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writeawaymrwick · 6 years ago

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AWW so sweet! Great job on the fic, hun! @justmeandmyinnermostthoughts

StopLight - a Keanu x reader oneshot

Here we go. My first Keanu fic. It was inspired by this piece of an interview. I hope you all like it.

Keanu puts the hose of the air pump back in place. He frowns, looking at the back tire of his motorcycle. He’s not sure what to make of it being flat like it was. He couldn’t find a reason for it. He shakes his head. It’s aired up now at least. He climbs back on his bike and starts it back up. He pauses at the exit to check that the way is clear before pulling out onto the road. A few minutes later he pulls to a stop at a stoplight, squinting against the sun in his eyes. On a whim he stands up, holding the bike steady with his hands on the handlebars, and looks down at the back tire, checking on it. It looks fine. Guess it’s just one of those weird things that–

There’s the sound of metal impacting metal and his bike jerks away from his hands, shooting out from under him, and skidding a few feet as it falls on its side. The sudden movement causes him to take a step forward to regain his balance. He sees the car bumper that stopped a few inches from the back of his leg and looks up at the windshield of the car. He can’t see into the car because of the sun reflecting off the glass. Before he can even think to say anything the car is thrown into park and the owner practically leaps out of it.

The young woman steps up to him, eyes wide and panic written across her face. “Oh my god. Are you alright? I’m so sorry! I totally didn’t see you. The sun was in my eyes. I could hardly see the stoplight! I’m so sorry! Are you hurt? Do you need me to call someone? I-”

Keanu holds up his to stall the panicked rambling and turns to face her. “I’m fine. You didn’t hit me, just the bike, and the bike can be fixed. So breathe for a moment and try to calm down okay?”

The woman nods and takes a breath, covering her face for a moment, obviously fighting back tears. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I just didn’t see you ‘cause of the sun and then suddenly you were right there and I thought-” She lets out a breath and runs her fingers through her hair, clasping them behind her neck. “And here I was thinking my week couldn’t get any worse. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Keanu nods, the corner of his mouth turning up in amusement. “Yes, I’m fine. Look,” he waves his hands at himself, “no injuries, no bruises, nothing. Your car didn’t even touch me.” He holds his hand out to shake her’s, which she accepts, his hand practically swallowing hers. “I’m Keanu Reeves by the way.”

Her eyes go wide and the blood seems to drain from her face. If this was a Studio Ghibli movie her hair would be standing on end. She withdraws her hand from his grip. “Oh my god. You are Keanu Reeves. Oh, my god. I nearly hit the internet’s boyfriend with my car!” She leans against the front of her car and puts her face in her hands. “I was wrong. This week totally can get worse.”

Keanu checkles, rubbing the back of his neck, a bit embarrassed at the nickname. He’s not quite sure what to say so he steps over to his bike and picks it up, looking over the damage.

The young woman collects herself again and steps over to Keanu, looking at the bike. “How bad is it?”

“Not too bad. Just some minor scratches is all.” He stands, holding the bike upright and turns to her, noting a few cars behind her’s. “There’s a parking lot just around the corner. Why don’t we relocate there so we aren’t blocking traffic?” He looks down at her.

She looks over her shoulder and nods. “Yea, good idea.” She heads back to her car and Keanu gets back on his bike.

He leads the way to the parking lot of a small coffee shop and pulls into one of the spaces, the young woman pulling her car into the space beside him. He turns off the bike and props it up on its stand before looking it over again.

The young woman climbs out of her car and steps up to the bike, papers clutched in her hand. She holds them out to him. “Here’s my insurance information for you.”

Keanu shakes his head and holds up a hand as he stands. “I don’t need it.”

The woman frowns. “But-”

Keanu shakes his head again. “But nothing. The damage is minimal and no one got hurt. At most the bike needs a new paint job, which I was considering doing anyways. This just gives me a reason. I don’t need your insurance information Miss?”

“Oh! It’s Y/N, Y/N Y/LN. Are you sure?” The frown still evident between her eyebrows.

“Quite sure, Miss Y/LN. I don’t need it. No one got hurt and I can fix the damage myself.” He watches as the tension seems to drain from her.

She nods and pulls her hand back. “Alright then.”

Keanu puts his hands in his pockets. “Do you want to get a coffee?”

Y/N looks up at him, eyebrows drawn together again, confused. “Excuse me?”

“Do you want to get a coffee?” He repeats, pointing at the coffee shop.

She looks at him surprised. “I just about hit you with my car and now you’re asking me to get a coffee with you?”

He shrugs. “You seem like you need someone to talk to and I mean, we’re already outside a coffee shop. So why not?”

She lets out a small laugh and shakes her head. “The internet’s boyfriend indeed. I think you are too kind for your own good, Mr. Reeves.”

Keanu shrugs again. “I’d rather be kind than be anything else. And you can call me Keanu.”

Y/N smiles at him. “I suppose that’s a good way to live your life. Give me a moment to grab my purse. I’d love to get a coffee with you, Keanu. And you can call me Y/N.” He returns her smile.

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writeawaymrwick · 6 years ago

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@21stcenturyyfoxx this fic is beautiful *chef kiss* ✨

Young John at the ruska roma x reader for writing prompts? Thank u ♥️

Characters: Young John Wick x Reader

Setting: Ruska Roma, 1994, Outskirts of Russia, Belarus.

Warnings: Violence, Cursing, Blood.

A/N: IM SO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG — or at least I think it took so long lol. I hope this finds you with what your were hoping, babes.

———————————————————

You sat there watching as the instructor dismantled his gun, eyes focused with great precision on the weapon before him.

You, along with the rest of the students, sat there bored, dying for a bit of freedom but everyone knew it would never come. Not in this life.

Your peripheral caught notice of a silent movement, your head casually turning to one side to look at what, or rather whom, had just made a sudden move.

Jardani Jovonovich.

Your breathing became clogged into your windpipe as you shamelessly stared at his form; his face donned a few scrapes from practice earlier in the day. His eyes always told the tale of being haunted, his chestnut orbs could always forfeit his emotions — sometimes. You couldn’t force your eyes away from his figure, how the black t-shirt he wore accentuated his broad shoulders and chest; his jeans only making you break into a soft sweat as the fabric pressed against his thighs.

“Miss Y/N!” The instructor snapped you out of your daze, a blush executed itself across your cheeks as you realized the whole class including Jardani was now staring at you, fully aware that your gaze was glued to the young man; a smirk evident on his face as you looked like a caught animal in a cage — full of fright.

You adjusted your coat, shaking your head and answering the instructors question about which gun had a higher velocity of ammunition to encourage maximum damage. You had answered correctly and to your surprise, Jardani had the look of being impressed written across his face.

———————————————————

Six months later...

You stood ready to strike, your breathing settled as you had managed to find your footing once more after the tumble to the mat; your hands tucked away against your body, rage flashing in your eyes.

A smirk placed on your opponents face, their arms distant ready to strike at any moment.

The class watched with bated breath as the two most prestigious students were locked in a dance of rage and passion.

“Now, Y/N... you know you should forfeit and submit to my power.“ their voice hissed with such confidence it made you nauseas.

You shook your head with a sinister laugh.

“Like I would ever submit to you, Jardani.” You spoke his name like a curse.

Soon the dance continued, you had managed deliver a few punches to his side, you knew his body was slowly crumbling to the effect of the blows.

He grabbed you, hooking your arm behind you while he snaked his free arm, hooking it around your throat in a chokehold; earning gasps from your trachea.

“Give up, Bailarina*, he hissed into your ear as you struggled inside his firm grip.

Your sight became blurry with hints of black orbs dancing around your orbit.

You begrudgingly took your free hand, tapping his arm three times — signaling your withdrawal from the fight.

You crashed to the floor, gasping for air; coughing and wheezing, clearing your throat.

A hand visible in your peripheral, you looked at who it may be attached to; Jardani.

“Let me help you up, bailarina.” He smirked with a greedy look in his eye; power.

You took his hand, staggering upward in his comforting grasp.

“Well...” said the Director. “My best students, you two, are absolutely, uh, how do you say?” She trailed off in her own thoughts, fumbling words through her mind like a rolodex.

“Mesmerizing, Yes, that’s the word!” She nodded with a faint grin, eyes squinted peering at the two of you as the rest of the class fled through the doors for lunch.

“You two have a bright future ahead of you, mark my words.” She said with a nod before turning on her heels and leaving the room.

There you stood, Jardani by your side. If someone would have only took a picture.. maybe for your future self as to reminisce when the hard times were to fall; and they would fall, like torrential rain years later.

———————————————————

Twenty-Five years later

———————————————————

You sat there, knees bobbing up and down; focused on the task at hand.

Your fingers lacing the thread carefully through the persons skin, ever so often you’d have to stop and tell them to quit wincing in pain for it was proving difficult to finish the stitches.

You were the doctor at the Los Angeles branch — The Continental. You had been there for the past fifteen years; the twenty-five years that passed you had left the Ruska Roma and placed yourself as the highest ranking, well, second highest ranking assassin there was for the Underground.

You were only thwarted by Him.

Your eyes looked at the patient before taking the glass of vodka away from him, he muttered a response to you before standing up, handing you two gold coins and heading out the door.

Time passed as you cleaned the mess before you up, blood on the hardwood floors, on the equipment you tossed unceremoniously away in the trash. A rapid knocking had startled you out of your routine; you swiftly opened the door.

“Bailarina.” He said weakly, collapsing in your arms at the threshold.

“Jardani...” you breathed out, shocked but ever determined you gathered him in your arms; blood pooled around him as you draped him in the chair. Your nimble digits quickly finding their way to his shirt, ripping it open sending buttons flying every which where as you looked him over.

A stab wound graced his chest, deep enough to do quite some damage.

Your heart stopped momentarily at the discovery but was quick to jolt awake with adrenaline; your hands worked feverishly, securing the wound as the blood spilled, you clamped it down with a small holder; stopping the flow before you; hands working tirelessly to suture the wound.

“Jardani?” You said after the suturing was complete. He had yet to regain consciousness — you had became almost frantic, feeling for any sign of life.

His mumbles began, his eyebrows knitting together in pain as he began to sit up.

Your palms quickly found the tops of his shoulders.

“No, Jardani, no. Don’t move, you’re not strong enough.” You cooed quietly, your thumb had begun to caress his shoulders softly, absentmindedly.

“Bailarina, I, I owe you.” He said as he placed his hand on top of yours, his free hand snaking into his pants pocket, pulling the silver medallion from it.

You shook your head in protest. But he simply opened it.

“I will not take that from you.”

“I don’t care but it will forever stand, that I, John Wick —” He paused, looking up at you for the first time. His eyes fixed, mingling with yours.

“I, Jardani Jovonovich, owe you my life.“ He declared, pricking his thumb with the small needle provided before pressing his digit to the interior surface of the medallion — the blood marker.

You nodded as he handed it to you, fingers brushing against the others.

“Nobody has called me Bailarina in twenty-five years.“ You chuckled softly, your eyes falling on him, properly taking his appearance into your mind for the first time in the night.

He had changed, not much but ever prevalent — his hair was black but sprinkled with grey; his beard had grown out more also with grey undertones. He remained youthful but it only took one in depth look at him to figure out he was exhausted. A soft grin crept on his lips, the same grin that had caught your gaze years before.

“Y/N, Bailarina, you’re staring again.” He chortled to himself.

Your eyes peeled away, an embarrassed blush radiated across your cheeks.

He took your hand into his, bestowing a tender kiss onto your taunt flesh.

“I never said I didn’t enjoy your stare, Bailarina.” He mused.

———————————————————————

*Bailarina is Ballerina in Spanish.

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writeawaymrwick · 6 years ago

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writeawaymrwick · 6 years ago

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@official-chuck-spadina reblogged your fic 😭😭 youre so lucky

I knooooowwe. I love @official-chuck-spadina 😂😂❤️

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writeawaymrwick · 6 years ago

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Sinking deeper

The reader is an assassin who has had a shitty day and to blow off steam, they share a drink with the one and only John Wick.

Contains violence, cursing, drinking, death, being sad— your basic John Wick stuff.

- - - - -

Work absolutely blew ass today.

You had been planning for this job for weeks. You had memorized your mark’s schedule, walked through the kill ten times, and double checked that everything was in order.

For all intents and purposes, this was supposed to be a breeze.

Though you felt confident as you lay across the sun baked roof, staring down the glinting sights, a streak of nervousness shot through you. You’d taken a shot like this at least 30 different times and pulled it off flawlessly, yet for some reason, something didn’t seem right.

You shook your head irately and looked back down the sights.

Then he stepped out onto the terrace.

His scalp glittered through his thinning blonde hair as he bent to give his companion a hug. His broad figure was diminished by his grandfatherly dress. He looked like Mr. Rogers and you had to remind yourself that he was, in fact, a monster.

He was serial pedophile who, through his financial influence, had gotten off scot free three different times. You would have done this hit for free, but the $300,000 bounty was nice too.

Once he sat down across from his companion, you lined up the shot.

BOOM.

The flower pot behind him exploded into a thousand tiny shards. The mark and his companion leapt from the table.

“Fuck,” you ground out and ejected the shell. Quickly, you took aim for his head and fired.

The bullet pierced his arm.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me”

By this time, he and his companion had turned to look in your direction

“Oh fuck me,” you growled and in desperation, lined up one last shot. Fortunately, this final bullet went straight through his skull. You could hear the girl’s scream from across the street.

Time to go.

It was messy, ten thousand times messier than you wanted, but at least you got it done.

An hour later, you sat in the lounge of the Continental, $300,000 richer, and took a long drag from your martini.

You savored the way the liquor relaxed your tense shoulders and clouded your thoughts. For a few blissful hours, you could stop thinking about that clusterfuck of a hit.

As you took another sip of your martini, you saw him enter the room.

He was clad in his usual black suit, his raven hair slicked back. His demeanor seemed calm, but the twitch of his hand betrayed him. His dark eyes scanned the room before catching yours.

You smirked and raised your martini.

“John,” you greeted smoothly as he bellied up to the table. He nodded back in greeting.

“The usual? It’s on me.” You purred.

He looked you up and down.

“Looks like you’ve had a hard day. This round’s on me” he intoned. You couldn’t fight the smirk on your face.

“Can’t argue with that,” you agreed as he made his way over to Abby. You admired his tall, lean figure as he retreated.

Helen had been a lucky woman, rest her soul.

He returned with a glass of amber liquid and another martini, which he placed deftly in front of you. You accepted with a warm smile.

“So what brings you back to us, Mr. Wick?”

His dark eyes flashed with emotion when they met yours.

“Tying up loose ends,” he said simply and took a sip of his drink, never breaking eye contact.

Your stomach flipped. You tried to keep your face neutral.

“Need any help with that? It would be like old times,” You challenged. He leaned back and looked away.

“It certainly couldn’t hurt.” His voice was quiet and far away.

You frowned and looked down into your martini. A moment passed.

“I’m sorry, John. About all of it.” Your voice was low and soft and you weren’t sure he could even hear it over the sound of the band.

His hand stilled and at that moment you knew he had heard your words.

You took a sip and decided to change the subject.

“So who’s the mark?”

He was quiet for a long moment as his eyes scanned the club before landing on yours.

“Santino D’Antonio”

You snorted.

“It’s about time someone took out that fucking prick.” The corners of John’s lips quirked up. He knew how much you hated Santino.

You fished the olive out of the bottom of the glass and popped it into your mouth. You stared at him thoughtfully as you chewed.

This was one of the first times you’d seen him up close since his wife passed. His warm brown eyes looked softer, though there was a deep sadness in them that tugged at your heart. His hair was a touch longer than you remembered. A faint cut across the bridge of his nose was just about healed. He looked older somehow while still looking the exact same.

You realized you had been staring and quickly looked away.

“So what’s the plan?” You asked, forcing yourself to sound casual as you intently watched the singer of the band to avoid having to look at John.

As John explained the whole situation with Santino, you got further and further into your martini. His bourbon had disappeared and he had made it well into his second glass as he wrapped the story up.

“And I’ll give you ten coins for the job,” he finished and you nearly choked on your drink.

“John, seriously?” you barked in laughter in his face, the vodka making you bold. He quirked an eyebrow at you. “I can’t accept that.”

“Why not?” His voice sounded genuinely surprised. You looked at him like he was stupid.

“John, beside the fact that I’d kill Santino in exchange for, like, a Klondike bar, I’m not going to do this for coins.” You reached across the table and set your hand atop his. “You’re a friend— a damn good one— and I just want you to experience some peace for once.”

There was a long pregnant pause where John’s eyes got impossibly softer. There was a shift in the air and he leaned closer. You found yourself transfixed, drunk on the feeling floating in the air between you.

After a second, he heaved a sigh and leaned back, pulling his hand away.

“Well alright.” He said simply and shot the rest of his drink. You tried not to think about the mild disappointment that snaked it’s way through you as you polished off your drink as well.

“I think I’m going to turn in,” you said finally, rising out of your chair. You had considered one more drink, but judging by the way you felt on your feet, you’re glad you had decided against it.

John stood as well. “Let me walk you to your room,” he said and held out an arm.

You looked up at him and found yourself smiling.

“Sure thing, John.”

You felt eyes on you both as you took his arm, but you pointedly ignored them. The two of you walked arm in arm to the elevator.

Once the door closed, you heaved a sigh and leaned against the wall. From the corner of your eye you could see that John was watching you.

These feelings you had been trying to deny were... inappropriate, to say the least. You had first felt them back in the day, back when the two of you worked together on hits for the Tarasov mob.

He had been your best friend, the one you could count on for anything. After a particularly dangerous job where he had saved you from being thrown off a roof, you had found yourself feeling... something decidedly not friendly towards him.

When he came back from a solo job one day with the name “Helen” dancing on his tongue, you tried to ignore the way your heart twisted painfully.

When he retired for her and left you behind, you tried your hardest to ignore the feeling of utter betrayal. You tried your damndest not to be bitter. He wasn’t yours, he never was. The words rang hollow in your head.

You flinched when he suddenly spoke up.

“Are you alright?” His voice was soft and carefully neutral. Your head whipped around to look at him.

His tired eyes were warm with concern. You could feel your heart in your throat and you tore your eyes away from him and glanced up at the display on the elevator.

“I’m tired, John,” it wasn’t a lie. You were getting old for this profession. The killing was starting to take its toll on you.

So was feeling this way.

His large hand reached down and enveloped yours. The skin was warm and rough and made your skin tingle.

You squeezed his hand and he squeezed back.

“There’s always a way out,” he said.

You smiled bitterly and met his eyes.

“Is there, though?” You replied as the door opened. He looked down at you and frowned. The look on his face showed there was some undeniable truth there.

“This is my floor,” you murmured, and your throat felt tight.

He stuck his arm out as the elevator door started to close.

“It’s good to see you again,” he intoned, and that crackling tension was back again. The air felt electric and a little too warm.

You found yourself looking at his lips, lips that you could only imagine would be soft and pliant. The thought sent a pang of hurt through your chest. You smiled sadly.

“I wish it were under different circumstances,” you replied and met his eyes. They were warm and held some emotion you couldn’t decipher. You wanted to look away, to somehow not get caught in those depths again, but you couldn’t pull away, not this time.

His hand released yours and reached up to cradle your cheek.

“I do too,” he replied, his thumb grazing the soft creases under your eye, and your skin felt like it was on fire. You wanted nothing more than to surge up onto your tip toes and press a kiss to his lips, but you held back. Even when he hadn’t known Helen, this feeling had always been one-sided. The vodka had made you bold, sure, but not stupid.

Time stretched like taffy as the two of you stood there, unable to move, until the elevator beeped in irritation and tried to close the door again. It broke the reviere. He dropped his hand and you pulled away. Stepping out of the elevator, you looked back at him one more time.

“Goodnight, John,” you murmured.

His eyes met yours.

“Goodnight,” he replied with that same inscrutable look in his eyes. He didn’t look away until the doors closed between you.

You stared back at your own reflection in the glossy doors and sighed.

He wasn’t yours, and he never would be.

At least, that’s what you’d keep telling yourself.

He’s not mine.

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writeawaymrwick · 6 years ago

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Tiny Ted is done!! He is about 7 inches tall. And instead of 11 hours of work (which is what my previous Ted took me), he took me just under 4 hours—which means I can take commissions for these for $38! If you’re interested, let me know! (And yes I can totally make you Bill too for the same price.)

If you’re interested in his Excellent Adventure outfit instead of Bogus Journey, I can totally do that, but it would probably be another ten dollars due to the complexity of his costume.

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writeawaymrwick · 6 years ago

Photo

MOVIE PROPS

JOHN WICK

Director: Chad Stahelski

Propmaster: Vinny Mazzarella

Set Decorator: Susan Bode

Did you know that international assassin John Wick retired briefly and pursued his love of restoring and collecting Victorian children’s books? Well, that was in the original script, at any rate. I was hired to recommend, track down and purchase books, including first editions of Thomas Bewick’s beautifully illustrated Fables of Aesop. I also trained Keanu Reeves in various bookbinding skills, worked on set as technical advisor while they shot those scenes, and doubled for his hands in close-ups. His shop – which you see briefly on screen when he smashes open the floor – was filled with my books, cabinets, tools and equipment. On the sequel, I also helped out with the marker book and a few other things.

source

Thank you so much to viktoriareeves for making me curious ♥

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writeawaymrwick · 6 years ago

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aWWW, this is so cUTE~!

Holiday HC for John Wick. How is John like for the more popular holidays celebrated like Christmas, Halloween etc. Sexy stuff is welcomed in this headcanon! I wanna know.

Hi sweetheart! Sorry this is late!

🖤 John is super picky about decorations being put up at their proper times. He doesn’t fuck with it when you start stringing purple and orange lights around the house when it’s September. The two of you get into it every year and every year you win the argument.

🖤 His favorite holiday is Thanksgiving because he loves the food. His second is Christmas because it’s, well, Christmas.

🖤 Halloween is a big deal to you and he knows that. He succumbs to your incessant pleas to partake in a couple’s costume every year. This year you’ve chosen Lucy and Schroeder from the Peanuts - Dog is Snoopy.

🖤 Passing out candy is something of a competition between the neighbors (John always comes to your house to celebrate because you have more kids in the neighborhood) so the two of you make a point to choose the best candy. You usually go with full bars; it’s expensive, but winner gets a free dinner to the hottest place in town so it’s always worth it.

🖤 Thanksgiving - like stated before - is John’s favorite holiday. You both cook because he’s better at it than you, but you love to do it anyway. He’s always in charge of the turkey because he’s very precise on how to do it. You always make the stuffing and yams.

🖤 Dog always gets the entrails of the turkey. Always. You make John give them to him because he whines and begs like an angel.

🖤 John doesn’t have friends (life of an assassin) or family, so you always invite yours. It’s not a large body of company, but it’s enough to wear the two of you out at the end of the day.

🖤 The two of you always watch White Christmas after Thanksgiving dinner. You snuggle against him as Bing Crosby begins to sing the first number and eventually pass out before Danny Kaye explains angles to Rosemary Clooney.

🖤 Decorations for Christmas are put up the next day. John is retired now, so he’s always available to hang something for you that’s out of arm’s reach. You coax him into dancing to Mariah Carey’s legendary Christmas album while Dog gets into the candy canes.

🖤 Then there’s the mistletoe! You’re a slut for mistletoe and he knows it so he hangs it up at every entryway of his house.

🖤 The two of you take walks in the snow at night when everything is calm and the snow is falling gently from the sky. He wraps you in his coat and kisses you on the forehead.

🖤 Once he slipped on a sheet of black ice and took you with him. You were shocked at first, but then began to laugh heartily after realizing neither of you were hurt. Dog came bounding and leapt onto your chest, licking your face clean of any wounds he suspected you had.

🖤 “Baby…” you ask between chuckles. “Baby, are you okay?”

🖤 “Trust me, I’ve suffered from worse falls than this.”

🖤 Christmas Eve is your favorite day of the year. Everything is quiet. Your family always had a tradition of opening presents on that night, so you and John always swap gifts.

🖤 John doesn’t get you anything he knows you wouldn’t ever want if it didn’t come from him, so he takes presents into careful consideration.

🖤 That’s when he realized he’d make you a book.

🖤 When you open it, you’re stunned to find it’s a custom copy of your favorite story in history “A Christmas Carol”. He’d commissioned your favorite artist to illustrate it and everything. The pages were gilded with gold and its cover was of an expensive, emerald leather.

🖤 So maybe you cried. So what?

🖤 And what did Dog get?

🖤 Dog got a new bed.

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