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thewhumpcaretaker · 10 days

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⚜ 𝓑𝓮𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓭 𝓙𝓾𝓭𝓰𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽 - 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝐼𝒱: 𝒟𝒾𝓈𝒶𝓇𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⚜

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ ✧.*★ Thank you again to @evren-sadwrn for the beta read!

TW: withdrawals, mention of drug use, nightmare, panic attacks, paranoia, guns, an argument that gets physical. Take care of yourselves, I'm taking the story a little darker from here on out!

Summary: John Wick and The Marquis de Gramont both faked their deaths on that fateful day at the Basilica. But when Vincent seeks John's help, he isn't expecting genuine compassion.

Vincent was standing in the motel doorway, holding a gun, but the parking lot looked…wrong. Outside was the gas station where he’d been shot yesterday. At the center of it, under the buzzing floodlights, stood a dark figure. It was almost impossible to make out, but it was dressed in a black coat and holding a gun. “John!” He could not tell whether he was addressing the figure, or calling for help. Who was it? Its face was bowed towards the ground at first, but slowly, he saw its chin and its weapon arm begin to rise at the same time. Vincent tried to look away but could not. He tried to raise his own arm and couldn’t do that either. He was going to be shot, again, and he felt the pain echoing through time itself, from out of the future, already spreading through his lungs, his heart -

“Vince - Marquis. Wake up.”

Okay. Okay, it was all okay. He was in bed, probably fresh from thrashing around, based on the tangle of blankets clinging to his legs.

John leaned over him, saying, “It’s nine. Breakfast ends soon.” He was plainly trying to play it off like he didn’t notice, like that wasn’t why he was shaking Vincent awake. But he absolutely noticed. He wouldn’t have had that doe-eyed look on his face otherwise. Great. “I need to get us food, which means I need to leave you awake and armed.” John pressed a pistol into his hand and stood, looking away from him at some endlessly fascinating spot on the wall. “I’ll be back in less than ten minutes. Is that okay?”

He forced his voice steady. “Yes. Go.”

The door clicked shut and Vincent let out an exhale that rapidly gave way to gasping and didn’t stop until he felt dizzy. Bad dreams, massive anxiety. This horrible knot in his chest that had nothing to do with the bullet wound.

It was starting.

It had probably started last night honestly, given the way he’d lost his cool. How long had it been since they boarded the plane in Paris? More than 24 hours, that much was certain. That was when he took the last hit.

Vincent hobbled to the bathroom and splashed water over his face. Don’t panic, he told himself. I can get something. I can fix this.

How? How exactly would that be remotely possible, with no contacts in all of Pennsylvania? With no contacts accessible at all, other than John? And he was sure as hell not going to ask John to get him snow. For now, the best he could do was collect himself.

John was back in less than ten minutes, as promised – less than five, in fact. He carried plates piled with eggs, sausages, pancakes, and fruit. “Convinced the clerk that I’m on a high calorie diet,” said John, a hint of amusement coloring his voice. It was a relief to have food at least, even the dismal fare to be found at an American breakfast buffet. Vincent hadn’t eaten dinner and was so glad to see it that he barely even complained – only that the eggs had the texture of rubber and that the syrup packets were a disgrace to the name of confection. Really, he was very restrained.

After breakfast, Vincent settled into the armchair and took up the notepad again, doing his best to imagine that he was seated at the antique executive chair in his personal office, just doing some routine paperwork. Perhaps this day could be salvaged yet. All he had to do was maneuver his way out of this situation, which was his specialty. All he needed was a plan.

And for the pain to stop. That would be nice. And a hit. A hit. Please. He’d take anything to take the edge off at this point. The smallest amount. It was so hard to focus. Every car that pulled into the parking lot sent John running for the window and Vincent teetering on the edge of hyperventilation.

Hours passed and he came to the end of the notepad, without success. He sighed and glanced around at the pile of papers scattered around the bed and wastebasket, covered in High Table secrets. “Do you have a lighter?”

John handed it to him. “Don’t burn things in here. You’ll set off the fire alarm.”

“Then go make yourself useful and burn them outside for me.” He handed it right back.

“Okay…not this one though.” John pointed to the drawing of himself.

So he saw that. Irritating. “That attached to your own image, hmm? Who knew the Baba Yaga was so vain.”

“Who knew the Marquis had hobbies outside of murder and ladder-climbing.”

“Oh I enjoy life to the fullest.”

“I have no doubt.” John was staring at him with something uninterpretable in his eyes. “Anyway, it’s good. Would be a shame to burn it.”

Vincent puffed with pride. “A mere sketch.”

“Guess I can keep it then.” He tucked it into this breast pocket. “Where’d you learn?”

“Private lessons. My instructor traced her tutelage to Francois Boucher - an honorable history.”

“…I took private drawing lessons as well, but I was never much good.”

“Yes, I am familiar with The Director’s education program. That’s a formidable upbringing in its own right. But it lacks depth in all topics, in favor of breadth. It’s meant for the kind of rabble that comes out of the orphanages, jack-of-all-trade types. No wonder you didn’t get far. Mastery requires the aspiration to mastery.”

John shook his head. “I guess you’re right. I had none of those aspirations. Would have traded it for an ordinary school in a heartbeat.”

Vincent genuinely couldn’t understand that. “Why? What is the appeal of this ‘ordinary life’ that’s so precious to you?”

“…Peace?”

“How boring.”

“You can’t really tell me you’d choose this life again if you were given a chance, can you? The constant fear of death, the mistrust, the pressure from all sides? Just to be betrayed by the entire organization.”

“You know nothing, you’ve never so much as considered your own place in history. How could you possibly understand? When I bring them to heel, that will be a victory far beyond what I could have achieved with a humble seat at the Table. I will be above the Table, I will be the Elder by the time I’m done. On the mountaintop – that’s where peace can be found.” Vincent was snatching up the papers as he spoke, suddenly filled with need to burn something himself. He grabbed the lighter back out of John’s hand.

John came between him and the door. “Don’t go outside.”

“I don’t have time for a pissing contest.”

John moved graciously aside. “Your choice.”

As soon as he stepped out into the eerily silent parking lot, the Marquis regretted it. It was too open, and he pictured snipers everywhere. He glanced around nervously, too on edge to even enjoy the flames that consumed the products of his fruitless brain-wracking and left a black, ashen scar on the pavement. He scuffed at it with his shoe and came back inside still seething.

John hovered near him at first, but soon got himself snapped at. After that, he kept his distance, working out and playing with Dog on the other side of the room.

But it was even more distracting, somehow, to see John ignoring him. Walking on eggshells around him, while simultaneously proving that he could occupy himself throughout an enjoyable day without even looking in Vincent’s direction, as if he didn’t exist. Yes, that was exactly what he’d told him to do, but the fact that John was capable of doing it felt so insulting.

Just as the sun was declining into afternoon, Vincent looked up and he was texting someone. “Who can you possibly be talking to?”

He gave a quizzical look but answered anyway. “Winston. He’s lecturing me.”

Vincent scoffed. “He loves his lectures. He once told me - ”

But there was a crackle of tires over gravel outside, and both men froze at the same time.

John’s body went tense in a split second. He leapt across the room to peer out the side of the curtains. “There’s someone going into the office.”

He left his phone open on the bed. And, well, it wasn’t as if Vincent could just not look.

Winston: “What the hell are you doing, Jonathan? I’m worried. You of all people should be delighted to see the Marquis ruined. You have no idea how many meetings it took me to prevent the High Table from opening a bounty on you, equaling his. The Adjudicator is already in New York pursuing this case. I can’t imagine why you’re on his side anyway, it’s not like you.”

John: “I’m not on his side. I have no idea how he plans to escape this alive. Is it even possible?”

I’m not on his side. I’m not on his side. I’m not on his side. Vincent felt sick.

“Looks like it’s just a couple on vacation. They’re getting suitcases out of the trunk.” When John turned around, he was greeted by a gun barrel. “Marquis,” he said, very calmly. “What is this?”

“Apparently, you’re not on my side. Shouldn’t be so careless with your phone, Jonathan.” He emphasized Winston’s endearment mockingly.

John muttered something under his breath in Russian. “Think about this. Anyone could be standing next to Winston right now. He made a point of telling me The Adjudicator is in New York. I’m not about to admit that I’m with you and get a matching bounty. Then we’d both be stuck.”

Vincent hated how reasonable that sounded. He didn’t lower the gun.

John continued, “Notice the rest of my reply. A veiled request for advice about how to get you out of this.”

A long moment passed as Vincent weighed his options. “If you’re on my side, you will prove it to me.”

“How?”

He hadn’t thought that far ahead and had to pause again. But soon enough, it came to him. “Kill whoever just went into the office. Do it now, just because I ordered it.”

Flatly, “No.”

This would be the time to shoot him. Vincent’s hand was shaking.

John took a step towards him, completely unfazed. “You are not going to shoot me, because you need me. And I am not going to shoot a happy couple going about their day, because I am not the boogeyman, no matter what you or anyone else tries to turn me into. I understand that you don’t value life the same way I do. I don’t fault you for that. God knows what was done to you to make you this way. But I’m not engaging with it. Understood?”

He was right. It would be completely counterproductive to attack his own ally, but at this point, he didn’t care. Whatever might happen to him next could not be any more painful than being challenged like this. “Don’t flatter yourself that I need you. I don’t need an idiot masquerading as an idealist telling me what he will and will not engage with. You jump when I say jump. I don’t need you, Wick. I own you. And I can destroy you if I want to.” His other hand went to the gun, in a futile attempt to steady it.

He barely saw it coming. John’s arm swept down over both of his and disarmed him in a single motion, and a leg swept him chest-first onto the floor into a searing white field of unbroken pain. He felt John yank away the dagger that he always kept in his back pocket, and had thought was carefully concealed. It took him a second to realize that he was making inarticulate, winded keening noises into the grimy carpet.

“Yet again: consequences.” John stepped smoothly over him and switched off the light, plunging the room into darkness. He picked up the duffle bag as he went, with the rest of the weapons inside, and whistled for Dog to follow him. “I’m going out. While I’m gone, don’t turn on the lights. Don’t make any noise. I’ll get food, and more bandages. In the meantime, you would do well to consider that I haven’t killed you just now.” The door slammed behind him.

A feeling of complete and utter nakedness stole over him. He was unarmed. Alone.

For a while, he just cried.

At some point, he found the strength to roll over onto his back. He felt at the bandages. John hadn’t hurt him, not really – or at least, none of the stitches seemed to be torn. But the aching knot inside him wasn’t coming from the wound. The room was dark, an isolation chamber that heightened that ache within him. It was in his body, yes, in his bones, yes, but not the sternum specifically. All of his body, all of his bones. The gaping hole where any sense of self-worth normally rested.

John had seen through him completely. And the worst part was that he was actually loyal to him. Still loyal to him, even after that humiliating display of paranoia.

God, he needed a hit so badly. Maybe then he wouldn’t be so emotional. It was completely unreasonable to have to deal with this kind of stress sober.

He dragged himself up onto the bed and under the blankets.

He should work. He should think. But his mind was a blur of shame, craving…exhaustion. He tried to close his eyes to sleep, but his heart pounded as heavily as if his blood were made of molasses, thick with sadness and rage.

When he looked at the clock, only a half hour had passed. The time seemed to stretch infinitely. John had taken everything, including Dog. Maybe he wasn’t coming back. Maybe this was all just a cruel joke, from the beginning. Vincent would kill him for that, he really would this time. Not even kill him. He would show him how unimportant he was, how much he didn’t need him. Never wanted the help of a traitorous cockroach like that in the first place.

Crackling gravel, outside.

In an instant, the heavy pounding of his heart went hideously shallow and fast.

He crept to the window and peeked around the curtains from the edge. This time, it was not a couple on vacation. It was a sleek black Mercedes Benz, from which emerged two heavily built men in designer suits, one with a tattoo on the back of his hand. A Tarasov symbol.

Should he bar the door? Hide in the bathroom? …Why wasn’t John here? He would know.

The terror outweighed the pride and he picked up his phone, dialing frantically. He was about to be mocked, to have to beg, to look like he couldn’t even handle himself alone for an hour. But it only rang once. “Yeah?”

“They’re here. Tarasovs. They just went into the office. What do I do?”

“Okay. Breathe. I’m already on my way back. Listen very carefully: you need get out of the room while they’re still in the office. If Marjorie gives them our room number, you’ll be trapped in there. Circle around behind the building and find cover.”

“Out of the room!? Are you crazy? What if they see me on the way?”

“If you hurry, they won’t. Go.”

Vincent swore quietly. With the phone still pressed to his ear, he stepped into the afternoon sun, blinded after the dark of the bedroom. The emptiness of the parking lot leered at him and he fled from it, around the back of the building as John had instructed, into the fields. “Did you go?”

“Yes.” He wondered if John could hear how much he was panting. He crouched down behind a blue flower bush, which snagged at his slacks.

“Good. You’re doing great.”

“No I’m not, I’m sitting in a god damn bush. This is your fault. Is this the way you keep a man alive?”

There was a ragged sigh on the other end. “I will fix this.”

Vincent wanted to tell him that he should be sorry, that he couldn’t fix this, but instead he found himself saying, “Don’t hang up, please.”

“I won’t. I’m staying on the line until I’m with you again.” There was a long silence. “What car were they driving?”

“A black Mercedes Benz.”

Screeching tires.

“They already left. They just passed me on the way out. I’ll be busy for a minute.”

“You’re going to kill them for me?” Why was he suddenly so…touched? He smiled. “Run them off the road and smash that pretty car of theirs.”

“I will. I’m chasing them away from the motel first. Go back in the room, you’re safe.”

Another terrifying flight through the parking lot, but it was less miserable in this direction. A little while after he was seated on the bed, Vincent heard a great clattering, as if the phone had been dropped, or perhaps something very loud had happened in the distance. A car door slammed. Distantly, “Damn it! It’s Wick!”

“That bitch must have covered for him! Run – “

John’s reply was a gunshot, and then a second gunshot. Both of them for him.

Vincent was grinning ear to ear. “Mon chevalier blanc [My knight in shining armor],” he said. “I never doubted you, Mr. Wick.”

John just laughed. “Liar.”

#john wick #john x marquis de gramont #marquis de gramont #john wick fanfic #wickblr #marquis de gramont whumpee #gunshot #angst #emotional whump #hurt/comfort #whump fic #assassin whump #ao3 crosspost #enemies to lovers #// withdrawals #// drugs #// addiction

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paintedscales · 9 months

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a09 :: Movie Night

Another modern AU thing, another thing I'm a bit iffy on. Modern AUs are a weakness when you struggle with creating parallels that feel right. |D; Takes a good few years before the other modern AU writing prompt I did right before this one (a08).

It's that time of the year: All Saints' Wake, and Aymeric Borel has invited a number of classmates to his family's estate for a movie night. Easy for him to do when his family's mansion has its own home theater. Nomin's admittedly a bit intimidated by the sheer size of the house, but manages to put that all aside once she meets up with another one of her friends she has been fretting over.

Word Count: 1,787

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All Saints' Wake. It was the spooky holiday of the year that celebrated scares, frights, and other spooks while indulging in sweets and treats. Though Nomin and many of her friends had grown out of the door-to-door aspect of it, it was Aymeric who had issued out invitations to his family’s mansion for a scary movie night. With the mansion having its own home theater, there was some visible excitement over everyone who rarely got to attend.

Everyone who could attend was implored to bring an extra change of clothes or two, personal snacks just in case, their favorite horror film if they had one, and whatever else they deemed necessary. With it being a night to watch movies late into the night, Aymeric had thought ahead and even told everyone that he would have spare rooms arranged for everyone that confirmed attendance.

Nomin sat in the back of the maroon vehicle that had eased up to the black and gold gates of the massive Borel estate, her mind reeling somewhat that one would want or need so much space. Then again, the car she was in had a custom emblem on it with the crest of illustrious House Fortemps. She had hitched a ride with Haurchefant, Emmanellain, and Artoirel since they (namely Haurchefant) had offered.

"Think we're the first ones that arrived?" Nomin asked, noting the lack of cars or activity out in the front.

"It'd be a little worrying if we were, given how long it took Emmanellain to actually get his stuff figured out before we could even drive out to the Azim Strip to pick you up," Artoirel said with a bit of an impatient sigh. He was the one at the wheel. Not surprising, given how particular he was about keeping everything in line and in order as the eldest sibling.

“Now, now, Artoirel… you can’t possibly blame me for wanting to be as prepared as possible!” Emmanellain replied as his elder brother had rolled down the window to interact with the intercom interface.

“You really didn’t need to pack so many different clothing pieces. Nor did you need to pack your entire skincare routine. Plus, your swim trunks? Really? In the middle of autumn as it’s getting colder?” Artoirel asked, getting the car pulled into the entrance now that the gates had opened to let them in.

Nomin looked over at Emmanellain as he gawked and folded his arms over his chest indignantly. “I’ll have you know that I packed so many clothes just in case any of them got dirty. Not to mention my sleepwear so that I might sleep comfortably tonight. And to bring up my skincare routine! You’d understand if you actually had one that was more involved than simply washing your face with a foaming exfoliator!”

Haurchefant gave Nomin a sheepish expression from the passenger seat that she had to be present for all of their sibling squabbles. In response, the Xaela had given a shrug with a sheepish look of her own. Though it seemed that Emmanellain continued his mostly one-sided bickering all the way up even till they were out of the car and walking up the steps to the entryway, Nomin had blocked it all out simply looking at the large stone mansion now that she was standing next to it.

It felt so much larger than having seen it from the other end of the long driveway. It was honestly almost intimidating when compared to the small house and business front that she lived at with her own siblings.

Nomin was pulled from her thoughts when she saw Haurchefant's arm reach out past her head to ring the buzzer. Flinching back a bit in surprise, she watched and waited, hearing Emmanellain still going on about things that were essential when traveling. For him, at the very least.

The door's were pulled open by butlers who graciously welcomed the group into the mansion. For all that the boys were used to in allowing the butlers to care for their belongings, Nomin had held her messenger bag close to her as she shuffled away and stuck close to Haurchefant. This seemed to leave the butlers a little confused, as the two that were there exchanged glances between one another.

"You have nothing to be so guarded over," Haurchefant chuckled. "They're just going to take your stuff to one of the rooms that have been set aside for us."

“... Right…” Nomin responded, reaching into the bag to retrieve a DVD jewel case before reluctantly handing it over to the butler. Once they had bowed and left to situate their belongings, the Xaela watched them pointedly before turning her attention back to the three Fortemps brothers. A low sigh left her nose before she spoke once the butlers were out of view, “I don’t think I could get used to that…”

"A shame, really… they make home life so much more convenient," Emmanellain commented. Letting out a huff, he placed his hands on his hips with a grin. "Shall we go find the others? If I recall, the home theater should be… down this hall and up the stairs."

Given that this was Nomin’s first time at the Borel Mansion, she trusted the other three. As it stood, the Fortemps and Borels had close business partnership relations that even led into friendship -- of course Haurchefant and his brothers would have been here in the past. Slipping a hand into her pocket, the auri trailed after the boys until they had ascended the stairs that Emmanellain mentioned and made their way to a room with double doors made of mahogany.

Sounds of laughter and banter were already heard from outside the doors as they approached, and Emmanellain could not help but to throw them wide and enter with a flourish. He announced their presence with an air of showmanship, his hands out at his sides as he strode into the room; "sorry we're so late. But now that we're here, there's no need to hold back on the fun!"

As a general response, those that had been waiting had greeted them with some halfhearted waves on one end, or hearty greetings on the other.

Nomin’s tail flicked toward herself with a hint of embarrassment before her eyes scanned the room. It was as anticipated: a home theater. It had seats lined up similar to going out to Little Kugane's Mujikoza, though it seemed to accommodate, at most, twelve to fifteen people. There were plenty of people from their school as well -- aside, of course, from the host himself, Aymeric. It seemed like their host was also busy speaking with Francel -- another one of those children of those big businesses.

Tataru had been conversing with Lyse near the entrance of the room, the two chuckling over what sounded like things that happened in their respective history classes. Thancred was sitting mostly by himself, phone in hand scrolling through what Nomin assumed were a myriad of texts being the heartthrob of the campus. Y’shtola, G’raha, and Krile were seated close together in the middle of the seating arrangements -- in Nomin’s head, they were discussing their exams and notes for the next test; they were some of the top students at school, after all. Lucia and Hilda were present as well, and Nomin could only find herself mildly surprised that they were conversing with one another when she had been so used to seeing Lucia at Aymeric’s side.

When Nomin sighted the other Xaela that she typically hung out with at lunch or during free periods, she motioned to them with a wave and a small smile on her lips. It was certainly good to see Checheyigen, Arik, and Chotan outside of a school setting. However, her eyes locked with one individual who had seated himself far back in the corner of the room: Estinien Varlineau.

He had his arms folded over his chest, and once he had made eye contact with Nomin, his attention went to the ground. His leg had been bouncing -- Nomin was unsure if it was because of the number of people that Aymeric had managed to have shown up, or… the antsy stages of withdrawal from Somnus.

The corner of Nomin’s lip twitched before she pursed her lips and glanced in Haurchefant’s direction briefly. Noting that he seemed to have been distracted with having approached Aymeric, Nomin took the time to walk up the stairs of the mini-home theater and make her way to Estinien. She offered him a small smile, and took a seat next to him. He had glanced in her direction, and a heavy, though relatively silent sigh was expelled from his nostrils.

“Did you end up bringing a movie for tonight?” Nomin asked, struggling to keep that smile on her face. She wanted to give way to worry, but she fought tooth and nail internally to keep interactions between one another as normal as possible. She promised she would not do anything to reveal anything about Estinien’s bouts with Somnus so long as he did his best to get the help he needed. It was a slow process, but Nomin knew that he was making an effort.

“Mm… no…” Estinien replied, a bit of a strain to his tone. “You?”

“It’s… silly, I actually don’t know if anyone will like it aside from maybe Arik, Che, or Chotan…” Nomin replied with a sheepish laugh, looking down at the jewel case she held on her lap. “It’s called Wailer -- it’s a film from ‘the homeland,’ as it were. So… it’s in Old Auri, but there’s subtitles. It’s about--”

“Don’t tell me,” Estinien interjected. “I’d rather watch it for the first time without knowing what’s going to happen. If it’s a horror movie, I’d rather let it scare me than anticipate whatever you tell me it is.”

“Oh, that’s… yeah, no, that’s fair, actually…” Nomin sat back in her seat and sighed to herself.

Silence lingered between the two of them for a while, though it was barely noticeable with the other bits of banter between those that were there. Honestly, Nomin reeled a bit seeing how many of her class- or simply schoolmates that she ended up seeing. If anything, she was surprised she did not see more people like Urianger, Minfilia, or Moenbryda. She had to rationalize it in her head that perhaps they had other things that took up their evening.

“Hey, Nomin…” Estinien spoke up, dragging Nomin out of her considerations. “I, erm… it’s good that you were able to make it.”

“I didn’t want to miss it! I love horror movies,” Nomin replied with a grin growing upon her lips and the tip of her tail curling upward happily.

#ffxiv #ffxiv writing #my writing #modern au #ffxiv oc #oc: nomin tal kheeriin #there's a number of characters so i'm just gonna narrow it down to those that i actually gave dialogue to #haurchefant greystone #emmanellain de fortemps #artoirel de fortemps #estinien varlineau #tw: drugs #tw: addiction #implied

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