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matthew-gray-gublers-babygirl · 1 year

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I’m not sure if you take requests but if you doooooo

Could you write a smutty fic w/ John Wick where the reader is Winston’s daughter and she visits him while he’s at the continental (just to check up if he needs anything and whatnot) and one thing leads to another…you know where I’m going with this 🙈🙈🙈🙈🙈

Muuuchhh loveeee 💕💕💕💕

Of course! Feel free to request anything else xx

Late Night Visitor - John Wick x Fem!Reader

Summary: Just smut. No story line really, but if you're interested in a mini-series for this I might write it! The reader is alone in the continental with John, and they fuck. (explained more in the request lmao)

Warnings: Smut (p in v), dominance, age gap (legal), swearing, mention of breeding kink

Word Count: 2.5k

Enjoy!

“Ah, Y/N. There you are, dear,” you hear your father say as you enter the lounge. “You remember Mr. Wick?” you hadn’t seen him in years. Your father, the New York Continental hotel manager, had tried to keep you away from his business. You met Mr. Wick a couple of times when you were younger. Your visits to the hotel were sparse because you were so young, but now that you’ve turned eight-teen, your father allowed you in the hotel more often.

“Nice to see you again, Y/N,” he says. You swallow thickly. He was much taller than you and looked at you with piercing eyes. “Nice to see you, Mr. Wick…” You become quiet. You always stayed quiet around your father's clients, but you got especially quiet around Mr. Wick because he was undeniably attractive.

You hear him laugh. “John is fine,” he tells you. You nod. You feel like you should bow. “Okay… John.”

He looks over at your father. “Well, I’ll be in my room if you need anything from me,” he says. “Winston, Y/N.” He nods with each name, and you feel the heat growing as you hear yours.

Your eyes are still fixated on the ghosting silhouette of John when you feel a hand on your shoulder. “Y/N, dear,” your father begins. “I’ve got to go out for a small event. I’ll be back soon. Ask Charon if you need anything,” he explains. “Now, give your Papa a hug,” he tells you, and you give him a reserved hug before being escorted out of the lounge room and to your room.

John Wick was staying in the hotel tonight, and your father was gone. You lay in your bed picturing yourself knocking on his door. You laugh. Like you’d have the balls. You decide to wander the hotel corridors for a bit, hoping that you would cross paths with John.

You saw John a couple of times every year. With every passing year and your body becoming more developed into a young woman, you noticed that Mr. Wick's eyes lingered for much too long. You liked it, though. It felt wrong to have a man triple your age looking at you like that, God knows your father would be furious, but you couldn't shake that feeling of yearning for his hands to grab you and never let go. The hands which have killed many.

You reach the tenth floor. John always preferred the view of the tenth story. You walk through the hall, reaching the end room. Mr. Wick always reserved that room for himself, if not directly to Charon, then it was reserved out of courtesy for his long-time commitment and loyalty to your father.

With each step closer to the door, your heart rate raises a digit. Your hand ghosts the wood before you hit a few raps at the door. You don’t know what compelled you to knock; you don’t know what compelled you to even leave your room. You hear shuffling through the barrier. The door quickly opens and youre met with John. He was only in a white undershirt and his dress pants. They look wrinkled and poorly buttoned.

“Oh. Y/N.” he says. “I didn’t expect to see you. Everything alright, I assume?”

You gulp; thicker than before. “Yes, John. Everything fine,” you say, and his jaw tenses at your words. “Just wanted to check on you, that's all. Considering youre a good friend of my father,” you explain.

There’s a small period of silence before you hear John begin to speak. “Would you like to come in?” he asks. You nod, and he moves out of the doorway for you to enter. He shuts the door behind you and locks it. You hear the lock but don't mention it to John. You prefer it to be locked.

You notice a small concave in the mattress as it slowly disappears with the absence of weight on the memory foam. John must’ve been laying down when you came in.

You make your way to the small lounge area of the hotel room. “Is everything good with your room?” you ask, and John laughs. “You’re sounding like your father,” he says, covering his smile with his hand.

Youre almost offended. “What is that supposed to mean?” you put on that annoying tone you used to use when you were 16. Your father hated it.

John stands in front of you as you stay seated. “No, no. It's not a bad thing, I promise,” he explains. “Your father is very intelligent and wise.” where is he going with this? “You are definitely both those things. I’ve watched you become a beautiful young woman, you’re very mature.”

His hand moves in his palm, he forces it into his pocket to stop any movements. “You’re taking a big risk, you know?”

You put on your most innocent tone, breathy, almost Marilyn Monroe-like. “Risk? What do you mean by risk?” your doe eyes are accentuated even more as your head is forced to look up from your seat.

John turns his gaze away from yours. If he looked any longer he wouldn't be able to control himself. He bites his lower lip, then swiftly looks at you again. “Being here is a risk. Being in my hotel room. Don’t you have any idea what your father would do if he found out you were in my hotel room at-” he checks his watch, “-God, almost 10 o’clock at night, Y/N. He’d kill me with his own to two hands.”

That still didn’t answer your question. “What if I want to take a risk?” Johns breathing gets heavy, and so does yours. The steady, yet contrasting movement of your lungs inside your chest made it almost impossible for John not to look at your breast which you had exposed for that very reason.

Johns’ hand reached out of his pocket and gently lands on your chin, index finger and thumb cradling your jaw. “Are you sure you can handle something like that?” He asks. His thumb grazes against your bottom lip and you kiss the pad of his thumb; rough and callused.

“I’ve never been more sure.” Suddenly, the gentle touch of his fingers turns rough. His entire hand cups your cheek as he brings you off the lounge chair. You stand up; even with both of you standing, the height difference was still noticeable. He kisses you. His touch is hungry and impatient. His free hand lingers down your waist, and you grab it, forcing it onto your rear. He squeezes your arse, forcing a whine out of you.

John parts for a second. His breath hits your lips. He takes a moment to process what he just did. He didn't know if he should continue. You needed him to continue.

“Kiss me again,” you tell him, and he does. His kiss is rough, yearning for more. He takes you to the bed and throws you onto it. He didn't ask if you ‘wanted to’. He already knew you were soaking wet for him.

He almost rips off his undershirt. His chest was covered in tattoos and scars. You want to touch him; let your hands run over every muscle, but your hands were occupied with your shirt and the struggle of removing it. John assists you and almost whimpers at the sight of your breasts.

Johns’ sore hands reach to your chest, fondling your young breasts. His thumb runs over your nipple, causing it to harden under the pad of his finger. The pool of arousal between your legs was growing irritable by the second.

“John…” you whimper. “Yes?” he asks, and for a moment he sounds concerned like he’s done something wrong. You hesitate your words, because to tell the truth, you’ve never said anything out loud like that. Yes, you’ve had sex. You’re not a virgin, no matter how badly John wished he could have taken it. But you never had a proper fucking. The guys you have been with, which for the record was not pleasing for you, had no idea what they were doing. On the other hand, John was almost thirty years your senior, and you knew he was experienced.

“Fuck me,”

John freezes at the words. He hadn’t heard something like that in a long time, and he especially didn't expect to hear it from you. Once he snapped out of the distraction, he wasted no time removing your pants and panties.

“Not gonna make it even, Mr. Wick?” you cock an eyebrow at his surname as your hands reach for his waistband. He helps with the buttons and zip, and removes them entirely, boxers included.

Your mouth basically waters at the sight of his cock. It was much bigger than you have ever taken.

“Are you- uh,” he gets distracted by the sight of your wet pussy. “Are you a virgin?” he manages to get out. You shake your head. “I’ve had sex before. Just not very good sex,” you explain. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth. “So you’ve never had a proper fucking before?” he asks, and you shake your head again. “I’m going to change that, then,”

You feel Johns rough fingers touch your gentle clit. He slowly circles the bud, collecting a small amount of your arousal on his fingertips. His fingers linger for a moment as small whimpers come from you, then he ventures down further. He spreads your lips with his fingers, letting his digits slide between them.

It was strange because the two men (if you could call them men) you’ve been with never focused on your pleasure as they did in the erotic literature you read. They just stuck it in and went until they came. John wasn't doing that, no matter how hard it was to resist.

John retracts his fingers for a moment and licks them to add extra lubricant. He hums at the taste of your arousal on his fingers. He brings the digits back to your core, and with a nod of approval, he inserts them. You whine at the penetration. You of course had fingered yourself before, but your fingers were much smaller than Johns.

He begins pumping them in and out. He starts slow because the last thing on earth he would want to do was hurt you. As your whimpers turn to whines, he moves them faster. You moan softly and reach a hand to circle your clit. John quickly swats your hand away, taking control of your clit. You moan out his name along with many more unprintable obscenities.

John feels your walls clench around his fingers. Your moans grow louder, and just as youre about to feel your release, a sudden emptiness fills you. John licks his fingers clean as your high slowly fades away. “But-” you mumble, and John tuts you. “Just wait,” he says. “You’ll come in no time, and it will be fucking amazing,” he ensures you.

He looks down at his cock, ready to fill you up entirely when he realized he didn't have a condom. “Shit,” he muttered. “There should be some in the bathroom. They’re pretty accommodative here,” you say and almost giggle. John nods, stands up from the bed and grabs a condom from one of the neatly organized drawers. He returns to the bed, rolls on the condom, then aligns his tip with your entrance. You give him a nod and less than a second later he was filling you up to the brim.

You yell out as he stretches you. “Holy fuck!” you’d be surprised if the neighbouring hotel rooms couldn't hear. You quickly shake off Johns' worries. “No, no. Keep going-” you assure him. You never wanted him to stop.

After you gave him the O.K, he began thrusting into you. His hands gripped your hips as his cock moved in and out of you. You grabbed his hands, forcing him to pin you down.

“Dirty girl,” he grins, and you moan in response. He forces your wrists into the bed, tightly gripping them as he slams his pelvis into yours, rewarding him with another one of your sweet and erotic moans. “Don’t… don’t stop!” you breathe out, and John smirks. “Didn’t plan to,” he replies as he thrusts into you again. You beg him to go faster, and he complies. Your moans become uncontrollable as his cock plunges in and out of you, his length hitting every pleasure sensor to send you through the roof.

John grips your palms tighter as his breathing gets heavier. “Fuck… Y/N,” he groans. “Gonna be a good girl for me? Hm?” you immediately nod. You were going to be a good girl. You wanted to be his good girl. “Gonna need an answer there, sweetheart.” you suppress your moans so you can get out a single phrase to please him. “Yes!” you say. “I’ll be – holy fuck! I’ll be good, I- I promise,” John smirks. You look so needy and helpless. “That's what I thought,” he says before kissing you hungrily.

His tongue reaches untouched places in your mouth, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth and leaving hickeys everywhere he could lay his lips. You whine at his hot breath suctioning your skin. You knew your father would be furious that you had hickeys, but you couldn't care any less.

John feels your walls clench around his length. You were close again. You begin crying out, begging for some form of release. “Gonna be a good girl and come?” you already know he needs a verbal response. “Yes, I’ll be so good and come for you…!” you moan. Your eyes roll back into your head; body numb like the familiar effects of an edible.

John returns his mouth to your neck, sucking hot welts onto your delicate skin as he growls praises and demands into your ear. He was close too, and he couldn't wait much longer. The sound of his low, raspy voice in your ear, for you and only you to hear, was the thing you needed to push you over the edge. The pleasure rushes over you like a tidal wave, a completely unfamiliar feeling of ecstasy. Bells ring in your ears as your shout out obscenities, unable to hear them over the deafening sound of your body reacting to the orgasm.

John groans loudly as your walls tighten around him. “Fuck!” he yells. His hips shudder, hard thrusts becoming sloppy. He lets out a masculine moan, bucking his hips towards yours as he spills his arousal into the condom. He wished he could fill you up; watch as his come dripped out of you. He was already taking the risk of having sex with you, he wouldn't risk getting you pregnant, even if it turned him on like you couldn't imagine.

He pulls out, leaving you with an empty feeling, wishing for the overflowing sense to return. John removes the condom before collapsing on the bed beside you.

“John… holy fuck -” you huff, chest still heaving rapidly. John smirks at what he's done; proud of his work. “Bet that was way better than whatever guys you’ve been with,” he says, the cocky side of him coming out strong. You nod and laugh. “Way better.”

Read part two -> Here

#john wick x y/n #john wick x reader #john wick fanfic #john wick fanfiction #john wick smut #john wick #john wick 4 #john wick chapter 2 #john wick movies #john wick fandom #john wick franchise #fanfiction #smut #Keanu reeves #keanu reeves fan fiction #keanu reeves john wick

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layce2015 · 7 months

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John Wick Chapter 4 (John Wick x Female!Reader) Masterlist

With the price on his head ever increasing, legendary hit man John Wick and his wife, (y/n), take their fight against the High Table global as they seek out the most powerful players in the underworld, from New York to Paris to Japan to Berlin.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

#fandom #fanfic #fan fiction #reader insert #x reader #john wick chapter 4 #john wick x y/n #john wick x you #john wick imagine #john wick fanfic #john wick x reader #john wick #john wick fandom #keanu reeves #fan fic update #movie fan fiction #fan fic writing #masterlist

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sweetbillwriting · 8 months

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The Finer Things - Teaser

A Vincent de Gramont story

What was he doing there?

And what the fuck was he wearing?

Ines looked at the tall man walking around in the white, bright gallery. He was dressed in a suit with a dark blue velvet dinner jacket even if it was just noon. She couldn't stop herself from giggling when she saw the man, obviously he tried to make himself more important than he was.

She looked through some paper for the next exhibition while the man walked around with a sour face. He was clearly not impressed but Ines didn't care. He was not their target group. Did he wear a costume? Was he a part of some sort of game theater?

With an eye roll she walked up to him. She expected to try to keep herself from laughing at him but that changed quickly when he looked at her. He had piercing green eyes that scanned her up and down like she didn't belong in her own gallery.

"Mostly trash here," he said with a french accent and looked her up and down. Ines couldn't say if he meant the art or if he meant her. She laughed a bit insecure while the man continued to look at her without blinking. He just stood with his hands in his pants pockets. It was clearly not a costume, it was fitted and in fine material but it still was strange, not even a prince would dress like that.

"So you haven't found what you're searching for then?"

He licked his lips and raised his eyebrows in an amused way and then smirked condescendingly. When he turned his back to Ines she took the moment to twist her face mockingly. He was a snob and clearly the sort of snob that didn't even think he needed to talk to express his standards.

"So what are you doing here? I mean… You're at a gallery in Brooklyn wouldn't… Europe be more fitting for you?" Ines said with fake interest. To be honest she just wanted him out. Many of the artists were her friends and she was sure he soon would say something mean about the art.

The man dragged a finger over a display and looked at his finger with disgust and then looked at her and held out his fingers towards her.

"Napkin, please," said he like she was his servant and for the moment she guessed she was. She also felt a bit embarrassed because it actually was dusty. She walked away with obvious irritated steps, heavy against the floor and searched after a napkin behind the desk. Was there none? Come on, she didn't want to give the guy the satisfaction of saying a comment about the hygiene.

"I want to talk to the owner actually," he said with his weird french accent and it made Ines look up. Now he stood with a man in a black suit next to him. He was beefy and she wondered how he could have walked into the small gallery without her having heard him. He stood and held out a box of napkins towards the tall man who wiped his hands with the same disgusted face. She hadn't forced him to touch the dust, so why did he even think it was so gross? She looked at the beefy guy again. He looked like a bodyguard and it made her wonder again who the man dressed in velvet was.

"I'm the owner?" Said Ines confused and got the man to look at her with furrowed brows.

"You?" He asked, voice full of despise.

"Yes? Do you think I'm too trash for that?" She asked and crossed her arms behind the desk.

The man put his hands in his pants pockets again and walked up to her slowly. It felt threatening and for a moment Ines wondered if she should hide in the back, lock herself in and wait for the man to disappear.

He pulled down the corner of his mouth and shrugged his shoulders. He looked at her for a few seconds and then gave her a charming smile that changed his face completely.

"Not at all… I'm here to see the Pivoine painting."

Ines dropped her face and swallowed hard. Few people knew about that painting. Few knew what a goldmine she had at home in her dining room.

"I don't know what you mean?" She tried but her eyes were glassy.

"Yes you do. The Pivoine of a woman eating an apple?"

She could feel sweat breaking out on her forehead and she looked around worriedly. She had been worried about this day for so long, the day someone had told the wrong person about the portrait of her grandmother made by her lover, the world famous artist Pivoine.

The tall man smirked and reached out a hand towards her.

"Let me introduce myself…" Ines took his hand reluctantly.

"My name is Vincent de Gramont and I will make you into a rich, rich girl."

Ines swallowed hard and let go of his hand.

"I know what museums and private collectors are prepared to pay for it but I don't want to…"

"I wouldn't sell it that way. I have other ways…" he interrupted her but looked her straight in the eyes. His eyes were really mesmerizing and it felt like she couldn't say no to him. He licked his plump lips and for a few seconds she admired his looks. Chocolate hair, flawless skin and those lips… She shook it off like the thoughts were something inappropriate and looked down at the desk.

"What would you win on that?"

She gave him a look again but lowered her eyes when she realized he watched her with the same intense stare.

"We can say like this, I need the distraction. And I love a good art deal."

#bill skarsgård #bill skarsgard #fan fiction #writing #story #bill skarsgård writing #bill skarsgård fanfiction #fiction #Vincent de Gramont #the marquis #john wick #john wick 4

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 1 year

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Ghosts

Summary: A phone call from a stranger with news about a man from a life you had left behind a long time ago, brings back many memories, making you travel from France to New York City for one last time. Only for a promise made twenty years ago to wait for you once you are back home.

Pairing: John Wick x fem. reader

Rating: G

Wordcount: 1.5k

Warnings: !! spoilers for John Wick Chapter 4 !! do not read this if you don't want to be spoiled for the movie (this is an attempt on a fix it fic lmao), guns, death, angst, fluff

A/N: yeah I know it's been 84 years but here I am with my silly little John Wick fic, trying to make sense of the movie I watched two days ago. Summary is a lil vague cause spoilers

follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics to get notified for new fic updates

You jumped awake, uncertain what it was that woke you up.

Groaning your eyes found the time on the alarm clock on your bedside table, showing you that it was just after 3 am. Was it a nightmare? You had those, even though not as frequently as before. Out of instinct you reached under your bed, finding the familiar shape of your gun still in place.

You hadn’t actually used a gun in almost twenty years, yet knowing it was there gave you a sense of safety, your mind wandering to the last time you had used it.

The night you died.

The night you left your old life.

The night he killed you.

Your life had been planned out for you before you even took your first breath. You were the future head of the Ruska Roma, your fathers pride and joy.

You never had a choice in that matter.

You learned hundreds of ways to kill a person, had material art lessons daily followed by lessons learning every single detail about the high table and your family's enemies, making you a killing machine before you even turned thirteen years old.

It was on your thirteenth birthday that you met John Wick for the first time.

He was older than you, at least ten years, but there was something in his eyes that seemed familiar to you. It was the same look you saw every day when you looked into the mirror. Sadness, Anger, Emptiness.

He spent a year working exclusively for your father, doing his dirty work, before he disappeared like a ghost into the night.

Almost twelve years would pass before you and John would meet again.

He became a friend, if you had friends in the world you had been born into. Maybe even your only friend. And so much more. He trained you, his reputation proceeding him, his name only whispered in the underground as if he would appear out of thin air if you dared to speak out his name.

Spending time with John became an escape to the ever lingering pressure all around you, your personal challenge becoming to make him crack the facade he put on, for just a tiny glimpse at the man behind the myth.

It was when your father announced your engagement to another future member of the high table, catching you totally off guard, that gave you finally the strength to plan your way out.

You knew survival was almost impossible.

So you had to die.

And who better to help you make your death believable than the boogeyman himself?

Shaking your head out of the memory of John, blinking away the many pictures of his soft smile as you woke up in his arms day after day before you disappeared you sighed.

It had been almost twenty years since you last saw him, since he promised once he got out for good he would find you, but sometimes you still found yourself thinking about him. He had been your best friend and so much more. The first man you kissed, the first man you slept with.

Your phone buzzed and you reached for it, your eyes frowning at the foreign number.

“Hello?” you said.

A sigh was heard on the other end of the line.

“This is… My name is Winston and I am calling for Jonathan Wick….”

Getting to New York undetected must have been the single most anxious task of your life. You hadn’t been back here since you kissed your former life goodbye.

But it was John.

And Winston, who you learned was the Manager of the New York Continental Hotel, assured you that your safety would be assured if you chose to travel to John’s funeral.

“John and I may have had our issues, but he made me promise to keep an eye on you if anything would ever happen to him,” he had told you.

It was from him that you learned that even though you hadn’t talked or seen John since that night, John had very much kept up with you and your life. To make sure you were always safe.

You learned that he got out too before because he fell in love, got married to the woman he loved before she died from a long illness, the aftermath of that sucking him back into the underworld where he fought for his freedom before he eventually found it and died on the steps of the Sacré-Cœur in Paris.

Only two hours away from the small town you had called home for the last couple of years.

You weren’t prepared how much the news of his death would hurt.

While learning that he got out for another woman hurt when you first learned about it, in the end you were happy he got to experience love and life apart from the underworld.

Sure, he could have died without you knowing it since you lost contact. But knowing that he still cared about you even after all these years, made you so fucking sad and happy at the same time.

Winston and someone who named himself the Bowery King (you did not ask any questions) had left you alone at the graveyard, a trusted security detail from Winston staying behind as you stood under the umbrella facing John Wick’s grave.

Loving husband it read beneath his name.

It brought a small smile to your lips.

When you were younger you always pictured him when you dreamed of getting married. But that was all it was.

A dream.

John Wick was the first man you loved, maybe the only man you really loved.

“I hope you found your peace, Jonathan,” you whispered, your fingers brushing over his gravestone, before you set down a single rose on his stone and on Helen’s. His wife’s.

You blinked away the tears.

“Thank you for keeping me safe,” you said with a sad smile on your lips before you slowly turned around and walked back to your car.

It was early morning when the car drove through the tiny town of La Mare just on the coast of France.

Was it totally insane taking a risky twenty four hour trip to New York City for a funeral of a man you hadn’t talked to in twenty years?

Yes.

But you would do it again.

You thanked the driver with a tired smile, watching him drive away as you searched for your keys in your purse.

You had stayed to have a drink with Winston and meet with a lawyer from whom you learned that John had put you in his last will, making you the sole heir to everything he owned in case his wife died before him.

After you had been driven back to the private airstrip where you took the private jet you had arrived with back to europe.

You just wanted to lay down and cry, the rollercoaster of feelings you had gone through since your phone call with Winston just two days ago still not really setting in.

You unlocked the door, letting your bag fall down in the hallway as you shut the door behind you, leaning with your back against the door, taking a deep breath.

This was so fucking silly.

Why were you so heartbroken about a man you had said goodbye to before?

You got out of your shoes, walking down the long hallway towards the kitchen half asleep. You blamed it on that you did not hear the noise until you were walking through the door, stopping in your tracks at the man currently fighting with your coffee maker.

Instinct set in and you silently walked to the table closest to you, intent on grabbing your gun when you found it gone.

“If you’re looking for your gun, it’s right here,” your head turned towards the man who had now turned around, his head nodding towards your big kitchen Island where your gun was laying.

Your eyes flew from him to the gun, before you looked at him again, your lips parting in a gasp.

“John?” you whispered in disbelief.

Slowly he walked towards you, limped really, before he came to a stop in front of you.

He was older, his dark hair longer than the last time you had seen him. He was wearing sweatpants and a white shirt and you could see the bandages beneath it from where he must be hurt.

“I told you I would find you once I got out for good,” he said carefully, but you just kept looking at him like he was a ghost. A ghost from your past.

“Hope you don’t mind, I let myself in.”

“I... I was at your funeral,” you whispered.

“I was at yours too,” he said.

“You got married,” you said. He nodded.

“But now you’re here.”

“But now I’m here.”

You took a step towards him, carefully reaching out, your hand coming to rest on his chest, just above his heart.

“It’s been a long time,” you whispered.

“Yeah.”

“A lot has happened since we last saw each other,” you said. He nodded.

“You wanna have breakfast and tell me all about it?” you asked.

“Yeah. I’d love that.”

#my fic #John Wick #John Wick x fem. reader #Keanu Reeves #John Wick Chapter 4 spoilers #spoilers #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction

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rothman1966 · 4 days

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＊ The Identity of the Futurist Classic: Extinction

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ￤presentación oficial — teaser trailer.

ㅤ　"A strange world where the classic coexists with futuristic"ㅤ ㅤ

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Sinopsis:

Cinco años después de la primera historia, la humanidad enfrenta la extinción a manos de los replicantes en una guerra por la supervivencia. Johnson, resucitado como un replicante y traicionado por Billy, debe unirse a él como viejos Runners Assasin para detener la amenaza que los asecha. Juntos, deben descubrir la verdad sobre los Runners Assassin desaparecidos y luchar contra los replicantes para salvar lo que queda de la humanidad.

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＊ The Identity of the Futurist Classic: Extinction

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ￤official presentation — teaser trailer.

ㅤ　"A strange world where the classic coexists with futuristic"ㅤㅤ

ㅤ　　ㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ

Synopsis:

Five years after the first story, humanity faces extinction at the hands of replicants in a war for survival. Johnson, resurrected as a replicant and betrayed by Billy, must join him as old Runners Assassins to stop the threat that stalks them. Together, they must uncover the truth about the missing Runners Assassin and fight the replicants to save what's left of humanity.

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chickensarentcheap · 6 months

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Lost and Found- Chapter 24

Fandom: Extraction

Pairing: Tyler Rake and Esme Drummond (OFC. But you do not have to read the others in the series to understand this fic.)

Tagging: @tragiclyhip @secretaryunpaid @youflickedtooharddamnit @themaradwrites @munstysmind @thebejeweledwatercat @fanficanatic-tw @asirensrage @kmc1989 @karimac @theesirenteller @residentdormouse @alisbackalleybbq @ninjasawakenedmystar @arrthurpendragon @ocappreciation @occommunity

Warnings: profanity, (very minimal) gun violence, (brief mention) blood, (minor) physical violence (I mean, the guy's a mercenary, mmmkay)

Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43179357/chapters/132270193

My tag list is OPEN. Please just let me know if you'd like to be added :)

******

As smoke billows heavily from the garbage room and fire alarms blare, he leads her down the hall; a firm, protective hand on the back of her neck as they blend seamlessly into the steady flow of guests that head for the closest stairwell. Taking an alternate route would have caused too much suspicion; The Continental’s clientele well-versed in how to be deceptive and how to spot those guilty of the same. The majority is immensely loyal to Winston; with eyes that are forever curious and peeled and ears that are always open and lurking for even the smallest hint of trouble.

Drawing attention is the last thing he wants; keeping his rifle pressed tightly against his side as he makes random, mundane small talk with a clearly nervous and fearful Esme. Knowing that his voice -if kept low and steady and reassuring- is enough to calm her down and keep her focused; needing both his presence and the security and the confidence that he’s always been able to instil in her. Using both words and the pressure on her neck to keep her moving; encouraging her to match his slow and steady gait as opposed to adopting anything more frantic and hurried.

The growing crowd notices nothing amiss; intently focused on the reality of their situation as opposed to what others are doing around them. Chattering and grumbling to one another in a mixture of confusion, slight concern, and immense annoyance; questioning the cause of the fire and bemoaning disrupted naps and schedules as they pull on sweaters and overcoats. He never makes eye contact; his hand slipping from the nape of Esme’s neck to the small of her back as he steers her towards the stairwell. Pausing to hold the door open for others; accepting the words of appreciation tossed in his direction and returning them with nothing more than a simple nod. And when the last person begins making their way down the stairs, he lingers briefly on the threshold; waiting until the others are a flight below before turning on his heel and quietly closing the door behind him.

Fishing the lone key from his jacket pocket, he jams it into the control box and turns it all the way to the left; the toe of a filthy, well-worn combat boot rhythmically tapping against immaculate, gleaming marble as they wait for the elevator to reach their floor. Beside him, Esme nervously rocks back and forth on her heels and chews anxiously on the inside of her cheek; her eyes fearful, her complexion a washed out, almost sickly gray. Taking advantage of the lull in activity, he reaches out to gently tug on her hair; shooting her a wink and flashing a brief yet reassuring smile when she glances up at him.

The lift noisily rumbles to a stop, and as the door opens, he moves his hand to the small of her back; applying firm yet gentle pressure as he encourages her to step on, then directs her to stand against the side wall. Out of sight in case an employee beckons the elevator from another floor; wanting to avoid both a confrontation and the chance of her impending departure getting back to Winston.

He shoves the key into the control panel; holding it in place as his free hand activates the two-way radio clipped to his vest. “We’re in the elevator now. Heading to the basement, level one.”

“Copy,” Nik responds. “We’re right behind you; southwest stairwell, seventh floor.”

“Any word from Wick? About the outside?”

“He’s stationed across the street. Taken up position on the roof. His people are here; fire trucks out front, men inside checking the situation, evacuating people. Should make it easier for you to get around.”

“Armoured car?”

“ETA three minutes. It’ll be waiting for you.”

“How much time do I have?”

“Fourteen minutes. Before the hotel’s security system goes back online.”

Esme urgently tugs on his sleeve, whispering: “Ask about Millie” when he glances down at her.

“Have you heard from Alcott? About how things went?”

“They made it safely out of and away from the building. Met no resistance. They’re at the designated spot; Wick will join them once you and Esme are away from the building and you give the all-clear.”

“Millie?”

“I’m assuming she’s fine. Alcott didn’t say otherwise. No news is good news.”

“What about Winston? Any sign of him?”

“Not that I was told. I know that doesn’t exactly fill you with a sense of confidence…”

“I’ll handle him. If I have to.”

“Tyler…”

“We talked about this. You know where I stand. I’ll handle him.” Releasing the comms button on his transmitter, he gives Esme a small yet reassuring smile. “She’s good. They didn’t have any problems getting outta here. They’re a few blocks away, waiting on us to get the fuck out. And to pick up Wick.”

Esme breathes an audible sigh of relief. “I’ve just been so worried about her. She’s just so sensitive, you know? I know she’s tough and resilient, and she’s crazy smart, but she’s still just a little girl. It’s always just been her and I, and it was hard enough telling her that she couldn’t come with us, never mind sending her with someone else.”

“I don’t necessarily like the idea of her with other people, either. But it was the right decision to make; if things go wrong, at least she isn’t around to suffer because of it. And like you said, she’s in great hands.”

“I don’t trust many people when it comes to her. I wouldn’t send her with just anyone.”

“I know. I trust your instincts. And your choices. I wouldn’t have gone along with it if I didn’t.”

“I just didn’t want you to think that I’m neglectful or thoughtless or that I just leave her with random people. I just…”

“I don’t think any of those things. I never would. You did the right thing for Millie. Do you really think I would have gone along with it if I didn’t think that?”

Esme shakes her head.

“Stop doubting yourself. You’re a good mum, Me. You’re an amazing mum. You’ve done right by her. And I know it wasn’t easy; doing it all yourself. There’s no doubting how much you love her. How you’ve devoted your entire life to her.”

“She’s my baby. She became my entire world. And if anything happens to her…”

“Listen to me.” Laying a hand on the back of her neck, he firmly squeezes. “Nothing is going to happen to her. Alcott will make sure of that. She’s safe. And you’ll see her soon. I promise.”

“You’re not worried about her? Or scared or…”

“You kidding? I’m scared shitless. But I know she’s gonna be alright. She’s with people that would do anything to protect her. I wouldn’t have gone along with sending her with them if I didn’t truly believe that. Now…” He re-checks the tightness on her vest. “...what I need you to do is just breathe. Stay calm, keep your eyes and your ears open, and let me know if something doesn’t feel right. Okay?”

She nods.

“You just gotta breathe, Esme. Just breathe and trust me.”

“I do. I DO trust you.”

Patting down the pockets on her coat, he reaches into the left one and removes a black, purple and pink striped beanie. Gently slipping the garment onto her head and then giving her a wink as he tugs it down over her ears. “It’s cold out.”

She manages a smile; briefly leaning her body into his before once again issuing a long, heavy sigh. “Please tell me you’re not going to do what I think you’re going to do.”

“What do you think I’m going to do?”

“You KNOW.”

“What YOU know is that I hate when you talk in riddles.”

“You’re not going to go after him, are you? Winston?”

“Not intentionally.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? You either are, or you aren’t. What…?”

“I’m not going looking for him. That’s not what I’m here for. I’m not going to search the place; hunt him down like a rabid dog. Even if it IS what he deserves.”

“But?”

“If he tries to stop me from getting you out of here, then I’ll deal with him.”

“Tyler..”

“I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want hear about the fucking rules of this place; how they're the only thing separating us from the animals. Or whatever bullshit he likes to preach. And I especially don’t want to hear about The High Table. Those fuckers have caused enough damage and enough problems to last a lifetime.”

“They are not the people you want to piss off. Haven’t you learned that by now? That they’re not the type of people you want to cross? After everything they did five years ago…”

“I already talked to Nik. If it comes to having to kill Winston and live with The High Table on my ass, she and Yaz will make sure you and Millie were kept safe. Taken care of.”

“So we basically just go back to the way things were? You in one place, us in the other?”

“If it has to be that way, then…”

“It doesn’t have to be that way. Five years wasn’t enough? I realize that was all my fault, and I can’t go back and make a different decision; I can’t ever erase what I did or make things right. But we just found each other again. After YEARS apart. And Millie just finally got her dad. And you’re willing to just say ‘fuck it’ and throw all that away?”

“I don’t want to fight. Especially right now. I don’t…”

“I’m not trying to fight. I’m trying to make sense of it. We are so close to having everything we wanted. Everything we should have gotten five years ago. And yet, you’re okay with losing that? For a second time? I don’t…”

“I’m not okay with anything. It’s not like I want to throw it away. It’s not like I love the idea of things going back to the way they were and…”

“You can’t retaliate. I know you’re pissed off; about that sniper coming after you and putting Millie in danger. And I know you hate this weird, gross obsession that Winston has when it comes to me. Believe me, I don’t particularly like the thought of it either. I understand why you’d want revenge. Part of me wants it to. But to go against The High Table and put a target right on your back…”

“I don’t care about me. If it comes down to protecting you…”

“You think it’s caring about me to put yourself in danger like that? Do you think that’s caring about Millie? You think we want you having to spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder?”

“Don’t I already do that?”

“Trust me when I say this, Tyler: there isn’t anyone you’ve gone against that is as vicious and cold-blooded and unforgiving as The High Table. They won’t just kill you. That’s going easy on someone, as far as they’re concerned. They will make you suffer. They will abuse you and torture you until you’re begging them to put a bullet in your head. Even then, that won’t even be enough. They’ll stop and give you a few days rest and then start all over again. And that will last weeks. Maybe months. Maybe even years. Do you think I want that? Them doing things to you? I already saved you from that shit once. Don’t make me do it again.”

“Don’t threaten me with that. Don’t…”

“I’m not threatening you. I’m begging you. Please don’t go after him. Don’t let him reel in you like that. He wants you to react. He wants you to snap and do something drastic because he knows he can’t bring you down any other way. None of his threats have worked. Offering you money didn’t work. The sniper didn’t get the job done. And he’s not going to get his own hands dirty. He wants you to draw blood on Continental grounds so that The High Table will come for you. How can you not see that? That he will do whatever he has to ruin everything. To ruin YOU. Don’t fall for his shit. You are way too smart for that.”

“I can’t let him hurt you. I can’t let ANYONE hurt you. And if he gets in my way…”

“If you’re not going to think of yourself, at least think of me. And Millie. We NEED you. We’ve always needed you.”

“You’ve already done almost five years on your own. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known. If you have to…”

“It isn’t about ‘having to.’ It’s about not WANTING to. I don’t want to do this alone anymore. I didn’t want to do it alone the first time! I am begging you, Tyler. Don’t do this to me. To Millie. To US. Please don’t.”

“What am I supposed to do? If he tries to stop us? If he won’t let me take you out of here. How am I supposed to handle that?”

“I don’t know. I don’t…”

“Well, you better figure it out fast.” He glances up at the illuminated numbers above the elevator doors. “Because we have two floors to go and if we step out there without a fucking plan…”

“I don’t know. I don’t…” Briefly closing her eyes, Esme takes in a long, quivering breath. “...I’m just begging you not to kill him. I’m not saying you can’t defend me. Or yourself. He won’t break the rules; he’s not going to draw blood on Continental grounds.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do know that. He’s not above The High Table. NO ONE is. He breaks one of their golden rules, and they WILL punish him. They will strip him of his management, deconsecrate this place, and allow it to become a bloodbath in here. He knows it, and he won’t even chance it. The power that comes with running The Continental and being in The High Table’s good graces are what matters most to him.”

“You’re sure of that.”

“I’ve spent enough time here…enough time around Winston…to know what he treasures most of all. And it isn’t me. It’s power. He won’t risk losing that. Not even for you.”

“So we just talk it out? What do we do? If he tries to stop us? You better hurry, Esme. Because once those doors open…”

“You just can’t draw blood. You can threaten him. You can rough him up. You just can’t kill him. You find another way to handle things. You’re smarter than you think, Tyler. Way smarter. If anyone can handle Winston and play him at his own game, it’s you.”

“So I’m allowed to at least beat the shit out of him?”

“Within reason. If you start, you have to know when to stop. Don’t cross a line you can’t cross back over. That’s all I’m asking. Because I love you, and I need you. And I’m trying to protect you. So just please…PLEASE…remember who you’re dealing with and what he wants from you. And DON’T give it to him.”

Tyler nods slowly as he considers her words, then lays a hand on the back of her neck and pulls her into him. Covering her mouth with his in a long, deep kiss that lasts until a melodic tone announces that the elevator has reached its final destination. Pulling away, a gloved hand tightly squeezes her neck. g “We’re going to be alright.”

“Stronger together than we are apart.”

“Yeah…” He offers a slow yet shaky grin. “...we are.”

*****

The rifle moves slowly; controlled by a steady and confident grip as it makes sweeping passes over closed doors, hidden alcoves, and empty hallways. The silence within the bowels and dark recesses of The Continental deafening; exacerbating the sound of every breath they take and the brush of their soles against the cement floor. Coming to an abrupt halt when voices puncture the stillness; muffled conversations within the laundry room as employees shut down equipment and prepared to evacuate the building. And when they grow louder and closer, and he hears the faint squeak of an opening door, he mutters a "fuck...fuck....FUCK" and seizes her by the front of her vest; quickly and aggressively dragging her into an alcove. His back pressed against the wall as he pulls her much smaller and lighter body into his; a forearm draped across her collarbone and a hand covering her mouth in order to ensure her silence.

When the threat passes, he issues a sigh of relief; an arm ushering her behind him as they once more continue their journey. Vaguely aware of the hold she has on his jacket; her footfalls light and quiet as opposed to his awkward, shuffling gait. His weight and size proving to be detrimental; creating unwanted noise that seems to echo throughout the basement and bounce off the surrounding walls. And they’re fifty yards away from freedom when it happens; an unmarked door tossed open, followed by cocky, smirking Winston stepping out into the hall.

“You really didn’t think you’d get away with this, did you? That I wouldn’t catch wind of your little plan? That someone wouldn’t give you away? Not very smart, are you.”

“Stay back,” Tyler warns. “Don’t come any closer. Don’t…”

“You came into my home, where you’re certainly not welcome, and proceeded to ignore every rule laid out in front of you. Not to mention disrespected not only me, The Continental itself, but all of those who seek and take refuge here. Just who the hell do you think you are?”

“I’m the one that’s getting Esme out of here. Away from you. Out from under your thumb. It’s over, Winston. She’s not yours to protect. She never was.”

“You seem to forget that if it weren’t for me, she’d be long dead. And so would your child. In fact, that little one would have never even been born. She exists BECAUSE of me. Because I opened my doors to her mother. Because I gave her a safe haven. Which is something you couldn’t do. Something you’ll NEVER be able to do.”

“I’m going to need you to take a couple of steps back. ‘Cause if you come any closer to her…”

“In case you haven’t noticed by now, Mister Rake, you don’t intimidate me. Not in the slightest. I’m not threatened by you, nor am I scared of you. And I certainly don’t respect you.”

“Never thought I’d say this, but we actually have something in common. Because I feel the exact same way about you.”

“You are under MY roof. This is my home. My KINGDOM. Mine and mine alone. I certainly didn’t want you here; your type is never welcome at The Continental. And believe me, I did everything in my power to prevent you from even stepping foot in this city, never mind this establishment. But even I have my limits. My weaknesses. I admit that I DID succumb to her…how should I put this…feminine wiles.”

Esme hurries out from her ‘safe place’; managing half a step before finding herself blocked by his much larger, heavier body. “And what the fuck is THAT supposed to mean?

“Get back,” Tyler orders, using a forearm to once more tuck her behind him. “Don’t engage. Don’t even look at him. Just stay right there and keep quiet.”

“You know exactly what that means,” Winston informs her. “You have an uncanny ability; the gift of being able to manipulate people into doing exactly what you want. A well-placed smile or pout. Those big, dark eyes. That ‘damsel in distress’ air that you so easily adopt. Even those well versed in your true self fall for it; strong, noble men that never crack under pressure, never break a sweat under even the most dire of circumstances. You act shy and coy and sweet and…”

“That’s not true. I’ve never acted like that. Not with you. Not with ANYONE.”

“You’ve made a living…and a very lucrative one at that… doing those very things. Isn’t that why you’re here in the first place? Why you needed my help? My protection? For years you’ve conned the very best; talked and flirted and lied and…if I may be so bold…even whored…”

“Don’t talk to her like that,” Tyler snarls. “Don’t you EVER…”

“... your way into their good graces. Their lives. Their BEDS. How long have you gotten away with it? How many men HAVE you fooled? How many have fallen in love with you, only to have their entire world crumble underneath them?”

“Those were jobs,” Esme argues. “Nothing more. Nothing less. That’s all they were. I never…”

“Never what? Meant to take things that far? Use them in ways that go far beyond your job description? You can’t tell me that Alessio was the first that you devoted so much time and energy to. Eight months. Nearly three-quarters of a year. You became part of his family and even accepted his proposal. You allowed him to raise your daughter, you…”

“He treated Millie like complete and utter shit! Like she was subhuman. He wanted to send her away! To boarding school! A four-year-old! A baby! He…”

“And just who enabled his behaviour? Who allowed him to be around the child? Who was so desperate to have a father in their daughter’s life that…”

“You fucking asshole!” Esme lunges forward; immediately finding herself snagged by the hood on her jacket and aggressively yanked backwards.

“Stop!” Tyler orders. “Just stop. This is what he wants. He wants us to react. Lash out. Do something stupid. So just get behind me and stay there. And don’t say another goddamn word!”

“That’s Millie he’s talking about! My daughter! OUR daughter! She’s just a little girl. A baby. She…”

“He’s using her to get to you. To get to US. Now just get behind me and stay there. And keep quiet. Got it?”

“But…”

“Got it?”

She tearfully nods, then obediently tucks herself behind him.

“You are noble.” Winston addresses Tyler. “I will give you that. Perhaps not the most intelligent, but…”

“I’m only going to tell you once. Get out of the way.”

“So gallant. So eager to protect And so damn devoted. To a fault, even. Do you not see what she’s doing to you? The pattern? Isn’t this how it all began? You protecting her? SAVING her?”

“Winston, back away. Before…”

“Before what?” The older man chuckles. “Before NOTHING. Are you that oblivious? To how you’re being played? Not just once, but TWICE?”

“I’m not taking the bait. I know what you want from me. You want me to snap. You want to be able to paint me as unstable. Unhinged. An unnecessary threat. You want to be able to tell everyone that you acted in self-defence. That I had no reason to act the way I did. You want to be able to kill me; break all the High Tables rules. And then get away with it by making up some bullshit on how it was justified.”

“Maybe I was wrong. Maybe you are more intelligent than I give you credit for.”

“It’s not going to work, Winston. No matter what you say or do. I’ve had much worse said to me. DONE to me. By WAY better.”

“She’s using you, Mister Rake. Just like she used you in Dhaka. She has no morals. She doesn’t care who she hurts. She brings men like you…like US…to our knees. She…”

“You and I? We are nothing alike.”

“We are EXACTLY alike. As much as it pains me to admit it. She’s conned us both. Used us. Manipulated us. Only with you, she got away with it TWICE.”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. You know nothing; about Esme and I and what went down between us and Dhaka.”

“Word travels fast in the circle. You should know that by now. You should also know that you’re the laughing stock. Everyone talks about it. About YOU. You may be a hero. You may be a legend. But you’re also a damn fool.”

“I’m only going to tell you once more, Winston. Get out of my way. You either move on your own, or I do it for you. And you don’t want that, believe me.”

“I’ll tell you something else. What happened two days ago? In your room? It’s the last time I hire an outsider. To get a job done. It was simple; I told them who the target was and exactly where to find him. Yet here you are. Standing in front of me. Still breathing. You’re a hard one to kill, Mister Rake.”

“I fucking knew it. As soon as it happened. I knew you were behind it. Why? Of all places to try and take me out, why there? With Millie in the room? She’s a baby. MY baby. Why…?”

“Unfortunately, when it comes to war, there’s always collateral damage.”

The rage is overwhelming. All consuming. And in one quick movement, he drives the butt end of his rifle into the side of Winston’s face; the older man roaring in both surprise and pain as he drops into a bloody heap. Blood thunders in his ears as he tosses the weapon aside and then stalks towards his prey; placing a knee in the middle of the other man’s chest as he changes his method of attack. Restoring to using his fists; raining punches down on Winston’s already battered head and face. Oblivious to Esme's initial orders and then her desperate pleas for him to stop; ignoring her as she attempts -in vain- to pull him away. Unable to control either strength or aggression, he pushes her away; causing her to lose her balance and fall heavily onto her rear in the middle of the dirty floor.

“Tyler! No!” As he reaches for his rifle, she scrambles to her knees and then her feet; rushing towards him in a frantic attempt to yank the weapon from his hands. Both arms wrapping around one of his as he places the muzzle against Winston’s forehead, finger poised on the trigger. “Tyler! Stop! Please don’t do this! Don’t…!”

“Just step away, Esme. That’s all you gotta do. Just step away.”

“Please don’t,” she tearfully pleads. “You don’t want to do this. It’s not worth it. HE’S not worth it.”

“You heard what he said. It WAS him. That tried to kill me. Millie was right there. She was in the room. That sniper aimed right at her.”

“Tyler, this isn’t what Millie would want. You kept her safe, yeah? You made sure nothing happened to her. You SAVED her. She’s alive because of you. And she’s waiting for us. She’s waiting for YOU. Her dad. She needs you, okay? She’s always needed you. And I’m sorry that I didn’t make that happen. That I kept her from you. I’m sorry that I hurt you. I never meant for it to get this far.”

“You have nothing to do with this. With HIM. So just step away and…”

“You and Millie just found each other. After all this time. You get to be a father again. And she finally gets her dad. The one she’s been asking about. Don’t rob her of that, okay? Don’t rob her of you. I already did. Don’t you do it to her, too.”

“Esme…”

“I can’t let you do that to her. I just can’t.”

“He deserves it. For him to have his head fucking blown off..”

“Maybe he does. But I don’t want you to be the one who does it. We are so close. To having everything we ever wanted. Please don’t throw that away. Please don’t throw ME away.”

Initially pressing the muzzle harder against Winston’s head, he finally relents, index finger slipping off the trigger as he backs away. And while Winston stumbles to his feet, Tyler once more takes hold of Esme’s hand and guides her behind him.

The older man smirks; using his tie and the sleeve of his suit jacket to clear the blood and sweat from his face. “You realize you just signed your death warrant. Both of yours, for that matter. You drew blood on Continental grounds. That’s rule one: no business is to be conducted on company property.”

“Just let us go, Winston,” Esme attempts to reason with him, struggling to remain calm despite the hammering in both chest and head. “It doesn’t have to go any further than this. It doesn’t have to escalate. Just let us go.”

“You know that can’t happen. It WON’T happen. I was never going to let either of you escape. The child, yes. She has many people who love her. Who will gladly step up and take care of her in your absence.”

“You’re going to kill both of us? Is that it? That was always your plan?”

“I’m not going to kill you. Why would I waste such a wonderful, beautiful asset? I’m not a stupid man, Esme. Don’t treat me as such.”

“When I told you I was hiring Tyler, and you agreed to let him into The Continental, you told me you’d let us go. That we’d be free to just walk out of here. You PROMISED me.”

“Well, you see, my love, like you, I too have to lie from time to time. To get my way.”

“You’re fucking crazy. Why would I ever stay here with you? Why would I want to? Especially after all of this. You think I’d just forgive you? For everything you’ve done? For keeping my daughter from me? For killing Tyler? You think I’d just learn to be okay with all of that?”

“I can have your daughter brought back. At any time. All you have to do is ask nicely and…”

“And do as I’m told? Is that what you were going to say? All I would have to do is be a quiet, obedient, submissive little thing, is that it? Play along? Be a trophy for you; someone you could parade around? Show off? Feed your ego? Cure your limp dick? Is THAT what you were going to say?”

“You are a feisty one. Always have been. I can give you a life. A very good one at that. You’ll never want for nothing. There’s nothing I can’t give you. Why won’t you let me do that? Give you the world? Why…?”

“I would rather put a bullet in my fucking brain than spend another minute here with you.”

“You’ll learn to love it. Life here. Where you’re safe.”

“I’m not staying here. So you’re going to have to kill me, too. Because I’ll do it myself. I’ll find a way. I will NOT be some toy for you.”

“But you’ll be one for him? Some ‘no one’. You’ll accept a life with THAT? Over one with me?”

Esme remains defiant. “I’d rather be his whore than your wife.”

“You really would choose him? An alcoholic, drug-addicted mercenary who abandoned his dying child?”

“Don’t talk about him like that.” Her hand disappears underneath the hem of her jacket; fingertips brushing against the handle of the Glock. “Don’t EVER talk about him like that. Don’t even say his name.”

“I don’t know who is more blind. Him or you. He can’t see what you’re doing to him, and you can’t see him for who he truly is. A nobody. No more than some two-bit thug who…”

“Winston, I am warning you. DON’T talk about him like that.”

“You’re more foolish than he is. You realize that, don’t you? The fact you would turn down a life with me for a pathetic, miserable existence with him? He doesn’t deserve you. Don’t you see that? He’ll never change. This is who he will always be. He’ll never give this up. This life. Not for you, not for your daughter. You can’t change him. You can’t save him. No matter how desperately you want to.”

Slipping the gun from its holster, she removes it from under her coat before either man has a chance to stop her.

Winston gives a mocking chuckle.. “And what are you going to do with that, little one? What…?”

“It’s not what I’m going to do. It’s what YOU’RE going to do.”

“And that would be?”

“You’re going to let us out of here. You’re going to keep your promise. Or I will put a bullet in your fucking skull.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Like I told Alessio earlier. I don’t bluff.”

Behind her, the doors to the kitchen swing open, and she quickly pivots; training the gun on the figure that strides into the hallway.

“Miss Drummond,” Both Charon’s voice and eyes are soft. Reassuring. Kind. And he holds his hands up in a plea for peace, signifying to both Esme and Tyler that he poses no threat. “If you would be so inclined as to hand me your weapon.”

“I can’t. Not unless he lets us go. He’s going to kill Tyler. And keep me here. Away from Millie. He’s…”

“He’s going to do no such thing,” Charon assures her and slowly reaches for the weapon; giving a calm, gentle smile as he gingerly plucks it from her hand. “You’re safe. You’re BOTH safe. No ill is going to come to either of you.”

“But he said…”

“What he said doesn’t matter. Nothing is going to happen to you. Either of you. You’re going to walk out of here. Together. And you’re going to be reunited with your little girl. Very soon.”

“It was him, you know. That hired that sniper. To kill Tyler. He didn’t care that Millie was there. She could have been killed, too. And he didn’t even give a shit. That’s my little girl. My baby. And he didn’t even care.”

“I know. Of his involvement. The news of such I didn’t learn until this morning. But she is safe now. She’s away from here. This place. This life. And if you want to see her again…”

“It’ll never happen,” Winston interjects. “My people are already on their way. They’ll be here in minutes. So I suggest…” He glances at Esme, then at Tyler. “...that if you have anything to say to each other, you do it now. Or you won’t get the chance.”

“There is NO ONE coming,” Charon informs him. “There is no cavalry.”

“I called them myself.”

“As did I. After you hung up. It’s been called off. And they’re free to go.”

“You can’t make that decision. You…”

“No. But The High Table can. You’re not the only one with friends in power, sir.”

“You’re lying. You’re…”

“I NEVER lie. You should be expecting a visit from The Adjudicator. The High Table was very concerned that you hired someone to do business on Continental grounds. Not even you are above the rules.”

“First Jonathan, now you? Charon, how could you? Betray me like this? After everything we’ve been through. The years we’ve spent together. The battles we faced. All the things I’ve done for you. And THIS is how you repay me? This…”

“THIS is the right thing to do. Now…” He regards Esme over the top rim of his glasses, then holds out the Glock. “...you can be trusted with this? Rule number one…”

“I can be trusted.”

“Good. Now I suggest you leave. The way you have planned. I will meet up with you. At the airport.”

“You’re coming with us? Why? Why are you…?”

“I’m merely tagging along. To make sure you get to your destination. Safely. But if something does happen in the meantime…” Cradling her face in his palms, Charo presses a kiss to each of her cheeks. “...it has been a pleasure, Miss Drummond.”

As tears well in her eyes, she stands on her tiptoes and embraces him tightly. “Thank you. Not just for this. For EVERYTHING”

“I have very much enjoyed your company. And your friendship.”

Shouldering his rifle, Tyler plucks the Glock from Esme’s hand and slips it into the waistband of his pants, then wraps an arm around her shoulders and draws her tight against him. He gives Charon an appreciative nod. “Thank you.”

“We will see each other soon, Mister Rake.”

“I hope so.” He begins leading a trembling and terrified Esme away. “I really fucking hope so.”

******

As an armoured SUV waits for them outside the shipping and receiving, Tyler’s eyes quickly scan the immediate buildings for any sign of trouble; any figures lurking in open windows or within the shallow recesses of doors. And when he’s certain it’s safe, he jumps off the platform and then turns to assist Esme. His arms outstretched and waiting for her to make her move; easily and effortlessly catching her and then placing her on the ground. Holding her securely by the wrist as he pulls her in the direction of the vehicle; opening the door with one hand, the other shielding the top of her head from coming in contact with the frame. And he waits until she buckles herself in before shutting the door and hurrying for the driver’s side; slipping behind the wheel and throwing down the overhead visor, allowing the keys to fall into his lap.

“Well…” He guns the ignition. “...that went to shit.”

Esme attempts an apology. And an explanation. “I’m sorry. He just knew exactly what buttons to push. First talking about Millie, then about you. I just couldn’t take it. I couldn’t hear another word. He just kept going and going, and I just snapped and…”

“What did I tell you? About listening to me? About never second-guessing a goddamn thing?”

“I just couldn’t listen to it. As if admitting to being the one to hire the sniper wasn’t enough…”

“Esme, I told you to stay quiet. To not engage with him. And I didn’t tell you just once. I told you multiple times. To just shut up and get behind me and let me do my job. Why don’t you listen to me? Why can’t you just do what you’re told? Why…?”

“He just got to me. It was just too much. I can usually handle what people say about me. And I don’t really care that he called me a whore and…:

“I sure as hell fucking cared.”

“...and accused me of being a liar and manipulator. Because I WAS those things. When it came to the job. I DID do those things. I did lie, and I did manipulate people.”

“It was always a means to an end. You did what you had to do. It was work. That’s it.”

“He said the exact same things Gaspar did. About me. About US. About how I used you to get out of Dhaka. And that’s not true. I didn’t lie to you, and I didn’t manipulate you. And I didn’t use you.”

“I know that. I…”

“Everything that happened between us, everything we said to each other, everything we planned? It was all real. Every second, every word. None of that was fake. And for TWO people to insist on it?”

“If I didn’t believe it then, what the hell makes you think I’m going to believe it now? I don’t give a fuck what Gaspar said. And I sure as hell don’t give a shit about anything that came out of Winston’s mouth. I was there too, Esme. In Dhaka. In that hotel room. And it all felt real. It never felt anything BUT real.”

“I just wanted to make sure, that’s all. That you know that none of what Winston said is true and that….”

“Esme, I KNOW. I’ve ALWAYS known.”

“And then when he started in on Millie and then you…”

“Listen, as much as I would love to be able to just sit here and unpack all of this with you and assure you that everything is okay…that WE’RE okay…I can’t do it. Maybe later, but not right now. I need to get us the fuck out of here. Away from this place and out of this city. Out of this COUNTRY. So I’m going to need you to let this shit go. For now. Okay?”

She nods.

“I also need you to toe the fucking line. Because back there? With Winston? That almost ended very badly. And I don’t want to have to deal with something like that again. So, please…I am begging you…listen to me. Do as I say. Got it?”

Tears well in her eyes as both chin and lower lip tremble. “Got it.”

“And please don’t do that. Cry. Because I can’t deal with that right now. I can’t be who you need me to be when you’re this upset and close to freaking out. You hired me to do a job, yeah?”

She nods.

“Then let me do it. Or we are NOT going to get out here. Cooperate. Please.”

“I will. I just…”

“No more. No more talking about this. Just sit there and be quiet and…” His words trail off as his SAT phone vibrates within the confines of the inner pocket of his jacket. And he mutters a ‘fuck me’ as he pulls it out and jams an index finger into the ‘talk’ icon.“What?!”

“Where the hell are you?” Nik inquires. “We’ve been waiting here. At the rendezvous site. Where…?”

“I got a little held up.”

“A little?”

“We’re on our way now. Be there shortly.”

“You’re fifteen minutes past the deadline. Of when the security systems came back on line. Why haven’t you been answering me? On your radio? Did something happen to it or…?”

“I turned it off. In the basement.”

“Tyler…”

“Look, we had an issue, alright?”

“What kind of issue?”

“One I don’t have time to explain. I’m trying to fucking drive!”

“Do I need to remind you who's in charge? Who your boss is? Who gives you orders and signs your paycheck? Do I..?”

“Fuck off, Nik!” He barks, then hangs up and tosses the phone onto the dashboard; unleashing a host of profanities when it bounces off and falls to the floor at Esme’s feet.

Chewing anxiously on her bottom lip, she glances over at him, then down at the cell. And she strains against her seat belt as she leans over to pick it up; placing it in the hands-free holder clipped to the dashboard.

For several minutes, they remain in silence as they make their escape; grateful for the clear and easy path created by the slew of emergency vehicles provided by Wick’s men. To the untrained eye, the FDNY badges and logos seem legit; boldly plastered on the handful of engines and SUVs that not only keep the street directly in front of The Continental car and pedestrian free, but have succeeded in closing down all intersections within a three block radius in each direction.

The closer they get to their meet-up point, the more steady and confident his nerves become. With the confrontation with Winston now pushed onto the back burner, it makes room for cautious optimism; allowing himself to think of not only being reunited with Millie, but of finally being able to start his life -as a partner, soon-to-be husband, and a father- in his homeland. He’s anxious to share the things he loves with his little girl; already dreaming of teaching her to surf and taking her camping and fishing and dirt bike riding. Witnessing as she thrives and grows and gets accustomed to life ‘down under’; making friends and falling in love with the people and the wildlife and taking on an accent.

It’s those thoughts that release the last of the tension in his shoulders and jaw, feeling remarkably lighter as he glances over at Esme; watching as she nervously chews on the inside of her cheek and fidgets with the ties on either side of her hat. He regrets how harsh he’d been with her; the aggression he displayed, and the way he’d barked at her and ordered her around. Lowering himself to reprimanding her as if she were nothing more than a petulant child.

Dropping one of his hands from the steering wheel, he gently sweeps dirt and debris off the thighs of her jeans. “You’re not hurt are you?”

She glances over; a quizzical frown knitting her brows together.

“I didn’t mean to push you as hard as I did. I just meant to get you out of the way. I didn’t…”

“It wasn’t THAT hard. You didn’t hurt me. I just lost my balance. I…”

“That was a pretty hard fall. I didn’t…”

“Tyler…” She grabs a hold of his hand before he can remove it from her leg; managing a smile as she tightly squeezes. “...I’m fine. Honest. Remember when I talked about being thicker too?”

“Oh fuck, not this again…”

“Most of that thickness is in my ass. I didn’t feel a thing.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, it’s just made your ass even better. And it was pretty awesome before, so…”

“And you excuse me of unprofessional talk?” she teases. “Aren’t you supposed to be the mature and sensible one in this situation?”

“Fuck mature and sensible. You talking about your ass being thicker? All I can think about is that saying. About ‘more cushion for the pushin’.”

“You are nothing if not predictable,” she chides and releases his hand. “I KNEW as soon as I mentioned my ass, your mind would go there. Right into the gutter.”

“I was a total prick back there. I didn’t…”

“You weren’t. You…”

“No. I was. I shouldn’t have talked to you like I did. You didn’t deserve that. You…”

“You had every right to. I haven’t exactly been the most cooperative client, have I?”

“You’ve been a challenge. I thought maybe the last five years might have calmed you down; gotten you over that whole ‘I listen to no man’ stage.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I tend to listen to you more than other men.”

A grin tugs at the corners of his mouth. “That’s not saying much.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. That I just didn’t shut up and do what I was told. I didn’t exactly follow my own advice, did I? About not letting Winston get under our skin.”

“No, you did not.”

“Like I said, I don’t really care what people say about me. I’ve been called way worse by way better. But when he brought up Millie and then started threatening you and talking all kinds shit about you…”

“I’m a big boy, Esme. I don’t need you to protect me.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it. You DO need me. In more ways than you’ve ever been willing to admit. I may not be able to protect you the same way you do with me, but I can still have your back. Defend you. Take care of you.”

“And I’m still going to tell you that you don’t need to.”

“We’re going to have to come to some sort of impasse, Tae. Because…” She pauses when she sees the slow, almost boyish grin that spreads across his face. “...what? What’s that little smile for?”

“Nothing. I just haven’t heard you call me that in a long time. I missed it.”

Smiling, she reaches out and rubs his thigh, then squeezes his knee. “I missed saying it.”

“You gotta promise me that you’ll try and rein it in. How much you worry about me. Want to take care of me.”

“You know that’s impossible. It’s just who I am. Who I’ve ALWAYS been. When it comes to you. I’ve always cared too much and worried too much. That’s not going to change, you know. So I think we’re going to have to agree to disagree. About whether or not you need to be protected or not.”

“As long as you promise you won’t go too Mother Hen on me. You know I can’t handle it when you start that babying shit.”

“You are so full of it. You like it when I baby you. I mean, who else is going to put up with you when you’ve got the man flu? You’d probably drive other women completely crazy. They wouldn’t know how to handle you. You’d break them for sure.”

“Well, your sister always was amazed about how I managed to never break YOU in half.”

“I’m made of tough stuff, I guess. Momma didn’t raise a quitter. Or a coward." Yanking off her beanie, she smoothes down her hair and fixes her ponytail. “Did you know? About Charon? That he was part of all this?”

“All I knew was that Nik had someone on the inside. Who got her the blueprints of the hotel, security codes, and all kinds of info. I never would have thought it would be him, though.”

“What do you think made him turn? Against Winston?”

“You heard him; he said it was just the right thing to do. What happened the other day probably pushed him over the edge; the sniper even going after Millie.”

“You never told me that. That they intentionally targeted her.”

“I didn’t see a need to. There was no reason to upset you more than you already were.”

“That must have been terrifying. It’s one thing for people to come after you; you’re used to it. But for them to go after her?”

“I handled it. I did what I had to do. To keep her from getting hurt. But if I ever find exactly WHO pulled that trigger…”

“I give you full permission to shoot them in the head. After you torture them. Slowly and extremely painfully. Do you think he’s going to be okay? Charon? Winston isn’t going to take this lying down; he’s going to view it as a massive betrayal.”

“Winston isn’t dumb enough to try anything. Charon’s got The High Table on his side. Which means, in some weird, fucked up way, they’re on our side too.”

“Better than having to worry about them coming after us. Let’s just hope we never have to call in any favours. Rely on them for anything. Because if I ever have to resort to THAT…”

It happens quickly. Leaving no time to time to react or prepare for impact. The roar of an engine, the glare of headlights cutting through the thin veil of fog, the screeching of brakes. Safety and security suddenly and brutally ripped away; bodies violently jostled within the confines of the SUV as horns blare, glass shatters, and metal crunches and crumbles.

And then, silence.

#Tyler and Esme series #Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fanfic #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction #Extraction 2 #Extraction fanfic #Extraction fan fiction #Chris Hemsworth #Tyler Rake x OFC #Esme Drummond #Esme Rake #Extraction/John Wick crossover

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sunflowerbower · 8 months

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Vague Winston Scott headcanons.

But only from the John Wick movies because I haven’t watched The Continental yet and Ian McShane is my Winston 🩵 gender neutral and no physical descriptions.

First time I’ve posted headcanons like this. Just a few thoughts from my brain to yours 😅 slightly dirtier ones under the cut!

Sun xx

NSFW | minors dni please.

He’s possessive

Intense eye contract

An almost superhuman amount of patience with you, because he finds the way your brain works a bit amusing

He enjoys that you’re not part of his world, you’re a secret he can escape to

Although of course this means he frequently worries about someone discovering you

Which leads to yet more possessive behaviour

That mostly manifests in the bedroom/kitchen/lounge/place of work

Because he cannot keep his hands off you

You often find yourself being gently but firmly manoeuvred into shadowy corners

He murmurs filthy compliments to you in that delicious voice of his

“So pretty for me, and so needy”

“I’m going to ruin you in the very best way, love”

His hands are agile, confident, and the way he plays with you is passionate but still slightly restrained

You always want to make him truly let go with you, as you suspect he hides parts of himself when he is with you

Even though he wants to watch your face when you orgasm, with more intense eye contact

You rarely see him fully come apart

When he has come close he buries his head in your neck and you have marks that last for days

And then somewhat surprisingly he likes to hold you afterwards

As often as he can in fact

You are an indulgence

Not a guilty pleasure, he rarely feels guilt about anything

But he would if anything happened to you.

#fan fiction #john wick #sunflowerbower fics #winston john wick #Winston Scott #ian mcshane #headcanons #Winston Scott x reader

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fargreencountryswiftsunrise · 8 months

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Me: Ah, yes. i know going in this is going to be a long fic. Nothing will surprise me about this length.

Fanfic: *extended backstory and flashbacks*

Me: What is this? Who's doing this?

Fanfic:

Me: Of course it would be you, you drama queen.

#john wick #winston #winston scott #fanfic #fan fic #fanfiction #fan fiction #plot bunny #plot bunnies #writing #writer #write #writer woes

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nicb0723 · 2 years

Text

Find Your Worth

John Wick x Reader

Summary: You meet John in an unconventional way.

Warnings: 18+ only

Word Count: 6,282 Total word count: 89,178

Read Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Chapter 11

There’s a small bruise on John’s hand. He’s sleeping soundly next to you and the early morning sun is starting to shine through the cracks in the curtains.

The bruise is only about the size of a dime and it’s under the knuckle of his ring finger. You keep wondering how he got it as you quietly dress for work. It’s a rare day when John sleeps late and you feel like a voyeur watching him but you can’t look away. He’s gorgeous like this, peaceful and sated. The urge to kiss his lips goodbye is strong but you don’t want to wake him either. He’s been restless lately and he needs sleep.

It crosses your mind more than once, that bruise. And then your thoughts start to spin. You start thinking about all of his scars and how he got them. The people who hurt him and how they’re probably dead. You have to shove the thoughts to the back of your mind, wondering why you’re choosing now to obsess over a small wound. Maybe it’s because John told you he’d come home beat up and it hasn’t happened yet. You’re worried about him and you’re not quite sure how to process it.

Until that night.

John is relaxing on the couch after he seemingly enjoyed the dinner you cooked. Again, you expected him to be bloodied and bruised when he gets home but again, he’s not. He is wearing a suit though and his hair is slicked back when he greeted you. But now he’s loosened his tie and reading one of the heavier books from the coffee table, the one you can’t pronounce the title of and it makes you feel stupid every time you see it. You’ve been meaning to google it but you always forget.

You sit cross legged on the couch and tie your hair on top of your head.

“Oh no.” John closes the book and puts his hand on your knee. “This is never good.”

“What?”

“You have your serious face on.”

“My serious face?” You have no idea what he’s talking about.

“And your hair is up, so that definitely means you have something on your mind.”

You cross your arms over your chest and huff. “Can you not analyze me right now?” He’s being cute and it’s pissing you off. “This is about you.”

“My apologies,” John takes the book and sets it on the coffee table, and then turns to you. “What can I help you with?” How he is always this patient with you, you’ll never know.

You take his hand and tap on the bruise. “Where’d this come from?”

John squints and looks. “Where’d what come from?”

“This bruise.”

John starts to laugh but stops when he sees you’re not smiling. “Honey, I don’t know. I probably knocked my hand on something or I was playing with Pooch.”

You stare at the small dark spot on his skin and feel stupid for overreacting. There’s still an underlying concern though. “I guess… I guess I’m asking because you told me you were going to help Jimmy a few weeks ago and now it’s almost Thanksgiving… I haven’t seen anything.”

“Oh.”

You can tell John feels bad.

“I think it’s starting to get to me…” You pick up his hand and kiss it. “Every day I’m expecting the worst. Or for you not to come home at all.”

John nods, understanding. “Right. I get it.”

“And I’m not saying that I want to leave or anything.” You quickly explain. “I just want to be prepared.”

“So you can stay away?” John guesses. “So you don’t have to see the blood?”

You’re surprised he would ask that and move closer to him. “No way. So I can take care of you. I just don’t know what that looks like.”

“What do you mean?”

You remind yourself that John can’t read your mind. “Remember when I went to the Continental with you? When you got back from… work. I didn’t know what to do. Like, do you want to be alone? Do you not want me to touch you? Kiss you? Maybe you don’t want me to talk. What if I ask a question and you’re not in the mood? What if—”

He hushes you by pressing a finger over your lips. “I think I’m just like everyone else after a long day at work.”

Oh. You think about doing inventory a few days ago at the gas station and the numbers being way off, and you had to stay for a few more hours until you and Carla finally figured it out. How tired and moody you were. “I’m really cranky and don’t want to talk to anyone after a long shift.”

John scoots closer to you and drags a hand up your thigh. “Not even with me?”

You think about John rubbing your feet until you fell asleep on the couch. He knew just how to handle you and didn’t have to ask a ton of questions to figure it out, unlike yourself. But then again, John was married for five years and the only relationship you’ve ever had was with a drunk so it makes sense he knows more than you about this stuff.

Your thoughts drift off to grandma and how she could get really snippy with you after she’d got off of work. How you would be terrified to make any noise when she got home and would lock yourself in your room until the coast was clear. And on other days she was so nice. You never knew what to expect.

“Hon?”

You snap back to reality. “I’d only want to be around you.”

He smiles. “I’d only want to be with you too. And how about if I want to be alone… I guess I would just go to the basement.”

“But sometimes I go down to the basement.”

“Only if I ask you to.” “That’s true.” You nod slowly. “Okay, that’ll work. Otherwise, you’re up for grabs and I can do what I want with you.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

“Whatever you would like, Mr. Wick.”

Smiling, he looks down and he’s quiet for a few seconds. “I actually had a really bad day today.”

“You worked.” You reach up to touch his slicked back hair. You’re so stupid. You should have realized he could be hurt somewhere other than his face. Now looking closer at his white dress shirt, you see blood mist dotted all over the material.

“I did.”

“And it was awful?” You gape at him with big eyes, not being able to imagine what a really bad day would be like for him.

“It could have gone better.”

Your start searching for more blood or an injury. “But you’re not hurt? Are you?”

“I got thrown down a few stairs.” He says nonchalantly. “But no, I’m okay.”

“Shit, babe. I’m sorry I didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell me?”

He places a gentle kiss along your jaw. “Because when I walked in you were wearing an apron and cooking me a nice dinner. Because you took Pooch on a walk for me when it got late. Because it all went away when you hugged me after I got home.” He smiles, looking shyly down again. “Because you were happy to see me and I didn’t ask for any of it. But I’m so glad I have it. That I have you.”

Stunned, you blink at him. How is he so charming after being tossed down a flight of stairs? You can’t react to anything nice he just said so instead, you ask what else happened.

“I ran out of ammo.”

You take a deep breath and sigh. That’s your worst nightmare for him.

“I took a swing at a guy and I missed. I never miss. And that caused a whole scene at a club so I didn’t get my guy.”

“Oh baby.” Your stomach drops. “I’m so sorry.” You hold his hand and kiss the back of it. “You always get the guy.”

“I was kidding. I got him. Eventually.”

You’re not impressed and push gently on his shoulder. “Of course you did. That doesn’t sound like too bad of a day to me. The bad guy is dead, right?”

He shrugs. “I guess. Pretty sure I gave some innocent people a fright.”

“Do you care about that?” You hope it doesn’t sound too harsh but now you’re wondering.

“I was taught not to but lately I’ve been caring more than usual.” The silence hangs in the air because you let it, knowing he’ll continue when he’s ready. “What if you were at that club today? Someone like you… “

“Someone like me?”

“Sweet… and innocent.”

“I’d have you there to protect me.” You tell him softly. “And girls can be pretty resilient, you know?”

“That’s becoming clearer. I’ve seemed to have forgotten.”

He means it’s been a while since he’s been around a strong woman, like Helen. She was probably a badass. But you don’t want to mention her name. Not right now. This is about you and John. And every day you’re growing more confident in yourself, which you know John can see too.

You pretend to be shocked and start to unbutton his shirt. “How dare you.”

He glances down. “Can I help you ma’am?”

“I want to cuddle with my boyfriend but he’s got something on his shirt.”

You’re able to get the last button unclasped and slide your arms around him before he tackles you to the couch, laying in between your legs. He smells like spice and smoke, a delicious combination that you just can’t get enough of. Your fingernails drag up his back, scratching lightly his skin and he moans in delight. His kisses are slow and deep, teasing your tongue with his and he tastes better than you could ever imagine.

Both of you seem to understand that making out is all it’s going to be right now. Unhurried and comforting, the best pace for John tonight. He keeps one hand on your neck, stroking the loose strands of hair out of the way, and his fingertips pressing warmly at your pulse. You can feel how hard he is for you but he doesn’t seem to want to move. The weight of his body on top of yours makes you feel so safe. He’s heavy and strong, his muscles straining above you as he shifts to be even closer.

He suddenly stops, jolting in pain and before you think that you did something wrong, he smiles down at you. “Hey, I’m fine. Just a little sorer than I thought.”

You lean up to kiss him. “Let me take care of you tonight, Mr. Wick?”

“Hmm…” He fakes thinking about it and you try not to roll your eyes. “Only if you insist, my love.”

Your heart pitter-patters insanely at the word love and that smartass knows he made you speechless.

And you’re lucky because it won’t be the last time.

Finals are brutal. You thought you’d be prepared but the number of papers and projects you have due, plus working longer hours than usual, and you’ve recently taken up helping Francis study English… you basically have no time.

You haven’t seen John in a few days and you haven’t really talked to him either, besides the normal texts of keeping each other up to date throughout the day. So when he tells you to come over, you don’t take it as a suggestion and you’re just short of being desperate see him. The sun is warm and bright this afternoon, and for a November day it’s actually not freezing out.

When you pull up into the driveway John motions for you to park behind his car that is pulled outside instead of in the garage. There are buckets of soapy water, rags, and the hose is laying across the lawn.

He bends in for a slow kiss that lasts longer than usual. You put your arms around his shoulders and pull him in for a hug. It’s only been a few days but you missed him so much. You are officially addicted to the taste of his mouth and the withdrawal is impossible to ignore.

“What’s this, a side hustle?” You ask, pointing to the hose and finally letting him go.

“Yeah, I figure the cars could use a good wash while it’s nice out.”

It completely melts your heart that he wants to wash your car too and that’s why he wanted you to come over.

You pick up a rag and twirl it around. “What can I do to help?”

“Nothing.” John smiles and takes the cloth out of your hands. “I got this. I know you’ve had a busy week. Are you tired?”

“Actually I’m on a coffee buzz right now so I’m good.” You tell him as he leans over to fill a bucket. His ass looks so good in those jeans and you can’t help but give it a little squeeze.

His body shoots up in surprise and so does his eyebrows. He looks so shocked you can’t contain your laughter, and you can feel yourself start to blush. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself.”

“I can see that.” He pretends to be offended but ends up kissing you again. His muscles are powerful under the white Henley that he’s wearing and your hands run down his arms.

“How are you feeling? Did you come across any more flights of stairs?”

He cringes and you know that’s a yes.

“Oh no. How bad is it?”

“Nothing new happened. Just still sore from the other day.”

You stare into John’s eyes and it’s hard to know if he’s telling you the truth because he’s squinting from the sun.

“Can I look?”

John lets out a sigh but you realize he doesn’t want anyone else to watch you check him. The neighborhood is quiet though and yeah, maybe this isn’t the best place but now you’re curious to see how the bruises are healing. You saw them briefly after helping John to bed but that was almost a week ago.

He turns around and you lift up his shift. The worst bruises were dotted along his lower back right above his waistline. And you were right, they don’t look much better.

“Well, I hope you don’t have to work anytime soon.” You tell him, kissing his shoulder blade and lowering his shirt. “It looks painful.”

He doesn’t say anything about work and it makes you wonder. You decide to let it go for now. “Where’s Pooch? He’s not helping?”

“He’s taking a walk with Casey and her dad.” John says and turns the hose on. You get some soap into the buckets and even though John said he doesn’t need the help, of course you do what you can and end up getting water all over yourself. John just laughs at your clumsiness but you can tell he thinks it’s endearing.

“Story of my life.” You sigh at yourself. “Did I tell you about the car wash breaking down last week and the guy who came out to fix it got stuck on the roof?” You tell John the story and he shakes his head in disbelief like he usually does when you’re talking about work. He always says that he never understands how you deal with people all day long.

“Hey there! John!”

You can hear Pooch bark before you see him and shade your eyes just in time as he jumps on your legs.

“Hi guys, how’d the walk go?”

“Good!” Casey skips along the lawn and Pooch chases her. You look down to see muddy paw prints on your jeans. Now you’re a complete mess.

John shakes the hand of who you assume is Casey’s dad. “This is Daniel.” He tells you and then introduces you as his girlfriend. It makes you smile.

“Hi, nice to meet you. Thanks for taking Pooch for John a lot of the time.”

“Our pleasure! Casey just loves him and I don’t have to get a dog.” Daniel says in a half whisper and you laugh. He’s sweating and his face is a little flushed. He seems nervous.

“Well, we really appreciate it.” John says. “We’d like to have you over for dinner sometime as a thank you.”

You hide your surprise at the word “we” and can see that Daniel is intrigued and doesn’t really know what to say. You imagine that John is a mystery to a lot of people and everyone is curious about him. It also looks like Daniel is a little scared of John and keeps his distance.

“Sure, that’d be uh—yeah, really nice. Okay, Cas – we gotta go! See you later, I’m sure!” Daniel grabs Casey’s hand and yanks her down the driveway.

“Was that strange?” John asks and throws the ball for Pooch.

“I don’t know… do you usually talk to him when you drop the dog off?”

“Not really.” John starts washing the car again and then stops to think. “I guess I have showed up to his house a little bloody.” He thinks some more. “And one time I took off my jacket and forgot I still had my holster on.”

“Did you still have guns on it?”

“Just two or three.”

You smile to yourself. “Well, that’s all completely normal. I’m sure the neighbor down the street with a child isn’t concerned at all.”

“Hmm.” John is still processing when you ask another question.

“So, we’d like to invite them over for dinner, huh?”

John’s hair is falling across his eyes and you stop yourself from pushing it away. “Too much?”

“No…” It just made you get the butterfly feeling flooding your stomach again. You have to get some space. “Is it okay if I grab some juice?” You look down at your disgusting shirt and pants. “And maybe I’ll change.”

John hurries to get to the house before you can open the door. “I’ll get it for you.” He gives a small smirk and presses a chaste kiss to your cheek. “And you look absolutely gorgeous like this.”

Blushing, you shake your head. “Lie.”

“Never.” John doesn’t hesitate. “But maybe instead of changing… a shower?”

You smile and run your fingernails through his beard. “I think you read my mind, Mr. Wick.”

The cars don’t get washed until the next day.

John had told you a few days ago that he has to work on Thanksgiving too, which makes you relieved and sad at the same time. Relieved because now you don’t have to worry about disappointing him if dinner doesn’t turn out right, and sad because it’s your first holiday together besides that shitty Halloween.

The thing about Thanksgiving being here soon is that Christmas is right around the corner. And you’ve never had to buy anything for a boyfriend before so the whole ordeal is making you quite anxious, probably a lot more than it should be. You’ve been subtly asking a lot of questions and if John notices, he doesn’t say anything. He has a ton of patience just like he usually does and often asks you questions back, but you know it’s not for a sneaky clue to buy a gift. He really wants to know the answers and he always looks at you with interest in his eyes.

It makes you feel a little guilty that learning more about him isn’t your number one priority. But at the same time, you want to get him a great present, damn it. He probably hasn’t had a great Christmas in a while, so if you can give him something just slightly better than a crappy holiday, you’ll be happy. You tell yourself not to compete with anything Helen has done in the past and it doesn’t have to be spectacular. That would be too much pressure. Logically you know that John would never really care what you get him.

You find the best time to ask him questions is just after some teasing and fun in bed, when he’s relaxed with a pillow under his cheek and he can’t stop touching your skin. His hair is a little sweaty and you move it from across his forehead, and then run your fingers over the stubble along his jaw.

There’s a stickiness between your legs and you’ll have to get up soon to wash but for right now you both don’t have to get up early, the dog is passed out in the corner of the room, and your phones are muted. The lights are turned low and there’s nowhere you have to be and there’s nothing you have to worry about. It still amazes you that a killer can make you feel so secure in his arms.

“Is there anything you’re not good at, Mr. Wick?”

“Hmm?” There’s a small smile there that you catch. He’s awake. He’s just being shy.

“There has to be something.”

John keeps his eyes closed but he mumbles a low “mmm” under his breath.

“You can’t be perfect…” Right? “You know all about guns and knives. You know about cars. You know how to fight. You know at least four languages—” John’s eyebrow ticks up. “Five? Six? You know more than six languages? Oh god, you cannot be my boyfriend.”

John laughs and finally opens his eyes. He tickles your side until you settle again. “I’m not a good runner.”

“Really?” That’s surprising. “You have to run a lot being an assassin?”

“Yeah.” John grunts as he sits up. “I can run for a long time, I’m just not really fast.”

You drag your hand up his thigh and press your finger to the raised ridge of a scar. “Do you try to run fast with a knife sticking out of your leg?”

John squirms a little. “No, I usually pull the knife out.”

“Mm hmm.” You try not to roll your eyes. Only John Wick would think he runs slow after he’s been stabbed. “And I’m assuming you have on your suit and dress shoes? When you have to run?”

John blinks slowly, thinking. “I guess that’s true. But I should still be able to go faster.”

“Slow and steady wins the race.” You tell him softly and that earns you a long, deep kiss.

If he only knew how he makes your stomach flip, he’d never let you hear the end of it.

Okay, back to the task at hand. Christmas present. “Have you been binding books lately?”

“A little.” He yawns and closes his eyes again. Well, that doesn’t tell you much.

Your mind races. “I have tomorrow night off. You want me to cook some steak and potatoes?”

“That sounds excellent.”

“Out of everywhere you’ve been, where’s the best food you’ve ever had?”

He doesn’t take any time to think. “Italian is my favorite.”

“Huh. I should’ve guessed that.” He’s always wanting to take you out for pizza or pasta.

John smirks and you gently poke at his ribs. “What’s that look for?”

“Let’s just say you’re not the most observant person I’ve ever met.” He jokes and then kisses you softly. “I guess that’s the one thing you’re not good at.”

You’re fully aware that being unobservant is just one of the things on a very long list you’re not good at. You still pretend to be mad though and lean over the side of the bed and call for Pooch. “It’s daddy’s turn in the doghouse.” You tell him and he just lays back down. John tickles under your knees and you try to wiggle away.

He perches himself on top of you, suddenly serious and his voice low. “Daddy, huh?” Your eyes widen as he laughs. “I’m just kidding.”

“You think you’re so damn funny.” You can’t help but to laugh too.

You realize that you’re so far gone for this man, even if you wanted to pretend and only be interested in getting the perfect gift, you really do want to know every single thing about him.

Christmas is not what you expected. Although, you’ve been trying to not have many expectations – it’s something you and your therapist have been talking about lately. Avoiding disappointment is hard to do because all of sudden you have people in your life and how they act is out of your control. It’s confusing because people should still behave in a reasonable way but… does that mean you have to lower your standards? You’ve just learned what you deserve and that you’re worthy of something. The more you think about it, the more it doesn’t make sense.

Of course, the one person who has hardly disappointed you yet has been John.

Thanksgiving was a quiet picnic on the living room floor with grocery store bought foods. It wasn’t bad but it wasn’t great either, and all you thought about is next year and how you want to make John a homecooked meal. You wanted to tell him about it, describe the turkey you want to roast but should you assume you’ll be together next year? Will he still be in your life? You shoved the thought down and tried to enjoy the moment but John must have seen something in your expression. You plastered on a smile until he made you laugh, a real heartfelt laugh, and let it be.

Christmas, on the other hand, is a little different.

You’re not surprised that John didn’t decorate the house. He just doesn’t seem the type to care enough and you were way too busy with work and school, so by the time Christmas Eve came around you finally realized that it could be a little more festive at either of your houses.

Work runs late since you’re the last one here. You offered to close down the gas station because everyone else has family to be with and while you have John… well, is he your family? Okay, too much thinking and too many questions. Just stop.

You feel bad about being tired until you see John dressed in an all black suit with his hair slicked back, looking striking as ever.

“No.” You half whisper before you can stop yourself.

“I’m sorry.” His voice is already that low, deadly tone you’ve become to know so well. “There’s a target… he’s been hard to find.”

“And you found him?”

John nods. “It’s the holiday. I know where his family is. He’ll be with them.” “Right.” You sigh heavily as you set your purse down on the kitchen counter. You’re slowly beginning to realize that while John was nice enough to try to warn you about some bruises he might show up with, this will always be the case. No warning will be needed again. There’s always a chance he'll be injured the next time you see him. “Should I go home?”

“No.” He says it quickly and before you can blink, he’s standing right in front of you, smoothing his thumb over your chin. “No. Please stay. I shouldn’t be too long. I’m so sorry.”

You pull his arm away and step back. “It’s fine. I understand. I’m tired anyway.”

“Trust me, I wouldn’t be doing this now if I didn’t have to.”

You smile up at him. “Will the world will be a safer place without this guy?”

He nods silently.

“Well then…” You press a kiss to his lips. “Merry Christmas, world. One bad guy down.”

John tilts his forehead to yours and closes his eyes, cupping your cheeks with his hands. “Dinner is in the oven. I lov—I’ll see you soon.”

“Just come back safe.” Please, God, just come home in one piece.

John grabs a long duffle bag you hadn’t seen by the garage door and hauls it over his shoulder. He leaves without another word and you stand alone in silence until Pooch comes off the couch, yawns in your face, and demands to be scratched.

It only takes a few seconds of self-pity for you to realize this is probably the best Christmas Eve you’ve ever had and just because John has to go save the world for a few hours, doesn’t mean anything. He deals with your stupid work schedule all the time. You just wished you would’ve maybe known in advance so the shock didn’t sting so bad. It just makes you happy to have someone in your life who wants to be with you.

Well, maybe this could work to your advantage. You had planned to sneak down to your car once he fell asleep but now you can bring in all of his Christmas gifts without having to be quiet, and maybe set something nice up for him to come home to see.

Quickly, you eat the delicious roast chicken and potatoes John had made. You can tell he spent a lot of time on this dish and wish you could have made it with him, let alone have a nice dinner together.

Not one to be creative, you’re very satisfied with yourself with the few decorations you managed to hang up around the living room. Suddenly you’re nervous that John might not like it, that he might think it’s too much or that you’ve overstepped. Exhaustion trumps overthinking so you decide to screw it and go to bed, and try to wait up for him.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

It’s a few hours after midnight when John kisses you awake and whispers, “Merry Christmas.”

You mumble the greeting back and get your bearings, suddenly sitting up straight and turning the bedside table light on.

“You’re back? Are you hurt?”

He doesn’t answer and it takes a few seconds for your eyes to adjust. He is hurt. Really hurt.

John has showered but hasn’t put a shirt on. He’s sitting on the side of the bed in just his boxers.

“Oh god, what happened to you?” You reach for the worst cut and John grabs your hand.

“It’s really not that bad.” He tells you softly, probably knowing you won’t believe him.

You fling the bed covers off and kneel on the bed to start your inspection. He gives up trying to stop you and sighs with contentment, leaning his head back as you thread your fingers through his hair. No blood there. His face has scratches and cuts along his forehead and across the bridge of his nose. A gash on the corner of his lip. His arms are dotted with light bruises now but you know they’ll get darker with time. His knuckles are clotted with blood.

The tattoos aren’t disturbed at all but his chest will have more scars to add to his collection, the longest across his ribcage but it isn’t deep. His kneecaps look swollen and puffy red. You don’t even want to think how they got that way.

“See, I told you it wasn’t that bad.” He says when you’re finished and sit back on the mattress.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“That’s fair.” He grunts and lays down next to you, clearly in pain as his bones and joints try to function.

“Well? Did you get him?”

He closes his eyes. “Of course.”

“And all of his… helpers? Guards? I don’t even know.”

John tries to smile but it hurts too much. “Yeah.”

There are so many more questions you want to ask but don’t know where to start. “Was it in and out like you thought?”

“Not exactly.” You wait and see if he’ll continue on his own. You don’t want to press too hard. “There might’ve been a car chase. I might’ve gotten hit by a car.”

You smack your forehead in disbelief. Internal bleeding. He totally has internal bleeding and he’s going to die in his sleep.

“Stop overthinking it. I’m fine. It’s not the first time… this has happened.”

You gulp and lay next to him, your eyes glued to his chest to watch him breathe. “Sure. Right. No problem. Shutting up now.”

“Can you get the light?”

You hesitate.

“Honey, I’m fine. I promise.”

You roll your eyes because he can’t see you and lift up to switch off the lamp. Gently, you press your hand on his chest, right over his lungs. It’s decided. After Christmas you’re taking first aid classes, despite your disdain for blood. You’ll get over it.

The next morning you wake up to John staring expectantly at you now.

“How was the chicken?”

A laugh bursts out of you because really? “Really? That’s what you’re asking me right now?”

“Well yeah, that was our Christmas Eve dinner. I wanted it to be good.”

Oh god, this man. You kiss him and help him up, wincing as he grunts and groans in pain. “Merry fucking Christmas.” You tell him sarcastically but at least you’re together.

Both of you wash up and you head downstairs to start breakfast. John takes awhile to get downstairs and you don’t hear anything for a few minutes so you decide to see what he’s doing. He’s standing in the living room just staring at the ceramic jolly Santa statue you put on the coffee table.

His gaze turns to the fireplace where you’ve placed three stockings, two of them stuffed full of presents.

Now, considering how John is beaten up, you feel silly.

“Shit. Yeah, um. Last night I figured why not put some stuff up and then I forgot about it. I can take it down, it’s dumb.”

John is sore but he manages to grab your hand. “Baby, please let me enjoy this. It’s beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful.” You whisper to him. “Even battered and bruised.”

He knows how hard it is for you to tell him such things so he doesn’t make it a big deal. He just squeezes your hand and moves to make a fire. The coffee smells like it’s done and you make two cups. Snuggling on the couch, Pooch joins in for pets after coming in from outside.

There’s a light snow dusting on the bushes and treetops. The sun is trying to break through the clouds but it doesn’t look promising. As far as you’re concerned, it’s the perfect Christmas Day.

John is slightly brooding while he sips his coffee and glares at the ice pack you grabbed for his knees. “This is not the way I thought our first Christmas would go.”

“Oh yeah? Please enlighten me.”

You can’t be certain, but you think John flushes. “Well, I just thought we might...”

“Ah.” Now you understand. You’ve been wondering why John has been evading your advances lately. He wanted it to be special and every time you’ve tried to hint that final step would be okay, he’s on to something else to distract you with… usually his fingers, his mouth, his tongue. It makes you tremble and ache in the best way possible.

“Does um, everything hurt?” You glance down to his crotch and he laughs.

“Maybe I’ll take a few pain pills, huh?”

You smile and don’t bring it up again. You’re not really disappointed and more relieved that the pressure is off.

“Can you open your presents so I can relax? I’m starting to get nervous you won’t like them.”

He looks at you like you’re crazy. “Why did you get me anything? You didn’t have to do that.”

“Oh but I did.” You get Pooch’s stocking first and empty the whole thing on the carpet. John has to hold his ribs when he laughs as Pooch runs around the room at full speed with his new toy in his mouth.

Before John can protest again you get his stocking and unload it for him, explaining as you go. “Gummy bears to remind you of our first movie date. Epson salt for your sore muscles to soak and you’re taking a bath later, no arguing please and thank you. An Italian cookbook because that’s your favorite. A new black tie but I don’t think this is as nice as your other ones but well, whatever and oh!” You forgot about the bigger package behind the couch. “A small space heater for the basement because it’s cold down there.”

John just stares in awe as you ramble on and on, then pulls you in for a kiss. It tastes like coffee and blood.

A few hours later John brings you upstairs for your gift. He opens the guest room door and it’s now fully furnished with a bed, a sitting couch and a desk. The walls are painted a light lilac and you can tell he had help picking out the décor. He explains that this is your space to work, rest, whatever you want. He doesn’t say anything about moving in, but he does mention that you can spend more time here now.

He tells you he’d like to take you to get your first tattoo, if you want. When you tell him you’ve been thinking about getting a cross, or a wolf, or maybe a rosery he takes you in his arms and doesn’t let you go for awhile. He just holds you for as long as you’ll let him, until you know he’s probably stiff and needs to stretch his sore muscles.

When you’re cleaning upstairs and making the bed while he’s resting on the couch downstairs, you find a book under his pillow that is half way read. It’s How to Love Someone with Anxiety and even though John didn’t give it to you, that’s the best gift you could have ever received.

TBC

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#keanu reeves #keanureeves #john wick #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves x y/n #john wick x y/n #john wick imagine #john wick x reader #john wick x you #romance #fan fiction

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iobsessoverfictionalmen · 10 months

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Competition for a heart

Tagging: @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky, @jointhehunt67

If you want to be added to the tag list for this fic, send me an ask or leave a comment on the fic.

Chapter 5

AN: This chapter contains mentions of guns, violence, injury, illness, and coarse language. For those of you that have seen the 2022 movie Memory, you will spot some references in the following chapters.

Winston’s sudden and silent presence in the training room was your only clue that your test would begin immediately. Your eyes detected movement from all around the room. You lost track of how much time passed as you ducked and weaved to avoid blows. You took advantage of as many openings as you could however, you received as many blows as you gave. Some of the blows that you sustained were from hand-to-hand combat and others were from weapons. You knew that you would have a lot of bruises at least by the time that you finished Winston’s test.

Admittedly, you were more than a little resentful that your opponents were able to bring weapons into the testing room with them while you weren’t given that opportunity. You did your best to channel your frustration and resentment into your blows.

It seemed like for every opponent that you defeated, three more appeared. Gradually though, the crowds of people began to thin and between rapid, shallow breaths, you noticed that John was casually standing next to Winston.

Fearfully, you wondered if you would have to fight and do your best to defeat John. That seemed unlikely as you remembered the way Natasha had blanched when you were all at the Tower and discussing John.

You climbed back onto your feet after knocking your opponent onto the floor with a leg sweep that Natasha had taught you a very long time ago and mercifully, Winston held up a hand and the people you were duelling froze in place.

Winston uttered no words but with a slight movement of his hand, the people you were fighting exited the room. A couple of them bowed to Winston. Some acknowledged John while others walked stiffly past him as if he wasn’t there.

One of the people sent him a mocking smile and rapidly signed something with their hands. You were too tired and too far away to catch all of it but what you saw made you wince. Clint had used some of that sign language after a mission went south. You and Natasha had exchanged one look and stocked the pantry full of as much of Clint’s favourite foods as possible before Clint returned to your base that night.

It took you a couple of minutes to regain control over your breathing and for the stitch in your side to disappear but when it did, you gazed directly at Winston.

“I shall deliberate and make my decision momentarily. Wait outside.” Was all the man said.

Doing your best to mask your nerves at his words, you nodded and left the room.

You found a seat halfway down the hallway and almost collapsed into it. Your breathing sped up again despite your best efforts and in an attempt to calm your breathing rate, you propped your arms on your knees and rested your head in your hands.

A flicker of movement appeared in the corner of your eye and you looked up to see a tall man with blue eyes and messy hair that was a mixture of grey and brown wearing a suit smiling down at you.

“First time?” He asked with an Irish lilt to his voice.

Not trusting your own voice, you nodded once before returning your gaze to your hands.

The air in the hallway shifted and you felt the presence of something old and foreboding. Without thinking, you threw yourself out of the chair and onto the floor. The back of the chair where you just had been sitting now had a bullet hole in it.

“He had to have used a silencer. But even then, someone had to have heard that shot, right? Oh crap. Business is being conducted in the Continental and that’s the one rule Winston told me not to break.”

You looked up horrified at the man who had smiled comfortingly at you. Now his face was contorted in a frown as he rested his finger on the trigger of the gun again. Your right leg snapped out and kicked the man’s ankle closest to you. As he registered your kick, you looped the same foot around his calf of the same leg and yanked your leg back towards you harshly.

Taken by surprise, the man fell heavily onto his back. You leaped to your feet and you kicked the wrist that belonged to the hand that was holding the gun. The man let out an audible grunt in pain and the gun fell from his hand.

Cautiously you edged forwards and just as you were reaching to pick up the gun, the man started to convulse. Abandoning your plan to scoop up the gun, you moved forwards and crouched down in front of him.

“Don’t leave.” He managed to gasp out.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You promised. “I’m here.”

The convulsions subsided after a few moments but you had no time to be grateful for that as Winston and John appeared next to the two of you and Charon approached the four of you from the opposite end of the hallway.

“Explain,” Winston ordered curtly.

#mywriting #my fics #avengers x john wick crossover #greek gods champion au #avengers x reader #john wick #female reader #john wick x reader x bucky barnes #winston #charon #mild language #John Wick fan fiction

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nerflufser · 5 months

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The gay guy got me.

#ugh #gay people 😒#/jj #I got art block #wewewee #I’ve just been doodling Clh zip all day and reading stupid fucking fan fiction to my friends #and then playing LC (lethal company)#it was a sad day today #now I’m being emo and watching John wick 😻

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matthew-gray-gublers-babygirl · 1 year

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MASTER LIST

Requests are open! these are all the characters i have written for so far, but i’m open to writing for more.

ROGER TAYLOR:

Just The Two Of Us (fluff, soft smut)

Women Taken By The Wind (fluff, teasing)

Welcome Home (fluff, smut, hurt/comfort)

Don't Worry. I'm Just Sleeping (fluff, hurt/comfort)

Hormones (fluff, teasing, pregnancy)

Friends Will Be Friends - Chapter One (Friends to Lovers, angst, hurt/comfort)

Friends Will Be Friends - Chapter Two (Friends to Lovers, subtle angst, smut)

Just A Babysitter (age gap, forbidden feelings, smut)

KEANU REEVES:

Don't Wait Up (fluff)

JOHN WICK:

Safe (fluff, hurt/comfort, soft smut)

Late Night Visitor - Part One (smut, age difference)

Late Night Visitor - Part Two (age difference, oral smut, some fluff)

MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER:

Pregnancy (soft!Matthew, pregnancy)

Not Real (hurt/comfort, Criminal Minds!Matthew)

Good Morning (smut, softdom)

NSFW alphabet (Headcanon)

More headcanons... (NSFW)

SPENCER REID:

Under The Weather (fluff, subtle hurt/comfort)

Long Distance (phone sex, smut, subtle dom reader, subtle dom spencer/switch)

Knight in Shinning Armor (hurt/comfort, kidnapping, FBI agent reader, angst)

GOOD OMENS:

You’re My Best Friend (hurt/comfort, aziraphale is sick, crowley takes care of him)

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layce2015 · 8 months

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John Wick Chapter 4 (John Wick x Female!Reader)

Chapter 1: Death Is The Only Freedom

JW 1 Masterlist

JW 2 Masterlist

JW 3 Masterlist

JW 4 Masterlist

"I am the way into the city of woe. I am the way into eternal pain." The Bowery King recites as he walks along the alley and down a subway tunnel to a underground hideout. "I am the way to go among the lost! Before me there were no created things! But those that last forever! As do I! Abandon all hope, you who are about to. You are now in the presence of the fucking king!" He yells as he enters the hideout and laughs.

Meanwhile, as he was going on his speech, John Wick and his wife, (y/n), were practicing on their punches. John was punching a tall board with a bloody rope around it, from all his punches he threw at it, and (y/n) was using a punching bag. As she punched it, she was letting out every aggression, every anger, every frustration out on the bag. The death of her sister, being kidnapped, getting shot at, getting beat up, losing their home.

It was only six months ago when you and John were just a happy married couple, excited for what the future held. But the way everything went, it feels like a lifetime ago; how the hell would (y/n) ever go back to being normal after knowing all of this and everything that has happened, assuming that her and John will get out of this alive.

The Bowery King comes up to a barrel and lights it on fire, which then spreads to form a pentagon shape around the floor John and (y/n) were on as they kept punching their respective items. "You and your wife ready, John?" The Bowery King asked as he holds up a couple of suits hanging on a coat rack with one hand.

John and (y/n) stop what they were doing and both of then turn to face him. "Yeah." John replied while his wife just nodded and the Bowery King chuckles.

At the desert, as the sun was rising, four horseback riders were charging across the sandy area, three turban clad men were on three white horses while one black horse carried John and (y/n). Both of them had guns. They fired a few shots at the men and eventually John killed one as he fell off of his horse.

Off in the distance, the Elder could see and he knew it was only a matter of moments before John Wick would make his way to him.

As the chase continues, (y/n) was able to kill the second man and John got the last man before they stopped. They dismount their horse as they come up to The Elder, who had a small camp set up. "Mr and Mrs Wick." The Elder greets at the couple as they walk up to him.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" The Elder asked, calmly. Then John and (y/n) kneel down on one knee as John speaks. "My freedom." He said and the Elder looks him and (y/n) over. "If you came here thinking you could be free, or end this, by killing me, then you are mistaken." The Elder said and (y/n) frowns while John turns his head away in disappointment.

"My death will not change the outcome any more than you can change your nature. None of us can escape who we are, and no one escapes the Table. And the only way John Wick will ever have freedom or peace, now or ever, is in death." The Elder said and John looks back at him. "I know." He said and the Elder shakes his head then stands up.

"I'm afraid you and your wife have come a very long way for nothing." The Elder said. "Yeah..." John said and he and (y/n) stands up. "...not really." He said then he gives a nod towards (y/n) and she raises her gun and fires it, killing The Elder point blank. The couple glare at the man's body as it flops back then she holsters her gun. They turn and start to head back on the horse and figure out their next move.

Meanwhile, back in New York at the Continental, Winston was informed by the Harbinger that the Continental was condemned by the Marquis, which was signed by the twelve members of the Table. The Harbinger then informed Winston that the Marquis was waiting for him and that the hotel must be evacuated in one hour, so Winston and Charon made their way to the Marquis office.

"Ned Kelly's final words as the hangman slipped the noose around his neck were Such is life. Such is life, can you imagine the acceptance, the defiance?" Winston asked Charon as they walked the hallway to the front desk of the Marquis' office. "Today is not the day you will die. Of that, I am sure." Charon said as they stop at the front desk and Winston turns to his old friend.

"You have the unshakable faith of David, my friend, but you shouldn't be here. This will not be pleasant." Winston said. "Such is life, sir." Charon said and Winston gives him an impressed look right as a man comes up to them and leads them into the large office of the Marquis.

"My father used to say, How you do anything is how you do everything. Called it the first and the last rule of life." The Marquis said as he has his back to Winston and looks out at the city of New York through his large window.

"You believe in rules...Mr Manager?" The Marquis asked as he turns to Winston. "Oh, I do." Winston said, firmly. "And what of consequences?" The Marquis asked. "Of course. And second chances." Winston replied. "Ah. That's where we differ, you and I." The Marquis said as he gestures between him and Winston, who kept looking over at the hour glass on the Marquis' desk as the sand on the top kept getting smaller and smaller.

"Second chances at the refuge of men who fail." The Marquis said and he goes over to his desk and started to put sugar in his tea, then once he was done with that, puts the spoon in his mouth to wipe off any remnants of sugar and tea. He pulls the spoon out of his mouth while Winston fidgets a bit in place, he didn't want to show it but he was getting nervous and it was getting worse the longer this went on.

"There are those on the Table who blame this, um, atrocity on New York. They believe it's this city. The Table has indulged this fucking place for too long. And look where that has gotten us." The Marquis said then he takes a sip of his tea. "I shot him." Winston said and the Marquis chuckles as he sets his cup of tea down. "And yet he lives, polluting everything he touches. Especially, with the help of his wife, who you did not take care of." The Marquis said as he gets a stern look on his face and starts to walk around his desk.

"Marquis, respectfully, my hotel..." Winston started to argue. "Your hotel?" The Marquis said, stunned, and Winston closes his mouth. "If I might, sir?" Charon asked and the Marquis looks at him, surprised. "By all means." He said and Charon takes a step forward. "The Continentals and their management are a reminder to all who still behind The Table, that none of us are above the rules." Charon said.

"And yet we are here." Marquis said. "Sir, Mr Wick..." Charon said but the Marquis starts to grow angry. "We're not here because of John Wick and his wife. He is simply the face of your failure, Mr Manager." Marquis said as he glares over at Winston then he walks over to his desk.

"The sand in that glass is merely an echo of my remaining patience." Marquis said, as he gestures to the hourglass, and Winston looks over at it just in time to see the sand spills out the remaining grain until it was gone.

Once that happened, they felt the ground shake and a loud booming noise. The Continental had been destroyed. Winston and Charon watch on in horror as Marquis turns to them. "You are no longer New York." He said and Winston balls up his fist. "You are nothing. You are Excommunicado." Marquis said, with a hard glare at Winston, as he walks up to him.

"And as such..." he said as he pulls out his gun and aims it at Winston. "...you no longer need the services of a concierge." He said then he aims the gun at Charon and shoots him in the chest.

Charon's eyes grow wide as he falls back and the Marquis holsters his gun. Winston stared at Charon in shock as the Marquis walks up to Winston, stops and glares at him for a moment then walks a few steps before stopping and looks over his shoulder. Winston goes over to Charon, kneels down next to him and takes his hand in his as blood was seeping out on the floor.

"It has been an honor, my friend." Charon said as he dies. "It should have been me." Winston said, shakily. "Yes. But it wasn't." Marquis said and Winston looks up at him. "Now, you think about why that is,and perhaps one of us will have benefited from this conversation." Marquis said and he and his right hand man walk out of the office.

"Bring me Caine." The Marquis tells his right hand man in French before they split off.

In Japan, after talking to his daughter about his schedule, how the other Continentals are feeling about what happened in New York and the fear that the High Table will come after him next, Shimazu walks through the kitchen of his hotel and comes up to two large guards. "Don't let anyone in." He tells them and they let him through to an outside area where two figures were standing off in the distance.

"I assume you are finally at peace." He asked John Wick. John looks over at his wife, who was looking down at the ground with her arms folded, before he looks over at Shimazu. "Apparently not." He said as (y/n) also turns to face him. "Killing the Elder was a mistake, my friend." Shimazu said and he gestures over to a table that had some food.

"Their response was the destruction of the New York Continental. My daughter fears we are next." Shimazu said as he walks over to the table and (y/n) gasps at this news. "Winston?" John questioned, concerned, as he and (y/n) walk over to the table. "Alive, but they executed his concierge to prove a point." Shimazu said.

"No..." (y/n) whispered, in soft despair, while John looks down in guilt. They sit down as Shimazu pours them a cup of tea. "Have you given any thought to where this ends?" Shimazu asked John, who doesn't reply, and (y/n) looks over at her husband, with worry.

"The Table will never stop. You know this. It only takes life and only gives death." Shimazu said as he pushes two cups of tea to the couple and sits down across from them. "Koji...For troubling you like this....I'm sorry." John said as he looks up at his friend. "Friendship means little when it's convenient." Shimazu said and the three raise their glass and they sip their tea, not knowing that trouble was coming to their door.

#fandom #fanfic #fan fiction #reader insert #x reader #john wick x reader #john wick fanfic #john wick imagine #john wick x you #john wick #john wick 4 #john wick chapter 4 #keanu reeves #movie fan fiction #fan fic writing

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sweetbillwriting · 3 months

Text

The Finer Things

His Real World - Part 7

Characters: Vincent De Garmont, The Marquis, From John Wick 4.

Setting: This story is set in my own universe, so not exactly the John Wick universe.

Warnings: 18+, prejudice and stereotypical thinking about nationalities, smut, violence, talk about death and more. This chapter can be triggering!

Ines looked at the Marquis’ violent behavior with a smirk. She hadn't realized what emotions took over watching him transform into a dark force. She bit her lip and wondered what he said to the man. Sexy threats. Showing off his power and maybe leading questions about what he wants to know. While her thoughts drifted away, the victim turned his face toward her. His face was bloody and swollen, but Ines looked at him like she didn't take in the awful sight. The man pleaded something that just made Vincent laugh and stomp him hard in the chest, so the man started to cough in panic for his life.

Vincent let the man cough while turning to Mylan and saying something to him, who gave Pierre a look instead. Ines looked at them interested until Pierre took a grip on her upper arm and started to walk to the door.

“Hello?? I want to stay!” She tried to push him away, but it was impossible. “Vincent? Baby??” Said she upset. The nickname had just slipped; feelings she hadn't felt before swirled around in her whole body and made her think like a worried girlfriend.

“Let me be here with you!!”

She looked back at him but didn't get any response; he had sat down on the lonely chair and looked at his nails with an inspecting face.

Pierre dragged her out of the room while she kicked to get free, but then he pushed her into their suite. Ines couldn't even talk with him; they didn't know each other's language, so she just stood and stomped in the middle of the hallway while Pierre closed the door.

She couldn't understand why Vincent had decided to push her out just when it started to get good. The man had even turned to her, and she felt like a part of the fun instead of just an audience. She had felt power and excitement floating like warm soda in her veins, as well as something that traveled down to her sex. She sat down on the couch and thought everything through, scene for scene. She thought about the man's face and felt another feeling creep up on her. This wasn't normal. This was psychopathic behavior, or even much worse, and she wished to be a part of it. It wasn't about Vincent. It was she who got a kick out of it and wanted to have a bigger one; see the man's eyes get matted and lifeless. She put her hands over her face and bent back on the couch.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!” She exclaimed and hit herself in the head. This was just insane. Who had he made her to? She was just a normal Brooklyn girl. Almost. Almost.

When she had calmed down a bit, she took a big glass of Vincent's Jim Beam and then moved to her room to once again put on the Dr. Dre t-shirt. What surprised her also was how fast she actually calmed down. She had felt panicked fifteen minutes ago, but now, when she sat on the bed, a feeling of indifference sneaked up on her. She didn't care about the man. She didn't care about his life. Instead, she started to think about what had slipped out of her mouth. Baby.

She had called Vincent baby. Like he was her boyfriend. The embarrassment took over her body instead, and she shook her head in disbelief. She had really said it to a man like Vincent. He wasn't a baby.

He wasn't anyone's baby, and because of his need to be a hard, elegant man, he wouldn't be pleased. She called him that in front of his security. They probably didn't even know he had let her come a bit too close.

It took time for Vincent to come to the suite, so she ordered up a burger to eat and tried to calm herself down by pouring Jim Beam in her coke. When she had eaten it all except for some fries that were laying dismissed on the plate, the door to the suite opened up. It was Vincent, dressed in a white robe, newly showered. He gave her a long look, and she looked back with interest at him, but he didn't say anything. He walked to his room and closed the door silently. Was he mad? Was he upset with her for the nickname? Her heart was beating hard in her chest, and she sat down on the couch, waiting for him to come out of his room. She didn't even know if he would come out, but she decided to wait there as long as she had energy.

An hour later, he came out to her, and to her surprise, he just sat down next to her. He was dressed in a loose-fit shirt and pants in beige linen, and his hair was still unstyled. He breathed deeply and looked in front of him for a while.

“To see someone die is something else... I didn't think you were ready,” he said, then looked at her. He laid his hand on her underarm, and it made her soften. She would have been angry if he hadn't looked at her so sweetly and dragged his fingers over her skin so softly. Ines nodded a little and licked her lips. It wasn't meant as a seductive move, but it made Vincent move closer to her and kiss her with perfect pressure. She would never push him away, especially after having built up so much energy from seeing him hurt that man. There is so much excitement.

Their kisses became deeper and deeper, like they searched for something inside of each other. Ines could feel his hands slowly move their way up her thighs, but he let her go with one hand to be able to fix his crotch. Ines released his lips with a smack and looked down curiously. It was embarrassingly obvious that he was already fully hard and probably didn't wear any underwear under the loose pants. Vincent tried his best to hide it; he probably didn't feel it suited his elegant ways to get erect by some kisses.

Ines looked fascinated by his stiff cock. She had believed his injury had made it impossible for him to perform sexually, but the impressive hard on that tried to escape his pants told her something else.

“I didn't think...” she said as a reflex and looked at his face. Vincent looked at her with heavy eyes and just shook his head. Ines didn't know what that meant, but the lust took over, and she attacked his mouth again. Vincent answered fast, and when she straddled his lap, he just took a greedy grip on her ass and encouraged her to grind against his crotch. Ines giggled, helped him take off his shirt, and then caressed his flat chest while moving over his cock. Vincent leaned his head back against the couch headrest and enjoyed how her lips traveled down his neck and chest.

“It was...” His voice betrayed him, and he cleared his throat. “It was a long time ago for me... Being with a woman,” he said when he realized Ines’ attention had started to glide down to his erection. “I can't even remember.”

Ines glided down between his legs and dragged teasing fingertips over his shaft, which answered with a light movement inside the pants. She giggled and kissed his head over the fabric of his pants.

“We will remember together, okay?”

Vincent looked down at her and nodded, then he himself unbuttoned his pants slowly. It felt like he wanted to taunt her, but it was because of nerves. His blushing cock slapped up on his stomach. Vincent had seemed nervous earlier, but he smirked proudly when Ines looked at his size.

“Like you haven't seen that I've always had an impressive bulge,” he said cockily, and it made Ines laugh and take his erection in her hand. It was hot and thick, in a lovely blushed color. Vincent made a liking sound and pushed his crotch out like he showed off his most prized possession. Ines dragged her hand over his thickness and let her palm roll over his tip to collect the pre cum. She looked at him with big eyes. The art work. He was completely naked in front of her while she was fully dressed, and in that moment all she did was to admire him—the perfect craftwork he was. If he was beautiful in his luxury suits, he was even more beautiful now, exposed and vulnerable in front of her.

Vincent looked at Ines intensely, but with heavy eyelids still. He breathed deeply and looked calm and pleased.

“Take your clothes off.”

He had lost the accent again and sounded just as American as herself. It was weird how that felt exotic for Ines, but she guessed she liked every surprise he could give her. On her wobbly legs, she stood up and pulled off her clothes with the help of Vincent, who pulled off her pants to her knees and let her do the rest. He looked at her with big, glassy eyes and dragged his thumb in the corner of his mouth, like the vision had gotten him to salivate. He leaned back and let her straddle his thick thighs. He laughed when he dragged her hands from her waist to her breasts, where he, with light fingers, teased her nipples.

“I've forgotten… This feeling...” he said and laughed again. His voice sounded much kinder and softer without the accent, and Ines liked how sensitive and soft he suddenly felt. She took grip of his cock behind her, and with some awkward struggle, they together succeeded in pushing his cock into her.

“Oh fuck, you're so wet... God,” he said, groggily. Ines moved rhythmically up and down his cock and rolled her hips extra skillfully when Vincent looked down at their connection. When Vincent noticed her rhythm started to fall, he flipped her down on the couch in one swift motion. She could feel his back tense in an alarming way but didn't say anything because Vincent pushed into her hard while kissing her in a way that made her wonder if maybe he had other feelings for her. She was sure she was in love with him, even if he was such a mystery.

×××

“Vincent Beaumont," he said with a raspy voice. He was calm and soft after their lovemaking, and maybe he spilled his real name because of post-sex hormones. Ines laid on his chest and looked up at him when he finally answered her question. He was pink in the cheeks, and his hair was messy with sweat.

“I lived in New Orleans as a kid. But I am French.”

Ines couldn't stop herself from looking at him skeptically. He had lied quite a bit.

“Like, because you want to be it?”

Vincent looked offended and furrowed his brows.

“No. Both my parents were French. They were just stupid enough to leave France and move to my dad's family. Cheap fucking Americans.”

Ines sat up, and now she looked offended.

“Is that what you think about me too?”

“No. If you had met them, you would have understood me. They were trash. My aunt's husband smoked some cheap cigarettes, and he needed to spit often because they were... cheap, but he spit in the same glass jar that stood on the table. Jar with his brown, fucking cancer spit.”

Ines made a disgusted face. She understood him. It didn't sound at all like his life now. He had really turned his life around.

“I moved here when I was fifteen, after my parents' deaths.” He gave Ines a pointed look and pushed away his sweaty hair from his forehead. She swallowed hard and looked away. She understood what he was saying without words, and it made her sit up awkwardly and look around in the room. Vincent dragged a hand over her naked back. Long fingers dragged over her waist and searched for her breast. He didn't seem to think much about what he had insinuated.

“I won't make a thing of this, so you shouldn't either,” he said, taking a soft grip around her upper arm and trying to drag her down over him again. Ines followed his movement and laid down on his hairless chest again. She could hear his heartbeat and smell his scent close. It was everything she had wanted for the last few weeks. Be close to him and get treated like she was worthy of his attention. It felt different now when she lay there. She was still as happy being close to him and still as attracted to him, but other emotions had also blossomed.

Her own heart beat heavily in her chest. There was something else there that she couldn't say she had ever felt before. There was potential. He wasn't like her ex-boyfriends—boring and wanting to hold her back. Vincent was menacing to society and didn't expect her to be a good girl; he probably didn't even really know what a good girl was; for him, it meant just manicured nails and good table manners. There was something there. It was something special. Ines kissed his cheek, buried her nose behind his ear, and breathed him in. Vincent made a little sound; maybe it tickled, but he stayed as close as possible anyway. Ines smiled and closed her eyes. This was special; maybe it was love.

They connected one more time before falling asleep. The first time hadn't she come, but that time she did to Vincent's luck. It was obvious he had covered up his bruised ego when she said she hadn't come, but he let it glow even more when he noticed her come over his dick. She wondered how he had taken it if she hadn't come at all and could picture him being childishly pouty and maybe even being a bit upset at her, like she could control it. She was happy she had come, not just to feel the ecstasy from an orgasm but also to escape from seeing Vincent in a sour mood. He was a kid when he was in a bad mood, and while she looked at him sleeping, she wondered if it was maybe because he had never really been a child when he was young. Just like herself. Both of them wanted to act out now, even if they were grown up and now play violently and messy.

×××

Maybe it was weird that Ines didn't ask him any questions about what had happened in the conference hall after she had left, but other things took all her attention. The relationship with Vincent. Their relationship actually looked more and more like a couple's relationship. It went much slower than she was used to; he was much more stoic than other guys she had been with, but he let her sleep in his bed. They kissed in the morning and had sex a few times more. They did things together; he had taken her to the ballet, the opera, and luxury restaurants. He never kissed her in front of people, but he always acted like a gentleman, treating her like a lady. The lady she obviously wasn't. She fantasized about making out at the opera, playing with his cock at the ballet, and getting fucked on the restaurants’ toilets. She knew it would never happen; he didn't even let her touch his hair in public. She had tried once, and he had ducked so fast, like her hand was filthy. She invited him into her world of hip-hop and Brooklyn art. He wasn't amused and didn't seem to listen to music at all when he wasn't at the opera to show off in front of rich people. After a while, he let her into his world. His real world. His glossy fashion magazines and violent movies. They weren't any expensive Hollywood productions; instead, they were cheap darknet productions of masked men torturing crying men, speaking in languages she had never heard before. Vincent could even laugh while looking at it. Ines didn't feel much; the blood was sometimes gross; otherwise, it didn't give her much. She wanted it for real.

Their relationship was probably strange, but when she laid in his arms at night, talking about cute cats they had met or stupid people they had seen that day, it was so normally safe and sweet. Ines liked it all. The darkness and mystery, but also his boyish charm and pouty mood.

×××

“I have a new speculator tomorrow," he said while they sat at the minimalistic restaurant with a view of the whole of Paris. Ines chewed her venison slowly and looked up at Vincent. He was dressed in a burgundy suit that made his eyes pop.

“Oh? I… I haven't thought about the painting in so long.” Ines laughed, embarrassed. “Almost forgotten it?”

Vincent looked at her. She was dressed in a silky black dress that ended under the knees. She had started to find her own classy style, much black and different textures. He liked it. It was sexy and fit her personality.

“This is a really important person. A really important person. I wonder if you want to see it all this time.”

Ines looked at him with big eyes and then smiled big. She took his hand that was lying on the table and hugged it into hers. Vincent answered by braiding their fingers together and smirking, pleased.

“Oh my god! Yes!” She giggled with heated cheeks and a beating heart. There were many emotions in her chest. She still felt a sense of shame for how much she liked the violence, but the excitement took over. She had dreamed about that day in the conference room and woke up with a broad smile on her lips.

“Maybe you even want to be a part of it?” Vincent said this and leaned back in his chair, twirling his red wine glass.

Ines swallowed hard. She didn't know if she dared to do that and looked out of the window. Vincent played with her fingers and exhaled.

“It would be special for me.”

Ines turned her gaze toward him with furrowed brows. She didn't really understand why he wanted her to hurt someone so much.

“Hm?”

Vincent licked his lips and looked at their hands.

“That man… He hurt me really badly, and it would just be amazing to see you kick his teeth in,” he said with a low voice, so no one would hear him. Ines gave him a small smile. It was warming how she was important for him that way, and she played with the necklace around her neck.

“God, I just want to kiss you. You're so sweet,” she said, looking at him warmly. Vincent gave her a similar look, and she wondered in silence what this was for him. They did really romantic things together; for three weeks, they acted like a couple.

“I want to suck that big cock when we come home,” she said, giving him a teasing smile. Vincent lowered his eyes, and she could see a blush on his pale cheeks.

“Not that sort of talk in a restaurant,” he said, shaking his head. He didn't give her the sort of scolding she had done before, but he still corrected her. Now she liked it, she liked to tease him.

“You just said you want me to kick someone's teeth in, but I can't talk about your third leg.” She continued to tease and made him close his eyes hard. It was always difficult if he got that way of feeling shame, hornyness, or a bit of both. He cleared his throat and continued to eat in silence. Ines giggled to herself and continued to eat too, but even then she thought about the suffocating feeling of his cock in her throat.

“How did he hurt you? Was it your back?” She spoke carefully when the hornyness had slowed down and she thought more about what he had said. Vincent looked up at her, but was silent. He turned instead to a waiter and ordered something. He didn't talk again until the chocolate fondants stood in front of them. He took a big spoon of it and chewed slowly.

“He's my ex.”

#bill skarsgård #bill skarsgard #fan fiction #writing #story #bill skarsgård writing #bill skarsgård fanfiction #fiction #vincent de gramont #the marquis #john wick #4

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