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beansricejc · 1 month

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HIS ARRANGEMENT.

my masterlist. 🖤🖤🖤 obsessed!mob boss!john wick x cartel daughter!reader {MINORS DNI}

inspo: huge s/o to @tedsbogusworld for letting me use one of her c.ai prompts that inspired this fic! pls check her work out, she's amazing at what she does!

synopsis: you are a prolific smuggler, working under your father's empire. even though you are essential to your crime family's enterprise, have been promised to john, a rival crime boss, in order to keep the peace between your families. 8.2k words!

cw: slow burn, cursing, various substances, misogynistic undertones, implied latin/hispanic reader, m!masturbation, oral (f&m receiving), fingering (f receiving), mentions of f!dom, brief descriptions of pegging, obsessive/stalker vibes, orgasm denial, edging, slight voyeurism, dubcon undertones, light chasing, john being a freak nasty

note: so here's my 8 thousand word mess, I hope you love it! was in a lil bit of a rush with this one so bare with me, tysm! love you!

You couldn't believe that your father was marrying you off to a complete stranger, all to end a feud between your own family and John's. You were still young and you wanted to find love on your own without people interfering.

A scowl paints itself on your pretty face as your arms cross, standing before your father who is of course, smoking a cigar behind his desk. As if you’re not already an asset to your family’s empire. As if you’re worthless, just a prize or a pretty trophy to be traded and auctioned for.

You think the fuck not.

You’ve heard nothing but terrifying stories of John and his family run syndicate. They all came from your father’s end of course but for good reason. The Russians were ruthless, and if you knew what was good for you, you’d stay out of their territory.

From other crime lord children (particularly daughters) you hear varying opinions. Apparently John is an ice cold man, with striking and dignified facial features. The definition of tall dark and handsome. Yet, with their ties to human trafficking and their organ sales on the black market, you’ve made sure to stay clear of the Wick family endeavors.

Besides, you had your own operation to run. You had no need to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.

You’ve never bothered your father on what the notorious kingpin looked like, however, it seemed like you were going to find out. Whether you wanted to or not.

Would John even have a pliable enough heart to make way for a wife? Or would you just be cast aside like some sort of nuisance? Either way, you weren’t going down without a fight.

“I refuse to be a political bargaining chip to end your decades long pissing contest with the Wick family.” you announce to your father. Your sentence strikes a nerve in him, from the way his jaw clenched, he was not happy to hear that.

Your father never liked you speaking back to him. He’s the head of your family’s empire. He doesn’t like anyone speaking back to him. Of course you’re his only daughter, so you have more leeway than most people under him.

He knows you’re right. You’re very effective at your job that you have inherited within the family business. Smuggling in kilos of pure cocaine hidden in shelled out products wasn’t exactly easy to do. However, for the past 5 years, you have successfully done so, bringing in record breaking profits for your family year after year.

250 million on average.

Your father sighed and leaned back in his leather chair. He studied your stature, the fact that you’re able to stand up for yourself makes him proud on the inside. It’s just that you’re standing up to the wrong person.

“Unless…” you begin, a subtle smile appears. “Unless you have something to offer me in return.”

Your dad lets out a sigh and tousled his hair.

The last thing he wants to do is give you the satisfaction of winning. There’s a few moments of silent contemplation.

“Very well, what do you want?” he asks, puffing smoke from a cigar that he definitely had illegally imported.

Finally, you get the opportunity to propose what you’ve been yearning for all this time, aspiring for, fucking dreaming of.

“Make me your heir.”

Simple enough, right?

Your dad can’t believe his fucking ears. The weight of the request almost makes his heart stop.

“Have you lost your goddamn mind?” he yells, standing up from his chair and smushing the cigar into the crystal ashtray on his desk. “I cannot have a woman as an heir to the family. It’s unheard of.”

“Oh? You’re really going to choose one of my brothers?” you retort, letting out a bit of a scoff. “Javier has been in that yuppie rehab center since he really enjoys doing crack in his spare time. The last time you heard from Mateo was last week in Tulum, which was a 40 second FaceTime call from him at some high end brothel.”

Your dad’s face turns red, half because he’s embarrassed that you’re right. The other half because he’s mad that he can’t control his two sons.

Your father knew damn well of your brothers and their vices, and the thought of either one of them inheriting the family business made him sick. The traditional side of him is kicking himself in the head. In his heart he knew you’re the obvious choice, especially if this marriage to John is to go through.

“Fuck.” your father cursed under his breath, fists balled and jaw clenched. “Very well. You’re not leaving me with any other option.”

A shit eating grin appeared on your face.

“I’ll need it in writing, in your will and testament.” you add, approaching his oak desk as your father seems to be calming himself down with this huge decision. “Papa, let’s go out for a drink to celebrate.” you suggest, taking his hand and squeezing it.

Your pops was a sucker for his little girl, even if she was an annoying and stubborn woman. You’re his favorite, the one that brings in the most money. While your two brothers were laughable at best, you were deemed as your father’s golden child.

That’s how you know this little marriage arrangement with the Wick’s was probably one of the hardest decisions he’s ever made in his life. You can see it in his eyes as he looks away, not wanting to shed an ounce of weakness in front of you.

“Fine. Meet me in the car in five minutes.” your father grumbled, squeezing your hand back before giving it a soft kiss.

“Te amo, papa.”

Your dad only lets out a grunt, before you head upstairs to make yourself as decent as you can within a few minutes.

The night went on, your father and you enjoying yourselves in a private booth at a well established cocktail bar in Manhattan. Well deserved breaks were scarce in your line of business. Although you’re almost amazed at how easy it is to just text your henchmen to take care of work for the remainder of the night. The liquor was flowing, and after three shots of tequila, your father’s nerves have completely diminished.

An hour of enjoying your time with him goes by but the pit in your gut doesn’t cease. An arranged marriage? It makes your blood boil. Even if your dad did agree to make you his heir, the barbaric agreement that he made with his rival just put you off.

It was as if all of the feminine rage in your soul was about to make you spontaneously combust. Of course your drunken father doesn’t notice, he’s too busy giggling about an old story that you’ve heard a thousand times.

Drumming your manicured nails on the table, you down the rest of your chilled martini, grabbing your phone from your purse.

“I know you really don’t want to go through with this, sweetheart. But it’s for the best, really, otherwise we’d have another turf war on our hands.” your father mentions, noticing the pained expression on your face. It’s a blessing and a curse that your father knows you well enough to see when you’re upset. “Our family hasn’t exactly been on the best of terms with him, but I can tell when a man is good. A bit stiff and cold, but still a good man. He’s not cruel… to women at least.”

You roll your eyes.

“I’ll be right back, papa.” you assure him, ending his one sided conversation before standing up. Pulling out your phone, texting a friend to bitch about the situation at hand.

Unfortunately you don’t have time for real therapy.

The lights in the bar are dimmed, the area crowded and noise at a high enough level to overstimulate any untrained civilian. Of course you’re no hardened assassin, and in your current precarious mental state, it seemed like just about anything could make you crack.

The man seemed to appear out of nowhere. Like some sort of ghost, materializing out of nothing and slamming into you on your brief trek to the restroom. He’s large, with broad shoulders and you can definitely feel the bulletproof vest underneath his suit just from the collision alone. The impact shoots pain up your chest, and you stagger back a little from how hard you were actually slammed into.

A pair of strong hands stabilizes you, preventing an inevitable fall from the crash, long fingers pressing into your waist.

Woah.

Phone in hand, you look up, face to face with the man who is now holding you. His brow is furrowed, with locks of dark long hair covering a bit of his chiseled and weathered face. A beard coats the lower half, the scented beard oil lingers its way into your nose as you take in a breath. Clove, sandalwood, something masculine that sends your hormones into maximum overdrive.

Shit, he smells good.

Obviously you have no idea who the man is, who the monster is that stares down and has his paws on you. You’ve never met or seen a picture of your father’s enemy. Why would you? To put you in unnecessary danger would be a stupid mistake.

John is used to people staring up at him with fear and trepidation in their eyes. He’s a crime boss after all, much like your father. John demands respect in every room he enters. It’s an unsaid expectation.

You’re so out of it you’re unable to feel the power he exudes even as he has you in his firm grasp. Overwhelmed by a stupid marriage arrangement and with some liquid courage, you can’t seem to stop slightly gawking at the handsome features of the man in front of you.

He awaits your apology, which comes within a few moments.

“Oh my god,” you catch your breath. “I’m so sorry, that’s totally my bad.”

Usually you’re not the one apologizing. The fact that you’re not surrounded by armed guards at the moment since you’re having a nice night off with your dad is really changing things up for you. Yet here you are, stuttering like a little kid for a simple mistake.

There are those brown eyes of his that take in your entire form. The cute face, flustered behavior, pretty body. You might not know who your betrothed exactly is but oh does he know who you are.

Of course he required a few pictures of you up front from your father during their negotiations for this marriage. John would have done anything to avoid marrying any woman who was rough on the eyes. With his high standing position in the Wick family syndicate, he still had a reputation to maintain.

When your father slid over those three printed pictures of you, he was more than pleased with the results.

He’s too embarrassed to admit it but those three pictures are around specific areas of his home, and have stayed there for the past two weeks that this deal has been finalized for.

The image of you in a bathing suit at a pool party, drink in hand, is framed on his bedside table. Unfortunately for the picture frame, it has been wiped clean of cum about 15 times since he put it there.

A picture of you holding your beloved cat on your couch, wearing a skirt and a tight fitting long sleeve is taped to the side of his laptop in his office. John has accidentally found himself staring at that one for minutes on end. Wondering how it would feel to hike that skirt up and smack your ass for being such a bad girl.

The last photo is of you with some friends in a blue bridesmaids dress, holding a bouquet of flowers outside. Well, it was with you with some friends, until he specifically cut your companions out of the frame, leaving only you and your pretty little smile for him to keep in his wallet.

John may or may not have a problem.

When you apologize, a smile curled on his taut lips. He noticed the genuine remorse in your toe, and the smile even widened. Plus, he’s giddy from being in such close proximity to you. It’s taking every ounce of willpower to not shove you against the wall and take you in front of all of these people.

That’s when you realize his eyes have travelled down to your cleavage, making you frown.

“Uh, right. Sorry again, about that. Have a nice night.” is what you quickly say before wiggling from his grasp, continuing on your journey over to the bathrooms.

John can’t help but feel like an idiot when he sees that you have noticed his ogling. He can’t help but curse in Russian under his breath, while he watches how your ass moves in those mom jeans while you scurry away from him.

What a way to make an impression on your future wife, moron. He thinks to himself, pinching his forehead as he does so.

He’s 45 years old, can fuck any whore he can get his hands on. Yet when it comes to a woman who he has the slightest pull towards he comes out as a bumbling pervert.

Yikes, get it together, man.

John doesn’t want to bother his fiance any further, so he steps out of sight and takes a deep breath. His heart races from the small encounter while a few of his men approach him, one handing over a glass of vodka on the rocks. He takes a generous sip, letting the liquor burn down his throat as a punishment for looking like such an ass on his first encounter with you.

“I want eyes on my betrothed at all times. Get me a detailed analysis on her day to day. There should be a minimum of two men keeping an eye out for danger around her, around the clock. Her cartel security is definitely lacking if she’s able to just bump into a man at the bar.” John orders them in Russian, where his men respond with nods, immediately going and making some calls to have the order carried out. Without question, of course.

A few days later, John cannot get his mind off of you. He’s just yearning to get to know you. To touch and kiss you, to learn what you like, what you hate.

John wonders how you like to be fucked. Maybe you like it slow? Romantic, passionate love making with candles and nice music? Maybe you were a freak. You’re a crime boss of your own, unbeknownst to him, the heiress of your father’s empire. Maybe you liked taking charge in the bedroom. Strapping on a silicone cock and spreading the cheeks of the man you were with, pegging him from behind and calling him all sorts of names that you wouldn’t dare say in public. Perhaps you liked to make him cry out as you smacked his rear, thrusting into his ass out of sheer dominance while his hands were tied to the bed frame.

At this point, John was so god damn thirsty, he was seriously considering doing such things just to please you.

One hand held the framed swimsuit picture, as he laid on his side. Face lying on his memory foam pillow as his lubricated hand tugged on his hard cock, attempting to get off from the memory of you in his grasp from the other night. He has convinced himself the two of you are meant to be. Your body just fits so beautifully in his hands, your pussy probably is a perfect fit for his dick to pound into as well.

While he’s busy stroking his cock, his phone began to vibrate on his bedside table.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.” John groaned, rolling his eyes, wiping the coat of saliva on his palm on his silk sheets, sitting up and snatching his device. To his surprise, the caller ID was the last thing he thought he would be seeing.

Your father’s first and last name displays on his screen, and John’s eyes bulge from the sight.

The arranged ceremony wasn’t to take place for another few weeks, what the hell was he calling for? Were you hurt? Sick? Dead?!

Without even thinking John answers the phone and puts it on speaker.

“Yes?”

“Ah, Mr. Wick, I was worried you wouldn’t pick up.” your dad sighs in relief. This worried John exponentially.

“What’s wrong with her? Is she okay?” John suddenly asks, immediately regretting it after doing so. He silently cusses himself out. Your father stammers after hearing this question from John.

“Rest assured, Mr. Wick, my daughter is perfectly fine. We just have a slight scheduling issue with the ceremony.” your dad informs John through the phone. He sighs in relief from the answer.

“The ceremony? What about it?”

“My daughter, as you know, is very integral to our family’s product importation process. Unfortunately, she needs to fly out to Bogota the same weekend as the ceremony.” your father explains quickly, with his Latin accent strongly showing itself while he speaks.

At least you’re not dead. John would rather not have a wife that was in the business herself; though it did turn him on a bit. Having such a powerful woman by his side. The thought of not being able to see you walk down the aisle to him almost broke his heart.

“You’re kidding. My people have been working day in and out to plan this damn wed-“

“Rest assured, we will find a solution. In fact, she’s willing to meet with you tomorrow night at your residence to sign the marriage certificate to make it official. Would that be something you’d be interested in, Mr. Wick?” your dad interjects with a possible solution. John pauses. Seeing you… tomorrow? Chills run up his spine from the thought of you inside of his house, meeting him for the first time. Even though you ran into him the other night, you didn’t introduce yourself.

“That would be perfect, sir.” John replies almost instantly, his hand going back to his cock to give himself a few strokes, just from the thought of you entering his home. Even with your father on the phone, he couldn’t be mad. John fantasized about kissing your father’s feet for being half the reason why you exist. His genetics helped create such a perfect and pure being, such an angel that was just within John’s reach.

“Perfect. Does 7 work?”

John’s hand twists around his pink head of his dick, the sensation around his extra delicate skin made him bite his lip.

“Yeah, yeah. Seven is great. See you then.”

John hangs up the phone, thrusting a bit into his clenched fist. It doesn’t take him that long to come into his orgasm, ropes of white fluid burst from his length as it spills into the palm of his hand. A sense of euphoria washes over the crime boss as his eyes roll the back of his head, your name falls from his lips in the form of soft moans.

John caught his breath after several pleasurable moments, grunting to himself before grabbing a few tissues from the box on the table beside his bed, cleaning himself off with little to no hassle.

He was excited to formally meet you, to say the least.

It was 6:45, and John was actively studying the email that one of his men sent him earlier in the afternoon. After sending a team out to learn what your daily routine was, they sent out a detailed list of your day to day. Was it a bit much? Not in John’s eyes. He insisted on knowing every detail of you that he could relish in at the moment.

You would wake up at 7 am, and either go to a spin class or a yoga session at 7:45. Driven by a chauffeur of course, which was always some sort of tinted SUV. After a quick stop for coffee, (iced espresso shaken over brown sugar and oat milk) you would go home, make yourself look presentable and deal with business as usual for the majority of the day. Your father insisted on always having lunch with you around 2 in the afternoon, since he never sees his sons, he just takes all the time he can get with his daughter. You collect money from the men who oversee cocaine dealing in the different boroughs of NYC once a week, that day being Thursdays. Then you end your nights either at home with your cat, or out drinking with a few girlfriends, bodyguards in tow.

Rinse and repeat.

John was doing his best to memorize this the best he could but 7 pm came fast. Before he knew it, you and your father were entering his home on the upper east side.

Your father was a bit shifty about going into his sworn enemy’s house, but after some tequila he was feeling much better about it. A few spare bodyguards and one highly paid lawyer walked behind the two of you as you were greeted by a few stewards.

Your nerves were about to get the better of you before your father nudged you with his elbow.

“You look perfect, don’t worry. I’ve heard from a little birdie that he’s a bit obsessed.” your father chuckled in Spanish.

Obsessed? This surprised you.

Your eyes meet John’s as he makes his way into the foyer to greet you. John is internally ecstatic that you’re wearing a silk black dress. It hugs your perfect curves just wonderfully, along with your delicately applied makeup, and well crafted hairstyle.

To John, it looks like the gods have created you just for himself. While your father spoke to you in your mother tongue, John observed your demeanor. He needed to get a feel of what was going on through your mind at the present moment.

Things click for you at the sight of his brown eyes on your body. He’s the guy from the restaurant the other day. You want to punch yourself in the face, since the first encounter with John was so awkward, did he know then that you were his fiance? Did he run into you on purpose, just to get a few spare moments alone with you?

You didn’t know if you loved or hated that thought.

You snapped out of your train of thought when John called your name, his stoic facial expression melting just a bit.

His eyes are glued to you, all of this was surreal. You’re about to be his, the one he’s been dreaming about for a little over two weeks now. John feels his cock twitch just by laying his eyes on you. You’re so… perfect. Of course he can’t show his true feelings yet, there’s an image he must maintain to be taken seriously by the man who is still his enemy.

John’s hand gently takes yours, planting a quick smooch on your knuckles. You’re surprised, you never figured such a ruthless crime boss would even go to such lengths for just a simple greeting.

“It’s a pleasure. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” John’s voice is low and grumbly when he talks to you, as if it’s only for you to hear.

Looking forward is certainly the understatement of the year.

You narrow your eyes at John, seeming skeptical by his lack of enthusiasm. Was what your father saying actually the truth? That this big time Russian mob boss was obsessed with you?

“I believe we ran into each other briefly a few nights ago.” you mention while John drops your hand. “We didn’t meet officially, of course.” you chuckle as John escorts both you and your father out to his balcony. The view from his place is beautiful, looking out towards Central Park, and it was a clear enough night to see the moon in the sky.

Your family was very wealthy but a home like this was on a different level. A breeze of fresh air wafts through you all, blowing some strands of hair into your face.

John’s gaze had snapped back towards you, a little shocked that you had even remembered his face from the small mishap. He never expected you to remember such a small moment, and the fact that you did made him feel extra special.

“Indeed, we did. Only briefly though, and by accident.” John replied in a matter-of-fact tone. He pays attention to how your hair blows softly in the wind, giving him a better view of your well sculpted face.

Your father cleared his throat, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks.

“Right. Well, my lawyer here has the marriage certificate prepared. Shall we?” your dad inserted himself into your small talk with John. You’re secretly relieved he did so, you just want to get this over with. It’s just for business after all, it’s not like you actually have feelings for him… right?

An experienced man was always something you craved. One that knew how to touch, how to love, how to treat his woman. You’re no pure virgin, it’s not the 1800s anymore, most women your age have some sort of experience, good or bad.

You’ve had your fair share of incompetent men that were closer to your age. Men that knew who to only chase their own highs, too inadequate in between the sheets. Whether it was 2 pump chumps, fingers that were unable to find your clit, or lack of foreplay, it seemed there were little to no men that knew how to please a woman like you.

Your eyes locked onto John’s hands that were folded in front of him.

Fingers that were inches longer than your own, with blue tinted veins that traveled from his wrists to his bruised and scabbed over knuckles. You could vividly picture his finger pads reaching to your core, immediately locating your clit and toying with you for his own sake. Dragging his fingers into circles before slipping them into your soaked hole, using long and slow strokes to warm you up for his cock.

“Everything is prepared on our end as well, sir.” John’s voice snaps you out of your trance. It probably looked rather strange, a woman fixating on his hands. Hopefully he didn’t notice.

John did but he figured the little doe eyed thing such as yourself was just spacing out, rather than having a perverted daydream.

Your father’s lawyer removes the certificate from his briefcase, setting the paperwork out on a table on the balcony for you and John to sign. Your heart rate speeds up drastically, a lump forming in your throat during the moment of truth.

While you’re contemplating your life decisions, your eyes on the paper, John couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of you. His mind was going 100 miles a minute from thinking of all of the things he could say to you. This entire visit felt like a whole lifetime, even though you haven’t even been inside for more than 5 minutes. He desperately wanted to get to know you better. He’d do anything to do so.

The lawyer casually handed you a ballpoint pen, which you accepted. Your teeth dug into your soft tongue, taking a super deep breath to settle your nerves.

You reminded yourself: sign this, and you’ll officially be your father’s heir. The heiress to your family’s cartel. With a direct connection to the head of the Wick family syndicate, you’d have almost all of the power in the world.

You shake the feeling of hesitation off of your back, colliding pen with paper and scribbling a few signatures and initials on the paper. John watches your every move, smiling as you sign the paper. Giving yourself away just by signing a certificate, were you now his to do whatever he wants to with? Of course not. He could never treat you as such.

You look up, noticing John’s locked gaze onto you. It is a bit unsettling but you still hand him the black pen. To everyone’s surprise, he’s signing the paper like a normal person, not being extra cautious or suspicious like he usually is.

After he’s done, he stands and straightens his large back.

Your father gives out a loud singular clap, smiling from ear to ear.

“Perfect. It’s all settled then.” your dad beams, patting John’s back. A simple and warm gesture that earns an awkward grin from John.

With that, a city wide turf war was avoided all together, and the two crime families were now bound by the hip.

John let out a soft chuckle and nodded towards your father, feeling a small slight sense of relief. Things would have definitely gotten deadly if negotiations went awry.

You need to get yourself together, you were way too flustered for comfort. Your hands clasp behind your back as you clear your throat.

“Well, that’s all we needed. Unfortunately, I do have other things that need my attention tonight.” you fib, it’s not like it’s a total lie. You were a bit overwhelmed at the moment, and you knew that home would be your sanctuary.

“Right,” John says quietly, furrowing his eyebrows. “So, when do you expect to move in?”

This question stops you in your tracks, and doesn’t phase your father. He’s a bit busy tapping away on his cellphone.

“Why would I move in?” you ask with a bit of a nervous chuckle, looking up at the older man with a cocked eyebrow. “It’s only an arrangement after all.”

John frowned at your statement.

“Well, would we at least reschedule the wedding?” John questions a bit defensively. “An arrangement or not, this is a special event that’s to be celebrated.” John crosses his arms and leans against the terrace.

Your eyes darted to your father who’s now on the phone, speaking to one of your relatives to tell the good news in Spanish.

“Is getting to marry a man you barely know not exciting to you?” John seemed to ask the question in a rhetorical manner, exposing a bit of his feelings towards you while doing so. With a smirk on his lips and eying your figure in that pretty black dress.

Your teeth dug into your bottom lip, tasting your cherry lip gloss by mistake while doing so. What a question to ask a woman.

“I’d consider it more terrifying than anything.” you respond, nearly sneering at his stupid question. Of course a man would find it exhilarating, not caring for the opinion of their female counterpart. Your attempt for a nonchalant attitude is a bad one at best, John can smell the discomfort from you all that way by the terrace. Of course that wouldn’t stop him from finding out why you were so uncomfortable with the situation at hand. Why would he understand though? He was a man about 15 years your senior, in power of an extremely patriarchal family empire. John’s hell on wheels, almost nothing bothers him.

Except for maybe one thing: your unnerving attitude toward your new marriage. John wants for his new obsession to be happy, satisfied. Whenever picturing you in his mind for the past few weeks, the image of you without a smile or a moaning face never was even an idea.

“Terrifying? Is that so?” John asks with a tilt of his head. “Then I must ask, why did you accept?”

“Do you really think I had much of a choice?” you quip back, finding the inquisitive nature of John a bit of a nuisance. Why couldn’t he just drop it? Why did he even care so much? It had you absolutely perplexed. “You and my father are so intelligent, that you couldn’t manage to figure out another solution other than devising a stupid marriage between the two families! Both of your ape-like brains never cease to amaze me!”

You sort of realize that you fucked up, it’s been about two minutes since you’ve acquired a husband and you have already bitched him out in his own home.

The heat rises to your cheeks before you turn around and hurry back inside, your father is too distracted in his phone call to even notice the dispute.

John took note of how commanding your voice was when you spoke out against him, insulting both his and your father’s intelligence while doing so. His brown eyes were stuck on your perfect hips and ass that moved under that soft dress of yours as you hurried back into his home.

Well this was something he certainly wasn’t used to: a defiant woman. John of course grew up with a dominant father figure in his family, he knew nothing else. Growing up seeing his mother being nothing but a dutiful wife to his dad.

This was… different.

John happened to enjoy this type of different. The way your nose scrunched when you yelled at him in disbelief, your voice demanding respect when you spoke back to him and against the idea of the arrangement all together.

Oh fuck, that was hot.

His balls felt a familiar ache when your attitude changed so abruptly, his heart palpitating while he replayed your outburst in his mind, over and over again.

John bit his lip and let out a barely audible moan at your spitfire attitude, looking at your father who was still busy on the phone for only a moment. He looked at his guards at the balcony door, nodding to them and walking in after you. The guards nod back in acknowledgment, shutting the door behind John.

The height difference gives John the upper hand, as it normally does. His long legs are able to catch up faster, and he can even see that you’re ordering an Uber to pick you up from his place, not wanting to spend another second in his home.

You heard his Oxford shoes walking up behind you, your body whirling around, gripping the device tight.

“What the hell do you want?” you huff out.

John’s hands are buried in his pockets to make himself look like less of a threat. He knows how big your height difference was, he wants you to be comfortable with him. Of course with his reputation, that would be hard.

“I just want to talk.” John assured you in his usual stoic tone. Soft but stern, just enough to take him seriously. “It wouldn’t be right to just leave without explaining anything at all.”

“I don’t owe you that.” your jaw clenched, fingers going to confirm your Uber on your smartphone. You straighten your back to give off a more confident appearance. John recognizes this, giving you credit for knowing how to work the game. He frowns at the sudden change in tone though, a few seconds ago you looked more anxious, now you’re trying to play tough.

“You’re my wife.” John states the obvious. “I am at least owed a conversation.” he demands, taking in your delicate stature. Compared to him you were soft, small, similar to a rabid Chihuahua, angry as shit but still a bit cute.

“Oh please, don't even start.” you sneer. “I’ve known you for a total of 10 minutes. Don’t act like you actually care.”

If only you knew.

That sentence set John off. The way his jaw clenched made your breath hitch. The fantasy from staring at his hands a few minutes ago came rushing back, you’re able to feel the moisture developing between your thighs.

“Oh, I care more than you’d ever know, sweetheart.” John grumbled, taking a few steps into your personal space. It takes you back to when his hands were on your waist the other night at the bar. Looming over you with hunger in his dark eyes.

He’s so fucking hot it might drive you insane, yet you can’t let yourself cave to this entitled piece of shit.

“If you cared, you’d let me leave with no problems.” you murmur up at him. John chuckled.

“You wouldn’t be fast enough, baby girl.”

You’re well aware that your thong is more than soaked at this point, goosebumps running up your flesh from his voice.

You wanted to test that theory.

Shoving your new husband aside, his muscles firm under his black dress shirt. Slipping away from him, you book it towards his main entrance, your father could fend for himself, you could care less at this point. John is absolutely shocked at the amount of nerve that’s in your little body, did you really have such a temper?

Why was it so hot to him?

The Russian kingpin wasn’t about to let his bride escape so easily. Not when you were quite literally the only thing that was on his mind for the past few weeks. John outmatches your speed, before you could manage your way to the door, he pulls you in by the waist, back into his control.

You yelp, almost slipping.

“Let go of me, fuck face!”

“Not ‘til you start acting like a wife!” John retorts, his hands digging into your waist, smirking as he figures out what pisses you off. It turned him on immensely to see you so rebellious. “You agreed to marry me but want nothing to do with me? That’s not gonna fly, sweet thing. And don’t even try calling me fuck face, you’re my wife now. You can call me, ‘baby’, ‘dear’, ‘honey bunches’, whatever floats your boat. But not fuck face.”

Oh he was pressing all of your buttons, wanting to get you even more riled up. He figured angry sex would probably be more satisfying in the long run.

“Get off of me, shrimp dick!” You decide to call him instead, finding some of his arm where his shirt was riding up on. Since your fight or flight was kicking in, you figure that biting down on his arm was the best choice in this scenario.

“Motherfucker!” John yells, his grip tightens around your torso, the moisture of your saliva on his flesh helps grow his cock, which was coincidentally pressed against your ass. That chomp hurt like a bitch but it just so happened to turn him on. The feeling of your sharp teeth made him inhale sharply, barely being able to stop himself from moaning in front of you.

You begin to feel his groin harden against your ass, your eyes widening in pure shock. Your body writhed in John’s grasp, cursing under your breath since your dad was definitely still on the phone outside.

“There’s no fucking way you thought that was hot.” you curse at John, groaning in frustration since his grasp was completely solid. As you two duke it out, your heel slips on his wooden floor, sending you forward. In some sort of miracle, John somehow was able to make sure you didn’t land straight on your face.

Of course, with you bent over on the floor, with John above you, the positioning you two were in was identical to doggy style. There’s no way this was happening.

“Oh, what have we got here?” John asks jokingly, chuckling as he admires the scene below him. With the two of you now in a very suggestive placement, with you squashed underneath his grasp. It was a stupidly tempting sight, with your dress riding up your thighs from the weird positioning.

John let out a shallow breath as his hands returned to your waist, his hips seemed to move on their own against your ass.

“John - don’t even fucking think about it.” you cuss him out, noticing that he was completely hard under those expensive slacks of his. John laughed at the fact that you weren’t being shy, instead, being bossy with him. He figured you’d be embarrassed, no, you were just so pissed off that you were ordering him around as if you had any power in this situation. He didn’t see that coming.

John just let out a snicker, grinding against your ass again. The pressure from it makes you moan instinctively. Your cheeks turn red from the mistake, letting your guard down around him was not something you intended.

“Oh yeah?” John teased, sliding your dress up your thighs, fingers finding their way to your thong and feeling how soaked it was. “I think someone likes me more than she’d like to admit.”

You bit your lip as his fingers prodded against your clothed cunt, trying to prevent any noise that would satisfy him. The way your thighs tremble below him blows your cover, causing John to smile behind you.

“Now, where is your-“ John’s fingers find your clit easily, and your assumption of older men having more experience and therefore, being better, comes to fruition. A gasp slips from you, as his fingers gently massage your sensitive nub, coating his digits in your juices. “Ah! There we go, what a good girl. Don’t stop making those pretty little noises, you don’t want to disappoint your husband, do you?”

Your head shakes a no, right before he thrusts his middle finger into your pussy. A string of whimpers slips out of your mouth while your head rubbed against the wooden flooring.

He couldn't believe how easily you had lost your resolve.

"That's a good girl." John replied back, making sure to keep you in your current position, and continuing fingering you in a rhythmic motion. John felt an enormous spike in his libido. He adored that you finally gave into his desires.

What the fuck were you doing? I mean how slutty could you get? You haven’t even known this man for an hour, and you’re letting him explore your insides on the fucking kitchen floor of his house.

I mean on paper you were husband and wife but you didn’t even know if he was a cat or a dog person.

“J-John! I hardly know you!” you blubbered out as his digits plunge in and out of your tightened hole. John giggled from above.

“Well, I know you, dearest. I mean hell, I know what your cunt smells like. You wanna know more about your new husband?” John questions while you pant from below. You squeal when a large hand swats your asscheek, echoing throughout the room. “Well cutie pie, I’m a Virgo. I enjoy long drives in my muscle car, and blasting Avenged Sevenfold in said car. I also happen to be the head of my family’s empire, but you already knew that.” John rambles, eyes beaming down at the glorious sight of his bride whimpering and squirming, while he fingers you relentlessly. “All nice and wet for me, fuck you’re so perfect, sweetie,” his throaty laugh informs you.

His tongue quickly swirled around your clit, applying the perfect amount of pressure to bring you to the edge. The sound of your wet cunt being finger fucked filled your ears.

“Now that you know a bit more about me, you wanna get to know my cock better?”

Two fingers now slipped all the way up to his knuckles into your weeping cunt, exploring your spongy walls and preparing your hole to be fucked.

“Yes, yes please, I swear I’ll be good.” you absentmindedly answer, begging like a pathetic little thing on the floor. Drool dribbled from your parted lips as your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

John almost came in his trousers from the sound of you pleading for his dick. He never expected you to beg or to be so sweet sounding for him. Shit, minutes ago you were telling him that he was an idiot for even agreeing to this solution between him and your father. And now?

Your cries for him to indulge you with his cock made it twitch in anticipation.

“You’ll be good, huh?” your new husband asks, sounding a bit arrogant and proud of his game. “Are you finally going to behave yourself?” John snickered, rejecting your pleas. Instead, he went face first into your pussy, slurping up your fluids, driving his skilled fingers into you, refusing you of his cock.

Somehow, on some sort of survival instinct, a feeling in your gut tells you that something isn’t right. Your ears pick up the swift sound of the balcony door sliding open.

Your dad was still here. This fact completely slipped your mind, since you were too busy getting eaten like groceries.

Your foot pressed against John’s chest, unfortunately, kicking him away from your throbbing cunt in the process.

“Fuck fuck fuck!” you hiss out. Scrambling yourself together, you hide behind the kitchen island, pulling your dress down, attempting to look decent. That was until you noticed that John had stolen your underwear, stuffing the thong into his pocket. John winks at you, clearing his throat and wiping his lips and beard free of the juices from your cunt, turning to face your father as if nothing had just occurred. You’re still sheltering behind the island, listening to John and your father making friendly conversation. You force yourself to hold in a shaky breath as a bitter expression paints itself onto you.

This had to be a joke. What poor fucking timing.

Catching your breath, you try to be as silent as possible before John points in the direction to the nearest bathroom for your father. Your dad’s footsteps get further and further away as John looks down at you from the other side of the island before walking back over to you.

“Good looking out. Your dad might have shot me if he saw that firsthand.” John chortled, while you’re still crouching behind the island. The heat between your thighs pulsates from the work he did on it moments ago.

John stood before you, checking his phone casually as your eyes gawked up at him.

Okay, more like gawking at his dick print, which was more than visible at your angle.

Your heart pounds at the thought of you getting fucked by this more experienced man. If he was able to have you all spread out before him on the floor after barely even trying, you had to wonder what it would be like to be actually railed by him.

The worst part was you didn’t even get to cum. His tongue and fingers felt spectacular, yet because of your dad’s terrible timing, the high you were chasing was long gone.

You’re able to tell that John thought that was hilarious, so fuck it. Why don’t you be a doting little wife and give him a taste of his own medicine?

Before thinking about it, your hands fumble over his leather belt, undoing the buckle and damn near ripping his slacks open.

John’s brown eyes bulge. He drops his phone on the marble countertop and stammers in shock.

“Woah! What the-“

It was too late for him to stop you. You were planting sloppy wet kisses up his shaft before he even finished his sentence.

John had a pretty cock.

With a nice even skin tone, and a pink mushroomed tip. A few thick veins ran up and down the base, with a more than practical length and girth, you could already tell he would feel amazing balls deep inside of your aching cunt.

John’s hand finds its way to the roots of your hair, grabbing a fistful as your tongue churns around his head.

You stop every few moments to suck on the tip, hollowing out your pretty cheeks as you do so. Slippery hands stroke and twist the shaft while John lets out a pathetic little whimper, grunting a bit as he looks down at you. His pretty brown eyes resemble that of a puppy, looking absolutely infatuated with how skilled your mouth is.

“You’re so fuckin’ perfect, holy shit.” the words betray the stoicism he constantly displays. “You’re even better than I had imagined, god, yes keep going, please, babygirl.” John whined, petting your soft hair and tilting his head back, biting down on his lip. You chuckle a bit at his words while your mouth is full of his cock, the vibration sending John shivers down his spine.

His other hand was bracing himself against the marble countertop of the kitchen island, your knees scraping against the hard floor as you bobbed your head up and down on his length.

You bat your eyelashes up at John, removing him from your mouth and grabbing the shaft, slapping it against your protruding tongue and smiling up at him.

Worshipping this man’s cock wasn’t difficult when he praised every little thing you did to him. Going so far as to smearing his soaked length against your cheeks, damn near making out with it while John whimpered your name. His muscular chest heaved up and down as he embraced in your pleasing touch.

Saliva covers your mouth, chin, nose, and cheeks as you go to work on him, wanting as much control over the mob boss as you could obtain. To make him even more obsessed with you than he already is was an achievement in itself.

“Oh god I think I’m in love, holy shit.” John muttered, beginning to thrust into your mouth and down your throat, earning a few coughs and gags from overdoing it. Your throat burns from the sensation but it’s satisfying knowing that you have this man wrapped around your little finger.

That’s when you hear some footsteps from down the hallway.

You end the session by giving his tip a juicy wet kiss, popping back up from your kneeling position, repeating John’s earlier actions by wiping the saliva and precum off of your face.

John’s left heaving and panting, mouth hung open in awe and slight dissatisfaction as you adjust your dress. Making yourself look presentable, while your father makes his way from the hallway. You snicker at how you edged him to the brink of a mind blowing orgasm.

John cursed under his breath as he caught on, slipping his saliva drenched erection into his boxer briefs and zipping up his trousers.

You stifle a giggle, shooting John a wicked smile as he glares you down, with intent to kill in his eyes.

“Next time I see you, I’ll make sure you won’t be able to walk for a week, you brat.” he growled at you softly, those brown eyes roaming over your well shaped figure for the thousandth time tonight.

You chuckle as your father walks into the kitchen, none the wiser.

“I look forward to it.”

#john wick #jw #john wick x reader #keanu reeves #john wick x y/n #john wick x you #john wick imagine #keanu #jw4 #john wick one shot #john wick fanfiction #john wick fanfic #John wick mafia #mafia au

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beansricejc · 1 month

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8k fic! 8k fic! 8k fic! 😁😁😁😁

fr i got the post notification and hand to get up and walk a lap

ily!!! just proofreading as fast as I can for u pookie 🤭🥰🤠

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beansricejc · 1 month

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so like… is it okay if I post my 8k jw filth tonight or…? 🤭

update: here it is!

#john wick #jw #john wick x reader #keanu reeves #john wick x y/n

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beansricejc · 1 month

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#you caught me

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beansricejc · 1 month

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"need him to pull me forcefully onto his lap and ask me where the fuck i think i’m going."

john wick x f!reader ICYMI! note: due to a bit of goofy formatting on my part, this is a reupload from 10/2023. i wasn't able to see any sort of interaction with my one-shot, so if you haven't read it, here it is! pls lmk what you think of my 100 day old baby :') warnings: voyeurism, brief drug use, dubcon(?), exhibitionism, cursing, mean name calling, slut shaming, not proof read!

need him to pull me forcefully onto his lap and ask me where the fuck i think i’m going. - yandere-chan

you don’t ever go to clubs, the only reason why you’re actually here is for a friend’s birthday party. the flashing lights and blaring music were intimidating to begin with, but after popping some sort of chocolate shroom candy, you’re having the time of your life. the way your body is feeling the rhythm of some sort of Billboard Top 100 remix, flowing with the hundreds of other dancers on the floor.

it’s the way your skirt hugs your thighs and ass as you dance is what gets his attention.

john’s here tonight celebrating an old friend’s bachelor party. he’s used to clubs like this. whether it’s for finishing a job or accompanying some sort of high level crime lord for a meeting, he’s quite immune to the vibration of the floor from the huge speakers. he’s unimpressed by the bottle girls that he’s seen come and go over the years, but if someone’s buying, he’ll indulge in a paid blowjob behind a curtain. after helen, he’s given up on romance.

but he’s not exactly known for actually enjoying his night as a regular patron. john’s four whiskeys in, definitely feeling the buzz as his legs are a bit more loose than he’s used to. he’s not on a job. not on duty. fuck it, might as well have fun. this is what he tells himself as he’s nose deep in a line of white powder on a table, his fellow bachelor party members cheering him on in a rowdy manner. the groom himself is getting a lap dance from a bottle girl in their booth behind the curtain, and john takes the opportunity to snap a quick picture of it, just for shits and giggles.

john doesn’t exactly remember how it happened, he just remembers that the woman that he was ogling on the dance floor was now being led behind his group’s curtain. of course this was you, along with a handful of your friends who were also very pretty in their own way. it seemed like the best man of the bachelor party had taken a liking to the birthday girl of your group, and you tagged along for the ride.

he can’t seem to pry his eyes from you. the way you fidget with your soft fingers while your dilated eyes roam across the back room. the way you smile and chat with his buddies as your friends introduce you, john can smell that you’re out of your element. he’s a master at reading body language, it’s part of his job actually. all signs are pointing to that you are quite inebriated, and are clearly not a party girl, despite the fairly convincing front you have on.

you smile politely as you shift your legs. you don’t know why your best friend even followed that guy back here, sometimes you want to smack her for being so stupid. but you’ll smile and bare it for now.

“and this is our buddy, john.” the best man gestures over towards the assassin. of course you don’t know of his profession yet. your shaky eyes drift to his position on the couch. the well dressed middle aged man’s eyes are stuck on you, the way that black skirt looks has him struggling to keep his composure. but he’s a professional, even if he’s not on the job. john has seen and been with his fair share of women.

now he’s picturing in his head of what he’d like to do to you. nothing exactly romantic or gentleman like.

if it weren’t for his own morals, he’d probably stand up and grab you by your pretty little neck. make you gasp for air and tremble under his touch and looming height. john has killed dozens in a single blink of an eye, man handling you and throwing you over the table wouldn’t be an issue. maybe you’d yelp at the feeling of your body being forced down by the dangerous man. maybe you’d even like it. john’s calloused and bruised hands would immediately hike that black skirt up, just to show off your beautifully crafted ass to the entire group of men, and even your friends. maybe you’d plead for him to stop, maybe you’d beg for him to keep going. who knows, perhaps you were a little slut that liked the thought of this happening.

john imagines how the fat of your thighs and ass would feel in his death grip. the strong hold that has strangled the soul’s out of countless adversaries, now grabbing and pawing at your fleshy things before giving you a hard and swift smack on your poor rear. he wonders if you’d struggle or if you’d bite your lip and arch your back. he doesn’t know which response he’d like more.

“it’s nice to meet you.” was the sentence that sucked him out of his head, along with a little smile and wave of your manicured fingers. he notices the polish. a deep burgundy, a vampy color that goes well with the season. so you’re fashionable. he could already tell with the cute outfit that you were donning, but this confirms it. john can appreciate a woman who takes care of herself.

but now there’s an image of those pretty fingers gripping his hard cock, wrapping around the width of his shaft and dragging up and down while a glob of saliva from your plump lips dribbles onto the head. the thought of you licking your lips as your small hand jerks him off, your bare knees earning gorgeous blue and purple bruises from scraping on the marble floor as you do your job oh so well. maybe your teeth would dig into your bottom lip as your eyes would blink up at him, giggling as he moaned out your name.

“come here often?” is what john asks you in return. your head turns to him again and tilts to the side, you didn’t expect the silent and brooding one of the group to ask you a question from the comfort of the velvet couch.

you chuckle and shake your head.

“not at all, actually. it’s my first time here.” you admit, shrugging your well defined shoulders while you peer at him from across the vip booth. you’re still standing in those uncomfortable looking heels, john notes that there are no bruises on your knees. maybe he can change that.

john smiles slightly at your honesty. the way his mouth upturns as his strong looking hands run through his slick back dark hair make your stomach church. you internally curse at yourself, you’ve already had your heart broken by so many men before, and you wouldn’t let this one even get close to trying.

or so you thought.

john’s brown eyes look to your uncomfortable looking feet again, and he situated himself so he’s not totally man spreading on the red couch. his hand then taps the space next to him on the cushion.

“those don’t exactly look pleasant to stand in.” john nods his head towards your heels. you blink in surprise, peering down at your own feet that have been killing you this entire time. so you chuckle and shake your head.

“yeah, doctor scholl probably doesn’t approve of these.” you retort, making john laugh at loud at your statement. you join him on the couch as he’s still chuckling at your expression.

“you’re funny.” john comments, silently noticing the way that damn black skirt rides up your thighs so deliciously as your legs cross. he realizes he’s been caught when those fingers of yours snap in his face, reverting his attention back to your face. john’s face goes a bit red when he sees the scowl you’re giving him, along with a little eye roll.

“oh i’m sure you say that to every woman you want to stick yourself into.” you tell him, there’s a silent agreement between you two that he’s been checking you out this entire time.

john’s shocked by your snarky statement though. he didn’t think he was being that obvious, but on second thought maybe he was. dammit, he was trying to be a smooth criminal with you, only to end up looking like a pervert.

“you sure are confident in yourself, huh?” he sarcastically says back to you. “trust me honey, if I wanted you, you’d know.” he’s forcing himself not to bite his lip at the scent of your perfume, some sort of vanilla cookie type of smell that was lingering in the air between you two. it was going to drive him crazy.

while he says this, you’re busy applying another layer of lip gloss in your compact mirror. John’s breath hitched at the sight of your lips rubbing together to make sure the coat is even, the shimmer on them making his pants a bit tighter.

he wonders how that lip gloss would look on his hard cock as your mouth wraps around his head. maybe that color would look good against his shaft from you placing delicate kisses against the veins of his length. the thought of your pink tongue swirling around his throbbing tip before taking his entire cock down your throat, his hand grabbing a fistful of hair and forcing your face down just a little bit deeper than you’re comfortable with just to assert his dominance over you.

it’s all making his toes curl in his leather oxfords.

he soon noticed that your delicate fingernails, the vampy colored tips, were dragging along the bulge in his pants. his teeth dig into his bottom lip as he grips the leather couch cushion, not daring to making a sudden move. apparently you are much bolder than you made yourself out to be.

oh what he would do to put your in your place. to wipe that shit eating grin off your beautiful face. to whip out his cock and think back to when he hypothetically had you bent over the table for all of his and your friends to see. ripping whatever colored panties you had on, off, and tossing them to the side. one hand firmly shoving your head into the table, another lining up the tip of his dick with your entrance, before mercilessly pounding into your cunt. punishing you for even daring to speak to him in such a manner, in front of his buddies no less. maybe his friends would cheer him on, a few taking out their phones to take a video of it. maybe your friends would be slightly turned on by the roughness and lack of decency john is showing to you. even the thought of your cunt squeezing around his length and cumming from his despicable act might make him burst.

“yeah? you like that? fucking whore.” he’d say to you as he would pin your arms behind your back, giving you another hard slap on your ass. you’d let out a moan and a grunt from the roughness of it all. “tell me you fucking love it, be a good girl for me, come on.” john would growl in your ear, the positioning of him reaching that far would force his cock to be all the way inside of your pussy. the sudden feeling would make you gasp and cry, tears rolling down your makeup covered cheeks as you babbled about how much you loved it.

john suddenly feels the lack of touch on his erection, looking up from his daydream.

“come on dude, we’re all getting shots and then going on the dance floor.” the groom of john’s party calls to him, his group laughs at john’s lack of awareness as most of the crowd exits the vip booth from behind the curtains.

you’re the last to stand up, grabbing your purse and smoothing out your skirt before you joined the rest. you believe you’ve won this round of teasing with this complete stranger.

oh how wrong you are.

a surprised squeak escaped your glossy lips as you feel john’s strong hands grip your hips and waist. his nails dug hard through your clothing, using those unstable high heels to his advantage. your balance in those was subpar at best anyways, and now, he could easily snatch you up, even from where he was sitting.

“h-hey!” you squeal, john could fucking care less. your ass falls straight into his lap, with you immediately feeling how hard his is, and how wonderful it feels against your throbbing pussy. even if you did have underwear on, it didn’t matter. sitting in him was definitely going to leave a wet spot.

john gives you a dark and satisfied grin, leaning towards your ear with his hands beginning to hike up your skirt. your heart pounded as he was getting ready to have his way with your poor body.

“where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

#john wick #jw #keanu reeves #john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #john wick x you #john wick imagine #keanu #john wick one shot #john wick fanfic #keanuverse #jw4

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beansricejc · 1 month

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Pic: Pinterest/a pic of the book from the moodboard @greenacademian

The Proposal

Pairing: Professor!John Wick x UniStudent!F!Reader. Tags: Fluff, SMUT Warnings: NSFW, Unprotected sex, large age gap, older man/young woman Word count: 2,4k Summary: You're willing to do whatever it takes to improve your grade

Seated in the amphitheater-like auditorium, you and your friends found comfort in the smooth, tiered seats. Students were scattered all over the room, their attention focused on the center stage where Mr. Wick , the recently appointed professor, embarked on his lecture on the history of Russian literature. Some lean forward, notebooks open, eager to capture every word, while others maintain a more relaxed posture. Meanwhile, your two friends flanked you on either side, engrossing themselves in lively discussion about the new professor, a topic you weren't particularly interested in.

Attempting to reconcile your thoughts, you absentmindedly began drawing sinuous lines on the edge of your notebook.

...these features marked the initial stride on Pushkin's journey toward realism...

"OMG, check him out," one whispered in awe.

"He's got this magnetic vibe. Suddenly, I'm all about Russian lit," the other added with a hint of seduction, stifling a giggle.

"Only two months into professor Wick's time at our university, and the entire campus is already swooning over him," remarked a friend from the left side.

You are distracted from your drawing.

Your eyes traced the contours of the professor's features. He stood tall, with black hair and intense eyes. His chiseled face carried the marks of experience, exuding a rugged handsomeness accentuated by a well-groomed beard framing his jawline.

Wrapped in a dark blue three-piece suit, his physique exuded a magnetic charisma. The matching tie and shirt complemented his attire perfectly. He effortlessly moved back and forth on the podium each step resonating with confidence. His hands were in constant motion, often gesticulating animatedly. Occasionally, his fingers would run through his hair to tame the strands that threatened to fall over his eyes. There was a certain something in those movements, an expressiveness that added to his charismatic demeanor.

"Jesus, and he's what 45? Whatever," remarked another friend, her eyes lingering on the professor. "He's hot, no doubt about it,"

At a certain point, he casually unbuttoned the top of his jacket. With confidence, his right hand slipped into his pants pocket, revealing a vest underneath that clung enticingly to his form. Meanwhile, his left hand, wielding a piece of chalk, effortlessly danced across the board, swiftly inscribing a couple of dates with a flourish.

Returning to the drawing, you incorporated thorns onto the branches.

...and autonomous subjectivism is compromised by descriptiveness, Pushkin's desire to portray an exotic...

"Y/N," said one friend.

"Mmm?"

"Don't you find our new professor attractive?"

"He's alright," you replied casually, momentarily distracted.

"Bo-o-o-o-oring," your friend howled, rolling her eyes. "I practically have a waterfall between my legs just looking at him."

Another friend leaned in, whispering, "Some have even tried hitting on him."

"Any luck?" asked another.

"Nah," came the disappointing response.

...and between the historically conditioned Petersburg dandy and a provincial girl who embodied, if not eternal...

"There are rumors that he's some sort of ex-military or secret agent, you know?" another girl mentioned, her eyes flicking between your drawing and your face. "And apparently, he quit and now he's here."

"It's just rumors," you shrugged.

"And he drives a muscle car and lives in a massive mansion in the countryside," chimed in the friend on the right.

"Well, I wouldn't mind having him as my sugar daddy..." the friend on the left added with a mischievous grin.

"I'd fit him like a glove,if you catch my drift," remarked another.

"You're such hoes," you chuckled, shaking your head in mock disapproval, eliciting giggles from your friend.

…The main distinguishing feature...which is characterized by historicism... Miss...

"...but can you please stop fixating on obscenities for just a moment?" you added chuckling.

Miss...

Abruptly, your friends fell silent, and the one on your left nudged you urgently. You turned to her, and she nodded, pointing towards the professor. Your gaze sharpened as you collected your thoughts.

"Miss Y/LN..." Professor Wick repeated, his penetrating gaze locking onto you, commanding the attention of the entire audience. "Could you enlighten us on the concept of historicism?"

You nervously tapped your pen against the desk, your mind racing as you gathered your thoughts.

After a moment of hesitation, you replied, "it's the immersion of characters and events in a chronologically and locally specific environment, within a national, social, and temporal context."

"Can you give an example?" he pressed.

"The Storm by Ostrovsky," you responded promptly.

The professor nodded, acknowledging your answer, and continued with the lecture.

"That was close..." one of the friends exhaled.

As the lecture ended, the room buzzed with activity as students began to gather their belongings and file out of their seats.

"Thank you all for your attention! Remember, assignments are due by the 5th!" Professor Wick's voice resonated through the auditorium.

Descending the stairs, you lagged behind your friends, lost in your own thoughts. They turned back, concern etched on their faces. "Are you coming?"

You shook your head. "No, I need to discuss my last test with the professor."

"Alright, we'll catch up with you later then," they replied, waving as they continued on their way.

The students filed out of the auditorium one by one, bidding farewell to the professor as they left. He acknowledged each goodbye with a nod, his gaze alternating between the departing students and the papers scattered across his desk.

As you neared, professor Wick appeared engrossed in his tasks, his attention absorbed by the documents before him. It wasn't until someone bid their final goodbye that he glanced up, his focus finally turning to you.

"Miss Y/LN," he greeted, briefly glancing up from the papers as he began to organize them in his briefcase. "Did you need something?" he inquired, his focus returning to the task at hand.

"...I wanted to discuss my last test," you replied tentatively. The professor glanced at his watch.

"I have a lecture scheduled now. Could you come to my office at 5 p.m.?" he suggested, placing the final folder into his briefcase. He then looked at you, inquiring, "Would that be convenient?"

You nodded in agreement.

"Goodbye, Miss Y/LN," he bid, his voice echoing in the now emptying room.

"Goodbye," you whispered softly, watching him leave.

At precisely 5 p.m., you rapped gently on the imposing oak door, cautiously opening it a crack before inquiring,

"May I come in?"

"Absolutely, please do," his voice responded. Stepping inside, you found yourself in a spacious office, dominated by a massive desk positioned at the center of the room. The ambient lighting was minimal, casting a subtle glow on the table and discreet corners of the space. The room exuded an air of quiet sophistication, with shelves lined with books and a few tasteful decorations adorning the walls. The subtle fragrance of aged wood and leather lingered in the air.

You surveyed the room, spotting Professor Wick with a book in his hand near the bookshelf. He stood without his jacket, a vest framing his lean yet athletic physique.

"Good evening, Miss Y/LN," he greeted, placing the book back on the shelf and gesturing for you to take a seat opposite his substantial desk.

"Good evening," you replied, settling into the chair.

"So, what brings you here, Miss Y/LN?" As the professor approached you, he lifted the material of his pants slightly on one thigh and sat on the edge of the table, one leg loosely suspended.

"I would like to discuss improving my grade, Professor Wick," you explained.

"Unfortunately, I can't help you in any way. You've already had two retakes," Professor replied, his tone firm.

"Well, maybe you'll give me a third chance, Professor Wick?" you whispered, biting your lower lip and looking at him with puppy dog eyes.

"What can you suggest?" His dark eyes fixed on yours. The air thickened with anticipation as you considered your proposal.

You gracefully rose, subtly lifting your skirt as you sensually removed your panties. With deliberate intent, you placed them on his table without breaking eye contact.

"Isn't it easier to understand?" he questioned, arms folding over his broad chest, a blend of authority and curiosity in his tone. You responded with a shrug and an awkward smile.

Professor Wick got up and walked to the door, closing it deliberately.

"Turn around and bend over the table. Let me see what I get," the professor commanded, a husky undertone in his voice.

Complying with his order, you shifted, turning your head to catch his gaze over your shoulder. He lingered by the door, his gaze piercing through the semi-darkness, locking onto you with an insatiable hunger. His hand firmly gripped his bulge, and his lips parted in desire.

"Lift your skirt," another command echoed. You revealed yourself, unaware of his swift approach.

"Beautiful. And this is all for me."

Your breath caught unexpectedly as his broad hand sensuously explored your slit, eliciting an instinctive arch of your back that only intensified the sensation. His middle finger skillfully snaked between your folds.

"So wet." His finger traced lazy circles on your sensitive spot, coaxing a soft moan from you with each deliberate movement.

" Is this how you plan to improve your grade?"

You nodded eagerly. The professor unfastened his fly, unveiling his hardened length. With purposeful movements, his manhood gliding along your clit, coated with your juices.

"Is that you want?" His tip pinned in your wet, quivering entrance.

"Yes, sir, please," you breathed a plea laden.

"I can't resist when a lady politely asks," he whispered. You gasped as his firm, velvety shaft gradually slid into you, each inch granting you waves of pleasure that surged through your body. With a gentle yet deliberate rhythm, he moved within you, heightening the sensation of ecstasy.

His hands firmly seized your soft curves, evoking a moan from you.

"You take it so good." His actions intensified, gaining speed and intensity, prompting a deep groan to escape from his lips. Each powerful thrust urged you to meet the table's edges with a rhythmic cadence. Your hands, reaching for support, unintentionally pressed against a stack of folders with papers, leading to a slip.

Surveying the cluttered table that caused your slip, he pressed his firm and broad chest against you. In one swift motion, he swept away all the papers and other stuff that he could reach, leaving the surface clear for you to confidently place your hands.

"I don't want you to get hurt," he whispered, his breath igniting warmth in your ear. Continuing his rhythmic movements, he pressed kisses along your nape, trailing a path to the sensitive skin of the curve of your neck.

"Touch yourself," he commanded, his warm breath caressing your skin. Strong hands grasped your hips, gently pulling you back to create a slight distance between your body and the table.

Your hand slid between your thighs. The synchronized moves of his thrusts and your rhythmic stimulation propelled you towards climax. Your breath quickened, and unable to restrain yourself, you reached the peak. Your knees weakened, experiencing the sensation of his warm cum filling you. Both of you stood there, catching your breath. The professor made a couple more thrusts before pulling out his tired shaft letting a few drops of white liquid fall to the floor. He zipped up his fly, and you turned to him, your both breaths still heavy.

"So could you change my grade?" you asked, running your fingers through his hair, restoring his disheveled hairstyle.

"Well..." his hand rested on your hip, "It's not quite enough..."

"What? John! That's not what we agreed on!" you protested, a slight wrinkle appearing between your eyebrows as you pouted and lightly pushed him on the shoulder. In response he smirked, enjoying your indignation.

"I just love how you look with those pretty pouty lips," John said with a soft smile, gently tilting your chin with a bent index finger.

He picked up your panties from the table and offered them to you. With a mischievous grin, you teased, "Why don't you keep them? Consider it a little reminder that I'll be going commando for the rest of the day." His smile broadened as he pocketed them, but then his expression changed abruptly.

"But, this has to be the first and last time we do this here," he added firmly, his gaze unwaveringly serious.

"John, these past six months without you have felt like an eternity," you confessed, your arms enveloping him in an embrace.

His hands tightened their grip on your back as he held you closer. "I miss you too, my sweetheart," his voice brimming with affection.

"I should have gone with you."

"It was too risky, and besides, you still had another year of studies ahead," he reasoned, his tone gentle yet firm.

"Yeah, I know, I know. And now I'm your student..." you sighed softly.

"Well, this is our new life. A safe one."

"It is. And I'm so happy, just..." you trailed off, your voice tinged with longing, "I want us to live openly, to walk hand in hand, go to the movies, just like we used to. Not sneaking around like we're some kind of teenagers."

"I'm confident we can figure something out," John declared softly, his forehead gently pressing against yours, his voice filled with reassurance

"Well, let's wait for my graduation, I guess," you whispered, feeling the warmth of his embrace.

"Now, you have to go," he cradled your cheeks in his warm hands, planting a soft kiss on your forehead. You melted into that tender kiss, savoring the moment for an extra second.

"Love you, John."

"I love you even more, Y/N."

Your lips met his for a long, slow kiss. Reluctantly, you tore yourself away, casting glance at him. His commanding gaze urging you to leave. Bittersweet ache lingered in your eyes as you closed the door behind you.

John went to his massive table, collecting the strewn papers and scattered items from the floor. He settled into his leather chair and with meticulous care, he organized everything. Satisfied with the order restored, he leaned back embracing its familiar comfort. His gaze drifted into the distance, lost in contemplation for a minute.

As he opened a desk drawer, his attention shifted from the scattered papers to a H&K pistol nestled in a holster. John casually pushed it aside, his focus then drawn to a dark blue Harry Winston box.

Carefully, he lifted the lid, revealing a platinum ring adorned with exquisitely cut diamonds arranged in a perfect circle. Nestled at the center was a stunning 2-carat square-cut diamond, gleaming with brilliance.

With a deliberate gesture, he closed the box, gently placing it back in its original spot within the drawer and shutting it with a soft click. Then, John shifted his focus to the papers spread out on the table, immersing himself in his work.

A/N: They met when the reader was 18+

#teachers pet core #love the way our reader pretends John ain’t all that while her friends go feral lolol #john wick #jw #john wick x reader

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beansricejc · 2 months

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John Wick: Chapter 2 (2017) dir. Chad Stahelski

#tag yourself #I’m him locking the door #a happening of monumental proportions #bro looks like a phone plan salesman

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beansricejc · 2 months

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Kai

#it’s the puppy eyes for me #47 ronin #keanu reeves #I still need to watch this but I really don’t wanna see him do a self bye bye at the end of it #I’ll braid his hair tho

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beansricejc · 2 months

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obsessed with keanu bots rn. it’s a nice change up from using (OOC:) all the time 💕

C.AI + J.AI BOTS

warning: j.ai bots include sexually explicit content

Vampire John Wick | c.ai / j.ai

You’re offered as a sacrifice to the vampire that lives deep in the woods outside your village.

Mafia boss John Wick | c.ai / j.ai

Your marriage was one of convenience and you’ve hardly seen your husband since the wedding. You want to try and build a relationship with him.

John Wick | c.ai / j.ai

He steals a car without realising you’re locked in the trunk.

Kevin Lomax | c.ai / j.ai

After an argument with your boyfriend that leaves you in tears, his father returns home and finds you in your vulnerable state.

John Constantine | c.ai / j.ai

After being banished from Heaven, Constantine discovers you wandering cluelessly around Midnite’s club and quickly drags you to safety away from all the hungry demons.

Scott Favour | c.ai / j.ai

Years after Scott walked out of your life, you find him when he is at rock bottom.

Jack Traven | c.ai / j.ai

Becoming a widow after Harry’s death on the line of duty wasn’t easy, especially since all your family lived so far away but Harry’s old partner from the FBI was helping you through your grief.

Donaka Mark | c.ai / j.ai

You’re so close to gathering enough evidence to finally make a case against Donaka but he makes sure to stop you before you get too close.

Conor O’Neill | c.ai / j.ai

After getting into trouble with two bookies, Conor comes to you, his ex, for help.

Tex Johnson | c.ai / j.ai

Two years after staging his own death while performing a dangerous stunt for an action movie, Tex Johnson makes an unexpected return to his wife’s life, acting as if he had never been away.

#keanu reeves #john wick #jack traven #john constantine #kevin lomax #constantine 2005 #c.ai

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beansricejc · 2 months

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In good hands

Inspired by @johnwickb1tsch's collab fic

#OMFG WE NEED MORE FANFIC ART ASAP #love all of these writers and artists we have at keanuverse inc.#gnawing at the iron bars of my enclosure #levitating rn

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beansricejc · 2 months

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juices like wine

werewolf!john wick x f!reader

synopsis: on a full moon’s night, you think you’ll be safe in this house alone with your fellow monster hunter.

warnings: monster!jw, cursing, pussy drunk activities, oral (f receiving), squirting, sniffing, watered down spec of masochism, dbf!john, age gap, dub con(?)

authors note: thx for all of ur messages, life is just too much rn and I’m attempting to keep up haha, here’s that spooky thing I promised

“Uh, are you sure this will-“

“Of course it will!” I rolled my eyes, tightening the cuffs on the iron cuffs on John’s wrists. “My dad’s book says that werewolves can’t break through iron. And his book is never wrong.”

John flashed me a skeptical look with his eyebrows raised before rolling those thin brown eyes. Hunting monsters has always been our side gig. Although, things became a little tricky when he had accidentally been bitten by a now dead furry friend, almost a month ago now. Tonight was the full moon, and there haven’t been any side effects but John insisted on taking no chances.

My partner in crime sighed, grunting a bit with discomfort as the iron restraints dig into his flesh a little.

“It better not be wrong. I won’t be able to forgive myself if something happened.”

My hand grabs his bearded and chiseled face, forcing John to give me his attention. There’s always been… tension, between the two of us. Yet neither have acted on it. He was my dad’s best friend after all, before my dad became vampire food on a job gone awry.

“Nothing is gonna happen.” I reassured him, my fingers squeezing his face a bit harder this time. John nods to himself, taking a few deep breaths. “It’s only for a night. Hell, I can just turn The Office on for you while you’re in here.”

Light hearted humor got me nowhere tonight. I’m an idiot. A fool. A fucking moron. That’s what I’m telling myself as I creep through the house on the second floor. A silver dagger in one hand, a phone in the other, with Charon on the other line, the closest Hunter in proximity to us in the state.

“His senses are better, he’s faster, stronger, you need to get out of there or just kill him.” Charon pleads. I grunt quietly.

“I can’t leave-“

A loud and bone rattling howl bounces off of the walls of the house, startling me. I froze in my tracks, cursing under my breath. I hang up the phone and slip it into the pocket of my leggings.

“You smell even better during a full moon.”

My breathing stops as I feel the breath of another behind me. I know damn well who that person is, his voice is much deeper and gravelly than normal, this isn’t him. This isn’t the John I know.

A yelp escaped my lips as two paw-like hands grab me from behind, tossing me over a huge shoulder. John’s shirt is mostly ripped all the way off, since his transformation took place under just a simple tee shirt and flannel pants.

“John! Put me down!” I shouted, legs thrashing as my fists beat at his huge back. Thud, thud, thud, it did nothing. I hadn’t even noticed that John had tossed the silver blade aside until I had tried to use it.

A deep throaty chuckle erupts from John’s mouth, right before he tossed me onto the bed of the master bedroom. I land on silken sheets as my eyes widen, experiencing John as half man, half wolf, for the first time. Fangs peek from his lips as his beard had become much more untamed and wild, even his hair is much longer and crazy.

Muscles bulge from his shirt, before he gets frustrated and rips it off with an irritated roar. The shreds of the fabric land on the wood floor, as his evolved muscles ripple over my cowering form on the king sized bed.

“Such a pretty girl. I’ve always known better than to have a piece of you to myself.” John speaks lowly, his red eyes linger over me. “But I can’t control myself tonight. I’m sorry sweetpea.”

“Wait, John, just, wait!” I know damn well it’s to no avail. His paws grab my thighs and push my legs to the mattress, as his nose buries itself in my clothed crotch. Frowning, I scream in objection but my squirming and resistance is futile. I can’t even beat John while we spar, of course I won’t even have a chance while he’s half man, half creature.

“Fuck, you’re ovulating.” John salivates and takes in a deep breath to get the scent of my cunt imbedded into his feral brain. With one tiny motion of his razor sharp claws, despite my avid protests, he sliced the crotch of my leggings open like butter.

“Hey hey hey! No! John, this can’t happen!” I stammer out quickly. John is far too heavy and I don’t stand a chance.

“Don’t worry. My cock is too big to give you right now.” John insists, dropping his pajama pants and tugging on his huge erection. It matches his insanely big body, one that I’m just realizing has been growing larger and larger ever since he began his chase.

My jaw dropped as I notice he’s got to be at least seven feet tall now, with a cock that’s about 10 inches long, but 4 inches wide. John seriously had a comically large and furry dick at the moment, and I had no idea if I should have laughed or just stayed quiet. So I picked the latter.

John drops to his knees, as both of his hands spread my thighs even further, taking a longer inhalation of the heat between them. Squirming under him, I couldn’t help but whimper and whine out of the pure tickling sensation. The feeling of his beard and nose on my folds were unfamiliar to say the least.

“John, get o-“

I stop talking and let out a moan as his big nose brushes against my clit. His long spongy tongue swiped efficiently on my folds, making them pliable enough to then plunge in a finger.

John let’s go of my thigh for half a second so he can shred apart my sleeping shirt, my tits falling out of the fabric. My nipples harden from the sudden air exposure. John growls against my cunt in response to that sinful visual. One of his paws smack my left breast, earning a gasp from me, while his tongue worked overtime inside of me.

Head like this only existed in porn, right?

Apparently not. Apparently, you can get head like this from your local werewolf.

My fingers dug at the bedsheets and also his head of messy long hair. My fingers even brush against his newly grown canine-like ears, I keep forgetting that this is only happening because John has turned. That meant, he was eating my pussy and needing to inhale my scent on pure instinct. If he doesn’t, he’d go insane. He’d lose control. Maybe even kill someone.

The mere thought of my vagina actually being the death of someone kinda has me in a chokehold at the moment.

“Mine. Mine. Mine.”

John continued to lick, suck, thrust, whatever he could to with his tongue to get my taste and scent locked into his memory. He’s even so desperate that he has managed to scratch up my thighs and stomach in the process. The cuts aren’t anything too deep, maybe a bit more than a cat claw. But I’d be in denial if I claimed the slight sting of his nails and there euphoric head I was receiving wasn’t a delectable combination.

A knot forms in my lower region, an unusual feeling. Not like an orgasm, no, this was something else entirely. I had no idea what to expect, but it sure as hell was shocking when I began to squirt all over John’s bearded face.

My cum splashed onto his cheeks and nose, even a bit of his forehead. The dribbles from my pussy coat his unkempt beard, and he catches his breath with an exhausted smile when he pulls away.

With my legs trembling and moans spilling from my mouth, I laid under his beastly frame, helpless. Exposed to my elder Hunter, it was a shock to see him as some vicious monster. My heart was nearly about to give out from the intensity of the orgasm, and from the pure shock I was still trying to comprehend.

While he collected my juices from his face and sucked them off of his fingers, my mind is racing as I wonder, is he even going to remember this tomorrow? When he shifts back, is it going to be awkward between us from now on? There’s no way he actually felt so strongly for me… right?

If he didn’t recall eating me out like it was his last day on earth, how am I going to drop that bomb? John’s hands grab my face, much like how I had a few hours earlier. His moist nose and forehead press against mine, smushing in a little. My own juices smear against my small face. John’s red eyes demand my full attention from mere centimeters away.

That same rough voice gives me a growling chuckle.

“Been waiting three years for that one, babygirl. Maybe now you’ll notice me.”

#john wick one shot #john wick #jw #john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #john wick x you #keanu reeves #john wick imagine #keanu #spooktober #spooky fic #kinktober

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beansricejc · 2 months

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𐚁֙࿐ BE MY DADDY TONIGHT.

keanu mlist.⠀ 𑇓 ⊹ ᳝ ࣪ ⠀bodyguard!con&wick⠀𝑥⠀f!reader.

synopsis: you have one job for tonight's ball: behave. easier said than done, right? well, your two bodyguards will make sure you stay in line. by any means necessary.

contents. bratty!rich!reader. bad parenting. large age gap. threesome. dubious consent. brat taming. oral (m!receiving). hate to gentle sex? double penetration (+ANAL). sir kink. slight degrading. impact play. pure filthy filth. 5.0k words.

⋆ 𓂃 ﾟ .⠀josie's little note. mentally, physically WEAK for my fav duo— this is a spin off to you can be the boss, so hopefully you guys will enjoy :3 if u see any grammar or spelling errors, no you don't ♡

“ABSOLUTELY NOT.”

“Why not?” You scoff.

“Take that off.”

You roll your eyes, looking back into the mirror, hands gently smoothing the silk covering your hips. Having people paid to stalk your every move, means you’ll always have a second opinion for your outfits. The downside is that they’re 40 year old men with zero fashion sense.

“No way,” you defend, viewing your body in every angle. The pink satin hugged your figure just right, the slit on the side exposing your smooth leg and thigh. Each mirror perfectly reflected your good side— which was every side. “This is totally, like, ball material.”

The annual Senator’s ball. The one day of the year where your father is forced to interact with you, and acknowledge your existence beyond a weekly check to your bank account. You and your family have attended every single one since you were 5, a begrudging effort to boost your father’s campaigns and image.

Family’s everything.. at least to the voters. Chin up and grin when the cameras point your way.

“Is this ball in the red light district?” Constantine snickers, earning a glare from his associate.

Your two bodyguards were spending their Saturday afternoon watching over you, as they always do. Except now at the painstakingly boring activity of shopping. Constantine and John (your original offer of calling them ‘Beavis and Butthead’ were immediately shot down), a pair of older brawny men in black suits, sat in the comically pink fluffy chairs as you tried on several outfits. As similar as the two men look, they couldn’t be more different personality wise.

Constantine was the fun one; could actually take a joke, and was more lax on the rules, but you knew it was just to irritate John. You had no clue why your father hired him, then you remember the handfuls of other guards you annoyed to resignation. Last resort.

John was the polar opposite. Total grade A military asshole. Knows what you’re gonna do before you do it. Wouldn’t crack a smile to save his life. He was the worse cop to Constantine’s bad cop.

“Find something else,” John stares blankly at you.

“You can’t tell me what to do,” you sneer. The two of you lock eyes in a silent stand-off, with Constantine just smirking on the sidelines. “It’s my money, not yours.”

“No, it’s your father’s money,” John retorts.

“And daddy dearest is gonna have our necks if we let you come dressed like that,” Constantine interjects.

“Change. Now.”

Your face scrunches up into an ugly scowl, as you march back to the dressing room, muttering profanities under your breath. Like a petulant child, you tug and try on new dresses with aggression in your movements. Damn near ripping the seams.

You come out after a few minutes in a new dress: a baby blue silk dress which reaches the floor, hiding your curves and hips. Like a Kate Hudson look-alike, the silky dress left your back exposed.

“Nuh uh,” the older man shakes his head, arms crossed.

“Oh come on!” You exclaim, turning around in a huff. “You want me to show up dressed like the Virgin Mary. Get real.”

“Yeah, John, get real,” Constantine mocks your high pitched voice.

"You stay out of this—" John shoots his partner a side eye.

“John, I’m buying this. I’m not going to that ball lookin’ like a nun,” you reaffirm, as you take one last look in the mirror. Your hands smoothing the dress down over your backside, you grinned satisfied. The soft material on your skin boosted your confidence for the upcoming night.

“Just buy the dress and let’s go,” John mutters, glancing at your reflection. Constantine smirks, whispering something to him. Your brows furrowed, but you waved your hand dismissively, your mind focused on the ball rather than their stares.

The ride to the ball was painful. Mentally at least.

You sat next to your father in the back of the pristine limousine. Your father typed endlessly away on his mobile, answering the string of emails that flooded in daily. He was a busy man, and this upcoming election only soaked up any remainder of his free time. Stupidly, you hoped he would at least talk to you on the way to the ball— a repeatedly unfulfilled hope.

“Please behave at this ball, I need tonight to go well,” Your father drawls, like he has to force out every word. Talking with you always seemed like a chore.

“I always behave,” you try to joke, but it falls flat when your father doesn’t even lift his eyes from his phone. Incessant clicking noises fill the limo, and you clear your throat, shifting to rest your elbow on the car door.

“I mean it,” he says firmly. “You will not embarrass me like you did last time.”

“That was an accident..”

The dreaded accident he’s referring to was the year prior, and the aftermath of it all nearly cost your father his win. Being a politician’s brat means your only other friends included snobby offspring of other politicians, or mobsters who shadowed them. Your then boyfriend at the time: Richard Dubois, son of an alleged mobster, was getting handsy with the Judge’s daughter. Your firey temper got the better of you, and the words “fucking bitch” left you quicker than the common sense did as you threw your drink on her.

The tabloid nightmare that followed that night almost made your father’s head explode. His furious words echoed in your mind.

“Rich brat strikes again! Party-girl daughter of the running Senator spills the gossip AND drink on— Do you see what you’ve done?!” He reads the article out loud, disdain dripping from each word. “What the hell’s the matter with you?! Jesus fucking Christ.”

“I said sorry..”

“Sorry that I cut your allowance in half,” he replies with a roll of his eyes. Your father sets his phone down, his attention briefly flittering to you. His brows furrowed, as he analyses your outfit. The crinkle in his nose marking his disapproval. “Wick and Constantine will be keeping an eye on you.”

“What?!” Your lips part. “You promised I’d get to be on my own tonight.”

“That’s before I remembered you’re a goddamn walking PR nightmare.”

You didn’t respond and he knew he had upset you. Your words were lost as you turned your face away.

“Fine, whatever,” you mumble, hiding the hurt in your tone.

“You pull any stunts, young lady and I’m cutting you off.”

You turn your head back in a shock, not registering what he just said.

“You’re damn near 21 years old, you’re lucky I loved your mother enough to not kick you out,” was the straw that broke the camel’s back. “Wick and Constantine will be keeping me up to date. If I hear a single fuck up from them, you’re done.”

Being monitored and scolded like a child greatly dampened the mood.

Not that these balls were much fun anyways.

The hall was filled with hundreds of familiar faces dressed in the latest fashion. Rival candidates, politicians, judges, criminal affiliates, and of course their children; each more spoiled than the last. There was not a single friendly face in this ball. Each man and woman walked and danced the floors with hungry hearts and dollar signs in their eyes.

Humility was a poor man’s game.

You found yourself talking to a group of girls your own age. Like most rich brats, the conversation turned to competition, each girl showing off whatever luxury adorned her body. Every sly comment or backhanded compliment from them simply bounced off you, as you had no qualms showing off your own expenses.

“My parents are taking us to Cabo next month. We’re staying at the Waldorf,” One of the girls (Aria..? Anna..? You couldn’t be bothered to remember) spoke with amusement at the “awes" coming from the other girls.

“The Waldorf? Oh that cute little place?” You chime in, sipping your glass of champagne. “I’ve been, like, 4 or 5 times already. This is your first time going?” The girl's eyes widened a little at your audacity, influenced to focus on you now. That’s the one thing you were good at: being the centre of attention. You couldn’t help it. The conversation goes in loops, everyone trying to outshine the other, and eventually your glass turns empty.

“Excuse me,” you clear your throat, disbanding from the circle. Scratching at your skin, the boredom in you grew antsier. You needed some stimulation— something remotely interesting to converse about which wasn’t the stock market peaks, or whatever Fox News was blabbering about.

A notification on your phone alerts your attention, and you check your latest message. Your group chat is filled with details about a party going on a few blocks down from here. Unable to stop the grin growing on your lips, you glance around the room. You prayed that maybe your father wasn’t serious about Constantine and John being on your ass all night. With no sight of two men in black, you make your way towards the exit of the ball.

As you walk down the halls of the ball, a hand gently wraps around your elbow.

“Where are you going?”

You were a bit taken aback at the way John holds your elbow.

“Salsa dancing,” you mock, tugging your arm back. “The bathroom, obviously.” The lie flows off your tongue like water. But he wasn’t as stupid as you hoped.

The dark eyed man looks down at you with a blank stare, as though he doesn’t believe you. He straightens his back, his hand moving back to his side. You swallow, trying to bury the goosebumps swimming on your skin.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” you raise a brow.

“Okay. Go then,” he says to you.

“Well.. yeah..” you stammer, pushing a strand of hair from your face. “I didn’t need your permission.”

John’s eyes never leave your figure as you keep walking. Pretending to head to the bathroom, you hide behind the half-wall, occasionally peeking back to make sure he wasn’t looking. Once the coast was clear, your heels clicked against the polished floors as you left the party all giddy.

The techno beat of the music, along with vibrant flashing lights stinging your eyes, made your movements only more sluggish in this dingy club. Having just entered the party, you were whisked away by some “friends” and immediately handed some shots to do.

You were merely four blocks from where the ball was taking place, and you were quite proud of yourself for slipping past your father and his Shining Twins. Not that it was a hard feat, apparently. You haven’t seen those morons almost the entire night.

You down your third shot, the liquor burning your throat deliciously as your friends cheer you on. Granted, they were just people you linked up to get trashed with rather than actual friends— but it beats drinking alone.

“Hey baby, let me get some of that,” a random male voice calls out from behind you.

“In your dreams!” You call back, earning a whistle and a few chuckles from drunk wannabe frat boys. The incessant pick up lines and cat calling rolls off your back at this point, keeping your focus on the party girls who keep taking shots and howling along to the music.

Sure enough, you lose track of time. Beads of sweat form on your forehead while you sway your hips along to the beat, dancing with your girls. Your throat almost raw from shouting the lyrics over the bass, you’re completely amiss to your phone that’s exploding with missed calls.

You’re in the middle of downing another shot when a warm presence is felt on your back. Annoyance etched on your face, realising that frat boy was back, you turn around “Look, asshole— I already said—”

“Ouch, sweetheart."

Your face falls at the sight of Constantine’s contrived smile.

“Oh fuckkkk,” you whisper, a little too loudly. “Constantine— hey— wow—”

“Wow indeed,” Constantine interrupts, grabbing your bicep. With a loud “hey!”, you slap at his tight grip as he drags you through the sea of drunk partygoers. Your anger turns to pleading then to bratty complaints once you begin reaching the exit.

“Constantine— wait— c’mon—” You try to interject. His unusually calm disposition brewed the panic in your bones. If Constantine of all people was calm— that was your indicator you fucked up. Normally you could play off your rule-breaking tendencies with some witty banter, but tonight was not the night.

As the older man hauls you out of the club, onto the chilly New York streets, you lock eyes with your other bodyguard. John stood in front of a black car, his dark suit almost blending into it. His muscular arms crossed on his chest as Constantine nearly shoves you in front of him.

“Look let’s not freak out now—”

“Get in the car,” when he spoke, it was like there was gravel in his throat. You’ve never heard such a commanding tone from him before.

You sat with your tail between your legs in the backseat of the black mustang. The air was suffocating you and slowly sobering you up, nervous chills dancing on your spine. The two men sat in the front, with John driving as always.

“I was just—”

“No.” John says bluntly.

“But I–”

“No.”

“John plea—”

“Save it,” he commands, his tone quiet but deadly. You glance up at the rearview mirror, looking to Constantine for some backup. He barely turns his head from where he’s sat in the passenger’s seat, looking back at you.

“Can’t help you here, kid,” his voice lackluster, before turning back to facing the road.

You were in for it.

“Have you lost your mind?”

The deja-vu nearly makes you sick. You were sitting in your disgustingly pink bedroom, on your soft queen-sized bed. John stood diagonal to you, in his typical stoic position as Constantine boredly spun around in your desk chair.

“No,” you retort in a duh tone. “I was just trying to have fun.”

“Ah yes, drinking and illegal substances— perfect idea of fun,” Constantine scoffs, his face in an uncharacteristic frown.

“There were no drugs!” You defend.

“Like we’re going to believe that,” John says coldly, earning a jaw drop from you. Sure you were spoiled, complained a lot, and lacked common sense— but you weren’t a liar! Swallowing, you look back up at John’s intense gaze.

“I was just having some fun— Jesus!— The ball was so goddamn boring, I literally thought I would fall asleep!”

“So dramatic,” John grumbles, his dismissive tone so similar to that of your father, it makes you snap.

“Go fuck yourself!” you huff bitterly.

“Watch your mouth,” they warned in a chilling tandem, their voices tinged with a cold edge. Your eyes widened a little at their unified scolding, causing your ego to shrink down. The chair squeaks as Constantine stands up, now joining John’s side.

“Look, I’m sorry, I snuck out,” you sigh, your apology as insincere as it gets. “Are we cool now?”

“No we’re not cool now,” John jeers, mocking your inflection. “You realise you could’ve gotten in serious trouble right?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t—”

“Because I had to drag your ass out of there. Who even let you in? You’re not even 21 yet,” Constantine’s brow stitched together, judgement filling his words. Your hands weakly gesture to your figure, the low cut dress speaking for itself. Constantine rolled his eyes, while John released an exasperated sigh.

“Your father’s gonna have a field day with that one..” John taking out his phone made your heart drop.

“Woah—woah— wait no— why are you calling him?” You stammer, jumping up from your spot. The two guards share a look before turning back to you, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Maybe because his daughter not only snuck out, but went drinking on one of the most important days of his life?” John explains, but you were well aware already.

“And so we don’t get fired,” Constantine interjects.

You opened your mouth but John was already scrolling to find your father’s contact information. Suddenly you grab at his wrist, soft pleas leaving your lips. Finally cracking through his blank expressions, he raises his eyebrows a little at how weak you sound.

If I hear a single fuck up from them, you’re done.

You couldn’t get cut off. You weren’t built for anything outside of partying and shopping.

“Please don’t tell him, please,” you ask, the mirth in your voice fading. John clears his throat, his interest clearly piqued and he lowers his phone. You looked uneasily between the two brawny men, as they awaited your next words. “Please.. I’ll do anything. I’m really sorry.”

Batting your lashes, you can see the cogs turning in their heads. You weren’t stupid. You were stupid hot–— but not stupid. Constantine’s little jokes always had some flirty undertones, and as high and mighty John says he is, you definitely caught him readjusting while you were trying on dresses.

Before John could pick his phone back up, Constantine swoops in. “Hang on a minute,” as he holds his hand over John’s wrist. “Anything?”

You bite your lip, nodding.

Constantine side eyes his cohort, his pink lips turning up from a frown into a sly grin. John’s lack of protest or offence at the suggestion only affirmed what you knew. You take a step closer, purposely amplifying the sad bambi look in your eyes. Your delicate hands resting on either chest of John and Constantine, manicured fingers toying with their ties. “It’ll be our secret..”

“Fuck,” was the weak groan that fell from John’s lips. His body betrays him, and he feels his cock twitching underneath the slacks you’re hastily working to get off. The man in black lies back against your fluffy pillows, and headboard, with you on all fours, and Constantine at the end.

Constantine sponges soft kisses from your lower hip, all the way up your spine, his hands sliding the silky dress further up and up. Meanwhile, your own hands are pulling at John’s pants, slowly tugging them down, exposing his dark happy trail.

“No bra on? Dollface, I’m shocked,” Constantine taunts. He’s knelt right behind you on the bed, his huge hands stroking your sides before cupping your pillowy breasts. You whine, looking at John through your long lashes as Constantine toys with your sensitive buds. The bearded man leans up a little, helping to take your baby blue dress off before tossing it to the side. A wave of shyness overcomes you, your naked body aside from panties being eyed hungrily by two men who want nothing more than to taste you.

Constantine pulls you up, your back pressed to his clothed chest as he pinches at your nipples. John’s gaze never leaves your flustered face, and you feel his hands on your hips. Constantine’s lips leave faint kisses on your ear and neck, as both pairs of hands grope and squeeze your soft skin.

“Isn’t she fuckin’ pretty?” Constantine’s baritone voice echoes in the shell of your ear, his huge hands still massaging your breasts. John simply chuckles, his fingers hooking the sides of your skimpy pink panties.

“Prettier when her mouth’s shut,” John muses. The cool draft hits your exposed skin as John slides your underwear down, leaving you bare and ready to be feasted on. John’s calloused finger trails your inner thigh before reaching your slit. His digit traces over your clit, gently stroking it in slow circles.

“John—” you whisper breathlessly.

“Sir,” he corrects.

Constantine pushes you back down, and your face now inches from John. The sound of Constantine’s clothes ruffling as he unbuttons his shirt, piques your excitement, and you can’t help squirming your hips.

The sound that left you was embarrassing as a cold glob of spit trickles from Constantine’s mouth down to your cunt. John watches how you unravel as Constantine’s touch, and he holds tightly onto your jaw. Your big doe eyes are forced to stare into his dark irises, and he drinks in every whimper and squeal coming from those pretty lips.

Constantine pushes his index finger into you, and you bite your lip hard. The two men chuckle quietly at your reactions, and Constantine flusters you when he comments on how tight you are. Your nails gently pinch into John’s thighs, and you feel his hand on the back of your neck.

You take the hint as your fingers pull his cock out from his slacks. Swallowing, your eyes widen a little at the size, your hand barely wrapping around the base. John’s lips press to your temple.

“Suck,” he says lowly,

“Yes.. sir..” the word drips with sin as you lower your head. Pressing pecks to his tip, you generously spit on your hand to lube his cock. John can’t hold back a groan, your pretty little hand stroking his cock while Constantine fingers you was a sight to behold.

Your mouth was so wet and warm, your lips stretched to the brim as you lowered your head even further. John’s large hand rests on the back of your head, keeping you in your place and making you gag. Your heart stuttered at the action, the near lack of oxygen filling your bones with panic and adrenaline. He only lets you up when you choke, and there’s a long clear line of spit connecting from your lip to his cock. You wipe your mouth, using the extra spit to stroke his girth once more.

Meanwhile, Constantine’s slacks dropped as well. You mewl when he pulls his finger back, leaving your needy hole empty temporarily. His pelvis pressed against you, and you felt something hard. Your eyes closed as you welcomed the sensation of his cock teasing you, collecting the slick off your weeping cunt. His tip prods at your entrance, barely filling your desperate hole.

Constantine smirks at your muffled whimpers, the obscene sounds eliciting from you sucking John off only made his own cock harder. “Daddy’s little girl is such a cockslut, who’da thought?”

“You’d do anything to not lose daddy’s money, huh? Even fucking the help?” John croons coldly, and the heat blooms in your cheeks. John’s hand tightens as it finds a home on the back of your head, his fingers pulling at your hair as he drags your mouth up and down his cock.

“Not the first time— probably the only reason the other guards stuck around as long as they did, right?” Constantine lies just to rile you up. He was not gentle as he pushed his way into you, making you gag once again. His hips rolled against you, the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room. Constantine’s fingers dug painfully into your sides, each motion of him pulling you back and forth on his cock rattled your body. Your moans and pants vibrated against John’s cock, your tongue flat against the base.

You gasp for air as John pulls you off once again, his fingers smearing the drool and cum from your lips all across your mouth and chin. Eyes shut in fear as he pats your face condescendingly. “You like being used like this, hm?” John’s tone is gentle even if his words are mean.

You nod mindlessly, hand still stroking his cock. John tilts his head to watch where Constantine’s hips and your ass meet, his cock no doubt buried deep into your sopping cunt, and John licks his lips. “Use your words.”

“I— I like—” you pant, as Constantine leans forward, pressing his now bare chest to your back. You relied on John for support, little squeals falling from your wet lips as he ruts relentlessly into you. “I like being used— yes— yes sir—”

“Oh, she fuckin’ likes it..” Constantine mocks your whines, his lips graze your ear. “What would daddy dearest think if he saw you like this? Fucking the men he pays to watch you?”

Your eyes flutter closed, mouth parted open slightly as Constantine fucks you stupid. His cock sliding in and out of you with ease at this point, as you leave a ring of white at the base of his dick.

His thrusts come to a gradual halt, his cock pulling out of you. He would be lying if he said he didn’t love the sight of you clenching around air, begging to be filled like the needy girl you are. Suddenly you feel John manhandling your hips, pulling your chest against his. He shifts his hips a little lower, lining up your sensitive entrance with his shaft. Your thighs were a trembling mess as you hovered right over him. Like a fleshlight, he lowers you painfully slowly down on him, letting you feel each inch stretching you apart.

Constantine’s lips ghost your shoulder blades and he kisses along your shoulder, his huge hands back on your breasts. You’re surprised that John hasn’t shifted once, and instead is letting himself be snug inside your warm hole.

Your curiosity turns to alarm when you feel a wet sensation on your other opening.

“No— wait— I’ve never—” your stutters were merely shushed by both men, and a sharp spank from Constantine. John’s hands hold your hips tight and Constnatine pushes you down, so you’re chest to chest with John. With a forced arch, Constantine parts your cheeks, further exposing your holes.

You squirm a little, begging for any stimulation from John’s end, but he remains completely still.

“I’ll be gentle.. Promise,” Constantine offers you reassurance in the form of a gentle hand on your back. Inhaling sharply as you feel his tip probe your puckered hole, John’s hand strokes the side of your face. Your breathing was shallow as you looked at him with worried eyes.

“Shh.. look at me,” John whispers, pulling your face close as he slots his lips against yours. This mini distraction allows for Constantine to slide in a little deeper, releasing a hiss of his own. Your whimpers of pain were swallowed by John as you stretched around Constantine. Soon enough, the two men were lodged deep inside you, and you felt full to the brim.

Tears kissed your eyes in the sudden shift in atmosphere, and with the contrasting feel of pain and pleasure of having two men inside you at the same time. Constantine kisses behind your ear, and John along your lips and cheek.

“Taking us so well, dollface,” Constantine croons.

“You’re doing so good for us, c’mon..” John whispers.

Your tears do nothing for your pain, but earn the gentle affection of John and Constantine. The pain spikes when they both begin to move in and out slowly. Your manicure digs into John’s muscular chest, and it pushes out a quiet moan from him.

Their thrusts gradually quicken, and their caring personas begin to drop once again. Constantine’s hands cup the fat of your ass tightly, keeping you spread as he oogles the way he and John’s dicks disappear inside both your holes. The two men can’t help how fucking good you feel. Like the giving gift, they will gladly keep taking.

“It hurts, hurts—” you whine softly, eyes squeezed shut as tears roll down your flushed cheeks.

“I know, baby, I know,” John hums, his words not matching his actions as he keeps moving your hips up and down. Their strokes were fast and hard, and with Constantine pressed against your back, you felt completely sandwiched between them both.

Their pants and grunts mix in with your airy, feminine cries of pleasure. They were too occupied in watching the way your ass jiggled or how your tits bounced with each roll of their hips. The spoiled little brat they once knew, was now a whimpering, flushed mess: your doe eyes all teary and lips swollen from how hard you’re biting them.

“Our girl’s making us feel so good— it’s what we deserve after the shit you put us through tonight,” Constantine pants, putting his foot up which makes his cock plunge even deeper into your ass.

“‘M sorry, ‘m sorry—” your shaky tone comes out, forcing in a painful breath as you cry, the voice of reason in your mind going right out the window.

“No more sneaking out after this right? Gonna be a good girl? Listen to what you’re told?” John coos, cradling your clammy hand on his chest. You can barely speak, so you nod feverishly. You’d agree to anything at this point.

“I think the poor thing wants to cum,” Constantine pulls your head back, and your neck cranes as you look back at him over your shoulder. He sees the fucked out gaze in those pretty irises, and feels the tension in your clench. “Should we let her?”

“I think she’s had enough,” sent relief through your body. You couldn’t even tell who’s fingers pressed against your clit, but all you know is that it made the coil in your belly tighten. The quick circles on your bundle of nerves, was enough to send over the edge, and you exhale a loud moan. The tension in your tummy snaps, as your fluttering walls tighten through your climax.

Meanwhile, your two bodyguards were still chasing their own highs, using your trembling frame like a doll at this point. You could hardly comprehend a thing until the feeling of warm, thick release filled both your holes. All three of your exhausted pants filled the sweaty, sex-smelling room, and you finally collapsed against John’s chest. The animalistic growls came to a halt as they stilled inside you.

“Hey, hey..” a few gentle pats to the face jolt you awake. A little squelch can be heard when Constantine pulls out of you first, with John following. The brawny men lays you on your back, ignoring the dribbles of cum leaking from your holes. “You okay?” Constantine pats your face, a flash of concern on his face.

You nod tiredly, eyes drooping. The mascara stained your face, and the glitter lipgloss was nowhere to be seen anymore.

“Did so well for us,” John says calmly, kissing the corner of your mouth. The stoic, cold, brute you once knew was now gently soothing your sensitive body.

“Good girl.” Your heart flipped.

“Our little secret, right?” Constantine smirks, trying to lighten the mood. Licking your dry lips, you give him a lazy smile.

“Our little secret,” you reaffirm tiredly.

Fin.

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