I passed a flower shop next to a tattoo shop and at first I laughed because I thought it was ironic and then i freaked because IMAGINE YOUR OTP IN A FLORIST/TATTOO ARTIST AU
I cannot BELIEVE a post I made when I was 13 is circulating! And also apparently started this trope? I thought somebody had the idea separately and it blew up that way😭
you know that trope where it’s princess + knight, but they’ve both been captured by the bad guys and the princess is now gripped by the jaw by the villain, receiving a thin cut to her cheek while remaining completely still with a defiant look in her eyes even as a droplet of blood begins to trickle out of the wound, all while 3 people AT THE VERY LEAST need to have their hands locked on the knight because he’s thrashing around like a wild animal, trying so so so desperately, violently, to get to her?
jack traven x reader Bittersweet alternate ending AU. After escaping John Wick you move to L.A. Keanuverse encounters abound...(tom ludlow, donaka mark, et al.) *warnings: MDNI!!! did i mention this is a dark fic? violence. misogyny. elements of n0n-c0n, victim blaming herself (def not healthy)
27. i will show you my dark secret
You come back to the world slowly, a pounding headache drumming behind your eyes before you even dare to open them. Cautiously you peer out through your lashes; low golden light doesn't offer more shooting pain, so you blink, trying to get your bearings.
"Fuck…" you groan, sitting up on your elbows, holding your head so that your brains don't slide out your ears. You're laying on some kind of long couch—the fine upholstery is smooth and soft beneath you. Just beyond your nose you make out it's a chinoiserie print of chrysanthemums and birds…you'd like to curl up and sleep on it for a few more hours, but something tells you that would be a bad idea.
That's when you start to remember everything else.
John Wick found you.
Your whole world is going to burn.
"There she is. I was afraid my boys overdosed you. Was it necessary to give them such a hard time?"
Slowly you turn your head to find Donaka Mark seated in a carved ebony throne of a chair at the head of a long dining room table, self-satisfied as a man who has finally won a long game of chess.
"Donaka…you. Fucking. Idiot."
His amusement shifts into a terrible frown, eyes narrowing to anthracite slits.
"That's not how you want to start this off, y/n."
You sit up, too fast, and the vast room spins. You brace yourself, and wonder how mad he'd be if you threw up all over his beautiful silk pillows. What the fuck did he drug you with?
You swallow back the urge to blow chunks. You can always save that for later. "I'm going to level with you," you groan, closing your eyes against another wave of nausea.
"At long last."
"I am on the run from someone."
"I know."
"He found me. Tonight. I locked him in a room at the shop, but that won't hold him for long—"
"I know."
"What do you mean you know?"
He smirks down at you, having fun again.
"I told you I've been watching you, y/n. We noticed a new player skulking around your normal haunts a few days ago. It was obvious."
You blink, the urge to slap that smug smirk off his handsome face burning so real that you clench your fist. He knew. He knew, and he didn't tell you.
"He's a very dangerous man."
Donaka just chuckles at you. "So I hear."
"You don't understand."
"Has it occured to you that maybe you don't understand? Come eat something, I promise you'll feel better." He removes a lid from a dish to tempt you, and an amazing savory smell wafts through the room.
Shaking your head, you finally feel well enough to push to your feet. "I don't have time for this."
You make it two steps before Donaka is on you, lithe as a panther, picking you up like you weigh nothing at all. The current state of your muscle control is no match for him—god he's a big man—he actually laughs as you struggle, pushing against him until he plops you down in the chair next to his, pinning your hands on the arms.
"Calm. Down."
"I'm warning you, Donaka. I'm a curse you do not want a piece of. He'll kill you. He'll kill everyone here."
With a sigh Donaka picks up a set of chopsticks and expertly starts doling out bite-size tidbits onto your plate. "You do remember my business is security, sweetheart? I employ the most skilled and ruthless ex-military contractors in my personal detail. If that man comes here, he'll have a bad night."
He holds up a small dumpling to your lips in offering, and a pregnant pause weighs between you like a physical testing of wills. "Eat."
"I can't," you plead. "Please, just let me use your phone. I have to call Jack—"
Donaka throws the chopsticks; they skitter across the fine table setting with a clang, overturning a small cloisonné enamel vase of flowers. "Jack, Jack, Jack. You are safe with me. I have delivered you from what I can only assume is your worst fear, and all you can talk about is Jack?"
"I have to go now!"
You push out your chair from the table, trying to scramble away, but he's on you again in the blink of an eye, catching you with an arm around the waist. This time he's not so gentle, slamming you down on the table and pinning you beneath him. Silverware clatters and rings—china shatters on the floor. You try to get your leg under his torso for leverage but he locks his lower body against yours, wedged between your legs, holding your hands over your head with a grip that makes the bones in your wrists creak. You scream and thrash and snarl against him until you physically cannot do it anymore, heaving for breath while baring your teeth.
The buttons of his shirt strain across his broad chest as it heaves, looking down at you with all the sympathy of a tiger with a tasty deer in its jaws. He smirks, assessing your disheveled state, all wild eyes and still ready to bite. His usually so carefully coiffured hair has fallen down into his eyes; they are sharp and shining as obsidian blades.
He is beautiful, and terrible, and you would stab him with a fork right now if you could only get your hand free.
As though to emphasize your defeat he deliberately grinds his hips against yours, punishing you with the hard bulge of his erection at your center.
"Creep!" you snarl, struggling again for spite, though you really are out of steam.
"You are a little fighter," he pants, short of breath from your battle. "I have to admit. This is the most fun I've had in a long time."
He shifts to hold your wrists with one massive hand, reaching down to unbuckle his belt like he has all the time in the world to play with you now. This is when you start to cry, your lips trembling as fat tears roll from the corners of your eyes. All you can think is I'm sorry, Jack. You fought as hard as you could…but you aren't strong enough to prevent this betrayal. You're afraid you'll never be able to look him in the eye again. This all flashes through your mind in a matter of seconds, this pervading feeling of defeat and treachery sinking into your bones.
"Aw, don't start crying now, you little hellion," he mocks you. "Surrender, and I'll still let you cum."
The thought twists like a vile knife in your guts.
"Donaka…please don't. I know you're a better man than this," you plead, choking out your last word.
Strangely this is the thing that gives him pause, looking down at you with that timeless dark gaze that has always made you squirm. He lays his palm flat over your chest, not groping you, but to feel the hammering rhythm of your heart beneath the spread of his hand. "I'm really not, y/n. Though I might have kept up the charade for a little while longer, just for you."
"I'll hate you forever," you warn him, your words like sandpaper in your throat.
"No you won't," he scoffs. He has not taken a single word you've said tonight seriously. You wonder if he'll pay for it with his life.
"Just you wait."
"Suit yourself. I've got you where I want you now."
He goes back to his belt, flipping it free, undoing the top button of his designer slacks.
The bark of a gunshot startles both of you, plaster raining down from the ceiling.
A booming command of "FREEZE, MOTHERFUCKER!" cuts through the room, and you sag with relief, your head knocking against the table.
Jack.
He stands in the doorway with his gun drawn, your knight in shining white t-shirt.
Thank god.
He's so tall and fit and true, the veins in his arms and his neck popping with his fury. You can't hold back your sigh, even if you know you're not out of the woods yet.
Donaka doesn't even look up at first, smirking down at you. "Officer Traven. Late to the party, as usual."
"Back away with your hands on your head!"
Considering Jack has a large caliber weapon pointed at him and a look of pure murder on his handsome face, Donaka decides it might be prudent, though he still does it as though he is merely indulging the police officer's childish demands.
"How ever did you find us?"
"911 call comes in from her shop and she was missing? You were my first suspect, asshole."
"Is that why you're here alone, without backup?"
Jack just frowns, caught out that he's cowboying on this one, alone.
"Sounds like you didn't have any evidence for a warrant…"
"Does it look like I need a warrant?"
"Does he even know about…?" Donaka gives you a pointed look with a lifted brow, like not even he wants to utter the Baba Yaga's name.
"Shut up. Back away from her, slowly. No funny business. I'm itching for an excuse to shoot you."
"You won't shoot me," taunts Donaka. "You're one of the good guys, Traven."
"Not feelin' so good right now, believe me. Turn around." Jack crosses the room, gun in one hand, cuffs in the other. You gingerly push yourself off the table, standing on legs that still tremble. Donaka watches you with a smirk, and you contemplate hitting him in the face with the last remaining china plate on the table.
"You ok, baby?" There's nothing you want more than to hide in his arms right now, but you know he has his hands full.
Jack dares to glance your way while cuffing your kidnapper.
It was a mistake.
Donaka explodes into action, knocking away Jack's gun and pouncing on him. The two tumble and exchange blows like rabid dogs engaged in battle, snarling and punching. Unfortunately…the millionaire actually knows how to fight. This is why his hands aren't soft, you think to yourself in a panic, looking around for a weapon. The gun has skittered off somewhere and the two powerful men are exchanging blows that sound like they could fell an ox. Donaka actually manages to get on top of Jack, rearing back to hit him when you pick up a very large, very old, very expensive blue and white Ming vase from a side table and crash it on Donaka's head as hard as you can.
He doesn't go down quite like you hoped he would, but the shock of it gives Jack just enough of a window to flip him. He manages to get one hand cuffed with a knee on Donaka's spine when shouts from the door fill the room.
"Freeze!"
"Get on the ground!"
Suddenly the room is filled with four security guys kitted out in full tactical gear with weapons drawn. They're Donaka's well-paid attack dogs, and you absolutely believe that they will shoot both of you with so much as a nod from Donaka.
With a hangdog look of apology that cleaves your heart Jack raises his hands, slowly dismounting from the millionaire he was trying to arrest.
Maybe Jack should have just shot him.
Furious and bloody, Donaka lands a sucker punch that makes you scream. Jack falls back as you run towards them, forgetting the guns in a very stupid moment of animal instinct to protect your mate. Perhaps it's lucky for you, that Donaka grabs you up before the guards turn you into Swiss cheese.
"Restrain him," Donaka snarls, kicking Jack in the ribs.
"Stop!" you plead, struggling in his vise-like grip, crying and carrying on like a mad woman again.
"Be still," hisses Donaka, twining your hair in his fist, pulling your head back at a merciless angle as he pins you against him.
You are so consumed with the fear of what he intends to do with Jack that you tremble like a leaf, so hopped up with adrenaline you don't even feel the pain. You realize you weren't afraid before. Not really. Not like this. Now you're ready to beg on your knees—ready to trade anything for Jack's life—but you are all interrupted by a smattering of gunfire at the other side of the house. The crisp pow pow pow is unmistakeable, and you don't know if you are terrified or relieved.
"What the fuck was that?" snarls Donaka, pulling your hair as though you are personally responsible.
"We're under attack, sir. We need to evacuate you to a more secure location."
There's more gunfire, nearing closer, and with a strange sense of acceptance you just listen, knowing very well what's coming their way.
Death wears a kevlar suit, and they're about to find out he wears it well.
