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not-a-big-slay · 11 months

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birthday

John Wick x platonic!fem!reader

summary: while watching TV, you go on a rant about the absurdity of birthday gifts...

warnings: fluff, father-daughter relationship, established platonic relationship, horrible ahh parents, very tooth rotting, hopefully not ooc, trauma...

a/n: this platform has a lot of daddy john, but not much of dad john and that needs to change...this shit long as hell though, hope you enjoy it :)) also kudos to whoever finds the se7en reference

The hum of the microwave, heating up his food from the previous evening, rushed across the room and slowly mixed with dimmed voices of the television. The sun has already set and the remainings of its light shined into the room through red clouds.

John patiently waited for the beep, approving that he can eat his meal. It went unheard as you exclaimed from the living room, silencing it. "That's ridiculous." John looked over, but he could barely see the reason for your sudden speaking. His hands retrieved the plate from the microwave and he finally joined you on the couch. "These folks got their 16 year old daughter a car. A car, John." you widened your eyes at the man when ending your statement while said person just moved his eyes from you and the screen, trying to understand your reasoning.

You noticed his confusion and helped his mind get rid of it: "I mean, why? Like how is 16th birthday important? It's not like it's a big milestone. I'd understand 15 maybe, but 16? It's such an.. unsatisfying number, ugly even and not important." John seemed to get your thought, so you sinked back into the couch. "You get a license at 16." reasoned the assasin, catching your attention immediately. You looked over to him, furrowed eyebrows sending the signal of disagreement. "Which is bullshit, by the way, kids shouldn't be on the road." you stated before continuing, "But they got her a brand new car, she doesn't need all that, they could have given her like their old one or just let her share theirs, she is 16 how often will she drive that thing." while talking you have made so many hand movements that John needed to sit further away, worrying you might smack him.

The television broadcasted some reality show about spoiled kids from non-rich families. Neither of you really payed attention, but it served as a good backround while doing other tasks. That is until you got interested in its bizarreness. Parents, that previously stated they each had to find 2 jobs to keep their kids in school, bought their youngest daughter a new car. It was even one of the newest models as John noticed. They have said they would do anything for their kids and that birthdays were always so important in their family. That pissed you off, apparently.

“I know this comes from a place where no love was showed, but still, too much..”

John knew about your past, you knew about his too. You were just a kid when he first met you, both of you pursuing a man with a contract on his head. You have made a good competition and teamed up with the Boogeyman after many failures to kill him. After going through a near-death experience together, the two of you became a good friends and John slowly made plans to introduce you to Helen. He didn't plan on the introduction being at the funeral. His abandoned feelings of protection that were, until that day, stored for his wife poured into the other closest person to him and you gladly accepted them and even returned yours.

To say John was relieved when you obliged him with the refuge he sought after being marked excommunicado would be an understatment. Though he wasn't enterily thrilled after you insisted on fighting for him, you were the reason he could even have this absurd conversation in the first place. Being free could never feel so good without you.

"Like what did you get for your 16th birthday?" your voice pulled him out of the waters of his mind, the young eyes tracing his. He soon found his gaze interested in the empty plate on the table and with a sigh he reached for it and started to get up. You almost accepted he wouldn't answer, but his mouth let out the answer before you could: "A gun and a victim. Just like on any other day." John disappeared into the kitchen, but your loud "Damn." found it's way into his ears anyway and uplifted the corners of his mouth. Ruska Roma didn't care about these sorts of things. For them birthdays were just for the books and to track their age, no party, no gifts. The only gift he got from them was the cross, a symbol and a reminder he belongs. His first birthday party was with Helen and it was unusual to say the least.

You said sorry as he came back to the living room and John could see the regret and discomfort on your face. You got too talktive that you forgot this fact. The man came to your rescue and quickly varied the discussion. "What about you?" he asked as he sat down, petting Dog as he filled out the space between you two. Your mind digged deep to find the answer, John assumed from your scrunched face. At last, you shrugged: "I don't know. Money? Some candy too, I guess..." The voices from the television flowed in the house, but neither of you could hear them, too invested in whatever you started. The Boogeyman raised his eyebrows at you and you narrowed them in response, confused.

"That's much worse." he scoffed.

"Worse than having to kill a person?"

"Yes."

Your mind fully froze, not able to function properly. John internally laughed at your expression, but decided to not torment you any longer. "Parents giving money to their child is just sad. Money as a gift basically says the person doesn't know or care about your interest, so they give you money to make up for it." he started to explain, "Now, you can get some dollars from your other relatives like grandparents, counsins, aunts and uncles, because you don't see them everyday, they are allowed to not know what you like. But parents? People that live with you and provide for you should be at least familiar with it.."

He left you speechless, that he knew. Your mouth was slightly opened when he finished his monologue and slammed shut when you seemed to realize. "Well," you began once every word John shot your way striked you, "thanks for the additional reason to hate my fam more." You brought out a smile, but John's fell a little when he heard that. While not knowing him well yet, you told him you were an orphan, which wasn't surprising. Everyone in this deadly industry had no chance to have a normal, healthy and loving family. At least not that he knew of. What did shock him was when you admitted to lying after the funeral. Yet you wished to be an orphan, you had the bad luck to be born in a cruel home. Mother, a guilt-tripping monster with a victim mentality, and a father, anger-issued fanatic that tried to shape his children into his made-up idea of them. You moved out as a 17 year old and to at least finish high school, bowed to the High Table. You never had a stable home, John changed that. He offered you a place to stay once he was free again, he wanted you close to protect you, but also knew you could help with his old loneliness that never seemed to leave him. He never told you how much of a help you actually were.

John focused on the present moment again when you said: "I-I still can't see how can it be worse than a murder. At least I didn't work for money and got them for being born." Dog got up and let out a little bark. A sign for hunger, as you both understood. It got dark already and you gladly followed the dog's steps into the kitchen, John already in the lead.

"Ruska Roma at least didn't hide their uninterest, I knew what not to expect." he argued back as he reached for the dog pellets. Dog started eating before John finished filling up the bowl. That made you smile as well as hungry. John, as if almost sensing it, grabbed a plate and started to heat up the rest of the food. The familiar humming sound greeted the room again.

"Ah well, let’s just agree we both got worse gifts than a car and move on." you streched your hand out while the other rested on the counter-top of the island. John replicated your smile and shook your hand. The silence following right after sealed the agreement and the microwave dinged as in celebration. You walked across the island to take your food, knowing that John will be faster. "Birthdays are horrible anyway, I don't need to know I'm one year closer to death." you thought out-loud as the man handed you your plate. The food looked delicious. John always rather kept away from the kitchen, Helen was a great cook and even when he tried to make a meal, it ended in disaster. Once you moved in though, his guardian angels granted him the luck of finding an old recepe book his wife used. This was one of the easiest, but the quantity didn't define the quality.

"Would you rather not know how old you are?" John smiled and his eyebrows settled atop when you nodded. "Yep, I'd measure it in holidays." you joked, grabbing the cutlery, "In fact, I think 6th September should be erased from the existence. It's not an important day, no one needs it and it certainly doesn't bring any good." John watched you take the food to the table and changing the channel on the screen on the way, not realizing the crucial piece of information you just revealed non-chalantely. He didn't know your birthday, he just knew you were 18 when you met him, which was apparently 6 years ago. It was before he even engaged to Helen. He also understood you were old enough to drink once you downed 3 shots as if they were filled with tap water when you both tried to figure out how could John get out of his mess. Suddenly, a calender on the wall across him whispered his name.

Today was August 3rd.

.....................

Heavy sigh and the car door were last things he heard before feeling the dryness of his car. The raindrops that couldn't reach him before closing the vehicle were banging on the roof out of anger. John carefully placed the box on his passenger seat. He did everything he could to shield it from this afternoon weather, but some water managed to force itself through his coat, not enough to do a lot of damage fortunately. His eyes didn't peel away from it, John still wagered in his mind if it's a good idea. You weren't used to gifts from your real family, why should you accept his?

Without looking away, his fingers slipped the keys into ignition and his other hand played on the wheel nervously. He didn't take the receipt, he cannot return it. But he could survive the loss of money if this gift meant destruction of your bond. He wouldn't survive that. What if it's too far, you never cared for birthdays. For every September he has known you, nothing even remotely signaled him you might be different on the sixth day. You just wanted to forget you were ever born and he would set your mind back to the start with this reminder.

His logical sense slapped these thoughts away. You were a good kid, if you hated it you would tell him politely and be honest with him. And he knew you would keep it just for the sentiment you love so much. John turned the keys sideways and started following the mentally written route home, trying to keep his gaze from trailing to the passenger seat every now and then.

Even after parking in the garage and opening the passenger's door did he avoid the box's way. First he thought he could just close his eyes and take the box in his arms blindly, though overcame it and finally made contact with the white cardboard. A box is making him insane, brilliant. John grabbed the rest of his things and welcomed the hot air rushing to him as he opened the door inside. Dog barked at his owner as if he tried to warn John before rushing to him excitedly. The house was quiet and dim from the rain protecting the room of any light. You didn't bother turning on the lights and John knew you wouldn't. You hated the yellow glow it casted and how bright they were, natural lightning wasn't forcing itself into your view.

You came around the corner as the man got up from petting the good boy. He watched you ignore him, listening to music in one ear while the other earphone swished on your shoulder with every movement made. It was broken for a while now, but no one could be surprised. In the long time you've had them, you managed to step on them, close them in between the car doors and let the dog chew on one of the pods, which was the breaking point, John assumed. The rest worked fine, the quality still haunted him.

You turned around and caught a glimpse of him, immediately taking out the music and greeting him. He smiled in response while you already had your interest on the box, laying next to him. "What's in the box, Somerset?" you got close to it, but John was faster and picked it up quickly. Your eyebrows must have been suspicious of that act the way they connected.

"It's-uhh-it's-" the room picked up the heat as John's nerves shaked anxiously. He never had a problem with creating a lie on the spot, but your pose decorated with crossed arms on the chest somehow intimidated him. He was so sure you would be able to see throught the paper lid any minute now, so he tried to hurry his thinking up. "It's just some things for the car." he waved it off, leaving you slowly nodding in understandment, deciding not to ask any questions that you definitely had. John adored your capability of minding your own business, he more adored the fact you have learned it from him. You were very curious about everything when he met you, trying to know everyone around you to the last bit of detail. He was very strict about his personal life, so he introduced you to the concept of privacy through a lot of no's and death stares. Even now, when you two could be more than open with each other, you still didn't ask, nor cared.

"Want help?"

"No, I'll just take it to the basement."

"Alright." you said before putting in the earbud again and walking to the kitchen. John sighed heavily, hoping the nerves would settle down, and made his way to the basement. He hid it under a white dirty cloth, afraid it will disgrace the gift and left. Now the only thing left was to make sure you won't visit the basement for 2 days. 2 days, he realized. So, he is really doing it, huh? John froze thinking about the worst things that you could say or do as a reaction on his idea, the worst being you kill him, but that was unlikely, he'd done the math. Your humming got picked up by his left ear as he realized that the only moment to back up was in the car. He didn't, he missed it. The backdoor is closed and the only way to move is forward.

John checked the time. 6pm.

September 4th.

----------------------------

You were relieved that the store had air conditioning, because one more second in the outside heat and you would collapse. Your hands were trying their best at waving cold air on your head and chest, yet nothing could stop the sweat of going down your skin. Even though the sun has already set, the consequences of its hot presence still appeared in these late hours. You wanted to stop for second and cool off, but remembered you're supposed to get only one thing.

Salt.

It baffled you, why is it so important to get salt right now and not tomorrow as you were already getting ready to shower and to relax in bed when John asked you to get it. You weren't very happy about it, but you didn't feel like refusing him either. That man held a lot of respect from you and you never wished to upset him. Not that he would do anything bad to you, you just rarely told him no. Not sure where the need to please people came from, you were still happy it only applied to him. He deserved it after what he has done for you.

The store was as empty as its freshly baked pastry section. While strolling through, you only saw a few workers and some costumers hunting for evening snacks, all of them visibily tired. Your footsteps echoed in the big space, you wondered if they could be heard on the other side of the store. You thought about John's weird request, trying to justify it with a reason. None came to mind. Maybe he had a girl over, but you considered that unlikely. He clearly wasn't yet over Helen- reasonably so. Or he needed some alone time, you could admit being too annoying or too much for a quiet man like John, no judging.

The salt was hiding in a tricky spot, but luckily, thanks to your noticing abilities, you found it rather quickly and headed to the checkout. If the second reason was correct, you would be fine with sleeping somewhere else to not disturb his peace, but since you were already worn out and ready for the comfortable bed, you settled on taking the long way home, letting him enjoy at least the extra 10 minutes.

You knocked before entering, something you do automatically without waiting for a response. You kicked off your shoes, balancing your weight and the pouch of salt on one leg, and yelled out "I'm back." into the dark. The dark, you realized. Why were the lights off? The stars already began to shine when you were halfway home, so it was weird if John just forgot to turn them on. He wasn't the forgetful type.

"Hello?" you called out again, more quietly though, suspicion already growing deep in your stomach. Hearing the eery silence made you drop the salt and reach for a gun taped on the bottom of a dressing cabinet. Some comfort was brought by the click announcing safety is off, but it got lost in your high anxiety once you started walking deeper in the house, back steadily on the wall. The worst case scenarios accompanied you while every sense focused on the dark living room you happened to be in. You spinned around, walking backwards to the kitchen, your mind challenging the intruder to show themselves. Suddenly, the door creaked behind you and it was enough for you to turn around rapidly and caress the trigger.

After taking in the view in front of you, you finally exhaled and lowered your gun, whispering the lord's name in relief. There stood John, glowing in candle lights, distressed by your unexpected presence and, of course, by the barrel of a gun. You didn't notice the kind of candles. Your palm held your forehead in order to stop its stressful spinning and your brain desperately trying to convince your heart to calm down, you were too busy to recognize it.

Lights above you brightened your eyelids and you felt a pair of hands on your biceps. "What's wrong, what is it." John asked quietly, scared someone followed you home or has already done something horrible to you. You shook your head before sighing heavily, getting the last bit of shock out of your body.

"Shit, you scared the fuck out of me, John." Irritation attacked your tone as you leaned forward on the counter. Your mind only had pictures of the man dead on the floor with a bullet wound he gained from you. The bullet was so close to running out the gun and for what? For a cake?

Wait a minute.

Your head lifted up, eyes being instantly mesmerized by the flow of little fires on an icy surface. A cake. John has baked a cake. And you almost shot him for it. Your gaze flickered next to you. He was nervous, only you couldn't tell if it was from the near death experience from his own friend or from the possibility of you asking about the mysterious unexpected dessert. You made the latter come true.

"What is this?" you nodded to the cake, studying every move John made as though it would explain it for him. He took a deep breath before taking your own away: "It's for you. Happy birthday." The glow of the candles brought out your widened eyes, desperately trying to find a sign of a cruel joke on John's features. They failed to do so of course, you have never seen the man so serious.

It's been a while since you heard those words. You forgot how they hugged your heart and sugared your ears. You used to whisper them to yourself sarcastically with a harsh undertone when there was no one to trust or turn to. You've stopped though as it was cringe and overly depressing. You convinced your mind birthdays were for nothing, they give you nothing and are only important for knowing your age, nothing special. They made everyone emotional over a number of years and as long as you had no one, it was pointless in making it a big thing. It couldn't be denied John was your safe space, you would place your whole life into his hands and would be sure he'd keep it more protected than the High Table could ever be, you just never thought of bringing the concept back.

Amazed by the yellow waves again, you held your breath: "Are you serious?" John smiled a little as he answered: "Yeah. Now blow 'em out." You did as you were told, taking a deep breath and blowing it forcefully on the candles. They flickered and disappeared in the thin air. It was the first time in your life you got them all on the first try. Tears of forbidden nostalgia became impossible to hold in and you eventually let them go slowly from the prison of your eyes. When you made eye contact with John.

Without hesitation you close the space between you two and digged your face in the crook of his neck as your arms tightly wrapped his torso. His hands buried you in the feeling of safety and you felt shielded as they squeezed you into him. "Thank you." came out of you silently, only for John to hear. As a response, he took a step back to look at you. "You have no reason to thank me." his palm found its den on your neck as his eyes grew comfortable on yours.

You couldn't help but wonder if this is the way others feel on their birthday when they are surrounded by people they love and care for, by people that love and care for them. Because if it is, a big part of your birthdays was stolen, you would love them if they felt like this, you would wait a whole year only for this feeling, this sense of family, this certainity you are loved and you matter.

All of that left momentarily when John's hands let you go. "No reason to thank me yet." he bent down and came back up with a white box in his hands. He gently placed it on the counter next to the cake. After you clearly didn't understand what is supposed to happen, he gladly gave you a hint. "Open it." he motioned his head to it and you obeyed, carefully touching the lid as if it was a bomb that would go off any second. It's not like it was unlikely to hide a bomb inside a similar-looking box. You pressed the cardboard with your fingers and lifted it up.

You gasped quietly in order to help your mind take in the brand new headphones that shined at you maybe more brightly than the candles. They were white, wireless, so no annoying wire to slow you down, they were also overhead, too big for Dog to chew on them. You felt John's eager gaze, waiting for you to pick them up, but you felt even your stunned look would bruise them. You didn't deserve this, none of it. The happiness that danced into you the moment you realized John remembered your special day now began to look like a well-known and hated naivety. This love and luxury didn't belong to someone like you, what were you thinking.

"This- this is-" you began to panic. What would happen if you accepted it, would the world explode from the connection of two things that could never work together? You doubted it, but who would wanna risk it. "I can't accept this." Suddenly all you wanted was to run from the cake and the gift, you now felt like the bomb that you tried so hard not to light, that was supposed to be in that box. John's figure stopped you from going anywhere. "Yes, you can." You rapidly shook your head from side to side, his words couldn't distract you from the harsh reality. You weren't worth all of this.

"You are good enough for all of this and more." his calm tone was confusing for your stressed state, but the demanding adittude of his got through your walls and made you listen. "Take it, you deserve it."

Your hand subconsiously touched your necklace and pressed one of the daisies on it. It belonged to his wife, you found it when his house was blown to pieces and gave it to him once he started the repairs. He insisted on you keeping it, though. You protested, it was a gift for the love of his life, you couldn't take something that serious. "Take it. You found it, you deserve it." he said back then. You never knew her, yet you wore her jewelry, her gift.

"She would adore you."

Your eyes snapped to John, noticing him looking at your neck with a sad smile on his face. You lowered your hand and trailed your eyes back on your birthday gift. Without thinking you reached for the headphones, picking them up. They were suprisingly light and very comfortable to touch. As you put them over your head, everything went quiet. You didn’t know that an already silent room could get even more deafened, but here you were, hearing absolutely nothing.

"No way." you know you said, even though you couldn't hear it. John's smile got wider as you looked around in awe, it seemed like you were in a complete different place, not a boring kitchen. After taking them off, you sighed overwhelmedely, you could only imagine how beautiful the sound may be. "So?" John was interested, still a bit on the edge if the gift is good or not and only you could push him from it. However the only thing you did was throwing yourself around his neck, making him lose his balance momenteraly.

Before he could hug you properly, you already pulled away. "Now can I thank you?" you joked, but you could never make up for this. He had done all of this for you, that wasn't something you'd brush off with only two words. They lost meaning next to John's actions. "Yeah, now you can." was all you needed to hear to press into him again. John rested his head on top of yours, but not before kissing your hair and stroking your back.

You felt Dog nuzzling up against your legs and you looked down to see his happy, carefree face. He definitely woke up just no. You laughed and only noticed you were crying when tears fell into the corners of your mouth. You quickly wiped them away, turning away from John so he couldn't see. The man had the same problem though, also showing you his back while complaining silently about the dust getting into his eyes.

Once you both wiped your tears, you turned back around and laughed a little. This is all you needed. No assasin had this as far as you knew. Why two of the most deadliest people got visited by the biggest luck this world had in store. You looked back at Dog, his face excited for whatever you'd do. You sighed and rememebered the oh so good-looking desert on the kitchen counter.

"Want some cake?"

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