds angry and oppositional instead of whiny and terrified. In another universe, she can also kick his ass. Not in this one, though. In this universe, she does as Benny demands and hands him her phone so she doesn’t have to suffer through the touch of his greasy skin a second time.

He holds her phone in one hand while the other holds his own. She doesn’t bother trying to see what he’s doing because she can’t get her feet to move let alone stand on tiptoes and look over his shoulder.

This goes on for a while in which her only thought consists of asking herself if she could run to the door and make it into the populated infirmary before he can catch her. Again, this is a solution mainly dependent on her stubborn feet.

She’s not really worried about what he puts on her phone. It’s what he’s getting from it that sets her pulse careening.

He reaches out and tries to shove it into her jacket pocket, but luckily that’s when her feet decide to save her and step away from his hands. He scowls at her like she just insulted his mother.

“Fine.” Benny opens his hand and drops her phone on the stone floor. She winces when she hears the shatter, then looks back up at his pleased, disgusting expression.

“Remember our trip.” He pushes past her, not enough to hurt but to make her yelp and stumble, and slams the door shut on his way out.

Her phone isn’t broken. The screen has a tiny crack in one corner but other than that it’s still perfect.

She grabs her bag from her locker and brings it with her to the nurse’s station, labeling the locker room as an unsafe and off limits space, which are becoming more bountiful by the day.

John is not her patient tonight. On her day off they must have had an influx of admissions because she’s responsible for 10 of them and the infirmary is unusually and appropriately staffed.

Her hopes of his nurse trading him are slim to none because he’s a wonderful patient and over time everyone has seemed to agree that they want him on their assignment sheet.

The other nurse’s that take and give her report always talk about what a cool, easy going guy he is and how they’re surprised that he needs that many guards with him.

“What do you think he did?” Stan, one of the day shift nurses, asks her.

“My bet’s on released a circus full of wild animals and let them trample a small town, but I could be wrong.” She taps her pen against her report sheet and laughs at her own joke.

Stan snorts. “He probably killed some rich guys.”

The other nurses like him so much that most of their theories on why John is in four point restraints with four men guarding him at all times is because he’s done something valiant that pissed someone powerful off.

That’s probably the other reason his wound looks better; not just because of her, but because if you like a patient or connect with them you’re more than likely going to give them the best care you can provide.

If she’s honest, it kind of makes her feel sick. Not because everyone has grown to like John, but because that means she’ll have less chance of being his nurse from here on out. Also, she knows it’s kindergarten mentality, but she liked him and treated him well first while the other ones had to get to know him beforehand.

Her case load is heavy. A couple IV’s, wound changes, someone with a tracheostomy. She sits down to chart, finally, at 3 AM.

One of the other nurses, Bill, calls for her across the hall.

She fights the urge to groan while standing on sore feet and walking over to his medication cart.

Bill grins at her, looking like he’s really enjoying himself. “My patient in 9 wants to see you.”

“Me?” She asks.

Bill shrugs, still looking very amused. “He says he needs to tell you something.”

“What?”

“I don’t know,” Bill tells her. “Seems that he likes your company, though.” He gives an eyebrow raise at the awkward expression crawling onto her face.

She reminds herself that this her workplace for the 80th time and that Bill’s suggestive expressions are just him messing around. Joking. That’s all. He’s joking.

John is watching the door, waiting for her. When she pops in like a mouse and scurries to his bed, he feels the urge to pat her on the head for showing up which would be the only thing he could do to stop himself from grabbing her up and kissing her.

His smile is wide and genuine. “How’s the roommate search?”

“Uh, I got one.” She smiles timidly, hoping he doesn’t think she’s erratic and air-headed for finding someone so fast

His eyes widen just the smallest bit. “That’s good, is she…nice?”

She nods too eagerly. “He’s great. And he has great decorations.”

The key word here—at least the one his ears attune to—is he. Not because a woman and a man living together automatically entails romance or connection, but because John knows men—John is a man—and most of them turn out to be less than good.

He tries not to look mean, to keep his smile, to focus on her being here with him in the present and alive and well; If he doesn’t, rage will start talking, nefarious, whispering sin in his ear, assuring him that it wouldn’t be hard to break out of these handcuffs and make sure her roommate becomes her loyal dog for the rest of the time he spends living with her and alive.

“If you wouldn’t have suggested it, I’d probably be homeless by next week.” She tries to sway the conversation toward optimism because she sees something in his expression that reads like he’s a little upset. He probably does think she’s a moron at this point.

Maybe it’s just good that she’s happy. He tries to shift focus onto that. The roommate can’t be malignant if she’s so upbeat.

It’s been very easy to talk to John most times, but then there are moments like this when something awkward and unsaid hangs between them and more often than not she doesn’t know what it is. Maybe he doesn’t either.

“Just be careful,” is what he decides to say.

She chuckles. “I will, don’t worry.”

He doesn’t understand what’s funny—again, but he appreciates the laugh. One of them can get him through a few hours, and they’re so easy to wring out of her pretty throat.

One of the security guards stands, stretches, yawns. He says he’s going to take a break. The other guards are asleep, so once he leaves they’ll be alone.

“I’m gonna go to vending, John you want anything?” He asks.

John shakes his head no. “Thanks.”

“I’m sorry if I bothered you while you were busy,” he says, too eager to talk as soon as the guard walks out. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

She purses her lips, which he thinks means she’s trying not to leak an expression that will probably be embarrassing. Really, she’s trying to tame her lion heart back into its cage before it sinks its teeth into him and refuses to let go.

“I’m okay, John.” She attempts smiling. “You’re the one in the hospital bed.”

He shrugs like his stab wound and near death are just a hiccup.

She talks again. “And I’m glad you called me in. I like talking to you.”

His face is all smile now. “Likewise.”

He tells her to pull up a chair if she wants, and she steals one of the metal ones that the breaking guard left behind, sitting by his bedside. They start with a casual conversation about the weather that turns into a discussion on harsh winters in Belarus.

“Did you grow up there?” She asks him.

He nods. “I traveled a lot.”

“So, you’re Russian?” She puts her chin in her palm and stares at him like he is the most interesting person in the world. She’s adorable like this. He wants to brush the stray hairs from her cheeks.

“Yes. American, now.”

“Do you speak Russian?” Her eyebrows raise.

“да, красивая девушка” His tone automatically slides into a deeper baritone when he says this, and it makes her shudder.

He needs to be nerfed. Outlawed. He should not be handsome, nice, like-able, and be able to speak a different language in his perfect voice. It’s really not fair at all.

She’s too busy trying to tame her rogue thoughts to ask him what he even said. The desire to climb into his lap and straddle him crosses her mind twenty times in different ways. She blinks heavy. “You’re the coolest person I know.”

They talk until the guard comes back from his break, mainly about Belarus and what it was like there and where else he has traveled.

Although she has a ton of charting to catch up on, she doesn’t want to leave him. The taste of human connection is on her tongue after a couple years of abstinence and she’s becoming addicted.

When she exits his room, it’s with reluctance and impressive self control.

She tells him to sleep. He promises he’ll try.

It would be easier to do her job if she wasn’t catching Benny sneering at her whenever they’re in the same space, but she gets through it, reasoning that John has it worse than her because he has to suffer through six hours with the asshole guard in his room. And, it’s easier also because of…well, John himself.

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not-a-big-slay · 2 years ago

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birthday

John Wick x platonic!fem!reader

summary: while watching TV, you go on a rant about the absurdity of birthday gifts...

warnings: fluff, father-daughter relationship, established platonic relationship, horrible ahh parents, very tooth rotting, hopefully not ooc, trauma...

a/n: this platform has a lot of daddy john, but not much of dad john and that needs to change...this shit long as hell though, hope you enjoy it :)) also kudos to whoever finds the se7en reference

The hum of the microwave, heating up his food from the previous evening, rushed across the room and slowly mixed with dimmed voices of the television. The sun has already set and the remainings of its light shined into the room through red clouds.

John patiently waited for the beep, approving that he can eat his meal. It went unheard as you exclaimed from the living room, silencing it. "That's ridiculous." John looked over, but he could barely see the reason for your sudden speaking. His hands retrieved the plate from the microwave and he finally joined you on the couch. "These folks got their 16 year old daughter a car. A car, John." you widened your eyes at the man when ending your statement while said person just moved his eyes from you and the screen, trying to understand your reasoning.

You noticed his confusion and helped his mind get rid of it: "I mean, why? Like how is 16th birthday important? It's not like it's a big milestone. I'd understand 15 maybe, but 16? It's such an.. unsatisfying number, ugly even and not important." John seemed to get your thought, so you sinked back into the couch. "You get a license at 16." reasoned the assasin, catching your attention immediately. You looked over to him, furrowed eyebrows sending the signal of disagreement. "Which is bullshit, by the way, kids shouldn't be on the road." you stated before continuing, "But they got her a brand new car, she doesn't need all that, they could have given her like their old one or just let her share theirs, she is 16 how often will she drive that thing." while talking you have made so many hand movements that John needed to sit further away, worrying you might smack him.

The television broadcasted some reality show about spoiled kids from non-rich families. Neither of you really payed attention, but it served as a good backround while doing other tasks. That is until you got interested in its bizarreness. Parents, that previously stated they each had to find 2 jobs to keep their kids in school, bought their youngest daughter a new car. It was even one of the newest models as John noticed. They have said they would do anything for their kids and that birthdays were always so important in their family. That pissed you off, apparently.

“I know this comes from a place where no love was showed, but still, too much..”

John knew about your past, you knew about his too. You were just a kid when he first met you, both of you pursuing a man with a contract on his head. You have made a good competition and teamed up with the Boogeyman after many failures to kill him. After going through a near-death experience together, the two of you became a good friends and John slowly made plans to introduce you to Helen. He didn't plan on the introduction being at the funeral. His abandoned feelings of protection that were, until that day, stored for his wife poured into the other closest person to him and you gladly accepted them and even returned yours.

To say John was relieved when you obliged him with the refuge he sought after being marked excommunicado would be an understatment. Though he wasn't enterily thrilled after you insisted on fighting for him, you were the reason he could even have this absurd conversation in the first place. Being free could never feel so good without you.

"Like what did you get for your 16th birthday?" your voice pulled him out of the waters of his mind, the young eyes tracing his. He soon found his gaze interested in the empty plate on the table and with a sigh he reached for it and started to get up. You almost accepted he wouldn't answer, but his mouth let out the answer before you could: "A gun and a victim. Just like on any other day." John disappeared into the kitchen, but your loud "Damn." found it's way into his ears anyway and uplifted the corners of his mouth. Ruska Roma didn't care about these sorts of things. For them birthdays were just for the books and to track their age, no party, no gifts. The only gift he got from them was the cross, a symbol and a reminder he belongs. His first birthday party was with Helen and it was unusual to say the least.

You said sorry as he came back to the living room and John could see the regret and discomfort on your face. You got too talktive that you forgot this fact. The man came to your rescue and quickly varied the discussion. "What about you?" he asked as he sat down, petting Dog as he filled out the space between you two. Your mind digged deep to find the answer, John assumed from your scrunched face. At last, you shrugged: "I don't know. Money? Some candy too, I guess..." The voices from the television flowed in the house, but neither of you could hear them, too invested in whatever you started. The Boogeyman raised his eyebrows at you and you narrowed them in response, confused.

"That's much worse." he scoffed.

"Worse than having to kill a person?"

"Yes."

Your mind fully froze, not able to function properly. John internally laughed at your expression, but decided to not torment you any longer. "Parents giving money to their child is just sad. Money as a gift basically says the person doesn't know or care about your interest, so they give you money to make up for it." he started to explain, "Now, you can get some dollars from your other relatives like grandparents, counsins, aunts and uncles, because you don't see them everyday, they are allowed to not know what you like. But parents? People that live with you and provide for you should be at least familiar with it.."

He left you speechless, that he knew. Your mouth was slightly opened when he finished his monologue and slammed shut when you seemed to realize. "Well," you began once every word John shot your way striked you, "thanks for the additional reason to hate my fam more." You brought out a smile, but John's fell a little when he heard that. While not knowing him well yet, you told him you were an orphan, which wasn't surprising. Everyone in this deadly industry had no chance to have a normal, healthy and loving family. At least not that he knew of. What did shock him was when you admitted to lying after the funeral. Yet you wished to be an orphan, you had the bad luck to be born in a cruel home. Mother, a guilt-tripping monster with a victim mentality, and a father, anger-issued fanatic that tried to shape his children into his made-up idea of them. You moved out as a 17 year old and to at least finish high school, bowed to the High Table. You never had a stable home, John changed that. He offered you a place to stay once he was free again, he wanted you close to protect you, but also knew you could help with his old loneliness that never seemed to leave him. He never told you how much of a help you actually were.

John focused on the present moment again when you said: "I-I still can't see how can it be worse than a murder. At least I didn't work for money and got them for being born." Dog got up and let out a little bark. A sign for hunger, as you both understood. It got dark already and you gladly followed the dog's steps into the kitchen, John already in the lead.

"Ruska Roma at least didn't hide their uninterest, I knew what not to expect." he argued back as he reached for the dog pellets. Dog started eating before John finished filling up the bowl. That made you smile as well as hungry. John, as if almost sensing it, grabbed a plate and started to heat up the rest of the food. The familiar humming sound greeted the room again.

"Ah well, let’s just agree we both got worse gifts than a car and move on." you streched your hand out while the other rested on the counter-top of the island. John replicated your smile and shook your hand. The silence following right after sealed the agreement and the microwave dinged as in celebration. You walked across the island to take your food, knowing that John will be faster. "Birthdays are horrible anyway, I don't need to know I'm one year closer to death." you thought out-loud as the man handed you your plate. The food looked delicious. John always rather kept away from the kitchen, Helen was a great cook and even when he tried to make a meal, it ended in disaster. Once you moved in though, his guardian angels granted him the luck of finding an old recepe book his wife used. This was one of the easiest, but the quantity didn't define the quality.

"Would you rather not know how old you are?" John smiled and his eyebrows settled atop when you nodded. "Yep, I'd measure it in holidays." you joked, grabbing the cutlery, "In fact, I think 6th September should be erased from the existence. It's not an important day, no one needs it and it certainly doesn't bring any good." John watched you take the food to the table and changing the channel on the screen on the way, not realizing the crucial piece of information you just revealed non-chalantely. He didn't know your birthday, he just knew you were 18 when you met him, which was apparently 6 years ago. It was before he even engaged to Helen. He also understood you were old enough to drink once you downed 3 shots as if they were filled with tap water when you both tried to figure out how could John get out of his mess. Suddenly, a calender on the wall across him whispered his name.

Today was August 3rd.

.....................

Heavy sigh and the car door were last things he heard before feeling the dryness of his car. The raindrops that couldn't reach him before closing the vehicle were banging on the roof out of anger. John carefully placed the box on his passenger seat. He did everything he could to shield it from this afternoon weather, but some water managed to force itself through his coat, not enough to do a lot of damage fortunately. His eyes didn't peel away from it, John still wagered in his mind if it's a good idea. You weren't used to gifts from your real family, why should you accept his?

Without looking away, his fingers slipped the keys into ignition and his other hand played on the wheel nervously. He didn't take the receipt, he cannot return it. But he could survive the loss of money if this gift meant destruction of your bond. He wouldn't survive that. What if it's too far, you never cared for birthdays. For every September he has known you, nothing even remotely signaled him you might be different on the sixth day. You just wanted to forget you were ever born and he would set your mind back to the start with this reminder.

His logical sense slapped these thoughts away. You were a good kid, if you hated it you would tell him politely and be honest with him. And he knew you would keep it just for the sentiment you love so much. John turned the keys sideways and started following the mentally written route home, trying to keep his gaze from trailing to the passenger seat every now and then.

Even after parking in the garage and opening the passenger's door did he avoid the box's way. First he thought he could just close his eyes and take the box in his arms blindly, though overcame it and finally made contact with the white cardboard. A box is making him insane, brilliant. John grabbed the rest of his things and welcomed the hot air rushing to him as he opened the door inside. Dog barked at his owner as if he tried to warn John before rushing to him excitedly. The house was quiet and dim from the rain protecting the room of any light. You didn't bother turning on the lights and John knew you wouldn't. You hated the yellow glow it casted and how bright they were, natural lightning wasn't forcing itself into your view.

You came around the corner as the man got up from petting the good boy. He watched you ignore him, listening to music in one ear while the other earphone swished on your shoulder with every movement made. It was broken for a while now, but no one could be surprised. In the long time you've had them, you managed to step on them, close them in between the car doors and let the dog chew on one of the pods, which was the breaking point, John assumed. The rest worked fine, the quality still haunted him.

You turned around and caught a glimpse of him, immediately taking out the music and greeting him. He smiled in response while you already had your interest on the box, laying next to him. "What's in the box, Somerset?" you got close to it, but John was faster and picked it up quickly. Your eyebrows must have been suspicious of that act the way they connected.

"It's-uhh-it's-" the room picked up the heat as John's nerves shaked anxiously. He never had a problem with creating a lie on the spot, but your pose decorated with crossed arms on the chest somehow intimidated him. He was so sure you would be able to see throught the paper lid any minute now, so he tried to hurry his thinking up. "It's just some things for the car." he waved it off, leaving you slowly nodding in understandment, deciding not to ask any questions that you definitely had. John adored your capability of minding your own business, he more adored the fact you have learned it from him. You were very curious about everything when he met you, trying to know everyone around you to the last bit of detail. He was very strict about his personal life, so he introduced you to the concept of privacy through a lot of no's and death stares. Even now, when you two could be more than open with each other, you still didn't ask, nor cared.

"Want help?"

"No, I'll just take it to the basement."

"Alright." you said before putting in the earbud again and walking to the kitchen. John sighed heavily, hoping the nerves would settle down, and made his way to the basement. He hid it under a white dirty cloth, afraid it will disgrace the gift and left. Now the only thing left was to make sure you won't visit the basement for 2 days. 2 days, he realized. So, he is really doing it, huh? John froze thinking about the worst things that you could say or do as a reaction on his idea, the worst being you kill him, but that was unlikely, he'd done the math. Your humming got picked up by his left ear as he realized that the only moment to back up was in the car. He didn't, he missed it. The backdoor is closed and the only way to move is forward.

John checked the time. 6pm.

September 4th.

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

You were relieved that the store had air conditioning, because one more second in the outside heat and you would collapse. Your hands were trying their best at waving cold air on your head and chest, yet nothing could stop the sweat of going down your skin. Even though the sun has already set, the consequences of its hot presence still appeared in these late hours. You wanted to stop for second and cool off, but remembered you're supposed to get only one thing.

Salt.

It baffled you, why is it so important to get salt right now and not tomorrow as you were already getting ready to shower and to relax in bed when John asked you to get it. You weren't very happy about it, but you didn't feel like refusing him either. That man held a lot of respect from you and you never wished to upset him. Not that he would do anything bad to you, you just rarely told him no. Not sure where the need to please people came from, you were still happy it only applied to him. He deserved it after what he has done for you.

The store was as empty as its freshly baked pastry section. While strolling through, you only saw a few workers and some costumers hunting for evening snacks, all of them visibily tired. Your footsteps echoed in the big space, you wondered if they could be heard on the other side of the store. You thought about John's weird request, trying to justify it with a reason. None came to mind. Maybe he had a girl over, but you considered that unlikely. He clearly wasn't yet over Helen- reasonably so. Or he needed some alone time, you could admit being too annoying or too much for a quiet man like John, no judging.

The salt was hiding in a tricky spot, but luckily, thanks to your noticing abilities, you found it rather quickly and headed to the checkout. If the second reason was correct, you would be fine with sleeping somewhere else to not disturb his peace, but since you were already worn out and ready for the comfortable bed, you settled on taking the long way home, letting him enjoy at least the extra 10 minutes.

You knocked before entering, something you do automatically without waiting for a response. You kicked off your shoes, balancing your weight and the pouch of salt on one leg, and yelled out "I'm back." into the dark. The dark, you realized. Why were the lights off? The stars already began to shine when you were halfway home, so it was weird if John just forgot to turn them on. He wasn't the forgetful type.

"Hello?" you called out again, more quietly though, suspicion already growing deep in your stomach. Hearing the eery silence made you drop the salt and reach for a gun taped on the bottom of a dressing cabinet. Some comfort was brought by the click announcing safety is off, but it got lost in your high anxiety once you started walking deeper in the house, back steadily on the wall. The worst case scenarios accompanied you while every sense focused on the dark living room you happened to be in. You spinned around, walking backwards to the kitchen, your mind challenging the intruder to show themselves. Suddenly, the door creaked behind you and it was enough for you to turn around rapidly and caress the trigger.

After taking in the view in front of you, you finally exhaled and lowered your gun, whispering the lord's name in relief. There stood John, glowing in candle lights, distressed by your unexpected presence and, of course, by the barrel of a gun. You didn't notice the kind of candles. Your palm held your forehead in order to stop its stressful spinning and your brain desperately trying to convince your heart to calm down, you were too busy to recognize it.

Lights above you brightened your eyelids and you felt a pair of hands on your biceps. "What's wrong, what is it." John asked quietly, scared someone followed you home or has already done something horrible to you. You shook your head before sighing heavily, getting the last bit of shock out of your body.

"Shit, you scared the fuck out of me, John." Irritation attacked your tone as you leaned forward on the counter. Your mind only had pictures of the man dead on the floor with a bullet wound he gained from you. The bullet was so close to running out the gun and for what? For a cake?

Wait a minute.

Your head lifted up, eyes being instantly mesmerized by the flow of little fires on an icy surface. A cake. John has baked a cake. And you almost shot him for it. Your gaze flickered next to you. He was nervous, only you couldn't tell if it was from the near death experience from his own friend or from the possibility of you asking about the mysterious unexpected dessert. You made the latter come true.

"What is this?" you nodded to the cake, studying every move John made as though it would explain it for him. He took a deep breath before taking your own away: "It's for you. Happy birthday." The glow of the candles brought out your widened eyes, desperately trying to find a sign of a cruel joke on John's features. They failed to do so of course, you have never seen the man so serious.

It's been a while since you heard those words. You forgot how they hugged your heart and sugared your ears. You used to whisper them to yourself sarcastically with a harsh undertone when there was no one to trust or turn to. You've stopped though as it was cringe and overly depressing. You convinced your mind birthdays were for nothing, they give you nothing and are only important for knowing your age, nothing special. They made everyone emotional over a number of years and as long as you had no one, it was pointless in making it a big thing. It couldn't be denied John was your safe space, you would place your whole life into his hands and would be sure he'd keep it more protected than the High Table could ever be, you just never thought of bringing the concept back.

Amazed by the yellow waves again, you held your breath: "Are you serious?" John smiled a little as he answered: "Yeah. Now blow 'em out." You did as you were told, taking a deep breath and blowing it forcefully on the candles. They flickered and disappeared in the thin air. It was the first time in your life you got them all on the first try. Tears of forbidden nostalgia became impossible to hold in and you eventually let them go slowly from the prison of your eyes. When you made eye contact with John.

Without hesitation you close the space between you two and digged your face in the crook of his neck as your arms tightly wrapped his torso. His hands buried you in the feeling of safety and you felt shielded as they squeezed you into him. "Thank you." came out of you silently, only for John to hear. As a response, he took a step back to look at you. "You have no reason to thank me." his palm found its den on your neck as his eyes grew comfortable on yours.

You couldn't help but wonder if this is the way others feel on their birthday when they are surrounded by people they love and care for, by people that love and care for them. Because if it is, a big part of your birthdays was stolen, you would love them if they felt like this, you would wait a whole year only for this feeling, this sense of family, this certainity you are loved and you matter.

All of that left momentarily when John's hands let you go. "No reason to thank me yet." he bent down and came back up with a white box in his hands. He gently placed it on the counter next to the cake. After you clearly didn't understand what is supposed to happen, he gladly gave you a hint. "Open it." he motioned his head to it and you obeyed, carefully touching the lid as if it was a bomb that would go off any second. It's not like it was unlikely to hide a bomb inside a similar-looking box. You pressed the cardboard with your fingers and lifted it up.

You gasped quietly in order to help your mind take in the brand new headphones that shined at you maybe more brightly than the candles. They were white, wireless, so no annoying wire to slow you down, they were also overhead, too big for Dog to chew on them. You felt John's eager gaze, waiting for you to pick them up, but you felt even your stunned look would bruise them. You didn't deserve this, none of it. The happiness that danced into you the moment you realized John remembered your special day now began to look like a well-known and hated naivety. This love and luxury didn't belong to someone like you, what were you thinking.

"This- this is-" you began to panic. What would happen if you accepted it, would the world explode from the connection of two things that could never work together? You doubted it, but who would wanna risk it. "I can't accept this." Suddenly all you wanted was to run from the cake and the gift, you now felt like the bomb that you tried so hard not to light, that was supposed to be in that box. John's figure stopped you from going anywhere. "Yes, you can." You rapidly shook your head from side to side, his words couldn't distract you from the harsh reality. You weren't worth all of this.

"You are good enough for all of this and more." his calm tone was confusing for your stressed state, but the demanding adittude of his got through your walls and made you listen. "Take it, you deserve it."

Your hand subconsiously touched your necklace and pressed one of the daisies on it. It belonged to his wife, you found it when his house was blown to pieces and gave it to him once he started the repairs. He insisted on you keeping it, though. You protested, it was a gift for the love of his life, you couldn't take something that serious. "Take it. You found it, you deserve it." he said back then. You never knew her, yet you wore her jewelry, her gift.

"She would adore you."

Your eyes snapped to John, noticing him looking at your neck with a sad smile on his face. You lowered your hand and trailed your eyes back on your birthday gift. Without thinking you reached for the headphones, picking them up. They were suprisingly light and very comfortable to touch. As you put them over your head, everything went quiet. You didn’t know that an already silent room could get even more deafened, but here you were, hearing absolutely nothing.

"No way." you know you said, even though you couldn't hear it. John's smile got wider as you looked around in awe, it seemed like you were in a complete different place, not a boring kitchen. After taking them off, you sighed overwhelmedely, you could only imagine how beautiful the sound may be. "So?" John was interested, still a bit on the edge if the gift is good or not and only you could push him from it. However the only thing you did was throwing yourself around his neck, making him lose his balance momenteraly.

Before he could hug you properly, you already pulled away. "Now can I thank you?" you joked, but you could never make up for this. He had done all of this for you, that wasn't something you'd brush off with only two words. They lost meaning next to John's actions. "Yeah, now you can." was all you needed to hear to press into him again. John rested his head on top of yours, but not before kissing your hair and stroking your back.

You felt Dog nuzzling up against your legs and you looked down to see his happy, carefree face. He definitely woke up just no. You laughed and only noticed you were crying when tears fell into the corners of your mouth. You quickly wiped them away, turning away from John so he couldn't see. The man had the same problem though, also showing you his back while complaining silently about the dust getting into his eyes.

Once you both wiped your tears, you turned back around and laughed a little. This is all you needed. No assasin had this as far as you knew. Why two of the most deadliest people got visited by the biggest luck this world had in store. You looked back at Dog, his face excited for whatever you'd do. You sighed and rememebered the oh so good-looking desert on the kitchen counter.

"Want some cake?"

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johnwickcaretaker · 2 months ago

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Technically I can say that John Wick gave me a scar once, because back in March I was thinking too hard about him while pulling boiling soup out of the microwave and I spilled it all over my hand and by this point I think I can safely say the scar is not going away. So yeah, I’m pretty badass.

#(ooc post)#john wick #wickblr

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dhampiravidi · 10 months ago

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muse/mun meme based on this, stolen from @valkxrie. pass it on.

skadi

eggs: over easy steak: medium rare (any, really, though she can tell the difference) milk: anything that comes from an animal alcohol: rum (especially Bacardi) warm drink: not much. maybe warmed rum or Alfhar mead?

mun

eggs: scrambled (w/ or w/o cheddar cheese) steak: medium-rare (filet mignon or none pls) milk: whole, half, chocolate *shrugs* alcohol: teeny bit of Bailey's Irish Cream + milk warm drink: Swiss Miss microwaved cocoa*

*I don't like most warm drinks bc my tongue is sensitive to heat 😅

tagging: @delightindarkness (Farkas) @ashortgothamite @astral-athame @deathtransformed (John Wick or Natasha) @everythingheard (John Constantine, Dracula, or Anthony Bridgerton) @grimmusings (Bucky or Natasha) @in--noctem (Pogue) @jaason-todd @leducdeorleans @sankta-alina-s @stars-written @vivalavillain (Loki) @meepiedeepie (Ollie)

#admin #skadi: headcanon #thanks for the meme

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fiftytwotwentythree · 2 years ago

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Wellness Wednesday:

Still cruising.

I will say I had another scare/horrid thought that I would plateau and/or gain weight - but each week to my surprise - I keep losing weight. Sooooo close to completing my goal.

I'm also a few days away from wrapping up my Vegetarian-ish Diet. Ready to eat like a viking again.

Nothing else to report other than I am looking forward to warmer weather - nothing but shorts, tanks, and flip flops as far as the eye can see.

14th CHECK-IN:

Stats from March:

Food:

Leftover Meals: 14

Salads: 20

Bags of Popcorn: 16

Cans of Soup: 9

Oranges: 2

Take Out: 0

Candy/Sweets: 0

Workout:

Jumping Jacks: 6,200

Push-Ups: 3,100

Glute Bridges: 3,100

Assisted Push-Ups: 3,100

Reverse Leg Lifts: 1,550

Leg Kickbacks: 1,550

Squats: 0

Sit-Ups: 0

Plank (mins): 0

Weight Loss:

Weightloss This Month: -11.4 lbs

Average Weightloss per Week: -2.28 lbs

Total Weightloss: -50.6 lbs

Entertainment:

Movies Watched: 12

Favorite from the Month:

John Wick: Chapter 4

Television:

Hours of Television Watched: ~ 9 hours (Ink Master; Kong- King of the Beasts)

Books:

Books Completed This Month: 1

Book Title(s) Completed This Month:

The 17 Indisputable Laws of Teamwork by John C. Maxwell

(Book Study Assignment from Work)

Book Total for the Year: 2

Current Goals:

Lose 52 lbs

Avoid "Junk Food"

Minimize Take-Out / Fast Food Consumption

Short Term:

Vegetarian-ish Diet:

- No Meat, Poultry, Fish

End Date: 4/09/2023 - 46 Days Total

Meal Tracker:

THURSDAY

Lunch:

Plate of Leftover Rana's Five Cheese Lasagna

(2) Scoops of Cottage Cheese

Handful of Wonderful's Salt & Vinegar Pistachios

Supper:

Microwavable Bowl of Panera Bread Mac and Cheese

Birds Eye Shredded Seasoned Vegetables

(1) Glass of Chocolate Milk

FRIDAY

Lunch:

Annie Chun's Pad Thai Noodle Bowl

- Cashews

Handful of Wonderful's Chili Roasted Pistachios

Supper:

Can of Progresso Minestrone Soup

- 10 Crackers

Bag of Orville Redenbacher Ultimate Butter Popcorn

SATURDAY

Lunch:

Annie Chun's Sweet Chili Noodle Bowl

- Cashews

(1) Glass of Chocolate Milk

Supper:

Can of Progresso Garden Vegetable Soup

- 10 Crackers

(1) Glass of Chocolate Milk

SUNDAY

Lunch:

(1) Jar of Zoup's Butternut Squash Soup

- 13 Crackers

Handful of Blue Diamonds Smokehouse Almonds

Individual Bag of Sahale Snacks Pomegranate Vanilla Flavored Cashews Glazed Mix

Supper:

Bag of Orville Redenbacher Ultimate Butter Popcorn

Individual Bag of Wonderful's Sweet Chili Pistachios

(1) Glass of Chocolate Milk

MONDAY

Lunch:

Bowl of Everything Chopped Salad

Handful of Wonderful's Chili Roasted Pistachios

Snack:

Handful of Wonderful's Salt & Vinegar Pistachios

Supper:

Bowl of Leftover Everything Chopped Salad

Bag of Orville Redenbacher Ultimate Butter Popcorn

(1) Glass of Banana Flavored Milk

TUESDAY

Lunch:

Bowl of Cesaer Salad with Croutons

Handful of Wonderful's Chili Roasted Pistachios

Snack:

Handful of Wonderful's Salt & Vinegar Pistachios

Supper:

Bowl of Cesaer Salad with Garlic Croutons

(1) Glass of Banana-Chocolate Milk

WEDNESDAY

Lunch:

Can of Progresso Vegetarian Vegetable with Barley Soup

- 10 Crackers

Handful of Cashews

Handful of Wonderful's Chili Roasted Pistachios

(1) Glass of Banana-Chocolate Milk

Snack:

Bag of Orville Redenbacher Ultimate Butter Popcorn

Supper:

(1) Impossible - Plant-Based Cheese Burger

- Ketchup

(10) Tator Tots

- Ketchup

(2) Scoops of Potato Salad

(2) Scoops of Macaroni Salad

(1) Glass of Milk

Workouts:

THURSDAY

(200) Jumping Jacks [4 sets of 50]

(100) Glute Bridges [4 sets of 25]

(100) Push-Ups [10 sets of 10]

(100) Assisted Push-Ups [2 Sets of 50]

(50) Reverse Leg Lifts [5 sets of 10]

(50) Leg Kickbacks [5 sets of 10]

FRIDAY

(200) Jumping Jacks [4 sets of 50]

(100) Glute Bridges [4 sets of 25]

(100) Push-Ups [10 sets of 10]

(100) Assisted Push-Ups [2 Sets of 50]

(50) Reverse Leg Lifts [5 sets of 10]

(50) Leg Kickbacks [5 sets of 10]

SATURDAY

(200) Jumping Jacks [4 sets of 50]

(100) Glute Bridges [4 sets of 25]

(100) Push-Ups [10 sets of 10]

(100) Assisted Push-Ups [2 sets of 50]

(50) Reverse Leg Lifts [5 sets of 10]

(50) Leg Kickbacks [5 sets of 10]

SUNDAY

(200) Jumping Jacks [4 sets of 50]

(100) Glute Bridges [4 sets of 25]

(100) Push-Ups [10 sets of 10]

(100) Assisted Push-Ups [2 sets of 50]

(50) Reverse Leg Lifts [5 sets of 10]

(50) Leg Kickbacks [5 sets of 10]

MONDAY

(200) Jumping Jacks [4 sets of 50]

(100) Glute Bridges [4 sets of 25]

(100) Push-Ups [10 sets of 10]

(100) Assisted Push-Ups [2 Sets of 50]

(50) Reverse Leg Lifts [5 sets of 10]

(50) Leg Kickbacks [5 sets of 10]

TUESDAY

(200) Jumping Jacks [4 sets of 50]

(100) Glute Bridges [4 sets of 25]

(100) Push-Ups [5 sets of 10]

(100) Assisted Push-Ups [1 Set]

(50) Reverse Leg Lifts [5 sets of 10]

(50) Leg Kickbacks [5 sets of 10]

WEDNESDAY

(200) Jumping Jacks [4 sets of 50]

(100) Glute Bridges[4 sets of 25]

(100) Push-Ups [10 sets of 10]

(100) Assisted Push-Ups [2 Sets of 50]

(50) Reverse Leg Lifts [5 sets of 10]

(50) Leg Kickbacks [5 sets of 10]

WEIGHT TRACKER:

Starting Weight (Noon, 1/01/2023): XXX.X lbs

Weight at Last Check-In, 3/22/2023: -4.4 lbs

Weight As of Noon, 4/05/2023: -2.4 lbs

Total Weight Loss: -50.6 lbs

Closing Thoughts:

The Good:

Don't want to sound like a broken record, but less than 2 pounds away from my weight loss goal.

Vegetarian-ish Diet is ending soon.

The Bad:

Sleep patterns are dipping again.

The Ugly:

Nothing, Nathan, Nada...

#52 in 23

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maastrash · 3 years ago

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Person A and Person B are friends and neither of them have a date for Valentine’s Day, so they decide to order takeout of some kind and watch a movie together. At some point, hidden feelings are revealed. umm elorcan, obvi, because i am nothing if not predictable 🤪

isa... babe... i swear i actually did start writing this around Valentine's day... but... i am CLEARLY a mess.... please accept my VERY late elorcan present 😳

Valentine's Day Confessions

a/n: surprise i am alive ;)

Elide cursed as she grabbed the steaming hot popcorn bag from the microwave. The decadent buttery scent filled her cozy apartment as she poured it into her favorite mixing bowl. She was about to pour in the m&m’s when she remembered who exactly was joining her tonight - Lorcan. And her friend was not a fan of chocolate. If you asked her, the man simply had no taste.

It was Valentine’s Day and the pair had decided to have a singles awareness celebration. Since their entire friend group was filled with couples they were each other’s only source of company on this dreaded day. Truthfully, Elide despised Valentine’s day. Seeing countless couple posts on Instagram and stupid lovey-dovey shit everywhere only made her more bitter. She hadn’t had a boyfriend in a long time - too long. If she was being honest, she had always thought Lorcan would make a move on her one day. Though at this point, it had been years of banter and flirting with absolutely nothing else, so she had pretty much lost all hope. She would just have to accept that she would forever be in the friend zone, but of course, that was easier said than done.

She settled into the couch with her favorite stuffed animal when the doorbell rang. Lorcan, she assumed.

“It’s open,” she called.

“Elide, I could have been a killer,” Lorcan chastised as he took off his leather jacket and shoes at the front.”

“What killer rings the doorbell?” she shot back.

“Ok fair point,” he said, quickly settling down next to her.

“What do you wanna watch?” she asked, turning to Netflix.

Lorcan shrugged, “Your house your rules El.”

“Lorcan,” she grumbled. “You know I’m too indecisive for this.”

He had the audacity to laugh at her misery, “I know, but it’s funny watching you struggle.”

“I already know no romance movies. I’ve already seen enough lovey Snapchat stories to last a lifetime.”

“Agreed. Did you see all the shit Rowan and Aelin have been posting?” Lorcan asked with a laugh.

Elide laughed too. “Can’t be worse than Lysandra and Aedion.”

Maybe they were just cynical because they were both single, but at the moment Elide didn’t care. It was fun to joke around with Lorcan.

“Let’s watch an action movie then,” Lorcan suggested.

“John wick?” Elide asked, already clicking play.

Lorcan smiled, “Sounds like a plan.”

The movie had barely begun before Lorcan was shifting his massive frame to lay down, placing his head on Elide’s lap.

"Lorcan," she groaned. “You’re heavy as fuck.”

He mockingly gasped, “I’ll have you know I’m on a diet Elide Lochan.”

“It’s your absurd height, stupid,” she whacked him, but he was laughing the whole time.

“You’re warm,” Lorcan whined, sounding much like the five-year-olds that Elide taught every day.

“I have blankets right over there,” she said, gesturing to the basket overflowing with various throws.

Lorcan only stretched his legs out and adjusted himself on her lap. “If you don’t get up I’m gonna sit over there,” she said motioning to the new armchair she recently bought.

“When did you get that?” he asked, finally speaking.

“A few days ago because you literally take up the whole couch when we hang out.” She actually got it for decoration, but bantering with Lorcan was entertaining.

“You’re dramatic Lochan.”

“I’m dramatic?” Elide asked, as she stood. “I’ll show you dramatic.”

She walked to the armchair and plopped down crossing her arms and legs.

She was about to add another dramatic remark, but before she could she felt the chair give way. Suddenly, she was on the floor.

“Ouch,” she mumbled, once she registered the pain she felt on her ass.

“Elide, are you okay?” Lorcan asked, making his way over.

“Yeah I’m fine,” she muttered. “But I am never buying Ikea furniture again.”

In all honesty, it was probably her faulty building skills, but she was not going to admit that at the moment.

She tried to stand but pain shot up her ankle. She had landed on it weirdly, due to her dramatic crossed leg position.

“Wait for me Lochan,” Lorcan said as he carefully picked her up bridal style from the ruins of what once was her armchair.

“I could’ve walked,” she said softly against his chest.

That made Lorcan chuckle. “You were barely standing, El. You would have hobbled at best,” he said gently, placing her on the couch. "Let me get some ice. Your ankle already looks pretty swollen."

“I think it's just aggravated. Old wound,” she tried to say it with a smile, but it probably looked more like a grimace.

Lorcan’s eyes softened in understanding. “Ice won’t hurt though.”

Elide nodded and Lorcan took to the kitchen freezer in search of ice. He returned moments later with a bag of frozen peas wrapped haphazardly in a paper towel. He helped situate her ankle on a pillow so it was elevated and gingerly placed the bag on top.

“Shit that’s cold,” Elide couldn’t help but hiss.

Lorcan laughed softly and Elide smiled. Lorcan’s laugh was one of her favorite sounds. It was rare to see him smile and laugh openly when they were with their other friends, but when it was just them she saw it more often. She liked to think that it was because he was comfortable enough with her to show the real Lorcan.

“That’s the point, Lochan.”

“Get us some drinks, Salveterre,” she chuckled. “There is no better medicine than alcohol.”

“Whatever you say, boss,”

“I have a bottle of wine on the top shelf,” Elide called when she heard Lorcan rustling around.

“Got it,” Lorcan said, returning with a cup of wine. A cup.

“I was too lazy to find the glass,” he said in response to the look she gave him.

Elide stuck her tongue out at him before accepting the cup. “Let’s drink every time Keanu Reeves shoots someone,” she suggested.

“Elide, I think you would throw up if we did that.”

Elide rolled her eyes, “I’m not as much of a lightweight as I was in college, Lorcan.”

He raised a brow at her statement. “We’ll see about that."

As he expected, it had barely been 20 minutes, and Elide was already a giggling mess.

It only took 10 more for her head to fall on Lorcan’s shoulder.

And after another 10 minutes, Elide was onto the honesty.

She had hung out with Lorcan one on one many times, but nothing as intimate as a movie night on Valentine’s day where they were practically cuddling.

“Ok Salveterre truth or dare,” Elide slurred, turning to look at him.

“Elide the movie isn’t over yet,” he said pointing to the screen.

Elide gave him a look and paused the movie, “I’m too drunk to pay attention, plus we’ve watched this movie like five times,”

“Fine,” He laughed, giving in, “I say dare.”

“I dare you,” she said, poking him in the chest, “To kiss me.”

Lorcan almost spit out his wine. “Elide, you are way too drunk to be saying things like that.”

“I’m serious,” she said, setting her wine cup down for emphasis.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you since the day I met you, but you clearly only want to be friends.”

“Elide -”

“I know I’m not your type,” she said, her eyes dropping to the floor. “It’s fine, we can forget about this and blame it on the alcohol. It doesn’t have to be weird between us.”

She felt his hands on her chin, tilting it so they made eye contact.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you since the day I met you too. Elide Lochan, you are smart, kind, and pretty much out of my league in every single way. ”

She felt her cheeks flush at his admission. “Please just kiss me already, Salvettere.”

Without another word, his lips were on hers. Soft and sweet, a perfect first kiss, but she wanted more. She kissed him harder and opened her mouth. He took the hint, his tongue sweeping into her mouth. He pulled her closer, her heart was beating wildly against his.

Elide shifted so she was straddling his lap. She grinded against him and let herself get lost in the way he felt. The way he made her feel.

Lorcan shifted slightly as if he was going to lay her down. It would have been perfect, but Elide’s ankle turned too quick and she grimaced, breaking the kiss for a moment, but that’s all it took for Lorcan to pull back.

“Shit. Sorry, Lochan. I forgot about your ankle.”

“No I’m fine,” she panted breathlessly, trying to pull him back in.

“Maybe we should stop for tonight,” he said, brushing the hair from her eyes.

Elide grumbled, “stupid cock blocking ankle.”

Lorcan laughed again. “I can get you set up in your bed before I head out.”

Elide couldn’t help the pout, “Stay please?” she asked, wrapping her arms around his chest.

He smiled softly. “Anything for you, El.”

They readjusted on the couch so they were facing each other, this time cautious of Elide’s ankle. Lorcan pressed a soft kiss to her forehead and Elide tucked herself closer to his side. It wasn’t long before both of them became drowsy thanks to the alcohol and their heartfelt confessions.

And as Elide began drifting off to sleep in Lorcan’s arms, she knew this is how she wanted to spend every night for the rest of her life.

Tags: @illyriangarbage // @court-of-fuck-me-daddy // @girlnovels // @julesherondalex // @ifangirlninja // @dreamerforever-5 // @queen-of-wings-and-fire // @rhysanoodle // @jemma-nessian-and-elriel // @books-and-words-addict-blog // @nightinshadow // @wolffrising // @the-regal-warrior // @dreamingofalba // @abillionlittlepieces // @alitzeldiaz // @kylizzles // @queenmaas // @illyrian-bookworm // @aspillofstars // @b00kworm // @tswaney17 // @girl-who-reads-the-books // @theshadowsinger-and-thefawn // // @perseusannabeth // @sweetlyvillainous // @awesomelena555 // @notyournymphetish // @ladywitchling // @aesthetics-11 // @sjmships // @iammissstark // @illyrianwitchling13 // @moondancer-204 // @sjm-things // @foolsinlovex // @sayosdreams // @welcometothespeaknowworldtour // @stardelia // @julemmaes // @thewayshedreamed // @texas-shaped-waffle-maker // @keshavomit // @superspiritfestival // @wannawriteyouabook // @verryberriess // @courtofjurdan // @bookstantrash // @sannelovesreading // @ahappyhistorianreader // @cass-nes // @my-fan-side // @junsuichow // @sleeping-and-books // @yumna402 // @lordof-bloodshed // @emcarstairs578 // @gisellefigue08 // @maybekindasortaace // @starborn-faerie-queen // @empire-of-wildfire // @loveofbooksandwine // @sanakapoor // @silentquartz // @a-omgnaomithings-love // @aimee1602 // @jlinez // @creamcheesechicken // @steamedlattes // @sahsahprova // @elriel4life //

#elorcan #car answers #nalgenewhore #elorcan fic

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 3 years ago

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Dinner plans

Summary: Meeting John again after 5 years at a grocery store of all places wasn’t how you imagined your Tuesday night.

Pairing: John Wick / F!Reader

Warnings: a hint of angst in the beginning, some fluff?

A/N: I wrote this on my phone lol This is for @autumnleaves1991-blog #WriterWednesday 😌

It had been a long week.

You had been in Paris, Rome and then back to NYC. One might think you had more than enough money to afford some takeout. Hell, you could afford having a private cook at home.

But after a week of contracts and different time zones the only way you really got to come down and relax was cooking.

You had moved just outside of New York a month ago, without much time to get to know the neighborhood. You were working on getting yourself out. Out of the underworld that was the high table. Out of taking contracts. Out of being hired to kill.

You were good, maybe the best. Having worked hard ever since… You sighed. It had been a while since you thought about him. John.

It’s been more than five years since you saw him last. After the thing he did for Tarasov he had earned the chance to quit. Not that anyone would have been brave or stupid enough to deny the Boogeyman.

Once upon a time, when you were young, foolish and so helplessly in love with him, you thought that he would be the one. At night, when you thought about your life you still dreamed about the big what if.

What if he hadn’t left?

What if you had told him how you felt?

What if he would have felt the same?

You knew it had been a bad idea from the start. Letting your relationship with John get intimate. You worked perfect professional wise. But working as a hired gun is lonely. And John had just been there. Always. You shook your head, killing the engine of your car.

He’s was your past.

While the Thai curry recipe you wanted to cook tonight was your future.

There was something calm about empty grocery stores. It was just after 9pm on a Tuesday but it could also been midnight from the lack of people at the store.

Quiet music was playing as you pushed the cart down the aisle, filling it with everything you craved. You chose to ignore the 4 bottles of red wine you had in there for yourself. Your birthday was coming up and without any friends you would make wine your friend for one weekend before you had to leave for another contract in Taiwan.

Looking down at the list you wrote for the ingredients you didn’t see him at first. Which was hilarious cause he had been looking at you for a while now. You stopped walking, checking if you were now hallucinating.

John Wick was standing with a bottle of wine under his arm and a crappy microwave meal in the other looking at you.

He looked older, a couple of wrinkles around his eyes as his lips twitched into a small smile when you finally spotted him.

You felt like you were under water. You never thought you would see him again. The last thing you heard was that was he divorced from his wife and was now the owner of a book shop. It would have been easy to find him, but you were scared. Of what exactly, you didn’t know.

“John…” you whispered as he slowly walked towards you. He was wearing dark jeans, a gray Henley and a brown leather jacket. His hair was longer, you liked it that way.

“Hey,” he said when he was standing in front of you. You looked up, still awestruck.

“Sorry. I’m trying to figure out if you’re real or if that’s mafioso in Rome earlier this week hit my head harder than I thought,” you said and he chuckled.

“Rome huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Santino still a pain in the ass?”

You groaned. “Ugh, you have no idea.”

You both laughed.

“What are you doing here?” You asked.

“Moved here a week ago. Finally sold the house after we finalized the divorce.”

“I’m sorry,” instinctly you reached over, squeezing his arm. A sad smile came to his lips as he sighed.

“Yeah. I’m sorry too. But we weren’t making each other happy. She deserves better. And… I wasn’t 100% in it too.”

You nodded, not really knowing what you should say. You spotted the microwave meal in his hand and made a face.

“You really wanna eat that?��

“That’s what the wine is for. To make it bearable.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. Looking down at your grocery list you sucked your bottom lip in.

“How about you put that away and join me for a late dinner?” You offered quietly.

“I don’t want to intrude…”

“Hey I offered. I know how much you liked my cooking Jonathan,” you winked and he chuckled before he out the meal away.

“I missed you,” he said, putting the bottle of wine into your cart as he stepped closer. You could smell his aftershave, his hand coming up to your cheek. You closed your eyes, breathing in deeply. You felt his lips on your forehead and opened your eyes.

“I missed you too.”

#writer wednesday #drabble #John wick #Keanu Reeves #John wick x f!reader #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing

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kitkatd7 · 4 years ago

Text

What Could’ve Been; Broken Hearts & Whiskey Pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky finally starts trying to get his shit together but when you show up with another man it throws everyone for a loop.

Warnings: Angst! Overprotective Bucky, Pissed reader, Threats, womanizing character who gets what he deserves, Talk of the breakup, Cursing that Steve would be ashamed of, Tiniest bit of fluff but not really.

Word Count: 3,331

A/N: I’m finally backkk!!! I’ve been wanting to work on this series for some time now and I’m finally getting a bit of motivation to do so! I hope you enjoy it!

A/N 2: Entire paragraphs of italics are flashbacks, single sentences of italics are internal thoughts, Bold italics are song lyrics. I used lyrics from the song What Could’ve Been by Gone West for this story.

Masterlist of Masterlists || Marvel Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Part 1

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

**2 Months After Breakup**

Waltzing into the living room of the Avengers tower, you're met with a chorus of greetings from your adopted family. Despite you and Bucky being over you still spend time with everyone else- just when he isn’t around.

You haven’t seen him since you broke up and you’d like to keep it that way. Seeing him would just be more than you could handle; you already lost him so why remind yourself of it more often than you already do? But at the same time his absence from movie night is just as painful of a reminder- like a puzzle with a lost piece.

Snapping back to reality you give a halfhearted smile, joining Steve and Sam on the couch as Natasha hits play on ‘John Wick’.

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

2 hours later you’re standing in the kitchen making snacks with Sam before the next movie starts. “That’s ridiculous, Sammy!” You giggle, watching the microwave timer count down until the popcorn is ready. “Bacon does not belong in ice cream.”

You hear him chuckle behind you as he empties M&M’s into bowls. “Bacon belongs in everything, sweetheart. You're gonna try it sometime or else...”

“Or else what, Sa-” You cut off as you turn around, frozen on the spot as you peer over

Sam’s shoulder.

“Hey, y/n,” Bucky whispers. Your gaze travels up and down the man you used to know, but he’s different. His eyes have bags beneath them from lack of sleep, his hair longer and more unruly than it was the last time you saw him. The stubborn jawline you remembered was replaced by a nervous clenched jaw. His eyes once so bright were now timid and dull; no longer holding the same sparkle that used to make you smile.

In an instant your expression went from a carefree woman with her friends to the girl who’s heart was shattered by the stranger before you whose face you used to know so well.

“Can we talk?” Bucky asks gently, his expression hopeful yet dreading.

“What are you doing here, James?” you whisper, wrapping your arms around yourself as Sam looks between you both carefully.

“I live here,” Bucky nearly scoffs.

“Barnes,” Sam warns, his shoulders tense as he glances at you worriedly.

“I don’t want to talk to you, James. I have nothing to say.”

“All you have to do is listen. Please, doll.”

Despite your best efforts to appear unbothered, the nickname shatters your false bravado. “Don’t call me that,” your voice breaks as tears cloud your vision.

“Excuse me,” you whisper, rushing past both men, ignoring Bucky’s call of your name and attempt to stop you.

“Let her go, man. You’ve done enough,” you hear Sam say as you flee down the hallway, slamming the bathroom door behind you.

Locking the door you turn on the faucet as the tears begin to fall and the suppressed memories rush back:

**2 Months Before Breakup* Flashbacks*

“It’s midnight! Where the hell were you?” You yelled, tears pricking your eyes.

Bucky sighed in defeat, his expression resigned and cold. “Can we do this in the morning?” His tone more of an order than a request as he turns his back on you and begins to walk down the hallway of your apartment.

“No, we can’t do it in the morning. You owe me an explanation. You were supposed to be here when my parents got here. You promised.” You sniffled as Bucky’s shoulders stiffened. “I’m sorry. I don’t have a good enough reason,” he mumbles before walking away.

I haven't stopped thinking about you

Has it really been this long?

Two years and an ocean between us

And I don't know where it all went wrong

I know I coulda kissed you harder

And yeah, you coulda followed through

Shoulda talked a little bit softer

But we meant every "I love you"

**1 Month Before Breakup**

Glancing around the restaurant you see no sign of Bucky. Checking your phone for the 8th time in the past 10 minutes, you sigh. Where is he? You’ve been here for an hour; waiting in your new dress for the man who hadn’t bothered to show. You’re getting tired of the pitiful looks the waitress and the other customers are shooting you. Polishing off your second glass of wine you open your phone: no new messages.

You’ve already sent Bucky 5 texts and called him 4 times; you're done.

Paying for the wine quickly you all but flee the restaurant, trying to hold back your tears. If you weren’t so upset you would probably laugh; laugh at yourself for being so naive to think he would keep his word. But you can’t bring yourself to laugh, not while your heart slowly shatters at the hands of the man who swore never to hurt you.

I don't know what this is or what it isn't

But it feels like we've got unfinished business

**2 Months Ago; AKA Week of Breakup**

“Hey this is y/n, I can’t come to the phone right now cuz I’m out livin my life! Leave it at the beep.” He hears your all too familiar voicemail through the speaker. He had helped you come up with it, you hadn’t known what to put on it. He kicks himself, knowing you weren’t actually out living your life, just dodging his calls. Not that he blamed you- He deserved it and he knew it. Calling again, he’s not surprised when he hears your voicemail again.

“Hey… Um, listen, I know I was supposed to be at your place after the mission… I just wanted to unwind with the guys and- Shit. I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t think you would mind that much, I’ll be over in a bit to make it up to you, okay?” He leaves the message and ends the call before starting his car and driving towards your apartment, guilt heavy in his stomach.

You listen to his voicemail over and over, a strange mix of rage and sorrow weighing on your heart.

Tears roll slowly down your cheeks silently as you lay curled up in a defensive ball on your bed, trying to block out the unmistakable sound of Bucky begging you to open the front door; “Babe, please open the door,” He says, fist resting gently against the frame. “I’m sorry- really, really sorry. Please let me in and we can talk about it,” He sighs, resting his head against the door in defeat. He could break the lock and go in. You both know that. But he wouldn’t do that to you- All that would do is make you fear him and that’s the last thing he wants. He slides his back down the wall til he’s sitting on the floor next to your door, his elbows on his knees and his hands in his hair; Tears gathering in his lashes. He really messed up this time.

The next day you drag yourself out of bed, trying to forget last night and all the tears you shed. After a shower and breakfast, you head out the door for a coffee run before work. You stop in your tracks when you see Bucky still sitting there, eyes red from lack of sleep and regret written all over his face. He jumps up when you walk out, keys in hand, the door closing behind you. “What are you doing here?”

“I- I came to apologize,” he murmurs, looking in your eyes.

“I don’t want to hear it,” you bite, moving to step around him but stopping when he steps to block your path.

“Bucky, I’m going to be late for work,” you say coldly, glaring at him. “Move out of the way.”

“Please doll, just let me explain-”

Huffing, you roll your eyes. “I understand perfectly, James.” You watch as he flinches a little at the use of his first name. You only use it when you're really mad or really happy, and it isn’t the latter right now. “You were too busy with your beer buddies to come see your girlfriend after being gone for three weeks, but what’s new? It’s been like this for months. I guess it was naive of me to expect something else this time.”

'Cause we left blood the on the tracks

Sweat on the saddle

Fire in the hills

A bullet in the barrel

Words never said in a story that didn't end

Looks like you're on the mend and I'm on the bottle

We folded our hands with money on the table

**Present Day**

All the broken promises, nights alone and tears came rushing back as sobs racked your body. Sliding down the door you rest your head between your knees, eyes screwing shut tightly in a useless attempt to stop the bittersweet memories and tears.

Little do you know that outside the door sat a man with tears clouding his vision as he listened to your muffled sobs on the other side of the door. In that moment he wanted nothing more than to turn back time and undo all of the agony he caused you and hold you like he's been wishing he could for the past 2 months. You were just on the other side of the door, separated from him by a few inches of wood and yet you had never been farther away. What did he do?

Tried moving on, but I keep coming back again

To what could've been

What could've been

Oh, what could've been

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

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

Stumbling into your apartment you all but throw your keys and purse down before shuffling into the bathroom and turning on the hot water for a shower before turning back to the mirror.

The person you see looking back at you in the mirror isn’t who you remember- or at least not who you thought you were. The person you remember was carefree and happy; living in a dream with the love of their life. You don’t recognize the girl in the mirror with swollen, bloodshot eyes and shoulders that hold the weight of the world. What happened to the girl you used to know?

A single tear rolled down your cheek, leaving a mournful trail in its wake. Bucky. Bucky happened to that girl.

There had always been doubt hidden in the back of your mind; doubt that your beautifully woven reality would become nothing more than a tangled web of what once was and could’ve been, but you never thought it would end like this. You had imagined it being another girl that came between you, or perhaps his self loathing or the inadequacy you felt. Never did you think it would be the unexplainable, cold, unfeeling resentment that had taken over the gentle, sweet man you thought you knew. Where did it go wrong?

A couple more simple, "I'm sorry's"

A little less tryna be right

I wonder how many good mornings we wasted

'Cause we didn't say goodnight

One touch before we fell asleep

Just before our love was out of reach

Coulda been enough, coulda saved us from this loneliness

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

“Steve?” Bucky calls out as he strides into the training room, the door banging shut behind him. Whirling around Steve clutches a hand to his chest. “Jesus, Buck! You scared the hell out of me!”

“I need your help,” Bucky demands, jaw set in a firm line and his eyes glittering with determination.

Steve runs a hand over his face, letting out a sigh. “Is this about Y/N and the other night? Because if it is I am not apologizing to the poor girl for you, so you can just-”

“I want her back.”

“You what?!” Steve exclaimed, his jaw dropping.

“I want her back- I need her back. And I need you to help me.”

“Damn it, Bucky. It’s been 2 months and you saw how she still feels about what you did. How are we gonna fix that?”

“I don’t know yet, Steve… But I have to try. Please.”

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

Strolling into Tony’s party happily, you smile up at your date, your arm linked with his.

You greet Tony with a warm smile and a kiss on the cheek before turning towards the sound of Natasha calling your name. Sashaying towards her you give her a hug before turning to give Thor and Steve one as well.

“So, who’s this?” Nat asks, gesturing towards your date who’s eyeing her unabashedly, his gaze dropping to her neckline.

“Oh, sorry! This is Jordan!”

You roll your eyes as Thor begins lightly interrogating him, but he doesn’t pay much attention, his gaze fixed on Natasha’s retreating form.

“Can we talk?” Steve asks, his hand resting gently on your forearm. Following him into a nearby corridor you give him a puzzled look. “Is something wrong, Steve?”

“Um, not exactly…” he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well, what is it then?”

“It’s about Bucky.” Seeing your irritated expression he holds up his hands innocently. “Wait a minute. Just hear me out, okay?”

“Fine.”

“Look, he’s been spiraling since you guys broke up; not eating, always working and out on missions constantly, and his nightmares are getting worse again.”

“Why should I care?”

“Don’t do that. Don’t pretend like you don’t still love hi- Actually, fine, Y/N. If you want to pretend that you don’t care then that’s your problem. Just know that seeing you the other night? Changed something. He’s trying again, and I don’t want to see him lose that. So even if you want to tell yourself that it doesn’t matter to you, at least think about it for me.” Steve turned away, pausing for a moment. “Oh, and by the way? Seeing you here tonight with someone else isn’t gonna be good for anyone… But why should you care, right?”

Taken aback by Steve’s lack of usual patience, you can only watch as he walks off, disappearing into the crowd and leaving you with mixed emotions and a hard decision ahead of you; what were you gonna do?

No matter how hard you tried to block out thoughts of Bucky they always managed to slip back in between the cracks in your shattered heart. Steve was right; you did care. But what were you supposed to do about it tonight? Especially about Jordan. Were you supposed to walk up to him and say ‘oh, by the way you have to leave because my ex is here and he may or may not rip your arms off? No, that wouldn’t work.

Racking your brain for a solution, you snag a glass of champagne from one of the passing trays, downing it in the hopes of drowning your mixed emotions - it didn’t work. Taking a deep breath, you start weaving between the sea of bodies towards where you left Jordan.

Spotting Thor and Tony you make your way towards them, smirking when you hear Tony arguing with Thor over… something.

“Where’s Jordan?” you ask, joining their small circle and trying to shake off your conversation with Steve.

“He was here a minute ago… I’m not sure though, kiddo,” Tony says, giving you a puzzled glance. “Speak of the devil, here he is!” Tony exclaims as you look over your shoulder to see a slightly ruffled Jordan walking towards you, his eyes holding an unnatural hazy look.

“Where were you?” You ask lightly, gaze raking his bedraggled form; his shirt slightly untucked, hair mused and lips pink.

“Oh um, nowhere. Just the bathroom.”

Accepting another glass of champagne, you push down the fury in your chest. You’d just taken a sip when an all too familiar figure came to stand beside you; a scotch glass in his hand and clad in an unfairly attractive black suit. “Hey Y/N, who’s this?”

Nearly choking on your drink, your eyes widen. “Bucky! What are you doing here? You hate these parties!” You say before you can stop yourself. Stupid. The offhanded statement would seem innocent to most, but to you- to you it was a reminder that you still knew him better than anyone else did, a reminder that you remembered all the nights alone together instead of at the noisy parties, a reminder that you still cared enough to remember.

You could see that he was thinking the same thing. “This is Jordan. My…” you faded off, not quite sure what to call him.”

“Date,” Jordan finishes for you, wrapping his left arm around your waist lazily, his hand traveling slightly further than appropriate for the first date. “But we’re keeping things loose, isn’t that right?” Jordan asks, glancing at you but not waiting for an answer. “And who the hell are you?”

Your eyes widen in shock, glancing back and forth between the two men; taking in Jordan’s cocky smirk and Bucky’s knowing look.

Bucky extended his hand, a malicious smirk on his lips and dark glint in his eyes as he took in the unprofessional state of Jordan- including the lipstick stain on his white button down- and the uncomfortable shift of your weight, leaning away from your sorry excuse of a date.

Jordan accepted the outstretched hand, wincing visibly and paling at Bucky’s iron grip. “Bucky Barnes,” Bucky offered, enjoying as the other man wriggled uncomfortably in his grip, his arrogance forgotten. His gaze lighted on Bucky’s metal arm, his eyes lighting with recognition and terror.

“Holy- you're the Winter Soldier! God man, I’ve heard so much about you-”

“An honor, I’m sure,” Bucky drawls, looking bored, his voice dropping an octave in warning. “Now get lost.”

You sputter defiantly as Jordan scurries off, his tail between his legs.

“What was that for?!” you fume,a fire burning in your eyes as you turn on Bucky.

“Oh c’mon. The guys’ been eyeing every other woman in here! He’s a douche! What was I supposed to do? Just let him feel you up after sneaking off with who knows what girl?”

“Who ‘feels me up’ is none of your concern anymore!”

“Come off it, Y/N! You didn’t even want him touching you! I was protecting you, so your welcome,” he huffed.

“I don’t need protecting, and I sure as hell don’t need you to protect me. So you can go fuck yourself, James. You can’t treat me like shit for months and then get mad when someone else does the same thing!” you snarl, spinning on your heel and storming off as Bucky watches you.

Bucky stalks across the floor, the crowd parting before him; not willing to get in the way of the 6 foot man on a mission. Locating his target- dancing with another girl no less- he grabs him roughly by the collar before pushing him against a pillar.

“What the hell, dude?” Jordan fumes, eyes locking on Bucky’s before he goes slack, his eyes widening in horror when he recognizes the former assassin.

“Every single thing you’ve ever heard about me is true, so shut up and listen closely,” Bucky growls, his arm braced against Jordans chest forcefully, a murderous glint in his eyes. “I expect you to do exactly what I say, and if you don’t, I’ll know. First, you are going to get your sorry ass out of here, and then you are going to send Y/N an apology text, telling her what an asshole you are, and that you don’t deserve to even look at her. Then, you are not going to get within 1,000 feet of her, and you are not going to text, call, or even think about her ever again, or I swear to God I will hunt you down, cut your balls off and shove them down your goddamn throat, got it? Nod if you understand. Good. Now. Get. Out.”

Releasing Jordan, Bucky watches as he falls to the floor before scrambling towards the door with the fear of God instilled in him.

“What the hell did you just do, Bucky?”

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

Thanks so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed it! Feedback and constructive critism is cool :)

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#broken hearts and whiskey #BH&W #what could've been #BH&W pt 2 #BH&W what could've been #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky series #bucky angst #angst #cursing #kits writing

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its-a-novelist-girl · 4 years ago

Text

Never Have I Ever

Chapter 3

Chapter 2

Summary: A virgin, 20-year-old Damian with too many trust issues to let a girl get too close is constantly teased by his brothers for spending so much time with his female best friend, Y/N. During a game of never have I ever, Y/n is shocked to find that her incredibly good looking best friend has never had more than a brief kiss. Y/n starts to think and she might have a proposition that Damian can’t say no to.

(Disclaimer/Notes): I own nothing of DC characters. This will be partly comic cannon and partly my own. I have never posted like this on here so please be patient with me as I learn. A little explanation post as to where i went is going up now as well. I hope you enjoy it!

(Tags): @Animeluv14, @calcatss, @randomdcfangirl, @anythingandeverything15, @theyellowfeverexperience, @ginevraxrogers, @lilsxtan, @idkmanicantenglish, @elleclairez, @whovianwar, @kaitlinmarley, @imboredandneedwritingprompts, @thegothamtimes, @bakugous-bakahoe, If i missed anyone just let me know :)

You had both agreed to take this incredibly slow. Damian didn’t exactly have the most touch-friendly childhood, which carried on to this day. He had been successful in hugging his father and siblings for short periods of time, but it had taken him upwards of a year before he felt comfortable enough for even small touches. So you decided the first thing for you two to do was get Damian comfortable with having another person touching him in general. Which is why Damian was currently standing in front of his mirror, critiquing his outfit for the hundredth time.

He was getting ready for the plans that you both had today, which was watching a movie at your apartment. You had told him to dress comfortably, saying that it would help him feel the most relaxed. So there was Damian trying on his fourth outfit to try and figure out what would be the most comfortable. He had briefly thought about just showing up at your apartment in the Robin suit. If he was being honest with himself the suit had become almost a second skin to him, the only outfit that truly made him feel completely safe. He might be incredibly awkward when it came to social settings but give him his suit and his katanas and he could confidently take on whatever was thrown at him. However, he assumed that you wouldn’t take well to him showing up in his Robin suit to watch a movie on your couch, so he reluctantly threw out that idea.

Finally, he decided on a comfortable pair of black jeans and a black t-shirt. He looked at the clock on his bedside table and decided he better start heading to your apartment. He walked over to Titus who was laying on his bed to give him a head scratch goodbye when he suddenly got an idea. Today was about making him comfortable with physical contact, or at least the start of it. He quickly got Titus' leash from off his wall and called him to follow. You loved Titus and he calmed Damian down quite a bit, which he figured would be beneficial for tonight. After telling Alfred where he was going, he got into his car with Titus in the passenger seat.

On the way to your apartment, Damian was very aware of how hard his heart was beating in his chest. Controlling his heart rate was something he was taught as a young child so the fact that just thinking about sharing his personal space with you was making him lose control made him angry. He was 20 years old damn it, he shouldn't be losing it over something as simple as this. He was deep into chastising himself when he heard his phone go off on the console beside him. Briefly taking his eyes off the road he glanced down and saw your name with a text asking him if he had left the manor yet. He relaxed into his seat as he sent a quick text at the next red light telling you that he was almost at your apartment. When he pulled up to your apartment he parked and forced himself to take some deep breath to calm himself before going up. He reminded himself he trusted you completely and that this was something that you both wanted. With that clarity he put the leash on Titus and made his way upstairs.

-----

You were just getting the popcorn out of the microwave when you heard a knock at the door, knowing it was Damian you yelled for him to come in having unlocked the door a few moments before.

“Y/N you should really keep your door locked at all times. It is very unsafe to not do so.” He told you sternly as he leaned down to unhook Titus collar. With his newfound freedom, the Great Dane quickly crossed the living room of your small apartment, storming into your kitchen to greet you with excitement.

As you gave him some much-needed attention you turned back to Damian when he said, “ I hope you don’t mind that I brought him along,”

“I’m glad you brought him!” You said excitedly and then in a baby voice as you talked to the dog currently licking your face “I Luv this little man. Yes, I do. I’ve missed you.”

After Titus was content with the amount of kisses he had given you he turned around towards the living room and jumped onto the end of the couch, resting his head on the back cushions to continue to watch you in the kitchen. You watched him fondly and then turned your attention to Damian who was awkwardly standing in the middle of your living room. You could tell he was nervous so you quickly put the popcorn into a big bowl to join him, grabbing a couple bottles of water out of your fridge as you went. You sat down on the couch and patted the seat beside you to gesture him to sit down as well. Damian sat in the middle between Titus and you, his back ramrod straight.

“Dami, it’s ok to be nervous. How about we start with me sitting a little closer to you, is it ok if I scoot closer?” You asked him gently, letting him make the decision to back out if he needed to. He nodded and you positioned yourself closer to him, still not touching but close enough to touch when he felt comfortable. You saw him relax a little into the seat, when he gave you a more confident smile you relaxed too.

“If there is something you want to do just ask me, we can go as fast or as slow as you're comfortable with. We don’t even have to touch if you don’t want to.” You reassured him.

“Thank you for being so patient with me Y/N” he said.

You started the movie, John Wick, and you both relaxed further into the couch as it progressed. About thirty minutes into the movie you felt Damian shift so that your arms were touching, then a few minutes later he reached for your hand. You let him take it and squeezed him gently in response. Afraid that if you commented on it that he would lose his nerve, you kept quiet and continued to pay attention to the movie.

When the movie ended you pulled away to retrieve the remote on the coffee table in front of the couch, placing the now empty bowl of popcorn on the tabletop as you did so. When you leaned back Damian had shifted and was currently stretching out his arm on top of the couch above you. Once you had started the next movie, John Wick 2, you felt him move his arm so that you were now leaning your head against it with his hand resting on your shoulder. Titus must have sensed his owner start to worry because he readjusted himself to place his head in Damian’s lap, with his eyes locked on the door. With the new reassurance that Titus would alert him to any suspicious behavior, Damian allowed himself to relax more. Surprising even himself Damian took a deep controlling breath and gently pulled you towards him, wrapping his arm around your waist to securely hold you against his side with your head on his shoulder. As you snuggled into Damian’s warmth you reached your arm around your stomach to hold the hand that was currently resting on your waist giving it another reassuring squeeze to assure him that you were comfortable. You let yourself melt into Damian’s embrace knowing that you were one of the very lucky few that got to be this close to him as the movie continued to play on. You let yourself bask in the moment enjoying how you could hear the steady beating of his heart.

When the movie had finally ended Damian was more relaxed than he had been in a very long time. He was pleasantly surprised at how relaxing holding you was, and also surprised at how it had relaxed him as well. He decided at that moment that he wanted to try one more thing before he left. You were in the kitchen washing the popcorn bowl when Damian spoke from the living room.

“I should probably be going, Father will be expecting me to be ready for patrols in a few hours,” he said.

Quickly rinsing off the bowl and placing it in the drainer you made your way back to the living room to say goodbye.

“C-can we,” he cleared his throat, and then more confidently asked, “Can we hug goodbye this time?”

You smiled at him washing some of the worries away on his face as you did so and simply held your arms wide open to him in invitation. He crossed the space between you in short strides, leaning down slightly to wrap his arms around you as tightly as he would dare it. You wrapped your arms around him and held him just as tightly. After a moment he relaxed into your embrace, nuzzling his face into your neck as he pulled you as close to him as possible. You stayed that way for a while, just holding each other, melting into one another. You fit perfectly in his arms he noticed with content.

When he pulled away he said with an uncharacteristically shy smile, “Thank you again, Y/N. I had a very pleasant time.”, as he retrieved Titus’s leash and signaled him with a wave of his hand to come to his side.

“Of course Dami, I had a really great time too.” You said with a bright smile as you walked to the door with Damian. Then you remembered where he was going and said “Be safe tonight,”.

“I always am,” he grinned back, then his expression became serious and he added, “Lock the door behind me.”

You rolled your eyes. “I always do,” you said. Waving him goodbye as he walked down the hall you closed the door and as you said you would lock it up tight, knowing you wouldn’t be going back out for the night. You grinned to yourself as you leaned back against the front door, still able to feel Damian’s warmth against your skin. You chose to ignore the butterflies in your stomach and what they meant. Unbeknownst to you down in his car Damian was doing the same, trying to control the wide grin on his face.

#older!damian #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne #older!damian wayne x reader #dc #dc comics #batfam

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fortheloveoffanfic · 4 years ago

Text

The Arrangement

John Wick x Reader (A/n-Why’d I spend so long setting the scene? Cause I have no self control, that’s why. There SMUT somewhere in here though, I promise. Also, I’ll only be posting links the the chapter immediately before, but sometime soon, a mini masterlist for this may be made, if that’ll make navigation easier.)

Sweet Surrender

Warnings- SMUT/NSFW, semi-public nudity (is that a thing?), spanking, degrading language, dom/sub

Be A Good Baby, Do What I Want

John’s summer home in North Carolina was absolutely stunning; the perfect picture of rustic beauty, perched at the head of a long driveway in the thick foliage, on one of the hills that overlooked Nantahala Lake in the distance. The sleek black rental hummed quietly as John navigated the winding curves of the cobblestone path, eventually stopping at the small, cozy porch. The house itself was a grand affair, steely grey-brick walls with white accents surrounding large windows. Y/n couldn’t see the inside through what she presumed to be white sheer curtains, but if the exterior was anything to go by, it would be gorgeous.

“This is it,” John determined, putting the car in park. Like he’d taught her, Y/n waited until he came around to the passenger side, holding the door open for her as she got out, her handbag clutched in enclosed fingers. “Come on,” he took her free hand, urging Y/n up the front steps, “Someone will get this for us.”

Just as expected, the inside was beautiful; high white ceilings complementing cool toned hardwood floors. The staircase was tucked against a white painted wall immediately to Y/n’s left and to their right was an expansive living room, the closed windows displaying the unexplored forestry next to the house. They didn’t linger in there for too long as John, without haste, was intent on showing Y/n around himself, “After tonight, we’re going to be alone for the rest of the week. I don’t want interruptions,” he explained casually, as if it wasn’t even an afterthought. Though Y/n knew that what John really wanted was for their activities to be unhampered by the need for secrecy. He didn’t seem to see it necessary for Y/n’s response and went on with showing her around, “This is the kitchen,” it was to the left, at the end of a hall, all white walls and cabinets with an integrated refrigerator to match. The small island was joined to a marble top kitchen table, complimented by navy cushioned chairs and the matching counter against the furthest wall was interrupted by a silver and black cooktop while two built in ovens with a microwave above them matched the other appliances and was embedded in the wall, separated by the bronze farm sink from another brief bout of marble. “You’ll be in charge of cooking, since its just us. Is that okay with you?”

Y/n wasn’t expecting John to await her approval, typically, his orders were indisputable, unless of course, it might make her uncomfortable. But cooking? She did that almost everyday, and Y/n certainly didn’t mind doing it for John, in fact, she welcomed the opportunity. “Yes,” she nodded stiffly, still too bewildered to smile.

“Very good,” the matter was dismissed almost as quickly as he’d brought it up, and soon John was leading her out the stable door, unlatching both hinges and then letting her go first. The back door at the kitchen led to a patio and pool area. The round pool was directly edged by more grey and brown cobblestone, but around that was healthy, green, cropped lawn and off to the side, raised above ground level was a hot tub. Not too far off, nearer to what Y/n assumed was a screen door that led to a conservatory. Her little gasp of surprise at the surrounding beauty seemed to fall on deaf ears.

Or so Y/n thought.

She didn’t notice John staring down at her, a soft, barely noticeable grin brightening his rugged features. He found great enjoyment in impressing her, showing her new things and affording her luxuries that she wasn’t used to. “I can't wait to see how sexy you look in that new bath suit we bought you,” John’s hand left hers, sliding to the lowest point of Y/n’s back, the fabric of her cheery green, floral summer dress smooth beneath his touch, “You’re so pretty when you’re prance around in your panties for me.”

Y/n’s cheeks immediately took on a warm, rosy hue, the tint reached the tips of her ears, completely visible since her tresses were pulled up in a high, loose ponytail, only stray tendrils curtaining her delicate features. She didn’t dare meet John’s dark gaze, knowing she’d be blushing and smiling so hard that it’d hurt. He always knew just what to say to raise heat in her, he had a kind of brash charm, his compliments were blunt and a little provocative most times, but Y/n adored them. It was a show of his confidence, John wasn't afraid to say whatever he wanted to, he was attractively in control, always.

Afterwards, he showed her the rest of the house, the last room being her bedroom- they wouldn’t be sharing one as John didn’t readily appreciate having someone sleep next to him. So, instead, he’d occupy the master bedroom that overlooked the backyard, while she’d be set up in the room closest to his, a little smaller with more dainty decor.

When he dropped her off at the room, John took hold of Y/n bare forearm, using his free hand to sweep away a couple more escaped strands, primarily for effect, “Go get changed, we’ll spend some time out back before dinner,” he ended his words with a brief lip lock, letting Y/n into her bedroom.

Changing into the white, lattice cutout bikini that John bought her before they’d left New York, Y/n threw on a crocheted cover up over her shoulder and slipped into heeled stiletto slippers with bands of white fuzz running just above her polished toe nails. Leaving the cover up open and hanging at the edges of her shoulders, Y/n journeyed downstairs, headed to the poolside.

John was already there, lounging in a pair of shorts on a reclined deck chair, sunglasses on and one outstretched leg crossed over the other, raising on his elbows as she sauntered over, "Come sit here," he patted his lap. As she made her way over to him, Y/n's heels clicked on the cobblestone and eventually, she was sinking into John's lap. "Look at you," he hummed, sitting up some more so he could lean in and suckle on her neck, pushing her cover up off completely.

"Sir," she moaned, low and wanting as Y/n tilted her head to allow him access. John’s hand stayed at the small off her back, his last two fingers laid over the curve of her ass as his mouth traveled upwards, soon enough catching hers in a domineering kiss.

Y/n’s heady sounds are swallowed up by John and she shifted slightly, her thigh brushing his growing erection. His tongue tasted of coffee and the bourbon discarded on the end table next to his seat. With his other hand, John skimmed the curve of her exposed thigh, dipping between her legs to palm her nylon clad sex, his thumb firmly circling her mound. He was right about to pull the string of her bikini top when, from the table, next to his whiskey, John’s phone shrieked loudly.

“Fuck,” he breathed lowly, breaking their lip lock and moving his hand from her gnawing heat to check the caller ID, “I gotta take this, I'll be right back,” he mumbled quietly, and despondently, Y/n slid off his lap so John could stand, “Wait here,” were his last words before moving away.

Pouting frustratedly, Y/n slumped her shoulders, emitting a childish, “Humph!” As he put the phone to his ear. Much to her surprise, John’s ear caught it, and displeased, he pointed sternly, reminding that she’d have to stay put until he was finished. Annoyed, though still somewhat compliant, Y/n did as she was told, looking on as John moved nearer to the back door, one had in his pocket as he spoke in a tone so hushed that it made it impossible to hear. He looked mad though, the vein at his neck was bulging and when he wasn’t speaking John’s jaw was clenched and his gaze was hard. She stayed there for a while, which was quite possibly shorter than it felt, but eventually Y/n grew petulant, standing with huff and kicking off her slippers before heading to the pool. It was too hot to be sitting out in the sun anyway.

If John had noticed, he didn’t readily show it and the minute Y/n was submerged, the water almost covering her breasts, she did a couple laps around the circumference, sure to splash around noisily to rouse his attention. Though, as loud as she was, John kept his focus, still on the call, not even stealing a glance her way. It was absolutely infuriating!

That was when the idea struck her and Y/n smirked devilishly, mostly to herself. John wasn’t paying attention, she desperately wanted some, and thankfully, Y/n knew just how to get it. Of course, she knew he had obligations, but Y/n wanted to be one of them, and if getting his attention meant she’d be in a bit of trouble later, it was still a risk she’d take.

With her gaze trained on him, staring until he turned her way, Y/n reached around to her back, clumsily searching for the strings holding her bikini together, a sultry smirk curving her lips when they tangled in the tips of bright red nails. In an exaggerated motion, Y/n dragged her lower lip through her teeth, eyes now locked with John’s dark orbs, giving them a tug. The top slackened; more and more and more until it eventually gave way. The open top flopped into the gently disturbed water, and with a defiant glint in her eyes, Y/n grabbed it up, tossing it to the lip of the pool, where it hit the concrete with a quiet splat, finally proceeding to float on her back, her chest exposed for John, along with any of the remaining staff that cared to peer through one of the many windows.

From what she could see, John immediately went red with anger. "I gotta go Patrick," he offered briskly before hanging up and pocketing his phone. His bare feet took him to the edge of the pool, near her carelessly forgotten bikini top, and though she noticed his glaring, Y/n chose to ignore him, the way he'd been ignoring her. "Y/n?" His firm tone wasn't one to be tested and when he followed that up with, "Don't make me come get you," she sulked, swimming to the steps before slowly getting out.

Her hair dripped and the seasonal, warm rays weren't enough to warm her up, resulting in a slight shiver and pebbled nipples. In an attempt to bring some semblance of body heat, Y/n hugged her chest, though clearly displeased, John hastily grabbed her arms, shoving them down to her sides. An out of turn, "Ugh," left her lips and Y/n somehow found the nerve to look away, casting her gaze towards the still, blue water.

"What was that?" John gently steered her face back to where he wanted it, tilting her head upwards with his thumb and pointer positioned on her chin, so Y/n would have no choice but to look at him. John wasn't used to Y/n behaving that way, after all, at heart, she was a pleaser and disobedience was extremely rare.

"You left me," she pouted, fighting the urge to fold her arms again. At that point, Y/n was debating on whether or not she should be favoring punishment, at least then he'd be with her, and they'd be having fun too.

John sighed, his features softening, though his sternness not yet absent, "I said I'd be back," and when Y/n rolled her eyes, he raised his brows in unspoken question, "Well now that I am back, is this what you wanted?" When Y/n just frowned, John shook his head. Her behavior was becoming unacceptable, and if she was going to act like a brat, then he was definitely going to treat her like one, "Upstairs. My room. On your knees. Now."

A bit unnerved by his obvious anger, Y/n foolishly tried to get to her top, still strewn on the floor, though John quickly grabbed her arm, his warning grip firm, "You don't need that. You took it off, and you had no problem with anyone seeing you then, I'm sure you can find a way to get upstairs like that now."

Huffing quietly, Y/n turned away, her eyes stinging and her own sourness bubbling up as she headed towards the door. Well that didn't go quite as planned.

Thankfully however, getting up the stairs and to John's room wasn't as trying as Y/n had anticipated. She'd walked quickly, with her arms folded over her breasts, her cheeks red with humiliation, though with no one around to bear witness to any of it.

Quickly, she hustled through the door of John's bedroom, barely taking a minute to admire the impressive interior decorating before sinking down on the rugged area at the foot of his four poster, queen sized bed.

Though, when she was finally positioned the way he'd want her, back straight, legs tucked under herself and palms flat on her knees, Y/n took a minute to drink in her surroundings. The room was unbelievably impersonal, not that Y/n was surprised, his bedroom in New York was like that too. No framed pictures or telling keepsakes. Instead, the large windows sported heavy, open curtains and the dark hued walls were lined with fine art, the pieces reflecting bold, geometric art, favoring dark colors with lighter accents. The furniture looked as if it were all made from heavily tinted glass, with black plastic knobs where necessary. The only thing that defined the room as John's were his bags, left neatly near the side of the door.

When John came in, Y/n didn’t dare look up, though still opting to regard him through her long lashes, watching as he walked straight past her. At an unhurried, controlled pace, John set his half finished drink down on the sleek nightstand, proceeding to empty his pockets before sitting on the bed; large palms splayed on his thighs. “Come,” his tone was void of anger, or any emotion really.

On one fluid, practiced motion, Y/n stood, keeping her gaze cast to the floor as she approached him. Her mind ran rampant with thoughts of what John might have planned for her; she’d only been punished a handful of times, most of them favoring the softer side and the harshest being an intense paddling a couple months into their arrangement.

Standing before him, Y/n’s view of their feet was skewed by her drying tresses falling over her face. Fighting the urge to shuffle her feet, Y/n listened intently, “What did I ask you to do?” John’s stern demeanor wasn’t necessarily new, and by then only half of Y/n was nervous of being punished, while the other craved what came next. She wasn’t scared of him though, no, being a submissive meant that you trusted your dom completely, that despite his anger, you didn’t fear him, you respected him . So no, Y/n wasn’t afraid of John’s icy deposition in the slightest, but she was a little disappointed in herself for upsetting him, all she wanted was to be his good girl.

Y/n didn’t offer the slightest peep in response to John’s question, and inhaling deeply, John ordered, a bit louder and harsher, “Speak; what did I tell you to do?”

“You told me to wait Sir,” she chucked out, feeling far smaller than she actually was.

“And did you?” John jerked her closer at the hips, and caught off guard, Y/n stumbled forward, being made to stand between his spread legs, “Look at me.”

On instinct, Y/n’s head snapped up, her wide doe eyes meeting hardened pools of whiskey, “I didn’t Sir, I’m sorry.”

“Come on,” John hooked his thumbs in her panties, pulling them down, letting the scanty, damp material pool at Y/n’s feet. Urging her to step out of them, he let his rough palms skim up her smooth thighs, slow enough to raise goosebumps, “Do you know why you’re being punished? Tell me why.”

“Yes Sir,” Y/n nodded, loose curls bouncing carelessly, with barely any impact as they hit her dewy skin, “I didn’t listen when you told me to wait. I’ve been bad,” she eventually determined, pouting sweetly.

“You’re right,” John barely smirked as he took a couple seconds to tug on her pushed out lower lip, tracing it with his thumb as he let go, “You have been bad, and bad girls get spanked,” slowly, John went through the motions of positioning Y/n over his knees. “What’s your safe word?”

“Blue,” she tested the word on her tongue. By then it was branded into her brain, Y/n could reach for it on instinct, whenever she was uncomfortable or if a scene became too much for her. She’d used it rarely though, John was exceptional at knowing when Y/n had had enough. He knew her body, better than others had.

Her middle was spread across his lap, while her breasts and face, hair messy and blurring her vision, was pressed into the sheets and her legs were spread slightly to allow him access. “I want you to count to eight,” he rubbed his hand over her ass, readying Y/n for what would come next. “Count,” he hit her, her soft skin reddening immediately and fingers roughly making contact with her core.

“One,” Y/n yelped, jumping, half in pain, half at the warm feeling that John had roused in her center. Barely a minute had passed, when his palm descended on her ass again, that time a bit harder, “Two.” Already, moisture was gathering between her folds, needy arousal throbbing lowly, even as the sheer pain had tears prickling at her eyes.

A year ago, Y/n never thought that she would have let anyone degrade her that way. She was independent before, sure, times were tough, but she’d been getting by comfortably and she, by most respects, used to think that knew exactly how she wanted to be treated in a relationship. But then John came along, with his designer suits, refined tastes and a penchant for seeing young girls tied up and naked, and Y/n was done for it. She’d gone from walking out on a date boldly to letting him take her over his knee.

A particularly hard slap, heating up her already sore skin had a surprised cry escaping Y/n’s agape lips, tears getting caught in her tangled lashes. “I see you getting distracted over there,” John taunted through gritted teeth, and when he pulled her body to his, Y/n could feel his hard-on digging into her hip, “What number was that?”

“Five,” she breathed, her chest heaving slowly and the little break in her voice evident.

“Good,” he grunted, hitting her again, sure to add pressure to her sticky moisture, eliciting a sinful moan, her counting barely coherent, though still satisfactory. By the time they’d reached eight, Y/n’s skin had taken on an angry red shade, impressions of John’s thick fingers defined in more places than others. A handful of escaped tears had left her cheeks streaked and eyes red and bleary, and when John sat Y/n up in his lap, he frowned, “I know you don’t like being punished,” he sighed, gently brushing the corners of her eyes, the affection in his gestures taking Y/n by surprise, “But you need to listen, because this is what happens to bad girls. Do you understand?”

“Yes Sir,” Y/n avoided his gaze, more ashamed of being turned on by a spanking than the actual act itself. Her stained cheeks were bright and rosy, and on the inside, she was hoping that John wasn’t done with her yet. She wanted, no needed, more. Between her legs still throbbed with arousal and her hardened nipples stood out, her body craving more of John’s attention. Y/n was his; his to enjoy and his to hurt, and she wanted him to remind her.

“Come on,” he started moving her again, and Y/n wondered if it was possible for him to read her thoughts. John eased her on to the bed, face down, and she could feel the bed lighten when he got up, disappearing into the bathroom for a couple minutes. His footsteps were soft, though weighted as he approached the bed again and it wasn’t long after he sat did she feel the coolness of lotion being spread across her sore skin. Y/n yelped in surprise, but John just continued, “Shh, be quiet.”

With her face hidden by a curtain created by her hair, Y/n bit the sheets in an attempt to quell her moans. His rough kneading and caressing her was one of Y/n’s favorite parts of aftercare, the affection that throbbed soothingly in his touch, real or faux, was enough to fuel her fantasy that John could one day see her as more.

His hands worked her body, paving the path to healing, and while Y/n knew that she’d be reminded of her punishment every time she sat for the next few days, she still couldn’t help but feel the familiar spark accompanying the fresh memory. And the way it felt having him massage her like that wasn’t helping either; the way he’d alternate between pressing in with the base of his palms and using his fingers to ensure everything was worked in. At times, his thumb would graze the inside of her parted thighs, just barely evading her moisture, dragging them along her sensitive skin.

Again, Y/n felt the mattress dip again, and soon enough, she was acutely aware of John positioned behind her, his knees swung over hers. His hands, still silky from the lotion, skimmed up her hips, outlining her shape before going around to cup her breasts. John leaned forward, and his breath was hot on Y/n’s ear as he whispered, “Tell me if you're okay with this.”

Vaguely, Y/n registered John’s hardened cock prominent against her ass despite his shorts and with him so close, crowding her space, it was hard to think. Though, even if she could, Y/n was sure her answer would be the same, “I am Sir.” John was everything, and she was his, for as long as he’d have her. So, in the spirit of that, Y/n didn’t think she could ever find herself refusing him, using her power as a submissive to deny him what he craved the most; control, domination, sex.

“Good,” John’s lips found the back of her neck, his trimmed scruff rough and burning as he ravished her supple skin. His teeth pulled at her skin, the electrifying shocks only quelled by his tongue occasionally lapping at fresh bruises, “I’m gonna fuck you just like this, with your pretty face pressed down, and you’re gonna take it, like the dirty whore you are.”

Y/n just moaned, impatiently awaiting the feeling of John filling her up as he continued with the feverish nips and kisses, one of his hands sliding down her front, palming her cunt, “Look at how wet you are already,” he chuckled, grabbing her earlobe between his teeth, “Naughty little bitches like you like to be spanked, don’t they?”

When his middle finger teased her clit, Y/n arched her back, her head lolling to the side as she continued to lose hold of her better senses. Shallow, ragged, audible breaths bounced off the walls, growing louder when John pressed down harder on the swollen bundle of nerves, “Yes….” she cried, eager for release. Y/n had been aching for John’s touch since they’d been at the pool, and now that she had it, all she cared for was what he offered, gladly accepting all that he’d give, “I like it when you hit me Sir, only you.”

“That’s good,” his other hand, still at her breast, rolled her nipple between his fingers, making her nerves tingle, “Cause you’re mine.” With barely a minute to spare, John deserted her body, and a frustrated whine was barely contained by Y/n as he undressed himself, tossing his trunks off to the side. “Ready for me?” He probed, already lining himself up with her slick, heated entrance, simultaneously pressing down Y/n’s back.

“Uh-huh,” she struggled to nod, admiring John’s primitive desire from her peripheral vision, her head turned to the side and cheek sunken in the sheets. He entered her roughly and all at once, stretching Y/n’s tight walls to the point where it burnt, and buried so deep that Y/n would swear she could feel him in her stomach. A lewd groan bounced off the darkened walls, seemingly echoing in the sizable room.

“Fuck,” he snarled gruffly, wasting no time before the first, aggressive rolling of his hips. She always felt so good around him, the warm wetness, so tight as it cocooned his girthy length; his own, personal, corrupt heaven. His harsh thrusts were drawn on and lengthy; taking the time to exit her fully before bottoming out again. Each time, Y/n’s body was driven deeper into the mattress, his hand, fingers sticky with her arousal steadying her at the hips, “Let me hear you, let everyone fucking hear your pretty little noises.”

At his command, Y/n released her lip, dismissing her efforts at silence and letting her garbled moans and yelps echo off the walls, joining the raunchy sound of skin slapping skin, He was still mad, she could feel it in the way he fucked her, raw and untamed. Maybe it was the phone call, maybe it was what she’d done, or a combination of both, but Y/n could definitely feel it. John was all about prolonging pleasure, making it last for as long as he could; he was a master of control. Unless he was pissed off. That was usually when he became selfish, his need for release triumphing all else. Aggressive, licentious behavior wasn’t new when it came to John, but haste was rare. It was still fun though. In those scarce moments were John would let himself go, and just fuck her until Y/n was nothing but a blubbering mess beneath him, she thoroughly enjoyed them.

Moans turned to screams, and when Y/n craned her head to catch a glimpse of John, she was met with wild, frenzied desire. His hair was a mess, some of it matted to his skin, his features twisted in a vicious, primal display of his need and his skin red hot, “Turn around,” he gnarred, a hand going to her back, pressing Y/n into the sheets, eventually letting it slide upwards and tangle in her messy tresses.

The soft feel of the cotton clutched in Y/n’s fingers was almost made mute by the insurmountable amount of pleasure distracting her nerves. Her muffled moans and yelps became more frequent as Y/n neared her orgasm, and she desperately held herself back, awaiting John’s permission. “Come for me,” he finally allowed, growling carnally into her ear, his hot ragged breath sending raising the hair at the back of her neck and electrifying her nerve endings, just as she let go. Caged beneath his bulky frame, Y/n’s petite body shuddered with pleasure, her loud moans and John’s brief grunts now joined by him slamming into her drenched, dripping cunt, riding out her high.

His release came on the heel of hers, his cock twitching as he shot ribbons of milky, hot cum against her walls, “Fuck,” his hips stiffed, his trusts becoming more rigid and his weight pressing down on her. His hand, firm on her waist dug in deep enough to leave purplish marks.

When he pulled out they both groaned, and Y/n felt herself relax, slumping forward as John rolled off her, letting them take a moment to catch their breaths. Then as habit told, he helped her clean her herself up, his silence deafening and making Y/n almost frightened to offer the slightest peep to ask if he was really still upset with her. If he was, she’d rather not know anyway; she’d done her part and taken her punishment, the rest was up to him.

After their shower, they’re very tame shower, John toweled her off, still wallowing in his fuming quietness as he dried her hair with a paddle brush and a blow dryer. Y/n was sitting on his bed, between his legs as he did this, the standing mirror at the corner of the room reflecting their solemn expressions. She wished he would talk to her, not yell or reprimand, just simply talk; about why he was so upset, about why he never let anyone in. But he wouldn’t not then, probably not ever, all Y/n could do was resign herself to accepting whatever John would give, and that afternoon, all he gave was a shirt to cloth herself and low order for her to get to her room and get some rest.

*****

Tagging- @theonlyone-meeeee @wishuhadstayed @danietowwo4 @baphometwolf666 @iworshipkeanureeves @howtoruinsomeones-perfect-day @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves

#keanu reeves #john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves fanfic #john wick fanfic #keanu reeves ff #john wick ff #fanfic #fanfiction #ff #angst #the arangement #be a good baby #part 3

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robbyrobinson · 4 years ago

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When the Wind Blows: Alternate Ending

When the Wind Blows. That was a title I hadn’t heard in a long time. It was just obviously a British animated film based on a graphic novel by Raymond Briggs. You know, the guy who did The Snowman? It centered around an elderly couple then one day, word came out that war would break out in three days. The graphic novel was written around the height of the Cold War. The threat of nuclear war was as high as it is now.

I’ve always had morbid affection for dark animated films. Watership Down; The Plague Dogs; Felidae, you name it. When the Wind Blows fit snuggly in that bubble. Having watched it religiously on YouTube, the film was ultimately removed most likely because of it violated the website’s terms of service with its objectionable content. My thirst for the darkness of the animated feature was unquenchable and I hadn’t watched it sense.

That would all change one day. While I was browsing the internet, I came upon an online forum dedicated to dark, more obscure cartoons. It must’ve been my lucky day because one of the users happened to discuss When the Wind Blows. It was boring at first with just him elaborating on how he was immensely disturbed by the film when he saw it at 7. Then the discussion took a swerve.

After he explained what he considered the most horrid aspect of the film, he added an interesting tidbit. Apparently, it was an interview with Briggs himself. In the interview, Briggs explained that what contributed to his penning the graphic novel was the reality of a nuclear war and how virtually impossible it was for anyone to survive a nuclear holocaust. As such, there was a secret ending embedded in the home releases of the movie. To further his point, the user left an link to download the movie.

Curiosity overwhelmed my reasoning. For all intents and purposes, he may as well might’ve fabricated the whole thing. But, if it was in fact real, it would prove a good nugget of knowledge. So, I clicked the link. As it loaded, I was growing concerned that I was hoodwinked and that some sort of virus would crash it. I glanced back at my computer screen seeing that it was finished.

The film surprisingly started off without a single lag nor freeze. David Bowie performed the title song per usual followed by the real-life footage and Jim returning home from reading the newspapers in town. He lived with his wife in his country home in Sussex. He conversed with his wife again without issue. I felt a building dread. This was likely the third time I’ve seen the film so I already knew how everything would play out. Its saccharine mask would crumble away exposing its sinister underbelly. I hadn’t the faintest idea as to why this was the case. If I could put money on it, I’d have to guess Jim’s tone of voice. He was voiced by John Mills and yet rather than his jovial, more informed self, he had a forlorn expression on his face. Hilda immediately took notice.

When she asked her husband what the matter was, he informed her about the likelihood of war being inevitable. After she went through her tirade of war being wicked, the radio shuttered to life announcing that war could be expected in three days. The film segues to Jim preparing the house for the nuclear missile such as by painting the windows white or making a makeshift bomb shelter all according to the Protect and Survive pamphlet the government handed out. He called his son Ron only to become disheartened with his son's seeming ignorance. Ron's laughter could be heard over the phone. A mixture of humor and melancholy. He quoted famous songs much to his father’s chagrin. To me, it was clear that Ron was aware than he was letting on. He was losing what little sanity he had left by partying his troubles away.

The film progressed with the couple mentioning previous world wars and D-Day. Hilda was making a cake while her husband further desecrated the house in accordance with the pamphlet. The radio sounded again, the announcer explaining that an ICBM would arrive in three minutes. Jim became more hectic, and shoved Hilda underneath the door after calling her a bitch.

The screen turned to symbolize the missile dropping. A deafening siren blared through my headphones nearly sending me sprawling on the ground. Violent images of civilians' bodies littered the scenery. Fire rained down from the sky and engulfed the bystanders.

A school bus full of children was hit by a wave of the flames; each child’s body bloated up from the blast and ruptured like water balloons. Their skin melted off gorily. Imagine placing a stick of butter being placed in a microwave. Other people were glued to the streets due to their legs fusing with the concrete. Faces burned off as buildings and houses were leveled by the onslaught of chaos.

The sound wave struck the couple’s house, decimating it. Miraculously, or rather unfortunately, they survived. Hilda in typical fashion wanted to tidy up only to be held back and told that she couldn’t leave until the fallout subsided. In a new addition, Jim assured his wife that they would be fine. Another voice spoke out one that Hilda could not hear. Jim reacted in disgust becoming further unsettled.

“Old boy, while are you sentencing your wife to death?”

The conclusion I drew was that it represented Jim’s innermost thoughts, or more directly his conscience. It was a monotonous voice bereft of any emotion nothing there but a cold, pure logic.

The two attempted to survive as long as they could off what little rations they had left or whatever survived the blast. Their water bottles were disintegrated and subsequently, their water lines were cut off. The couple were immeasurably famished. Throughout the week, they made offhanded remarks about how people lost in the wilderness resorted to drawing lots and sacrificing the weakest member so the others would live. The thought they were so hungry they'd be willing to eat each other was horrible.

Jim once found a meat clover and walked over to his life as she laid on the couch sleeping. He contemplated his options but got cold feet when Hilda was stirring awake. He quickly hid the weapon away, instead telling her that she was hearing things because of her age.

One day while they were walking in their yard, Jim smelled something in the air. Hilda followed him also smelling it. Roasted pork, she thought. Her stomach was so barren, she’d waste no time gorging on the pork.

They walked over a hill, their thoughts immediately turning to sorrow. A family of four was huddled together tightly and were roasted dark by the blast. They were the remains of a husband and wife and their two small kids. Hilda and Jim looked at each other then at me with that thousand yard stare. The camera focused in on Jim’s beady eyes. Fire danced in them. He knelt down and ripped off an arm from one of the kids. Hilda prayed over the bodies before digging in as well.

"The Powers That Be will get to us in the end.”

A few weeks passed by. The couple were somehow still alive. The camera panned to the fridge showing scraps of flesh that were left of the family. Around that time, Jim had also collected the rain water, unaware that it was radiated and unsafe regardless of boiling it. Their water supply had vanished again. Rat carcasses were thrown all over the floor. It then segued to Hilda vomiting into the toilet ranting about hating the taste of rat meat and blood. Boils were all over her body and Jim’s. They were skeletal in appearance with their leathery skin barely being held together.

“I just hope that Ron and Beryl made it out okay,” Hilda weakly said.

As she said this, a jump cut of Ron popped up. He was animated with clay alongside his wife and children. They were melded together in a fleshy blob with their limbs conjoined together. Jim assures her that their son's family would always stick together. Hilda's hair began to fall out by the time she suggested to Jim that they should return to their bags because another attack could come. Jim agreed to her suggestion still assuring her that help would arrive.

The voice from earlier returned now violently criticizing Jim on withholding the truth about their situation. Hilda got into her bag and waited for her husband to join her. It felt like hours before he returned, and when he did, I was taken aback. In his hands was a rifle. He cocked it, and pointed it behind his wife’s head.

“Dear, are you there?” she asked.

Jim choked back tears as he tried to speak coherently. “Recite the Lord’s Prayer for me, would you?”

She obliged. Hilda recited the prayer louder as if hoping that her prayers would be heard. A single tear rolled down Jim's face. A loud gunshot is heard when the camera panned to the outside of the house. Jim looked at the gun in horror and tossed it beside his feet. Kneeling down, he clutched his wife as she laid dying. Tears dropped on her bosom. He remained in that position until the film faded out. The voice reappeared after the Morse code spelled out MAD.

"Old Jim died clutching his beloved wife to his dying breath due to radiation poisoning. But what he ultimately learned was that when you die…nothing happens.”

I was speechless with what I had witnessed. The film was dark, but never would I have thought that Briggs had a more sinister ending in store for the elderly couple. I took a flask and hard copied the download so I could watch it every now and then. Good too because the user’s account was terminated with the only indication of its existence being the other responses that the users gave.

Briggs said it himself that the wanted to show the utter hopelessness of surviving a nuclear war, and he succeeded.

#raymond briggs #lost episode #lost episode creepypasta #when the wind blows #when the wind blows 1986 #nuclear #nuclear war #nuclear holocaust #when the wind blows raymond briggs #bloggs

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overheardatthecontinental · 4 years ago

Link

“Is the Manager in?”

“The Manager is always in.” Charon responds as he always does, blinking at the sight of John Wick. When he had left the Continental, less than an hour ago, he seemed calm and resigned. Now, he appeared frazzled, although there were no apparent marks or injuries bruising the assassin. “He retired to his private chambers—”

John Wick nodded and set a handful of coins on the counter that he had taken from the trunk of his car. “I need a room—no accommodations, just standard mission prep.”

The mission prep rooms were used more for local assassins. They came equipped with top of the line technology, as well as space for maps and guides, weapons assembly and cleaning.

“I also need the Technician sent to the room immediately. I need a phone traced yesterday.”

“I’ll make sure to send him to your room once he’s finished with—”

John cuts off Charon. He’ll apologize later, he decides, but there isn’t fucking time. “I’m calling in Sante Fe. I need him now.”

Charon blinks, surprise evident on his face, but he nods. “Of course, Mister Wick.” He reaches back and grabs a lower key off a hook and hands it over, “Shall I direct the Manager to your room?”

“Please. And the Sommelier.” John grabs the key and departs, taking long strides down the hall.

John rarely used the rooms set for mission prep unless he was on a time sensitive case that didn't allow for trips back and forth over the river. He unlocked the room and stared at the expanse.

There was much to do but nothing that he could start until he got a trace on her phone. He doubted this new enemy would make things easy for him. They probably already had the signal blocked but he had to try. The only other hope was that Winston would know something. The Manager had an ear to the ground in every part of New York City.

John tosses the key to one of the tables and starts pacing.

Whoever wanted Lorenzo and the D’Antonio siblings killed would benefit from the Camorra collapsing. Of course, that included everyone the Camorra held something over, lesser Italian mobs, and the other eleven assholes who held seats at the High Table.

Bullshit politics, he thinks.

Somebody had followed him, watched him to analyze his weaknesses. And they had taken Helen over bullshit politics.

John grabs the chair that sits in front of one of the tables and throws it across the room. The wall cracks under the weight before the chair snaps into a handful of pieces.

“That was an antique, Jonathan.”

“I’ll pay for damages.” He says, not caring, as he turns. Winston stares at him, looking him up and down. John doesn’t give him a chance to comment on his, likely, pathetic posture. “I need a list of everyone who wants Lorenzo D’Antonio dead.”

Winston stares at him in disbelief, “Half of the Camorra want Lorenzo D’Antonio dead. His children want him dead. Most of New York, the entirety of the Sicilian Mafia, the Triad, the Bravta—“

John shakes his head, “I’m looking for an individual, aside from his children. Someone would benefit from the collapse of the Camorra.”

“Again, the list is nearly endless. I would indirectly benefit from collapse of the Camorra. But the point is moot, to act against Lorenzo is to act against the High Table itself.”

John exhales a breath. He was afraid that would be the case.

He opens his phone and looks at his messages again. From Helen’s work phone, a picture of her had been sent. She looked like she was sleeping but he knew she was sedated.

Her hands were bound in front of her and while she seemed largely okay, there were bruises forming on her arms. Her bare arms, exposed by her nightgown. And in that state of undress, they had her on a cement floor.

If Winston didn’t know, and the Technician couldn’t trace the phone, he would have no choice but to go after Lorenzo. He would face whatever backlash there was with the knowledge that Helen would be safe.

Unless, the unknown enemy didn’t keep up their end of the bargain…

Winston clears his throat, “You’ve never shown an interest in Underworld politics.”

“No.” John says, still staring at the screen. “Winston, I need you to dig as quietly as you can. Anybody who’s challenged the Camorra over the last… I don’t know, three years. Open challenges, rumors of trying to find someone to take a contract against Lorenzo.”

“Jonathan,” Winston steps forward, cautiously asking, “are you going to try to kill Lorenzo D’Antonio?”

If I have to.

“I’ve been asked to.”

Winston’s frown deepens “Conspiring to kill a member of the High Table is enough to get you stripped of services!”

John inclines his head, “I’m well aware of the rules, Winston. And I’d rather not have to kill Lorenzo but the matter is complicated.”

“In what way is it complicated?”

John hesitates. He had been stupid to think he could keep Helen safe from the Underworld. And while he had hoped to never reveal her existence to anyone, it was too late for that. He had, unwittingly, involved her.

Winston would disapprove, he already knew.

“I’m being blackmailed, and I’m not sure by who, but someone” I love “very dear to me is being threatened if I don’t.”

His mentor swears. “You know better than to get involved with someone not of our world.”

“I do.” John agrees.

Again, Winston swears.

“I have no inclination to kill the D’Antonio’s, but if I can’t find out who has her, where she is… I will.”

“You can’t act against the High Table—”

John says nothing but raises a brow.

Winston knows him better than anyone, save Helen. The older assassin took John under his wing in John’s early days in the Underworld. He offered guidance and advice, impressed with John’s skill but devastated by his lack of ambition.

Looking back, his relationship with Winston was the most consistent in his life.

So Winston knows, better than most, just how reckless John Wick is willing to be.

Looking defeated, Winston shakes his head, “No woman is worth your life.”

John snorts, “She’s worth a hell of a lot more than my life.”

There’s a knock on the door and John answers it. The Technician, looking rather frazzled, comes in with a large backpack and two smaller briefcases.

“Charon said I was needed.”

John takes out his phone again and unlocks it. “I recently received a call from this contact. I need their phone traced remotely, as fast as you can. It’s likely they’re expecting a trace.”

The Technician takes the phone over to one of the table, “Do you know who the phone is registered to? It’ll be easier if I can track their SIM card. They likely dumped the phone itself to disable the GPS”

“Helen Kingston.”

“Know when she bought it?”

John shakes his head, “No, but it might have been charged to her work account.”

“Where does she work?”

John barely holds back a wince because if Winston was annoyed before, he was about to become really pissed off. “New York City Counseling Associates.”

He can practically hear the steam coming out of Winston’s ears.

“Jonathan, please tell me your girlfriend is not a therapist.”

“My girlfriend’s not a therapist.” Not a lie.

She wasn’t his girlfriend. Just his therapist.

The Technician asked as he plugged in a laptop, “You know her social?”

He probably shouldn’t, but he does. He recites the digits and looks up to see Winston staring at him incredulously.

“Jonathan, who is this woman to you?”

John looks back down, watching as the Technician opens the file attached with Helen’s social security number. Newspaper clippings mentioning her pop-up, along with her transcripts going from Kindergarten all the way through graduate school. Her bank statements, along with every credit card assigned to her.

“Jonathan!”

John doesn’t look up, “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to, Winston.”

“Please tell me that she’s not your—"

There’s another knock on the door and John, gratefully, steps away from the table and from Winston.

The Sommelier arrives with a room service table on wheels, covered with a white sheet that John knows from experience will have a variety of weapons.

He pushes the door further open and allows the woman entrance.

“Mister Wick.” She greets.

“Rita.”

“Charon was unsure of what you needed so I brought an assortment for you to try.”

“I appreciate that. Unfortunately, I’m currently unsure of what I’ll need. Versatility is a must.”

“Jonathan!” Winston says again, “Please excuse us, Rita, Karl, I need to speak to Mister Wick in the other room.”

Fuck.

John sighs, looking to the Technician, “If the phone rings from that, or any unknown number, get me immediately.”

“Of course, Mister Wick.”

John follows Winston to the back room.

It consists of a combined kitchenette unit with a coffee pot, microwave, and sink along with a twin-sized bed to nap or rest before missions.

John closes the door and crosses his arms.

He can practically hear Helen telling him to stop looking so defensive.

Winston stands by the counter and runs a hand through his greying hair. “Tell me that you’re not about to go to war with the High Table over your fucking therapist.”

John says nothing.

“Jonathan.”

“You told me not to tell you.”

Winston swears again, the anger and disdain dripping from his colorful language. John waits for him to get it out of his system. If he didn’t need Winston for this, he might have just walked away. He considers it in the moment but if the Tech can’t locate that phone, Winston might be his only shot at figuring out who had her.

But he could handle Winston, so long as he made it about the D’Antonio’s.

Finally, the old man shakes his head, “What the hell were you thinking?”

He isn’t sure what to say.

It’s been seven months and John’s note entirely sure what he was thinking, going into session that first day.

She had given him comfort that day in the café. The only comfort he could really remember ever receiving.

He knew therapy was pointless for someone like him, but he’d called her… just to hear her voice one more time.

But she had sucked him in, convinced him to come see her again and he had been done for.

What had he been thinking?

That Helen’s eyes reminded him of the forests in Belarus. That her smile was worth more than an eternity of sunny days. That she had railroaded him with kindness until he wasn’t sure who he was anymore.

That if someone like Helen could see the good in him… maybe he wasn’t all bad.

His intentions, of course, are marked by his selfishness.

It never should have gotten to this point.

He had been careful, making sure that he left no trace behind on the nights he snuck into her bedroom to watch her sleep. But he hadn’t been careful enough.

He was so focused on Helen, he stopped looking over his shoulder.

And now, she was paying the price.

Winston opens his mouth and John cuts him off before he can be berated, “I don’t have an answer for you, Winston. I fucked up.”

“Clearly.” Winston shakes his head, then loudly spits out, “Therapy. Do you lay on a couch and talk about your childhood?”

John rolls his eyes. This is what Helen would call mental health stigma.

“Why do you need therapy?” Winston asks, the disgust clear in his voice.

Again, he has no answer.

At least, no answer that Winston would accept.

There was a laundry list of reasons that John needed therapy. There was probably one, equally as long, as why Winston would benefit from therapy. But Winston wouldn’t see it that way.

Before he started to see Helen, John probably would have agreed with him.

“I’m not sure if this helps,” John says, “But I only started going because she was attractive.”

Physically, mentally, emotionally. John had been an eager moth to her flame.

“If she’s attractive, you ask her to dinner. You fuck her. You get her out of your system and get your head back into the game. You don’t complain to her about your issues! But now we have some civilian out there, with no knowledge of our world, being held hostage and—"

“She knows.”

The weight of those words rests on Winston and he stops his rant, suddenly going very still.

“What?”

“She knows. About all of this.”

“You told,” Winston repeated, “a fucking mandated reporter that you’re an assassin?”

John nods once.

Winston’s eyes seem to pop as he stares at John.

“I know I’ve already asked this, so forgive me the repetition, but what the fuck were you thinking?” Winston all but screams.

“She won’t talk.”

“Oh, are you sure about that?”

“Yes.” John says with a sense of finality, “Even with this…” he withholds a shudder, again remembering the picture of her bound and sedated on a cold, cement floor, “I trust her.”

“Clearly.” Winston snarls, “But there is a reason we don’t advertise our services to the world! Every single person who learns about the Underworld, in any respect, is supposed to be reported to your local Adjudication services.”

“You know I don’t give a fuck about S.O.P’s.” And before Winston can reply, John raises his voice slightly, “But you also know that I don’t trust easily. Helen’s not going to go running to the media or even the police. The moment she figures out what’s going on…” John shakes his head, wondering if she’s even awake yet, “she’ll know I’m coming for her.”

Winston continues to glare but John holds his gaze. He still looks furious but his posture softens, “Do you love her?”

“Yes.”

Winston lets out a sigh and shakes his head. “You always did take things to the extremes.” Winston mutters, “John Wick gets a hard-on and burns New York City to the ground. Unbelievable.”

In a moment, the air between them had changed. The tension disappeared, even if the disapproval remained.

“Lorenzo and Gianna arrive in the city tomorrow night. Santino is already here. I’ve been given three days to kill them all.” He’s never been good at asking for anything but he finds himself ready and willing to beg, “Winston, I need you to find out who has her. I have no desire to start a war with the High Table and the Camorra, but have no doubt, I will if I have to.”

“It may take time.”

“A luxury we don’t have. If we can’t find whoever is pulling the strings by the time they arrive tomorrow night, I will kill them.”

“I need more than a day, Jonathan. You have through the weekend.”

“I’m not leaving Helen that long.”

“At least, give me until Saturday night.” The Manager compromises, “I’ll do my best. I’ll begin right now, but right now, our only lead is someone who would benefit from the collapse of the Camorra. It isn’t much to go on.”

“Then let’s hope the Technician can pinpoint a location.”

…

She wakes up shaking before she even opens her eyes. Her bed is hard and icy and her covers are no longer tucked around her.

And then it comes rushing back. Waking up to a hand around her mouth and the glint of a needle. A momentary struggle and then nothingness.

Her mouth is dry, her limbs feel heavy.

Even opening her eyes is a struggle but Helen forces them open. All of the sudden, she is very awake.

She’s on her side, still in her nightgown, which gratefully reached her knees. She’s lying on a concrete floor. Iron bars reach from the cold floor up to the ceiling above her, caging her in a box. She uses her bound hands to push up to a sitting position to get a better look around.

The cell itself is empty, save a small stall in the corner that she really hopes contains a bathroom.

Outside of the cell is a spacious unfinished basement. There are mats on the opposite corner, covering the ground. Two punching bags hang from the rafters.

In front of her, two men sit playing cards on a rickety, foldaway table.

There’s a moment of blinding terror, her heart racing in her chest as she takes in her new surroundings. And then there is an eerie wave of calm.

She knows herself well enough to accept her weaknesses for what they are. Physically, she probably can’t put up too much of a fight. She doesn’t have the skill. It occurs to her that she may not even be able to throw a proper punch.

But she’s not useless, either.

She clears her throat, wincing as the action scratches at the dryness.

“Would one of you like to call whoever’s in charge?” She rasps out.

They exchange a look and the one on the left says, “I’m in charge.”

Helen surveys him. If she had to guess, she’d put him in his late twenties. His pants are baggy with tears she can make out from where she sat and he was wearing a sweatshirt.

This wasn’t a random kidnapping, she knew. This was planned. Well thought out. Someone who knew her schedule and learning routine took time. Then, they had sedated her. It was too organized, too clean.

This was about John.

And that kid sitting, playing cards probably had no idea the kind of monster he had just set loose by taking her.

She hums, “Maybe in the room, but not of the operation.” Helen pushes herself back so she can lean against the wall, “Call your boss, honey.”

“Listen, little bitch,” he pushes back from the table and steps over to the iron bars, taunting, “I own you right now.” He tugs a gun loose from the back of his pants, “I could kill you just like that! So how about you show me a little respect.”

“No, you listen, kid.” She forces herself up to her knees and then wobbles to her feet, “You point that thing at me, and we’re going to have a problem. If your boss,” she emphasizes, “wanted me dead, I would have been dead in my bed. No, he took me because he needs me. Alive and unharmed.

“Now, I’ll take pity on you because you’re young and you probably have no idea who you are messing with right now.” And she was certain that neither of her current jailors would stand a chance against John Wick, “So how about you call your boss, and let the grown-ups talk? Hmm?”

She’s dealt with enough pissed off clients to know when to stand her ground and when to back down. And she would be damned if she backed down from a guy who would probably trip running from the cops because he wouldn’t tie his damned laces.

And then he turns away, glaring and tucking his gun back into his pants. He grabs a phone off the table.

Helen closes her eyes and breathes.

Her head is pounding but that truly is the least of her worries.

“She’s awake.” The kid tells whoever’s on the other line. “She wants to speak to the boss.”

The kid hums along to whatever is being said on the other end. He is clearly cut off at the end, pulling the phone from his ear and looking mildly disappointed.

Disillusion amongst the ranks? She wonders. She can work with that.

He shoots her a glare, “He’s coming.”

Helen nods her thanks and rubs at her eyes. Even now that she is awake, her lids still feel heavy. Her body, lethargic. Sore. Cold. She backs up to the wall and slides down to a sitting position.

Her body feels overly tense and she wonders if that’s a side effect of the drug, the cold, or the trauma. Or a mix of all three.

The kid is still standing, which leads her to believe that her actual captor is somewhere in the building. At the very least, nearby.

Sure enough, she hears footsteps coming down the stairs.

He’s not too much older than the boys guarding her but she’d place him in his late thirties. Dark hair, dark eyes. A pleasant smile as he regards her with interest. He’s well-dressed and walks with the assurance that comes from having everything in life handed to you.

“Hello, Miss Kingston.”

“How long have I been here?” She asks and that seems to set him aback.

The man tilts his head. “Do you know who I am?”

“Can’t say I’m interested.” She retorts, “How long have I been here?”

His lips quirk in a daring smile, “You’re not the least bit curious about who I am or why you’re here?”

“I can guess the why. John Wick pissed you off. Or you need him for something no one else could possibly handle. Vengeance, blackmail, I don’t really give a shit. And knowing your name, who you are… it won’t matter because unless you let me go right now, John is going to hunt you down and disembowel you. So let me ask you again, how long have I been here?”

She can vaguely see his two minions staring at her wide-eyed in the background. It occurs to her that maybe she shouldn’t be talking to this stranger like this but what is he going to do? To shoot her, to hurt her would be suicide by angry assassin.

But their leader just smirks, “And all this time, I thought you were just a pretty face. You’re a delight. To answer your question, cara mia, it’s nearly noon.”

She went to bed at ten.

And John, bless his heart, was never as subtle as he thought he was.

He would have been there sometime after midnight for his nightly stalking habits that she pretended she didn’t know about.

“He knows I’m missing.”

“Yes.” He says, “I spoke to him last night. He was quite distraught.”

Helen shakes her head in disbelief. His calmness was unsettling because either he didn’t know what John was capable of or he somehow thought himself above it. She guessed the latter, “I don’t know what you need John for. Between us, I don’t really care. But you need to think long and hard about if this is really your best idea.”

Her captor only smiles, “While your concern is touching, I’m not worried.”

“Then you’re a fool. He won’t let you walk away after this.”

“He won’t have a choice. By the time Wick completes what he needs to, he’ll find himself too entrapped by politics to be able to hunt me down. His precious therapist will be freed, and he will be consumed by the punishment for his actions.

“I suppose,” he inclines his head, “I have you to thank for all this. You entrapped John Wick. I entrapped you. And now the world will be at my fingertips.”

Helen knew she didn’t fully understand Underworld politics but she was certain that this man was vastly overplaying his hand.

“The Camorra will fall. Italia will be mine. And all because John Wick made the mistake of falling in love.”

She swallows but tries not to let it show.

Because she knew. Of course she knew.

She knew John better than anybody. Half the time, she knew what he was thinking before he did.

Helen wasn’t immune to the longing stares he thought he hid so well. She wasn’t blind to the midnight visits John paid her, at first only once or twice a week, until it steadily increased to a nightly guardianship.

And she wasn’t stupid enough to think that no one was ever going to figure it out. A part of her even expected this. At the very least, she wasn’t surprised to find herself kidnapped and held hostage at the whim of one of John’s enemies.

“A therapist.” The man shakes his head, amused, “Tell me, whatever does John Wick cry to you about?”

John hadn’t been kidding about the misplaced misogyny in his world, as well as the unfettered arrogance. This was ridiculous.

She had dealt with ridiculous men before and, while this one clearly believed himself to be special, she wasn’t above doing what she did best.

Helen exhaled, assessing the best she could in her weakened state.

Now was not the time for mistakes.

She took in the suit.

The manner in which he presented himself.

His demeanor.

His attitude.

His actions.

An obvious neophyte in way over his head.

In a position of power that obviously didn’t belong to him, convinced he was far better than he was.

Certainty was never possible, but it was worth the gamble. “Does your mother know that it was you that killed your father?” She asks.

Immediately, the cocky smile vanishes from her captor. “What?” He growls out.

“She struggled to conceive, didn’t she? You were her little miracle baby. Thank fuck you were a son so she didn’t have to go through that again. Daddy needed his heir, didn’t he?”

Bullseye.

“And your father was appeased, for a while. But then you grew older. Not so good at the physical stuff, were you? It must have been confusing, never being able to meet your father’s expectations while your mother insisted that you were perfect in every way.”

“You must think you’re very clever, Miss Kingston--”

“But not as clever as you.” She quips, “Your father tried to teach you to run the business, but years of your mother’s coddling made you soft.”

“Shut up.”

“For years, you trained. You did what he asked. It wasn’t enough, it was never enough. You just couldn’t take it anymore so you killed him. Well,” Helen pauses, “You had him killed. Wouldn’t want to mess up that manicure, would we? Which leads me again, to my first question. What I can’t figure out. Does your mother know that it was you who killed your father?”

She’s met with utter silence. His two minions are staring at her in stunned disbelief. Her captor, however, is fuming. She can feel the rage, the humiliation pouring off him in waves.

Helen inclines her head, “Unless, oh, honey,” she makes a sympathetic face, “Did mommy kill daddy for you?”

“Nick!” A long string of Italian follows the name and the minion who hadn’t threatened her with a gun nods, frantically, before running across the room.

She looks back to the man in charge, “I prefer to counsel in my office, but I can make an exception if you want to start talking through your mommy issues. I won’t even charge you, considering you’ll be dead in a week anyway.”

Nick runs back over with capped needle and Helen resists the urge to roll her eyes. “Here Mister DeLuca.”

Well, now she had a name.

“Seriously?” She gestures around at the cell, “I can’t even walk six feet in any direction, and you’re going to sedate me? If you didn’t want to talk about your mommy issues, you could just say so. Sometimes, we need to build up to the bigger things.”

Her door was unlocked, and it kills her but she doesn’t move or try for escape. She’s still too tired from the last cocktail of sedatives they loaded her with.

The kid, Nick, comes in and Helen idly offers her arm.

Do what you want, she thinks, it won’t stop the storm that’s coming.

“You’re right about one thing.” Helen says, “I am John Wick’s therapist. Which means I know John better than anyone. I know what he’s willing to compromise on and what he’ll hunt you down until the ends of the Earth over.”

Nick grabs her arm, holding it tight as if he’s expecting her to start to struggle as he uncaps the needle with his teeth.

“He’s going to tear you apart.”

The needle pierces her skin.

“So I’ll ask you again. Are you really sure this is your best idea?”

It doesn’t take long for the sedative to run its course but she holds DeLuca’s gaze until the world grows fuzzy.

...................

Taglist: @greenmanalishi, @cynic-spirit

#john wick #helen wick #Winston (John Wick)#charon (john wick)#the sommelier #john x helen wick #helen x john wick #john wick fanfiction #john wick fanfic #overheard at the continental #the matrix has queue #fanfic

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ficsnroses · 5 years ago

Text

First Argument - John Wick x Reader

First time writing Wick! I had a ball :) This was requested by a lovely anon who wanted a first fight with John. I hope it meets your expectations!

Word Count : 2997

Requested : Yes

Warnings : Angst, lots of fluff, swearing.

Summary : John and reader have the first major argument of their relationship.

With your head in your hands, and damp tears cascading down your cheeks, you wept to yourself in the late hours of the night. In choked desolation, you had glanced over at the time piece on the bedside table of the bedroom John and you shared.

In this bedroom, John and you had spent countless nights together, smitten. Every quiet laugh shared in the dark, every action of passion displayed exclusively for each other, tangled in limbs, every cuddle at the end of a long day. On the same bed you sat alone tonight, you had nursed John back to health when his fragile frame couldn’t bare the weight of his own body anymore. In this same room, you would kiss each and every scar that peppered his skin. For the world, he was a merciless, famed assassin. But for you, he was the most caring, loving man you had the pleasure of knowing and calling yours. You felt for John, you really did. The world saw him as this monster, constantly reminding him of all the murder that lied on his finger tips. You tried your best to tell him otherwise. You knew he wasn’t proud of what he was, but to you, he was so much more. That’s all you wanted, to show him how much more he really was.

Being in a relationship with John Wick emitted a sort of…ominous feeling at times. Sometimes, you felt uncertain. John was a man of few words, and those words were even more scarce when his work was involved. When he first told you of what exactly he does, who he is, what the dire circumstances of life have shaped him into, you were scared. Not of John, you could never be scared of him, no matter what the situation. You loved him too much, and he loved you too much to ever inflict any pain or danger your way. You were scared of what could happen to him, the thought of him not coming home to you one dreadful night constantly lured over your head, glooming and making the worst of outcomes brew in your mind.

But John assured you he would make no mistake. He was the best at what he did, constantly triumphing over all who came his way. He knew you worry, he always tried to keep your fears at bay. You being restless, meant he was restless; that’s what love means.

Before you came along, claiming a spot in John’s life, he didn’t care much about making it out alive. He did what he did, baring the scars and daggers thrown his way impassively. But all that changed when he gave you his heart. He felt you saved him in a way, gave him something to live for, someone to live for.

But the uncertain events of tonight left you both feeling overwhelmed. John and you had a very understanding relationship, filled with respect for each other. You hardly ever fought, surely you had disagreements here and there, as all couples do. Normally they were harmless, usually revolving around the lines of an unwashed dish in the sink, or a dirty towel left on the floor. But tonight, tonight was different. It was your first major outburst. You were both angry, you had taken jabs at each other. It was very unlike you and John, but things had been laid out on the table tonight, and they pierced into every vein in your heart, emitting an appalling presence.

As far as you remembered, you had fell asleep while talking to John the previous night. You lay in bed next to each other, his arm wrapped securely around your waist as he hugged you from behind. With your back pressed to his chest, you had rest your hand on his arm that draped over you, soothingly running your thumb over the rough skin. In part because you wanted to help him relax, but also because you wanted to keep yourself awake. John had been scare lately, his work keeping him out of home, and evenings like this had become your main form of communication and bonding time. You tried so hard to stay awake to spend as many moments as possible with him, but eventually, sleep had consumed you. But you weren’t too upset, John would be home the next day, and you would be able to spend some much needed time together.

When you woke up in the morning however, the weight of John’s body was no where to be found beside you, leaving the spot cold and vacant. Propping yourself up on the bed with your elbows, your sleep drowned, groggy eyes scanned the room for him.

“John? Babe?” you called, your voice raspy.

John was no where to be found.

Pouring yourself a freshly pressed cup of coffee, you tapped your phone, letting out a deep yawn, in efforts to reach John’s cell. He never picked up.

You felt your heart sink for sure, you had been looking forward to having him to yourself today, and you really thought he reciprocated the feeling. Into the prolonged hours of the day, you still had no idea where John was. Chances were, he had been called for a job, and you understood that. You knew there would be times he had to leave suddenly, but you were okay with it. You were willing to compromise that to be with him. But it wasn’t like him to leave without telling you, it made you worry.

Around 10pm, the jingle of the lock rose you out of your seat at the kitchen counter. You had been restlessly playing with your fingernails, praying that John was okay and would be home soon. You had prepared dinner and left John a plate in the microwave, pushing your own down with one, maybe two glasses of wine. All alone.

Tip toeing to the hallway up front, you saw John in his suit and tie, taking off his shoes and belt. He didn’t have any apparent new bruises or cuts on his face, allowing you to sigh of relief.

“Hey..” you breathed, folding your hands in front of yourself and slightly leaning against the wall. “Where were you? I tried calling and everything.”

“Got a call early morning, had some stuff to take care of.” John replied, his deep voice low, not making much of the situation. He was in the process of taking off his suit coat and hanging in on the stairs.

“Oh..okay.” you shrugged, suddenly feeling uneasy. John was being a bit...cold? “Foods in the microwave.” You said quietly, trying to study his face for a reaction.

“Thanks, hun.” He said casually, padding into the kitchen, a very slight, almost unidentifiable limp in his walk.

He hadn’t even kissed you yet, forget about kiss, he hadn’t even touched you yet. It hurt a little, you waited for him all day because today was meant for the two of you, and he disappeared for the entirety of it, and came back giving you almost no explanation of his whereabouts.

You trailed along behind him, silently praying he would turn around and engulf you in a hug sooner than later. That’s what couples do, right? Maybe you were being too needy and craving attention. But maybe you had the right to feel this way, John had kinda left you hanging in the dark there.

“I thought we were supposed to spend some time together today?” you questioned lightly, leaning against the kitchen island counter, eyes on John as he washed his hands.

“It was out of the blue, I had to take the call, babe.” John sighed, his back still facing you.

“Yeah I get that, but you could have at least let me know you were leaving? I was kinda worried..” you replied, fidgeting with your nails again, keeping yourself calm.

“I didn’t get the chance, sorry.” John turned now, drying his hands on the kitchen towel. He hadn’t looked your way once.

You chuckled lightly, nodding your head in disagreement. “You couldn’t nudge me awake to say you’re leaving so I wouldn’t just be hanging around wondering where the fuck you were all day? Or I don’t know, maybe shoot me a text, write a fucking note, anything, Johnathan!” you said, your voice a little louder than intended. You hadn’t meant to pick a fight, but the bubbling of emotions inside you had threatened to spill, crashing down eventually.

“Y/N please, I don’t wanna start an argument. I told you, I didn’t get the chance. My intentions weren’t to hurt you.” John was still calm as well, but you could see there was slight annoyance forming in his eyes as well.

You swallowed to rid the lump that was forming in your throat. Looking down at the floor, you sighed lightly. In that moment, it was as if your mind was racing too fast to process. You finally blurted out, without thinking twice.

“I don’t deserve this, John. All I ask is for you to fucking talk to me.”

John immediately tensed, his large hands sprawled on the counter as his arms leaned over it. He took a deep breath, and exhaled. You could tell he wanted to say something, but was holding back.

“I’m doing this for us, Y/N. You don’t need to know every little detail. You knew exactly what you were signing up for when we went into this” He said through almost gritted teeth, gesturing between you two.

Your jaw dropped, slightly taken back. John had never been this…aggressive with you, if that’s what you would call it. Maybe stern was a better word.

“Really, John? Because as far as I remember, I didn’t know you were a fucking assassin going into this.” You spat out. You immediately regretted it, even though you both knew what John was, saying it out loud almost made it more real. Gave it more power over you both.

“What are you trying to say, Y/N.” John questioned, although it was more of a statement, his arms now at his side, staring you right in the eyes. He had an empty look on his face, but you could see a tinge of sadness in his eyes. This discussion had been starting to hurt the both of you.

You sighed and looked down, trying to look for the right words. You felt tears brimming at your eyes, but you held yourself composed. Looking up at him, in the eyes, you spoke.

“I’ve made a lot of changes for us, John. And I’m trying my best.” Your voice threatened to break.

“Well I’m trying my best as well, Y/N. I don’t know what else to say.” John said, now walking past you, out of the kitchen. He loosened his tie as he started up the stairs, into your shared bedroom. You heard the shower turn on a little later, as you were leaning against the staircase ledge, trying to think of where exactly you had gone wrong tonight.

Walking into the bedroom a few minutes later, you saw John was out of the shower, drying his wet hair. Once again, he didn’t acknowledge you walking in. That stung. Again.

Sighing, and feeling the gaping hole in your heart grow wider now, you trekked towards your side of the bed, grasping your pillow. Perhaps, you would take the couch tonight.

“What are you doing?” John questioned as he saw the pillow in your hand, droplets of water still clasped at the ends of his long, black locks. He realized you didn’t want to sleep together tonight. The argument had done more damage than he intended, but it was already done.

Looking down, and then off into the distance briefly, he grabbed his pillow, tucking it securely under his arm, and walked out of the room. He would rather have himself take the couch over you, a gentleman would never make his lady spend the night on the couch, no matter how angry he was.

That was over an hour ago, and here you were. All alone, on the edge of your bed, sobbing. Part of you regretted everything, you really didn’t mean to come off so harsh, but you missed him. You felt you deserved some explanation.

“What am I doing wrong?” you questioned yourself, staring up at the ceiling with your tear stained cheeks. Bringing your gaze down, you spotted John’s medication on the nightstand. Whenever John would come back from work, he usually took some sort of meds to help with pain and to relax his muscles. The bottle hadn’t moved since the last time you saw it, alerting you that he hadn’t taken his dose yet.

You contemplated for a second, debating. Finally, you wiped your cheeks with the sleeves of your sweater and took a deep, almost meditation like breath in. You knew John, he wouldn’t come back into the room tonight for his meds. He wouldn’t want to disturb you or your space, especially since you had made the first move of sleeping in separate rooms tonight.

Grabbing the pills in a swift moment, you rose and headed out the bedroom. Tip toeing town the stairs, you could see John’s figure sprawled across the couch, his long legs dangling off the much smaller piece of furniture. You suddenly felt horrible.

His eyes were closed, and he had his forearm resting across his forehead, in attempts to keep light out. You made yourself known by grabbing a bottle of water out of the fridge for him. He tilted his head up, and saw you standing by the hallway door with two of the meds in the palm of your hand, and a bottle of water in the other.

You locked eyes for a moment, before you finally started walking towards him. He immediately sat up, shuffling over so you could sit beside him. With a nod of the head, you extended your hand his way, offering the pills. He took them into his mouth as you cracked the bottle lid for him.

Both staring at the floor, you sat in silence, both unsure of what to say. Clearly, you both had forgotten your anger and cooled off.

John was the first to speak. “You wanna talk about it?” he asked lightly, resting his hand on your thigh.

“I don’t know.” You said in almost a whisper, unsure.

John tapped your arm to get you to make eye contact. He then titled his head down towards the couch, lightly tugging at your arm. You smiled lightly at him.

John positioned himself to lay down on his back on the couch, and gently pulled you down by the arm to lay on top of him. With your chest pressed flush against his, you made yourself comfortable, resting your head on his pecs. He wrapped his arms around your waist, stroking his hand up and down your back.

You closed your eyes to enjoy the moment. Maybe this was all you wanted all along, to just be with him, to feel him close. In that moment, there was nothing in the world for you besides John, you rest on top of him, feeling nothing but him holding you tight and close.

Pressing a few light kisses into your hair while still stroking your back, John broke the comfortable silence. “I’m really sorry, baby. I should have tried to reach out to you, I know. I’m sorry I was being distant tonight, I wasn’t in the best mood and I guess I kinda channeled it onto you by accident. I don’t know, I guess I’m still trying to figure out how to deal with my shit. I never intended to hurt you, sweetheart.” He spoke, quietly into the silent room.

He grabbed your hand in his, and pressed his lips to it, holding it tight. “You’re right, baby. You don’t deserve this.” He sighed.

“John, I’m sorry. I said some stuff I didn’t mean tonight as well, but I didn’t mean it. I know you’re trying baby, and I appreciate it. I totally overreacted. Gosh I’m so fucking stupid sometimes…I really hurt you with…you know…the assassin thing.” You avoided eye contact, completely embarrassed, your heart aching. You know that hurt him, and it killed you that you were the cause of it. If anything, your goal in life had been to lessen his hurt and pain. You felt tears prick at your eyes again. “I’m so sorry, John.” you whispered, burying your face in his chest.

“Hey hey, Y/N, honey, look at me.” You looked up at him to make eye contact, and he held your face between his warm hands. “We both said some stuff tonight we didn’t mean to. I know you didn’t mean it, baby. It didn’t hurt me, I’m okay. I know you don’t really think that stuff.” He wiped a tear away from your cheek with his thumb.

“I really didn’t John. I love you so much.” You scratched his beard gently with your fingers, pressing a few kisses to his shoulders and chest.

“I love you, Y/N. I promise, never again will this happen.” He said, referring to the events of the day.

“I promise; I’ll never freak out again like I did today. I know you don’t need that on top of everything you’re already dealing with. But babe, please, don’t keep me in the dark.” You said, making eye contact, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I wanna be there for you and help you, I need you to share things with me. That’s what we do for each other, right? We help each other.” You spoke quietly.

“I don’t want you to worry, love.” He pulled you closer, pressing your head to his chest again. “I can take care of it on my own.” He argued.

“No, John. You can’t. Us against the world, right? That’s what we promised.” You played with his fingers, cheek still pressed against his chest. You pressed a few kisses to his hand.

You both laid in silence for a few moments, before the deep rumble of his chest signaled dialogue.

“I’ve been trying to get out...for you. For us, so we can have a normal future. I want to give you a normal life. That’s what this morning was about.”

You were taken back, but felt tears of joy. Lifting your head to look at him, you cupped his cheek. “Baby…really?” you smiled wide, letting out a few giggles.

“Yeah. Its gonna be tough, but I promise, I’m going to make it happen.” He leaned into your touch.

You both stayed there, wrapped in each others embrace, sulking in the moment. It seemed like that was all you needed after all, to just be together. “Once I’m out, everything’s going to be perfect. We’re going to live a perfect life together.” He cooed into your ear, as he stroked your hair soothingly.

“How about we go back to bed, huh?” you smiled up at him, leaning your chin on his chest, running your thumb over his bottom lip.

He smiled in response, and nodded his head, entwining your hands once again.

~~~

Taglist Posted Separately (Ask to be added or removed!) :

#john wick x reader #john wick x you #keanu reeves x reader #john wick fanfiction #john wick imagine

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