THE FINAL CHAPTER! you meet Tex Johnson on a plane...some hijinks ensue. WARNINGS??? Tex being Tex. Mild violence. Nothing worse than the show, its pretty camp. Refer to beginning of Ch 2 so you don't get lost! 😁. and as always MDNI! ... chapter map spotify playlist i swear the lyrics are actually relevant if u translate them 😂
5. 🌺🌴🌺🌴🌺🌴🌺🌴🌺
“Are you sure it’s a good idea to go out tonight?” asks one of your friends, clearly concerned about your dinner plans for the evening.
“It’ll be fine,” you assure them. “I’ll be with Tex. What's the worst that can happen?”
They exchange looks with their beaus that tell you they've been having their own discussions about their suspicions about Tex.
“Well…”
Like the gremlin you are, you can't help but savor their second thoughts about this whole mess, and you let them squirm about it. “Oh come on, you said it was your turn to pick,” you tease with no real malice. “It was my vote to drown him in the pool.”
“Yeah right,” answers your friend with a playful glare. “You were salivating for that man right along with us!”
“You’re the one who said he was fuckable!” you cackle, pointing. And boy howdy, was your friend right about that.
This admission makes Johnny frown a little. Jack is inscrutable as stone, and you do wonder if there's something to what Tex said about these men actually being in law enforcement.
“Just…be careful, ok?”
“Of course. Not my first rodeo, babes.”
“We know…”
“We just love you.”
“I love you too. I’ll be back later. Bye boys!”
Is Tex rubbing off on you, that you feel you have to taunt the [alleged] cops? You definitely don’t grasp the true gravity of your situation, fluttering along in vacation mode, convinced nothing truly bad can happen to you. You've committed to the bit, and you're determined to play it out now, even if you suspect it’s going to hurt your heart later.
You slip out the door with a finger wave, skipping off to meet Tex downstairs.
You just kind of assumed you were going to take a taxi to whatever destination Tex had in mind. But he is leaning against a black vintage muscle car with his arms crossed, the outlaw of your dreams dressed all in black. He lets out a wolf whistle as you approach, appraising the cut of your flowy tropical dress over the top of his dark shades.
“Oh my god,” you say under your breath, and he smirks like he heard you. “Tex, where did you get this?”
“I borrowed it.”
You steady yourself with palms on his solid chest as you lean in for a kiss, and his hands sneak around your waist with an approving rumble. “You didn’t steal this car, did you?” you whisper, voice low so no one can hear.
The idea of it makes him chuckle darkly, hands following the curve of your spine, perilously close to your ass as he pulls you full against him. Uff, this man is built solid as a tree. You’re almost too distracted to register his simple denial of, “No.”
Not sure you really believe him, you search his face. You can hear the doormen behind you talking and whistling low amongst themselves, you’re pretty sure about the car. He lets you stew in your uncertainty, clearly amused as he looks down at you. Finally you say, “I believe you, only because if you did steal it you’re so vain you’d brag about it.”
This wins you a bark of laughter and a smack on the derriere. “Get in your ass in this car, pretty mama. I’m taking you for a ride.”
You have no idea how prophetic this seemingly innocuous declaration will prove.
Maybe it’s stupid, how quickly you unwind, all your knee-jerk fears of earlier forgotten, while roaring down the seaside highway in this beast of a car with the windows down, holding Tex’s hand between shifting the gears.
In a change of pace the two of you don’t talk [fight] much, blissfully content to watch the palm trees race by with the warm breeze on your faces, the glittering waters beyond gilded in rose gold by the setting sun.
This place truly is a paradise.
“Having fun?” he asks while kissing your hand with a smoldering look, his rough twang underscored with the barest note of earnestness that squeezes your heart. You haven’t known this man long at all, but you’re beginning to learn the subtle cues he keeps hidden beneath the boisterous good ol’ boy facade he wears for the world.
He’s got a soft spot under all that armor; maybe it’s how he so adroitly recognized the same tender underbelly on you. The thought makes you squeeze his fingers in yours; every minute that goes by in this man’s company makes you dread more and more the moment when you’ll have to let go.
You do know it won’t last. Even if you stay, it never lasts, and the ache of this only intensifies the thrill, like scratching an itch with a razor-sharp blade.
“Yes.”
This wins you a roguish smile that quickens your heart like the ridiculous creature you are.
“Hard to keep my eyes on the road,” he admits, shifting to rest his hand in the soft crevice of your inner thigh.
“Tex!” you giggle, and he chuckles in kind, pinching you lightly to make you squirm in your seat.
“You are the worst,” you sigh wistfully, squeezing his hand between your legs.
You think you’ll remember the sound of his happy laughter for the rest of your life, and you know that no matter what happens…you will be forever changed by this man, and the wild bliss he’s called up from the razed earth of your heart these past few days
His shapely mouth curls in a half-smile for this, and he at least pretends to pay attention to the road while his thumb draws maddening circles upon your thigh.
Your trip ends outside the touristy parts of town, where the buildings are smaller and older and a little rundown. You like it immediately, and when he parks in front of a brightly painted little place on the beach constructed out of cinder blocks and old wood, the patio seemingly held together by twining bougainvillea, baling wire, and palm fronds, you believe that you are indeed in for a genuine taste of this beautiful country.
The patio wraps around the back with a breathtaking view of the beach, and the waitress gives you a little table with a front row view by the railing. “You like?” asks Tex with a half smile, clearly enjoying your wide-eyed wonder.
“Very much,” you tell him, taking his hand. He tangles you up in his long legs under the table, and the two of you stay that way for the duration of the meal. Over margaritas, tequila shots, cochinita pibil and moharra frita you feel something shift in Tex as you’re talking. Some small barrier has fallen between you, and you feel like he’s not completely bullshitting you with every word he says. Maybe you’re not as guarded as you usually are either, when he asks you about your family and your life and the places you’ve been. It’s...nice, and it makes the sting of certain impermanence hurt all the more.
A varied crowd of people fills the seaside restaurant. There are some tourists, but mostly it’s locals filling the chairs and the stools along the long bar that wraps around the back of the building. “How did you hear about this place?” you ask Tex, chasing the last bit of fruity goodness in the bottom of your margarita glass with a straw.
“Got a rec from one of my…business associates,” he tells you. This makes some sense to you, as the night goes on and you don’t think you’re imagining that some of the clientele seem to have a certain edge to them. And a few at the bar seem to be paying a particular attention to you, or Tex, or at least the general direction of your table. Despite the uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach, you tell yourself you’re just being paranoid, and when the waitress swings by you don’t object to Tex ordering another round of margaritas.
“Gotta hit the head,” he tells you, leaning over to kiss your cheek before ambling around the building towards [you assume] the location of the facilities. You pass the alone time by looking out over the ocean. The sun has set by now, but the moon has risen, and you can see the glitter of the ever-moving water along with the distant sound of the surf. The patio is lit up by strings of festive fairy lights, you’ve got a great buzz from the tequila and a belly full of good food, and for a fleeting moment you are perfectly content.
Then a shadow falls over your table, and you look up to see two of those tough looking men from the bar have come to loom over you.
“Where’s your novio?” one with a scar over his eye demands, his voice like tires driving over broken glass.
“He…went to the bathroom,” you stammer, your Spanish evaporating in the face of this tense situation.
The two heavies look at each other knowingly, one hissing with disbelief through his teeth, the other reaching out to grasp you by the back of the neck. “Hey!” you protest, but quickly shut your mouth as the other flashes a chrome-plated handgun stuck in his waistband under his shirt.
“You wanna see him again? Shut up, puta.”
Deep down, you know you should resist. You should make a big fucking scene, scream and shout and tip over tables. Make yourself memorable, at least, in case someone with a connection to your embassy might be watching. You should not go quietly, sandwiched between these scary men with eyes as sharp as the volcanic stone their ancestors once used to carve out the hearts of their enemies.
But something freezes inside of you. Something gets stuck between fight or flight, and you just watch, hoping deep down that Tex will come to your rescue at the last minute.
You walk out the restaurant, and across the car park, and you don’t see or hear a peep out of him as Big Tough #1 shoves you into the back seat of a Mercedes G-Wagon, and sits beside you with the gun pressed into your ribs.
Tex, you son of a bitch.
🌴🌴🌴
Deafening gunfire echoes through the cavernous warehouse, and you struggle in your chair, desperate to get free. One of the henchmen takes a bullet to the chest, collapsing at your feet. Something wet and hot splashes the side of your face, and you can’t bring yourself to admit what you know: it’s totally blood.
Puke or cry, puke or cry? The dilemmas facing a modern woman these days…
Drawing a gold-plated Desert Eagle from his waistband while reciting a string of rapid-fire expletives, the leader of the trio takes cover behind you, pressing the barrel of the gun to your temple.
“Your stupid boyfriend has become a real pain in my ass,” hisses the Jefe in your ear, poking you viciously with the gun for good measure.
“Welcome to the fucking club,” you snarl back, as pissed at him as you are at Tex. Fucking men.
“Don Juan!” bellows a voice from behind a crate.
Why does your stupid heart still sing at the sound of that shifty motherfucker’s voice? You should hate Tex’s guts, but there is still a small part of you that hopes against hope he didn’t abandon you at the restaurant, and there is still some sliver of hope that he actually cares about you…enough to get you out of this mess, at least.
“You lousy cheating hijo de puta! Did you really think you could sell me fakes and get away with it?” your captor answers, poking you with the barrel of the gun with each word. Goddamn, dude, ease up.
“Well…”
“Wrong answer, cabrón!”
“Ow!!” you scream as Juan wrenches your head back with a grip in your hair.
“Hey now, easy on the goods, partner!”
“You want her back alive? You better get me my money back with interest, for a start.”
“Uhhh…”
“TEX!” you snarl, so fucking fed-up with his shit. You can’t help but think back on that amazing night you spent together, interrupted by his midnight sojourn, and him returning in that sharp suit. You don’t know what kind of grift he pulled on this guy, but you are so fucking pissed that you’re in the middle of it now. “GIVE HIM his FUCKING MONEY BACK!”
Juan laughs softly behind you. “Your lady is smarter than you, señor. I’d take her advice.”
“Yeah. About that…I–”
The roar of an engine and the explosion of a car crashing through the side of the warehouse interrupts Tex mid-sentence. Chaos rains down and gunfire fills the air as more of Juan’s goons fire at the vintage muscle car drifting through the stacks of crates and shipping containers. Somehow–while steering and shifting–the driver picks them all off one by one. The shock of the spectacle might be what saves you all–Don Juan does not run from his cover of using your paltry form as a human shield. He watches in disbelief as the Mustang circles your chair in a burnout that positions the driver at the perfect angle to put a bullet between your captor’s eyes.
Suddenly the warehouse is quiet as a cemetery at midnight–because everyone is dead.
More blood has spattered onto your face–you do not care, unable to tear your eyes from the dark and terrible form that emerges from the driver’s side of the car. He is tall, clad in a beautifully tailored black suit, his crisp white shirt specked with blood, a matte 9mm clasped in his large hand at his side. You lose time as he turns to look at you with eyes like dark pits that hold all the sorrow of the world, falling into those fathomless orbs.
You cannot look away.
He looks like Tex…but not.
“You alright?” he grumbles, almost begrudgingly, as though speaking is something he’d rather not do and words are in limited supply for him.
“I think so?” you squeak, though deep down your limbs have begun to shake and you don’t think you can stop.
You gasp as he produces a knife from seemingly thin air, but relax as you realize he’s using it to cut your bonds. He crouches beside you, looking you over as though he didn’t believe you when you said you were fine. You’re not sure he likes what he sees, from the tired way he sighs. “You poor thing. Didn’t have a clue, did you?”
You try not to cry as he pulls a white linen handkerchief from inside his smart jacket and wipes the blood off of your face.
“Thanks.”
“Whew!” Tex finally emerges from behind his cover of haphazard crates, his boot heels clicking on the concrete. “That was some driving, budd–” In the blink of an eye this newcomer has Tex up against the side of the Mustang in a choke hold, cutting off his air supply with his forearm on his neck.
“You,” snarls your savior, none too happy to see his doppelganger.
“Hegh—John–C’mon–” Tex taps at the iron bar of an arm against his windpipe, but John only presses harder for a few seconds more.
“You. Stole Viggo’s blue diamonds. And sold them to Juan fucking Aragón–while pretending to be me? You. Fucking. Asshole!”
“They were fake diamonds!” Tex protests.
“I don’t fucking care!”
“Aww, c’mon. What are brothers for?”
“You're not my brother.”
“I’m your twin!”
“You can’t talk your way out of this one. I have to bring you back.”
“I can’t go back.”
“You don’t get a choice.”
“John…c’mon.”
“Dead or alive. Your choice.”
You involuntarily make a pitiful little sound behind them. As though he forgot you were even there, this terrible killer turns his attention to you again. “Who's she?”
“Just some girl. Don't hurt her.”
Gee, thanks.
“I’m not going to hurt her.” He fixes narrowed eyes on Tex. “But you're not getting out of this.”
Tex looks past his brother to you with forlorn puppy eyes, and fuck if you don’t melt a little, like the fucking idiot you are. “Can I at least say goodbye?”
“Fine,” John growls. “But make it quick.” He releases his brother, and Tex makes a show of brushing himself off, looking at John with a raised eyebrow.
All it earns him is a snarl before the assassin turns his back on both of you.
Tex sidles your way with that come-hither smirk curling his oh-so-kissable lips. This manchild thinks all this was funny.
He doesn’t even see it coming when you wind up and slap him across the face. “Ouch! Easy darlin’!”
You can’t stop yourself from shoving your finger in his face, even if you have to stand on tiptoe to do it. “You asshole! You left me–”
With the speed of a pouncing leopard this man snatches you up in his arms–and slants his mouth over yours. You struggle for about 2.5 seconds before you hate to admit–you give in to it, all your good sense going up in smoke with those clever lips and that devilish tongue lighting up your world one more time. He kisses you like he means to devour you from the mouth down, like he would like to permanently imprint the taste of you on his tongue. He is definitely holding you up by the time he’s done with you, and you forget how to speak when he draws back to look down into your eyes.
“I didn’t leave you, honey. I just…had to time it right, or I knew I wasn’t going to get you back.”
You can't help but think it was his brother who saved all your bacon. Yet when this menace of a man sweeps your hair behind your ear, you can’t stop yourself from leaning into him.
“Sorry I got you mixed up in all this.”
You whimper out of frustration, knowing you shouldn’t believe him, but wanting to. Your attempt to pound on his chest with your fist is thwarted by his arms locked tight around you.
“Tex…is he going to hurt you?” you can’t help but ask, looking at his lethal twin who is clearly losing his patience, leaning against his baddass car.
“Nah. We’ll work it out. Always do.” Tex winks at you with that trickster’s sparkle in his eye, and you strangely sympathize with the mafia assassin having to deal with this wild man who somehow worms his way into your heart, despite all the trouble he causes.
Tex chucks you under the chin when he sees it quivering with the urge to cry. “Here’s–”
“If you say ‘Here’s looking at you, kid,’ I will knee you in the junk, Humpy Bogart.”
He laughs at that, a full-on head-back guffaw. “Baby…I’m going to miss you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Sorry we’re wrapping early. I had some elaborate plans for your juicy little pu–”
“Tex!” you giggle, squirming as he nuzzles your neck with a wicked chuckle, his big hand grabbing your ass low, his long fingers brushing your center. He captures your lips again in a long wet kiss that curls your toes in your shoes and your fingers in his shirt.
“Time’s up, Romeo,” growls the other brother in black, and Tex sighs. There are sirens in the distance, but getting closer. Lots of them.
“Gotta go, darlin’.”
“Wait…how am I getting back?”
“Eh. They’ll give you a ride.”
“Who are they? Hey, wait!”
But Tex veritably lopes on those long legs, hopping in the passenger side of the Mustang in three strides. The assassin named John doesn’t even look at you before getting behind the wheel and starting the car with a roar. As the warehouse is filled with the wails of the police sirens the outlaws are burning rubber in the opposite direction, making a new hole in the other side of the building.
One of the official cars tries to follow them, but you doubt it will get far. That man can drive.
You are practically blinded by the flashing lights all around you, huddling in your little dress with your arms crossed, praying they don’t mistake you for a bandida and shoot you. There’s a lot of yelling of “¡Manos arriba!” and pointed guns.
Shit, it’s all old hat to you now.
You do as you’re told, lifting your hands above your head.
A team of Federales fan out into the warehouse, looking for targets. All they find are bodies.
One of them cuffs you, and you stand there feeling sorry for yourself while they tear the warehouse apart looking for clues or evidence or the Easter Bunny. They bring out some drug-sniffing dogs who are very interested in the crates Tex was hiding behind.
Great.
The thing that shocks you out of your heartbroken stupor is Jack and Johnny striding up in commando gear, looking ridiculously fine in their bullet proof vests, big guns holstered on their hips. “Where did Tex go?” they ask.
“Fuck if I know. Are you DEA?” you ask back, more relieved than you would like to admit that they’re here and maybe sorta on your side. But then again…maybe not.
“I’m Special Agent Utah, FBI,” Johnny answers, flashing a badge.
“Detective Traven, LAPD,” Jack echoes, unclipping the badge on his belt for you to see. “We’re gonna have to ask you some questions.”
“Yeah. I figured.”
“Did you know he’s a hitman?” Jack asks in a deep, no-nonsense LEO voice, very different from the easy going guy who was canoodling with your friend just this afternoon.
“What?” John was obvious, but Tex? Ok, maybe you sensed something dangerous about him, but…?
“He’s a contract killer. We’ve been tracking him for years.”
Bewildered, you shake your head, the last bit of wind blown out of your sails this night.
“No. He just…sold some bogus diamonds to this cartel guy, apparently.”
“Any idea where he stashed the money?”
You snort. “Nope.”
“You’re not lying to us, I hope.”
You just sigh, suddenly so very tired. “No.”
“You’re in a tricky situation here, ma’am,” says Johnny, like he wasn’t joking with you by your first name with your friends in the pool just this morning. “Juan Aragón was the head of the serpent, but some of his underlings might still want revenge. You’ll be wanting to fly home tonight–but we can only make that happen if you're telling us everything you know.”
“I am!” Oh god. “What about my friends?”
“We’ve already got them at the airport with a detail,” Traven answers, and you sigh with relief.
So much for a carefree vacation…
Boy, do you know how to pick them.
Or maybe, you think, this time…he picked you.
And deep down…in the deepest dungeon of your heart…in a place you’ll never reveal to anyone else…it’s possible…you’re glad he did.
🌺🌺🌺
A year goes by in a fog for you. You swing between hating yourself for being such a fucking idiot to missing that dark-eyed bandit with every cell of your stupid little being.
The FBI and LAPD question you a few more times, but eventually they’re satisfied that you really were just a random vacation hookup, and had no true connections to Tex Johnson’s criminal activities.
This truce might have been helped along by the fact that your friends are still dating Agent Utah and Officer Traven. Who honey-potted who?
You’re so happy for them. Jack will surely be popping the question any time now, and Johnny is just as smitten. Not all vacation flings have to end in total disaster…
But sometimes, late at night when you’re alone in bed and consumed by the fever of a nebulous wet dream–you wish you'd jumped in that Mustang while waving your middle finger goodbye to your stable, boring life.
You try dating.
It’s a joke.
No one gives you that bone-deep thrill like one wink from that outlaw cowboy could. No one else can match your wit or your temper; they just run for the hills like the cowards they are.
No one else calls up that red-hot desire that threatens to burn you alive from the inside out.
Maybe you are a hot fucking mess, but as time goes on you start to fear more and more that Tex really was your perfect pairing, like gasoline and a careless match.
It doesn’t matter.
You know you’ll never see him again.
The knowledge of this sinks into your bones, heavy as lead. You accept it, even if you don't know how to get past the dark cloud that constantly hovers over you.
After a very long day you sit down on your couch with a glass of wine to go through your mail. It’s mostly bills, offers for credit cards you don’t want, and some magazines. You almost miss a bright little postcard of the Golden Buddha of Wat Khao Rang, a temple in Phuket, Thailand, tucked into an ad circular by the postman.
Your heart leaps into your throat while racing a mile a minute. Your hand starts shaking as you get up the courage to flip that piece of cardstock in your fingers.
Somehow…you just know, and you're not sure if it's a good thing or not.
Finally you turn it over, finding a short message in a barely legible left-handed scrawl:
Do you still think about me?
◻️Yes ◻️No
A ridiculous smile spreads over your cheeks, and you collapse back into your pillows, holding the card over your heart that’s suddenly turned into a butterfly house.
Later that evening, you find yourself browsing flights to Bangkok on your laptop.
If insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly while hoping for different results…
Fuck it.
☁✈
The END…
…or is it?👀🤭
Thank you everyone for reading to the end! I hope you enjoyed! Your comments make my day! 💖💖💖💖
*All pics stolen from pinterest. yarrrrr.🏴☠️
Warnings? Detailed medical stuff (because Han is amazing!) Injuries, broken bones, angst, discussions of death, fluff, inappropriate use of hospital equipment...
Paring: Don John x takes no shit!history & literature student!f!reader ft. brother!Ted Logan & special guests
Tags: strangers to lovers, light humor, slow burn, hurt/comfort, time travel
Warnings: power imbalance, period typical sexism
Word count: 1.5k
A/N: no idea where this story’s headed
You didn’t know how long you had been walking. Your legs throbbed with exhaustion, and your throat had grown raw and hoarse from shouting their names over and over. Silent tears traced down your cheeks, not because you were lost, but because you had failed to look after your little brother.
You sobbed once, then again, angrily wiping your wet face with the back of your hand. Just as the weight threatened to overwhelm you, a brighter patch of light broke through the trees ahead.
You pushed forward desperately and finally stumbled out of the dense forest.
Blinding sunlight hit you all at once. The sudden warmth washed over your skin like a wave, forcing you to squint against the harsh glare. Slowly, your eyes adjusted.
You were standing on a gentle hillside overlooking a vast, sun-drenched landscape. Neat rows of grapevines stretched out below you across rolling fields. The air was thick with the scent of warm earth, ripening grapes, and wild oranges.
Down the slope, a woman worked steadily among the vines. She was carefully cutting clusters of grapes and placing them into a large wicker basket. She wore simple, old-fashioned clothing: a long, heavy linen skirt, a modest high-necked blouse with long sleeves, and a white linen cap that covered most of her dark hair. Farther down the hill, several other men and women dressed in similar attire were tying up bundles and tending to the vineyard under the bright sun.
A surge of desperate hope gave you a second wind. You broke into a run, half-sliding and stumbling down the grassy hillside toward her.
“MA’AM!” you called out breathlessly as you got closer.
The woman startled so badly she nearly dropped her basket. She let out a sharp cry and quickly crossed herself.
“Santa Maria!” she gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. “You gave me such a fright, child!”
“Sorry,” you panted, stopping right in front of her, trying to catch your breath. “Please… have you seen two boys? One is about this tall-” you held your hand up high and rose onto your tiptoes, “-with messy dark hair, big brown eyes, and a white T-shirt that says Van Halen 5150. The other is shorter, a blue-eyed blond wearing a crop top.”
The woman stared at your frantic gestures with wide eyes, clearly bewildered. Her gaze slowly traveled up and down your body, taking in your appearance. Behind her, a few other vineyard workers had stopped what they were doing and were now watching the scene with open curiosity and suspicion.
“I’m sorry, signorina…” she said gently, shaking her head, “but I haven’t seen any boys like that.”
“Well… okay, okay…” you muttered, trying to think straight. “Where’s your nearest phone?”
The woman blinked at you in confusion.
“My… what?”
“A phone,” you repeated, a little more urgently, gesturing with your hands. “You know… to call people? It rings?”
She continued to stare at you, completely lost.
The sun was beating down, making your skin prickle with heat. You exhaled sharply. “Ma’am… where exactly are we? What is this place?”
“Mennissa…” she replied cautiously.
“Mennissa?” you repeated, frowning. Before you could ask anything else, two uniformed men approached from the path.
“What is happening here?” the taller one demanded, his hand resting near his sword as his eyes flicked between you and the woman. “We heard loud voices.”
The woman curtsied quickly, lowering her eyes. “Forgive me, sirs. This poor girl appears to be lost.”
“Yes, I’m lost,” you jumped in, breathing harder from the heat and the run. “I’m looking for two boys - my brother and his friend. One is tall with messy dark hair and brown eyes, wearing a T-shirt that says Van Halen 5150. The other is shorter, a blond with blue eyes, wearing a crop top. They’re really loud. Have you seen anyone like that? Or is there a phone nearby I could use?”
The two men exchanged a confused glance. Their eyes slowly raked over your short skirt, torn thigh-high stockings, bare legs, and leather jacket with clear disapproval.
“What?” you frowned, shifting uncomfortably under their stares. “Do I have something on my face?”
Before they could answer, a sharp, irritated voice cut through the air behind them.
“Well? Have you found the cause of the disturbance, or must I handle everything myself again?”
Everyone turned at once.
A tall, strikingly handsome man in his early thirties strode toward the group with slow, confident steps. He had sharp, chiseled features, a perfectly trimmed dark beard, and intense black eyes that seemed almost black under the sun were full of arrogance. His white linen tunic clung slightly to his broad shoulders and toned chest, while his black breeches and polished riding boots highlighted long, powerful legs.
Even from a distance, you could tell he was the type of man who was a massive pain in the ass for everyone around him.
The two men immediately bowed deeply. The woman lowered her gaze and dropped into a respectful curtsy, murmuring softly, “Signore…”
This man didn’t even glance at them.
His dark, piercing eyes stayed locked on you the entire time.
You didn’t bow. Instead, you stepped forward slightly and said, “Hi! I’m looking for two guys. One tall with wild dark hair and a Van Halen shirt, the other a shorter blond in a crop top. They disappeared near me and I really need to find them.”
You exhaled sharply. The midday sun was beating down mercilessly. “Damn, it’s so hot out here…” You shrugged off your leather jacket and slung it over one arm, exposing even more of your skin to the burning heat.
The handsome man raised one dark eyebrow. His gaze moved slowly and deliberately, traveling from your scuffed boots, up your bare legs and short miniskirt, across your cropped top, and finally settling on your face. He seemed far more interested in how you looked than in anything you were saying.
“Where are you from, woman?” he asked at last, his voice cool and commanding.
“San Dimas,” you answered automatically.
A faint crease appeared between his brows. “…I am not familiar with such a place.”
“Yeah, well, it’s in California,” you said, frustration building. “Look, they’re just kids, okay? I’m really worried. I need a phone… or at least some help finding them.”
“Are there traveling players or some festival in the area?” he pressed, completely ignoring your plea.
“What? No festival,” you snapped, growing more irritated. “I’m not with any performers. I was just at a store with my brother and that phone booth and… everything changed and… I just need help finding them or getting to a phone. Please.”
The wind rustled softly through the grapevines. One of the uniformed men shifted uncomfortably. The woman kept her eyes lowered, clutching her basket tightly.
The dark stranger’s expression didn’t change.
“Your manner of dress is… most unusual,” he said slowly, his tone dripping with disdain.
You frowned at him. “I could say the same about yours. Is there some kind of filming going on here?” You gestured around at the vineyard, the old-fashioned clothes, and the armed men. “Because if this is a movie set, it’s really convincing, but I seriously need help right now.”
He took one slow, deliberate step closer, tilting his head as he continued to study your outfit with open scrutiny.
“You speak strangely…” His eyes flicked down once more to your legs, then rose back to your face. “Tell me, do you belong to one of the houses in the port? Or perhaps you came with the sailors?”
“What kind of sailors?” you asked, confused. “I was with two guys and we-”
The meaning of his words suddenly hit you.
Your blood instantly boiled with rage. Heat flooded your face as you sucked in a sharp, furious breath.
The sharp crack echoed across the vineyard. A flock of startled birds exploded from a nearby tree, flapping wildly into the sky.
The woman gasped loudly, clutching her basket to her chest. The two uniformed men froze, eyes widening in shock.
The handsome man’s head snapped slightly to the side from the force of the blow.
For a heartbeat, everything went deathly still.
He slowly raised a hand to his reddening cheek, his fingers brushing the stinging skin with disbelief.
“Are you fucking insane?!” you shouted. “Dickhead!”
No one moved. No one even breathed.
Surprise flashed across the man’s sharp features for the briefest moment. Then it vanished, replaced by cold, simmering anger. His dark eyes narrowed dangerously as he straightened to his full height, staring down at you with pure contempt.
His hand dropped slowly from his face.
And this time… he didn’t look at you like a curious oddity.
Pairing: Jack Traven x F!Reader
Tags: SFW, Fluff, slightly NSFW (nothing expl1cit)
Warnings: mild voyeurism
Word count: 4.1k
A/N: I’m not gonna take you through every detail of the wedding... you know how it goes: sweet vows, happy tears, Jack looking nervous but ridiculously hot… So yeah, I’m skipping it. And I figured this was the perfect chance to have a little fun. I’ve hidden a few Easter eggs throughout the fic. Maybe some of you will catch them.
The vows had been said. The cake was half eaten. Your dog had successfully delivered the rings, unlike during the rehearsal, when he nearly swallowed them.
Now, you and Jack sat on the front steps of the main house, tucked a little away from the music and chatter, but close enough to catch the soft thrum of the band and the clinking of glasses. Jack’s jacket draped over your shoulders, still warm from his body, while his hand resting beside yours, fingers nudging gently against yours every so often.
You both watched as a blur of siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, and friends laughed, snapping selfies or swirling the dance floor. Kids darted through the grass like a herd of wild Falabella ponies, chasing each other with carefree shouts. In the distance, your dog barked excitedly, racing after something only he could see.
Everything felt perfect. Your wedding. Your husband. Your-
“UNCLE JACK! UNCLE JACK! COME PLAY FOOTBALL!”
A little boy tore across the grass, nearly tripping over his own feet in excitement. He didn’t slow down, just launched himself straight into your husband’s lap. Jack gave a loud grunt, toppling backward onto the porch like he’d been shot. “I’m hit!” he groaned, sprawling out on the wooden planks with wide, goofy eyes.
You snorted, laughter bubbling up as the boy scrambled onto his chest, giggling with uncontainable glee.
“Please! PLEASE!” the kid begged, bouncing on Jack with endless energy. Jack flinched with every bounce, squinting one eye shut and mouth twisted in a mock wince of pain.
He tilted his head, eyes exaggeratedly pitiful, peering at you still stretched out on the porch. “Please?”
You ran your fingers over his short, soft hair, the feel oddly soothing beneath your touch. “Go on. I’ll hold your spot,” you said, smiling at him with a small, amused nod.
The kid let out a triumphant squeal and tore off again. Jack pressed a quick kiss to your cheek, then rose swiftly, already chasing after the kid.
“You ready to lose, little man?!” he called, picking up speed.
“I’m gonna WIN!” the boy shrieked.
“You wish!” Jack shouted back, scooping him up mid-sprint, arms wrapping around the squirming bundle.
You watched them race toward the open field, where a group of kids waited, all buzzing with energy and excitement. A soft smile pulled at your lips. You let out a quiet breath,kicked off your shoes, and leaned back on your elbows while the low sunlight bathed your face in warmth.
“Oh my god,” came your friend’s voice.
You looked up. Shhe stepped up beside you, handing over a glass of wine without taking her eyes off the field. Jack was flat on his back in the grass, laughing as a gang of kids wrestled the ball from under his arm. “If that’s what being married to a cop looks like, I’m out.”
You took the wine with a smirk. “Nah. That’s just Jack. He’s like… a golden retriever in a human form. ”You patted the step next to you. “Come suffer the stairs with me.”
She looked down at her fitted dress and sighed. “This thing was not designed for stairs...”
She muttered something under her breath as she tried to hike up the hem just enough to bend her knees.
After a moment of wrestling with fabric and wobbling in her heels, you reached out and caught her elbow, steadying her. With a huff and a graceless flop, she finally landed beside you and let out a long, theatrical exhale.
“This dress is a menace,” she giggled, hiking it up slightly around her knees.
“Beauty is pain,” you teased, clinking your glass against hers.
She took a long sip, eyes settling on you. “So how’s married life? Is it still hot? You two still freaky?”
You raised a brow. “We’ve been married for like four hours.”
“Just doing a vibe check,” she said, shrugging.
You both laughed, but her smile faded as her eyes settled near the bar. Her husband - tall, clean-shaven, with perfectly styled hair was there, laughing a little too closely with a pretty woman in a pink dress.
“That bother you?”
“He’s networking,” she said flatly. “Or whatever that’s supposed to be.”
You stared at her, honestly baffled. “You’re seriously okay with that?”
She kept sipping. “He loves me. I love him. Everything else is just... Background noise.”
A quiet moment passed. You both drank.
Then she added under her breath, “I shouted my ex’s name during sex last week.”
You choked on your wine. “No.”
“Yep.”
“What did he do?”
She smirked. “Took it as a challenge. Let’s just say… he fucked the memory right out of me.”
Your eyes widened. “Oh my god.”
“Then he found some spicy pics I sent my ex.”
Your jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”
“We argued. He stormed out. Found my ex. They fought.”
“He hit him?”
“Right in the jaw. Then got hit back. It was a thing.”
You shook your head, half-laughing. “Girl, that’s not a marriage, that’s a soap opera.”
She waved you off. “Just another Monday.”
You grinned. “Meanwhile, the biggest drama in our house was the dog eating an entire rotisserie chicken and puking across the house like a possessed demon.”
Your friend burst out laughing, then leaned closer, nudging you with her shoulder. “I swear, your life is some domestic dream. No shouting. No broken dishes. Just… hot cop, dog puke, and slow mornings.”
You smiled, your eyes drifted to Jack.
Out on the lawn, Jack hoisted a kid onto his shoulders with ease. The boy whooped, lifted the football overhead, and dunked it through a low hanging tree branch. Jack let out a cheer to match, steadying him with both hands. He turned, caught you watching, and shot you that grin - the one that first made you fall for him back in high school. It hadn’t lost a bit of its power.
Your heart squeezed.
“He’s good with kids,” your friend murmured beside you. “And not just the fun kind of good. He’d change diapers, do midnight bottles... all of it, wouldn’t he?”
You nodded, gaze still fixed on him out in the field, laughter echoing from where he played. “Yeah,” you said softly. “He would.”
The feeling rose so fast it caught you off guard: warmth, love, the ache of something too big to hold. Your chest tightened, and your voice came out low, thick with it. “I love him more than I can even explain.”
“God, you’re gonna make me cry.” Your friend pulled you into a side hug that nearly knocked the breath out of you, though her grip softened just as she drawled, “Oh. My. God. Check that out.” She nodded subtly toward a nearby tree.
You followed her gaze and spotted one of Jack’s friends tangled up with one of your mutuals beneath the branches. His hand was buried in her hair, the other shamelessly cupping her ass as he whispered something that made her gasp and break into a breathless laugh.
Your friend gave a low whistle. “Look at that grip. He’s not letting go anytime soon.”
You sipped your wine, eyes on the pair tangled under the tree. “If my girlfriend had an ass that juicy, I’d have both hands on it.”
She kicked your foot playfully, giggling. “Excuse me, Mrs.Traven. You’re a married woman.”
“I said if,” you replied with a smirk, tipping your glass her way. “Besides, it doesn’t mean we can’t appreciate the art.”
“She finally looks relaxed,” your friend murmured, following the couple with her gaze. “Took her long enough after that doctor. God, he was a nightmare.”
You exhaled, nodding slowly. “He drained the life out of her. I’m just glad she found someone who actually makes her laugh. And kicked that doctor’s ass.”
Your friend paused, her wine halfway to her lips.
You frowned. “What?”
She lowered her glass slowly. “You remember her ex?”
Your stomach went tight. “Tex? You think I could forget that psycho?”
“My husband’s firm took his appeal,” she said quietly. “Kev’s his lawyer now. There’s a real chance he could walk.”
You stared at her, stunned. “You’re serious?”
She nodded, lips pressed into a thin line.
Your eyes drifted back to your friend in the distance - cheeks flushed, lips parted in a grin, body softening into the guy’s arms. Your jaw tightened.
“If he gets out, he’s coming for her,” you muttered. “He was obsessed.”
“I know, I’ve been trying to figure out how to get Kevin off the case.”
You didn’t answer right away. Your eyes stayed on your friend as she let the guy lead her toward a quieter corner of the garden.
“We’ll tell her,” you said at last. “But not today. I don’t want to ruin this for her.”
“Yeah,” she murmured, then tipped her wine glass back and drained it in one long sip.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Then she elbowed you gently. “Hey. Who’s that woman sitting with Frank?”
Frank sat stiffly at a table, posture straight, arms braced on either side of his drink. Next to him sat a woman with flawlessly styled hair and a charming smile, casually swirling something amber in her glass.
“She’s a romance novelist,” you said, eyes on them. “My mentor, actually. Big name. Writes the kind of books girls tear through in one night.”
“Wait…” Your friend leaned in for a better look, squinting at the woman. Her eyes widened and she sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh my god!” She clamped a hand onto your arm, clutching it suddenly, startling you. “Is that the author of Persephone’s Descent?”
“Yep. That’s her.”
“Wow. So you… Still trying to find him a date?”
You shrugged. “Kinda.”
“But he hates romance novels,” your friend muttered.
“Exactly,” you said, lips curving. “Which means they’ll have tons to talk about. Frank lives for a good argument. That’s basically foreplay for Frank.”
She let out a dry laugh. “You actually think this might work?”
You both turned toward the pair again. Frank hadn’t moved much, but he wasn’t scowling either. The writer seemed perfectly at ease, tilting her head as she spoke, eyes sharp but amused. Frank listened, hands tight on his glass, and just barely, his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but definitely not disinterest.
“He’s been sitting there for over two hours, not looking for an exit, hasn’t he? And she’s not bored. That’s already a miracle.”
You watched as the writer leaned in closer, said something low, and Frank… impossibly, grinned.
Your friend blinked. “Okay. Now I’ve seen everything.”
“Hi, girls!” another voice called. You turned to see your friend jogging toward you, cheeks flushed and hair a little wild. You both scooted over to make room on the porch.
She plopped down, panting with a bright grin. “I think I’ve been recruited into a wedding football league.”
You threw a glance at the field, where Jack and Johnny were getting utterly destroyed by a swarm of screaming kids. “Looks like your golden retriever joined the team too.”
She blinked. “Who?” she asked, then snorted. “Right. Yeah.”
“Well,” your other friend chimed in. “Maybe now the guys stand a chance.”
You all laughed, but your smile slipped when you spotted your other friend approaching with tight lips and worry written all over her face.
“Hey, girlies! Have you seen Thomas?” she asked anxiously.
“Hey! No, babe.” you all answered in unison, exchanging quick glances.
She looked at each of you in turn, holding out hope that someone might suddenly remember. Her fingers tightened around the phone. “I knew bringing him was a mistake,” she muttered, her gaze drifting over the crowd. “He shuts down when there’s too much going on.” She frowned at her screen and added under her breath, “he’s not answering messages.”
“Maybe he went inside?” one of your friends offered.
“Yeah… maybe.” Her eyes drifted across the garden.
You leaned forward slightly, setting your wine glass down. “We can help look. Split up” you offered gently.
But she was already shaking her head, jaw clenched. “No, no. He won’t respond to anyone else. I have to go alone.” Her voice wobbled, and her fingers fidgeted with the phone, checking it again.
You reached out, gently touching her hand. “You sure?”
She nodded, already stepping back. “Yeah. I’ve got it.”
With a tight, apologetic smile, she stepped onto the porch, and hurried inside.
You watched her disappear through the doorway.
“She’s worried sick,” one of your friends whispered.
You nodded faintly, eyes still on the door. “Yeah…”
“Ladies!” Jack’s voice sliced through the moment. He jogged up, dress shirt wrinkled and streaked with grass, that crooked grin was already aimed at you.
Your heart gave a completely involuntary flutter. God, he looked good like that.
“Hey, husband,” you grinned, eyes drinking him in.
“Having fun?” he asked, stepping up onto the porch and gently tucking a loose strand of hair back into your hairstyle.
You tilted your head up, your hand finding his hip. “The most fun.”
From behind you, one of your friends groaned dramatically. “Ugh, can you two not be this cute for like five minutes?”
Jack didn’t even look her way. “Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’ with a cocky grin.
“Sorry, but I’m stealing my wife now.” He dropped a quick kiss to your lips, and then in one fluid move, pulled you to your feet with a tug on your hand.
You threw your friends an apologetic smile. “He’s persistent.”
“We can tell!” one of them snorted.
“Have fun, just not pull a hamstring!” Another called, her voice fading as you were pulled away.
You stumbled a little, giggling as Jack dragged you toward the honeymooners’ cabin.
“Jack!” you called out, breathless from laughter. “We still have guests!”
“We also have a plane,” he shot back without slowing, already backing down the path, your fingers laced tightly in his.
“We’ve got an hour!”
“Then let’s not waste it.” He tossed you a mischievous look over his shoulder, kicked the cabin door open, and yanked you inside.
The door slammed shut behind you. You barely had time to turn before Jack was on you - fast, fierce, and starving. One hand slapped flat against the door above your shoulder, caging you in. The other arm curled tight around your waist and hauled you flush against him. You gasped when your hips collided with his.
You opened your mouth to say something, but his lips crashed into yours before the thought even formed. The kiss was rough at the edges, all teeth and heat,his breath catching on yours. His mouth moved to your jaw, then lower, tracing a path down your neck. Each kiss came quicker, deepre. He clung to every inch of you, lips grazing the slope of your throat, drawing out the soft, broken sounds he loved so much.
“First,” he murmured low against your skin, breath curling warm over your neck, “we need to change.”
His fingers had already slipped beneath the thin straps of your dress, easing them down your arms as his mouth trailed after them. You gasped, the sound catching in your throat when his lips brushed over the soft swell of your breasts.
“You mean get undressed,” you breathed, already burning, your fingers clumsy on the buttons of his shirt. “No way we’re getting dressed again after this?”
Jack kissed you again, his grin pressed against your mouth.
You arched into him without thinking, and he shifted, hips pressing harder into yours, grinding his already hard cock in a desperate rhythm that made your knees go weak, and your fingers clutch at his shoulders to steady yourself.
“Only one way to be sure,” he mumbled. “Off with the clothes.” He hummed against your lips as the fabric bunched at his shoulder. His other hand stayed on you, dragging you closer, refusing to let up even while he fought the sleeve.
You reached to help, tugging blindly, but you were too caught up in the taste of him to be any real help. The kiss turned messy and sloppy. Mouths bumping, teeth catching, breath shared in short bursts. He let out a low laugh, muffled between kisses, and you laughed too, just for a second, until your mouths found each other again and clung tight.
At last, the shirt gave in. He tore it off and flung it aside, then caught your face in both hands and crushed his mouth back to yours, kissing you harder now, hungrier.
Still kissing you, Jack backed toward the bed, hands sliding down your spine, tracing the shape of you like he couldn’t decide where to touch next. He moved by instinct, barely glancing behind him until the backs of his legs hit the mattress. With a breathless laugh, he dropped onto it, dragging you with him, his hands already wandering again the second you landed on top of him.
You sank into him in a tangle of limbs, grinning against his mouth as his hands slipped down your sides, gathering your dress and pushing it lower. He pulled with growing impatience while you wriggled to help, but the stubborn fabric clung tight, refusing to slide any farther.
“It’s stuck,” you gasped between kisses, laughter bubbling in your throat, as you both fumbled to peel it down. Jack groaned, twisting awkwardly beneath you to get a better grip. “Then we’re in serious trouble.”
Still giggling, you slipped off his lap and stood between his legs, flushed and grinning. “Alright, let me handle it,” you said, catching your breath, gripping the bunched fabric with both hands.
Jack sat up, his eyes never leaving you, and reached for your hands, guiding them with his as you both worked the stubborn dress past your hips. With one final tug, it gave way, sliding down your legs and pooling at your feet in a soft heap, leaving you in only a sliver of lace. And in that moment his smile faded, soaking you in with wide, unblinking eyes.
“You’re a goddess,” he murmured, large hands settling on your waist. He leaned in and pressed a soft open-mouth kiss just above your navel, fingers drifting lower, skimming the length of your thighs in a slow, teasing path.“I don’t know what I did to deserve this,” he murmured, gaze trailing up to meet yours again.
You smirked and gave him a playful shove. “You finally shut up.”
Jack let out a sharp laugh and dropped back onto the mattress, the sound dissolving into a groan when you swung a leg over and straddled his hips.
His hands rose instinctively, gliding up your sides, tracing the curve of your waist with greedy fingers. They slid higher, over your ribs, until his warm palms cupped your breasts, thumbs dragged slowly over your nipples through the lace, eyes full of lust.
“Mrs. Traven,” he breathed, letting the name linger on his tongue as if savoring the taste of it.
You leaned in, mouth barely brushing his. “I like the sound of that.” you murmured. Your hips rolled, slow and deliberate, over the aching length beneath you, drawing a deep groan from his chest. You were just beginning to melt into him when something shifted in the corner of the room.
Your gaze flicked toward the movement and locked onto a pair of huge, dark eyes staring straight back at you. You froze. Blinked.
Jack stilled beneath you. “Babe?” Then your eyes widened in horror. You yelped, practically flying off him. His cop reflexes kicked in before his brain did and in a blink, he rolled to his feet, already in front of you, shielding you with his body.
“What the hell?!” he barked, narrowing his eyes at the corner of the room.
There, slouched in a chair, sat a tall, gawky figure with wide, startled eyes.
“Thomas?” Jack said, disbelieving.
The guy looked up slowly, pale, every muscle in his lanky frame tight.
You peeked around Jack’s broad shoulder, hands curled into the muscles of his back.
“Thomas?!” you gasped. Without thinking, overwhelmed and torn between feeling scandalized and genuinely worried to see him here, you stepped out from behind Jack, completely forgetting you were still in nothing but your lingerie.
Thomas’s eyes instantly darted everywhere but at you.
“My friend is going insane looki-”
Before the embarrassment even hit, Jack’s strong arm shot out and nudged you firmly behind him without hesitation. The other snapped forward, snatching the blanket from the foot of the bed and thrusting it into your arms, still without breaking his stare from Thomas.
You let out a frustrated growl and yanked the blanket tightly around yourself as heat rushed to your face. “Seriously, Thomas?!” You snapped from over Jack’s shoulder. “Your girlfriend is losing her mind looking for you! What the hell are you doing here?”
“I just…” he mumbled, shrinking in his seat. “I needed somewhere quiet. I didn’t think anyone would be,uh-” he gestured vaguely toward the bed, ears burning red.
“You could’ve said something the second you knew we were here,” Jack said, voice low.
“I-I was confused… I didn’t want to interrupt…I mean- I swear, I didn’t see anything! I tried not to look… I mean-I didn’t- Oh God…” He looked like he wanted to sink through the floor.
“And your phone?” you snapped. “Why didn’t you answer?”
He winced, holding it up weakly. “It died…” Thomas stared at the ground, his whole posture folding in on itself, drenched in shame. “I wasn’t trying to be a creep, I swear,” he added quietly. “I’m sorry…”
His eyes flicked up at you for a moment, then dropped again so fast it made your anger falter.
You exhaled, the heat in your chest giving way to a pang of guilt. God, he looked wrecked - ashamed, and about an inch away from tears. “…Okay,” you muttered, calmer now.You let out a slow breath, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Let me call her… alright?”
Thomas nodded without a word, shrinking even further into the chair.
When your friend finally arrived - teary, apologizing, launching into hugs. You and Jack waved them both off with a quiet, “it’s fine,” even though your cheeks still burned. They shuffled out in a hurry, muttering thanks and avoiding your eyes.
The door clicked shut behind them.
You and Jack stood in silence for a long second.
Then Jack groaned, dragging both hands down his face before collapsing onto the bed. He landed flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. You dropped the blanket with a sigh and crawled up beside him.
“Poor Thomas. He looked like our dog when he got caught eating out of the trash.”
“Yeah, well, he was.” Jack paused and shot you a sideways look. “Maybe he needs a leash.”
You nudged his shoulder, making him grunt. “Jack!”
“Sorry,” he muttered, smirking a little. “Total mood killer, though.”
You smiled, your fingers drifting slowly down his chest, tracing the defined ridges of muscle before skimming just beneath his stomach. “You sure about that?”
His gaze snapped to yours, heat flickering back into it. “We’ve got…” He checked his watch. “Fifteen minutes.”
You grinned, leaning in close. “How fast can you be?”
“Me?” Jack drawled, propping himself up on one elbow. “Babe, we’re married now. Teamwork, remember?”
Before you could reply, he scooped you up and rolled onto his back, dragging you with him until you landed squarely on his chest. Your hands flew out, bracing against the solid muscle of it. Jack’s palms glided down your back in a slow stroke.
“Teamwork, huh?” you murmured, your lips brushing his.
“Only if we move together.” Jack barely finished the words before his hand found the back of your neck and pulled you into a kiss that stole the breath from your lungs.
For everyone who's wondering. I know I should say something profound but I've just been staring into space, I'm so sad. This is all I know, I don't know why or what's up. I just hope she's moving on to the next amazing chapter of her life. ♥
We will miss you, Scarlett. I hope you grow a lot and find sucess and happiness wherever you go. I don't know what else to say honestly, it was so sudden.
Warning: Blood, violence, the regular John Wick stuff and tragedy
The picture does not belong to me
To be edited.
Young John Wick, who runs high on adrenaline.
At twenty-eight, he is finally out of Ruska Roma's shadow and in New York. A certain Russian mob boss made an offer he could not refuse, and here he is, wiping his bloodied gun after a messy hit.
He is known as the 'quiet kid' in the organisation. Young, quiet and exceptionally efficient for his age.
He's mostly calm on the surface, but there is a fire in his eyes that is waiting to erupt.
It shows in the way he drags out a quick hit job on finding that the man had little girls in his basement, chained like animals. He makes an anonymous call to the police, looking at the man who is still bleeding on the floor, gurgling up blood.
A young John Wick often looks up at the moon, and on rare days, he is the eight-year-old orphan again, stepping into Ruska Roma.
At times, he lies on a grass field and lets the air kiss him, and he imagines he can fly, he is free, his feathers are clean, and there is a home.
Young John likes to hunt alone, and maybe does not hate the gun as much. He likes to drive cars and ram them into others. If that doesn't kill his target, his bullet will.
Young John has two sides to him— one that never wanted a violent life and looks at civilians with a kind of yearning and sadness that keeps him at night, and his haunting gaze stays with the stranger. The other side is the one that has never felt more powerful before.
Under the Tarasovs, he has a lot more freedom and power. Power over his own life, to an extent. He has an apartment he goes back to, two bank accounts and already more than twenty gold coins.
When he is not working, he walks around the city or rides his two-wheeler to the countryside.
They are rare days, but he makes it up by walking the city's streets late at night. Sometimes, he would walk into a bar and get himself a drink.
It is one such night of him walking into a bar late in the evening. He orders a drink, fiddling with the watch Viggo gifted him after a particularly complex hit.
John made it clean and straight. Viggo was very pleased.
He does not have anything going on in his mind, other than the minute observations he makes while he scans and measures his surroundings, a habit that has been drilled into him since he was eight.
But then, someone begins to sing, and his mind empties.
Her voice touches something aching in his heart, and it sparks to life. Her song lights up his veins, and he turns, as if compelled, he turns slowly.
The room is still, of course it is.
She sings a version of an old song about finding home, and John has never yearned for something that does not exist before this moment, this song, before her.
A young John is far more reckless at the job, just so he can finish it sooner and go back to the bar for her. To hear her, to see her. He exists in the shadows, sits at the farthest corner, but she has his full attention.
By now, the bartender knows him by name— not his real name, but the one he prefers when he is playing his ultimate fantasy— a regular guy living a regular life.
Finally, one day, her eyes meet, and the room empties for John. It is only her and him. She continues to sing, and he cannot look away.
He knows she is trying to decipher him, and he reads her curiosity as a sign to take a step closer. Every time he catches her gaze, he refuses to look away, and the physical distance becomes meaningless.
He leaves behind generous tips, and one day, sends her a bouquet— the boldest move he has made yet. But she sends it back, but not without a message— she does not accept gifts from strangers.
John waits for her backstage the next day with another bouquet.
"I do not accept gifts from strangers. I think I made it clear."
To John, hearing her speak is the closest to something truly divine he has ever been. All he wants to do is to melt her guarded gaze into softness that he sees hiding behind that defensive stance.
"Get to know me over dinner then." He speaks with that half-smile that is a rare sight, but present.
He is secretly a little nervous, and his smile is a beat late. But perhaps awkwardness has its own charm. She agrees.
Late-night dinners become rides to her home, until one night she invites him in.
He does not return to his lonely apartment that night.
He sleeps in her arms. Surrounded by her scent, drowning in her touches, and his hungry lips finding hers.
They burn so bright in the night, John dares to fantasise about a life out of this violent abyss. Thinks if he can run away with her.
Something sweet blooms in the dark and dangerous world of his. Their eyes meet at the bar often as she sings, and to him, it feels like she sings only for him.
Their lips meet in the shadows—fleeting kisses until they are out of the bar, in their little world. Their bubble of bliss.
It is a slow burning of flames that melts something icy and painful in his chest, and he can breathe again.
He whispers his real name during a night at her place— Jardani. The name he left behind at the Ruska Roma theatres.
He wants to be bare and open to her, but cannot bring himself to do that. To her, he is a martial arts trainer. Helps explain his bruises.
When she whispers his name back to him, John thinks he might not resent it as much.
It is a September evening. He has made it to the bar after jogging through the pouring rain. He is late, but not because he was stuck with a hit; he has a gift for her. A silver necklace with a 'J'.
He runs his fingers over the velvet box in his pocket while taking a seat. His eyes never leave hers as he orders his usual drink.
Tonight, he cannot look away. Tonight, he shall come clean to her.
She has all his attention until his side vision catches a movement he is trained to catch. John ducks just in time as the man at the corner aims and shoots at him
He takes cover behind the bar as bottles and glasses shatter, and people begin to run, stumble and scream in panic. It is pure chaos, but John Wick thrives in chaos.
There are more than two men; he manages to shoot down one and stab another in the eye. He does not waste his time killing him; instead, he rushes to her side.
He takes cover again when another round of bullets is aimed at him.
Fuck Viggo's rivals!
John manages to shoot down the third man and scrambles towards the table, where the last saw her ducking behind.
When he reaches her, she is leaning against the table, the once pink gown damp and red all over.
John does not register himself mumbling her name as he shakily tries to press on her wounds and check her pulse. She is gone.
It is futile to check anyway, as her eyes are open, staring into nothing.
John slowly turns to the man he stabbed in the eye when he hears the empty click of the gun. John shoots him in the head before the man can finish cursing at his luck.
In the silence, he watches her lifeless eyes and lets reality sink in before closing her eyes with his palm.
John feels like he is back at Ruska Roma, a young, helpless. An angry but helpless child who can do nothing to alter his reality.
Jardani can only get on his knees, pull her blood-soaked body into his arms and cry out in agony.
Twenty-eight, and John already knows that falling in love, in his world, is a dangerous gamble.
