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fics-not-tragedies · 4 years

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Memories to be made: Chapter 1

one - two - three

I was quite anxious to post it at first, because, compared to my other fics, this is a totally different thing, but @ladyreapermc, @toomanystoriessolittletime & @solariumss talked me into doing it nonetheless. Hopefully it will be something worth reading!

SUMMARY: Emelia sees a handsome man on a street outside a cafe where her best friend works and she decides to run after him. Words: 3861; Warnings: none;

Readers tag list:

@spookier-than-u; @sparrowsparrow; @oreofenyloetyloamina; @derangedcupcake; @geostarr; @catsmieow; @wickedlangdon; @bodhi-black; @bugalouie; @onebatch--twobatch; @fandom-lover-4; @mikaneonox; @drunkonyellow; @spadesandaces2342; @harrisongslimited; @a–1–1–3; @hhighkey; @lunilate; @i-cant-remember-my-old-login; @sgt-morgan; @coloursunlimited; @childrenofthegun; @weminiaturestrawberry; @silverlambcaptain; @scarletmoon83; @howtoruin-someones-perfect-day; @krazycags01; @charlottebonnie; @moonlit-raven-haven; @girl-at-the-verge; @boopdedoop; @jardani-jovonovich-bitch;

The rain that was pouring all over London finally decided to stop, at least for a while, the sun desperately trying to shine through the heavy black clouds that swarmed the sky that not-so-long-ago was in an enchanting shade of pastel blue.

Everything felt better and much easier when the sky was just simply blue, with few fuzzy white clouds sliding through it here and there. They were almost identical to those small herds of sheep, unaffected by anything, bleating loudly, moving little by little and eating out the grass from the Cardiff’s cliffs.

The sky was the prettiest at nights, those ones spend alone or with someone you love, away from the city. Cloudless nights were the most impeccable moments when you could spend your time by gazing skyward. Their brightness was remarkable, making every constellation easy to see.

At times, when the night wasn't enough and the darkness was too consuming, it felt like all of those striking stellar phenomenons hide somewhere deep or every single one of them was sucked into a black hole leaving only the absorbing obscurity of the starless night.

Too early? Give Tea a Chance.

The slogan on the wide billboard right across the street caught her eye. She flinched in her sit closer to the window that was still covered in the droplets of rain, doing her best to focus on the advertisement and power-off her restless mind just for a moment.

There were two cups filled with tea and a teapot standing in the middle between them, the image printed on thin paper glued to the advertising board. The edge of it was peeling off slightly, flapping freely from side to side when wind blew in the right direction. She could imagine how the teapot, as well as the pair of cups, rips entirely from the board and flies away in an unknown direction, somewhere far from this gloomy city, to rise up the sales of tea elsewhere. Only though London was the perfect city to advertise a new brand of tea that was supposed to work as a coffee equivalent for those that cannot drink the stronger beverage.

Even not being a strong fan of tea she already wanted to buy the advertised brand and just simply drink it. She was curious if the tea was made from the tea leaves only or maybe it had those tiny pieces of dried fruit and edible flowers mixed in between them.

New brand of tea. Something fresh to occupy her mind.

At least for now.

When she’d be back home she would once again rummage through all of her stuff trying to search for the chunks of her mind she’s lost. She will look at those old Polaroid pictures still not remembering any single thing that was happening in the moment they were taken, nor any person that was posing on them with her.

“With your feet on the air and your head on the ground

You try this trick and spin, yeah

Your head will collapse, there is nothing in it

And you ask yourself?”

The subwoofer was placed somewhere around her seat and she could feel how the basses were thudding in her chest now, filling her whole body with a somehow pleasant feeling, she could swear was remarkably familiar.

“Where is my mind? Where is my mind?

Where is my mind? Where is my mind?

Way out, in the water see her swimmin'”

“This one exceptionally fits now, doesn't it?” reaching for her mug filled with icy coffee she turned towards the couple of her friends, who are eyeing her with concerned look on their faces.

“We were just saying that, Lia...” the red haired woman leans over the small coffee table, “A-are you okay?” she touches her hands, closing them around hers that are still gripping the mug, when she places it back on the marble surface of the table.

“Yes love, perfectly fine. My mind just got lost around this new tea” she points to the billboard, tapping on the glass with her short nail that’s painted in the shade called Russian Red.

It’s easy to recall, the name of the crimson varnish she has now on her every nail, the two coats neatly spread everywhere, without any missing spots or parts that are peeling off; yesterday she went to the beauty salon with the intent of making an usual choice, but this time, the name caught here eye and she opted for this classical color.

She never really had her nails painted red, but she knew that somehow she was a different person now and the change required a new varnish shade, the one she never used before.

They turn their heads to the side where her finger was placed against the cold glass, gazes following its direction.

Few things changed when she looked away for a moment; the wind stopped now, the peeled off edge of the advertisement wasn’t flying from side to side any more; and there was this man...

Standing too far from her to see his face, that was also covered with a pair of black sunglasses, he was simply standing by the fence, taking another drag from his cigarette. The white shirt he was wearing partially tucked into his pants, the black jacket probably miss-matched from a fancy suit.

There was something magnetizing about the way he casually ran his fingers through the fluff of his brown, near shoulder-length hair.

It didn’t seemed like he noticed her heart-shaped face pressed close to the window, eyes glued to his figure, breathing in his every movement. He looked like he just got out of some kind of business meeting, the black jacket of his suit comfortably unbuttoned now, squeezing the muscles of his arms, complimenting the whole look.

She was enchanted by him.

Since the accident she wasn’t really thinking about men, except for her dad and her close friend, that was now joking about something with her bestie. Still stuck on him, unable to look away now, move on and pay attention to anything else except for him, she was almost frozen in time, admiring the view of the smoking man.

Her hand wandered unconsciously to her neck, making her head tilt to the side, so she could have a better access to it, before she pressed her own fingers to it.

“Don’t scratch it!” she was scolded by her friend and even though she almost shouted, her loud voice interrupting everyone in the café, it this wasn't stopping her from sliding slim fingers back under the black turtleneck and rub them harshly against her scarred neck.

The weather was lovely, well except from the rain that was pouring down from the dark clouds from time to time, and she wore the knitted piece of clothing only with the purpose of covering her dreadful scars.

“Not scratching, just stroking them” her hand stopped moving and she just kept it pressed closely to her neck, feeling how the vein in it was pulsing, becoming more aware of her presence in the wicker chair and her face that was practically pressed against the wet window.

“Both means the same in your dictionary now” the blond man that was sitting silently next to the red haired woman finally spoke, standing up from the chair he was comfortably huddled in, “snap out of it babe” he walks over to the brunette and takes her hand out of the hem of her turtleneck, “ooooh... A GUY... he caught your eye, hasn't he?” She turns her head to look at her friend, giving him the death stare.

“Shouldn't you be working Jimmy? Bet your break already ended” she scans his apron dressed figure and raises her eyebrow, feeling how it begins to twitch slightly, the rapid movements of her body being unable to control sometimes.

Hoping that neither of them noticed the rapture motion happening on her face she quickly turned her head back to the window.

The fluffy guy was now gone from the spot where he had a quick smoke few minutes ago.

She outstretched her neck, pressing her forehead to the glass, only to catch a glimpse of his back dressed in the black suit jacket.

Tiny gasp left her mouth when she knew she wouldn't ever see him again.

Ever.

In her whole life time.

“Is it okay to run after a guy I haven’t met yet?” Her own question echoed in the café. The fiery haired female just rolled her eyes, while Jimmy walked to the door and opened them widely, the bell hung above them ringed, filling the place with its metallic tone, gesturing for her to just go for it.

“Emelia-Grace, if he caught your eye just grab your bag and run after him. He’s probably walking on the London Bridge now. Just fucking run babe!” She threw the bag onto her lap and waved her hands showing her to get up and go.

“You've got a point Macy, love you boooth!” Emelia shouted, putting the shoulder strap of her bag across her body and she immediately took a sharp right turn after running out of the café.

Her auburn locks were jumping around her face when she was sprinting through the sidewalk, bumping onto random pedestrians that were just passing by. Heartbeat raced up, breathing close to panting now, she kept stomping with her leather boots again and again, keeping a steady pace, trying to catch up with the guy she just saw.

Emelia noticed him at the beginning of the London Bridge, where he stopped for a moment to have another cigarette. Slowing down a bit, she tried to regain her breath, trying to calm her raced up pulse before even opening her mouth with the intent of speaking to him.

Sauntering closer she was able to notice all of his features and as he turned around, facing her now, and she couldn't help but smile. He somehow reminded her of a poet, that became fed up with his creativity and got out for a walk across London.

She approached him carefully, like he was a wild animal that needed to be tamed, smiling at him when he noticed her and took the glasses off his nose, hiding them inside the pocket of his jacket. His eyes were scanning her up and down, flicking between her face and the curves of her body, when she realized that corners of her mouth raised, she felt the courage kicking in, spring in her step making her move swiftly towards him.

“This might sound too upfront, but I noticed you while you were having a smoke right in front of the café one block away from here” she stopped there for a moment, taking a deep breath before speaking again, “and you caught my eye. E-especially the hair, so soft and fluffy” gesturing closely to the side of his head she made him giggle a little.

He scrunched his nose, rubbing it with his fingers, looking away from her, but only for a moment, his eyes wandering back to her face almost immediately.

“Yeah, apparently there’s summat about it that catch girl’s attention” smiling at her, the upper row of his whitened teeth exposed in the wide grin that appeared on his face, she took one step closer to her and reached out with his hand offering her a handshake, “I’m Keanu, Keke, Ke, whatever you like to call me, really.”

Then, she hesitated, stopping her hand from moving, before she extended it fully and pressed it into the warmth of his palm. It felt awkward at first, until he hasn't moved even closer, lifting her hand up to his face and pecking its soft skin with his chapped lips.

“A true gentleman, what a surprise in this times...” a giggle left her mouth when Keanu bowed down again to press another kiss onto her hand, “Quite an unusual name, for a gentleman like you, Keanu… I’m Emelia, Em, Emmy or Lia, pick the one you fancy the most” after telling him her name she unexpectedly became silent, thinking if she got it right and didn't just made it all up along with the nicknames.

But her name was the first thing she noticed on the plastic bracelet that was wrapped around her wrist when she woke up in the hospital, the painkillers numbing everything and clouding her mind, even though somehow she still remembered her full name printed on the thin band she had carefully attached to her limb.

It wasn't just the creation of her mind which was still missing few major pieces. Her name was real and so is she now, standing in front of the most handsome guy she ever met.

On the other side of the sidewalk Keanu was taken aback by the softness of her distant gaze, revealing the fact that her thoughts were somewhere far from the spot on London Bridge where they were standing now. He still held her hand in his, caressing its top with his thumb, feeling the roughness of the scar she had inside her palm pressed against his skin. Parting his lips he almost spoke, asking her about it, but only a gasp left his mouth and he closed it shut.

Her curly hair was falling onto her shoulders, tangled under the strap of her bag. The sun decided to surprise them with peeking from behind one of the heavy clouds, highlighting all of the different bronze and gold hues she had hidden in her locks. The glance of her emerald eyes still stuck in a distant place, it seemed like she got lost somewhere along her memory lane and this tad bit of reality, with him right in front of her.

Emelia pouted her lips, blinked few times and her eyes focused back on Keanu’s gently freckled face.

“Glad to have you back on Earth” he rubbed her hand once again before finally letting go of it, “good memories or bad ones?” the huskiness of his voice was too pleasant for her ears, making her heart beat faster.

“The ones I can remember” only one side of her mouth raised, the crooked grimace she gave him forced, like she was angry at herself for not being able to remember everything she needed to keep locked safely in her mind.

“What?” His both eyebrows raised, eyes wide open, mouth agape, he slightly tilted his head like he didn’t really understood what he just said, blinking quickly few times and furrowing his brows.

“I-It’s too complicated...” she gasped, her hand shoot upwards and onto her neck, the urge to scratch the scarred skin too strong to simply avoid, it felt like her own body was making her do it unwillingly.

With the last bit of consciousness kicking in, she simply brushed the skin with her fingers, putting them under the turtleneck, like she was doing it in a way of flirting with him.

She wanted to avoid drawing any type of attention to her safely hidden neck, but mimicking flirting seemed more rational than just simply scratching roughly her already reddened skin, showing him that there’s something wrong with her unnatural behavior.

Noticing her gesture and how she moved her palm away from her body, squeezing her fingers with her other hand and rubbed them together; Keanu just smiled, partly to himself, partly to her and Emelia noticed the way his eyes were hooded now, not because of the sun that was shining too brightly now, blinding him, his sunglasses tucked inside his pocket and not on his face, but because he was focused on her, waiting for her another reaction, a barely noticeable rise of the corner of her mouth, twitch of her eyebrow or a head tilt mixed with usual puppy eyes.

He met many girls that had green eyes, but there was something diverse about hers.

They weren't just simply green. When he saw their color when she was slowly but surely approaching him they looked like the fields outside of L.A. in the spring. Juicy grass swinging from side to side, bent by the warm wind.

Now, when she was close to him, in the reach of his arms, something about them changed. Maybe it was the brightness of the sun reflecting in them that now made the green hues look similar to the shade of a potion, or rather a poison, the one a person can find in the lab of a mad scientist.

She swayed in the place where she was standing, lifting the heel of her boot off the pavement and then making it click while placing it back onto the concrete tile.

Smiling back at him widely she curled up the corners of her mouth so high, that the dimples in her cheeks decided to show.

“So cute...” Keanu breathed out, the words a mere whisper, but they reached her ears, making her face flush with a shade comparable to the one she had on her nails now. Her palms were all sweaty now, maybe because she was still pressing them tightly together or maybe rather of how fresh and new this situation was.

A drop of sweat left a trail on her back, sliding all the way down from the back of her neck. The turtleneck was a bad idea after all. It was too thick for this partly lovely weather, she had to buy few thinner ones, because she’s gonna boil herself in a minute.

“Sooo...” he started, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his throat, like he had a lot to say and really wanted to do it, but was stopping himself from spilling the tea.

She changed her position, standing now diagonally in front of him, shielding his face from the sun with her own figure, having a better look at his posture.

His arms were big, the difference of their size compared to his other body parts actually visible. Looked like he was doing some workout in his free time, the kind that was mostly involving his arms. Boxing maybe?

He was only a tad bit taller than she, but it wasn’t a problem, at least for her. She never fancied any guy that was incredibly tall and had a six pack. Neither she had any specific type, when it comes to men, but Keanu, on the other hand, was something... extraordinary; with the fluffy hair, doe eyes and his gloomy poet look he was an exquisite view.

She had to admit: she fancied him.

Keanu swallowed hard the lump that formed in his throat, intimidated by the intensity of her stare, unable to give his sentence a proper ending. Entangling his fingers in the fluff of his hair he scratched his scalp like the gesture was supposed to help him with coming up with the right words. Playing out a written script in his case was a lot easier than talking to girls.

Especially the ones he liked, because well... he had to admit: he fancied her.

Even though they barely knew one another, except for their names and faces, they both could have swear that there was something in the air, not simple another downpour, no; something that made them gravitate towards each other. The indescribable feeling of being close to somebody and the wanting of getting even closer.

Emelia’s mind was now occupied with him, a pleasant change for once. She felt the urge to hug him, wrap her arms around his neck, squeeze him tightly and smell the fumes of his cologne mixed with the smoke from the cigarettes, but it would be too random and awkward now.

Eyes glued to his face, not leaving it even for a second, noticed how his plump lips were parted, still, red from all of the many times he pressed them tightly together. The words he wanted do say out loud stuck in his throat, like there was anything clever to say in that moment.

They just kept staring deep into each other’s eyes, in silence, disturbed only by the birds chirping above their heads or by the passers by that were speaking on the phone too loudly.

Thoughts wandered off the right tracks and for the first time since the accident she thought about someone in a different way than just simply being his friend.

The fuzzy brown hair of his. What kind of shampoo was he using? And those strong arms. Flushed cheeks, the innocent smile he had on his reddened lips. He’s not the type of guy that breaks your heart, he’s too... soft for that. Yes, soft, the perfect word to describe him.

Soft.

Slowly he flicks his tongue across his lower lip before opening his mouth to speak again.

“Wanna go on a date” his gaze mellow, absolutely not trying to force any answer out of her, “with… me?” Keanu adds quickly, like the question was wrongly stated, not fully giving the hint that the date, in fact, would be with him and not with someone else, “Emelia?” He feels the urge to wave his hand in front of her face, she’s so lost in her thoughts she doesn't notice that he steps closer.

Then, the touch of his hands squeezing her arms gently makes her come back to Earth from the depths of her restless mind.

“Keanu” Emelia blurts out, stunned by his gesture, her heart pounding, face turned pale, hand ever sweatier than before. She actually wanted to take a step back, move away from him, move away from his body that was stuck too close to hers, but the browns of his doe eyes and the tenderness of his gaze stopped her from doing it, “d-date sound great!” Fishing out her phone from the pocket of her jeans she handed it to him, “J-just save me your number” and he did, removing hands from her arms, taking a step backwards, he stopped invading her private space and took the phone from her hand.

Few presses of its buttons later he gave it back to her, another wide smile on his face.

“Just... don’t forget to call me, please” Keanu added the last word, stressing out the fact that indeed he wanted to see her again, not only once, but again and again; he wanted it all to be something else. Not just a random meeting on the London Bridge.

He squeezed her arm saying goodbye without actually saying anything and moved slowly towards the bridge, turning around few times just to look at her again, like he was afraid he’d forget her face, smiling and waving his hand.

She just simply stood there, wiggling her own palm funnily, grinning like a high-schooler that just got asked about going to a prom with her long time crush.

When he stopped turning around to glance at her again and again, and just kept walking straight ahead, Emelia looked down at her phone, curious to see how he saved his own number. The new contact was simply named as Keanu, but with a smiling emoji right next to it.

A smile.

Sincere gesture worth more than a thousand words.

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thegalaxycolectortdwl · 4 years

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youtube

Keanu Reeves the golden year winner fan's choice

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 3 years

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I'm still here

Summary: Soulmate AU: People meet their soulmates every day. Lana on the other hand just wanted to have a little talk about all the ghost tattoos and scars that seemed to appear daily on her body. John didn’t even know his soulmate existed until three little words appears in his ankle. Things changed after that.

Pairing: John Wick x OFC

Wordcount: 4.3k

Warnings: angst, scars, dogs, torture, blood, also fluff

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“Fuck,” a sharp pain on her back interrupted Lana’s sleep. Groaning her hand reached for the spot that caused her pain, her fingertips finding a huge scar. Leaning to her side she switched the lamp on her bedside table on, getting out of bed. She walked to the bathroom, turning in front of the mirror to look at her back.

Was that a burn wound?

Fuck it still hurt. Looking closer at it she tried to make out what it was. A cross. Shaking her head she sighed, going back to bed. Another one to add to her collection. Jack, her dog, looked at her with sleepy eyes.

“Yeah I know. Sorry,” she patted her head until the dog was back asleep again.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she asked in the night, knowing she wouldn’t get an answer. Rubbing over the spot that didn’t even hurt anymore she sighed.

All of her friends were gushing about their soulmates. How perfect they were, how it seemed like the universe clicked the moment they laid eyes on each other for the first time.

Well Sam’s soulmate was a retail manager and Emma’s soulmate was a lawyer. The worst scar they had was a dolphin tattoo at a spot no one would see if they didn’t know.

Lana could remember the day she woke up, a tingling sensation on her back. It was a feeling she didn’t know before. At that point it had been two years since the scars started. Faint scars mostly on her legs and back that kept reminding her that somewhere out on this planet her soulmate was very much alive. Even though sometimes she thought they didn’t really care to be alive. Then again, maybe they worked with the police? No, the tingling sensation was different. She remembered taking her shirt off, turning in the mirror and gasping as she saw what it was. A tattoo. On her whole back.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me…” she groaned. Fine white lines now graced her whole back. The ink from a real tattoo is missing, only the scar visible. A ghost tattoo.

"Fortis Fortuna Adiuvat,” she squinted. Lana would find out later that it was latin and translated to "fortune favors the bold" which apparently was the motto of the marines. Maybe this could be her explanation for the scars. A marine. A long time Lana lived with the idea that her soulmate was serving somewhere, their job dangerous.

“Maybe he doesn’t know you exist,” Sam had said once, many years later, catching Lana off guard.

“What do you mean?”

“Did you ever hurt yourself so that your soulmate would have a scar from you?”

She didn’t. Growing up Lana scared plenty, always falling on her knees, but ever since she turned 18 and the whole Soulmate thing started? Nothing.

“You should get a tattoo. So your soulmate knows you’re alive.”

And so she did. A little tattoo on her ankle that said “I’m still here”.

Shortly after her tattoo, it all stopped. Like they vanished. Like whoever her soulmate was received her message. But not after giving her some of the worst scars she ever received. Whatever they had been doing before it just stopped, it had to be painful.

She told herself that maybe they had fallen in battle. Which should give her some comfort, knowing that they weren’t in constant pain anymore. Lana continued her life, moved to New York city, found new friends, found a new job, found a man who warmed her bed. She didn’t love him. She wasn’t even sure she was capable of loving someone. Of course she felt attraction, Lana was no virgin by all means but it always felt like there was something missing. Deep down she knew what it was. And she learned to live with that ache. Learning to be happy without her soulmate.

Until one day, she was just about to get out with her dog, she felt a pain she hadn’t felt in years. Jack barked, sniffling at her confused as she grabbed her wrist. And there, right there was a faint white line that hadn’t been there before.

Ever since that day it was like there were constant scars. Every day she would feel the familiar pain of a new scar. It was worse than ever before.

Her whole body looked like she was constantly fighting a war against… she didn’t know. But tonight she wanted to forget about it all. Lana had met this guy a week before. It had been a while since she had an orgasm that didn’t come from her own hand.

Taking a last look in the mirror she winked at herself.

She didn’t know if she would ever find her soulmate. But maybe tonight she would find someone who would make her forget about that even just for a few hours.

That the man she met tonight would be the reason her soulmate would find her, was something Lana would find only out much much later.

John wasn’t in constant pain anymore. The soup kitchen took really good care of him after his, let’s call it fall. John was finished with the high table. Or what was remaining of it.

“What are you going to do now?” Winston asked him. He looked at the man, still confused why the fuck he didn’t just shoot him on sight when he first saw him after he shot him off the roof.

“I don’t know. Maybe a nice vacation.”

Winston chuckled.

“Yeah that soulmate of yours must have had quite painful weeks Jonathan.”

John sighed, crossing his legs, his thumb brushing over the three words that were his only clue that he even had a soulmate.

“Yeah,” John said, standing up.

“Jonathan?” he heard Winston say. He stopped walking, looking over his shoulder.

“I hope that for both of our sakes that we never see each other again.”

“Goodbye Winston.”

He really didn’t know what would come next. His house was a graveyard and he didn’t want to go back to. Back to where Helen and him had been happy until she...

He shook his head. He had loved Helen.

When he met her John didn’t think he had a soulmate. Not once in all those years had there ever been a clue that he had a soulmate. It was on the night he proposed to Helen that he felt something he hadn’t felt before. A burning pain on his ankle. Three words that made his whole world crash down on him. I’m still here. Of course he had told Helen. She had lost her Soulmate in a car crash years ago. And John loved her. He really did. And even more so when all she did when he told him was give him one of her bright smiles, telling him that it’s okay.

He married her anyway and he wouldn’t change a thing.

And during his marriage to Helen, he would sometimes forget that there still was someone out there. But it caught up with him. When Helen got sick those three words on his ankle gave him more comfort than he had ever felt in his life before. He wanted to tell his soulmate so many things. How sorry he was for all the scars he put on their body. God. The tattoo. While he liked it on his body, it was a whole different thing knowing it was on the back of another person who didn’t ask for it.

John rented an apartment outside of New York City until he decided what to do or where to live. He did pretty much the same thing every day. Wake up, get Dog out, come back and work on some books, get out with dog again, eat, sleep. Sometimes he would run into his neighbors on his way out. There was a woman, he thinks she lives upstairs who had a dog too. Jack was her name. He remembered the laugh of his neighbor when he gave her a confused look.

“Always wanted to have a dog named Jack,” she had explained with a shrug before she had walked out, probably to get to work.

They kept running into each other, either one on their way out or in. He liked her, even if he still didn’t know her name. She always had a smile on her lips when he saw her.

It was a couple weeks later when he noticed Jack upstairs barking for the whole day. Thinking about it, he hadn’t seen his neighbor in a couple days. When he heard footsteps upstairs after two days he made his way up, finding an older looking woman who was apparently cleaning the apartment.

“It’s not like her to just leave. Lana never leaves Jack alone.”

“You haven’t heard of her?” John asked, the woman shook her head.

“I tried calling her, but it’s going straight to voicemail. And… I don’t want to leave Jack alone here.”

“Do you think something happened to her?” John asked.

“I don’t know. I’m gonna try to reach her sister. But…. I’m worried.”

That worried John too, a nagging feeling on the back of his head. He liked her. Lana. He didn’t even know her name until now but it fit her.

“I don’t know what to do with Jack…”

“I’ll take her,” John offered. “If you can’t reach her, please let me know. And go to the police.”

The woman nodded, packing some things for Jack before he took the dog with him downstairs and made a couple of calls. He was worried for Lana. He had talked to the woman a little longer, learning that Lana had her own bookshop in the city. Of course she had, he thought. When he had gone through all of his remaining contacts he sighed. If someone would find something, they would call him. He may be retired again, but people wouldn’t dare to test his patience.

He continued with his life, still undecided on what to do next. He was getting bored. That’s the only reason he accepted the job he got offered to work as head of security for the family of an italian diplomat. He found out a little later that his new boss and the D’Antonio family had been sworn enemies.

Life continued easy for John. Still worried for Lana who hadn’t been back in her apartment for almost a month. He still had enough time to work on his books and live a somewhat easy life.

Until the scaring started.

Lana didn’t know how much time had passed. Her throat hurt as she tried to swallow. Slowly blinking her eyes open she found herself lying on the same shitty bed she had been for days? Weeks? Months? She didn’t know.

What she did know was that her date, Fabrizio, turned out to be a fucking psychopath. She winced when she sat herself up, her wrists bloody from the cable ties that he used to keep her restrained. Looking down at her body she was glad she wasn’t completely naked. Scars littered her whole body. Scars that were her’s and not her soulmates. Her capturer seemed to have a preference for knives. And she was truly scared of what would happen, once he grew bored with her.

He didn’t force himself on her. Yet. She could feel his eyes on her all the time, even when he wasn’t in the room. Like now. A single lightbulb was providing some light. She stretched her muscles as far as she could. She had only enough room to walk to the toilet and the bed. At least he thought of that.

“You’ awake amore?” she heard his voice, her breathing getting quicker. Closing her eyes Lana forced her body to remain calm. Shehad tried everything to get out of here. The last time he had almost killed her, a nasty scar on your inner thigh would remind her of that for her whole life. If she ever got out of here. Lana heard the door open, and she forced herself to look up, seeing him enter.

“You ready for another lesson?” he asked and she shuddered.

John was on edge.

He got a call earlier today with information on Lana. Additional to that the new scars on his body that now seemed to appear daily and he had no fucking idea what to do. Was this how his soulmate felt when he was younger or when he was on a job? It was hell for John. But he had to snap out of it. Today he might have the opportunity to bring back Lana. It was Winston of all people who called him this morning and told him that he might do well checking out what the son of his new employer was up to. He hadn’t met the man before but it took him only three hours to find out that something was odd.

He seemed to spend his whole time on a secluded and abandoned company site. He only found that out because of the phone records. Yeah, he had learned a thing or two since he started working again.

So this is how he found himself at said building, gun in his hand. He had been watching for a couple hours, seeing no one else enter. The more intelligent thing to do was to call for backup. But his only back up was the security details his boss paid. And he doubted they would show up to help get his son.

He felt the familiar rush as he stepped into the building. He lingered in the shadows as he sneaked deeper into the building. There were no people around. No guards, nothing.

What the fuck was he doing here? His car was still outside so he had to be here.

John checked his phone, seeing that he was still at the same spot as the phone signal he tracked earlier. He stepped out of the shadows, rounding a corner when he heard a whimper. A female whimper.

“Are you going to listen amore? Or do I have to punish you again?” Fabrizio asked. Lana whimpered, the blade breaking the skin on her neck.

“I’ll be good. I promise.”

The blade left her skin and she breathed out relieved.

“Good girl. Don’t want to scar your beautiful face yet.”

“What happens to me?” Lana asked with a small voice, looking at the floor. She was strapped to a chair. This time naked and she couldn’t help the tears. Constant tears ever since he came in and demanded her to strip. His hands on her body making her skin crawl.

“What do you mean?”

“Are you gonna kill me?”

“Probably,” he said and she sobbed.

“Why me?”

She looked up, seeing him with a scalpel.

“Because I like to destroy pretty things.”

John heard a scream that let his blood run cold.. Without wasting any more time he quickly made his way to where constant screams were coming from, hoping he wouldn’t be too late.

“Please. Please don’t… Please….” he heard someone cry out and he pushed away the thought that he knew this voice. He just had to get to her. He breathed in deep, calming himself when he pushed the door open.

The pain was almost blinding. Lana didn’t know what he was doing as she struggled against her restraints. Fabrizio was pushing against her to keep her still as he worked with the scalpel on her stomach. He was so focused that he didn’t notice how the door behind him opened. But she did.

Through her tears she saw someone enter, a man dressed completely in black. Maybe it was death himself, finally coming for her. She closed her eyes, relaxing her body in acceptance.

And just like that the pain stopped.

John had been angry before, but the fury that was pumping through his veins at seeing Lana restrained on a chair and a man towering over her, causing her immense pain, was nothing he had experienced before.

He didn’t even notice he reacted, finding himself on top of the man who looked up at him with wide eyes, John’s hands around his throat. John wanted to cause him as much pain as he did Lana. Instead he broke his neck, the man dead immediately. John breathed in deeply, calming his shaking body as he got up, not batting the man an eye as he turned around. He averted his eyes as he saw Lana completely naked. He got out of his jacket, finding his pocket knife. Lana was still sitting in the chair, breathing calmly as if she was meditating.

He had seen much in his life. But the many cuts over her whole body were making him sick. Carefully he cut through the cable ties that restrained her wrists to the chair before he pulled his jacket over her naked body. He kneeled down, cutting through the ties on her ankles, as he saw a tattoo of three words that mirrored the scars on his. He stopped in his tracks, looking up at the woman in front of him. He reached up carefully lifting his jacket up to look at her right shoulder to find faint scars in the form of the cross tattoo that was on his arm.

He breathed in deeply, pulling the jacket down again. Everything seemed to click into place as he thought about the last weeks. How he always felt on edge, but didn’t know why.

Lana, his neighbor, was his soulmate.

She whimpered.

“Lana? Lana, it’s me John. Your... neighbor….” he said softly. She blinked her eyes open, looking down.

“John?” she whispered.

“I’m getting you out of here and into a hospital,” he said softly.

“No… no hospital. Just… I wanna go home,” she cried.

John looked at her, feeling his heart break.

“I’m gonna carry you okay?”

He saw her nod as he leaned down and carefully picked her up and into his arms. He felt her small arms come around his neck.

“Thank you,” she whispered against his neck. John didn’t look back as he carried her out of the room and then out of the building.

“Can you stand?” he asked. She nodded weakly as he put her down, leaning her against his car.

“I’m gonna grab a blanket from the trunk,” he told her. His mind was going a million miles per hour. He opened the trunk, getting a blanket and the first aid kit. Getting back quickly he pulled the blanket around her before he opened the door and helped her si in the passenger's seat.

“I’m gonna put a bandaid on the cut on your stomach,” he said but when he looked up he noticed that she fell asleep. He shook his head, making quick work of bandaging her before he carefully closed the door.

He tried to calm his mind, still feeling the rage bubbling in his chest. Picking his phone he called his boss. It connected right away.

“Your son kidnapped my soulmate. You can find him at the abandoned company grounds of the Miller’s downtown.”

“Mr. Wick…”

“If you don’t want me to come after your whole family I suggest you forget you even know my name,” he threatened.

“Of course.”

John ended the call before he got into the car. He looked at Lana who was still sleeping. Starting the car he couldn’t stop from carefully taking her hand in his.

Lana blinked her eyes open slowly. There was light coming through the window. It looked like it was early morning. The mattress beneath her was soft and she was tucked in like a child. Where was she? Turning her head she noticed someone sitting in the chair next to her bed.

It was her neighbor. John. The events of the last hours caught up with her and she gasped, her hand flying over her mouth. John blinked his eyes open, finding hers.

“Lana?” he asked.

“You saved me. He was… He wanted to… Oh god…” she whimpered.

“Hey…” John was at her side immediately, taking her hand.

“You’re safe. He will never hurt you ever again,” she relaxed when she felt his hand around hers.

“How… How did you find me?” she asked.

“I… I have contacts. You were missing for almost three months. The moment someone saw something I went to get you. I’m sorry it took so long.”

“John. Why were you looking for me?” she asked. He sighed.

“I… I don’t know. I noticed that something was wrong two days after you’ve been gone. It was Jack…”

“How is she?” Lana asked immediately. John smiled softly.

“She’s sleeping in the living room on my couch.”

“You took care of her?” she asked with tears in her eyes.

“Of course. I would…” he stopped himself.

“Thank you. So much. I....” she shook her head.

“You should try to sleep some more. It’s still early.”

“Okay,” she whispered. John wanted to get up and get back to his chair.

“Could… could you hold my hand until I’m asleep?” she asked shyly. John smiled, his heart warming a little.

“Of course.”

John had never seen a happier dog than Jack a couple of hours later. Lana was holding her tightly, silently crying into her soft fur. He had given Lana an old shirt of himself and some of his pyjama pants that were way too big for her.

“I missed you so much, my perfect girl,” Lana whispered.

Dog sat beside John, looking up at him.

“I know you want to go out but…”

“It’s okay. Would you… Would you take Jack too? I… I would love to take a shower. And I probably should go to see a doctor.”

“I can ask a doctor to come here. For all the cuts. Did.. did he…?”

Lana shook her head.

“He didn’t. I… I don’t know what he wanted with me…”

John walked over, hesitantly putting a hand on her shoulder. He could feel the scarring of his tattoo on her arm.

“It’s not your fault. He was a psychopath. And he will never hurt you or anyone ever again.” She looked up at him. She had been attracted to John ever since he moved in. That he was the one that saved her seemed like a sign from the universe. If he believed in stuff like that. Slowly she turned.

“Thank you for saving me John,” she took his hand, noticing that he was missing a finger. His ring finger. She frowned, looking at her left ring finger. There was an ugly scar she had no idea how to explain. It hadn’t been that long ago that she had gotten it. It was one of the most painful scars she had received from her soulmate.

“I’m gonna take the dogs out and call the doctor. Will pick up some food too. Are you okay here? I can get you to your apartment…”

“No… No. I want to stay here, if that’s okay…” she said and John nodded with a soft smile. She looked up at him. His warm brown eyes looking down at her. She wanted to touch him, to be close to him…

“I’ll get you some towels. I’ll be back as fast as I can.”

She knew that she had to get back to her apartment at some point. The problem was that everytime she was alone longer than an hour she was close to a panic attack.

Four weeks had gone by and she was still living with John. She was sure he must be getting sick of her by now. Yet he didn’t let it show. Quite the opposite. He always seemed to know what she needed.

Right now he was lying on the couch, asleep. She had told him that she felt bad for taking his bed away from her but he had just shrugged it off. Telling her that he was okay. She liked John. She could see herself falling for John. Or maybe she already did. Her scars had healed over the last weeks, leaving her almost as good as before.

But spending so much time together, she also noticed his scars. When she was still healing she didn’t think much about it but now…

They had the same scars on their wrists. A nasty cut on their right elbow. His missing finger and her ugly scar on the same place. John sighed in his sleep, moving, his shirt moving up his arm. She could see a tattoo and she reached to her left arm, her fingertips running over the fine lines of one of her ghost tattoos.

“John?” she whispered. He groaned and she smiled.

“John?” she asked again and he blinked his eyes open. Sleepily he looked at her.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice deep with sleep.

“Can I check your ankle?” she asked. That seemed to wake him up. He sat himself up, looking down at her. He got his legs off the couch so she was kneeling between his legs and swallowed.

“Okay,” he whispered. She smiled softly as she carefully pushed his pyjama pants up, revealing his ankle. And there, almost not visible if you didn’t know they were theore, there were three words that mirrored her own tattoo.

She couldn’t help the smile that came to her lips.

“You’re here,” John said and she looked up.

“I’m here,” she whispered before she pushed herself up to kiss her soulmate.

__________

Keanu Tag Squad:

@ladyreapermc / @meetmeinthematinee / @fanficsrusz / @keiva1000 / @eevee-of-rivia / @keanureevesisbae / @breakthenight / @allie1804-fan / @cherry-gemz / @raspberrymama / @k3a-nu / @princesssterek / @thehumanistsdiary / @palaiasaurus64 / @turkish276 / @maciiiofficial / @re-reads / @penwieldingdreamer / @trippedmetaldetector / @babypink224221 / @sharkbait77 / @paintballkid711 / @alexxavicry

#my writing #John Wick #John Wick x ofc #Keanu Reeves #soulmate au #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction

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fortheloveoffanfic · 2 years

Text

After She's Gone

John Wick x OFC (Layla) Requested.

Author's Note: Using an OC here because of the nature of the story. I also took several liberties.

Masterlist

Warnings- Character death, mentions of murder, descriptions of grief, angst

“People are never really gone, not completely. They never stop existing……they just change. Not here physically, but not gone. Never gone.”

Her words, he’d tried to let them soothe him, he tried so damn hard, but it didn’t work. How could John convince himself that she wasn’t gone when the halls were barren? When her mug never moved from its spot near the coffee maker? When her smell would one day fade from the pillows and there wasn’t a thing he could do to stop it? How could she not be gone when his chest felt hollow and all he could do was hurt? Everything hurt.

He still remembered it, he could still feel that sickly warmth drenching his hands and saturating his shirt. John hadn’t heard them in real time- he actually hadn’t heard them at all- but her screams echoed in his mind. Her anguished pleas for help, for him, they bled his ears every time he was left in silence. And every time he closed his eyes, the scene was on replay, her just lying there, in a foreboding pool of crimson, hair strewn around her, like a halo. She’d looked peaceful, like she was asleep, but sleeping people were warm and they breathed. She was cold and her lips were white.

But even in death, she was beautiful.

Layla. His Layla.

Clumsily, he’d sunken to his knees, desperately, John had brought her body to his chest, hoping the life from his would seep into hers. He could die if she lived. He would give up his last breath if it meant she could breathe ten thousand more. But it didn't work, John couldn’t bring her back, and for the first time, in that moment, he realized what it felt like to be alive in a world where she wasn’t. And he hated it.

That night, when his job had followed the wrong person home, John had held onto Layla, her name a prayer on his lips as he cradled her listless, cold frame. She’d felt so much smaller than he remembered, and for the first time ever, when he hugged her, Layla’s arms didn’t go around his neck and he didn’t feel the warmth of her lips on his jaw. That night, John had lost half his mind and the other half couldn’t have figured out what to do; what was he supposed to do? The only person in the world who could put him back together when he was falling apart, was gone.

All at once, he’d felt everything and nothing at all. Every thread of love he’d forever harbor for Layla mingling with a gaping hollowness seemed yawn open in his chest, growing wider with every beat of his heart. Even when he’d managed to call someone, the man who’d been a friend to him for longer than John could remember, uttering three simple words, John had barely registered them; “She’s gone, Winston. She’s gone.”

“It’s alright Jonathan. It’s going to be alright.”

But it wasn’t, it wasn’t ever going to be alright again because for ten years, he’d lived in awe of her beauty. For ten years he’d loved her so completely that John couldn’t have even fathomed a world where they weren’t together, where he couldn’t hear her voice or touch her. God, he missed touching her. That night, a nightmare he’d never knew could be realized had come to life, Layla had been ripped away from him, and for the first time, they were in a room together, and their hearts weren’t in sync. They never would be again.

Every night after that one, John had relived it in his mind, there was no amount of whiskey that could burn the grief away, there was no amount of tears that could expel it from him. Every night after that one, he’d sat up in the living room, waiting, and hoping that maybe Layla would walk in after a late shift. Hoping that maybe he’d wake up and find her next to him, that she’d wake up right after and promise that it wasn’t real, that she was still there. But three weeks had passed, he’d let them put her in the ground, dressed in pretty pale pink and adorned in her favorite flowers, and it still hadn’t happened.

“Maybe you should get out of here for a while, it might be good for you,” that had been her mother’s advice. Besides him, she was Layla’s only surviving family. She’d always liked John, though never knew what he did for work, and had stayed back after the funeral. They were both supposed to find solace in that gesture, but every time he looked at the woman, all he could see was the eyes of his dead wife, and John suspected that every time she looked at him, all she saw was the future her daughter never had. If only she knew that he was the reason her daughter was gone in the first place.

“I’m good here,” was always John’s response. Never more, never less. Every time he said it, he’d throw his head back against the back of the sofa, closing his eyes to remedy the burn, unable to stop the warmth that drizzled from their corners. That day though, when for some reason, it hurt a little more than usual, he added, “I feel close to her here.” It was true, he did. Layla was in that house, she was in framed memories hung on the walls, she was in her favorite afghan thrown over the back of the recliner, she was in her books on the shelves and when he closed his tired eyes, she echoed in the desolate halls. Her laugh, her words, his favorite ones;

“I love you John.”

He wished he’d gotten to say it to her one last time, though John knew himself well enough to know that one more time would have never been enough. They were supposed to have a lifetime together, he always thought he’d go first. John had never admitted it out loud, he didn’t think he’d ever fully registered the thought, but he always hoped he’d go first because living without her didn’t seem survivable.

John didn’t feel like he was living anymore. Instead, he’d merely continued to exist as nothing more than a culmination of inconsolable hurt and ineffable anger. He was so angry. So fucking angry.

Of all people, how dare they take her?

He hadn’t realized it at first, much too rapt in his own cesspool of emotions, but Layla’s mother was speaking again, and for a moment, he beckoned enough attention to hear her, “I feel close to her here too. She was always a big city girl, but she loved Mill Neck……she loved it because you’re here.”

Her mother was right, when he’d met Layla, she reveled in the fast place, never resting city-girl life. She had an apartment near Madison Square Garden, and it had taken three years for her to completely move into Mill Neck. “Yeah,” John choked out. A heavy silence befell them, and he could tell she’d only said something because as hard as words were to come by, the quiet hurt more. The quiet reminded them that the only person binding them was just a memory.

“I’m going upstairs,” he announced softly, when the pressure became too much, rising from the sofa and lugging himself up the stairs, to their bedroom. He felt her the most in there; it was fading, but the sheets still harbored the fragrance of her lotion and when he walked by her vanity, he could still smell her make-up mingling with the scent of her perfume. Her clothes were still in their closet, her favorite picture of the two of them was still at her bedside.

Their bed. Her cold space.

Glimpsing the framed photograph under her lamp, John went over to Layla’s bedside instead of his own. Her wedding band and engagement ring was there, the morgue had given it back and when they had, for the briefest moment, John had ruminated on the thought of letting them bury it with her, it had seemed fitting somehow, like it would ensure that they remained married even in her demise, but Layla’s mother had swiftly talked him out of it, urging that one day, he might want to have something that was so sacred to her, as means of keeping Layla close. As he saw it there, John realized that she was right, having it reminded him of everything good they’d shared just when he thought he was slipping into that well of maddening grief. At least they’d had all those wonderful years. At least she’d worn that ring proudly for six years. At least, once upon a time, she’d chosen him.

Swallowing thickly, unable to bite back the emotion pouring from his eyes, John moved to reach for the picture, the one taken by one of Layla’s friends at their engagement party. That dress of emerald satin was still in the closet, tucked away safely in a garment back, right at the back, next to the empty place of a dress that he would never see again, the pink chiffon one that he’d given to the funeral home. It killed him a little more every time he thought about it, the fact that he hadn’t cremated her instead, so she could come home with him. What John hated even more was the fact that she was gone, forever.

He was about to take hold of the beautiful, reflective frame, when his wrist accidentally hit the lip of her nightstand drawer. John had been in that room countless times since Layla’s passing, but for some reason, maybe he’d just been too consumed by everything else, he hadn’t noticed that the top drawer was open, just a sliver. It was nearing dusk, and the darkness on the inside of the drawer didn’t do any favor in revealing its contents, so gripped by curiosity, John pulled the drawer open. Despite his lack of hesitation, going in there felt wrong, it felt like he was invading her privacy, trying to see things that she might have wanted to remain private. His intention wasn’t to snoop though, he just wanted……to feel a little closer. He just wanted to feel like she was still there.

There wasn’t much inside; a day planner, chap stick, a travel bottle of eye drops, a pen. A pregnancy test. The little plastic stick, with the cap securing the top, was face down and for just a moment, John’s shaking fingers hovered over it. He wasn’t sure if he should turn it over or not, children had always been something Layla wanted, but they hadn’t been trying, not yet at least. She was up for a promotion and John hadn’t retired yet, it just hadn’t seemed like the right time.

After a moment of trying to clear his thoughts, and failing, he went for it. His heart was racing and when he finally turned it over, John’s breath caught and he felt something in his chest tighten painfully, not just because he was holding something that she had once held, but more so because of the two bright pink lines in the allotted space. Suddenly his breathing was erratic and heavy, and a flurry of emotions welled up faster than he could stand to process them.

His wife.

His baby.

They were gone. The only person that would have had her in them, another person with her nose and her eyes. Another person with her laugh. Another person that he loved; gone. Taken. Clutching the test, he clenched his jaw and when the next wave of tears rained down on his face, mingling with his graying beard and dropping onto his clothes they weren’t just prompted by unending mourning, they were angry tears. They were the tears of a man who’d just had his entire family ripped away from him by an enemy that was now as good as dead. John Wick’s wife. John Wick’s baby.

Something inside of him snapped, and as it did, a new thought, one that hadn’t come up before screamed louder than all else; they really should have known better. Everything good in his life had been stolen, his happily ever after.; stolen. Two lives had been cut far too short, and they deserved to be avenged. They would be.

Her words, the ones he’d been trying to soothe himself with, they didn't matter anymore. It didn’t matter that Layla, and maybe their sweet baby would never be truly gone, all that mattered to John was the gross injustice. To him, they were gone. He would never kiss her again, he would never hold his child. He would never lock his fingers with Layla’s ever again, their baby would never have a name, and that was all the doing of someone who didn't deserve the mercy his gnawing grief had unwittingly granted them thus far. The man who’d made the mistake of breaking their locks, of killing John’s wife and baby should count their minutes, because they were going to pay;

With blood.

#john wick #keanu reeves #john wick x oc #john wick x ofc #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves fanfic #john wick x reader #john wick x you #keanu reeves fanfiction #fanfic #john wick x y/n #fanfiction

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starlightofsolaria · 3 years

Text

Y/N: right so how much can i spend on this before you get mad? *holding his credit card*

John: If you can stay under a million—

Y/N: *thinks he’s kidding* alright cheapskate—

John: Fine, two million.

Y/N: *pikachu face*

John: Alright, fiiiiine, five million— you know what, nothing. Spend it all.

#suddenly im obsessed with this man #john wick x you #John Wick #john wick x y/n #john wick x reader #john wick imagines #jardani jovonovich #jardani jovonovich x reader #john wick x ofc #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves x you

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zutraeumen · 9 months

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The Final Course

Chef Julian Slowik didn't know what to do with himself.

He didn't know how to feel about his ruined Menu, and about the two guests who made it so.

There was no time to waste on unnecessary thoughts other than salvage what was left and finish it. Although looking at the corpses of his avid followers, he regretted that not all made it to the journey with him. They deserved to feel liberated too.

Alas, death was nothing. He was the Chef, the Man. He worked with death every day. Death was his business. How could he call himself a chef if he didn't experience death? Two cooks tip the barrel on its side. A vicious liquid poured out across the floor.

Resigned to their fate, the diners didn't even bother lifting their feet. By now some even felt as if they deserved it.

Servers have begun draping thick sheets of marshmallow strung together with candy floss over the diners.

The staff continued to hustle, creating elaborate, Jackson Pollock splatters and swirls of melted chocolate and graham crackers crumbled atop the tables.

Slowik stood still as an owl and thought. He looked around his restaurant. The ferocious beauty of his food. The havoc he had caused. The totality of his life. And somehow he knew this wasn't the perfect ending to his menu. He shook his head, dismayed.

It was time for him to be done with it, "So. Before our final course, there is the matter of the bill."

Servers placed checks on the tables, along with little Hawthorn gift bags.

"We're on a no-tip system, so gratuity is included. Please enjoy your gift bags. A few goodies in there -- a booklet of our local suppliers, some house-made granola, one of Doug Verrek's fingers, and a copy of tonight's menu.

Lillian Bloom reached for her wallet until Ted stopped her, "No, this is on the magazine," He noticed that Lillian was almost about to cry, "I know."

"No, it's just - I just realized I'll never get to write about this."

Richard reached for his wallet with his one good hand and gave it to Anne.

"Can you take out my Amex?" He looked at her, "Anne?"

"I don't want an apology, Richard."

The man looked at his wife solemnly, glowing with shame and subsequent regret, "Happy Anniversary."

Each tech bro tossed in a credit card -- they're going Dutch.

The movie star put down his card.

"I am your friend," Felicity reacted with a sniff.

The movie star smiled at his only friend, "Told you you weren't leaving."

"Again, thank you all for dining with us tonight. You represent the ruin of my art, and my life, but now you get to be a part of it. A part of what I hope is my masterpiece."

With Chef's prompting, the guests slowly begin to clap. The movie star couldn't help but give it up sincerely for himself and for a fellow artist. The cooks applauded as well.

"And now, our final dessert course is a playful twist on a comfort food classic..."

"The S'more: the most offensive assault on the human palate ever contrived. Unethically sourced chocolate and gelatinized sugar water imprisoned by industrial-grade graham cracker. It's everything wrong with us and yet we associate it with innocence. Childhood. Mom and Dad.

Chef looked at his mother, who was passed out at her table.

"But what transforms this fucking monstrosity is fire. The purifying flame. It nourishes us, warms us, re-invents us, forges and destroys us. We must embrace the flame."

There were tears gathering in the eyes of our diners. They know what's happening and some even began praying. Slowik grabbed a handful of hot coal straight from the grill, not even registering how it burned his palm, and slowly made his way into the centre of the dining room.

"Please --" Anne begged shakingly.

But was she pleading for him to stop... or to continue?

"We must be cleansed. Made clean. Like martyrs or heretics, we can be subsumed and made anew."

Tears well in Chef Slowik's eyes. He paused, taking a deep breath. He had somehow found... release.

The chef tossed it in the flammable pool. A watery curtain of blue flame billowed across the floor. A warm, metamorphic glow illuminated the faces of our diners. Despite everything that had gone wrong, Chef Slowik was prepared to perish from this world that had grown so inhospitable to him, smiling face in the firelight.

There were screams of torture around him but it was as if the man ascended to Heaven already.

That was until the Devil came knocking on the door.

And dragged him hastily out of the restaurant.

#romance #horror #the menu #julian slowik #chef slowik #julian slowik x ofc #margot mills #john wick #john wick chapter 4 #keanu reeves #john wick 4 #winston scott #eventual happy ending #eventual comfort #eventual romance #eventual relationship #slow burn #enemies to lovers

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cherry-gemz · 3 years

Text

Birthday.

Pairing: Keanu Reeves x Y/N (F!Reader)

Word Count: 484

Catch up HERE

A/N: this is for @marissat1998 who resurrected my City series inspo for Keanu’s birthday 🖤. Quick little dribble drabble as an a/u of the series since it’s still on-going and not in any particular order. 🍒

Who might be interested: @whiskeyslullabye @marissat1998 @aestheticallywinchester @fookingbetch @keanureevesisbae @romereadingshop @a-little-counter-esperanto

Keanu rolled over in his bed and rubbed his eyes. His dark hair, messy and fluffy, slightly drooped over his eyes as he peered over to you. But you weren’t there. As if he wasn’t able to notice, he ran his large hand over your spot in the bed, lukewarm. He rubbed the scruff of his beard and raked his hand through his hair, scratching a scratch on his scalp.

“What time is it?” He asked himself out loud and grabbed his watch on the nightstand. “7:45?”

The two of you had a bit too much to drink last night on the eve of his birthday, he thought. He had gotten sloppy and tried to make love, but ended up giving you a massage and falling asleep in your arms. Which, you couldn’t complain. It was his birthday and all, you should’ve been the one giving full body massages.

He rolled over on his back and stretched, looking down at the dark grey duvet and his morning wood.

“Where were you last night?” He talked to himself as you walked into the room carrying a platter of blueberry pancakes. You wore his Arch grey shirt that had a few holes but life still, and giggled as you realized what he was doing.

“Good morning, birthday boy,” you smile as you carry the two plates of breakfast over and sit on the side of the bed. He groggily sits up, covering himself under the blankets further.

“Good morning, honey,” he replies as you lean in for a kiss.

“How’d you sleep?”

“Like a rock,” he gruffed as you waifed the plate over his nose. “Mmmm that smells and looks amazing.”

“Blueberry pancakes with lemon ricotta,” you state and he sits up and accepts the plate.

“Wow, I really leveled up with a chef for a girlfriend, didn’t I?”

“Is that the only reason why you’re with me? Because I feed you?”

He grabbed your plate and set it down on the nightstand, “Amongst other things.”

His sweet, brown eyes locked with yours as he cut into his pancakes, and took a bite. He moaned as the buttery pancakes melted in his mouth.

“Iluckedout,” he mumbled as he chewed which made you give a throaty laugh. You grab his plate and set it next to yours, then arching your eyebrow.

“C’mon, Birthday boy,” you say as you straddle your thighs around his waist, he licked his lips from the maple syrup and with anticipation. “Let me show you one of the reasons I’m with you.”

#keanu reeves #keanu reeves x ofc #keanu reeves fic #Drabble #Keanu reeves imagine #keanu x female reader #keanu reeves fanfiction #Keanu bday #the city by the bay #keanu a/u

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cynic-spirit · 3 years

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The Poem Series (1) “A Poison Tree” - John Wick

The poem Series part 2

The Poem Series Part 3

The Poem Series Part 4

The Poem Series Part 5

The Poem Series Part 6

The Poem Series Part 7

The Poem Series Part 8

The Poem Series Part 9

The Poem Series Part (10)

The Poem Series Part (11)

The Poem Series Part (12)

The Poem Series Part (13)

The Poem Series Part (14)

The Poem Series Part (15)

The Poem Series Part (16)

The Poem Series Part (17)

The Poem Series Part (18)

The Poem Series Part (19)

The Poem Series Part (20)

The Poem Series Part (21)

The Poem Series Part (22)

The Poem Series Part (23)

The Poem Series Part (24)

The Poem Series Part (25)

The Poem Series Part (26)

The Poem Series Part (27)

The Poem Series Part (28)

The Poem Series Part (29)

The Poem Series Part (30)

The Poem Series Part (31)

John, partially retired, a hitman, an assassin, the boogeyman, feared more than the devil himself, was a man who was also incredibly lonely. He had spent many years relentlessly killing. He had money, power, and people feared him. Now he sought someone to share his life with. Someone who would understand him and make him feel human. Someone who would not see him as a monster. Someone who would look beyond his persona of hyper-lethality. He sat in one of the bars owned by the Continental. Addy served him his usual, a bourbon, neat with three ice cubes. John is a man who keeps to himself. He doesn’t talk to anyone even when he is outside. His aura is too powerful to allow anyone approach him without a fear. John has always wondered what should he do, what can he do, he does want to have a woman in his life, to cherish, to love, to protect and to care for. He kept thinking as he sat on the bar stool staring at his drink. As he sipped his whiskey, Addy continued to attend to the people.

“Jack Daniels served over ice please”

John is startled by the voice beside him. It grabs his attention. Carefully he looks, not being obvious. There stood a brunette, dressed in jeans, grey sweater, with her white collared shirt peeking out from the neck. She looked no more than 25 years of age, a gentle smile, a little shy, and definitely not fit for a place like this. A satchel bag was hung across her shoulders. One of the zips had the letter “D” hanging from it. John wondered if she was a student at college. She looked a little older to be a student, but too young to be anyone else too. Now who might she be. Suddenly his entire attention was on this woman. He silently hoped that Addy would make her small talk with this mystery woman who had intrigued him, just by her presence.

John’s attention on the woman was not missed by Addy. She had known John for many years now and by John’s standards, she might call herself his friend. She saw the subtle movement of John’s eye. Addy smiled in herself, for it had been a while that a woman had John’s attention. Yes, she will talk to this woman, for she knows that John will listen to their conversation.

“Are you sure honey?”

“Oh yeah, what I am about to do, requires some liquid courage.”

“What are you about to do?”

“Something that my friends believe I need to do” The woman pointed to a table where three girls sat giggling and talking.

“And what might that be”

“Well. I had a breakup a few weeks ago and my friends think I have grieved enough. So they brought me here. They have given me two choices – either I hook up with the first guy that talks to me, or go up on that stage and put my music talents to good use”

John smirks listening to this woman. He cannot resist any more. He finally takes another sip of his whiskey and turns.

“What did you decide?”

“Who might you be?”

“John, John Wick”

“Hello John Wick. I am Diana.”

“You didn’t answer me.”

“Answer what?”

“What did you decide?”

“Don’t you wanna know?”

With this, she took a sip of her whiskey and saunters away from the bar to her table. John sees her keep her satchel on one of the chairs. She says something to her friends. They are happy. John wonders what she is about to do. He certainly does not want to just “hook up” with this woman. He has a feeling she is not a woman who would hook up with random strangers. She had an unidentifiable quality that was drawing John to her like a moth to a flame. John sees her leaning on the back of her chair. She takes a deep breath and starts moving towards the stage where the jazz band was playing.

The woman walks up the stage like a queen and yet John could see the pink on her cheeks. She has a small chat with the band. They stop playing and she takes the mic and says,

“I was angry with my friend;

I told my wrath, my wrath did end.

I was angry with my foe:

I told it not, my wrath did grow.

”With these lines, I present to you a song. The woman sings and John swore, he could feel himself melting to her voice.

(The song)

The song was in French and the voice was divine. John could see wind stirred waves in her eyes as she sang. He felt helpless. He suddenly felt scared for he knew even he was not brave enough to enter their depths. Everything else was blur and John realized something, he was so enamored, so enchanted that he would stay in this moment forever, no matter what. He felt he had never lived a moment before he saw her, heard her. He cannot be separated from this woman. He felt angry on himself for being without her. Be mine, like you have made me yours, he thought. This unusual feeling ached John’s heart. When her heart meets Johns. He would celebrate it with her grace, her poise, and her presence. John had no more wishes. The song ended, the people in the bar clapped, her friends at the table cheered, the mesmerizing woman on stage, looked around the bar with joy and shyness. Her eyes met that of John’s who sat at the bar. She raised her glass from stage to him gently as she sipped the rest of her whiskey and climbed down to sit with her friends. At this moment, John knew, he had fallen in love.

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iworshipkeanureeves · 4 years

Text

A Private Show

John Wick x f!character

Summary: It’s John’s birthday and his wife has a surprise for him.

Words: 2350

Warnings: pole dancing/stripping, smut (bodily fluids, oral)

Exhausted after another grueling, yet successful job, John was getting ready to head back home tonight. Exiting his bathroom in nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips, he felt at peace, leaving his job behind for a while. He was finally getting some personal time.

John was so lost in his thoughts about returning home that he barely noticed a purple envelope lying on the floor; someone must have slipped it under his door while he had the shower on.

Suspicious and holding a gun in his hand, John slowly opened the door, taking a look around the corridor, hoping to see the person who was behind that; however, no one was there anymore. Curious to know what was inside, he had no choice but to open the envelope.

Given the usual, John wasn’t expecting anything good in there. Best case scenario, he thought there could be directions for a new job, meaning he would have to stay here for the weekend. And worst case… he didn’t want to think about that yet.

Holding the envelope in his calloused hands, John carefully opened the letter. He was pleasantly surprised to find a short note written in an immaculate cursive.

From the first glance it looked printed, but no, it was handwritten; the letters so perfectly smooth and so familiar that John was sure about the person responsible for these lines. It was her, it must have been her.

Just as he was to put the letter down and go search for a nice three piece suit, John heard his telephone ringing. He hesitated for a second, thinking he should better concentrate on following the address, but eventually he decided to pick it up, just in case.

“The car is waiting for you, Mister Wick.” It was Charon calling from reception, his tone suggesting that John should not reject the night that was awaiting him.

“Thank you.” His answer was concise, masking the excitement, and, after putting the phone down, John rushed to get dressed.

---

Stepping out of the car, John learned that the address belonged to a strip club. He was not exactly sure what to think of it, but he couldn’t really complain if that was her organizing it. Was there a surprise party awaiting him inside? Had she hired someone to dance for him? John had so many thoughts, but he was rushing indoors to see for himself what the letter was about.

Inside the club he was met by the dim lighting, only neon purple showing the way. John couldn’t see any people hanging around, leading him to believe that there was something really special planned for tonight.

He was burning with anticipation, walking towards the main lounge with shiny poles enlightened on the center stage. Deeper into the club, John noticed that there was a bottle of dark whiskey, his favorite, supposedly waiting for him; he got himself comfortable on a velvet sofa waiting for the show to begin.

As John was putting the bottle down after pouring himself a drink, he heard I Put a Spell on You by Nina Simone starting to play. The lights suddenly shifted, concentrating on a single pole, the one that was closest to him.

Then finally, John saw her. His wife. Slowly walking out of the shadows, wearing just a set of black see-through bralette paired with a diamond lace G-string.

The sight made John forget about the glass he had just poured for himself, forcing him to lean closer to the stage. He even held his breath for a moment or two, admiring his woman sensually stepping on a podium; her scarlet lips forming a sultry smile accompanied by a sinful gleam in her eyes.

Keeping the eye-contact she leaned her back against the metal bar, sliding down in a lengthy, sensual motion, keeping her angles together, but spreading her knees further apart. She kept her one arm up, clenching the pole above her head, while another teasingly stroked her inner thigh, concentrating John’s attention towards her center, driving him crazy with what was only a prelude for the show he was about to receive.

There was already a lump forming in John’s throat and he could hardly swallow marveled by the sight of his wife gracefully standing back up, swaying her hips together with the beat.

She walked around the pole, showcasing her behind, her perfectly round cheeks framed by the shiny jewels forming a string. John’s brain was short circuiting, the heat overpowering his core, as she was arching her back, rolling her body against the shiny metal bar.

Hooking one leg around it, she effortlessly mounted herself up the pole with grace. She was spinning, her free leg flowing in the air. Unbelievably, his wife kept upping her game, flipping over to face the floor, splitting her legs like it came natural to her.

She had the perfect flow, seamless fluidity in her motion. John could only wonder when or where she had learned.

Finally gathering the strength back to his hands, John took a sip of his drink, minding her surprising flexibility, the way she could spread her legs like it was simple for her. He felt his pants tightening thinking about all the things he could do bending her in various shapes, the way his hips could thrust deep into her, keeping her legs far apart giving the maximum access.

It was like she was reading John’s thoughts, sliding downwards with her body upside down, inverting the last second before reaching the ground. She landed into a perfect split, her bottoms subtly bouncing from hitting the floor.

John was admiring her glowing skin, the way she was showcasing her legs, sensually standing up with the help of the pole. He was eager to just go there and rip that meager outfit away from her.

Luckily that wasn’t necessary as John saw his wife stepping down from the podium and nearing his sofa, making his excitement shoot high. She kept teasing him, approaching John slowly with an erotic swing; her hands went to her back, unclasping the bralette and leaving her topless, giving another delicious treat for John’s eyes.

“A lap dance for my birthday boy,” she breathed in vulgar tone, hovering over his legs and making him press to the backrest with a single firm push. John inhaled, feeling her heat beginning to grind against his expanding crotch; her hands went under the lapels of his suit, nails digging into his tough chest.

“Can I touch?” John asked, taking a final sip and setting an empty glass on the table; he needed to free his hands, in case her answer was yes.

“Anything, darling.” The salacious words rolled over her tongue, and she delved into John’s lips, feeling his palms cupping, and then kneading her ass cheeks. The second she pulled away from the kiss, John’s mouth caught her nipple, sucking passionately and sending shivers all the way to her limbs.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled John even closer, making his face drown in the fullness of her breasts. She knew her pussy was already dripping, ruining his pants, but his bulge felt too good against her folds to worry about that.

She removed his jacket tossing it to the ground, and while her swift fingers moved to deal with his buckle, John was unbuttoning his vest at the same time. She kissed him once more, before kneeling down between his legs and sliding down his unzipped pants; just enough to get a hold on his stiff member, warm and meaty, looking colossal in her tiny palm.

“If you keep looking at me like that, I’ll come before you even take it in your mouth.” John stated in a deep, carnal tone; his hands shaking form the need to pull her head closer and wrap her lips around his twitching cock.

“Patience,” she smirked, making a single, painfully slow lick from base to tip, her tongue gathering drops of precum emerging from his flushed summit. She stayed there for a while, her lips sucking only the tip, tasting salty liquor with her unhurried tongue.

Her eyes were fiery, assuring John that he was in for a long night. It was his birthday and she wanted for him to fully relax, forget everything about the world that was outside the club. At least for once in a really long time.

Gazing into John’s eyes she started gradually increasing the amplitude, taking more of him with each bob. She was getting really messy, saliva dripping at the corners of her lips, the music getting overpowered by the dirty sounds.

“Fuckk-“ John choked out, feeling her lips gliding his length, her palm stroking what was too much for her mouth. He couldn’t resist but to clench her hair in his hand, directing her movements; her pace and depth. Some of the jabs were almost too much, but John knew her the best, he wouldn’t have done so if she hadn’t been able to take that. His wife loved a little struggle, John was sure of that.

Each time her lips were reaching closer to the dark hair nesting his length, John felt himself nearing his edge; but he wasn’t going to come yet. John was pretty good at controlling himself, even when his wife was skillfully working between his legs. Having a fistful of her hair, John halted her movements, carefully helping her up.

“Is something wrong?” She asked, sinking into his lap once again.

“Not at all.” He joined her lips for a quick, yet filthy kiss. “It’s just that I can smell your pussy all soaked, desperate to be filled.” John pulled her petty panties to the side, running two of his fingers between her folds. “Look at that, I wasn’t wrong.” Pushing his digits in, John cherished the sight of his wife slightly gasping, as he was stretching her walls before invading them with his hefty cock.

“Please, John.” She begged in a needy voice, her pussy throbbing with anticipation, waiting for his member to finally enter her.

“Patience,” John smirked, “You said it yourself.” He kept pumping her, his lips gently brushing against her neck, his free hand hugging her waist. She tried sinking lower to meet his fingers, but still, that wasn’t enough; not even close.

Knowing how to beat John at this game, she gave her palm a generous lick, then wrapped her finger’s around his stiff cock, stroking it gently, slightly clenching each time her hand was gliding up.

After a couple of mutual pumps, she felt John’s fingers abandoning her pussy and she watched him sucking his digits clean, then sticking them between her lips, rubbing into her tongue. “You’re a fucking dessert, love.” John hissed delving into wife’s mouth, alcohol mixed with her arousal being shared between them.

Caught up in the kiss, she felt his member slowly plowing her slit. John paused at her stretched entrance taking a good look into her desire-filled eyes, before gradually invading her heat.

She smiled at him sinking to the very base, staying there for a brief moment to adjust to his girth. “All good?” John whispered, wrapping his arms around his wife and running his fingers along her spine.

She nodded and hummed, leaning closer for a kiss. Just as their tongues collided, she started rocking her hips, the friction feeling so pleasurable, that it was impossible to stay still.

John admired her breasts bouncing in accordance with their pace, her nipples hard, perfectly beautiful; just like everything on his precious girl. She was the best birthday present John could ever receive.

He didn’t even have to thrust; it was all her, sitting in his lap, riding him to heaven. She felt amazing, her tight walls milking his cock like they were a perfect fit for each other.

“Faster.” John commanded slapping one of her ass cheeks, making her gasp and encouraging some more profound moves. They were both breathy, their lips joining and separating every few seconds, moans and groans thickening the air between them.

John could barely say another word, feeling her pussy soundly sheathing his ready-to-burst cock; her warm wetness splashing on his crotch with every move, his pubes getting soaked in her sweet juice. They were both almost there, their muscles tense, the build-up soon to be unleashed.

Seeing his wife getting close, John dragged his palm over her hip, his thumb finding her needy clit, pressing not so gently to it.

“Oh fuck, baby I-“ She whimpered, feeling her mind getting clouded form the sensation of his tip hitting her in the perfect spot, and his thumb rubbing determined circles on her painfully swollen bud.

“Come on, love.” John began rocking his hips, intensifying their collisions to the point where it was impossible for either one of them to hold on. “Cum for me,” he grunted, feeling his whole body seized by the commencing orgasm, just in time for when his wife’s toes curled, and they both trembled in each other’s arms.

Their whole bodies were burning, John’s cock twitching with every spurt, his hot seed generously coating her throbbing walls. “I love you,” John growled, burying his face in the crook of her neck. It was the peak of his high; John’s hands were pressing at his wife’s back, pushing her close to his chest.

“I love you too,” she breathed out into his ear, shaking surrounded by his embrace. After tangling her fingers inside John’s hair, she gently pulled his head backwards and sank into his lips. A slight movement of her core made John’s member to fall out of her aching hole, and she felt his slickness dripping down her thigh.

“Let’s go clean you up,” John lifted his beloved wife, bringing her legs to wrap around his waist, his dress shirt already soaking up most of the mess.

“Fine, but then I’ll show you what else I’ve got,” she beamed. “The club is ours for the whole night.”

Tag-list: @keandrews @rdjloverxxx @greenmanalishi @lilywoood (message me to be added or removed)

Masterlist

#John Wick #John Wick fanfiction #John Wick smut #John Wick x reader #John Wick x f!character #John Wick oneshot #John Wick imagine #John Wick fic #John Wick x OFC #keanu reeves fanfiction #keanu reeves smut #smut

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keanugifs · 4 years

Text

#keanu reeves #keanu reeves gif #my gifs #gif #gifs #keanu #i love keanu #keanuniversity #keanuedit #keanu x ofc #keanu x you

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fics-not-tragedies · 4 years

Text

Memories to be made: Chapter 2

one - two - three

It’s the second chapter already, since I’m too keen to post it after such a warm welcome from my mutuals.

SUMMARY: Emelia and Keanu go out to have a dinner together. Words: 3271; Warnings: none;

Readers tag list:

@spookier-than-u; @oreofenyloetyloamina; @derangedcupcake; @geostarr; @catsmieow; @wickedlangdon; @bodhi-black; @bugalouie; @onebatch--twobatch; @fandom-lover-4; @mikaneonox; @drunkonyellow; @spadesandaces2342; @harrisongslimited; @a–1–1–3; @hhighkey; @lunilate; @i-cant-remember-my-old-login; @sgt-morgan; @coloursunlimited; @childrenofthegun; @weminiaturestrawberry; @silverlambcaptain; @scarletmoon83; @howtoruin-someones-perfect-day; @krazycags01; @charlottebonnie; @moonlit-raven-haven; @girl-at-the-verge; @boopdedoop; @jardani-jovonovich-bitch; @ladyreapermc;

The heavy rain was falling from the dark clouds for more than two hours now, making them feel like two years instead, the big droplets clattering against the window, leaving damp smudges on the clear glass. It just didn’t wanted to go away. It might have stopped for a moment, when she was heading here, to the restaurant, giving her a chance of arriving for her date mostly un-soaked.

How the fortune decided to smile and wink at her, letting the sun shine, peak shyly from behind the obscure clouds, right in the time when she was trying to get to the restaurant on time, the tube’s schedule wasn’t helping and the thought of taking a cab was still too terrifying for her to do it all by herself.

Whole sky felt like a terrible misunderstanding.

Just like her whole life now did.

Day turned into the night, the gloominess wasn’t really helping in going out. Even if it was supposed to be a date with the softest and purest boy she has ever met.

Emelia was happy to see him nonetheless. It was the thought of growing closer, as well as opening up to him, that frightened her the most.

It seemed like the tea advertisement was stalking her everywhere she went. The tall billboard was placed across the street, but she could see it perfectly from the spot in which they were sitting in the restaurant.

In love? Give Tea a Chance.

The slogan sounded to her like some sort of a joke now.

Emelia couldn't be in love with Keanu. It was too soon for any major emotions to appear. But it was clear that she'll give him a chance, even though it will be hard for her to simply let him in.

Letting him in meant that she would have to tell him about her past and about the horrific incident that made her unsure about who she really is.

Along with her memories she lost her identity. She could easily say that she officially and astonishingly unwillingly became a part of the Bourne stories franchise, and she was playing the main role in them, but the small crumpets of her past, which she was rummaging through once again this morning, didn’t helped in the recovery of her memories.

She woke up at 9 a.m., jumping out of bed with the aftermath of another nightmare still stuck in her head, while the heavy droplets of rain were pattering against the big window of her bedroom. Another terrible night filled with visions from her past, scraps and bits she couldn’t sew together, but everything was haunting her consistently night after night.

How terrified she was.

Terrified by her own self. Everything seemed unreal, especially the hazy memory of her mother leaving their house and never coming back, even though she waited for her every second, every day, every week, every month, until the whole year didn’t passed and her dad simply told her that “momma isn’t coming back”.

After all those years, this moment filled with peculiar emotions she felt that day, was one of two things she was able to remember right now. And now, after everything that happened, the memory of her mother leaving them, saddened her even more than it genuinely did when she was four.

“Where are you now, darling?” His warm voice, embraced her like a tight warm hug. She turned her head to look at him, his face too close to hers now. Noticing how his eyes widened as he just stares at her, licking his chapped lips she reflexively scratches her neck through the fabric of her flimsy turtleneck and then just looks away, gluing her gaze to the plate of sushi that the waitress placed few moments ago in front of them.

Emelia was so lost in her own thoughts again, blindly rummaging through the depths of her memory, she hasn’t noticed any single thing that happened around her.

Keanu dared himself to slide his body closer to her along with the chair he was seated in. And he did, surprised that she hasn’t flinched away like a frightened deer in the headlights, moving her chair away from him in a hectic movement. She just stayed there, but looked away, her eyes glued to the window he had behind his back now, scanning the tea advertisement again and again.

He had to admit, that his stare was way too intimidating for something they could’ve called a first date. The whole situation felt hopeless, even though he wasn’t really hoping for anything.

Keanu wasn’t that type.

All he thought about was to hold her hands, that always seemed to be freezing judging by the way she was pulling the sleeves of her turtlenecks basically all the time she was around him. Hide her palms safely inside of his, like they were the most precious treasure in the whole world.

Yes, all he wanted was to hold hands with her. Quite simple, yet still impossible, gesture.

Maybe the night will end with a shy peck of her rouged lips pressed just for a second to his cheek that probably will be flushed long before she would find the guts to even think about doing it.

“I’m sorry, I-I just feel like I’m losing my mind” she mumbled with her mouth filled with another piece of salmon nigiri. He just pressed his hand to his forehead, then ran his fingers through his hair, absolutely unable to find the right words to give her a decent answer.

She swallowed the mouthful and just sighed, taking a sip from the glass.

Did he really ordered plum wine?

“Do you want to talk about it?” He blurted out, without even thinking and his face went red right after realizing what he just said. He’d rather just press his face into his palms and scream into them, he just made himself sound like a fucking douche.

Emelia was silent, too busy munching on the delicious pieces of sushi that she had right under her nose placed on the wide marble-like plate.

Later on, when she’ll arrive home, she would be standing in front of the mirror that’s hanged on the wall in her bathroom picking out the bits of rice that got stuck in the hole in one of her teeth.

She’s ought to see a dentist. It wasn't a painful cavity yet, but surely it was a pain in the ass. This morning, when rummaging through all of her stuff, she spotted a business card with a number to one of the dentists she was visiting frequently. At least she assumed that, after seeing few dates with hours scribbled down on a piece of paper that was attached to it.

She really need to see a dentist soon.

The cogs in her brain were working at their highest efficiency, trying to come up with something clever to say, not just telling him about that damned accident and bursting into tears right after, like she did too often. He still was a stranger, after all, even though she felt that the atoms of her body were connected to those in his.

Strangers.

That’s what they were now. No matter that they were sitting too close to each other, their hips touching, his hand dying to touch her arm, to stroke her cheek, gently caressing her soft skin, to brush away that wild strand of her auburn locks that refuses to stay tucked behind her ear and keeps falling onto her face.

Taking another sip of the wine she finally turned with her whole body to him, placing the glass back on the table and leaning with her elbow onto the back of her chair.

“It’s kinda complicated and…” a scratch of her neck, her fingers pressed firmly to the fabric that she had wrapped around it, rubbing the spot harshly, “I-I don’t know if I can trust you.”

Keanu chuckled nervously, taking his own glass in hand and downing the content of it in one big slurp.

“Absolutely not going to tell people your secrets after our date” okay, he finally admitted that this, in fact, was truly a date and it made them both feel lighter now, like someone just took a heavy weight from their chests.

His Adam’s apple was bobbing up and down in his throat, eyes not leaving her face, waiting for any type of response in inner panic now.

He could’ve chosen better words, fuck.

Would her eye flinch, brow furrow or will she just remain silent till the evening ends?

She tilts her head backwards, hand pressed to her neck, fingers sliding under the hem of the black fabric. Keanu lean closer to her and just took her hand in his, pulling it away from her skin. Emelia stares at him in shock, stunned, unable to bable a word. Her heart races up, thudding against her chest, her face probably in the same shade as her nails painted with the Russian Red.

“D-don’t do it, darling” he breathed out, stroking the top of her hand with his fingers, “I notice you do it every time when you’re feeling stressed or uncomfortable.”

“I-I’m… erm… sorry” she takes her hand abruptly away from his touch and a piece of Keanu’s heart gets torn apart.

The look on his face changes, the brightness in his eyes dulled now, smile disappeared from his face and he just stared at her blankly now, not even bothered by blinking. She feels this thigh knot in her stomach, that urges her to do something, to fix the gesture that he took as unpleasant.

There was nothing wrong with what he did, but he would be still thinking about this tiny detail when he’ll arrive home late in the evening. And every other little thing he did wrong tonight, screwing up his chances for holding her hand again.

It was a small gesture of showing her that he care, but it was too sudden, too alarming, it scared her, made her feel uneasy. In fact she was dying to touch him, run her own finger through the fluff of his hair, stroke his cheek, lay her head on his shoulder. But she had to do it all at her own pace. Not in a rush caused by the plum wine running in their systems and clouding their minds, making them say words and do things that would never happen when they’re sober.

The intimacy was a hard one for her. It was the fact that her own body was a surprise to her, she had to get use to it again, explore it herself first and then give it away to someone, to a special man she still hoped she’ll be able to meet, after two screwed up relationships. Funny how she remembered there were two of them, but she couldn’t put her finger on the names of these men she loved before.

She had to get along with all of those new scars she had carved not only on her skin, but also on her soul and her mind. It was a long, extremely bouncy ride down a steep hill, laden with emotions, bits and crumbs of her past she wasn’t able to recall just yet.

And her mind was similar to a black hole, filled with only scraps of what she was able to call her memories. Frustrating, it all was too frustrating, not being able to remember who she really was.

Emelia gaze is glued to him, her eyes not leaving his face. Keanu is still waiting for some sort of a response, her mouth slightly agape like she wants to say something, but remains silent, not a single vowel leaves her rouge lips.

Finally, after few more seconds of the most painful silence he ever experienced in his whole life, he decides to turn away and grab the pair of chopsticks that are lying on the table right next to their plate.

She laughs.

No, no, she bursts with laughter, the sincere sound of it fills the whole place, echoes in his ears, drenches his whole body, pierces right through his soul. His head turned to her, doe eyes wide, confused a bit. Her nose crinkled, those tiny wrinkles visible all around her eyes, dimples in her cheeks looking even cuter then they did for the first time he had the chance to see them.

“What?” Keanu asked, shaking his head to the side, corners of his own mouth curling upwards, unable to keep a straight face while looking at her smiling like that.

“It looks like you’re about to stab the sushi, not eat it, while you hold them like that” she pointed to those two pieces of bamboo he’s holding in his fingers, “just… let me help you with them” moving her chair even further to his she leaned over, pressed her arm close to his and wraps her fingers around his hand.

Aligning them correctly in his hand she fixes the position of his fingers; placing his middle finger between them, his index finger on the top chopstick and pressing the bottom one onto his ring finger.

Her hand is cold, but not colder than their plum wine; every time her fingers touched his own he felt how the electricity flickers down his arm and all the way to his spine, the tingling feeling spreading all over him.

Running his other hand through his hair he turns to her, “You can teach me a lot of things, darling”, she is still smiling and when she looked up at his face, their gazes met, eyes stuck together, something he can’t properly name urges him to kiss her, right here and right now.

He hovers his face an inch closer to hers and she doesn’t flinch backwards. She just keeps her eyes glued to his, blinking almost in slow motion, her long black eyelashes moving in a butterfly-like flow.

So he does it once again, getting closer and closer bit after bit. And he stops, seeing how her brows furrows, but a smile stayed glued to her lips.

Oh, how he’d sell his soul to the devil himself, just to kiss her once, just to press his mouth gently to hers and see how they taste.

Reaching to the plate with her own chopsticks, she takes a piece of tuna nigiri in them and moves her hand between their faces, pressing the piece of sushi to his lip. Emelia giggles, seeing his reaction, how he rolled his eyes and gasped, but opened his mouth eating it nonetheless.

“You should start eating, unless you want me to have the whole dinner for myself and stick to just keeping me company” stuffing her own mouth with another piece she munched on it wiggling her brows to Keanu.

“Maybe I like to be fed” he mumbled between chewing, “by you” he adds after swallowing the rice-y delish.

“Quite the fetish” she chuckled, eating another piece, then taking a long sip from her glass.

He glanced at her between swallowing his bites and reaching for another ones. It seems like she’s more relaxed now. At least she stopped scratching this one spot on her neck, that’s what he noticed so far.

Impulsive behavior, that was it. A way of copying with stress. Unpleasant mannerism.

She cleared her throat and his eyes immediately left his glass which he was filling with more of the plum wine. His gaze jumped back onto her face, studying every little detail that can possibly change about it.

“The problem is” she says leaning in, “if I kissed you, I don’t think I’d be able to stop” Keanu flinched closer to her, pressing his face towards the touch of her hand that simply brushed the rice stuck in one corner of his mouth.

There’s not much he can do now, so he just laughed at his own self. Such a fool he is, a fool for her.

“Who says you have to stop?” He casually reached for his glass and took a sip from it, their eyes stuck together, as he’s the one wiggling his brows now making her laugh.

“This white shirt really suits you, Keanu” the way his name rolls off her tongue, the way she accents the K and punctuates every single letter sends a shiver through his whole body and down his spine. And again she moves even closer, even though their chairs are pressed together now, almost stacked on top of another, reaching deep down herself to find the proper amount of courage to brush his arm with her fingers.

“I want to take things slowly” she breathed out, touching lightly the skin under the rolled sleeve of his shirt and then slid them down the bared part of his arm. He tensed in the moment Emelia pressed her fingertips to his skin, every muscle in his body stiff.

His mouth was agape, his eyes glued to her every movement, inhaling the view of her index fingers dancing on top of his arm, tracing the outline of his veins. She’s like a little child now, that explores the world for the first time, touching and playing with everything that’s in reach of her tiny hands.

Gulping the lump that formed in his throat he speaks finally, his eyes stuck at her, “So this first date is about touching my arm?”

“Yes” looking up at him she smiled, her dimples showing up again, the gesture like sun - lightning up the whole place, making them all forget about the gloomy weather and the heavy rain that’s still pouring outside, trying to make a point.

“Then touch my arm anytime you want. Emelia, your hands… they are lovely, you should be playing piano with those fingers” Keanu touches the top of her hand with his own calloused fingers, dancing with them, like he was playing a part of some tune his mind just made up.

“I think I did, I-I might have...”

“You did?” his confidence just grew, so he slides his hand from her own to her clothed arm, but she shudders, moving her limb away from his touch.

Now he regrets being too confident. She set the peace and he has to stick to it without rushing anything or making her do things she doesn’t want to.

“Back in the past…” sliding her fingers up and down she tickles him a bit, a small giggle leaving his mouth.

“If you want to get back to it lemme know, I think I can help with it” he smiled at her, the greens of her eyes so bright they transfer him back to juicy fields in the spring.

“I will… I will think of it. Thank you, Keanu” removing her hand from his arm she reaches for her wine glass and keeps it high in the air, “for everything you’ve done so far, even though you might think that you’ve done nothing at all. It’s all in the details, really” he grabbed his own glass and bumped it with hers, the awkward clinking sound making them both laugh.

“No, thank you, darling. For this lovely evening and for everything that will come” they both take a sip from their glasses, smiles still glued to their faces.

How lovable the dimples in her cheeks make her look, when her face is so bright, the corners of her mouth curved all the way upwards, not a single bit of worry visible on her face.

Her smile has the ability to change his life, to turn it around and make it all about her.

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