#boopdedoop

[the-vampire-turtle]

I hide behind a screen

because the things i do

matter

at least in part to some people.

But if I were to pull back the curtain

lift the veil

clear the waters

they would turn their backs

and walk

away.

If I only matter if its not me

do I matter at all?

For me,

this is good

enough.

[fics-not-tragedies]

Redemption: Chapter Six

one - two - three - four - five - six - seven

Surprise! I've been on a binge writing roll for the last couple of weeks, hope you like it!

Words: 2107; Warnings: not much except for some angsty bits; Summary: John and Isobel receive a surprising visit at the Continental.

Readers tag list:

@geostarr​; @catsmieow​; @wickedlangdon​; @bodhi-black​; @bugalouie-blog​; @onebatch–twobatch​; @fandom-lover-4​; @mikaneonox​; @spadesandaces2342​; @harrisongslimited​; @hhighkey​; @i-cant-remember-my-old-login​; @sgt-morgan​; @coloursunlimited​; @childrenofthegun​; @weminiaturestrawberry​; @silverlambcaptain​;  @krazycags01​;

@moonlit-raven-haven​​; @girl-at-the-verge​​; @boopdedoop​​; @jardani-jovonovich-bitch​​; @ladyreapermc​; @mysticfluffyness​​; @zombiepandajfish​​; @kollover24​​; @greenmanalishi​; @persephonehemingway​​; @penwieldingdreamer​​; @iworshipkeanureeves​; @lovelycarose​​;

@allanawinchester​​; @babayagakeanu​​; @keandrews​; @tomorrowsanotherday​​; @weasleytwins-41​​; @witty-wallflower​​; @babayagakeanu​ @7kacey11​​;

John raised an eyebrow, his posture shifting as he sat back, the tension already creeping in like smoke from a fire he couldn’t quite see.

“What kind of problem?” he asked, his voice low but heavy with an edge, the kind that came when he was preparing for something he wasn’t quite ready to face.

Isobel looked between them, the familiar unease creeping back into her chest. She had barely begun to process the raw emotions that had surged between her and John, and now, just like that, everything was back to the surface. What now? Her mind raced, but Sybil’s steady gaze told her this wasn’t something simple. This wasn’t the usual trouble they found themselves tangled in.

Sybil glanced over her shoulder, as if to make sure the room was still secure, then stepped further inside. She lowered her voice, and it was a note of caution that drew Isobel’s attention.

“We’ve got company,” Sybil said, and there was a certain weight to her words. "Not just any company.”

John stood abruptly, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the space like he was mentally calculating a thousand variables. He didn’t need to be told. He could feel it—the tension in the air, thick and suffocating. The Bowery King wasn’t just any visitor. He was a force. A dangerous one.

The door behind Sybil opened just slightly, enough for the sound of heavy boots on the floor to echo into the room.

John’s jaw tightened. He didn’t have to see him to know who it was. He felt the presence before the man even fully entered.

And then he did.

The Bowery King stood in the doorway, tall and imposing, his figure cloaked in shadows. His broad shoulders and weathered face were framed by the dim light spilling from the hallway, his sharp eyes scanning the room like a predator sizing up its next move.

Isobel’s heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t seen him in years, not since everything had gone to hell with the New York underground. The Bowery King had always been a mystery to her—fierce, calculating, and dangerous as hell. She didn’t trust him. No one did. But his power was undeniable, and his reputation preceded him, long and ugly.

“Wick,” the Bowery King’s voice rumbled, low and dangerous, almost a growl. His eyes flicked over to Isobel, then back to John, his gaze narrowing. “We need to talk.”

John didn’t move for a moment, his fists clenched at his sides. There was no warmth, no affection, no greeting in his expression. Just cold, hard indifference. He knew the Bowery King didn’t show up unless something big was happening. Something bad. Something that required all their attention.

“What is this about?” John finally asked, his voice unwavering despite the tension building.

The Bowery King’s lips twisted into a faint, almost sardonic smile. “Business,” he said, almost casually, though the weight behind the word was anything but. “But we’ve got a bit of a situation. And it’s one you’ll want to be a part of.”

John’s gaze flicked to Isobel, then back to the Bowery King, as though weighing his options. He wasn’t one to get involved in the King’s dealings unless absolutely necessary. He had enough on his plate—too much, in fact. The life he had built was precarious at best, and he didn’t need anyone coming in to stir up the pot.

But this was the Bowery King. No one could ignore him, no matter how many walls they built around themselves.

“I’m listening,” John said finally, his voice hardening.

The Bowery King stepped further into the room, the door clicking shut behind him with an almost final sound. “It’s the Russians,” he began, the name alone drawing a sharp intake of breath from Isobel. The Russian syndicate had always been trouble—cold, methodical, and unforgiving. They didn’t leave loose ends, and their reach stretched farther than anyone was comfortable with.

“They’ve been poking around,” the Bowery King continued. “And we can’t ignore them anymore. There’s a bigger play in motion, one that could topple the whole system we’ve worked so damn hard to set up. And I need someone who’s not afraid to get their hands dirty to help me clean it up.”

Isobel’s blood ran cold. She glanced at John, but he was already locked into the Bowery King’s gaze, a dangerous determination settling over him. John Wick didn’t back down from anything. Not from the Russians. Not from anyone.

The Bowery King’s eyes flicked between them, an almost calculating look in his gaze. “I’ve got a lot of people on my side,” he said, his voice dropping lower, “but you, Wick, you’re the only one who can take care of this. You’ll want to hear what I’ve got to offer.”

John’s face was a mask of steel, unreadable as always, but Isobel saw it. She saw the flicker in his eyes—the conflict, the temptation. It was impossible to ignore the pull of this kind of power, the dangerous allure of a fight that could change everything.

And deep down, she knew what this meant. She knew the weight of the decision John was about to make.

It was the same decision he had faced years ago when everything between them had started to unravel: loyalty, ambition, and survival. The stakes had always been high, and they were about to get higher.

The Bowery King took one final step forward, and the room seemed to hold its breath. “So what’ll it be, Wick?” he asked, his voice sharp, dangerous. “Are you in?”

John didn’t answer right away. His mind was already racing, calculating the cost of this choice. He glanced at Isobel, a silent understanding passing between them. She wasn’t sure what his next move would be, but she knew this: whatever happened next, nothing would ever be the same.

John stood frozen for a moment, the weight of the Bowery King's words sinking in. The air around them seemed to thicken, the tension palpable as he fought to push through the layers of uncertainty clouding his mind. He knew what this meant. He knew that getting involved with the Russians again would drag him deeper into the abyss he’d barely managed to crawl out of. And yet, he also knew that there was no walking away from this kind of invitation—not from someone like the Bowery King.

Isobel’s eyes never left his face. She could feel the conflict surging through him, could see the internal battle playing out in the way his jaw clenched and his posture stiffened. The temptation was there, unmistakable in the way he held himself, the pull of something darker than anything she had ever witnessed in him.

She had always known John to be a man of control, of precision, but she could see it in the way his hands curled into fists at his sides—something about this was different. He was close to tipping over the edge, and she wasn’t sure whether he even wanted to be pulled back.

The Bowery King’s presence loomed in the background, like a shadow too large to ignore. “I don’t have time to waste,” he said, his voice carrying an air of finality. “The Russians are moving fast. They’re already circling, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. You, Wick, are the only one who can stop them.”

John finally exhaled, his breath sharp, the tension in his chest starting to unravel. His gaze flicked to Isobel again, and for a brief second, their eyes locked—two souls, both tangled in a web of past choices and lost time. She could feel the pull between them, the unspoken bond that still lingered, even after everything that had happened. But there was also a fear in her eyes. Not for herself, but for him.

“Are you sure about this, John?” Isobel’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but it cut through the room like a knife. “Once you walk down this path… there’s no coming back.”

John didn’t respond immediately. His mind was still spinning, thoughts racing with memories of the blood, the violence, the deals that had always come with a price. He had walked away once. Could he do it again?

The Bowery King, sensing the hesitation, pressed forward, his eyes narrowing slightly. “She’s right, Wick. Once you make this decision, there’s no going back. You’re already excommunicado. But I’ll tell you one thing—if you don’t act, it’ll be your neck on the line when the Russians come for you. They don’t forget. They don’t forgive.”

The words landed like stones, each one settling heavily in the pit of John’s stomach. He had spent so long trying to escape this life, this endless cycle of violence and betrayal. But there was something unyielding about the Bowery King’s presence, something that made it impossible to ignore.

And then there was the undeniable truth: John had always been a man of action. A man of few words, but of calculated, lethal decisions. The Russians were a threat, and he couldn’t allow them to grow unchecked. They were too dangerous, too capable of causing chaos on a scale even the Bowery King couldn’t control.

John’s eyes flicked back to Isobel, her expression a mixture of concern and resignation. She didn’t want him to get involved in this war. She didn’t want him to lose himself again in the chaos of the underworld. But he could see it in her eyes too—she knew that this was his fight. She knew there was no stopping him, not when the stakes were this high.

“I’m in,” John said finally, his voice steady, devoid of hesitation. “But I need a promise, King. If I do this… I do it on my terms. I won’t be your pawn.”

The Bowery King’s lips twitched upward in a smile, the faintest hint of approval. “You’ve always been a man of terms, Wick. I can respect that.”

Isobel’s heart sank as she watched him. The decision was made. The path was set. And she wasn’t sure whether she should feel relief or dread. Relief that he was taking control of the situation, that he was standing up to the Russians once and for all. But dread, too, because she knew what it would cost him—what it would cost them.

“You don’t have to do this, John,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

He looked at her then, really looked at her, and for a moment, she saw it—the man he used to be. The man who had loved her fiercely, who had fought beside her in ways she could never forget. But that man was becoming a shadow now, a memory that was slowly being erased by the weight of his choices.

“I don’t have a choice, Isobel,” he said quietly, his voice filled with a kind of quiet resolve. “Not anymore.”

The Bowery King stepped forward, his eyes flashing with a predatory gleam. “Good. We move tomorrow.”

With that, he turned and walked toward the door, leaving John and Isobel in the heavy silence that followed. John didn’t look back at her, but Isobel could feel the distance between them grow, like a wall being built brick by brick.

When the door closed behind the Bowery King, the room was empty except for the two of them.

Isobel stood there for a moment, her chest tight, her thoughts racing. She had lost him once. Could she bear to lose him again? Could she watch him walk down this road, knowing it would change him—knowing it would tear him apart?

“I’m not doing this for you, Isobel,” John said, breaking the silence as he turned toward her. “I’m doing it for us. For the people who can’t protect themselves.”

She shook her head, a bitter smile crossing her lips. “You can’t save everyone, John.”

His eyes softened, just for a moment, but the hardness never left his posture. “I’ll try anyway.”

And with that, the decision was made. There was no turning back. The war was about to begin, and it would consume everything in its path.

Isobel could only watch as he walked toward the door, the weight of the world on his shoulders. And she realized, with a sinking feeling in her gut, that she had never really known how to fight for him—not like this.

As the door closed behind him, she was left standing in the quiet aftermath, the heavy knowledge settling in. The past was never truly gone. And no matter how hard they tried to move forward, the ghosts would always be there, waiting for them to face them once again.

[andylantsov]

am i an overheated laptop or am i a 

[pixlokita]

Art blocks mean Mini-Mythology Pt.2! (this time reference was used as you can probably tell) xD

[lab-gr0wn-lambs]

Boopdedoop make sure to check out my Momotaro animation meme https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V-dYo8uOlig

[21stcenturyyfoxx]

Best Friends Father: Chapter Three

Warnings:

Reference to past crime, angst.

———————————————————

Her heels clicked on the tile, hips swaying effortlessly to the drum beat in her world, her own world.

She still possessed a key to the house.

Her body adorned the lovesick bruises, bites against her tanned skin.

“Mom!” Ava shouted as she flew into her mothers arms, hanging onto her mom as if she was a koala to a tree.

Jennifer lightly smiled at her last born, running a few slender fingers through he long hair.

“Where’s your father?”

“With Y/N. He’s helping her file a protection order against Jesse in his office.” Ava muttered against her mother’s skin.

—

Jennifer could hear a light laughter as she approached the office door, it was cracked just enough for her to peer inside without being discovered.

———

“And that’s how Ava got the scar righttttt.. there on her chin.” He said through mild chuckles as he gently tapped your chin, right where Ava had a scar from falling off the bed when she was five — you must have missed that day at the house.

You laughed softly, realizing Keanu’s fingers still lingered on your skin. His eyes showing a different gaze, a softer yet deepening gaze.

“Well, I hope I’m not intruding?" Jennifer said as she had quietly made her way into the room, noticing her soon-to-be ex husbands’ actions. A knowing look in her eyes towards him, he only swallowed hard; his Adam’s apple moving downward then up again.

You looked Jennifer over, a bruise ever so slightly peaking its way out of her blouse; a hickey.

You knew they were fresh, you glanced at Keanu with a raised eyebrow. His head bowed, glancing over paperwork.

Your eyes catching one word: Divorce.

Your breathing hitched in your throat as you tried to play dumb.

“Keanu, can I speak with you?” She said coldly, you understood there was absolutely no love left in her body for the man that stood before her.

He looked up at her, nodding.

“Pretty Girl, would you mind stepping out for a few minutes?” He asked, a genuine smile and look of sorrow plastered on his mug.

You smiled back, sheepishly, nodding at his request.

Jennifer closed the door behind you, but, you pressed your ear to the door. Just for a moment.

——

“‘Pretty Girl’, huh?” She asked, a rough laugh leaving her throat.

Keanu ignored her words, quickly reading over any remaining artifacts of their agreement on spousal support before he signed his name onto the document; handing it to her quickly with a disapproving look.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing with the little whore...”

Your heart snapped inside at the words that Jennifer spewed hatefully towards Keanu about you; this was a woman you had admired, who had raised you.

“Don’t fucking call her that, Jen.” He hissed angrily.

“You shouldn’t be calling anyone a whore, I mean, look at yourself, Margarita.” He hissed the nickname.

You had heard it often when they’d fight, granted it was extremely rare they fought in the thirty years they were together or what you had remembered of it.

He knew she hated the name. To her, it was a hit to the face; knowing her ex-boyfriend used to call her that when she was pimped out; nobody was innocent.

Suddenly a force was heard; a slap to the face. You ducked behind the door as it swung open, Jennifer storming out in a rage, not even bothering to look back.

You snuck back in to see Keanu facing the window of his office, it faced the driveway.

“Ke?” You whispered.

He turned around, right side of his face red with faint lines of a handprint.

You rushed to his side, cupping his face, examine the marking.

“How much did you hear?"

“Oh, nothing... I saw her storm out.”

“Don’t lie to me, Sweetness.” He said looking down at you.

You shifted your gaze away from him, looking at the stacks of papers on his desk.

“All of it..” you mumbled.

His hand found your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

“You’re not a whore, my Pretty Girl.”

You chuckled bitterly.

“I slept with your son and kissed the other..” you said shamefully.

“That might qualify me as at least a hoe.” You said half-jokingly.

Keanu shook his head, dismissing the notion.

“That’s the past. You need to embrace the future.” He said softly, his touch still having a gentle hold onto you.

The two of you stood there, paralyzed, eyes locked with the other; breathing hindered by anxiety.

Keanu leaned in closer to you, his lips brushing against yours.

Your eyes closed, feeling as if you may pass out.

“I can’t fight this for much longer, Y/N.” Keanu said softly, the feeling of his lips grazing yours gave you a boldness you never felt before.

“Then don’t...” you breathed out.

Taglist: @mikaneonox @fanficsrusz @sgt-morgan @krazycags01 @boopdedoop

[keanu-fics]

Happy Place

Requested by @boopdedoop , I’m sorry I made you wait so long.

A reader who had a bad day and John takes care of her. It is pretty short and I hope you like it ❤❤❤

You were sitting in your car, parked in a garage. You have been sitting there for a while, your hands placed on top of the stirring wheel, your head nesting on top. The day had been a disaster and you practically ran home from work. You made it home a lot earlier than usual and John was not there. Otherwise he would have heard your car and would be greeting you along with Dog.

Your chest was tight and your breathing rugged. It felt impossible to breathe. You should just drive. Drive away. The anxiety was unbearable. You had a dozen coping techniques for anxiety under your belt, but when you really needed them, they all felt useless.

The garage door opened after what felt like an hour but could not have been more than ten minutes. John was standing there, holding two heavy shopping bags, Dog standing right next to him. John stared at you, confused, but soon enough walked in and put the grocery bags down. He opened the passenger door and sat down next to you.

“Tough day?” he asked.

You nodded. You gripped the stirring wheel harder, resolute to ignore the overwhelming feeling of dread inside of you. “It’s fine. Just another day. Let’s go inside, I will help you with dinner.” You quickly got out of the car and John was suddenly standing next to you.

“How about you get into the passenger seat and I drive.” he gently grabbed your hands in his. It was not a question, but he was waiting for you to answer. John traced his thumb over your skin.

You did not ask where you were going. You did not care. You just wanted to leave. John knew you well. He knew he needed to give you space during your anxiety episodes. In the past his hands would be all over you, trying to calm you down, but his touch would only make you more tense.

You sat in the passenger seat and John opened the back door for Dog to get in. He himself sat behind the stirring wheel and drove away from the house. John put on mellow instrumental music and neither of you talked. You opened the window and felt a chilly breeze on your skin, that felt so nice over the hot summer evening. Your breathing started to feel more natural again. You closed your eyes and gently swayed to the music.

You drove for about twenty minutes and the heaviness on your chest was now gone. John parked the car on a remote beach. Dog happily jumped out of the car as soon as John opened the door for him and started joyfully running around. John then walked around the car next to your door and opened it for you. He offered you his hand to help you get out and you took it with a smile.

The sky was draped in soft pastel colours, blue and purple and pink and the beach looked so inviting. The sand seemed untouched since the last high tide. You both took your shoes and socks off and felt the soft sand between your toes. You started walking towards Dog and towards the ocean. As a joke you kicked some sand in the air, towards John’s torso and giggling started to run away. John chased after you, pretending he was slower than you. He loved the sound of you laughing. 

He caught you after a while, his arms tightly around you and pushed both of you onto the ground, softening your fall. He was on top of you, smiling at you.

“You’re getting slower, old man.” you giggled.

“Maybe so.” he answered, caressing your cheek softly. “I love to see you happy.”

Your hands were around the lapels of his jacket and you pulled him in for a kiss. All of the previous hopelessness was turned into passion. You were pulling John deeper into the kiss, wanting to feel how much he wanted you. Wanting to forget about everything else.

Dog suddenly decided to run towards you two, kicking sand in your faces as he stopped only inches from your heads. You broke the kiss, pushing John away, spitting out sand and laughing.

“Dog.” John laughed too, as the creature was panting happily above you two. John stood up, helping you up to your feet as you were trying to get the last grains of sand out of your mouth. Dog went into a playful fighting stance and growled at John who took the invitation and started chasing Dog around, until Dog was barking happily. You joined them after watching them for a while. The world made sense again.

[astral-cataclysm]

boopdedoop be back later

[therealjambery]

ID: a handwritten poster pinned to a bulletin board. It reads:

How to cheer up

A - whisper "beep boop" to yourself. Repeat until not sad!

B - plug your nose

- say "sneep snop"

- say "boopdedoop" in a really deep voice

- say "bubbles" in the angriest voice you can

End ID

[dstroym]

boopdedoop

[inevitably-johnlocked]

That mother mother song reminded me of another one that’s weirdly perfect for them. It’s “Arms tonite” by mother mother, Sherlock’s point of view right after the fall

I fell in your arms tonightI fell hard in your arms tonightIt was niceI died in your arms tonightI slipped through into the afterlifeIt was niceWhite lies in your arms tonightI lost sight in your arms tonightIt was niceAnd hey, you, don’t you think it’s kinda cuteThat I [I] died [died] right inside your arms tonightThat I’m fine even after I have diedBecause it was in your arms I diedI cried in the afterlifeI cry hard because I have diedAnd you’re aliveI try to escape afterlifeI try hard to get back insideYour arms aliveAnd hey [hey], you [you], don’t you think it’s kinda cuteThat I [I] try [try] to escape the afterlifeThat I [I] try [try] to get back in your arms aliveThat I died in your armsThat I fell hard in your armsI went and died in your arms that nightI fell in your arms tonightSuicide in your armsAnd hey, you, don’t you think it’s kinda cuteThat I [I] died [died] right inside your arms tonightThat I’m fine even after I have diedThat I [I] try [try] to escape the afterlifeThat I [I] try [try] to get back in your arms aliveThat I died in your arms that nightI fell in your arms tonightI died in your arms tonightI lie in your arms tonightI fell in your arms tonight

(Lyrics from Genius.com)

Hi Nonny!

Wow, you’re evil LOL. I’m in actual pain at these lyrics hidden below a boopdedoop ditty. Hahaahaha I love dying! Thank you for this suggestion, Lovely!

[fics-not-tragedies]

Vanishing Point: Chapter Five

prologue - one - two - three - four - five - six - seven

Sup besties, I'm back full throttle and you can't stop me at this point 😂

Words: 2804; Warnings: few angsty bits, but that's all; Summary: Juliet and John plot against Santino.

Readers tag list:

@geostarr​; @catsmieow​; @wickedlangdon​; @bodhi-black​; @bugalouie-blog​; @onebatch–twobatch​; @fandom-lover-4​; @mikaneonox​; @spadesandaces2342​; @harrisongslimited​; @hhighkey​; @i-cant-remember-my-old-login​; @sgt-morgan​; @coloursunlimited​; @childrenofthegun​; @weminiaturestrawberry​; @silverlambcaptain​;  @krazycags01​;

@moonlit-raven-haven​​; @girl-at-the-verge​​; @boopdedoop​​; @jardani-jovonovich-bitch​​; @ladyreapermc​; @mysticfluffyness​​; @zombiepandajfish​​; @kollover24​​; @greenmanalishi​; @persephonehemingway​​; @penwieldingdreamer​​; @iworshipkeanureeves​; @lovelycarose​​;

@allanawinchester​​; @babayagakeanu​​; @keandrews​; @tomorrowsanotherday​​; @weasleytwins-41​​; @witty-wallflower​​; @babayagakeanu​ @7kacey11​​;

John’s hand remained firmly on the small of her back as they walked down the dimly lit hallway, the rhythmic click of her heels the only sound between them. The air was thick with tension, and Juliet could feel the weight of his gaze on her, even though he hadn’t said a word since guiding her from the room. She wished she could shake the feeling of being scrutinized, but there was no escaping it. She could feel every inch of his presence, suffocating her in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying.

When they reached her door, John didn’t make a move to open it. Instead, he stopped, turning her to face him. His hand slid slowly from her back to rest on her hip, his fingers brushing against the fabric of her dress, his eyes never leaving hers. The silence between them stretched, thick and heavy, before he finally spoke.

“So, tell me about Santino,” his voice was low, steady, and calculated—each word carefully chosen, as if he already knew more than he was letting on, waiting for her to fill in the blanks.

Juliet swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. The name sent a sharp pang through her chest, memories flooding her mind. She’d never been able to escape him, no matter how far she ran, no matter how much time had passed. He still haunted her, like a shadow lurking at the edges of her thoughts. She fought to keep her expression neutral, to keep the emotions from creeping into her voice.

“What do you want to know?” she asked, her words more defensive than she intended. Her heart pounded in her chest as she tried to steady herself, the room around them feeling suddenly too small.

John tilted his head slightly, studying her with that piercing gaze of his, as if he could see through every wall she built. “I want to know everything, Juliet. How far did he push you? What kind of man is he, really?”

Her jaw tightened, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. She was reluctant to dive back into that part of her life, but she knew John wouldn’t stop until he had the answers he was seeking.

“He’s not who he lets people believe he is,” she said slowly, her voice quieter now. “Santino is... twisted. Charming when he needs to be, but it’s all a facade. He doesn’t care about anyone, not really. He’s possessive, manipulative... and when he thought I was betraying him, he tried to break me.” She paused, the memory of his cold gaze and the control he’d had over her making her stomach turn. “But he never had the power to break me. I left before he could.”

John’s gaze softened, just slightly, as he listened, but there was no sympathy in his eyes. Instead, there was something more—an understanding, perhaps, of the kind of man Santino was. Someone who used fear and manipulation to get what he wanted. Someone who didn’t stop until he had his claws in deep.

“Did you ever love him?” John asked, his voice almost too quiet. The question hung in the air between them, heavy and loaded.

Juliet felt a lump form in her throat. She had loved him once, or at least, she had convinced herself she did. She’d been young, naïve—looking for something to fill the emptiness inside. But now, looking back, she realized it had never been love. It had been control.

“No,” she said firmly, shaking her head as if to convince herself more than him. “I never loved him. Not really. I was just... trapped. But I’m not anymore.”

John studied her for a moment longer before his eyes hardened again, his grip on her hip tightening slightly. “You say you’re not trapped anymore, but you’re still haunted by him. You wouldn’t be so guarded if he didn’t still have some hold over you.”

Her breath caught in her throat. He was right. The thought of Santino still gnawed at her. Even after everything, the fear of what he could do, the way he could turn everything she had into rubble, still lingered in the back of her mind.

“I’m not haunted,” she said, more forcefully this time, but it came out as a lie. “I’ve moved on. I’ve dealt with it.”

John’s eyes narrowed. “Then why didn’t you pull the trigger, Juliet? Why let him live after everything he did? If he’s such a monster, why didn’t you finish it?”

The question hit her like a punch to the gut. She didn’t have an answer. Maybe it was because, deep down, she wasn’t ready to kill him. Or maybe, a part of her still wasn’t sure if he deserved to die. Or maybe it was because she feared what would happen if she did.

“I don’t know,” she said quietly, looking away for a moment. “I wanted to, believe me. But in that moment, I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t ready. Maybe I’ll be someday.”

John’s hand slid up her back, his fingers gently tracing her spine as if trying to comfort her in his own way, but his words came out colder than she expected.

“Don’t wait too long, Juliet. Santino isn’t the kind of man who forgets. He’ll come for you when you least expect it.”

Juliet met his gaze again, a shiver running down her spine. She wasn’t sure if he was warning her or pushing her further into action, but the weight of his words settled deep in her chest. He was right. Santino wasn’t someone who could be ignored. And as much as she tried to escape him, she knew that part of her life wasn’t finished yet.

John’s voice cut through her thoughts again. “We need to make sure he understands the consequences. Because if we don’t, he’ll keep coming back. And I’m not about to let that happen to you again.”

Her breath hitched. There it was again—the weight of his presence, the way he seemed to have every answer, every plan. And she realized, with a cold clarity, that she wasn’t just a part of his plan to take down Santino. She was something more. Something he wanted to protect. And that thought, more than anything, made her hesitate.

“Let’s just focus on tonight,” she said, her voice quieter than before. “We’ll deal with Santino later.”

John didn’t argue, though the dark intensity in his eyes suggested he wasn’t finished with this conversation. Not by a long shot. But for now, he didn’t push. Instead, he guided her into her room, the door clicking softly behind them.

The door clicked softly behind them, and John’s eyes didn’t leave her for a moment as he stepped further into the room. The tension still hung thick between them, but it was different now—more focused, more purposeful. He wasn’t just concerned with her past or her emotional scars anymore. Now, it was about something else entirely. The weight of the plan was pressing down on both of them, and she could feel it settling in her bones.

Juliet moved towards the window, looking out over the dark skyline as if the city could offer her some clarity. She ran her fingers along the edge of the curtains, her mind a whirl of thoughts, but there was only one that seemed to keep coming back.

How to make Santino pay.

John’s footsteps echoed behind her, and she could feel his presence before he spoke. His voice was quiet but steady, like the calm before a storm.

“We’ll make him pay, Juliet. But not in a way he expects.” He was standing just behind her now, his breath warm against the back of her neck as he continued. “We’ll make him think we’ve forgiven him, that we’ve forgotten. Then, when he’s least expecting it... we strike.”

Her heart skipped a beat. She could already picture it—Santino’s smug face, convinced he was untouchable, thinking he had won. He was so sure of himself. But that was his greatest flaw. The arrogance, the confidence that nothing could touch him. It made him predictable, even if he didn’t know it yet.

She turned to face him, meeting his gaze head-on. “And what’s your plan, Wick? What’s the first step in all of this?”

John’s lips twitched slightly, as if amused by her sudden shift. He knew she was all business now, and he liked that about her. His hand moved slowly to his pocket, pulling out a small, leather-bound notebook. He flipped it open, revealing pages filled with neatly written notes, sketches, and what appeared to be a blueprint of Santino’s operations.

“We hit him where it hurts,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper as he leaned in closer, revealing the plan he had been preparing. “Santino’s power is built on fear and control. He has people in his pocket, sure. But those people, they’re weak. They’re loyal to him because they’re scared of him. But fear is a fragile thing, Juliet. If we break it, they’ll turn on him.”

Juliet nodded slowly, taking in every word. It wasn’t just about hurting Santino physically. It was about dismantling his empire, piece by piece, until he had nothing left to stand on. She understood now. This wasn’t just about vengeance—it was about taking everything he had built and reducing it to ash.

“And how do we do that?” she asked, her voice steady now, as if the pieces were already falling into place.

John’s smile was slow, deliberate. He was in his element now—calculating, ruthless. “We start with his closest allies. People who think they’re untouchable. We cut off his supply chains, turn his network against him. We create doubt. Fear. We spread rumors, make them question their loyalty. Santino thrives on control, but when that control slips, so does his strength.”

“And once we’ve got them on our side?” she pressed, her eyes narrowing in anticipation.

“We hit him last. We let him think he’s won. But when he’s vulnerable, when he believes he’s in the clear, that’s when we pull the trigger.”

She took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the plan settle inside her chest. She had never been this close to something so dangerous, so methodical. But she wasn’t afraid. She was ready. Every fiber of her being was attuned to the task at hand. Santino had wronged her in ways that no one would ever understand, and now she had a chance to make him pay. For good.

“So what do we do now?” she asked, her voice low but certain.

John stepped closer, his hand finding hers, his fingers brushing lightly against her skin. “Now,” he said softly, “we make sure Santino’s biggest weakness becomes his downfall. And we wait. We let him think he’s safe... then we deliver the final blow.”

The finality of his words hung in the air, a promise of what was to come. But there was something more in his eyes now—something that wasn’t just about vengeance. It was about power. And for the first time in a long time, Juliet realized that she wasn’t just going along with this plan. She was in it. She was as much a part of it as John was, and there was no turning back now.

John’s grip tightened around her hand, a silent agreement passing between them. “This is our fight now, Juliet. And we’re going to win.”

Her chest tightened with anticipation. She had no illusions about what was coming. It would be messy. It would be dangerous. But it was also going to be the kind of reckoning Santino had earned.

“We’ll make him regret ever crossing us,” she said, her voice cold with certainty.

John’s lips curled into a satisfied smile, his thumb brushing across the back of her hand in a gesture that spoke more than words ever could. “That’s the plan.”

And with that, the game was on.

The air in the room seemed to grow heavier, charged with anticipation as the weight of their plan settled in. Juliet could feel her pulse quickening, the excitement, and the fear melding together into something intoxicating. She’d never been this close to a fight this big, a battle where everything—her past, her future, and the raw hatred she had for Santino—would come crashing together. But she wasn’t scared. She was in control, and with John by her side, she could almost taste victory.

John’s gaze never wavered, and he took a step back, assessing her. His eyes flicked briefly to the doorway, a small signal that he was already planning his next move. “There’s something else,” he said, his voice calm but purposeful. “This won’t just be about taking Santino down. It’ll be about making sure no one ever dares to cross us again.”

Juliet’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

John’s lips quirked up into a tight smile. “I mean we’re not just going to ruin him. We’re going to make sure that after this, every person who’s ever been in his pocket understands that crossing us is a death sentence. They’ll fear us. We’ll become the nightmare that keeps them awake at night. We’ll own their every move. And Santino?” His gaze darkened, almost predatory. “He’ll wish he’d never been born.”

The cold fury in his voice sent a shiver down her spine, but it wasn’t fear. It was something else—something thrilling. The idea of not just defeating Santino, but making an example of him, of showing the world just how far they were willing to go, filled her with a dark sense of satisfaction.

“How do you plan to do that?” she asked, her voice steady, betraying none of the fire burning inside her.

John gave a small nod, clearly satisfied with her understanding. “We’ll start by tearing apart his alliances—each one more strategic than the last. We’ll make it seem like we’re taking small, calculated steps, but each move will build to something bigger. We’ll leave a trail of destruction, and everyone who gets in our way will know it wasn’t an accident.”

Juliet’s lips curved into a dark smile. The thought of it—the power, the control—sent a thrill through her. This was no longer about revenge for her. It was about making sure everyone knew they’d crossed the wrong people.

“And Santino?” she asked again, her voice quiet but firm.

John’s expression hardened. “We save him for last. The grand finale. We make sure he’s the one who has to witness the end of everything he’s built. He’ll watch his empire crumble, piece by piece, and when he’s at his weakest, when he thinks he’s finally got the upper hand, that’s when we strike.”

Her heart raced at the thought, her pulse pounding in her ears. “You’re right,” she murmured, her voice low with conviction. “He’ll never see it coming.”

John’s eyes locked onto hers, the intensity of his gaze making her stomach tighten in anticipation. “You have no idea how much I’ve been planning for this, Juliet. We’ve got everything we need. Now, it’s just a matter of execution.”

She tilted her head slightly, studying him. “And you’re sure we can do this?”

John didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he took a step closer to her, his presence suffocating in the best possible way. His hand reached for her, sliding down the curve of her arm until his fingers gently brushed hers. There was something reassuring in the touch—a silent promise that they were in this together.

“We will,” he said, his voice steady and unshakable. “You and me. Together. And when it’s all over, when Santino is nothing more than a memory, we’ll be the ones standing at the top. No one will be able to touch us.”

A surge of adrenaline shot through her, and for the first time in a long time, Juliet felt the weight of the world on her shoulders—and she welcomed it. They were on the verge of something massive, something that would change everything. And she wasn’t afraid.

“We’ll make him pay,” she said, her voice fierce and final.

John’s grin widened. “We will.”

The silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was filled with unspoken understanding, with shared ambition. They didn’t need to say more; the plan was set. Now it was just a matter of executing it.

Juliet stepped closer to him, her eyes locked on his as she slid her hand into his. There was something different in the way he looked at her now—something like respect, like he saw her as an equal, as a partner in this war. It was a dangerous partnership, but it was one she was ready for.

Together, they would bring Santino to his knees.

And when they were done, the entire underworld would know their names.

[chaos-connie]

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