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loveliestlovelygirl · 2 months

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divine temptations | 222

you're such an angel, and i'm gonna hurt you

fallenangel!anakin x nun!reader | lore 🪽 | playlist

synopsis: after the meeting with the high council, anakin is imprisoned publicly to shame him. in his hatred for your guardian angels, he destroys them, causing chaos to overcome both heaven and earth.

w.c: 2.6k+

highlights: {minors dni} dark content, heavy religious themes and imagery, inspiration taken from catholicism primarily, sexual themes, corruption kink, light sexualization of the reader as a nun, fem!reader & use of she/her pronouns, attempted sexual assault {mentioned}, rape {mentioned}

table of contents | 333 {coming soon}

The memories of his assault of your vessel were visceral and disturbing weeks after the event. Your neck was left bruised, and it ached for several days. Sometimes, you couldn’t sleep because every time you closed your eyes you were sent back to that moment where you were at your weakest, helpless against that tree. Almost raped. Almost.

Almost is a taunting thought

You believed that, since you hadn’t been defiled, you shouldn’t be bothered by the occurrence for long. You shouldn’t have these nightmares of being raped over and over again. You shouldn’t feel vulnerable. You would simply return to your beautiful life here at the convent, your sanctuary. A place where you never have felt unsafe or threatened in any way. You loved the women here, and they loved you.

The last time you were vulnerable like this was your past life when you were a part of the world, before you had found the monastic way of life. Never did you believe you would have to feel pain like this again.

Hatred lights the path of the fallen. But you hate that man for what he wanted to do to you. How could someone be so wicked?

And every time you thought of his face, you cried and sometimes wished for death. These were thoughts that haven’t scathed your mind since you entered the convent. But perhaps contact with that despicable man left you tainted. Maybe you needed to be cleansed and prayed over, bathed in the holy waters.

What other recourse did you have?

When you explained to your sisters why you required the service, they were more than happy to pray over you. They prepared the bath for you too. Sister Agnes remained with you the entire time to help guide your prayers. The water must have risen an inch from your tears. After the bath, Sister Agnes walked you back to your private chamber.

She broke into a sob. “Oh, my dear,” the elderly woman wiped her tears, “We shouldn’t have allowed you to go near the road alone.”

You drew her into a hug. Of course, they should have sent you with another. But all you could say to the heartbroken woman was, “Don’t worry about it. I feel much better now. Our Lord protected me.”

Sister Agnes cried harder when you said that. The new expression upon her wrinkled face was one of relief. She truly believed you. And you were happy that she would not share your pain.

You bid her goodnight and went inside your room to pray. When you wanted to feel closer to the Creator, you opened your window to let the moonlight in and knelt before your window seat, setting a pillow under your knees, a makeshift prayer bench. While it was not the proper way in which to address Him, you were not so sure He minded.

For the first few minutes, you sobbed, thanking Him for the lightning that only struck your assailant and not you. The electricity only touched your skin momentarily. It was as if there had been a barrier between you and Death. You should have both died from the lightning, but only that man did. The miraculous occurrence saved you from an even greater pain.

But the thought did little to comfort you. Why you? What made you so special that you deserved a supernatural rescue and so many others didn’t? The thing that should have brought you to your knees in gratitude and praise of your savior made you... question everything, including how heavenly justice worked?

Although, the whole incident could have been some cosmic joke.

And despite spending the whole day in prayer with your sisters, you felt the same. You were still terrified about what happened. So much so that sleep was an impossible feat. During all your time at the convent prior to the horrific event, you embraced solitude and found contentment. But this night, you wouldn’t have hated companionship, someone to hold you tight and tell you that you were safe here.

“You can’t say that, Anakin! Do you understand the gravity of this situation? Do you?” Obi-Wan had never shown his anger so outwardly before. Anger marked his brow, his furious stare, his clenched jaw, and his haunting tone.

Anakin could sense his fear, despite the rage his friend used to hide it. They both understood that what Anakin had done was enough to have him sent to hell for all eternity. Their father was not so lenient of the angelic hosts as he was of humans. The humans were free to sin, and forgiveness was offered to them at every turn. And yet somehow, they still missed the chance to ascend to the heavenly realms. Most chose to trade their vaporous lives for eternity. And the Creator allowed it because of free will.

“But it’s true, Obi-Wan. There’s nothing you can do,” Anakin said emotionlessly. The chains of light were clamped tightly round his ankles, keeping him grounded. Nothing can break them except for the Creator’s Will.

He was chained to the platform right outside the chambers of the High Council, like he was an animal on display. And to the rest of the heavenly host, Anakin was a creature of anomaly. Seraphim were respected for their unbreakable devotion to Him above all else, yet Anakin wished for nothing more than to leave his place of honor. He wanted to be able to visit the Earth realms. He wanted to seduce you.

“I will try to change his mind,” Obi-Wan said to him with all hope. “He is more understanding than you give him credit for.”

With that, Obi-Wan disappeared. His wings were so quick that he moved almost at light’s speed. And Anakin was alone again in his humiliation. But he didn’t mind because now he could give you all his attention. He watched you as he always did. But this time he was not pleased by what he saw.

Never had he seen you so unhappy. He’d never witnessed you cry for anything but joy. The visions you saw in your sleep. You believed they were nightmares, but he saw the demons torturing your mind as clearly as he could see you below. Your good-for-nothing guardians were evidently too busy to cast them away. Anakin would do that for you, but he was in a bad place as it was. Interfering with your life again wouldn’t be prudent. If the Creator did not eliminate him, Obi-Wan certainly would. So, this time, he did as he should, and he merely observed from a distance, watching you cry your eyes out and writhe in pain only felt by your spirit.

The more he watched the heavier his own spirit weighed. If your guardians had served you faithfully, then you wouldn’t be left understandably traumatized from the event. It was almost too hard for him to watch you this way. But he couldn’t leave you alone like this. Even if you didn’t know he was there. He couldn’t let you out of his sight.

And as your pain grew deeper, so did his hate for those who failed in their calling to protect you. Unlike the other angels, Anakin struggled to contain his hate. No one who harmed you was free of his wrath. Certainly not your guardian angels.

The heavens erupted into chaos. Anakin had lost himself to his own wrath. He couldn’t hold it in anymore. He had been punished for saving you from being violated, and those who failed in their duty to protect you were left completely unscathed. And for someone who already, secretly despised the entire heavenly host and whose hatred was like a forgotten thorn in one’s side festering for ages, obliterating your five guardians in one hailstorm of fiery rage was as simple as taking a breath for him.

Instantly, he was reprimanded by the Creator directly. In a single moment, ejected from the heavenly realms, banished to dwell upon Earth until the end of time. Hell, where he would now spend eternity, was his final destination. The mercy of the Creator saved him from being sent there first. Earth was to be his Sheol, a temporary hell.

But did they forget that his interests lie only with you. Did they fail to notice that this might be what he wanted all along? Even if he only had until the end of time with you, he knew that it would be worth it. Though you were unaware at this time, nothing would keep him from you. The laws of heaven no longer applied to him. He was free to torment the earthly beings, though that wasn’t nearly as alluring as possessing you.

Banished from Heaven and sent to Earth, he lost his heavenly title, and his name was written among the fallen. He kept his beauty in full, but now as an angel of light. And despite having wanted this to happen, being reprimanded so heavily over what he saw as the right thing to do irked him. And the pain that he felt you living through as a result of your guardians’ inadequacy ignited his fury in ways devastating to the Earth.

His rage awoke nature’s spirits. Thunder, Lightning, Rain, and Hail terrorized the inland villages. He disrupted the seas, wreaking havoc on coastal cities, leaving them destroyed in his wake. And nothing was put in place to stop him.

The voices of the High Council rang in his ears as they pleaded with him to end his madness. But Anakin was drunk on power, the lack of restraint he now possessed, for the fallen were given domain over the Earth for a time of unknown length. He didn’t believe in redemption. His thought was why not enjoy it here. The earthly realms were to be his last Heaven.

For weeks, the destruction by Anakin’s fury continued.

Obi-Wan was sent to stop and contain him. But Obi-Wan believed, perhaps foolishly, that Anakin’s heart could be changed.

The cherub appeared before him, glory to glory, withholding nothing. And yet the majesty of the fallen one was still unmatched.

“You know why I am here,” Obi-Wan announced, wielding his fiery blade, directing its point to the enemy.

Anakin could not cower in the presence of the threatening blade. That was beneath him. “Do I?”

“Given more time, Earth and its surrounding realms will be destroyed. This lust for power has consumed you.”

He was not blind to his own faults. But under his own authority, he could do as he pleased. Destroying this realm would be good. Nothing good has come from mankind. Not in his eyes. From his view, he could see the suffering humans enacted upon each other and upon the Earth, the very thing which provides them life. The only good in this world was you. And he had plans to sweep you away. Far away.

“The one that you love. You’re going to kill her. She will hate you.”

Anakin gave him a biting glare. If Obi-Wan knew... then that meant so did He. And the rest of Heaven. “I’d never hurt her. I can see her now. She’s sleeping. She doesn’t know what’s happening.”

“What do you think will happen when you destroy her life? Everything and everyone she cares for? You don’t think that would hurt her?”

“Obi-Wan, you have no idea! Did you see what happened to her? What almost happened? I live through her pain. I want to save her from evil. Can you not understand?”

The cherub refused to back down. His blade was still held high. “This is not up for debate. I have been sent to put an end to your insanity one way or another.”

Anakin smiled wickedly. “Oh... by killing me?”

“That depends on you, my friend.”

Anakin did not understand.

“Our Father wishes to offer you a deal. He has changed his mind on your punishment. But...” Obi-Wan sighed and shook his head, “only if you put an end to your anger now. It is not the Creator’s Will for the Earth to be done away with yet.”

In order to declare his interest, Anakin immediately paused his merciless pillaging of the surface. “I am listening.”

In return, Obi-Wan sheathed his blade of fire. “He knows how strongly you care for this human.” His voice was coated with disgust for the lesser being. “He knows exactly what she means to you and what you’re willing to give up for her. In his divine grace, He is willing to make an exchange with you. Give up your dominion over this realm, and he’ll allow you to be her guardian, though not an angel. But your eternal status, depends on how well you serve her.”

This offer was... merciful.

Beyond what Anakin knew he deserved. Not only was he being offered a chance for redemption, but he was being offered the one thing he craved most in the entire universe. As your guardian, he would have unbridled access to you and your beautiful mind. At his discretion, he could even appear to you, making his existence known to you.

Being known by you...

The thought of that was more than even he could process in all of his great understanding.

He was used to being veiled from you completely. Contact had been forbidden. But with this offer, you would be in his grasp. He could travel between dimensions and allow his glory to be witnessed by your perfect gaze. Anakin could not stop his curiosity at what it might feel like to be seen by you. Would he prefer it? Or would he dislike the contact? His intuition whispered that he would like it very much and that he might even find it addicting.

How could he say no?

“I... accept.”

Obi-Wan did seem surprised in the slightest. “I see. I will inform Him of your decision. You will feel weakened very soon. I understand that... you wanted this. But I don’t understand why. You-you, Anakin, held the position of the highest honor. Why would—”

“I never wanted any of it. I wanted to be free to pursue my singular interest.”

Obi-Wan chuckled. “I would be cautious in your new role, Anakin. More than ever before. Because this is a test. Did you believe that you were truly going to get everything you wanted without a cost? If you serve her faithfully all her life, an eternity with us is yours. But the temptations you will face as her guardian, I’m not sure you can handle it.”

“What?” Anakin spat. “Protecting a human is practically a mindless affair. That’s why it’s given to the lowest of all angels.”

“Realize that even that group is superior to where you stand currently,” he added humorously.

“I won’t be able to physically harm humans in this form. So, don’t worry. I won’t kill anyone.”

“That was not the temptation I was referring to.”

Anakin realized what his friend meant. So he quipped, “Lust is a human feeling.”

“Is it?”

“What do you mean, is it?” Anakin said mockingly.

“Do not be quick to assume anything. You’ve never been in the earthly realms before. It’s much different. You may find yourself desiring things that seemed unnatural to you before.” Obi-Wan turned, signaling his departure. “Remember the laws of Heaven. Despite your fallen state, if you wish for eternity in Heaven, where she will most certainly end up, you must abide by our laws.”

Eternity in Heaven with the one he craves. There was hardly a better fate in mind even if he never ascended to the honor he once claimed.

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mariacallous · 3 months

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If anyone can rally up a base, it’s Taylor Swift.

When sexually explicit, likely AI-generated, fake images of Swift circulated on social media this week, it galvanized her fans. Swifties found phrases and hashtags related to the images and flooded them with videos and photos of Swift performing. “Protect Taylor Swift” went viral, trending as Swifties spoke out against not just the Swift deepfakes, but all nonconsensual, explicit images made of women.

Swift, arguably the most famous woman in the world right now, has become the high-profile victim of an all-too-frequent form of harassment. She has yet to comment on the photos publicly, but her status gives her power to wield in a situation where so many women have been left with little recourse. Deepfake porn is becoming more common as generative artificial intelligence gets better: 113,000 deepfake videos were uploaded to the most popular porn websites in the first nine months of 2023, a significant increase to the 73,000 videos uploaded throughout 2022. In 2019, research from a startup found that 96 percent of deepfakes on the internet were pornographic.

The content is easy to find on search engines and social media, and has affected other female celebrities and teenagers. Yet, many people don’t understand the full extent of the problem or its impact. Swift, and the media mania around her, has the potential to change that.

“It does feel like this could be one of those trigger events” that could lead to legal and societal changes around nonconsensual deepfakes, says Sam Gregory, executive director of Witness, a nonprofit organization focused on using images and videos for protecting human rights. But Gregory says people still don’t understand how common deepfake porn is, and how harmful and violating it can be to victims.

If anything, this deepfake disaster is reminiscent of the 2014 iCloud leak that led to nude photos of celebrities like Jennifer Lawrence and Kate Upton spreading online, prompting calls for greater protections on people's digital identities. Apple ultimately ramped up security features.

A handful of states have laws around nonconsensual deepfakes, and there are moves to ban it on the federal level, too. Rep. Joseph Morelle (D-New York) has introduced a bill in Congress that would make it illegal to create and share deepfake porn without a person’s consent. Another House bill from Rep. Yvette Clarke (D-New York) seeks to give legal recourse to victims of deepfake porn. Rep. Tom Kean, Jr. (R-New Jersey), who in November introduced a bill that would require the labeling of AI content, used the viral Swift moment to draw attention to his efforts: “Whether the victim is Taylor Swift or any young person across our country—we need to establish safeguards to combat this alarming trend,” Kean said in a statement.

This isn’t the first time that Swift or Swifties have tried to hold platforms and people accountable. In 2017, Swift won a lawsuit she brought against a radio DJ who she claimed groped her during a meet-and-greet. She was awarded $1—the amount she sued for, and what her attorney Douglas Baldridge called a symbolic sum “the value of which is immeasurable to all women in this situation.”

Last fall, tens of thousands of people registered to vote after the superstar posted a link to Vote.org on Instagram. And in 2022, her fan base, so enraged after waiting hours to buy tickets to the Eras Tour only to be beaten out by bots, reignited conversation around antitrust issues with Ticketmaster and Live Nation’s mega-merger. A cringy Senate hearing followed, and an investigation into Live Nation’s agreements with venues and artists is ongoing.

Swift and her fans could advocate for legal changes at the federal level to pass. But their outrage could do something else: lead platforms to take notice. “When you have a really massive group of users saying this content is unacceptable in this very high-profile way, the power there is about what it says to the platform about what users will and won’t tolerate,” says Cailin O’Connor, a professor of philosophy at University of California, Irvine and coauthor of The Misinformation Age: How False Beliefs Spread. X did not respond to a request for comment on the images and its moderation efforts regarding deepfake porn. Elon Musk bought the site in 2022 and quickly gutted its moderation teams. Advertisers have also dropped off recently after Musk’s apparent endorsement of an antisemitic conspiracy theory.

It’s not clear whether Swift will take on this issue. A representative for Swift did not respond to a request for comment for this story. Harassment of female celebrities is frequent and often brushed aside, but deepfakes are harming them and others without the same power. This could be a moment for Swift to use her powerful platform—or at least for her fans to push the issue before the public.

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bi-disaster-yn · 1 year

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Tread Carefully

Pairing: neighbour!Peter Parker x fem!Reader

Summary: Reader is used to being led on and then let down in love which leads to her not quite believing just how much Peter likes her.

Set after the events in No Way Home! As always, Peter is aged up to be in his early-mid twenties.

A/N: This one goes out to the all the girls who have been made to feel crazy when they’ve been led on by someone who suddenly loses interest. You are valid and you deserve so much better (and someone like Peter in this fic <3)!!

Feedback & reblogs are always appreciated <3

Whilst others seem to fall into love quite easily, for you it was always like trying to catch fire in a jar. Never successful, getting burned in the process and eventually the jar melting with all the exposure to further render your attempts useless.

Such carelessness with your emotions had led you to a solitary existence. The mere suggestion of reciprocated feelings had made you strategic and forceful, putting pressure on every encounter with a prospective lover in hopes that one day you might secure love.

Naturally, the pressure would snap any cord of bond you might have with someone and there you were, left again without any recourse. A scorned woman.

This wasn’t always your fault. Often, you’d bestow your emotions upon someone unworthy. Gaslighted with a promise of something real, you’d pursue these people only to be bitterly disappointed with a frank conversation where they confessed that you were great but all the same, not good enough.

Enter Peter Parker, your sweet neighbour who moved in next door a few months ago and brought with him a little spark that had you giddy.

The day he had moved in, he just seemed so out of his depth and alone. With the door open, he’d stood in the middle of his apartment looking round at the admittedly small number of boxes he had. Nevertheless, he looked entirely overwhelmed and frozen, struggling to even take the first step to open any of them.

You’d just finished grocery shopping as you walked past, peering in quickly when you came across the open door. From where you were standing, viewing his slumped shoulders and helpless face, it looked like he was going to cry. He looked so lost and you were sure that your help was exactly what he needed.

So, you came to the rescue. Announcing your presence, you offered your help which he reluctantly accepted. One by one, you worked your way through the boxes and worked together to set out his things the way he’d like them. At first, he was wary of you but grew more comfortable as you took things at his pace, never pressuring or hastening him.

You cooked him dinner, noting that his fridge hadn’t been stocked up yet. He asked you for coffee the next day as a thank you.

Coffee dates became dinner dates which naturally slipped into taking turns to make dinner for each other every night. He was so convenient being next door and had explained being new to the area that he had no one else really. Naturally, he gradually began to intertwine himself within your plans until you had become inseparable. Not that you minded, you hadn’t been this infatuated in a long time.

You did everything “right”.

You nurtured your feelings, trying to keep them on a leash to prevent them leaping out of control. You were calm and collected around him, allowing yourself to freak out about him after you said goodbye for the night. You made allowances for him in your plans yet didn’t hedge your bets on having to actually plan around him.

Yet, you still expected him to let you down. Some dark, twisted and nasty corner of your brain still told you that you were holding on to false hope. You had let people in before only to have them ridicule you for ever thinking that something could happen. For all you knew, Peter could be - and probably was - just the same as the rest of them.

Although, surprisingly, he hadn’t let you down to date. He always turned up on time when he said he would, except for that one rare exception that he had to cancel. Even at that, he was following up with you to reschedule and even planned and paid for the whole date because he felt so bad about having to miss your plans.

He let you touch him and he allowed himself to touch you. When your thighs lingered as you sat next to each other, he didn’t move away or sit in clear discomfort. Contentedly, he’d continue his story while you sat, completely mesmerised by the fact he’d allowed you a crumb of intimacy with just a simple gesture.

When this inevitably went downhill, it was going to kill you.

***

Winter had taken over the city. The restaurants and shops below your apartment had started to decorate their storefronts with festive lights which teamed up with the streetlights to create a cosy light in a cruelly cold and dark night.

It was Peter’s turn to cook that night. He stood at the stove making mac and cheese in plaid pyjama bottoms and a white t-shirt that although oversized, still managed to show his muscular shoulders.

You sat on his couch flicking through Netflix to find a suitable Christmas movie for your night in. As the snow began to fall outside, you wrapped the blanket round you tighter and excited yourself with the idea of cuddling up to Peter to keep warm. Peter hummed as he plated up the food; it was his Aunt May’s recipe and he’d raved about it for weeks, insisting he would make it for you.

You tried not to read into the fact he was letting you into something he’d shared with his aunt who had been more like his mother. Nor did you read into the fact that the blanket wrapped round you was one you hadn’t been able to stop touching in the store because of how soft it was. He’d bought it so he could see the big grin on your face as you smoothed your hands down it.

“You really love that thing, don’t you?” Peter commented with a sweet smile as he handed you the plate.

“It’s just so soft! How did they make it so soft?” You beamed in response.

“I don’t know, but you look really cute with it wrapped round you.” He smiled, facing the TV and taking a bite before saying the all too familiar yet equally dreadful sentence.

“I think we should talk.”

It was so out of left field and so unexpected. The horrible yet familiar feeling of dread sat deep in your stomach and destroyed your earlier appetite for a home cooked meal. Setting your plate down, you took a deep breath in anticipation of what he was going to say next. You had to give it to him, ending this over his beloved aunt’s recipe was a new low in your experience of rejections.

“Sure.” Was the only response you could muster without it sounding like you were dying inside at the very notion Peter could end all of this.

“Well, we’ve been seeing each other for a while now, right?”

Oh God. This really was it. Now was the time for the usual chat. He’d come out with some drawl about how even though you had spent every day together, ate together, slept together, treated each other like boyfriend and girlfriend, that it was of course, casual and you were irrational to think anything different. In the heat of the moment, frenzied by embarrassment, you’d agree and tell him you’d even prefer to be friends. Then over the coming months, the dejection would slowly eat away at you as you’d overanalyse the memories and consider what you should have looked for to ascertain that this would never be a serious relationship. Good enough for a fling, but not quite enough for a substantive commitment.

It was going to be a long and lonely winter.

“Yeah, two and a half months to be exact.” You stated, as if for a court record to build your case on just how much of your time he had wasted before he was about to throw this genuine and beautiful connection away. Peter merely chuckled at your matter-of-fact manner, oblivious to your serious tone.

“Well, I was wondering if you’d like to be my girlfriend?” He asked nervously, watching you with a hopeful smile.

Admittedly, your reaction was in fact, irrational.

“Sorry, WHAT?!” You yelled back, so taken aback by the question. It was what you wanted to hear but not at all what you expected.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” Peter tried to explain, clearly self-conscious by his choice of timing and now considering what seemed to be a real possibility of you rejecting him. “I just thought that I really love what we have and I wanted to make it official but if you feel differently then-“

You cut him off before he could go any further by lunging over and wrapping your arms round his neck tightly. You held him like he would disappear if you let go. The longer you held on, the more tangible his question became and the more likely you were being validated that this whole thing wasn’t just a one-sided and bittersweet liaison, doomed to fail from the beginning.

Peter chuckled, managing to set his plate down on the coffee table, despite you clinging on to him like a koala. He settled back against the couch, rubbing his hand up and down your back soothingly while you sat still, completely incapable of letting go.

“So… is that a yes?” Peter asked with slight concern in his voice as he tried to measure how long you had been silent for.

“Of course, it’s a yes! I thought you were going to end this!” You confessed. Peter frowned at your response, unsure where you could ever have gotten that idea from. He had tried so hard to not be one of those asshole guys and not lead you on. He started to question whether he should have done anything differently.

“Why would you think that?” His question came with a sweet kiss to your temple. Despite you holding him hostage with a cuddle, he seemed quite content.

The heat of embarrassment claimed your cheeks causing you to nuzzle your face into his neck. This should have been a really happy and carefree moment between you both, and hopefully the beginning of many years together. Yet, your insecurities and past emotional injuries had tainted this.

Perhaps, sharing your intense fear and feelings was going to be too much for Peter. Still, if he was going to be in a relationship with you, he ought to know the truth.

“I just…” You began, sitting back to look him in the eye. “I just never get asked that question.”

Peter looked at you with a mixture of surprise and sadness. His eyebrows furrowed in contemplation and he let out a silent “oh”. At first, you thought he was pitying you but then you came to realise that he was just appreciating how big of a deal this was for you.

“I always seem to be the practise run or the casual fling. I never seem to be enough to be the girlfriend. You know?” At this, Peter nodded silently and reached his hand out for you to hold which you gladly took.

“And with you, I’ve been trying so hard not to get overexcited or put too much pressure on you but I really like you, Peter! I’ve been terrified that you’ve wanted to end this for a while now.” You explained further, watching him get confused.

“What did I do that made you think that?” Peter mumbled, his own fears and guilt setting into him. He had been trying so hard to let people in and to think that he was potentially failing was more than a tough pill to swallow.

“Nothing.” You said simply, because it was the truth. He had done nothing wrong.

“It’s just, I let you into my apartment, which was supposed to be just mine. I talked to you about Aunt May, which was really hard for me but I trusted you with it. I… I fell asleep on you. I felt safe enough with you to sleep soundly. I just don’t think I could have done anymore to let you know I was interested.”

The lump in Peter’s throat was evident with his words. This poor, sweet boy had no idea that this was so much bigger than him. It was an injury to your very being that had attached itself to you for all time coming. In truth, Peter had opened up to you and had let you in. On the other hand, all of those boys had done the same thing. They fed you with private and emotional insights then cut off the supply when you dared tried to establish a deeper emotional connection. How were you to tell the difference?

“Sweetheart, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just, not all guys are as genuine as you. They mess with our heads and then call us crazy.” You explained calmly, bringing his hand to your lips and kissing his knuckles lightly. The words took purchase in Peter’s body and he nodded at you, slightly embarrassed.

“I am sorry you’ve been through that. I just really liked you and wanted to let you in. I have meant it all and I’d really like for you to be my girlfriend.” He smiled, reaching his other hand out to caress your cheekbone. An excited and surprise giggle escaped your lips.

“I’d love to be your girlfriend, Peter.” You leaned in and kissed him deeply, putting your hands on his cheeks. His hands found your waist, pulling you to sit on his lap. You gladly obliged, not once breaking the kiss. It wasn’t catching fire in a jar. Rather, it was gathering water that easily streamed into the jar – filling it up and adapting to the shape of its keeper without any threat of burning or melting; secured simply with a screw top lid. It was different, fresh and easy.

“Okay,” Peter chuckled as he finally pulled away from the kiss. “Can you please let me know if I made a good job of dinner?”

“Sure thing, boyfriend.” You grinned, giving his lips one last peck before leaning back and retrieving your neglected plate from the table. It was starting to get cold but that didn’t matter. You were going to give it a glowing review anyway.

You draped the blanket over the two of you and cuddled into him, no longer afraid to show him just how keen you were. He hummed happily at this, turning to gently kiss your temple. Your mind and body relaxed, content in the knowledge that you need not tread carefully around your Peter.

Finally, someone genuine.

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velvainee · 14 days

Text

✦ ⎯⎯ ㅤִㅤ ୭ 𝑡𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑏𝑢𝑛𝑛𝑦 ( dr.wick x reader )

ᨳ ꒰ précis ꒱. oneshot. In 2236, Dr. John Wick leads "Wick Industries" in human experiments to extend life and youthfulness. But behind the facade of progress, test subjects like you are unknowingly involved, their consent ignored.

୨ৎ warnings. manhandling, non-con, forced relationship, breeding, evil intent, large age gap, p in v, blackmailing, mentions of blood, torture, bdsm, size kink. dead dove. do not eat. 2.6k words.

𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟, this is my first fic on this blog ! please excuse any mistakes and lmk if you like it, reblogs comments & likes are very appreciated! if you have any requests for another fic don’t be afraid to reach out. ( has not been proof read ) !

As you step into the sterile corridors of Wick Industries, the faint hum of machinery fills the air, a constant reminder of the scientific endeavors unfolding within. It's 2236, an era where the boundaries between progress and ethical considerations blur into a murky haze.

You find yourself here not out of choice, but out of dire necessity, your financial woes pressing upon you like a weighty burden. Volunteering as a blood donor is your ticket to survival, a means to secure the funds desperately needed to support your ailing mother and keep a roof over your head.

You needed the money, your mother's illness draining your savings faster than you could replenish them, while the relentless march of automation threatened your livelihood in the retail sector.

With each passing day, the gap between what you earned and what you needed widened, leaving you with little recourse but to turn to unconventional means to make ends meet.

A giant in the industry, Wick Industries looms large in the landscape of scientific research, its reputation as a leader in biomedical advancements drawing both admiration and scrutiny.

When news broke of their call for volunteers to participate in cutting-edge experiments aimed at extending human youth, you saw it as an opportunity—a chance to alleviate your financial woes while contributing to the greater good. Little did you know the true cost of admission into this world of scientific ambition and moral ambiguity.

Entering the facility, you're greeted by the sight of a bustling lobby, volunteers milling about in varying states of anticipation and apprehension.

The air is charged with nervous energy, a palpable undercurrent of uncertainty running through the crowd as each individual grapples with their own reasons for being there.

At the registration desk, you join the queue, your heart pounding in your chest as you inch closer to the counter.

The old woman behind the desk is brisk and efficient, her voice a steady rhythm in the cacophony of voices around you.

“Next,” she called out, an old woman behind the counter waved her hand, urging you to move forward.

“ID?” She spoke. Your hands making their way into your little pink hand bag as they shuffled to take out your wallet, waiting for the nod of approval before tucking your things back into your purse.

“Third door down the hallway to the left,” she directed.

Guided by her directions, you navigate through the maze-like corridors of the facility, the sterile environment and the click of your heels against the polished floors adding to the surreal atmosphere.

The waiting room is a sea of faces, each one bearing the weight of their own struggles and uncertainties, their eyes betraying a mixture of hope and trepidation.

As you take your seat among the other volunteers, you can't help but feel a sense of camaraderie tinged with unease. The steady stream of departures catches your attention, prompting a question to the person beside you.

“Why are people leaving?” You ask.

Their answer, though matter-of-fact, does little to assuage your growing apprehension.

“I hear the doctors are looking for a specific blood type within the volunteers,” the man next to you replied, his eyes going back to the bright screen of the phone he held.

Amidst the ebb and flow of volunteers, two figures emerge, their presence commanding attention as they make their way down the line of chairs. The older man's piercing gaze sends a shiver down your spine, while his companion's whispered exchange only serves to heighten your sense of foreboding.

When they finally reach you, the weight of their scrutiny feels suffocating.

The bearded man leans in to murmur something inaudible into his assistants ear, the man’s eyes flicker in your direction.

“Her,” he whispers slightly, their eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary.

As their stares bore into yours, the man’s assistant gestures for you to stand, and you comply, feeling a mixture of curiosity and trepidation. With a barely perceptible nod from the older man, they lead you away from the crowd, down a series of sterile corridors lined with gleaming metal doors.

Down the labyrinthine corridors you go, each step bringing you closer to the unknown. The air grows colder, the atmosphere thick with anticipation and trepidation. What awaits you behind those imposing doors remains a mystery, one that gnaws at the edges of your consciousness with relentless persistence.

Finally, you come to a stop before a nondescript door, its surface devoid of any indication of what lies beyond. With a silent exchange, the older man and his assistant confer, their words lost to you in the deafening silence of the corridor.

As the door slides open, revealing a sterile room bathed in harsh fluorescent light, you steel yourself for what comes next.

Alone in the room with these enigmatic figures, you can't help but feel a sense of trepidation. Their welcoming smiles offer little comfort, their words ringing hollow against the backdrop of uncertainty that looms over you like a dark cloud.

"Welcome," the man with the clipboard begins, his voice a mere whisper in the vast emptiness of the room. "My name is Dr. David. Thank you for volunteering,”

As the assistant quietly slips out of the room, leaving you alone with Dr. John Wick, a sense of unease settles over you like a heavy blanket. Yet, in his presence, there's a strange calmness that washes over you, his reassuring smile and soothing voice momentarily easing the knots of tension in your stomach.

"Please, have a seat," he gestures towards a chair, his tone gentle yet authoritative. You comply, sinking into the plush cushion as he takes a seat across from you, his piercing gaze never leaving yours.

"Let me assure you, you're in good hands here," he begins, his voice smooth as silk. "Wick Industries is at the forefront of groundbreaking research, and your participation in our experiments is invaluable."

Despite his words, a nagging feeling of apprehension lingers at the back of your mind, a whisper of doubt that refuses to be silenced. Yet, you push it aside, clinging to the hope that perhaps this is just the opportunity you've been waiting for.

“I’m Dr. Wick—but please, call me John,” He gives you a charming grin once more, reaching out his hand for you to shake.

As he continues to speak, his words seem to fade into the background, your focus shifting to the way the harsh fluorescent light casts shadows across his angular features.

“Tell me about yourself,” he speaks up once more, trying to strike a conversation with his patient.

There's something magnetic about him, something that draws you in despite your better judgment.

“There’s not really much to me,” you chuckle softly, a pink shade flushing against your cheeks.

“I work in retail—heard of the small cafe Allure? Im a barista,” you say bluntly, as if you were having a normal conversation with your friend.

“Ah really?” John turns to you, his brown eyes boring into yours. “I’ll have to try it sometime, I’ve never been,” he revealed.

Your conversation starts to become more intimate, sort of like you’re speaking to a therapist.

"You're special, you know," he murmurs, his voice low and intimate. "There's something about you that sets you apart from the others."

A flush creeps up your neck at his words, a warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the temperature of the room. His proximity is intoxicating, his presence commanding yet strangely comforting.

“People don’t usually say that about me,” you scoff, rolling your eyes, yet you felt cared for, embracing the feeling of praise.

“A shame for such a pretty girl like you,” He jokes, rubbing his chin with his fingers.

You find yourself hanging onto his every word, his charisma and intelligence captivating you in a way you never expected.

As he shares stories of his past achievements and future aspirations, you can't help but feel a sense of admiration for the man before you.

But beneath the surface, there's a tension that simmers, a palpable electricity that crackles in the air between you. You can sense the shift in his demeanor, the subtle change in the way he looks at you, as if seeing you for the first time.

As the conversation lulls, he rises from his seat, his movements fluid and purposeful. With a slight smile, he disappears into the adjacent room, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Minutes pass, the silence broken only by the soft hum of machinery in the distance. And then, he reappears, a small vial in his hand.

"I've prepared something to help ease the discomfort during the blood extraction process," he explains, his tone reassuring. "It's a simple elixir, but it should make the experience more bearable."

You nod, accepting the vial with a mixture of gratitude and apprehension. As you raise it to your lips, you can't help but wonder what exactly is in the concoction he's given you.

But the pain of the extraction process looms large in your mind, overshadowing any doubts or reservations you may have.

With a deep breath, you swallow the elixir in one swift motion, its taste bitter and metallic against your tongue. And then, as the liquid courses through your veins, a wave of dizziness washes over you, your vision blurring at the edges.

You reach out for support, but John is already there, his strong arms catching you before you hit the ground.

Your head throbs, the sensation reverberating through your ears as you grimace in pain, your face contorted in a grimace as you watch the overhead lights flicker rapidly.

Panic surges within you, your heart racing as you realize your arms are restrained above your head, the cold metal of the cuffs biting into your skin. Your feet barely brush against the worn tiles below.

"What the hell?!" you exclaim, your voice trembling with fear. Memories elude you, leaving you disoriented and bewildered.

Surveying your surroundings, you find yourself in a stark white room, its pristine walls offering no solace. A single door stands in the corner, ominous in its silence as you hang suspended in the center, the flickering lights casting eerie shadows across the sterile space.

Suddenly, the door creaks open, revealing Dr. John Wick as he steps into the room. Clad in gloves and his white coat, he exudes an unsettling air of authority as a wave of realization washes over you.

"What's happening?!" you demand, your voice trembling with uncertainty as fear grips you tightly.

"Hush now," John soothes, his voice calm and measured as he approaches you.

Despite your frantic struggles against the chains, he moves closer, his hand deftly manipulating a remote control in his grasp. With a click, the chains lower, the sound of metal clanking echoing in the sterile room as your body descends.

“I didn’t lie about how you were special,” he smiles creepily, now eye level with the man as he lifts your chin slightly.

“We just need to text you for some experiments, nothing too big,” he added, hot tears already brimming your waterline.

“P-Please get me out this isn’t what I signed up for—“ You whined, your wrists still trying to undo the chains that bound them together.

“I’m sorry but I cannot do that. You’ll be my little test bunny for today, is that alright with you, love?” He chuckled softly.

You shriek, tears already streaming down your cheeks as John’s fingers stroke against your jawline.

“You wouldn’t want to let your poor mother die now, would you?” He whispered, leaning into your ears as you grit your teeth, jaw clenching.

“Your mother has been transferred to a better hospital—under my industry. Resist and you die, let me use you this once and I’ll ensure your mother’s safety,” he’d add.

Before you are able to say anything, he grabs a handkerchief from his pocket, wrapping it around your head.

Your body stops shaking, your mother was at risk and you were unable to do anything.

He first took a knife from the steel cart that was placed against the wall across from where you were, his movements precise as you felt your clothing slither from your body, down your legs and eventually onto the ground.

Unable to resist, you stood there, crying, your makeup making marks on your cheeks as you shuddered from the embarrassment you felt as you were exposed to the older man.

“So young, so beautiful,” his voice tantalizing as he admired your curves, his hands starting to graze against your skin, the goosebumps visible from your fear.

“Don’t be afraid, it’s only procedures,” he teased, before pushing the button on his remote once more, your body lowering down as you gazed up at the man like a dog.

His fingers made their way under your chin, lifting them up slightly before he slowly undid the handkerchief.

“Please don’t scream, you’ll only make it harder for yourself,” he rambled, his lips now pressing against yours as you moaned in both surprise and disgust.

His tongue swirled with yours, the both fighting for dominance as he held your jaw in one hand, the other one starting to undo his pants.

John’s eyes glinted with a cold detachment as he advanced towards you, his movements deliberate and predatory.

“I promise, you’ll like it,” he drawled, his voice dripping with arrogance as he surveyed your trembling form.

You tried to protest, but the words caught in your throat as he pinned you against the wall, his hands rough and possessive as they roamed over your body.

“Don’t fight it,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your earlobe as he leaned in close.

“Resistance is futile.”

You could feel the heat of his breath against your skin, sending shivers down your spine despite the fear that gripped your soul.

“Please,” you whispered, but the desperation in your voice only seemed to amuse him.

With a smirk, he silenced you with a bruising kiss, his lips crushing yours with a ruthless intensity that left you gasping for air.

And as he claimed you as his own, you found yourself surrendering to him completely, your body a playground for his darkest desires. Each touch sent shockwaves of pleasure and pain coursing through your veins, your cunt throbbing with a mixture of agony and ecstasy.

But amidst the chaos, there was something else - a twisted kind of love that dared not speak its name.

“You like that, don’t you?” he taunted, his voice dripping with malice as he watched you squirm beneath him.

You moaned in response, unable to deny the twisted pleasure that his touch ignited within you.

With a guttural grunt, John released his load deep inside your cunt, his cock throbbing with the force of his climax. Your walls clenched around him, milking every last drop of pleasure from his pulsating shaft as he claimed you as his own.

“Take it, you filthy whore,” he spat, his voice dripping with disdain as he buried himself inside you.

“You like being used, don’t you?”

You moaned in response, unable to deny the twisted pleasure that his rough treatment ignited within you.

Each thrust was a reminder of your submission, a testament to the depths of your depravity.

As he reached his peak, his grip on you tightened, leaving bruises in his wake as he marked you as his property.

“There we go little bunny,” he sneered, his words a cruel echo of the pleasure that coursed through your veins.

And as he finally pulled away, leaving you empty and spent, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. In his arms, there was no room for love or tenderness, only the raw, unbridled passion of two souls consumed by darkness.

♡ 𝑡𝚑𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑑

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rjalker · 2 months

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Ableist: If you don't do X [having a job, not being homeless, voting, going out to physically protest despite no one wearing masks these days and the general inaccessibility of public spaces and /literal marching/, ect.], you're a bad person. No exceptions.

Physically disabled people: Yeah, a lot of us physically can't do that.

Ableist: Well, this disabled person [who has access to dozens of recourses you can only dream of] did it, so you have no excuse!

aka I'm still not over my mom's husband claiming that it doesn't matter if most homeless people are disabled, because one time he saw (saw, not met) a man with only one arm and no legs in a high-tech powered wheelchair who had a job, so homeless people who claim they can't get a job are just lazy.

he had no answer for why I was somehow magically different from disabled homeless people, because he knows I'm disabled and can neither get a job nor health insurance nor disability SSI because of the nature of my disability and not being born rich enough to be able to pull over 2k out of my pocket on a whim to pay for a psyche eval out of pocket, let alone pay for every test that would be required to ~prove~ that my hypermobility prevents me from standing long enough to do literally any job within walking distance.

no but really with protests, immuno-compromised people have been begging for years at this point for self-proclaimed leftists to wear masks, but everyone fucking refuses. But now abled people want to be holier than thou and say if you don't physically go out to protest it means you don't care, while ignoring the physically disabled people who literally physically cannot do that for any number of reasons, including the fact that every other protester there would be actively threatening your life by refusing to wear a mask to stop you from dying from Covid19.

Edit: Can't believe I forgot ableists' most favorite crime disabled people can commit: not being able to live independently!

#ableism #cripplepunk #cripple punk #cpunk #victim blaming #classism #phyiscally disabled #actuallyphysicallydisabled #actually physically disabled #covid19

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nayziiz · 9 days

Text

Reckless | CS55

Summary: Via finds herself caught up in office politics and encounters Carlos Sainz Jr., the intimidating son of her boss. Despite her initial reluctance, she is drawn into a web of intrigue surrounding the Sainz family and their business empire. As tensions rise and secrets unravel, Via and Carlos grapple with professional challenges, personal relationships, and the allure of forbidden romance. Via must navigate the complexities of power, ambition, and desire, ultimately confronting difficult truths about those around her in a world where appearances can be deceiving and loyalties tested.

Warning: Violence, blood, alcohol, smut, fluff, guns

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x OC (Via Driscoll) - appearances from other drivers

Masterlist

Chapter 3

As Via settled into her seat, she couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had lingered since her encounter with Carlos the previous evening. The absence of Eleanor only added to her sense of disquiet, as it was unusual for the executive assistant to be late to the office.

Pushing aside the paperwork related to the gala and the information leak, Via focused on logging into her company profile. She entered her credentials with practised ease, her mind already racing with thoughts of the tasks that awaited her that day.

Once logged in, Via began sifting through her emails, her brow furrowing as she scanned the messages for any urgent matters requiring her attention. Amidst the usual stream of correspondence, she noticed a few messages marked as high priority, likely related to the ongoing investigation into the information leak.

“Yes, but we’ve paid you quite handsomely to inform us ahead of time.” Via looked up from her computer screen as Eleanor's voice echoed through the executive suite, her presence a welcome distraction from the mounting workload on Via's desk.

She returned Eleanor's greeting with a polite nod, her attention briefly drawn to Mr. Sainz as he passed by with a warm smile. Via couldn't help but feel a sense of relief at Eleanor’s arrival, knowing that she could rely on her to provide valuable guidance and support.

Eleanor placed her bag down on her desk with a heavy thud, her expression tight with frustration as she turned to face Via. She observed Via's focused demeanour as she continued to engage in the phone conversation, her brow furrowing slightly in concentration.

“So, you've been taking our money, but aren't willing to share your sources with us? How is that fair?” Eleanor's voice cut through the air, laced with a mixture of irritation and authority.

She crossed her arm over her chest, her stance conveying a sense of assertiveness as she addressed the unseen individual on the other end of the line. Via paused briefly, her attention fully drawn to Eleanor's pointed words. She watched as Eleanor's expression hardened, her resolve evident in every word she uttered.

“I suggest you try harder to keep us happy.” Eleanor continued, her tone commanding and unwavering. “We're the reason your business is still running.”

Eleanor ended the call with a frustrated sigh, her hand pressing the 'end call' button with a decisive click. She turned to face Via, her expression a mix of weariness and determination as she leaned against her desk.

“Anything I can help with?” Via inquired, her voice laced with concern as she watched Eleanor's demeanour.

Eleanor let out another heavy sigh, her gaze shifting momentarily to the open door of Mr. Sainz's office before returning to Via.

“I suppose I should just tell you.” She began, her tone tinged with resignation. “We have been paying a media house a monthly stipend to inform us when someone is wanting to publish information about our company, and they have not been keeping their promises.”

Via's eyebrows furrowed in surprise at Eleanor's revelation.

“It's concerning that they aren’t keeping their promises. Do we have any recourse?” Via remarked, her mind already racing with thoughts of potential repercussions. Eleanor shook her head, her expression grim.

“Not at the moment.” Eleanor admitted, frustration evident in her voice. “When you start working on this investigation, work back from the media houses. That should lead you to a clear suspect.”

Via took in Eleanor's advice, a sense of determination settling over her as she mentally mapped out her investigative strategy.

“Understood.” She affirmed, already plotting her next steps.

Eleanor offered a small nod of approval before pushing off her desk and making her way to Mr. Sainz's office. As she reached the door, she paused, turning back to Via with a solemn expression.

“And, just a warning.” She added, her voice low with caution. “When it comes to working with Carlos, just make sure you do your job and nothing more.”

“I don’t understand.” Via replied, confusion etched on her features.

“I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation, Via.” Eleanor insisted, her tone firm. “To put it in perspective, he’s similar to his father in that sense. That’s why I’ve been here for over fifteen years.”

Via absorbed Eleanor's warning, recognizing the weight behind her words.

“I'll keep that in mind.” She replied evenly, a sense of determination flickering in her eyes.

She understood the delicate balance of her new role in the investigation, especially when it involved working closely with Carlos. Eleanor regarded her for a moment, her gaze searching, before nodding slowly.

“Just be cautious. That’s all I ask.” She advised, a hint of urgency in her tone.

A few seconds later, the office door creaked open, and Mr. Sainz Sr. peered out, his expression a blend of expectation and slight irritation.

“Is Junior here yet?” He inquired, his gaze fixated on Via, who was diligently sorting through paperwork at her desk.

“Not yet, sir.” Via replied, looking up from her work. “Would you like me to call him for you?”

Mr. Sainz Sr. hesitated for a moment, contemplating his response.

“That’s not necessary, thank you, Ms Driscoll.” Senior nodded with a smile, his harshness fading slightly.

“I’m sure he’s on his way.” Eleanor added in an attempt to ease his mood.

“He’s old enough to make his own decisions. If he chooses to not stay at home, who am I to stop him?” Senior shrugged before turning back into his office. “The boy loves making stupid decisions.”

Via turned to Eleanor, seeking clarification on Mr. Sainz's cryptic remarks.

“What's going on?” She asked, her brow furrowed with confusion. Eleanor sighed, a knowing expression crossing her features.

“Carlos has always been a bit of a wild card. He's fiercely independent, sometimes to his own detriment. Mr. Sainz may be the CEO, but even he can't control everything, especially when it comes to his son. And, all this because he didn’t come home last night.” Eleanor explained as she grabbed a folder from her desk before retreating into the CEO’s office.

As Via absorbed Eleanor's insights, she realised that navigating the complexities of the investigation would not only involve unravelling the mystery of the information leak but also navigating the intricate dynamics within the Sainz family itself.

Via found herself engrossed in the details of the investigation as the morning progressed, methodically sifting through information and piecing together clues. The office hummed with activity around her, but she remained focused on her task at hand. Eleanor and Senior headed out for lunch with the other board members, leaving Via and Carlos to themselves for the rest of the afternoon.

Occasionally, she caught glimpses of Carlos as he moved about his father's office, his presence looming in the background like a shadow. Despite his seemingly innocuous demeanour, Via couldn't shake the feeling of being watched whenever he ventured out to grab a coffee or attend to some task.

Via's heart raced as she observed the intruder rifling through her desk drawers. She assessed him cautiously, noting his youthful appearance and the nervous energy radiating from him. For a moment, she debated whether to confront him directly or to alert security discreetly.

Via left her desk unattended for a few minutes to go to the restroom and upon returning found a man crouched beside her desk, rummaging through her drawers. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, Via approached the intruder with measured steps, her footsteps silent against the office floor. As she drew closer, she cleared her throat to announce her presence, causing the young man to startle and whip around to face her.

“Can I help you with something, sir?” Via asked, her tone firm yet composed as she met his startled gaze.

"This isn't what it looks like. Or maybe it is. It just depends on what you think this looks like." The man frantically responded.

Via raised an eyebrow at the cryptic response, her suspicion growing. She maintained her composure, refusing to let the intruder's evasive demeanour unsettle her.

“It looks like you're going through my desk drawers without permission.” She stated calmly, her tone leaving no room for ambiguity. “And that's not something you should be doing.”

The man shifted uncomfortably under Via's gaze, his eyes darting around the office as if searching for an escape route. He seemed to realise the gravity of the situation as he fumbled for words.

“I was hoping you had some mints or something, I swear. I'm waiting for Sainz.” The man responded.

“Mr Sainz doesn't have any appointments scheduled this morning.” Via retorted, eyeing the man from head to toes.

“I know. He asked me to pop in whenever.” He responded.

Via's suspicion deepened at the man's insistence and his vague explanation. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about him. Nevertheless, she remained composed and decided to handle the situation diplomatically.

“Your name, sir?” She asked.

“Lando. Lando Norris.” Lando answers.

“Olivia, Mr Sainz's…assistant.” Via hesitates, unsure what her official title technically is in the absence of both Eleanor and Senior.

Carlos emerged from his father's office, drawn by the sound of voices outside. He approached Lando and Via, his expression unreadable.

“Lando.” Carlos bellowed.

“There he is. Please tell your lovely assistant here that I'm your best friend and by no means was I snooping through her desk.” Lando replied, his tone light but defensive.

“Why were you snooping through her desk?” Carlos countered with a raised eyebrow, unimpressed by the excuse.

“I was just looking for some mints, man, I swear.” Lando muttered, avoiding Carlos's gaze.

“Alright, come on. Olivia has work to do and doesn't have time to entertain you. Carlos interjected, attempting to remove his anxiety-inducing friend from the executive suite.

As Lando disappeared into Carlos's office, Via couldn't shake the feeling of discomfort that lingered from their encounter. She returned to her desk, her mind still preoccupied with the strange interaction. The apologetic smile from both Lando and Carlos did little to alleviate her unease.

Meanwhile, inside the office, Carlos turned to face Lando with a stern expression.

“What were you thinking, Lando?” He chided, his tone serious. Lando shifted uncomfortably under Carlos's gaze.

“I know, I know. It was stupid. I just wanted to... I don't know, snoop around a bit.” Lando admitted.

“You can't go around poking your nose where it doesn't belong. Especially not at a colleague's desk.” Carlos added, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I know, I know. I won’t do it again, I promise.” Lando repeated, his contrition evident. “Okay, but can I point out that you did not mention the fact that she's absolutely gorgeous?”

“Because it's not important.” Carlos shrugged as he studied his friend.

“My guy, seriously. How do you manage to resist? She's like a breath of fresh air in this stuffy office.” Lando continued to egg on his friend.

“It's called professionalism and boundaries, Lando. You should give that a try some time.” Carlos retorted.

“So, can I make a pass at her then if you won't?” Lando joked.

“Don't you dare.” Carlos's firm tone left no room for argument, and Lando chuckled in response, recognizing the seriousness behind his friend's words.

“Relax, I was just kidding.” Lando reassured him, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “But seriously, man, how do you manage to resist? She's like a breath of fresh air in this stuffy office.”

“She's off-limits, Lando. End of story.” Carlos sighed, his gaze drifting towards the closed door as he contemplated Lando's question.

“Alright, alright, I'll drop it. But you can't blame a guy for noticing, can you?” Lando raised an eyebrow, sensing there was more to Carlos's response than met the eye.

“No, I can't blame you for that. Just keep it professional, alright?” Carlos shook his head, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“Got it.” Lando nodded, understanding the unspoken boundaries.

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cuckoo-on-a-string · 11 months

Text

Promises 1: Introduction

Dark!Morpheus x (female)reader, fantasy/medieval AU, 18+

Master List

Dream of the Endless has been promised a bride.

This is in a different style than the rest of the story, so it gets its own post. Brace for all the yummy, darker tropes, bards' shenanigans, and eventual smut. Hoping to post updates quickly (like every other day) between all my other projects, and your support means the world!

Introduction

The king of Meiren found himself as part of a tale. Unfortunate for him. Amusing for Dream of the Endless.

Ten years past, the king summoned him to beg a favor.

“I’ve been dreaming of the most beautiful woman.” Obsession flamed in the mortal’s eyes, brighter than the reflection of the single candle stood between them. “I’ve searched, but I fear she is not of this realm, and I will not take any other as queen.”

The king’s distress smelled of Desire’s work, some perfumed horror to break a nation over brief carnal pleasures. Or perhaps a faerie game, wicked and senseless beyond a moment’s amusement. Passing, paltry things that may become histories and novels in his library, but no business of his. He would not have helped if not for what the king offered in return.

“If you help me find this woman and take her to wife, I will return an equal boon.”

He spoke earnestly, but Dream turned away his desperation with a smirk and a slow shake of his head. “What boon might you offer one such as I? I have no need of your gold, your land, or your kingly permissions.”

The next words began the story and sealed the little king’s fate.

“A bride of your own. I would gather the fairest, brightest, noblest from my kingdom from which you might choose.”

Vague amusement soured into offense, and his smirk twisted into a sneer. He dared? Truly?

Dream peered down his nose at the man. What could this hungry dreamer know of love? “Tell me, then, what creature in your kingdom might be my equal when none are good enough even to be your consort?”

The king had no good answers, only selfish dreams and childish demands. Groveling, he asked, “Will you not help me, then?”

But it was too late, and Dream was invested in this fool’s demise. After all, finding the woman of his dreams would not make him happy. Morpheus was certain of that. And the king would fail to keep his end of the bargain. He was certain of that, too. It wasn’t the first time he’d become a character in a tale, and he wanted justice for the scratches on his withered heart, for all they were left unknowingly.

One who dared offer the impossible to an Endless should reap their worthy prizes.

“I will help you.”

The king opened his mouth to thank him, but Dream hadn’t finished.

“I will come at a time of my choosing, and you will assemble those promised. If I do not find one that pleases me, I will take recourse in any manner I please.”

He didn’t even leave the king the promise of fair or equal retribution. When he was disappointed, he would please to be merciless indeed. But the king was a fool and did not listen well. He accepted. Eagerly.

The king had his bride – a faerie who he wed, bed, and conceived an heir upon. But on the child’s seventh birthday, he and his mother both disappeared on a ride through the morning fog. Brokenhearted, he could not bring himself to marry again, and he spent more time pitying his fate than managing his lands. He wasted his youth, his love, and his legacy for a dream.

And now it was the king’s turn to make good on his promise.

The invitations were sent, summoning the young, the talented, and the beautiful to court. The castle staff prepared to host the horde of eligibles and the Endless the king hoped to please for seven days, at the end of which the King of Dreams would make his choice or exact his vengeance.

#dark!dream of the endless #dark!morpheus #morpheus x reader #medieval au #reader #morpheus x original character #dark!morpheus fanfiction

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chazz-anova · 10 months

Text

Veronica Rook x John Seed

I'm adrift and sunken / and just need to feel at home in something-

#and one for them #john seed #veronica rook #veronica x john #x: no other recourse #far cry 5 #fc5

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artbyblastweave · 3 months

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hello. I am in the middle of doing My Take on vampires and would appreciate your thoughts on Them in fiction. they don't seem to pop up more than occasionally in superhero media, but also you are pretty widely read & they have noticeable Eras/Tendencies that I can see.

I'm definitely not as much of a vampire guy as I'm a Superhero guy, so all my opinions on vampires should be taken with a grain of salt, and with the knowledge that a lot of this is stuff I've picked up through Osmosis and the occasional lit-review for that one class in college. But here goes-

One of my potentially more controversial takes about Vampires is that I think Vampires (and adjacent creatures like werewolves) are great at capturing the emotional truth of being part of a marginalized group, or sometimes just for being subaltern- the world against you, people make you feel like you're wrong for existing, that you're dangerous, etc.- and this is why they go gangbusters both on this website and in general. But the narrative often faceplants for me if it tries to portray vampires as a literal marginalized group because all of that stuff is often objectively true within the fiction in a way that it isn't true of real-life marginalized groups. It's a souped-up version of the X-men problem, because most of the X-Men aren't obligate cannibals! The result of this is that there have been several times I'm consuming something vampire-related that wants me to primarily sympathize with the vampires, and meanwhile I'm going "geez, that's a rough deal, but I think you all need to be killed on purely utilitarian grounds, sorry."

(I do also get the sense as well, right, that this is inextricably tangled up in the fact that a lot of foundational vampire literature was kind of just taking a lot of the horrible lies people tell about the scapegoat group du jour to justify their oppression and then making a guy of whom these things were objectively true. I get the impression, at a distance, that Dracula demonstrates like fourteen different flavors of "Those Depraved Easterners Are Coming For Our Women," although to truly lock in that Take I'm gonna have to read the thing instead of just absorbing it through Tumblr Osmosis whenever Dracula Daily is running.) There are ways to thread this needle, the big one of which is to just sand down the negative externalities of vampirism. Have them feed on animals or voluntary donors or make the human predation thing an in-universe slanderous fiction to begin with. Have them feed on exclusively on quote-unquote "criminals," if you have the right unexamined assumptions about the validity of the death penalty. Go the Elder Scrolls route, where drinking blood isn't necessary to survive but is necessary to maintain a human appearance, thus ensuring that the most morally conscientious vampires are the ones most likely to be identified as vampires and scapegoated by the angry mob. The issue I sometimes take with this is that the act of implementing a "fix" of any kind can sort of broadcast that you're trying to have your cake and eat it too- that you're cutting away the ideatic core of what makes vampires interesting when divorced from metaphor, taken objectively- that they're living trolley problems. As others have said, if you sand them down too much, what are you getting out of a vampire story that you couldn't get from a Tolkien Elf, or from Batman?

A fictional group which I've never really had this issue with, though, is Zombies, in the Romero tradition. When a work wants to construct Zombies as a primarily sympathetic group, it's much easier for me to get on board with that without feeling like the core Vibe has been compromised. This is because there's actually a fairly recent source text for zombies in the form of Romero's Living Dead films, and a major component of the Living Dead films is how much it sucks without recourse to become a zombie.

I was working on a post once, which I never finished, about how there are like, three-to-four vectors of horror that zombies can embody, which different works play up to different extents. While obviously one of the big straightforward ones is the fear that your entire community starts trying to kill you and eat you one day for basically no reason, a major anxiety on display in the original Living Dead trilogy- Dawn in particular- is that in the face of a weird but manageable problem human society would act as its own condemnation, totally failing to rise to the challenge-the horror is that we would let something as inept as a zombie be dangerous to us! Also present in those films? The horror of the idea that your daily routine is so rote and conformist that you wouldn't need to be sentient to continue to carry it out- that the biggest difference between you and them is that you can occasionally be evil in more interesting and evolved ways. And there's this fear of physically and mental degradation with zombies, which for a host of reasons I find extremely fucking relatable. The sense that your body is falling apart piecemeal, bits of you sloughing off when you turn the wrong way or turn your head too quickly. There's this fog over your thinking. The bone-deep knowledge that you used to be more, and are now fundamentally less capable- that there's just enough of you left to understand something is missing. (Read into my personal circumstances whatever you want from this.) Being a zombie is foundationally, fundamentally gross in a way that being a vampire isn't; when people try to do "sexy zombies" half the joke is the pairing of those two words. There's this horror comic Kieth Giffen did once called Tag which is basically entirely about the horror of being a corpse that could feel it; I think about that comic a lot. Anyway, because so much of the horror of zombism is external to whether they're actually attacking and killing people or not, you can totally sell me on zombies as an unfairly-maligned demographic in a way that's much harder for me to buy with Vampires- dropping the danger they pose to other people allows you to maintain so much more of the core of the thing than it does with Vampires, where it feels much more like you're tip-toeing around the tensions between Wanting To Have Fun and the moral horror inherent to what you're trying to have fun with.

#sorry for hijacking your ask to talk about zombies!#not sorry enough to not do it obviously #ask #thoughts #meta #vampires #zombies #untitled zombie project #night of the living dead

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pearlywritings · 1 year

Text

Behind the wall of falling snow we love

synopsis: Pierro is a mysterious man, the kind that guards his secrets well. One of them is being you, his lovely wife, his heart, his everlasting lover. And tonight he is finally stealing you from your duties and bringing you to his residence where you can drop the masks you wear for the people of Snezhnaya and be just a married couple.

pairing: Pierro x fem!reader

tw: smut, established relationship, immortal lovers (you and Pierro are Khaenri’ahns), religious themes, sliiiight a/b/o feature, oral, biting, unprotected sex, obviously size difference

word count: 8.1k+ words in total

author’s note: the words of prayer are actually a translated and altered from French song Ave Maria Païen from Notre Dame de Paris musical.

Ave Tsaritsa, please pardon me, if in your house I have come begging.

The Cathedral of Tsar the Saviour is a majestically built and decorated temple, having been honoring the previous Cryo Archon in the past, and now being full of prayers offered to the Tsaritsa. Today the official designation is the only reminder of in whose name it was founded, as every last piece inside and out was completely replaced with symbolism of the new deity, and Pierro personally made sure of it, solidifying her position and showing what a good and valuable asset he was.

And still is.

Ave Tsaritsa, no one ever taught me about kneeling.

Half-truth and half-lie. The people of Khaenri'ah had their ruler, to whom bowing heads and, on occasion, getting down on their knees was an etiquettish must. But they never had a god to humiliate themselves before. Even now, he doesn’t quite do so, always proudly standing akin to a frozen statue near the goddess, that is not his. Nor yours.

Ave Tsaritsa, please will you keep me from the misery, madness and fools, who rule this evil world?

That's what the purpose of the Harbingers is - enlightening the Snezhnayan people according to the wishes of Her Majesty Tsaritsa and ensuring that nothing can undermine their faith in her and push them off the intended path. Who knew that religion can be such a powerful instrument? Too bad it ended up in his and your hands. Of that he also made sure.

Ave Tsaritsa, I'm a stranger and you're my last recourse.

You were strangers to this snowy land; weakened and exhausted by the curse were your bodies the first time you ever saw your future salvation. Back then the kindness in her eyes wasn’t hidden behind a veil, and the heart, not yet frozen, tightened at the display of your tightly intertwined fingers, the stubborn desire not to let go of each other’s hand touched the deepest parts of her immortal soul. Nowadays Pierro may call it a memory that’ll never be proven existent, because the only person capable of telling it has locked herself in the Zapolyarny Palace, rarely appearing in front of anyone, and The Jester, despite the folly of his code name, is not an idiot to go and flaunt around about his dear one.

Ave Tsaritsa, please can't you hear me? Please take down all these walls between us. We all should be as one.

A wall between a follower and an Archon…foolish to try and break it. But the Cryo Archon heeds as she is fond of your singing, and you can hardly call yourself her follower, having willingly become an instrument in the silver-haired wise and cunning man’s hands. You became the holy wonder of Snezhnaya - a maiden, who hasn’t grown older a day over the centuries, and many generations came to witness your divine service and had your voice stuck in their minds, piercing their very souls. And the man could claim with certainty - you were loved by the people.

Ave Tsaritsa, please watch over my life night and day.

She really doesn’t, but Snezhnayans do, however it was by your wish and with your consent, that he put you before so many watchful eyes, and the Archon’s ones as well. But then again, if you want to hide something precious, you should put it right before the seeker’s nose. He made you adored, he secured your safety with the right deeds of yours - all Abyss would break loose if something happened to their cherished high priestess and no one would like to incur the wrath of the Tsaritsa and the Harbingers.

Ave Tsaritsa, oh please protect me. Please guard me and my love; now I pray.

His stone heart flutters for how softly, how tenderly have you sung of who your heart is beating for. Not for the deity, no - it’s pumping blood for the very man who is standing in the shadow of a wide pillar, gazing at you from behind a mask and holding a thick cape similar to his own, with his plans quite evident.

Tonight you are leaving with him.

Ave Tsaritsa. Amen.

You breathe the last words of the song against your hands, clasped together in front of you in a prayer, and the sound seems to infiltrate every corner of the grand catholicon. Your figure is ethereal, kneeling on the steps before the huge stained glass of the Cryo Archon your words were directed to. Basking in the light of the moon, pouring through the glass and painting you in the sacred blues of Her Majesty's robes, you look like a holy being, and had Pierro not known you were a sinner like him, he would've been tricked by your false chastity. Whiteness of the high priestess’s robes is pure, much purer than the snow outside, but now tainted by the colors of the Archon you both swore to serve.

Even if she doesn't, Pierro watches you, and his gaze will never waver.

Your archbishop’s crown reflects the light and diamonds gleam coldly, just like they are. The long veil hides your soft pretty hair he loves running his fingers through so much. It soothes him, reminds him of the times he used to witness you braiding them in the morning and unbraiding in the evening, sitting on the edge of your shared bed and talking about everything and nothing.

Now this became a privilege, one you are granted only once every couple of months. Sometimes separation is unbearable, but the different flight of time immortals experience makes it more tolerable. And you both know - it’s a small price for the power you managed to obtain.

Slowly you open your eyes - breathtaking cosmic crystals, that shine with pretensive innocence and have fooled and enchanted much more mortals you care to count. You are already doing so much for them, no need to try and remember every single one, it’s the clerics’ job and they fulfill it excellently under your guidance.

Pierro thinks this position suits you. You are not stupid, far from it, while leading others along the path he wants, you see right through it, never forgetting your homeland, never forgetting who you are, never forgetting the pain. You always were like this, even half a millenia ago your ingenious character intrigued him and pulled him to you like a magnet. Winning your affections and uniting your destinies by marriage is still one of his biggest personal achievements.

Despite being cursed, he is a blessed man and was one long before the doom was brought upon his nation. You are his eternal blessing.

You descend more gracefully than the deity behind you ever could in Pierro's eyes, because you were descending to him. Robes and the veil flow behind you magnificently - a sight he witnessed thousands of times, yet it still gets to steal his breath away, because you look like a lovely bride to be wed.

And I would marry you again, in every other world or timeline that is existent.

That’s what you told him when he admitted the reason for his awe-stricken expression during your first century of living in the land of snows. Even now, the cold and terrifying advisor of the Tsaritsa feels the same.

“Have you waited for long?” You start speaking not even halfway close to him. The question echoes in the majorly empty space, and prompts the man to step out of his hiding spot, becoming the victim of the moonlight as well.

“No, I have not,” his answer is short, but only because he doesn’t like getting personal before you two are back in his manor, where he knows no one can interfere. You simply nod at that.

“I’ll go and change. Will you wait for me, Lord Pierro?”

Always.

“Of course, Your Eminence,” he doesn’t ask you to take your time, and you know that while he is an embodiment of patience, you don’t have any second to waste.

Putting the crown on the pedestal and laying out your ceremonial clothes for the trusted deaconesses to take care of tomorrow, you can't stop the excitement pouring from your heart. Two months ago you couldn't meet due to the passing of the Eighth Harbinger - you were busy with the memorial service to commemorate La Signora and your beloved was stolen away by his duties and complications, caused by her death. While you did not hold anything against the fair lady, your thoughts were far from mourning, only thinking of the wasted time with an edge of bitterness. It happened before, and you learnt to bear with that, but even with all your practiced patience you'd never want the repeat of that three-year long occurrence when you haven't seen or heard from him at all due to your respective occupations.

You sigh in relief when the heavy fabric and furs are brought upon your shoulders, hiding the elegant, yet simple outfit, reserved for your outings. The weight of his big gloved palms is also welcomed and the deep sound of his voice washes like calming waves over you.

"Should we be on our way?" You don't see him, but you know the glow his eyes possess. Usually unreadable, they glint with emotion, the one - you can proudly declare - reserved only for you.

"Yes, we should, My Lord. We have quite a number of things to discuss and settle."

The staff of the Jester's manor know that their master and the head of the priesthood have business to discuss and under no circumstance should they be interrupted for the night and the next day. Fireplaces are lit and fresh wood is prepared. The room, that became your personal chambers in his estate, is cleaned and readied for your most comfortable stay, and the servants make sure to move as far away from the West wing, where it and the living room you use for your discussions are located. Eavesdropping is akin to a death sentence, but many would consider themselves imbeciles for trying to sneak on the two most respected and praised people in the whole country.

How fortunate it is that the Jester's personal chambers are in the same wing, just at the other end of the corridor? Servants have just one part of the building to avoid during those times, not worried about accidentally doing something wrong in regard to him and you.

Little do they know what exactly happens behind the closed door, since no one is allowed near them during these particular times. They can’t even fathom the sins your bodies bask in, perfect images crumbling down and revealing the real yous, wild and yearning, drinking up each other's touch like a life-saving water of the oasis, work talk replaced with sweet moans and low grunts and long-forgotten names occasionally slipping past your parted lips.

This is why the sheets get burnt after every stay of yours. Staff members know that's being done to prevent anyone from feeling tempted to steal and sell the fabric, touched by the skin of the Saint. In reality no one needs to know of the reasons behind torn holes and stains.

Pierro destroys them personally in the morning, as you calmly sip on your tea, seated in the armchair of his bedroom with nothing but the silk bathrobe covering your body (replaced by just his shirt occasionally). Only then you devote some of your time for actual discussions and planning, while having an amazing supper and regaining your strength for another couple of rounds, that do not even have to include the bed.

Sometimes, though, the discussion starts when servants leave you till the next evening - the time you inevitably shall depart.

"Anything notable on your side?"

You hum, plucking a pristine white petal from the water surface and twirling it between your fingers. The large floor-installed pool is enough to fit at least three people of your lover’s complexion, but there is only you, water up to your collarbones and pleasantly hot against your skin. Hundreds of petals float around you, covering your body from two piercing eyes and occasionally bumping against your bent knees, and you don’t even want to think how many flowers the servants wasted just to “please” you.

“Nothing much, and nothing of concerning importance” you admit with a huff. Church is actually a pretty good source of information; with Snezhnayan being such good believers and followers it is not hard to gather intel through confessions and later pass the concerning ones to Pierro for him to see if it actually can cause harm. But as of later it was very calm.

“Though I must admit, one young lady really caught my interest,” you throw the petal away and sink a bit deeper, water pooling around your neck now. You lift a leg, stretching a little, and from the corner of the eye watch the half-naked man, seated on the edge of the pool, following with his attentive gaze the path the droplets make down your smooth skin before they disappear somewhere at your thigh.

“And that is?” Oh, these eyes. If you were standing, you’d certainly sink onto the nearest piece of furniture, unable to fight its magic even hundreds of years later. His mostly bared body becomes the next victim of your fascination, and you bite the inside of your cheek, feeling that tingling sensation at the tips of your fingers.

“Well…” you hum again, holding his inquiring gaze and slowly, teasingly lowering your leg back into the water. “If you take all of your clothes off right now, I might tell you."

'All of his clothes' is an open shirt and a pair of pants, both made of a very light fabric. He probably abandoned the robe while walking through your bedroom, and the mask was most likely taken off there too.

"Oh?" His chest shakes with a deep chuckle, that has that specific dark edge to it, that makes you aware of why people submit to him. "It seems the information is really not of such a great importance, if you are asking me to undress in exchange."

"Mmm, you saw through my intentions. But can you really blame me? It's been so long…" Your voice trails off and you sigh, diverting your eyes elsewhere, sight quickly obscured with the images of your last encounters, making your heart clench. You must stay unbothered, but this is so excruciating, being trapped in the land of raging blizzards and frozen landscapes and the loving touch becoming not an everyday thing, but a seldom occurrence. The memories of what it used to be like are almost non-existent at this point, having been wiped out of your mind with the new reality.

Gaze falls onto your wrist and a small smile tugs onto your lips. An intricate band of the metal one would never find again and the stones that lie deep down in the mines of the miasm-contaminated homeland, rests against your skin, gleaming beautifully in the light. The same is wrapped around Pierro's wrist, just a bit wider than yours - one Khaenri'ahn tradition you were allowed to preserve - the symbol of your marriage, which in the broad daylight stays hidden under your long sleeves.

The rustle of clothes doesn't register in your brain right away, but when it does your head whips to the side, just in time to see the silver-haired man sit back down, carelessly dumping his nightwear near the side of the tube.

"Happy now?" All sorrowful thoughts leave your mind instantly when all of his body is on display for your hungry gaze. With a soft splash you lift yourself slightly, enough to get on your knees and move closer to him. His braceleted hand immediately takes a hold of yours and you comfortably lean your chest on his thigh, using an elbow to create support for your head to look up at him.

"Yes, I am. Thank you, my love."

My love. Sometimes Pierro thinks you are just a dream, a pretty, nostalgic dream, where love is not just a concept. Snezhnaya and the closeness to the Cryo Archon affected him far more than you. He toughened up, his gaze got heavier and frown deeper, lips are always drawn in a tight line and voice is even and cold, lack of emotion coming straight from his almost destroyed heart. Just one part is still alive, and warm, and capable of feelings.

This part is loving you.

"Do I deserve to be told what caught your interest?"

You smile at that, happy that he is willing to engage in a chat that doesn't relate to your plans at all. It's one of the things that serves as a reminder that you are special to him, more special than anyone and anything else, be it the Tsaritsa or your scheming.

"Oh, that's a funny thing!" Beaming, you trace one of the scars on his abdomen with your finger, noting with a smirk how it tenses under the touch. "One of your colleagues gained a faithful admirer. Quite a hopeful one, if I am being honest."

Pierro hums, showing that he is actually listening, and reaches his hand to gently pat your hair. You are so pretty, leaning on him, breasts pushed against his leg, back arched and fingers caressing his stomach, which soon becomes an absentminded gesture as your unkissed mouth moves in speech.

"She's been coming every week for three months already, lightening candles for his safe return."

'Not Arlechino, not Columbina,' he notes, attempting to distract himself from the image before him, but still noticing every single detail about his perfect wife. Hand slides to graze the side of your face and put a stray lock behind your ear. You glance up at him and, holding his gaze, turn your head in the opposite direction to press a kiss to the inside of his wrist, just above the wedding band. Pierro sharply inhales.

"Either way, she's been confessing her affections and, as the priest described it, did so "in a dreamy voice a young girl would talk about upcoming marriage". You think I spoke to my parents the same way about you?"

Your gaze turns curious and the notion of your question finally manages to return his focus. It's not often that you voice the things from the past, but on particularly calm days like today it just slips.

"I don't know. Did you?"

"I don't remember…"

Yes, that is why. And sometimes it just hurts.

"But no matter. Honestly I am quite surprised that people like her are a rare occasion. I mean, all of the Harbingers have qualities that might make you fall in love with them."

"Do many live or get close enough to witness those?" Pierro raises a brow and you roll your eyes, poking his side.

"Fair point. That's probably why she chose to fall for Childe. Young, energetic and outgoing he seems to wear his heart on his sleeve."

"Tartaglia, huh?" Makes sense, if he thinks of it. "But a marriage? Already?"

"Of course not! All I said she sounded like that, the only way the wedding is happening is in her imagination!" You burst into giggles at your lover's silly assumption, not missing him huff and tighten a hold on your hand.

"You are quite talkative today."

"I haven't seen you for four months! I missed you! You can't seriously expect me to be silent just staring at you with wide lovesick eyes."

As the man watches you dig your elbow in his thigh to push yourself off of him to stand up with the most fake offended look on your face, he thinks that his life would've ended had you succumbed to the fall of Khaenri'ah. You are the one keeping the part of him alive, cradling his heart in your loving hands, passing your warmth and aligning his heartbeat with yours.

Pierro loves you with everything left in him, and he himself can't measure if it's a lot or a little. He doesn't remember what it's like being humanly soft - but you tell him he is doing enough. And he chooses to believe you.

When a shadow is cast upon him his attention is stolen back by the present. Even with his huge complexion he has to crane his neck a bit to look at you, standing at your full height and staring down at him.

"But you are right," white lashes flutter when a warm palm cups a scarred side of his face, but he doesn't let himself succumb to the peaceful feeling, not yet, "it's time to finish with the conversations for today. Let's move to the bedroom."

Pierro is convinced that your body was created for worship. So soft, skin smooth despite all your hardships, locks thick and heavy, cascading down your shoulders, lips plump and sweet, lower one seductively caught between pearly teeth as you lead him back to your room, holding his wrist with both of your hands.

You are bared to each other, and can sense the space filling with the heat of arousal your bodies radiate. Every step closer to the bed ignites a small fire in the pit of your stomach, fueled by anticipation. Just a couple of meters and he'll push you down and pin with his weight, caging you with no thoughts of letting go for a long while, oh, you can already feel it with every cell.

With an abrupt stop you tug him closer so his body practically bumps into yours, and, releasing his wrist, cup his face instead.

"You are so handsome," you smile, standing on your tiptoes to reach and plant a kiss in the corner of his mouth. "And I bet you'd look even better on top of me."

Tempting, but he has other plans for now.

Your eyes grow wider, but a sparkle of excitement is clear in them, when the tall, broad man slowly, not breaking eye contact, gets down on his knees. Well, he did say your body was created for worshipping, so it makes Pierro your most devoted follower.

His lips are a relief against your heated skin and you sharply exhale, sliding palms to the back of his head. The kiss lingers against your stomach, the only 'ugly' part of your divine body. The place where the curse decided to bloom, circling your waist akin a wide belt, variations of dark splotches creating a bizarre picture on the canva of the skin. Still it is lesser than his is, but the price you paid for it was a devastating one.

"You are beautiful," he whispers, pressing another kiss, and then another, and then some more, leading a path down your pelvis. "So, so beautiful…"

"So now we are exchanging compliments?" Your fingers play with the longer strands of hair at the back of his neck as you are looking down at him, not missing a move, not missing the way his eyelids slide close, when he is almost there.

"Rather speaking truth," is his short answer, before his hands start prying your thighs apart.

"One leg on my shoulder," the command sends shocks through your body and you immediately obey, almost too excitedly throwing your leg over his shoulder. A kiss to the inside of your thigh is your reward.

"Now stand still, and once I secure my arms, put the other one too."

The anticipated display of physical strength makes you lose your voice for a moment and all you can do is quickly nod.

"Words, my dear, I need your words."

"I-I understood."

"Good girl."

The praise makes you blush and is enough of a distraction from what he is in the process of. But not a minute later, both your legs are on his shoulders, their broadness giving you enough room to keep your thighs spread. The globes of your ass are literally resting in the crook of his elbows, arms reaching up your back and palms splaying against your shoulder blades, creating a perfect support to lean into.

Your breath hitches when his warm breath ghosts against your slicked folds and heart begins violently beating with your body realizing the sheer strength of its partner and future pleasure this man is going to provide. And oh Archons, centuries proved how masterful he is in both.

First shudder wrecks your body when his thick tongue traces along your slit, coating it with saliva and teasing you with flicks of the tip. You blissfully sigh, closing your eyes and enjoying the small shocks sent down your spine with every drag of his wet muscle, before he steals your breath away by dipping it inside.

Pierro hums, content with tasting you again after so long, and you are so pliant in his arms, putting an ultimate trust in him, that his own sex swells at the thought. The tip of his tongue catches against your clit, which makes you gasp and tighten your hold on the back of his head, involuntarily bucking hips forward. But he is not going to give you everything right away, no, he is going to show you his faith slowly, so you can understand every single notion behind his actions of praise and worship.

That is why he is drawing his face away, smirking at your needy whine. Attention shifts on your thighs - the last time he thoroughly marked them, so harshly in fact, so you would’ve still had them aching for days to remember the time spent together. Now your flesh is so pristine clean, that he hardly suppresses the urge to bite you right away. Instead he wills himself to plant kisses, sucking the skin occasionally to leave the blooming spots to darken later in beautiful hickies, undeniably hidden by your long and many layered garment. The hairs of his beard tickles you, contrasting with the slight tingles of pain, when he decides to lightly catch the skin between his teeth and urge you to pant and squirm in his hold.

"Stop teasing me…" You try to turn his head back into the direction you most need him in, but yelp, when he digs his nails in your back and bites on your other thigh. "Pierro!"

He only groans, flexing his shoulders to shift you in a more comfortable position, licking the stinging spot he's just abused.

Biting your lip, you have half a mind to reach a hand and touch yourself since he doesn't, but the man knows you well. He glares up at you, the dangerous glint in his eyes doing not much to scare you, but that's not his intention. It's a warning.

"Don't look at me like this," you huff, still taking one of your hands from behind his head, but reaching to cup your breast instead, "I can take a little bit of teasing, but not when you give me a taste and then ignore my aching."

The way you roll the erected bud between your fingers ignites fire in the pit of his stomach, leaving his cock half hard. Who is the one talking about teasing?

A soft cry leaves your lips, when he finally dives back in. Your lover sucks on your clit like there is no tomorrow, pressing the tip of his tongue against it hard. It twitches in his mouth from stimulation and your back arches, fingers grabbing and messing his hair from the intensity he's attacked you with.

Pretty moans and deep groans fill the room as he delves his tongue into the hole - rubbing against your walls deliciously. Slick gathers at his chin and slowly drips down, just a couple landing on his twitching length. You taste divine, in all the years of his life he's never drunk anything that would come close in comparison to your nectar. He grinds his face deeper into your pussy, beard tickling the insides of the thighs and nose nudging the swollen nub, as he savors you.

Your heels dig in his back, your own arches into his arms, and you feel so so heavenly. The palm pressing on his head is as secure as his own hold on you, not letting him back off this time, so unwilling to lose this building pressure in your belly, that'll soon explode, giving you the sweet release you've been yearning for.

Pierro relishes in your throaty whine when he drags the first orgasm out of you, gulping down whatever your spasming cunt has to offer. He feels your legs trembling, but he also knows that this tiny form of relief is nothing compared to how strongly he can actually make you cum on his fingers and cock, when you writhe and thrash under him, begging for no more, or when you are stuffed to the brink and unable to move, weakly clawing at his shoulders to stop. He wonders where tonight will lead you two to.

With an oof your back hits the bed, and his arms slide from under your body. Your hand drops to your side, as the one that was fondling with your chest rests on it, feeling your heart beating against the outstretched palm.

"See, was it so hard?" You smile at him, rising to his feet and wiping his glistening mouth and chin. "Maybe I should sit on your face more. It brings you to action faster."

Wordlessly Pierro grabs your waist and shifts you higher on the bed, climbing onto right after. He lets you wrap your arms around his neck and bring him closer, slotting your mouths together and sharing a kiss full of unspoken passion. He presses himself on you, pinching your hip and making you gasp, allowing him to push his tongue into your mouth. You taste yourself and moan, sliding your own appendage against his, licking at it playfully.

Only you make him feel like this - hot, bothered, desperate, thoughts reigned by you, - everything the Jester is not, but your husband is. Only your touches and your embraces can comfort and relax him, only your kisses steal his breath away and cloud his mind, only your softness against his sturdiness is a perfect match, one that makes so much sense. Only with your heart his agrees to synchronize, sharing one beat, one melody. Only because of you he still knows what love is and that this is the feeling you two share.

When he breaks apart, chest rising and falling in sync with yours, he can't help but focus on your neck - another canva begging to be painted and who is he to decline? Your head falls back as his teeth graze down your throat. Legs, having a mind of their own, spread, and Pierro doesn't miss a chance to use it.

Your cunt is still sensitive when he plunges a long finger inside. Walls flutter and tighten around sudden intrusion, and the skillful thumb starts drawing slow circles on your clit.

"So tight…" He growls into your skin, leaving a tenth hickey on your neck and collarbones. "In four months you must've forgotten the shape of me…"

"I'll be quick to remember, mmm," you bite your lip, when he starts moving and curling his digit, all the while switching his attention to your full breasts. Your moans grow louder than before as he teases your pebbled nipples with his tongue, enveloping them in his mouth, gently sucking and releasing with a wet pop, blowing cool air on them right after only to feel you squeeze his finger.

Pierro is working your open with one and then two digits, not forgetting to play with the bundle of nerves, making the slick gush that soon even you could hear the squelching noise your pussy is making. What would've made you shy and embarrassed on your first couple of nights with him, now turns you on more than anything, prompting you to roll your hips to meet his own movements. Sometimes you feel his hard dick brush against your thigh and you gaze at him in silent question. He shakes his head, declining your help, and adds the third finger.

Now that's a really tight fit and he has a hard time dragging three fingers against your gummy, but resisting walls. You attempt to relax, but there is little you can do with how big everything about him is. Your body grows restless and fingers dig into the pillow above your head, back lifting off the mattress in a sensual arch and feet planting to bend the knees. Once or twice his real name drips like honey from your swollen lips and the man's heart skips a beat or two, your own name whispered between your ribs as kisses are pressed against the skin of your stomach.

When his mouth envelopes your clit again your moans get louder and thighs twitch to close around his head, but he uses his now free hand to push them away and pin you by the lower stomach down. Your fingers reach in his hair again, tugging on silver strands when he sucks particularly hard or curls his digits and brushes that delicious spot inside, that makes you see stars bright enough to outshine the ones in the sky.

Pierro loves when you grab onto him, doesn't matter where or how, he just loves having your hands on his body: holding, caressing, palming, squeezing, cupping… Every single touch makes him aware of your mood and desire to have him, which makes bringing you to mind-blowing orgasm even more satisfying. You inevitably scratch him, leaving a mark of your own.

He softly hisses as you dig your nails in the back of his neck, almost breaking skin to draw blood, and with a trembling scream cum. Pierro fingers you through your high, feeling your walls spasming and slick running down his hand and your thighs, soon to ruin the sheets, and watches you shudder, mouth hanging open and sweet noises creating a pretty melody. Could anyone witness a scene more divine? He can swear he is the only one.

You bite your lip when he plants a kiss to your clit and slowly pulls his fingers out, leaving you so empty, and more yearning than before.

"I want you," is your breathless demand, hands reaching for him. The man quickly grabs them, bringing closer to his mouth to kiss every single knuckle.

"Patience, my dear," is his quiet murmur, which makes you grimace.

"What is here to wait for? I've been waiting for so long, I have patience of a saint!" Literally. "Tonight is the only time I can forget about it, please don't take it away from me, I know you want me too."

And you are right. After having your taste and getting to feel the welcoming softness of your pussy he wants nothing more to sink in and mold you back to the shape of his cock.

Then why wouldn't he do just that? Taking wife's lovely advice never hurts.

He places a large hand above your head to steady himself, preventing him from crushing you with his burly mass. You hold your breath in anticipation, when the big mushroom tip parts your lips and presses against your opening. With a deep inhale Pierro grits his teeth and pushes inside, stomach immediately flexing when your walls swallow an inch. His gaze is on your face, making sure you are alright as he is slowly working his massive dick into your cunt. He knows you can take him, even if sometimes after big breaks your body screams that it can't, but the habit of checking on you just never died.

As he finally fully settles inside, he understands that his ability to move is to be cruelly tested. Your walls have an almost vice grip on his girth and the man above you groans as you tighten even more with sweet moans falling from your lips. Hair disheveled, hands fisting the shits beside your head, legs desperately trying to wrap around his wide waist but to no avail. Your struggle - to embrace his body, to take in his girth, - amuses him, but he has some pity for his dear wife, as his big scarred palms slide down your hips, leaving a trail of fire igniting sensations on your skin, and up to your knees, grasping under them and securing your legs where you want them, where he wants them. You cannot escape, you are his.

"If you don't relax, I won't be able to move."

"But it's-" you mewl when he experimentally rolls his hips.

"Don't tell me it's too much. You've taken it for centuries, don't tell me you can't take your husband's cock now," the man smirks at the way your eyes light up, and the hand with a bracelet on it reaches out to him. He lets himself a moment of vulnerability, leaning forward and into your palm, eyes sliding close and hips stilling, pelvis pressed impossibly close to yours. You feel the hairs of his beard grazing your skin, and softly run the thumb over his lips, usually drawn in a tight line. Breath chokes when he opens his mouth and bites the tip of your finger, gently catching it between his teeth. Your heart skips a beat and you tighten again, eliciting another groan from him and prompting the jaws get a little bit tighter too.

"Relax," sounds more like an angry order, but you know it's just because the man is slowly but surely losing control because of your body.

"What, can't you take your wife's pussy?" You cheekily shoot his words back at him and instantly regret it.

Because Pierro lets go of your poor thumb and launches forward, crushing you a little with his weight, and closes his mouth on your neck. Your whole face goes red from how lewdly you moan when teeth bite hard on that special place that makes you go absolutely wild once stimulated. You still haven't figured out the cause of these, and making you a subject of Dottore's research is the last thing Pierro would do in his life. You discovered it after the curse settled in your bodies and just decided to embrace this new feature, since it proved not to be causing any harm. Quite contrary, it brings you unimaginable pleasure.

Your whole body heats when he tightens his jaws a little more and you claw at his back. You have no idea what you want - him to let go or stay like this, but the unbearable need for him to move gnaws at your insides.

The man smirks when you arch into him, breasts pressing to his chest and pelvises flush against each other. He rolls his hips again, and this time his cock slides smoothly between your walls.

"Good job, love," you shudder and whimper when hot breath ghosts against your ear. Pierro murmurs quiet words of consolation, licking at the bruised place, where the dents of his teeth are already becoming pretty pronounced. He doesn't forget to thrust into you, setting a steady pace and trying some angles to find the perfect one to hit all your favorite spots.

It takes a bit of time, but he figures it out, grabbing you under one knee and pushing it forward to put you in a position that lets him reach deeper, tip kissing your cervix. From now on he grows relentless with only one thought in mind - to satiate you. He fills you over and over with his length, bulging veins caressing your walls, eliciting the sweetest noises your throat is capable of producing, each one sending shivers down his spine.

"More… Please, more…"

You look truly debauched under him, so different from the serene and gentle expression everyone is used to. Only he can see you like this and it feeds his ego, eyes glinting with lust and thrusts growing even more relentless, each bursting pleasure. Skin slaps against skin, sound mixing in you joined noises of bliss. Pierro is grunting above you, pace hard and deep, driving you closer for the third orgasm. He releases your knee, but throws that leg on his shoulder instead, leaning on you even more, so you practically scream when thick hairs on his abdomen start rubbing against your neglected clit.

“Just like that…” he murmurs, both palms firmly planted on both sides of your head as he practically pistons his dick in your cunt. You can only wrap your hands around his arms to steady yourself at least somehow, but it all comes crashing when the tight knot in your stomach snaps.

Your eyes grow wide in the mind-numbing orgasm and your head falls back. It’s almost embarrassing how fast you reached your high this time, your stamina failing you, absolutely destroyed by your husband’s actions. He is still moving inside, helping you to ride it out, snug between your walls, where he belongs.

However you both know it’s far from the end. Suddenly he picks his speed, changing deep and hard pace to a fast one, driving himself into you almost wildly, chasing his own high this time. Your grip onto him only gets stronger, nails biting in his skin as your pussy tightens every time he pushes in. Pierro’s name flows from your lips like a mantra and he lets out a growl-like grunt of your own name. The loud squelches that your recently milked cunt make are clouding his mind and making his reddened cockhead leak with arousal.

Your gaze is hazy from overwhelming pleasure, but even in such a state you could see his tense jawline, blown pupils, drops of sweat sliding down the side of his face and flaring nostrils. The sight makes your pussy contract especially hard, forcing the man to choke and halt in his movements. He feels the telltale signs of his orgasm approaching, and knows, that you are hanging at the brink of yours as well.

“Cum with me,” you frantically nod at his request, heating up from the way he grunts, rutting into you, nudging your pulsing cervix as he fills you with his hot cum. It triggers you and with a loud moan of his name you let the orgasm wash over you again.

Your lover is gentle, grinding slowly, pushing out just a little and then all the way in to keep his load inside. He pants heavily, shoulders dropping and head lowering to press his forehead against your knee, eyes sliding close to catch a small break from the first long-awaited release he’s just experienced.

Moments like this - away from his duties, with you in his arms, filled with absolute bliss, - remind him happiness is possible, that he can rest in your embrace and be caressed by your love, be it in the form of emotional connection or the primal need to mate through sex. Sometimes one thought of you is enough to make his day brighter. Seeing each other is a blessing, since he doesn’t have time to hide in the shadows of the Cathedral to watch you speak to the Tsaritsa’s people, and you have no opportunity to slip out unnoticed and unquestioned to go and visit him. This is why every touch of your hands, every kiss, every thrust, every word exchanged in the privacy of his manor matters, and you try to go as long as your bodies are able to.

Only when you let go of his wrists and relax in his hold, does he stop his movements and carefully drop your leg back onto the bed. Then, ignoring your protests, he slowly slides out, mesmerized by your gaping hole, desperate to be stuffed again by his still hard cock, so wet with your juices it almost shines in the dim light of the bedroom.

You scowl at him for leaving you empty, but your gaze doesn't lose softness reserved for this man only. The amazed way his eyes are glued to you warms your heart and lessens the ache in your core from being ripped of the opportunity to cockwarm him.

"See something you like, my dear?" You flash him a knowing grin and run one of your hands sensually down your body. Star-shaped pupils dart at the movement and immediately sharpen, when two fingers reach and spread your folds. "Do you, perhaps, like the mess you made of me?"

"I do," he breathes out. "Always do."

With a sweet smile you reach to his shoulder, gently sliding an open palm over tense flesh. You are far from satisfied, desire igniting even brighter in you, so you use his moment of distraction, lure him in with your moves, only to gather your strength and roll your bodies, reversing the position. Galactic eyes widen slightly, when his back hits the mattress and your body hovers over his.

"My turn," you lunge forward and bite on his neck, pride stirring in your chest when your lover's self-control slips and he actually moans.

"You…" You hum at his low growl, lapping at the bitten place, knowing that the job to arise his hunger here is done.

"Yes?" With a cheeky grin you face him, closely watching his expression, loving the way his lips parted in silent pants.

"A wicked woman."

"Wicked? How rude and salacious calling a high priestess such names."

"Not her," a big scarred hand reaches forward and cups your cheek. So warm. "But the woman I married."

"Oh? So it's a good thing?" You lean happily in his hold, rubbing against wide palm. Pierro slowly lifts his upper body, steading yours on top of his with the hold on your hip, and takes the sitting position with you settled on his thighs. Hot breath brushes against your lips and you let your eyelids slide close.

"The best."

As he indulges you with a fervor-filled kiss, you reach between your bodies and graze just the tips of your fingers against his cock. Two sets of eyes fly open at the same time, but while he stares at you with yearning, your eyes crease in mischief. Simple caresses soon turn into your palm wrapping around his girth and slowly sliding up and down his semi-hard length. The bite you've granted him just moments ago does it work magnificently, turning him on the same way it was with you. Attempts to restrain his hips from jerking up to thrust into your hand don't go unnoticed by you and you tug on his cock roughly to elicit a groan out of him and bury your tongue in his mouth.

Palm which was resting on your cheek up to this moment abandons its place and drops to your other hip. Thumbs smooth over the night sky painted skin of your waist, soothingly rubbing. It makes you hum in content, caressing the cavern of his mouth languidly.

Palming and groping continues for a while, shift in pace obvious after the previous round (if you were to count by the times your lover came). His cock finally stands proudly against his toned stomach once again and you lift yourself with his help, lining the tip to your hole.

Pierro feels how his own semen drips down onto his length as you position your body the most comfortable way possible given the challenging stretch your thighs have to endure because of the wideness of his figure, including the hips. Pussy inevitably releases thick white substance, coating him and surely ruining the sheets even more.

Your walls show no resistance when he slides back home. How fascinating this part of your body is - molding to his shape quickly no matter how much time has passed since the last time. He knows he is big, he's made you drool and cry and mindless plenty of times in the past (he still can, but it takes more rounds and much rougher behavior), yet your pussy always takes him.

As if to prove the statement, you press a palm against your stomach and feel an outline of him, nestled deep inside your heat, a prominent bulge appearing whenever he shifts.

"I missed this…" You admit with a smile, rubbing up and down, absolutely enjoying the view of his greeted teeth, heavily rising and falling chest. “Mmm, I can feel you twitch inside…” Your teasing voice is so beautiful and the man can’t help it but lean forward and kiss the column of your throat.

“I missed this too…”

“Then let’s take the most we can from this night, shall we?”

As your lips meet in another kiss and hips start rocking again, Pierro silently agrees, secretly, just like every time, praying to no one in particular for the night to never be over.

taglist: @we-wo-we-wo, @secretartisanclodhairdo, @eiscoathanger

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #pierro x reader #pierro x fem!reader #jester x reader #pierro genshin #genshin impact smut #moonlit pearl stories #my longest fic so far

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mysticalsoups · 1 year

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I need a way out | Joel Miller x reader

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Joel Miller 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Slight E4 spoilers! Splinters, kidnapping

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: You are tired, hurt and lost in Kansas City after rummaging the suburbs, getting kidnapped and escaping. You meet Joel and Ellie

𝐖𝐂: 1,4k

𝐀𝐍: There will be another part! If there is enough animo, I might make a series out of this :) I haven't written for Joel before, and even though Joel isn't seen much in this part; I have many ideas! Also, warning: this chapter is not proof read, I wrote this and wanted to upload it as soon as I could :p

ao3

"Ouch." You hissed while flapping your left hand in the air as a reaction of plucking out a big piece of splinter from the palm of your hand. "That fucking stings."

Your right hand grabbed your bag in search of the flashlight you had packed in the side pocket. With a click came a flash of light and you placed the end of the flashlight in your mouth. You picked up the tweezers from the dirty floor and tried to pick out the remains of the splinter out your hand. With some cursing and grunting, you got all the splinters out. You had no time, or even the recourses to clean your hand the normal way before beginning, so all you did was splash over a little bit of the vodka you kept in your flask over your hand. You grabbed the bandages and before wrapping your hand you remembered you put down the tweezers on a dirty floor, so you had to desinfect your hand again. "There goes my fuel." You mumbled and poured down every last drop of your beloved drink on your hand.

After you had wrapped your hand and put everything back in the spot things belonged; the tweezers in your toiletbag filled with medical supplies, your flashlight in the sidepocket of your backpack and the flask was the only thing placed in a spot where it wasn't before; the front pocket of your bag instead of your jacket.

Your feet hurt, you were hungry and you felt drained. But you had to climb on these stairs, to the roof so you can scout for a way out of this damned city named Kansas. You have no clue how you ended up here in the first place, it was a day filled with chaos.

This morning you left your camp with a handful others, to go scouting in the suburbs for food and more medical supplies. When you got there, you all paired up with a partner and got supplied a list of houses that needed to be searched. You scoffed and cringed internally when Marshall teamed you up with Chase. Of course you would be teamed up with him, Chase did everything in his power to get you on this date he has been nagging you about for months. It did not surprise you he actually bribed Marshall to be teamed up with you.

"I hope you liked the flowers." He said while you were rummaging through some drawers of a kitchen. It was a nice kitchen actually, it had a lot of space; a long counter with a sink, microwave and coffeemaker; behind you was the kitchen island with a six gaspit stove and an oven; and of course, a lot of storage space with adorable cupboards above the counter. A lot of room to make multiple things at once, maybe a cake while cooking dinner even. You could see yourself use a kitchen like this, living in a house like this.

"Oy!" The nagging voice of Chase disturbed your thoughts and you looked up to him, confused. "Hm?"

"I said, I hope you liked the flowers, I know they are your favourite." "Oh! Uh- yeah, I did! They were lovely." You sighed back, not wanting to make a fuss about the fact that you actually gave them rightaway to mrs. Gallagher. They were beautiful, that was true. But what wasn't true was the fact that you liked roses, especially in the form of romance; you adored dandelions much more in general.

When he was about to open his mouth, the high pitched noice of trucks stopping abrupetley sounded through the neighbourhood. You ducked and crawled to the window, peeking open the curtain just a little bit to see what was going on. There were people armed with heavy machinery jumping off those trucks, kicking in doors and dragging people out. The same people you got here with. The sound of guns shooting and men screaming made you bolt for the backdoor. "Wait for me!" Chase yelled. He ran after you, into the line of trees.

"Fucking hell." Panted Chase, "Where did those guys come from?" You made a sussing noice, gesturing for him to get low to the ground. "Get low!" You yelled in a whisper.

"No way man! We need to get out of here." He yelled in a whisper back and continued his way further into the tree lines. "It'll get you killed!" You said back, too focused on him. It made you miss the gigantic dude walking up to you, now clicking the safety pannel on his gun pointed at your head.

"Stop walking or I'll shoot her brains out." The voice sounded heavy with a hint of a sore throat. You hope the bastard choked on a mouthfull of glass while raising your hands in the air. His mates followed along and grabbed you by the wrists before dragging you along to their trucks. Marshall already sat, by the rest of the group and he looked apologetic. You better hoped for that son of a bitch he also was sorry for teaming you up with Chase, because without him and his yapping ass you wouldn't be in this place.

They tied up ropes around your wrist before you could leave the truck and by your guesses, the rookie got assigned your wrists, because one swift motion and you would be out of them. That would get in handy later.

A couple minutes later, your group stood in front of the opening of a tall building, guards surrounding you. The building said something with FEDRA. The leader of their group was making big talk, you got bored quick. You got too focused on looking for ways out, you missed the part where one of your teammates spoke up. He was practically yelling and you couldn't make out his words, but by how everyone reacted on the enemy front and your own team; it'd probably end up in a fight. Just to be sure you took a step back, putting a bit of tension on the ropes. The moment one person gave the other a fist on the face, all hell broke loose. Everyone was too focused on the fight, you saw your chance to pry your hands out the rope and run for your life.

Just when you was about to turn a corner, you heard a male shouting: "We have a runner!". You knew this was going to be a long night, so you kept on running. Eventually you reached a dead end, standing between two tall buildings and a wooden fence. You knew going back was no option and certainly staying was no option either, so you did what seemed most logical and that was jump over the wooden fence. And holy fuck, that left your hand hurting a lot.

A quick scan of the area, you saw a door half-way open and you hoped by all the gods ever known to human kind, the door to the roof was open. Funnily enough, the door clicked close behind you so the enermy had less reason to search this building, they were probably dumb enough to think you took one of the alleyways.

So that's how you got here, okay so you lied a bit in the beginning; you knew how you got here in theory, but how will you find your way back to the camp?

Just a couple stories left to go, you can do this. With every breath you had, you almost reached the top of the staircase when you heard the giggling of a girl. "This is so goddamn stupid." The voice of a man sounded. "You laughed motherfucker." The girl said, which made you snicker in yourself. "I didn't laugh." The girl was out of breath from giggling you heard in the way she sounded when she said "Yes you did." With your hands raised up high, since you had no weapons because you lost them to the people from the trucks took them from you, you took some steps on the stair.

"Jesus, I'm losing it." Just a couple more steps, what were you gonna say? "You're losing it big time." The chuckles of both the girl and the male sounded through your head. You were now walking to the door with the broken window. They hadn't seen you, yet.

"Excuse me?" Your voice soft, yet drained of energy. The male grabbed his shotgun, pointed it at your head and the girl behind him, also with a gun pointed at you.

"Who are you?" The male asked, softly removing the safety with the sound of a click.

"I come in peace. Please don't shoot me. I just need a way out."

#tlou #the last of us #the last of us spoiler #tlou spoiler #tlou e4 fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel tlou #joel the last of us #ellie tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams #ellie williams the last of us #the last of us fanfic #tlou fanfic

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daughterofcain-67 · 5 months

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𝐄𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 (pt. 6)

(Beau Arlen x Female Reader)

(masterlist)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Beau is working restlessly to get you back and it’s killing him that it’s already been several hours with no sign of you. Agent Sampson is doing his best to remind Beau to keep a level head so Beau could get you back sooner rather than later. Meanwhile, you are doing everything you can to persevere and think of a way put of your situation with the limited recourses you have- which is next to none.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: kidnapping, TW: implications of non-con (no graphic detail), mild violence, i think that’s it?

You knew that several hours had gone by since you were taken from your home. That meant today was the anniversary of your husband’s death. What a hell of a day to spend it, being kidnapped and potentially taken out of the country within a couple of days. You still had yet to formulate any plans of escape.

The worst part is that you knew if you didn’t get out of this mess, you’d likely never see Beau again. That and you had plans for a movie night with him that weekend. Plans that were gone with the wind by now if you weren’t able to escape.

You wondered if Beau had told Cadence yet. You wondered what exactly he told her. You wondered if she’d be able to handle the news, if she would be okay. You hoped that she wouldn’t worry too much or she would find some way to distract herself from what was going on. She was your little sister and you hated when she worried about you. To be frank, you hated when anyone worried about you. Obviously you couldn’t exactly blame anyone for worrying about you with the situation you’re in now.

You were leaned back against the wall of the basement and you looked down at your wrists. These handcuffs weren’t your biggest concern. If you were lucky you could wiggle your wrists out of them. Then again you’ve tried that for the first couple of hours and the skin on your wrists was already cut and scabbed. You’d handle your wrists again soon but for now you were trying to think of how to get the chain off your ankle.

A part of you was glad you were barefooted when they took you. You thought that pulling your foot out would be difficult with shoes and socks on. The other part of you wished you had some shoes though because you felt like your toes were freezing. It’s not like they had a heater in this particular basement.

“Come on, think. You’ve watched cop shows once in a while, and Beau’s talked about cases where captives have escaped before. You can do this.” You spoke to yourself. However, you didn’t exactly have bobby pins in your hair or paper clips so you could pull one of those moves like you’ve seen in the movies where people pick their way out of their shackles.

All you could really do at the moment was wait. Be patient, continue to wiggle your limbs until you were free but who knew how long that would take. And unfortunately, patience was not exactly your strong suit.

Suddenly you heard the door open and when you glanced up, you saw the King. Andre was there without his mask and he had a crown pin on the top left corner of his blazer jacket. He looked so different compared to the first day that the two of you met.

“What do you want.” You glared and Andre hummed a little.

“I just wanted to talk, Sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Andre sighed a little before he walked towards you. You wished you had some kind of superpower to just teleport out of here, or maybe even make yourself invisible. If you could shrink and disappear into the wall, you would. Anything to just avoid the man in front of you. Obviously you couldn’t do that though.

“Aren’t you in the wrong position to be giving demand’s like that?” He asked but then Andre looked down and saw how your wrists were starting to scab over and he tilted his head a little.

“I suppose its a good thing those cuffs aren’t any bigger.” The chuckle he let out made you feel sick to your stomach.

“What did you want to talk about so we can just get this bit over with.”

“Touchy touchy. I was just going to suggest that… maybe you can work for me personally. That way you don’t have to go out of the country soon and be sold off as a slave. You could be here although… you would have to give your business to me, and not have any contact with your little sheriff friend.” He said.

“There’s no way I’d give in to something like that. That business would go to Cadence before it could ever go to someone like you.”

“Cadence… you know, she would have made a good candidate too for this little operation. She’s such a sweetheart.”

“Shut up.” You seethed and he squatted down in front of you before he reached out, the next thing you knew he had your jaw in his hands and you could feel his fingertips keeping a firm hold of your face.

“If you were smart, you’d watch your tone with me.” He said and you spat in his face.

His eyes darkened as he let out low growl of disapproval, “You’ll pay for that. And you’ll pay dearly. So be a dear and keep quiet.”

Your eyes widened when he gripped at your shirt and tore the material….

Cadence took the news pretty hard, just like Beau knew that she would. It killed him to see the way her face fell when she found out her sister was taken. All he could really advise her to do was close up the cafe if she didn’t have anyone to keep it open for her if she needed time away.

Much to Beau’s surprise though, Cadence agreed to keep the cafe open and just keep working. Cadence said you would have wanted her to be strong for your sake. Although she did agree to take the first couple of days off just to see if you would come home and you would have someone to go home to.

After he met up with Cadence and took her home, Beau went right back to the office to find out if Hoyt or Poppernack have found anything, or even if Agent Sampson was making himself useful. He swore that if the FBI were going to drag their feet on this he may end up having to take care of everything himself, or get Cassie to help him out since she didn’t have the same rules as the FBI.

Once he pushed the doors open he saw that some other agents were there, no doubt a part of Harlen Sampson’s team.

“Pompernickle!” Beau called and looked around only to see a hand raised up.

“Right here, Boss!”

Beau walked over and stood behind the deputy at his desk, “Please tell me you’ve found something to get to Sampson.”

“Actually, the fingerprints we found over at Irene’s place did in fact match the ones that were at Y/N’s house. We just got the results from the database. Somebody was slacking here in Montana.” He said.

“And who’s that supposed to be?”

“Our guy Ace? He wasn’t the only one at you houses. There were two sets of prints. We found out that this Ace guy is related to your Andre fella. A cousin, actually. His name is Matvey, or simply Mat, Bolkonsky. Related on the paternal side.” Poppernack said just as Agent Sampson walked up.

“Another Bolkonsky, huh? He was born and raised Russian and he tried to move down here when Andre’s father started their so called jewelry company. Turns out he wasn’t really the best of the bunch and he was charged with drug dealing. He ended up getting a kid killed with those drugs about seven years ago. Naturally he was charged with second degree murder, unfortunately he got out for good behavior with parole. And we haven’t heard anything on him since, although he has been a suspect for other gang related activities and I don’t think murder and kidnapping is out of his range.” The agent said.

“So what does that mean? If he’s here and he’s with Andre, we can go over to Andre’s place and ask about aiding a suspect if he was the one that did kidnap Y/N right? Well what are we waiting for?” Beau said.

“Legitimate proof that Andre was there too. We’re waiting on the results for the second set of fingerprints. We also need to consider the idea that Andre may not have known about this.” Agent Sampson replied and Beau’s hands turned into fists.

“You’re kidding me, right? To me this sounds like enough to at least have an interview with the guy since you’re so intent on doing this by the book. We’ve gone on less even if this is circumstantial.” The sheriff reminded.

“If I may say something,” Poppernack chimed in, “If you do have that interview with him, there is a reason. He was the last known person to have seen Y/N after all so if we propose it as simply routine questions to cross him off the list as a suspect, he may be cooperative.”

“I’m on it.” Beau said and was about to walk past the desk.

“You aren’t going by yourself. Someone like you is going to go there and bite his head off and ruin everything. I’ll be going with you.” Agent Sampson said.

“No offense, Agent, but I’m pretty damn good at my job and I know what the hell I’m doing. I’ve been in this job long enough to know how to handle a situation like this. I’m not some damn rookie.”

“Fine, but I’m still going with you so it at least looks good on the papers. It is technically the FBI’s case still and we want these guys to go away for good. So try to keep that in mind while you’re trying to keep your cool.” He reminded as he walked out of the door.

Beau just glared at the agent. He knew Sampson was right about doing this by the book, but it still ticked him off. He wasn’t about to waste time on this. Sure he’ll do this by-the-book interview. But the moment things go south, Beau may need to make some plans to conduct an interview all on his own.

The sheriff went to his car and the agent ended up following him to the vehicle and they got in.

“Listen, I know you’re angry and I don’t know what kind of connection you have to the… captive.” Beau could hear the agent begin to speak, “I’ve been where you are with my wife before. It’s vital to keep your head on straight.”

“Thanks for the words of wisdom.” Beau rolled his eyes and started his car.

“I’m serious, Arlen. I lost control and nearly lost my wife for good because the perps almost got away with nothing but a slap on the wrist. That’s why we need to get this done right.”

The sheriff looked down at his steering wheel for a moment. Of course he could at least take the words into consideration, but he knew that you were too important to lose. And if this Bolkonsky business were to go south, being too slow with the law may get you lost just as fast as recklessness.

“Let’s just focus on getting Y/N back to her sister. Andre’s our first stop and hopefully we’ll come across another lead like surveillance of Mat participating in suspicious activity.”

Forty-six minutes…

That worst forty-six minutes of your life and you had counted every second if it just to keep from screaming. You didn’t know what Andre was capable of if you ignored his warning and tried to scream or make any sounds.

“Well… I don’t think the clients will mind slightly used goods. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a business to run.” Andre said as he pulled up his pants.

You couldn’t make direct eye contact with this man after what he had done. Your everything ached but you were glad it was finally over.

Andre was nothing but scum of the earth, and even after what happened… you were trying so hard to be strong. But after those forty-six minutes, you were beginning to wonder what the point of strength was if something like this could happen no matter how patient or optimistic a person tried to be.

Then you heard a phone ringing, of course it was Andre’s. When he answered you could see the slightly annoyed features on his face.

“Hello, Sheriff. How can I be of assistance?” He asked.

Your eyes widened.

Beau was on the phone. He was really looking for you! He was looking for you right? You weren’t imagining all of this?

You had to do something, now was your chance! Andre didn’t take your mouth up or anything so you had to do something. This could be your only shot!

“Beau! He has me in some basement! He could go after Cade-“ a harsh stinging erupted on your face from where Andre smacked you.

“Oh no, Sheriff. That’s just some movie I’m watching at a friends house. He has a weird and nearly concerning taste in film. I can come and meet you to talk about the date in just a few moments. Let’s say… Tonya and Donno’s place? I’ve heard they have some great sandwiches. My treat.” Andre said.

The charm that Andre tried to have made you cringe. How disgusting did this man have to be to think he could use charisma like that after what he just did. And how stupid did he think that Beau was?

“Uh huh… I see. My cousin? Oh I didn’t even know he was in town. I suppose great minds of the family think alike. We’ll discuss this more when we aren’t on the phone. If we talked about everything now we’d just be limited to small talk and that’s always awkward.” He laughed.

When the phone call was done, Andre turned and glared at you.

“You’re worried about your sister that much, huh? Well maybe we ought to give you something to worry about now that you may have ruined everything by screaming.” He promised.

Then he walked out of the basement door, locking you up once again.

Your mind started racing. You hoped to what’s god was out there that Beau really did hear you. But on the other hand, you were terrified for your sister’s safety. What if Andre really would send his crew to go after Cadence like they did to you?

You couldn’t have your baby sister go through the same thing you’ve endured. You refused to let that happen.

“Please, Beau… if you heard me at all, send someone to the house to keep Cadence safe.” You pleaded, even though you knew there was no one listening.

You felt something roll down your cheek and when you lifted your cuffed hands to your face, you felt tears. You didn’t realize you were crying and honestly you thought you were a little dehydrated to do that. You supposed you were wrong but maybe the moment Andre mentioned your sister put things a little more into perspective.

“I have to get out of here.” You vowed and looked at your scabbed wrists and started to try and wiggle out of them yet again but you had even more of a reason to escape, more of a reason to try.

Hey guys, I know this chapter was a bit more intense than the previous. But I hope you enjoyed so far. Thank you to those of you who have been commenting, reblogging and liking these chapters. I really appreciate it! Love you all!

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