#john wick oc

[eternalslover]

WHY IS THERE NO WRITING FOR KEANU REEVES CHARACTERS IM ACTUALLY GOING BALLISTIC, I WANT HIM SO BAD WOOF WOOF GRRR, GOING ACTUALLY FERAL, PLEASE SOMEONE WRITE ABOUT HIM, MATRIX, JOHN WICK, BILL AND TED, CONSTANTINE, MATRIX, MATRIX, MATRIX DID I MENTION MATRIX PLEASE SOMEONE WRITE ABOUT HIS CHARACTER FROM THE MATRIX

WHERE DID MY CLOTHING GO?!?! I WANT HIM SO BAD HONESTLY HOW CAN YOU NOT WRITE ABOUT HIM?? ANGST, FLUFF, SMUT ECT ECT BIG ON FLUFF AND ANGST, THERE IS JUST SO MUCH SMUT IN THE WORLD BUT I WILL TAKE ANYTHING

[babsharrison]

Safe Haven - John Wick

(Chapter one)

Pairing | John Wick x Original Fem! Character

Summary | In search of a breath in his tumultuous life, John Wick finds himself in a charming bookstore where he meets a sweet and welcoming woman. As they grow closer, John questions whether she can love him despite the dark secrets he carries. While battling the shadows of his past, he must protect the love that is blossoming and discover if hope and redemption are truly possible.

Word Count | 2.4k

A/N | Hey luvs! New chapter of my John Wick fic is up, and I’m super happy with all the interactions so far! Hope you all enjoy! (And also!! I want to let you guys know that this fic is kinda alternative, so Helen doesn't exist and John is still in his dark life with no romance 😭 poor baby) Prologue here!

The next day, John woke up with the softness of the bookstore still echoing in his mind. The aroma of tea and the warmth of the woman’s smile remained etched in his memory. It had been so long since he had allowed himself to feel something so light, so comforting.

As he moved, the pain in his injured shoulder reminded him of his reality. He slowly sat up, trying to ignore the stiffness spreading through his body. The past followed him, as always, but there was something inside him that longed to return to the bookstore.

With a soft sigh, John decided he needed that peace, even if it was temporary. He put on his black suit, adjusting his tie with precision, and stepped outside, feeling the morning breeze brush against his face and tousle his hair. The path seemed shorter this time, his anxiety replaced by cautious anticipation.

As he entered the bookstore, the bell chimed softly, and the familiar environment enveloped him, providing immediate comfort. He began searching for the woman who had welcomed him, his heart skipping a beat upon seeing her behind the counter, her head bent over a book. The sight of her so immersed in reading almost made him smile. Her hair, neatly tied up, contrasted with the beautiful mess from the night before, as if each style told a different part of her story.

When she noticed his presence, she looked up, and a smile illuminated her face. “You’re back!” she exclaimed, her voice like a ray of sunshine. “Did you find something interesting this time?”

John hesitated for a moment. There was something about the way she looked at him—so open, so inviting—that made him uncomfortable. Why does she seem so at ease? he wondered, almost absentmindedly. He observed her every movement. He had learned over the years that no one was completely innocent. Every smile could hide a motive, and he couldn’t afford to let his guard down.

“I’m still deciding,” he murmured, keeping his voice steady, not revealing the whirlwind of thoughts racing through his mind. Her expression, however, didn’t change. Her smile remained calm, showing no signs of insincerity. Either she’s a great actress, or… maybe she really is just that genuine?

She nodded, seeming satisfied with his answer. “That’s alright! I’m just happy to have you back. I have some new books that you might like,” she said, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

John glanced away briefly, as if surveying the bookstore, but in reality, he was considering all possible exits, thinking about how each space could become an advantage point or a trap if he needed to act. That’s how he operated—always calculating.

He watched her move confidently around the space, picking up books and explaining their stories. John listened attentively, appreciating how animated she became, as if the words flowing from her mouth had a life of their own. However, while he listened, he continued evaluating. She seems sincere… but it’s hard to trust first impressions. His mind was always on alert.

“Have you read this one?” she asked, holding up a blue-covered book, her eyes eager for his response.

“No,” John admitted, “but I’m... willing to hear about it.”

The woman began talking about the plot, but he noticed she was also paying attention to him, as if trying to decipher what lay behind his calm expression. He struggled to maintain an air of mystery, not wanting her to know the weight he carried. She wants to understand more… but I can’t let her in.

“You have good taste, even if you don’t say much,” she observed with a playful smile.

John merely gave a slight smile in return, one that he didn’t even notice, a gesture that seemed sufficient for her. He liked how she didn’t press him, respecting his space. “Sometimes, silence speaks louder than words,” he commented, feeling it was an appropriate yet evasive response. It’s safer this way… he thought.

She nodded as if she understood. “I agree. Still, it’s nice to hear some stories from time to time.”

They were engrossed in conversation when suddenly, the sound of John’s phone ringing cut through the light atmosphere of the bookstore. He glanced at the screen and saw the name of a contact he didn’t want to see. A look of concern crossed his face as he hesitated to answer.

“Sorry,” he murmured to her, bringing the phone closer. “I need to take this.”

She nodded, and he stepped back a bit, the voice on the other end serving as a brutal reminder of his reality. “John, we need you. It’s urgent.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of responsibility pressing down on his shoulders. “Understood,” he replied, his voice low and firm. “I’ll be there soon.”

Hanging up, he turned to the woman, frustration and sadness swirling in his eyes like a storm brewing on the horizon. “I have to go,” he said, his tone clipped and cold, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily between them. The change in his demeanor was evident, casting a shadow over the warmth of their earlier conversation.

She looked at him, understanding reflected in her gaze. “It’s okay. I hope everything is alright,” she replied, her smile unwavering. “Come back when you can.”

He nodded silently, the promise lingering in the air. And with one last look around, he left the bookstore, carrying with him the memory of the peace he had found there, even knowing that it didn’t belong in his life.

As he stepped outside, he pulled the collar of his suit tighter, trying to conceal the pain still throbbing in his shoulder. Walking through the city streets, the feeling that he didn’t belong in that kind of peace grew within him. It was as if the tranquility of the bookstore was a distant world, one he had no right to access.

Quickening his pace, John blended into the crowd, once again wrapped in the shadows of his life. Work was calling him, and as he glanced back, he knew that temporary peace would be hard to find again.

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Mia watched the mysterious man walk out the door, his presence still lingering in the air. It was impossible not to notice the melancholy he carried, like a visible weight on his shoulders. She wished he was okay; maybe he had faced a tough day. But unlike the other customers who often appeared with a similar sadness, his pain seemed deeper, as if shaped by difficult experiences.

She tried to shake off those thoughts, knowing that losing herself in them would lead nowhere. Just then, her coworker, Tom, emerged from the back of the bookstore, looking groggy. Tom, a man with dark skin and adorable curls, always brought a lightness to the atmosphere, even when he was sleepy. His playful nature was a balm for heavier days, and he was Mia’s only friend, someone who treated her like a younger sister.

“Finally, Tom! I thought you passed out back there,” she remarked, a smile playing on her lips as she moved to the counter to put away the books she had been showing the man.

Tom rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the sleepiness. “Sorry, I had to sort through a bunch of boxes that arrived this morning. What did I miss? Any interesting customers?”

Mia glanced out the window, watching the street where the man had disappeared. “Yeah, there was... A customer in a suit… and he was really quiet. He seemed a bit… distant, you know?”

“Another one of those businessmen, huh?” Tom said, putting his hands in his pockets as he approached the counter. “You know how those types are. Sometimes, they just need a little space.”

“Yeah…” Mia replied, rearranging one of the books on the counter. “He didn’t say much, but he seemed… I don’t know, just… different.”

Before she could continue her thought, the sound of the door opening brought a new customer into the store. Mia straightened her shoulders, returning to her work with her usual smile. “Good afternoon! Can I help you with anything?”

As the new visitor browsed the shelves, Tom leaned closer, hands still in his pockets, watching Mia sideways. “You seem a bit lost in thought today. Everything okay?” He always noticed when something was bothering her, as if he had a special intuition for it.

She offered a small smile and nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… I don’t know, I’m tired.”

Tom studied her for a moment, then gave the counter a light tap. “Alright. But don’t worry. We always end up meeting all kinds of people here. Maybe he was just having a tough day.”

Mia nodded, turning her attention back to the customer in the store. Maybe that was all it was. Just another ordinary day, another passing customer. The thought made her smile. After all, the bookstore was filled with stories—on the shelves and among the people who came and went every day.

“Yeah, you’re probably right…” Mia murmured, and just as she spoke, the doorbell chimed again, signaling yet another arrival.

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John couldn't help but feel a pang of pride for having come out of this mission without major injuries. Each day seemed like a new opportunity to improve, to become more lethal, more efficient. Even after so many years in this life, he knew there was still room for growth. After all, that was what he did best, right? Fight, stab, shoot. Kill. It was what he knew, what defined his existence.

With a tired grunt, the tall man sank into the sofa, feeling the weight of the day on his shoulders. His large house was enveloped in a deafening silence, a constant echo of his loneliness. The empty walls seemed to close in around him, reminding him that, no matter how unbeatable he was on the battlefield, here, within these four walls, he was just a solitary man marked by his choices.

The life he had built, on a foundation of blood and violence, now felt like an invisible prison. But this was the only life he knew how to live.

John ran his hands through his hair, massaging his sore neck as he settled into the sofa. The stillness of the house wrapped around him like a heavy cloak, with nothing to distract him from the thoughts that always came flooding back. There was no music, television, or any sound to break the emptiness, only the echo of his own footsteps resonating in his mind.

He looked at the coffee table, where a half-empty bottle of whiskey awaited, a reminder of nights when alcohol was his only reliable companion. Next to the bottle, his gun lay, cold and silent, yet ever-present. It was ironic how the objects surrounding him—the weapons, the elegant furniture, the empty hallways—spoke more about who he had become than any words ever could.

John leaned forward to grab the glass, swirling the amber liquid before taking a long gulp. The taste burned his throat, but he didn't wince. There was a strange comfort in feeling something, anything, even if it was just the artificial warmth of the alcohol. The silence returned, relentless.

For a moment, he thought about calling someone. Someone to talk to, even if only for a few minutes. But soon that idea faded away. Who would he call? Who could understand the depth of his darkness?

He set the glass aside and stood up, slowly crossing the room, his heavy footsteps echoing on the wooden floor. Sometimes he found himself wondering if this was the life he had chosen or just the one the world had forced upon him. But, regardless of the answer, he was trapped. There was no easy way out.

Outside, the city continued to pulse, indifferent to the existence of John Wick. And he, in the midst of loneliness, knew he would soon be called to kill again. The cycle never ended.

John stopped in front of the window, watching the city stretch out before him. The bright lights twinkled in the distance, and the distant sound of traffic was the only connection he had to the world outside. He could see life happening, people living their routines without imagining what lurked in the shadows. For them, the city was vibrant, full of opportunities and dreams. For him, it was just a prison, camouflaged in lights and movement.

He rested his hands on the window ledge, feeling the cold of the glass against his skin. Even from his height, he knew he was not above anything. The violence, the darkness, the blood—all of it surrounded him, filled him. There was no escape. Each mission he completed took him deeper into the abyss.

In the distance, a police siren echoed, pulling John from his thoughts. He sighed, knowing there would be more battles ahead, more deaths to add to his already long list.

John stepped away from the window, and instinctively, his eyes fell on the gun on the table. It was an extension of himself, a tool he wielded with deadly precision. There was a part of him that took pride in that—in the efficiency, the skill, the control. But another part, buried deep inside, wondered how long it would last. How long would he endure this cycle of violence before he finally fell?

He picked up the gun and examined it, his fingers gliding over the cold metal. Unlike people, the gun had never betrayed him. It was straightforward, without ambiguities. With it, the world was simple. There was a target and an end.

A soft notification buzzed on his phone, cutting through the silence of the room. The screen lit up with a familiar name—a new job. Another name to cross off the list. He knew he had no choice. He never had. Leaving the gun on the table, he picked up the phone, his fingers hovering over the message for a moment before opening it.

Another contract. Another target.

John closed his eyes for a second, allowing the weight of everything that was to come to settle over him. Then, with the determination that had always guided him, he opened his eyes and left the apartment, ready to face the next battle, just as he always did.

In the end, he was not a man of peace.

Next chapter!

[danyayeni2]

i had an idea for my john wick x oc art but idk if i'll finish this so have this for now

[alice-of-hightable]

<sighs> I need a hug. Boudreaux is off huntin’ gators for the next week or so, Dad’s still in New York, no idea where J is, and I don’t think it’s a good idea to head to Europe to follow V, sorry, *Marquis* and Señor Chidi around…and it’s probably a bad idea to go pester Akira. The seclusion of the swamps is nice, but it makes it harder to be around people. Even the crows and Missy (the baby gator) are getting antsy without visitors

[kavalyera]

drew my oc hearst

[tobytheeggo]

This is too silly not to post here

Hearst belongs to @evrensadwrn :3

[bluelolblue]

✧ To Feel Human ✧

This fic was inspired by this post by the amazing @thewhumpcaretaker <3

Relationship: Santino D'Antonio & Acheron

This got into 5k words of Acheron helping Santino out with a bullet wound and Acheron feeling more human than before with his master. I chose: "Holding their neck or wrist to feel their pulse but not squeezing in the slightest" but not in a nsfw way, this is pretty much whump, hurt/comfort but has deeper moments with Acheron and how he is trying to process his feelings. And how humans are complicated. I also changed my writing style a little, mostly with Acheron's inner dialog, those are written in italics. I hope it'll be enjoyable to read! :] | Line divider

Warning: This also contains a bit of graphic descriptions of a bullet wound and blood, a character being kinda fascinated by heartbeat and humans in general.

How did I miss it? I don't understand… I was right there. Right there, near the door– behind Santino. I… no, this wasn't supposed to happen. I'm supposed to protect him– my Master. What is wrong with me? Why didn't I predict it –

“A-Acheron...”

The demon snapped out of his thoughts after hearing his name being called in a strangled breathy voice. He looked up at his Master, whose breathing seemed to get heavier. He didn't look well either, his condition worsened.

Santino’s white shirt was painted with blood over his ribs and it looked like it was spreading more, so he was still bleeding even if he kept the pressure on.

“I'm right here, Master. I have to sterilize the tools– try to stay still.”

My hands are shaking. Why? This has never happened before. I need to calm down– he is losing a lot of blood! Santino– your Master– is dying right in front of you! Snap out of it!

Acheron's breath hitched for a moment and he could feel Santino's exhausted and confused look, though he didn't have enough strength to comment on it.

“Breathe for me, Master. In through your nose and out through your mouth. Come on– look at me–” the demon gently held his chin to make Santino look at him, to focus on him since he looked like he was drifting away for a moment. “We can do this together, okay? It's going to hurt, yes… but you're stronger than this.”

The Camorra prince tried to keep eye contact with him, tried to inhale for a deep breath but even that hurt. Every sharp inhale felt like stabbing, like the wound and the bullet pulsed within him.

“Fuck– it…” He choked and his body shook violently, but Acheron placed his hand on his thigh to let him know he was there. “H-hurts to breathe…”

Acheron cursed in his head, already thinking about other possibilities but he couldn't do anything if Santino didn't calm down.

“I know,” he sighed sadly, tapping on his thigh, “But, I need you to try to focus on breathing and me. Stay still, I'll breathe with you. It'll be over quickly,” Acheron instructed and started breathing the way he told his Master. Santino struggled to follow, but his assistant encouraged him and the way he was looking at him, with this comforting look yet there was still worry in his eyes.

Santino managed to inhale and exhale a couple of times while Acheron prepared everything. “Good, you're doing well,” the assistant praised as he got the tweezers ready. “I need to unbutton your shirt and disinfect the wound.”

“Fine…” D'Antonio muttered. Even if he was feeling vulnerable and weak, and the thought of him being exposed even more was terrified, he had no choice but to listen. His flight or fight response was triggered but another part of him kept reminding him that this was Acheron helping him. That he was allowed to relax and be vulnerable around him. He winced as his assistant got to the last button and the cool air against his feverish skin wasn't the most pleasant feeling.

“Let me see,” Acheron said softly, waiting for his Master to move his hand away from it. Santino shakily moved his hand off the wound and it bled out again, dripping down his waist which Acheron tried to wipe away with another bandage. He gently tapped the injury, trying to clean it enough to start the process.

The Camorra prince groaned in discomfort, but also let Acheron do what he had to. He wanted to push him away, yes, to order him to leave him alone. Yet a part of him wanted and craved his help.

“I'll pull the bullet out now… just breathe through it, okay? It'll be done quickly.” Acheron looked up at him, searching for his approval, to be sure he was still with him.

“Just get it over with…” Santino muttered, his exhausted eyes met his servant's but there was a hint of desperation in his fierce eyes.

Acheron nodded, murmuring some words of reassurance under his breath as he prepared the tweezers. He was holding them in front of the gaping wound, examining what would be the best way to get the bullet out. He had to think quickly and the sudden anxiety wasn't helping him either.

It was a weird feeling, his whole body felt tense, his chest felt heavier and painful and his hands were still slightly shaking.

You idiot… get yourself fucking together already. Just pull the damn bullet out!

He was screaming at himself in his mind and he took one deep breath to calm himself, and Santino.

“Breathe with me, Master. Look at me, focus on breathing and me.” He pressed the tweezers slightly into the wound, just to finally start and get his boss to work with him.

“Dammit, Acheron! I-I'm fucking trying–” Of course, Santino snapped a little and winced. Like a frightened animal and the demon could've guessed it was coming.

“Look at me and breathe,” Acheron urged, he sounded like he was the one giving orders now, but he had to calm him down even if it meant to sound strict. Though, he still had a gentle tone.

Santino cursed at him in Italian, but didn't fight back. He looked down at him, inhaling sharply only to be cut off by his own gasp when he felt the tweezers sinking deeper into his skin.

“Good, okay… getting there,” the assistant praised, giving a light squeeze on Santino's knee to ground him and not let him spiral. “You're doing well.”

D'Antonio bit back a whimper and gritted his teeth, gripping the sheets with one hand while the other one was holding tightly on his shirt. He felt how the bullet was slowly being pulled out and to him if felt like it was agonizingly slow. He could feel it inside his flesh, near his ribs, feel the cold tweezers in his burning wound… he was overwhelmed, his heartbeat racing almost too fast for his comfort.

“Fuck! Aah– just…” Santino groaned, panic kicking in, but Acheron was quick to react.

“Shh, I got it. Trust me… it's almost over.” He had to carefully pull it out, not to accidentally damage his ribs or anything else and he knew it was painful, but he didn't have any other choice.

The blood kept dripping down, but it wasn't an alarming amount, at least not yet. It just looked nasty, and enough to make Santino look away at the sight. His breath hitched and a moan from pain escaped him when Acheron pressed the tweezers deeper. He slammed his fist into the mattress from frustration and pain, it was from instinct, just trying to grasp at something– anything even if he would tear it apart.

“You're doing this on purpose, you bastard!” He muttered through his teeth, ready to throw more insults but all that came out was strained moaning.

“I’m not– but if you keep moving, it'll get in deeper.” The universe seemed to hear him at that moment and do exactly what he said. The bullet slipped from the tweezers hold. “Shit. It's okay– I got it.” Acheron was quick to grab it again but it sent a violent shiver through Santino's whole body.

“You idiot!” Santino groaned but involuntarily moaned when he felt the tweezers being retrieved back from his flesh.

“There we go,” the demon murmured and placed the bullet in a metal bowl he had prepared. It clinked and made the Camorra prince flinch, bringing him back to reality. “You're alright, Master, just stay calm.”

More blood was spilling out from the wound, it felt like it was pulsing which genuinely made Santino feel nauseous for a moment, but he exhaled shakily, trying to calm his breathing down.

“Should've left the bullet in…” He murmured, more to himself than to Acheron but his assistant heard him.

“Don't say such things, Master,” Acheron said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He felt guilt creeping up on him, the anxiety was still clawing deep inside him and now this? The way Santino looked absolutely defeated and sounded like he was about to pass out made his feelings feel more intense than ever before.

D'Antonio huffed a weak laugh, which turned into something similar to a choked sob, he squeezed his eyes shut, avoiding Acheron's gaze.

The demon didn't want to push him further, so he continued to treat his wound, murmuring soothing words and telling him everything he was doing.

“Keep breathing deeply like that,” he whispered and gently took a hold of Santino's wrist, not that his master had the strength to argue about it. He placed his fingers over his pulse, it was steady enough and the warmth of it felt… nice, alive, human like.

“I'm not dead, you know…” Santino said hoarsely and Acheron snapped back to reality.

“I know,” he replied quietly, carefully cleaning the blood around the wound. “I'll have to stitch it. But I can't have you passing out from… exhaustion. It's too dangerous… I can't just do it while you feel everything–”

“I've seen and felt worse… I'm giving you permission…”

Acheron met his eyes and he recognized that look. Santino was serious about it, pain was his whole life, yes, the demon was aware of it, but he really didn't want to cause him more pain.

“I refuse,” the demon said, keeping the pressure on the injury with a disinfected bandage. “You were in too much stress for me to use any ability… it would only harm you more… though you've calmed down now. I can try to numb the area so I can stitch it. But I won't let you get through more intense pain.”

D'Antonio only looked at him for a few more seconds and then exhaled deeply. “Do whatever you want.”

“I promise I only want to help you… but you also need to help yourself. And to help yourself, I'll need you to steady your breathing a bit more and focus on me,” Acheron instructed and was glad to see that Santino was trying. He was trying for him.

He took several deep breaths, occasionally glancing at Acheron who nodded in encouragement.

The other man felt his pulse again and was pleased with the process. “I'll use only enough to make you not feel intense pain. There might be discomfort but I'm afraid that's all I can for now.”

“You pulled a damn bullet out of me, this can't be worse, can it?” Santino smirked weakly, wincing as a short breathy laugh that escaped him sent a jolt through his body.

Acheron chuckled softly. “You don't want to find out.” He pressed his fingers around the wound and started the process.

Santino felt like the area was being poured with warm water, the pain was fading away, not entirely but just enough not to feel his own injury throb. It was much better.

“There. Do you feel my fingers?” Acheron asked as he lightly pressed near the wound.

“Kinda like pressure but… it’s not painful,” Santino replied, feeling slightly more drained but he knew that would happen if Acheron used his ability.

“Good. Just relax.”

The Camorra prince nodded weakly and let his assistant do his work.

It was more uncomfortable than painful, like light pinching from time to time and pressure going through his flesh. He bit back whimpers, watching Acheron work.

He really looked more human than ever. There was more emotion in his face, his movements were gentle– just like always but now his touch felt deeply comforting. Santino couldn't explain it in his mind, after all he was feeling exhausted, so nothing felt like it was making sense, but… Acheron was different now. Good different.

“Doing okay?” The demon asked softly, glancing up at him.

“Yes… just tired,” Santino murmured, shutting his eyes closed for a moment and focusing on his breathing and the quietness of the room.

Acheron hummed in agreement, piercing another stitch through his skin which made his master let out a strangled whimper but he also muttered to him to continue.

It didn't take long for the demon to finish with stitches, he worked better on it than most of the medical teams Santino had.

“This should be fine,” Acheron said as he finished the last stitch, examining if there was something he missed. “I'll heal you once you recover enough… you'll need lots of rest, Master.”

Santino sighed deeply and leaned back, his palms pressed against the mattress as he felt his body betraying him with exhaustion.

“I'll feel that in the morning…” He murmured with a faint smirk.

“Probably,” Acheron agreed and was aware of the struggles with healing from a bullet wound. “But I can assure you it'll pass. It'll take a few days but you should recover quickly.”

There was something heavy and burning in his chest the moment he looked at Santino. It wasn't like the anxiety he felt, no. This was something tempting, something warm that was telling him to feel him. His pulse.

He hesitantly took a gentle hold on his master's wrist, brushing his thumb over the warmth of his veins. He couldn't understand why he was so drawn to that, but he had a strong need to feel that pulse.

“Are you okay?”

Acheron blinked and let go only to meet Santino's tired but concerned look.

“I just have to make sure you're… not in any danger anymore.” That was true but not completely. But then again he wasn't even sure how to explain the emotions he was experiencing.

Santino was about to say something when the medical team arrived, out of breath and smelling like gunpowder. Acheron glared at them over his shoulder and they froze.

“We're sorry for the delay– the situation outside was–”

“There is no excuse for letting your boss almost bleed out!” Santino doesn't recall ever hearing Acheron yell at someone, not at his staff at least. He was mad, he could feel his frustration and how he was holding back not to transform into the demon wolf to tear them apart.

The staff winced and took a step back once Acheron got too close to them.

“There was no other way we could enter– everyone was shooting at each other.” That was true and Acheron could understand, but he believed that Santino's safety was the priority, nothing should stop him or the bodyguards from keeping their boss safe.

“Enough!” The demon snapped strictly and the room got quiet. Santino stared at him, amazed by his reactions. “I took the bullet out and stitched his wound. You can examine it and give him what he needs to feel better.”

The staff nodded and quickly moved past him, getting their medical supplies out. Santino let them examine him, he didn't really care anyway. He trusted Acheron more than anyone, he knew he did everything right with his injury. Then again, he could use some pills, he was feeling quite drowsy.

Acheron watched their every move, ready to step in if he had to, keeping an eye on his master's body language and expressions. He seemed fine, irritated, exhausted but alive and safe.

The medical staff injected anesthetic near the wound to numb the pain, as well as some sedative medicine that Santino wasn't very fond of drinking but he had no choice.

“He should be okay and heal in a few days. Wound is clean and stitched… professionally. Well done, Sir,” one of the medics explained and gave a respectful nod at Acheron.

The demon only hummed, pleased with their work and stood by Santino's side.

“And I'd recommend not moving too much, or at least for a day or two because of the stitches. Just in case…” The other one added and D'Antonio let out a frustrated sigh, ready to snap at them but Acheron stepped in.

“Alright. Thank you both. Now make sure the mansion is not under an attack anymore,” he ordered. The staff nodded, preparing to leave and do what they were told. Until one of them flinched when they felt Acheron's grip on their shoulder. “And don't let this happen again. Being late for your boss won't be tolerated. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir,” they replied nervously and made their way out.

Acheron watched as they scurried, sighing deeply and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I'm starting to think I'm not the strict one here,” Santino chuckled weakly, buttoning his shirt.

“They failed to help you in time, there is no excuse for that,” Acheron said, wanting to help him with the shirt but his master murmured that he can do it himself.

“I didn't really care,” the Camorra prince muttered and accepted a glass of water his assistant brought him.

“You didn't, but I did.” Yet he still couldn't understand how he missed the enemy pulling out their gun and shooting his master right in front of him. The guilt sting deeply in him. “I… I'm sorry, Master,” Acheron apologized, though there was no pride in his voice, in fact his voice was quiet and soft.

“For what?” Santino asked, placing the half empty glass on the counter. He genuinely looked curious on what his assistant meant.

“Well, I… failed to protect you. You shouldn't have gotten hurt in the first place. All because I…” Acheron exhaled, trying to find his words. “Didn't react in time. I don't know what happened… and I am deeply sorry for everything–”

“Acheron, you don't have to apologize. It wasn't the first time I was shot at a meeting,” D'Antonio smiled tiredly, but Acheron still didn't like the fact his master was kinda used to this.

“This will be the last time that has happened. I promise,” Acheron vowed, placing his hand on his heart and bowing his head in respect.

“But you didn't answer my question from before,” Santino groaned as he adjusted, “Are you okay? You seem… distracted today.”

He noticed… of course he did. He notices everything.

The demon hesitated, not even sure what to tell him.

I'm sorry, I felt more alive than before.

I felt like a human.

I was scared of losing you.

I failed you.

It wasn't supposed to happen.

“I… I'm not sure,” he whispered, avoiding his master's eyes. “I suppose I was distracted.”

The moment he looked at him, he could tell Santino wasn't buying that.

“I've never seen you nervous before. I felt it, you know. Your, um… fear? Or something, it was uncomfortable. But I felt that before. Like something is burning in your chest, pulling you, just… it's weird.” It was not often to hear him talk about his feelings, but when he did, the way he would describe them was as if they were monsters or something out of this world. “We humans are complicated… our feelings… but you're not human. Yet you felt it.”

There it was again. The same feeling from before, only not that intense. Acheron swallowed nervously before answering. “I, um…” He found himself fumbling with words, not sure what to say which has never happened before. It was scary, creeping up slowly, making his breath hitch. “I don't know, Master. I've never felt it before… I think I…” He hesitated, his eyes kinda burned and his vision got blurry.

Santino frowned in concern. He himself was bad with talking about feelings so he wasn't even sure how to help him express it or what to do. However, he seemed to understand what Acheron meant.

“Felt human?”

Acheron looked at him and his own heartbeat quickened. The feelings were terrifying, and his master knew that.

“I'm not sure– I guess so–”

“You don't have to explain, Acheron. If it's making you uncomfortable,” D'Antonio cut him off, and with a strained groan managed to lay down, sighing as he closed his eyes. “I often forget you're not human because… you seem so human. Your heartbeat is real, your hands are warm, your soul feels… pleasant. I wouldn't be surprised if you felt that way.”

The room fell silent, the demon only stood there, trying to process everything. Santino read him like a book, noticed every detail and that amazed him.

“It's a weird feeling,” he confessed quietly and decided that he should collect himself already. “But that doesn't matter. Your well being matters the most. How do you feel? Do you need anything?”

Santino huffed, but didn't make an effort to sit up. “Like I have no energy for anything… feels like I was beaten the shit out of me. A shower could be useful, but lying down feels better for now,” he explained, only opening his eyes enough to look at the other man.

“Okay. Let me know if you'll need anything else.”

Later that evening, while Santino finally got enough strength to get himself to the bathroom, Acheron patrolled around the mansion, observing how the rest of the staff was cleaning the mess of the attack.

Everything else seemed to be going back to normal, there was no sign of danger and he could finally relax.

By the time he returned back to Santino's room, he found his master already dozing off. He looked so peaceful, exhausted, calm. Not like a Camorra leader he was, but just an ordinary tired person. Human.

Acheron moved silently towards him, just to check on him to be sure when he heard a mumble.

“You don't have to sneak around…” Santino winced when he tried to stretch a little, he almost forgot about his injury.

“Just wanted to check how you're doing. It'll be better for you to find a comfortable position and rest,” Acheron murmured, giving him a warm smile.

“That's kinda what I'm trying to do,” the Camorra prince muttered. “Have you checked everything?” He sighed, giving up on finding a comfortable position.

“Yes. Everything is fine, the night should be calm,” Acheron answered, placing some boxes of painkillers and a glass of water on the counter next to Santino's bed.

“Good. Tomorrow's gonna be busy… because of that asshole and everything.” The pills and anesthetic seemed to start taking their impact on him. His eyelids started to feel heavier and his words got more slower, yet he was still talking. “Maybe I should shoot him… or something… bastard did this to me.”

His assistant chuckled softly, finding him this exhausted that he was babbling adorably funny.

“We'll figure it out tomorrow. Rest now.” He was about to leave, but D'Antonio stopped him.

“Wait. Stay a little longer.”

Acheron turned to look at him and nodded. He sat on a chair next to the bed, and prepared himself for Santino's tired babbling.

“Did you really have to press those tweezers that deep in me?”

The demon couldn't hold back a laugh that escaped him, he himself almost forgot about that.

“My apologies, Master. The bullet slipped away, I had no other choice. But you handled it well, listened to me and did whatever you needed to get yourself through it.” Even if it meant snapping and wanting to tear things apart.

“I did… insult you during it. I'm sorry…” To get an apology from Santino was… extremely rare. And now he seemed more vulnerable, being sedated and tired, he could apologize now but snap in a minute. “You're the best bodyguard I've ever had. I don't wanna make you feel–”

“Master, don't even worry about it. You were in pain, it was understandable, and right now you're exhausted. You need rest, I'll take care of everything else.” Acheron didn't want him to worry, the last thing he needed now was more stress.

They talked some more, probably for an hour since it didn't take long for Santino to start drifting into sleep again. Acheron stayed with him the whole time and admired him in this vulnerable state.

He looked beautiful, messy but still elegant. Yet something else also caught Acheron's attention.

Santino's pulse. His heartbeat.

He could hear it even from a distance if he focused hard enough. He watched how he was breathing, his chest falling and rising with each breath, how comfortable he looked for the first time today.

How could someone be so… stunning while sleeping? All he's doing is breathing. He's so vulnerable now… but clearly is trusting me to see him like this. I've never… never met someone like him. I can't stop looking at him, or listening to his heartbeat. I want to… feel his heart.

Acheron hesitantly reached for Santino's hand that was out and resting near his face on the pillow. He just wanted to feel his pulse, just for a little while. His touch was so light that his master didn't even flinch, he was deep asleep.

His pulse felt slow but not in a bad way, it was more in a comforting way. The demon gently brushed his thumb over his veins, just to feel his warmth and pulse some more. But he knew where he could feel his heartbeat even more.

His neck. It was exposed so beautifully, highlighted by the light from the moon coming through the window.

Is this right of me? I just want to feel his pulse. I don't know why I need to feel it, but something is not letting me have peace until I do so.

He carefully placed his two fingers over his neck, over the vein pulsing. It felt stronger than before, Acheron's breath hitched. He could stay like this for so long, just feeling how alive his master was, how warm he was, how his heart was beating so elegantly.

He wasn't sure how long he spent there, feeling his pulse, admiring him, but it felt like it was hours.

Santino slightly shifted in his sleep and Acheron took that as a sign he was standing here for too long. The reality of what he was doing made him uneasy, he felt weird, but one part of him was pleased.

He finally left the room, silently walking back to his own room while fidgeting his fingers. He could still feel the warmth of his skin on his fingerprints.

Humans are complex. How their heart beats so gently, how the blood is warm and rushing through their veins. Why does it amaze me? Or is it just my Master? I am so stunned by him, I cannot explain it… but every day I feel closer to him, like our souls are being connected more than before. Ah, I guess I'm just as complex.

Acheron spent the rest of the night thinking about everything, about Santino, his feelings towards him, just everything that could possibly come to his mind. It was a long night of just staring at his ceiling on the bed, alone with his thoughts. Then again, he could still feel Santino's peace, and occasionally hear his heart beating when he concentrated.

In the morning, at around 9 am, Acheron went to check up on his master. Santino was still sleeping, only changed his position a little but nothing else was different.

He checked again at 12 pm, when he heard a sleepy groan and saw Santino shift some more. D'Antonio looked a bit disoriented, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to fully wake himself up.

“Morning, Master,” Acheron greeted softly, letting Santino adjust to the light of the room.

“Fuck… what time is it? What day– ah…” He winced and whimpered when he tried to sit up, but felt his stitches stretch. “So it wasn't just a nightmare… Dammit, this shit hurts…” There he was, the Camorra prince being grumpy, the one Acheron knew very well.

“Don't strain yourself. It's 12 pm, the longest I've ever seen you sleep.” He had to playfully tease him just a little.

“I overslept? I have so much to do, I can't just stay here all day. Even if I want to,” Santino murmured, already being frustrated and having tons of racing thoughts.

“I'll take care of everything. If you're still tired feel free to sleep for longer. You went through a lot, it'll be better if you rest as long as possible.”

Santino was thinking about it, about his options. He was still very tired and the wound started to hurt again. He really just wanted to stay in bed.

“Fine… if you can take care of everything, you can have as much of my soul as you want,” Santino murmured with a light smirk. “And bring me some fresh water, will you? I'm dying of thirst.”

The demon chuckled and did exactly what he was told. It looked like Santino was coming back to his old self quickly, just as Acheron thought.

He spent some time with him, brought him breakfast, which Santino refused at first but eventually his stubborn mind decided he was hungry after all, and gave him painkillers.

“Thank you, Acheron… for everything, really. Ah, see? You're so human… and I think that's not bad, you don't have to be afraid of that feeling,” D'Antonio said after he watched him for a few minutes.

“Always, Master. And I suppose I could… try not to let this feeling get the best of me. I'll work on it,” Acheron promised, and Santino could tell there was determination in his voice.

“Just don't let it destroy you. Trust me.” The Camorra prince gave him a wink as he sipped on his water, wishing it was wine.

Acheron understood, Santino just didn't want him to suffer the way he did. Humans suffer every day, fight their own demons within them, no wonder his master was warning him about it.

Human or not, feelings could be strange. They could feel overwhelming, strong, painful, scary, like a monster clawing deep inside you.

Acheron had many masters before Santino, but he never felt this way with any of them. Their souls have a deeper connection, he could feel that and he liked it actually. Just that emotions were still a bit scary to process.

[jiggowatts]

Random lil info sheet for Cabra 🫶🏼 and no, I still don’t know how to draw her hair LOL. Spent so long trying to make it look right but yeah idk.

Anyway, gal loves her daiquiris. She loves hitting the Continental bar after a contract for a much-needed stiff drink.

[soulacheron]

Darkest Nightmares

Wicktober prompt day 20 - Nightmares | event organizer @wickblr

Note: This idea just randomly appeared in my head, and I thought it could fit Santino and Acheron well. So, yes, here is a little ficlet about Santino having a nightmare, and his demon assistant Acheron helped him get through the tough night. Human form Acheron, btw ;)

Have some Santino & Acheron, enjoy! :]

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The night was long and insufferable, the air felt heavy, the room felt hot and almost claustrophobic. It was one of those nights, the long and terrifying ones that Santino had to get himself through alone.

Vivid memories mixed with nightmares, it felt so real, he was physically and mentally feeling everything that was happening in his mind and he couldn't do anything. He was shaking, hands clenching his pillow and sheets, his breathing hitched from time to time as if he couldn't breathe. He felt sick, he felt dizzy, all that while he was asleep, unaware of his surroundings, all he could focus on was the horrible nightmare. A nightmare that had some reality in it.

It was 4 am when it was happening, the halls of the D'Antonio mansion were dark, everyone was sleeping except Santino's best assistant, Acheron. He doesn't need sleep, only rest sometimes. Usually, during the night, Acheron would do some of Santino's paperwork to help him out, to make it easier for him. After all, Santino wasn't looking too good lately. He started smoking more, drinking before going to sleep without even eating anything, so sometimes he would wake up feeling sick and hungover. As far as Acheron knew, this evening, Santino drank only half a glass of the wine, he looked worried the whole day, and no one could really figure out why. Not even Acheron.

He just signed the last paper when he started feeling uneasy, like there was danger nearby, that something was wrong with Santino. He placed the papers back to their place and went to check out the situation.

There wasn't anything unusual while he walked through the halls, everything was silent, he could only hear his footsteps. Yet the closer he got to Santino's room the more he heard… whimpers? Sobs? Acheron tried to figure out the noise as he leaned his head closer to the door. His master’s noises sounded like he was struggling, like he was in pain and Acheron couldn't let him stay like that.

He carefully opened the door, silently sneaking towards Santino. He stopped right next to him, noticing how he was trembling, gripping the sheets, he really wasn't looking too good. Acheron thought about waking him up, he was struggling in his sleep, Acheron couldn't just let that continue.

“Master,” he whispered, gently rubbing Santino's arm yet he didn't react only winced but that was all.

Acheron stopped for a second, thinking what to do, he felt bad seeing his master like this, it wasn't fair that Santino had to go through another night like this.

“Master,” Acheron tried again, a little louder this time and shaked his arm a little more. “Wake up, it's okay.” He repeated it a few more times until Santino gasped softly, startled awake and disoriented.

The demon stepped back to give him some space, turning his head to look for a glass or a bottle so he could bring him some water. He heard Santino shuffling with the sheets, but he thought it was only him trying to regain himself. “I'm right here-” Acheron started when he looked back but stopped himself mid sentence when there was a barrel of a gun pressed against his forehead.

He could see it in Santino's eyes, they weren't clear, he was confused, he didn't recognize his assistant, his hand was shaking, he was still breathing a bit heavier. Acheron slowly raised his hands in surrender, “It's me, Master.” It didn't work, Santino was still holding the gun. “Acheron. Your assistant.”

That seemed to finally get to Santino, he blinked, sighing and slowly lowering his gun, but still looking at his assistant. D'Antonio looked terrified for a moment, like he couldn't process what just happened. “I’m sorry,” Santino whispered and Acheron took the gun away, placing it at the counter.

“It's okay, you're safe,” Acheron said, trying to sound reassuring, since he could see that his master was distressed.

“No, no, I'm so sorry,” Santino murmured, almost too quietly for Acheron to hear. “I'm sorry- I didn't mean to.” He rubbed his face and pinched his eyes closed in an attempt to fully wake himself up.

“I understand, it's okay.” At this moment, Acheron wasn't sure what to say, he wanted to give Santino some time to process everything. But he felt the need to tell him to breathe, seeing how panicked Santino looked, he couldn't let him have a panic attack. “Just breathe for me, okay? Slowly.”

Santino actually looked annoyed for a moment, just mostly at himself for reacting the way he did and now he was struggling to calm down his breathing. “Fuck, I really… I don't know why I did that.” Santino tried to inhale and exhale calmly, but it was still shaky and it was like he couldn't do anything. It was then when Acheron noticed a glistening trail down Santino's face.

The sobbing he had heard.

“Master, have you cried?” Santino looked up at him in confusion.

“What?” He breathed out, feeling his face and the wet spot. “No… I didn't. What is this?” He was so confused, in disbelief, and nothing was making sense.

“You probably had a nightmare that was too intense. It happens, though, especially if you were stressed out these days.” And, Santino was stressed out these days. Acheron thought it was something about work but now it looked like there was something more.

“What the fuck… I could've shot you.” Santino looked over at the gun on the counter, not really listening to Acheron.

“Well, I can't really die. Although it would hurt.” Acheron tried to use a little bit of his charm to help and calm down the tension. “And it would stain your bed and I don't want that.”

Somehow, that made Santino laugh, but it was a sudden chuckle that turned into more of a desperate laugh as he tried to stop himself, lowering his head to hide his face with his band. “What have I done?” He whispered when he got himself to stop.

“Nothing. Nothing bad happened.” Acheron took this as an opportunity to try and feel Santino's forehead in case he got a high temperature, but it was like Santino sensed that he was getting closer to him.

“Don't touch me.” D'Antonio warned, a hint of frustration in his voice.

“Okay, I won't.” Acheron stepped back. There was silence for a few seconds before Acheron tried again, however a bit hesitant, “I'm… not sure having a gun under your pillow is the safest option for you. Maybe in the drawer?”

“Just… shut up. I feel sick, stop talking.” For a moment, he thought he was going to be sick, and having his head down and then looking up made it worse. He cursed something in Italian, Acheron stood right there in front of him in case if he had to help him get to the bathroom. However, Santino managed to take some deep breaths, remembering what Acheron told him, to breathe slowly.

“Okay?” Acheron asked softly, studying Santino's face and body language.

“I… I think so,” Santino nodded slowly, voice barely above whisper. “What time is it?”

“Half past five in the morning.”

Santino sighed in frustration, his mind was racing with so many thoughts. “I can't believe this happened again.”

“It passed now. You're okay.” Well, it could still take Santino some time to fully regain himself.

“I think it was instinctive…” Santino paused to exhale, “To grab the gun. But I thought…”

“What?” Acheron asked softly.

“I thought you were someone else.”

Oh. Acheron was right then. That look in Santino's eyes told everything. Fear, confusion, disorientation, anger. The assistant guessed it was probably better not to ask him who he saw instead of him, but he knew it was only slow steps with Santino when it came to helping him open up about his emotions. No matter what reaction he would get from Santino, he could understand his feelings more that way.

“Do you want to maybe tell me who you thought-”

“No, no,” Santino cut him off, “I don't want to talk about it.”

Acheron nodded, sensing sorrow and misery mixed with anger in his master. Whoever he saw must've done something terrible to him. “How about I bring you some water? Or tea? Anything you'd like,” he offered.

“Water is fine,” Santino replied quietly.

While Acheron was getting him water, Santino got up, felt dizzy but supported himself on the counter to get to the window. He opened it and felt the cold fresh morning air, inhaling and exhaling it.

“Oh, Master, what are you doing?” Acheron asked, placing the glass on the counter and rushed towards him.

“I'm fine, I just need some air,” Santino replied. Sometimes, Acheron's worry would annoy him, even if deep down he knew he only meant to protect him. “Don't touch me.”

Acheron stopped, he was about to hold his shoulders in support. “Okay. I brought you water.”

Santino sighed deeply, closing his eyes, “Thank you.”

The demon stood on the side, waiting for Santino to take in some deep breaths. It took him a few minutes and decided to come back to bed after he shivered from the breeze. He was quiet, didn't say anything when he sat on the bed, took the glass and drank almost everything.

“Put the gun away,” Santino murmured quietly.

“I'm sorry?” Acheron asked since he didn't hear him properly.

“Put the fucking gun away, I don't want to look at it,” D'Antonio snapped, “Put it in the drawer.”

Acheron did what he was told, putting the gun in the drawer. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Santino stayed quiet again, swallowing nervously and looking down at the floor. “I almost pulled the trigger.”

“You didn't.”

“I almost did. You started talking and I stopped myself.”

“You wouldn't kill me, I can't die,” Acheron reminded him.

“I know. What if it wasn't you? What if it was someone else?” Santino looked at him, finally after some time.

“Well…” Acheron sighed, “It didn't happen, it's best not to think about that.” He was worried it would upset if they started talking about it.

“It could've have-”

“Master.” Acheron cut him off. “Everything's alright.” He had to snap him out of it.

Santino looked puzzled, but this time, he didn't snap back at him. Instead, he nodded and looked away from him. “Right… yes. I guess so.”

“You should feel safe in your own home. With me, I can guarantee that you're safe here.”

His master stayed quiet again. He should feel safe here, his reaction was out fear, instinctive and not the first time this happened. “I know. I'm sorry if I ever doubt you, sometimes I forget that you're a demon and immortal.”

Acheron chuckled softly, “It's alright, I understand. I just want you to feel like you're safe.”

“Yeah. You want that and my soul one day.” It looked like Santino relaxed a little, finally.

“I'm glad you're feeling better,” Acheron smiled. “Joking so early.”

“Don't get used to it,” Santino groaned as he felt the back of his neck. He probably got a little stiff while sleeping. He also noticed that his skin felt warm, so Acheron was right about his suspicion.

“Alright,” Acheron nodded, “Would you like any pills? Painkillers? However, I don't recommend drinking them on an empty stomach.”

“No, I'm barely drinking water. I'll be fine, thank you.” Perhaps chugging down water so quickly wasn't the right move, since now it was starting to make him feel sick again.

“Are you sure you'll be fine?”

“Yes, I'll sleep through it. Or… I don't know, stay awake. It wouldn't be the first time.”

“It's better to get some sleep, Master. The nightmare wouldn't continue, I'm sure.” Acheron couldn't promise it won't continue, he was just hoping his master would continue sleeping peacefully.

“We'll see. I'd like to be left alone now.” The sunrise started to appear and that didn't help Santino's sudden headache.

“Whatever you say, Master,” Acheron said and bowed his head in respect. “You can always call me whenever you need me.”

Santino only nodded in response and lay back down on the bed, hearing the door close when Acheron left.

Sleep through it. Acheron couldn't stop thinking about what his master said. Santino said that so casually, so he was doing it often and Acheron couldn't always tell when.

Santino even managed to trick his own demon assistant into thinking he was fine when he wasn't. ‘Impressive.’ Acheron thought.

In the morning, at 8 am, Santino woke up again. Or he never slept. Acheron noticed the dark circles under his eyes, and he just wasn't looking too well. It also took him a longer time to get out of his room, so the demon only thought of the worst, that his master was sick in the bathroom.

Santino was in the kitchen, drinking coffee, or attempting to since this time it tasted awful and made him feel nauseous again. So, he only drank a little bit.

While Santino was still there, Acheron went to his room and immediately noticed that the gun was on the counter again. Why? Acheron thought Santino wanted it out of his sight for at least a day.

Well, Acheron left it there, knowing Santino doesn't like when his things are being touched or put away. But it made him worried and he wanted to ask Santino about it, but seeing how tired he looked, he didn't do it. He didn't want to upset him.

“Acheron. Let's go, we'll be late.” He heard Santino calling for him and he obeyed, following his master and his orders like always.

Acheron wondered the whole day what was the nightmare that upset Santino so much to the point of almost having a panic attack. His master wasn't talking much with him today either, he was just doing the negotiations with people, being his usual self, trying to get the most with his charm and silver tongue. No one could see that he was drained and exhausted except Acheron and Santino preferred it to stay that way.

[yvettecyrus]

@johnwickcaretaker

✶ Yvette stepped off the plane, the oppressive heat and humidity a stark contrast to the cool, moonlit streets of Paris. She had crossed an ocean to find John, and the mission weighed heavily on her. Chara, her black cat, nestled comfortably in her travel bag, peeked out, her green eyes glinting with curiosity and alertness.

The drive to the woods felt interminable. The city’s chaos faded into memory, replaced by the encroaching silence of the forest. Yvette’s irritation grew with each passing mile. She despised these desolate trees, their barren branches clawing at the sky, a far cry from the urban labyrinth she navigated with ease.

✶ As she parked at the trailhead and began the trek into the forest, Chara leapt from the bag, her sleek form darting ahead, then circling back to stay close. Yvette’s footsteps were nearly silent, a skill honed from centuries of practice, but the crunch of leaves and the occasional snap of twigs still grated on her nerves.

“I hate this,” she muttered to Chara, who responded with a soft meow, her tail flicking in agreement. “Why couldn’t he hide somewhere more… civilized?” Chara wrapped her tail around her owners leg in response, just before jumping to her shoulders.

✶ Yvette’s role as a tracker for the Marquis demanded patience and precision, qualities she possessed in abundance. Yet, the forest’s oppressive solitude unnerved her, the silence pressing in, amplifying her thoughts. Gun in hand, she had to remain cautious, not just because of the Marquis’s orders, but also due to the myriad dangers these woods concealed.

[princesslacroix]

Kristina Ampuan facts (but it’s deeply rooted in Filipino culture)

🦪 Her favorite fruits are mangoes, peaches, and tangerines

🦪 I associate with her owls since they’re usually a symbol of wisdom and grace, which she is

🦪 Her full name is pretty long because… my name is long…

🦪 Kristina Maria (Castillo) Ampuan

🦪 She is Catholic, as many Filipinos are, but despises the current state of the church (me fr)

🦪 Her favorite food is chicken pastil and sinigang (it’s fire guys pls)

🦪 If she wasn’t a Continental Manager/if things were better, she would be a resort owner

🦪 Just like Hearst, she’s associated with the sea, because all my ocs are associated with the sea (why I picked team seafoam on af💀)

🦪 Her favorite song is Lunod by Ben&Ben and Demonyo by juan karlos

🦪 She’s ace (demiromantic)

🦪 Has the stupidest nicknames for people she’s close with(cause my nickname irl is fucking NINGNING😡)

🦪 Her love language is quality time and lets Jairo run errands with her (me n my dad core)

🦪 She could beat your ass with sticks (search arnis)

🦪 Despite her looking mean to the rest of the staff, she’s very social and likes to talk to other people

🦪 She can do math quickly cause my mom can and she’s based off of her so

[babsharrison]

Safe Haven - John Wick

(Chapter two)

Pairing | John Wick x Original Fem! Character

Summary | In search of a breath in his tumultuous life, John Wick finds himself in a charming bookstore where he meets a sweet and welcoming woman. As they grow closer, John questions whether she can love him despite the dark secrets he carries. While battling the shadows of his past, he must protect the love that is blossoming and discover if hope and redemption are truly possible.

Word Count | 3.1k

A/N | Hey guys! In this chapter, I tried to show John’s work and a bit of Mia’s struggles. Sorry if there are any mistakes in my writing 🤫

Previous chapter!

At the back of the bookstore, Mia should have been busy shelving the new books that had arrived, but her attention was quickly diverted by a small romance novel. The cover was captivating, and as she flipped through the pages, a wave of warmth spread across her face, leaving her cheeks slightly flushed. With an involuntary smile, she let out a small giggle, immersed in the unfolding story. However, reality soon pulled her back: she had promised to stop by the market with her aunt later, and time was already ticking. Quickly setting the book aside, she knew she would soon have to close the bookstore and leave.

Mia sighed, still with a faint smile, as she returned her focus to the shelves. The smell of new paper and the familiarity of the books comforted her, almost like a warm embrace. She carefully organized the volumes, reminding herself of the promise she had made to her grandfather before he passed away: to take care of the place that meant so much to them both. The bookstore was a refuge filled with memories and shared laughter, and now more than ever, she felt the weight of responsibility on her shoulders.

As she worked, her eyes drifted to the window, where the sunlight was beginning to fade, painting the sky with shades of orange and pink. The contrast between the beauty of the moment and the internal struggle she faced made her sigh again. Keeping the bookstore alive in a world increasingly indifferent to places like it was a constant challenge. She remembered the conversations she had had with her grandfather about the dream of passing the bookstore down, and that pushed her to fight for the legacy.

"Sometimes it feels like I'm the only one who cares," she murmured while arranging a few more books. Despite the difficulties, the love she felt for the bookstore kept her going. She knew that every book there wasn't just an object but a doorway to other worlds. And as long as she could, she would do everything possible to protect that special place.

A light knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. A customer walked in, interrupting her introspection, looking around with a curious air.

"Good afternoon! Can I help you with something?" Mia asked, keeping a warm smile on her face, although her mind was still a bit distant.

The customer hesitated before answering, “Oh, yes! I’m looking for something about history. Any recommendations?”

Mia immediately brightened up. “We have great titles in the history section. I can show you a few I often recommend.” She walked over to the shelf, feeling the enthusiasm grow with each step. The bookstore always had that effect on her; even on difficult days, her love for books and the connections they brought made her feel more alive.

As she guided the customer, Mia cast a brief glance at the window, where the sky was already darkening, tinged with soft shades of blue and purple. She knew she’d have to leave soon to meet her aunt at the market, but she couldn’t close the store now with customers to serve.

“Mia!” Tom called, appearing from the back with a box full of new books. His usual carefree smile lit up his face. “Need help with the customer up front? I can give you a hand.”

She smiled, accustomed to his lighthearted tone. “Actually, I’m about to head out. I need to help my aunt at the market. Can you manage on your own for a bit?”

Tom feigned a look of concern, placing a hand on his chest. “On my own? I’ll try not to let the place fall apart.”

“You’ll be fine,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “Just don’t suggest a cookbook to someone looking for adventure.”

“Got it,” he winked, with a grin. “Come back soon, or I might end up selling a mystery to someone looking for romance.”

“Just don’t let the customer leave without buying something,” Mia laughed, feeling lighter as she headed to the door.

Outside the bookstore, Mia noticed a crowd gathered near a fancy nightclub at the end of the street, its flashing lights twinkling like stars in the night sky. The distant sound of laughter and vibrant music reached her, suggesting something interesting was happening inside. Though curious, she knew she didn’t have time to get distracted.

With a soft sigh, Mia put on her long gray coat, which wrapped around her like a cozy embrace against the chilly wind. As she walked away from the bookstore, she cast one last glance at the nightclub, imagining the stories that might be unfolding inside.

Inside, however, another story was already in progress. The ceiling lights flashed frantically, and the loud music echoed everywhere, but John remained focused. The target was at the center of attention, surrounded by women laughing and dancing around him, a scene that only reinforced the superficiality of those people. A dishonest smile spread across the man’s face, and it made John’s stomach churn. He had a job to do, and none of that distracted him.

He positioned himself in a shadow, observing from a distance. The voices were a blur, the music a distant wave, while his mind focused only on the task at hand. The festive atmosphere was a stark contrast to the coldness enveloping his heart. The world around him became just a backdrop as he prepared to move.

John moved with precision, each step planned and calculated. He infiltrated the crowd, his presence almost invisible, like a ghost passing unnoticed. The laughter and pulsating music around him became distant noise; his only concern was the man who stood out among the rest.

He identified two security guards nearby, chatting casually, their attention drawn to the nightclub’s lively scene. Seizing the distraction, John approached silently, his trained body moving with almost supernatural grace. With a swift move, he neutralized the first guard, a precise strike that left him unconscious before he could make a sound.

The second guard had no time to react. In a split second, John was already on him, using the silenced weapon for a clean shot. The man fell, unaware of what had just happened. Now, only the target remained standing, surrounded by admirers who seemed oblivious to the approaching threat.

John adjusted his aim, feeling the adrenaline surge through his veins. The man, still laughing and enjoying himself, had no idea what was about to happen. He pulled the trigger, and with a single shot, the man fell, his smile frozen on his face.

The music continued to play, but a murmur of confusion began to spread as people around started to notice the scene. John, keeping calm, quickly withdrew. His experience had taught him always to have an escape plan. He moved through the shadows, blending in with the crowd, avoiding curious looks as he headed for the exit.

With his skill in disappearing amidst chaos, John left the nightclub unnoticed. The weight of a completed mission lingered, but he had no time to dwell on it. However, as he stepped out onto the street, a thought hit him: there was a nearby bookstore he couldn’t get out of his mind, the peaceful and welcoming atmosphere he’d felt upon entering. The memory of the young woman who had caught his attention brought a soft sigh to his lips.

He hesitated for a moment, the bookstore’s door in sight, but the memory of the mission pulled him back to reality. He decided that, for now, he should keep his distance. There were other concerns on his mind, like the consequences of what had just happened.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

On a rainy day, Mia was organizing some books on a high shelf, balancing on the tips of her toes. The late afternoon was approaching, and the sunlight filtered through the large bookstore windows, casting long golden shadows on the wooden floor. Her friend and coworker, Tom, had missed work due to illness and had sent a prior notice to the young woman. She sighed softly, distracted by the thoughts that haunted her. The bookstore, once her grandfather's refuge, now felt like a growing responsibility weighing on her shoulders. Keeping his legacy alive was important, but finances were tight, and she feared she wouldn’t be able to keep it open much longer.

Additionally, the worry about Tom tormented her. She always considered him more than just a coworker—he was a dear friend, and his absence left her uneasy. With the kindness that was characteristic of her, she thought of stopping by his house later to bring some warm tea and maybe some homemade food. A simple gesture, but one that could make all the difference on such a cold and rainy day.

When she came down the ladder, a familiar sensation took hold of her—that comforting stillness. The doorbell rang, the sound light but enough to catch her attention. She turned, and her eyes once again met the figure of the mysterious man. He was standing there, silent as always, but something in his gaze seemed different from the first time—an exhaustion, perhaps, or a heavier burden on his shoulders.

“Good afternoon! What a surprise to see you again,” she said with a soft smile. “Did something bring you back today?”

John didn’t answer immediately. He made an almost imperceptible movement with his head, as if agreeing, and began walking slowly through the aisles, running his fingers along the spines of the books. The contrast between his calm walk and the intensity he carried was almost palpable. Mia watched from her place at the counter, feeling a growing curiosity. Who was this man who appeared so unexpectedly, and why did that weary look always linger in his eyes?

Mia continued to observe him for a few moments as he wandered through the aisles, his hands lightly touching the books as if searching for something he couldn’t quite define. There was a tension in his movements, a constant vigilance, but at the same time, something about the bookstore seemed to soften him. Maybe it was the warm, welcoming atmosphere, or perhaps Mia’s presence, so different from anyone else he encountered in his routine.

She approached the counter, maintaining a respectful distance but not losing the lightness in her posture. “If you need help finding something... I’m here,” she said, her voice low, almost as if she was aware that he preferred silence.

John paused for a second, his dark eyes studying her over the books. There was no direct distrust, but a trace of caution was always present. Even so, he nodded slightly, accepting the offer without words, as if the simple act of Mia being there, offering genuine tranquility, was already something he didn’t find elsewhere.

She realized he wasn’t the type of person to open up easily, and that didn’t bother her. There was a natural calm between them, as if the silence between their few words said more than any hurried conversation could.

While he scanned the books, Mia watched from afar, organizing the pile she had finished arranging earlier. Her thoughts, which had been trapped in the difficulties she faced with the bookstore, now floated around the unexpected presence of that man. The mystery surrounding him intrigued her, but more than that, there was something about him that made her want to offer more than just a refuge.

John, sensing her gaze, finally broke the silence. “This place... seems different from the last times I was here,” he said, almost as if speaking more to himself than to her.

Mia raised an eyebrow, surprised by the comment. “Maybe it’s the time of day,” she replied softly, not wanting to force an answer from him. “Or maybe you’re just seeing the place differently today.”

He didn’t respond immediately, but there was a slight nod of agreement in his eyes. She was right, and he knew it. The world outside was cold, unforgiving. But here, between books and whispers of stories he had never read, there was a small moment of peace—a breath amid the chaos he usually called life.

Their interaction was brief, almost imperceptible, but carried a depth that both recognized, even without admitting it. Mia smiled, returning to her work, respecting the silence she knew was so important to him. John, for his part, continued to walk among the shelves, more relaxed, but still alert to everything around him, as if something inside him knew that the peace found here was temporary.

As Mia continued to organize the books, the rain outside intensified, filling the bookstore’s silence with a steady and almost hypnotic rhythm. The small, cozy space became an even more welcoming refuge on days like this. Several people were scattered around the store, some sitting on comfortable sofas along the sides, immersed in their reading, others at the small coffee table, talking in low voices. The bookstore pulsed with the softness of whispers and the sound of turning pages, creating an atmosphere that warmed Mia’s heart a little more.

She discreetly watched John from behind the counter, seeing him lose himself among the shelves, his fingers brushing the spines of the books as if searching for something familiar, yet unattainable. The contrast between his presence and that of the other people was palpable—while everyone else seemed relaxed, he radiated a silent tension.

A sudden thought crossed her mind. It was a cold and wet afternoon, and although she knew he was a reserved man, perhaps a simple gesture of kindness would be welcome. She hesitated for a brief moment, wondering if it would be intrusive, but the memory of how he seemed more at ease in the bookstore encouraged her.

Without saying anything, Mia went to the back of the store, where she kept a small kitchen for herself, something she had inherited from her grandfather. Quickly, she prepared a to-go cup of coffee. The warm, comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, and she smiled softly, appreciating the contrast between the sound of the rain and the welcoming smell of coffee.

When Mia returned to the front of the store, she saw John sitting on one of the sofas, the book resting on the table in front of him. He was engrossed in reading, his eyes fixed on the pages, but his rigid posture revealed a constant vigilance, as if every sound around him was something to be analyzed, a possible sign of danger, even in a seemingly safe environment like the bookstore.

Mia approached carefully, holding the to-go cup with both hands. The warm, familiar aroma filled the air, a comforting reminder in contrast to the cold rain outside. As she neared the table beside John, where he had momentarily rested the book, she placed the cup on the surface gently, trying not to disturb the silence.

“I... made some coffee for you,” she said softly, almost as if offering a gift. There was a quiet kindness in her voice, something that didn’t demand anything in return. The closed cup was a practical choice, allowing him to decide what to do—whether to take it or leave it behind.

John slowly raised his gaze, the surprise in his dark eyes quickly replaced by an expression of caution. He observed the cup for a few seconds, his mind analyzing every detail of the gesture. Part of him found it curious, almost unsettling, that someone would offer something so simple without a hidden motive. In his world, where kindness often came with ulterior motives, accepting something from a stranger felt like a risk.

But at the same time, there was something different here—a touch of authenticity in Mia’s way. She didn’t seem to demand anything in return, just left the coffee as a considerate gesture, and then moved away. There was no insistence, no attempt to get closer beyond that small act. That made him hesitate.

With a controlled movement, he murmured, “Thank you.” His voice was low, carrying a near-automatic suspicion, but at the same time, there was a small spark of acknowledgment. He knew this didn’t have to be a threat, but his nature prevented him from fully letting his guard down.

Mia nodded with a small smile and returned to the counter, respecting his space, without trying to continue the conversation. She did what felt right and now left it up to him to decide what to do with the coffee.

John remained seated, looking at the cup on the table in front of him. He didn’t pick it up immediately, nor did he reject it. Instead, he continued pondering the gesture. Why would someone do that? He was used to favors coming with a price, to kindnesses masking dubious intentions. It was almost instinctive to see the coffee as something potentially risky, something he should refuse.

And yet, the warmth emanating from the cup seemed to bring a sense of comfort. It wasn’t the coffee itself, but the simplicity of the gesture, the offer of something in a world that, for him, rarely offered rest. He knew that distrust was a survival tool, but part of him—a part he rarely listened to—wanted to believe that there was nothing more behind that coffee than pure kindness.

He left the cup there for now, untouched but not forgotten. He continued reading, trying to focus on the words before him, but his mind wandered back to the cup. That small act of humanity made him uncomfortable, but because it was something so different from his reality.

John didn’t drink the coffee right away, but he knew he would take it with him when he left. He didn’t know if he would take a sip later or leave it in some corner, but the simple fact that it was there, offered so genuinely, made him reconsider, if only for a brief moment, the isolation he imposed on himself.

While the environment around continued with the soft sounds of turning pages and the pattering of rain, Mia watched from the corner of her eye, returning to her routine tasks. She understood that he was a man surrounded by shadows, but even the darkest nights have their stars.

As the afternoon passed, John finally got up, leaving a few bills on the table to cover the coffee and the book. Without looking directly at her, he left the store quietly, just as he had arrived. But something about his departure felt less cold this time, as if, little by little, he was opening up to something beyond the constant vigilance.

Next chapter!

[blairwick]

Are there any transgender John Wick OCs?

[alice-of-hightable]

*crack* *crash* *crack* *crash* *crack* *tink*

*Gigi sighs as she sees where she hit the target, tucking her slingshot back in her pocket and going to set up more bottles and flip the metal target. Her hunting boots squish into the mud from a couple bouts of rain, the first signal that hurricane season has started. The incident with Nickandr still flashing in her mind, the tiny bit of glee from not being scolded, the terror when Jardani lost consciousness. She thought he was gonna die. She doesn’t even remember the fanboat ride or even patching him up, just remembering when he woke up…then he left. Couldn’t even bother to tell her to her face and left a note instead*

“Boudreaux says you comin’ back. Let’s hope you is” *she mutters under her breath before returning to her target practice*

[kavalyera]

“I’d be pretty cool if I had the will to survive.”

John Wick OC, 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[tobytheeggo]

Did I serve or did I serve⁉️

Feat. @evrensadwrn