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leighsartworks216 · 6 months

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No Alarms and No Surprises, Please

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

I had this idea and decided to write it "real quick" (it took like two hours). I meant to do just like a really short thing so I could eat lunch and then get back to work, but then my brain was like no we gotta set up context

Titled after the song "No Surprises" by Radiohead. It doesn't exactly fit, but it felt right in my mind

Warnings: mentions of murder, tense moments, injury, burning flesh, bruises, bones breaking, blood mention, nausea mention, angst, literal hurt/comfort, soft Astarion moments

Word Count: 1,863

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

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You peeked slowly around the corner, holding your breath. Astarion hovered just behind you, almost touching you as you both surveyed your surroundings.

It was a palace, that much you knew. You also knew the guards were exceptionally strong. You already wasted enough healing spells and potions on the two guarding the door - you were just lucky they didn’t call for reinforcements. You also knew there was an artifact deep within the heart of this place that could provide some insight into removing the tadpoles.

“We’ll have to go around,” you breathe out slowly to the spawn. He gives a slight nod. As much as he loved bloodshed, sneak-killing all of them would be too high a risk. You almost came face to face with him when you look over your shoulder. He gives you a knowing smirk as he backs off. You nod down a side-hall. “That way.”

You gesture to Gale and Shadowheart, making sure they knew the plan. They nodded, waiting. You turn back to the patrolling sentinels. Their movements are constant and predictable, each pace following the same amount of steps. They sync, facing away from your destination, and you wave a hand for a companion to go.

Gale, ever the gentleman, lets Shadowheart go first. She hides behind the wall, out of sight. You wait again and gesture for Gale to go. He bites back complaints about his knees that creak under the duress of sneaking. He arrives just as a guard turns. Astarion could hear your heart thumping wildly in your chest; it pounds so loud in your ears you can’t even hear the guards’ footsteps anymore.

He wraps a hand around your waist, carefully pulling you away from the corner. You stare at him, worried he’s noticed something wrong. He nods toward the hall where your companions wait. “You first,” he whispers.

You want to argue - he can see the wheels turning in your head as you frown at him. As the de facto leader, you always worked to ensure everyone else was safe before you. You rested a little easier knowing you’d be the one in harm's way should something go wrong. But Astarion was a rogue, and used to sneaking around to boot. He would be much better at timing his dash to the hall than you could.

After a moment, you nodded. He pushed you back to his prior spot as he takes your place, poking an eye around the corner and studying them. He thought you’d die of a heart attack if this went on any longer. When the guards turn, he taps your waist. You crouch as quickly as you can to Gale and Shadowheart. They greet you with a tense nod.

You wait in silence for Astarion.

He almost spooks you when he comes silently around the corner. But now, further from the immediate threat, you have a chance to breathe.

The hallway stretches on for what seems like forever. Closed doors and open arch-ways line each side, perfectly mirrored. At the end, there’s a very small statue - but you’re sure it’s life size up close. The prospect of a maze with the ever-looming fear of getting caught doesn’t exactly thrill you, nor any of your companions, but nothing can be done for it.

You sigh and lead them onward.

It’s too risky to peek inside the rooms - if there were patrols inside you’d all be jumped and killed within minutes. At each arch, you glance around the corner, down the other equally as endless corridors. It’s oddly quiet. Not a guard in sight, even on grander doors that seem like they should be protected. It leaves you on edge. Waiting for the boot to drop and leave you in mortal peril. At the very least, you feel safe enough to stand up. It saves you from Gale’s grumbling.

You peer around another corridor and try to imagine the layout of the palace. You’d found a map once, but it was too tattered to make anything useful out. The most information you gleaned from it was where the staircases were. If you could find your way to one of those, you’d be able to go down, deeper into the belly of the beast. You believe, if your slipping memory of the map was correct, you could turn down this way and go all the way to the end, and there would be stairwells on either side of the very-tiny-life-sized-statue.

Resolved to your plan, you step through the ornate marble arch. You feel the pain before you register where it’s coming from. You collapse to the floor, cushioned only by a strong arm and solid body. A hand clamps over your mouth, pressing down tight to keep any sound from slipping through.

Oh. That breathless tightness in your chest is not from the pain. It’s you screaming. Trying to, at least. Your eyes dart frantically around as your body writhes against the person holding you. Gale and Shadowheart appear in front of you, kneeling down and working as fast as they can to help.

One of your legs feels weighed down. You stare at the chunk of metal for too long before it finally registers the trap clamping down on your leg. It looks and acts like a bear trap, but it’s been improved to burn red-hot when activated.

Fear grips you like a vice. You become conscious of the fact the teeth of the trap are almost meeting. It’s bitten through your bone. Or nearly through, anyway. You didn’t process it, too busy being victimized by the sadistic mechanics of the device, but Astarion, Shadowheart and Gale all felt nauseous as the crack continues to echo in their mind.

“Shh,” comes a whisper by your ear. You whimper and gasp and struggle, but the arm around your waist only re-wraps around you to pin your arms down. “It’s alright, I’ve got you.”

Astarion looks away from your injury, peering down the halls. The sound of the bone snapping was loud enough to attract attention, he just didn’t know how much, or when they’d be coming. Not to mention where they’d come from. For all he knew, their luck had run out, and any second a swarm of golden-armored bastards would be charging down the hall they were in.

“We need to get out of the open,” he hissed to the cleric and wizard.

Gale cast an ice spell, focusing all his energy in freezing the hinge of the device. If he could get it cold enough, it would become brittle, and they could dismantle it and pull it from your leg like cracking open an oyster. Shadowheart focused on healing the burns being inflicted to your skin as they were happening. It smelled uncomfortably like meat roast. Your blood vessels were cauterized. Astarion could hardly take solace in the fact when the usually-delicious scent of your ichor was replaced with the smell of cooking flesh.

“We can’t move them yet,” Shadowheart whispered, barely biting back her panic. She couldn’t keep healing you forever.

Gale grunted, brow furrowing further as he willed the ice to freeze faster, freeze colder around the metal.

Astarion felt useless, watching and unable to help. Holding you while you thrashed in agony was all he could do. He hoped to the gods he wouldn’t reveal a bruise over your mouth when this was finished. “I’m here,” he whispered sweetly in your ear. It was all he could think to do. “You need to keep still, love. It’ll be over soon.”

The words didn’t reach. You knew he was speaking when his breath fanned over your ear, but the speech-centers of your brain were thoroughly turned off. As were any of the logic-centers. Anything that could have told you they were helping, to calm down and stop moving, was replaced instead with klaxons and sirens urging you to struggle and fight back against the pain.

Footsteps. Loud and clanging. Getting closer. Astarion cursed. “We have to hide,” he hissed again, panicked.

There was no time to argue. They all seemed to have the same idea as Astarion pushed himself across the floor with his legs, pulling you with him. Shadowheart and Gale stopped casting in favor of moving your legs, as carefully as they could possibly manage. Hot tears slipped over Astarion’s hand as you thrashed violently with the motion. But now, at least, you were tucked into a corner. Hidden behind a pillar that framed the arch of the hallway. Everyone held their breaths. You didn’t catch the memo, but the spell-casters held your legs down so you wouldn’t make as much noise.

The clanging of armor rose in volume until the echoes through the corridors nearly deafened everyone. You momentarily stopped fighting. Though, Astarion couldn’t tell if it was because the sound had reached past your pain, or if your body was giving out under the duress.

The steps - 3 guards, if Astarion had to guess by ear - slowed from a run to pacing the juncture of the halls. They circled around, stopping occasionally. One set of steps stopped mere feet away. If Astarion leaned forward slightly, he could make out the point of a nose. Shadowheart and Gale slowly pressed themselves back into the shadow of the pillar.

Something touching his hand startled him. He had to fight not to physically jump and draw attention. A hand, your hand, rested weakly over his. He let go of your arm and turned his hand to hold yours. He could feel you whimper in his hold, the shake of your breaths as they hit hot against his hand. You were scared. He was, too.

He squeezed your hand and looked back at the pillar. The steps hadn’t moved. The sentry was still there.

Seconds ticked away at a snail’s pace. They all worried for a moment the guards had chosen to stay there and patrol the intersection. Then the sentinel stepped back from the arch. More footsteps followed. A pause. He could only imagine they were silently saying they did not find anything. And then the cacophony of armor drowned out any last doubt as they retreated back down the hall.

They all let out sighs of relief, even Astarion who had no need for air. He turned his focus back down to you. Your eyes were shut, your breaths were evened out. You’d fallen unconscious. It was a small mercy.

“Hurry up so we can get the Hells out of here,” he huffed. Shadowheart and Gale nodded, equally as eager to get back to safety, and returned to work.

Astarion slowly removed his hand from your mouth. Light bruises where his fingertips had been began rising through the surface of your skin. He sighed, upset at the pain he caused even through necessity, and brushed a tender kiss over the darkest of the bunch. He was too overwhelmed with relief to care if the others saw him. “You’ll be alright,” he whispered again, even though they did not reach you. He was reassuring himself more than anything. It would have been pathetic, if he could think about anything other than your wellbeing. “I’m here, darling.”

---

Tag List:

@hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171 @katharynmarie @twinkliker3000 @cherifrog @catching-fire-in-the-wind @thespectacularspaceace @lynnlovesthestars

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saintlaurentisms · 3 months

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hi my love! been obsessed with the fictional club scene recently; was wondering if you could write me a quick smutty club bathroom/dancefloor blurb!!! have fun with it, i love ya <3 :3

fulfilling the fantasy.

A/N: i had so much fun writing this, holy shit. this is dedicated to all of the harry & ashton fans in the world (and on the internet!), i see you and i believe you have taste.

gif credit.

summary: in which, you and your boyfriend go out to celebrate a successful first tour gig and the adrenaline seriously heightens emotions. ~ featuring ashton irwin of 5 seconds of summer.

content warning: smut (semi-public p-in-v sex in front of a mirror, voyeurism, threesome (???), dirty talk (degradation + praise), oral sex (male receiving), some hair pulling, daddy kink.) this work is intended for those 18+ and should be read by mature audiences only.

word count: 2.7k+ words.

The post-concert adrenaline hadn’t wavered in Harry’s veins, that much was evident. When you looked at him, all you could see was the radiance of energy and purity of happiness; evergreen in his eyes, the rose color in his lips, the blackness of ink that shone underneath the arctic hues of blue and white in the nightclub you and Harry had ventured to in the darkness of the evening. It was risky going out, especially at a time where One Direction fans were probably having their own adventure, still riding the high of seeing their favorite band perform live, but you nor Harry seemed to care.

Tonight was all about him, all about celebrating a successful first show and the beginning of the On the Road Again tour. The rest of the boys had preoccupied themselves with their own forms of fun, leaving you and Harry by yourselves. Upon entering the venue, you beelined towards the bar, your hand in Harry’s with your heads bowed to try and keep your identities a bit of a secret. You’re in the middle of ordering a round of vodka shots for you both before you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder. You turn your head to get a glance at who could have tapped you, though you’re already suspecting it was a fan.

You were wrong.

“Holy shit, Ashton?” You exclaim, eyebrows furrowing at the man in front of you. Harry’s eyes widen a bit at your words, turning his body fully to face the drummer, abandoning the bartender and the prospect of alcohol. It had been a while since you’d interacted with Ashton in person, only really communicating via text or video chat since you last saw him a year ago. Of course, it had been far longer for Harry; One Direction had 5 Seconds of Summer on tour with them in 2013 and 2014 and they all grew quite close during that time, but their communication had fizzled out due to how busy both bands became.

“I knew it was you!” Ashton grins, hazel eyes glimmering with excitement as the pair of you take each other in. The buzz of chemistry between you and the Australian was palpable – palpable enough for anyone to notice it, including Harry.

Harry’s lips twitch up into a small smile at the interaction taking place in front of him, yet an ugly, gnawing feeling in his gut is slowly beginning to grow; he knew you were attracted to Ashton when you’d met back in 2013 and that Ashton reciprocated those feelings once you both had gotten to know one another. However, you and Harry had just begun dating and knew that nothing would come of your little crush on the drummer. Still, a deep-seated insecurity nestled its way into his bones and, apparently, hadn’t quite left.

Maybe it was the adrenaline coursing through his veins, but the unsettling amount of jealousy your boyfriend was beginning to feel made his evergreen eyes go emerald; hard, darkened. “We’re celebrating tour,” Harry cuts in, instinctively wrapping an arm around your shoulders, “the first show was earlier on.”

“Yeah, I heard through the grapevine,” Ashton replies playfully, “Niall. Niall’s the grapevine. He asked if the boys and I could catch the show, but we were busy. Will you be in Australia for a bit?”

“Yes! Yeah, we’ll be in Australia. 1D has shows in Brisbane and Melbourne.” The words tumble out of your mouth and it sounds as though you’re a walking advert for your boyfriend’s band. Clearly, Ashton finds it cute because he’s chuckling at your unfiltered enthusiasm the minute you stop rambling.

“Well, it was great to see you guys. I didn’t mean to intrude.” He smiles, though his words are a slight dig at your boyfriend; Ashton could tell Harry’s guard was up and the jealousy that he exuded was crystal clear. At least, it was to him.

You, on the other hand, were too wrapped up in excitement to truly take note.

The drummer leaves you and Harry at the bar, going back into the atmosphere of the club. You spot him joining a group of friends at a table. Part of you wishes he’d stay and chat more, but the evening wasn’t about socializing, it was about basking in the glory of your popstar beau.

Everything seems to return back to normal; you turn your attention back to the bar and order that round of vodka shots for yourself and Harry. The two of you are two shots deep before his gaze falls on you, “D’you want to fuck him?”

You choke on the alcohol, sputtering slightly with wide eyes at the incredibly unexpected question. “W-What? What the fuck are you- are you talking about?” You speak between breaths, trying to regain composure. Harry wasn’t usually so direct, this only happened whenever sex was involved, so why he was so upfront confused you a bit.

“Do you want to have sex with Ashton?”

“Harry,” You look at him incredulously, “don’t be ridiculous. No, I don’t want to sleep with Ashton.”

“Don’t lie, Y/N. You’ve always fancied him, we both know that.”

“So what? I’m with you, I love you. Want you, not him. It’s just a little celebrity crush, H. You know I’d-”

“Darling,” Harry interrupts with a chuckle, amused by your immediate instinct to reassure him that you’d never entertain infidelity. He knew how committed you were to him. “S’ not what I mean. I know you wouldn’t cheat on me. M’ askin’ if you’d ever thought about fucking him.”

You weren’t sure whether to be truthful or to set aside your feelings. On one hand, he was only asking you if you’d thought about it or had ever fantasized about it, yet on the other hand, a part of you was sure that if you answered with the truth, he’d get angry with you. However, Harry had never been the type to get angry over honesty. In fact, he preached being truthful.

“I’ve… thought about it, yeah. It isn’t really a fantasy about him fucking me, though. It’s more- well, it’s more about you and him.”

Your boyfriend blinks, “A threesome?”

“Kind of? I- I guess you could describe it that way. You, uhm.. You take turns.”

At this, the popstar is silent. His eyebrows knit together as he thinks for a brief moment.

“We share you.”

You cringe at Harry’s words. The lewdness of his sentence lingers and makes you feel queasy, “When you put it like that, I sound like a slut. I hate how that sounds.”

“Baby, there’s nothin’ wrong with wanting to explore having more than one sexual partner. ‘Spose it is a threesome you’re wanting. I…” He trails off, pearly teeth nibbling at his lower lip as he starts to think deeply once more, diving head first into the depths of his head.

“Yeah?” You coax, eyebrows raising slightly.

“I’ll be honest, m’ a bit jealous about it- the idea of another man takin’ you. But, if it’s just a one time thing, I think I could be okay with it.” Harry replies sincerely, green eyes meeting your own briefly. “One night only, the two of us makin’ you ours for an evening.”

Those words go straight to your core and your brain begins to conjure up filthy images of Ashton and Harry taking turns pleasing you. Your thighs squeeze together in order to quell the heat beginning to bloom in between them. “Please?” You ask quietly, gazing up at your boyfriend with faux innocence; a little look like this tends to send Harry into dominant overdrive.

He smirks, “Text him and tell him to meet us in the bathroom, love.”

Within eight minutes, Ashton is tapping on the club’s bathroom door before swiftly entering and locking it behind him. His hazel eyes glance over at Harry, then at you. “Are you sure about this?”

You’d texted the drummer about the situation when your boyfriend had told you to, not leaving any important details out of it. It was made clear: you, Harry and Ashton, fucking in the club’s bathroom. The only opportunity you’d ever get to have both of the men you deemed incredibly fit and had the most chemistry with.

You nod confidently, “I’m sure, I promise.”

Like a switch had flipped, Ashton’s gaze meets Harry’s again, but there’s a haze in it; his once bright hazel eyes are clouded with desire. Some silent conversation is had between their eyes, maybe it’s both men agreeing to the terms – whatever it is, they both exude an aura of dominance that has your heartbeat increasing. You’ve never wanted to be on your knees this badly before.

The feeling of Harry’s lips brushing against your ear brings you out of your reverie and a short gasp leaves your lips as they trail downward and press a deep kiss to your neck. Ashton walks forward, one of his hands cupping your cheek as he brings his lips to yours, sealing your fate.

The affair becomes a blur of quick movements and kisses shared as time progresses. The soft clink of belts being unbuckled and heavy breathing fills the room when you’re finally brought down to your knees, eyes feigning innocence as you look up at Ashton. His hand is wrapped around his cock, the tip of it right at your lips.

“Go on, baby. Show Ashton how much of a good little slut y’ are.” Harry encourages you, leaning against the sink with his hand tugging slowly at his length. Without much else, your lips wrap around the drummer’s dick, your head bobbing up and down in order to take more of it in.

“Fuck,” Ashton swears through gritted teeth, his free hand weaving itself into your hair, gently guiding your movements, “so good, doll. Keep goin’ just like that for me.”

You do, you allow him to guide your movements with each tug on your hair, furthering his cock into your mouth. It’s sloppy; tears are welling in your eyes whenever he hits the back of your throat, your saliva is coating his dick and your chin. “She’s such a slut for it, Styles. Damn, you got lucky.” Ashton groans low in his throat, which makes Harry smirk.

“Bet you’re absolutely dripping, aren’t you baby? Adore being used, don’t you?” Your boyfriend taunts you, evergreen eyes watching you suck off his friend. All you can do is look at him as validation for his statement.

Ashton’s fingers wrapping in the strands of your hair becomes slightly fiercer, pulling and pushing your lips up and down his length as he chases euphoria. “Fuck, I’m close.” He warns, hazel eyes shutting as he tries his damndest to hold on for just a bit longer.

Your eyes flit towards Harry, who’s still watching you give Ashton a blowjob, his hand tugging at his cock lazily. A devilish grin has throned itself upon his lips, “Cum for her, Ash.”

The drummer’s fingers twitch momentarily, then still. A guttural groan leaves his lips as his head tilts back and his cock throbs in between your lips, emptying himself into your mouth. Eagerly, you swallow what he gives you – and it’s a lot; thick streams of cum paint your tongue white.

Ashton pulls away from you once his cock starts to soften, tucking himself back into his trousers and gently helping you up from off your knees. “That was- shit, that was really fuckin’ good.”

“I- uh.. I’m glad you enjoyed it.” You reply a bit bashfully. “Now, do you mind if Harry and I…” You trail off, hoping he’d take the hint that you wanted to be alone with your significant other.

Thankfully, he does. Ashton turns to look at himself in the mirror above the sink, straightening himself out before saying goodbye to you and Harry, then asking your boyfriend to text him. He unlocks the door and disappears into the club.

You make quick work of locking it once more, then face your boyfriend. Harry gestures you over to him and the minute you’re standing in front of him, both of his hands grip your waist. He wastes no time in undressing your lower half and bending you over the sink, one of his hands reaching to pull at your hair so your eyes are focused on your reflections in the mirror. He’s being rough, but you hadn’t expected much else; whenever he got really aroused, his dominant side would peak significantly.

“Did you like having Ashton’s dick down your throat, darling? I know you did, I can feel just how wet you are.” He teases you, the head of his length pressing up against your entrance. “I think you enjoyed it a bit too much, Y/N. D’you need to be reminded of who you belong to, baby?”

You swallow thickly, eyes meeting his through the mirror, “Yes.”

“Sorry? Didn’t quite hear you, love.”

A shaky sigh leaves your lips, “Yes, Daddy.”

The feeling of Harry’s cock stretching you out overwhelms your senses, your nails claw at the sink as he bottoms out. “Have to be quick,” He grunts as his hips start to move, thrusting in and out of your dripping pussy at an unrelenting pace, “but I’ll make damn sure you know who you belong to once m’ finished.”

You can’t speak, your lips are parted as heavy breaths and choked moans roll off of your tongue as your boyfriend takes you. Harry’s right hand finds your clit, the pads of his fingers start toying with the sensitive pearl. “Look at you, takin’ my cock like the perfect slut that y’ are. Should fulfill more of your fantasies if this is how bloody good you’ll be.” He growls in your ear.

“Yes- yes, please!” You mewl, the prospect of exploring more of your desires with the man that you love makes you more aroused, your pussy clenches around his cock at the thought. “I- I love being your p-perfect little slut.”

“I know, angel. So fuckin’ perfect f’ Daddy.”

A whine leaves your lips, “God, Harry, I’m gonna cum.”

“Not before you tell me who you belong to, baby.”

Another whine leaves your lips; he’s playing a game with you and if you don’t obey the rules, you won’t get to orgasm. You need to orgasm.

“Yours, Harry. I- I’m all yours.”

He gives a particularly rough thrust and his teeth scrape at your ear, “Who’s pussy is this?”

You gasp, “Yours.”

“That’s right, angel. Now you can cum f’ me.”

Harry’s fingers on your clit continue to rub quick circles, his eyes fixated on your features twisting up in pure ecstasy as your orgasm hits you hard; jaw slack, eyes pinched shut, pussy throbbing around his cock.

The feeling of you squeezing around him like a vice triggers his own orgasm. He buries his face into the crook of your neck to muffle the loud groan that reverberates in his chest, his stomach clenching as he empties himself inside of you.

“Holy shit.” You chuckle breathlessly as your orgasms begin to dissipate. Harry’s hand falls away from your clit and he gingerly begins to pull out of you, eyebrows furrowing a bit at the feeling.

“Are you alright?” He asks, helping you steady yourself as you straighten up.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m alright. I do have a question for you,” You begin, just as you both start redressing, “were you being serious about fulfilling more of my fantasies? Or was that the testosterone talking?”

Harry grins, “Definitely not just the testosterone. We’ve never actually discussed what sexual fantasies you’ve had.”

“Do you have any?” You ask curiously, quietly wracking your brain for a possible answer he might give.

“Not very many, but I do have a few. Don’t think we should begin discussing them now, darling. We’ve been in here for a long time.” He replies, taking a quick glance at himself in the mirror, then wrapping an arm around your waist.

“Right,” You giggle, “we should go.”

Harry reaches to unlock the bathroom door and leads you back out into the club, the both of you exiting with smug expressions on your faces and one shared thought…

If this was only one of your fantasies, what else could you both explore?

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jonahfagnus · 5 months

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Every few centuries or so, each Dread Power selects a Messiah. Not at the same time - they’re often staggered over decades, and a Messiah will frustratingly frequently die of mundane causes long before anyone notices them. Worse yet, Messiahs can go their entire life unnoticed, odd enough to off-put their peers but not enough for their kin to take notice.

To find the Messiah of one’s god is a grand achievement. Finding Agnes Montague had brought the Lightless Flame great power; new strength, new devotees, new rituals. It had been so much that Gertrude had felt the need to temper Agnes with her own soul. The Desolation won’t get over that for a very long while.

Jonah has spent his entire life seeking the Eye’s Messiah. It has to be soon - it’s been two centuries, and he’s certain that there was no Messiah when he was alive. The timeframe is perfect, and yet he cannot find anyone. He checks for incidents related to the Eye, keeps note of artefacts trading hands, but nothing. Whether his god’s Messiah simply died as a child, or was swallowed by another power, the search is endless, and yields no results.

This is why it’s so surprising when Jonathan Sims walks into his office for an interview, and makes eye contact with him - ordinarily this would make people uncomfortable, but Jonathan is mostly content in the Eye’s stronghold. Jonah knows, immediately, that this is the one. This is who he has been searching for his whole life.

Jonathan’s Gaze is rather weak, and wielded bluntly. He wouldn’t be able to force any measure of knowledge out of Jonah right now, but it’s surprising he has any Gaze at all. Just more proof that he was made for their god.

Jonathan has found that people become uncomfortable when he makes eye contact with them, and that discomfort can be used to get things he wants; he’s used it to convince teachers to give him better grades or an extension on his work, to convince his peers to leave him be, to convince well-meaning adults to turn a blind eye to his breaking and entering, his trespassing, all the little crimes to satisfy his endless curiosity. There’s no need to intimidate now, of course. The moment he decided to come in for the interview his fate was sealed. He is meant to be here, and always has been.

Jonah reaches a hand over the table and does not break eye contact.

“Elias Bouchard,” he says, voice confident and smooth. On the inside, he’s a bundle of nerves. If he isn’t careful, he could drive Jonathan away from the Eye, perhaps forever. Such a failure would not be forgiven.

“Jon Sims,” Jon returns, seeming equally calm. Jonah’s still debating whether or not to look inside his head. It would be exceedingly useful, but if Jon notices it could be disastrous. He has no idea how Jon would react. The Lonely almost drove away their most recent Messiah by trying to bring him in too quickly, and Jonah cannot afford the same to happen with Jon. There is the chance Jon would notice, and realise that Jonah is like him, and decide to stay. Too risky, perhaps.

Jonah doesn’t pay much attention as they go through the typical rigamarole. None of these questions are necessary. Instead, he does his own research on Jon, the sort that doesn’t require reading his mind.

He Knows that all of Jon’s peers had warned him away from the Institute when he had brought it up, and that Jon had lied to his flatmate about the interview. He has no other job prospects lined up, and still can’t justify the decision to himself. It simply feels right. He Knows that, despite his machinations, Jon’s grades are less than perfect. Like much else in his life, Jon is worried about it, partially because he is innately anxious and partially because he’s worried that he won’t get the job.

He Knows that Jon (much like Jonah in his youth) prefers to find what isn’t already known. He finds education too boring, too easy - he can find what his teachers have told him in textbooks, or online courses; quite often he finds he already knows it, although he can't say from where. What he wants is the sort of knowledge that is coveted, hidden, and he has a particular taste for any knowledge of the supernatural.

He Knows that Jon has uncanny senses - having been able to detect teachers long before their footsteps began echoing down the halls - and some of his peers used him as a watchman when getting high or drunk, or breaking into offices to find answer sheets. He Knows that Jon enjoyed being the watchman, for reasons he can’t quite place.

Their god's influence has already spread deep into Jon, into the furthest reaches of his soul. Jon has the ability to compel (although this, like his Sight, is weak and wielded bluntly - Jonah will have to teach him better), and he craves knowledge like he craves blood in his veins. His memory is uncanny, his eyes uncannier. He couldn’t be a better Archivist.

“When can you start?”

Jon blinks, in surprise.

“Oh- er, well, I- ah, next Monday, I suppose?”

“Fantastic,” Jonah says, giving him a grin. They shake hands again, and then Jon is leaving. Jonah Watches him, all the way home, to where he tells his flatmate that he got the job, where he begins to make preparations to move out. Jon casts glances over his shoulder when he thinks nobody can see him, although he can’t tell from where he’s being watched. Yet, despite the anxiety (and excitement) it causes, he makes no move to hide himself.

He’s going to be perfect. Jonah will ensure it.

323 notes · View notes

fuckyeahdindjarin · 10 months

Text

VIII ║ Silver Pony

Jack Daniels x f!reader

{ Part 7: Fleabitten | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 9: Warmblood }

Rating: E

Summary: And just like that, your week at the Statesman Ranch comes to an end, leaving you grappling with the prospect of saying goodbye to Jack.

Warnings: Mentions of food and cooking, angst, feelings, grief, flirting, insecurities, very light soft!dom overtones, sexual innuendoes, risky unprotected sex (wrap it up, kids!), dirty talk, language, no use of Y/N

Word count: 7.5k

Notes: Here we are, the penultimate chapter of Palomino. I had the last scene in mind since the very beginning of the series, actually putting it into words has been so emotional. Thank you as always for your patience and your love for this series, I'm eternally grateful that you're still with me as we wrap up this beautiful journey cowboy Jack and his Darlin' started almost a year ago ❤️

P.S. Please excuse typos and any mistakes as I had very little time to edit with the husband ill this weekend.

Coaxing Scotch to a halt at the end of the track - the last lookout point before the trail slopes downhill and homeward - you let the leather reins slip long and loose as he stretches his neck and shakes out his mane with a low nicker.

A hundred feet drop below, between the palomino’s ears turned forward in anticipation, is the Statesman Ranch in all its glory, nestled in the fertile valley of green pasture, with its winding creek and red roofs. You can see tiny people milling about, the stables busy in the middle of the afternoon, and horses grazing in the fields bracketed by white picket fences.

Out of the corner of your eye, Whiskey comes to a stop next to you, close enough that your knee bumps into Jack’s.

You keep your gaze on the ranch below as you ask half-jokingly, ‘Is it too late to turn back now?’

He chuckles, and you twist towards him, your own lips curling. ‘I believe we had this exact same conversation the first day, darlin’.’

It’s not too late to back out, you know.

Oh no, you’re not getting rid of me now, cowboy.

You don’t even realise you’ve fallen quiet until his calloused hand slides over yours, fingers tangling together. Jack brushes a sweet kiss to the heart of your palm that goes right to the one in your ribcage.

He cocks his head to one side in a gentle question. ‘Shall we rip off the bandaid, darlin’?’

Knowing there’s no other way around it, you squeeze his hand. ‘Let’s go, cowboy.’

Jameson is the first to spot the five of you passing through the backgates. The sight of him zooming up the slope with his ears pinned back in excitement has you laughing, the horses nickering hello as his barks echo in the valley.

It makes no sense really - you barely know this place after all - but something inexplicably comforting and familiar tugs at your insides as you ride through the ranch. Stable hands call out to Jack in friendly greeting and to you with polite ma’ams, between bales of hay being loaded, saddles and tack polished, and the clang of steel on iron from the farrier’s workstation out back. All the while, Jameson trots faithfully by your side, as if he’s known you all his life.

‘You sure know how to make a girl feel special,’ you coo at him and he barks back, tail wagging.

Jack winks at you and says cryptically, ‘Well, you’re about to feel a lot more special, darlin’.’

Sure enough, when the horses clop into the main stable yard, your jaw drops.

‘Look what the cat dragged in!’ bellows Champ with a huge grin on his face, standing in front of the stable doors with hands on his hips, larger than life than ever.

You chortle at the huge Welcome Back! banner stretched over the barn door, complete with over-the-top cowboy themed helium balloons, bumping into each other in the afternoon breeze. You catch Jack rolling his eyes fondly at the scene.

Champ gives Scotch an affectionate ruffle on the mane as he comes to a halt by the wooden post. ‘So - how was it, m’dear? Was it everythin’ I promised it would be?’

‘Everything and more,’ you answer in the affirmative as you dismount, letting him pull you in for an enthusiastic hug.

‘That’s what I like to hear!’ he beams and pats the palomino soundly on the rump. ‘And Scotch? Was he a good boy?’

‘The bestest boy,’ you gush, throwing your hands around the horse’s neck in a hug. ‘He deserves all the carrots and apples in the world.’

Swinging his leg over the back of Whiskey’s saddle and landing gracefully on booted feet on the opposite side of the post, Jack quips, ‘But you’ve already fed him all the carrots and apples in the world.’

Champ chortles. ‘And what about our cowboy? Was he on his best behaviour?’

Jack points a self-righteous finger at his boss. ‘I’ll have you know our guest rated the pack trip a perfect ten out of ten, so I’ll be expectin’ an immediate raise. Ain’t that right, darlin’?’

A loud scoff coming from the stables turns your head, and you smile when Tequila emerges, wasting no time taking his aim at Jack. ‘Hold your horses, Daniels. Pretty sure the food poisonin’ knocks a few points off!’

Crossing the yard with his usual swagger, he sidles up to the other side of Scotch and tips his hat at you, leaning his elbows on the saddle. ‘Welcome back, sweetheart. Good to see you up and runnin’.’

You bite your lip at the mischievous wink he tosses your way.

Champs harrumps indignantly. ‘You have some nerve askin’ for a raise, son! Poppy was madder than a wet hen she heard about that. As you well know, she expects a full report at dinner tonight.’

Jack huffs in jest. ‘I’m puttin’ in a call to my attorney as we speak.’

The banter is spirited and relentless as the cowboys make quick work of untacking and unloading the horses, Champ insisting you shouldn’t lift a finger and talking for more than the three of you.

When the stable hands take away the last of the bags with your dirty laundry to be laundered, Jack takes a hold of both Whiskey and Bourbon. Clearing his throat, he seems to hesitate for a second, a tick in his jaw, but he eventually nods at you and says, ‘Well. I best be bringin’ the boys in now. Catch you later, darlin’.’

The bottom of your stomach gives out at the catch you later, darlin’, knocking the breath clean out of you, unprepared for the dread that courses through your veins like lead at the sudden prospect of being apart. Your fingers twitch with urgency, wanting to reach out, grab him by the front of his shirt, and cling to him -

Get a grip, woman.

You physically shake yourself out of it, and instead, try to bide your time. ‘Or, you know, if can I help with anything at all -’

Jack clearly catches on to your reluctance, but Champ is insistent. ‘Absolutely not! Now, it’s just gettin’ to four o’clock, so there’s plenty of time to go back to your room, clean up and join us for sunset drinks in a couple of hours. How does that sound, ma’am?’

Jack’s mouth stretches into a reassuring smile that you wish were imprinted into the skin of your forehead instead. With a promise in his eyes that it’ll only be a couple of hours, he leads the chestnut and pinto into the stables.

You don’t even try to hide the slump in your shoulders and your wistful, lingering gaze on the cowboy’s retreating back, nearly jumping out of your skin when Tequila gives you an almost brotherly pat on the shoulder over Scotch’s back. ‘I gotcha, girl.’

Speaking up, he calls out, ‘Hey Champ, Ginger was just tellin’ me that you got an urgent message from Harry, so you better give him a call back - you know how he gets when you don’t.’

The older man flinches dramatically at the mention of his accountant, flinging his hands up in frustration. ‘Damn distillery is more trouble than it’s worth! I better go - you remember your way back to your cabin, young lady?’

Before you can get a word out, Tequila cuts in, ‘Jack can show her the way if she doesn’t, I’m sure.’

The sly reference goes straight over Champ’s head as he bustles off, but not without a polite tip of his hat. Once he’s out of sight, you smile at the cowboy. ‘I appreciate that, Teak.’

He winks at you and spins on his heels to take Scotch to the washing bay. ‘Consider it part of our excellent service at the Statesman Ranch, sweetheart!’

You find Jack hatless in Bourbon’s box, his eyebrows reaching for his hairline, slick with sweat, when you slip in and shut the door quietly behind you.

‘Whatcha doin’, darlin’?’ he asks with a lopsided smile.

Even though you didn’t run into anyone on your way in, you glance around to make sure you’re alone before grabbing him by the open neck of his shirt and tugging him into you. One palm on his cheek, rough with the stubble starting to peek through since his last shave at the Halfway House, you press your lips to his, blood thrumming with the thrill of sneaking around.

You catch the hitch of his breath with a wet suck on his bottom lip and he groans - too loudly in the mid-afternoon quiet. Cheeky hands wander south and grab you shamelessly by the ass, his tongue questing deep into your mouth, and you can feel him hardening against your stomach, drawing a whimper from you.

Pulling back reluctantly, his nose still on yours, he growls. ‘Such brazen behaviour.’

Your tongue darts out and swipes the underside of your upper lip, drunk on the taste of him, and his dark gaze follows. ‘I think you like it, cowboy.’

‘Too fuckin’ much,’ he admits with a pained moan and a chaste kiss to your temple, nose in your hair, as if to calm himself down. ‘You should go clean up, I need to finish up here and you’re distractin’ me.’

You pout, laying your cards on the table. ‘But I miss you.’

His gaze warms at your admission, and he stoops to kiss you again. ‘I know, but it’s only for a little while, okay? I’ll come ‘round your room to pick you up at six.’

‘Fine,’ you reply begrudgingly. ‘Be quick, ok?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he teases and swats you on the bottom playfully as he herds you towards the door. ‘I won’t be long, promise.’

Taking two steps down the corridor, you look back one last time at Jack, who’s still watching you from the stall, leaning on the top of the door. When he blows you a lingering kiss, the thought strikes you unbidden -

If it’s this hard leaving him for a couple of hours.

Feeling the tell-tale sting in your nose and the prickle of tears at your eyes, you push the thought out of your mind -

You put one foot in front of the other, and walk away.

You didn’t realise how much you missed civilisation until you surprise yourself with the longest sigh under the rain shower. Head bowed under the steady stream, you take your time, lathering yourself until you’re cocooned in olive scented bubbles before rinsing, relishing the firm water pressure soothing the knots and soreness lurking under your skin.

But there’s a deeper ache, one that can’t be reached from the surface.

You have literally not been apart from Jack for the last four days. You’ve been showering together since the Halfway House, for crying out loud. It hasn’t taken you more than the stretch of an arm to catch his hand, or the turn of your cheek to find his lips.

A laugh bubbles in your throat as you wrap yourself in a fluffy towel. The word codependent springs to mind.

Standing in the middle of the room in just your underwear, you sort through the clean clothes that are folded neatly on the bed. Pulling on the prettiest top you brought and the same pair of jeans you wore on your birthday, you dig out your makeup bag and settle in front of the vanity, putting on a Spotify playlist and humming along as you get ready for dinner.

One second you’re blending in your foundation, then the next - liner in your grasp and poised over the corner of your eye - panic rudely sets in.

What if -

What if the chemistry between the two of you was conditional on forced proximity?

What if Jack was only attracted to you because there was literally no other woman for miles and miles?

What if -

You startle at the knock on the door.

It’s deja vu when you pad across the oakwood floors on bare feet, your heart threatening to thunder out of your chest when you twist the knob clockwise.

Jack is leaning on the doorframe, freshly showered himself, damp locks curling into his forehead. The yellow flannel he’s wearing is new to you, but not the way the sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, over his sunkissed forearms.

For one moment of madness, you want to sink your teeth into the thick, sinewy -

‘What is it, darlin’?’ he asks, amused by your scrutiny.

You shrug, fingers fidgeting with a touch of shyness. ‘Just thinking about the last time you were on this doorstep.’

‘When you were swept away by my good looks and charm?’ he quips, arching an eyebrow.

You let him have this one, teasing, ‘Something like that, cowboy.’

Straightening up to his full height, he pulls you in by the waist so that you’re almost standing on the worn leather tips of his boots, the span of his palms warm on the small of your back. He doesn’t even bother checking over his shoulder before brushing a tender kiss on your lips, and it takes you right back to that first time in the field of wildflowers at dawn.

And you just know, in your heart of hearts - there is no what if.

In the middle of nowhere, up in the mountains, the sunset hour demands nothing short of worship. Miles and miles of grassland, trees and summer blooms become altars dipped in bronze at which to prostrate oneself as the sun sinks, rejoicing at the rapture of the end of day.

Whilst not as transcendent as what you experienced on the trail, the last sunset over the ranch is giving as good as it gets. The sun gilds the fields in gold on its descent as the stable hands bring in the last of the horses for the night while the swallows fly home above. The river that winds through the ranch is ablaze with the refracting light, and across the yard, you can hear the impatient whinnying of those waiting for their supper.

Jack and Tequila are setting up the barbeque and firepit, the orange glow of the twin flames taking the place of the fading daylight. The familiar scent of burning wood grounds you - you’re feeling a bit out of practice being the centre of attention after being alone with Jack for the past week.

Ice cold lemonade in one hand and buffalo jerky in the other, you smile when Ginger approaches with a hug. ‘I’m sure you’ve had to answer this question about fifty times today, but how was it?’

‘You want the short answer or long answer?’

‘I want a dissertation if you have it in you!’

You sneak glances at Jack over Ginger’s shoulder while you chat, and he watches you back from afar as he bustles in and out of the kitchen, always trailing two steps behind Poppy. You catch snippets of their conversation as they go back and forth, and you pick up enough to know that she is grilling him on the ‘food poisoning’ incident. He shoots you puppy eyes every time he passes by, which makes you grin.

You may or may not have been a bit distracted by the cowboy when Ginger asks, ‘So, did you catch Jack washing in the river in the end?’

A violent cough racks your entire body as you choke mid-swallow, and she chuckles, giving you a comforting pat on the back. ‘It’s ok, girlfriend - I don’t have to know!’

You knock back more lemonade and choose to play coy. If only she knew.

Champ is in his element, swapping out your drink for a whiskey soda as the dusk deepens and making sure the snacks platter is topped up with locally made boar and elk salami. Despite only having half an ear in the conversation while he keeps an eye on the dinner prep, he’s somehow still fully invested, and is particularly interested in the photos and videos you’ve been taking on Jack’s DSLR.

‘And that’s what you do for a livin’, young lady?’ he asks, putting on his reading glasses so he can study the photos downloaded onto your phone.

‘Adjacent. I’m in marketing, I do quite a lot of business-to-consumer social media campaigns,’ you explain, switching to Instagram to show him your employer’s profile.

Champ turns to Ginger. ‘Do we have the social media?’

She exchanges a fond smile with you. ‘No we don’t, boss, but we do have a website. I think it was last updated in 2012.’

Champ holds his chin between his thumb and index finger thoughtfully. ‘What do you think, m’dear? Should we get the social media?’

‘It depends,’ you answer truthfully. ‘If you want to boost occupancy, social media will definitely help connect new guests, and also encourage repeat visits. But if you asked me, I think the real potential is on the distillery side of the business.’

Champ perks up under his cowboy hat. ‘I’m listenin’.’

You tap the bottle of Statesman whiskey that’s sitting on the barrel table. ‘Jack told me that you only handle wholesale orders right now, which is perfectly fine. But if you want to go direct to consumers one day, social media is the way to go. I’ve worked with vineyards and gin distilleries, so I’ve seen how effective these campaigns can be.’

Humming pensively, Champ sips at his whiskey, neat, a faraway look in his eyes as he mulls over your words. ‘Well, that’s somethin’ to think about, I’d say.’

There’s no other way to end the trip than with a western cookout. The barbeque station is packed with trays of beautifully cut and aged meat from neighbouring ranches, sausages and brats, while the smoked brisket and ribs that have been cooking all day are brought out from the smoker in the kitchen.

On the side, a picnic table draped with a chequered table cloth is crammed with baked beans (smoked in-house), corn on the cob, pasta salad and soda bread; and on the greens front, there’s homemade coleslaw, potato salad and greens freshly picked from the vegetable patch.

It’s a feast of epic proportions, and it doesn’t surprise you at all that Poppy is pulling out all the stops.

Jack mans the barbeque under her supervision, wielding the tongs with showmanship, and your heart purrs at the familiar sight of him cooking by firelight as darkness well and truly sets in. You feel slightly adrift not being by his side, but Champ is keeping you entertained and well fed, piling seconds upon thirds on your loaded plate despite your protests.

By the time Teak takes over at the barbeque and Jack makes his way towards the communal table where you’re all standing, you’re sipping slowly on your third whiskey and soda. You smile at him over the brim of your tumbler which he returns, and your body leans unconsciously towards him, before remembering where you are. He tucks his right hand into his back pocket, and you want to think that it’s because if he doesn’t, he would reach out for you.

Being denied his touch when he’s right there has you shifting your feet restlessly. Your fingers itch for him, there’s an insistent prickle under your skin that you know he alone can placate.

You venture a peek at Jack, wondering if he’s faring any better than you are. Feeling your eyes on him, he turns to you, his gaze dropping to your mouth none too subtly, the muscle in his neck tensing. Caught in the moment, all you want to do is to run your tongue down the hollow of his throat and taste the smoke on his skin -

You look away in case you do anything rash.

You’re barely holding it together when the conversation moves on to your birthday at the Halfway House.

‘And how was the dinner?’ asks Poppy animatedly. ‘Did you like the cake?’

Despite yourself, you beam, ‘Like it? I loved it, thank you so much! I was so spoiled.’

‘Did Jack show you a good time?’

‘Oh I should say so,’ cuts in Tequila despite being six feet away at the barbeque. At Jack’s glare, he quickly adds, ‘He decked out the place real nice, y’know, with balloons and shit.’

With a shake of your head, you chuckle, ‘And he dressed the horses up in birthday hats and tinsel!’

With the barbeque dying down to a low, simmering flame, Poppy slides in a couple of peach cobblers in pie dishes directly onto the embers to warm up. Leaving behind gravy-stained plates stacked up high on the barrel table, the group drifts over to the low-set deck chairs sitting in a tidy circle around the firepit.

Emptying the last of the whiskey into his glass, Champ calls out, ‘Jack, m’boy, how ‘bout you run to the cellar and grab us another bottle of the fifteen years?’

‘Sure, boss,’ he replies, hanging back and catching your attention. ‘You wanna come look at the cellar, darlin’? It’s quite a sight.’

Champ is delighted. ‘What an inspired idea! Take your time, young lady, it’s not quite the distillery cellar, but we’ll save that for next time.’

Teak gives you a two-fingered salute and a knowing wink as Jack leads the way. ‘Enjoy the tour, sweetheart!’

Jack barely waits until you’ve turned the corner behind one of the barns before backing you up against the wall. You taste whiskey and woodsmoke on his tongue as he pins you in place with his broad frame, and you haul him closer, wanting to feel every inch of him.

‘I missed you, darlin’,’ he whispers against your lips.

‘I was standing right next to you, cowboy.’

‘I know,’ he whines. ‘Took everythin’ to keep my hands to myself.’

Your cheeks warm at his words, and you reach up to brush an errant curl back from his eyes. ‘Me too.’

Jack grabs your hand and takes you on what must be a shortcut to the kitchen, since you don’t recognise the route. Practically dragging you down a flight of steps at the back, he lets go of you only to pull open a heavy oak door. Your eyes widen when the orange lights flicker on, stepping into the cellar lined with hundreds, if not thousands of bottles, floor-to-ceiling shelves nestled into stone arches carved into the walls.

You wander the perimeter of the room, carefully pulling out dusty bottles high and low to inspect the years printed on the labels, but Jack is having none of it. Face nuzzled into the nook of your shoulder, he grinds his half-hard cock into you impatiently, calloused palms sliding under your shirt and squeezing your tits through your bra.

You moan, the sound echoing under the low vaulted ceilings. ‘What are you doing, cowboy?’

‘Want you now,’ he rasps into the back of your neck, teeth catching the sensitive skin.

‘What’s gotten into you?’ you ask, a laugh caught in your throat as he ruts against the cleft of your ass needily, a shudder rippling through you when you feel just how much he wants you through the denim.

‘It’s the change in altitude,’ he rasps, dry humping you in earnest now, his fingers fumbling with the front of the zipper. ‘And you’re really fuckin’ sexy in these jeans.’

‘Such a sweet talker,’ you tease, reaching behind you to undo his pants. ‘We got to be quick.’

He yanks the front of your jeans down so hard the movement jolts you forwards, flipping the denim inside out and dragging it down to the middle of your thighs, your panties going with them. His question is hot in your ear. ‘Want me to use protection, darlin’?’

You don’t skip a beat with an emphatic, ‘No.’

‘Fuck,’ he growls at your one-worded answer. ‘Lettin’ me fuck you bare? I’m one lucky cowboy.’

Your pussy throbs at his words alone, and you gasp in surprise when Jack manhandles you to the middle of the room, where a row of aged barrels rest on their sides, elevated on a sturdy shelf to keep them off the floor. He bends you unceremoniously over one cask so that your front is pressed up against the curved wooden surface, then, kicking your legs apart and notching the head of his cock at the mouth of your cunt, he sinks into you in one determined thrust.

‘Jack!’ you cry out, voice hoarse, filled almost painfully full, suspended on the tips of your toes as he plants his feet and drives into you, pulling out to the tip before plunging all the way back in, so deep you feel him in your throat. His breath is harsh and hot on the shell of your ear, but you can’t hear him over your own cries.

‘That’s it, darlin’,’ he croons throatily, his jeans rubbing the back of your thighs raw as his grip on you bites into your sides, holding you in place as you writhe. ‘Such a good girl, lettin’ me bend you over like this, takin’ me so well.’

Nails skidding over the wooden grain of the barrel as you scrabble for something to hold onto, you mewl, ‘Yes, yes, yes, feels so fucking good, cowboy!’

The slap of skin on skin bounces obscenely off the walls, and between the buck of his hips and his groans, you hear the slick squelch of your pussy stretching for him.

It seems to spur him on, and he snaps harder into you, rasping, ‘Look at you naughty thin’, lettin’ me fuck you in the middle of the cellar when anyone can walk in.’

Only then does it hit you - the absurdity of having fucked your way across the open country on this packtrip, taking for granted the liberty of literally screaming to the high heavens, free from prying eyes and ears. Juxtaposed against the sudden and very real prospect of getting caught, your body instinctively reacts.

Jack feels you clench wetly around his cock, a choked chuckle halfway in his throat. ‘Fuck, you filthy girl, you like that, don’t you? Want someone to walk in on us when I’m balls deep inside this pretty pussy?’

Your back arches, and he slides in so deep you’re sure you’ll be feeling him for days after, even when you’re a thousand miles from here. ‘Yes, yes, yes sir -’

The next thing you know, he’s gripping your hair and pulling, making you watch him over your shoulder. His eyes are black, jaw hanging open and teeth bared, and he’s gone - he’s thrusting recklessly into you, and you have no idea how your spine hasn’t snapped from being bent so far backwards. Then one rope-worn palm comes down on your right ass cheek in a cracking slap, making you gag on a half-groan, slick trickling down your thighs at the sting.

Jack leans over you now, caging you between his arms, his soft kisses on your neck an antithesis to the uncompromising rhythm at which he’s pounding into you. He coaxes, ‘Gonna cum for me, darlin’?’

Two of his fingers nudge between your legs and you whine when they make landing on your swollen clit. You nod desperately, clawing at the smooth wooden barrel under you. ‘Yes Jack, please make me cum. Please.’

‘Don’t you worry, you will,’ he says matter-of-factly, smearing mouth and tongue down the side of your neck. ‘You can do it. Make a mess on my cock, c’mon, darlin’ -’

When you clamp down around him, it takes Jack everything - everyfuckin’thin’ - not to let go and pump into you, fill that tight little cunt as you wail his name, quaking and squirming in his grasp. Air doesn’t quite reach his lungs, and he’s biting so hard on the insides of his mouth that it swells instantly, wanting so badly to mark you, to possess you in the most primal way a man can -

With a strangled groan, he pulls out, but only just - he’s already cumming before he can even wrap a fist around his cock, spurting crudely all over the swollen lips of your pussy and the curve of your ass as he milks himself dry, shudder after shudder. His spend drips so prettily down the back of your thighs, stopping just short of staining your jeans, that he goes light-headed for a moment. He sways, and if not for you grabbing him by the front of his shirt and pulling him down for a lazy kiss, he probably would’ve keeled over.

He looks down at the mess he made, crooning into your ear, ‘You’re so beautiful covered in my cum, darlin’.’

You squeak, startled, when he runs this thumb down your slit, still so slick and wet for him, and he has to fight the urge to fucking scoop up his cum shove it into you, filling you only to have it drool out of you when he holds the pretty lips open -

He feels your eyes on him, like you can tell what he’s thinking. He winces, shame rearing its head as he apologises, ‘I’m sorry, I got carried away. Was it - too much?’

Cupping his cheek in your palm, you pull him down for another kiss. ‘Never. I’ll take everything you’ve got, cowboy.’

Jack somehow has a handkerchief in his shirt pocket, which he brandishes with a flourish, prompting a giggle from you. ‘A gentleman if I’ve ever seen one.’

With a playful smirk, he declares, ‘Damn straight - my mama raised me right.’

Gently, Jack cleans you up, and you’re happy to let him do all the work, your body heavy and sated. When he’s done, he swivels you around and presses his lips to your temple. ‘Come back to my house tonight, darlin’?’

You tuck your nose into the crook of his neck and breathe in deeply. ‘I’d love to, cowboy.’

He’s carefully folding up the soiled handkerchief and tucking it into his back pocket when you hear footsteps on the stairs, and the two of you have barely pulled up your jeans when the door swings open.

There’s a dramatic pause as Teak takes in your dishevelled state and none too guilty faces. Looking distinctly unsurprised, he bursts into laughter nonetheless. ‘The cellar? Is nothin’ sacred to you heathens?’

The cookout winds down over bubbling hot peach cobbler and homemade vanilla ice cream that Teak collected from the freezer in the kitchen on the way back. It’s pushing ten o’clock when Champ calls it a night, and you all help with bringing the dirty dishes and leftovers inside.

Poppy and Ginger make quick work of putting all the food in tupperware and into the fridge. Jack and Teak load up the dishwasher as you finish off the last of your drink.

Champ dusts his hands, as if he’s the one who’s done all the tidying up, and asks, ‘Your flight tomorrow isn’t until afternoon is it?’

You nod, passing Jack your empty glass. ‘Yeah, I need to drop off my rental truck as well, so I think I’ll have to leave around eleven.’

He pats you on the back. ‘Alright then, we’ll see you tomorrow mornin’. Have a good night’s sleep, young lady.’

‘Say goodbye before you go,’ adds Ginger, giving you a peck on the cheek.

‘Dinner was incredible, Poppy, thank you,’ you smile as she pulls you into a warm hug.

The redhead winks at you. ‘My absolute pleasure. I’ll fix you a little takeaway lunch to go tomorrow for the journey home. No plane food allowed for our guests!’

The kitchen empties until it’s just you, Jack and Teak, with the latter grinning at you two like a lunatic. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he shrugs. ‘So you guys wanna hang, or -’

‘Get the fuck outta here, Teak!’ Jack growls.

The taller cowboy ambles over to you, joints loose with alcohol, and gives you what can only be described as a bear hug.

‘Just try keep it down, will ya? It’s real quiet in the valley at night and some of us have to work early tomorrow,’ he ribs with an insolent wink. ‘Guess we won’t see you lovebirds at breakfast?’

‘Not if you’re there,’ Jack retorts, to which Teak flashes a good-natured middle finger and saunters off into the night.

Jack draws you into his arms and you slump against him, relieved that you’re finally alone. ‘Shall we, darlin’?’

His fingers curl securely around the back of your hand, his thumb rubbing soothing circles at the base of yours as he closes the kitchen door behind you. It strikes you this is actually the first time you’re holding hands - there was no need for that when you were in the saddle, or camped in close proximity.

Your cheeks stretch with a smile so wide that the muscles ache. The mundanity of walking side by side, hand in hand, shouldn’t be this thrilling.

It’s quiet other than the grind of gravel under your boots and Jack’s heavier ones. The night air is sweet, the blanket of stars above you just as magical, but it’s not quite the same kind of stillness at the lower altitude. Perhaps it’s the way the sound travels with buildings and other people around, maybe the very physics of it is fundamentally different.

Turning into the parking lot, your attention is piqued by a handsome motorcycle parked all on its lonesome next to the main lodge.

Pride in his voice, Jack says, ‘Darlin’, meet the Silver Pony.’

You know nothing about motorcycles, but you can appreciate the sleek lines, the classy tan leather seat and the retro elegance about her as you circle it. Her silver paint job gleams in the lonely porch light. ‘She’s beautiful, cowboy.’

‘She’s an old girl but she got good bones. I restored her myself,’ he proclaims proudly, before admitting, ‘And well, Teak helped too.’

Opening a little cabinet attached to the side of the main lodge, Jack pulls out a helmet that has you laughing. It’s painted red white and blue, stars, stripes and the full monty, with the word WHISKEY painted across the front in bold formation.

He grins at you. ‘Found it in a yard sale. Too good to pass up.’

Lowering it over your head, he tightens the strap carefully under your chin. It’s a bit big, but it’ll do for a short ride. Blinking up at him, it brings you back to that first day in the stables, and you feel the same pull that you did when he fitted you with your hat.

Except this time, you can do something about it. Standing on your tiptoes to kiss him, you giggle when your helmet slips and knocks into his forehead with a clunk.

Putting on his own sensible black helmet, he plants his left foot by the side of the bike and swings his right leg over the leather seat.

You’re taken aback by the spike in your pulse at the sight - you’d think that having seen him on horseback all week would have prepared you for it. But there’s something about the way he leans over the top of the motorcycle, thighs wrapped around the metal body, forearms flexing as he grasps the handlebar.

Starting the ignition and knocking back the kickstand with the heel of his cowboy boot, Jack nods at you. ‘Hop on, darlin’.’

You do, and you don’t need to be told to hold on tight.

The Silver Pony purrs to a stop outside a modest cottage, about a ten-minute cruise from the ranch, down a short dirt track from the main road. It’s pitch black except for the headlights that illuminate an unexpectedly floral front garden. You hop off and take off your helmet before Jack kills the engine, plunging you into a very familiar darkness.

Switching on the light on his phone, he reaches for your hand and pulls you gently to his side, his solid warmth welcome even though it’s nowhere as chilly as it was up on the mountains. Flashing the light towards the front yard, he tells you, ‘Ginger has quite the green finger, this is all her work. It took some time, but the vegetable patch is just startin’ to come through this season.’

Keys jangling, Jack unlocks the front door and ushers you inside, flipping on the lights.

It’s a cosy space, not big by country standards, but more than spacious enough for one cowboy. It’s clearly a man’s house, with a distinct lack of decorative touches other than a vintage map of Wyoming hanging over a dining table and a crowded bookshelf by the door. Dark wood with orange knots line the floors and ceilings, the warm tones reminding you of nights around the campfire.

Walking through the tidy but lived-in space, you pass an open kitchen with a breakfast bar that backs into the living room. A rustic stone fireplace stands in the corner, bracketed by a cosy sectional with deep seats.

Jack watches you mill about, taking everything in. When you stop by the fireplace, he asks jokingly from across the room, ‘So, what’s the verdict?’

You tease, ‘Not gonna lie - I’m disappointed there aren’t more spurs and lassos on the walls.’

He chuckles and steps into the kitchen. ‘You want a nightcap?’

‘Just water thank you, I think I’ve had enough to drink.’

Filling up two glasses at the sink, he crosses the room to join you at the mantelpiece.

‘How long have you been living here?’ you ask, setting your glass on the shelf after taking a sip.

He takes a moment to reply. ‘I took a long break off work after my wife died, then moved in here straight after. Couldn’t stand bein’ in our house alone - couldn’t bear bein’ there at all.’ He pauses, and his lips quirk with a wry smile. ‘Champ and Teak packed everythin’ up for me and drove it all here.’

His honesty hits you squarely in the chest, the weight of the grief behind his words nearly knocking you back a step. You reach for him, closing the two-step distance and wrapping your arms tight around his waist.

Eyes closed, he lets you anchor him to the moment. Maybe he shouldn’t, but the confession slips right through his teeth. ‘I haven’t brought any women here. Ever.’

He holds his breath as he feels you hold yours.

You mumble into his chest, ‘You have to stop making it harder for me to leave, cowboy.’

Then don’t.

The two words are on the tip of his tongue, and for a second, he worries that he actually said them out loud. But he knows he can’t. It’s mad. It’s been a week. It’s not fair on you, not when you have a whole life back in the city, thousands of miles away, and his is right here in the shadow of the Bighorn Mountains.

So he says nothing.

Eventually, you pull back and tip your face up towards him. He doesn’t think he’s imagining the wetness lining the seams of your eyes.

‘Let’s go to bed, cowboy.’

He watches you from the doorway, where he leans idly against the frame, body relaxed from the whiskey sodas at dinner. The curtains are drawn and the light from the bedside lamp soft, casting orange shades on the walls and your skin as you shrug on the shirt he leaves out for you. The last button done, you snuggle comfortably under his sheets, and his heart lurches.

Not for the first time, the thought crosses his mind -

You look like you belong here.

‘Are you gonna stare all night, cowboy?’ you tease, sinking into the pillows.

He shrugs and closes the door behind him, shedding his clothes as he goes. ‘Can’t help it, darlin,’. You look good in my bed.’

‘It’s so comfy,’ you sigh happily, watching him strip down to his boxers.

‘It’s just the hard ground talkin’,’ he says, climbing in next to you. Bundling you into his arms and sliding one leg between yours, he kisses you, a deep exhale leaving him as he does. You smile so wide the corners of your eyes crease, and he watches as they land somewhere behind him.

His stomach drops when it dawns on him what catches your attention.

But it’s too late. You sit up, leaning over him and grabbing a hold of it with gentle hands.

You stare up at him. ‘Jack.’

He doesn’t even remember the last time he really looked at the photo. It’s there when he wakes up, when he goes to bed. It sits on the bedside table by the lamp, probably covered in dust.

Untouched.

His silence doesn’t deter you, but your tone is soft, and he understands that you’re giving him an out if he wants it. ‘What’s her name?’

His throat goes drier than sandpaper, and he’s suddenly speaking through a mouthful of cotton. It takes him two tries before he manages to enunciate. ‘Addison. Everyone called her Addie.’

‘Was this taken at your wedding?’

He nods, picking at a loose thread on the comforter.

‘Look at you all dashing in a suit, cowboy,’ you hum appreciatively, tracing a fingertip over the smart dark grey tweed jacket with navy accents. ‘Where did you get married?’

‘At her parents’ ranch.’

‘Under this magnolia tree?’

He nods again. ‘It was her favourite spot.’

‘She’s so beautiful,’ you say quietly.

His eyes dart to the photo in your grasp despite himself. Swallowing thickly, he says, ‘She’s buried there now, where she was always happiest.’

At that, you return the photo to its place on the bedside table, almost solemnly. This is usually the point when people stop asking questions, so when you snuggle into the crook of his shoulder, gazing at him expectantly, he frowns in confusion.

‘What is it, darlin’?’

‘Tell me about her.’

Jack is stumped, flustered at your request. He shifts, sitting up stiffly against the headboard. ‘Like what?’

You shrug. ‘I don’t know. Like - how did you meet?’

His answer is short, factual. ‘On the rodeo circuit. We both worked on the tour.’

You give him an encouraging nudge. ‘And? What was she like?’

‘She -’ he pauses and holds his breath, weighing his words. In the end, it’s the truth that he tells you. ‘She was the best person.’

He stutters to a stop again, but you’re still peering at him, your expression curious and open. He knows you won’t push him, he trusts that you wouldn’t. He could reach out and switch off the light right now, and he knows you’d leave it at that.

But a small part of him demurs. He doesn’t have the words to describe it, but something unsettling and hopeful at once stirs in his stomach, one that is stopping him from cutting short this somewhat unconventional pillow talk.

So he tests the words on his tongue, starting with something small. ‘She was a cat person. All the barn cats loved her, no matter where we went on the circuit.’

Watching the way your eyes smile at the detail, he feels a little lighter. He adds, ‘We literally had cats camping out in our truck, and I’m allergic, so I’d be sneezing and covered in hives on the long-distance drives between rodeos.’

You laugh, and his chest swells with the realisation that he doesn’t remember the last time any mention of his wife sparked anything but sad side glances and commiserating pats on the back - let alone joy.

Over the years, he had let go of her joy. Because it doesn’t hurt as much to mourn her this way.

And the guilt that he did this, took the easy way out, is almost too much for one soul-crushing moment - until you lay your head on his chest, unfurling one hand and pressing it into his side, literally holding him together, rib by rib.

He tells you about Addie. Things he’s been afraid to remember, but even more afraid that he had forgotten. Her likes, pet peeves, where she went to college, her favourite show, her irrational fear of butterflies, her favourite dress, the song that always got her up on her feet dancing wherever she was, whatever she was doing, when it came on the radio.

You listen, picking up on the way his voice falls back into that beautiful Southern cadence that you have come to know as he remembers his wife, nothing but love in his eyes as the guardedness fades with each memory he confides in you. You pepper the pauses with follow-up questions and playful quips where you’re draped across him, one arm folded underneath you and the other over his waist, but you feel yourself nodding off as the hour grows late.

He holds you to him, his palm spanning your lower back, until you go quiet.

Jack is tired, his own lids drooping with impending slumber, the sprint down memory lane taking more out of him than he expected. Brushing a kiss to the crown of your head, he rolls you off his front and onto your side, tucking you into the rumpled sheets. Spooning you from behind, he murmurs one last thing on the shell of your ear.

‘She would’ve loved you, darlin’.’

Notes: When I first started this series, I didn't have a backstory developed for Jack other than that his wife died eight and a half years before Darlin' comes on the scene. It's been such an organic and fulfilling journey developing his character and his history over the series, filling in the blanks as we and Darlin' got to know him better.

It's so important to me that his wife and his grief isn't pushed to one side for the sake of easy story telling. I've dropped little hints of his bereavement throughout the series, nothing too loud, but it's there in the background, my way of paying respect to one aspect of canon Jack that touches me very deeply despite the mess the movie makes of his story.

Out of all my Reader! characters, I would say that Darlin' is my most unassuming one. Not in a bad way at all, it's just that she doesn't have as loud a personality as Shiv or Pin, or as dramatic a storyline as Sweetheart. But this chapter, she just really came into her own. That last scene will stay with me forever ❤️

Edited to add a reminder that we still have one more chapter to go before we say goodbye to these two. I’m not ready 😭

#palomino series #jack daniels fanfiction #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x f!reader #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x female reader #agent whiskey fanfiction #agent whiskey smut #agent whiskey fic #agent whiskey x f!reader #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #jack daniels au #agent whiskey au #pedro pascal character fic

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asheepinthenight · 10 months

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Talon’s End - Demo

DEMO | DEMO ALT (github) | EXTRAS

Latest update: 12/30/23

Talon's End is a fantasy interactive fiction game about transformation, growth, duty, and love in its many forms. It is written with an adult audience in mind and contains some darker themes, but the demo does not contain any explicit content and should be appropriate for ages 16+. The age rating may change for the full version. Please check CWs when starting the game!

You were never destined to marry for love.

As the third child of the Earl of Eastthorn, your purpose is to marry to your family's advantage, but after one failed engagement already, your prospects are less than promising. So when the Crown calls upon you to infiltrate the lair of an Elven sorcerer in search of a powerful magical weapon, the offer is too good for your family to refuse.

But leaving your respectable home to marry an immortal being of immense power quickly puts you in uncharted territory. Between your secretive, disagreeable spouse and their labyrinthine spire infested with strange creatures, your mission to uncover their secrets is risky from the start. But as you come to know both your partner and your new home at Talon's End, you discover terrors and wonders unlike anything you've known–and the true price of your mission.

Characters and features below the cut:

Hawk (gender-selectable m/f/nb)

Ancient, inscrutable, and ornery, Hawk is your immortal Elven spouse. They are a being of few words, and those words are often less than friendly. You're taking your life into your hands coming to live in their tower and spy on them. But are they perhaps kinder than they let on? Or are they just as dangerous as they first appear?

Shea (gender-selectable m/f/nb)

Shea is the outgoing and kindhearted owner of the general store in town. Through their regular deliveries to Hawk's tower, they've gotten to know Hawk- -and now, you. They seem eager to make you feel welcome in your new home. But do they have other motives? Or is their compassion genuine?

Current demo features:

Player character with customizable gender, pronouns, romantic/physical attraction, etc.

Relationships with Hawk and Shea can be romantic, platonic, physical, or a combination; plus, a poly triad option!

Options to explore the player character's gender and attraction beyond initial choices

Choice-heavy (not stat-heavy) story with narration that adapts to your MC's personality

Achievements for doing silly (and cool) things

Upcoming features:

Option to bypass mentions of societal bigotry

Additional codex and story journal entries

More detailed character profiles

#talon's end #interactive fiction #if demo

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coochiequeens · 3 months

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I don't like conservative "news" media like fox and this site but no one else is talking about how surrogacy gives pedos access to kids.

The fertility industry is handing designer babies over to men with zero vetting or scrutiny of their mental fitness or criminal history.

By KATY FAUST

Surrogacy is risky for children. Not just the risk of a primal wound via intentional birth mother separation. Not just the risk of identity struggles if their genetic mother is purchased from a catalog. Not just the risk of mother-hunger if they are raised in a home absent maternal love.

Surrogacy puts children at risk for the worst kinds of abuse.

That became glaringly obvious last month when YouTubers Shane Dawson and partner Ryan Adams announced the birth of twin boys. Dawson’s long history of sexualizing children is well-known and well-documented. Evie magazine detailed concerning incidents including Dawson pretending to masturbate while watching 11-year-old Willow Smith’s music video, referring to a 6-year-old fan as “kind of sexy,” justifying pedophilia as a mere “fetish,” typing “naked baby” in a child pornography search and remarking that the returns were “sexy,” and proclaiming, “I would rape all of you” when viewing a series of photos featuring young girls wearing his merchandise.

In one show, he instructed a 12-year-old to eat a “cocktail weenie” with the recognition that child molesters comprise a significant portion of his audience. Dawson and Adam have another 10 embryos in frozen storage should they decide they want a few more children around the house.

We hope no harm comes to the boys to whom Dawson and Adams have been granted (via surrogacy contract) parental rights. But other surrogate-born children were not so fortunate.

Contrary to what you may think, surrogacy isn’t just about helping infertile couples have babies. When we look at how surrogacy is actually practiced and promoted, we see surrogacy isn’t about babies, it’s about on-demand, designer babies shipped worldwide. And sometimes, those babies are shipped directly to child abusers.

We don’t know the raw numbers because, unlike organ donation, the medical wing of #BigFertility requires no tracking or follow-up of those who avail themselves of their services. (Apparently, there’s more concern about the survival of a kidney than a child.) And unlike adoption, which heavily vets and screens prospective parents and monitors the child post-placement, surrogate-born children are not known to social workers and often disappear across international borders.

Even when safeguards are in place, predators often go to great lengths to acquire children to abuse. In 2022, the country was horrified by the story of a suburban pedophile ring set up by two married men who raped and pimped out their adopted sons.

That children created by a fertility industry with no mechanism (and no desire) to scrutinize intended parents for things like mental fitness, criminal records, or predatory history end up in the homes of dangerous adults should surprise no one.

Absent any kind of record-keeping or follow-up on these children, those of us who reject surrogacy on the grounds that it violates the rights of children, must piece together the risks when stories of child victimization emerge.

These 5 Pedophiles Mail-Ordered Babies

Psychiatrist Jo Erik Brøyn held a high position in Norwegian social services responsible for child protection and was involved in several high-profile cases of child removal. He also acquired two boys through an Indian surrogate. In 2018, police discovered 20 years’ worth of child pornography in his possession — more than 20,000 images and 4,000 hours of videos — depicting child sexual abuse including “boys masturbating each other, fixed/sexualized violence against children, anal sex by men with boys or oral sex of children (including toddlers) on grown men.” He was sentenced to less than two years in prison. Some sources report that the boys have been returned to his care.

An unnamed German pedophile hired a Russian surrogate for €60,000 who birthed the baby in Greece. He then flew the child back to Germany. In 2020, a regional court found him guilty of child abuse and producing and possessing child pornography. His child was a subject of 16 of those cases between the ages of 2 and 3, and the defendant was in possession of 175,000 images of child pornography. He was sentenced to five years in prison. The child was removed from his custody.

In 2013, Mark Newton and Peter Truong were convicted of subjecting their surrogate-born son to “the worst [pedophile] rings … if not the worst ring I’ve ever heard of,” according to one investigator. After paying a Russian surrogate $8,000 to carry the child, the pair began to violate the boy as a newborn.

“The abuse began just days after his birth and over six years the couple traveled the world, offering him up for sex with at least eight men, recording the abuse and uploading the footage to an international syndicate known as the Boy Lovers Network.” Police believe the pair created the boy through surrogacy “for the sole purpose of exploitation.” The child was removed from their custody, and the men are serving decades-long sentences.

During the height of the Indian surrogacy boom, it was revealed that an Israeli sex offender had procured a little girl via surrogacy. Had #BigFertility had any kind of vetting in place or required fingerprinting or simply character references, it would likely have been discovered that the man had spent 18 months in jail for sexually abusing young children under his supervision. The discovery shocked authorities in both India and Israel, but because they couldn’t prove that abuse had yet taken place, there was no ground to remove the girl from his custody. It did however validate India’s decision to ban single men and gay couples, who composed 30-50 percent of intended parents, from the Indian surrogacy market.

In 2014, intended parents Wendy and David Farnell commissioned twin surrogate children in Thailand, then a global hotspot for surrogacy. The little girl, Pipah, was healthy, but the little boy, Gammy, had serious medical issues as well as Down Syndrome. A scandal erupted when the couple took the little girl back to Australia but abandoned Gammy to be raised by the Thai surrogate.

It was then discovered that David had been jailed in the late 1990s for sexually molesting two girls under the age of 10, and was charged, convicted, and sentenced again in 1998 on six counts of indecently dealing with a child under the age of 13. When his criminal record was revealed and investigated, a judge determined there was “a low risk of harm if Pipah stays in that home,” and she remained in the care of Wendy and David until his death in 2020. The “Baby Gammy” case was one of several scandals that prompted the Thai government to ban commercial surrogacy altogether.

Many of the above cases are older, the results of contracts that were drawn up when surrogacy was less common. Since then, the surrogacy industry has grown exponentially with a projected 1,000 percent increase by 2032. In addition, there are entire organizations devoted to delivering custom-ordered babies to men, none of which will have to submit to background checks or fingerprinting. So expect more cases of surrogate-born child exploitation in the coming years.

Whether or not the child ends up abused, whether it’s paid or altruistic, whether it’s traditional or gestational, and regardless of the intended parent’s household composition, surrogacy always violates the rights of the child. It is not a problem that can be solved through regulation. The only way to protect children is to ban surrogacy worldwide.

#Anti surrogacy #Surrogacy exploits women #Babies are not commodities #No one is entitled to biological children #Some people should not even be near kids #Are fertility agencies required to do background checks on potential parents?

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myebi · 9 months

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happy birthday aheran!! 🫶 he got sent a risky letter from a brave magician and all of his AU selves are enjoying the read - and the prospect of a reply... 😇

#barn owl oc #bird oc #artists on tumblr #comic #oc comic #dreamers comic #aheran #ocs #oc #french artist #french comic #french illustrator #french illustration #myeart

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siriusleee · 9 months

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Like Blood on Iron | Part 2

Historical Executioner AU

Summary: The executioner has always been an enigma to you - drawing you in. His sword drawing a line in the dirt as he made his way to the village center, and leaving back to his cottage on the outskirts of town. However, your curiosity can't stop the future your family has planned for you.

Warnings: mentions of blood, family dynamics, semi-forced marriage mention, implied age gap, future smut, future blood and gore.

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: I fall off in second chapters. Odd-number chapters are really my strength. Anyway, if you like the story and you'd like to donate to my ridiculous expensive wisdom teeth removal, consider donating a dollar. I only need 2,000.

If you'd like to be added to the tag list, comment below. If I cannot tag you, I will reply to your comment to let you know next chapter has been written.

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part one

part 3

Neither of you moves; the lighting crashes in the distance - electricity crackling in the air. Your anger at your family overcomes your fear of him; you stalk towards the water, hands reaching behind you to try and unlace the stays. The dress pulls uncomfortably at you, and you can't reach the back.

"Are you just going to stand there? Or are you going to lecture me like last time?" You yell at him across the sand.

You come to a stop feet from the water, hands still fruitlessly trying to unlace your dress. He doesn't speak, and your anger grows. Your hands turn from trying to unlace your dress to being balled at your side.

"You're bleeding," his voice is low, nearly inaudible over the waves that threaten to crash into the two of you.

"It's nothing. Just a scrape." You feel his eyes on your hand; you move it behind your back so that he can't see it.

The silence grows, and your anger starts to wan - it feels strange to just stand there and say nothing so you turn away from him; you stare out at the dark ocean and rolling storm and wonder if you'll have to stay here all night. You don't know if you can go home and face your mother and father.

"You're unhappy," the execution says - voice flat and firm. As if he knows what's happened at home.

"You're the observant type."

He comes to stand beside you, cloak swishing on the dark sand. His presence is imposing, pushing you out of your comfort zone. You get the feeling that he's waiting on you to speak. It takes a moment of your thought; what repercussions could happen from explaining yourself to him? Who would he tell?

"My parents are forcing me to marry a man I don't want to marry. And I'm stuck in this stupid dress." It comes out of you all in one rush, a confession you didn't know you were making. You feel silly telling him your problems, but there's no one else to speak to.

"Is he a bad prospect?"

You scuff your shoe against the sand, carving a line between the two of you.

"No - that's the difficult part. He's perfectly fine. Perfectly nice. Nothing wrong with him at all - I don't like being forced into things."

Another pregnant pause.

"What would happen if you refused?"

You snort, and it hurts your ribs.

"I'll be sent to the convent to be a sister for the rest of my life."

"So you're unable to refuse." His voice is flat, empty but leading enough to make you want to talk.

You don't want to agree with him so you choose to ignore what he said, turning the conversation around to him.

"What are you doing here? I don't see anyone in need of beheading."

"I can't leave my own home?"

"I didn't say that."

You sink to sit in the sand and pull your shoes off. When your bare feet hit the sand you sigh, digging your toes into the warmth. After a moment, the executioner lowers himself down beside you; out of the corner of your eye you observe his clothes: black tunic and black pants, tucked into black boots. You suppose it comes with the occupation, the need to dress like midnight.

It's uncomfortable to sit there with the dress laced so tight, so you do something risky.

"Can you untie this dress, please? I can't breathe."

His hands twitch against his thigh.

"I can."

You turn slightly so that he can see the stays. His fingers are gentle, you can hardly feel them as he pulls on the string.

"I can't get them undone; whoever tightened them is an expert."

You let out a mirthless laugh at that.

"You can cut them for all I care - the dress is ruined anyway."

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him shift, a flash of silver coming from beneath his cloak. He grabs the stays, pulling them back. There's a small snick and the bodice loosens all at once. You take the first decent breath you've taken all evening, your hands coming up to hold the bodice in place across your chest.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

He slides the knife - the blade as long as your forearm - back into a sheath at his waist. So many questions clamber to the forefront of your thoughts. Why are you out here? is the one that slips from your lips first.

He answers you with a question of his own.

"Why did you come out here tonight?"

In the distance, you see something flash in the water. You keep your eyes trained on the horizon waiting for it to appear again, but it doesn't.

"I just needed to get somewhere I could breathe," you admit, thinking about the storm brewing at home.

"Likewise."

You trace patterns in the sand with your fingers before you speak again.

"How many times were you out here when I was?"

How many times did you see me through my chemise?

"A handful of times."

"And you never thought to say anything to me?"

He doesn't answer your question. The waves pull in closer, the tide coming in just reaching the two of you. A boldness takes over you - you push yourself to your feet, your bodice falling open. You pull the dress over your head, struggling for a moment before getting it free. You feel almost embarrassed by the thinness of your chemise, but you ignore it as you throw the dress to the side.

You don't look at the executioner as you wade out until the water is at chest level - everything is hidden. On the shore, the executioner looks politely to the side.

"You can look now! I'm assuming you have before."

"I've always looked away."

His tone is almost affronted. You can't help the grin that breaks out on your face.

"What is your name?" you ask, the warm water making you bold again. "I don't want to keep calling you 'the executioner' in my head."

"Why should I tell you my name; I don't know yours."

"You tell me your name, and I'll tell you mine."

You think of the fairy tales Mother used to tell you when you were young: about fae in the woods, merfolk sunning on the beach, ghouls under the bridge. Never tell them your name she'd whisper dramatically, because your name has power in it.

"You can call me Ghost."

"That's not your real name is it?"

"No."

You level a look at him - his brown eyes barely visible in the darkness. It's part of being the executioner, you know, the loss of the name you were given under god as a child. You wonder if you can remember the last time anyone knew his real name.

You tell him your name, calling across the water to him. The power is his now.

You dive under the water until you can touch the bottom, scraping the dark sand with your fingertips. You push yourself towards the shore, skimming the bottom until you have to resurface for air. You keep yourself down in the water so that everything is still covered. Ghost has shifted in the sand, one leg stretched out in front of him.

"Why do you wear the hood? Do you ever take it off?"

"Sometimes."

"And the mask?"

"Don't you think you're asking a lot of questions?" His timber goes down half an octave - a warning for you to stop prying. He speaks again, getting you off of the subject of himself. "Do you plan to stay out here all night?"

"I suppose I have to. If I go home now my mother will probably use the whip on me."

"Has she done it before?"

"Once when I accidentally set my sister's bed on fire."

"Accidentally?"

"I swear."

Lightning crashes, close enough now that you can feel the vibrations; the sound is like a cannon in your ears. Pushing yourself out of the water, you clamber back toward your clothes. Ghost keeps his eyes on the horizon as you lift the dress, too ruined to put back on.

"Damn it," you mutter, "I'm going to have to run home in this."

"I thought you weren't going home?"

"Where else am I going to go in the middle of a storm? I'll just have to brave the whip. Unless you know somewhere I can hide for the night."

There's the sound of Ghost standing behind you; you're too busy trying to plot a way to make it home without anyone seeing you notice how close he is to you until he drips his cloak over your shoulders, heavy and warm. The smell of him envelops you.

"My mother is going to whip me if I come home in this," you mutter to yourself, pulling it around you - it pools at your feet, too long for you to hold up.

"Tell her you stole it," Ghost says, stepping around you, and for the first time, you see him without the cloak. Without the cloak, he seems larger, with a black tunic and pants, tucked into black boots. His mask, smeared with white ash, wraps around and covers everything but his eyes. The smell of him envelops you as you pull the hood of the cloak over your head to protect yourself from the coming rain.

"Yes, because that will make everything better."

You try not to stare at him as rain droplets start to fall, heavy and fat against the hood of the cloak. It feels almost intimate to see him like this, to see the distinct curves of his body, the way his tunic falls open, just slightly at the top.

"Anyway, I need to get home before the storm rolls in. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Like before, he walks up the steep and slippery path before you. You follow, far enough behind that you can stare at him as he walks, committing his shape to memory. At the top, he leaves you and you watch him until he disappears into the darkness. The rain is heavy and fast when you finally turn back home. Your feet squeal in the mud as you walk, the bottom of the cloak becoming caked in it, your shoes held in your hands to save them from the mud.

The house is cold when you walk in - lighting thrashing in the background. You're met with silence; you step on the sturdy spots of the floor, trying to keep anyone from hearing you. It's dark and you have hope that everyone is asleep and you can clean up and slide into bed without anyone noticing. But that hope is dashed when you hear Mother's voice from the sitting room.

"You finally made it back."

Her voice is like swallowing a sliver of ice.

"Get in here."

You don't dare disobey - the half-veiled threat of the whip is barely hidden in her voice. You keep the cloak pulled tight around you as you step lightly into the room. She's still completely dressed - her hair so perfect there's not one flyaway. She doesn't look at you as you walk in, hesitating in the doorway. The light from the oil lamp bounces off of her.

When she finally looks at you, her eyes narrow, eyeing the cloak. Your heart picks up, wondering what she's going to say about it.

"Sit down."

You ease into the seat across from her, trying to keep the fact that you've left Maggie's dress behind. The silence grows pregnant by the second, until Mother leans across to you, a letter in her hand. She holds it out to you, shaking it when you don't take it. It's heavy in your hand, the parchment thicker than a usual letter.

"What is this?"

"Read it."

You unfold the parchment and read with growing horror. Each line is a nail inside a proverbial coffin.

"You can't be - how long have you had this?"

Mother doesn't look at you as she smoothes the invisible wrinkles in her skirt. She chooses each of her words carefully, biting them off in small chunks.

"I obviously can not stop you from sneaking off to wherever it is that you have been going at night, or stop you from seeing whoever you go see," her eyes linger at the opening of the cloak, a sliver of your underdress showing. "But I am tired of having you act like a child. Your sisters have no problem with following the rules around here - I don't know why you can't."

You try to interrupt her, but she holds her hand up to stop you.

"I contacted the covenant last year. They have a spot ready for you. I can send you today if you wish to be rid of here that badly. But I am tired of this. You made an embarrassment of all of us. By some grace, Jonathan is still willing to marry you; although it does make me question his judgment. You will marry him as soon as he gets back."

"Gets back? From where? When?"

"He is going on one of your father's boats on its trip. It leaves tomorrow evening - and should be back in six months. He was going to tell you that last night."

Your stomach rolls, and you feel like throwing up. She stands, and even though she's no taller than you, she seems like a giant at that time.

"I will not stop you from doing whatever it is that you do when you sneak out at night or stop you from seeing whoever it is. But I will send you away if I need to. In six months you will be a wife or you will be gone. And that is the end of this conversation."

She doesn't look at you as she sweeps out of the room. You can hear her walk up the stairs, and then the door of her bedroom slam shut.

You tread up the stairs lightly, listening for sounds of Lily or Maggie, but there are none. Your room is empty, the bed made up and everything swept away. You drop down to the end of the bed - completely frozen by the idea of being sent away to be locked up behind a habit.

Stiffly, you strip your clothes off. The wash basin water is ice cold, but it does good enough to rise the mud and ocean off of your skin - you know tomorrow it'll be hell to get the knots out of your hair, but that's not a problem you want to worry about right now.

The bed is cold without Lily in the bed, and the sound of the storm racks your nerves. You think of Ghost, walking in this storm to the edge of the village, and wonder if he's made it to safety. After a moment, you pull the cloak up, forgetting the mud at the bottom, and drape it over yourself, the smell of Ghost washing over you to lull you to sleep.

You're woken by the sunlight hitting your face and a banging at the door. Maggie bursts in, hair damp with a sour expression.

"Do you need to wash your hair? There's still warm water if you need it." She crosses the room and jerks Ghost's cloak off of you. "Where did you get this? It's disgusting."

"I stole it," your voice is thick with sleep, "and thank you for telling me."

"Well, I figured you would want to wash after being out last night?"

"Why are you saying it like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like I was out up to no good."

"Seriously? You came home without my dress and with a stranger's cloak. It has to be a man's, no woman in the village is this tall. I'm not stupid."

"I told you I stole it."

Maggie sighs, her wet hair leaving a small damp spot on her shoulder. Her hands wring at her skirt, wrinkling the material - something you know she's going to fret about later. She hesitates in the doorway and then crosses quickly to the end of the bed.

"You know last night-"

"Please don't start Maggie, I am not in the mood to hear you lecture me. In fact, I would appreciate it if you just kept it to yourself."

Maggie stares you down before turning on her heel and storming out. Your head is thick as you push yourself up to stand. A headache threatens the back of your eyes, a pressure that threatens to build throughout the day. There's a stale taste in your mouth that mixes with iron like you've bitten your cheek in your sleep.

You hear the general sounds of people downstairs, the heavy tread of your father's boots on the floor, and the sound of the front door slamming shut. You dress quickly, washing your hair until the ocean salt is gone.

Lily waits for you at the bottom of the stairs, twirling her hair around her fingers - a nervous habit no one has ever been able to break her of. You drop down beside her, pulling her hair from her fingers gently.

"You keep doing that and you're going to go bald."

"Where were you last night?"

You shrug dramatically, leaning back so that your elbows are supporting you.

"I got lost, and then I had to fight off a wild roving band of bears. That tore my dress, so I had to sneak into someone's backyard and steal their cloak from where it was drying. Then I got caught, so I had to run through the mud and rain home."

Lily giggles at you before her hands find her hair to tug on it again.

"You know everyone is mad at you."

"I do. As long as you're not, it doesn't matter."

"Mother is going to make you get a wedding dress this week. I heard her tell Father that we needed to take a trip to the seamstress."

You sigh, fingers tracing the worn wood grain of the steps. Years of your family tracing a passage up and down has written the story of the house: your grandfather, carrying your father downstairs in a wrapped bundle, your Mother so heavily pregnant that she needed a cane to walk, you and Maggie bashing your knees against the wood chasing your father, you carrying Lily up on your back when the sprained her ankle last spring. And in six months you'll be a memory to it.

"I figured she would do that soon. I look horrible in white. Maybe a nice black; I can always wear it again in mourning." You lean forward to look into the empty kitchen. "Where is everyone?"

"Maggie went out - I don't know where she didn't say. Father went to see his ship off, Mother went to the church. It's just me and you."

A plan hatches in your chest, radiating outward in the seconds of silence that come through the house. You stand, pulling Lily up with you.

"Come on. I have an idea."

***

"We shouldn't be here - we're going to get in trouble," Lily whines, one hand on the back of your skirt, the other holding a basket.

"No, we're not. If anyone sees us, what are we doing?"

"Looking for Danesblood and yarrow." She repeats back to you what you coached her to say before the two of you left.

"And why are we doing that?"

"Because you twisted your knee last night and you need to make an ointment for the pain."

"Right."

The two of you crouch in the thick underbrush across from Ghost's cabin - a building off-limits to everyone in the village save for the judge and the council. In the daylight it's small and unassuming, the slight smoke curl wafting from the chimney almost pastoral. You remember once when Father had to visit the old executioner, the day before an emergency execution to sign off on it with the other council members. He'd come back shaken and refused to speak about it.

"What are we even doing out here?" Lily asks, breath hot against your neck as you crouch down, scanning the road to the left and right to see if anyone is near.

"I need to return this cloak," you tell her, holding the neatly wrapped cloak in your hands. You'd quickly scrubbed it free of mud, pressing it to your face to breathe in the smell of Ghost before running downstairs to pull Lily into the street with you. She'd worried the entire time here, nettles snagging at your skirts as the two of you crept through the woods to keep from being seen.

"You stole it from him!" she squeaks, voice rising to a pitch only dogs can hear.

"Hush!" You chide, pressing one finger to your lip before turning back to the street. "And yes. I stole it right off his drying line. It was very brave."

"You're a liar!" Her voice rises a pitch.

"Just hush and stay here. Don't move no matter what."

"What if he kills you?"

"You can go home then."

You take a deep breath, gather your skirts in one hand, and dash across the road. At the door, you drop the cloak, knock on the door once, and turn on your heel to run. You can make out Lily's face, eyes pale as she peers in fear. You make it beside her, turning just in time to see the door shut.

"Do you think he saw me?" You ask Lily, breathless.

"I think he did. Do you think he'll tell anyone?"

You don't answer her, just pull her back towards the village. At the edge, the two of you pause before melding back into the streets. You grab her hand, pulling her towards the bustling market street to seem like you've been there for hours.

"Come on," you say, pulling her, "let's get home."

The walk is tense, the two of you expecting at any moment to get caught by someone who can feel what the two of you were just doing. But no one stops you as you walk - no one stops you as the two of you cross onto your street, no one-

The sound of your name stops you and Lily short. Behind you Maggie walks, a quick shuffle, her hair falling around her face. She strides towards the two of you; grabbing Lily's wrist she pulls her away from you and tries to tuck Lily behind her back.

"What were you up to?"

"Nothing, we-"

"Don't be a liar."

You've never thought about hitting Maggie, but at this moment, you think about shoving her down into the dirt. Maggie breathes hard through her nose, her grip on Lily's wrist bruising.

"Lily doesn't need you dragging her into the messes that you keep getting yourself into."

"Maggie I swear-"

You don't get any words out, your anger blistering as you watch Maggie drag Lily back towards the house. Lily looks over her shoulder at you, her eyes apologizing, her feet causing rivets in the dirt. You watch as the front door of the house swings shut.

****

That evening finds you on the pier, your feet dangling toward the water, a sense of freedom finally overtaking you for the day. Here with no one ignoring you or speaking to you as if you were simple, and no one in the village whispering about your engagement behind your back.

Boots hit the wood behind you, and you recognize the tread pattern. When he's close enough to you, he speaks.

"Not hiding in the cove tonight?"

"No - I figured that my mother is hell-bent on running my days and that I will do what I want with my nights." You turn towards him, expecting his normal cloak, but instead being met without it. He looms over you in his all-black attire, eyes shining around his mask.

"You know I returned your cloak today."

"I saw that, thank you. Does my presence scare you so much that you needed to run?"

You scoff, moving over so that he can come to stand beside you.

"No. But my little sister is terrified of you, and I didn't need to scare her by stopping to have a chat."

You push yourself to your feet, your head coming to Ghost's shoulder. You turn on your heel, heading back towards the shore - you turn to see Ghost still standing at the end of the pier, eyes cast towards the horizon.

"Are you going to stand there all night or would you like to go on a walk?"

It takes a moment, but he turns back towards you.

"A walk?"

"Yes. I'm not sitting on this uncomfortable pier all night long, and I don't feel like swimming tonight. I'm going on a walk - you're welcome to come with me if you wish."

Ghost catches up to you by the time you reach the end of the pier, falling into step beside you, hands clasped behind his back. The two of you stride back towards the main section of the village, window shutters closed tight on each house.

"You're not worried about being seen with me?" Ghosts ask as the two of you round a side street - shadows long and thick across the road.

"Who is there to see us? It's long past midnight. Everyone is asleep but us."

The sound of your feet on the hard ground reverbs off of the houses, the swish of your skirt, and the sound of his boots filling the air. The air is blistering, the moisture from the storm steaming in the night air.

"Do you intend to walk the streets every night?" Ghosts ask, voice deadpanned.

"Well, considering no one in my house is speaking to me and my mother is going to make me go to the seamstress for a wedding dress this week, I think the nighttime is the best time for me to be out."

"Seems like a waste of money since every dress you seem to own ends up covered in seawater and sand." You can't tell if he's teasing or not, but you cut your eyes at him anyway. You give a sarcastic laugh, clasping your hands behind your back in a pantomime of his posture.

"My mother is probably going to tie me up on the wedding day so that I can't leave the house. So you will just have to do without seeing me strip that dress off."

Ghost lets out an annoyed 'humph' that you can't help but smile at. Your feet carry you onto the main street - the execution platform ahead of you two. Your feet falter, Ghost pausing alongside you. Even in the dark of the night, the execution platform has a dark hue around it.

Ghost starts ahead of you, erasing any questions you have from the air. His spine is rigid, and you can sense his discomfort rolling in waves off of him. Neither of you speaks until the platform is behind the two of you.

"Do you ever sleep?" You finally ask as the two of you walk down the market street.

"Why does it matter?"

"Well, most people sleep at night?" You say as if you're explaining something to a small child.

"You're here with me."

"I sleep once I get home. But do you sleep?"

"Occasionally."

The conversation drops until your house looms in the distance. You stop at the front, Ghost pausing with her.

"This is where I stop for the night. I do need sleep after all."

Ghost doesn't speak, just stares down at you with blank eyes.

"I may see you tomorrow night. Goodnight."

You don't wait for him to say goodnight, but as the door shuts behind you, you swear you hear him whisper it.

tag list: @silverianni, @milfs4lifee, @koi-feish, @shirabeastly, @pookie90, @ghostlythots, @hearts4sky, @devcica, @crystalizedtime, @the-worlds-tempest, @myconglomerateromance, @elena-ph, @chaoticgoblindev, @pipocfamily, @canadianmilkbag, @caspertheassholeghost, @2512121morningstar, @glitterypirateduck, @elli0th3r, @clairdelunelove, @captainprice4life, @generaldestinychild

#my fics #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost cod x reader #cod fanfic #ghost cod #cod #cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #cod mwii #call of duty #mw2 #modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare #modern warefare 2

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local-ground-apple · 11 months

Text

sleepless

I haven't seen the part 3 of chapter 7 yet... Basically what you & Malleus are doing when everyone is under the sleeping curse

,,Malleus !”

You thought the last thing you would hear before falling asleep for the eternity would be Lilia’s desperate scream prompting Malleus to stop casting his unique magic and turning every student into some sort of fairytale protagonist.

No matter how hard you tried to fight drowsiness, your eyelids seemed surprisingly heavy. Eventually they drooped and you closed your eyes, taking one last look at the frightened faces of Prefect and their friends.

Perhaps the eternal slumber wouldn’t be that bad, you silently thought to yourself, feeling sleepiness washing all over your form.

Then you blinked and your eyes opened involuntarily.

As quickly as you awoke, you closed them, feeling a slight panic threating to take control of your tired body.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

You were supposed to fall asleep just like everyone else, waiting for a knight in silver armor to wake everyone up.

However, you were wide awake. You tried desperately to calm your uneven breathing and steady your racing heartbeat. After all, in the sleep people should be the epitome of tranquility. You were aware that if you didn't manage to calm yourself down quickly, you would be discovered and you weren’t keen on finding out the consequences of your strange immunity to the curse.

You took deep breaths, slowly relaxing your tense muscles, trying to appear as if you were dreaming calmly. You forced yourself to stand still, yet you couldn’t exactly help the way your legs slightly trembled in panic. You clenched your fists for a brief moment, reminding yourself to calm down, as you forced your body to comply.

You could feel the fatigue and sheer stress washing all over your form, threating to uncover your disguise to Malleus.

Just pretend you’re sleeping, you’re sleeping, you’re sleeping. Focus on your breathing…

You told yourself multiple times in your head, praying that it would work. That you would manage to fool the dragon faerie that was revering in his successfully casted curse. You could faintly hear his footsteps, as he was pacing around the room. Sometimes they would get closer to your form, only to move away again after a brief while.

You were thankful for not standing near Yuu or the rest of Malleus’ Diasomnia friends. He seemed to stop near then every once in a while. You could hear him speaking something, yet you couldn’t make out the words leaving his mouth, as you were way too focused on trying to come up with a solution from your current predicament.

You felt lost.

And you knew you couldn’t hold on for long.

You were just a mere human and after a stress-filled hour of standing still, keeping your eyes closed, as you tried to relax your tensed muscles, you felt exhausted. You knew it was a matter of time before you would collapse and Malleus would discover the exception to his curse.

You could feel sweat beginning to form on your forehead, intent on running down your cheek. You wanted it brush it off, yet you weren’t sure where exactly Malleus was standing. He stopped walking around a while ago and the dreadful silence was sending shivers down your spine.

You didn’t know where he was.

Yet, you couldn’t briefly open your eyelids and peek.

You weren’t brave to make such a risky move. No, it simply wasn’t worth it. You weren’t mentally prepared to be discovered just yet.

You took another deep breath, as you tried to think. What could you possibly do in such situation. Maybe you could attempt to wake someone up ?

Absolutely no, you were quick to brush off this solution. There was no way you could wake someone up, if you didn't even know why you weren't cursed in the first place. It appeared that you would have to silently leave the room and look for help.

I'm so dead, you thought to yourself at the mere prospect of even attempting to walk out of here without Malleus noticing. It seemed almost impossible. Even if you were to open your eyes for a brief moment and peak, you were convinced that escaping quietly would be failure.

Before you could take another slow breath and try to think once again, you felt a cold breath on your exposed skin, as clawed fingers grazed over your cheek.

It seemed that you had been discovered.

,,Hmm, why aren't you asleep, Child of Man ?"

You shut your eyelids with all your might, your whole body tensing up at the mere touch of sharp claws that were threatening to cut your delicate skin. You could feel your body trembling in pure fear, as you didn't have to pretend anymore how petrified you were.

,,My, my, I am aware that you're not sleeping. Might as well stop pretending"

You could feel a hint of impatience in his tone of voice that seemed always playful. As of this situation was amusing. You supposed that maybe it was, to him. You, on the other hand, were petrified. The tears were welling in the corner of your eyes, as they threatened to run away.

You squeezed your eyes closed, refusing to open them up and come face to face with overblotted Malleus. No, no, no, no, no, if only you were asleep, just like everyone else.

The claw that was gently running down your cheek seemed to grow impatient, as it pressed harder on your skin, earning a surprised yelp from you. It didn't draw any blood, yet you could feel that it was only a matter of time.

You opened your eyes abruptly, when it pressed hard enough to finally make the crimson droplets run down your cheek.

,,That's quite, hmm, unexpected"

Malleus stated, as his hands gripped your chin, forcing you to look at him. He titled your head slightly, as he was engrossed in his thoughts. You could only glare at him, as tears rolled down your cheeks. You didn't even bother to struggle, fully aware of his iron grip on you.

It was the end.

Or was it.

,,It certainly didn't work on you, Child of Man. Even when I attempted to cast the curse once again. Why is that ?"

You were painfully aware of his full attention on you and the way he was staring at you. You didn't know how the respond to his question, you were as perplexed as he was. You furrowed your eyebrows, slowly feeling anger remplacing your initial fear.

It you were going to die either way, you may just as well go down in a epic way.

You abruptly pulled away, catching Malleus slightly off guard, as you managed to get away from his grasp. You quickly regained your balance, as you crossed your arms over your chest. You weren't even going to run away, aware that he would catch up to you in the span of few seconds.

You brushed away your tears, as you took a deep breath in a poor attempt to calm yourself.

,,I don't know"

Your voice slightly faltered and you cursed yourself mentally for this pathetic display of weakness, yet Malleus didn't seem to mind. He tapped his clawed fingers gently on his chin, engrossed in his thoughts, as if he was considering some possibles options.

Then it hit you.

Your eyes slightly widened, as you remembered one event from few months ago.

,,Maybe it's because I was already once under a similar curse. When me and Silver were fooling around near the spinning away..."

You whispere, yet Malleus had heard you loud and clear, as he raised an eyebrow.

To be completely honest, he didn't remember you that well. He knew you were another magicless student that just happened to end up in Twisted Wonderland, just like Yuu. You just never bothered to really get in troubles.

Malleus hadn't really talked a lot with you, yet he knew that you were quite close with one of his knights. You and Silver were great friends, in his opinion. He had even let you stay in Briar Valley during the winter break.

That would explain how you had seen the spinning well. However, it still didn't quite make sense in his opinion.

,,Fooling around the spinning wheel ? How come I wasn't aware of this ? How did you wake up, Child of Man?"

You grimaced hearing all those questions.

The real answer probably would be, because Malleus was way too busy caring about Yuu to actually even notice you getting cursed in his own castle. And since Sebek wasn't even aware of that situation, Lilia could be bribed and Silver decided to keep quiet about it, Malleus had absolutely no clue what had happened.

,,Well, Silver woke me up and we bribed Lilia"

You responded honestly, as you watched Malleus furrow his eyebrows in confusion. The whole story seemed just so bizarre to him and you couldn't really blame him for this. You and Silver were equally confused as him, when he managed to wake you up. Only Lilia seemed so done with you both that he forbade you two to leave his sight for the remaining time of your stay.

Silver.

It reminded you of something. If the curses were similar, perhaps you could actually wake him up. You glanced at Malleus that seemed to be still processing your story and you bolted in the direction of Silver. You were going to risk it and take your chances. If your kiss was able to wake him up, you could...

You weren't quite sure what you both could do against Malleus. Perhaps nothing, but at least you wouldn't be forced to sit here with the dragon faerie.

Yet, he was faster.

As if sensing that you were about to kiss Silver, Malleus grabbed your wrist pulling you back with force. You let you a startled scream, as you struggled to get away, yet he was way too strong.

It took you a while to calm down.

You were screaming, cursing Malleus, hitting with your weak punches that absolutely did no damage to him. You were crying while yelling your rants till you eventually fell asleep.

Not because of the curse that you seemed inmune to. No, you collapsed from emotions and stress, giving Malleus few hours to peacefully gather his thoughts.

He wasn't planning on killing, how you had yelled at him. No. Not especially since now he knew how Silver felt about you.

He may have gone insane, yet he also knew when to stop. Malleus supposed that you would stay here as long as he deems it necessary. Till he figures out how to effectively curse you.

You were just a human.

A human.

Yet, he couldn't force you into the eternal slumber.

Perhaps, it was the side-effect of the previous curse from the spinning wheel that you had suffered from. Or you were just inmune to his unique magic in particular. Malleus furrowed his eyebrows. He couldn't comprehend why Lilia wouldn't inform him of such situation.

He had to brush his thought off, as a tired and quiet voice.

,,Just let me wake up Silver, please"

Malleus sighed heavily. So you woke up after all. He had hoped that you would be sleeping for a little longer, so he could come up with any sort of plan.

,,No"

He responded and he watched just how quickly your face had changed from exhausted and hopeful to filled with pure hartred and anger.

You opened your mouth to argue with him and attempt to change his opinion, yet he was faster than you.

,,Since you're awake, you may as well just talk with me, Human"

reader after few days be like:

you: day 32th of asking you to let me wake up Silver malleus: nO

alternatively:

you: this isn't fair. i feel excluded, i really wanted to be under the sleeping curse. i really enjoyed the one from spinning wheel malleus: you're not okay you: as if you're the one to talk, man

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #malleus draconia #diasomnia chapter 7 #malleus draconia x reader #silver x reader #twst silver x reader #twst silver #twst malleus x reader #twst malleus draconia x reader #malleus x reader #twisted wonderland malleus x reader #twisted wonderland malleus draconia x reader #disney twst

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space-man2 · 5 months

Text

My Former Student

Picture my shock when I opened my hotel room and found my former star student from the third-year Botany class. Jordan Harris, in the flesh, literally. I've always imagined him to be a chubby guy underneath the thick hoods he always wore. Never did I think that he was a muscular god underneath!

"Mr. Perry!" Jordan exclaimed. His eyes snapped open, and the shock caused him to drop his phone. It fell on top of his discarded clothes.

"J- Jordan," I double-checked the hotel door to confirm I was in the correct room, ensuring my contact on the "Rent-a-Body" app was accurate. It says 1409. like in the chat. I had no clue who I was chatting with in the app, considering I went for the cheapest mystery body package. Occasionally, you end up with a twink; Then, mostly, it could be someone decent, but there are rare moments when you discover a diamond in the rough. You get whoever, and that's the mystery behind the affordability. I am a washed-up Botany teacher who could barely afford his mortgage, and that's why this is the one I could afford.

I looked at Jordan and memories of who he was and what he was supposed to be flashed in my mind. He was my star student, the brightest I've seen in the decades of teaching. He was a bit of a recluse, often coming up to me to do solo or group projects. I imagined him starting his PhD now and not here, sweaty and half-naked.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"You're Perry164, right?" Jordan asked, to which I nodded. "Then you're the client who will be possessing my body for a week."

"I get that. But why are you here?" I approached Jordan's side. My mind is wilding at the prospect of getting those thick biceps and beefy pecs. But he needs answers because it feels strange to possess the body of my former star student.

Jordan didn't need additional explanation to realize what I meant. "Did you imagine me spending the next eight years of my life in the laboratory and getting my post-graduate diplomas?" Jordan saw my nod and chuckled. "You know I'm a pragmatic guy, Mr. Perry. I'm earning more money here in a month than what I would make in a year as a researcher."

"But are you worried? People might do bad things while in your body. It's too risky." I guess this was the caring professor oozing from me.

"There are risks, yes," Jordan grabbed my hand and led it to his chest. He squeezed my hand, compelling me to grasp his warm, dense flesh. I followed his whim, and he cooed a hushed moan from it. "Will you do bad things, Mr. Perry?" He asked in a low, seductive tone. I never imagined I would see this side of him.

"I… I suppose not." I said, my voice heavy with apprehension.

Jordan grabbed my head and pulled me closer to his chest. He must have noticed that I've been staring at it for some time now. I pressed my nose on his right nipple, then gave it apprehensive licks. Jordan mewled a louder moan, and when I knew he was in the moment, I indulged him by pleasing his nipple until it was erect and hard. Underneath, I lifted the fabric of his underwear and grabbed his thick, throbbing rod. Our bodies ground and rubbed into one warm, sweaty mess.

I saw him reach for something on the night table and pop a pill in his mouth. Just as he swallowed the pill, my head was suddenly engulfed by the flesh of his chest. It was as thick as honey and as hot as a furnace.

"Relax…" Jordan said in a comforting voice as he combed my hair. His firm hand pushed me deeper until darkness covered my vision. I felt my heart rising from the panic, and it intensified when I could not breathe. "It will be over soon, Mr. Perry."

Jordan's body swallowed me whole. There was darkness, but I could still feel the weight pressing on my body, crushing me from every direction. But amid that feeling, there was also strength. Then I opened my eyes, and the searing light from the hotel lamp seared through. I scanned the room but couldn't spot Jordan anywhere. My chest heaved harder, and my body sweated more intensely than I could recall. When I looked down, I found not my body but the body of my former student attached to me. His chest rose high and fell deep, his muscles twitched, and his cock throbbed long and at the peak of its pleasure. Before the second was over, Jordan's speed erupted from it, surging high in the air and spraying anywhere they could land.

"Fu- FUCK! HNGGGG AAAHHHH~~" I closed my eyes and screamed as pleasures of unimaginable magnitudes rocked my body. "Aah! Oh god! I can't!" Little did I realize — I was cursing and moaning with Jordan's deep, seductive voice. I grabbed my cock and tried my best to contain the sensations, but my struggles were fruitless as the ebbs of pleasure continued to weave through my body. I writhed on the bed, hoping to survive through the ordeal. When I thought it was finished, more would come out, forcing me to scream delectable moans that only served to prolong this climax.

But eventually, good things came to a mellow end. My chest was evenly coated with cum, and I rubbed them across while groping my beefy pecs. I smelled the built-up aroma from my sweaty armpits and drowned myself in the invasion of alluring pheromones. It wasn't even an hour, and I've greatly enjoyed my time in this body. Six more days remain. I know I'm going to have so much fucking fun in this body.

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#body possession #male possession #possession #male body possession

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nilsavatar · 6 months

Text

DAY 8 - VOYEURISM

Parings: Neteyam x Fem!Omatikaya

Genre/Warnings: NSFW/MDNI +18, no use of Y/N, SMUT in the end, voyeurism, mimicked intercourse (Neteyam and reader copy everything Jake and Neytiri do), blowjob, face fucking, rough, dirty talk, degradation, breeding kink, commitment relationship, dom-Jake, sub-Neteyam who turns in a dom-Neteyam later on, slight mention of claustrophobia, mention of KirixSpider. All characters are AGED-UP.

Summary: Jake and Neytiri are out for their periodic date night. Neteyam is supposed to look after Tuk, but Aywanin (reader), thanks to Kiri's involvement, manages to convince him to sneak away to have their own personal date night. One rule: no ikran. To avoid detection, they travel a secret passage in the rock tunnels of High Camp that would have taken them out of Mons Veritatis, but something bars their way. Or rather, somebody.

Word Count: 4k

Masterlist - Request a fic

“Oh, come on!” “Aywa,” his tone was one of warning, but a pleased note ruined the intent not to make her press further with her risky request. “I promise you won't regret it.” She looked up at him through long black lashes, her face tilted to one side, her lips parted in an unmistakable, allusive smirk. Neteyam shook his head in amusement, no longer able to restrain himself from smiling back and meeting her gaze with equal expectation. He drew her into an embrace. Their arms circled each other's waists and the tips of their noses rubbed together. He inhaled the sweetness of the balm she used to wash herself. It enveloped her, exuding a luscious aroma reminiscent of nectar, with hints of amber that accentuated the natural fragrance of her skin, leaving him at a loss for words to describe it; it was simply her. He would have been able to recognize her scent among a thousand. Even if he lost his sight, hearing, or memory, he was sure it would bring him back to her.

The two looked at each other in complicity, their foreheads leaning against each other. "How do we deal with Tuk?" he asked, unable to let go of his diligence altogether. The obedient good-boy. A side of him that could greatly irritate her, but concurrently, it contained goodness, protectiveness, and a sense of duty that was the key to her love for him. How could she not love a man like that, after all? Someone who would make her feel guarded and respected? Always attentive and understanding, he was like a gentle guide, ready to coddle her but also willing to steer her in the right direction if needed. As should have been the case tonight, yet the inclination to give her everything she wanted prevailed, to give in under those pleading but cunning eyes. His greatest weakness — and undoubtedly the prospect of a spicy night was playing its part.

Neteyam was still a man. Perfect, but just a man.

“I’ve already talked to Kiri. She’ll take care of her.” “You talked to Kiri?” he stared at her in amazement, stepping back a little, but not enough so that he no longer felt the warmth of her body. His large hands anchored on her arms, unable to resist sinking his fingers into her flesh, from tasting the smooth skin. Aywanin bit her lower lip with a mock guilty air. She blinked a few times before running her fingers over his pecs, then his abs, and finally entwined again behind his back. Clinging to him until she felt the beginning of a bulge press against her abdomen. The skin flushed where the nails lightly scratched their path. “I knew you'd back off otherwise. I had to pre-empt.”

“Smart move.” “I learned from the best," she teased.” “It's pretty odd that she actually said yes to babysitting Tuk. You know how she is.” “Let’s say we struck a deal.” The wry grin that crippled her mouth sent a shiver down his spine. Shivers of pleasure, because it drove him crazy when she brought out her nasty side. “Is this related to Spider?” “Uh-huh, no way. My lips are sealed. Girls’ secret.” “It's like you answered me, you know?” “If you make assumptions I don’t confirm, that’s all that’s left...” she rose on her tiptoes to reach his mouth, on which she blew into it, “... assumptions.” “You have a knack for making things go your way.” He asserted, not missing the opportunity to gather both buttocks in his broad palms playfully and blow her a flying kiss. “No ikran, got it?” “It’s not like I wanna get us caught, silly,” she giggled, satisfied with her own success.

Who would have guessed that even his parents would not venture out into the night sky for a flight?

Sneaking out of the village was easier said than done, especially after the return of the RDA and chiefly when you were close to the olo’eyktan family. Security had increased significantly since the clan had moved to the Hallelujah Mountains, with a patrol always stationed at each entrance. However, within the labyrinthine caves, a secret dwelled - a concealed passageway known only to them.

Lo'ak used it as a means of evading their parents and exploring the forest.

“This way,” Neteyam whispered to keep his voice from booming and offered his hand. For the first time that evening, he read hesitation on the girl’s face, normally unfamiliar with apprehension. “It gets a little tight up ahead, but we'll pass through in a single line. And then, the passage leads to a secret chamber that connects to another hallway, and we'll finally be outside.” He threw her an encouraging smile, “You trust me?” She smiled back, “Yes.” Stealthily and guided by luminescent larvae that colored the massive limestone walls a pale blue, directing them through the otherwise dark and asphyxiating corridor, the two made their way watching out for stalactites and stalagmites that threatened to trip them up or, worse, leave their heads in them. Walking under that semblance of a starry sky was a captivating experience, truly breathtaking. Aywanin wished to stay there longer, but each additional minute meant sacrificing their personal delight.

They noticed a light up ahead that grew stronger with each step, filling the air with a loving glow and beckoning them closer. Moonlight filtered through the mouth of the cave. The path out led to sturdy roots, which they would climb to reach a lush glade growing atop the giant boulder that now served as home to the Omatikaya. A place of rare beauty, especially during the enchantment of the night. The girl felt a warm sensation spread through her as her lips curved into a smile. They were finally out; the chances of being caught red-handed were minimized. Regaining the playful spirit that had driven them there, she pulled Neteyam by the arm to encircle his neck with hers and glued her mouth on his in a messy kiss. It caught him by surprise enough to make him stumble over his steps and slam his back against the jagged wall. A sigh swallowed his moan of pain when Aywanin ran her tongue past his tooth line.

Neteyam, driven by her resourcefulness, leaned down and wedged his forearms behind her knees, anchoring her securely to his waist, when she gave herself the momentum to pounce on him. Her heels crossed behind his hips, positioned in the small but obvious, symmetrical, lateral depressions in his lower torso that seemed to be designed specifically for that. Earthlings called them ‘dimples of Venus,’ taking their cue from the goddess of Physical Glee and Love of an ancient cult in their world. It was a name Aywanin liked; an apt association. As faithful as she was to the Great Mother, she had to admit the sensuality of that particular spot on their bodies could only be a detail born from the mind of a deity devoted to love, desire, and passion.

The young warrior gave himself the push to break away from the rough, sharp surface, rotated on himself, and slammed her against it. Pleasantly painful, the impact forced her to break their effusion with a hiss. His gaze carried a hint of disapproval, softened by the familiar gleam in his eyes that deepened the color of his iris. His eyes, usually a piercing cold yellow, with just the right hint of vibrant green akin to a lime peel, morphed into a mesmerizing shade of honey gold.

“We’re almost there,” he exhaled, his warm breath gently brushing against her face. “I'm loving it here. Isn't this place so … suggestive?” “Too risky. We'd be totally busted if someone showed up.” There was nowhere to hide. “You said this is a secret passageway known only to you and Lo’ak.” “Yeah, but —.” Aywanin hushed him by laying her index finger to seal his lips. “No one's gonna drop by. It's the middle of the night. C'mon, take a look. It's so pretty here.” It looked like a Martian landscape: rocky, inhospitable, and rugged, with a magnificent sky to witness their love. Although their stars were the glowworms with which they faced Unitarol. "Why not switch things up and try something different?” she asked, winkingly. Again, that expression that sometimes he wanted to tear away, but most of the same made his knees go soft, and his saliva thicken into a rump. “You will be my downfall,” he accused with a smile. “I am your downfall.”

Holding her tightly, Neteyam followed the veins that marked the rock where rainwater seepage led to a depression in the innermost part of the underground chamber. A place secluded enough for no one to surprise them, and of ideal acoustics to hear her chant his name over and over again like a prayer. Aywanin knew how to put a strain on his balance as he walked, being careful where he put his feet. Her kisses and bites were distracting because of the tremors they caused throughout his body. But Neteyam was a man of iron will; he would not give in to the temptation to take her there, in a chalky rock corridor. No, he would lay her down on the nice moss that covered the moisture-laden stone pavement, at the spot where the luminescent larvae had the most prolific colony. So many trails and shimmering dots on par with constellations in the celestial vault.

Perhaps if they had not been so immersed in their frolicking. In the hard kisses that wanted to suck the air out of each other’s lungs, in the scratches along his back, in the marks between her neck and shoulder. Perhaps they would have noticed sooner the low moans that echoed from the depths of the cave. More and more frequent and high-pitched, until one of them culminated in a louder shriek.

“Ma’Jake!”

The tips of Neteyam’s ears clicked like toy soldiers, and he urgently crouched down behind the largest boulder he could find, with still Aywanin clinging to him, shielding her. “Teyam?” she asked in a daze, but he quickly signaled for her to stay quiet by raising his index finger. “What is it? What’s going on?” she whispered then. Without a word, he lifted himself up just enough on his ankles to peer over the edge of the rock.

The clan only had one Jake, and only one person could appeal to him in such an intimate manner.

Neteyam stifled an expletive, shrugging her off to slide seated against the wall, where he slammed the back of his head. “My parents are here.” “Your parents?! You said this passage—.” “Guess it's not as secret as we thought.” “Why are they even here?” He cast her a look that was both eloquent and pleading. Don't make me say it out loud, please. “Date night.” He simply stated, and the girl's eyes squinted wildly. She was shivering with cold sweat. By now it was too late; they could no longer escape without them noticing. All they could do was wait for them to... finish.

Jake had nailed her to the wall in a voracious kiss as he trudged to unfasten the flight leggings that veiled her legs. His fingers slid over the perforated details of the leather fabric and up her calf, then over the knee that grazed his pelvis. What was left of their clothes soon scattered on the floor. Sucking the breath from her lungs, his wet kisses lingered on her lips, letting the desire to be taken dig into her skin and creep ever stronger. He lifted her off the ground, lacing her ankles behind his back and sliding to his right. She was unbalanced for a second for lack of support, but Jake was ready for that eventuality as well. “No way I’m going to drop you,” he whispered laughingly, continuing to a deliberately bumped obstacle. He set her down on a hard surface and the woman brought her hands behind her, bracing herself on what must have been a deformation of the rock face. Before she could speak, her mate bit the back of her shoulder. A wave of strong ardor washed over her flesh, and she could not help but rub herself against him, moaning Jake’s name. His bites were wild and fervent and made her legs soft.

A strange heat spread through Aywanin as she stared at the scene in astonishment, unable to look away. It was bewitching. Every flap of skin flushed, every nerve ending awakened. The senses heightened; especially the touch that grew impatient and the sense of smell yearning to register any detail of the pheromones that characterized them. So unique, so theirs.

“Why didn’t we start like this right away?” The olo’eyktan whispered between kisses. “Someone here didn’t even want to go out tonight. He was tired,” Neytiri reciprocated with all the passion she possessed. “What a bad person.” “Horrible.” “This horrible guy gonna bang you so well that you will forget even your name.” He swallowed her tongue again, his arms wrapped possessively around her.

The kiss lasted an eternity.

It was strange to see Neytiri so vulnerable. The image of the woman in her head was very clear: proud, beautiful, and imperturbable. But in her husband’s hands, she shattered and became malleable like soft clay. It was as if she lost what she was in that state. Warrior, mother, tsakarem. Only the woman remained, and so did Jake. For the first time, the girl’s eyes rested on their figures without seeing what they represented, and this triggered something in her. As if the two lovers had pressed a button inside her, lit a fire that burned away everything else. Without looking away for an instant, she reached for Neteyam’s loincloth and unfastened it. Despite the soft thud it made, the sound of his parents' cries overpowered any potential echo.

The boy was about to ask her what the fuck was going on in her mind, but the grip on his throbbing member cut off his breath. “No. No, Aywa, stop!” he yelled in a murmur, but she took to pump him undaunted. Up and down along the shaft, preening the base more and more, and teasing his slit at the tip as she knew he liked it. “We can’t leave without them noticing us. We might as well make the most of this experience and get a free lesson in a fortunate marriage.”

Marriage. It was a recurring theme lately. Or rather, it was a topic Neteyam often brought up, ready to culminate in their long courtship, their dream of love. Yet Aywanin had never been too open about it, leaving the question undetermined, although the answer would have been simple. They just had to set a date. This was the last of the situations in which he would have predicted her to open the subject of her own accord.

Were they indeed going to discuss it now? With his parents’ moans in his ear, their bodies entwined in his peripheral vision, and his fiancée's hand jerking him off to top it all off?

“I want to learn whatever it takes to make you happy.” “You already make me happy.” “I want you to be happy forever. That you choose me all your life like your father chooses your mother every day.” “I wish the same.” “Then let’s make the most of it. There is no better example than them,” she smiled like a fox.

They mimicked as far as possible everything they saw their unsuspecting mentors doing.

“Open.” heard Jake say, out of breath. “W-what?” “Your legs,” his voice was an octave lower, “Show me what you’re hiding.”

Aywanin swallowed hard as Neteyam positioned himself between her own legs. She didn't think the young man would get involved in such a perversion. Normally, he was the sweetest man in the world in bed. He cuddled her by whispering sweet nothings in her ear. Their bodies swayed together as they listened to the ticking of the bedposts and the rustle of the wind beating against the roof of the hut. But he could also be imperious and rough, aware of how much she liked a little force between waves of bliss. And that was just a taste of what he planned to do within minutes as he listened to his father’s words as if they were direct orders. The perfect little soldier.

Watching him participate in the game was an ecstatic experience that words cannot capture. The satisfaction that inflamed her insides was so enveloping that it stunned her, leaving her with a single, powerful conviction, a blaze of lucidity impossible to extinguish except with the roar of orgasm.

She was responsible for his transformation. She uncovered his true essence.

And what could pass for dominance was, in reality, nothing more than submission to the drives that he was so distressed to drown; but when he was with her, they resurfaced and obscured reason, erasing the hardness of his nature. The only thing that mental state allowed to keep hard was the long, heavy cock that now contracted against his belly.

She shuddered under his gaze, the coils in her stomach tensing. He knew she didn’t want it to be gentle, not after coming all that way at that time of night. She didn’t want him to be respectful, right now, with this amount of desire burning inside her. If this was a way to please her, even if it was out of his character, he would do anything to fulfill her dirtiest dream.

They turned to look at the other couple. The mischief in Jake’s eyes was quickly replaced by impatience when Neytiri didn’t indulge him. “I said, open,” she lifted her chin, feeling weak under the superiority of his gaze. “Are you pretending to be shy?” he spat. Nonchalantly, she opened her legs, allowing a glimpse of her folds, wet and glistening. “You can do better than that. Spread.” He ordered as he reached out a hand, tightening his fingers around her ankle, and yanked her forward until she slid off the boulder. She gasped in surprise, her shins dangling over the edge as he cupped her mouth with one palm and pinned her thigh with the other. His grip was never too strong to leave a mark. He loved her too much to hurt her.

He forced her to extend them as far apart as possible, exposing her squirming hole to hungry eyes. “Look at you,” he said, as he traced the folds with his fingertips. “You’re soaked.” He slipped two digits into his mouth, smeared them with saliva, and brought them back down to slide over her clit. Without warning, he pushed them in, spinning them upwards and she gasped. He removed his fingers, only to put them back in his mouth and taste her on his tongue. He kept his eyes on her as he emitted a little mumbling around his phalanges. His smile was salacious.

Asserting that Neytiri enjoyed being taken in that indelicate way because she loved suffering itself was inaccurate. On the contrary, she knew how to turn out to be extremely proactive. Sometimes a spark would inflame within her, propelling her to seize control with a calculated and ruthless determination, detached from her usual self, solely driven to instill despair in him. But most of the time, she loved the feeling of being able to melt into his powerful arms. The realization that he knew exactly whatever weakness she had and turned it to his advantage sent her into raptures.

Aywanin was on the verge of saying his name when he tightened his grip around her throat and groaned into her lips as he burned her with a peck. His tongue slipped between her teeth, moving in a mad dance against her writhing one. The clamp around her neck was tight, his hand and his kiss choking her simultaneously. When he let go, Neteyam’s face hovered over hers, letting her savor the fresh scent of his breath. “Consider yourself lucky that I love you so damn much to give you what you want,” he remarked as he plunged his digits in. A shudder ran through her like a shot of adrenaline that melted her in his grasp, her lips parted in a choked sob.

The other man kissed his woman once, softly, languidly, but when he dragged his lips to her ear, his voice was dangerously arousing, “Do you want me to fuck you here and now?” “Y-yes,” she pleaded at his mercy. He purred, a small smirk pressed against the skin under her earlobe, pleased by such abandonment. Removing his hand from her larynx, he cupped her jaw until her lips puckered. He was only a breath away when he hissed, “First things first, you'll have to do a little something for me.” He stood up before her, staring at her through impossibly black lashes. She yearned so much for him to touch her, but even without speaking, Jake could already tell.

“On your knees,” he commanded, but she was too overwrought to obey immediately. He laid her on the ground, wonderfully aligned with his pelvis, “Do you want me to do it or do you think you can give pleasure to your husband?” he taunted her, poking her right in the self-esteem: a challenge. A proud grin colored his face as she settled better on her knees, a glint of ardent stinginess crossed her golden eyes. His thumb tucked into her mouth and rubbed his tongue, his fingertip pressed against her taste buds. Jake’s gaze lit with lust as her lips sealed around his finger, mimicking what she would do next. Withdrawing his hand, he returned to caress her chin, raised to look him straight in the eye. Those sharp, criminal eyes, and he rearranged her hair haphazardly so that it would not be in the way.

She, though a little trembling, kissed him on the tip, letting him know the softness of her lips before her tongue came into play. “Look how docile you are, just a little bitch.” The girl squinted. Neteyam was different. Rougher. The sweetness and romance that characterized the affection of his actions had vanished; he was doing the opposite of what he usually did. She had never yet seen this side of him. His mouth's inclination towards dirty talk didn't shock her, but he never insulted her. She was intoxicated by the electrifying novelty, as if under the influence of a powerful drug. The blood rushed all southward as she looked at him surreptitiously, so yielding prostrate at his feet, kneeling like a worshipper before her god. “Use that long tongue of yours.” She obeyed, giving him little laps on his crevice as she pumped him with one fist. He snorted, immensely pleased at her meekness. This wasn’t Neteyam. It appeared a demon had pilfered Neteyam's face and put it on.

Aywanin dragged her lips to one side, tracing the raised veins with her tongue. “Good. Now open.” Her mouth parted in a gasp and he slammed his shaft against her full lips, pulling back her arranged tail when she did not move in the desired rhythm. Her muscles adjusted to the intrusion and Neteyam wasted no time, in one attempt he thrust fully into her cavity, reaching up to strike the back of her throat. Her eyelids closed, soft whimpers muffled on her epidermis. Her glittering reddened eyes barred as she struggled to breathe, and struggled to hold up his hard irises, but the disparaging smile that made him look like a reprobate got the better of her; it was so tyrannical it was almost frightening.

Seeing how her features altered as she savored his length, how her eyelashes became tear-drenched and a vivid erubescence colored her cheeks, was the most heavenly sinful sight he could imagine. The way she sustained his piercing glance, the way she repressed the instinct to puke when the tip struck the base of her larynx, past the uvula. He nullified the remaining space, pressing her nose against his pelvis and blocking her airway for a few seconds before releasing her. She coughed for air, choking on her own saliva.

Jake lowered himself down to his spouse's level, wiping away the salty trails that joined her eyes to her open mouth. His thumbs caressed her flushed cheekbones, forcing her to meet his gaze as he set her back on her feet, turned her around, and leaned her against the rock. “You won’t have any peace. I won’t slow down until I have stuffed you. I’ll give you yet another of my kids.” The gentle touch he shook her hair with broke the tension for a moment. That genuine concern in his voice and in his eyes. “Just take me and shut up,” Neytiri playfully rolled her eyes, and he returned it. Four children were more than enough.

No one would engage in further conversation; instead, they would delve into each other’s boundaries within the cave, with no chance of retreat. The dragon had been awakened.

“Your parents are funking hot.” “Do. Not. Say. It. Ever. Again.”

Aww poor boy, he’s traumatized now.

Special thanks to @pandoraslxna for the prompt!

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judeswhore · 2 years

Text

a little taste; steve harrington

summary: steve can’t seem to keep his hands to himself despite being in a room surrounded by your closest friends

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

requested: yes

warnings: smut, 18+, fingering, sort of public?

notes: you can find my masterlist here.

the second steve's fingers traced the hem of your cotton shorts you knew you were a goner, knew you were going to spend the next however long in torturous heaven with your best friends only feet away. his palm settled hot on one thigh, pushed a little until your legs were spread beneath the blanket, one thrown over his thighs in order to keep them open. the angle was slightly awkward, you were both pressed into the corner of the sofa, your side pushed a little into his chest, his arm wrapped around one shoulder.

the hand attached to that arm looked normal - innocent - his thumb brushing soothing circles into your bare skin, finger tips tracing lightly up and down your arm. his other hand however was the complete opposite, trailing closer to your pussy, ready to wring an almost earth shattering orgasm from you without a single care that your friends could catch you. thankfully the dark room and the blanket thrown over your laps was enough to half hide what was going on but that would be useless if you couldn't stay quiet and it wouldn't exactly take a genius to figure it out if they really looked.

steve's lips pressed against your temple, kisses soft and careful, just barely grazing your hairline and you melted into him, let your legs fall even wider as he hummed happily. his fingertips were dancing over the front of your shorts, barely applying any pressure but still you felt hot and fuzzy, burning with anticipation. you wanted to look at him, wanted to turn and kiss him but you didn't want to draw attention to the two of you, slight embarrassment still hanging over your head at the prospect of being caught. robin and eddie were settled on the floor, far too engrossed in the nightmare on elm street and nancy and jonathan were both falling in and out of sleep, the four of them paying not mind to you and the devilish boy at your side.

"think you can be quiet for me?" his voice was just above a whisper, too quiet to be heard over the movie and you held back a shudder at the way his breath tickled your skin. you nodded, shifted your hips slightly when he pressed down a little harder over your clit, your brows furrowing in annoyance at your shorts being in the way. "there's a good girl, don't want everyone seeing you fuck my fingers, do we?"

"no.” you shook your head, pressed your hand against his thigh for some sort of stability and held in a pathetic whimper when steve brought his fingers out from beneath the blanket. he held them in front of your mouth, tapped two on your bottom lip until you opened up and let him slide them inside.

“get them nice and wet for me, pretty girl.” you were quick to comply, sucking messily on his fingers as though it was his cock in your mouth, swirling your tongue around each one. steve shifted against you, gave a quiet, throaty groan that he muffled in your hair before sliding the two digits back out of your mouth.

spit coated and sticky, he carefully manoeuvred his hand back under the blue blanket and you held in your breath when he dipped those same fingers into your shorts, slipped passed your underwear. your gaze fluttered around the room as you made sure everyone’s attention was still elsewhere, a dull feeling of worry a little heavy in your stomach because this was not something you’d ever live down if you got caught. but beneath that, shining just a little bit brighter, was a little thrill of adrenaline at doing something so risky, it was dirty and you liked it.

steve kissed the side of your head again and then the pads of his fingers met your clit and a rush of air blew from your lips, stuttered quietly as your thighs tensed. he started with slow, tight circles, teasing in their movements and dropped his head to kiss your neck, teeth grazing tauntingly over your skin.

"relax for me, yeah? just keep watching the movie." at his words you sunk back a little further, tipped your head slightly to the side as he kept up the circles over your clit. he was getting a little faster, working you up in the way he knew would have you coming in no time, his slick fingers sliding easily through your folds before making their way back to your throbbing bud. your mind felt foggy, unable to focus on anything other than steve and how he was making you feel. teeth sinking into your bottom lip to stifle any sounds, you tried to keep your attention on the tv but you couldn't concentrate on what was happening, could only fight to keep your eyes from falling closed as pleasure licked up your spine and trickled like honey over your skin.

his kisses to your neck were doing nothing to help you stay quiet, you wanted to drop your head back and let your moans filter through the room, wanted to be as loud as possible because being quiet was almost painful. steve knew you were always loud, knew how hard you found it being silent and it was thrilling for him to watch your struggle, watch your brow furrow in pleasure, pulse pounding in your throat. his smirk hot against your hairline, he teased his fingers at your hole, pressed the tips of two in but pulled them out almost immediately, shifting again to circle your clit.

you pouted, raised your hips slightly and squeezed steve's thigh. "steve, don't tease." he hummed against your cheek, nuzzled his nose into your skin and brushed his fingers through your folds.

"m'sorry, baby." your nails sunk into his thigh and your legs tried to close when he dipped two fingers into you, pushing them slowly until they were seated completely inside your tight walls. he wiggled them, grinned against your hot skin. "how's the movie?" you hated him for asking, for talking because robin hated when people talked through a movie and if she heard you she was guaranteed to have a fit. and that fit would more than likely lead to her discovering your quite filthy position. but steve was playing with fire, it was almost as if he wanted someone to look over, wanted someone to wonder just what he was doing to you.

"good, yeah, s'good." you breathed softly, clenching down around his fingers when he stroked them upwards. "please, steve." you tried to rock your hips but steve tutted quietly and shook his head.

"shh, need to stay still if you don't wanna get caught. i'm gonna give you what you want." his gentle thrusts started up immediately after that, thick fingers stretching you, stroking over your wet walls. you were already squeezing his fingers, the angle of his hand causing his palm to grind perfectly over your clit and it was embarrassing how close to coming you already were. pleasure was already curling in a heated ball in your lower tummy, your grip on steve's thigh getting tighter with each perfectly timed thrust.

you wanted him to kiss you, needed to feel the heat of his mouth on yours but you knew that would only have someone catching you and complaining so you settled for holding his free hand. he picked up the pace of his fingers, driving them into you fast and hard, crooking them slightly to graze against that sweet spot he knew so well. your fingers were tight around his, your teeth sunk deep into your lip, thighs tense as you fought to fuck yourself against his hand, knowing it would only bring unwanted attention. his palm was hot over your clit and when he stroked the tips of his fingers a little harder against your sweet spot you couldn’t hold back your moan.

steve's fingers came to an abrupt halt, stuffed completely into your hole when he heard your breathy moan. both of you paused, your gaze snapping to your friends, heart thudding erratically because you knew your slip up was anything but quiet. eddie had shifted slightly, propped himself up on one elbow but instead of turning in your direction, he turned a curious eye on jonathan and nancy. the two were curled up together, nancy tucked away in his shoulder and it was clear the two of them were sleeping. eddie’s eyes rolled dramatically and he slumped back down beside robin.

“i’m sick of being surrounded by couples.” you blew out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding and squeezed around steve’s fingers, an almost silent plea for him to get back to it. he got the signal and immediately began fucking the two digits into you again, his pace was harsh and punishing this time, his palm almost abusing your clit.

“you gotta cum for me, baby, be good for me yeah?” you could only nod, thighs starting to shake as you orgasm crept up on you. it was tingling at the base of your spine, your stomach a tight knot and steve’s finger were thrusting and curling so perfectly inside of you. he rubbed against your walls, scissored his fingers, made careful “come hither moments” and your entire body felt alight.

you brought his hand to your mouth, sunk your teeth into the fleshy part of his palm as you came, steve hissing softly, using it to stop the moans and cries of his name you so badly wanted to let out. steve fingered you through it, pressed his face into your hair to hide his own noises because you were pulsing perfectly around his fingers, squeezing them so tightly he wished they were his cock. you were soaked, dripping messily down his wrist and in the back of your mind you wondered momentarily about cleaning yourself up without drawing suspicious eyes.

your thighs quivered with aftershocks of pleasure, face hot, chest falling and rising rapidly and each slow pump of steve’s fingers, each brush of his hand over your clit made you jolt. you could suddenly hear how wet you were, could feel the stickiness between your thighs and a wave of embarrassment hit you because you’d just been fingered to an orgasm right in front of your friends and you hated how much you’d enjoyed it.

steve was still slowly pushing his fingers into you and you had to reach under the blanket to curl your own fingers around his wrist, halting his movements. you were too sensitive, clit pulsing and you were afraid if he didn’t stop you’d be unable to stay quiet through another orgasm. you turned your head and kissed his jaw, slow and lazy, the angle just a little uncomfortable.

“m’sensitive.” he made a gentle noise at that and shifted to kiss your mouth, both of your necks at awkward angles but it didn’t matter as he kissed you, soft and adoring.

“did so well for me.” he heard your quiet whimper into his mouth and pulled back with a smirk, overly cocky with the effect he had on you. he kissed your cheek and pulled his fingers from your shorts, brought them straight to his lips and sucked them clean, humming quietly at the taste. you watched with wide doe eyes as he swirled his tongue, licked himself clean of your cum with glinting eyes and your pussy fluttered. “can’t wait for my real taste tonight.”

#stranger things #stranger things smut #stranger things blurb #stranger things fic #joe keery #steve harrington #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fic

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johnwickb1tsch · 3 months

Text

john wick x model!reader imagine pt 4

masterlist

quatre

-You've semi-retired from the modeling game, but Sebastiano is in trouble. He says he needs help securing an investment. His company is in danger of bankruptcy, and you wonder if a great deal of that has gone up his nose in an unfortunate coke habit. But he gave you your start in your career, so when he asks you to accompany him to a party, you feel like you can't say no.

You put on a short dress from Seb's latest line, blood red lipstick by YSL, and some steel in your spine. You have this feeling like this might be your last act of business in this superficial world of glitz and glamor. You have been carrying this cloud-like hope in your heart, a faith in John to do what needs to be done so finally you can be together. When he returns to you, which you hope will be soon, you know you will have to drop off the radar.

You are looking forward to it.

This prospective investor, a Mr. Oleg Baranov, is having a banger of a party. You and Seb enjoy yourselves a bit, mingling with drinks in your hands. You turn down the proffered tray of Columbian Marching Powder, but Seb indulges in two lines before you can even blink, his eyes dilating wide as saucers. You're not sure how that will affect his usually keen business sense, but it's not your company on the line. Maybe it's crazy, but you know some million-dollar deals have been sealed on less than proving you can party.

Finally, it's time to meet Mr. Baranov. His office is appointed a la Trump Tower c 1983, lavished with so much gold it makes your eyes ache. When he clasps your hand with an oily smile, your heart sinks to your feet. You are so tired of this side of the fashion world, pandering to the Uber rich who mistake you for a call girl.

You will not miss it.

Baranov insists that you sit on the red velvet couch with him, while Seb gets his own chair nearby. They make pleasantries, then talk business. You listen, thinking the terms sound risky, but no bank is willing to touch Seb at this point. He's defaulted too many times.

Baranov says that Seb's proposition is interesting, but he will have to think on it. You both thank him and rise to go. But Baranov catches your hand. “Stay a while,” he invites. “A beautiful woman always helps me think about a business deal.” He gives Seb a look, and to compound his point, Baranov's heavies, two huge and scary looking dudes, close in.

You're not leaving, even though you badly want to.

Well, fuck.

Your heart drops to your feet, and you hope you can stall with coy conversation until something comes along to distract Baranov. It wouldn't be the first time you've had to with a pushy admirer. Seb gives you an uneasy look of apology, but then he leaves you.

You can’t believe he fucking leaves you.

Baranov sits again, and you follow suit, taking the seat at the opposite end of the long couch. He scoots closer, placing a hand on your thigh.

“I have admired you for years, Ms. Y/n. You are very... talented.”

He looks you up and down, leaving little question as to what he really means.

“Ah... thank you.”

He tries to move his hand up, and you push it back down.

He smirks, and leans in to kiss you.

That's when the shooting starts.

You've never really been around guns. It sounds like world War 3 is going on outside, and you freeze with fear, your heartbeat a deafening drumroll in your ears. The toughs at the door draw guns and make to see what the fuss is about. One is shot down immediately. The other tackles the smartly-suited shooter, and they fight. It is brutal, and somehow beautiful, the attacker moving so precisely in this deadly dance. A beat later you realize...it’s John.

Baranov takes your distraction as opportunity to grab you, using you as a human shield. John does some complicated ninja throw, grabbing the guard by the neck and using his momentum to throw him to the ground.

Then, he shoots him in the head.

A small scream escapes you.

You are shocked, to say the least.

“Don't come any closer,” Baranov snarls, shoving a gun under your chin.

You meet John's laser-like gaze, and resign yourself to whatever he will do. You close your eyes, trusting him, and there's a shot.

Baranov falls to the ground behind you. Stunned by the violence, you are vaguely aware of the wet splash of blood on the side of your face, a ringing in your ears.

Suddenly, you are in John's arms.

“What the fucking hell are you doing here?” he demands hotly between kissing you.

Some of the numb you feel subsides in his arms. He’s got you. Everything will be fine.

“I was here with Seb...but he left me.”

John frowns murderously at that.

Then it occurs to you to ask, because maybe he didn’t appear just to save your virtue, “Wait, what are you doing here?”

“My Impossible Task.”

“What?”

“Getting my freedom, sweetheart. You really shouldn't be here.”

You hold up your hands in a silent, Well guess what? It actually makes the corner of his mouth turn up. You think he wants to kiss you again, but then more of Baranov's guards run in, and John has to spring into action.

It is a thing of beauty and horror, watching him work. He has all the grace of a trained dancer, and the mercy of an enraged tiger.

That is too say, absolutely none.

The men are dead in under a minute.

He stands bent over for a moment to catch his breath, before holding his hand out to you. “Come on.”

There is blood on his fingers.

Although you are astonished by the carnage you’ve just witnessed, you slide your hand into his without a second thought.

-You make your escape on a different motorcycle. You are not exactly dressed for safety, but it is exhilarating to ride off into the summer night with John after surviving such an ordeal.

You feel so free.

John takes you to a building you don't know, in a part of town you don't frequent. “You'll be safe here,” he says, helping you off the bike and walking you in with an arm about your waist, as though he is afraid to let go of you. You would think he'd be overjoyed after pulling off such a coup, but he is solemn, almost sullen.

The building is not much, but the space he brings you to is comfortable. You reach up to touch his face, studying his expression. He looks haunted. But then, he just killed a shitload of people...

He killed a shitload of people, for you.

Thinking that maybe he is in pain, you usher him to a careworn chair. There are cuts on his face, but they seem fairly superficial. “Are you hurt?” you ask, pushing his suit jacket from his shoulders so you can more easily inspect him. He winces as you run your hands over his ribs. “Bruised,” he admits, catching your hands. “But I'll be fine, believe me.”

“Then what's wrong?” You know your voice sounds small.

He reaches up to cup your cheeks in his hands, and it is his turn to study you. “I never wanted you to see what I do,” he admits. “You surely must think me a monster now.”

You understand his mood then. He is afraid you won't want him now. The thought, to you, is fucking absurd. Careful of his ribs, you climb into his lap in the chair.

“I could never think you're a monster, John.”

“I'm a killer, y/n.”

“Who were those men you killed? And don't think I didn't notice you let all the women go.” He'd deliberately stopped himself from taking risky shots, in your mad dash at the end, to let the female bystanders escape.

“They were a rival Bratva to the organization I work for.”

So now it seems you're finally getting some straight answers.

“And how did they make their money?”

You’re not so naïve anymore. You have learned that most anyone who has millions, legit or no, fucked over someone somewhere along the line to get them.

“Heroin and trafficking women, mostly.”

“Good fucking riddance then.”

A small huff of laughter escapes him for the dead certainty in your pronouncement. You have had the luxury of seeing things in black and white. His world has always been painted in shades of grey.

“Well then.”

You caress the bones of his cheeks with the blades of your thumbs, careful of a cut there. You realize you almost match, with Baranov’s dried blood still painting the side of your face. However, he looks at you with nothing less than adoration, as though you are Helen of Troy.

“If you think I'm giving you up now, after all this, John Wick, you have another thing coming.”

You feel the weight lift from him, like a ton of bricks hefted from his shoulders. He grabs you up with hands on your ass, pulling you in closer and kissing you like there is no tomorrow. When you separate you are breathless, and so filled with joy, the intoxicating thrill of promise for the future in the air.

John actually breaks out into a toothy smile, his eyes glittering like polished onyx. “Y/n, will you run away with me?”

You throw your head back with laughter, unable to contain your joy. “Yes, yes I will, John Wick.” You run your fingers through his hair, your heart so full it should rightfully explode. “Jardani.”

After all these years you never forgot.

Hearing his true name from your lips does something to him, dark heat flashing in his eyes like fire in a pan. He stands swiftly with you in his arms, and you never fail to marvel at how strong he is. “I think we need a shower,” he practically purrs, his voice gone low and lustful. You know that sound…and you know you are in for it. Agreeing, you nod with a smile.

Later, with the length of his long bare body spooning yours, he caresses your curves with featherlight fingers. “Where would you like to go?” he asks softly into the shell of your ear. You're not sure it’s possible, but your mind goes back to that magical city where it all began.

“What about Paris?”

You feel him nod against your hair.

“Perfect.”

-He leaves you one last time, stealing away into what is left of the night, to get something in writing. When he returns you go to your apartment to pack your bags, and then you are off, racing towards your next great adventure, together.

You rent an apartment in the 5th arrondissement with a view of the Tour Eifel, and you revel in the beauty of simple domestic things that you will never take for granted. Sharing a homecooked meal, going to the flea market hand in hand, watching a film with his arm slung around your shoulders. When you are apart, it is never more than for a few hours. Sometimes he goes on long walks alone in the city. You know he is conferring with his past demons, but he returns to you with fresh flowers from the marché and a gentle smile, and you know you are the richest of women.

You love to sleep in, because you have nothing else to do but be together, and you bring him coffee in the morning. His smile of contentment is the air you breathe. You catch him looking at you with such tender warmth sometimes, it brings tears to your eyes. You do not miss the fame and fast pace of your old life. In John, you have all you need, and your collection of photos of him grows by the day. You do not post them with some coy little teaser to prove to the world at large how blessed you are. You keep them just for you, and you are so happy.

Time marches on, and you do not tire of each other.

You both have aged, but when you look in the mirror you like to think the fine lines appearing at the corners of your eyes are now from smiling. You go for motorcycle rides into the countryside, bringing along decadent picnics. You eat grapes and foie gras on crusty bread in his arms, feeding him bites between kisses. You gain some weight, living la bonne vie in France. John does not mind, or care, worshiping you with the same insatiable appetite he's always had for you.

Watching the sun rise from Sacré-Couer, he produces a ring that glints white fire in the growing light. You do not answer him with words for several minutes, your lips pressed to his, but he knows the answer.

The answer to this man, from the moment you met, has always been yes.

Fin

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #john wick x helen #keanu reeves #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves x reader #i feel like this imagine just turned into a love letter to paris lol #john wick imagine

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