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thebunnednun · 5 months ago

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The Fawn and the Wolf John Wick X Assassin! Reader (Part 1)

Warning: Eventual smut and violence. Size difference, predictor/prey, and other kinks.

Summary:

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

Notes:

This is my First John Wick fanfic! I just finished the movies and wish I watched them sooner. In this narrative, certain deceased characters resurface, their roles pivotal to the plot, although not all events adhere strictly to canon. The timeline aligns closely with the events leading up to the fourth movie The only original characters are your family members. I will add a playlist for this later.

-----------------------Chapter 1: A Rainy Reception-----------------------

The rain fell heavily, each drop a tiny hammer against the pavement, as John Wick stepped out of his car, the relentless downpour quickly soaking through his coat. Beside him, the Bowery King emerged from the passenger seat, his fedora pulled low over his brow.

They moved with purpose toward the grand mansion ahead, its lights a faint beacon in the night. A tall, silent butler waited at the entrance with an umbrella, shielding John and the Bowery King from the worst of the rain as he led them inside. The transition from the cold, wet night to the warm interior was jarring. The mansion was dimly lit, corridors lined with rich, dark wood and plush carpets that muffled their footsteps.

The butler ceremoniously pushed open the imposing wooden doors, revealing a cavernous living space ensnared in a palpable tension. In one dimly lit corner, two figures loomed, engaged in an intense, hushed altercation, their silhouettes etched with conflict against the subdued light.

Across the room, a woman occupied a plush armchair, bathed in the soft glow of a nearby lamp. Her posture rigid, she seemed lost in the glow of her phone screen, oblivious to the charged atmosphere enveloping her.

Meanwhile, at the love seat, another woman's furrowed brow betrayed her vexation as she meticulously sifted through a stack of papers. The lamplight cast harsh shadows across her features, accentuating the strain etched upon her face as she wrestled with the weight of her responsibilities.

John and the Bowery King exchanged a glance, their senses keenly attuned to the tension in the air.

The first man broke off his argument and approached John, extending a hand. "Mr. Wick, thank you for coming," he said, his voice a mixture of relief and urgency. He was a man of moderate stature, with a tailored suit that bespoke both elegance and authority. His dark red hair was meticulously styled, framing a face marked by sharp angles and a gaze that flickered with a blend of admiration and barely contained arrogance.

John shook his hand, noting the faint red marks on the man’s face, resembling a slap with claw-like scratches. "You called, I came," John replied, his tone neutral.

John’s eyes swept the room. This family was different from the others he had encountered in his line of work. There was a genuine sense of concern here, a seeming desire to protect one another was rare among the families he typically dealt with.

"Please, follow me," the man said, leading John to a side room—a cozy, well-appointed office. The décor was traditional, dominated by dark wood and leather. A photograph on the desk caught John’s eye: a young girl, smiling brightly as she held a bouquet of flowers at what appeared to be her birthday party. Her expression was one of pure, unfiltered joy.

"We appreciate you taking the time to meet with us," he said, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken concerns. "I'm Nick. Nick Morales."

The man gestured to a chair. "Have a seat," he said, taking his own seat across from John. "We need your help to bring back our Fawn."

John raised an eyebrow. "Fawn?"

The man nodded. "That’s what we call her. She has these big, doe eyes." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "She’s gone missing, and we can’t let this disrupt the family’s image."

The younger man who had been arguing with him followed them into the room. He looked noticeably younger, perhaps in his early twenties, with a lean build and an intense expression. His eyes darted between Nick and John before he took a step back, clearly sensing Johns curious gaze.

He had a slight smirk on his face as he glanced at his older counterpart. "A tantrum," the younger man said, prompting a glare from the elder.

John's curiosity was piqued. "Tantrum?"

The elder man sighed, the red marks on his face catching the light. "Yes. Things got out of hand."

The younger man chuckled, earning another glare. "She’s got spirit, I’ll give her that." After a brief moment, he excused himself and slipped out of the room, leaving the three of them to the tense atmosphere of the spacious living room.

John leaned back in his chair, assessing Nick. "I’ll need more information. Each of you will give me your version of what happened. Maybe then I can piece together the truth."

The elder man nodded. "Fine. We’ll tell you everything you need to know. Start with me."

As John prepared to dive into the first interview, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone in this room wasn’t being entirely truthful. The question was who, and why. He would have to tread carefully, piecing together the fragments of their stories to uncover the real reason behind the young woman’s disappearance.

John and the Bowery King sat side by side, facing Nick across his expansive wooden desk. The photograph of the young woman at her birthday party stood prominently, her smile bright and full of life. John noted the detail—it was clear Nick valued tradition and perhaps had stood in for her father during the celebration.

Nick leaned back in his chair, his expression one of contemplation mixed with worry. "She’s always been spirited," he began, a hint of fondness in his voice. "Born stubborn. We often butt heads over it.Trying to punish her was often futile. She usually gets the upper hand."

John listened intently, his gaze unwavering. "Tell me more about the night she disappeared."

Nick sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "She was frustrated. We had a disagreement about the future. The family has... other plans for her. It escalated, and she stormed out. Later that night, we realized she was gone."

The Bowery King interjected, "And the slap mark on your face?"

Nick’s hand unconsciously moved to his cheek. "During our argument, she lashed out. It’s not the first time. She’s got a fiery temper, but this time... it was different. She was more determined, more desperate."

John leaned forward slightly. "What about her aspirations? Getting out isn’t a typical path for someone in this... environment."

Nick nodded, his expression softening as he looked at the photograph. "She’s smart, driven. Always wanted to do something more with her life. I understand her wants, but we have to do what's best for the family. Sacrifices have to be made. Everyone does their share here. We all do."

John’s eyes narrowed. "So she left because she felt trapped?"

"Partly," Nick admitted. "She’s always been our Fawn, the youngest, so we’ve always looked out for her. Losing her means losing more than just a family member.”

The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of Nick’s words hanging heavy in the air. John considered everything he’d heard so far. The story was starting to take shape, but there were still pieces missing.

Nick broke the silence. "Each of us has a different opinion on the matter. Maybe talking to the others will give you more insight."

John nodded. "I’ll speak with everyone.”

Nick met John’s gaze, his eyes filled with a mix of conflicting emotions. Within a slip second, his gaze hardened.

"We just want her back. Safe and sound."

With that, Nick stood, signaling the end of the first interview. The Bowery King gave Nick a reassuring nod as they both followed John out of the office, ready to piece together the rest of the story from the other family members.

“I’m coming in!”

As David entered Nick's office without hesitation, his presence was like a gust of wind, stirring up the calm atmosphere. He was dressed in a casual yet refined style, reflecting his laid-back personality. His dark blue curly hair, with streaks of vibrant colors, framed his face, giving him a distinctive look. The family symbol faded into the sides of his haircut, a subtle nod to his roots.

Ignoring the usual formalities, David addressed Nick directly. "I'm here to poach them, Nick," he declared, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Nick, slightly annoyed, waved them off, knowing David's penchant for impulsive decisions.

As they made their way to David's office, the Bowery King couldn't help but notice the change in David's appearance. "What's with the hair?" he asked, curiosity piqued.

David chuckled, running a hand through his colorful locks. "Bright Eyes did this. She wanted to leave her mark before she left."

“So, David, we heard you got some insight into what happened with the Fawn,"John said, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity.

David, slightly shorter than Nick, sported dark blue curly hair cut in a taper, with the family symbol faded into the sides. He exuded a laid-back demeanor, contrasting with Nick's more formal disposition. His tanned skin was complemented by his navy suit. "Yeah, we've been trying to piece it all together. Starshine’s been like a ghost since she left."

John nodded, his mind was still processing the details Nick had provided. David had led them down a hallway and stopped at a painting of a log cabin seven doors down from Nick’s office. John watched as David’s fingers quickly found a latch allowing the image to pop open. They reached another door, which opened to reveal David’s office. The room was more personal, less formal than Nick’s, with a distinct sense of nostalgia hanging in the air.

“Welcome to the lounge!”

In David's office, the fusion of modern technology and Caribbean aesthetics was striking. Colorful tapestries hung on the walls, complementing the sleek gadgets scattered around the room. The space felt inviting, with comfortable couches inviting them to relax.

David gestured for them to take a seat on the comfortable couches, a contrast to the formal setting of Nick's office.

"Make yourselves at home, fellas," David said, his voice warm with hospitality. "Take a load off, fellas," David said, gesturing to the couches with a sweep of his hand. "Can I get you something to drink? Rum? Whiskey? I've got a few options that might suit you."

John nodded appreciatively, while the Bowery King opted for a glass of rum. As David poured the drinks, John's eyes wandered to the photograph on the coffee table. In the picture, you were clad in pajamas, and beamed with youthful joy. Surrounded by the family on what appeared to be a Christmas morning.

"That's a beautiful photo," John remarked, his voice soft with genuine admiration.

David's gaze softened as he glanced at the picture. "Yeah, it's one of my favorites. That was a good day, you know? We were all together, no worries, just enjoying each other's company."

He paused, a wistful smile playing on his lips. "Those eyes of hers... they've seen a lot, but they still have that same innocence somehow."

John leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. "You mentioned the nickname 'Sunshine.' What's the story behind that?"

David chuckled, a hint of fondness in his tone. "When she's grumpy, I call her Sunshine to lift her mood or be an ass. Just depends, really."

The Bowery King studied the photographs adorning the walls of David's office, his gaze lingering on one in particular. "Ironic you call her a Fawn. Her eyes... they're so bright."

David's expression softened as he glanced at the picture. "Yeah, she hates it when we call her that. But you can't deny the resemblance.” He chuckles and hands the men a different picture. “She looks just like a deer in headlights if you startle her. The nickname stuck through childhood." He leans back into the coach with his eyes trained on the photos.

As John methodically flipped through the binder Nick had handed him, each page revealed a new layer of the Fawn’s past assignments. His gaze shifted to David, a silent promise reflected in the depths of his steely eyes.

The Bowery King leaned forward, his curiosity evident. "What sort of tasks did she undertake while she was with the family?"

David's features darkened, a bitter edge seeping into his expression. "She had her hands in everything," he admitted, his voice heavy with emotion. "From infiltrating crime rings by posing as innocent girls, ransoms or kidnappings, to carrying out seduction missions. She mostly got rid of the garbage."

John's jaw tensed as he absorbed the weight of each revelation. "And her age when she started?" he inquired, his tone betraying his growing concern.

David's face contorted with bitterness as he spoke the words. "Seven," he admitted, the syllables heavy with the burden of the truth. He set down his glass and faced the men head on. Now, he was serious.

The gravity of that admission settled heavily upon John's shoulders, John's resolve only strengthened. Seeing the shift in David, John settled into his chair, the Bowery King beside him, both men attentive.

The Bowery King's brows furrowed in disbelief. "Seven? That's young to be involved in all of this," he remarked, his voice tinged with questioning.

David's expression grew more solemn. “Despite everything she's been through, she still sees the good in people. With her job I don’t know how the fuck she does it."

John shot him a sharp glance, a silent warning to tread carefully. He understood the implications of such a revelation. But dwelling on it now would only distract them from their goal.

"We need to focus on finding her," John said, his tone clipped and to the point. "The past is done. We're here to bring her back, no matter what it takes."

David nodded, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. He knew better than to dwell on the past, to let it cloud their judgment in the present.

"Tell me about the night she left."

David sighed deeply, his eyes reflecting the weight of his memories. "We were all here, trying to have a family dinner. But tensions were high. She and Nick had another argument. It was about her future again. She’s been so focused on becoming a lawyer, but... the family business demands sacrifices."

He paused, his voice thick with emotion. "After the argument, she left the table. I thought she just needed some air. It wasn’t until later that we realized she was gone."

The Bowery King spoke up, his tone probing. "And the slap mark on Nick’s face?"

David’s expression darkened slightly. "She’s got a temper, no doubt about it. She slapped him, her sharp nails left those claw marks. But it wasn’t just about anger. There was hurt there, deep hurt. She feels like we’re holding her back, trapping her."

John leaned forward, his eyes sharp. "Do you think she left to pursue her dreams? Or is there more to it?"

David hesitated, glancing at the photograph again. "She wants to be free, to follow her own path. But it’s not just about becoming a lawyer. She feels suffocated by the expectations, the pressure. She wants to help people. And here... she feels like she’s just a pawn."

John considered this, the pieces of the puzzle slowly coming together. He needed something more. "What does she mean to you, David? Personally.”

As David hesitated, his gaze shifting to the photograph once more, he spoke with a mixture of fondness and concern. "She's everything," he admitted, his voice softening. "More like a daughter to Nick and a sister-like cousin to me."

John nodded, understanding what he meant. "What do you think happened to her?" he asked, his tone edged with urgency.

David sighed deeply, a troubled expression crossing his features. "I'm not sure," he confessed. "Starshine turned off all her trackers before she left. Here," he reached for a remote on the coffee table, selecting a video of a burning estate. "This might shed some light."

As they watched the footage, David explained, "During her youth, Nick was taking care of her while in the military. He sent her away while on tour." He paused, his voice tinged with bitterness. "She was sent to live under the care of Cordelia, a terrible woman of the underground. She was known as a prominent matchmaker. She used stolen girls to carry out arranged marriages. If you weren’t married off she’d use you for…. other missions."

As David played the video of the burning estate, the screen flickered with images of flames engulfing the once-grand structure. The news report accompanying the footage described the scene in vivid detail, with some locals referring to it as an inferno that consumed everything in its path.

"The fire broke out in the dead of night," David explained, his voice grim as he recounted the events. "It spread quickly, devouring the estate within minutes. The rest of the area is fine though."

The news anchor's voice echoed through the room, detailing the confusion of firefighters about the containment of the blaze as it raged on. Smoke billowed into the night sky, casting an eerie glow over the surrounding area.

"Authorities are still investigating the cause of the fire," the anchor continued, "but eyewitnesses report seeing mysterious figures fleeing the scene before the flames erupted."

John's brow furrowed as he absorbed the information, a sense of unease settling in the pit of his stomach. The Fawn’s connection to the estate and its destruction raised more questions than answers, adding another layer of complexity to the mystery surrounding her disappearance.

As the news report concluded, David turned the volume off and kept his eyes on the screen, the room enveloped in a heavy silence. The burning estate loomed large in their eyes.

“You know, you live with someone your whole life and watch them grow up to be so sweet. It makes you forget how dangerous they can be.”

David's caramel skin contrasted with the cooler tones from the TV. "I suspect she's somewhere near New York by now," he added, a note of concern creeping into his voice.

The Bowery King, intrigued by David's role in the family, posed a question. "What do you do, David?"

David hesitated, his gaze shifting to John before answering. "I work as the family accountant and tech personnel," he replied before shifting back into his easy going nature. "If you mean in the familiar sense, I'm the one who often stirs the pot, taking Bright eye’s side in most arguments and helping her wiggle out family duties so she can live her life."

John studied David's features, noting the similarities between him and the Fawn.

"Nick and I often clash over what's best for her," David admitted, a hint of defiance in his tone. "But we both want her to be safe, no matter what. You know what happens in this life when your family isn’t there to protect you."

While David's gaze turned back to the flickering images of the burning estate John absorbed his words, the weight of their meaning settling heavily upon him. He couldn't help but mentally note the differences between David and Nick, their contrasting appearances reflecting their divergent personalities.

Turning his attention back to David, John posed a question that had been weighing on his mind. "Between you and Nick, who do you think she'd listen to more?"

David's brow furrowed in thought, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. "It's hard to say," he admitted, his voice tinged with resignation. "Nick is stricter but he does love her. I've always been the one she turns to when she needs a favor."

John nodded, but he couldn't shake the feeling that they were on the cusp of uncovering something more sinister.

Before John could stand, David opened a drawer and pulled out a small box. He slid it across the desk to John. "I almost forgot. We’ve placed trackers in her earrings and her earbud case. I can’t get a read on her location yet. Once I override the bugs you’ll be able to track her exact location."

John opened the box, inspecting the discreet tracking devices. "This will be useful. Thank you, David."

The room fell into a contemplative silence, the weight of their shared mission hanging heavy in the air. With each passing moment, the urgency of their task became more apparent.

The silence was broken by the clicking of the lock, a sound that reverberated through the corridor like a distant echo. John and the Bowery King exchanged a quick glance, their senses sharpened by the unexpected interruption. Instinctively, John's hand drifted towards his holster, ready for whatever might come through the door.

As the woman skillfully undid the lock, David couldn't help but whine, "You better not teach Nick the code, Joselyn."

She chuckled, her fingers deftly working the mechanism. "Oh, come on, David. It's not that much of a secret. If Nick wanted to come in, he absolutely would."

With the lock finally disengaged, Joselyn swung the door open, greeting John and the Bowery King with a warm smile. "Welcome, gentlemen," she said cheerfully. "Please, follow me."

She led the way down the corridor, her lively persona filling the air with energy. As they walked, Joselyn couldn't resist taking the Bowery King's arm, a simple gesture of respect for her elders.

"We're just across from David's office," she explained, her voice bright and welcoming. "I've got some tea brewing if you're interested. And maybe a few snacks, too."

As they reached her office, Joselyn ushered them inside, the space reflecting her eclectic tastes and organizational prowess. With a wave of her hand, she gestured for them to make themselves comfortable, her warm demeanor putting them at ease.

Her office was meticulously organized, with a sense of order and precision. A picture of the reader, much younger, wearing a kindergarten graduation cap and holding a diploma for "Best Future Lawyer," was prominently displayed. Another picture of her wedding stood next to it

Joselyn gestured for them to sit, taking her place behind the desk. "Would you like some snacks?" she offered, pointing to a tray of assorted nuts and dried fruits on her desk.

The Bowery King nodded appreciatively. "Don't mind if I do," he said, reaching for a handful. John politely declined with a slight shake of his head.

"Now, what can I do for you gentlemen?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "How can I assist in your endeavors today?"

As John and the Bowery King settled in, John couldn't help but ask, "Joselyn, what exactly is it that you do here?

The Bowery King, always one for understanding the full picture, pressed on. "But the jobs you do now, what are they exactly? And the Fawn’s current role?"

Joselyn leaned back, her demeanor shifting to one of professional seriousness. "I run an agency that focuses on finding missing children and disrupting human trafficking networks. It’s dangerous work, but it’s what drives me. The Fawn, when she isn’t in hiding, assists with some of the more covert operations. Her skills make her invaluable in rescuing those who have been taken and dismantling trafficking rings."

"And she started this life so young," the Bowery King mused, shaking his head.

"Yes," Joselyn replied, her voice tinged with regret. "It’s a harsh reality, but it's also what makes her so effective. A double edged sword, really.”

John nodded, appreciating the gravity of what Joselyn was saying. "Thank you for sharing this with us. It helps us understand the stakes."

Joselyn smiled softly, though her eyes remained serious. "Just be careful. Mamita is young but she isn’t someone you want to underestimate. She's survived this long for a reason."

“And what’s the story behind the Fawn being sent to Cordelia?"

The mention of Cordelia sent a noticeable shift through Joselyn. She took a deep breath, her usual warm demeanor clouding with anger. Her voice lowered to a hushed tone. "Unfortunately, I am still a ‘made woman’. As for the witch, I tried to get custody of her, you know. But I was denied because I was 'too young' and not married yet. That poor girl... Cordelia was a nightmare. It was impossible to get her out of the contract."

She took a deep breath, composing herself before speaking. "Mamita was just a child when she began her training. It’s something I never agreed with. She was far too young, as was Amalia, who was trained at the same time. Amalia, fortunately, has retired now."

John’s curiosity was piqued. "How did Amalia manage to retire?"

Joselyn's expression softened slightly. "Mamita always loved Amalia like a blood sister. She made sure that when Amalia wanted out, she could get out safely. I don’t know what she did. She refuses to tell us. Amalia now leads a quiet life and can keep her children away from all this."

The Bowery King nodded, absorbing the information. "And what about your marriage?”

A wistful smile touched Joselyn's lips. "Yes, when it came to my marriage, I had to complete an impossible task. She was my cheerleader. I can’t go into the details, but she did it because she really wanted my now-husband in the family."

John's curiosity deepened. "Why was that so important to her?"

Joselyn's eyes sparkled with warmth and a hint of mischief as she recounted, "Mamita’s exact words were, 'Because you're soulmates,’ cute, isn’t it?

Turning the conversation, John asked, "Tell us about the Fawn’s relationship with your husband." He couldn’t allow his mind to start flooding with images of Helen.

Joselyn smiled wistfully. "He calls her 'muñeca,' meaning baby doll. He respects her dream and sees her as the goofy kid he once met. She gifted him a pair of golden-rimmed glasses that he often wears to match mine. Despite everything, he tries to make her feel safe and loved."

The Bowery King interjected,”The sister he never had?”

“Exactly.”

"Would he be hiding her?" John probed.

Joselyn shook her head firmly. "No. If he knew where she was, he would have taken her home, even though he doesn't agree with everything we do."

John leaned forward slightly. "And why didn't you leave to join your husband’s family?"

A shadow passed over Joselyn’s face. "He's an orphan. We decided not to have kids until we can raise them without worrying about the family’s constant turmoil."

The Bowery King nodded, appreciating the depth of Joselyn's commitment. "You've sacrificed a lot."

Joselyn shrugged with a sad smile. "We all have. But we do what we must to keep those we love safe."

The Bowery King’s curiosity was piqued. "And who is this 'Mamita’s' best friend, Michelle?" He passed over a picture of a young woman with platinum hair and a slender figure from the binder.

Joselyn’s expression softened slightly. "Michelle is actually Nick's age. She was almost sold off when Nick tried to rebel and leave the service.” Her hands turned to shredding a stress ball on her desk.

Joselyn’s shoulders were tense as she recounted the night. “Mama assassinated Cordelia and helped the other girls escape. We had to pay billions to cover it up.” She closes her eyes before sighing deeply through her nose. “Michelle disappeared the same night Mama left after going to confession, and we assume they're together. Nick wants to find Michelle on his own."

The Bowery King frowned. "Confession?”

"Michelle is Catholic, and Mama enjoys going with her to pray for her victims," Joselyn explained. John noted this mentally, intrigued by the implication of an assassin clinging to religion.

Joselyn took a moment, her expression grave as she met John's gaze. "I think it's time I'm completely transparent with you. Mama isn't just an assassin for our family's interests. She's a hired gun, servicing the highest bidders, whoever they may be."

John's eyes narrowed slightly as he absorbed her words. It struck him as peculiar that a family would send one of their own daughters to carry out such perilous tasks instead of relying on their established network of operatives. His mind raced with conjecture, weaving a tapestry of suspicion and intrigue.

Why would they entrust such responsibilities to someone so young and potentially volatile? Was there more to the Fawn's involvement than met the eye?

As Joselyn's voice faded into the background, his thoughts grew more insistent. Perhaps the Fawn had stumbled upon a secret, something she wasn't meant to see. And this arrangement—her role as an assassin—could be the family's way of ensuring her silence. It was a chilling possibility, but one that resonated with the shadows lurking beneath the surface of their world.

He blinked, refocusing on Joselyn's earnest gaze. "Thank you for being honest with us, Joselyn."

Joselyn's nod held a hint of understanding. "Just be careful, John. You know an animal is more dangerous when wounded."

John acknowledged her warning with a curt nod, his mind already racing with strategies and contingencies. As they delved deeper into the intricacies of their mission, he couldn't shake the feeling that they were treading on treacherous ground.

John leaned forward, his eyes fixed on Joselyn. "Where do you think your Fawn might have gone?"

Joselyn sighed, tapping her fingers lightly on the desk as she considered the question. "There are two likely places. New York or Japan. She has an apartment in Japan, and New York was our home base."

"Where would she be in those cities?" John pressed.

"In New York, you'll most likely find her in a park or casino. She doesn't like to gamble—it's more about the thrill of the card games. If you need to keep her attention, playing a game with her might be your best bet. But be warned: she's very cunning and deceptive. If she thinks you're a threat, she'll leave. Mama doesn’t like to fight unless absolutely necessary."

"And in Japan?" John asked.

"Adores the scene culture there- especially dance clubs. She could be hiding Michelle in one of her apartments there. If you find Michelle, she will come after you. But you need to be extremely careful.” Her hands were now flat against the polish glass of her desk. “If she believes Micheale is in any danger, she'll kill you on sight. She's fiercely protective."

The Bowery King interjected, his voice thoughtful. "And why would she hide Michelle in Japan?"

"Japan's a place where she can lay low and blend in. She has friends and safehouses there, and it's far enough from here to avoid immediate detection. Michelle didn’t agree with the decision either and she probably wants time away from Nick." She slowly slides her hands into her lap. “I couldn’t go with her because of work. So I’m glad someone is with her.”

John nodded, digesting the information. "So, New York or Japan, dance clubs or casinos. And if it comes down to it, I should be prepared to play a game with her."

"Exactly," Joselyn affirmed. "But remember, she's unpredictable. She's been through a lot, and her instincts are sharp. Approach with caution."

"Thank you, Joselyn," John said sincerely. "This gives us a direction."

Joselyn nodded, her expression a mix of concern and determination. A debating look crossed her face before Joselyn reached for a small frame on her desk, a recent picture nestled inside. With a gentle smile, she handed it to John.

"Here," she said softly, her voice carrying a hint of sadness. "You should take a more recent picture of her. She's... she's quite beautiful, isn't she?"

As John accepted the picture from Joselyn, his breath caught in his throat as he took in the image. His eyes were drawn immediately to the subject—you. In the photo, you exuded a softness that seemed to radiate from within. Your complexion was flawless, with a natural glow that hinted at youthful vitality. Your features were delicate yet defined, each contour lending an air of elegance to your appearance.

Your hair cascaded in soft waves around your shoulders, framing your face in a way that accentuated your delicate features. A gentle smile played at the corners of your plump lips, adding a touch of sweetness to your expression.

But it was your eyes that captured John's attention the most. Large and doe-like, they held a sweet mischievousness that seemed to pierce through the photograph, drawing him into their depths. At the same time, they were pools of warmth and innocence. He could tell you had a figure under the sweater dress you sported. Yet beneath the outfit, there lay a quiet strength in your arms and legs that spoke volumes.

In that moment, you really did reminded him of a deer, graceful and vulnerable yet capable of resilience.

As John studied the picture, he couldn't help but marvel at her beauty. She was a vision of purity and innocence, a stark contrast to the harsh realities of their world. And yet, there was a strength in your gaze as you looked into the camera.

"She is," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Joselyn's gaze softened as she watched him, her own sadness mirrored in her eyes. "I’m still fighting the marriage order.”

The Bowery King leaned over to glance at the picture, his expression contemplative. "She looks too young," he remarked quietly, his voice tinged with concern.

The words snapped John out of his reverie, his thoughts jolting back to the task at hand. Whatever he was thinking, he dismissed it immediately. John nodded in agreement, his mind shifting gears as he placed the photograph in his suit's breast pocket.

"Thank you," he said, his voice steady once more. "We appreciate your help, Joselyn. We'll be in touch."

The Bowery King nodded in agreement. "Yes, we appreciate everything you've done for us."

Joselyn smiled warmly, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. "It's been my pleasure. Thank you for trusting me."

A small, soft knock echoed through the office, drawing the attention of John, the Bowery King, and Joselyn. They exchanged a glance, a silent acknowledgment of the interruption. Rising from their seats, they approached the door together.

As she stepped aside to open the door, a figure appeared in the doorway. With a soft smile, Joselyn stepped back to allow the newcomer to enter.

"Amalia," she greeted warmly, her voice tinged with affection.

Amalia, the retired operative, stepped into the room, her presence calm and composed. She nodded politely to John and the Bowery King, acknowledging their presence with a small smile.

"Joselyn," she said, her voice gentle. "I heard you had visitors. I hope I'm not intruding."

Joselyn shook her head, her smile widening. "Not at all. These gentlemen were just leaving. Thank you again for your help, John, Mr.King."

With a final nod of farewell, John and the Bowery King made their way out of the office, leaving Joselyn and Amalia alone together. As the door closed behind them, the room fell into a comfortable silence, filled with the quiet camaraderie of old friends reunited.

“Come along, mine is the second to last one.”

The hallway was dimly lit, the only source of illumination coming from the sporadic flashes of lightning that streaked across the sky outside the large window at the end of the corridor. As John and the Bowery King made their way towards Amalia's office, the sound of rain battering against the windowpane filled the air, adding to the somber atmosphere of the building.

Amalia's office stood apart from the others, a solitary beacon of light as almost everything inside was creme or white with black accents. Situated next to the expansive window, it offered a view of the storm raging outside, the turbulent clouds casting eerie shadows across the room. The minimal decorations within only served to accentuate the starkness of the space, a far cry from the warmth and liveliness of Joselyn's office.

As they approached, John and the Bowery King couldn't help but notice the scattered toys strewn about the room, a stark contrast to the seriousness of their mission. Squishy toys lay abandoned on the floor, their bright colors standing out against the muted tones of the office. A small play kitchen sat in one corner, its plastic utensils and pretend food scattered haphazardly across the miniature countertops.

Amalia greeted them with a weary smile as they entered, her tanned skin glowing softly in the dim light. Her long wavy black curly hair cascaded down her back, framing her face in a halo of darkness. Despite her petite stature, there was a quiet strength in her gaze that spoke volumes, a resilience forged through years of hardship and sacrifice.

"Excuse the toys on the floor," she said quietly, her voice tinged with resignation. "I haven't had much time to tidy up."

John and the Bowery King exchanged a glance, a small chuckle escaping them as they gently set aside a squishy toy that had been inadvertently sat upon. The tension in the room eased slightly, replaced by a sense of camaraderie amidst the chaos.

Before they could ask their questions, Amalia took a deep breath, her expression serious. "I'm over this," she said firmly. "I'll be explaining everything."

Her words hung in the air, a solemn promise of revelations to come. And as the storm raged outside, it seemed as though the tempest within was about to be unleashed.

"We were inseparable," she explained, her voice tinged with nostalgia. "After my father was taken out during an assignment and my mother was killed in a tuff war, we only had each other. Our grandmother raised us, but it was [Name] who became my rock.”

John couldn't help but notice that it was the first time anyone had used your first name, and he couldn't deny how lovely it sounded. But he quickly refocused, his attention returning to the weight of the conversation at hand.

"The same thing happened to [Name]," Amalia continued, her voice heavy with emotion. "We witnessed it, and we killed the people responsible. And that's when it was decided that we would become assassins."

John and the Bowery King listened intently, the gravity of Amalia's words hitting home. They knew that the life of an assassin was fraught with danger, but hearing about the tragic events still spurred something within them.

Amalia paused, her gaze flickering towards the window where the storm raged on outside. "I'll spare you the whole sob story of the training," she said, her voice tinged with bitterness. "But I hated having to be both people. A daughter of a prominent family and a trained killer. And [Name] hated it too. It was destroying her mental health."

The notion of Amalia's last name caught John's attention, and he couldn't help but wonder about its significance. "Morales," he said, his voice thoughtful. "Is that your husband's last name?"

Amalia shook her head, her expression somber. "No," she said quietly. "But I only kept it out of obligation. The truth is, I've never felt like I truly belonged to that family. And now, with everything that's happened... I'm not sure I ever will."

John and the Bowery King exchanged a glance, recognizing the significance of the family name in the context of their world. They knew that in the shadowy underworld they operated in, family ties ran deep, binding individuals to a legacy of blood and loyalty.

"I see," John replied, his tone respectful. "Family is everything, especially in our line of work."

Amalia nodded, a hint of resignation in her eyes. "Yes, it is," she agreed quietly. "But sometimes, family can also be a burden, a weight that drags you down when all you want is to break free."

Her words hung in the air, a poignant reminder of the complexities of their shared existence. And as the storm raged on outside, it seemed as though the tempest within her heart was taking physical form.

The Bowery King's question hung in the air, the weight of its implications sinking in. "What happens hypothetically if we can't find her?" he asked, his tone somber.

Amalia's reaction was immediate, a surge of anger bubbling to the surface. "I have to take over!" she exclaimed, her voice laced with frustration. She paused, taking a moment to collect herself before continuing, her tone tinged with bitterness. "I never wanted this life, but I have no choice. If [Name] isn't here to fulfill her duties, then it falls to me."

John and the Bowery King exchanged a glance, the gravity of Amalia's words not lost on them. They had known that the consequences of your disappearance would be severe, but hearing it spoken aloud by someone who would bear the brunt of those consequences drove home the reality of their situation.

Amalia's anger simmered beneath the surface as she continued to speak, her voice strained with emotion. "You want to know why I'm so angry?" she asked, her eyes flashing with intensity. "BecauseI fell in love with the oldest son of a rival family."

John's eyebrows shot up in surprise, his shock mirrored by the expression on the Bowery King's face. "You did?" he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Amalia nodded, her anger momentarily overshadowed by the weight of her confession. "We dated for years in secret," she explained, her voice trembling with emotion. "But none of the elders in his family approved of him. They saw me as nothing more than a pawn in their game of power and influence."

As Amalia recounted the demands placed upon her by the elders, a bitter laugh escaped her lips, carrying with it the weight of years of resentment and frustration. "Finally, one of the elders agreed to our union, but only if I agreed to do the impossible," she continued, her voice filled with bitterness. "They demanded that I take on a series of missions that no one could possibly accomplish."

John's eyes widened in shock, his mind struggling to comprehend the enormity of what Amalia was revealing. "But how... how did you manage it?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Amalia's expression hardened, her anger and fear surfacing. "I didn't," she said, her voice trembling. "I was secretly three months pregnant and terrified. So, [Name] offered me a way out. She pretended to be me and did all of the missions herself in a single month."

John was struck silent, his shock evident. The Bowery King interjected, his voice tinged with disbelief. "That's impossible."

Amalia shuddered, closing her eyes briefly. "I don't know how she did it," she admitted, her voice heavy with emotion. "But she did. And now I have two children and one on the way." She placed a hand tenderly on her growing belly, a mixture of love and fear swirling in her eyes.

The Bowery King glanced at John, then back at Amalia. "She must have liked your husband," he remarked.

Amalia's anger flared again. "She hates him," she spat, her words dripping with venom. "But she did what she had to do to protect our family, just like I'm doing now."

John leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as the pieces began to fit together. "You were the one who commissioned me?"

Amalia nodded, a faint, weary smile tugging at her lips. Without another word, she reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a marker. John recognized it immediately as one of his. Before he could ask where she had gotten it, she tossed it to him. "Give my sister-in-law my regards."

Now he understood why the family had been so open.

She stood up, motioning for them to follow her across the hallway to the last office. As they walked, she reached for a chain around her neck, pulling out a key to unlock the door. With a click, the door swung open.

Inside, [Name]'s office was a sanctuary of unexpected tranquility. The walls were painted a soft, inviting color—clearly her favorite—creating a serene and almost ethereal atmosphere. Several carefully chosen works of art adorned the walls, each piece adding depth and personal significance to the space. The large windows allowed the stormy light to filter in, casting a moody yet gentle glow over the room. Plants adorned the windowsill, their flowers in full bloom.

Scattered toys on the floor hinted at a lingering sense of playfulness, an odd juxtaposition to the gravity of their conversation. A locked closet stood ominously in one corner, suggesting secrets guarded closely. John’s gaze was drawn to a large stereo system complete with CDs and vinyl records, a record player sitting proudly beside a plush, inviting sofa.

The desk was strategically placed in the corner, maximizing the room's openness and making it feel expansive despite its purpose. Weights lay neatly under the desk, alongside a pair of fuzzy bunny slippers—unexpected touches that spoke volumes about [Name]'s need for both comfort and stress relief. A large bookshelf, filled to the brim with an eclectic mix of titles, suggested a mind constantly in search of knowledge or escape.

John took a moment to absorb the room's details. Every element seemed meticulously curated to reflect [Name]'s duality—her strength and vulnerability, her chaos and order. It was a room that spoke of a life lived in the shadows yet yearning for more.

Amalia watched him closely, her expression a complex mix of pride and sorrow. "This is her office," she said softly, her voice heavy with unspoken memories and regrets. "It's where I saw her last."

John nodded, the seriousness of the situation settling heavily on his shoulders. The room was a testament to [Name]'s resilience, a stark reminder of what she had been forced to endure and what she sought to protect.

The Bowery King glanced around the room, his eyes falling on the scattered toys. "What’s with the toys in her office?" he asked, his tone curious yet cautious.

Amalia sighed, her eyes softening as she glanced at the toys. "Some of them belong to my children," she explained. "Even though [Name] hates my husband, she's always been kind to my kids. They adore her."

The King raised an eyebrow. "If she hates him, why does she keep toys for your kids here?"

Amalia's lips curved into a bittersweet smile. "Because despite her feelings towards Aaron, she's still family. She loves my children as if they were her own." She walked over to a shelf, plucking a picture frame from it and handing it to John and the King.

The photo depicted [Name] in a church, taking vows, with two small children standing beside her. The image captured a rare moment of softness and grace, a gentle smile on her face as she knelt before the altar.

Amalia chuckled softly, a hint of irony in her voice. "It’s funny, really. She hates Aaron but was the one who married us. She stood as our officiant and performed the ceremony herself."

John studied the photograph, his eyes lingering on [Name]'s serene expression and the tender way she held the children. It was a side of her he hadn’t expected to see, the Bowery King leaned closer, inspecting the picture with a critical eye.

"She does look genuinely happy here," he remarked, almost to himself.

Amalia nodded, her expression distant as she recalled the day. "She hides her pain well, but it’s there, just beneath the surface. She did it all for the family, even when it tore her apart."

John’s mind raced, the weight of Amalia's words settling heavily on him. He glanced at the toys again, then back at the picture, a new layer of determination forming within him. He had to find her, not just for the mission, but for the person she truly was beneath the layers of duty and sacrifice.

John studied the photograph in his hands, a soft, reflective expression crossing his face. He looked up at Amalia, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "You feel for her, don't you?"

Amalia's gaze drifted past him, landing on the various pictures decorating the office. Each one seemed to tell a story, snapshots of moments frozen in time. The pictures were clearly taken by [Name], as they rarely featured her but captured the world through her eyes.

One photo showed Amalia's children playing in a sunlit park, their laughter almost audible through the image. Another depicted a serene beach at sunset, the colors vibrant and warm, evoking a sense of peace and longing. A third photo captured an intimate family gathering, everyone smiling, with [Name]'s presence felt more than seen, the angle suggesting she was just out of frame, watching over them all.

As Amalia's gaze traveled through the photos, she took a deep breath. "My duties as a mother come first," she said quietly, her hand gently resting on her growing belly.

"Everything I do is for my children. [Name] understands that, even if it means making sacrifices."

The room fell into a contemplative silence, the weight of Amalia's words settling heavily in the air. John and the Bowery King exchanged a glance, both sensing the depth of emotion and history that lay beneath the surface of this family's intricate dynamics.

John's eyes wandered to more photos. There were pictures of Nick and [Name], their bond evident in the way he looked after her with a protective gaze. There were pictures of David being goofy and pranking Nick, capturing the lighter moments. Another series of photos showed Joselyn and her husband from high school until their wedding day, her husband looked to be of middle eastern decent.

Pictures of Amalia were abundant, spanning from her youth to the present day. There was a photograph of her debutante ball, and another of her wedding, noticeably absent of Aaron. Images of her pregnancies were also displayed, as well as breathtaking shots of the sky during sunrise and sunset, capturing the fleeting beauty of those moments.

A picture of the family at Christmas, dancing in their home country with your face obscured by your country’s flag, added a sense of tradition and unity. There were also photos of Nick and Michelle together, and some of Michelle at a café and in a casino bar, her expression pensive yet serene.

John’s gaze lingered on Michele at the casino bar. "Can I take this one?" he asked, his voice low but firm.

Amalia glanced at the picture and then at John, nodding slowly. "Yes, take it. It might help you find her."

John carefully pocketed the photograph, feeling the weight of the mission settle more heavily on his shoulders. He turned back to Amalia. "She’s given up a lot for the family, hasn’t she?"

Amalia nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "More than anyone knows. She’s carried burdens that weren’t hers to bear, all for the sake of duty and love."

The Bowery King looked at the picture of the children again, then at Amalia. "And yet, despite everything, she’s still kind to your children."

Amalia’s smile was bittersweet. "Because that's who she is. No matter how much she’s hurting, she always finds it in herself to care for others. That’s why I owe her everything. And that’s why we have to find her."

John’s resolve hardened. The mission was no longer just about finding a missing person; it was about bringing back someone who had given so much of herself for the sake of others. And he knew, deep down, that he wouldn't rest until she was safe.

John's eyes drifted to the other shelves in Amalia's office, noticing a collection of academic accolades. Certificates and plaques attested to [Name]'s intelligence and dedication, showcasing her achievements in various fields. He took a moment to absorb the extent of her talents, feeling a pang of admiration mixed with sorrow for what she had become.

The Bowery King broke the silence with a pointed question. "If the family wants to marry her off, why bother finding her?"

Amalia's gaze sharpened, her expression fierce. "Have you ever heard the expression, 'The child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth'?"

She paused, looking around the room as if searching for the right words. Slowly, she walked to the bookshelf. "We were always taught to honor those that came before us, but no one remembers the saying, 'Do not provoke your children to anger.'" Her fingers traced the spines of the books before she pulled out a green one. As she did, a section of the wall shifted, revealing a hidden room.

"Don’t get me wrong," Amalia continued. "She really is a sweetheart when you get to know her. But she changed after I got married. She always had a bubble around her and she's picky about who gets inside. She never gives out markers because she hates the idea of owing anyone anything."

The hidden room was a stark contrast to the main office, its coldness sharply contrasting with the warmth just outside the concealed door. John scrutinized the space, feeling as if he had stepped through a portal into another world. Though small, the office was meticulously organized.

A wall on his left was covered in photos and leads of your targets, with notes scribbled next to each photo detailing information about them, their families, and whether they had children. Strings connected some of the photos, forming a complex web of connections and motives.

Your monitor and desk were tucked away in the corner just before he walked in. The desk was devoid of personal touches, looking meticulously clean and functional, with only essential items—pens, a notepad, a closed laptop—neatly arranged. John ran a hand over the smooth surface, noting the absence of fingerprints and the almost clinical precision.

Across from the wall of target photos was a glass-fronted weapons case, showcasing a variety of deadly instruments. Swords, daggers, and firearms were displayed in an orderly fashion, each item meticulously maintained. The glass glinted under the dim lighting, revealing the sheen of polished metal.

However, John noticed that a few weapons were missing, leaving empty slots that hinted at recent use. He bent down slightly, examining the labels below each empty slot, trying to deduce what had been taken.

The Bowery King nodded, his gaze shifting back to the empty slots in the weapons case. "Looks like someone's been busy.”.

As he continued to take in the room, John noticed a faint scent of gun oil and leather, a reminder of the deadly purpose behind the immaculate setup. He straightened up and turned his attention back to the wall of photos, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the detailed notes and connections.

Behind him, the Bowery King entered the hidden office, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. He paused just inside the doorway, taking in the scene with a discerning eye.

"Quite the setup you've got here," he remarked, his voice low and appreciative. He walked over to the weapons case, his fingers tracing the edge of the glass. Amalia let out a hum of acknowledgement having not moved from her place between both worlds.

"Does she have a boyfriend? Any friends outside the family?" John inquired, his voice slicing through the tense silence as he turned to face Amalia.

Amalia, standing in the door frame, shook her head slowly, her fingers drumming a restless rhythm on the polished wood. "She never dates. As for friends, she keeps quiet about them. She doesn't delve deeply into relationships, fearing they might die or she might have to eliminate them."

John's gaze continued to roam the room, finally landing on an unexpected sight: a photograph of himself, discreetly tucked into a corner of the wall behind a stack of books. His brows knitted in surprise, but he chose to remain silent about it. Meanwhile, the Bowery King, who had been pacing near the weapons case, stopped and leaned in to scrutinize its contents again.

"Why aren't these weapons readily accessible?" he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and confusion.

Amalia sighed, her gaze softening slightly as she looked at the King. "Because [Name] doesn't want my kids stumbling upon any of this stuff and easily accessing it out of curiosity. We actually appreciate the precaution," she replied, standing up and walking over to join the King. She carefully unlocked the case with the same key and retrieved a small, intricately designed dagger, holding it up for him to inspect.

John, still taking in the details of the room, pressed on with his questions. "What's her daily routine like?" he asked, moving to stand over his own photo, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp.

Amalia returned on her heel, the dagger still in her hand, and settled back against the wall. "[Name] is primarily focused on school when she's home. She rarely makes calls or texts anyone. She attends family meetings and diligently performs her duties. The only time she engages socially is during or after her missions. She doesn't typically stay out for long," she explained, her voice tinged with melancholy as she placed the dagger on your desk, its blade catching the light.

The Bowery King, still appraising the room, turned his attention back to Amalia. "Do you trust her, Amalia?" he asked, his voice low and probing as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

She paused, her eyes reflecting a turbulent mix of emotions. "I don't know anymore," she admitted, her gaze dropping to the dagger in her hand, the weight of her uncertainty hanging heavy in the air. She gently placed the dagger back before locking the case again. She glared at the glass before turning to face John.

"The arranged marriage was the straw that broke her back," Amalia sighed, her frustration palpable. "Joselyn and I are married so she’s the only girl left.”

John scanned the room, disturbed by the shift in atmosphere. "I know what she's like out there," Amalia continued. "She's a completely different being. So cold, quick, and effective. If someone couldn't handle a job, she dismissed them and did it herself. No one escapes her. She's made a career out of being unknown."

John frowned, puzzled. "Is that why I have never heard of 'The Fawn' before?"

Amalia's eyes darkened. "She only works for the highest of the elite. You can't just request her services. There are rules for that. Dear God, she hates rules."

John’s gaze returned to the hidden room, a mix of awe and sorrow washing over him. The woman they sought was a paradox—capable of immense kindness yet driven to cold efficiency by circumstances beyond her control. As he studied the evidence of your dual life, he realized the depth of the challenge before them. Finding you would be hard enough; convincing you to come back might be impossible.

Amalia, noticing his troubled expression, sighed. "She always looked like she was a deer caught in headlights, vulnerable yet ready to flee or fight. That's why they called her 'The Fawn.' It's ironic, really. So delicate yet deadly. They underestimated her, thinking they could control her. But she’s smarter and stronger than any of them ever gave her credit for."

Without warning, Amalia grabbed John by the neck and slammed him against the door, her small frame vibrating with rage. The Bowery King instinctively backed up, his eyes wide, but John, sensing her condition, didn't reach for his gun.

"Don't you fucking dare underestimate her," Amalia hissed, her eyes blazing. "I don't care how innocent she looks. If looks could kill, you'd be dead twelve times over before you even knew what happened, Baba Yaga." She spat out his nickname with palpable disgust.

John remained still, the intensity of her anger washing over him. "She's strong, she's smart, and she's anything she wants to be. If you fuck up, she'll get you. I know her fight better than anyone else. I've seen what she can do. You cannot fail at this."

Her grip on his neck tightened momentarily before she released him, stepping back to compose herself. John's hand instinctively moved to his throat, feeling the lingering pressure of her grasp. He could see the raw emotion in her eyes, the desperate need for him to understand.

The Bowery King watched in silence, the gravity of the situation sinking in. John straightened, meeting Amalia's gaze with renewed determination. He knew she was right. Failure was not an option. He had to find you and bring you back, not just for the family.

But how could he not feel for the woman who had already sacrificed so much to protect those she loved?

Amalia's breathing slowed, and she placed a protective hand on her belly. "You can’t fail at this, John. Promise me."

John nodded, his voice steady. "I promise."

With a final glance around the room, Amalia led them back out into the office. The storm outside seemed to mirror the turmoil within the mansion.

Amalia’s grip loosened, and she let go of John gently, straightening his tie and collar with a shaky hand. “She hated this job because she felt like a murderer. I understand why she wants to be a criminal defense attorney. But if her marriage keeps our family safe…” She looked into his eyes, her own filled with tears. “If it means my children never have to grow up in this life, so be it.”

Tears began to spill down her cheeks as she stepped back, turning away quickly to hide her emotions. The weight of her words hung heavily in the room. Overwhelmed, she excused herself, rushing to the office trashcan and spitting up. The Bowery King, his face a mix of concern and respect, offered her some tissues, which she took gingerly to wipe her mouth.

John's mind raced, running through the information he'd gathered from each family member. There were inconsistencies and gaps, pieces of a puzzle that didn’t quite fit together. He replayed the details: Nick’s exclusion of Michele and his focus on the marriage. David’s guilty expression and lack of knowledge about your whereabouts despite having trackers on you. Joselyn’s warm yet firm demeanor, her openness to share. The anger and protectiveness in Amalia’s voice, the deep-rooted family loyalties, and the sacrifices made.

Amalia, now composed but visibly drained, leaned against the desk. “She’s not just a tool, John. She’s my sister. We grew up together, suffered together. She deserves more than this. But I have a family of my own now.”

John nodded, his thoughts aligning. He needed to understand why [Name] had been forced into this role, why the family insisted on her marriage, and what it all meant for her future. He couldn’t afford to overlook any detail, any potential lead. The stakes were too high, not just for [Name], but for the entire family.

The Bowery King broke the silence, his voice gentle yet firm. “John, we need to get started. We can’t miss anything. Every detail matters.”

John agreed, his resolve strengthening. He turned to Amalia. “We’ll find her. And we’ll make sure she’s safe.”

Amalia nodded, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears. “Thank you, John. Please… bring her home.”

With a final, solemn nod, John and the Bowery King left the office, as they were escorted out of the estate by the butler, Nick emerged from the shadows, his expression a mix of concern and curiosity. John and the Bowery King exchanged nods with him, acknowledging the unspoken agreement between them. Nick watched them until they disappeared from view, his mind undoubtedly swirling.

Back in the car, the atmosphere was heavy with the weight of their conversation. The engine hummed softly as John navigated the winding roads, the only sound the occasional patter of rain against the windshield. After a few minutes of silent driving, John broke the silence.

“Alright,” he said, his voice cutting through the quiet. “Let’s go over everything.”

As John drove away from the estate, his mind buzzed with thoughts and suspicions. The Bowery King sat beside him, his eyes fixed on the road ahead as he recounted their discussions with each family member. They dissected every statement, every subtle nuance, searching for inconsistencies and hidden truths, trying to piece together the puzzle of your disappearance.

“I don’t trust Nick,” John said, his brow furrowing in thought. “He’s hiding something, I can feel it.”

The Bowery King chuckled, shaking his head. “You never trust anyone.”

John nodded in agreement, his gaze distant as he replayed their conversations in his mind. “And what about David? He seemed sincere, but there’s something he’s not telling us.”

As they delved deeper into their analysis, John and the Bowery King couldn’t shake the lingering questions that gnawed at them. The road stretched out before them, winding through the darkness as their conversation veered into speculation.

“What’s with the contrast between Joselyn’s husband and Amalia’s?” John mused, his voice tinged with skepticism. “Joselyn’s husband seems to have passed her test, but Amalia’s… I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to him than meets the eye.”

"She also didn't mention Michelle and Nick's marriage during the interview."

The Bowery King nodded in agreement, his brow furrowed in thought. “And what about Amalia? She seems genuinely sad about everything happening. But she’ll let her ‘sister’ take the fall before she does. It’s… unsettling.”

Their conversation turned to the possibility of David’s involvement in your disappearance. “Do you think David helped her escape?” John asked, his tone grave.

“Something about his demeanor… it’s off.”

The Bowery King considered this, his mind racing with possibilities. “And Michelle… is she really hiding out, or is there more to her story?” he pondered aloud. “She’s been missing for too long, and Nick’s desperation… it’s barely palpable.”

John furrowed his brow in thought, a realization dawning on him. “I didn’t know Sofia had a brother…” he murmured, his voice trailing off as he mulled over this new information.

The Bowery King chuckled lightly, a wry smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Maybe they aren’t close,” he quipped, a hint of amusement in his tone.

Despite the levity of the moment, John couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that settled over him. There were still too many unanswered questions, too many pieces of the puzzle that didn’t quite fit together. But he was determined to uncover the truth, no matter where it led.

How hard would it be for the Big Bad Wolf to find a little Fawn?

______________________________________________________________

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

Part 2 is here.

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thebunnednun · 5 months ago

Text

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

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

Summary:

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

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

Chapter Summary:

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

Oopsies!

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

You were running.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s when you saw it.

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

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

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

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

It was all around you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s all too much for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is your punishment.”

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

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

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

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

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

“And soon, you will be too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your vision quite literally tinged with red.

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

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

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

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

She was in the music room.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“[Name]!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She realizes she’s never coming back.

“May Jesus keep you.”

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

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

All that was left now was an empty shell.

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

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

You weren’t done here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Freedom

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

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

"Yes."

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

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

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

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

At least when you opened your eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes were so tender and reassuring.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“AARAH!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

____

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She’s valuable.”

“Too valuable for them to let go."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Feeling lucky today?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What! What happened?!”

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

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

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

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

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

Forever.

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

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

"Spill. What happened?"

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

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

“But you left your earbuds in the bathroom.”

“He went into my room?!”

“That’s literally not important right now!”

“Focus!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit.”

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

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

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

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

That you would have a chance to live.

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

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

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

“Agreed.”

“Let’s start a plan.”

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

“ NO! ”

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

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

"I WON'T DO IT!"

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

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

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

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

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

"Let go of me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh Sunshine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm sorry too."

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

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

��

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—-- Before all of that

You couldn't sleep that night.

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

Nothing helped.

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

That was before she met Aaron.

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

And even after all of that you were still alone.

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

So you packed a bag.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where are you headed off to?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But what if he finds you? What if—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Completely."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You let go.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You let go.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Quiet literally, too.

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

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

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

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

—----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tap, tap, tap.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And what you were up to.

"Oh Nicky!~"

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Also posted on my ao3. If you see any mistakes just let me know. I don't have an editor yet.

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

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

Tag list: @littledebbieinabigworld @treedaddymcpuffpuff <33

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

Part 1: Can be found right here.

My DM's and requests are open!

I promise I bite~

Seen you soon my loves!!~ <<33