#john wick fluff

"mhm," you say, which isn't exactly a yes. a beat passes.

"you can stop watching me," he says.

"it's dark, i can't see anything."

"you're watching me."

"i'm looking in your general direction with love."

something shifts in him — not quite a laugh, almost something similar moving through his frame.

you sit up. the room is completely dark — the kind that john is apparently comfortable navigating on instinct, while you're operating on memory and a rough sense of direction. you reach out and find his back, good, progress.

somewhere on his back is the tattoo — the ruska roma ink. you're going to trace it, which will be grounding, comforting, and exactly the right thing to do. you've decided.

you start tracing, and you're very confident about this.

john goes still.

you keep going. what you're drawing — with absolute conviction — is something between a figure eight and a question mark, located somewhere around his left shoulder blade. you course-correct. it becomes a spiral, or maybe a nautilus.

you've lost the thread a little but you're committed now, and that has to count for something, so you keep going, moving with the focused energy of someone who's helping.

the silence from him stretches longer than usual. it's different.

"what are you doing?" he asks, deadpan.

there's a rustle indicating he's turned, or turned enough to look at you - which is apparently he can do in total darkness. of course he can, it's fucking john wick.

"comforting you," you say, with complete dignity, "i'm tracing the ruska roma tattoo."

a pause.

"you were drawing rhombuses on my left shoulder."

"... oh."

"for about two minutes."

"i was — " you stop. "it's dark."

"i know."

"i couldn't see anything."

"i'm aware."

you sit with that — your confidence has fully evaporated. your hand's still hovering somewhere in the vicinity of his back.

you begin to lower your wrist, but john catches it quickly, but not rough. he finds it in the dark with ease. the absence of light is simply not a variable to him. gently and with total finality, he pulls and you go with it into the solid wall of him.

his arms come around you and he just holds, exhaling deeply. then, he presses his face briefly against the top of your head — a confirming kiss that melts his tension away instantly.

you're very still as you say, "um, what should i do?"

he breaths in once, slow. "nothing. just stay here." a pause, a quieter voice, "just stay with me."

so you do. you figure out where your arms go — around him, yes, there — and settle. the room stays quiet with his heartbeat under your ear is real and even — yours to count if you want to.

you're asleep in fifteen minutes. out cold, breathing soft against his chest, utterly unbothered — the way only people with a clear conscience and no tactical threat assessment running manage to deep sleep.

john stays awake a little longer. that's fine, that's what he does. but you're warm and you're here in his arms. your breathing evens out like a tide going slack, and somewhere in the counting of it he follows you down.

$ tag @twentytomidnight @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger

$ join taglist

Only, apparently, you weren’t the centre of your dog’s world tonight.

You stopped in the doorway, blinking at the sight of him; your dog, your loyal companion, curled up on John Wick’s lap as though it had always been his rightful place. His tail thumped once, a satisfied sigh slipping out as John’s long fingers stroked idly over his back.

“Unbelievable,” you said, hands going straight to your hips.

John didn’t look up right away. His focus stayed on the dog, his hand moving in calm, steady strokes that your pet clearly adored. When he did glance at you, the firelight caught the faintest curl at the corner of his mouth. “Problem?”

“Yes, problem.” You pointed an accusatory finger. “That’s my dog. My lap. My cuddles. You’ve stolen him.”

“Didn’t steal,” John replied, maddeningly calm. “He chose.”

Your jaw dropped. “He chose?” You crossed the room and sank onto the other end of the sofa with a dramatic huff. “This is mutiny. I do everything for him! Walks, treats, the whole lot. I’ve picked up things that have scarred me for life. And the second you sit down, he acts like I’m chopped liver.”

Your dog shifted happily against him, pushing his head into John’s broad chest. The man chuckled softly, his hand never faltering. “Can’t blame him,” John said at last, voice low and smooth. “It’s a good lap.”

You stared at him. “You did not just brag about your lap.”

“I don’t brag,” John replied, that tiny smile deepening ever so slightly. “I just tell the truth.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“Mm,” he hummed, as if agreeing, though the faint warmth in his expression betrayed him. He tilted his head, meeting your gaze with that quiet intensity that always seemed to unravel you. “Jealous?”

Your splutter was instant. “Of you? Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Didn’t say of me.” His eyes flicked down to the dog nestled against him, then back up. “Could be jealous of him.”

Your mouth opened, then closed again, the comeback dying on your tongue. He knew exactly what he was doing, and the smug glint in his eyes told you he was enjoying your fluster far too much.

“You’re the worst,” you muttered, reaching out to scratch your dog’s ear. He lifted his head just long enough to lick your fingers, then dropped it back onto John’s thigh with a contented groan.

John’s chuckle rumbled low in his chest. He leaned back, utterly at ease, one hand cradling your dog, the other draped along the sofa back, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. “You’re still his person,” he said quietly, his tone softening. “That doesn’t change.”

Your sulk cracked just a little, warmth seeping in where you least wanted it. “Doesn’t look like it.”

John’s hand slowed, fingertips scratching gently at your dog’s favourite spot. “He trusts me because he trusts you,” he said. “That’s your doing.”

You exhaled, the firelight and rain and his steady presence softening every sharp edge inside you. Still, you weren’t going to let him win completely. “Fine,” you said. “But if he starts choosing your lap permanently, don’t think I won’t fight you for custody.”

That earned you a proper smile. Small, rare, but enough to make your heart flip. “I wouldn’t dare,” he murmured.

Silence settled then, cosy and warm, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the steady rhythm of your dog’s breathing. John’s hand eventually shifted from your dog to your own, brushing against your fingers on the sofa cushion.

You shot him a sideways glance. “Careful,” you warned, though your smile betrayed you. “If you keep this up, I might start thinking you’re trying to steal me too.”

Bright morning light peaking through the curtains, John and your dog sleeping soundly next to you.

A little over an hour ago you had woken up before your husband, which was rare. John usually woke at the crack of dawn, it must be because hes been much more domestic as of late.

After a little while of scrolling on your phone you sat up and looked over to admire your sleeping husband. He layed on his chest and the blanket rested by his waist.

The entirety of John's back was shown to you, which was the object of your admiration. Scars differing in size littered his toned back. They were paired with the large tattoos that took up a lot of space.

Before you married, John had told you about his past as a hit man. You came to accept the dark past of the man you loved. But it didnt come up much in conversation, you could tell it was more of a touchy subject for him.

This didnt stop your curiosity, often times you found yourself looking at the tattoos and wondering what they ment.

Absent mindedly one of you hands drifted to John's back, fingers delicately grazing the scared and tattooed skin. The soft caresses lasted a few minutes, you lost in thought, and John getting lulled out of his slumber.

"Goodmorning dear," his deep morning voice spoke gently but raspy from sleep. This brought you out of your trance, hand not stopping its soft caresses. "Hey hunny?"

You ask after humming in acknowledgement. "Yes?" John answers. "What do your tattoos mean?" You asked in the least pressuring way possible, letting him decide if he wanted to talk about it or not.

John took a moment to answer. You sat patently rubbing your hands on his back, his muscles tensing and intending under you. Your dog woke up as well and sat closer to the two of you wagging her tail.

You heard John sigh and then "Its Latin," he started, you hummed, "it translates to "Fortune favors the brave" or some version of that. Could be translated to courageous or strong."

Even though he wasnt looking at you you still smiled and nodded. Before you could ask another question John continued. "They were given to me after I completed my training."

This was new for John, he never really talked about how being a hit man worked. Of course you knew he had to have gone through some sort of training but hearing him say it was different.

You hummed thoughtfully and brought thr hand massaging his back up to his messy morning hair. You ran your fingers through it, this made John sigh in content.

It wasnt long before your dog found her way between you and your husband, nuzzling her face by John to get him to pet her. You laugh and begin to get out of bed, "Guess its that time in the morning."

"Yeah yeah." John says mostly under his breath and he too rolls over onto his back. "Hey John?" You call his name. "Yes sweetie?" John answers in return.

You stood staring out the window. You embraced yourself and rubbed your arms with your hands. You would be leaving in a few minutes. Leaving the country. Tears started streaming down your face. Leaving, as per your now assumed dead husband's request.

John had called you, didn’t go much into detail, just said that he had broken some big rules and that you and your daughter wouldn’t be safe anymore. He gave you an address to stay at and told you to only stay there for a week. If he didn’t show up, then you and your daughter would be moving to Britain.

A sob escaped your throat as you turned to stare at your now three year old daughter. She was taking a Barbie doll and banging it against the table in a very violent manner. Her laughter was such a contrast to what you were feeling right now but you still smiled.

“Athena.” You cooed softly. “Remember what your daddy said?”

Athena — whose name had a whole story behind it — clapped and went into a fit of giggles. She didn’t understand that this was not a happy thing.

“Daddy said to leave!”

She ran over to you and hugged your left leg, smushing her chubby cheek against it. You leaned down and held her. A few tears fell. You’d been crying a lot as of late and usually you tried to hide it from your daughter. You didn’t want to affect her development.

“Mommy is sad.”

“Yes Athena. We need to leave now.”

Athena looked up at and it hit you just how much she looked like her father. You rolled your eyes. The bastard was strong and apparently so were his genes. She got his eye color, nose and smile. You wouldn’t even really believe she was yours if you didn’t have the scar to prove she was cut from you. Unlike you, John always secretly wanted kids but he knew with his past and everything that kids were most likely a no-go. Then Athena came. She was a mistake. The best mistake you both ever made. You’d always preferred to stay away from children, still did, but she was an exception. She was your favorite little human.

John was an amazing father, which was no surprise and it hurt you that Athena was robbed of that. You started crying harder now. Would she remember him? Do you have enough pictures? How would she turn out without a father figure? You’d never smell him again. You’d never see him, touch him, kiss him. Everything hurt so much. John was the love of your life. He was the father of your child.

“Why is mommy sad?”

Athena was pouting and you knew you’d have to tell her eventually but not now, later.

“I’ll tell you later ‘Thena I promise. Now go grab your favorite toy.”

She seemed to be good with this answer and turned around to go grab her favorite stuffed bear. Baba Yaga — to John’s dismay— was the name given to the stuffed black bear. Athena heard you call John that in a more suggestive manner one time and just wouldn’t let it go. Thankfully she didn’t understand the rest of the sentence you had said.

You walked into what was your room and grabbed a couple of suitcases you packed. Obviously you couldn’t bring everything with you to your new life in Britain. So you only packed things that were important to you and clothes. And of course a plethora of John’s t-shirts with a couple sleep pants.

Leaving hurt. Sometimes it sucked being a parent because all you wanted to do in the moment was puke, sob and scream all at once. You wanted to curl up in your bed and never leave again. Instead you were forced to drive to the airport, with tears streaming down your face as you listened to Elsa sing “Let It Go”. If only the queen knew. It was far from that easy.

•••

Leaving your old life behind in America was hard. It was even harder getting over John’s death. Especially when you then had two deaths to mourn. Yes, like a cliche, you found out you were pregnant a month after you moved into a tiny town in Britain. Except your cliche didn’t end well.

When you found out you were split between so many positive and negative emotions. Your husband just died, but it was another part of him. What about Athena? You wanted to focus solely on her. So many thoughts were running through your head, so you threw up. While you sat there all alone, head pressed against the cold toilet seat, drowning in one of John’s larger shirts, you realized that it was all too much.

A new country, new home, new child. Dealing with it all alone. You stared at the door emotionless internally, praying, hoping and begging that you would wake up and you’d be next to John. Instead you were met with another wave of nausea. You puked some more.

Then the miscarriage happened. You weren’t even that far along, just about two months. You went in for a check up and the doctor broke the news. How could you not have known? The doctor told you it’s common, gave you some pamphlets of coping with the loss, and a prescription. When you got home, you curled into your bed and cursed God. For killing John and your baby. For doing this to you and your daughter. You cursed and cursed and cursed until you fell asleep.

Obviously the first year was very hard but it got better. No wait, not better; the days got easier. Nothing ever got better, it just always got easier. Athena was now an energetic five year old who no longer cried for her father in the middle of the night. It got pretty tiresome after a while so when she really really wanted to play but you didn’t, you’d go for a walk.

You and Athena walked the path before she suddenly stopped in her tracks. She bent down and picked up a feather, examining it.

“Ah. Birdleaf of course.”

You almost lost it right then and there.

“Athena that’s called a feather.”

She looked at you, not very amused and said,

“Close enough!”

Athena then smiled a huge smile and dropped the feather. She ran up to you and gave you a hug. Before you could even bend down to give one back, she went running towards your house. You just rolled your eyes and did a slow jog to keep up with her. Athena immediately ran to her play set outside when your stomach growled.

“Hun, lets go make dinner.”

You were blessed with a girl who wasn’t picky about food, making dinner time an easy experience. Athena ate whatever was given to her. You always praised her for that. Maybe she had already learned that life is harder than eating a bowl of peas. After dinner she stood on a stool and helped you wash the dishes before going outside to play some more. You still needed to watch her so you would read a book while sitting in your white lawn chair. You were very into your book when you heard something that made your heart drop.

“Daddy!”

Ever see those movies? The ones where lovers get split up and then they have this huge reunion? For some reason, someone’s always mad and someone always gets slapped. In all honesty you never got those romantic movies. You felt nothing but pure bliss as you threw yourself into John’s arms. To feel him against you again. Your heart was racing, so many questions, so much to tell. It was all so overwhelming. You looked up to see his face and then—

Black.

All the emotions must’ve been too much for your body and you passed out. John’s eyes widened as he grabbed your body and picked you up. Athena came running up and hugged his leg.

“Daddy! Mommy and I thought you were dead!”

John really wanted to bend down and hug his daughter and promise to never leave her again but that was kind of an issue since he was holding you. He just looked down and gave her an honest smile.

“Seems you were wrong.”

John carried you into the house and laid you down on the couch. He carefully caressed your cheek and moved all the hair out of your face. Leaning down, he placed a kiss on your forehead. Athena began to call for him in a very exciting manner. She came running with her stuffed black bear, holding it up with pride.

“Look! I still have Baba Yaga! I can start calling him that again. Mommy told me I should probably stop calling him that when you died. She said it made her sad.”

John gave her an incredulous look.

“You still call it that?”

“Yes she does.” You called out from the couch, having just awoken.

He was shocked to say the least, how does a child remember that? He’ll never know. John shook his head and laughed when she gave a very enthusiastic nod, confirming your answer. Your arm was over your head, covering your eyes. You really prayed that this was all real. As much as you wanted to jump on John, to hug him and never let him go, you stayed put letting your daughter reunite with her dad.

“Wanna see my missing tooth?”

John’s face lit up.

“Yeah!”

“It’s ‘ight ‘ere” Athena attempted to say with her finger in her mouth.

“That’s awesome!”

“Yeah, mommy said the tooth fairy will come and leave me money. I’ll be rich.”

You smirked as you sat up and watched them interact. What dorks. Deciding that their reunion was much more important than yours, you got up and walked to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror you tried to make sense of what the hell just happened. Did your unrealistic dream really just come true?! You rubbed your face with your hands and took a deep breath.

“Mommy! Come play with us!”

The smile crept onto your face as you pushed yourself off the sink sprinting to go be with your family.

Yes, yes it did.

•••

The two of you had let Athena stay up way later than normal as it was a special day. It was about half past nine when Athena reluctantly calmed down and went to bed. You had brushed your teeth and done your nightly routine. Now you were standing in the middle of your room waiting for John to finish putting her to bed, your heart beating fast. You had so much to tell him.

Hearing the door to Athena’s room shut, John walked into the room and went towards the bathroom. Inside he brushed his teeth and changed into his pajamas before coming out and walking right up to you.

“It's over, YN. I- we never have to deal with them again.” He pulled you onto his muscular chest.

You sobbed into his chest.

“I thought you were gone.”

“Me too.”

The two of you stood there and hugged in silence, just taking each other in as you cried against his body. The emotions you were feeling right now were intense. You had so much to tell him.

“John, I was pregnant but I lost the baby two months in.” You sniffled.

John tensed but then immediately hugged you tighter.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that, especially alone. I wish I could’ve been here.” He kissed the top of your head.

“It was so hard.”

John could only imagine. Being alone in a new country with a small child to take care of probably did not allow you the proper time to mourn him and your baby on top of it. He was crushed and made a silent promise to take care of you and never leave you again. Pulling away slightly he brought his hand up to your chin and tilted your head up. He looked deep into your eyes before leaning in for a kiss.

The two of you stood there in your room, lips locked as you tried to communicate just how much you loved and missed one another. Your tongues rolled around each other as your hands moved all around, exploring and making sure this was all real and not some stupid, horrible dream. Slowly, John guided your body backwards till your thighs hit the bed. You allowed yourself to sit and scoot back so he could crawl on top of you, not once breaking the kiss.

John’s hands started to move up to lift your shirt off when the two of you broke apart to the sound of a soft knock on the door. He rolled off of you and sat on the bed, looking towards the door. The two of you couldn’t help but smile, seeing your young daughter. Athena’s big doe eyes, messy brown hair and light blue pajamas made her look adorable. She clutched Baba Yaga in her arms.

“Mommy? Daddy? Can I sleep in here tonight?” Athena asked quietly while rubbing her eyes.

You hopped off the bed and picked her up with a grunt. She was starting to get too big and it saddened you. Plopping her down on the bed she crawled over to John and he opened his arms up for her to snuggle into his chest. You smiled at the sight and grabbed your phone to take a picture. After that you turned the light off in your bedroom and crawled into bed with the two of them.

John on the left, Athena in the middle and you on the right. He put his arm out so he could lay it over both of you, feeling the need to be close to both of his favorite girls. You leaned over and gave him a kiss on his lips before moving and leaving a kiss upon your daughter's head. She was already out like a light. You smiled and cuddled up with them.

Tomorrow was going to be a crazy day as there was so much to talk about and so much time to make up for but for right now, you could sleep soundly for the first time in years, with your little family.

"like what you see?" a deep voice mutters, startling you. you quickly rise from the window and turn towards the voice.

"oh, I'm sorry sir! I just...really love your car," you say softly, cheeks heating up when you make eye contact with him. wearing a brown leather jacket, a simple black t-shirt, and dark jeans, he looks deliciously rugged.

he chuckles as he leans against his car, looking down at you.

"no worries, I appreciate it. she's my baby," he responds.

"I-it's a Mustang, correct? 1970...?" you ask as you fidget with the hem of your shirt, squirming under his intense gaze.

"close. she's a '69," he replies warmly. you nod in reply, too shy to speak, creating a bit of awkward silence. he digs into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys.

"wanna go for a spin?" he asks, "you seem quite intrigued by her," he says with a small smile.

your eyes widen at the prospect of riding in the beautiful vintage sports car with an even more attractive older man. you bite your lip before nodding excitedly.

"i'd love to...thank you, mister..."

"wick. john wick. But you can just call me john," he replies cooly.

he walks towards the passenger door, pulling it open for you. you give him a shy smile as you settle onto the cozy leather seat. your heart pounds as he walks around the car to the driver's side. you take in his handsome features as he enters, catching a whiff of his alluring cologne.

you blush at his eye contact.

the engine roars to life, and your heart flutters at the powerful vibrations pulsing through the car. you grip the cool metal of the inner door handle, bracing yourself for the ride.