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slippinninque · 4 days ago

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🍷Girl Time🎀

AU SCENE DROP

just some girls hanging out and having fun!

(in which John gets to be happy thus everyone is allowed to as well)

feat: Koji Shimazu x BlackFemReader, John Wick x Helen Wick, mentions of Sofia x Caine

warnings: MINORS DNI, 18 +, cursing, drinking, sexual themes, just-playing-around fic, long fic, author smoked a fattie pls forgive

"Helen!"

"I"m sorry--I needed the points!"

"Wha'd you meean? You're winning! I was an innocent bystander," You shouted after Sofia and Helen's twin screeches, "I didn't want to think of good brother John like that...damn..."

You watched as Sofia held her head in her hands after the assault of Helen's admission. The other woman, red to her ears, snorted and chortled into the game card in her hand.

"I mean, honestly....ya'll went to a class to learn that or something?"

Sofia yelled your name and you broke as you held up your hands as you cried out. Was it in defense? Was it surrender? You didn't know but you were having a grand time.

You don't know what possessed Sofia to get an erotic card drinking game to play for an impromptu girl's night in, ("Hey, it was all the Dollar Tree had! All I needed was to break a $50!") but it was proving to be more entertaining than you thought.

Slapping on a point system definitely heated things up. With every question you refuse to answer, meant taking a shot. A question quickly enough answered meant the other two ladies took a shot.

You spoke on Koji's behalf and Helen spoke on John's. Sofia answered from her experience and a few dalliances you weren't aware of before. Hell, if anyone blew your brows up--it wasn't just Helen.

Eventually, everyone just started taking shots and pulling cards in semi-consistent order. Cabinets were raided for snacks and chasers as liquor and wine was poured. It got to everyone answering the question or everyone seeming it too "boring". It was more of a...communal scaring of the minds. Good stuff.

Abs aching, cheeks hurting and eyes tearing--you looked at the meager pile of cards in your pile. You could not afford another double-shot. Not if you wanted to lose control of your laugh and have Koji think you were in danger if he and the men returned early from their own 'fun night'.

While you aren't sure of how much Helen knew, you didn't want to blow John's spot when you both were invited to spend girl time with Helen while the men caught up amongst themselves.

You and Sofia introduced yourselves as old friends who were in the entertainment industry. You were a party planner while Sophia was a beast in catering--the type of ladies who didn't spend their time selling their blades and bullets for favors and money.

"--irl, are you listening?" Sofia wiped her face with the edge of her shirt, "Pull a damn card!"

Helen fanned herself with her cards, still laughing and you felt yourself starting up again. You hurried to pull a card, you read it aloud.

"Costumes , lingerie, or nothing at all?"

The two other women visibly lost a bit of interest at one of the tamer questions of the evening.

"Oh, that's not so bad..."

"Yeah, I mean men--what?" Sofia caught the wander of your eye and the sudden itch that came to your elbow, "Spill it! What does Mr. Honor like? He's tied you up, at least."

"No! Well, yeah--but wait!" You shook your hands to level your own attention more than theirs, "That don't matter right now--

"Is it the costumes?" Helen picked up when Sofia reached to pour a shot of tequila, "What is it? Policewoman? Femme Fetal? Oh, a sexy pierrot clown--"

"Neither!"

"Neither?"

Helen narrowed her eyes at you and took a very talk to me type of sip of her wine-whisky and Sofia doubling back to mouth, pierrot? to herself.

"You might have to walk with me a bit with this one, Helen--Sofia, you should know. Remember that part in Fresh Prince of Bel-Air when Aunt Viv--

Sofia squinted her features and you corrected, "Erm, the first Aunt Viv. Remembered when The First Aunt Viv told Uncle Phil that she had something to knock his socks off?"

You deepened your voice and straightened your spine as you mimicked your man, "'I'm not wearing any socks, just come out naked' --and I love my man down, but he just don't be caring for that too much. My sweet Kojiji..."

"Oh wow...."

"Are you serious?"

"Mhm! Honestly but Koji still surprises me to this day. I'd be minding my own business and--

Helen slapped her hands together, "Pounce!"

You snapped and pointed at her, "Indeed! I could be in in a shower cap and Crocs and Koji's all over me!"

"Caine's ass is like that too, I wonder if it's a thing from their little wolf-pack thing they have going on." Sophia hummed thoughtfully

Your eyes wandered as you laminated out loud, "I still can't believe that this is how I found that out that y'all be... touchin'."

Sofia only licked her teeth and you faked gagged.

It was very much like finding out your best friend kissed your other best friend and neither told you about it. The high-school of it all made it more hilarious and you intended to milk this betrayal up until Sophia gifts you with a dish of her famous kefta mkaouara .

You refocused when Helen's giggle descended into a cackle. It was a contagious sound and soon the trio of you were set off again, going up an octave when Sofia ended up knocking over the pile of playing cards.

You were delighted that Helen found John. She would keep him good company, keep him grounded. Helen was firecracker when fucked up, and she was a good woman through and through when sober. They were a perfect match.

A stray memory darted across your mind as you reached for the bottle Sofia offered and you snorted quietly yourself.

Helen waved a finger as she took another swig of her wine-whisky mix, "What was that? Spill!"

"Its not even my turn, it's--

"Spill! Spill! Spill!"

You couldn't handle the pressure, you squealed into your hands as your secret pressed up against your teeth. Alcohol loosened your tongue and it was ready to tell your business. You matched Helen's crisscross and clapped your hands to gather your thoughts.

"Weeell....there was this job, in the Poconos of all places, that Koji did not want me to plan for. He didn't like the customer. Met him once before or something like that."

You refilled your cup and continued, carefully editing the bloodier parts of the true story for Helen's sake. Sofia watched you with knowing eyes but eager for the part of the story she wasn't already familiar with.

"I got it done, wasn't a big party but some of my best work. Everyone was taken care of and I ended up getting recommended to plan a few others." You grinned when Sofia who applauded you in snaps, "Put the client in his place on the way out and I got paid. He got what he asked for, another one bites the dust right? Good job, right? Wrong."

That sent Helen into crisscrossing in her seat, "But why?"

"Girl, guess who came to pick me up?"

"Anything but that..." Sofia's words were tucked into a laugh.

"Koji Thee Shimauzallion himself. And guess who else? Mhmm! Your hubby! That man was the only one who knew about it 'cause he was my damn ride!"

Sofia shuffled the deck of playing cards as she thought out loud, "I think I remember this, Caine felt caught in the middle or some other Brotherhood of the Travelling Henley or something..."

Helen gestured for you to handle her the bottle you obliged as she fussed, "How dare he? You're his bro too and women wear Henleys He can't just rat you out like that!"

"Damn fucking right we do and thank you for saying so! Ah... right! I pack all my equipment up and have my little walk of shame to the car. John's driving and Koji is in the front seat, he never sat apart from me, so I'm thinking shit he's really pissed."

"Mind you this was before we were serious-serious, I just liked him a lot at this point. That's important to the story."

Sofia nods, "Of course! 'course."

"Right, right." Helen hummed.

"So. Here we are. John giving me a sorry buddy-ass stare in the rearview, Koji looking out the window and shit lookin' like he 'bout to tell me pack my denman brush and go and I'm low-key pissed because I was having a good night..."

You had to take a breath from your ramble to laugh. You don't know why you did it, but you took a pour from Helen when she forgot to put the bottle back onto the table.

"He tells me how disappointed he was that I would so such a thing and put myself at risk and dootdootdoot," Sofia chuckled at casual your skipping through dirty details, "I tell him I'm grown and I can ki--handle, handle anybody who needs it, he aint' trying to listen..."

You took a breath and scratched your eyebrow, "We're actually starting to have our first argument at this point! We tell we both tell the other didn't like it, but it was new and it was angry and..."

A dramatic pause for effect had Helen leaning in her seat and Sofia posing to throw a peanut at you.

"Kojitoremyassouttheframe," You let it rush out of you in a sigh as you remembered the only fight you were glad to lose, "Yes, baby girls. Yes, he did. He may have not known it then, but he used that good dick for evil that night."

Sofia was folded over and Helen was recovering from nearly snorting wine-magic out her nose. You carried on through your own building hysterics.

"Listen y'all! This is what happened after! This man gonna look at me and tell me if I ever feel like acting out again to come and find him, he'll give it to me again. Girl, I was through. I rolled him a cigarette, too..."

The sound of laughter felt so good to hear, laughing felt so freeing to do. You needed this time more than you realized and was already planning for future gatherings.

Helen sighed, turning her face up to the ceiling to try and get air. She took a supportive sip of liquor as Sofia wobblily searched for her glass.

"Don't let them quiet ones fool you, right Hel'? It's a real mutherfucker up under them puppy dog eyes..."

Helen rubbed her eyes with the backs of her hands, breathing in wetly.

"To be comply honest ladies, something similar happened to me with John."

"Oh my God!!"

"Spilly-spill-spill~!"

"Okay, okay! Spill I shall..."

Turns out that John had the audacity to hint that Helen wasn't capable of talking care of herself within the short distance it took to get to her car from her workplace doors.

Helen had the brilliant idea to go out with some girlfriends and not tell John. Fully intending to have a cool story when she returned home about how she was a 'big girl' and could do as she pleased. You gasped and nearly choked while Sofia went off like a low, wide eyed police siren,

"Yyyoooou can't be doing no shit like that, Helen! You ain't scared of shit?"

"Pfft, well yeah... just not Johnny."

Of course you rose you glass to that, "Go off, Helen..."

Helen snorted but gave a little tilt to her head that had you pointing accusingly. Spill.

Sofia caught on and her eyes narrowed, "Yeah, how'd stand of yours end?"

Helen suddenly found her nails very interesting, "Well...."

Helen described the dark look in John's eyes as he stalked into the bar. Helen remembered aloud how he scanned the crowd, finding her as easily as if she were the only one in the room.

"I-I froze! It was so weird and my girlfriends took the blame but he knows me, it was totally my idea!"

"Then what after that? I know good brother John didn't let that fly..." You giggled with Sofia's, knowing how John could get when he felt wronged.

Helen picked up her drink and muttered something into the rim before taking a hearty sip. You squinted as what Helen said fell short of your ears.

"Huh? What was that?" Sofia apparently heard judging from the Cheshire smile on her face, hand cupped to her ear.

Helen's answer was to go from flushed pink to raging red up to her ears, "I said we never made it out the parking lot!"

You pointed and laughed but hoped Helen saw the comradery in it. You got some popcorn and blame thrown your way but couldn't stop laughing. It may have been the liquor or the overload of endorphins--but you were so happy.

You can finally say you had friends.

Smiling dopily at the two women across from you and relaxing into the plush seat, you reached for another card to start more shit.

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✨ending notes✨: This was sooooo much fun to write and a good release!🫣 this idea of an unhinged girl night would not leave me alone, forgive me for any foolishness as i was smoking on my day off 🤣t. i may do a prt2, what do ya'll think?

💜taglist💜: @megamindsecretlair @sageispunk @harmshake @blowmymbackout @miyuhpapayuh @ellethespaceunicorn

@astoldbyaja @ms-angiealsina @kindofaintrovert @soft-persephone @mcondance

@miyuhpapayuh

#Koji Shimazu #Koji Shimazu x blackreader #Koji Shimazu x blackfemreader #Koji Shimazu x black!fem!reader #x blackfemreader #John Wick fic #John Wick (film)#Koji Shimazu fic #x blackreader #silly fic #i just wish we could have seen more of john's life when helen was alive and when he had friends #kojjiiiii

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johnwickcaretaker · 8 months ago

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The Broken Veil Masterlist

The Broken Veil, a John Wick x Helen Wick fic, has migrated from The Whump Caretaker, my main blog, to this side blog. I don't intend to write more, but please feel free to enjoy and to review what is available.

AO3

Cover

Chapter 1: Let Me In

Chapter 2: The Price to Pay

Chapter 3: Miracle

Chapter 4: Always Exist

Chapter 5: Bloodless, Airless

Chapter 6: The Horde

Chapter 7: How to Shoot

Outline for Rest of Fic - in case you wanted to know where it was going

#john wick #john wick fanfic #john wick whumpee #john wick x helen wick #john x helen #whump fic #assassin whump

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meetmeinthematinee · 2 years ago

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Oh Hey, remember I used to write John Wick stuff?

Check out my Masterlist!

Guaranteed no spoilers for Wick 4 since....I haven't written anything in quite a while but I've been eyeballing my WIPS again my friends and maybe just maybe......

#John Wick Fanfic #John Wick Fanfiction #John Wick x Helen #John Wick Fic #john wick smut

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marquisedegramont · 5 months ago

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#whats this? a fic in the PLANNING STAGE⁉️#theres more chapters under that hehe #won tell tho🤭🤭#evren thoughtz #wickblr #john wick #helen wick #helen x john #puppyparents

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thewhumpcaretaker · 10 months ago

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The Broken Veil: Chapter 2 - The Price to Pay

Special thanks to this Reddit post for helping me follow the canon timeline as faithfully as possibly until the points that they diverge.

TW: suicide attempt, negative self-talk, grief, dissociation, canon-typical violence

Summary: John Wick has just agreed to kill Gianna D'Antonio, repaying the marker that gave him a life with Helen. However, Helen is trying to contact John from the afterlife, to show him that it is possible to stop the cycle of violence – not by forfeiting his own life, but by creating a fundamental shift in international systems and perhaps even the balance of good and evil in this world. But he doesn’t have to do it alone. She’s coming back.

“Heathcliff, if I were you, I’d go stretch myself over her grave and die like a faithful dog. The world is surely not worth living in now, is it?” - Nelly Dean, Wuthering Heights

John sets the rose down quickly and glances around the room, as if he expects to see a ghost. But of course he doesn’t expect that. This can’t be happening.

Don’t try to figure out whether it’s happening. Think about the message. What does it matter whether it was Helen or not? The question is, if she really could hear him, would she accept his offering of love in this form? In the form of killing an old friend and handing a win to a man like Santino? In the form of deepening his own damnation? No. Offer not accepted.

But this is all I have to give. His fists clench in frustrated confusion as he sinks into a chair. He’s been lying to himself because he’s desperate, because he has nothing left. What do you want from me, Helen? The only other option I see is death. Maybe he should just take that instead. If someone has to give their life for the time he spent with her, it should be him. He never deserved her to begin with.

There’s no time for this. It’s almost 6 PM. He has less than two hours to get ready and get to the concert at the D’Antonio Estate. He’ll figure something out. Just go, and figure something out.

***

She tried to reach him over and over again.

She tried to reach him when he was taking a sledgehammer to the concrete in the basement.

She tried to reach him as he stalked Iosef to the Red Circle.

She tried to reach him whenever he thought of her.

She tried to reach him as he rampaged over that fucking car.

She tried to reach him every time she felt something slam almost fatally into his body, whether bullet or fist. And that was quite a few times.

But the time had not yet come. She can see pieces of things, and she knows that she will come to him in Rome if she comes at all. It’s a matter of gathering her strength, and perhaps something more important, more like timing. Or fate.

This was the closest attempt yet. She celebrates an enormous victory. It required proportionally enormous effort. But she will have to keep trying. “The only other option I see is death.” It would be so easy for John to get it into his head that she’s given up on him. If only she had some way to be more specific, to use her own words rather than stolen snippets from his surroundings, but words are almost impossible. Almost. They feel so close now.

She can hardly tell if she is more exhausted or excited or hopeful. She cannot tell if her exhaustion and excitement and hope are her own or John’s. But she is herself, she has a self. It is almost like…existing.

She keeps clawing forward, towards that surface, towards that glass. “Forward,” yes, “towards.” Direction. Motion. Location. Effort. These are returning to her.

***

Sheer dread. It’s bad to go into a job not knowing whether you plan to finish it. It’s beyond bad. It’s lunacy. But he’s wearing hundreds of thousands of dollars in other people’s money just between the suit and the weapons, which feel suddenly heavy. There’s a good chance Santino’s people are watching, to keep him in line. To walk away at this stage…the humiliation alone is formidable, let alone the logistical challenges. And why? Because a ghost told him to - maybe. It’s lunacy. No. Finish it. Or at least keep clawing forward in denial for as long as possible.

His mouth is dry as he stalks towards the unguarded gate to the catacombs under the D’Antonio Estate, a hulking, dark shadow in time with the eight o'clock church bells. On autopilot, he places guns throughout the ruined tunnels, to collect on the way back after she’s dead. Distant music filters down through the rubble and stone. What he is doing now…this is a part of the kill. The kill is in progress. What the fuck is he going to do when he’s standing in front of the target?

He sees her, moving towards her chambers, and follows. Cassian, her bodyguard, walks at her side. He knows Cassian too – another old friend. Their gaits are easily attuned and their glances a little more tender than the role requires. And John…John is here to sever the link between them, to plunge her into the abyss where Cassian can never see her again. At the very least, Cassian should be spared if he can make it happen.

It’s his luck that she dismisses him from her side as she goes to her boudoir.

***

And Gianna is alone.

She circles the luxurious pool surrounded by aromatic candles, thinking over the day, allowing herself to slip into a moment of relaxation as she dabs at her makeup…and she sees John Wick in the mirror.

His body is perfectly poised; there is no feature of his expression that could be deemed any more or less composed than any other. Yet there is something profoundly and openly…embarrassed about the way he carries himself. Its total detachment betrays a sore spot to detach from. The way he waits to speak, arms hanging at his sides…if he were not about to end her life, she would say he looked sheepish.

“John.” The way she says it sounds like, “No, god, no.”

“Gianna.”

She turns to face him. “There was a time not so long ago in which I considered us as friends.”

“I still do.” He steps smoothly around the pool, making no effort to conceal the pistol in his hand.

“Yet here you are. [In Italian] Death’s very emissary.” She surveys him, all in black, his feet planted. “What brought you back, John?”

He places the words in front of her, more than speaks. “A marker.”

“Held by?”

He looks almost pained. “Your brother.” There’s pity for her…no, there’s real sorrow for her.

She glances away. Anger can’t rise too far in her, because of course this was coming. She should have known. The only thing to do now is to face it fighting. She paces closer to him and meets his gaze head on. “Tell me, John. This marker…is it how you got out?” A nod. “And what was her name? This woman whose life has ended my own?” She laces her voice with more disdain than she truly feels.

“Helen.” As always, a bitter joy stirs in him, just to say it. There’s wonder in that word.

“Helen,” Gianna repeats, lightly, almost mockingly. His head tilts as if he wants desperately to turn away from her, as if it pains him to hear say it like that. Yes, this is the right spot to hit. “This Helen,” as she casually approaches him even closer, within arm’s length now, “was she worth the price that you now seek to pay?”

It’s too difficult for him to speak and she gets another nod. How nice. “Now, let me tell you what happens when I die. Santino will lay claim to my seat at the Table. He will take New York. And you,” glancing up and down him in disgust, “will have been the one who gifted it to him.” Now her disdain is real and she lets him read all of it, then turns and walks back to the mirror.

She throws off her fur coat. His half squint seems to beg for mercy. If she would take a swing at him, if she would run, this would be so much easier. But she has no intention of making this easy for him. She lets her glittering gown slip to the floor, restraining the movement of his eyes, which lock respectfully onto her face. Slowly, she circles up the steps above the pool, and looks vulnerably over her shoulder at his unmoving figure, letting her curls fall to the center of her back. “What would your Helen think about that, John?” He walks towards her involuntarily. He’s afraid of what she might do. Good.

She takes up her concealed knife, and wades into the pool. He looks desperate, circling her as if hypnotized. She can see his longing to stop this. She turns away from him, totally exposed to gunfire, then looks abruptly back over her should, hovering the knife above her wrist. “What would your Helen think about you?”

It cuts deeper than her knife ever could.

“Stop.” She can’t quite believe it. He is too well trained – why would he let her get under his skin? This is her way of fighting back in her final moments, but for it to work…well, that’s almost a disappointment. More likely, this is a trick.

“So you can do it yourself?” He shakes his head. What a puppy. He looks utterly at a loss, and she can see now how fast he’s breathing. The moment stretches forever.

“I asked her what she would think.” He reaches into his breast pocket…and pulls out an orange rose. “Early today, I burned this rose as a symbol of the kill. Now it is whole again.”

Gianna looks at him in confusion, in pity. He’s lost his mind. Losing Helen destroyed him.

He places the rose on the surface of the pool, turns, and he’s walking away.

Her voice echoes down the stone archways after him. “John! You are prepared to face your death?” He stops. “You know what it means to deny the marker.”

“The price that I now seek to pay…is one life. Mine.”

Tragic, what has happened to this once-vicious man. She opens her mouth to speak, to call him back to his senses as she would want someone to do for her if she was ever so debased by love, but self-preservation halts her. Let him walk.

He walks.

***

It's a short walk out of the catacombs, into the palatial concert venue where strobing spotlights rise from the ruins into the blackness of night. There are so many people. Dancers in their 20s, old widows with grandchildren at home, couples, politicians, musicians. The sight of them is suddenly unbearable. He just stands there, still too close to the archway leading into the restricted access area in the catacombs.

“What would your Helen think of you?”

“Offer not accepted.”

The surprise on Gianna’s face, the relief, the purity of walking away…It drives home to him how much wrong he’s done. How many times he didn’t walk away.

I’m a murderer. I’m nothing but a murderer, and she would never accept it. I failed her. I can’t even bring myself to regret them all. Iosef, Viggo…but then so many of my own friends. And strangers. Sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers… How many people…? So many bodies… I don’t know how many people I’ve killed. Most men on this Earth haven’t killed even once and would never forget it.

He hates that a man like that has ever laid eyes on Helen. He hates that he’s ever touched her with the hands that he’s seen around so many throats, gouging out eyes, pulling triggers…over and over again, so many times that it’s muscle memory. He hates, and it makes him want to kill. He wants to kill, and he can’t.

He can’t kill others. But himself…a man may do what he likes with his own life.

John walks slowly forward. The world is glazed over with dissociation and the music is so far away. Is anything real? That stage, a kaleidoscope of lights. What a strange stage. That depthless black sky. What a strange sky. Has he really done all those things?

Did Helen really return the rose?

Are these people around him the people that he’s killed? People that he will kill?

“John?”

He’s pulled back to himself. “Cassian.”

“You working?” Cassian’s face says he sure as hell hopes not.

He hesitates. It might as well be Cassian. He’d rather die by the hand of a man in love than by the hand of Santino’s men. “Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a long, horrible pause. “Good night?” Is she dead?

“Afraid so.” That will piss him off enough to fire.

There’s rage in Cassian’s eyes. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He fires. John fires back at the same instant, knowing the body armor will hold. It’s a mere opening threat but it still hurts enough to level them both instantly to the ground. Pain shoots through his abdomen and awakens something in him. He scrambles backward and runs. Other guards are helping Cassian to his feet and he turns the other way, running for Gianna.

John doesn’t question why he’s running, or why he’s still clinging to his gun. All he knows is that the adrenaline has hit, sickening, sweet, instinctual, pulling him back into his body. God, he’s so afraid to die.

The guards pursue him. Cold metal in his hands as he vaults over a railing into the back of the stage. Get back to the gate, across the crowd. They’re on him as he stumbles forward onto the stage, he puts one down. The crowd goes wild, thinking it’s part of the show. He jumps down and he’s firing among them now, guards are falling dead in their midst. Screams drown in the techno beat. Dashing forward into an open stretch, almost to the gate, but they close around him from all sides. One, two, three, four, five, six dead as he pushes through, relentless.

He takes cover against a ruined wall to reload. Almost there. A gun swings around the corner into his face and he fires on instinct, then keeps firing at the next, then at four more coming at him from the side, flipping bodies to the ground, holding a man’s head flush against the gun to ensure he stays down. No one has eyes on him now as he lays against the wall taking shelter in the shadows, a monster at one with the darkness, too wired to bother quieting his ragged breathing. The catacombs leading to the gate are right across from him. He looks both ways and plunges forward into the near darkness of the tunnel, pierced only by periodic floodlights for safety.

For a moment, he’s still spinning with the gun at eye level, hyper-vigilant, but the tunnel’s empty. He’s alone. Finally, he allows himself to groan in pain and clutch at his own chest, stumbling backwards, miserable. At his touch, crushed rounds fall from the bulletproof lining and scatter, tinging on the rocky floor.

He killed again. He’s bad at not killing, and it’s not the sort of thing you get to try and fail at. He failed immediately. He panicked, and he didn’t want to let go of her memory, and he killed. The cost of his existence is other people’s lives, and he doesn’t have the willpower to stop it.

He feels worse than he did after walking away from Gianna. Lower than low.

The tide of reality is going out again. This is bad. He’s in a stone tunnel under the D’Antonio estate, but is he? Or is he in a misty void? Are these his arms, his hands? Is he hallucinating that strange vastness that opens out beyond the dark? Not even a vastness, but…a region without space, without distance or time. He sees it as if through glass.

He beats at his vest where the bruises are already forming, trying to flood himself with another hit of adrenaline. It’s just enough to get him walking again, staggering along the escape route he memorized a few hours ago, forward into that depthless region fazing in and out around him.

There’s someone standing in his path. Ares. The two size each other up at a great distance, a skylight pouring a street lamp’s yellow fire across them from above.

Santino must have sent someone to eliminate him if he doesn't follow through. He calls to her, “I’m done. For good.”

“You’re right about that.”

A long pause. Then his gun clatters to the ground and he drops to his knees. “I accept my fate.”

“You of all people?”

He nods.

Ares squints suspiciously but she raises her pistol. She fires.

Author's note: If that got you down, don't worry - the comfort is coming soon.

#john wick #john wick fanfic #john x helen #john wick whumpee #gianna d’antonio #whump fic #emotional whump #angst #hurt/no comfort #assassin whumpee #ao3 crosspost

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kavalyera · 1 year ago

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Mornings

Pair: John Wick/Helen Wick

Warnings: None

Word Count: 514

In another universe, we are living our best life.

Early morning, Helen is next to him on the bed. She snores, John knows that since early on in their relationship. It never really bothered him since it never compared to the noises of the underworld— his past which still lingered in the blank space of his eyelids when he closes them. Each blink a subtle reminder that he’s only here because of them.

John is usually first to wake up. Not from the alarm clock they set after agreeing on a certain together, but from the light of the sun peering in. It hits at an angle that’s directly shining into his eyes.

He turns to look at Helen, asleep in her white singlet and face buried in the pillows. Her sounds of sleep muffled into the cloudiness of their bed.

John can’t get up, he realizes quite quickly.

Helen’s leg is wrapped around his, knee curling at his thigh. It should be an uncomfortable position for Helen, but she’s still sound asleep. John removes the blanket off of him to fully understand how Helen’s leg is wrapped around is and how he can remove it without disturbing her. John puts his hand on her leg, slowly unwrapping it and laying it back down.

Mission’s a successful one like always, now John gets up from bed. He stretches his back and arms before going downstairs before the alarm clock goes off and wakes up Helen.

These mornings go like always, since they moved in together in New York. A rather suburban place in contrast to what people think of New York— a strictly urban landscape where the skyline can pierce the clouds, so easily reminding the gods that humanity can build better places than in the ancient world.

Mornings are a ritual. A habit and a routine that isn’t really written but it’s always done even when it’s not said.

John puts down two bowls, then cereal, then milk. The early morning lights peer in through the windows. Cars pass by and John can watch them as he puts in spoons for the two bowls. The home is quiet. Silence in every room as the warm temperature of the morning starts to settle in and diminish the colder condition of the night.

“G’morning, John…” John watches as Helen slowly comes down the stairs and to the kitchen. She seats herself next to John on the dinner table in the kitchen.

“Good morning, Helen.” John says back.

“Did you sleep well?” Helen asks him before spooning cereal into her mouth.

“I did.”

John’s been having sleep problems. Since a few weeks ago. But nothing pills and doctors can’t help. It’s been getting better. Hours adding more and more each day. John just has to sleep at an ordered time.

“That’s good.” Helen remarks before she’s off to eating. “You know, I was thinking about getting a puppy since we don’t really like children.”

“A puppy?”

“I think we can name her Daisy, no?”

“No, sounds perfect.” John says. “Daisy.” He repeats.

Mornings aren’t that bad.

#john wick #helen wick #here’s a soft oneshot for all the helen enjoyers(me)#🪐evrenwrites #short fic #helen x john #john x helen

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overheardatthecontinental · 2 years ago

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#john wick #john wick talk #john x helen wick #john wick fic

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badassbutterfly1987 · 1 month ago

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(ID: Pic 1: "People think that intimacy is about sex. But intimacy is about truth. When you realize you can tell someone your truth, when you can show yourself to them, when you stand in front of them and their response is "you're safe with me" - that's intimacy."

Pic 2: Two people with their hands linked around a bouquet of daisies.

Pic 3: A handgun resting on a leather jacket. Some loose bullets are scattered around it.

Pic 4: A watercolor painting of a rainbow using the colors of the asexual flag. End ID.)

Pic 1: The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid

Pic 2: Pinterest

Pic 3: Firearm

Pic 4: Pinterest

#john wick #helen wick #john wick x helen wick #aesthetic #moodboard #ace awareness week #there doesn't seem to be any ace john wick fics on ao3 #which is surprising since the movies are probably accidentally ace-coded #mostly in the lack of sex and male gaze

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johnwickb1tsch · 1 year ago

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The Night Nurse - Ch 6

A John Wick x Helen Fic

When nurse Helen Morgan is caught in the crossfire of a shootout and aids the injured John Wick, she’s faced with two options: serve the High Table, or be executed as a Witness. She tells herself her choice to work at the Continental has everything to do with survival, and excellent pay, and *not* her growing feelings for the Tall, Dark, and Handsome Assassin™ who got her into this mess in the first place, thank you very much. │ Masterlist / Chapter Map │

VI.

On their way through the lobby they found themselves intercepted by Winston, who presented Helen with a small red box, the sort with gold trimmed corners that usually would contain an expensive piece of jewelry. With wide eyes she accepted it, shooting John a look of bewilderment, wondering if there was some Underworld ritual happening she didn’t grasp.

John, however, had an idea of what it might contain. He nodded for her to open it, and she found a little black transmitter with a button. It had a clip and would be easily concealable anywhere, from a pocket to under her clothes. She let out a little sigh of relief, slipping the box into her purse. “Thank you, Winston. I appreciate it.”

Graciously he nodded. “My pleasure, and my regret that it may be necessary. But then, we are all villains within these walls, Miss Helen. I fear you are an angel of mercy walking amongst devils.”

John barely repressed an eyeroll at Winston’s dramatization. It didn’t mean he was wrong, mind, just…so…Winston.

“I’m not that angelic,” she countered with a little smile, and a sidelong look at the assassin at her side that spoke volumes. It was frightfully telling, earning John a raise of eyebrows from the Manager. John simply returned the older man’s gaze, betraying nothing, even while his heart did a frantic drumroll in his chest.

“I have no doubt you’re just full of surprises,” said Winston, his words heavy with double meaning as he looked between she and John. John got the sense that Winston was trying to communicate something else, but as usual, it went over his head. “I fear that device will only serve you here on the Continental grounds. Out there, you must fend for yourself.”

“Understood. I truly appreciate your accommodation. I know I’m not as dangerous as all of you. I’m afraid I’m a healer, not a killer.”

Winston’s stare settled on John once more as he said, “Give it time.” Leaning in closer, the Manager lowered his voice nearly to a whisper. “You might ask yourself, Jonathan, why the little bear would so seemingly foolishly provoke you. For Mikhail Medvedev is not, in fact, as stupid as he looks.”

John’s eyes narrowed to slits, a look that was sharp as obsidian. “Do you know something?”

“I know only what I am seeing played out on my stage.” He waved to indicate the entirety of his beautiful kingdom, the luxuriously appointed lobby and everything beyond.

“Uh huh.”

Helpful, as usual.

“He certainly could not challenge you out in the open.”

John lowered his voice, unable to conceal the thread of heat in his tone. “But he didn’t challenge me. He went after her. I feel like it was dumb luck I intercepted the...” He paused, choked by rage all over again as he thought about it. When he could speak again, he settled for, “Shake down,” though it hardly encompassed the intended offense.

He thought about how he had tossed and turned that night after Helen had left him for another patient, unable to rest, unable to sleep. As though he’d known a signal would arise, that she would need him. It was ridiculous, of course. There had been no real specific indications. He wasn’t fucking psychic. Perhaps just filled with dread for what seemed inevitable, in a hotel filled to the gills with predators.

“Like it or not, it is widely known among us now that the Nurse came into our world because of you, and that she possesses your favor. You think it can’t be considered an indirect attack on you? Tarasov’s most feared assassin?”

The thought made John’s blood run cold.

Fucking politics.

“You think the Medvedevs are moving on the Tarasovs?”

Winston shrugged. It was as good as a yes. He wasn’t supposed to favor one crime family over another, but Managers were human, and prone to their preferences. What John maybe didn’t realize, was that he himself bore more of Winston’s favor than Viggo or any of the other Tarasovs.

It wasn’t that John cared, really, for the well being of the Tarasov Bratva. Viggo was a business associate. Friends...were a rare beast in their business. True friends were goddamn unicorns. The Tarasovs paid him well enough, but what worried him most now was not war, but that Helen seemed to have landed right smack in the middle of it.

“God dammit.”

Winston tilted his head in acknowledgement to John’s assessment.

“I sense you have a day ahead of you, Jonathan. I will leave you two to it.” He nodded, and took his leave, crossing the lobby to greet another assassin newly arrived.

Despite Winston’s warnings, John wasn’t sure he should raise the alarm just yet. Going to Viggo with this might prove premature.

Maybe he would get the opportunity to just kill Mikhail, his two mountainous heavies, and sweep it all under the rug.

The Tarasovs and the Medvedevs had coexisted for years. A bloody power grab smacked of a plot thought up by the meathead youths hungry for glory, not the older men who were already rich, powerful, and managing nicely to stay out of prison and enjoy their ill-gotten gains living lives of luxury. Wars drew unwanted attention. Federal attention, that couldn’t be bribed away so cheaply as the local talent.

John nodded to himself, answering his own internal dialogue. Helen watched him, her expression solemn. “It’s ok, John. Whatever you need to do…”

“No,” he said. “We’re still going to have our day.”

“Are you sure?”

He appreciated that she thought that maybe he shouldn’t run off to Jersey with a possible war on the horizon. But nothing was certain. He imagined what he would actually say to Viggo, if he tried to warn the boss now. So there’s this woman I like, and Ivan’s son may or may not have tried to have his way with her. Then we glared at each other over breakfast. Then I put him in his place with the direst of insults.

Yeah. That wasn’t going to fly.

“I am.” Then it occurred to him, “If you still want to go?”

She gave a little snort, a sparkle of laughter in her eye. “Good one, Mr. Wick.”

He just couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from turning upwards at that. She was fearless, or, dare he think it…she felt safe with him. “Can I take your bag?” He gestured at the carryall she had slung over her shoulder.

“Thanks, you’re sweet, but maybe you should keep your hands free?”

For guns, or whatever might come their way, he realized.

“You really are perfect,” he blurted before he could stop himself.

Her eyes glittered like goldstone, and she sidled a step closer, smoothing her hand down his tie. Every nerve in his body came alive with that small, seemingly innocent, touch. “Remember you said that when you get to know me better.”

He didn’t think he could ever think of her as anything but perfection.

“Well…I think I’m adding blades training to your lesson plan today. If I ever forget, you can remind me.”

She paused at that, but only for a moment, a ripple in a pool there and gone. “Well, I’m already pretty good with a scalpel. Just saying…”

Her smile was the sun, bright, beautiful, and lifegiving. He was such a goner for this woman. They had to get out of here, before he really embarrassed himself.

“Ready to go?”

“Sure.”

He offered his arm, and together they bravely, or very foolishly, dared to leave the sanctuary of the Continental for the big bad city beyond.

***

“John. What. The hell. Is this?”

These were Helen’s words as the valet roared up in John’s 1969 Mustang Boss 429. She was grinning like a fool as she said it though, so he didn’t take terrible offense.

“My daily driver?”

“Oh my god.” The heavily tattooed valet looked between them and his colleagues on the steps, simultaneously interested and anxious about this interaction.

No one talked to John Wick this way.

Little did they know, John Wick was loving every minute of it.

She ran a hand lovingly down the hood, appreciating the machine’s vintage lines. It was sleek, predatory, but stylishly subtle with its deep gray and matte black paint job, the dark racing stripes on the front. Like it knew it was the meanest motor on the road—it didn’t have to be vulgar about it.

“You know what. I take it back. It’s so you.”

John had always found the art of automotive pinups fairly ridiculous. The back room of Aurelio’s was plastered with scantily clad, implausibly proportioned women suggestively positioned over cars. He’d never understood the point. Wasn’t the car sexy enough? Yet now, seeing Helen leaning against his machine in her street clothes, just that shapely green sweater, a short brown leather jacket, and indigo washed jeans—he was starting to understand. Desire overtook him like wildfire from his head to his toes, and he found he wanted to christen the hood of this car with her beautiful long legs wrapped inextricably around him.

The thought made his every hair stand on end, an uncomfortable flush blooming beneath his collar.

“I’m glad you approve,” he finally got out in an attempt to cover the raucous churning he felt inside, his voice gone rough with this unhelpful inner dialogue. He held the passenger side door open for her, and she would never know the feat of self-control it took not to grab her up, as she brushed past to situate herself down in the passenger’s seat.

He took her bag to throw in the trunk. But before closing her door he couldn’t resist leaning down towards her, his arm on the roof, an eyebrow raised. “So, do you like to go fast?”

She inspected her nails, playing along with a knowing little smile. He knew then that he hadn’t fooled her a bit. That she saw everything with those intelligent amber eyes, and he’d never been so glad to feel so exposed.

“Honey, I’m not the one who’s been taking it slow here.”

Their eyes met, her gaze hitting John like a bullet to the heart. He clutched at his chest with a conspiratorial little smile, wishing he could keep this perfect moment in a bottle. A moment with a woman in which they were both perfectly happy. Was it really possible?

His long-ingrained cynicism tried to quash this feeling under its thumb, but this strange new sense of joy resisted.

It seemed like anything was possible, with her.

He didn’t quite burn out as they left the Continental, but the roar of their departure won grins from the red-suited valets who stood on the sidewalk before the hotel.

Truth be told, downtown Manhattan wasn’t actually the best place to drive fast, the constant stop and go of traffic and stoplights getting in their way. Helen didn’t seem to mind, curled up in the seat next to John, surveying the city going by through the windshield. Though technically she possessed a car, she rarely drove it, letting her little sister use it for the transport of art projects and her circle of wacky bohemian friends.

Helen had been a caretaker since she was practically a child herself, to her little sister, and her mother who was often incapacitated. This new sensation of being taken care of was a heady thing, and not just because her protector was a tall, dark, and handsome mafia assassin with the soulful eyes of a poet, and the long-fingered hands of a musician...

She was staring at those hands on the steering wheel, and the gear shift, painfully aware that it would have been such an easy thing for him to reach out to her in between changing gears. A part of her wished he would, and yet, it was achingly sweet, how respectful this man was. Most men would have tried to bed her by now, would not have resisted the pull of their chemistry, no matter the consequences to her or to him. Since that first night, when he’d been weakened by injury and unwilling to stand against her as she bull-dogged her way into his world, he’d been so careful not to further entangle her.

As much as she despised him, maybe she owed Mikhail Medvedev a thank you for bringing John closer to her. It was a dangerous thing, perhaps. Not because of John Wick’s reputation or his involvement with the Tarasovs. Because, she couldn’t imagine ever wanting to let him go.

“Can I ask you a question?” she posed as they paused at a seemingly unnecessarily long red light.

“Sure.”

“Did you ever find out who was shooting at you on the subway?”

John blinked, looking over at Helen from behind his dark aviator glasses. It felt like all that had happened a lifetime ago. The incident officially had been swept under the respective rug, any pertinent surveillance video erased with the offering of a gold coin, and the truth was… “No.”

He hadn’t even looked into it, really, past ensuring the cleanup. The occurrence of people trying to kill him was so frequent he’d damn near forgot about it. He’d had a couple of time-sensitive contracts to prioritize completing, and getting Helen settled at the Continental, and…he definitely shouldn’t have just let it go.

She nodded, not seeming to judge him for it. But he could tell the wheels were turning in that brilliant brain. “Is there a chance…it has to do with this Medvedev-Tarasov thing?”

There was a very good chance of that, looking at the separate pieces now, and Winston’s cryptic little warning disguised as idle gossip.

“Yeah. I’ll look into that.”

The more he thought about it, the more feasible it seemed, although also, ridiculous. The Medvedevs wanted to waste him, The Baba Yaga, so they sent some punk? Who did they think they were dealing with?

But then…he had behaved rather foolishly, making a pattern of taking the subway at the exact same time on a weekly basis. It had almost been asking for someone to at least try for it.

Helen seemed to be thinking about the vehicle of their first meeting too. “John, what were you doing on the subway all those times, if you have a car like this?”

What, indeed.

Torn between not wanting to lie to her and not wanting to admit the truth just yet, that he’d been drawn to her like a moth to a flame, or from a different side of the coin, that he’d borderline been stalking her, and then nearly got her killed, a silence drew out between them. John glanced in his rearview, checking his surroundings out of habit.

He was almost relieved, when he beheld a black Mercedes G Wagon, the same that had been behind him for several blocks and several turns. He would have bet a fistful of gold coins that Igor or Alexei was behind the wheel.

“Are you buckled up?” he asked quietly, his eyes fixed on his mirror. Were they just following to try to spook John, or would Mikhail be so audacious as to give orders for them to attack here in the middle of Manhattan in the middle of the day? He was afraid the answer might be yes.

Goddamn kids.

“Yeah. Why?” Bless his brave girl, but there was only a hint of worry in her question.

“Because we’re about to burn some rubber.”

Rather than telegraph with her turning silhouette in the window that they were on to their tail, she calmly examined her own side mirror to look back.

“Is it Mikhail?”

“Not sure,” answered John honestly. “Probably just his soldiers, though.”

“Who the fuck do these assholes think they are?”

John’s mouth twisted into a tight-lipped smile, inexplicably delighted by her cursing. Angry Helen was surfacing, and maybe his wires were a little crossed, but he still thought she was fucking hot.

“Only one way to find out.”

The light turned green, and he made a sudden right turn without signaling. When the G Wagon swung madly to follow, he knew they had a tail for sure. “Hang on.” The Mustang’s engine roared as he shifted, and the car took off like a shot. They wove in and out of traffic, the less maneuverable Mercedes struggling to follow.

“Oh my god!” exclaimed Helen, gripping the door handle as John wrenched the wheel, downshifting for traction, skidding into a left turn down a smaller street.

The Mercedes nearly tipped trying to follow. The Mustang barely slipped between a brick building and an oncoming box truck. The truck slammed on its brakes, causing a pile up, conveniently blocking the way to the street. They left a snarl of horns and yelling motorists behind them in the dust.

No one did road rage like New Yorkers, God Bless.

“Holy Shit!” exclaimed Helen with wide eyes and a huge smile, turning to watch the kerfuffle behind them quickly disappearing through the back window. Her laughter was like balm for his soul, and John found himself grinning.

“Your first car chase, I presume?” he asked, looking over with an oh-so-pleased smile.

“I thought that was just New York driving?” she tossed back with a smirk, settling back into her seat again, seemingly unphased. John couldn’t help but feel a swelling sense of pride for how well she took the stress of their madcap car ride.

“Oh no.”

The sight of the G Wagon turning onto their street ahead put a damper on the atmosphere of joy in the car.

“Get down,” instructed John. The passenger in the G Wagon, Igor, brandished a black pistol, and Helen sank down as far as she could in her seat.

Igor squeezed off a couple rounds. John swerved, and the shots went wide.

“Are they actually shooting at us in broad daylight?”

“Yep.”

“Jesus fucking Christ!”

“Yeah.”

There wasn’t really anywhere to go but forward. No way to turn around quickly, no alleys to cut down.

Rather than slow down, John shifted, the growl of the engine echoing his rage. He knew that having Helen in the car with him made everything sharper somehow. The stakes were higher. He never wanted to die, but he’d long ago accepted the inevitability that someday someone would get lucky, and it would be lights out. He didn’t really believe in anything beyond that.

But Helen was here, and he had to survive.

“Hold on.”

“John?”

“Stay down, honey.”

Ducked down in her seat, she couldn’t see, but she certainly knew they were barreling down the street at breakneck speed. Her eyes were the size of saucers, and he hated himself for scaring her.

This had to end now.

With a flick of his wrist John steered into the Mercedes’s lane, challenging the expensive SUV head on. He could see Alexei at the wheel, his dour expression set in grim determination for this game of chicken. Igor, however, was another matter, clearly not such a fatalist as his partner, gesticulating wildly in his seat.

“John!”

She was peeking just over the dash, unable to keep herself from looking.

He did not answer, his focus on the obstacle before him. Rather than shooting at the oncoming Mustang, Igor was shouting at Alexei, grabbing for the wheel.

At the last minute, the G Wagon chickened out, swerving madly, a turn so sharp it kicked up on two wheels before skidding into a parked car on the street. There was a magnificent crash, and the Mustang roared on, switching lanes just in time to miss an oncoming taxi cab.

“Holy shit!” Helen sat back up in her seat, watching the carnage as they sped away. Then, to John’s surprise, she laughed, a deep belly laugh that sent warmth from his heart to his toes. “That was fucking awesome.” Her eyes shone like stars, her thick russet curls waving wildly about her face. He’d never wanted to kiss anyone so badly as in that moment, the adrenaline from the chase rushing through his veins. These were the moments that made life worth living for John—who knew it would be made so much sweeter, with a woman by his side?

This woman, his hindbrain corrected.

Everything was sweeter, with this woman by his side.

<<Chapter 5 Chapter 7>>

#john wick #john wick fic #john wick x helen #keanu reeves #helen wick #john wick x helen fic #john wick the night nurse

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babsharrison · 2 months ago

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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.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

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.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

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!

#john wick x reader #keanu reeves x reader #keanuverse fic #john wick series #john wick #fanfic #keanu my beloved #keanu reeves #fyp #keanuverse #angst #fanfic writing #romance #john wick oc #john wick fanfic #bookstore #fluffy

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wickblr · 3 months ago

Note

October is coming up soon! What if we had a spooky Wicktober event, like those writing events with a prompt for each day of the month (or every other day or something)? People could answer the prompts with a piece of writing or a drawing, and the prompts could be things like:

Helen Wick’s Ghost

Vampire AU

Serial Killer Santino

Dog’s Halloween Costume

That sort of thing! Would anyone be interested in that?

I’m supposed to be replying w nothing but this is a great idea!

This should have been done like a month ago but I really didn’t think anyone would be interested, so, uh anyways;

I’ve made 2 versions of this since I know a lot of the writers on Wickblr are adults who only do writing as a hobby, so here’s both Wicktober and Wick Week! I don’t know if there’s been a writing event for the John Wick community, but here!

Wicktober is a month long event where people submit their drabbles/fics based off the prompts listed! Considering we aren’t really a strict fanbase, you can switch around the days and prompts—skip a day or few, or just do one! You’re free to use this as a writing ask game for October. Any day can be switched around except Day 24 which is the ten year anniversary of the first John Wick movie and the John Wick series as a whole (happy birthday to the movies!!!)

Feel free to run rampant on the prompts with your own interpretation of it, be more symbolic, be more realistic—just as long as you want to contribute to this event and want to write for it.

Wick Week is a seven day long event, which can be started on any day in October honestly since it’s a week of prompts. It has the same thing going as with Wicktober.

Rules:

- No harassment (some anons are really mean when it comes to people’s writing which is no good since Wickblr is a pretty damn small community)

- No derogatory comments made in the ask box of this blog since I know SOME people really wanna fucking discuss how “bad” some fics are (which you should write yourself if you really think it’s that bad)

- NSFW is allowed, and unlike this blog; x readers, x OCs are allowed, or cc x ccs (ex: helen x john which I will be doing on @marquisedegramont if you wanna see that)

- Make sure to tag #wicktober 2024 or #wick week 2024

- Creators can produce fics/drabbles or drawings

- Add the necessary warnings before every fic, thank you! Some fics may be triggering for some people and they would appreciate warnings beforehand :)

- Post it on ao3! (If you want)

- Do as little or as much as you want. Be self indulgent

- Prompts are free to use after October ends

shameless plug from the mod: art -> @evrensadwrn | writing -> @marquisedegramont and on ao3

and also my furry friends: art -> @tobytheeggo | writing -> @bluelolblue

reblog maybe ?

cr ; cross divider

#john wick #wickblr #🪙 ; not an ask #john wick x reader #<- HEY SO IF YOU WRITE THE FOREST PROMPT #PLS TAG ME @evrensadwrn or @marquisedegramont #PLEASE AND THANK YOU #john wick fanfiction #john wick fanfic #john wick fic

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agerefandom · 7 months ago

Text

Other Fandoms

fandoms in red are fandoms that I don't know personally, but I've done art or moodboards for them! fandoms in purple are ones that I have moderate familiarity with, but I can't write every character. The rest are ones that I just haven't made as much content for.

Ace Attorney regressor!apollo edit regressor!edgeworth with cg!gumshoe moodboard

The Addams Family caregiver!morticia moodboard

All For The Game regressor!kevin and cg!andrew moodboard

Avatar: The Last Airbender Flourishing in Sunlight: post-canon fic with cg!Zuko and regressor!Katara gaang agere art regressor!sokka moodboard

Barbie Movie regressor!ken moodboard

The Boy regressor!brahms headcanons

Castlevania (Netflix) regressors!trevor and alucard moodboards/headcanons

Check Please regressor!jack headcanons (ask game) regressor!bitty art

Coraline regressor!wybie moodboard

Corpse Bride regressor!victor van dort moodboard regressor!emily art

Criminal Minds season one gang regression headcanons regressor!spencer and cg!derek art

Danganronpa regressor!toko, chihiro, and yasuhiro edits bunny regressor!mikan tsumiki moodboard regressor!chihiro moodboard caregiver!sakura moodboard regressor!ishimaru moodboard w themes of cg!mondo

DC Content regressor!harley quinn moodboard (comics) regressor!oswald moodboard (gotham) regressor!joker moodbard (telltale series) regressor!flash moodboard (cw)

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde Once Upon A Midnight Dreary: fanfiction with regressor!henry jekyll

Frankenstein regressor!victor frankenstein headcanons regressor!adam (the monster) headcanons

Ghibli Movies big sister kiki headcanons agere edit of haru (the cat returns)

Heathers agere!JD art regressor!veronica art regressor!heather macnamara moodboard

Hadestown caregiver!hades headcanons regressor!eurydice moodboard

Hunger Games caregiver!katniss moodboard

Interview With The Vampire To Have, To Hold, To Drink: fanfiction with cg!louis and regressor!lestat regressor!lestat moodboard

It caregiver!pennywise headcanons

Labyrinth caregiver!jareth and regressor!reader

Little Shop of Horrors Skid Row Blues: fanfiction with orin walking in on regressor!seymour regressor!orin headcanons

Lore Olympus regressor!hades and cg!hecate moodboard

The Magic School Bus caregiver!ms.frizzle headcanons

Maze Runner regressor!minho moodboard regressor!newt moodboard

Les Miserables Calling You Home: fanfiction with regressor!Enjolras and caregiver!Grantaire

The Muppets regressor!beaker moodboard

My Little Pony cg!starlight glimmer moodboard regressor!sunset shimmer art/edits

The Mysterious Benedict Society regressor!kate moodboard regressor!nicholas benedict moodboard/headcanons

Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812 Natasha is Young: fanfiction about regressor!Natasha and cg!Helene

Night At The Museum caregiver!Jedediah and Octavius art

The Owl House regressor!willow moodboard regressors!ed and em moodboard

Raven Cycle headcanons (gansey, ronan, noah, adam, and blue) regressor!noah moodboard

Rick and Morty regressor!morty headcanons

Rocky Horror Picture Show regressor!rocky moodboard

Sandman regressor!desire headcanons thoughts on regressor!dream regressor!dream moodboard

Sherlock regressor!sherlock and cg!john headcanons cg!john watson moodboard

Smile For Me regressor!boris habit moodboard regressor!boris habit edit regressor!habit with cg!kamal art more regressor!habit art

Star Trek regressor!jim and caregivers!bones and spock headcanons regressor!jim moodboard w themes of cg!bones regressor!jim and cg!sam moodboard(strange new worlds) regressor!jim and cg!spock art

Stranger Things regressor!eleven headcanons

The Untamed regressor!lan zhan moodboard regressor!wei ying moodboards

V for Vendetta caregiver!V headcanons cg!v moodboard

Welcome To Night Vale regressor!cecil and cg!carlos headcanons cg!carlos moodboard cg!cecil moodboard

Wicked regressors!elphaba and glinda headcanons

World’s End regressor!gary king headcanons

X-Files regressor!Dana and Fox headcanons

Youtubers regressor!dan howell headcanons cg!markiplier moodboard

#blog navigation #masterpost #haha this one is a little silly but I wasn’t going to do ALL of the fandoms separately

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phneltwrites · 9 months ago

Text

fic writer meme

I was tagged by @ziusik <3

1. how many works do you have on ao3?

between my two pseuds, 132. I started posting end of 2018 and i orphaned 1 fic so that's everything

2. what's your total ao3 wordcount?

996,548 words

3. what fandoms do you write for?

Right now various Thai BL, mostly offgun, and I'm on the docket for a DCU fic for a pal who won me in a raffle

4. what are your top 5 fics by kudos?

the top 17 of my most kudosed are all MDZS wangxian, what a powerful fandom (then a witcher then a leverage)

Love Is More Than Telling Me You Want It - the omegaverse big gender feels one

Yeah I Know How You Like It - wwx gets telepathy and lwj is horny then touching about it. love every time i get a comment on this that's like this is a pwp why am i crying. hehe

your persuasions - lwj has a big dick and wwx is a san francisco based high tech software programmer. they fuck about it

the earthquake in the room - alternate universe Canada modern university fic. In which lwj does not make wwx toast

wild for your skin - canonverse pwp

from this i suppose that most people are pretty disappointed when i update and it isn't smut

5. do you respond to comments?

always! I feel like fandom is this thing we're making together and when people reach out to me I reach back and in that way we both add stitches to the tapestry that is the community

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I think most of my fics have a hopeful ending. So it might be Verbs are a Tragedy the Captain Marvel Carol/Maria fic about Maria grieving. Or wait! maybe the Never Let Me Go fic because it ends right before you know that Chopper is about to get his heart broken. Or the John Wick fic about Helen cause you know she dies later and isn't able to keep her promise of helping John leave the business? Ok maybe I do have some angsty endings.

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

ha what is happy. Maybe the Leverage fic where Eliot has to pretend to be married to Hardison even though they are exes and that one ends with him proposing to Parker and Hardison and them being happy together

8. do you get hate on fics?

Rarely. Not usually hate at me but sometimes my fics make people pretty angry. I don't love it when people yell at the fic. the funniest though is getting an angry bookmark on a fic that i turned comments off of cause people were angry. like you do you in the bookmarks but lmao

9. do you write smut?

do i ever

10. do you write crossovers? what's the craziest one you have written?

I write fusions and crossovers! My wildest crossover is a 5x fic about Fezzik and Inigo from the princess bride meeting different other characters which actually might be the angstiest one now that I think about it because their last section is them going to the grey havens from lotr so they can sail into the west together. they also party with phryne fisher

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

i think only onto wattpad

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, and it's so cool!

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

Twice! One time on a leverage fic and it taught me how to use semi colons and also write introspection, a lesson i have forgotten and one time lesbian beach volleyball porn with a friend.

14. what's your all time favorite ship?

uhhhh oh no. they're all my favourites. of the ships i've written... no can't do it.

15. what is a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I dream of finishing my pacific rim x avatar fusion with mdzs. the worldbuilding was so much fun.

Everything else I think I've comprehensively abandoned in drafts. rip carol and maria having fun in space, jon and tormund going to winterfell, and the shl ocean's 11 au oh shit also the fic where wwx was adopted into the nie sect and it changes very little in some ways. Otherwise I tend to finish things I'm kind of a robot

16. what are your writing strengths?

smut and extended metaphors

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

description, romance, tenses, character introspection. i also think my sentence level writing is not that strong

18. thoughts of writing dialogue in another language in fics?

do whatever you want forever

19. first fandom you wrote for?

leverage! my first fanfic is on ao3 for that show. though technically i did a creative writing exercise where nietzsche and the librarian from a Borges short story hooked up as a class assignment in university so idk i guess maybe literary rpf

20. favorite fic you have written?

uhhhhh. i genuinely don't know. they're all their own little thing. im more interested in hearing which of my fics are other people's faves

tagging @idrilka @defractum @daltoneering @giraffeter @ginnymoonbeam

#tag meme

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