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ladyreapermc · 5 years ago

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Fic: Blurry Lines (John Wick x Fem!Reader)

Summary: Wick is after a guy who sometimes work for you and that puts you under his radar so you run. Not fast enough though.

Author’s Notes: This one was requested by @whitelittlefloof took me a while, but it’s finally here and I hope you like it dear.

Wordcount: 2575

Warnings: smut (dirty talk; sex with guns closeby; unprotected sex)

You felt yourself relaxing as the hot water cascaded over you, easing your tense muscles, washing away the stress that had settled over you for the last week. Ever since you paid a visit to the New York Continental just to find out that the Boogeyman was asking around about you.

That day you were supposed to close a contract. One that could set you for a long, long time, but when Addy dropped that small piece of news, you fled as quickly as you could. You didn’t care if it would taint your reputation; you didn’t care if you were ruining a huge score.

You had spent your life staying far away from Tarasov and the rest of the High Table. You traveled in their world, but you weren’t really part of it. You didn’t want to be. They were fickle and petty, and it would lead to death sooner rather than later. And you always made sure it was later for you.

So, you ran. As fast as you could. As far as you could. Burning a couple of aliases in the process and a considerable chunk of your savings, but you regretted nothing. You had heard plenty of stories about John Wick and the last thing you wanted was to stand in the same room with him.

Turning off the shower, you stepped out of the stall, the bathroom foggy with steam as you dried yourself quickly and wrapped the towel around your body before stepping into the hotel room, freezing at the sight of Wick there, lounging on the armchair by the window. Dark three-piece suit, dark hair slicked back, dark eyes watching you, pistol resting his knee.

You swallowed the lump of panic in your throat, eyes darting around, looking for a way out and lingering a fraction of second too long on the door.

“Don’t.” His voice sounded so loud in the quiet room. “You’re fast, but a bullet is faster.” He was right. You knew he was right, but the instinct of running still sung high in your veins along with adrenaline. Maybe. Just maybe… “Be smart. I just want to talk.”

“Am I going to come out alive of this conversation?” you asked, hating how your voice shook.

“If you answer me honestly, yes,” Wick replied, making a show of setting his gun back in its holster as if that was a big comfort. He was twice your size. He could kill you with his bare hands. “It’s not your name on my contract.”

After another second of hesitation, you moved closer, taking a seat on the chair across from his, tightening the knot of your towel and making sure it covered all the important parts. You had a feeling Wick wasn’t going to let you go back into the bathroom to change and you weren’t about to do it in front of him, even if he was more attractive than what you heard.

“Whose name is it then?” you asked, meeting his eyes dead on and you thought you saw something in those brown orbs. Admiration maybe? Surprise?

“Barton,” Wick replied, and you cursed under your breath, fisting your towel. “He stole from Viggo and word is he moves your stones for you.”

“Sometimes,” you admitted, drumming on the arm of your chair. “I haven’t used him in a couple of months. He was getting greedy.”

“Clearly,” Wick said dryly, reaching into his suit and you tensed, ready to bolt. Fortunately, it was a phone he pulled out and offered it to you. Your phone. “Call him. Set up a meeting.”

“If I do that no smuggler will ever work with me again,” you replied, crossing your arms over your chest and giving him a leveled look. “A girl’s gotta eat.”

“No one will know it was you. I’ll make sure of it.”

You could almost hear the tick of the old wall clock as you and John stared each other down, tension lingering heavy around you.

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?” you asked with a snort and Wick’s lips tilted upwards slightly.

“You do,” he replied. “You just won’t like the alternative. Neither will I.”

“And here I thought all your Ruska Roma folks got a hard-on for murder,” you commented with a defeated huff, taking the phone from him and sending Barton a quick message with place and time.

“No,” he said, and you thought you heard a small chuckle in his voice as he looked first at you, then at the phone screen, committing the meeting information to memory. “I don’t, at least. There’s a line between business and pleasure.”

“A hard line?” you asked with a raised brow, letting your gaze wander over him for the first time.

Now that you knew Wick wasn’t there to kill you, you found yourself relaxing and admiring his features and the hard muscles enhanced by the sharp suit. He was a handsome man. The danger and barely contained power of him making him even more attractive.

“It can get blurry from time to time,” John admitted after a second, his own eyes taking you in.

You only hummed, standing up and letting the towel fall to your feet, enjoying the way his eyes darkened as he looked you over before you straddled his lap, making John tilt his face up to keep watching you.

“Never fucked an armed guy before,” you said against his lips, feeling his hands warm against your skin, the gun callous catching on your skin.

“Today won’t be the day you will,” he said, nipping at your bottom lip, before making you stand and getting up as well. He lingered there, towering over you, eyes hungrily scanning your body. “But maybe another time.” John took a step away from you and moved towards the door.

“Another promise, I’ll have to hold you to it,” you said, watching as he paused, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk.

“I’m good for it.”

---

And he really was. You held your pretend meeting with Barton, handing him some stones that you could afford going without and both of you went on your own ways. It wasn’t until two weeks later and you were already back in New York that you got news the smuggler was dead, and it never led back to you.

You settled at the Continental bar chatting up with Addy. To her it was just another day, to you, it was a celebration. You escaped that mess with your life and reputation intact. That was a real feat, especially because it was such a close call. Or at least that was what you thought.

Swirling your martini, you caught the way Addy’s green eyes darted behind you, a small smile playing on her lips as she glanced back at you and you just knew.

You turned around on your stool, a smirk playing on your lips as you faced John. He wasn’t on his three-piece black suit, which was a shame, but he still looked absolutely gorgeous in turtleneck and dark trousers. His hair loose and falling over his eyes, giving him a sort of softness that you would never associate with John Wick.

“I heard you were looking for me, Mr. Wick,” you said casually, sipping your drink as he approached the bar and Addy brought him a glass of bourbon.

“I was,” he replied, not looking for you. “But I settled the matter without you.”

“Shame,” you commented, downing your drink before you wrote down your room number on your napkin and pushed your way. “In case there are still loose ends you need to deal with.”

With a wink, you walked away, making sure to put an extra swagger on your hips as you exited the bar.

An hour passed. Then two and Wick didn’t show up.

Maybe he wasn’t as interested as he had been back at the motel. Maybe you imagined the hunger in his eyes. You didn’t think so. You knew when men wanted you and John definitely had that look on. The one that told he was counting all the dirty things he could do to you.

Still, it was late, and you had a flight to catch tomorrow, so you exchanged your dress for your favorite sleeping shirt and shorts, making sure the taser gun you always kept with you were under your pillow. The Continental was the safest place in this world, but it never hurt to keep extra protection.

You were about to get under the covers when there was a knock on the door and you walked over to answer, only slightly surprised to see John standing there, his gaze dropping to the panda print on your chest, before coming to your eyes again, his lips twisting into a smirk.

“Nice PJs,” he commented stepping into the room.

“I know.” You closed the door behind him. “And you took your sweet time.”

“Had some business with Winston,” John said, turning to look at you.

There it was it again, the hunger and lust as he took you in: your bare legs, the tiny shorts that barely covered your ass, the flimsy blouse with tiny straps, the fabric soft and worn-off, displaying the shape of your breasts.

“I have a promise to keep,” he said, taking a step towards you and you nodded, your lips pulling into a smile.

“You do.”

His large hands rested on your hips, warming you through your shorts as John tugged you closer until you were standing in his space, breathing in his air, which smelled of cigarettes and whiskey. His dark eyes holding you still with their intensity.

“You want me to keep my guns on me while I fuck you?” he asked, his tone huskier than before and you shuddered at the sound of it and the idea.

It was dangerous. Wick was dangerous. You knew next to nothing about him except that he was a killer. And a very skilled one. That was what made it more thrilling and arousing. Just imagining getting on his lap, feeling the blunt edge of his pistols pressing against your body as you rode him was enough to make you soak your panties.

“Yes,” you whispered, quick fingers pushing his blazer over his shoulder, exposing the wool of his sweater and the straps of his holster hanging from his shoulders, the pistols looking threatening under the half-light of the room.

“I can do that.”

You saw him scanning the room, localizing the spot he wanted, before he looked back at you again, one of his hands coming to cup your jaw, his calloused thumb brushing your lips before he tilted your face up and kissed you.

His mouth was hard and demanding, his tongue pushing past your willing lips to lick and taste, rubbing and brushing against yours, igniting the heat of pleasure in your body. You reached up to his neck, combing your fingers through his silky hair, melting into his embrace and barely missing a beat when John pulled you up, your legs coming around his waist.

He brought you to the table, setting you on the edge, hands pulling your shorts off with precise movements as his lips traveled down your neck, collarbones, chest, pulling your breasts free from your top and catching one nipple between his lips.

You arched against his mouth as he sucked and flicked it with his tongue until you were keening, hands seeking for his belt, but John just moved his hips away from your reach, smirking up at you, as he shifted his attention to the other nipple.

Letting yourself get lost in the sensations, you leaned back on your elbows, giving John more room to explore your body. He tugged your top off before his tongue left a fiery path down the valley of your breasts, making you quiver and squeeze the edge of the table as it swirled around your navel on its way south until his mouth finally found your pussy. He pressed a sucking kiss to your throbbing clit, making you moan and rock up, hand coming to grasp the leather straps of his holster.

John’s hands spread your thighs wider, leaving you open and dripping for his exploring tongue and lips as he lapped and sucked at your outer lips, pressing soft, butterflies kisses that had you shaking and rolling your hips in a desperate search for more.

“John…” you gasped, desperate to feel more of him, to have him inside you. “Please.”

“Turn around,” John said, pulling away long enough for you to comply, resting face first on the table, tensing in anticipation as he just hovered behind you for a moment. Blood rushed through your ears making your deaf to the sound of him undoing his trousers.

You felt his heavy hand coming to rest on your back, pushing you down firmly against the polished surface of the table while the tip of his cock brushed against your slit, making you moan and try to push back.

“So eager for my cock.” John chuckled, his tone darker now and it went straight to your center, making a new wave of wetness slick your cunt. “Nothing but a dirty slut, huh?”

You didn’t have a chance to reply, as he finally thrust inside in one smooth stroke and you cried out, fingers seeking something to hold onto on the smooth surface as your walls fluttered around his cock, making you feel every single vein and ridge.

John pressed his chest against your back, trapping your against the table, his guns rubbing against your sides as he wrapped one arm around your chest, the other coming to rest on the table by your head as he started to move with even and slow, but hard thrusts that pulled his cock almost all the way out before his hips snapped forward again, slamming against your ass and making you whimper and shake at every stroke.

“Is this what you wanted, darling?” John asked, but you were too far gone to answer.

Lost in the amazing friction of his cock moving in and out, your wetness running down your legs as he increased his pace, his arm leaving your chest to find your clit and rub it in a hard, fast pace until you were mewling and writhing beneath him, your orgasm intense and perfect, the kind that made you back arch like a bow and your toes curl.

John fucked you through it, grunting and panting against your ear until he finally came with a low groan, muffled against your shoulder as he spilled deep inside you.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had been fucked so well that your legs felt like jelly, tears leaked from your eyes and all you could do was grin and try to drag as much oxygen into your lungs as you could manage.

“Next time we should try the bed,” John spoke out of breath as he straightened his back, freeing you from his weight, but keeping his hold on your hips to keep you upright. “It’s much more comfortable.”

“Is that another promise, Mr. Wick?” you asked, glancing over your shoulder at him as you finally pulled yourself to your feet, smiling at the soreness between your legs and the come running down your thigh.

“Yes, it is,” John breathed against your cheek, before pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder.

xxx

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overheardatthecontinental · 4 years ago

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Talk Chapter 19

AO3 LINK

It was over, but not done.

There were still so many things to do before John could drop everything and go home to Helen.

He starts by calling Nick.

“H-hello?” Jesus, the boy really was afraid of him.

Ironic, John thinks, considering he owes this kid more than he can ever hope to repay for allowing Helen to contact him during her imprisonment. And then looking out for her at the cost of his job, possibly his life if DeLuca had found out.

“It’s done.” He says, “DeLuca’s going to be picked up by Adjudication. Are you able to stay until someone gets there to pick up Isabella?”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course. The, uh, the bounty’s dropped then?”

He exhales and, fuck, it feels so good.

The bounty is dropped. The contract is closed. And while he doesn’t think either of them will ever be truly safe, no one is coming after her anymore.

“Yes.”

“Good. That’s, that’s good.” Nick sounds relieved, too. The younger man pauses for a moment and then tentatively asks, “Would you do me a favor, Mister Wick, sir? She told me if I ever wanted to talk… I just was wondering if you could ask her to call me. When she’s back and settled and shi—stuff. Stuff.”

And, god, Helen was just that good. And it had started as manipulation, he knew. A way to save herself when he wasn’t there to do the job but there was no doubt in John’s mind that Helen would meet with Nick every week, for as long as he needed.

“Yeah, kid. I’ll pass it along.”

“Thank you.”

John pauses, thoughtfully. “When Isabella’s been picked up, head over to the Continental. Ask for Winston. New York is always busy. I know they’re looking to hire another Sommelier. It’ll pay more than Syndicate; I can guarantee that. I’ll put in a good word for you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

He shakes his head, in disbelief of himself. He knew Helen was his reason, but John couldn’t quite pinpoint the moment he had gone utterly and completely soft .

Maybe she’d have some insight to that, he thinks, smiling to himself.

And, because he doesn’t want the knowledge that he has gone soft to spread, he adds, “Don’t fuck it up” and ends the call.

After all, he isn’t done in the Underworld.

For starters, the contract had been dropped but that didn’t mean the memo had gotten out. And that needed to happen before he brought Helen back home. The last thing he wanted was to bring her back only to have some kid target her because they ignored the notice.

The hotel buzzes as John walks through the front door.

He ignores it, as he always does, approaching the front desk. There’s a small queue that has gathered in front of Charon, but the Concierge waves him up.

“The Manager is expecting you. He is in his office.”

John nods his thanks and turns towards the hall where he’ll find Winston, only to run into Verdugo.

The other assassin looks him over, regarding him with vague interest. He’s carrying a weapons bag, slung over a shoulder. A duffle bag resides in his other hand.

He’s leaving, John realizes. Verdugo was a drifter.

The only thing that had kept him in New York was the possibility of a substantial bounty that has since been removed.

Verdugo breaks the silence first, “I’ll admit, when I heard you were trying to get the bounty removed, I didn’t think you could do it.”

John raises a brow.

Because what the hell is he supposed to say to that?

Oh, no worries. Totally get it. You wouldn’t have wasted both our time if you had only realized sooner that you couldn’t kill my love?

“It was just business.”

Now that, John thinks, is something he’s grown very tired of hearing.

The Underworld, for better or worse—and right now, John Wick was very much leaning towards worse , was all about money and advancement. Status.

The values he has been exposed to, he realizes, had been very self-serving. No wonder so many narcissists and hedonists thrived in the Underworld.

And John had survived because he was so self-reliant. He had thrived in a world where favors are currency by being willing to help others and avoiding asking for any help in return. It made him rich, in more than just money. The pile of markers in his collection is unparalleled.

But he still went home alone. To an empty house. In an empty life, where escapism had been his only fulfillment.

Drifting.

In control but, somehow, still empty.

Until Helen had forced her way into his head, laying claim to his heart.

And suddenly everything that had once seemed so complicated and out of reach was within his grasp.

In that moment, he pities Verdugo.

A man, so much like him in so many ways. A drifter. Free of roots and obligation. Making a name for himself by virtue of skill and competency. But hollow like a tin soldier.

Verdugo will move on to the next contract. The name Helen Kingston will be replaced with another unfortunate soul, who John is certain will not be as lucky.

And he’ll make his money and build his legacy.

And he’ll go home alone. To an empty house. In an empty life.

John wants to kill him along with anyone else who had hurt or threatened Helen’s life, but it occurs to him that might be a mercy. And maybe Verdugo doesn’t deserve mercy but John didn’t deserve mercy, either. But it had found him.

Still, he feels the need to say, “If I ever see you anywhere near her…”

“You won’t.” Verdugo assures him, “Be seeing you.”

“No.” John says, “You won’t.”

He leaves Verdugo standing in the hall as he makes his way to Winston’s office.

The old man doesn’t even look up as John walks in. “It would appear that you had a busy day.” He says as he practically collapses into one of the leather chairs.

“Busy week.” John amends, “I think I finally understand the phrase thank god it’s Friday .”

Winston smirks, rising to his feet, “Drink?”

He shakes his head, “No, thank you. I’ve had enough today, while playing politics. Did you happen to hear from Sofia?”

“Yes,” Winston says, pouring himself brandy, “I already sent someone to collect Mateo. And Isabella. She said you got a confession from the former.”

“Lorenzo plans to force the counsel to convene on Monday, here in the city.”

“He wants justice meted out swiftly.”

“That makes two of us.” John agrees with a nod. “I want this done and in the past.”

“Understandably. You managed the impossible this week.”

“Didn’t think I could do it?” John asks, thinking of his conversation with Verdugo and the time that had been wasted pursuing Helen Kingston.

“On the contrary,” Winston says, taking the seat next to him, “You made me a great deal of money.”

John arches a brow.

“You successfully removing the bounty was the long odds over at Dex’s. Fifty to one.”

And, fuck, but that makes him laugh. He didn’t realize how much he needed that after the stress of the day, “How much did you put down?”

“Five grand.” Winston looks at him strangely and it occurs to John that he’s probably never laughed in front of Winston before.

“Well-played.” He says, shaking his head in amusement. While he never intends to tell Helen of the betting odds placed on when she would die and by whose hand, he can’t help but think that she’d get a kick out of it. Either that, or she’d be pissed she never got a chance to get in on the action.

Yeah. That sounds right.

“I know the rumor mill will have heard that the contract was dropped,” John says, “but is it possible to get Administration to send out a mass message? To confirm it, and make sure anybody working solo is notified?”

“I’ll see to it myself.”

John nods gratefully. That would make him feel much better about taking her back to the city. Although he’s already mentally preparing himself for the wave of anxiety that will surely hit the moment, he leaves her alone to go back to work. He tables that particular worry for now.

“I have another favor to ask.”

Winston rolls his eyes, “Indeed?”

“Nick Russo. Ex-Syndicate. He burnt some bridges today to help keep Helen safe. I’d appreciate it if you considered him for the second Sommelier position you were considering opening up.”

The old man hums, “I’ll meet with him.”

“Thank you.”

And just like that, two things are checked off his list.

Winston was good like that. As Manager, it was his job to be accommodating and helpful and ensure everyone was getting the best services that could be offered to those serving the High Table. But it was also more than that.

For decades, Winston had been a mentor to him.

After being introduced by Charon, Winston had immediately taken to the young, reckless assassin. He’d seen something that others had brushed to the side.

And John had been skeptical. Untrusting.

But Winston had been relentless. He offered sound advice that John found hard to ignore. Slowly, John had found himself utilizing the Manager. After moving back to New York, it became clear that Winston knew the city and its inhabitants better than anyone.

Somewhere along the line, John had begun to trust him.

Winston had tried to line John up for Management but had accepted his decision when John, respectfully, denied interest in such a path. While Winston mourned John’s lack of ambition, he continued to serve as a mentor.

Arguably, the closest thing John had ever had to a father-figure.

John doesn’t doubt, for a moment, his decision to retire. He will miss very little about the Underworld. But Winston would be counted amongst them.

And while John doesn’t particularly want to have this conversation, he owes it to Winston to be the one to tell him.

“I’ve decided to retire.”

Winston’s head turns sharply, “Pardon?”

John sits up straighter in the chair, “I’m retiring. As soon as everything has been taken care of, I’m leaving the Underworld.”

“Jonathan, you have obligations.” Winston says, shaking his head, “You can’t just retire .”

“Lorenzo is freeing me of my contractual obligations. I intend to reach out to Viggo to make arrangements as well.”

“Lorenzo D’Antonio is letting you walk away?” The surprise is evident in his voice.

John nods.

“Miraculous in itself, but you cannot expect Viggo to do the same.”

“I won’t take no for an answer.” John says softly, “One way or another, I’m getting out. And I’ve made up my mind about this. It won’t be changed.”

He leaves no room for argument. Bittersweet as it may be, there is nothing that can change his mind anymore. Even if Helen didn’t want him, he would have left to keep her safe. His enemies wouldn’t have used her against him if he was no longer a problem.

But Helen did want him. She loved him, beyond all reason.

“Whatever will you do?”

John feels his lips twitch. Aside from keeping house and devoting the majority of his time to ensuring Helen’s happiness—that she never regrets choosing him, he really isn’t sure. He knew he didn’t have it in him, nor did he have the credentials or the qualifications, to work in the real world. At least, for most occupations.

And, truthfully, he was tired of the constant work.

Hating his life and coming home to an empty house, John had filled his life with work. Work until the point of distraction. Which meant extra jobs, far beyond working for money. He worked to kill people and time, respectively.

Decades of working seven days a week, every day of the year.

He’s looking forward to the break.

Maybe he’d pick up a hobby. He’d continue to bind books through the coldness of the winter. Maybe he’d even start to sell them or volunteer with a library to fix old tomes.

Maybe, come springtime, he’d actually open the pool in his backyard which had been closed and unused since he first moved in.

He planned to cook for her. Maybe he’d get into that. Learn to make things from scratch. To bake.

The possibilities were endless.

“I don’t know.” He answers honestly and he’s… surprisingly okay with that. The uncertainty would usually throw him for a loop, but John finds himself completely and unexpectedly happy not knowing. It was freeing.

“Are you—”

“Yes.” John interrupts before Winston can say sure . “More sure, more certain than I have ever been about anything in my life.”

Winston nods, slowly. He doesn’t understand, John knows. The old man probably won’t ever understand why John was giving up the wealth, the prestige, the permanent get-out-of-jail-free card that existed for the members of the Underworld.

“When?” He asks.

“As soon as possible. I plan on testifying Monday. I’ll meet with Viggo after and inform him of my intentions.”

“It will not be easy.”

“I don’t expect it to be. But it won’t matter. Whatever Viggo demands, I’ll do it.”

And he would. Nothing would stop him.

They sit in silence as Winston seems to digest it all. It’s odd, he thinks. He knows Winston disapproves, just as he had when John had first told him about Helen. But Winston knows that John doesn’t give a fuck about approval. No one’s opinion influenced him, save Helen’s.

He missed her.

It had only been hours since he had last held her in his arms, and he missed her.

Was this what it was to be in love? To crave the presence of another in any and every form? To hold them in your mind’s eye even when you are away?

How did people stand it, living like this?

And yet, John acknowledges, he would not give it up for the world.

“I find myself at a loss for words.” Winston says after minutes of silence. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You were ready to burn New York to the ground to find her. Ready to declare war on the High Table to get her back.” The old man shakes his head, “And you seem certain. I know your mind will not be changed. But I feel the need to ask you, once more, Jonathan: is she really worth it?”

John thinks of her smile.

The kindness in her eyes.

The warmth of her touch.

Her quick wit. Her inquisitive nature. The way she just accepted things as they were. The way she shut him down when he was starting to bullshit himself. The books he had mentioned in passing on her bedside table as she made the effort no one else had to understand him.

John nods, “She really is.”

……….

He parks the car and John feels another wave of relief wash over him. The fact that it’s over, that Helen is safe keeps hitting him again and again. And now, he’s within feet of her.

John slips out of the car, admiring for the first time since they moved to the Vermont safehouse how bright the stars were when there were no lights around.

The front door opens and Marcus steps out, his bag in his hand.

“I take it everything went well?”

John nods. “You leaving?”

Marcus nods back, closing the door behind him. “After everything, I figured you two could probably use some time alone.”

He’s grateful for Marcus’ reasoning. While John had no intention of kicking Marcus out, he’s right. The only thing John wants to do is wrap Helen up in his arms and never let her go.

“Thank you.” He says, “For everything. I’ll never be able to re—”

“Don’t.” Marcus shakes his head. “I was happy to do it. More for her sake than for yours. You’re still kind of a dick but… she makes you almost tolerable.”

John huffs out a laugh, “Who would have thought.”

“That the only person capable of taking you down was a therapist who can barely form a sentence fragment without coffee?” Marcus exhales in disbelief. “Mind-boggling. Call me when you two get back to the city.”

“Will do.” John promises as Marcus throws his duffle into the trunk of his car as he makes his way up the short stairs and into the cottage.

John slips off his suit jacket, hanging it by the door. He undoes the buttons on his vest, one by one, as he walks down the hall towards the living room. He tugs that off, too, draping it over the couch.

She’s not in the living room or the kitchen. He continues down the hall towards their bedroom. The door is open and, sure enough, Helen is in bed. Her back leans against the headboard, a book is open in her hand.

John leans against the door, undoing the top two buttons of his shirt.

Before him is a sight he could spend an eternity gazing in wonder at. Her glasses have slipped down the bridge of her nose as she reads. He watches as she reaches for her bookmark without looking up, turning the page as she inserts it.

Without a glance, she smiles, “Hi honey, how was your day?” She asks as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He loves her for it. For making him feel some semblance of normality amidst the bullshit and the chaos.

John swallows even as his lips twitch in amusement. “Oh, you know. Bitch of a commute. Faked a powerful man’s death. Tried my hand at politics. Not a fan. Then I took down a mafia boss.”

She sets her book aside before removing her glasses. Helen scans him up and down, assessing for injuries.

His heart swells with love and adoration. It consumes him and makes it almost difficult to breathe. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with all these emotions flowing through him.

And, like she can sense he’s overwhelmed, Helen stands up. She crosses the room, her dark eyes gazing into him.

He wonders if she can see his soul. And if she can, will she change her mind about him? Will she realize how truly terrible, how awful he is?

But as he looks into those brown eyes, all he sees reflected back is love.

She loves him, he thinks, even though he doesn’t deserve it. He was a despicable human being. One who had dragged her into the depths of Hell. Even still, she never wavered.

Helen was stronger than he ever hoped to be.

And she loved him. Despite everything.

It staggers him.

Helen reaches him and he cannot help but fall to his knees before her. His arms wrap around her middle, seemingly of their own accord, and he buries his face against her stomach. John’s breath escapes him in a shudder as her arms come up around him, holding him.

She strokes his hair and he can barely hold back a sob.

“I love you, John.”

And, fuck it all, the dam breaks.

He’d lost her, this week.

Someone had taken her, stolen her from her bed. Had hurt her to get to him. Had put a bounty on her head for the sole purpose of manipulating him, simultaneously activating agents to find her and kill his beloved.

Verdugo, who promised to make it quick.

Kate, who would have obliterated Helen until there was nothing left.

The kids in the alley, looking to make a name for themselves, would have killed her.

Along with the hundreds of others who had searched for her, even idly.

He had spent a week feeling out of control, out of his depth. Unsure of how to save her, hating himself for putting her into that position. Terrified that one wrong move could lead to her death.

“I’m sorry.” He chokes out, aware that his tears are soaking into her shirt.

She steps back, only to drop to her knees, too. Her arms wrap around him in a tight hug as he rests his head at the crook of her neck. A hand comes up to cradle his head.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” She assures him.

He swallows, heavily. He’s not sure when he last cried but it had to have been decades.

“It’s my fault…”

The arm around his back tightens and she turns her face to his head.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t… didn’t protect you better… and---”

“Hey,” the hand on his head moves to his cheek and she leans back to look at him. Her thumb strokes a tear, “You didn’t know. You had no reason to suspect that I would be targeted. But you know what?” Her fingers massage his neck, “I’m glad I was.”

He tilts his head in disbelief.

“If DeLuca hadn’t have taken me,” she says softly, “I would have seen you for an hour this week. And an hour next. And the week after that. And that would be it. I would have loved you from afar because that’s all I could do.

“But now,” she runs her fingers down his face, “I can hold you. And kiss you. And love you. And that is more than worth the price of spending a couple uncomfortable days locked in a basement and a couple more hidden away from the world.”

John shakes his head, because she is unreal sometimes. “You deserve so much be—”

“ We don’t get to decide what we deserve, John. That’s never been up to us.” She echoes what she had told him that day in her office. Hours before she had been taken. “But we do get some say in how we’re going to live.”

John finds himself swallowing, his breath hitching as he tries to breathe in. “And how are we going to live?”

“Well,” Helen says with a soft smile, “We’re going to start by hiding away for the rest of the weekend. And you’re going to make good on your promise to fuck me on your tongue until I can’t scream anymore.”

He can’t help but chuckle at how serious she sounds but fuck . Yeah, he’s definitely doing that.

“And then, we’re going to go home. And instead of picking my lock to sneak inside and watch me sleep, you’re going to fall asleep next to me. And instead of leaving before daylight, you’re going to wake up with me. Every day.

“We’ll take weekend trips to Vermont, every now and then. I’ll make you go antiquing with me.” He laughs at that. Helen smiles back, continuing, “And I’ll make you take me to that other house you’ve got in Maine.”

“It’s on a lake.” He tells her, thinking she might like that. He’ll buy a boat. Or a few, unsure if she’d prefer a motorboat or something like a kayak. Whatever she decides, she’ll have. She’ll never want for anything so long as he is breathing.

Helen moves so that she is high on her knees. Her hands reach to cup either side of his face and she leans in to press her lips to his forehead.

“We’re going to have a really good life.” She promises and fuck, he believes her. “And we’re going to be so fucking happy.”

She kisses her way down his face, slowly. Tenderly.

Her lips reach his. How, he thinks, can a kiss be so gentle? So different than anything he’s ever experienced.

It was glorious when she kissed him passionately. It drove him wild when her teeth nipped at his lips or her tongue greedily sucked at his own.

But she’s being so soft that it might very well break him again.

She didn’t look at him and see the Boogeyman. Even knowing who he was, she didn’t let it influence her opinion of him.

He felt human in her arms, in her eyes.

He loves her for it. Among the plethora of reasons that he loved and adored her.

John wraps his arms under her thighs, rising to his feet, and pulling her up with ease.

She kisses the corner of his mouth as he carries her over to the bed. “I love you,” she whispers as he lays her down.

They both undress, taking their time.

The initial desperation has faded and while John is certain it will come back again, he is more than content to take it slow.

When they are both naked, John revels in the warmth of her skin. He kisses his way around her body, allowing his hands the time to memorize every curve, dip, and swell of her body. And she lets him, like she knows how badly he needs this.

And she probably does, he thinks. She’s always been in his head.

Helen’s hand reaches the top of his head, stroking back his hair as he kisses every inch of skin he can reach from his place atop of her.

His open-mouth grazes across her collarbone and John soaks in the way her hand tightens in his hair, her sharp intake of breath as his teeth scrape against her skin. He wonders what other sounds he can coax from her body… He’ll spend forever finding out.

John kisses her lips again. How addictive that feeling, that taste has become.

One hand tilts her head, allowing him to deepen the kiss while his other stretches down her perfect body, dipping between her thighs. He cups her core, feeling the warmth radiating from within her. He dips a finger between her folds. She’s soaking and it’s all for him .

He kisses her harder, feeling his lips bruise as he gently circles his clit with his finger.

She moans into his mouth and he swallows it down.

I love you , he thinks, and has to remind himself that he can say that now. He doesn’t have to keep it bottled in. He wonders how long it will take until he can say it without hesitation. Until it spills as easily from his lips as it comes to echo in his mind.

“I love you, Hels.” He tells her, kissing down her jaw.

“John!” She cries out as he continues to toy with her sensitive clit. He reaches down, coating his fingers in her slick heat before pressing them into her opening. His thumb takes over rolling over the sensitive bundles of nerves.

Helen whimpers, her nails digging into his back. He nips at her throat with his teeth. She’s marked him well enough. Now it’s his turn.

He wants to claim her. To leave his mark all over her so that anyone who sees her will have no doubt that she is taken. One day, he swears to himself that he’ll put a ring on her finger, but until then, he’ll be content with this.