#keanuverse: Summerween

[97keanu]

Premise: When a mission goes wrong, young John “Jardani” Wick is dragged into the dark by something ancient and monstrous, leaving his partner behind to return to the ballet company alone, bloodied and broken. Branded a failure and a liar, she’s forced to dance through her grief under The Director’s cold eye, haunted by the loss no one believes was real. But John isn’t dead. Changed into something unholy, he watches her from the shadows, starving for the taste of her blood, the comfort of her body, and the memory of who he used to be. To return to her without destroying her, he’ll have to master a hunger stronger than death itself.

CW/Tags: vampire!john wick, young!john wick, ballerina!reader, john and reader are partners, intense yearning, bloodlust, horror/drama, soulmates, grief, eventual smut, slowburn.

Words: 2.6k

A/N: reply to this post to be added to the taglist for the next chapter!

Dust ebbs and flows through two ever searching streams of light, your boots crunching on years of built up debris in the run down mansion. You’ve been on missions before, this isn’t close to your first time going out with your partner and hunting down your target as instructed. That thought only barely quells the hairs standing up on the back of your neck and the chill that follows down your back in a hot, cold flash.

Crunch…

“John?” You whisper in the darkness, knowing you shouldn’t talk right now, but not being able to stop yourself, the feeling of danger increasing.

“…yeah?” It takes him a moment to reply, and you imagine his face as he walks behind you, serious as always and searching for any sign of who you’re looking for.

“Something feels…not right…” you try to drop your voice as low as possible, for his ears only.

Crunch…

He doesn’t respond, and you feel your stomach drop as you worry you’re alone in this, trying to calculate in your head just what seems so wrong about this place.

Crunch.

The long, grey dilapidated hallway holds harsh shadows, and your feet try to freeze as your beam of light from your handgun drifts over long, gouged scratch marks on the wall. They end toward the bottom of the wall, where thick black blood is slowly becoming abundant in pools that mix with the grit of the ground.

Crunch…

You can’t help yourself, you turn to John, and you can just barely see his thin, dark brows furrowing together. Your eyes scream at him as if to translate just how much fear is beginning to set in your body.

“Something is wrong here, John…” you plead with him, softly padding closer to him, afraid to be to far away. “Those marks don’t look…”

“…human.” He finishes your sentence, looking away from the deep claw marks and back to you.

His nostrils flare as he tries to assess what to do. He knows if he returns home without the target dead The Director’s punishment will be brutal, and the level of trust they have in him and you will be wavered, setting both of you back, taking on lesser missions from now on.

Crash.

He doesn’t have time to decide. Something from the open doorway to his right sends his partner flying down the hall, your body tossed so easily. You skid through the dirt and blood you saw earlier, scratches and scrapes forming before the later bruises you’ll see later.

If there is a later.

Your mouth falls open in a wordless scream as you watch John being pinned against the hallways wall, and just what exactly is pinning him you can’t comprehend.

It looks human.

Or maybe once human.

Faking being human.

But those claws, that distended jaw that opens and leaves trails of spit between razor sharp teeth. The naked, twisted body, bones not where they should be under grey translucent skin.

Oh god.

The eyes.

They’re looking at you now and you realize the screaming finally broke free from your body, guttural and ancient, a primal scream you had no idea would even come out of you. True fear.

John’s struggling under the creatures grip, his hands gripping the oversized claw that threatens his neck, his face red and breaths spitting between gritted teeth as he fights with all his might.

“Run!” He yells as he connects his boot with the torso of the thing, not helping himself, but attempting to give you time to flee.

The thing recovers its attention to John, and you stumble to your feet, fear making you fumble with your handgun, trying to aim in a way that doesn’t hit John.

You fire.

It hits into Its shoulders.

It doesn’t care.

It’s already driving its fangs deep into John’s tender neck.

It’s slurping.

John screams in agony.

You fire again hitting it in the back, and It growls.

Faster than you can understand it drags John screaming back down the hallway until your flashlight only captures the dust swirling in the dark once again.

You run.

————

It’s like a black hole.

Like the photographs of your memories of that night have been burned in the middle, leaving only the most horrific, over exposed snapshots to haunt you when you least expect it.

A whisper of snowflakes take nest in your hair, the rest dancing around in street lights, the road desolate and quiet save for your whimpering and limping down the sidewalk.

You don’t even know how you stumbled home, the Belarusian cold numbing every part of you. Your tears are frozen against your cheeks as you fling open the doors to the ballet company.

Those on watch have guns on you before you can blink, trying to figure out who and what and why.

They let up when they realize it’s you.

Only you.

You feel them shaking your shoulders, your body seizing in pain and your mouth blubbering a cry.

“Where is he?” They demand.

“Where is John?”

You can hardly make out who exactly is even talking to you, the world too bright and the faces simple shadows that shout questions and give orders.

Another shake.

“Answer me!”

You open your mouth, and your lips tremble, your whole body trembles.

“It…It got him…”

————

It’s been days.

You’ve hardly seen the outside of your room.

They’re treating cuts, the chunk of skin missing on your knee and your swollen ankle, the mild frostbite on your fingers. You hardly even notice when they enter and when they leave.

You’re not sure why you haven’t been punished.

You know The Director doesn’t take failed missions lightly, but you wonder if it has to do with what happened to John.

John.

You just keep hearing his screams bouncing off the walls ringing in your ears. You blame yourself. You blame how you didn’t do anything to stop it, how you didn’t run towards him, try to fight. You also know deep down that if you had, you’d be as good as dead.

Just like him…

Your heart aches so deeply you don’t know what to do with it.

They teach you here not to form relationships with one another for a reason, and you suppose you know why now.

This pain was unimaginable.

You don’t even know how to explain what you and John had. It was moments of softness when all eyes were closed. It was breaths in the cold as you share a secret cigarette on the fire escape outside your window. It was hands exploring just what one another had in the dark beneath your bedsheets.

You aren’t sure if you could call it love. If you deserve to call it love. But the pain of never having it again doesn’t lie.

Your days continue with cooling bowls of soup outside your door, and the covers over your head while your mourn.

————

“Tell me again what happened.”

The Director’s voice has no emotion. She sits back in her chair, her office lush and extravagant, rich smells of incense fill your nose as smoke from their fragrance and her cigarette billow in the room. The fireplace roars and cracks in your silence, your eyes unfocused on the floor.

“It came out of nowhere,” you speak slow, concise about what happened, too many details bringing too much hurt.

“It targeted Jardani, and it bit him. I shot It, but it didn’t matter, It already had him, and It dragged him away.”

“And ’it‘ looked like…?”

“I already told you… It wasn’t like us, it was something else. Something too tall, too skinny, too many teeth…”

“You expect me to believe that пачвара, that a…monster, took Jardani?” Doubt was one of her specialities.

“You can believe what you want. I know what I saw. It was not human.” You grit your teeth, the pain of having to relieve what happened combined with her probing and doubt leaving you short-toned.

Your almost surprised in yourself with how you’re talking to her, but losing all will to care.

She says nothing, mulling over what you’ve said.

The fire sizzles and snaps loudly.

“There still must be a punishment for failing to complete your assigned task.”

“There is no punishment that could hold a flame to what I’ve just experienced.”

—————

You’ve been stripped of everything.

No one is allowed to glance your way. No one shall speak to you.

You take the stage nightly after everyone else has run their routine.

You’ve lost The Director her most prized weapon, her most cherished son. For that, you must pay.

“You are not dismissed. You are reclaimed. You will dance every set he ever touched. Alone. Night after night, until the ghost of him is burned into your muscle memory.” Her voice echoes in your head as you begin, the stage silent except for your breathing.

“No name. No partners. No contact.”

A pause. Her voice softened for just a moment, sickly sweet.

“Perhaps, in your silence, he’ll hear you calling. And if not…”

She turned her back on you like you were already buried.

“Then we dance for the dead.”

Your feet strike the stage with precision. Your muscles tight and controlled, your hands trying to achieve the same strength, the same flow, as that of what John had. You twirl into his signature pose, leg wobbling and forcing you to give up on landing it, and you know it will take weeks before you’ll even come close to being what Jardani was.

You start his routine again.

And again.

And again.

The ghost of him your only partner in this hell.

—————

The days pass, and your body aches nightly, you try to keep your bloody feet from failing you with cloth bandages wrapped around them tight. It feels as if you haven’t slept since that night. You simply lie awake until the hours pass, facing the plain aging wall of your tiny bedroom made for one.

You hold your pillow, eyes following the cracks in the wall when you hear a creaking on the rusty fire escape outside your window.

Instinct takes over and you’ve instantly sat up, head swerving around to monitor just where the sound has emerged from, a shadow crossing your bedroom floor as something moves out of sight from the window.

You jump out of bed, flinging the window open and squinting as the icy night air quickly chills you to the bone. You scan the dark alleyway outside, looking for any sign of movement or life, your body cold in your skivvies.

The night is just as lonely as you are out there.

—————

He watches from the shadows as you close the window, your scent hanging heavy in the freezing night air. His gums are throbbing, and the pit in his stomach aches with want just from smelling you. It’s delicious, sharp and sweet to his senses, a fine liquor mixed with the smell of dark cherries and almond. A shaky hand has to wipe the drool from his chin as his tongue lusts for you.

He doesn’t even know why he’s come.

He knows what kind of monster he is now.

Something that can never be trusted.

Something that can never be safe.

And yet, he’s crawled his way back to you.

His eyes shine animal-bright in passing car lights, fangs extending longer from bloodlust.

Jardani knows he must do what he does best if he’s to ever have a chance of coming face to face with you again.

If he can want you, but not taste you, then he may still be some semblance of a man.

He must learn control.

——————

No human blood. No animal blood. Nothing. Jardani trains in front of mirrors that do not see him, goes through the motions of routines he knows the memory of deep in his muscles. He focuses on how long he can last without breaking, each attempt longer than the other.

“I once learned to throw a knife through a man’s eye without blinking. I can learn this too.”

He repeats this to himself between push ups, keeping his body busy and moving as much as possible.

When he does break, he does so without carnage, without killing and draining his prey dry like a beast. He controls his kill. Leaves no drop of blood undrank, returns back to his chosen hovel, an abandoned warehouse near the studio, without a mess of blood on him.

His first kill, instinct.

His second, survival.

His third, choice.

———————

It wasn’t easy sneaking into the studio, but Jardani knew of the most secret ins and outs of this place. He moves like a wolf in the shadows, slipping across the grid above the catwalk with ease.

He narrows his eyes, zoning in on just who’s below on the stage, carefully studying a few of his former fellow students as they finish up their routine for the night. There’s a few minutes of pause, some chatter backstage as most of the students head back to their rooms for the night. Finally, even The Director leaves and the studio falls silent.

That’s when you float out onto the stage, ballet slippers en pointe, holding all of your pain in the perfect precision of your body. You’re shroud in flowing white, a ghost that dances alone and for no one. His breath is held.

You begin Adagio, slow and fluid, an extension of yourself, before working your way into an Arabesque, arms held out, searching, reaching for someone who’s not there. You twist and flip, having to catch yourself, when you should be dancing with a partner who shares the burden of the dance, who guides your weight to where it should be. You move as if you may fall any minute, as if he may still be there to catch you.

Jardani can smell your scent wafting up into the rafters, the sweat and the rosin on your slippers, that sweet swirling scent of your blood that threatens to drive him mad. He grips the metal of the grid, gritting his teeth and trying to stop the hunger that grows within him.

“You must resist her. You must not give into the temptation of her blood.”

But oh, how he wants.

He wants not only your blood.

But you.

Your body, your warmth, your fingertips on his chest as you moan in pleasure underneath him. He wants to hear you say his name like a prayer in the dark.

Hunger clawed up his throat. His fangs throbbed with want and pressed down against his tongue.

He imagined descending the ropes like a phantom, pressing his mouth to the hollow of your neck, inhaling that sweet scent from the source and feeling your pulse flit against his lips.

Not biting.

Not yet.

Just having you.

He wanted to bury himself in you, take everything with greed. Bury in your scent, your heat, your pain.

But he couldn’t.

Couldn’t touch you without unraveling. He could barely be this close now without thoughts of himself drinking deeply from you creating fuzz of noise in his head he could hardly ignore.

Instead, he steadied himself as much as he could, attempting to hold on as long as possible, to prove to himself that he could stand it, he could be in the same room as you, someone made so perfectly for his new, monstrous tastes.

He crouches in the rafter, shaking with want and salivating at the thought of letting go.

Wanting to hold you.

Wanting to feed.

Wanting to take all that pain away.

But the dead don’t get love stories.

Only hunger. Only distance. Only you, on stage, dancing for the ghost he’d become.

[thatgingernerdgirl]

Black Cat Personality

pairing: John Wick x reader

warnings: pure fluff, John taking care of a hurt reader, topic of black cat bias, not beta’d

summary: You rescue a black cat stuck in a tree, accidentally getting hurt in the process. Luckily your favorite black cat personality neighbor is there to patch you up.

For @97keanu and her Camp Keanuverse Summerween Fanfic Event!

Cloudy evenings in July were one of your favorite times in the summer, especially after the Fourth of July. The weather may still be hot but the slate gray downcast  and whistling wind were a prelude to the most welcomed season and your favorite holidays.

While curled up under a blanket (with the floor box fan blowing on high) you were reading the next chapter of the novel your neighbor graciously loaned you. Your thumb gingerly runs over the binding stamp he placed just on the inside of the cover.

The daydream of your neighbor playing the part of the book's protagonist is interrupted by a shrill Meoooow!!!

Startled, you sit up straight and look out the window where the sound came from. Your eyes meet a pair of striking chartreuse yellow eyes belonging to an entity made of darkness and fur.

A cat! A black cat! A pretty little blob of night! You gush at the sight of the little feline currently clinging onto the thick tree branch for dear life outside your window. 

Black cats have always held a very special place in your heart, ever since watching Sabrina the Teenage Witch when you were growing up and wanting to have a talking cat familiar like Salem.

You never understood the hate black cats unfairly received. During your time volunteering at the local animal shelter, you saw first hand how black cats would be the most common kitten dropped off, abandoned–and the least to get adopted.

Not on your watch. You've developed a reputation of rescuing strays, especially black cats. Fostering black cats was like a second job for you, nursing them back to health and making sure they are safe around Halloween before getting adopted by a trustworthy family.

Tonight was no different. Seeing the poor cat clawing on the tree branch made your heart clinch. The little thing looked so scared and was not going to jump down anytime soon. Worse, the graying clouds darkened and thunder boomed frighteningly close.

You look to the window, then to the pitiful cat, calculating how far the branch is from your window.

This is stupid. So stupid. you thought as you raised up the screen.

It's not too far. The branch looks sturdy enough. Just grab the kitty and climb back to safety.

With great trepidation, you duck out the window and carefully inch down the roof towards the branch.

The wood creaks when you crawl onto the limb. Slowly, agonizingly, you reach for the cat, managing to scoop it up with one hand and bring it closer to you.

“What are you doing?” A firm but gentle voice calls from the other side of the tree.

You lean over slightly and see John, your neighbor, watching you from his open window with an expression caught between perplexed and concerned.

“Oh hi, John!” You call back as if you aren't currently wrapped around a tree branch with a cat in tow.

In a case of cosmic-level bad luck, you heard a deafening crack!

Pain shoots up your back and shoulders as you land on the grass with a dull thud. You look up at the sky, disoriented as fat raindrops begin landing on your face. The cat lets out an exasperated meow as you clutch it to your chest. 

The sound of footsteps bound towards your supine body. Your eyes focus on John hovering over you, looking like a broody Byronic hero with his dampening black hair, furrowed brow, and deep brown eyes that induce butterflies even during the most awkward scenarios–like right now.

“What were you doing?” He asks again in that stern tone that makes you weak in the knees.

Unable to come up with an eloquent answer, you hold the cat up above you Lion King style. “I saved a little void.”

A frustrated sigh leaves his body. “Can you sit up?”

“Of course–” you wince as you attempt moving. 

He shakes his head, bending down and scooping you up bridal style. Your free hand instinctively wraps around his shoulder as his long legs carry you and the cat towards his house before the rain gets worse.

“You are in competition for the acquaintance with the most lack of self preservation skills.” John's deep voice rumbles in his chest.

You snuggle closer to his warmth, pouting from his gentle reprimand. “It was worth it for this little guy–” the cat meows quietly as you scratch its chin. “Besides, you have no room to talk given how you rescued your dog.”

“That's different.”

“No it isn't! Admit that we are both animal lovers willing to save them no matter how risky the situation is,” You stick your tongue out at him, causing a chuckle to vibrate through him. 

John brings you inside and delicately places you on the couch. You let the cat go and explore his living room while he guides you onto your stomach. His careful hands lift your shirt up, exposing your back and the bruises beginning to bloom across it.

You have to bite your lip to keep a soft groan from escaping when his warm palms graze your ribs, skillfully assessing any severe damage and touching you like you're fragile. Once he's satisfied, he lowers your top and heads towards the kitchen freezer.

While he's busy preparing an ice pack for you, you glance over and see the cat cuddling with John's pit bull. An audible aww leaves you as John comes back and helps you sit up, placing the ice pack on your shoulder blades.

Watching John be so at home and relaxed in his environment brings a smile to your face. He's much more fluid with his movements and calm even during situations like the one you brought in. His movements and mannerisms were all very catlike.

The black cat arched its back gracefully as it left Dog and sauntered over to the two of you on the couch. It meowed as it climbed up John's pant leg. A hint of a smile appears as he picks up the cat and scratches its head, the feline purring as it makes biscuits on his thighs.

“It seems it recognizes one of its own,” You whisper, lightly nudging his shoulder.

“What do you mean by that?”

“You remind me of a black cat,” You boop his nose, his face scrunching in an endearing way. 

“Because we're both bad luck?”

“That is not true and you know it!” You scoff, offended. “You’re independent, reserved, resilient, misunderstood, but sweet, just like a black cat–not to mention you're as beautiful as one–”

You did not just say that out loud.

“I–I mean,” you sputter, scrambling to save yourself. “You both have black hair and your features are very sharp like a cat and–”

Your rambling is stopped by the soft press of his lips against your forehead. You melt against him, your heart doing somersaults in your chest.

“Thank you,” he murmurs in that deep baritone you love.

“Thank you,” you whisper back.

“What are we calling him?” John asks some time later after bathing the cat and replacing your ice pack. 

“The name that belongs to the patron saint of all mischievous black cats–” you flick on the television and press play on Sabrina the Teenage Witch.

A/N: Proudly displaying my love of black cats (and black cat personalities). I have also gotten myself into sticky situations rescuing animals before.

Fun fact: my husband, sister-in-law, and I rescued a tiny black cat that we collectively named Salem Toothless Thackery Binx.

[discoscoob]

I’m writing something for @97keanu’s Summerween event and I am posting this moodboard I made half asleep last night for inspiration so I can be held accountable if I fail to complete it before the deadline

[atomic-groupie]

My entry for @97keanu's Keanuverse summerween event!

Johnny Utah + Shape of Water AU + mood board ft. ABBA lyrics (Waterloo) 💙

[thatgingernerdgirl]

you let me violate you

❤️🔪🖤🔪❤️🔪🖤🔪❤️🔪🖤🔪❤️🔪🖤🔪❤️🔪🖤🔪❤️🔪🖤

❤️🔪🖤🔪❤️🔪🖤🔪❤️🔪🖤🔪❤️🔪🖤🔪❤️🔪🖤🔪❤️🔪🖤

pairing: Evil Ted Logan x female reader, established Ted Logan x reader

warnings: smut, dub con (possible non con due to mistaken identity), knife play, rough sex

summary: You and Ted are camping at your family’s cabin for the weekend. When the power goes out, Ted chivalrously offers to retrieve extra batteries from the van. With Ted gone, Evil Ted shows up to kill you, not knowing about your love of knife-wielding slashers and thinking that he’s just Ted wanting to indulge in your fantasy.

TL,DR: The reader being horny saves both yours and Ted’s lives.

For @97keanu, @97keanus and her Camp Keanuverse Summerween Fanfic Event!

A huge thank you to @opheliainlove42 for being my beta reader for this.

❤️🔪🖤🔪❤️🔪🖤🔪❤️🔪🖤🔪❤️🔪🖤🔪❤️🔪🖤🔪❤️🔪🖤

Friday, July 10th, 1992

It was midnight when you and Ted finished yet another Friday the 13th movie. Ted removed the VHS tape from the staticy television the cabin provided, complaining that it’s most heinous that tonight wasn’t the actual Friday the 13th. You shake your head and chuck one of the feather pillows at his cute face as he starts the next film in the franchise.

You and Ted talked for weeks about spending a weekend at a cabin in one of the secluded campsites your family loved to frequent. That’s how you ended up snuggled under several cheap blankets next to your very warm boyfriend after you both ate a balanced diet of gooey smores, and simultaneously burnt and undercooked campfire hotdogs. You were full and cozy and loved–sitting on his lap while he played knight in shining armor protecting you from the slashers on screen.

The inviting idea of falling asleep against his chest was suddenly and rudely interrupted by the power cutting out, plunging the two of you in total darkness.

“Bogus,” you both say at the same time.

Sighing, you get off Ted’s lap. “I’ll go find some flashlights.”

Luckily, there were exactly two flashlights with working batteries in the kitchen junk drawer. Ted grabbed one of them, shining it under his chin, casting shadows along his adorably handsome face.

“We could tell scary stories, babe!” He offered with a heartstopping goofy grin.

Giggling, you turn on your own flashlight and play along. “One night, two most excellent dudes named Bill and Ted sat down to share a pack of oreos…and they had no more milk!”

“No way!” he dramatically exclaimed. “That story is way too scary, babe.”

“I’ll make sure to tell a less scary one next time.” You kissed him on the cheek, gently running your fingers through his silky dark hair.

❤️🔪🖤🔪❤️🔪🖤🔪❤️🔪🖤🔪❤️🔪🖤🔪❤️🔪🖤🔪❤️🔪🖤

After some time of scary stories, making out, and cuddling for multiple rounds in different orders, there was still no sign of power coming back on in the cabin. And your luck ran out even more when Ted’s flashlight batteries started dying.

“I’m going out to the van to get more batteries,” you untangle from Ted’s long limbs.

“No babe, let me go. I can’t live with myself if you get mauled by a big cat or kidnapped by an ax murderer.” Ted insisted, his sad puppy dog eyes activated in full force.

“My hero,” you shake your head at his sweet concern over unlikely scenarios. “I will stay here, but please don’t get lost, Ted. It’s a long walk to the van–”

“I’ll stay on the trail and be right back in the span of a Van Halen guitar solo!”

Ted set out on a journey to retrieve the spare batteries from the van that was parked on the other side of the park, armed with the one flashlight that had enough power to get him to the vehicle.

❤️🔪🖤🔪❤️🔪🖤🔪❤️🔪🖤🔪❤️🔪🖤🔪❤️🔪🖤🔪❤️🔪🖤

You found a few emergency candles and lit them with Ted’s lighter, Placing one in the kitchen, another in the living room, and one to carry from room to room. In another situation, the dim candlelight would look utterly romantic, but right now ten minutes have passed since Ted left the cabin–and you are by yourself after watching a whole marathon of Friday the 13th films.

Being slightly more on edge, you attempt to rationalize with your anxiety-filled brain. It’s alright, Ted can handle himself–he is not actually a lost puppy. The walk is only twenty minutes to the van. Neither of you are going to get attacked by an ax murderer–

The screen door slams shut, making you freeze in your pacing. “Ted?”

Walking out of the kitchen and into the hallway adjacent to the cabin’s entrance, armed only with the emergency candle in your hands like a sad attempt at a melee weapon, you tiptoe towards the sound. You pray it was just Ted coming back and playing an unfunny prank on you.

“Teddy bear?” you try his nickname that he jokingly dislikes, the candle flickering feebly in your grasp.

A strong hand materializes from the darkness and grabs your shoulder roughly, turning you around and slamming you against the wall. The candle fell from your fingers, thankfully blowing out before it became a fire hazard.

Over the sound of your screaming, you hear a familiar voice: “I’m totally going to kill you now, babe!”

Your struggling stops, the moonlight streaming in from the windows revealing those famous blush-inducing brown eyes behind a white hockey mask. A kitchen knife gleamed in his hand, posed above his head to attack.

Your brain, heart, and nether region were all in conflict. Your brain relieved that it was just Ted trying to scare you, your heart beating ninety miles a minute from the spike of adrenaline, and your nether region–well, let’s just say he looked sexy in a mask, in a situation that only made itself known in your darkest fantasy-filled dreams.

Slumping against the wall, your hand moving to rest against his that still had an iron grip on your shoulder. “Oh my god, Ted. You scared me to death!”

The Jason Voorhees-Ted pauses, his hockey masked face tilting in adorable confusion. “What? That’s a good thing, I’m sent here to kill you–”

“Yeah, yeah, sure you are, Ted,” you shrug his hand off, boldly moving to raise the flimsy plastic mask above his face and kissing his plush lips.

This action manages to shock him, his hand with the knife lowering slowly as you finish kissing his lips and moving on to both his cheeks. Again, he doesn’t move, as if his brain short-circuited. Out of character for Ted, given he’s such an affectionate person.

None of this deters you, pulling away from him and giving him some space to catch his breath. This seems to bring him back to focus. “I’m serious, I’m Evil Ted and I was sent to kill you and then the real T–”

“I know, you’re the most evil being in the whole wide world and you’re here to chase me around the cabin and hold me at your mercy,” you sigh dramatically, pretending to swoon. “Whatever shall I do, Evil Ted?”

The so-called “Evil Ted” shrugs. “Pretty much, yeah. You just have to let me kill you afterwards.”

At this point, the logical part of you was screaming to fight back, throw something at him, kick him in the groin, anything! Your silly little heart, however, kept reiterating, It’s Ted, your boyfriend, he wouldn’t actually hurt you. Besides, maybe he wants to roleplay!

A lightbulb goes off in your head. Play along. Have fun. It’s just Ted… 

“You could kill me–unless there’s anything I could do for you to spare me.” You bite your lip, putting on your best helpless victim act.

“Evil” Ted seems to like this idea, his normally warm brown eyes turning dark and dangerous. “You could…get over here and put out…”

It’s happening, Oh god yes! Please! Yes!

“Oh god, no! Please! No!” you say, unable to hide your enthusiasm as you take off running out of the hallway.

“Come back here!” he calls out in a surprisingly deeper tone, causing another wave of heat to pool in your belly. Immediately, the adrenaline pours back in, making your breathing pick up and your mind thinking only of the thrill of the chase and the inevitable idea of being caught.

You round a corner and feel his warm hand grab your throat and pull your back flush against this long torso. A gasp escapes your lips as you feel his hardness press against your lower back. His hold on your throat is firm but gentle, his thumb gently resting over your pulse.

“I can feel your little heartbeat, babe,” a husky whisper tickles your delicate skin. “You’re so cute for a victim–”

The cold blade of the knife replaces his hand, the ever present danger just looming over your life. It should scare you, you should be trying to get away–but this was all so thrilling and sexy when someone you trust as much as Ted is the one making you vulnerable.

Evil Ted then releases you, pulling the knife away. You look back, his expression full of naughty promises. Gladly, you play your part in this cat and mouse charade, running towards the living room.

Again, you don’t make it very far when he tackles you to the floor, the forgotten feather pillow you threw at Ted earlier cushioning your head. Evil Ted straddles you, his weight pressing down on you in a comforting restraint as he holds the knife above you; a tableau of a hunter about to make the final blow to his prey.

But, the killing never comes. You feel Evil Ted scoop you up and toss over his shoulder caveman style. Unable to suppress the big smile forming on your face, you half-heartedly pound your fists on his back as he carries you urgently up the stairs to the cabin’s main bedroom.

“Put me down, you monster!” you cry, kicking your legs as he opens the bedroom door.

“No can do, babe. You’re my victim now. So start acting like it!” He delivers a solid smack to your ass.

He chucks you unceremoniously on the bed, your body bouncing as he pounces on top of you again. You hear the unmistakable clink of his belt unbuckling and the whip of it being pulled from the pants loops. He takes your wrists in his free hand and makes quick work of binding your hands with the leather belt and securing them above your head.

“You’re so fucking hot, babe,” he murmurs as he ran his hands down your body. “You’re going to lay there and let me play.”

He takes the knife in hand again and makes a precise slice down your t-shirt, the cloth ripping sounding much louder in the still cabin. His eager hands grab the torn pieces and rips the rest of the shirt off and tosses it haphazardly behind him, leaving your jean shorts and lacy bra.

Evil Ted looks close to salivating, briefly setting the blade aside and squeezing your breasts like an overeager schoolboy; his head lowering and pressing his face against your chest. An obscene moan muffled by your body. “You have the most perfect rack of any babe I’ve ever known.”

He rolled his hips against yours with mechanical repetition, grinding like a rutting dog for several long moments. He eventually slides down and fumbles the button of your shorts, getting frustrated and ripping those off with astonishing strength. You were now bound to the bed in nothing but your underwear, your arousal evident to his meticulous eyes.

Evil Ted picks up the knife again. Unlike his previous actions, he teasingly caresses the flat part of the blade from your right shoulder, across your sternum, and towards the other shoulder. With an abrupt flick of his wrist, your bra strap snaps and falls uselessly open. His head bends down and licks a trail from your bare shoulder to the side of your neck, biting down on the spot that makes you moan uncontrollably.

He chuckles quietly, soothing the love bite with tender kisses before raising his head. He tauntingly twirls the knife in his long fingers before resting it on your chest again. This time, the sharp tip grazing the valley of your chest before sweeping over to your left breast, the blade swirling around the covered nipple, causing it to pebble before doing the same to the other.

The strap on your other shoulder is then cut, followed by the fabric in the center of your chest. His skilled hands removed the ruined bra, your upper half now exposed under his hungry eyes.

“Beautiful,” he breathes, his mouth sealing around her nipple before his teeth gently sink into the soft flesh, creating a delicious contrast of pain and pleasure. “And tasty, too.”

Once he was done with your chest, his knife traveled lower: between your ribs, down your stomach, and stopping at the tiny bow on the waistband of your underwear.

An evil grin emerges as he sees the damp spot on your underwear. He takes the knife and rests the tip dangerously over the spot, gently running the flat side along the vulnerable area, collecting some of the wetness on the blade.

He raises the knife to his eye-level, analyzing it for a moment before his tongue licks up the blade, groaning. “Such a desperate horny little victim, aren’t you, babe?”

The knife then runs from the tip of your knee and along your inner thigh. Your underwear is then ripped off with a loud tear, Ted pocketing the scraps.

Before you could process the exposure, his pants are around his ankles, your legs thrown up in the air, and his cock plunged into your wanting heat. Both of you groan at the intrusion.

He then pulled his hips back and snapped them back, creating the sensual friction between your tightness and his dick. He doesn’t coddle and he is not gentle. He bucks and rams into you, the pounding creaking the bed. The grip he has on your legs doesn’t allow you to squirm away–all you can do is take it. Take it all.

Evil Ted is hitting the spot that makes you see stars and his unforgiving pace has you scrambling to hang onto something that your bound hands will allow. You manage to catch a glimpse of his handsome face. His boyish looks are overshadowed by the intense blackness of his blown pupils and filth falling from his lips.

It doesn’t take long for you to orgasm loud and powerfully. Your body falls back against the sheets but to your horror, Evil Ted doesn’t let up–If anything, his fucking gets even rougher.

“I can go on for as long as I like, babe. I’m like the Energizer Bunny,” He rasps, thrusting with constant, robotic efficiency.

❤️🔪🖤🔪❤️🔪🖤🔪❤️🔪🖤🔪❤️🔪🖤🔪❤️🔪🖤🔪❤️🔪🖤

You lost count at five orgasms and lost consciousness at least twice before he seemed decently satisfied. His movements finally slowed down, kissing your lips before he pulled out.

“That was excellent, babe. I won’t kill you tonight,” he whispers, but you were too exhausted and over satisfied to register his words.

“Ted,” you whimper inaudibly.

He sighs, but you do not catch his next words. “I’m not Ted, babe.”

“Thank you baby–I love you,” you say, half-conscious.

A pause. A mumble. “You too.”

You feel him remove the belt from your wrists, his deft hands soothing the rubbed skin.

Before you fall back asleep, you barely catch him saying: “I’ll see you soon.”

❤️🔪🖤🔪❤️🔪🖤🔪❤️🔪🖤🔪❤️🔪🖤🔪❤️🔪🖤🔪❤️🔪🖤

“Babe, babe!” Ted’s calling stirs you, his hand shaking you awake. “I’m sorry, I went down the wrong path and got lost…what happened to your clothes?”

[97keanu]

🪓🏕️ WELCOME TO CAMP KEANUVERSE 🏕️🪓

☀️ A Keanuverse Fanfiction Event ☀️

“What’s your favorite scary movie…”

Grab your sleeping bag, put on your bug-spray, and don’t forget the s’mores—Camp Keanuverse is officially open. But watch your back… there’s something in the woods. Something that knows what you did last summer. 🔪

📍 THE DETAILS

📅 Event runs: July 1st through Midnight July 31st EST

📼 Format: fanfics, imagines, drabbles, playlists, art, moodboards, the more the better!

💀 Theme: summery spooky horror filled fun with your favorite Keanu characters.

🪦 All genres welcome—fluff, angst, smut, you name it!

🌲 Simply spin the summerween inspiration wheels below to get started! Already got an idea of what you want to write? That’s absolutely fine as long as you stay on theme!

🏷️ Tag all posts: #keanuverse: summerween and make sure to tag @97keanu so I can make a masterlist of all your wonderful work at the end!

Do you wanna play a game?

🩸The Who:

Choose your Keanu.

📼The When:

Choose your Summer Era.

🔪The Where and What:

Choose some prompts to mix and match! Choose as many or little as you wish, along with a fluffy list for those who wanna keep their summerween blood free ❤️

Your Horror Movie Alternate Universe.

Horror Movie Kinky Tropes.

Horror Movie Quotes.

Fluffy summerween prompts.

🎧 Songs of the summer!

Playlists to get your creative thoughts flowing tailored to your decade!

Summerween in the 70s.

Summerween in the 80s.

Summerween in the 90s.

Summerween in the 2000s.

So, come join the fun and tell your spooky stories around the campfire with us, we’re dying to see you!

-xoxo lila 🖤

[thatgingernerdgirl]

Golden Brown

Pairing: Don John x female reader

Warnings: smut (p in v), virgin reader, sex pollen, dub/non con due to sex pollen, fuck or die, oral sex (f receiving), overstimulation, bodice ripping, former childhood friends, Don John's twisted version of love.

Summary: In preparation for the Summer's Twilight Festival, you set out to gather flowers for the potions the apothecary will sell during the revelry. Meanwhile, your former childhood friend, Don John, plans to seduce you using the most nefarious method possible: the potent lover’s death flower.

A/N: For @97keanu and her Camp Keanuverse Summerween Fanfic Event!

Thank you @scarlettspectra for being my beta reader and Don John expert. ❤️

Border credits to @strangergraphics.

Outskirts of Messina, 1588

A relieved sigh escapes your lips as your toes dip into the refreshing stream near your favorite wildflower fields. Mornings like these were your favorite–the sun peeking over the vast horizon, bathing the earth in a heavenly golden light while the rest of the village was just now waking up.

Being an apprentice to the village's apothecary brings on tedious responsibilities such as completing chores and errands both of the petty and paramount variety. This morning was a paramount errand; you were ordered by your mentor to collect the ingredients for many diverse elixirs and medicines. Every dawn of a festival hosted in Messina called for the usual relief the following sunrise: headaches, hangovers, heartache, indigestion, etcetera. All could be cured by the apothecary.

Petty or paramount duties aside, you still found time to relax and play–whether it was climbing the trees, making floral wreaths, or daydreaming of being rescued by a prince. It was vital to enjoy and utilize the life surrounding you, your role as an apothecary apprentice is proof of that.

A muffled grunt came from behind you. Turning your head, you take in the sight of a young man close to your age stumbling and clutching his shoulder. His tall, lean frame is hunched over, the sleeve of his white flowing shirt stained crimson from the gash on his arm.

Pulling your feet from the water, you hurry closer to the injured young man. “Sir, are you alright? Let me help you.”

“I do not require your assistance. I am more than capable of caring for myself–Like I've always done before.” He jerks back, as if offended.

You halt, not wanting to upset the stranger, but your caring heart could not deny much needed help–even despite his protesting. “Please, I insist. Your wound shall get infected without adequate treatment.”

Against propriety, you grab his hand and pull him closer to the river. “At least let me clean and bandage your arm enough to get you to the doctor–”

Looking up at him, you're finally able to see his features. He was handsome with hair the color of raven's wings with equally dark eyes glaring at your own. You blush, not used to the attention from others, especially from this angst-ridden man.

“I will allow this, if only to avoid the satisfaction from my brother besting me and the public shaming from my father.” He conceded begrudgingly, letting you guide him to sit by the river bank.

Being an apprentice, you were not granted ample opportunities to converse freely with others your age. Not wanting to leave an awkward silence, you attempted conversation. 

“May I ask how you acquired this flesh wound?” You start, starting to clean the gash. 

“A sword fight with my brother. Our father pitted us against each other and Don Pedro slashed my arm.” His tone is clipped, obviously not wanting to divulge too much information too soon.

You pause, Don Pedro? I know that name… “Is your father the king–are you a prince?”

“Bastard prince.” He spat out venomously. 

You couldn't curtsy while sitting down and it would have been improper to stand above royalty, so you did the next best thing–you got into the river and looked up at him, curtsying in the shallow waters.

He scoffs, his face showing contempt. “You don't curtsy to bastard princes. Especially not me.”

Getting out of the water, you shrug. “I'm not one for adhering to accepted solemnities, my prince.”

Despite his expression of stoic indifference, you catch a gleam of amusement in his obsidian gaze. You set about dressing his wound with the extra herbal remedies you gathered earlier, taking great care to wrap his muscled bicep. Once you finished tying off the bandage, you helped him stand back up.

The two of you made quite a fascinating portrait: an injured prince with no crown and an unconventional spirited apothecary’s apprentice placed side by side as equals.

“Do you have a name, Prince?” you ask, the both of you now sitting among the wildflowers while your fingers delicately weave together a simple wreath.

“Don John,” he replies, his lithe body relaxed and splayed out among the white, purple, and yellow flowers. “You look to be my remedy for all things. Tell me, apprentice, can you grant me a potion or a solution to make everyone treat me as an equal to my brother?”

You chuckle, looking at his face again and spotting a faint sprinkle of freckles across his nose, gifting him a boyish air to his otherwise surly appearance. “It will peeve you for me to say that I do not have the power nor the desire to give you such an elixir. That is not how apothecaries conduct their profession.”

Gesturing at your surroundings, you continue. “Look at the earth and its flowers. Plants and wildlife have no concept of titles or arbitrary customs. They just are. You cannot let others define who you are. The fact that you exist is enough–just be whatever you wish to be.” You glance down at the completed flower crown, smiling as you plop it on his head. “But if you must require a crown, let this suffice.”

The scowling Don John with a colorful wreath of flowers in his inky dark hair provided a beautifully contrasting image. A fitful of giggles escape your lips as you compliment how dashing the flower prince looked.

Don John wrenches the offending object and tosses it aside, grumbling. “It is I that should be giving you flowers.”

As if to prove his point, he gets up, scouring the field for any flowers he deemed worthy. Luckily, you followed him, because his eyes laid upon a singular flower that stood out brilliantly among the other common flowers. Its bronze colored petals gleamed with traces of golden pollen coating the edges, as if it was the sun metamorphosed into flower form.

Before he stepped any closer, you grabbed the hand reaching for the lustrous bloom. “For the love of God, do not touch that!”

“Whyever not?” He asks, his brow furrowed deeper and his lower lip pouting slightly.

“You mustn’t pick that particular flower,” you say, exasperated. “That is the lover’s death flower.”

“Lover’s death flower?” he asked.

“That flower has pollen that acts as a gravely potent aphrodisiac. The pollen is a key ingredient in love potions, but only a miniscule amount due to how powerful it is. If someone comes in direct contact with the pollen, a tremendous wave of desire overcomes them and if left untreated, they will succumb to the flower’s effects.” You explain, desperately trying to dissuade him from entertaining getting closer to the enticing flower.

“What is the treatment to cure this deadly desire?” he asks, an eyebrow raised.

This question causes a prominent blush to grace your cheeks. “Well, umm–the only known cure is to engage in hopefully consensual love making…and once the affected gains their height of pleasure, the pollen’s influence will subside.” You look away, not able to meet his penetrating stare. “Forgive me, Don John, for speaking about such vulgarities–”

Your apology is interrupted by his hand gently taking your chin and tilting your head up to meet those bottomless pools of black ice again. “You need not apologize, apprentice. I shall keep that information in mind should I ever encounter the lover’s death again.”

Ten Years Later

In your twenty-fifth year of life, you had been running Messina's apothecary since your mentor retired. For the past five years, you provided the surrounding villages with cures to their varying ailments. 

Tonight was a rather unique night, you volunteered to travel to the southernmost neighboring village to assist the healers during the Summer's Twilight Festival, a festival celebrating the end of the Summer months and the dawning of Autumn. And of course, you must gather the main ingredients for the medicines you'll be handing out with the healers.

During your trek to the wildflower fields, your mind cannot help but wonder about the young boy–no, man–that you befriended all those years ago. In the past ten years, you only saw Don John a handful of times. Mostly brief glances that would linger on your body even after turning away. The Messina Masquerade was no exception, despite the full face masks, you could immediately tell which creature-like visage possessed the distinctive eyes that were so cold, not even the sun could bless them with the inviting warmth and shine granted to other fellow human beings. You left before the masked Don John could propose anything–be it discussion, dance, or dalliance, you did not care. You did not want to see him especially now when you heard about the dastardly villainy he committed towards Don Pedro and dear Hero.

As you reach the wildflower landscape, a peculiar and disquieting feature catches your eye. A patch of flowers with unmistakable bronze petals and painted golden edges with sparkling pollen covering them. You knew this was a consequence of your willful inaction.

Ever since officially taking over the apothecary, you refused to brew love potions. The entire concept of stripping someone of their free will of love was abhorrent to you. During your years of gathering and traveling, the singular lover's death flower spawned more lover’s death. Who knows how powerful the cursed pollen is now that there's several. You shiver, moving to avoid that side of the field.

To distract yourself from the concerning amount of lover's death, your mind wanders back to Don John. A squeezing ache crept up around your heart. This field of multicolored flowers and beauty was the place you first met Don John. Try as you might, the hopeless romantic part of you could not resist the allure of the repelling Don John. Ever since you were both teenagers, you held a quiet affection for the man doomed by birth and circumstances. If everyone could have seen the man instead of the bastard, would Don John have stood a chance at living a more conventional existence? Too many what-ifs for you to ponder, and pondering about what could have been will do you no good anymore. Don John made his decision and your personal feelings toward him must not conflict with your moral convictions.

Speaking of the devil, you hear that heartbreakingly familiar voice. “I knew you were hiding from me, my little apprentice–or should I say apothecary. You have blossomed like these wildflowers into a captivating, wanted lady.”

Spinning around, you come face to face with Don John. The dark prince of no kingdom but his own misery. Still devastatingly beautiful, but bitter resentfulness had long permeated his soul, reflecting back on the world with a vengeance.

“I do not wish to speak with you, Don John,” you turn away from him, wishing you could disappear among the wildlife.

“Pray tell me, why pretty dear lady?” His deep voice was honeyed with excessive flattery.

You shake your head, chancing a glance back in his direction. “Should you not be off causing woe and heartache to some other pitiful wench?”

“That I should,” he saunters closer, his body heat radiating off him like a furnace–a warmth that brings no comfort to you. “But I wish to at long last reunite with the apothecary girl that dressed my wound all those years ago and thank her.”

“I do not need your thanks,” you respond shortly, not wanting to ponder what his definition of thanking her is.

“So cold, my little apothecary,” he circles you like a cat toying with its prey. “I recall you were much more…vivacious. You could rival the sun with your carefree countenance.”

“As you have said, that was years ago. I have changed and you even more so.” You crane your neck to look into his bottomless dark eyes.

“I have not changed at all. I am and will always be a bastard.” He says this with no remorse. You should not be surprised, but a part of you always wished he could break free from what others cruelly labeled him as.

Don John trailed after you as you walked further into the meadow, his fingers brushing the stray flower petals. “I never forgot about you. You were the only one to show me kindness despite being undeserving of it.”

His voice is uncharacteristically soft and genuine. It made butterflies flutter in your stomach despite your effort of suppressing any feelings for him.

“It would please me greatly if I knew that I occupied your thoughts, and your heart, as much as you do mine.” He curls a lock of your hair around his long index finger, fondness evident in his tone. 

You take a deep breath, preparing yourself. “There was once I time I most certainly could confirm you occupy my heart, Don John. Now that is not the case.”

His permanently furrowed brow deepened. “Tell me why.”

You set down your basket and step closer to him, his firm chest brushing against yours. “I knew since the day I met you that everything in your life was stacked against you. You were in a privileged setting with no reward due to circumstances beyond your control. I pitied you. Now knowing about your actions against your brother and having a hand in the innocent Hero’s demise, my pity has evaporated.”

A crack in Don John’s armor formed. His eyes flared when he grabbed your hand quite harshly, his fingers tight and unyielding as they enveloped yours. “I ask for so little. In a world that shuns me, my only wish is for the one kind soul to share the rest of my wretched life with me.”

You hastily pull your hand away as if his touch burned you. “Instead of proving the world wrong and utilizing your privilege for good, you dove recklessly into villainy and despicableness. That I cannot abide by.”

A chilling laugh bursts from his lips. “I delight in the tribulation of those who cast me off. Deeming me unworthy from birth without ever getting the opportunity for me to make them abhor me. Your virtuousness means little to me. I do not care what superiority of merit you wish to bestow upon me. Let me be who I am and seek not to alter me.”

Don John grabs your chin forcefully, continuing. “Just be with me. Let us run away and live together. Accept me. Love me. Be my wife, my partner, my friend, anything as long as you are mine.”

His other hand cups your face and he pulls you in for a tender kiss. Your eyes flicker closed as your traitor heart soars from his profession and display of love. The deepest, most secret dream you ever had of Don John giving you your first kiss was now real and it was overwhelming.

He is not the Don John you thought he could be.

With a mournful sob, you push him away. Wiping stray tears from your eyes as you grievously confess. “I once envisioned a life with you, away from titles and scandal. Away from those that dictate who you are without allowing you to grow into something more. I loved you, Don John! Now I see that it merely is not possible. For you have given yourself permission to wallow in your own sorrow like a pig in filth. You sicken me, and I wish to be parted from you.”

Like a candle snuffed out, any vestige of light in his eyes has vanished. He grasps your shoulders in an ironclad grip, his words haunting. “I am afraid, my beautiful bride, that wish shall never be granted.”

His last words seal your fate. “You will be mine.”

With his alarming strength, he hurls both you and himself down the meadow’s hill. You tumble briefly, thankful that you both seemed uninjured–until the next sight makes your breathing stop.

The flowers are golden brown. Don John is hunched over your body with streaks of bronzy pollen across his face, neck, and clothes.

No, no, no! You try clawing away from him, fighting for your life to get to the river that was just a few feet away. If you could just wash the pollen off, maybe you will be fine.

But Don John pushes you down against the ground, causing more clouds of pollen to float in the air like pixie dust. He clambers over you, a wicked smile shaping his face. “You say these flowers will kill us? Be my remedy, then.”

You immediately notice his eyes darkening even further, his pupils are blown wide, almost eclipsing the irises. The pollen is taking effect in him, and you will not be far behind. 

Instantaneously, the unmistakable sensation of tingles travel over your body from head to toe. Feeling like your body was being put to sleep and stimulated rendered your mind in a soft daze. Your skin was hot and your clothes felt tight and scratchy.

Don John's lips crash against yours, teeth clacking while his serpentine tongue slithers in and explores your mouth. The traces of pollen taste like lavender and cinnamon–you want to lick it off him.

Dizziness fogged your brain, trembling fingers sank into his broad shoulders, anchoring you to him. A deep sigh rumbles through his chest, causing heat to travel straight to your core. His demanding lips suffocate; his kiss could steal your breath if he did not release you soon.

He finally gives your air back and sits up again, still straddled on top of you. “For you, my love, I would be willing to risk death to grant you a thousand little ones.”*

Long dexterous fingers fumbled with the laces of his white poet shirt before letting out a frustrated growl and tearing it off like a wild beast. Don John’s naked torso was now on full display–a sheen of sweat coats his tanned skin, mixing with the glowing flecks of gold, emphasizing the fine muscles along his shoulders, chest, and abdomen. A vision of ethereal beauty gracing you with his divine being.

Snap out of it now! The last logical thought screams out before you feel his grip on the top of your lacy bodice.

“Be my remedy.” He commands before ripping your bodice with a frenzy bordering on animalistic.

Tossing aside the ruined bodice, he lowers his head and nuzzles between your neck and shoulder. His facial hair tickles while his lips kiss and nibble every surface of your skin they could find. You feel his teeth at the collar of your dress, biting firmly and pulling the material down to expose a breast to the elements.

Latching onto your nipple, he suckles eagerly, a soft moan escaping your lips as he cups the other breast. Once he was satisfied, he revealed the other breast and gave it the same treatment.

“You are blessed,” he murmurs against the peaked nipple. “Your body was made for worship.”

You feel your skirts rucked up, Don John disappearing from your sight. Whimpering at the loss of his warmth, you move to look down and see what he’s doing but you are stopped by his large hand pressing you back onto the ground.

“Angels do not lower themselves for worship,” he whispers before slipping one of your shoes off.

A shiver travels up your body at the caress of his supple lips against your foot. His fingers pulling down your stockings and kissing every centimeter of skin revealed to him. When his kissing trail reaches under your skirts and against your inner thigh, he stops, pulling back and teasing you by repeating his actions with your other leg. You are almost whining for relief, but this is Don John. The man does not grant mercy or relief.

He hikes your skirts up even more, reaching the apex of your thighs once more. Exhaling breathlessly, he rests his head against your heat reverently.

“Your sweet cunt alone could cure me. Now give it to me!” His mouth is on you sucking at your entrance like a starving man. His silver tongue is not just gifted in deceitfulness. The practiced muscle has you shaking and moaning wantonly, his strong arms holding you down and open for his feast.

You soon release a cry of ecstasy, back arching and making your pleasure known to all the wildlife caring to witness.

“You have the face of an angel and the moanings of a harlot–A ruined spirit I would earnestly get on my knees for,” he buries his head back between your legs before you could recover from your orgasm.

He keeps you in perpetual bliss, the effects of the pollen amplifying the tingles and feverish sensations his touch elicits. When he is done writing praises for you with his mouth, he lifts his head–soft lips and facial hair glistening with your essence. 

Kisses and bites ascend your body as he replaces his mouth with his fingers. You whimper when his finger breeches your entrance, stretching you. Then he adds a second finger, your eyebrows knitted together at the deeper intrusion. He coos and whispers sweet nothings, grazing your cheek with featherlight pecks.

“A good husband prepares his bride before ravishing her,” A good husband, not a good man…He curls his fingers and you fall into ecstasy all over again. 

By his mouth, by his fingers, and only one aspect left to bring you pleasure. He unbuckles his belt and discards his black leather trousers, leaving him as naked as Adam and Eve. If he was handsome fully clothed, he was disarmingly statuesque like a Greek God when naked. You tremble, suddenly comprehending that he was about to be inside you.

Parting your legs when wider, he settles himself comfortably on top of you, eyes burning with hunger. With a harsh grip on your hips, he notches the blunted tip of his member against your core before sinking slowly, agonizingly inside you.

You whine when Don John fills you up completely, your first time evident but desire and lust softens the ache of his invasion. He hisses, feeling your tight heat embrace him.

“You are the first maiden I ever had. Nothing will ever come closer.” his voice rasps, holding back from plundering you mercilessly. 

He slowly pulls out, the tip of his cock almost leaving you before slamming back inside roughly. Twigs and drying grass scratch your back but you are too entranced to care. You will worry about bruises and grass stains tomorrow. 

“I have been patient, my love,” he bites the sensitive spot in the crook of your neck. “You are mine now, whether you like it or not.”

He places your legs over his shoulders and pushes even deeper than you thought possible. He was not just penetrating your body, he was touching your soul with every inch of his manhood.

Your scream sounded almost pained, Don John's excessive loving kept you overstimulated. Seeing you in such a debauched state at long last gives way to his own release.

His movements become sloppy, hips stuttering as he fills your ears with curses you never thought could be made. When he comes undone, he stills himself. Slowly opening your eyes, you see he is in a state of pure euphoria. Lips parted, eyes closed tight, a soft whimper leaving him. As if the very act of making love to you was a religious experience for him. 

Don John was kind enough to carry you away from the infernal golden brown flowers once he could feel the pollen’s influence dwindle. Gently setting you in the cool stream of the river, he set about cleaning off the streaks of flowers, pollen, and his own spend.

“Perhaps I should collect my own supply of this magical aphrodisiac. You will never deny me ever again.” He whispers before giving you a long, possessive kiss.

*The little death, or la petite mort, was a term commonly used during the 16th century and onwards to represent a brief loss of consciousness typically during an orgasm.

A/N: Trying to put my English degree to good use. 😂

[97keanu]

Imagine richboy! young!Kevin Lomax taking you to the lake house for the summer. You feel awkward walking into the giant house and feel like his old money family doesn’t speak the same language as you. They ask how you know their son and when they find out you’re studying law the same as him there’s awkward glances before forced smiles. Your hand clutches the expensive skirt Kevin bought you behind your back, and you try not to let just how poor you really are show.

When you walk out the back door to their southern wrap around deck, you feel your chest release with the heat of the summer air. It feels like you can finally relax when it’s just you and him outside, his hands unable to keep themselves from touching every inch of you, and you giggle and laugh, trying not to let it show just how badly you want him too because you know at any minute someone could walk outside.

When he finally comes up for breath, Kevin looks at you with a serious type of excitement, the kind that says he has a secret that he only trusts you with.

“Come with me…” he breathes, his nose close to yours and eyes half-lidded and slow. You press your forehead to his, and nod with a smile. He grabs your hand grinning wide and taking you down the steps before breaking out into a run.

“Hey! Wait up!” You call after him, running through the night kissed grass, the setting sun bringing fireflies that sprinkle the rolling hills of his family homes backyard.

The grass soon lets away to sand and languid, lazy water, glistening gold. Kevin races to the edge of the dock and immediately begins loosing his tie and kicking off his shoes.

“Can you swim?” He throws the question your way as if he doesn’t care which way you answer, you’re going in the water either way.

“Well, yes, but Kevin—“ you have no time reply when he steps forward, his chest now bare, his suspenders loose around his hips, and holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger so he can look deep into your eyes.

“You’re going to love it, Darlin’ I promise…” his voice is low and syrupy and so beautifully southern…

He knows you’re a sucker for it, and soon enough you’re raising your blouse over your head and he’s shimmying your skirt down your ankles. When you’re both in only what’s absolutely necessary, he holds your hand as you both jump head first into the lake. The water rushes up over your ear and head, and you burst up with a yell of laughter, and shake the water out of your eyes, looking to see just where your boyfriend is swimming.

You follow after him, his dark hair slicked back and dripping across his forehead, his powerful, muscular arms propelling him forward. After a few minutes of swimming, you see just where he’s taking you. A remote gazebo on a small mount of sand and grass in the middle of the lake. You walk out of the water, soaking and enjoying the last rays of the suns summer heat.

“This was my favorite place to get away as a kid,” he tells you, and you can see in his eyes he’s back there, reliving a time before you, something he can only try to explain to you.

The two of you walk hand in hand into the center of the gazebo, soft world around you alive with the sounds of the lake. You let his hands caress your bare hips, dancing slowly in a circle, your world full of his eyes and damp lips.

That night, Kevin shows his love with his hands, with him mouth, tasting you in ways you had never experienced before, savoring each mouthful of you as the last light of the burning sun is snuffed out and traded for a quiet night filled with your moans and the call of the crickets.

You find yourself without care for his family’s opinion of you. So long as he loves you this way, truly and deeply, you’ll take any long, stuffy look your way for him.

[casuallyobssessed]

John Wick + Drunken Confessions + Going to Watch the Fireworks • Mood Board (ft. Fourth of July - Fall Out Boy)

My first entry for @97keanu 's Keanuverse Summerween event :3