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lolitarosaa · 11 months

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heavy-duty laundry service - chapter 2

Author's note: I wrote this one during my lunch break and I finished when I got home. Such a long write made my shoulder sore. I had fun though. I will be expanding on this while my brain tries to do something with the other story. There are recurring themes in this story and the other one, they're not in the same universe though, I like the way they work together. The rose thing is for me, I have an obsession so y’all will be hearing more of these flowers from me.

Please like always excuse any grammar mistakes,

Thanks for reading my rosebuds. - rosalinda

TW: blood, torture, guns, mentions of sex, reg. John wick stuff.

The cleaning took about two days: one day for drying, one day for dismantling, three days for the order of kevlar to come in, two days to cut and shape the material, and one day to sew it back together and fix the torn suit.

"It’s beautiful," you say to yourself as you admire your handiwork. "I hope Mr. Wick will be happy."

It’s been about a week and a half since you last saw him. The tales you heard, while you were in the Marines and in the underworld, were true. John is a man of focus, commitment, and sheer will, just like a true marine.

Charlie sent you his number. You were a bit nervous to call him, and you had no idea why. It made your tummy twist in knots. It could be because of his reputation, his skill, or just because he was a very handsome man.

You bit the bullet; you called him before you hurled your phone across the room.

Ring, ring, "Hello?" His voice was like bourbon, smooth and burning.

"Hello, Mr. Wick, it’s y/n. Your clothes are ready for drop-off."

"Ah, Ms. y/n, it's good to hear from you again; I thought you had run off with my clothes."

You chuckle at his words: "No, sir, I would never".

"Good, I like that suit. Well, I'm at the Continental; just ask for my information at the concierge. I'll be waiting, dear."

"Of course sir," you hang up, and you exhale, "Wow, that was exhilarating."

The drive to the Continental was nerve-racking; you raced there to see if it would burn off some steam, but it didn't. The suit was next to you, and all you thought about was John. You hoped he would try it on, and you really wanted to see him in your revised suit.

As you swerve to the hotel, you get your suit in hand, hand your keys to the valet, and say, "Please be careful with the car." You hand him two coins, hoping the extra coin will keep your car safe. "Thank you."

As you make your way to the concierge, your heart is racing, pounding out of your chest. As you make your way to the desk, there's a man there with papers in his hand; his name tag says, "Charon."

“Excuse me, Charon,”

“Yes? Oh, Ms. y/n. Mr. Wick has been expecting you; he told me to give you his room key and his room information. He is in room 818, and here is his room key.” He slides you the room key, and as you take it, it feels heavy in your hand; it's steel, but in your mind, it weighs about a stone.

“Thank you, Charon,”

“It’s a pleasure, Ms. y/n.”

As you make your way to the elevators, you think to yourself, "Why would he give you a room key? Couldn't you just knock? What if you find him in a compromising position? Well, you wouldn't mind that.” Ding. The elevator ding startled you from your not-so-clean thoughts; the room at the end of the hall, his room, your blood runs cold, one foot in front of the other, breath, you remind yourself.

As you take the key from your back pocket, you insert it in, you open the door with shaky hands, and you step in, saying, "Mr. Wick, I’m coming in; it’s y/n." You make your way in, you hear the shower running, "Ohh, this could be awkward," you think to yourself, the knot in your stomach getting tighter, your legs running cold. As you walk into the room, you walk to a side table with a chair next to it, and you sit with the suit in hand.

You sit and wait. You look around the room; it’s a standard hotel room with nothing much to see, but you were so nervous for your encounter that your eyes darted across the room. You heard the water stop, and your body tensed up as you waited for the door to open.

As the door opens, your eyes are trained on the door knob. As John steps out, you see him in a towel. Your face perks up a bit. As John enters the room, you stand still, scared to move or make a sound. Your eyes follow him as he sits on the bed.

“So, Ms. Y/N, that’s my suit?”

You take a deep breath as you try to concentrate on the conversations and not on his hair dripping wet or the droplets of water trailing down his body.

“Yes, Mr. Wick, please take a look.” As you stand and turn to open the dust bag, you can feel John’s eyes on you, analyzing and taking you in. As you hand it to him, he makes contact with your hand and says, "It’s warm and rough."

"It’s heavier, and it looks better than before." He takes the suit and studies it, looking at the stitching, the inside of the jacket, the cufflinks, and the patching from the injuries he received the last time they met.

“Tell me, what’s different?” As you step towards him, you take the jacket and show him the inside.

“Well, Mr. Wick, as you can see, the lining has been replaced; the inside of the jacket has two layers of kevlar, and the pantsuits also have two layers of kevlar. The lining was too damaged to be patched, so I had to replace it, as the suit was an older model and didn't have any protection. And as you have come into this line of work in unfortunate circumstances, my best bet was to insert two layers instead of one, which is why I also added it to your pantsuit. Better be safe than sorry. The cufflinks were my personal touch—part of my brand, if you will.” You say this as your hand slides to the silver rose cufflinks.

“Personal brand? Please expand on that, Ms. Y/N.” He said this to you as he looked into your eyes.

"Well, it meant to represent my call signal when I was in the Marines, which then became my alias here in the underworld. My call signal was Rose. I was in the Special Operations Command; I was clean up, and as a woman, the command believed I was not suited for the missions that were taken. It was a load of bullshit. I'll tell you that I was the second best sniper; if you were to ask me, I was number one, but that prick, Miller, had the balls to say he was better." You say that you remember who you're talking to.

"Um.. sorry about that, sir. It’s a touchy subject, since I was KIA," you say, as there is a hot rush of blood going to your cheeks.

John is trying to process what you have said: "So you're a Marine? And you were killed in action?"

“Yes, well, in a way, as you can see, I'm standing here now.”

"So, what happened?"

"It's a long story that I don't mind telling you, but not right now; you are a busy man. The only thing I can say is that Bastard Miller is at the bottom of the ocean."

"Well, Ms. y/n, I am intrigued; I can't wait to hear more."

"Of course, sir. Now, may I see the suit on you? I want to know if there’s anything to fix or adjust."

"Sure, dear. Let me get changed; you can stay here; I'll change in the restroom."

"Sir, are you sure? It's your room after all; I don't want to be a bother."

"Nonsense, Ms. y/n, please stay; it won't take long."

"Very well, Mr. Wick." You say as John stands up and walks to the restroom, your eyes following him, you see his tattoos, "Oh god, give me strength; don’t let my thoughts win." The door closes, you gasp for air, your hands on your knees for support. "Holy shit," you say to yourself as you walk to the chair and sit down. No man has ever given you lightheadedness before; you don't even know how you stood so close to him and did not pass out cold.

Wrapped in your thoughts of what you have been through, you don't hear the click of the hotel door. You are slouching in your seat, hard to see, and the movement behind the plane glass headrest makes you alert.

You may be a cleaner and a seamstress now, but in your past life, you were a Marine, and a damn good one. You always carry weapons on your person. You lean down enough to not be seen and grab your gun behind your back and stay in position. It’s a woman, and as she moves to the left of the room, John comes out of the bathroom. "Well, Ms. y/n, you did a goo-'' The woman moves her gun to shoot; she doesn't see you as she moves. You tackle her down, and her gun shoots upward, hitting John in the shoulder.

"Ahh, shit, Perkins, don't you know the goddamn rules?" You say to her:

"Y/N, what the hell are you doing here?" She struggles to free herself.

"On the job, now stop moving." You sit on her chest, one leg on her legs, one hand on her arm, the other on her neck, and your other leg on her arm.

"Fuck you, uhtu," she spit in your face.

Spit drops from your eye to your nose. "You fucking bitch, I always knew you were fake." Your hands travel to her neck, your legs move to her arms, keeping her still, and you try to choke her out. As she gasps for air, John stands up and runs to you.

"Y/N, let her go; she can help us find where Losefs hiding," John said, with an arm on your shoulder.

You do as told and let her neck go; she sucks in as much air as she can and coughs. "Bitch," you say to her.

As you stand up, John grabs Perkins, and you go to the bed. You move the comforter and grab the flat sheet, ripping it into long strands. You move Perkins, now sitting on the chair where you were sitting, and you tie her hands to each other and her legs to the chair.

"Well, y/n, you sure did not lose your touch; you still fight like a Marine," John says as he looks at you.

"Thank you, sir." You wipe the remaining saliva off your face. "How’s the suit holding up?" you say as you look at the shoulder hit.

"Good, I'm not bleeding." John said it with a smile on his face.

"Oh god, stop trying to get yourselves off and kill me already." Perkins said as she groaned.

"Oh, shut up, Perkins," you say, moving to grab your gun that was under the bed when you kicked it in the tackle. You cock your gun and aim at her foot. You shoot.

"Ahh! You fucking bitch!" she shouted in pain.

"Don't you ever spit on me again, you piece of shit," you say as you put your gun on safety and place it on your back.

John looks at you, a bit surprised at your display but not unimpressed. A little smile on his face.

"Now, Ms. Perkins, will you kindly tell us where Losef is hiding?" John said it with a bit of an evil smirk on his face and a tone of amusement.

"Fuckin’ cocksucker," Perkins said under her breath.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" John asks.

"Fuck you," she said a bit louder.

John steps on her injured foot and says, "Ahh! Shit!" She yelled.

"Now, tell me what you said," John said while gritting his teeth. "No, he can't be hot in this situation; god, he looks good in that suit." you think to yourself as you stand back and let John do his interrogation.

"Fuck!" John places more pressure on her foot, digging his heel into the bullet hole.

"Fine! I'll talk! Ahh!"

"Good, tell me where Losefs is." John grabs her hair and pulls her face upward, looking into her eyes.

"I don't know where he is!" John places his foot on her bloody foot again.

"Then what do you know?" He grits his teeth and digs in the wound again.

"Ahh! In Little Russia, there's a church. It’s a front; it’s where Viggo keeps his stash." He lets go of her foot.

"Good." He moves his hand, and with the hand holding his gun, he hits her with the butt of his gun, knocking her cold. Her body slumps forward.

You turn to the phone, picking it up. "The front desk, please?"

"Hello?"

"Ah, Charon, we need to clean up here."

"Clean up? Did the job go better than expected?" Charorn said with a tone of delight

"Uhh, no, not that kind of fun; we had an uninvited guest try to kill John and me."

"Oh, I see; pardon me. Okay, I’m sending someone up now."

"Thank you,"

"And again, Ms. Y/N, I am so sorry."

"It’s fine; it was funny," you say as you let out a chuckle.

"Okay, thank you, Ms. y/n."

"Sure," you say as you put the phone down.

"So what was that about?" John looks at you,

"Ah, Charon thought we had sex," you say as you walk closer to him.

"Did he now?" He looked at you with his eyebrow going up in amusement; it seemed he was staring into your soul.

"Yeah," you say, looking away from his gaze and trying to compose your red cheeks.

A knock on the door is heard, and John cocks his gun.

"Don’t shoot; it’s clean up," you say to him as you turn your head towards the door.

"Come in; the doors are open!"

“Ms. y/n, Mr. Wick, we are here for clean-up.” The man in uniform is standing near the doorway.

“She is right there;” you gesture to Perkins. “She is alive and just knocked out."

"Okay, we will take it from here." The man said as one of his men cut her from the chair, placing handcuffs into her hands, and putting her on his back.

"Excuse me," the man said, "the management has given you the presidential suit as an apology; we are very sorry for the events that occurred." He hands the new keys to John and says, "Please don't hesitate to ask for anything you both may need; also, please remember to hand your room keys in."

“Thank you, John,” and I say it at the same time.

“Of course,” the man in the suit leaves.

“Well, that was something, wasn't it?” You say this to John with your head looking down. “So what now?”

“Well, we go to the church,” and he looks at you and hands you the extra key.

“I’m sorry, we?” You ask in surprise as your head shoots up to look at him.

“Yes, we. I need your help, and you're a good fighter.” He comes to you with the key in hand.

You take a deep breath. The idea of being on the hunt again excites you to the core; the rush of adrenaline. You sigh.

“Fine, we'll take my car.” You say this as you take the key from his hand. “And now that we will be working together, call me y/n.”

“Okay, deal, but you stay with me until we finish the job, and you call me John no more, Mr. Wick.”

“Got it,”

“Okay, let's get to work.”

#heavy duty laundry service #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #john wick #baba yaga #keanu reeves #rosalinda

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lolitarosaa · 11 months

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Heavy-duty laundry service

Authors note: This little piece is just a thought I fleshed out. This doesn't really follow my previous post. I still don't know if I will be fleshing out this image more; I don’t know if I will work on it as I take breaks from the main story I'm writing now. I'm doing my research on the subject, but if anyone has any questions about the other dribble, I will be happy to talk about it.

This was a fun write, and I'm still getting the hang of this site. So cheers to that! Thanks - rosalinda

Tw: blood, guns, violence, alcohol, reg. John Wick stuff.

38 men, last five: two to the left of me, two to the right, one on the front. I take a deep breath. Bang, four more. As I move swiftly and turn around, the two on the right are the first to come out of hiding. Two shots, bang, bang. As they fall to the floor, I move to the wall where the two guys are hiding. Two more to go and one of the guys' feet is sticking out. Bang shot to the foot. As he leans over, I shoot him in the head. As he falls, I move to the front. Bang, the last guy didn't even get to raise his gun. 38 men were killed. I take a breather. “I need a diner reservation,” I say to myself.

As I walk to the basement, I feel guilty and sorry that I had to tarnish our home with blood. I told myself this would never happen; that part of myself was over. As I walk to the stairs, I feel tears go down my face. I'm so sorry, Helen.

As my feet touch the basement floor, I walk to the phone, I take a moment to gather myself, I “Fuck,” I whisper, I pick up the phone and put it to my ear, and as I dial the phone number I hear the line ring. Ring, ring, ring, “Yes?”

“I need a dinner reservation for 12,” I say to the man on the other side of the call.

“Okay, we will be there in 20 minutes.”

I shiver; I feel the soreness of my body start to form; my knuckles are bloody and peeled; I have a gash on my shoulder where one of the men cut me with a kitchen knife; and my forehead is bloody where some guy grazed me with the butt of a gun. Yes, the feeling of this pain and the scent of iron from blood are so familiar and so weirdly nostalgic. I must be a crazed man for feeling this way.

The ring of the doorbell brings me out of my troubling thoughts, and as I make my way up the basement, I feel a deep, cold sensation in my stomach, like something is going to happen. As I walk to the door, I feel like the cold is traveling down my legs to my feet. As I open the door, I see Charlie and the rest of the cleaning crew—the same faces I saw when I was in the business five years ago. As they all walk in, I see that in the very back, I see a girl. She looked no older than her early 20s. As she followed the rest of the men, she made eye contact with my eyes. The coldness turned into a warmth that I couldn't really explain. It felt different than the one Helen gave me. As she walks past me, she gives me a little nod and keeps moving with her cleaning caddy.

As I walk into my living room, I go to a side table where I keep a bottle of bourbon and pour myself a drink. With my drink in hand, I sit on the sofa and loosen my tie. As I take a sip, I’m figuring out what to do next. Now what I have to do is go for both of them, even if I have to drag them to hell myself. They will pay for killing my puppy, stealing my car, and tainting our home with the blood of strangers. As I think of ways to accomplish my goal at hand, I stand up on autopilot, move to the side table, and pour myself my second drink. I snap out of my trance as I see someone in my field of vision; it’s the girl with the cleaning crew.

“Yes?” I ask as I place my drink down and turn to look at her:

“Um, Mr. Wick, would you like me to clean your wounds?” She looks at my shoulder as my vest is drenched in blood.

“No, that is fine; I'll clean it later, but thank you, dear,” I say, as I grab my drink and take a sip,

“Well, Mr. Wick, can I take the vest and the shirt for cleaning?”

“No, it won't be necessary; I think these are too ruined for cleaning.” As she opens her mouth to respond, Charlie comes to her side.

“John, take her word for it; she can do miracles when cleaning up blood. She has a gift for cleaning, and she also has a hand for stitching up clothes, so what do you say?”

As I take a breath and think for a moment.

“Fine, she can take my vest and shirt.” As I turn to look at her, I say, "I'll keep your word for it; if you say you can clean these up, I'll hire you as my heavy-duty laundry service. What do you say, dear?” I say this as I take another drink.

“I'll be happy to be of assistance, Mr. Wick,” she said as I turned around and took off my vest, and placed it in an armchair. As I took off my dress shirt, leaving me in my undershirt. I turned to her figure, grabbed the vest and shirt, and she walked up to me and took the clothes. As she took them, I felt a spark when we touched; it gave me shivers.

“Sir, we are done with the cleaning.” A voice says to Charlie,

“Okay, I'll be there in a moment. John, it was good to see you, and hopefully, I'll see more of you. Y/N, dear, I'll wait for you in the car and bring the payment with you,” Charlie said as he shook my hand and walked away.

“Well, y/n, here is the payment for Charlie, and... here is yours,” I say this as I place one payment in her hand and the other in the other. Giving her the heavy coins into the arm that is not holding the clothes.

“Thank you, Mr. Wick. I won't disappoint.” She looks up into my eyes with such commitment to a simple task that it makes me give her a small smile. Her hands slide her coins into her pants, and the other she holds in her hand.

“I know you won’t ask. Charlie, ask for my number so you can tell me when the clothes will be ready.” I say to her as I walk her to the door,

“I'll see you soon, Mr. Wick.” She said to me as she extended her hand for me to shake,

“I'll see you, y/n,” I say as I take her hand, and more sparks travel up my hand to my arm.

I see her walk up to the van and step in. I wait until the door closes to close my door, and as I do, I hear the van pull off into the night. I knew her for less than an hour and was already intrigued by her.

#john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #john wick #baba yaga #keanu reeves #plz excuse the grammar mistakes #i woke up from a nap and I had to write this about before I went insane #rosalinda #heavy duty laundry service

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