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femoso-seben · 6 months

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Baba Yaga Task force 141 X John Wick! reader

Tw: animal abuse, references to pregnancy, mention of miscarriages, blood, gore, violence, death

Gender neutral uses Mx for Mr/ Mrs it’s gender neutral.

Married life— you never saw that for yourself. You also never saw yourself fall for a military man. It almost feels like a sick joke. An unsanctioned killer meeting a legal one is a sick joke.

You met him on a work trip, honestly how you two got each other’s phone number was quite the funny ordeal. You met in line to be seated, turns out he was your seatmate. You gave him no mind, occasionally you two would give each other nods.

You notice him at the same hospital you. You were on a mission, and he had a bullet wound. Your eyes lock and life continues. With one of your work friends, you have noticed him in a group across the restaurant from you. You locked eyes, a strange thought passed between us, why are you here?

The last straw was sitting at your window seat only to hear a low “bloody hell.” You look up to find him again. You couldn’t help but laugh. This is ridiculous.

“I see you again stranger,” you smile. He scratched his head mumbling some more and sitting down.

“What’s your name?” You ask as he sits down next to you.

“Simon, you?”

“[Name], nice to meet you.”

You two had to exchange numbers, it was too coincidental. You only talk for a few minutes before going back to your own devices. You kept getting more job requests. With a sigh you picked on in England, you were heading there so might as well do a job there.

You two didn’t talk for a few months, you honestly forgot he existed. He texted you out of the blue, it was small and simple. It was a short conversation. Never too long never too deep. Occasionally when you were in England and so was he you meet up for coffee or tea.

It was casual— situational. You saw nothing long-term with him, not even a romantic relationship maybe just acquaintances. Two years— every six or more months you two would have a small conversation. Two years of on and off, before it got really serious. Before he got serious.

It was like a dam had broken loose. You answer your texts, more often. You two ended up calling too. It was fast a tumble and the relationship roared to life. It was all in a span of three months.

He moved in with you— into your expensive New York home. He brought his dog with him, Riley, a cute German shepherd. A well-trained one. Living with Simon, you learn one thing for sure— he’s a man of routine. He established on quickly.

We kept our jobs private and our relationship on the download. It took him a few months to mention his work— it was in passing that you learned he’s a special operator in the military. You are a traveling art appraiser.

You two both agreed, that work is something we don’t talk about. It was another three years of quiet dating both heavily busy. He was gone for months sometimes better half of a year, which was perfectly fine for you, you’re busy too. Very busy. It was five years into your relationship did he brought up marriage. He’s… joining a dangerous task force and wants to seal the deal.

You said yes— but before you could plan the wedding, you had to leave the game. Leave the underworld. The continental and the high table won’t let you go so easily. You’ll have to pay a debt. Before the two weeks were up you must complete an impossible task— kill the three most prominent underworld leaders. With one blood oath later, you were free.

Free from being the Baba Yaga.

Free from being Wick.

Free to marry.

Free to be a doting partner for Simon.

By the time you come back, you already started doing venue shopping for the wedding. You both agree to a private wedding with just your friends, he had none who are civilians, and he chose to keep his career away from you.

The wedding was sweet. Private with less than fifty people attended. The wedding ring barrier is Riley obedient and sweet carrying the pillow with the rings. You chose the rings, they’re thin and plain something that denotes marriage but also could be simply overlooked as accessories. The world didn’t need to know you two were married just you two.

You became a Riley. You didn’t want your old name— not the name of a killer. Neither did he, but you made it clear, you were happy to have his last name. And he was happy to live in your house. He had a slight chip on his shoulder— he wanted to provide for everything.

You came to a compromise. He pays for most of the housing utilities and you pay for the house tax. His money is the family’s money and yours was yours— and the children’s. You didn’t argue on that— you both know he could quit his job and you two could live rather comfortably on your money. But you could clearly tell providing made him very happy.

It’s what made him feel worthy… worthy of you.

Three years of marriage and most of the time he was away, always on the clock even on break. Only a few people in his line of work knew you existed, a CIA agent and his captain. No one else. And that was fine with you.

Retirement life is great. You spent most of your time figuring out what you wanted to do with your millions. Three years in and the two of you were considering starting a family. A few children would be too bad, You’re retired and Simon has mentioned retiring from the military, no time soon but in time for raising kids. You never consider raising kids. Hell, you never consider marriage or leaving the underworld life.

“My love,” you turn to see Simon setting his military bag down and rushing to you for a hug. “How have you been?” He murmurs.

“Not much Sí just wondering where I put the nursery.” You hum. From the backyard, you hear Riley storming into the living room and jumping onto Simon.

Life was blissful slow and trouble-free.

Until you decided to walk the street with Riley. Coming back from your surrogate who’s 3 months pregnant, lovely woman. Simon would bring his military friends over— forced by his team. You’re are very surprised, how strange this is but you don’t mind the new guess.

As you walk down the street at night Riley on highly guarded. You weren’t scared and had your gun in hand. Simon insisted you get gun training. Something to do with his pass. He only said he lost everyone he cared dearly and he did not want to lose you too. You didn’t have the heart to tell him you already knew how to shoot a gun.

You kept your mouth shut, he took some pride in protecting you— thinking he was protecting you. Why would you take that away from him? His sense of peace and duty? You didn’t mind playing into his fantasy. It’s rather cute seeing him be all protective, you never had that in your life until now. It was everything you wanted— to be wanted. You even got your concealed license to lessen his stress. Playing the perfect spouse was very… peaceful— heavenly really.

Riley’s sharp bark regains your attention. You look up to see a group of men running into the alleyway. You step into the shadows and hope to avoid them. They were speaking in Russian.

“What the hell man! You killed a Pregnant woman!” You froze and looked at them silently.

“She got in the way,” one brash boy sneers.

They continue to argue about killing the woman— they were only meant to rob her. Riley stayed silent but he was ready, ready to fight. You hear them stumbling closer, you make a loud noise and walk from the darkness.

This has nothing to do with you— your eyes caught something. That purse— just like your surrogate. You look at all of them up and down, at the stolen items in their hands. You recognize them all.

Your heart breaks.

That lovely woman— Anne. They killed Anne and your baby.

“What you looking at?” One points their gun at you. Riley begins to bark at them sneering and snarling his teeth at them.

“You killed Anne,” you mutter silently. You picked the surrogate— a friend of a friend. She was so happy to help you two. A thanks for helping her get het out of an abusive relationship. She had her life ahead of her.

With one swing at you, Riley jumps up and latch onto the arm. Another shot Riley in the stomach. You swing hard, mind going blank as your training kicks in, systematically each of them out. Breaking their hands, arms, and neck. You didn’t feel like letting them live.

Once you were done you pulled out your phone and called for a reservation for dinner. You left the coins on the body and ran home to get your car and take Riley to the vet.

Simon is not going to be happy, about this. About his dog, about our surrogate, about the baby. That is not the news he needed. But you called, he deserves to know.

“What’s wrong love?” He answer his tone tired and muddled. Evidently, you woke him up.

“I have bad news,” you begin.

He couldn’t come back early, he was deployed in a foreign country. The news was bad and you know Simon would be worried until he gets back. More for you— he’s worried about your feelings. Sweet man.

He liked Anne. She was bubbly and kind. Happy to be a surrogate and a babysitter if needed. A friend’s friend. He wasn’t so sure about her but you could tell she had grown on him. She was a surrogate a few times.

The funeral was shocking. The culprits never caught— of course, they wouldn’t, you handle it. You called your contacts and told them to leave the bodies out for the police to find— victims of a gang shootout. You have Anne’s remaining family and a small sense of peace.

A week passes and you continue to look for another Surrogate. Adoption came to mind, you were adopted. Not by the best people— they used you like a child soldier… so be it. Your child will be happy, you promise them that.

Would Simon consider adoption?

Does he even want children after this… mess?

You checked in on Riley his wounds were recovering nicely. You rest in your bed sleeping soundly. Your husband be back in two days.

The loud sharp squeal of Riley awoken you to a house of eerie cold silence. You scramble to your feet and go looking for Riley, maybe he opened up his wound. You appear at the top of the stairs to see— that bastard.

“Arseni.” You called out coldly in Russian, as you slowly descended down the steps. Once a brother in arms, a friend, now he’s in your house beating your dog.

“Mx. Wick,” his thick Russian accent twists into a cold sneer as he inches closer to you. “You killed my son!” He screams in Russian. You cock your head to the side, as one of his men kicks Riley to the side. He let out a loud whimper and crashed into the ground. Unmoving and still.

Your cheeks feel like a molten and a burning hell fire seers into your cheek. You clench your hands until your knuckles turn white. Your nose flares, lips pull back into a sneer. You stared at Arseni, ready to punch him.

A sharp pain seers into your abdomen as one of his followers shoots you, three rush forward with metal bats and begin to beat you. You let out a low groan as the metal left large bruises on your right side. Your head rings out in agony as one hit you in the head. Your vision blurs violently as it slowly goes blotchy and red.

You kick one of them and rush to the kitchen pulling out knives and trying to get to a hidden gun in the cabinet. The three ran after you, hitting you in the back with their bats. You stumble forward crashing into your marble counter.

Your bloody broken hands grab onto a knife and violently slash the person behind you, cutting one of their neck. You grab him by the back of his head jab the knife up into his neck and watch as the life dies in his scared eyes. You threw his body at the nearest attacker and went for the other.

You shove the knife into his torso and repeatedly punch the man in the face, breaking his nose with the second punch. Blood spewed out like a faucet.

Pew!

A bullet rips through your right biceps and into the side of your cheeks. Before losing momentum. You spat the bullet out and shoved the man in your arms against the last attack. As you did so you repeatedly stabbed the bloody man in your fist in the neck. Blood shoots onto your chest, staining your white shirt red.

You rip the knife out of his neck and face the last attacker. You plunge the knife right into his right eye and he crumbles onto the ground. You stop for a second, breathing hard as your lungs burn from the lack of air. You never stop working out, but your skills truly did become rusty. You rush to the cabinets and retrieve the gun.

You’d tumble back to the living room, your house trashed and photos burning in the middle of the expensive rug you bought. Your lips are pulled into a sharp frowning sneer. You flip the coffee table over smothering the fire pit. You stumble to your dog, Riley whimpers as you touch him, he is alive.

You grab your keys and rush Riley back to the vet, for immediate care. You left him there overnight. As you drive back your body is bruised and sore. As you drive back a car crashes into yours.

“That’s yer hoose?” Soap gawks at the large modern sleek design of the house. It’s large with a large yard— how the bloody hell did Simon afford this?

Gaz pressed his face against the window a wide smile on his face, it was a beautiful home. Price also stared, it was so American in design. It looks like a nightmare to defend with all those windows.

“My partner bought it,” Ghost grunts. His brows knit together as he saw the front door wide open, the window around the door shattered and broken.

“What the fuckin’ hell—“ he floored the car to the garage and rushed out and into his house. His living was a mess blood and dents in the wall.

“[name]!” He shouts. Silence greets him back, and his heart stops. “Riley!” Not even his dog was around.

“What the fuckin’ hell happened here?” Gaz asks slowly walking into the ruined house. Besides the mess, he could tell this house was beautiful, expensive, and enviable.

“Whit hav we got here?” Soap mutters walking deeper into the house his accident seeping into his worried tone.

“Ghost!” He shouts, seeing the three dead men in the kitchen. Ghost tore into the room and froze, his heart sunk and he rushed in checking to see if anyone was his love. They weren’t. He looked around the room and noticed that the cabinet with the hidden gun was open. He looked in, the gun was gone.

Ring ring!

He booked it to his landline a retro thing that you insisted on keeping. He lifts it to his ears.

“Is this… [name]?” A woman asks.

“No, I’m their husband,” Simon states.

“Your dog Riley just came out of Surgery, you can pick him up later today.”

Ghost signs and sets the phone down. The lady had no idea where you went after you dropped off Riley. She did tell him you were covered in blood and looked beaten up. You had refused their help to call the police. His dog is safe— but you were gone, gone with the wind.

What is going on?

His house is messed up. These random bodies are in his house. His spouse missing! What is going on?

His heart bounds violently against his chest as his heart falls. Where where you? Where were you taken? His worst nightmare came true— losing you. His hands slightly shake and he lets out a long sigh.

“You ok mate?” Gaz asks touching him on his shoulder.

“My partner is missing.” Ghost simply states. He walked to the garage, your car was gone. Your really nice vintage car is gone. His brows furrow together as anxiety sets in.

Ghost walks back into his house and pulls out his phone to call you. He hears the faint ring of your ringtone upstairs. The second floor was normal, with no destruction. In your shared room the lamp was still on, and blankets were thrown to the side.

He walked back downstairs trying to think. His eyes widened and he pulled his computer out. Sometimes he forgot about the security cameras he hid in this house, in the panic he had forgotten he set them up. The task for gather around to see what’s going on.

Simon’s blood rushed away from his cheeks, and he paled at the sight. His love, his light being beaten to a bloody pulp on the floor by some thugs. He switches cameras to the kitchen and to his shock he witnesses you kill all three. He could have mistaken the first kill as an accident. But the others look calculating, methodical— you could fight?

He hadn’t brought up self-defense classes yet. He wanted to, just in case his job would affect you and the baby…

“Damn, they can fight,” Gaz mumbled with awe. He switches back to the living room camera and watches as you flip the dining room table over to put out the fire scoop up Riley and drive off.

“I didn’t know your spouse could speak Russian,” Price mumbles rubbing his chin.

“Neither did I,” Ghost furrowed his brow. What were you hiding?

Ring ring.

Ghost stands up and answers the phone, his heart falls into the pit into the pit of his stomach. His hands slightly tremble, your prize car was found run off the road in a hit-and-run, and you were nowhere to be found.

“Mx. Wick,” you look at the concierge of the continental Hecate and smile politely. It took a few hours to get to the Continental Hotel.

“Make me a dinner reservation,” you calmly state. You had to get rid of the bodies in your house before your husband got home. She smiles and nods and makes the call for your residence.

You slide a coin over, “I like a room,” she smiles and nods setting a room up for you. You left the hotel and moved down the sketchy alleyway until you found an Asian restaurant. You knocked on the door as an old man appeared— a doctor.

“Doctor,” you greet.

“Mx. Wick,” he greets back letting you in. He was a black-market doctor. He patched you up and you limp back to the continental and heading back to sleep nicely.

You had asked Hecate to set up a meeting with the manager, Bereket Gerhold, you needed him to set up a meeting with Arseni. You sign close the curtains and go to sleep.

You’ll call Simon once this is all over. He must be worried. You aren’t the type to leave him— in the dark. He’s probably worried sick… you weren’t planning on leaving him high and dry after bringing his work friends over. How embarrassing, what a mess. You hope he didn’t find the bodies, how do you explain that? Any of this? You have a sleepless night.

Simon stared at the CCTV. He’s in shock, your Ford Mustang Mach 1, was slammed into violently by a black Mercedes. He watched it over and over again. How the Mercedes shoved your prized car out of the frame and into an abandoned warehouse where the cameras were long broken.

A bus came around. There was nobody left behind, just blood and broken car parts. Ghost caught a glimpse of the logo, the Continental Hotel. He thanks the police and leaves the station to find his team waiting for him.

“Where ur we gonna go?” Soap asks as Ghost reapproves the care.

“The continental hotel,” he states gruffly.

“There’s one in New York City, mate,” Gaz spoke up after looking up the hotel.

They drove off. Ghost had been to the hotel, he had seen it here and there. It’s an international hotel, for the rich. What were you doing there? He knows you’re rich but why go to a hotel and not the hospital? Not call him?

It’s late when they arrive at the continental. They walked in and people turned to them. They were outsiders— out of place. They ignore them and continue to walk to the front door.

“May I help you?” A woman asks.

“I want to know if my spouse is here.” Ghost firmly states.

“Name?” The woman asks.

“[name] Riley.”

“We have no one under that name.”

“…[Name] Wick.” The woman stops and looks up at him before a pleasant smile graces her lips. She picked up a phone and called someone. Simon felt his heart race, you were here.

“There are guests down here for you,” the woman says. She nods and hangs up. She handed over a key and told him the room number.

You sigh and stare at the door. Simon will be here soon. You change out of your bloody clothes and into a bathrobe. You chuck your bloody close into the bathtub.

You freeze and look at the door. The door handle slowly turns. You frown as a woman walks through the door a gun in hand. Arseni must have put a price on your head.

“Cordula,” you greet politely. “Wrong room?”

“Right room,” she pulls out her gun you just manage to dodge the bullet. You lunge at her wrestling her to the ground. She knees you in the groans a few times but you don’t let go slamming her back repeatedly into the ground.

She wrestled her hand free and shot you in the shoulder. You wince and let go of her. You back off holding your left shoulder. The door burst open and you see the burly body of your husband. He froze, seeing Cordula with a gun. Before she could even move to point it at him he had her on the ground pinned.

“Soap!” He calls in a Mohawk man steps in and switches places with him.

“My love!” He pulls you into a deep hug. He mumbles worriedly into your ear, “Why aren’t you at the hospital?” He pulls slightly away to gaze at your face. Touching it with tender care and love.

His eyes widen as he notices the blood oozing from your left shoulder. Something hit you in the side and you fall into his arms someone from outside of the hotel shot you in the side. Simon grabbed you and rushed you away from the window and out of the room.

“Shit,” you grumble in more pain. Now both sides of your torso have a gun wound.

“Gaz call the police—“

“Don’t.” You snap. You stagger to your feet and knock on the door next to your room. A familiar man answered it.

“Mx. Wick,” he greets everyone shocked, “are you working again.”

“No, can I narrow your phone?” You ask politely and a little curtly. Velimer steps aside and lets you in.

You call Hecate and tell her of the situation of the attempted murder on the continental ground by Cordula and the assassin out of the continental. She was understanding but a little dismissive.

“My husband almost called the police, I advise you to solve this, also summon the doctor to the continental I’ll be at the bar.” You hang up and give a curt nod to your neighbor.

“Let’s go downstairs,” you tell your husband and his friends.

“What do we do with her?”

“Bring her along the continental will deal with her.” You stagger off to the elevator. Simon snapped out of his shock and moved to support you even though you couldn't stand.

“You need to go to the hospital now.” He urges worry laced into his tone. You needed to tell him the truth but where do you begin? What do you say? How do you explain the madness of the underground crime world to an outsider?

Hecate was waiting for you when the elevator door opened. She took Cordula and you know her life is at an end. You stagger off to the bar. Your husband frowns watching as the strange concierge takes your attacker away.

Why were you so calm? What is going on? Why aren’t you going to the hospital? So many thoughts run through his mind as he chases after you.

“Love,” he calls out, “you need to go to the hospital, not the bar.”

“Relax—“

“You are bleeding!” He snaps not directly at you but at the whole situation. He’s stressed and very on edge. The one thing he spent years trying to protect is injured and he has no idea why. How wasn’t safe, this hotel isn’t safe, sure the hospital would be safer than here.

“Simon,” you sigh, he wouldn’t understand, “I am the safest here.” He looks at you strangely and watches as you walk to the bar.

Ghost stared at your staggering shuffle. Why were you acting so strange? He turns around to turn to his team. They had the same look. The strange woman comes back and Ghost approaches her.

“What is going on?”

“What do you mean?” She asks politely.

“Why did she attack my spouse?” He asks in a low dark tone. The woman pursed her lips before breaking into a smile.

“Codula broke the rules—“

“What rules?” Soap steps toward.

“The rules of the continental.” The woman smiles.

An old staggering man rushes into the hotel, the clerk points towards the bar and he waves rushing by with a man old fashion doctor's bag.

“Who’s attacking my spouse?”

“Have they not told you?” The woman leans forward. Ghost looks down at her tag, Hecate. She smiles.

Ghost backed up and b-lined it to the bar. He found you sitting in a recliner getting your shoulder wound checked out.

“My love,” he calls out his tone shaky but stern. You look with tired eyes and his heart aches in pain. You look so exhausted and tired. Are you scared?

“Who’s attacking you?”

“His name is Arseni Anastas—“

“The Russian mafia boss!” His eyes widen. He rushes over grabbing your hand gingerly and with care.

“What happened?” He searches your eyes with a worried expression. Your calm gaze didn’t help ease him, were you just petrified that you just couldn’t comprehend what was going on?

You calmly pull out a cigarette which is something you do only in times of stress if the furrowed brow deepens. You took a puff and blew out the smoke.

“Simon,” you softly stare leaning your forehead against his. “What I will tell you will change your opinion of me forever, you might hate me, you might want to leave me, but can you promise me you’ll listen?” You ask holding your pinky out for a promise.

“Promise,” he utters linking his pinky with yours.

“I am a former hitman. Arseni Anastas is targeting me because I recently killed his son, who killed our surrogate and child.” You answer with a concise tone.

He bolts up and takes a walking lap around you and the doctor who moved down to your torso to clean the wound. He looked at you before looking away there was a pained look in his gaze.

“Why didn’t you walk away?” He finally asks.

“Anne didn’t deserve to die like that,” you state taking another drag of the cigarette, “besides I found those fuckers after they did it. They weren’t remorseful.” You hum.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I didn’t realize it was Arseni’s bastard son… still would have killed him.” You hum. The doctor finishes up and you hand over a gold coin. He gives you a nod before hustling away.

“Would you and your friends like drinks?” You turn to your passing husband.

“Don’t run away from this conversation—“

“I’m not Simon, but I hate for your friends to stand around clueless. So let me get them some drinks and you can collect your thoughts before we talk again.” Your state.

Ghost and look at you eyes widening, Are you always this commanding? It’s so different. You used to go with the flow. He watches as you walk out of the bar dragged his team to the bar and paid for their first few drinks.

They sat at the counter giving you two some space. You got Simon some whisky and sat it down on the table and sat on the recliner again. You gesture to the other seat and Simon sat down.

“How long?”

“I’ve been one my entire life raised in this— economy.” You hum taking in another drag of the cigarette and letting the smoke set in your lungs before breathing it out.

“When did you quit?”

“Right before our wedding.” He stared at his glass of whisky. He couldn’t look at you.

“You lied about your job—“

“It’s my part-time job,” you correct, “it wasn’t a lie just not the full truth.” He down the drink and look you in the eyes. There was nothing but betrayal in his gaze. How could he ever trust you again?

“Is that where you got all this… blood money?”

“… Naturally.” He felt his gaze burn into your face searching for humanity. You like to look away but that is cruel for him, he deserves to know.

“So my dog was hurt because of you.” You take a sip of your bourbon and sigh. You feel the divorce coming.

“Arseni’s son…. Would have mugged me either way and you trained Riley to defend me, he would have gotten hurt either way. I saw red that night and killed him and his friends.”

You look into his pained eyes. He could barely look at you. You set your drink barely drink on the table and leaned in. Letting the smoke of your preferred poison ruin your mind for a microsecond.

“Simon, they broke continental rules trying to kill me.” You tilt your head and stare at him, “I am more dangerous than Arseni.”

You stand up and look at his friends before turning back to Simon, “Go home, let me handle this.”

“Are ye crazy,” the two of you turn around to see the Mohawk one, Soap was it… yelling “Ghost yer gonna let them do ‘is by themselves?” You turn back to your husband, Ghost? He looked at you.

“What’s your plan?” Simon asks after a moment of silence. You know he worked hard on controlling his emotions, he didn’t want to be like his father.

“I’m going to have a meeting with Arseni, he leaves me alone or I kill him.” You state. He frowns, that wasn’t a plan.

“Do you know what you're doing?”

“Yes, Sí I’ve been killing far longer than you, do you know what you're doing?” I ask. Not to be condescending but as a warning. He looked at you, you didn’t know to ask condescending questions, so he didn’t take it as that.

“And how do you know he won’t shoot you before the meeting.”

“You can’t kill on continental ground.” You state. They all look at you strangely. They all had the same look, what kind of rule is that?

“Surely you do realize the underground world is far older than your government? Then your military? Then the political wars? I live in a world of honor and regulations. I am the safest here.” You reiterate your words from before. You could see realization dawn on his face.

“How are you going to… kill him? What if he stays here permanently? You won’t be able to kill him,” Simon states.

“Well… your CIA friend must be looking for him. Either I get him or your government gets him.”

“So you're using us—“

“Don't overthink it, love,” you said looking down at him, “my other plan was to scorch the earth. Originally I was going to hunt him down… personally that’s still my preferred method but I like to end this as on as possible.”

“Damn Ghost yoo found yourself a spitfire!”! Soap cheers which earned him a glare.

“Oh,” your turn back to Simon. “I owe a Blood Oath to an Italian mobster.”

“What does that mean?” He leans back folding his arms. He’s guarding himself from you.

“If he comes to find me, I must do what he asks. It is a blood debt.” You state firmly.

“And why do you owe him one?”

“Because I left this life to marry you.” You state which took him by surprise.

“Can we talk in the lobby?” Simon asks setting his empty glass down. The confusion was gone and he made up his mind, or at least he came to redemption.

You two walk into the semi-quiet lobby the air conditioning drowning out some of the muttering of other people. A few turn to you, of course, they did. You two found a small corner to stand and talk.

“…why didn’t you tell me?” That was all he could say.

“I didn’t want to chase you away.” You honestly tell him. He cups your face rubbing his thumb tenderly against your cheeks.

“I wish you told me before all this.”

“This is pretty last minute.” He slightly cracks a smile.

“Let me help you.” He murmurs pulling you into a hug.

“I don’t want you getting hurt.” You mutter back.

“[name] I can’t know you're doing something dangerous without me… I can’t lose you, too.” You pulled you close and kissed your lips tenderly. As you pull away you see the manager walking in.

”[name],” you pull away and he turns around to look at the older man. He’s in his 50s or 60s by the look of him.

“Berket,” you greet walking up to him.

“And what do I owe the pleasure of Mx. Wick?” He asks with a fond smile.

“Set up a meeting with Arseni, I like to chat.” You fold your arm.

“Why?”

“Simply we need to chat,” he stared into your eyes before nodding.

“You must be their husband,” Berket turns to Simon with a strange smile looking up and down.

Ghost felt his body tense under his gaze. He gently grabs onto your arm protectively. He didn’t like this man, how he talked to you like you were a child. It infuriated him.

“They did quite a lot to leave this life for you, an almost impossible task.” He walks past and towards Hecate.

“What does he mean, love?” He asks softly still holding onto your arm. His grip travels down and he laces his fingers with yours.

“To leave this world you must do something major, most can’t do the task that is asked of them. I was able to, after getting help— the blood Oath.” You explain.

“You’re not truly out are you?” He mutters pulling you into a hug once more.

“Not fully, once I finish that blood Oath I will be.”

“Are you sure?”

“I hope so.” He frowns as he studies your face.

“What did you get us into?” He murmurs before lifting your chin to kiss you deeply.

“Us?” You ask.

“Us.”

“Who knows,” you murmur.

“Let’s get back to the others and figure out an actual place,” he takes you by the hand and walks back for the bar. “And we can get you some clothes later.”

You blink a few times before chucking, “I forgot I was wearing a robe.” He chuckles and you find the three chatting with the bartender.

“Is there a private place to talk?” He asks me.

“Go get them and I’ll talk with Hecate.” You hum. As you turn to leave he didn’t immediately let go he looked at you longingly before slowly letting go. He watched you leave.

You approach Hecate, “I need to use your armory.”

“Why?”

“Need a quiet and safe place to talk with my husband and his colleagues, my hotel room isn’t safe.” She froze for a second before smiling.

“Of course.”

“Will you also bring me a new suit?” You ask. She nods. You turn around to see all four men walking towards you.

Hecate walked us to the vault and the men froze gazing at the wall-to-wall guns on display and a nice couch in the middle. You sit down on the couch, your husband joining you. The other leaned Against the wall or checked out the guns.

“Why so many guns?” One asks. The other one, besides Soap, pulled out a cigar and began to smoke.

“Safety protocols.” He turns to you confused.

“So the plan?” The cigar man asks.

“Arseni Anastas leader of the Russian Mafia will be coming here for a meeting with me, with the help of the manager,” you start.

“We can contact Laswell to see if they are looking for him,” Simon speaks up.

“We can call the police swat team—“

“We bought them out,” you state interrupting Soap.

“The FBI will have to send their people, people who have nothing to do with this hotel chain or this world.” You state fiddling with the helm of your robe.

“So this place is highly corrupt?” Cigar man asks.

“Completely.” You state looking at all of them. The room grew silent as each began to think.

“Can’t you just kill him?” Soap asks.

“I can but not on continental grounds. I’m bound by rules.” He nods.

“Let’s contact Laswell, she might have a plan.” They nod. The cigar man pulled out his phone and began to call someone.

“So…” the dad cap man begins, “is the… Baba Yaga real?” He asks.

“Yeah is he?”

“Gaz, Soap,” Simon said sternly.

“What?” Dad Cap asks, “If their other hitmans out there surely the Baba Yaga is real!” Soap and Gaz turn to you expectingly.

“Yeah Baba Yaga is real.” You sigh, you forgot about your notoriety, you forgot to tell your husband. This could break your relationship again… fuck!

“Who? Baba Yaga hasn’t been seen in years did he finally die?” Gaz folds his arms speculating.

“No.”

“Then what happened?”

“I retired.”

“Oh— Your Baba Yaga?” Soap said his eyes widening in shock. You since at his volume.

“Yeah.” He looked you up and down, you didn’t look like much. You could see Simon staring at you in shock as betrayal clouds his eyes again.

“Only the Baba Yaga could do what the high table asks and leave this hellish world alive.” You tell him sternly.

“So… you know… we are hunting you?” Gaz mumbles.

“Figured.” You state standing up as Hecate walks in with a nicely pressed suit tailored to your body “I’m shocked you hunting me when all my targets have been other criminals.” You hum as you begin to put on the pants.

“How did you track down Azhar Maktar when we couldn’t even find him?” Soap asks watching you intently as you change into the black suit.

“The continental and a few connections,” you state.

“I see… will the continental help us.”

“I doubt it, you can ask but they will turn you down.” You tell them. You put on the white dress shirt hiding behind Simon’s body to as you change. You walk from behind him suit on and ready to slay.

“Can you help us locate another man?” Soap asks.

“Who?”

“Vladimir Makarov,” your face scrunches up. Hearing that familiar name.

“That bastard.” You mumble.

“You know him?”

“Met the motherfucker on a mission, got in my way so I beat him near death. Since then every few years he sends men after me trying to kill me.” You wave your hands before walking to the wall and looking for a nice gun to have.

“Do you know where he is?”

“No, my guess is somewhere nowhere Russia.” Soap groans and looks at you with slight disappointment.

“Is Makarov part of the underground network?” Simon finally asks.

“I’m not sure, I haven’t heard of him, but he could be using a proxy.” You explain, too which he nods.

“Alright,” you all turn to the cigar man who sets the phone down. “There is a warrant on Arseni Anastas. We are given the authority to get him.” He tells his crew. They all nod.

“We’ll have to drop by a base—“

“Too far,” you inturupt Gaz. “You’ll have to work like a hitman. Let’s get you suits.” You turn to them with a wicked smile. They all look at you confusingly.

“What will a suit do?” Gaz asks.

“Besides fitting in with the continental it can also protect you from bullets unless you want to risk it.” He nods.

“So where do we get the suits?” Cigar man asks.

“I know a place. We’ll borrow a car from the continental and drive there.” You explain.

“You stay here,” Simon immediately states. He looks down at you with a serious expression, “You're the target.” You sigh but nod.

“Before you go you need to know a few things.” You state pulling out a notepad. You wrote down two addresses, one for a tailor and another for a Sommelier.

“When you go to the Sommelier ask for him and when you meet him ask for a tasting. If you don’t like what he gives ask for something robust,” they stared at you a little confusingly, “Simon in your case ask for dessert.”

“Why?” Gaz slowly asks.

“We talk in code,” you explain.

“When you go to the tailor and ask for an Italian suit, it’s for a social event, tactical lining, and rush to order. Have it delivered to the hotel, got it?” You tell them. They all nod committing your words to memories.

“Let me get some coins,” you murmur.

“Coins?”

“You need to pay for it somehow.” You walk off and walk back to your destroyed hotel room. You retrieved a handful of coins and pocketed it.

“Here,” you hand over the coins to your husband. He looked at them weirdly. “Assassin currency pays what they ask for.” He nods and studies your face.

“We’ll be back soon,” Simon kisses you on the forehead.

As they depart the hotel you let out a sigh and sit down at the bar. You order another round of bourbon and smoked another cigarette. You mind your own business as people come in and out.

A few hours passed before they returned. They looked a little frazzled and very warn out. Simon sat across from you and handed over the unused coins.

“What— that was an experience.” Soap mumbles pulling a chair up next to you.

“Are those guns legal here?”

“Yes,” you answer, “yes it is.”

“So… what now?” Simon asks.

“It’ll be a few days until the suit will be done.” You begin putting out your cigarette on the ashtray. They spent their time casing out the continental waiting for their suits to be made.

Simon spent most of his time around you, asking questions here and there. You could tell with every answer you gave stressed him out even more. You pitted him, this must be so… daunting to learn.

“Love,” you look over to see your husband walking up to you.

“Yes?”

“Let’s go over the plan again,” you sigh but nod. It’s the twentieth time he asks but you know it comes from a place of pure love.

“We’ll be having this meeting in the bar. Gaz and Soap will be sitting at the bar while you and Price watch on from the lobby.” You recite again. He nods along.

“I rather be inside the room.” He spoke up finally telling you his honest desire. You looked at him. His team agreed he shouldn’t be in the room and so did you. Not because you didn’t want him there, just if it gets tense, you didn’t want him to see you at your worst.

“It’s not up to me,” you state, but to some degree it was. He turns to you eyes full of worries and grief, eyes that seem to study you with every second his gaze lingers. You knew he was trying to remember everything about you, your face, your smile, your voice, everything.

“It’s going to be ok,” you reassure him. You touch his thigh and he gazes down at your hand. He slowly nods.

“Promise me you won’t do anything drastic.”

“I promise.”

“Wow… these suits are, are almost perfect,” Soap mused to himself as he moved his arms up and down.

“It still feels a little constrictive.” Gaz mutter.

“Italians like to hug so the suits are a little more comfortable to move around in them.” You explain as you pick up a knife and slip it up your sleeve.

“I feel like James Bond,” Gaz smiled looking at himself in the mirror.

You slightly smile and look over to your husband who silently watches you. You give him a reassuring nod before getting up.

“Are you ready men,” you look over to see their Captain, Price speak up. They nod and head out, leaving you and Simon one last moment of peace.

He pulls you close to him and softly kisses you one last time. It was far longer than any kiss he had ever given. It was a goodbye as it was a final “I love you.”

“Be safe.”

“Of course,” he left the room.

If it was anyone else besides your husband you would have laughed. Be safe… You’re the Baba Yaga, you have no need to worry. You sigh and look around the room. Your anxiety is kicking in even though you’ve done this a hundred times… was it because you have something to lose now?

Ring ring

Your hotel phone goes off, you stand up put your cigarette out in the ashtray, and lift the phone.

“Yes?” You answer.

“Arseni Anastas is here.” You thank Hecate and exit your room. You made your way down to the bar. As you enter the lobby you find both your husband and the captain sitting At opposite places slowly studying everyone’s movement.

You round the corner to the bar and there surrounded by a few men was Arseni. He turns to you with this wicked cold glare. You sat across from him.

“Arseni,” you greeted coldly.

“Wick,” he sneers back, “come to beg from my forgiveness?”

“Hardly, I am asking you to walk away from this—“

“You killed my son!” He roars before falling back to Russian insults.

“And you’re done killing my surrogate and child,” you coldly stated. He turns back to you annoyed and frustrated.

“I’ll give up when he’ll freeze over.” You stood up lit another cigarette and stared down at him.

“Then let’s take this outside off of continental grounds.” You suggest moving away from the plans.

“I’ll kill you one way or another!”

Creak!

The window to the bar shatters as a bullet hits your bulletproof vest. You sense and take cover. Arseni that fool! His men turn on you guns ready. But then both Gaz and Soap caught on to the madness.

Bullets fly across the continental bar. You see Arseni and a few of his men rush for the exit. You scramble to your feet and chase after him.

“[name!],” your husband shouted but you were out the doors. You grab the onto your suit and use it to hide your head.

As the last bodyguard left continental grounds you unsheathed your knife and stabbed him in the neck. You restless the gun from him and shot him dead.

Ba ba ba!

It hit your suit. You winced in pain. Though they stopped the bullet they did not stop it from hurting like hell. You shot two more dead. A few other hitmen came rushing out, they were waiting for you.

You lungs behind a car and check how many rounds you have left. You sigh and begin to quickly take out the hire hit. You changed up to a semiautomatic gun and mode down two more.

Arseni jumped into a car and knocked out an assassin on a motorcycle. You hopped on and raced after them, leaving the continental behind.

You chased him down to a run-down building. You groan realizing this will be a shoot-out. You enter the building slowly ready to kill your target.

They came flooding out like ants to a food pile. It was almost like an all-you-can-eat buffet. They made it so easy. You swing around ducking and dodging as you take out one person after another. Every once in a while exchanging your gun out for a newer one.

By the time you reach the final door, you are completely out of it. You were very rusty, in your skills but it seems like your body hasn’t forgotten. You know tomorrow you be sore.

“In here!” You froze and duck down behind the railing and look to see who just arrived. To your shock, it was your husband and his friends.

“[name]?” Simon calls out.

“Here,” you shout back before standing up.

“You were supposed to wait!” He worriedly stated anger laced with in his tone.

“Did you do this?” Gaz asks seeing the dead boy littering the ground.

“One last room,” you state.

“Let us handle it.” You looked at your husband before sighing and nodding.

You stared at the door, your hands itching to enter. The door slowly opens in in their costing was Arseni. He looked at you with vile and hate.

“You're a filthy pig,” he snarls. Soap pushed him forward and walked him away.

“Finally this is over.”

“I doubt it’s that simple.”

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8.4K Words

@makandcheeses, @100percentlazybonez, @selinbaskaya

#cod x reader #141 #call of duty #simon ghost riley #captain price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #modern warfare 2 #cod #cod mw2 #john wick

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endless-ineffabilities · 2 years

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Masterlist 📝

A regularly updated list of my works; all are x f!Reader unless otherwise stated. If you wish to be tagged for any specific story, or all future works with a certain character, please comment on the specific post!

Please do NOT copy, repost, steal, or translate any of these! My works should only exist here, on Tumblr. I have not and will not post them on any other platform, nor do I consent to any other individual doing so.

The Sandman

Morpheus / Corinthian

Ineffable (series) *on hiatus

Corinthian

Easy on the eyes (series) (18+) *on hiatus

Morpheus

Only you can set alight the fire in me (oneshot)

House of the Dragon

Daemon Targaryen

Without you, I would not be (upcoming series)

This world was never meant for a fire like yours (part one - part two (18+) - unalloyed - part three.one - )

in the shadow of your heart (part one - part two)

She is my heart (oneshot)

ñuha mērī jorrāelagon (oneshot)

feast (oneshot)

rogue ink (oneshot)

turning red (oneshot)

Aemond Targaryen

prūmia va perzys (heart on fire) series

part one: don't you love me?

part two: and what of your love? (18+)

part three: the flames that divide (18+)

part four: the aftermath

part five: never tear us apart

part six:

part seven:

some jealous Aemond Targaryen scenarios

burn them all for you (oneshot)

a little game (modern au oneshot)

hmm (a christmas drabble)

sepār iā sylutegon (just a taste)

your heart's serrated edges are much like mine own (oneshot) (18+)

sapphire-hearted - part one - part two - part three -

dragonfire (oneshot)

Daemon and/or Aemond

A dance with two rogue dragons (oneshot)

If these walls could speak (18+)

midnights imagines : question...? - anti-hero - labyrinth - lavender haze - maroon (part one - part two - part three - part four)

dialogue series: King? -

Star Wars

Anakin Skywalker

As I believe in you (oneshot)

there's hope for us, yet - part 1 - part 2

MCU

Bucky Barnes

babydoll (oneshot)

reconnaissance - one - two - three

Steve Rogers

The Bolter - part one - part two - part three - part four - part five -

World On Fire

Tom Bennett

tongue in cheek (one - two - three - four )

John Wick 4

Marquis Vincent de Gramont

le marquis et le moineau - (ill)fated - first dance -

#masterlist #morpheus x reader #the corinthian x reader #daemon targaryen x y/n #daemon targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon #the sandman netflix #bucky barnes x reader #anakin skywalker x reader #steve rogers x reader

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arece · 1 year

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Walking Parallels

♤ John Wick x platonic!f!reader (father/daughter duo) series masterlist

(𝟹)

♤ Summary: The Bowery King has his secrets. (2.2k)

♤ Warnings: John Wick violence, death, injury descriptions

♤ a/n: I'm not really liking this part, but I have big plans for the next!

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You were really starting to hate this car the longer you had to spend cramped inside. Your head was lent against the window, slowly watching the scenery outside, attempting to get through the usual New York traffic.

Dog was laid out across the two seats next to you, head plopped on your lap as you scratched between her ears. The drive was relatively silent, John seemingly coming up with a plan for your next course of action.

You couldn’t help but have a swarm of guilt fill you up over the thought of that stupid pin. If you were focused, not acting like an idiot, it would’ve never been taken from you. You adjusted the sweater you were wearing - or what was left of it. Everything you were wearing was destroyed, ripped, and filthy from the events of the past few days.

“You can change at the house.” John’s eyes meet yours through the rearview mirror. You nod, threading your fingers through Dog’s fur. You watched as you passed row after row of modern houses of the extremely large and wealthy variety.

“You live here?” The skepticism that leaked from your tone caused a huff to escape him. “Being a hitman pays well.” You smushed your face against the window, watching as he pulled into one of the biggest homes on the street. “Maybe I should get in on that.”

John opened the car door, Dog immediately leaping from your lap and heading to the front door, “no.” You pulled open your own door, spinning around to take in the entirety of the property. The front garden was large enough to hold three homes.

“You say that a lot,” trailing after him to the front steps. He unlocked the door, leading you inside. It was all very… white. “I didn’t take you for the flashy type.” He paused for a moment at the counter.

“I’m not the one who designed it.” Imagine having enough money to design your very own mansion. Before you could interrogate further he led you to a guest bedroom, handed you some clothes and showed you the bathroom to shower.

You stayed in the shower longer than you probably should have, the sting of the water cleaning out your scrapes and cuts was oddly comforting. Looking in the mirror You didn’t really recognize yourself, feeling like you’ve managed to change into a completely different person in such a short amount of time.

You finished cleaning up, carefully replacing the bandages the Doctor gave you before wandering around the home in search of John or Dog. At the top of a set of stairs that you assumed led down to a basement sat Dog.

She whined and you gave her head a pat, beginning to cautiously venture down the stairs. John was ready faster than you, now dressed up in a different suit. He was knelt down by a removed floor board, pulling weapons from underneath.

“I feel underdressed,” you announced your presence, though he was probably already aware you were there. “It’s kevlar.” He didn’t look up from digging around, you sat in front of him with crossed legs.

“What’s that?” You tried to reach for a knife but he swiftly pulled it from your reach. “Means it’s bulletproof.” The casualness of the way he said it shocked you more than the suit itself, “Can I wear one?”

He strapped a few of the knives and loaded the guns before moving on to a duffle bag. “I don’t have one in your size.” The compartment he opened up next caught your attention, distracting you from any previous thoughts.

It was multiple rows of the very same gold coin you’ve seen him exchange, hundreds of them. You moved beside him, picking one up to closely inspect, “if you have so many of these, why’d you need the one Aurelio had?”

He carefully grabbed the coin from you and placed it back in its spot. “I didn’t.” He locks everything back up and throws a large duffle bag over his shoulder, “come on.” You follow up the stairs, Dog now joining you.

He brings you to a room in the far back, an oversized gym area. Throwing down the duffle, he unzips it to pull out a gun, handing it to you. You freeze with the small hand gun in your grasp. “Thought you wanted to learn how to protect yourself?”

“I do,” you slightly stuttered. You fixed your grip on the gun trying to mimic how you’ve seen him do it. He slightly adjusts your movements before nodding in approval. “Now, shoot that bottle,” he points across the room.

“What?” You snap over to him. He’s quick to push the gun out of his face, “don’t shoot me, shoot the bottle.” You aimed the gun downwards, now much more mindful of your surroundings, “why are we doing this now, what about what you said before?”

John pulls your arm back up and guides you through the steps of properly aiming the gun. “We’re going to be out in the open, I’d rather you know how to shoot them and not yourself.” It took a few shots before you hit the bottle but after that you gained the hand of it.

He taught you basics with the knife and defense moves, saying how that was more important for you at the moment than attacks. By the end you felt like you were dying, rethinking about joining him in the hitman lifestyle, nice salary or not.

Resting in the kitchen, John was getting you some water before you had to leave. From the corner of your eye you catch a photograph of a pretty woman smiling brightly at the camera. You pulled it closer, “who’s that?”

John peered over to see what you were talking about. You could see a hint of anguish in his eyes but his expression showed reminisce, “my wife.” You looked back to the photograph and tried to picture the two together. “She looks so… normal.”

John smiled and slid the glass of water over to you, “that’s because she is.” Your brows furrowed, you hadn’t seen or heard of any woman before. “How’s she okay with what you do?” John grabbed the picture from your grasp and ran a fond finger down its length.

“I stopped for her.” Your confusion grew as he placed the photograph back in its place. “This doesn’t seem like you’ve stopped, does she know?” Maybe not your business but it was weird, the way he talked about her.

“She doesn’t need to know, she died.” You froze while he grabbed a few things from the duffle before leaving it behind. You felt bad for bringing it up but he didn’t seem too bothered talking about her. “What was her name?”

“Helen,” he gives you a knife, carefully strapping it to your side. He warns you that it’s all you're getting now and not to mess around with it.

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Taking the subway was not what you thought when he was talking about dangers. It was pretty underwhelming to say the least. For the last hour you’ve driven John insane, taking his ear off with every thought that came to mind.

Then you questioned him about what Addy had said earlier, after he had done what? He finally told you the entire story about his wife, Helen and how he returned to being the infamous John Wick for what happened to his first dog.

“I’d do that for Dog,” you sighed, thinking about the puppy you had to drop back off at the Continental. John laughed, “you’d be the first to agree with me on that.” Next was to learn about the man you’d be seeing, the Bowery King.

He sounded dramatic and judging by the slight twinge of ire on John’s face you’d guess your right. You eagerly jump from your seat when the train stops, completely done with the annoyingly long ride.

You and John made it to a rather empty area of the station when you’re shoved back by a guy. You were about to tell him off when he grabbed you by the arm, trying to yank you further back as six other guys approached John.

You begin yanking at his arm but when he threateningly pulls out a gun you run on pure instinct. Reaching to your side you grab ahold of the knife John gave you, pulling the man's arm down by the elbow to give you the perfect advantage to stab him center in the chest.

Guilt tries to crawl up at you before you remember that he tried to kill you first. You gaze around to see John had already taken down three of the guys, now fighting two as the third turned to shoot at you.

You throw yourself to the ground, pulling the gun from the body, taking aim and shooting - with your eyes closed. You open your eyes when you hear the guy cry out. You had shot his arm holding the gun, good enough.

John whips around and throws his knife straight to the guy's throat. You grimace for a moment at the squelching sound it makes, “I gotta learn how to do that.” he jogs over to you, urgently checking you over, rubbing away at the blood on your skin and checking the back of your head to see if you hit it again.

“I’m okay,” you promise him. He checks you over once more, pulling you into a half hug and breathes a slight sigh of relief. You close your eyes, melting into the contact. It only lasted a moment before he slowly got up, taking you with him.

He reaches for one of the gold coins he stowed away, flicking it at a homeless man that’d watched the scene intensely, “take us to him.” The man stood up, revealing a gun with a silencer attached that he kept hidden the entire time.

He led you both through a secret tunnel system while other homeless disguised men ran to collect the bodies you two left in your wake. John made sure to keep you close to his side as eyes were once again glued to you.

You were guided to a rooftop where a man was caring for a large amount of pigeons. He turned to see you guys approaching and held his arms out wide, “John Wick, as I live and breathe! Still not good at retiring I see.”

“Bad habits,” he shortly answered. You leaned over John and the man burst out into dramatic laughter when he caught you peeking, “the street rat who killed the Spade’s heir, I didn’t expect you to be so young.”

“Not so bad yourself, old man.” You grunted as John shoved you back behind him, the Bowery King laughing again, though this time more menacingly. “You’d best be careful, a contract will be placed on you soon and from what I’ve seen so far, it’ll be a lot of money.”

John moves over to him before all of his men whip out their guns on you. You throw your hands up in surrender, eyes widened in shock. “What brings you here to my kingdom, Mr. Wick?” He releases the pigeon he was petting.

“Why does he talk like a theater kid?” Your mumbles were caught by a nearby guy and he snorted, quickly looking away when the Bowery King turned to you both with a glare. “We’re trying to put an end to all of this,” John guides his focus back to be solely him.

“Tell me, why would I help you and lose the possibility of all that money?” He hummed out rhetorically. John was already done and leaned closer without a care of his henchmen's threats, “because she’s a kid,” he gritted out.

“I don’t see how that affects anything-” The Bowery King was interrupted by one of his men leading two others that held two Spade men in their grasp. They were half conscious, being dragged in by the men holding them.

“What is this?” He demands. The leading one nods and the two Spade’s are dropped to the ground. “These two were found sneaking on private grounds.” The King sneered and pulled out his own gun, quickly shooting them both in the head.

You flinched back at the quick unsuspecting shots. “They think they can tread on my Kingdom?” He hissed, “now I’m pissed off. What do you need, John Wick. All for a fair price.” He kicked at one of the dead bodies, disgust painted his expression.

“The location on the Spade Pin bid.” The glint that shone in the Bowery King’s eye at John’s response made you uneasy. He knew something you both didn’t. John was aware of it too, you were sure until he agreed to his one million dollar terms.

“What? I’m not listening to bird-man, he lets pigeons shit on him for a living!” John hissed at you to cut it out but you just scowled at the King as he laughed in delight. “I like the balls on you. It’s being sold at the Grand Pavilion.”

John handed him over a couple gold coins before dragging you out of the roof area. “We can’t listen to him, he’s hiding something,” you tried to pull back from John’s grip. He turned around, pulling you both to a stop.

“He’s always hiding something but it’s all we have so far.” He seemed to read your weary expression easily, holding both your arms now in a comforting grasp. “Like I told you. I got you, kid.”

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taglist: @khaleesihavilliard @ihatemyselfmorethanmydepression @tamnight @hesvoid34 @scarletmeii @romanreignsluver1

#john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x fem!reader #keanu reeves x reader #john wick #keanu reeves #platonic #fem reader #john wick father figure #fanfic #arece writes

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johnwickb1tsch · 5 months

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The Night Nurse

A John Wick x Helen Fic

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

John didn’t take the subway often, but with the Mustang in the shop after an unfortunate incident involving a mark, a concrete pole, and the ‘Stang’s door—two out of three survived—his machine was in Aurelio’s capable hands, and John Wick was on foot.

It was a chain of events that might have caused him to send a thank you to the unfortunate Serbian—if the man hadn’t been, you know, dead. Because it was the cause and effect that eventually led to John laying eyes on her for the first time. Dressed in rose-pink nurse’s scrubs, her thick auburn hair pulled back in a ponytail, clearly exhausted from a twelve-hour shift—she’d looked up at him over the top of her book, and the shine in her amber-brown eyes took his breath away.

Her choice of reading material had been…interesting. Crime and Punishment by Dostoyevsky. A solid classic, to be sure, but so god-damned depressing.

John never made small talk with strangers. So when the words, “Some light reading for the evening commute?” spilled from his mouth completely without his permission, it was like watching himself from outside his own body.

She’d lowered her book a fraction to offer him a tired smile. She was beautiful, and he was sure that strangers tried to chat her up on the subway all the time. Way to be that guy, he chided himself, hanging on the possibility all the while that this exquisite creature might deign to let him hear her voice just once.

It had been a long week, but really? Maybe he was going soft in his old age. He wasn’t actually old, to be sure. He’d be thirty-nine in a few months. For an assassin though?

Practically ancient.

She’d turned the book to glance at the cover. It was a well-worn paperback edition with a dour looking painting of a man in a doorway. She wrinkled her nose, and it was fucking adorable. “I’m trying to read more classics,” she admitted.

“How is that going?”

He didn’t know where he got the cheek to tease this total stranger about her reading selection. Maybe it was the fact that she was actually reading a paper book, over endlessly scrolling through an electronic device. Maybe he was a book snob—ok, he was a book snob—but paper, in his opinion, was the proper way to go.

Kindle readers just smelled like plastic and the sadness of modern convenience.

“Okay. It’s good, but this Raskolnikov is fainting a lot.”

“That’s Russians for you,” said John, the corners of his mouth turning up in a small smile. He’d certainly seen a few when he approached. Lots of fleeing and yelling, too.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled at a stranger.

“Oh really?” She lifted her eyebrows, laughing a little. Those eyes sparkled with mirth, glittering like good liquor in a sunbeam, and his heart ached as though clenched by a fist.

“Yeah.”

She shook her head, her book resting in her lap. He’d won her attention—and to be honest, he wasn’t really sure what to do with it after coming this far.

“Are you…Ukrainian or something?” He felt her looking him up and down. He liked it, when she looked at him. He always dressed well, but for once he was glad for it for some other reason besides the tactical armor sewn into the lining of his bespoke suit jacket.

“Belarussian,” he found himself admitting to this woman without a thought.

It had been a lifetime, since he’d admitted that to anyone.

She was good. She’d make an incredible operative, he found himself thinking. If she’d asked for his address or his social security number, (fake as it was), he might have given that up too.

“Wow. I never would have guessed.”

No one did. He’d worked hard to lose his accent, so he could slip through society unnoticed when he needed to. First for the Ruska Roma, then for himself.

“I’ve been here a while,” he admitted quietly, looking down, suddenly feeling as though he’d shared much too much with this woman who was kind enough to speak to a stranger on the subway. The fuck do you think you’re doing, Wick?

“Well…I’m from Boston. It’s not nearly as interesting, but I feel like a foreigner here sometimes.”

John looked up at her then, a lock of hair fallen over his eyes. “I never would have guessed,” he parroted in perfect deadpan, and it won him a smile that utterly melted his black little heart. He felt his mouth doing that alien thing again—smiling. A small one, to be sure, but it was definitely more exercise for those muscles than they’d received in a year. Years, maybe. A lifetime?

“Gee, thanks. I’m Helen, by the way.”

She extended her hand, and he could not stop himself from clasping that small mitt in his own. She felt delicate in his grasp. Breakable. He hated that that was the first thing he assessed when shaking someone’s hand. He couldn’t turn it off.

“John.”

She raised an eyebrow, that sparkle back in her eyes.

“John from Belarus, huh?”

Fuck him, but was he actually blushing?

“Most people trip over Jardani.”

And there it was. The most truth he’d told anyone about himself since he was a wet-behind-the-ears young man.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

“What a shame. It has a nice ring to it. Jardani.”

The sound of his true name on her lips did things to him that he knew he didn’t entirely understand. An additional side effect: it seemed he couldn’t let her go. A long moment passed between them—what felt like an infinity—of heavy eye contact with her hand in his. It set off fireworks in his heart, and finally he released her as though he’d been burned.

“Sorry.”

She canted her head, that thick russet ponytail flipping over her shoulder. He wanted to run his hands through it, and in that moment he knew he must be losing his mind.

“Don’t be.”

The train slowed, and reluctantly she stood from her seat, steadying herself with her hand on the pole he also grasped like a lifeline. “This is my stop.” He nodded, feeling like an idiot, not entirely sure why, or what had just happened, really. “It was nice to meet you.”

“You too. Helen. From Boston.”

She smiled again, and if he could have bottled the feeling it called up in him, he would have synthesized the most addictive street drug on the planet.

“Don’t hold it against me,” she threw over her shoulder as she made her way with the crowd for the doors, the glitter in her eyes hitting him like a punch to the gut.

He could think of several things he would have liked to hold against her, none of which were acceptable to mention in polite company. So he simply held up his hand in a silent wave, feeling as though he’d lost something precious as the doors slid closed, and the train carried him away from the one truly good thing he’d found in this city

What came next bordered on questionable behavior, John knew.

The next week—because he at least had that much self-control left—he found himself riding the subway again, at the exact same time as before, reasoning that she might regularly get off a seven o’clock shift at the hospital nearby, and catch this train, to go home somewhere in Brooklyn.

He had not followed her home. Not even to satisfy his later curiosity, wondering if like a total lovestruck idiot he’d revealed a piece of his mysterious past to an undercover operative working for some secret—no doubt nefarious—goal.

Another week went by, before he happened upon her again. She was reading a different book this time. Moby Dick. Not bad, considering what a goddam brick was Crime and Punishment. She was a fast reader. He wasn’t sure why that titillated him so fucking much.

He didn’t approach her this time. He did have self-control. He did. He did! Even though he immediately conjured the perfect opening line. Call me Ismael. He simply stood in nearly the same place as last time, one hand on the pole, the other scrolling through nothing on his phone, while secretly stealing glances her way.

Fuck, but she was stunning. That thick hair pulled back made her neck miles long, and her profile could have inspired the Renaissance sculptors of Italy to weep. Even in those shapeless lavender scrubs, he could see that she was tall, and fit, but curved in the most heartbreaking places. John appreciated feminine beauty, certainly, but it was rare that he felt such a visceral reaction to a woman’s charms. It was as though just the sight of her triggered something long buried in his heart, something that had been sleeping all along, waiting.

Either that, or he was, at long last, going off the deep end.

Engrossed in her reading, she did not notice him until the crowd shifted and she stood for her stop, her face lighting up with a smile when her eyes met his. She held her hand up in a wave, but did not pause in her mission to get off the train and go home. He couldn’t blame her, even when a part of him wanted to follow.

God, but the feat of self-control it took, not to follow.

Pathetic.

It didn’t stop him from making it a habit, long after he got the Mustang back from Aurelio.

Sometimes, when he won the odds of picking just the right train and just the right car (she seemed to prefer the second to last, and the train schedule wasn’t always reliable), they would exchange a few sentences about books, or the weather. He hung on her every word, even though she usually teased him the entire conversation. No one spoke to him like that, he realized. No one in his world dared. It was as refreshing as it was jarring, and like a junkie needing a fix he just found himself craving more.

Other times, he would play it cool, and pretend to work on email on his phone after offering a reserved smile or a raised hand in hello.

She always had a book, and he determined that she was probably relieved on the evenings when he didn’t bother her. Yet, the next time he won the odds of picking the right train, she came over to him, steadying herself with her hand below his on the pole.

He was achingly aware of how close their hands rested on that metal rod. She cradled a new book under her arm. A red paperback, with a shadowed outline of a woman behind a V. He could just make out the title over her arm. Codename Villanelle. Noticing where his attention was fixed, she looked up at him with a sly little grin, and he knew he was in for it.

He could hardly wait.

“Bet you thought I was pretty brainy before. But the truth is I’m hopelessly addicted to spy novels. Assassins, intrigue, exotic locales?” She gave an exaggerated shiver with an insouciant grin. “I’m trash for it.”

John felt his mouth doing that strange thing it did around her, the corners turning up, his eyebrows raising. So, she liked assassins, did she? If only she knew.

“No judgement here. Is it good?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty entertaining so far. Smart, too. And I like reading about exotic locales I'll probably never get to visit. Paris, Rome, London…”

John canted his head, fixing her with that stare that she’d begun to think could see right through her. “What makes you so certain about that?”

Helen shrugged and waved down at her scrubs with a lifted eyebrow. He fought very hard not to follow the exact motion of her hand with his eyes, the way he did when he was pretending his attention lay elsewhere. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to infer from the gesture though. A lack of money working as a nurse? Lack of time off?

Whatever her perceived barriers, he had to bite his tongue, heading off on the urge to offer to take her to those places, and anywhere else she might like to go while they were at it.

“Anyway.” She nodded down at the book. “No fainting Russians in this one. They’re pretty tough.”

John had watched one do just that due to blood loss just the other night, but decided it would be best not to mention it.

“I think you might be the last woman on the planet reading paper books.”

“I prefer paper,” she admits. “Plus, when you're engrossed in your paper book, no one is going to snatch it.”

“That happened to you?”

“Yeah, I lost a Kindle that way a couple years ago. The guy was probably disappointed it wasn’t an iPad, but still.”

John frowned, looking around like the offending thief might be on the train at that very moment. She rewarded him with an appreciative, if not knowing little smile. “Now it's paperbacks for me.” Her eyebrow lifted, the way he had come to anticipate with almost child-like enjoyment. It made him feel like she was letting him in on a secret.

It made him feel like they were almost…friends.

“It makes it hard to read raunchy romance novels in public though,” she confessed. “Their covers are so ridiculous.”

John found himself cracking a smile at that—a wide one this time, even going so far as to show teeth, just for a second.

“50 Shades is a heavy tome to lug around.”

She wrinkled her nose.

“I have better taste than that, at least. I prefer some history with my romance.”

“Like, time traveling nurse in eighteenth century Scotland, history?” he teased, certain he’d overheard such a thing being the next popular craze the last time he’d been in a bookshop.

“You know, I wanted to like those books, they're beautifully written, but Gabaldon lost me in the first one with that dash of glorified spousal abuse. I just couldn't get past it.”

John’s expression pulled in a frown. “I didn't know. I'm surprised they're so popular.”

"I guess it never hurts that there's a TV show." She lifted an eyebrow, like they were in on a joke about books that were turned into movies. It was adorable. Everything she fucking did was adorable, and every passing minute John felt himself falling deeper and deeper under her spell. He found himself imagining a life in which they did have inside jokes, and laughed about them together by just sharing a secret look from across the room.

Could he be so lucky.

She moved a fraction closer, presumably so that she could hear better. Yet with his arm up on the pole, it almost gave the illusion that she was standing within the shelter of his body. He liked that, maybe a little too much.

“We keep talking about me. What kind of books do you like to read?”

He lowered his head down closer to her, drawn like a moth to the flame.

“You're going to think I'm a book snob.”

“Oh no. You only read classics?” He was eighty percent sure she was teasing him.

“Yeah, mostly. And...”

What was it about this woman that made him want to bare his soul to her? To tell her every little private thing?

“And, what?” she goaded. “Come on, you can't leave me hanging now.”

“I bind books,” he admitted. “It’s...a hobby.” He didn’t know why he felt ridiculous admitting that. Like he was a fraud, pretending to have a pastime like a real, normal, human being.

“Wow. That's amazing.”

It wasn’t the response he expected. The light in her eyes filled him with a spreading warmth. It was utterly addicting, this feeling she inspired in him.

“I enjoy it.”

“So are you an artist? Do you make the pages, or do you repair old manuscripts?”

It was an astute question, and he felt himself warming to her even more.

“Repair, mostly. I pick things up at auction, or rare bookstores, that just need...to be put back together again.”

He didn’t really want to think about the psychological implications of a man who had been torn to pieces more than once, taking solace in repairing something that would outlast him, with any luck.

She looked up at him with a gentleness in her polished mahogany eyes that twisted his insides.

“I can understand that.”

“You're a nurse?” He realized that he’d assumed, but she’d never actually told him as much.

“An RN, actually. In the emergency room at NewYork-Presbyterian.”

“You must be great under pressure.”

“I guess. I just...like helping people who have had a bit of bad luck. I feel like...we're putting the universe to rights again, in some little way.” The weight of John’s stare maybe caused her to add, “Wow, that sounds conceited.”

He shook his head, unable to form words around the pesky lump that had formed in his throat. He spent his life sowing chaos across the globe, snuffing out lives, while this lovely woman saved them. A chill settled in his bones, as he realized that this should be the last time he spoke to her, for her own sake.

He had no right to contaminate her light with the shadow of his presence.

The thought of never seeing her again made a sickly tremor run from his heart to his limbs, his grip white-knuckling on the pole. He realized she was waiting for an answer. That was how conversations worked. Someone said something, then you were supposed to say something back. Finally he managed to get out something true: “I think you're amazing.”

“Ok.” She raised an eyebrow, searching his face, and he felt like she could see straight through him too. “It would be more convincing if you didn't frown when you said it.”

Again, she was teasing him. Kind of.

He sighed, wanting to bang his head on the metal pole. “I mean...it’s not you. It’s…”

Me.

I'm a monster. The Baba Yaga. The Boogeyman. The Thing That Goes Bump In The Night.

She waited patiently, looking so earnestly up at him that he could have cried. He could neither even fathom where to begin to tell her the truth of his thoughts, or bring himself to offer a lie when she looked at him like that. He was acutely aware of the seconds ticking down of their ride. Soon, they might never see each other again.

“How about this,” she inserted into the silence between them, seemingly throwing out a lifeline. “You could tell me about it over dinner. There's a great Thai place just down the street from my stop.”

Was she asking him in a date? Or did she just think the seemingly harmless nut job she'd befriended on the train needed someone to talk to? He hoped she didn't pick up strays so readily, for her own safety, but he already knew she had a bigger heart than most.

“I—”

John couldn't say what exactly tipped him off. A change in the air. The specific angle of an arm in the crowd reaching for a gun. The look in the man's eyes at the end of the car behind Helen. The years and years of hard-won experience. But he knew he had a split second to make a choice. Save himself and eliminate the shooter—or save her and take some damage.

He did not think before reacting. Not really. He grabbed her and spun, shielding her with his larger body and his armor-tailored suit. He felt at least three bullets strike him in the back before he lost count. Jesus fucking christ that hurt.

“Stay down,” he ordered, tucking her behind a row of seats, and whipping off his jacket to cover her. Stupid, maybe, to give up that advantage, but if something happened to her he wasn’t sure he wanted to survive.

He really was getting tired of this shit.

While the attacker reloaded John sprang, knocking the gun away just as the new clip slid home. The man drew a knife, making a quick swipe that grazed Johns ribs. He slashed twice more, both times John barely skipped out of reach. The third time John blocked and twisted the man's arm, trying to break it. The attacker had training though, and he wormed away. They grappled, exchanging strikes. John couldn't go for his gun, both hands occupied with keeping that knife out of his body. He failed a little, the tip of the blade sinking into the flesh of his shoulder. Through gritted teeth John backed him off with a head butt and a kick. He found the attacker’s gun had skittered off under the seat, just in reach. As the attacker reared to throw the knife John shot him with a single round through the head.

By this time most of the passengers had retreated to the adjoining cars, screaming. But Helen remained, and rather than run for safety she rushed to his side, assessing the damage. “Oh my god, John!”

He groaned as she applied pressure to the wound in his shoulder. “I have a first aid kit in my backpack. But we have got to get you to the hospital.”

“No time. No hospital,” he found himself insisting through gritted teeth. The train slowed to a stop. The doors whooshed open. They had to go. John pushed to his feet, taking one last disdainful look at his attacker’s corpse before exiting.

By some stroke of luck, The Continental wasn't far from that stop, though in the shape he was in, it could have been in Mongolia. When he stumbled Helen was there, supporting him with his uninjured arm around her shoulders. She was stronger than he imagined, and even in the middle of all the chaos he couldn’t stop himself from adding it to the list of things that made this woman endlessly attractive to him.

“Where do you think you're going?” she demanded. “Wait for the paramedics. It was clearly self-defense! I’ll tell them.”

People were seeing the body in the train car, and despite some people’s morbid efforts to film the carnage, pandemonium was breaking loose. They had to ride the wave of the crowd to the surface without getting trampled.

“Can’t,” he managed to get out. “You...should go.” It killed him to say it aloud.

“Are you kidding? I'm not leaving you!”

He didn't have the time or the energy to fight with her. Never mind that his black heart rejoiced with a full-out aria to hear her say those words as they spilled out on the street. He would try again closer to the Continental. It was just a block away.

When an ambulance and police car raced past with sirens blazing he felt Helen tense, and knew she meant to flag them down. He tightened his grip on her, even though it hurt like a sonofabitch, turning them so that they partially hid behind a news stand. He could feel the heat of a fresh surge of blood seeping beneath his shirt.

She looked up at him with those beautiful, bright brown eyes held wide. Lost, confused, but somehow, not afraid. This woman did have a nerve of steel. “John?”

She was a smart woman. She was putting two and two together. A man who’d killed his attacker on the subway and was avoiding official assistance probably had a few more things of his own to hide.

“It’s ok, Helen.” He couldn’t believe how much he wanted to kiss her right then, with her body tucked up against his in their dark little nook on the street. “But you really should go now.”

Again, she shook her head, and he sighed. He could see the Continental in the distance, that distinctive sharp corner jutting out, a beacon of hope for creatures of the Underworld like him. He could feel his body going cold with blood loss. He needed to get to Doc, and sanctuary, and hopefully find out what the fuck that shit on the subway had been about.

But then again, he mused, as they started walking again, maybe he was the one going soft. Keeping a regular routine like he’d been doing the past month—or was it two?—made a man like him quite the target.

He knew better. He’d known better all along, but…he hadn’t cared. He’d come this far—survived this long—purely as an act of defiance, as anything. Defiance of those who took him when he was just a child, and who had moulded him into the killer he was today for their own ends. Made him their servant, practically their slave. At last, he almost had freedom, or the closest one could get to it, in this life. He looked to the worried woman at his side, and wondered if this would be the stunt that brought him too close to the sun.

As they scaled the steps of the Continental Helen looked upon the opulent portal with a frown. “You want to go to a fancy hotel over a hospital?”

He paused at the front door, leaning against the frame. Hopefully, not leaving a bloodstain the staff would have to clean up. He tried to be a considerate guest. It was one of the many reasons they liked him here. He wasn’t sure he could quite say that Charon and Winston were his friends—but they weren’t his enemies. That went a long way in their world.

“There’s a doctor here I know,” he assured her. “I’ll be fine.” Maybe it was the blood loss, or maybe just the exquisite agony of her standing so near, even if just to keep pressure on the wound at his shoulder. Even after a long day at the hospital, she smelled sweet, like honey and healing herbs. He would remember her for the rest of his life, short as it may prove, with aching fondness. He felt emboldened to cup the side of her face in his large hand, taking what he was sure would be his last opportunity to look into those brilliant caramel-colored eyes. “You need to go,” he told her quietly. “You don’t belong in my world.”

It hurt worse than getting stabbed, saying those words.

Rather than obey this, what he certainly thought was, an ominous but heartfelt warning, she frowned, heat flaring in her eyes like sparking embers. She was angry, he realized, and it was ridiculous how it made his heart—and things lower—flutter. Bookish Helen chatting on the subway was adorable. Angry Nurse Helen was fucking hot.

“You idiot. I’m not leaving you until I know you’re in good hands. Come on, then.”

She caught him up with the force of a hurricane, practically dragging him inside the building, and she probably would have started barking orders to bring a doctor to the well-dressed and dangerous-eyed patrons milling in the lobby, had Charon not materialized before them with an expression of polite concern. “Mr. Wick. It appears you are out of sorts.”

“Yes, I’ve had an accident. Can I get a room, and the services of the good Doc?”

“Certainly.” Charon, bless him, already had a key in his hand. “And your…companion?”

Helen stood in this opulent lobby in her pink scrubs with little daisies printed on the shirt with a spine of steel and her chin lifted like a lioness, daring the concierge to tell her she couldn’t be there.

“I vouch for her,” sighed John, knowing that the consequences of those four little words weighed heavier than Helen could possibly know.

“Very well, sir. Please, follow me.”

CHAPTER II. A03

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

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