On a flight with Keanu Reeves’ characters
Characters: John Wick, Connor O’Neill, John Constantine, Ted Logan, Donaka Mark, Tom Ludlow, Jack Traven, Donnie Barksdale, Matt. Tags: SFW, Fluff, a bit of angst Warnings: None Word count: 2.5k A/N: Based on this post by the amazing @brookie-kookie1943 🖤 Sorry I didn’t come up with anything for seat #1 (pretty sure all my imagination got used up on that Neo fic I wrote earlier), or for seats #3 and #7.
Seat #2 John Wick x F!Reader (mentioned Connor O’Neill) Tags: SFW
You’d been sitting at the gate for over an hour now. Your legs were stiff, your water bottle already empty, and boredom had started to creep in. With nothing else to do, your gaze drifted across the gate area, casually taking in the people scattered around.
There was a couple canoodling in one corner, clearly on their honeymoon, lost in their own little bubble. Between the sloppy kisses and whispered giggles, it felt like they’d already taken off.
A few rows down, a man sat like he owned the place. Back straight, chin tilted, eyes sharp with disdain as he scanned the room, wearing an expression that suggested everyone around him reeked.
Not far from him, two guys argued over sports stats and betting odds, loud enough for the whole room to hear. People shot them looks, but they either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
Across from them sat a woman between two ridiculously handsome men, both trying just a little too hard to win her over. She looked more entertained than flattered as she gave each man just enough attention to keep them in competition. Even in their casual clothes, it was obvious: cops. The older one played it cool. Calm, collected, doing his best to act like he wasn’t interested. The younger one - total goner. He watched her with those hopeless, heart-shaped eyes, his gaze lingering just a little too long every time she said a word.
Nearby, a married couple was mid-argument before even setting foot on the plane.
But one person drew your attention more than all the rest.
Jet-black hair. Neatly groomed stubble. Dressed in a plain black turtleneck and dark pants, too sharp, too posh to be just another tourist. There was no restless scrolling of his phone, no nervous shifting in his seat like the others around him. He just sat there, still and composed, a book open in his hands. His eyes moved steadily across the pages, completely absorbed. And yet… you had the distinct sense he noticed everything.
A few minuts later, when an elderly woman hovered nearby, unsure where to sit, he closed his book with a soft snap, stood without a word, and offered her his seat with a courteous nod. Then, just as smoothly, he moved to the far wall, leaned his shoulder against it, and reopened his book.
When you boarded the plane and stepped into the narrow aisle of the cabin, you wrestled your suitcase overhead, trying to wedge it into the shelf.
“Need help?” A low, velvety voice drifted from behind you.
You spun around, startled. The same man from the gate.
He stood towering over you, close enough that the expensive scent of his cologne drifted through the air between you, rich and enticing like him. You nodded, silently stepping aside. Without a word, he took the suitcase from your hands, effortlessly sliding it into place with one smooth motion, as though it weighed nothing at all. Then, with a slight nod, he stepped aside to let you take your seat.
You murmured a quiet thank you and settled in, only to realize that he was seated right beside you. When you glanced his way again, he gave you the barest hint of a smile before flipping open his book.
For most of the flight, he read in silence.
“Hey!” a voice piped up from the row behind you. “Bulls or Knicks? Who’s winning tonight?”
You twisted halfway in your seat, blinking. Your mysterious seatmate glanced up just long enough to fix the guy a sharp look before turning back to his book.
“So?” he said again, slurring just a little. “What’s your pick?” the guy pressed, leaning over the seat with a lazy grin, eyes a little too shiny.
“I-I don’t really know much about basketball,” you admitted, glancing nervously.
“Just guess!” he insisted, his breath reeking faintly of cheap whiskey as he practically sprawled over the backs of your seats.
You shuddered, shrinking back, trying to put space between you and him. “I-I...”
“Oh, come on!” he groaned dramatically, throwing his hands in the air before smacking the back of your neighbor’s seat hard enough to make it jolt. Your neighbor shifted forward slightly, but not a single muscle in his face twitched. For a second, you saw something flash behind his eyes. Not anger, exactly. Something colder. He turned his head slowly.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice calm, “but the lady said she doesn’t know much about basketball.”
“But she doesn’t have to! Just pick one!”
“You should let her be. She said she doesn’t know, and that’s enough.”
The rowdy guy oopened his mouth to snap back, but his friend beat him to it. “Alright, Connor. She doesn’t know. Let it go.” The man reached over, pressing a huge hand onto friend’s shoulder and firmly guiding him back into his seat. Connor grumbled something under his breath but stayed put.
“Sorry ‘bout him.” His friend said with a tight smile.
“It’s okay,” you replied, trying to return it. You glanced sideways, watching your neighbor return calmly to hisbook like nothing had happened. The moment passed. Quiet settled over the row again, broken only by the soft hum of the plane and the turn of a page.
“Thank you,” you said softly.
He turned to look at you, eyes sharp, but they softened slightly at your words. With a small nod, he returned to his book.
“Next time, just say Knicks,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth twitching into a faint smile as he flipped the page without looking up.
You lowered your gaze, smiling to yourself.
After a brief pause, you held out your hand. “Y/N.”
He looked at it, then at you. Slowly, he reached out. His hand was large, warm, and steady. His grip was firm but careful, like he knew exactly how strong he was and didn’t want to hurt you.
“John,” he said, almost in a growl, his gaze lingering on yours.
And for a long moment, you weren’t thinking about basketball, or drunk seatmates. You were thinking about the weight of his hand in yours and how strangely hard it was to look away.
Seat #4 Ted Logan x F!Reader (couple) & John Constantine Tags: Fluff, SFW
You were going on your honeymoon with Ted Logan, and he hadn’t stopped whispering goofy little jokes in your ear since takeoff. You laughed, too loud at first, then quickly clapped a hand over your mouth, your giggles bubbling into soft snorts as you leaned into him. He kissed your cheek, your shoulder, then your lips, trading lazy, soft kisses between sweet little murmurs as his fingers tangled with yours.
When breakfast came around, the two of you shared a pair of earbuds, heads tilted together, quietly humming along to songs you both knew by heart. Every time a favorite line came on, you’d sing it in hushed voices, then cracked into matching smiles like absolute idiots. Which, to be fair, you were idiots (affectionate), completely and hopelessly in love. After the tiny breakfast, the conversation drifted into nonsense, something about which flavor of gum movie characters would choose.
The debate turned into a fierce argument, until he challenged you to settle it the only honorable way: rock-paper-scissors. Every time you won, he’d gasp dramatically, eyes wide with mock outrage as he accused you of cheating. But when he won, he quietly broke into a mini air guitar solo, barely making a sound, making you snicker.
Engrossed in each other, you didn’t even notice the sullen man sitting just in the next seat. John Constantine watched the whole thing like he was being punished for a sin he couldn’t remember committing. His eyes darted to the two of you again, catching another kiss, another giggle, another hand squeeze.
Jesus fuckin’ Christ…
He slouched deeper into his seat, arms crossed, rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they stayed in his skull. Whether it was the turbulence or the relentless parade of cuteness from the ridiculously sweet honeymooners beside him, he wasn’t sure, but he felt sick.
He glanced over with a grimace once again, stuck a cigarette between his lips more out of principle than hope, earning another tight smile from the flight attendant who reminded him (again) that this was a non-smoking flight.
Fuck .
So he just sat there with the unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth, staring straight ahead like he was fantasizing about the sweet mercy of an airplane crash. Anything to make it stop.
Eventually, he flagged down the flight attendant and bought half the whiskey stock on board. For the next five hours, he drifted in and out of a drunken nap, head tilted back, a scowl still lingering even in sleep. He didn’t care where the plane landed as long as the damn flight ended
Seat #5 Tom Ludlow x F!Reader x Jack Traven Tags: fluff, silly boys
It started off fine. Just a flight to a conference. Tom Ludlow on your left, Jack Traven on your right. You were sandwiched between two handsome men who didn’t exactly hate each other, but let’s just say, their conversations left little room for pleasantries.
You’d noticed it for a while both had been trying to court you for weeks. And what happens when you lock two competitive men in a confined metal tube with the object of their affection in the middle? Oh, you were curious.
At first, it was flattering.
Jack leaned over, flashing you that easy grin. “You good? Feel comfortable?”
Before you could answer, Tom adjusted the overhead vent nozzle and muttered, “She’s probably suffocating between you and your cologne.”
Jack scoffed. “This cologne saves lives.”
“Yeah, by clearing out the room.” Tom shot back.
You just sat back, amused. It felt like you were watching a mating ritual on National Geographic only with passive-aggressive sarcasm and less grace.
But somewhere in the middle of the flight, the attention stopped being about you. Now it was all about trying to top each other.
“Please,” Tom scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “You don’t even know how to land a plane.”
“I don’t need to. I stop them from blowing up.”
Tom leaned in, smirking. “Staring at the bomb down until it gives up counts as a strategy?”
Jack turned his head, raising an eyebrow. “Says the guy who thinks kicking down a door and whacking people with a phonebook solves every crisis.”
They forgot you were even there. You sat quietly, popping peanuts into your mouth, eyes bouncing between them like you were watching the tennis match.
Tom just shrugged, smug. “Hey, it’s worked so far.”
“Yeah? Too bad there are no doors to kick or phonebooks to swing in here.” Jack gestured around the cabin, deadpan. “We’d be sooo safe.”
Tom straightened in his seat, eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?”
The air between them thickened. Both men leaned in, jaws tight, muscles tense. One wrong word and they’d probably start wrestling in the aisle. So you chewed your last peanut, brushed the salt off your fingers onto the napkin and sighed.
“Can you just kiss already?”
It was like slamming a pause button.
Both men froze mid-glare, heads turning toward you in perfect, stunned sync.
Jack blinked hard. Tom stared, mouth slightly open.
You raised an eyebrow. “Seriously. The tension’s killing me.”
Tom made a sound in his throat, like a laugh that got stuck halfway out. “You’re joking.”
You sighed dramatically, flipping open the inflight magazine. “I don’t want to be the third wheel in your enemies-to-lovers arc. I can always switch seats.”
Jack leaned back in his seat, muttering under his breath, “That’s really funny-”
“Yeah, she’s got jokes,” Tom cut in, throwing you a sideways glance.
“Good,” You smirked behind the magazine. “Glad you noticed.”
An awkward silence settled over your row. Neither of them looked at the other. Finally… peace. For now.
Seat #6 Donaka Mark x F!Reader Tags: a bit of angst, SFW
You’d never been on a plane before. The hum of the engines, the cold recycled air - it all felt strange and overwhelming. You sat stiffly, hands clenched around the armrests, eyes flicking nervously to the man beside you. Yeah. The plane was scary. But not nearly as scary as him.
Donaka Mark.
Impeccably dressed. Sharp suit, clean lines, a watch that probably cost more than the entire plane. He hadn’t said much since boarding. Just placed a firm, broad hand on your lower back to guide you down the aisle, leading you into a world that belonged to him. And now, you were part of it.
Your brother was drowning in something dark and dangerous, and he traded you for another shot at staying alive. You never asked how. You didn’t want to know. What was the point? In a family that barely scraped by, a man had more value than a fragile girl. He was strong, capable of hard work, and could earn more.
Now you were here, on a flight to God-knows-where, to do God-knows-what, sitting beside a man who could kill with a look… maybe already had.
You tried to steal another glance at him. Your eyes met his for half a second before darting away. The way he looked at you… like you were nothing more than a piece of property he could mold into whatever he wanted, use and own however he pleased.
Seat #8 husband!Donnie Barksdale x GN!Reader x stepson!Matt Tags: a bit of angst, SFW
You’d finally saved up enough to take a real vacation. A few weeks away to breathe, to escape the everyday grind. You handled all the details: picking the seats, packing everyone’s bags, double-checking the hotel confirmation, even printing out the boarding passes.
Donnie didn’t stop complaining from the moment you left the house. “Waste o’ money,” he muttered as he dropped into the airplane seat beside you with a loud sigh.
You didn’t respond. Instead, looked past him, biting your tongue as you watched the slow moving line of passengers still boarding. But Donnie kept pushing.
“Coulda gone toward somethin’ useful,” he grumbled, flipping open the inflight magazine with a sharp snap. “Like fixin’ the damn water heater.”
You offered a tight smile. “We’ve talked about this, Donnie. We needed a break. Matt needed a break. After everything that happened with him…”
He snorted under his breath, not even bothering to glance at you. His attention was fixed on a glossy photo of some luxurious resort you couldn’t afford.
Matt, your stepson, hadn’t said a word. Not to you, not to his father. He just sank into the window seat, hoodie up, earbuds in, eyes glued to the view as the airplanes lined up on the tarmac, one by one taking off.
You leaned toward him slightly. “Do you have your gum?”
He gave the smallest of nods and, without meeting your eyes, dug into his pocket, pulling out the pack and handing it to you. You murmured a quiet thanks, offering him a tired smile he didn’t see before turning back to your seat.
You sighed softly, leaning back against the headrest. You closed your eyes for a moment, hoping that if you kept them shut long enough, you could trick yourself into believing this was the kind of vacation normal families took all the time. The kind where no one was counting every dollar, no one was walking on their own shells. The kind where love came easy, no fights, no drama, and yearly photos by the Christmas tree.
Just for a little while... you could pretend.
Seat #3 You are a cop, transporting a serial killer, David Allen Griffin. (Sorry, I couldn’t come up with more😔).
