Wildflower
The Secret Garden
Series Masterlist
Category: Series
Yandere John Wick X Reader
Warning: None.
Notes: John is relatively younger in this fic-- late thirties to early forties.
The gif is not mine. Credits to the original creator (Sorry, I don't remember where I downloaded it from)
Unedited
Wildflower 02
The place was high-end. There was no doubt about that. The building was surrounded by black, sleek cars, carpeted in red from the entrance to the reception desk, where stood a suited man.
“Good evening, welcome to The Continental, how may I help you?” He smiled.
Detached but polite. Perhaps typical of any high-end place.
(Y/N) licked her lips, feeling her palms dampening.
“Uh, Mr Winston--where can I find him?”
“Do you have any appointment, Miss…?”
“(L/N). (Y/N)(L/N).”
“Miss (L/N). I am afraid that without a proper appointment or any relation with our business, I cannot let you meet anyone here.”
No, this was not going to happen. She needed to meet Mr Winston.
“This is very important. I am searching for Artemis.”
The man behind the counter stilled, assessing her.
Keeping his eyes on her, he picked up a vintage-looking telephone and dialed a number.
“Someone wishes to see Miss Artemis...No--okay.” He put the phone back “The manager will see you now.”
With that, he gestured to one of the guards standing by the door leading further inside the hotel. She looked at him, confused at the lack of information. But he nodded in assurance and she was desperate.
The towering man led her through seemingly unending hallways, lit in greens, blues, and goldens. Every corner screamed opulence, and every doorway appeared to hold an allure. Yet, perhaps it was only because she was slightly nervous, something about this building felt—
“Here he is, Miss.”
The man led her to a courtyard that belonged to royalty. Shapely trees, shrubs and perfectly trimmed carpets of grass around the stone pathways. In front of a grand fountain, was a round table with two chairs, both occupied.
“Welcome to the Continental. I am the manager.”
The shorter and older of the two rose from his seat and approached her with a smile. Out of all the people she had seen in and around the building, he seemed the most welcoming to her.
“I am here for Mr Winston?” She tried again. Hoping that the man would be more helpful than the receptionist.
“Please have a seat Miss. You can meet him once you’ve discussed your business.”
While it was not what she wanted, she was desperate. Only the mysterious man named Winston could help her. And the hotel was the only address she had of him. So she followed the manager silently to the table, where a man dressed in black sat, along with an extra chair she had failed to notice before. Or perhaps it was placed there while she was speaking with the manager?
She smiled at the other man out of courtesy but he only nodded, eyes still on her. Reading her, analysing her. But she did not have more than a moment to spare the mysterious stranger.
Turning to the manager, she took a seat.
“Actually, I got this name and address from…Here.” Fishing out a worn-out card from her jacket’s pocket, she gave it to him.
“You know Artemis?” He looked up from the card.
“Her real name was (Name). My mother. All I know is that she had another name, and the only person who can help me find her is Mr Winston. I need to meet Mr Winston, Sir. Please tell me where to find him.”
“How do you know that?”
She almost flinched at the low, gruff voice. The other man broke his silence. His dark eyes were set on her when she turned to him. She took him in for the first time. With ebony hair brushed back, a pair of deep brown eyes that gave away nothing other than the fact that he was observing, the man held her gaze with his piercing one. Shapely bread complemented his handsome face, somehow enhancing the enigmatic aura he possessed.
“Through the letter she left me.” From her bag, she produced a letter. Her last connection to her mother before she left her. “She had told me about this pseudonym, Artemis. I don’t know why she needed a pseudonym, all I need is to find her.” She handed it to the manager.
“This letter is eight years old.” He commented as soon as he began reading it.
“I received it a few months ago."
"And may I ask why it took you so long to receive a letter from your mother?" The manager pressed.
It was...hidden away.” She admitted, but did not wish to delve further.
If anyone deserved to know the whole story, it was Winston– the man her mother trusted. So she would trust him too.
“Do you know what your mother did for a living?”
She frowned. Her mother, as long as she remembered before she just…left, was a homemaker.
“She was a homemaker when she left. She left this letter when…” She licked her lips. “When she left us eight years ago. I found this letter recently.”
The manager looked up from the letter, meeting her eyes with a contemplative stare. It was the silence that bothered her more than his question, or the overall environment of the hotel.
“Child, unfortunately, you are too late…Your mother is no more.”
“Wh–how can you tell me I want to meet Winston—”
“I am Winston, child, and your mother, I’m afraid, is no more.”
Surprisingly, no ground was snatched from beneath her feet. But there was a numbness spreading, gripping her– her thoughts, her mind, her reality and it—
“I will see you later, Winston.”
The other man cleared his throat and rose from his seat. There was no sign of smile, or any greeting–only a brief glance at her before he walked away in silence. While she sat there– mind sprinting from one end to another.
Winston sighed.
“I’m sorry…for your mother. I can tell you where she was buried.”
“How? H–how and why?”
Mr Winston signed and returned her the letter.
“The less you know, the better it is. Some questions do not have the answers you need, or expect.”
—----
It had been so long, she had, at the back of her mind, had already assumed the worst. Eight years of no contact, and only being simply told that her mother ‘left’ her and her entire family and she had grown to resent that woman. But when she discovered her mother’s last letter to her, previously hidden away by her father, everything changed– her perception, her approach to the disappearance of her mother–everything.
He was an excellent father, but ever since her mother left, he did not tolerate even the mention of her in the house. (Y/N) had found the letter carefully hidden away among his medical files. When she questioned him, he gave no proper answer and she was left with no choice but to make preparations to get to New York. Like taking up a job there.
It was all too confusing for her. She needed answers, and her mother, in the letter, only mentioned Winston. The man who had, in turn, refused to give her the answers that brought her to him. If not him, then who would give her the answers she so desperately sought?
“We are here, Miss.”
The driver declared as the car slowed. Mr Winston insisted that she travelled with the vehicle provided by him. She was thankful for his assistance. It had been barely a week since she had landed in New York and she knew nothing of the streets there.
The cemetery was nestled in the quieter end of the city. The driver opened the door for her and she thanked him. As soon as she was out of the car, he walked up to the guard sitting by the gates of the cemetery and showed him a card, whispering something to the watchman, who nodded and opened the cemetery gates.
“I will wait here Miss, please take your time. That man will lead you.”
He offered her a polite smile on returning to her, but all she could do was nod. The watchman led her inside the sprawling cemetery– well-kept and littered with varying graves, from grand to plain, and even unnamed. The man led her to a simple and unassuming grave that had her mother’s name on the headstone and the year of her death. Three years. Her mother had passed away three years ago.
She was three years too late.
It felt unreal.
All her months' planning, all her hopes, her confusion, her resentment, her love, everything fizzing into a cold climax.
Her mother was dead, buried and forgotten.
(Y/N) stood there–stared at the gravestone for…she was not counting. She just stood there. No tears, no anger, no bitterness. Nothing. There was just this cold void. A void that demanded answers.
Yet, she was unaware of the driver standing a few feet away from her–hiding behind the cluster of trees, gun in hand. Picking his phone, he pressed a button and put the device close to his ear, all the while keeping his eyes rooted on her unassuming form.
“All clear Sir, she really is the daughter.”
And put his phone away.
When she returned to the gates, the driver was waiting dutifully by the car.
“Please take me back to the continental.”
“Are you sure Miss?”
“(Y/N). Please call me (Y/N) and yes, I’m sure. I need to get there. Please.”
“As you wish (Y/N).” He responded, opening the passenger door for her.
—----
Under the night sky, when the city was lit up, the hotel glowed like any other unassuming lamp on a posh street. But within, it was bustling. It was all glitz and glamour–easy to get lost. But she had no business there other than her mother.
It was the same man at the reception. His eyebrows raised at recognition as he watched her rushing towards the desk.
“I would like to see the manager please.”
This time, there were no other formalities needed. One of the men led her to the basement— a pub with its own jazz band. Lit up in greens and reds, it was filled with people drinking, chatting, moving around– mostly dressed in darker shades.
Winston was seated at a lit–up corner, a point which allowed him unrestricted view of the entrance. He raised his drink in greeting as she approached him.
“Hello again, little miss.”
“I need answers Sir, and only you give me the answers.” She was desperate– uneasy, uncertain and lost.
“Have a seat first, and tell me why do you think I can give you the answers you seek?” He offered her, all in poise and grace.
She sat down reluctantly– only then noticing the same man she had seen earlier. His unreadable eyes were already on her. He had been unmoving and silent, almost merging into the shadows. He had been just silently observing her for so long?
“Hello again.” She tested.
He only nodded before finally moving his eyes away and focusing on his drink.
“Would you like something to drink? It's on the house.” Winston offered.
“No, I’m good.”
“It’s rude to refuse, young lady.” He corrected her gently.
“Sorry…” she gathered herself “Sure, anything you offer.”
“Very well.” Winston smiled slowly before instructing one of the waiters to bring a drink she did not even bother to remember. He looked at her when the waiter was gone “Now tell me, what answers do you want?”
She sighed. That was the point. She did not even know where to begin from. “I have no answers…to anything. Why she left, why she has a pseudonym, what connection does she have with you, or the cemetery? How did she…”
How did she die?
She looked down at her hands, fiddling with the bracelet she wore— a gift by her mother on her sixteenth birthday.
The glass table clicked when he put his drink down and leaned in “Child, listen to me carefully.”
She looked up, focusing on him, nothing but him and his words as he continued.
“There are some questions that are better left unanswered. You try even peering into this river, you will see nothing but an unending abyss. And you get nothing out of it but darkness.”
She sat there, taking in his cryptic words.
“That is my answer to you, child. Your mother was a good woman and loved you very much and it was her last wish to keep you safe. Won’t you honour her?”
“I have…no closure then?” Her eyes turned glassy.
“Let me ask you a question...Do you know the Boogeyman?”
She frowned, confused at the sudden, seemingly irrelevant question. She turned to look around, confused. The man beside her had his impenetrable gaze set on her already. Even if Winston asked the question, it was Winston and that man waiting for the answer.
Winston raised an eyebrow “Do you?”
She frowned and tilted her head slightly. “What is the Boogeyman?”
Winston’s eyes stayed on her as he sipped his drink.
“Sometimes, it is better to not have any closure. Sometimes, the book is better shut tight and thrown away.”
“But why?”
She did not understand. Why could not she have an answer? Was she to live in the dark all her life? Just wondering? How could she possibly make peace with that?
“Because…” The man on the side spoke up– deep but slow, as if weighing his words before he spoke, or perhaps thinking too much. “Because you are at the wrong place. A place you shouldn’t be.”
In his black clothing, he appeared with the shadows behind him. There was something raw but deep in his stare– a kind of instinct even billions of years of evolution could not suppress– something primal. His stare was enigmatic– not in a usual seductive way,no. But in the way that it somehow reminded her of baser human tendencies.
She gulped.
“He is John.” Winston broke her out of her thoughts. She turned to him, breaking her gaze away from the man.
“John Wick.” The man added, offering a handshake.
“(Y/N) (L/N)” She replied, accepting the handshake.
“(Y/N)...I knew you would return so…” Winston produced a ring from his pocket. Her mother’s wedding ring. “Maybe this was why she wanted you to come here. To tell you that she loved you, and your father. This is the only closure you should have.”
She blinked her tears away while taking the ring. She sat there in silence for a moment, staring at the ring, before finally putting it in her pocket.
“Thank you, Winston.” She managed to whisper out, but her voice cracked at the end.
“Goodbye, child.” He responded with a sombre stare.
Nodding, she made her way out of the place. A place so grand, yet so mysterious that suddenly seemed suffocating to her, oblivious to the burning stare that followed her until she was out of sight.
****
The one-shot has been sitting in my doc, collecting dust. Wrote as a self--indulgent experient...So, enjoy if you want to.
Also to the Anon who sent me a beautiful request, I'm working on it, just struggling to come up with a proper timeline. Please dm me if possible so we can discuss it.
