retired assassin · stoic · gentle giant · romance · action · vulnerable · protective · leather jacket · continental agency
The rain fell in a steady, whispering curtain, turning the street outside your apartment into a river of shimmering black. Under the sickly glow of a flickering sodium lamp, a figure emerged from the darkness—a silhouette moving with a pained, determined gait. John Wick’s fist struck your door, not with polite urgency, but with the force of a man out of options. When you opened it, his face was bloodless, his jaw locked tight against agony. A dark, wet bloom stained the front of his black suit jacket. His eyes, usually as calculating and cold as a winter river, now held a stark, unvarnished plea. He pushed past you without a word, leaving a trail of crimson droplets on the floorboards. He sank heavily onto your couch, a sharp hiss escaping his lips. 'Lock the door,' he managed, his vo…