#John wick x Helen wick

[overheardatthecontinental]

Someone: what are you thinking about?

Me, internally: John Wick came out in 2014. When asked how long it had been since he left the Underworld, he said five years and change. Meaning John and Helen likely got together in 2009. 2009 was the height of the Black Eyed Peas discography, meaning it is reasonable to assume that John Wick was reintroduced to the real world when Boom Boom Pow was the top song in the United States.

Me, out loud: Not much.

[kittyscribble]

oh look i wrote John Wick fanfic

Force of Nature: the first fanfic I’ve written in 8 years!! I’m pretty rusty but I’ve been reading some amazing John Wick fanfics lately and got inspired to write my own. 

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

What do the Lonely do at Christmas?

Summary: Christmas is supposed to be the time of the year you spend with your loved ones. But what if you still have to meet them?

Pairing: John Wick x Helen

Wordcount: 660

Warnings: just some fluff

Once upon a time there were some thirsty gals, that only met because of their mutual love for the one and only Keanu Reeves. This one goes out to one of the original golden Girls, @meetmeinthematinee​ <3 This is my Secret Santa gift to you. I hope you enjoy it

Tagging the original thirst squad

@ladyreapermc​ / @fanficsrusz​ / @ficsnroses​ / @omg-imagine​ / @fics-not-tragedies​ / @penwieldingdreamer​ / @eevee-of-rivia​

When he got out of the taxi that dropped him off at home, it was like John took his first breath in three months. Three long and exhausting months in which he brought so much death…

He desperately wanted to get out of it. The high table. He wanted a normal life. Whatever normal meant. Maybe live outside of the city, have a dog. A woman who loved him unconditionally.

Grabbing his bag he made his way across the street into the apartment building where he was living.

New York city was a sight to behold, but there was something magical about seeing it in the snow. It was like the city slowed down. John did never make a big deal out of Christmas. But he did appreciate the bottle of scotch Winston had gifted him for the holidays.

After placing a take out order and a long shower John found himself sitting on his balcony, a cigarette in one of his hands, a book in his other hand. It might be freezing, but he wanted to enjoy the quiet outside. So there he sat, a wool blanket around his shoulders a tea on the table next to him. Distant music could be heard from the apartment next door. When he left it was still being renovated. He made a mental note to say Hello the next day.

Enjoying the last rays of sunshine as he sat outside on his little balcony and read he didn’t notice someone on the balcony next to him.

“Здравствуйте.” A female voice interrupted his reading. John looked up, looking in the direction of the foreign voice and saw a woman looking at him from the apartment next door.

“I’m sorry. This is about all the Russian I know.” She chuckled. John looked down on his book the Russian version of some book he found on his travels.

John smiled a little. “It sounded perfect to me.” He got up from where he was sitting, laying the book down.

“Thank you very much. My yoga teacher taught me that.” She answered. “I was wondering who this mysterious John Wick was, whose mail seems to make it in mine all the time.” John was next to her now, only separated by the small provisional wall between their balconies. The whole side of this building was supposed to be renovated last summer, but still wasn’t finished.

“Oh. Sorry. This building is a Disaster. Mail getting lost, water pressure being non existent…” John sighed.

“Is this why you travel for work?” She asked. John raised his eyebrow.

“I mean… you’ve been gone for the entire time I lived here… oh I’m babbling.” She shook her head, hiding her face behind her hands.

John couldn’t help but smile as he looked at her blushing face, her dark hair in a messy bun on her head.

“It’s okay. And yes it’s one of the reasons I’m traveling so much. The other one is a very sad and lonely story I’m not gonna tell cause you’re my neighbor and we’ve only known each other for like 5 minutes.” John winked. She looked at him through her fingers, her face still hidden behind her hands.

“Maybe we can trade sad and lonely story’s one day. Though spending Christmas by ourselves seems to be one very sad highlight” She sighed. John heard the doorbell ring from inside his apartment.

“Ah that must be the food I ordered.” He said almost sad not wanting to leave this conversation. Or her.

“Then bon Appetit John. Maybe we can pick up this conversation some other time.”

“I look forward to it…” he looked at her, still not knowing her name.

“Helen.” She smiled back.

“Merry Christmas Helen” He nodded one last time at her before he turned to leave.

“Merry Christmas John.” John heard her say back. He smiled at her before he got inside to pay for his food. He kept asking himself how bad of a impression it would make to invite her over for a drink when he heard a knock on his door.

When he opened it, it was Helen standing in front of it, a bottle of whiskey in her hands. 

“Would it be too intrusive to ask you, if you want to have a drink with me?” She asked. John chuckled. 

“Not at all.” He stepped to the side, to let her in, before he closed the door behind her.

This was the first night John dreamed about his life without the high table. Without the killing. From a life he always imagined. From Christmas like he always imagined. In a warm home. Baking cookies, watching silly movies. With a woman who finally had a name: Helen.

[johnwickmorelikejohnthicc]

Helen: Everyone has an addiction. Mine is Mountain Dew.

Winston: Mine is alcohol

Marcus: Mine is my sniper.

John: Mine is 1st degree murder.

[fortis-fortunas]

yeah the wick movies are great but sometimes i just like to think about john and helen dancing to "footloose" in their kitchen on a friday night and being dorks together ya feel?

[teejaywyatt1]

Chapters: 12/12 Fandom: John Wick (Movies) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: John Wick & Original Female Character(s) of Color, John Wick/You, John Wick/Reader Characters: John Wick, Winston (John Wick), Original Female Character(s) of Color, Viggo Tarasov, Santino D'Antonio, Bowery King (John Wick), The Adjudicator (John Wick), Marcus (John Wick), Ms. Perkins (John Wick), The High Table (John Wick), Continental Hotel Doctor (John Wick), Iosef Tarasov, Helen Wick, Aurelio (John Wick), Charon (John Wick), Zero (John Wick) Additional Tags: Violence, Reader-Insert, Assassins & Hitmen, Murder, Sex, Smut, Oral Sex, Hand Jobs, This is nasty NASTY, John doesn’t play about his girl Summary:

Your simple world is turned outside down when you become the object of affection for the World's Deadliest Assassin after crossing paths.

[john-wickening]

Evaporate

In the end, we all become ghosts. Some of us do it before the end.

Tw: cancer, major character death, depression

AN: Wow, my first John/Helen fic! Sorry it’s sad. 

——————————

John’s apartment was nothing special. There’s not really a need for a true “home” when you do the kind of work he does. It was sparse but functional, essentially four walls and a roof. It kept him dry and warm and allowed him a place to crash after a long day of work. It was purely functional and he was fine with that.

At least he thought he had been.

The first time she crossed the threshold, he watched her take in the room. Her brown eyes roamed the room, thoughtfully absorbing the relative nothingness.

He expected her face to drop, curl in disappointment. Instead, a small smile crossed her lips. She looked at him with shining eyes. A look that said “I’m home”

He wasn’t sure why, but it made him fall even deeper.

Two months later, he was sitting at his kitchen table one sleepless night staring at a hair elastic sitting on the kitchen counter when the realization hit him like a ton of bricks.

He stood abruptly and crossed room. He opened the bathroom door and flicked on the light. Once adjusted to the bright light, his eyes fell to the sparse counter.

There it was.

Sitting next to his own was her toothbrush. It was yellow, her favorite color. The bristles were neat and orderly, a stark contrast to the frazzled bristles of his own. Next to it, her moisturizer.

He flicked the bathroom light off and stepped out.

Without thinking, he entered his bedroom and without turning on the light, his fingers found the creased paper that rested on his dresser.

He touched it only for a second before letting his hand drop. He knew what it said. He had it memorized. The first love letter she had ever written.

Dearest John....

He had only known Helen two months and yet she had filled this space, settled across every surface like a fine mist. She inhabited every corner quietly, subtly, in a way you’d miss if you didn’t look closely enough. Truly something you’d have to know to look to be able to see.

The promise behind her presence, the potential, had his heart skipping beats.

There wasn’t a thing he wouldn’t do for her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

John had seen a lot of horrific deaths in his long, storied career, but cancer was by far the most inhumane. The way his wife, his precious Helen, faded inch by inch with every passing day until she was almost see through. The way she struggled to draw in a breath, to swallow a sip of desperately needed water. The way her eyes grew cloudy and her lips no longer curved up in that bright smile. The way her pearly teeth began to rot.

The worst of it was going home without her.

John parked the station wagon in their garage. He sat in the car for a long time, his keys in his hand, his heart in his shoes. He dreaded going inside. Even though it had been months since she’d been healthy enough to do it, he still expected to walk in and see her standing barefoot in the kitchen in one of his shirts, humming an aimless tune while she cooked.

The car was getting cold and only felt colder in comparison to that memory. He sighed and got out.

As he crossed the threshold, he stopped dead in his tracks.

Helen has entered full time hospice 12 days ago. For the first time, John walked into their home and realized it did not smell like her.

With a sharp pang in his chest, he walked trancelike to the sliding glass door leading out into the backyard. The sun had just set and the yard was bathed in twilight. His eyes found what he was dreading to see.

Her garden, overgrown with weeds. The gerberas were brown and withered. In the whirlwind of chemo, appointments with lawyers about end of life arrangements, picking out a fucking casket, he had neglected to care for it. It didn’t seem important then, but now looking upon it, John felt a deep shame. He had to look away.

Numbly, he stepped into their bedroom. On the nightstand, untouched all this time, was the glass of water she had tried to drink her final night at home. She had tried to take a sip and ended up breathing most of it in. Her final trip from home was in an ambulance.

He couldn’t move it off the nightstand.

Anyone who entered this house would know that she lived here. It was obvious from the feminine touch, the bright paintings, the wedding photos, but all John saw was the way she continued to fade. Even her presence in this house was growing weaker and weaker by the minute. Their home echoed her decay.

The house no longer smelled like her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She wanted to be buried in her favorite sundress.

Helen was not much of a dress person, but this particular one, bright yellow and dotted with tiny watercolor flowers, made her smile in a way that crinkled her eyes and filled him to his very core with her light.

In the casket, the dress hung on her emaciated frame. Her hips, once delicate and round, jutted out starkly and defiantly against the fabric. The neckline that once accentuated her soft pink skin now only revealed rows of ribs, the arch of her sternum, and a chemo port. The funeral director assured him that he could fix it, make it look “more in line with how she looked in life” and John absently nodded.

Nothing could fix this.

The funeral was the next day. John sat numbly on the couch, tears still wet on his cheeks, his mourning clothes still on, and glanced out the back door to look at her garden.

The day she died, he ripped it all out. He couldn’t stand to look at the ruined flowers, their petals rotting in a pile below them. It took him three agonizing hours and by the time he was done, his fingers were split open and bleeding. Now there was a hole left in the ground, dark and gaping.

This wasn’t how he wanted to remember her. It wasn’t how she deserved to be remembered.

He sat on their couch, unable to move, unable to fathom how this could have happened. The grief was unparalleled— it felt like his body had been blown apart and all that was left in the world was a hungry, yawning void that would eat and eat and eat until there was nothing left. It took his breath away.

Of all the people in the world, why her? He wished with every fiber of his being that it had been him instead. He would have done anything to take her place. He deserved it, after all the life he had snuffed out.

Helen was now nothing more than an echo, fading out slowly and seeping away into nonexistence as the seconds ticked by.

What kept him from joining her was the ring of the doorbell and the words that accompanied her last present.

This illness has loomed over us for a long time, and now that I have found my peace, find yours.

Until that day, your best friend,

Helen

[yup-thats-me]

MASTERLIST

RULES

IN All MY FICS THE READER USES SHE/HER PRONOUNS

JOHNNY DEPP

INSTAGRAM AU

Johnny Depp Instagram au #1

Johnny Depp social media au#2

Johnny Depp Instagram au #3

Johnny Depp Instagram au #4

HEADCANON

Valentine's with him

ONE-SHOTS

But he's me

summary:Johnny gets jealous when you say Captain Jack Sparrow is maybe a better kisser than him

Mine. Only mine

(SMUT)

summary: when one editor of your upcomming erotica novel is being overly flirtatious with you, it makes Johnny fuck you in the washroom

Unconditionally || Johnny Depp X plus!size!reader

summary: Johnny x reader with an age gap?

Meant to be || Johnny Depp x model!reader

summary: when model!reader is sad that Johnny can't come to her show at the Carrousel du Louvre, her gang and Johnny has a way to cheer her up

To be with you

(SMUT)

summary: They used to be best friends, but they lost touch after he married, mostly because his wife didn’t want him to be near her and reader didn’t like her either (she saw her true colours but knew Johnny wouldn’t listen). After his divorce he tries to find her and resume their friendship, although both of them are deeply in love with each other, neither of them act on it (she especially because she’s very different from the women he usually dates). One night, he appears in front of her door and they catch up, and passionate love ensues

Hair Love

summary: imagine having tough luck with your hair but fortunately, Johnny's there to rescue

Lifeline

summary: when Johnny is slowly loosing hope, you remind him you're there for him

Yellow

summary: Johnny had a nightmare :(

Baths and Care

summary: you help Johnny rewind after a hard day by running him a bath :)

Surprise puppies

summary: your dog, Daisy, is unexpectedly pregnant.

(?) Johnny Depp

(SMUT)

summary: dominate smut where they go multiple rounds

KEANU REEVES

Take care of you

summary: you're on your period and Keanu's there to help you through it

Pregnancy Hormones || husband!Keanu Reeves x pregnant!wife!reader

summary: your hormones are acting up

Prom Date || Tommy Warneki x reader

FLYING/DREAM TO BELIEVE (1986)

summary: even if your bullies, Leah and Stacy, try to ruin your prom night with Tommy, they can't cuz Tommy's here :)

JOHN WICK

Midnight Love

summary: when John keeps on comparing you to Helen, you burst

OSCAR ISAAC

ONE-SHOTS

Professor, please || professor!Oscar x student!reader

(SMUT)

summary: when your history professor sees you're falling behind in classes he has a way to punish you

Familia • husband!dad!Oscar x wife!mother!reader

summary: your husband and your six months old daughter crashes your meet and greet with a surprise visit during your tour :>

TIMOTHÉE CHALAMET

INSTAGRAM AU

Timothée Chalamet Instagram au #1

Timothée Chalamet Instagram au #2

Timothée Chalamet Instagram au #3

Timothée Chalamet Instagram au #4

Timothée Chalamet Instagram au #5

Timothée Chalamet Instagram au #6

HEADCANON

Valentine's with him

ONE-SHOTS

Birdhouse

summary: you and Timmy make a birdhouse together

Hope you're happy, but don't be happier

summary: Timothée did what you thought he'd never do. He cheated.

Movies and Cuddle nights

summary: Timmy being clingy after reader comes home from a day out with Saorise and Zendaya

No scars to your beautiful • Timothée x chubby/plus size reader

summary: after a dinner with your family made you eat lesser and lesser. Timothée being the protective and supportive boyfriend he is, he has to take the matter in his own hands.

Notice me

summary: fic based on the song Notice me by ROLEMODEL and BENEE

Flower Fields

summary: Timmy takes you to a flower field where you make him a flower crown

TOM HIDDLESTON

INSTAGRAM AU

Tom Hiddleston Instagram au #1

HEADCANONS

Valentine's with him

ONE-SHOTS

Happy birthday, my love

(SMUT)

summary: you give Tom a bj on his birthday

Stuffie Shopping || daddy!Tom X little!reader

(dd/lg themes)

summary: daddy!Tom takes you to buy some new stuffies

Cuddles please

summary: a very tired Tom needs his daily dose of cuddles from his darling girl

Our dreams • Tom x wife!pregnant!reader

summary: your dreams of having little Tom's and you's running around, are coming to be

The Night We Met

summary: the night we met. Quite literally.

Christmas trees

summary: you two decide what type of Christmas tree to get

Christmas carols

summary: Tom sings carols to see a smile on your lips

Pets can help!

summary: your two canine friends help you and Tom make up after your break up

Funfairs

summary: you both went to a funfair and had fun. Honestly that's all I could sum up

THOMAS BRODIE-SANGSTER

INSTAGRAM AU

Thomas Brodie-Sangster Instagram au #1

Fc: Demet Ozdemir

•••

[1-800-fiction]

Retired

Fandom: John Wick Request: “I would like a oneshot where they invade John's house and in the night and you're pregnant for 6 months and you see John being afraid for the first time begging not to hurt u and in the end they understand and leave”- @lovers-on-call-13 Word Count: 600

"Goodnight" He kissed you on your forehead. You smiled and giggled, opening your eyes.

 "You're awake?" He asked.

"Couldn't sleep. The little one was kicking" You explained. He placed his hand on your swollen stomach and felt your child kicking. He smiled and chuckled.

"You better let your mommy get some sleep, young lady" He spoke in a soft voice. He got in bed and lay next to you. You felt comfort and easily fell asleep. Soon after John did too.

--

You woke up soon after with a dry throat. Without disturbing John, you crept out of bed and downstairs to grab some water. You heard whispering and you tensed up on the stairs. You slowly walked down the rest of the way.

You glanced around the corner to see three men in masks, Your heart leaped in your chest. You quickly turned around to leave but there was another man in a mask behind you. He had a gun to your head and smiled.

"Hey boys, come check this out" He called out. The men came rushing around the corner probably to tell him to shut up. Once they saw you they knew they found his weakness. No one knew about you and John.

 "Looks like Wick has a lover" He taunted.

 "And a baby" You gasped out. You hoped they wouldn't hurt your baby. You knew if they would hurt your unborn child then they had no humanity left; not one drop.

 "Don't speak" He growled and pressed the gun further into your skull. You whimpered in fear. A creak sounded from upstairs which caused the men to look up.

 "Move and I shoot her!" He yelled, knowing the boogeyman was there. He stepped out with his hands in the air, fear on his face. You had never seen John so vulnerable or scared.

 "Don't hurt her" He begged. The man with the gun laughed. The others had fear in their eyes. They knew they would die if they pissed him off.

 "Or what?" He taunted. John was angry but he didn't let that get to him.

 "I will kill you and everyone you love" He threatened with a calm tone.

 "Maybe we should go" The other guy advised, placing a hand on his shoulder. His eyes went wide with rage. Tears poured down your face as you closed your eyes. Your body was overwhelmed with fear.

 The room was silent except for your fast, panicked breath. You didn't see their reactions but you felt the gun move off your head. You heard them run out the door and looked up. John ran to you and you gasped in relief.

 He wrapped his arms around you and held you in an embrace.

 "Are you okay?" He panicked, checking you over.

 "I'm okay" You smiled, tasting the salty tears. He held you there and handed you a gun.

 "I'm going to check out the place. Stay here" He ordered before turning into a killer. You stayed in place, holding the cold, steel gun to protect yourself.

 He came around the corner of the hall and picked you up. He carried you to your room and laid you down.

 "Everything's going to be okay. I'm here" His soft words sending you to sleep.

Tags: @everyday-imfangirling

[overheardatthecontinental]

As requested, here is more of Dark!John, extended from the kinktober somnophilia fic Mine.

Please read the tags. This is dark yall.

You wake up feeling stiff and achy. You go to stretch but you can’t. Your legs are locked in place. All at once, you find yourself wide awake and searching for what has you restrained.

Your hands are bound above your head, tied together. Your legs are spread open, each tied to the end of the bed. There's a bit of wiggle room but you sure as hell aren't moving more than a few inches.

“Easy.” The familiar voice says to you, “You’ll hurt yourself.”

The events of the previous night, the previous week come back.

The feeling that you were being watched, thinking yourself half-crazy until you heard the lock click open and you ran for it. You didn’t even make it past the alley behind your apartment before he had caught you, wrapping you up in his arms, trying to quietly goad you into submission.

You had tried to run. To fight.

And he had choked you.

After that, it all went blank.

You swallow, heavily and ignore the pain in your esophagus to look to where the voice comes from. He is sitting in front of a large window with views to a balcony and of a green yard. You’re not sure where you are but this sure as hell isn’t New York.

He’s… attractive and it’s stupid, but that just infuriates you all the more.

He’s wearing a three-piece suit with the tie draped around his neck, undone. He’s got a dark beard and long hair. And he has dark piercing eyes and immediately, you feel your body shiver. Those were the eyes that were following you. The eyes that hunted you.

He stands from his seat in the armchair, opening a bottle of water. He slips a straw into the water and offers it.

“Here.”

You wonder if you should take it. Your throat burns and water sounds so good right now, but you don’t trust him.

“It’s safe.” He promises, a hard tone to his voice, followed by an authoritative “Drink .”

You lean forward and take the straw into your mouth. The water is still cold and it feels divine as it falls down your throat. You wonder how long it has been since you last ate or drank. The sun is out and you can see it from a large wall, covered in windows.

You release the straw and he sets it on a bedside table.

“Where am I?” You ask, wondering if he’ll even bother to answer.

“You’re safe.”

Safe? Was he mad?

You look around the room. There are three doors. One to the balcony, and two regular doors. You’re unsure where either leads. The one across from the balcony wall has a pinpad and some sort of complicated locking device. So does the balcony.

The last doesn’t, which makes you think that it isn’t an exit. A bathroom, perhaps?

The room itself is largely white and utilitarian. There’s the bed and matching armchairs by the balcony. A nightstand on either side of the bed. But that is all.

“How… how long have I been out?” You ask, hoping for a clue to your unconsciousness.

The bed dips as he sits next to you.

A large hand reaches up towards your face and you wince as a finger tracks down your throat.

"Nearly twelve hours.” He pauses and says, “I'm sorry I had to hurt you."

You don't know what the fuck to say to that. so you don’t say anything.

You need a plan. You need a way out and right now, you don’t have shit. Twelve hours. Fuck, you could be anywhere in North America.

You can’t stand. You can’t even sit up.

But even if you could, you’re locked in this room. Locked in this house and you don’t know where the fuck you are.

The only way out, if any, is by leave of this stranger. This stranger who has stalked you, kidnapped you, and now has you tied up in this room. A kidnapper’s humanity is her only chance out of this.

You swallow. “My name’s Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N. What’s yours?”

And apparently, that is the wrong thing to say. His eyes flash dark and his face tightens. “Your name is Helen.”

There it is again. Helen.

Does he have someone confused for you? Is this your way out?

“No, it’s Y/N. I swear. You can even look at my ID. It’s in my wallet.” You’re rambling now, but you can’t help it. He’s glaring. He’s getting angry.

“Your name…” He says slowly, “is Helen.”

“It’s not! I’m not who you’re looking for! I think this is a mistake…”

His thumb presses down on your lips, hard. It stops you from continuing and you wonder if he notices how much you are shaking. When you stop trying to speak he gives a small smile.

“Good girl.” He praises, “You are exactly who I’m looking for.”

You want to argue. You want to insist on your name, your identity. To convince him that you’re not this Helen that he is looking for but survival instincts kick in and you decide not to piss off the man who has you strapped to a bed.

You nod. “Okay.” You whisper and he moves his thumb, “Okay. What’s your name?”

His face relaxes a bit, “I’m John.”

“Hi John.”

Progress. Okay. That was progress.

"Can I… Can I ask you some questions, John? I'm just so confused." You try your best to look as such. As it turns out, it isn't hard to look confused and scared when that was exactly what you were feeling.

John pets your head and pushes your hair back from your face, "Of course, my love.”

The endearment sends a shiver down your spine but you don’t have time to be scared or confused. Not when you don’t know who this guy is or what he intends to do.

The only good thing you can think is that if he wanted you dead, he could have killed you already.

That was comforting, right?

“Where are we?” You try, hoping for some kind of hint.

“Our house.”

“Which is where?”

His hand curls around your chin and you’re struck by how large it is. Hands aren’t something you think about being strong but his… he tilts your head up, barely using any force, and you find yourself wondering just what those hands are capable of.

“You don’t need to know that right now, sweet Helen.”

“But--”

“Now I know this is new and I’m going to do my best to be patient with you.” He says, his fingers pinching your chin, “But we’re going to set some ground rules. Understand?”

You nod, swallowing hard.

“Say, ‘I understand.’”

“I… I understand.”

“Good girl.” He lets go of your chin and sits back up. “You’re safe. And right now, that’s all you need to know in terms of where we are. Right now, you are in our house. In our bed.”

Our house. That was the second time he had said that. Our bed, however, was far more intimidating a thought.

Is that what this was about?

It couldn't be.

He was, she hated to admit it, ridiculously attractive. In any other circumstance, he would make her mouth water. He wouldn't have an issue finding a woman. He could definitely have picked one more attractive, she thinks, younger with silky skin and a gorgeous figure.

She wasn’t hideous but she sure as hell wasn’t so sexy that she drove men mad. To kidnapping.

Our bed,  she thinks again.

“I’m going to take care of you.” John continues, petting her hair back again, “And you’re going to let me. I will provide everything for you that you need. I promise that you won’t want for anything.”

“Except my freedom.”

His face gains back that hardened edge and you wonder if it was a mistake. But just as quickly as it arrives, it vanishes.

“I will make this as simple for you as I can: when you are a good girl, you will be rewarded. And when you are a bad girl, you will be punished.”

The last bit sent another shiver through you. You weren’t sure what he meant but punished but you were certain you didn’t want to find out. That meant escape. And fast. God, you had to get out of here fast.

His hands reach up to where your wrists are bound. “We’re going to start small. I’m going to undo your hands and legs. I can assure you now that there is no getting out of this room without me. I don’t recommend trying. But you’ve been here awhile now. I’m sure you need to eat and use the bathroom.”

You definitely did, to the second.

As far as eating went, you are torn completely between denying anything he tries to feed you and ensuring that you keep your strength up. Either way, however, you nod.

John unclasps your wrists and you bring them to your chest, holding them tight to you.

He stands up and walks to the end of the bed where he unties the bindings from your ankles.

Your body aches but you feel instantly better when released.

Even though your arms feel weak, you push yourself to a sitting position.

“Go easy.” John warns, “Your limbs will need time to adjust--”

You push yourself to your feet, ignoring him, and you instantly regret it. Your legs are wobbly and you’re not entirely sure you can fully feel them. You hazard a step forward and collapse.

It is only John’s quick reflexes that keep you from hitting the ground.

Bastard.

John wraps his hands in your hair and tugs, just short of true pain, forcing you to look up at him. “That was strike one. I’ll let it slide because this is still new for you. But the next time you outright ignore me when I’m trying to help you, you’ll find yourself in a precarious situation.”

He lifts you off the ground easily and sits you back down on the edge of the bed.

“Stretch your limbs. Wait until you have full feeling and then stand up.”

You feel your cheeks burn. This is the last man on the planet you want to be schooled by yet here you are, listening to him speak to you like a misbehaving child.

Still, you listen, stretching out your legs, giving your body the time to adjust.

This is a lesson. A reminder of where you are.

Even when released from one kind of bondage, you are trapped in layers. And you couldn’t even make it a single step after getting out of those bindings, let alone to the door. That was something to consider if you were to try to escape.

You hoped he wouldn’t keep you locked in those bindings but there was no way to know. You sure as hell weren’t going to ask.

After a minute, John offers you a hand.

You don’t take it but you do push to your own feet.

Your legs still feel tired but not nearly as wobbly.

John doesn’t comment on your action, merely points with his head towards the door in the back. “That’s the bathroom. The door on it is a privilege. Eventually, you may earn the privilege of having it shut. For now, it stays open. And before you get any clever ideas about closing it anyway, I’ll remind you how easily I busted down your bedroom door.”

Fuck.

It feels like every possible action has been divided into his stupid constraints of good girl / bad girl. You listen to him, you’re a good girl. You ignore him, and you face the consequences, whatever they may be. It was barely a choice but it felt like rebellion was the only tool you had left at your disposal.

Be patient , you tell yourself.

There will always be time to rebel later. Right now, you really just needed to fucking pee.

He doesn’t follow you in, which is a comfort in itself.

The bathroom is huge. It’s ridiculous. It was bigger than any bathroom you’d ever seen. A jack and jill sink is in the open when you first go in and you nearly gasp when you look at the counter.

Your favorite lotions and soaps and makeup are all meticulously arranged on one side. Did he take your things? You weren’t sure if that was a comforting thought, to have your own things, or the most invasive part of this whole fucking disaster.

The other has shaving cream and hair products and aftershave.

You go in farther and, fuck. There’s a huge, square shower built into the wall. It’s tiled with a large overhead spout that’s at least a foot wide.

Beyond that, in the far corner, is a magnificent bathtub. It’s large and deep and looks far better than the one you had in your childhood home.

You missed baths. You hadn’t had one in years, living in an apartment with only a shower.

Fuck.

And, Christ, there’s bubble bath and salts and all kinds of products on a stand near the tub that most definitely were not there for John.

He didn’t seem the type to use lavender scented bubbles.

You snort at the thought and check, again, that John has not followed you in, and you walk over to the toilet. You relieve yourself quickly and go to the sink to wash your hand.

There are a lot of products. Mini-projectiles, you think, but none that would stop him. And none that were worth the consequence if you fucked this up.

From the looks of the doors and the complex security there, you would need John to get out of this room, one way or another.

You walk back into the main room and John stands at the end of the bed.

“How do you feel?”

As if that wasn’t the most loaded fucking question on the planet. How did you feel? Angry and scared and helpless and pissed the fuck off.

You open your mouth to lie, to say fine and anything else that will appease this madman but nothing comes out. You try to speak again and find yourself completely mute and terrified and unsure of how the fuck to respond to all this.

John steps into your space and you try to move back but, again, his arms are around you before you can blink.

“You don’t need to be afraid of me.” He says lowly and you can’t help it. A giggle escapes. A tiny, hysterical giggle.

“I want to go home.” You whisper.

“You are home.”

You shake your head, frantically, “People are going to look for me!”

“It's a possibility,” And that gives you a spark of hope before John adds, “But they’re not going to find you.” He forces you to look up at him, “That life is in the past.”

“I have a job and when I don’t show up on Monday--”

“They’ll find a notice that you’re leaving New York, effective immediately. Family issues.”

Your heart sinks even further and John pushes back a lock of hair and you helplessly ask, “And when my family looks for me?”

“Oh sweetheart,” and it’s not condescending as much as it is sympathetic and fuck him, but that stings all the more, “They’re not even going to notice you’re gone, are they?”

A breath stutters out of your chest and you want to collapse onto your knees because he is right. They won’t look for you. You only call home once a month or so but it could take a year before anyone realizes they haven’t heard from you. And maybe they’ll reach out but maybe they won’t.

“My friends…” You try, shaking your head.

“Won’t be surprised that you’ve finally cut off contact. You never see them, do you? They reach out every so often but you always turn them down when they want to get together. It was only a matter of time before you went your own way, they’ll say. Face it, sweet Helen, you’re alone, except for me.”

Oh God. Again, he’s right. You like having time to yourself and most of the time you prefer it. You’re there for your friends but you’re not even sure you remember the last time you went out for drinks or dinner or for anything other than hugging someone through a break-up. And they asked, but you turned them down.

And for what?

To read at home?

To relax and make things and watch crappy tv?

You had isolated yourself and he could be right. There was a very strong possibility that no one would be looking for you. That no one would even think to report you missing.

You had wondered, at first, why he had chosen you.

Was this why? Because you were such an easy target?

No. No , you think. He’s messing with your head. You have friends. Sam knew you weren’t close to your family. When she heard that you quit to take care of them, she’d know it was bullshit. She’d reach out.

And Meg… she wouldn’t just let you disappear from her life, if only because she needed someone to listen to her talk about her bad decisions.

And, almost as if he can sense the hope building within you, John tilts your head back up.

“And anyone else who tries to take you from me will be dealt with.”

There was an edge to that sentiment. He had proved to be capable of kidnapping. Was it so far a jump that he would kill?

Maybe. Probably.

You want to cry but you can’t. You won’t in front of him, and John is watching you like a fucking hawk. He hasn’t taken his eyes off you since you came out of the bathroom

“I’m all you have.”

It’s stupid. You’ll look back on the moment and know that it’s stupid. That it’s a waste of energy and irrational. Even at your strongest, you wouldn’t stand a chance against John. He’d knocked down your door, ran down four flights of stairs, and choked you out without breaking a sweat.

You bring an arm back to strike and throw a punch.

Adding insult to injury, John snorts before he catches your fist in his hand. He turns it back and yanks it up behind you. The angle fucking hurts as he spins you and shoves you face-first towards the wall.

He slams into you, pinning you. Locking you down quite literally between a rock and a hard place.

“Strike two.” He whispers, into your ear, lowering his head. You feel his lips on your neck and your entire body stiffens. He nips at the skin, sucking at a tender spot and then licking his tongue over it. “I’m tempted to just call that a foul, because it was pathetic. I know you’re clever. You must have known that wouldn’t work.”

You can feel every bit of him as he presses you into the wall.

His chest and stomach are sturdy and warm but you have to fight a gasp at the hard length against your ass. Your heart stutters in your chest, a flash of fear flooding you yet again as his hips adjust.

John has made it clear he wants to keep you. He had called his bed our bed .

Your head feels light and you’d probably be swaying if it wasn’t for John and the wall. He must be able to tell, feel you sinking forward. He releases your arm from behind your back and steps away. Your heart jolts as you start to feel yourself falling, but he scoops you up and into his arms.

A cruel irony. He carries you like a bride to the bed, where he lays you down.

“I’ll go get your iron supplement.” He says, running his hand along your cheek.

You blink, frantically.

Your iron supplement.

Well, John has proven to be thorough. It only stands to reason he would have invaded your medicine cabinet as well as everything else.

He rises to his feet and John flashes you a smile that, Christ, should be fucking illegal.

You look down until he turns to the door and you watch, carefully as he scans his thumb, his eye, and enters a code into the keypad. His fingers move in a blur and you’re not entirely sure how many digits the code was. Five? Six?

The retinal scan is fucking ridiculous.

How much money had he poured into this makeshift prison?

He spares you a glance and you quickly look away as he leaves. The door shuts behind him and the sound of feet quickly fades.

You rise to your feet, carefully. He was right about the iron supplements. You need them daily and the last thing you need, right now, is to fall in this godforsaken room.

You check the door first. As you expect, it’s locked. You look at devices John has installed and are at a loss.

Christ.

You try the other side.

Nearly the entire far wall is taken up by windows. But, unlike the windows in your apartment, these are thick. You knock it with your fist, testing it. No. These won’t break easily.

You check the door to the balcony. It’s set up the same as the door to the rest of the house.

There’s no way you can lift one of those chairs, especially after all you’ve been through, but the ottoman is smaller but still has sharp legs. You lift it and slam it against the glass wall. It shakes but not even a dent or a crack appears in front of you. You try again and nothing. You throw it helplessly but it makes no difference.

There’s no getting to the balcony, and even if there was, it’s a decent drop. You’re at least on the second floor of this house.

The property is expansive.

Even if you escape, there are no houses in the direct vicinity. You won’t be able to scream for help.

Okay. Think. Think..

There’s got to be a way out…

There’s got to be a way…

You drop into one of the arm chairs and stare out at the land.

Any other time, you’d be thrilled to see so much green. So much beauty.

But not from the window of your new prison.

You’re trapped.

By some kind of psychopathic stalker.

Your hands are shaking. Not just your hands, you realize. You’re shaking.

It appears the door to the house is your only way in or out of this room. And John is coming back. With your iron pills. It’s the only way out and you’re reluctant to try something so stupid again, especially just after you miserably failed to throw a damn punch at your captor. But you can’t stay here. You can’t.

So you stand next to the door.

Maybe you can take him by surprise, you think. Throw him off his guard, off his balance for just a second. And maybe you’ll make it to an exit. A door, a window that can be fucking smashed. Anything.

The alternative is to stay and God only knows what will happen to you if you risk it.

You listen for sounds of footsteps and they come back.

There is a beep followed by another followed by a soft click as the door unlocks. It opens and you lunge forward but John throws out an arm, like he’s expecting this, leaning down so that it catches you around the waist.

Easily, he picks you up off the ground, kicking and swearing. He adjusts you, pulling you closer against him as he kicks the door shut.

The lock clicks back into place and you scream in defeat as John lifts you anew. Suddenly, you’re flying through the air and you land on the bed. It bounces under your wait and John raises an eyebrow at you.

“How did that go for you?” He asks softly and there it is again, that dark and dangerous edge to his voice that makes your very hair stand on end.

“Please, just let me go.” You beg, eyes welling with unshed tears. “Please, I won’t tell. No one will know, like you said. No one will have even known I was gone and I won’t tell anyone. Just let me--”

John climbs onto the bed, swinging a leg over your hips.

“I would stop suggesting I let you go before I fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk for a week.”

That shuts you up.

He wouldn’t…

But even as you think it, your mind fills quickly with all the reasons he would. Our bed . You are home. I’m all you have .

You had felt his length against your ass earlier and now it’s against your stomach as he lays on top of you. Unmistakably hard.

“Good girl.” He praises, patting back your hair again. “Which is surprising considering how naughty you were when I was gone, huh? That glass you were trying to break is glass-clad polycarbonate. An AK-47 can’t penetrate that. Nothing short of an RPG could.”

“Why would you need that?” You can’t help but ask at the sheer ridiculousness of that entire wall.

“I have a lot of enemies.”

“No kidding.” And again, it spills from your lips before you can think better of it, “Stalking and kidnapping doesn’t make you any friends, huh? MMM!”

John shoves three fingers in your mouth, effectively shutting you up.

“Much better. You got a pretty mouth, Helen, but I think I prefer it when it’s otherwise occupied.” He presses down on her tongue, lightly, “Now be a good girl, and suck.”

When she resists, he pushes down harder, making her gag.

“You’re treading on thin ice, baby girl. Do you have to be asleep to suck on my fingers like the needy little girl you are?”

You freeze at the words, eyes widening.

Oh god, the dreams… the dreams you’d had all week, where you’d been sucking a nameless, faceless man off as he whispers to you how good a girl you are for him. Waking up and feeling an odd taste in your mouth, something dry on your face…

It wasn’t drool.

And it wasn’t a dream.

“Come on, now,” John coaxes, pistoning his fingers in and out of her mouth, “Be a good girl for me.”

He wants you to suck on his fingers. Apparently, you already had.

And you had woken up utterly soaked, often with your own hand down your underwear. You’d gotten yourself off, imagining sucking him off. Albeit, you didn’t know it was him.

Christ, had he seen you? Pleasuring yourself after waking up wet?

“I’ve been very patient with you,” John tells her and that edge is back in his voice, “And I’m not going to tell you again. Suck. My. Fingers.”

She stutters a breath around them but she sucks. She flattens her tongue against his long digits and she tightens her lips.

John is looking down at her, a small smile appearing on his face as he watches. That edge in his expression is gone, she notes, curling her tongue around a finger. He looks almost relaxed, save for his dark eyes.

He watches, still moving his fingers in and out of her mouth.

He grinds his hips into hers and her eyes widen in a moment of brief terror.

John hums softly, “Such a perfect little body.” He tells her, curling his fingers in her mouth and tilting her head to the side. He licks a stripe up her neck. “It was one of the first things I noticed about you that day on the train.”

The train? You think. Fuck, was he on your commute? Was that how he found you, chose you?

You hadn’t seen him before, of that you were certain. You would have remembered seeing John. But he sure as hell had seen you.

You whimper around his fingers and John presses a kiss to your cheek.

“Good girl.” He says and drags his fingers from your mouth, leaving a trail of spit down your chin.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the bottle of iron pills. He knocks the cover and taps two out into his palm before closing it and tossing it to the side.. Without leaving your body, he reaches over to the bedside table and grabs the water.

“Here.”

He brings the pills past your outstretched hand and to your mouth.

Fuck. So this is how it's going to be.

You open your mouth and he smiles as he sets the pills on your tongue. He lifts your head, gently, in his hand and brings the water to your lips.

You swallow down the pills and John kisses your forehead.

Shivering, you close your eyes. You need to think of a way out. And fast.

[kittyscribble]

Force of Nature Ch 3 is up!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34270897/chapters/85267729

[cosplayproblemsposts]

Can I request a jhon wick and son reader his also an assassin like his father but much worse and brutal

Father vs son. Many years before Helen's death you came to be but you've been proven to be quite the handful.

Male character x male son reader

(platonic)

Once Helen met a fifteen-year-old you, she had to be one of the happiest women alive. She became the mother you never had before but she notice how oddly cruel you were towards people. John says it's because you don't really like a lot of people but he knew how cruel you could be.

Five years later Helen's death affects both parties "Long time no see Kiddo" your father lays a hand on your shoulder. Outside a local cafe, you took note of his body language "You've grown slow pops" John chuckles. A little bark catches your attention "Oh, hello daisy how are ya?" the little beagle pup's body wiggles in excitement.

"Where were you?" John asks, you never attend Helen's funeral "I was taking care of business" you're nothing like your old man you never seek an escape from this murderous life. Taking another's life became your therapy "You're not the only one who misses her" John stares.

"Just stay safe, Okay" you hum and embrace the man you call father "See ya around Dad" that was the last time he ever heard from you.

Italy, Rome John intends to kill Gianna but once he saw the countless bodies within the catacombs he froze. Santino's men and number one bodyguard close in so he leaves.

"Hello, father...you look like shit" you gesture with your index finger "Were you the one who killed all those men...and women" you nod. "Yes, why wouldn't I" John knew how brutal you really are and no one matches your merciless wiring. "You should've seen them" you add on "You shouldn't have done that" you frown "What?" John looks you over. "Forget I've said anything" with that you watch him leave.

"What must be done" John stood in the presence of the Elder himself "The cost of your life will be the death of others the first of which will be the man they called Y/N". "What?" John breathes out "He has forgotten where he stands" John could only listen "Neither the open contract nor the excommunicado will be lifted until you completed your task. So if you wish to live and if you wish to remember this is the choice you must make".

A bloody figure catches John's attention "Hey, Pops how are ya?" you look exactly like him but you took pleasure in your brutal treatment. John loves you, of course, you are his son and now he can see how he should have handled the situation.

Outmatched and dealing with the fact you are his son doesn't help and he hopes you understand what he has to do. "Please forgive me" you grew confused as John approaches you "What?".

"I'm sorry my boy"

( I hope this is what you asked for)

[johnwickmorelikejohnthicc]

Winston: If you bite it and you die, it's poisonous, but if it bites you and you die, it's venomous.

Marcus: What if I bite it and it dies?

Charon: That means you're poisonous.

John: What if it bites itself and I die?

Aurelio: That's voodoo.

Marcus: What if it bites me and someone else dies?

Winston: That's correlation, not causation.

John: What if we bite each other and neither of us die?

Helen: That's kinky.

*shocked silence*

[meetmeinthematinee]

Unbound -- Chapter 4: Frequencies

Probably forgot this story even existed, didn't ya? Well, here's a long delayed 4th chapter of my Posessed! John Wick fic. Catch up on A03

Warnings for: paranormal stuff, swearing.

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

Pagers gave way to cell phones, clubs closed, others opened in their place--but the voice--oh, that fucking voice remained the same. The city changed around him--or was it them? John didn’t even know anymore where he ended and where that creature began. The night he finally surrendered to it for fear of hurting someone that didn’t have it coming to them he’d stopped wondering about the line of separation. And he’d flourished. His vaults and safety deposit boxes filled with coins, with deeds to properties he’d never even laid eyes on and may NEVER lay eyes on. Gone were his ill fitting, cheap clothes--everything was bespoke now--altered to his exact measurements, built with the highest grade of protection that the time and technology allowed. He no longer had a room at the Continental--he had an entire suite.

He had everything. He also had nothing. His days blurred together in a haze of violence, boredom and blood. He invented novel ways of killing people, created challenges for himself in the hope of feeling something. The only thing he ever felt was the momentary pleasure of his unwanted passenger as they consumed whatever wretched soul he'd provided them.

He couldn't discuss his predicament with anyone. Who would understand? They'd think him mad--if they didn't already. It was forbidden under penalty of death to discuss the ceremony and it's outcome with the Ruska Roma. He'd tried, once, and an example was made of the person he'd even dared to ask the question of. He felt the demon's pleasure in that too--and it delighted in his misery as he dug their grave in the dirt floored cellar of the tarkovsky theatre.

If his demon's appetite was properly sated he trusted himself enough to enjoy an evening or two with someone who'd catch his eye and was interested in a fleeting, wholly physical connection. To touch and taste and see something other than violence, other than death. To feel a soft, or hard, but warm body under his hands. Not for the purposes of extinguishing life--but to revel in it’s living. Those moments fed his soul, allowed him to remember for however briefly that he was more than a vessel for some other being. Mostly he just endured and survived. Where that stubborn resolve came from, he didn't know. He couldn't know, really, it's not like he had a family tree to look back on to see which of his relatives was the stubborn mule.

There must have been more than a few hard headed people in his family. He mused as he holstered his gun and made his way out of the now silent warehouse. Another job done. Another pile of bodies.

He sent word to Vigo, job completed, and put in a call to Charlie. Sometimes Vigo liked to make an example by simply having people disappear.

As he strode purposefully back to his parked car --strategically parked just behind a decommissioned crematorium he heard a voice.

"I mean you no harm, I'm here to listen."

John stopped cold, shifting into a defensive position, eyes scanning his surroundings while he listened--it was a woman's voice. Speaking in a soft but confident cadence.

"Tell me your story."

He rounded the corner of the deserted building, keeping his footsteps light. What the hell is she doing? He wondered.

"Give me a sign" She said.

"A sign of what?" He asked, keeping his distance as he warily eyed the trio of people.

She gasped and nearly dropped the small device in her hand.

"Holy shit, you scared me!"

John smirked and eyed the two people she was with. “She always startles this easily?”

Her somewhat oddly dressed companions remained silent and impassive.

She followed his gaze and John watched in confusion as her face went from confused to surprised to frightened.

“There are people with me?” She asked quietly.

"What? Yes--ok this is--just getting to my car, forget it."

He turned to walk towards his car, shaking his head. Normally he’d never turn his back on a group of people so strange but it’d been a long night and he’d had enough of whatever bizarre game this was.

The device in her hand was lighting up like a christmas tree as it pointed at him. She was floored. She’d never gotten a hit that strong on her EMF detector before. And never, ever from a person. She swallowed down the fear of being alone in a somewhat deserted area with a strange man and his parked out of the way car.

“Please, wait!” She called.

John tucked his blood speckled hands into his pockets and kept walking.

He heard her rush of footsteps over the broken pavement and turned to face her. She almost collided with him. Rocking back on her heels as she came to a stop.

“I’m alone. I mean, I am with people--but they’re in the cemetery--not with me right now.”

“I’m not someone you want to fuck with.” John said coldly.

“I’m not fucking with you.” She insisted. “Are the people still here?”

John swept the area, his eyes searching for any trace of the silent and strange people that had been at her side.

He should have heard their footsteps. There was nowhere they could have gotten to that quickly but suddenly he and this odd woman were very alone.

“They were right beside you!”

“I don’t doubt that--I was getting some good readings--but you! You’re setting this thing off like crazy!” She said excitedly.

John took a step back and turned to leave. He was tired of this game.

“No, wait!” She said quickly as she threw out a hand and gestured for him to stop.

“I’m an investigator.”

John froze. Fuck. What had he walked himself into, he wondered as he pressed his hands deeper into his pockets. Hoping there wasn’t any blood spatter on his face.

The less said the better and she seemed nervous enough that it was either an incredible act or she was a really green cop.

“I’m with the New York paranormal society. We’re investigating activity here at the graveyard and surrounding complex.” She added quickly.

“Ghosts. You’re investigating ghosts?” He asked.

“Um, yeah.” She shrugged and glanced down to the side.

“What’s that for?” John asked, following her gaze down to the still lit up device.

“Oh, it’s my EMF detector. It can help pick up spirit activity.” She started to sound more confident again. “I was getting some strong pings towards this area so I just followed the trail. It doesn’t usually light up like this. Or...stay lit up.”

“Right, well, happy hunting.”

“Helen! Where are you?!” A loud, yet distant call broke the awkward silence between them. She turned and yelled, in a voice louder than John was expecting “I’m back here--I’m fine!”

She didn’t know why she opted not to share that she was actually talking to someone but for whatever reason she didn’t want to call attention to this man with a standoffish demeanour and a weird energy. Something wasn’t quite right about any of this.

John used the distraction to quietly extract himself from this situation. He was exhausted and just wanted to get back to the continental and shower and not think too hard about the fact that he may have been seeing ghosts all along.

She turned back to talk with him but she heard the roar of the engine come to life. Fuck, he was fast--and quiet. She shifted her camera from it’s spot at her hip and snapped a few shots of him pulling away in his car, hoping that his license plate was clearly legible in at least one.

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

[fortis-fortunas]

john doesn't want to live just for helen's memory of when they were together.

when gianna asked him if he feared damnation, he didn't hesitate to very quietly answer, "yes."

he'd known for years that with all the blood on his hands, he was certainly damned. i think he'd quietly accepted it as inevitable, like many things.

but then along came helen.

and she became john's sole reason to fear damnation.

because he thinks that to live with her memory is the only capacity that he has to be near her.

he doesn't want just to live to remember her.

he doesn't want to die, because he believes in his heart that to die would mean he could never be with her where she is.

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Pairing: John Wick x fem. Reader

Warnings: so much Angst, mentions of dead spouses

It was almost midnight when you were standing in front of his house.

All of your calls had gone straight to his voicemail and you were worried. Since finding out Helen was sick John had changed. Of course he had. The love of his life was dying and there was nothing he could do about it.

John and you were friends. You had a small vintage bookshop in the city and he offered his book binding services for almost three years for your customers after you talked him into it.

He had a talent to give old used books a new life.

John had introduced you to his wife Hellen almost immediately. She was as perfect as he said (he was always gushing about his talented wife). That didn’t stop you from falling for him though.

If he noticed, he never said anything. You still became friends, which is why you were here in the middle of the night after worrying. Helen had texted you earlier today, telling you about her prognosis.

Take care of him

She had written.

Breathing in deeply you knocked on the door for a solid thirty seconds.

“John I know you’re in there,” you called out, before you knocked again. The light came on and you stopped.

“What are you doing here?” you heard him say behind the door.

“I… Helen texted me. I know…”

The door opened and your heart dropped when you looked up at him. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair frizzy from the amount of times he must have run his hand through it. The look in his eyes made you swallow. He only looked at you before he turned around. You followed him, closing the door behind you. You found him sitting at the kitchen counter, his head hanging low, held up by his hands.

You just watched him before you breathed in deeply and went to the fridge. You felt his eyes follow you, but he didn’t say anything as you searched yourself through the various cabinets before you had everything together and began to make your hot chocolate.

“I know nothing I will say will help you but just know that I’m here for you,” you said as you filled two mugs with hot chocolate.

You carried them and sat down next to him, your eyes landing on the boxes of christmas decoration in the hallway. He turned his head to look at you before he reached for the mug and inhaled the scent of chocolate and cinnamon. You gave him a small smile before you began to drink.

“I don’t know what I’ll do when she’s gone…” he whispered, his voice strained. You closed your eyes, trying to think of what to say.

“I have close to no memories from the first days after my fiance died all those years ago,” you began and John looked at you.

“The only thing I remember is that I was not alone because my mother was there. She didn’t leave my side for a whole month,” you smiled at the memory.

“How did you learn to live with it? She’s not even gone yet and I feel like I’m dying on the inside. Christmas was her favorite time of the year...”

You turned in your seat to look at him and he did the same, drinking the hot chocolate you had made.

“You use the time you have with her to make some memories, John,” you said quietly and he nodded, emptying his mug.

“This is really good,” he nodded towards the mug and you smiled a little.

“Family recipe,” you winked and John chuckled.

“Can you help me put up the Christmas decorations? For Helen?” he asked.

“Absolutely.”

Taglist:

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