You’re a princess, betrothed to don John in an arranged marriage, and Jack is your loyal and devoted knight who’s secretly in love with you.
@scarlettspectra sorry I couldn’t answer your ask directly but tumblr messes with the format of the moodboard if it’s posted in a direct response to an ask idk why 😭
Knight!Jack who was once your childhood best friend, a stable boy with ambitions of one day becoming a valiant knight.
You would sneak out of your etiquette lessons to run around the meadows with Jack, rolling down hills, climbing trees and wading through narrow streams, leaving your satin gowns covered in grass and mud stains.
But as you grew, your duties increased, leaving you with precious little time to yourself and soon Jack could be no longer found at the stables, he was training with the other knights, determined to prove himself worthy of serving and protecting the kingdom… and you.
He earned the honour of becoming your personal guard and from dawn til dusk he was by your side, always ready to shield and protect you from whatever dangers might come your way.
When the time came for you to journey to Messina for your official engagement to don John, Jack reminded by your side to continue his duty as your personal guard.
Jack was stood right behind you the first time you and don John were introduced, watching closely as the bastard prince took your hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. He hated that smirk that always seemed to remain on the corner of don John’s lip and the way his eyes glinted with trickery and deceit. He didn’t like him one bit.
Jack trailed close behind while don John took you on a stroll around the palace gardens, though the prince desired to be alone with you. He gave Jack an order to leave but Jack refused, insisting he must be by your side at all times to keep you safe. Don John assured him that should anything happen, he was more than capable of keeping you safe himself and, reluctantly, Jack left with a gently nod of assurance from you. Though he didn’t go far, he made sure you remained within sight, watching as don John plucked at one of the flowers and gave it to you. He tightened his grip on his sword.
Jack didn’t know that you wrote in your diary about your childhood memories of playing with him in the meadows. Most recently you wrote about the time Jack had promised you that when he became a knight, he’d rescue you from your betrothed and you’d both run away together. You still wonder about how serious he was.
Unfortunately, don John got his hands on your diary. After reading it, he knew he had to get Jack out of the picture, he wouldn’t tolerate anyone who made threats of stealing his fiancée from him.
Don John fabricated a lie about a secret troop of invaders planning to attack Messina. As your personal guard, Jack volunteered to join don John on his mission to stop the invaders before they reached the palace.
The night before they left for battle, you met Jack and tied one of your scarves around his armour as a token of affection and good luck and you stole a kiss, praying for his safe return.
Don John, Jack and the knights under don John’s command, galloped off at the break of dawn. Once the troop had traveled a distance from Messina, don John and his knights attacked Jack, who put up a strong fight, realising this had been don John’s intentions the whole time. He tried his best, but don John and his knights fought dirty and Jack was left for dead.
Don John returned to Messina claiming victory, taking delight in informing you that your knight didn’t make it. All you wanted was to run to your chambers and cry, but don John insisted that his fiancée would not be absent while the rest of the kingdom celebrates his victory and ensured you remained by his side the rest of the night.
The following day was your wedding day, it should’ve been the happiest day of your life but you were fighting back tears as your lady’s maids helped you into your wedding gown and weaved flowers into your hair.
Then an intruder dressed in armour burst into your chamber, startling you and your lady’s maids. The knight tried to raise to his feet, but he didn’t have the strength, then you saw your scarf, still securely tied to his armour and you knew it was Jack and immediately rushed to his side.
With blood on his hands, he grasped at your dress staining the white fabric with handprints of deep crimson, as you knelt by his side trying to help him sit up but the weight of his armour made him almost immobile.
You frantically worked to rid him of the stiff and heavy plates of metal that were strapped to him, while he tried desperately to tell you something though his voice was breathy and wheezy, you could barely understand until he stilled your frantic movements by grasping your hands in his and looking you in the eye as he said:
jack traven x reader Bittersweet alternate ending AU. After escaping John Wick you move to L.A. Keanuverse encounters abound... Warnings: MDNI!!! adult situations & mentions past traumas, see ch1 for full TWs. chapter map
24 . you want a part of me? [well i'm not sellin' cheap]
Your admirer wises up, when you're never at your apartment to sign for the expensive things he sends to you.
The offerings start arriving at the shop next, and anxiety churns in your gut every time you see the UPS man outside the window.
Larry thinks this is just great, of course, and he vibrates with excitement when the packages arrive from luxury boutiques all over the city. A purse from Gucci. Shoes by Prada. Jewelry from Dolce. A dress by Valentino. They all make the elements of a beautiful outfit, but you refuse to even open the one from Agent Provocateur, throwing it in the bin with extra venom.
"I'm going to murder him."
"Why?" protests your boss, like he has any skin in the game. "You should just enjoy it, honey. The boyfriend is pretty but he can't afford things like this on a cop's salary."
Larry willfully disregards that Jack was in the shop not too long ago, asking none-too-sneakily if there were any diamond rings in the case you had your eye on. Greedy man that he is, Larry was all too happy to point a few out, whether he knew you really liked them or not. He agreed to keep Jack's secret, though not really for Jack's benefit.
"Jack doesn't need to buy me crap like this to make me happy," you grouse. Just spending an afternoon lounging in your PJs with that man leaves you full to the brim with contentedness, so happy and in love you can hardly see straight.
It's true that you enjoy beautiful things for the artistry in them, but the brand means nothing to you. You learned the hard way that luxury does not bring happiness, nor is it a true marker of a man's devotion.
"Because," you explain to Larry for the umpteenth time. "I'm in love with Jack, and I am not going on a date with Donaka Mark just because he..."
"Saved your life?"
"Jack saved my life."
"Hmm you sure about that?" he asks, like he was even there. You never should have told Larry about the high tech tracking beacon in the money, or the high speed chase via the Batmobile. (Ok, you know it was a Bugatti, but you refuse to call it that just to needle your employer.) Ok, Donaka Mark helped you out. A lot.
You're still not going to sleep with him.
Larry lets it go for now. Silly you for thinking the matter was settled.
When a nice lot of diamonds come into the shop (from rather dubious origins, in your opinion) Larry enlists Lucas Hill to help move them. You like Lucas, even if you're convinced he might be a low-key crook. You even make him smile sometimes with your insouciance behind Larry's back, which for some silly reason feels like winning a rare prize.
It's the little things that cut the boredom throughout the day…
Maybe you should have known something was up on the big day, when Lucas seemed surprised to see you in the shop so late, and asked with seeming concern if Larry was going to send you home.
"She'll be fine," Larry poo-poos. "How else will she learn the business?"
Lucas paid you a sliding look, but deferred to his partner's decision.
In hindsight, that was your cue to git while the gitting was good.
But you'll admit it. You were curious. Maybe you're not so immune to the allure of wealth afterall. Supposedly these sparkly little stones were worth over a cool million, and a part of you just wanted to see what was going to happen when it all went down.
The moment they walked in you knew something sketchy was afoot. Big men with hard eyes, scars, and tattoos peeking out of the collars of their thousand-dollar suits escorted a slighter gentleman who possessed the quiet self-possession of a tiger in the forest; totally assured that he is the most dangerous thing around for miles.
Their accents are distinctly Eastern-Bloc, and deep in your bones you start to shake.
Larry is all welcoming smiles, the perpetual merchant who smells a big sale. Lucas is cooler about it all, and you do your best to emulate him over Larry's blatant bootlicking. John isn't connected to the Russian mob anymore you tell yourself. Get it together you messy bitch.
Strangely, this harsh little pep talk helps your mental state. You're there to assist, and you do your job, distributing drinks after the men exchange pleasantries and seat themselves in the plush leather chairs Lawrence reserves for his best clients. It's your job to bring out the merchandise from the safe too, setting it all up on the low table. Then you stand in the background, and you keep your mouth shut.
It's stupid, really, the value homosapiens attributes to what are, essentially, just shiny rocks. But then when they're spread out on the velvet tray before all of you, the diamonds the sizes of bird's eggs do inspire a certain awe, a certain wonder, that even you are not immune to.
Lucas speaks flawless Russian with your guests, and translates to Larry. Sometimes he looks to you with those sad dark eyes, but never for too long, as though he doesn't want to call attention to you.
Oleg, the leader, looks at the biggest stone clasped between the tweezers with a loupe pinched expertly in his eye. You don't understand the words, but from the tone, he sounds pleased. As far as you can tell, there are no threats. No guns are flashed from beneath lined suit jackets. It's just business, and after Oleg nods a briefcase is set up on the table. Bodyguard 1 pops the lid to reveal stacks and stacks of cash neatly bunched in paper bands. Larry's eyes practically glow and flash with cartoon dollar signs. And maybe you do feel a bit of a tingle, knowing that some of the cash in that briefcase will be yours.
Funny that this isn't the first time you've seen this kind of money in one place, though it's nice this time it's not all on fire.
When the deal is sealed the tension in the room lifts considerably. You're proud of yourself that you don't spill anything when the boys request another round. Larry's top shelf will be seriously depleted after these guys are done with it.
"You too, shy girl," Oleg demands. "What's your name?"
Fuck.
"Y/n."
"Ah, pretty name! I know. We should all go out for drinks to celebrate. You will come. Yes?"
As you're opening your mouth to say you have to go home now, Larry answers for you, "Of course she will."
You don't know why you glance to Lucas, who is zero help, totally stone faced. Then you turn to Larry, who looks like he might lay an egg if you don't go along. Would it really scuttle the deal if you refuse? It seems ridiculous, but you just don't know.
"One drink," you agree, doing your best to smile with a leaden ball of dread in your belly.
Oleg grins, revealing a gold-capped inscisor that gleams like a fang. "Of course, of course. Come!"
🌆🌆🌆🌆🌆🌆🌆
You don't know why you expected them to take you to a seedy club with scantily clad women and neon lights. Maybe you watch too many movies. The bar is a swanky place with a gentleman's club vibe, at the top of one of the many skyscrapers downtown. It's all sleek dark wood and metal, low lighting, and a sweeping view of the glittering lights below.
All the little people living their little lives, while those on the top look down at them all.
You find yourselves seated in a round banquette, and an attractive woman in a tasteful uniform takes your drink orders. The conversation doesn't lull amongst the men, and where you know they're talking over your head because of your gender, you don't mind being allowed to sit quietly.
It ends too soon, when after what maybe was a polite amount of time Oleg turns back to you. "So what's your story, Miss y/n? What's a girl like you doing working for men like this?" he asks, pointing with semi-playful disdain at Larry and Lucas.
"Just lucky, I guess." Things go on in this vein, and you keep your cool, playing along while giving vague non answers. All you really want in the world is to go home to Jack, but you reason if you don't execute this with the right amount of patience you'll really fuck yourself over. You can tell Oleg enjoys this cat-and-mouse game, and you hope a little pithy conversation with a pretty girl is all he really wants out of the evening.
Yeah right.
You're saved by the waitress who brings you another drink you didn't order. "Compliments from the gentleman at the bar," she tells you, pointing across the lounge.
Frowning, Oleg turns as though he means to give said gentleman a piece of his mind from here, or maybe sic his attack dogs on them for interrupting his fun. You watch as the gangster's craggy features go from hostile to inscrutable in 0.5 seconds flat.
You follow his gaze, and your own heart skips a beat in your chest.
He salutes you with a cut crystal tumbler of amber liquid and the smirk the Devil must have offered Eve.
Somehow though…you're actually relieved to see him.
The devil you know, as the saying goes.
You do shoot a look over at Larry though, who only shrugs like the most innocent of angels.
You'll deal with him later.
"Will you excuse me, gentlemen?"
Oleg makes a gesture of go ahead, like he knows he's met a bigger, meaner shark in this ocean. Maybe that should scare you way more than it does, when you collect your new drink and make your way to the bar, climbing up onto the stool across from your savior.
"If it isn't the illusive Miss. Y/n. What interesting company you're keeping tonight," Donaka Mark says, taking a sip of his bourbon.
He's wearing one of his impeccably tailored suits that show off his broad shoulders and long legs to completely unfair advantage. Dark blue, crisp white shirt open at the collar—the picture of a successful businessman unwinding after hours. He's so handsome it aches inside, but not with regret. You like where you are in life, and you have zero intention of fucking that up for yourself, or for Jack.
"It's Larry's show tonight. I'm just along for the ride."
"Do you even know who you were sitting with?"
"Not really."
"Last I checked, your friend Oleg over there runs his own brigata for the Dvornikov syndicate."
You nod thoughtfully, eating one of the olives out of your martini. "That tracks."
"You seem to be a magnet for trouble, young lady."
"You have no idea."
"Hmm. I wouldn't be so sure about that."
This sends a tremolo of uneasiness down your spine. "What does that mean?"
"I've done some checking around on you, Y/n."
Your stomach drops like a stone.
"How rude."
"No, just thorough. Knowledge is power in my business. And you have some serious holes in your background. It's almost as if…you just appeared out of thin air, and landed here in L.A."
You swallow hard, wanting to take a big swig of your martini, but knowing you can't do it without your hands shaking.
"Maybe that's a sign that it's none of your business."
"Who are you on the run from, y/n? Despite your impressive cadre of police guard dogs, I don't think you're in WITSEC. I have contacts there."
You just shake your head, tamping down the rising tide of panic inside.
"I can help you, you know."
"I'm doing fine, thank you."
You were, at least.
"Are you? Last I saw you, you nearly got blown to pieces by a madman. Now you're unwittingly keeping company with the Russian mob."
You know you've got to flip this conversation, or it's going downhill for you fast.
"A madman you allowed to go free amongst the public at large, I might remind you. Wouldn't that make an interesting story in the L.A. Times?"
"Ha, nice try. We live in a democracy, my dear. We're not allowed to lock people up on suspicion alone. Even if you know in your gut, someday, they'll do something terrible." You can hardly hold his eyes as he says this; they're glittering black holes that would suck you in to your certain doom. Is he talking about David Allen Griffin, or himself?
"What do you want from me, Donaka?" you sigh, suddenly exasperated.
"I want you under me."
At first you're struck dumb by the shock—then stupified by a hot swell of anger and involuntary lust that this man would dare talk to you like that, your nipples tightening painfully under your layers of clothing. You can't shake the split-second feeling that maybe you look like a respectable businesswoman, but deep down you're just a stupid little whore… The absolute shame in it infuriates you, and as you contemplate what he'd do if you threw your drink in his face, his huge calloused hand covers yours on the bar.
"Ah ah, none of that. But a little gratitude would be nice."
"I am grateful," you say through gritted teeth.
"Doesn't feel like it," he scoffs. "You promised me a drink, but here I had to run into you by chance."
"Chance my ass. What did you pay Larry to ambush me here?"
When did that scoundrel even have time to call in to Donaka where you would be? He's a sneaky son of a bitch, you're learning more and more. You know by Donaka's answering smirk that's exactly what happened, or at least, some sort of backroom deal was made.
"Ambush? That's a strong word."
"It fits."
"You didn't like my gifts then?"
"I threw the last one in the trash," it pleases you to tell him. "I would appreciate it if you wouldn't send lingerie to my place of work."
He just offers that tear of a smile that makes your heart skitter in your chest.
"Nothing's out of reach for a man like me, you know. What would you like instead?"
"Nothing. I have a boyfriend."
"Yes, I know you're shacking up with SWAT boy," he practically growls, his grip tightening on your hand hard enough to make your knuckles ache.
Of course he knows. Has he been watching you? This doesn't surprise you as much as it should in this moment.
Even if your body is shaking, your voice is steadfast when you declare, "I love him, Donaka. I won't be unfaithful to him. That's it." Despite your inexplicable attraction to this man, you are not even tempted. Your love for Jack is that solid, that true. The thought of hurting him makes you wretched inside. Not happening. Not ever.
His full lip sticks out in a little pout, totally mocking you.
"What a luxury, to have such steadfast morals."
"Why do I feel like you're threatening me now?"
"Me?" He releases you, but only to brush his fingertips over yours ever so lightly. You answer by curling your hand into a fist on the bar against the butterflies that flutter across your skin. "You know, there are rules about police officers consorting with known criminals."
"I'm not a criminal."
"But you do seem to keep company with them."
"That's…going to have to change real soon," you find yourself thinking aloud.
"Oh! Does Larry know you're leaving? It might not be that simple now that you're in this deep."
You shake your head, suddenly dizzy from it all. You need to go somewhere you can think. Somewhere quiet, where this man can't see straight through you with that x-ray stare, and rile you up with his infuriating mouth. As though he senses you're about to get down from your stool he hooks his long legs in the rungs, pulling you so close you're practically in his lap.
He's strong, and that shouldn't cross the wires in your brain even more. What kind of vodka is in this martini?
"Don't go yet. We're having so much fun."
"You're having all the fun."
"I'm trying to. You're not cooperating though, as usual," he sighs.
"So sorry."
"I like you, you know. And to be honest, I don't like anyone, y/n. This has become a problem for me." How stupid are you, that for a second you almost feel sorry for this man? What you would give to know if the lonely millionaire act was real or a five-star performance. The man who has everything but someone to share it with…
"Donaka…I'm sure you could press a button and have as many beautiful women as you want to keep you company."
"I could. But none of them have a mouth like you do." He fixates on the appendage in question, and a treacherous spear of heat pierces through you. As though he can see right through you, his pupils dilate until his eyes are the shining black onyx of a shark that senses blood in the water. "Can I make an observation?"
"I'm sure I can't stop you."
"You like me too."
You give a nervous little laugh, snorting with disbelief. "That's so debatable right now."
"Oh, yes you do. Or else you would have already told me to go to hell. I can tell you're just that brazen. Foolish, maybe. But brave enough to do it."
"Ok. Sure. I appreciate what you did for us on the bus." Even if it was indirectly his fault.
"Then give me a chance."
"I. Have. A. Boyfriend."
He waves this off like a fly that annoys him.
"Have you ever been to Bali?"
"No…"
"I'm going next week. You should come with me."
"No."
"I would be so good to you, y/n." He tries to take your hand again, but you move it away. A good trick, considering how you're tangled up in his long legs, and he's leaned in so you're practically nose to nose.
"Mr. Mark…"
"I like it when you call me Donaka."
"Fine. Donaka. Once upon a time, I would have let you chew me up and spit me out just for the thrill of it. But those days are over for me. I've given up dating evil rich guys, ok?"
"Evil?" he cackles, clearly delighted.
"Yeah, it's totally your vibe, if you didn't know. It says something to me, that our friend Oleg over there is clearly scared of you."
He smirks at this. "But you're not. What does that say about you, y/n?"
"I wouldn't say that."
"I would. I make you nervous because you want me and you think you shouldn't. But that's different. So tell me about the other evil rich men you've dated, y/n. I'm intrigued."
You shake your head. "Not for a million dollars."
"I already have 4 million invested in you. What's one more?"
"As if. I'm sure your insurance covered that somehow, and your firm came out of the bus ordeal smelling like a rose. How much new business did all that news coverage drum up for you?"
You're kinda starting to hate that all-knowing smirk of his.
"Maybe it helped offset the damage of the elevator incident."
"See? There's always an angle with men like you." For some reason this is the arrow that finally hits.
You feel the change in the air between you; his eyes narrow, and he leans in close to whisper in your ear, "How's this for an angle? You realize that without me you'd be chained up in a basement in Mexico somewhere waiting for David Allen Griffin to cut little pieces off of you until there was nothing left?"
The thought turns your blood to ice in your veins.
"Sounds like you know some pretty specific details about what kind of monster he was, Mr. Mark. What did you have to cover up before you terminated him from your employ?"
"You can't play the leverage game with me, Y/n. I'll always be a step ahead of you." He's warning you that leaking this tidbit to the Times would not go well for you.
"Sure, sure. But I'm not the bimbo you think I am. You don't actually like me. You just want to tame me. And maybe once when I was younger and a lot dumber that shit appealed to me, but I'm over it now. And, I'm leaving."
You make to finally extricate yourself from the tangle of the stool rungs and his long legs caging you in, but he doesn't make it easy for you.
"Maybe you're having fun playing house with the cop boyfriend for now. But I see you, y/n. Eventually, you're going to get bored. Maybe it will take a while, but it will happen. Maybe you'll marry Traven, and you'll buy a shitty little house together, and pop out a couple of average kids. You'll be up to your ears in bills and dirty laundry and screaming toddlers and you're going to wish you took me up on my offer, but I'll be long gone."
"Uh huh. Have fun in Bali. I'm going to go home, and I'm going to make love to my boyfriend, and while I'm riding his exceptional cock I'm not going to think of you at all."
"Yes you will. Have Traven send me a thank you note. I bet you're a hellcat in the sack when you're angry."
You don't know what possesses you, to laugh at this man. But in a sudden moment of clarity you realize all he wants now is to get a rise out of you, and you decide you're not going to give it to him.
"I guess you'll never know."
Finally, it seems you've truly made him mad. You feel the temperature drop between you like an artic blast; goosepimples raise all along your arms under your blazer. He withdraws, letting you off the damn stool at last. But as you walk past he grabs your upper arm, his fingers like iron digging into your flesh as he pulls you off balance into him.
His voice is low and full of menace; somehow you know this is his truest face beneath all his masks. "I tried being nice, y/n. But I always get what I want in the end. Remember that."
You stumble when he releases you, but you don't fall. Glaring at him, you tug on your blazer, setting yourself to rights. A part of you wants the last word so badly. It would feel good to tell him that he has no idea the fires you walked through to get here, or who he's fucking with.
That you've faced worst monsters than this asshole and lived.
But maybe you have grown up a little, because with a shake of your head you make your exit, and you don't look back at any of the men who have made you miserable today.
Fuck this shit.
You're going home to the one good one in this crazy haystack of a city you've found.
TBC...
Chapter map
Our playlist so far ..... Pandora link Spotify (i finally joined the dark side 😫)
hand in my pocket - alanis morissette
6 underground - sneaker pimps
come as you are - nirvana
miss world - hole
even flow - pearl jam
wonderwall - oasis
closing time - semisonic
ready to go - republica
blood sugar sex magik - the red hot chili peppers
the way she loves me - tonic
slide - the goo goo dolls
naked eye - luscious jackson
only happy when it rains - garbage
criminal - fiona apple
all hail me - veruca salt
free fallin' - tom petty
losing my religion - R.E.M.
never let you go - third eye blind
1979 - the smashing pumpkins
sabotage - the beastie boys
trippin' on a hole in a paper heart - stone temple pilots
vow - garbage
santa monica - everclear (the anthem for this whole fic 😂)
"I think about how sweet Keanu Reeves was, and how handsome he was. It was hard, it was really hard for me, to really be serious. Like he would look at me, and I'd be like [giggling]." - Sandra Bullock
A few months later...
E: "Did you know that she had a crush on you?"
"No. She obviously didn't know I had a crush on her either" - Keanu Reeves
(Favorite Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock interview moments through the years 💝💝😍😍 )
What starts as a cozy home cooked dinner turns into a wickedly sweet seduction when Jack Traven sets his sights on dessert and it’s not on the menu. @scarlettspectra grab your man.
Jack was sitting cross legged on the floor, his back resting against the couch. His short hair was still damp from the shower and he was wearing only a comfortable pair of sweatpants.
He watched you as you moved gracefully around the kitchen, a small smile on his face.
He leaned his head back and rested it against the couch, his eyes following your every move. As you prepared the meal, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of calm wash over him. It was moments like this, just the two of you together, that he cherished the most.
After a moment, the silence is broken by the sound of Jack’s stomach growling.
Jack huffs a laugh and rubs his belly. “Can’t wait for you to finish, I’m starving.”
He says with a playful grin. You laugh and turn to look at him. “Impatient much?” you tease as you continue stirring the pot on the stove.
Jack laughs and shrugs. “Can you blame me? I haven’t eaten all day.”
He says as he glances at the clock, it’s approaching 7 pm. “Plus, your cooking is the best.” He adds with a grin. “Flattery won’t make the food cook any faster.”
You reply with a smirk and give the pot a final stir before placing it on the back burner and turning the stove off. “But lucky for you it is done.”
You say with a knowing smile. Jack grins and gets to his feet, crossing the room to come stand next to you.
“Awesome, I’m starving.” He puts his hands on your waist and pulls you close, nuzzling his face into your hair. He inhales deeply, taking in the scent of your shampoo.
You lean into him, enjoying the feel of his hands on your waist and his face in your hair. You let out a soft sigh and close your eyes, enjoying the moment.
He presses a kiss to your neck and chuckles. “I smell food.” He murmurs into your ear and you can tell he is teasing you. You laugh and give his chest a playful shove.
“Food can wait, you need to set the table first.” You say with a smirk and give him a gentle push towards the cabinets.
He lets out an exaggerated sigh and dramatically claps a hand to his forehead.
“You ask the impossible.” He pretends to swoon and puts on a theatrical voice.
“To set the table while I am famished, it is a crime against nature!” You laugh and shake your head, knowing his overdramatic nature all too well.
“Oh, quit being so dramatic. You’ll survive.” You swat playfully at his ass and gesture towards the cupboard. “The plates are right there.”
“Swatted like a common peasant.” He says with an exaggerated wounded expression. But his hand comes down to retrieve plates from the cupboard, a hint of a grin on his lips.
You roll your eyes and shake your head, trying to suppress a smile. You love his playful nature and his ability to bring lightheartedness to any situation. You watch as he sets the table, his movements familiar and comfortable in this domestic routine.
Once the table is set, Jack turns back to you with a satisfied smirk.
“There, all set. Now can I have my food?” He asks, a hint of impatience in his voice.
You laugh and give him a little nudge. “Yes, you can eat now. Go sit down.”
You ladle the food onto a plate and hand it to him. He takes the plate with a grateful smile and sits down at the table, already starting to shovel food into his mouth.
He takes a big bite and moans appreciatively.
“This is amazing. You know, I’d marry you just for your cooking skills.” He jokes between bites, the food disappearing quickly.
You roll your eyes and laugh, leaning your hip against the counter as you watch him eat.
“That’s all? Just my cooking skills?” You pretend to be offended, though your smirk betrays you. Jack pauses his eating long enough to give you a cheeky grin.
“Well, I mean, there are other qualities that make you wife material too. Like your intelligence, your patience, and of course, your looks.” He winks dramatically, clearly enjoying himself.
You laugh and give him a playful swat on the arm. You try to keep up a mock-indignant front, but the smile on your face betrays you. “You’re just trying to butter me up now.”
Jack shrugs unapologetically. “Well, it seems to be working.” He grins and takes another bite of food. He glances up at you as he chews, his gaze raking over your figure appreciatively.
Then his expression changes, curiosity sparkling in his eyes.
You notice the change in his expression and raise an eyebrow in question.
“What’re you looking at me like that for?” You ask, trying to keep the smile off your face.
He swallows the food in his mouth and sets his fork down on his plate. “I was just wondering something.” He says, a wicked gleam in his eye. You lean back against the counter, folding your arms across your chest.
Curiosity piqued, you arch an eyebrow in anticipation. “What were you wondering about?”
Jack leans back in his chair, drumming his fingers against the table as if contemplating something. Then a slow smile spreads across his face.
“I was wondering if I could have a taste of something sweet after this. AND DON’T SAY CAKE! Because I’m not talking about dessert…y’know?” He winks playfully at you.
You try not to laugh at his outburst and pretend to think about it, tapping your chin with your finger in mock contemplation. Then a sly smile forms on your lips.
“Hmmm...I suppose that could be arranged. On one condition.”
He leans forward now, his chin resting on his hands, clearly interested in your condition.
“Conditions, hm? Let's hear it then.”
You lean in closer to him, lowering your voice to a sultry whisper.
“You have to guess what flavor I have in mind. If you get it right, then you get your treat. If you get it wrong, then no treat for you.” You raise an eyebrow, a challenge in your eyes.
Jack’s eyes light up at the challenge. He loves a good game and the chance to win a special prize is too tantalizing to pass up. He sits up straighter, his smile turning more impish.
“You drive a hard bargain, but I’m up for the challenge. Tell me, what flavor should I be guessing here? Sweet, tangy, or maybe...spicy?”
You laugh at his eagerness.
“Those are all excellent guesses, but not quite right. Think a bit more specific. Something...intimate, sweet, and utterly enticing.”
You let your gaze linger on his face, enjoying the way his eyes are lit with excitement.
Jack raises an eyebrow at your description, a sly grin spreading across his face.
“Sweet, intimate, and utterly enticing, you say? Sounds like someone I know.”
He pauses, his gaze roving over your face, taking in every detail.
“Hmm...I think I have an idea of what it could be. But I want to make sure I get it right. Is it by any chance...honey?” You smile, a small laugh escaping you. The fact that he guessed correctly so quickly makes your heart flutter.
“Very good. You’re right, it is honey. You were quite quick to guess it though. Almost too quick.” You cock your head to the side, a sly smile on your face.
“It's almost like you had some kind of...inside information.”
He grins, clearly pleased with himself. “Well, I do have a certain...connection, let’s say, that might’ve given me an edge.” He stands up and pushes his chair back, taking a few steps towards you. He stands at the edge of the kitchen, his eyes locked on yours.
“You know...I do feel in the mood for some honey right about now.”
You feel a shiver run down your spine at the look in his eyes. Your breath hitches, anticipation building in the air between you.
Jack closes the distance between you in slow, deliberate steps. His smirk is pure trouble, eyes darkening with something deeper than mischief. His hands come to rest on your hips, his thumbs stroking soft circles against your skin through the fabric of your clothes.
“You know,” he murmurs, voice low and full of heat, “you didn’t say where the honey was supposed to go.” You tilt your head, playing along. “Why? Got a plan for it?”
“Oh, I’ve got plans, sweetheart.”
Without breaking eye contact, Jack reaches behind you, opening the nearest cabinet. He pulls out a small jar of honey, the golden liquid catching the light like a promise.
He dips a finger into it, slow and deliberate. Then, holding your gaze, he brings that honey slick finger to his lips and sucks it clean, his eyes never leaving yours.
You feel your knees weaken a little.
Then he grins boyishly and unscrews the jar completely.
“Your turn,” he says.
You blink. “My turn to…?”
“To paint me.”
Your lips part. “Excuse me?”
He sets the honey down on the counter and starts peeling off his sweatpants, not shy in the slightest. “You said the flavor was honey. I say we make this interactive.”
Now he’s standing in front of you, gloriously naked, muscles taut, skin warm from the shower. You hold the jar in one hand, heart thumping wildly as he leans back slightly against the kitchen counter, arms spread in a casual invitation.
You dip your fingers in the honey, and Jack’s breath catches when the first line of golden sweetness touches his chest.
You trail it slowly over his collarbone, letting it glide over the sharp line of his pec, down the center of his torso. He shivers beneath your touch, watching you like you’re some divine goddess and he’s at your mercy.
“Honey looks good on you,” you murmur, losing your breath at the sight.
“I’d ask how it tastes,” he breathes, “but I’m guessing you’re about to show me.”
You lean in and let your tongue follow the trail, slow and unhurried. Jack gasps, his hands gripping the edge of the counter behind him. The heat of his skin, the sweet tang of honey, and the sound he makes when your mouth finds the sticky path down his abdomen, it’s almost enough to undo him completely.
Without warning, he lifts you onto the counter, taking the jar from your hand.
“My turn,” he growls, and dips his fingers into the honey.
He lets it drip down your neck, then follows it with his mouth licking, kissing and sucking gently until you’re trembling against the marble surface.
“I told you,” he murmurs against your skin, “I was in the mood for honey.”
He lingers at your throat, nipping lightly as he works his way down, worshipping every inch with sticky sweet kisses that blur the line between hunger and reverence.
The kitchen fills with the scent of honey, the heat of your bodies and the breathless sounds of a night that started with dinner… and turned into dessert.
Jack pulls back slightly, eyes raking over your body, lips glistening with honey and sin. His breath is uneven, his skin flushed, chest rising and falling with barely contained restraint.
He grabs the jar again, and this time, he pours it directly, slowly onto the curve of your chest. The warm golden liquid slides down, pooling between your breasts, trailing toward your stomach. You suck in a sharp breath, your body already reacting before his mouth even finds you.
But when it does….oh god.
His tongue is hot, deliberate. He licks every drop off you with a reverence that borders on worship, his hands gripping your thighs as though anchoring himself to this moment. He groans low in his throat as he tastes you, the combination of honey and your skin clearly fucking his mind.
“You taste better than anything I’ve ever had,” he growls against your skin. “Sweet, sinful... fuck, you’re addicting.”
You whimper when his mouth finds your nipple, sticky with honey. He suckles it into his mouth, humming around it like it’s a piece of candy, his tongue flicking, teasing, savoring. One hand cups your other breast, slick and firm, while the other slips between your legs. No teasing, no delay.
You’re soaked. And when his fingers slide along your folds, gathering the evidence of your desire, he exhales shakily.
“Shit,” he whispers. “You’re dripping. Just for me.”
He lifts his honey slick fingers to his mouth, tasting you now, and groans like it’s the first drop of water after a desert drought.
Then he’s between your thighs in a blur of heat and hunger, kneeling like a man on a mission. He throws one of your legs over his shoulder, locking eyes with you and says, “Now this... this is the sweetest fucking thing I’ve ever tasted. My favorite kind of honey…”
And then his mouth is on you. Hot, wet, devastating. His tongue drags slow, flat strokes along your folds, then circles your clit with maddening precision. He moans into you, and the vibration nearly rips a cry from your throat.
You reach down, fingers gripping onto his head, pulling him closer, anchoring yourself against the spiraling heat.
He doesn’t stop. Not when your hips buck. Not when you beg. Not when your thighs threaten to clamp around his head. He keeps licking, sucking, plunging his tongue deep like he wants to consume you whole.
And when you finally fall apart, body shaking, eyes fluttering shut, a cry ripping from your throat. Jack holds you through it, his mouth never stopping until he’s sure you’ve given him everything
Only then does he rise, chin glistening, pupils blown wide, cock hard and leaking with cum..
“You ready for the main course, sweetheart?” he pants, already reaching for you again. “Because I’m not done tasting.”
You gasp, barely catching your breath as Jack pulls you up onto the counter like you weigh nothing. The cool surface kisses your thighs, a stark contrast to the fire burning inside you. You’re still trembling from the first orgasm, hips slick and thighs sticky with honey and his tongue.
“God, Jack,” you pant, voice breathy and wrecked, “I can’t—you just devoured me like you’ve been starving.”
Jack smirks as he lines himself up, his hands firm on your waist. His lips are still glistening, and that damn tongue of his swipes across them like he’s savoring every drop. He leans in, nose brushing yours, breath fanning over your lips.
“You say that like it wasn’t your idea to pour honey all over yourself, babe.”
You let out a breathless laugh, swatting at his shoulder with no real force. “I didn’t say pour it. I said a taste, you menace.”
Jack grins wide, devilishly. “Nah, you gave me a riddle. Said if I guessed right, I’d get a treat. You never specified what kind, sweetheart. So I helped myself.”
Before you can fire back, he thrusts into you with one deep, slow stroke that knocks the air clean out of your lungs.
“Jack!” you gasp, head falling back against the cupboard.
His hands tighten on your hips, holding you still as he begins a brutal, delicious rhythm, slamming into you with the perfect blend of hunger and control. The counter creaks under the force, your body jolting with each thrust but it’s the look on his face that undoes you. That mix of adoration and filthy satisfaction.
“Still complaining?” he huffs, breath hot against your neck.
You try to answer, but all that comes out is a broken moan.
“That’s what I thought,” he chuckles darkly, grinding in deeper. “Every time you look at that honey jar from now on, you’re gonna remember this. Me, fucking you so hard against the kitchen counter, you saw stars.”
You whimper, arms clinging to his shoulders, legs wrapped around his waist like he’s the only thing holding you to earth which he might be, because your body is unraveling all over again.
Then he grabs the honey jar again, tips it slightly, and lets a slow stream drizzle down between your bodies. Onto your breasts, your stomach, your clit…his cock.
Jack groans, watching the honey coat your skin and drip down over where you’re joined.
“Sweet fucking hell,” he growls. “Look at that. Look what you’re doing to me.”
He starts to thrust harder, the wet slap of your bodies louder now, dirtier, as the honey makes everything sticky and obscene.
“Gonna make you come like this,” he mutters against your ear, “dripping in honey, moaning my name, too ruined to even tease me anymore.”
And god you do.
You fall apart with a cry, nails digging into his back, body writhing as your climax hits like lightning. Jack follows moments later, groaning your name like a prayer, burying himself deep as he spills into you, panting and trembling and utterly spent.
He doesn’t move right away, just presses his forehead against yours, both of you sticky, sweaty and ruined in the best possible way.
Then you murmur with a lazy, satisfied smirk, “Still your idea.”
Jack laughs breathlessly and kisses you slowly.
“You’re never living this down, honey girl.”
Jack stands there for a moment, still inside you, chest heaving against yours, both of you covered in sweat and syrup. He brushes your hair off your face with the gentlest touch, those eyes softening into something quieter, something caring and sweet.
“You good?” he asks, his voice low and rough, still catching his breath.
You nod, too blissed out to speak just yet. He leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips, soft and slow, like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.
“You’re a goddamn masterpiece,” he whispers against your skin.
With one strong arm wrapped beneath your thighs and the other across your back, he lifts you off the counter effortlessly. You giggle, arms looping around his neck.
“Jack…I’m literally dripping,” you protest, laughing as the honey slides in slow, lazy trails across your skin and his.
He smirks, eyes dark with mischief but glowing with affection. “I know. Gonna clean you up properly.”
He carries you to the bathroom, the tiles cool against your feet as he sets you down in front of the mirror. The two of you look like something out of a dream or a porn magazine. Your skin glistens, flushed and glazed in amber gold. Jack stands behind you, just as marked up and messy, his eyes locked on your reflection.
He reaches up and turns the shower on, warm steam already curling around you both. He stands and pulls you in under the water, letting the heat wash away the honey bit by bit. The syrup melts from your skin in golden streams, and Jack watches each rivulet with fascination, his hands never leaving your body.
He lathers soap slowly between his palms, then spreads it across your back, your arms, your breasts. He kisses the slope of your shoulder, your collarbone, your jaw, working his way up with maddening patience.
He murmurs. “You taste like sin and sunlight.”
You shiver as his hands slide down your curves, soapy and smooth, then grip your ass and press you against him. His hard length is already pressing between your thighs again, hard and insistent.
Jack leans in, pressing his forehead to yours as the water rushes down your bodies. “One more time, baby,” he whispers. “Slow. Deep. I wanna feel everything.”
And when he finally pushes inside again, it’s like the whole world stops.
After a quick round in the shower, he lifts you again, his hands slick against your hips, still damp from the shower. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, your mouths meeting in a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth and gasping need. Water trails down your bodies as he carries you out, but neither of you care. You’re leaving a wet path through the apartment, and it just adds to the thrill.
The bed groans beneath your weight as he lays you down carefully. His eyes drag over your naked form.
“Jesus,” he mutters, brushing his fingers along your ribs, your hip, your inner thigh. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
You smile, pulling him down by the back of the neck. “Nah, not gonna let you die.”
He groans against your lips, kissing you deeply as he presses his body over yours. His weight against your body feels like safety.
Jack doesn’t rush this time. He slides back inside you slowly, watching your face as he does, eyes locked on yours like it’s the only anchor he has. You moan, your body arching into his, and he hisses through his teeth.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Just like that.”
His thrusts are slow and deep, hips grinding into yours with slow, deep movements. The wet slap of skin echoes in the quiet room, mingled with the sound of your breathy whimpers and his low, rasping groans.
“Feel that?” he whispers against your neck. “That’s what you do to me.”
You nod, fingers gripping his back, nails digging into his skin as he rolls his hips just right, hitting that spot that makes your toes curl.
“You’re mine,” he growls, the pace still unhurried, but now each thrust has a purpose. “I love you…god, I love you.”
“Yours,” you gasp, dragging your nails down his spine. “I’m yours, Jack..-FUCK…I love you too!”
He kisses you then, filthy and tender all at once. His tongue tangles with yours as he pushes deeper, harder now, but still so slow it drives you insane.
“I wanna come with you,” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours, his voice thick with emotion and lust. “Can you do that for me, baby?”
You nod feverishly, your body already unraveling beneath him, every nerve ending strung tight with pleasure.
He brings a hand between you, his fingers finding your clit, circling just right, his hips never faltering.
“Come on, honey,” he coaxes, voice smooth as fuck. “Let me feel you.”
You shatter with a cry, clinging to him as wave after wave crashes over you. Jack moans your name like a prayer, his thrusts growing erratic as he follows you over the edge, groaning deep in his chest as he spills inside you for the third time today.
The room falls quiet, just the sound of your breathing, your heartbeats syncing.
He doesn’t pull away. Not yet. He just buries his face in your neck and holds you like he never wants to let go.
“You,” he murmurs out of breath, “are dangerous.”
You smile sleepily, stroking his little damp hair. “You started it, remember?”
He lifts his head just enough to meet your eyes, that grin returning. “Yeah, but you’re the one who said ‘honey.’ So it’s basically your fault.”
You laugh, and he kisses the corner of your mouth.
How Jack would have started off as the good, dutiful, ideal SWAT officer that he is and then things went downhill and took a darker turn.
So, we have him as Tom Ludlow?
I know, doesn't make sense. But...well, tragedy struck, he turned completely disillusioned and maybe with some high ranking and powerful syndicate behind him, he has to play dead?
Remerges as Tom Ludlow in LAPD, with some backing from one of two most trusted colleagues? Why does he have anger issues and a drinking problem? What if he's traumatised within?
So as Tom he has everything he needs to dismantle the syndicate.
But a problem, Captain Wander turns out to be corrupt, and while captain/chief James seems much better, can he be trusted? Tom (Jack) doesn't know.
So he secretly shakes hands with an unlikely ally Richard Ramsay, a criminal defense lawyer?
But why is Ramsay helping him?
@johnwickb1tsch it's YOUR FAULT! My brain won't shut up now.
Jack Traven, Professor of Criminology and Criminal Justice. 🚎
After years of working for the LAPD, he now works instructing the next generation of criminal justice majors. He has a reputation for being the kind-hearted professor that has a hands-on approach to his different lessons.
Requested by the queen: @scarlettspectra 🖤
Thank you to @pointbreakvhs for helping me with this edit 🤍
My other Keanu Professor edits can be found here.
If anyone has any requests for specific Professor Keanu characters, I am open to them! 💙
