#john wick

And when John scoffed with humour, she tried again, “and not like, laid as in you have a one night stand. No — hear me out, John! You should invest in a sugar baby. You know, someone you can spend time with when you’re not doing the dirty work for everybody else. It’s fun, and frisky, and also means you can start spending some of the millions you have stashed somewhere not being used.”

Addy then smiled, “Maybe instead of retirement, what you really need is something to help you unwind.”

John scoffed, gulping back the bourbon. “I’m married.”

At that, she tossed her head back with a laugh and leant forward. “And since when are sugar babies a relationship status?”

That’s really all the thinking he had done on the subject of John — John fucking Wick — investing in a sugar baby.

He simply took it in stride, almost complimented by the assumption that he was attractive and rich enough to have someone leaning on him for money and sex, and stored it away for future thought when he was lost and drunk.

John never actually considered the possibility of “putting his bills to good use” until fucking Santino D’Antonio decided to light a bonfire inside his house.

Having lost virtually everything related to Helen, he found himself back at the Continental, back to listening to Addy sympathetically give her condolences and five seconds later, introducing him to Seeking Arrangements.

John doesn’t know why he’s doing this, staring at the laptop screen that smiles at him.

For circumstances, Addy had loaned him her laptop for the evening he spends at the Continental, and he’s too busy browsing the elaborately made profiles that he barely registers the fact that he is still wearing his suit.

He pulls at the cuffs of his blazer and is midway through taking it off when he stumbles across one profile that shamefully catches his eye.

“A sugar baby suggests that I sleep with them, and as I said,” John had mentioned back in the bar, “I’m married.”

Addy had grabbed his hands and groaned, “Look — you might surprise yourself. And, I’m not suggesting that you throw your wife away for somebody new. I’m just saying you need to…make use of yourself. Honestly, you’re too sexy to be stored away like this. Most sugar babies are dumb and unobservant, they won’t even know who you are.”

John is hesitant to browse this user's profile. If he wanted to “make use of himself” by investing all of his personal time into somebody who in truth wanted him for his dick and his bank balance, then it needed to be somebody at least near to his wavelength. Somebody who was smart, but clueless at the same time, and somebody who was the complete opposite of Helen.

The last thing he needed on top of a handful of a baby was the guilt of moving on.

But still, even when he pinned her tab and returned to scrolling through the profiles, John realised that most sugar babies were simply trolls hidden behind pretty pictures, or girls who wanted money for pleasure and not for need.

He went back to the profile. Three times. Three times, before he pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering a quiet, “Oh, fuck it,” and favoriting her account, and pressing to send a message.

Even online, John was never great with words. He typed, and backspaced, and typed again, trying to come up with something interesting to make up for the bland profile he made around thirty minutes ago.

From: johnw So. Do you like dogs?

If Addy were here, she would have slapped him.

Almost immediately after it sends, John lets out a frustrated noise and tears his gaze away from the screen.

Dating just wasn’t like how it was when he met Helen. Why did everything have to be so complicated, and mysterious, and why the hell does he even have to waste his money on somebody when he could be saving this money to eventually, whenever the day comes, retire?

John wrestles with the dilemma of deleting the whole account when a notification bell rings through the laptop speakers.

From: brooklynbaby yes, I love dogs!!! (typing) do you have a dog?

John breathes a sigh of relief.

From: johnw Yes. I do. From: brooklynbaby oh, great :) (typing)

John’s leg begins to bounce quickly, the table wavering with the glass on top, like an earthquake. Suddenly, brooklynbaby stops typing and John stills.

Why did she stop? Did he do something wrong?

From: brooklynbaby want to be my sugar daddy?

Never mind.

From: johnw I would. From: brooklynbaby cool

Neither him or brooklynbaby says anything for a few moments, and John doesn’t notice. After all, he is still a working man, busy with life and revenge and trying to stay alive for more than three seconds.

When he goes back to the laptop and sees no reply, he frowns.

From: johnw I'm sorry. I really don’t know what I’m doing. What am I supposed to say?

He makes a mental reminder to have words with Addy later.

From: brooklynbaby hahaha nw we could make dinner reservations and talk over terms if you’d like! i say reservations because they’re fancy and if anything goes wrong, we can pretend we’re… business partners? discussing business?

Without even really realising, John finds himself laughing shortly, settling back into the chair.

All of this feels weird, as in typing to a stranger he’s planning to spend his money on and occasionally fuck.

John quickly revisits her profile and spends four minutes analysing her profile picture. If this is her, then she’s really very beautiful. A steal.

From: johnw When are you free for dinner? From: brooklynbaby hmm well i’m dog sitting tomorrow, but i can be free for the day after is that okay? From: johnw That would be fine. [Address] at 7pm, does that work for you?

brooklynbaby pauses.

From: brooklynbaby am i gonna have to dress fancy? From: johnw Don’t feel pressured. I only own black. From: brooklynbaby well….guess i’ll bring out like one of my old party dresses you have to promise not to judge me

John laughs again.

At some point during the evening, he ends up with a planned dinner reservation at one of the most expensive restaurants in Brooklyn, and he’s also one grand poorer thanks to the generous donation in brooklynbaby’s bank account for a nice evening outfit.

When John returns the laptop to Addy the following morning, he was admittedly expecting the rant that followed.

She had glared at the laptop being handed back over the bar and refused to serve him until he came up with a reasonably valid excuse as to why he wasn’t putting himself out there for a bit of company. John had blinked with an unimpressed look and drummed his fingers.

“I have dinner reservations with someone tomorrow at 7pm. Also — can I have a drink?”

But of course, with work being as tedious as ever and with his whole day being completely ruined by a blood stained shirt and poor room service for the first time in his many years of frequenting the Continental, John didn’t amuse himself with brooklynbaby until he logged onto the site on his phone, and saw that she had messaged thrice during the day.

He almost felt guilty, until he saw a string of numbers at the end of the last message. He deemed it less necessary to read her above messages and instead went right to texting.

brooklynbaby ok so should i just ask for mr john wick when i get to this restaurant? sorry for so many texts im just kinda nervous johnw Yes. I booked under my name and I will be waiting for you when you arrive. Why are you nervous? brooklynbaby well just pre date nerves send a picture so i know you're real?

John sank into bed.

johnw Maybe I like the element of surprise. brooklynbaby seems unfair that you get to see me but i dont get to see you ive seen your dog before you johnw You could have used any photo. If we’re going to be technical, I don’t even know your name, or if that is really you.

John really hadn’t been expecting a full blown half-naked image at 4:15pm in the afternoon, but he will admit that it was nevertheless what he needed to break some steam.

He had arrived at the restaurant twenty minutes earlier than expected, but that’s okay, Mr Wick. Right this way!

Now that he was sitting here, at an empty table overlooking Brooklyn and the lights, with an already ordered bottle of wine, John could understand and relate to the first date nerves. He hadn’t felt this way in a long time. Not since —

brooklynbaby uhhh im kind of here like ten minutes early should i wait outside for you?

He laughs, mostly to himself.

johnw I’m already up here. I ordered a rosé, is that alright? brooklynbaby PERFECT

And, surprising himself also, John had clammed up and reached for his glass.

Thankfully, the owner of this restaurant knew John by face and order, because, after-all, this had been his go-to with Helen.

These days, he doesn’t have time to go out to new places and eat new things, and so had panicked, and picked a place with sentimental value, and a history of good food.

He gulped back his glass of bourbon and waited until the door at the other side of the room opened meekly, and he tried to appear vacant as the waiter led a woman across the room and towards him.

“Your date, Mr Wick.”

He left curtly and brooklynbaby followed his body as he left, her feet firmly glued to the floor as her head looked back over her shoulder.

John took this as an opportunity to look at her body, covered in a beautiful dress he felt proud of paying for.

Finally, brooklynbaby looked towards him and paused, observing him and his clearly surprising appearance.

John then remembered the gash on his cheekbone and the way he probably looked very off-putting with an unshaven face and long hair, but brooklynbaby smiled softly and raised her brows, beating him to helping her in her chair as she quickly sat down and looked at his glass.

“How did you know I liked beards?”

John didn’t say anything for a moment. “I didn’t.”

brooklynbaby rolled her eyes with a grin. “Of course you didn’t.”

She looked up, then, properly taking in his face. John did the same, looking at every feature present and coming to the quick conclusion that yes, she was definitely the woman in the pictures, and yes, she was one of the most gorgeous humans he had ever seen on planet Earth since Helen herself.

“You’re not what I expected,” she said honestly. “But, more than my expectations, if that makes sense. I didn't really introduce myself — I’m Y/N. Y/N L/N.”

“John,” he replied and she sniggered and rested her chin in her palms.

“You’re seriously so handsome, I find it hard to believe you haven’t been snatched up online yet,” she complimented. “Are you sure you’re not married, or something?”

Her gaze panned to his hands where she noticed the wedding band, and for a moment, she hesitated. John wasn’t ashamed of the ring, nor embarrassed to be seen wearing it.

He toyed with it on his finger, looking at her from across the table. “It’s complicated.”

Y/N nodded meekly. “I see.” She cleared her throat, “divorce? Planned divorce? Affair?”

“No, I’m widowed,” he tried out a joke, but she only looked more uncomfortable.

Her mouth gaped and she fumbled for words.

“Oh, John, I’m really sorry — no, really, I’m so sorry,” she stumbled, and John watched her carefully across the table. “God, how fucking insensitive. Sorry, I guess that just — wow, that never really crossed my mind. That's horrible, I’m sorry.”

“It’s in the past,” John said, finding finality in that sentence. “I’m trying to move on from it.”

Y/N nodded sympathetically. “No, yeah, wow, I get it. Completely. I…hope I live up to great expectations, then?”

⏤⏤ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐕𝐄 ★