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Bourbon Whiskey

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What Is the Comparison Between Bourbon and Whiskey?

Many people are curious about the differences between whiskey and Bourbon. This is a time to clarify the differences between these delicious drinks.

The Irish phrase “Water of Life” inspired the term “whisky.” It’s one of the most widely consumed alcoholic beverages in the world. Many types of whiskey are available, including Tennessee whiskey, Scotch whiskey, and Irish whiskey. Despite many similarities, there is a fundamental difference between Scotch, whiskey, and Bourbon.

What’s Whiskey?

Whiskey can be described as a distilled alcoholic beverage made from a fermented grain mash that has aged for a while in oak barrels. There are many options for the mash, including barley, wheat, rye or rye. This allows for a lot more creativity, experimentation, and artistic expression.

An easier explanation is to view whiskey as an umbrella category of liquor, similar to wine. Cabernet Sauvignon, for example, is distinct from Chardonnay, but both can be classified as wine. The same principle applies to whiskey. The differences between Scotch whiskey and Bourbon are quite distinct, but both are listed under the whiskey label.

The bottom line is that every whiskey is not scotch, but all whiskeys are scotch. Similar to the above, not all whiskeys are bourbons. We have compared Scotch, Bourbon, and other whiskeys to help you find the differences between these two types of whiskey.

Types Of Whiskey

BOURBON

Only the USA can produce Bourbon whiskey. Federal liquor regulations require that it has to be made from a mash bill containing at least 51% corn. It must also be aged in new charred oak barrels. There are no time limits for aged Bourbon. However, all varieties under 4 years old must have their age printed on the label. Straight Bourbon must be aged at least two years before bottling.

SCOTCH

Scotch whisky must be made in Scotland, as its name implies. Scotch whisky is mostly made from malted Barley. There are two main types: single malt and one-grain scotch. Single malt Scotch is made at one distillery, using water and malted Barley. A single distillery can also produce single grain Scotch. Scotch must be aged in oak barrels for at least 3 years before being distilled and bottled at a minimum of 40% ABV.

Whiskey vs. Bourbon vs. Scotch — Country of Origin

Although they can be classified as whiskeys, there is a vast difference between whiskeys and bourbons. Scotch Whisky Act 1988 states that an alcoholic beverage cannot be called “Scotch” unless produced entirely in Scotland. The Scotch Whisky Act of 1988 stipulates that whiskey must be aged in oak barrels for at least three years before being bottled in Scotland.

Similar laws govern Bourbon. They are found in the Federal Standards of Identity for Distilled Spirits. These rules were created to preserve the distinctive taste of Bourbon. Because it is an Australian native spirit, the guidelines for earning the bourbon mark require that the whiskey be made in the USA. It is possible to make Bourbon anywhere in America, even though 95% of the world’s supply comes from Kentucky. The limestone content of Kentucky’s water filters away metallic impurities making it a great place to start a bourbon distillery.

Whiskey vs. Bourbon vs. Scotch — Ingredients

The fermentation process they go through makes Bourbon and whisky different. Any fermented grain can be used to make whiskey, including Barley, wheat, corn, rye and rye. The whisky is usually aged in oak barrels to develop its distinctive brown colour and flavour. Single malt Scotch must be made from 100% malted barley grain mashing, while grain Scotch can be made from malt and unmalted wheat mixtures.

The American Whiskey or Bourbon variety must contain at least 51% corn in the mash bill. A mixture of wheat, rye or Barley will make up the remainder of the basic recipe. Corn is chosen as the main ingredient due to its high availability in the USA. The bourbons made with corn are sweeter than those made from rye, which has a distinct spicier taste.

All whiskey is aged in oak barrels made of charred wood, but Bourbon must always be matured in new oak barrels. Scotch Whisky Act also states that spirit must not contain any additional substances, except water and plain caramel colouring, to be eligible for the official scotch whisky label. However, Bourbon cannot be added to anything except water.

Whiskey vs. Bourbon vs. Scotch — Flavor

In general, whisky doesn’t have one style. A Speyside, for example, has very little in common with Islay’s powerful and peaty Islay. Scotch whiskies have a variety of flavours, including barrel type, maturation time, and peating levels.

Because Bourbon contains a higher concentration of corn in its mash bills, the flavour differences between Irish whiskey and Bourbon are more noticeable. It often has a variety of flavours, including vanilla, cinnamon and toffee, depending on the wood barrel used for maturation. Bourbon’s sugary character makes it great for cooking and mixed spirit to make cocktails. It works well with beers, cola, coffee and Cointreau.

Whiskey vs. Bourbon vs. Scotch — ABV Essentials

This will help you to understand the differences between whiskey and Bourbon. As per the Scotch Whisky Act guidelines, whiskey must be distilled at lower alcohol by volume (ABV), with a strength of 94.8%, and have a minimum of 40% alcohol by volume to qualify as a scotch. American liquor standards dictate that any bourbon containing more than 125 proof should not be allowed to mature in barrels. Anything below 80 proof (40% ABV) cannot be bottled as Bourbon.

We hope you find this article helpful in answering the age-old question, “What is the difference between whiskey and bourbon?” Are you looking any other type of liquor? Boozehouse is the buy liquor online and can deliver right to your door!

[lethargicluv]

Firefighter Simon Ghost Riley who realizes that the baked sweets and fresh bread aren’t coming from a bakery in town but actually from the girl who inherited her grandmother’s house across the street from the fire station. She stops by twice a week with everything she’s made in the last 2-3 days. Turns out she’s a recipe book editor and she likes to test every recipe in the books she’s asked to edit before she approves them for publishing. If she finds issues with the recipes she sends it back for revision. Imagine testing out a 300 page recipe book. Some weeks she stops by more than 2 times because she’s testing out meal recipes and ends up delivering large batches of lasagna and pasta and meatloaf to the station. Sometimes she messes up a bit and to make corrections to the recipes she has to remake it with some tweaking and so sometimes their meals are a little burnt, maybe a little bit too spicy, or not salty enough. Simon would appreciate it all the same, so do the rest of 141. Sometimes Soap helps her with her groceries when he sees her struggling with the large bags of flour and runs across the street to lend a hand. Gaz always offers to help her carry everything into the dining hall. Price always sees her off. It’s like everyone knows about her except Simon. He doesn’t until he nearly bowls her over running for the truck as the alarms go off and the team’s getting dispatched just as she’s dropping off a very large batch of mostly misshapen but very delicious sugar cookies. (The recipe was good just not good at holding their shape. Might be too much butter, she’ll have to send it back for revision.) They get back hours later to find these wobbly ghost shaped cookies and Soap literally wouldn’t stop laughing and tell him that the cookies looked like him. Even Price poked some fun at Simon. He catches her the next delivery struggling with several containers of roasted chicken and she nearly drops the remain chicken in her hands when she looks at the big man’s face and is met with a skull mask. They get to talking while the boys chow down on tonight’s chicken dinner and Simon thinks he’s been an idiot for holing up in his office all this time when such a lovely lady has been feeding them like this. She thinks Simon’s scary appearance doesn’t match his personality at all. He’s been so soft spoken despite his gruff voice. She makes him a bourbon cake the following week and laughs in amusement as Simon tries to fend off Soap trying to steal a bite.

Part 2

[lushrue]

there was something angry and dark festering inside of simon. (afab!reader, nsfw, mdni)

he noticed it for the first time when he went out with the rest of his team to the pub after a particularly difficult mission. everyone had their own way of coping with stress. price had his cigars, puffing away and coating his lungs with tar. gaz had alcohol, bourbon and tequila burning away in his stomach to soothe the cold grip of disappointment in himself. and johnny? johnny had women. birds of all different types, sizes, occupations. simon was convinced he didn’t even look at who it was he was snogging in the corner of the bar. as long as she was warm and willing, he was on her.

that’s when he felt it, watching johnny suck at some poor girl’s face like she held the nectar of the gods between her lips. simon had never paid much mind to getting a woman of his own. with his family life, he’d found it hard to put stock in anything akin to a committed relationship. too many things could go wrong. after all, as he reminded himself every time he came close to a woman, he had anger baked into his DNA. the desire to sink his claws into something and rip it apart until he was bloody was too tempting. he’d ruin whatever he touched, so why bother?

still, as much as he tried to deny it, he was a mere mortal. flesh and blood, hormones and urges. testosterone flooded through him the same as any other man. the sight of his sergeant indulging himself made the beast within him rear its ugly head. it was like a devil on his shoulder, whispering to him that he could have that too. he could dig his fingers into the soft plush of a woman, feel her curves and let her gentle caresses soothe the storm that never seemed to let up. ever detached, he weighed the consequences against the reward. sure, he could satisfy this hungry thing that ate at him every time johnny spoke of a new conquest. but it would mean corruption for whatever poor thing his eye landed on. he couldn’t do that to someone he knew, someone he’d have to face again.

a few nights after the incident at the bar, simon got a card for an escort company from price. “in case y’need it,” he’d said. unbeknownst to simon, his captain had noticed, seen the hunger that was building steadily in him. he remembered that same hunger building in him as a young man. lust for blood and lust for flesh was hard to distinguish in the civilian world. besides, he couldn’t have his best lieutenant unfocused. simon held onto it for a couple days, flipping it around in his fingers between rounds of paperwork. each time he skimmed over the phone number in pretty cursive writing, the beast inside him clawed at his bones, begging to be noticed. when he finally worked up the courage to dial the number, he hung up the moment someone answered the phone. it was too much, too fast. especially when he could just give himself the pleasure he was craving. so he set the phone down, grabbed his headphones, and opened his laptop.

moans and gasps echoed in his ears, a manufactured sex scene playing out on the screen in front of him. he’d barely paid attention to the setup; something about a pizza delivery guy and not having money, one of those cliches. his hand wrapped around his aching cock, thumbing at the tip as he watched the woman’s face. her expression was one of false bliss, played up for the camera and the enjoyment of spectators. simon could see right through it. he gritted his teeth, his calloused hand dragging painfully against the sensitive and dry skin. he tried to squeeze himself, milk any bit of moisture or pleasure out, but nothing came. it wasn’t the same, his hand no substitute for the sweet warmth of a woman wrapped around him.

after a few minutes of tugging at himself painfully, he slammed the laptop shut, tucking himself back into his cargos. this wouldn’t do, not at all. it didn’t feel the same anymore. the beast within growled, demanding sustenance. simon cursed under his breath and picked up the phone, dialing the escort company again. this time, he wouldn’t lose his nerve. he’d faced much scarier things than a phone call; he just had to remind himself of that. a woman who sounded like she smoked several packs a day answered the phone, rasping the name of the company and asking what she could do for him.

it was simpler than he imagined to book an escort. set a date and time, agree on a neutral location, put his list of boundaries on file, and sign a few forms to send back. easy enough. he was silent about his “date” to his teammates, not wanting the questions to flood in. this wasn’t a woman he was planning on keeping. hell, he figured she wouldn’t want to be kept anyway. all the better for him and the thing festering inside.

as much as he tried to deny it, nerves were building as the day of his appointment approached. it was one thing to see it done on a screen, it was another to make his body cooperate. simon had never experienced performance anxiety. if someone didn’t like his skills, fuck ‘em. his talent spoke for itself, the kill count in his file more than impressive. but this wasn’t killing. this wasn’t a battle, this involved no bloodshed. this was tender, intimate, gentle. this was letting someone see his soft underbelly, exposing the most vulnerable parts of himself and handing them over on a silver platter. he fought it down, swallowing it and forcing it back into the dark recesses of his mind to be dealt with later.

he showed up to the hotel, hoodie pulled up over his head and balaclava obscuring his face. this may be someone he’d never see again, but he wouldn’t take the risk. not when just seeing his face could damn someone to fates unimaginable. he stepped up to the front desk, muttering his last name and the room number they’d told him to request. he hated the way the girl behind the computer screen gave him a knowing smile as she handed over the key. strangers didn’t need to know his business, especially when it involved things as sensitive as this. he brushed it off with a gruff “thanks” and drug himself up the stairs towards the second floor.

he pulled out his phone to check the time, jaw clenching as he stared at the clock. he’d sat too long in the car trying to work up the courage to get out, and now it was his scheduled appointment time. he’d planned to give himself at least a few minutes to stand in front of the door and decide if he really wanted to go through with this. it was an out, a chance to tuck tail and run before anyone got hurt. he’d paid in advance anyways, so who would it hurt if he backed out now? himself. he’d just be hurting himself. two sharp raps on the door and a sweet voice called for him to come in.

that’s when he saw you, all dressed in his favorite color. a tight crushed velvet dress, heels sharp enough to kill a man, hair framing your face just so. the beast roared, clawing at his chest and begging to break free. it thumped at his ribcage, the bones prison bars containing the darkest parts of himself. he rubbed at his chest to soothe it, swallowing thickly as he shut the door behind him. you smiled, lips stretching to a thin red line over your teeth. “mr. riley?” you asked, pushing yourself off the mattress and standing to face him. “simon,” he muttered gruffly, feet planted firmly in front of the door. he was frozen, an utterly unfamiliar feeling to him. his next steps were always carefully planned. if he didn’t know exactly where he was going, someone who spoke in his earpiece did. this was all him, though. he was fully in control of his actions and it made him viscerally uncomfortable. no one to blame but himself.

“simon, then,” you say, taking a few steps closer to him. he tried to step back to keep the distance, but the door behind him stopped him in his tracks. nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. you looked so clueless, he thought, so oblivious to the fact that you were locked in a lion’s den. you stopped your advance, giving him a wide berth. he wasn’t the first man you’d booked that almost looked afraid of you. most of the time, the men you serviced were too shy or too awkward to find a woman to give them the time of day. “you can call me crystal.” not your real name, obviously. you were too cognizant of your safety for that.

“crystal,” he repeated slowly, trying the weight of it on his tongue. simon would’ve almost preferred not to put a name to your face at all. it would only make him more guilty for tainting you with his bloody hands. “you know the rules?” you asked, a bit more business than pleasure. he nodded curtly. they’d made him sign contracts and waivers, agreeing that he wouldn’t cause any bodily harm to whatever poor bird was assigned to him for an hour. he was legally bound to treat her nice, he reminded the beast. not very many pretty girls in prison. “good,” you reply, staying planted where you were until he made to move. “we can get started whenever you want. clock’s ticking, y’know.”

simon hesitated, taking in every inch of you that he could see. he tried to tell himself that it was threat assessment, an ingrained skill that everyone he met was subjected to. still, he couldn’t shake the sense that he wasn’t looking at you as a soldier. he was looking at you as a man. he was thinking about sinking his teeth into those supple curves, jowls dripping red. he wanted to dig his claws into the plush of your breasts, find the heart beating underneath all of it and take it for his own. mouth dry, he stepped forward, inching the smallest bit closer to you. you take it as an invitation and match his pace. you were close enough to touch now, dilated eyes looking up at him. prey, meat to be devoured.

slowly, simon reaches out, letting his bare hands brush against the skin of your arm. you shiver at the light touch. heavy petting was what you were used to, hands that sought to dominate you and bend you until you strained with the pressure. this felt exploratory, like he was testing the waters. he held his breath as his palms stroked over your elbows and forearms. if he looked too closely, he could see the blood from his hands staining your soft, pretty skin. this is why we couldn’t do what johnny did, he told the beast. trails of blood follow wherever we go.

“never done this before, huh?” you ask, keeping your tone even and light. no judgement, no pressure. simon grunted in reply, too mesmerized by the way your dress clung to your body. he could see the contours of you, the malleable skin across your stomach and the fat that clung to your hips. of course he’d never done this before. if he had, he wouldn’t be staring at you like a work of art and a piece of meat all at once. your hand snakes up, grabbing his and pulling it away from your arm. he tenses at your touch. he’s not exactly sure what he expected, but you touching him caught him off guard. your fingers close around his and you pull him towards the bed in the center of the room. it wasn’t the nicest; the sheets definitely needed a good deep clean and the mattress was likely stained with all manner of unmentionable things. but people didn’t do things like this in five star hotels.

you sat down on the bed and kicked your heels off, pulling your feet up and resting your weight on one hand. simon watched it all, eyes fixed on your every move. his hands flexed at his sides, aching to reach out and grab you. the beast was roaring for things to move faster, but simon tamed him. he didn’t want this to be over so quickly. the strap of your dress slipped off your shoulder, exposing more bare flesh to him. saliva pooled in his mouth, transfixed by the sight of you. he couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d seen clean skin in person, unmarked by scars or tattoos. the mirror gave him no reprieve from it, reminders of all the battles he’d won written across his skin.

“take it off,” he muttered, not even looking at your face. you tried not to feel slighted by it. some part of you had almost expected him to be different by how nervous he had seemed walking in. but there were some things that never changed, you supposed. you reached back and undid the zipper on your dress, adjusting yourself on the bed so that you could slip it off. you hadn’t worn a bra, just underwear and a very skimpy pair at that. simon’s eyes trailed your hands as they peeled the dress off, then snapped up to admire your body. it was just as beautiful as he’d imagined it’d be. all supple skin and soft curves, the occasional stretch mark here and there. signs that you were human, that you were a real, tangible thing that he could claim for the night.

he wasted no time putting his hands on you, standing over you and squishing you in his hands. he squeezed and prodded, testing what areas made your breath hitch. you felt like a science experiment, observed and appreciated but not admired. you existed because he willed it and for no other reason. finally, after squeezing every inch of skin he could grab at, he looked at your face. not once had he touched anything above your neck. his gaze roamed over you, his thoughts taken over by the beast. he recalled all of the faces he’d seen play out on his laptop screen, imagined what you might look like with those blissful expressions. could he really make you do that?

as he took a seat on the mattress beside you, his hands drifted up to your breasts, pressing at your nipples with his calloused thumbs. that earned him a gasp, your lips parted deliciously. when he brought his pointer fingers up to pinch, that got him a whine. the blood rushed to your cheeks, simon’s cock stiffening at the sight. your heart was beating, blood was pumping. he could feel it under his hand. even with your profession, he perceived you as a saint. the crimson in your veins wasn’t tainted like his was, spilled at the hands of dogs hungry for power and control. no, you were pure. poor thing, you didn’t even realize that he would corrupt you from the inside out.

he pulled at the hardened buds on your breasts, the slight sting of pain making you hiss. “gentle, simon,” you chided, putting a hand on his wrist. with great effort, his touches eased up. his hands roamed downwards, pupils blacking out the color of his eyes as he stared at you. his full attention was on your face now, watching your reactions to each touch and stroke. it wasn’t until he got between your legs that he found what he was looking for. it was a familiar expression on your face as his finger dragged up and down the folds of your pussy through your underwear. mouth slack and hanging open, eyes closed in bliss, head thrown back. he could feel your moisture soaking through the fabric. this time, though, it hit him differently.

this wasn’t manufactured, and he wasn’t detached from it. he was making this happen. he caused those little whimpers to fall from your lips, he caused your eyes to screw shut when he pressed his palm against your heat. it made the beast grumble in satisfaction, belly aching for a good meal. he clumsily pulled your underwear to the side, trying to find the sweet spot that would make you melt. he’d heard it spoken about, that it was notoriously hard to find, but he was sure he could do it. his thick fingers prodded around, pressing and stroking while watching your reactions. that was when you realized it; he was a virgin.

the nervousness, the impersonality, it all made sense now. he really hadn’t done this before, not at all. you gently grab his wrist, dragging it up towards the top of your folds and positioning his middle finger over your clit. “i think you’re looking for this,” you say, cheeks flushed an alluring shade of pink under the blush and foundation you wore. he looked down at his hand, as if committing the placement of it to memory, before stroking his finger over the damp skin. you shivered, pleasure easing over you. that seemed to spur him on, his pace speeding up and becoming rougher. the pressure was almost painful and you shook your head, reaching down to hold his wrist again.

“here, let me help you.” you drag his finger over your clit, moving it in small, slow circles. at first, simon had been frustrated with you stopping him. he wanted to drink in your bliss, roll around in the pride of causing you pleasure. but then he saw the way your face twisted, and he couldn’t be angry anymore. you were helping, making sure this happened with you instead of to you. the beast couldn’t get to you like this, and the thought of that soothed him.

he continued his motions, his focus switching between your face and the arousal seeping out of you. your noises were music to his ears, moans and breathy whines that had his cock twitching in his pants. he was fully hard now, tip leaking just at the sounds you were making. porn had nothing on this. nothing could compare to bringing those noises about by his own hand. his digits slipped down to your dripping slit, running his finger through your folds and gathering some of the wetness on his finger. he held it up to his face, studying it almost, before slipping the finger under the mask and into his mouth.

you were salty, just as he expected. but there was a sweetness under it, something uniquely you. he could drink it in forever and never be sated. the balaclava he wore suddenly felt constricting, like it was in the way of his pleasure. he wanted to dip down between your legs and drink you up until the well ran dry. grabbing the fabric under his chin, he rolled it up over his nose and laid flat on his stomach. his head positioned between your thighs, he looked up at you with feral eyes. he was begging wordlessly, his gaze conveying what his words couldn’t. i need this, i’m starved, let me taste the nectar of the gods if only for a moment. with a nod of your head, he dove in.

his tongue was uncoordinated, lapping at your pussy like a dog. still, the broad strokes and pressure against your folds felt nice and you gave him a moan as a reward. the saccharine taste of you coated his lips and chin, almost in tears whenever he let a drop fall to the sheets. it wasn’t to be wasted, liquid gold that he had the sole pleasure of enjoying in this moment. he suddenly understood the allure of keeping something like this caged up in a two story house with a white picket fence.

your gaze drifted to his head between your legs, watching the way his eyes screwed shut with the simple privilege of tasting you. you idly wondered if he’d ever even tasted a woman. all signs pointed to no as his tongue prodded at your entrance, testing the waters and waiting for some indication that this was the right thing to do. a gasp rises from your throat as the tip of his tongue slips into you. it was thick and rough, stretching your walls just enough to make you keen. your hips jerk towards his mouth and he takes it as an invitation.

the beast purrs, a rumble in his chest that vibrates against your sensitive skin. it finally got to feed, to devour, to consume. simon’s fingers grip your thighs tightly, tips digging into the soft flesh and turning you a pretty shade of purple. the pain didn’t even register as heat shot up your core and straight to your head. you let yourself fall back against the mattress, chest heaving as his tongue plunged in and out of you at a brutal pace. he didn’t know what he was doing, that much was certain. there was no artful flicking of the muscle, no eye contact to make you feel special. this was pure instinct, messy and animalistic.

simon wouldn’t be sated until he had gathered up every last drop on his tongue, but the flesh was weaker than the spirit. his jaw ached and the way you were shrinking away from his touch made him think you were growing tired of it too. he knew the pain all too well, the blisters he’d given himself on his sensitive shaft from tugging at himself too long. no matter how long he would stroke and pull, the beast still roared. now, it was deliciously quiet.

he pulled his mouth away from your glistening pussy, grunting with satisfaction at the way your skin glowed with his spit and your juices. he wondered how lovely his cock would look all shined up by your mouth, but he wouldn’t do that to you. it would be enough to corrupt your cunt, all pliant and ready for him. your precious mouth could be spared.

simon unzipped his jeans and pulled himself out, pumping his length in his thick hand like he’d seen the men on the computer do. he almost wished he’d talked to johnny before all this, asked a real person to tell him how to do this. maybe it was exactly like the scenes he watched in the dark of his room, or maybe it was completely different. not knowing made him hesitate, hand tightening around himself at the base. you lean forward and suddenly your soft hands are on him, emptying his head. “we’ll go slow,” you coo, stroking over the pulse point on his wrist. 

you lay back against the pillows, spreading yourself out for him. his eyes rake over every inch, his cock painfully hard and twitching at the sight. heat builds under his skin, sweat pricking at the back of his neck, but he can’t bring himself to get undressed. it was enough that he was pawing at you, letting himself be vulnerable and giving as much as he took. revealing scars, tattoos, things that had meaning so deep it was etched into his soul, that was just too much. you reach down and part your lips with your fingers, letting him see your arousal. a string of slick and spit stuck to your fingers, glistening in the warm light of the motel room.

simon’s chest heaved, his hand caressing himself without conscious thought. all he knew was that you were pretty, beautiful even. a bead of precum drips from his slit and he groans at the delicious moisture it provides. touching himself rarely felt this good anymore. you smile, reaching over into the nightstand and pulling out a condom. you tore open the package and looked at simon, asking silently for consent. when he nodded, you rolled it over his length, taking your time to stroke over the skin. the beast rumbled in disappointment at the latex separating skin from the warmth of you, but simon rubbed at his chest to soothe it.

you lean back once more, spreading your legs and planting your feet on the mattress. “whenever you’re ready.” simon leans forward to meet you, planting his hands on either side of your body. he bucked his hips, the thick tip sliding through your folds and gathering up your wetness. you moan and he answers it with a pleased rumble of his own. each press of him against your clit makes you keen. for once, you don’t play up your pleasure. it’s for his benefit, you tell yourself, so that he knows what feels nice to a woman and what doesn’t. it helps that despite his nervous movements, his fingers are incredibly precise once they know where to go. his cock is no different. “use your hand to guide it in, it helps.”

simon nods and follows your instruction. it’s like taking orders, and that’s something familiar. he prods at your hole, watching the way your eyes flutter shut at the pressure. it feels good for you too and that spurs him forward. he sinks into you, going slowly and letting himself enjoy each delicious inch. you’re warm and wet around him, hugging him so nicely. the sound you let out when he bottoms out in you makes him twitch, his whole body shuddering. he’s embarrassingly close to orgasm already, his core tightening as he tries to hold himself back.

as much as you want him to pound into you, to make you see stars and forget your own name, this isn’t about you. all your focus is on him, his pleasure, his enjoyment. you reach up and cup his cheeks, still half obscured by fabric. “let go,” you whisper, your thumbs stroking over his face. tears prick at the back of his eyes and shame bubbles up. his breath shudders, eyes glazed over with unshed tears and pure lust as he meets your gaze. “it’s alright, simon. let yourself feel good. you’ve earned it.” 

letting go was scary, and he hesitated, the thickness of him sitting heavily inside you. it was almost uncomfortable, so you rock your hips to get some friction. he hisses, the muscles in his neck tightening. his head shakes frantically. he can’t hold it back anymore; you’re too warm, too soft, too gentle. he has to corrupt, to paint you red with the blood he sees staining his hands in his nightmares. it’s in his blood, he tells himself. a primal urge, he can’t help it. his hands roam your body, squeezing and scratching and pulling as his hips begin to move just as quickly as his head.

words of warning start to form on your tongue, but before you can say anything, his hips are stuttering, muscles twitching with his release. your ears were ringing from the sudden intensity, but you saw the words “i’m sorry” form on his lips. you weren’t sure what had happened to him to fill him with so much self-hatred, but you pitied him all the same. he pulled away from you, peeling the condom from his length and tossing it in the trash bin. his hands flex as he stands from the bed, tucking himself back in his trousers.

simon hadn’t known peace like this in a while. his head was quiet, the beast wasn’t thumping at his chest anymore. he felt like a man, an imperfect human, rather than a monster. when he looked down at his hands, they looked like anyone else’s. he didn’t see red, didn’t feel the warm stickiness of blood that always seemed to be there. you’d cleansed him, and he wasn’t quite sure how you’d done it. he looked at you for a moment as if to speak, then pulled the balaclava back over his face. “thanks,” he muttered gruffly, rubbing at his chest to commit the lightness to memory. then he was gone as quickly as he’d come. just like a ghost.

you’d tried to call after him, tell him that he still had time left if he wanted it. he didn’t seem to hear you. you noted the clock, though, counting the minutes he still had left. and the next time he called, you blocked your calendar with the extra time. the two of you had plenty left to explore.

[tremendum]

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Me and the Devil; iv

(not my gif)

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previous next series masterlist

word count: 9.5k i think

summary:  "We've always known what the Harkonnens are. And yet, they sent me, happily, to marry the devil. To become one."

warnings: canon-typical violence, blood, incorrect lore probably, brief allusion to blood kink (blink and you miss it), reader has some mommy issues and also some daddy issues, reader is also a bit of a diva buttttt thats ok shes grieving, height difference mention (Paul is taller than reader).

notes: back with chapter four! Thanks so much again you guys for all of the feedback, it's so so appreciated. I'm happy you're liking it!! this is very unedited. lmk what you think :)

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My Dear Niece,

I hope this message finds you in good health and spirits, despite the trying times you have endured. It has been far too long since we last spoke, and I have often found myself thinking of you and wondering how you are faring - but I am hopeful that Caladan will be more forgiving with message deliveries.

First and foremost, allow me to offer my condolences. I cannot begin to imagine the pain and sorrow you must have experienced in the wake of the tragedy that befell your family at the hands of those beasts. To have been thrust into the midst of such turmoil and danger, surrounded by those who brought about such devastation, must have been unimaginably difficult.

I write to you also with a sincere and heartfelt congratulations on your recent betrothal to Paul Atreides. While I understand that this union may have come as a surprise, I have every confidence that you will make a splendid bride and wife. Duke Leto is a noble and honorable man, and I have no doubt that his son is the very same. I know that he will cherish and protect you with all his heart.

Please know that you are not alone in your sorrow, my dear niece. Though distance may separate us, if ever you feel the need for comfort or companionship, know that our home is always open to you. You are welcome to visit whenever you please, and I would be honored to meet your new husband and welcome him into our family.

In the meantime, I hope this message finds you well and brings some small measure of comfort to your troubled heart. You are a strong and resilient woman, my dear, and I have every confidence that you will emerge from this darkness stronger than ever before.

With all my love and affection,

Lady Ginaz

- Message sent to Lady Bourbon from the Lady Ginaz. 10191. Caladan.

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For the second time in his life, Paul is roused by his mother in the dead of the night.

When she insists he follow her, she wears a similarly grave face to the first time - spooked, uneasy. He was not given the grace to even find shoes this time before she grasped his bicep, pulling him along to her own quarters and through a hallway lit only by the full moon outside; Too tired to protest and still yawning at the curling tendrils of slumber, he drags his bare feet along the stone floor. Still blinking sleep from his eyes, a sense of dread fills him when he crosses into the dimly lit chamber at the end of the hall; an ornate chair placed in the center, and on sitting atop it is the imposing figure of the Reverend Mother.

Paul's heart clenches; his eyes are alert immediately.

Their previous encounter; searing pain, the Gom Jabbar - a test of his humanity. He struggles to conceal the rage that simmers beneath the surface, a bitter reminder of what he'd endured - and for no reason.

He should never have told his mother about the dreams.

Already knowing, but needing the affirmation, he clenches his jaw. "What's this?" He turns to ask his mother, whose stare is icy and less fearful than it was those years before. She doesn't respond, only nudges him forward, towards the woman in the center of the room.

As the Reverend Mother's piercing gaze meets his own, Paul squares his shoulders, steeling himself for what is to come; He'll have to tread carefully, lest he betray the depth of his emotions - or the truth about his dreams.

The Reverend Mother speaks, her voice a low, commanding tone that fills the room. "Tell me of your dreams, Paul Atreides," her eyes bore into his own. Paul hesitates for a moment, glaring to his mother- Lady Jessica nods subtly, her expression urging him to speak the truth; Anger courses through him, but he knows there is no choice for him now.

Summoning his courage, Paul begins to recount the vivid images that have haunted his nights.

Leaving out the details he suspects are less...important, he instead focuses on the more foreboding parts; The eerie familiarity of the clearing, the ceremonial sheet spread like a shroud. Ash falling from the sky, the missile streaks in the sky and the burning of the large pine; a shiver runs down his spine - the visions feel like a portent of doom, and it brings him to a hushed quiet.

"I've tried to make sense of them," His voice comes out just as frustrated as he feels, "But they're elusive. Fragmented. She's always there."

It seems he doesn't have to elaborate on who he's talking about - the woman's eyes flash before him from under her thick veil. She says nothing, but a sharp glance from his mother makes him clear his throat, confessing the dream his mother had woke him from not minutes ago.

"And in the last dream," Paul's jaw tightens, the memory of the vision burning bright in his mind, "I saw someone... stabbing me," he confesses, his voice barely above a whisper. "A black-hilted knife, with an engraved blade."

The words hang heavy in the air, sending a ripple of unease through the chamber. Paul can feel the weight of the Reverend Mother's scrutiny, her eyes boring into his soul as if searching for the truth buried within. He's not sure if his mother is making the connection; you've brought that knife with you nearly everywhere since you got it back. To him, it's inevitable.

The Reverend Mother's expression is unreadable as she absorbs his words. Paul braces himself for her response, knowing that what he's revealed may have far-reaching consequences; He cannot afford to hide the visions that plague his mind—not if what you said about Sabberon is true. The Reverend Mother regards him with a penetrating stare. "Interesting," she murmurs. "Your dreams hold great significance, Paul Atreides."

Paul's frustration boils to the surface as he listens to the Reverend Mother's cryptic response; He knows what she is capable of, he knows how powerful the Bene Gesserit are in the galaxy - yet his resentment grows and boils within him. Resisting a snarl, he glares sharply, trying to quell the anger, confusion.

"Significance?" Paul retorts, his voice laced with bitterness. "I will not be a pawn in your schemes," he declares, his voice ringing with conviction. "I am the heir to House Atreides. I will not allow my fate to be dictated by prophecy or visions."

His words echo in the chamber; Lady Jessica places a sharp hand on his shoulder, her sharp inhale bristling the hair on Paul's neck.

"Silence."

Whatever words of anger he was about to say halt on his tongue. Prickles of anger wash over him when he comes out of the quick haze; she dares use the Voice on him, yet again.

Her voice is harsh when it comes, eyes sharp as tiny beads behind the black of her dressing. "You are the heir to a great legacy, but with that inheritance comes duty. Tread carefully, Paul Atreides. The choices you make will shape the fate of many." These words are extremely discomforting; Once again he is filled with the spoilt disdain of their fanatic manipulations.

The Reverend Mother continues, her gaze steady and unwavering. "You possess a strength within you, a strength born of both blood and spirit; but true strength lies not in the wielding of power, but in the mastery of oneself. Trust in your instincts, but do not let them blind you."

He refuses to speak.

His mother is fearful behind him; he can feel it radiating off of her, and it fills him with even more indignation. His eyes pierce through her veil, waiting for her to finish. "You may go." She dismisses, and he has no problem turning heel, walking briskly to the door.

"Not you, Jessica."

Jaw clenching at the tone of disrespect the woman uses towards his mother, he almost turns around; but somewhere in his mind is a hazy insistence from his mother- urging him to leave them. He does, lingering to listen to the hushed whispers behind the closed door for only a moment.

"-with the girl, too.You must ensure they go down the right path."

He doesn't bother to stay and hear the rest of it.

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The clashing of blades chimes in your ears with surprise when you arrive for training in the late morning.

It's more common than not to find Duncan sitting, cleaning blades or stretching when you arrive for lessons, but today, it seems he and Paul are thoroughly engrossed in sparring and don't notice when you enter.

They move with that dance-like rhythm you grew up learning; one then the other - legs lunging, arms parrying and striking. They circle each other with cautious precision; Paul's movements are fluid and graceful, calculated - his proficiency comes as somewhat of a shock to you. With such a lithe, deft body, you'd assumed him little match for someone like Duncan. Perhaps, in your own vain perception, you'd expected him to have been meagerly gifted in the art of fighting, having been so well-endowed in the areas of strategy, politics, governance. Of course, you sigh. He's grown up here on Caladan - a Duke's son, trained to become a fair and mighty ruler one day. You suppose you shouldn't be so surprised, he's trained for it all his whole life.

You're sourly impressed as Paul matches him blow for blow, cheeks dusted with pink, barely a glean of sweat across his furrowed brow. A strike against Duncan hits unblocked; The older man, in turn, lets out a huff of laughter - pride flickers in his eyes as he watches Paul strike again.

It turns your blood to acid as you lean against the doorframe; waiting is becoming quite a drag. Duncan, watching Paul as if he were his own son; anger bites at your heels, pushing down the resentment you harbor. He couldn't have done anything when you were sent to Giedi Prime; rationally, you understand that, but the bitterness lingers, a reminder of the betrayal you felt at being abandoned to your fate years ago. There was a time years ago where you would spar with him like this in the weapons arena on Sabberon during the Harvest season- leaves falling red and yellow from their branches, the smell of roast and cider rising into the air.

Duncan's blade presses to Paul's side in a sudden move. Grunting, Paul can't seem to parry, and the blade is moments away from penetrating the shield and breaking through; God forbid he hurts that precious porcelain skin, You think. Briefly, as you watch the shield flicker red, you wonder how dark Paul's blood would flow. Feyd-Rautha's blood was so dark it was nearly black - a crimson color when it smeared across his skin; a tangy, sharp metallic taste when he'd pressed his bloodied fingers to your lips. You blink your eyes hard, pressing away the urge with a furrowed brow.

Your patience is gone, but luckily, Duncan seems to notice you first.

A spare glance in your direction as you linger in the entryway and he's fumbling - Paul takes the moment to strike, knocking Duncan to the ground with his blade pressed against his throat. Your brows raise.

With a wipe of sweat from his brow, Duncan's eyes skirt to the clock and he huffs, "Sorry, we must've lost track of the time." He mutters, taking Paul's extended hand. Paul nods at you in greeting; you nod back just as terse, ignoring the shocked look on Duncan's face at your appearance.

"It's fine. I believe I'm early." You reason, turning to walk towards the mat, avoiding eye contact. You can feel Duncan's stare on you; since you refused the veil from Hestia this morning, each person has looked at you the same - surprise, intrigue. You have to resist a snarl.

Paul, whose eyes flick to you then towards the weapons table, seems to be the only person this morning who hasn't stared at you as if you'd grown another head - but you're not fooled by his capacity to regard you simply as yourself this morning. Yesterday, he promised to never disrespect you; you suppose in turn, you will never disrespect him. That much will be given. But respecting someone is not the same as enjoying someone's company, and a moment of camaraderie is just a moment of weakness; You know he doesn't want this as much as you don't, but you will have to use this marriage as leverage if you ever want to make sure the Harkonnens stay off of Sabberon. And that means building trust.

Paul looks at you from the corner of his eyes for a moment before beginning to disinfect the blade he'd been using; Reaching to hold it out for you to take, you decline the offer.

Instead, your hand finds the hilt of your own blade, "No, thank you. I prefer to use my own."

Paul's eyes catch and linger on the blade; He blinks those long lashes a few times, as if deep in thought, before nodding. "Of course." He says, voice quiet as he turns. Duncan watches with disinterest, sipping on a cup of water as Paul brushes past you, giving you a tight-lipped, emotionless smile.

It's not until he's gone that you turn your stare to Duncan Idaho.

"He fights like you," You observe, beginning to stretch; if it's instigative, let it be.

Duncan's brow raises, "That's a good thing." He retorts, running a finger over the blade Paul had set down. You roll your eyes, concealing it by unsheathing your blade to begin sharpening it.

You can feel his stare. you know Duncan - he's not going to come out and say it, given how you've received his presence since arriving on Caladan; Instead, you beat him to it, turning to meet his eyes. "Did you expect me to be bald under the veil?" You ask, lifting a brow, "I lived there long enough, didn't I?"

He holds his hands up defensively, "I didn't say anything." He's right; you're acting up. Acting out. Probably both. You send him a look, "You didn't have to." You feel a defensive streak kick in yourself, considering what you'd learned about your own heritage by Paul yesterday. You'd been embarrassed in front of him - not knowing your own House's marriage traditions, or even the correct mourning phases? You looked like a fool.

He shakes his head. "You just... you've gotten older. You look like your mother." A pain that you've been holding down surfaces, striking you in the small gap your wall had built around your heart; guilt of survival, anger at your mother and all she'd done, everything shatters. You glare, throwing your knife onto the table in front of you.

"Don't speak to me of any of them, Duncan Idaho." You snap, eyes burning with emotion. "I was never prepared to be the last Bourbon alive, but now there's nobody left to witness my traditions being broken but myself." You say coldly, "I'm done with the veils and the gowns; I'm barely a Bourbon at all anymore. I didn't even know there were traditions until my betrothed informed me of them." Your voice is venomous; You can tell Duncan is preparing himself for a fight of words and not blades as he walks towards you.

"You've always been a fighter, my lady," Duncan chooses, his tone filled with respect; you can't help but hear the voice of someone who is approaching a cornered hound. "But you don't have to face it all alone."

Astounded, you almost laugh. "Really?" You snap, "Then where were you?"

You knew it would boil over at some point; By the look on his face, he knew it too.

Hands shaking, you take a shaky breath, "I was there with them - with him - for four years. Four years." You say, heart thundering, "Not one single fucking check-in, no visit, nothing. Nobody batted an eye when my messages stopped delivering, when there was never a wedding?"

You're not finished; the floodgates open, you're at your own mercy to stop and you can't help but continue. "-They had to have known what kind of monsters they'd shipped me off to, right? We were allies with the Atreides for centuries; we've always known what the Harkonnens are."

You laugh mirthlessly, "And yet, they sent me, happily, to marry the devil. To become one." You're breathing hard, hands shaking - the room feels hot and you can't seem to catch your breath. "-And I know, Duncan. I know that your hands were tied." You sigh, pressing your hands to your cheeks to soothe the heat. Thankfully, no tears fall. "I don't blame you, really, but- you're the only person left to be angry towards." Your voice cracks as you look down, shame burning on your face.

Duncan's expression softens, his gaze filled with regret and remorse. "I'm sorry for everything you lost, my lady." he says, his voice heavy; You resist the urge to pull him into an embrace, to feel the warmth of someone else and feel safe for the first time in so long. Instead you stand, barren and alone, in the middle of the floor.

"I should have been there for you - they should have, too."

It strikes a bout of guilt in you to make him admit something so ugly when you know he is grieving their loss just as you are. "They should have done something to help you. It's okay to still be angry with them, what they did to you, even if you're mourning them."

His words cut through the haze of anger and pain and you're stuck with an exhaustion - one that comes from the years of neglect and abandonment. You look down at the ground; perhaps it won't hurt to have someone on your side, someone you trust. It's been a dangerous and lonely several years, and you're tired of always trying to watch your own back. Clearing your throat, you nod. "I'm sorry, Duncan." You utter, looking up at him squarely. "I shouldn't have treated you coldly. I haven't been taking this change well at all." You confess.

He gives you a look, shaking his head, "There is nothing for you to apologize for, Little Bourbon." At the shadow of a smile on your face, he grins; He's always known what will cheer you up - tossing you your blade from where it sat on the table, he squares himself. You catch it deftly, rolling your neck and squaring yourself, thankful for the end of such a vulnerable moment.

The sound of footsteps disrupts you. You crane your neck behind you; A soldier walks through the room, but instead of addressing Duncan after bowing to you, he speaks to you.

"My lady." He starts. You raise a brow in question. "The Lady Jessica wishes to speak with you over lunch in her quarters now, if you have a moment."

You grit your teeth, a shot of uncertainty flooding you. You've yet to dine with her on your own yet - something about her sets you on edge, and you'd really prefer to spar to take your mind off of everything.

But you know better than to refuse the lady of the house's wishes.

"And spoil my fun here?" You ask, voice dry. "Alright."

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Lunch is barely picked at before Lady Jessica brings it up.

When she speaks, your eyes meet hers - less stony than usual, she regards you with an interest in her eyes that you've yet to see before. "You were once on the path of the Bene Gesserit," Lady Jessica starts, her voice tinged with empathy; You try to hide the set of your jaw, looking away briefly.

"Circumstances may have led you away, but your training has not been forgotten." She adds. You suspected this would be one of the reasons she called you in. "Yes, my lady," You affirm, setting down your fork; you send her a tight-lipped smile. "I trained when I was younger."

She nods, "Have you considered continuing this path? Honing your skills once more—to strengthen your voice, your intuition, your presence."

You take the moment she gives you to consider it; of course, you've thought of it now and then. But you have, to put it lightly, a very conflicted past with the Sisterhood, one that you prefer not to relive; Your mother's stern visage, relentless training regimens appear in your mind. Countless hours in rigorous physical and mental exercises - pressure to conform to their strict teachings weighing too heavily upon you and all three of your sisters' shoulders.

There's a part of you that can't help the twinge of curiosity that sparks through you; The allure of such an ancient order, unlocking hidden potential, the possibility of power and mastery of certain skills. It sounds glamorous, but you know better- you saw what kind of mistrust it sewed in your own house; The crack between your father and his court on behalf of your mother and the sisterhood, the loss of thousands of years of tradition.

Your lips open, and they feel suddenly very chapped. "I'm... not sure, my lady." You say honestly, blinking down at the unappetizing food below you.

"I understand your hesitations," she continues, voice earnest, "but given the current circumstances, it may be wise to strengthen all of your skills, including those you learned with the Bene Gesserit. It's imperative to ere on the side of caution."

"Circumstances?" You parrot, tilting your head. You know what she's implying; it doesn't ease the suspicion that rises, the feeling that the strings which tie themselves to Lady Jessica's limbs and lips are being pulled from much higher above your head; high enough to have actual, galactic implications. It is keenly upsetting.

"Yes, my dear." She begins, taking a sip of water, back straight; she doesn't bother to elaborate for you, and a tinge of irritation courses through you. "Tell me," She says, stirring the tea in front of her, "Even after your time with the sisterhood, did you ever experience visions? Dreams that stayed with you long after you woke?"

Your throat dries so quick you almost cough. Cheeks heating up, your eyes lock with hers; so it was a look of importance at the strategy council yesterday. It seems Lady Jessica has been keeping close tabs on you, after all. You hope she cannot read your mind thoroughly, for she would likely not enjoy what your dreams entail.

"You seem to already know my answer." You say, voice chilly in the warm room. Lady Jessica's lips press together. "Indeed," she affirms; gentle, yet probing. "But I need to hear it from you."

You pause, grappling with the memories that surge forth at Lady Jessica's inquiry; The dreams, the visions—they haunt you, asleep or awake - and despite your reluctance to acknowledge them, they have persisted, lingering like a shadow upon your consciousness. Swallowing against the dryness of your throat, you gather your thoughts before speaking.

"Yes," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "I have."

Lady Jessica nods. "I suspected as much," she murmurs, her eyes reflecting a depth that is distinctly familiar. "These dreams may hold greater significance than you realize, dear. They may be the key to understanding the path that lies before you."

Her words hang in the air, pregnant with meaning and yet still exasperatingly cryptic; You are, in your silence, forced to acknowledge for the first times that these dreams - they are a calling, a beckoning towards something that you cannot ignore. You feel the soreness of your jaw and will your teeth to unclench.

Lady Jessica continues, murmuring your name firmly, "I urge you to consider resuming your training with the Bene Gesserit. Not out of obligation, but out of necessity. In times of uncertainty, it is essential to be prepared."

You meet Lady Jessica's gaze; despite your reservations, despite the ghosts of the past, you know that finding your studies again might be effective; the potential you will have with the skills and power of the Bene Gesserit are undeniable, but the pause you feel is very strong. There is something bizarre about the timing, about the whole interaction. To use raw power is to make yourself infinitely vulnerable to greater powers, you remember your mother saying years ago.

With a nod of affirmation, you square your shoulders. "I will consider it, my lady," you respond, meeting her gaze, "Thank you for your guidance."

Lady Jessica offers you a reassuring smile, one which does little to quell the raging in your stomach.

"You're stronger than you realize, my lady."

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It is past dark when Paul finally exits his mother's quarters.

Exhausted and overwhelmed, he lets his feet drag across the floor on his way back, thinking quite fondly of his bed and pillow, of the warmth of his sheets.

His stomach growls - his normally ravenous appetite has eluded him all day since this morning; The visit from the Reverend Mother earlier in the day had left him teetering on the edge. Admittedly, she is as commanding as she is disfavored by Paul; yet it was his mother's reaction that troubles him the most.

The last few hours, sparring on knife skills, were spent tense; He, upon entering the room, had asked nearly immediately what the Reverend Mother had told her when he was dismissed earlier in the morning, yet she remained silent and instructed him not to question it. Whispering, quiet and serious: He would find out in due time.

Lost in thought, Paul quickens his pace, his footsteps echoing down the dimly lit hallway; The weight of dual weapons training today has set his muscles to ache and groan with each step, mind not too far behind body - the sooner he is in bed, the better.

But as he rounds a corner, Paul nearly hits someone - you, in fact.

Blinking in shock, for a moment your eyes meet; nothing happens. You've stepped back slightly, seemingly just as startled as he - you're just perfectly positioned in the hall that the dim lights reflect on your clothes and you look warm, comfortable; So unlike yourself in the daylight.

"Apologies, my lady," Paul offers, his voice tight with tension as he inclines his head in a respectful nod, gaze flickering down the hall you both seemingly planned on walking down. Truthfully, he is not in the mood to speak to anyone, in particular you after the uneasy sight of your knife, hilt catching the reflection of the lights beside you.

You return the gesture, expression signaturely guarded as you mutter, "No harm done, my lord."

He clears his throat; Though your hair looks nice and your skin healthy, you look quite tired - he's not sure when he'll get used to seeing your face.

"I was just heading-" He gestures down the hall, and you nod stiffly, "So was I."

And so you fall into stride alongside him, watching the walls pass as you both take a slower pace than either of you would likely prefer. Perhaps, in an ordinary world, he would feel giddy to walk his prospective wife to her quarters after a long day; but this world is not ordinary, and he's still getting used to treating you as less as a threat and more of an ally.

A large window passes on his right, illuminating your figure in silvery light before hushing you back into the shadows again. He wonders what the moons are like on Sabberon.

He doesn't expect you to speak; in fact, he himself has no plans to. Yet after a few minutes your voice comes hesitantly and with the tranquility of a sleeping cat.

"I had lunch with your mother today."

Alarm bells sound in his head; He certainly did not expect that. When he turns to look at you, he finds you already staring up at him; perhaps you're gaging his reaction to this information - he doesn't try hard to hide his displeasure.

"What did she tell you?" He asks before he can stop himself.

You give him an inquisitive look, lifting a brow. "Why do you assume she had things to tell?" You rebut. His shoulders relax ever so slightly as he sighs, slowing his pace as you near his door.

He doesn't respond, yet something in his features must convince you to start again, to be less facetious in your words; You set your jaw as you look away and back to him.

"She wants me to take up Bene Gesserit training again." You say, eyes narrow as you gaze at him - cold, scrutinizing - perhaps to once again see his reaction. His nostrils flare; This must be what the Reverend Mother instructed his mother to do - to ensure you are going down the right paths. Why though, he is still unsure.

"She asked about your dreams, didn't she?" He asks; this time, it's Paul who watches your face for a reaction - and he gets one. Your eyes blink in shock as you nod stiffly. "Yes, she- how do you know this?" You ask, hand grabbing his elbow as you both slow to a stop.

There's a bout of silence, in which he debates nearly everything; muscles aching, he wishes to just go to sleep - but your eyes hold an alarm in them that makes him hesitate.

Opening his mouth to speak, Paul stares down at you; If what the Reverend Mother was saying is true, then you might truly be as dangerous as he'd thought. But he knows what their order is like - all in the way of maintaining power. A faint echo down the hall of someone makes his eyes snap away from your heavy stare; Perhaps the hallway is not an appropriate place for such a conversation. "We shouldn't be speaking of this here," He glances at you, "Would you come in?" He asks. He opens the door that leads to his quarters. You stare at him for a moment, as if surprised - but with a glance around, it seems you decide the coast is clear, and you slip in past where he holds to door ajar with his arm.

You walk less assured than usual in the unfamiliar territory; he knows you've been active in your time here in the castle, but this is certainly one part of the fort you have not yet seen. A guiding hand presses your back as he quickens his pace, hoping to get this over with swiftly as he leads you to his bed chamber; though your back tenses, you do not push him away.

You repose on the chair but Paul is restless, standing in front of your expectant gaze.

"Paul," You start, leaning forward; It's with a startle that he registers your use of his first name - a tone which provides no warmth but a hint of anxiety as you look up at him. "If we are to do this together, we need to build trust." You start, and he knows you're right. This - marriage, ruling Caladan, representing the House Atreides - and whatever else is to come.

"Just tell me. How concerned do I need to be?" You ask; this was not what he'd thought you would say, and it takes him a second to think of anything to respond with. The truth is a thousand pieces scattered through dust and sand, and he cannot stop slipping through it.

"I don't know." He says, candor dripping through his exasperation. "I was visited by the Reverend Mother this morning." He admits, relief finding his shoulders. If you are to be by his side in the upcoming months, you'll surely learn of all of this sooner or later; It's better to come from him than elsewhere.

Your face darkens slightly at the mention and you raise a brow.

"What did she want with you?" You ask.

"I've been having dreams." He admits to yet another person he'd rather not; "Dreams about... Sabberon. In them, I feel like..." He exhales, "I feel like I have to go there. I'm meant to." He finishes, not wishing to delve any further into what the dreams entail. You look completely shocked, though; ghostly, uneasy.

He has no answers and so instead he tells you most of what he knows; Your expression turns more grim as he continues, describing his interaction with the Reverend Mother that morning. Your eyes flick to his in shock when he mentions the previous meeting with her years prior.

"The Gom Jabbar?" You say suddenly, sitting up straighter. He nods, "Yes. It was a test-"

"-No, I know what it is. I also received it." you swallow, brows furrowing. "But I don't understand why she would give it to you."

A deep, pregnant pause in the room, where Paul debates what he's about to say. Knowledge is a weapon and a burden.

"My mother has trained me in the ways of the Bene Gesserit too."

Your face morphs for only a moment as you stare at him in disbelief. Schooling yourself, you're quieted by this revelation; Paul waits patiently for you to respond. You gather your thoughts within a few moments.

"She warned me," You say, eyes swimming through his; he feels scrutinized under your intense stare. "She said that continuing as Bene Gesserit is not out of obligation but necessity." You add, "That continuing is the key to understanding the path that lies before me. That dreams could have more meaning than we think."

His stomach drops that the phrasing. You must ensure they go down the right path. That manipulative crone; playing you, his mother, and him all as she wants for the benefit of her sisterhood. Fury boils within him, but he knows what you need is an explanation. "There's a prophecy that my mother mentioned to my father once. I was young, eavesdropping-" He shakes off the sly look you give him at this, his cheeks heating up, "- and I didn't hear all of it, but I heard parts."

He's not sure how else to piece it together than to just tell you everything he's thinking. "When the Reverend Mother administered the Gom Jabbar, she told my mother there would be two candidates for something. That I may be one of them. Today, she told me to trust my dreams, that they may be the key to unlocking something important. Which is... troubling."

The bitter laugh you let out surprises him, and he lowers himself to sit on the chaise longue beside yours. "Troubling." You mutter, shaking your head. It's the exact thing Lady Jessica implied with you.

"I'm not sure if it means anything," Your tone suggests otherwise, "but I have also been having dreams about Sabberon." You admit - his eyes snake to yours, hands clenched together; stomach dropping, dread fills him. He worried this, too; having the same dreams, however alike or different they may be, are foreboding.

"-On a mountain I do not recognize. My house has a sacred Pine, you know? It represents the Harvest. I dream that I'm there... with you." You let out a sigh, and Paul swears he hears it shake. "I haven't told anybody, not even your mother." Your eyes are sharp - fearful, he realizes.

For a beat, he feels less alone. Another soul, trapped in this web of visions and politics and power; He's sympathizing with you, a foreign and unexpected emotion. Paul is starting to nurse a sharp headache; closing his eyes, he exhales and nods, "You're there in my dreams, too." He admits.

The two of you sit, then; Paul, slumped with consternation and you, back rigid with stress.

A moment of silence in which Paul is overthinking and you likely are too.

"Do you trust her?" You ask; A foolish thing to ask one of one's mother - yet his hesitation shocks not just you, but himself as well.

He starts hesitantly. "I believe that she loves me and my father, and by extension, she cares for you." He is well-aware of the vagueness behind his words. He licks his lips, "I know that the sisterhood instructed her to have a daughter. But instead, for my father, she bore him a son. The Reverend Mother is still unhappy about it."

You stare, but you say nothing. Uneasy with the intensity of your attention, he plays with a spare thread poking from the chaise longue. "This morning, I overheard the Reverend Mother telling my mother to ensure we are on the right path. Both of us."

You, sharp as ever, nod thoughtfully, "Which is why she decided so abruptly to offer for me to train again."

He nods in affirmation, biting his lip; a bad stress habit, one he got from his father. Your voice is almost dreamy as it comes out, his eyes staring off at the small bull figurine that sits on his table. You ask, "How do we know which path is the right one?"

He laughs bitterly, shaking his head as he stares ahead. He has no clue. "I wish I had an answer," he admits, his voice tinged with frustration. "All we can do is trust our instincts, but even then, there are no guarantees. Not if we don't believe them."

You nod in understanding, a solemn but signature expression painting your features. "It's a heavy burden to bear," you remark softly, your voice echoing his sentiments; Heavy, yes. But you seem used to burdens. "All things are known because we want to believe in them." You say. He perks up, looking at you; That's something his mother has said during skills training training before - but in your voice, now, next to him - it sounds much different.

Weary and exhausted, Paul sighs. "Perhaps if I'd had a sister, this wouldn't be happening."

You snort softly from your nose, a gentle exhale that is becoming quite familiar to his ears. "I had three. They were a handful." You say, hugging yourself.

He hums. For a moment, he can almost picture it; You, ten years smaller, just a young teen - fighting in a snow field with three sisters, a little boy chasing after you. He almost hears your screams when your younger sister jumps into a half-frozen lake, the water green as emeralds against the white fields and evergreens in the distance. The laughter that leaves you as you plunge, dress and all, into the icy depths besides her and pull your sisters with you; Handmaids wearing furs and soldiers boasting roaring wolf armor run to fish you out. They almost feel real. "What was it like, growing up with siblings?" he asks, seeking to reciprocate the gesture of openness that you've surrendered in the dark.

Your demeanor shifts slightly, your guard momentarily lowering as you reflect on your upbringing. "It was...complicated," your voice is contemplative, small. "We were close in some ways, but distant in others. There was always a sense of competition between us even when we were young, especially between me and my sisters. My mother was Bene Gesserit and was very strict."

He's studied so much about Sabberon, learned about your House's old customs and traditions - but yet, he realizes how little he truly knows about you; A pang of guilt washes over him for his previous assumptions and judgments.

Your boots look foreign against the rug on his bed chamber floor as you drag the tip of one. "They were like having built-in friends." You acquiesce, "They made me laugh all the time."

It's hard for Paul to picture you joking or laughing at all. "I don't have siblings," He states - obviously - "but I've always wanted to be a brother."

He knows the bittersweet territory he's crossed, and does not wish to upset you or remind you of all you have lost. But instead, you just send him a kind smile; one that's almost shy. "You'd be a good one." Your eyes are nostalgic and sincere; he has to look away.

Clearing his throat, he notices your hands as they sit in your lap. "It looks better," He says, nodding to your hand, where the sting had been reduced to a mere blemish. You smile, a sheepish thing, but it still brightens Paul's dark room. "I thought you'd been tricking me." You admit, face flushed as he lifts a brow, "Trying to make me look foolish."

He hums at this, tilting his head. "I assumed you'd thought I was trying to poison you." He admits, smiling just as sheepishly. Speaking with you feels surprisingly relieving - perhaps he is more tired than he thought.

"The possibility did cross my mind." Your voice, keenly serious, makes him chuckle slightly. He shakes his head, "I wouldn't have tricked you. I know how bad those crabs sting." He recalls one day lathering the chewed root onto his toe, fighting tears as his father watched with an amused sternness. If you disrespect them, he'd said, they'll disrespect you.

"I was considering amputating my hand before you showed up." Another attempt at a joke, from you? You're opening up; despite himself, he grins. Your eyes are deep - under the dim lighting, they shine in a way he hadn't expected; staring, he loses his track of thought. You seem to have as well, clearing your throat awkwardly.

"Is this your book?" You ask suddenly, rising to pad over towards his bedside, tilting your head to run your spine over the book that sits, embarrassingly, on his bedside table. The Noble Lineage: Exploring the Customs and Cultures of the Houses Major of Landsraad: House Bourbon. He nods, "If you'd like to read it, help yourself."

Craning your neck back you look at him, lifting a brow, "Is it interesting?"

For a second, he stares, unsure what to say - it dawns on him that you're teasing, and he cracks a small smile. Odd as it is to see a woman who was a mere shell open up, he's glad to have the priviledge of your trust, no matter how small or weak it may be.

"Haven't decided yet." He retorts, the feeling foreign.

"Maybe I will borrow it, then." You muse, "Perhaps it'll finally be the thing to lull me to sleep."

He stands to meet you; three steps over and he stands before you, taking in - not for the first time - your height and how your neck moves to look into his eyes. "You should get some rest if you can tonight." He agrees, "We've got to be at the Strategy Council tomorrow morning."

You nod, clearing your throat, "Oh- Yes, apologies." You sigh, "It's been a long day."

He hadn't meant to insinuate you should leave, but as he escorts you to the main hall, his eyes are drooping. Mercifully, though he tries to, you insist he need not walk you to your room.

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Alone back in his room, he stares at the book; Despite the barriers that still exist between he and you, there's a shared humanity that binds you together— funny enough that fear and reluctance is the thing that has made him realize such an obvious sentiment. He falls asleep and dreams within minutes.

You return to your chambers, the warmth of the last few minutes wearing off of you slower than molasses.

Alone, you are left with haunting thoughts; What do the Bene Gesserit have in store for you if you do choose to continue? Looming further is the prospect of galactic war should the Harkonnens leverage their petroleum reserves. The implications of you and Paul's shared visions; despite yourself, your cheeks flush with heat - how similar are these dreams of yours...?

And Paul - his eyes are very green.

He keeps his room neater than you'd thought - and with a bit of shock you'd seen all of the books on planets, flora and fauna, biology, culture. You secretly wished you could have observed them all closer - there were ones you've never heard of, and even one that had struck you right in the chest - Giedi Prime. Their culture was horror, after all.

You shake off the warm feeling of conversation - though the subject had left you on edge, it was terribly reassuring to have someone who not only you could speak freely with about your dreams and the Bene Gesserit, but who seems to hold similar opinions as you. Emotional whiplash has given you a staunch headache - you still believe that respecting someone is not the same as enjoying someone's company... but perhaps it doesn't always have to be mutually exclusive.

You sigh, rubbing your eyes; you can't get the smell of his bedroom off your clothes. You change into your robe. Before drifting to sleep, you catch sight of your bureau, the daunting metal that stares at you gleaming from across the room.

Yawning, you pad over to it.

The message remains on your desk, where it's been since being delivered a few days ago. You'd read it already, yes - read, cried, raged, and accepted it. Now, you suppose, it is time to respond. And in due time, it's finished.

My Dearest Aunt Ginaz,

Your letter arrived at a very uncertain time for me and for that, I am profoundly grateful. I apologize for the delayed response, it has been quite an adjustment for me after leaving Giedi Prime; Before that, as you've suspected, my keepers preferred I did not receive or send messages. There wasn't a day that passed where I didn't wish to read them.

For my betrothal to Paul Atreides, your kind words of congratulations reassure me; Truthfully, the prospect of marrying into such a noble family is daunting, yet they have been quick to assure I have felt welcomed. It is a sharp change from my previous engagement.

The loss of my family continues to weigh heavily upon my heart, and there are days when the pain feels unbearable. Yet, every day I am learning to live again. I can walk to the sea - the sea, which I have never before seen in my life. I spend my days educating, training with Swordmaster and your old friend Duncan Idaho, and have begun to sit in on the Duke's Strategy Councils. I believe I will live well here.

The final arraignment at the referendum is nearing, and I wonder if you will be attending alongside Lord Ginaz - Even if you are not able to attend, I will face the challenges that lie ahead knowing I have you on my side.

Your offer of sanctuary is a gift beyond measure, and I cannot express how much it means to me. I long for the day when we can be reunited and I might hear more of your life. In the meantime, know that I am safe and well, and that I carry your love and affection with me always.

With all my gratitude,

Your loving Niece

You almost feel guilty for the lies you've woven through your message - though not explicit, they are little and white and still deceiving. Your mother's bastarded sister, who succeeded your mother's parents when they died, inherited the noble last name as one of her father's dying wishes. They'd had several daughters - all married off to other houses, like your mother - and she had been left to learn to run the Swordmaster School. She now rules over their house with her husband, who took the name Ginaz when they wed.

You smirk, thinking of this: Paul Bourbon - it has a poor ring to it, you decide, wiping away the thought before it can blossom. You blink deliriously, knowing you are in acute need of sleep, and sigh.

You'll have Hestia send the message out in the morning; for now, all you can do is try not to dream as you curl up on your bed, eyes heavy with the weight of the day.

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You know you're dreaming this time.

The clouds are too fluffy, sounds muted as if you'd stuffed cotton into your ear canals. The hands that are on you are Paul's, you know this. But you're not embracing, no - there is no pleasure; his hands are slippery against your flesh and you're gasping in pain, gasping for breath. You are bleeding.

Or, is that his blood?

You squint, trying to find the ground, but all you see is the hilt of your nameday blade glinting in the sun, blood dripping from the tip. Who wields it? You let out a short groan, filled with pain - Paul leans against you, his weight heavy. The air is heavy with snow - no, not snow, ash. Ash that rains from the sky in flurries, fighter ships booming above your heads.

Another flash of your knife, this time in a hand. Gasping,Your hand comes away from your own abdomen, tainted black - black as the sun you once lived under.

"Hello?" A fuzzy voice, laced with pain, but you could pick it out of millions. You look into his eyes and see green; hands cup your cheeks, staining handprints over your trembling skin. An explosion somewhere in the distance -

"Paul." You breathe, fear lacing every fiber of you. You're dreaming, you're dreaming. You can't breathe.

But then, Paul's face changes - a sickening recognition flickers over his features when you speak, and something shifts. There is something wrong; He says your name as if he's surprised to see you, as if... as if you were in the wrong dream.

He looks down, as if expecting to see something between the two of you. But with his head tilted down, you squint, just barely making out the glint of another figure; glowing skin, sickeningly pale. A black smile.

There is someone behind Paul, and he is holding your knife.

It has the blood of your husband on it.

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follow @tremendumnotifs for updates.

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[saint-ajax]

sweetest con

lN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT, WITH A cigarette in hand while a glass of whiskey on the other, the burning flame under the chimney entertained the freshly arrived soldier waiting for his wife.

The entrance croaked open summoning a beautiful lady who seemed to be hazy from her previous in took of alcohol. There was a frustrated frown on her face as she tries her best to take off her heels while closing the door.

"Where have you been, wife?" The husband's familiar voice stole her attention. Once she looked up and realized it was her husband who she has been dying to see for weeks, a smile instantly crept up on her cherry tinted lips.

"Oh my, you're home!" She couldn't help but drop everything and run into his arms. Squealing in excitement of feeling him in her arms again.

This happens every single time he comes home. He should be used to it by now. But he isn't. That wave of warmth inside him still activates whenever she does this. So eager to hold him, see him, smiling so brightly as if he was her world, her home, her salvatore.

He couldn't help but close his eyes as their body met. Their body exchanging heat was a comfort they've always missed. As she lock his neck around her arms, her hands crawling their way onto his hair on its own, his arms finding her back to pull her close.

"I missed you."

She smiled and marked a warm kiss on his cheek. "I missed you more, Si."

Simon always bring his cold and stoic stance from work, but he built a specific one for the cause of her gone missing when he arrived. But she was a devil woman that with just one kiss, one pet name, one word, his walls were gone melting.

Her magic curled a tiny smile on his rosy lips. Her shiny eyes staring back at him burning his guard down little by little. He tucked a string of hazel hair behind her ear. Before turning his gaze on the shoes she left on the ground.

"Someone's been out, hm?"

She exhaled as she settled in his lap and lean on his chest. "Yeah, Nat and I were out for a bit." She looked up to meet his eyes through her lashes.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here when you got home." He could truly see that she was sorry through her voice and expression. Her lips were slightly turning into a pout and her eyes were gleaming from the fire. She was precious to look at.

Before he could answer, she cut him off by placing a kiss on his lips, his eyes closing and deeply exhaling just as her fingers run through his hair. He was supposed to be cold but he was a sucker for her touch and affection.

As they pulled in synch, he tried to focus. But her intoxicating scent wasn't helping. He tried to circle back on his concern. He was a soldier damn it. Luckily, when her scent came laced with alcohol, he succeeded.

"Where have you been, luv?"

"Nat brought us in a club." She studied his face, from his short hair, dark brows, little scars that she covers with kisses, to his nose and sexy lips. She avoided his eyes. He was staring at her as if they were in an interrogation.

"Got drunk clubbing, hm?" She helped him put his bourbon aside before leaning back on his warm hard chest. Wrapping his free arm around her waist on her own to play with his fingers, another way of avoiding his intimidating gaze.

"Just a little." She murmured. His brows were slightly meeting as he watch her curl in his lap, her adorableness tugging a tiny smile on his lips.

"Did someone try to flirt with my beautiful princess?" He drew a blush on her cheeks and an adorable scowl.

"No. Even if there was, I wouldn't let them." There was a hint of smug in her delivery that made him chuckle.

"Wouldn't let them, huh?" He leaned down on her and caressed the side of her face to make her meet his eyes.

"And if I try to flirt with you?" Their close proximity was making her heart beat fast. She became nervous. As if they weren't married for years.

"My clothes will disappear." She said with pure honesty that it made him grin and scoff a laugh.

He smirked and pulled her closer, his big hands brushing up and down her back, pulling her to leave a kiss on her forehead. "I love you." She mumbled, eyes shut from his rare display of affection.

"Love' you so fuckin' much." He mumbled, lids down while inhaling her scent that only sensed like home. She was the only thing that could calm his whole system down. What ever it is that he did to deserve her must've been something divine.

She has never felt safer anywhere else than in his arms. His was the only cage she was more than willing to be chained forever.

They stayed glued together on the couch for a while. Listening to the rustling flame, finishing his cigarette while she fought her heavy lids putting her down to sleep. It was a peace Simon deserved after a draining mission. The dancing flame under the bricks was the only entertainment around, her head tucked under his chin made her hair close to his face filling his nose with the scent of her shampoo, while she inhaled his smell, the manly scent she misses so much.

They later on decided to prepare for bed, both too tired to eat. Their tangled picture on the couch previously was recreated on their bed. "How was the mission?" She mumbled while watching his chest rise and fall.

"Draining." He replied, the vibration of his chest and his steady heart beat making her feel secured.

"You must be tired." She brushed her palm on his chest. His muscles slowly relaxing as he lets her. Letting her brush the tension and stress from work away.

He sighed. "Just glad to be home with you."

"Me too. It's always lonely without you here."

"I know." He tucks away her hair softly, touching her carefully as if she was delicately fragile.

"I hate leaving you. Always." A sketch of furrowed brows was on his face as he recall every moment of receiving a call for deployment, when he leaves while she's peacefully asleep, or when she tries her best to hold back tears when she deliver him away to the door.

"I hate that you leave me either." She chuckles her pain away.

He carries her up to sit her on his lap. "I don't like you being alone here either." He explains as he tucks more hair away, watching her bare face stare back at him. "Hate it knowing you're all by yourself in this empty house. Makes me fuckin' worried."

"Hmm.. I know. It always worry me, thinking if you'll ever even come back." She confessed, looking down on her fingers. Then looking back up to meet his brown eyes when courage arrived.

"Thank you for always coming back home to me, Simon." Her eyes fluttered, looking right into his eyes as she appreciates him. He was so fucking confuse how he managed to have a woman like her marry him. Meaning those words to her heart as if he deserved someone to worry and wait for him to come back, not to die in the battlefield of war.

"I'll never stop coming back to you, for as long as I can. You're my whole world, love. You don't know how much I'm willing to do anything for you."

"I love you so much." He whispered to her as he closed the gap between their faces. Capturing her lips and letting them linger against each other before slowly pulling away. "I love you more."

"Impossible." He says as he lay them down, letting her nuzzle into his embrace like a kitten under the sheets.

He pulls her even closer, not wanting to leave any spaces between their bodies before settling down and lean on her shoulders to rain them with soft kisses. She felt so safe yet so fragile against him. His warmth replacing the cold bed she forces herself to sleep on before, now drives her to slumber easier than blinking.

[bullet-prooflove]

“How am i supposed to spoil you when you wont accept my gifts?”

Tagging: @kmc1989 @yousigned-upforthis @foxfabled @trublu2u @gatefleet @neapolitantoebeans @urboimiles

Companion piece to:

Wild Bloom - Jamie buys flowers on the anniversary of Lee's death.

Palm Sunday - Jamie needs help with one of his plants.

Everything (NSFW) - Jamie wants everything with you.

Miss You - Jamie misses you when you go away to California.

The Making of A Man - Jamie reflects on your relationship.

Jamie knows how much you make, you’ve never told him but he’d caught a glimpse at your bank statement when you’d left your laptop open to answer the door to a delivery and he knows it’s modest.

That’s why he never tells you how much the wine costs, why he always takes care of the bill during that last round of drinks instead of having it brought to the table.

“You never let me spoil you.” You pout one morning when he’s tangled up in your sheets, contented and sated.  

“You’ve just ruined me with filthy mouth of yours.” He reminds you, his arm wrapping around your waist as he draws your hips up towards his face. He guides your hands to the headboard before his lips ghost over your parted thighs. “You’ve spoilt me enough.”

“That’s not what I meant…”

But then your breath catches because his mouth’s already on you and he’s using that sinful tongue of his to distract you.

It’s a couple of hours later that you surprise him. He wakes up to the scent of coffee, the bed empty beside him. He sighs happily as his palm runs over the sheets because he doesn’t do this, he doesn’t sleep in. He’s usually up at the crack of dawn, sitting at this desk, putting out whatever fire the ranch has created overnight.

I could get used to this he thinks, he could take weekends off, spend Sundays mornings ruining you. He can’t express just how much he enjoys the thought of that.

It’s when he enters the kitchen that he finds the navy blue box sitting on the table waiting for him. It’s tied with a pretty gold ribbon that sparkles in the sun streaming through the window.

“Happy birthday.” You say, your lips brushing over his forehead as he sits down at the table.

Jamie doesn’t celebrate his birthday, he hasn’t since his mom died. At the Yellowstone it was just another day to get through. When Lee was alive he’d come over, throw a couple of steaks on the grill and share an expensive bottle of bourbon but his brother’s been dead almost two years and the last occasion came and went without any acknowledgment from the other members of his family.

His breath catches when he opens the box because this gift is way too much, he doesn’t deserve it.

“Dani.” He whispers as he stares down at the antique wristwatch, the one he’d shown an interest in a couple of weeks ago when you were strolling through town. He’s not sure why he was attracted to it, he has dozens, more valuable ones at this room at the Yellowstone but there was just something about the simplicity and history attached to it that captured him. It’s not expensive, not by his standards, but it is by yours. “I can’t accept this.”

“Yes you can.” You say firmly. “You’re always spoiling me. Let me spoil you for a change.”

His chest constricts because no one has ever given him such a thoughtful gift, no one has ever cared enough. It’s when he takes it out of the box, that he discovers the engraving. He can feel it under his fingertips before he turns it over and studies the cursive indentation.

D.E loves J.D

Dani Everett loves Jamie Dutton.

It’s such a stupid, little thing but it means the entire world to him.

“Dani.” He whispers, his voice raw with emotion. “It’s perfect.”

Love Jamie? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[itwasthereaminuteago]

Werewolf!Frank Castle

Its been so rainy and overcast in recent weeks that you forget what time of the month it is, the lunar tracker app in your phone unused for a little too long.

You do notice that he's antsy, even grumpier than that time the delivery guy stole his Lombardi's order. He can't sit still, pacing around the apartment driving you so crazy that you eventually drag his ass out for a walk even though its getting late...

But when he has some cretin that dared to cast a casual glance at your bare legs as you walked past, held by the neck up against a chain link fence, it finally clicks.

His chest is heaving, his raging stare boring into the poor guy's terrified face as his feet dangle off the ground, a low rumbling growl emanating from the back of Frank's throat as you try your best to calm him down.

"He's not worth it Frankie, c'mon we better get home..." You've leave the 'before you transform into an 8 foot beast' part left unsaid.

Still, he doesn't give over until he feels your soft touch at his nape, gently stroking and coaxing him away.

You lead him back home, shooting the other guy an apologetic glance over your shoulder as you then have to navigate the way back with Frank constantly nuzzling his nose into your hair and hoping you don't come across anything else that he might see as a threat.

He gets ridiculously possessive of you around a full moon.

You lightly jog up the stairs but realise too late that was a silly idea as now he's chasing you to the door, caging you up against it growling something that sounds a lot like mine, while you try your damndest to fish out your keys and unlock the fucking thing before...

The door is barely shut before he's on you, hands pinning your own, teeth and tongue grazing and licking your exposed skin.

But the moon's rising, you can see the flash of silver in his eyes, and he grunts in discomfort, his brows drawing together and jaw setting hard as you both know the change is about to happen.

You'll never get used to that sound, his bones snapping and crunching as they rearrange, the whines and the pained look he gives you as with every turn the process never seems to get any less traumatic.

You'll also never get over how when it's all over, he's towering above you, immense, powerful, and all yours.

His bourbon brown eyes are still the same though, still full of unwavering devotion and hunger...

And yeah, he's huge (yes, everywhere), but he's still enough of himself to be gentle... if that's what you want. You can howl too...

Part 2!

[izgnanik-a]

MerMay GhostSoap 4

// MDNI // read at your own risk //

“-Fuck.” Johnny sat shoulder to shoulder with strangers at the pub, wondering how in the hell did he manage to get where he was in life.

He was ex-military (hardly), ex-farmer, ex-fisherman, and couldn’t even hold a job being a delivery driver. Now that he was a security guard, he didn’t even think he could stick around seeing what he saw.

“Fuck.” He said again.

“You can say that again.” Ushered a stranger at his side, nursing his bourbon for the time he’d been there. Maybe longer.

Johnny gave him a glance and a friendly nod before departing to find his roommate among the masses. He found them talking up a girl about some nonsense, crashing in at the worst time possible.

Their date, or the girl they’d thought to pick up at the bar, narrowed her eyes on Johnny. That amused fire that had been in his roommate suddenly became directed on him.

“Who’s this?” She asked.

They sighed, signaling defeat against the handsome man who always managed to steal the spotlight. “Johnny, Celina. Celina, this my roomie Johnny.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” She extended her hand out towards him.

“Charmed.” He flashed her a smile, holding his bottle in both hands. “You’ve got a cig I can bum?”

“You don’t smoke anymore.”

“I’m itching for one.” Any bad addiction to get out of his mind right now, he could use it.

“I’ve got one.” Celina offered, digging in her shirt purse to find her box.

Johnny grimaced to the brand but took it nonetheless, “Thanks.”

“Need a light?” She asked.

“Got one?”

She fetched her lighter, and held it out but when he went to grab it — she leaned away. “I’ll join you. I could use a smoke. Care to join?” She asked Johnny’s roommate.

“I don’t smoke. I’m gonna get another drink.” They said, tipping their head to the both of them and moving through the room.

Johnny reluctantly agreed to join Celina outside just so he could get a lighter, and once they’d lit their smokes, they stood side by side in silence.

“How long have you known each other?” Celina asked.

“My roommate?” Johnny hummed, cigarette on the edge of his lips before he grabbed it. “A couple years. Met at a job.”

“What’s your job?”

“Currently, security.”

“Oh? Where?”

Johnny scoffed. “I’m not allowed to say.”

Celina furrowed her brows as Johnny took a drag, the tip glowing orange against her eyes. “How come?”

“Private security.”

But he started to wonder who would really believe him if he had told them where he worked, and what he worked for. Would they believe him if he told them that he was watching a fish tank with some ungodly beast within? Or would they just look at him and laugh, shake him off, and say it was such a good joke? 

He tapped the end of his cigarette just thinking about that creature’s face. So close to his, so hungry, and cold.

“Johnny?” Celina’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“Hm- Sorry.” He shook his head. “I’ve got a lot going on.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I hope things get better for you.”

Johnny nodded, sensing her closure and gaze up at him. He scoffed softly, “Celina, right?”

She hummed.

“You seem like a nice girl.”

“I can be.”

“You don’t want any part of me.”

“I think I can handle a broken guy.”

Johnny took a step aside. “I’m going to head inside for another drink and then I’m going home.” He pointed behind him. “Thanks for the-“ he held up his cigarette, stubbing out the end, and tucking the rest in his breast pocket. “Have a good night.”

Johnny opened the pub door and moved for the bar. He didn’t really plan on having another drink, knowing that it could only lead to thinking and wallowing about his situation more. He spotted his roommate harboring another drink.

He sat down beside them. “I want to go home.” Johnny remarked.

His roommate looked him over and back to the bottle. “How’d your talk with Celina go?”

“She tried to kill me.”

“Really?”

“Wouldn’t do either of us good if she was around. Don’t seem the faithful type.”

“Thanks.” His roommate huffed, drinking half the bottle down.

Johnny looked to his phone, the time, and back to the crowd around them. “I’m going to head to the car and wait.”

His roommate hummed.

“Take-away?” He shuffled out of the seat.

They hummed, “Don’t forget the wings.”

Johnny patted their back and moved for the door. The car was a lonely place, but quiet and comfortable. He didn’t realize he would be left alone with his thoughts.

All he could think about was his next shift at the facility. Seeing that thing again. He wondered where it came from, what purpose did it serve.

Unconsciously running his fingers up the path from his neck to his temple, he swore he could still feel the cold tongue against his skin when he slept. Feel the teeth knock his throat with his claws in his hair.

The passenger door opened.

Johnny jumped frantically, only to see his roommate. He gulped. “Ready?”

Without a word, they’d ventured back home where take-away was waiting for them. Dining over pizza and crispy chicken wings, Johnny found himself dissociating at his food. He stared at the white meat and ligaments of his chicken wing, somewhat sick thinking of it.

He wondered if the creature’s acts were just one of curiosity or hunger. Did it have I’ll intentions towards Johnny? Or was it just a starved beast in a box?

x

Johnny’s lunchbox was full of things he didn’t plan on eating that actually set off their metal alarm. When they looked into his lunchbox there was a jar of pickles, two ham sandwiches, and a can of whole tuna — they stared up at him as he flashed them a nervous look.

He walked to his desk, half expecting to be stopped at the door as he scanned his ID, but managed to get inside. He looked to the tank, tapping on the glass but seeing nothing surface.

He wondered if the fishman had been taken out.

Running footage back, he watched Garrick clean the outside of the tank with glass cleaner in the room before leaving. The footage gave spouts of static at times, going out of service for several moments before coming back on. When Garrick left, the screen cleared.

Johnny huffed, moving for the closet door. He brought his lunchbox along, only insistent on eating his sandwiches. With the door chalked behind him, he set his bag down and crouched down low.

He wondered if he tapped the surface like last, would it bring the creature up to him, or would it just snatch him in this time. He slapped the surface curiously.

For a long while there was nothing.

He did it again, giving little butterfly taps, like a bug floating on the surface. “Where the hell are you, you mangy—“

Then he spotted it.

At the far edge of the pool, Johnny could see ripples giving way to the creature’s location before a head popped out. Two menacing eyes peered at him from the corner of the room.

Johnny gulped, suddenly realizing that this thing could snatch him and drown him if it wanted to. It could easily suffocate him under its massive size and no one would find him, only maybe Garrick.

Johnny wiped his hand against his jeans and turned to his lunchbox. “I have something for you.” He said, like a worried owner of an easily provoked dog. He dug out his can of whole tuna, and held it up. “It’s fish.”

The creature made no moves to come closer in the water, just watching him suspiciously.

Johnny opened the can, grimacing at the oily fish. Sticking his finger into the grime, he held up one of the five tiny fish in sight. “Here. Take it.” Holding it close to the surface of the water, he expected it to come close.

Nope.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Johnny questioned.

When it didn’t move towards him, he sighed and tossed it towards the middle of the room. He rubbed his fingers into the water to get the grimace out. When he looked up, the fishman was gone.

“What—“

Johnny leaned forward, peering into the water to see the flicker of white skin at the center of the pool. He felt his heart jolt when it came back to the surface, the same as it had before, only wide eyes peering at him.

“So you are hungry.” Johnny said as he reached for another tuna. He threw it in the space between the fishman and himself to get it to come closer, and as expected — it ducked under, ripples cutting around it, and appeared where the fish had gone.

With another fish tossed closer to the ledge, Johnny held up his fourth fish as the creature appeared within a foot of the ledge. It peered up at him, like a cat before it pounces at a toy.

“Take it,” he offered it out within the short distance.

To Johnny, he was giving a peace offering to appease the beast.

To the creature, he was teasing its dinner in his fingers. Holding it out of the water where it refused to be seen.

Johnny set the tuna into the water and watched the creature dunk underneath quickly. He removed his hand from the water to see it snatch it between its webbed fingers, bringing the fish to its mouth, and taking bites until it’s tail remained before discarding the bones and coming back up to the surface.

This time, right up against the ledge, it stared up at him with unease. Johnny fished out the last tuna, revealing it from the can, and hovered it over the fishman’s head.

With tracking eyes, it watched Johnny place it on the ledge with just the fishy mouth in sight. Webbed fingers hooked over the edge to wrap around the slippery tuna and drag it into the water with a PLOP.

Johnny leaned over again to watch it sink into the water and eat.

It looked back up towards the peering human and dipped further down out of sight.

He was in awe of its ability to eat so humanely, of its conception of safe and not safe. It kept its distance because it perceived Johnny as not safe, but since he had a food source — it came close enough to take the fruits and leave.

Johnny wondered how much longer he could play this game of chicken, and when he would get caught for good.

x

Next chapter

fic masterlist

[imeternallylove]

Better off - Jethro Gibbs

Pairing: Leroy Jethro Gibbs x Reader

genre: angst, purely angst

warning: none

word: approx 680

main mastetlist | request | prompts

20. 19. 18. 17.

You noticed him clenching his jaw. And then he unclenched.

The hands you once wished to hold - to kiss, to feel moving through your hair as you lay beside him watching daytime television, to sense the way they raked up your waist in a movement that was nothing short of pure sin in the dead of night - remained on the steering wheel, the tight grip on the worn out leather causing his knuckles to furiously spill out an assortment of pink and red hues.

Situations like this were usually resolved with intense, angry make-up sex. "Pleasure in its most sinful form," he once said.

The mere concept made you ill to your stomach.

16. 15. 14. 13.

You both made no move to depart. Or converse. Or do anything other than wilt in the godawful silence that filled every nook and cranny of Gibbs' little car.  Your strained breaths, the erratic pants coming out in short gasps, barely audible from the tight scarf wrapped around your neck, were the only sounds that traveled through the environment. 

There was never a single second of silence in all your years together. When things were good, every hour with him was filled with a variety of melodies - the bang of pots and pans as you both tried your hardest to cook a meal (without turning the kitchen into a messy food court or the center of foodplay), the sounds of his deep, brazen laughter as he teased you over and over. His heavy breathing in the early hours of the night, as his lips hovered above your small form, vowing to kiss every inch of your precious little flesh, was perhaps the most typical sound. 

Even in the gloomy months that followed, stillness was never permanent. In fact, you craved it. Anything to silence the sound of plates crashing against the wall. The days of cooking had long passed.

12. 11. 10. 9.

You were afraid you'd bleed all over his automobile if your nails dug any deeper into your palms. Giving him yet another cause to despise you. Instead, you fiddled with your scarf.

Your choice of clothing was a technique of coping with the bitter cold that has gripped in town all week. Heavy storms combined with loud, irritating lightning strikes made you startle in fright as you lay lethargic and limp at night. The feel of his soft skin around your weak body was replaced with a steaming cup of coffee set on your shared bedside table and one too many blankets of his bourbon’s scented. You'd ultimately drift off.

Nothing, however, could wash away the fierce lashes of rain that gathered around both corners of your puffy eyes as you wailed into the darkness, a tsunami roaring within you as you wondered how, why and when it all went so damn wrong.

Pathetic fallacy, your ass.

8. 7. 6. 5.

Too long. You'd been in the car for much too long. You should have left the moment he pulled into the driveway. But nothing was ever easy with Gibbs by your side.

4. 3. 2.

You eventually proceeded to unfasten your seatbelt after what seemed like hours. The abrupt click of the buckle led him to look your way for a split second, fingers pressing deeper into the leather wheel before returning his sight to the window.

You noticed the single tear that flowed painfully across his face before he moved.

"This is me. The remaining items will be picked up by the delivery van the following day. Don't bother paying him; I already have."

And with that, you left.

1.

Almost. You almost left.

Even you were surprised by the rough hands that drew you back into the car the moment you opened the door.

“I’m sorry.” His face so red. “- God, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay Jethro. You said it yourself, remember?”

“W-What are you talk-”

Shaking your head. “Don’t you remember?” Letting his hand go.

“Remember of what?”

“You said it.” You laughed dryly. “I’m better off without you, right?”

[beansricejc]

JOHN WICK x READER : The Courier

part 2 (part 1!)

summary: three years have passed since you ran into John, where you refused his offer for a drink. you have climbed the criminal underworld social ladder significantly in the past three years. John sees this as a challenge, and insists that you have that drink with him. sparks fly, slower burn. female reader, 4240 words.

author’s note: i really like going into detail about the reader’s job because girl boss things, lol! if you haven’t, I’d recommend reading part 1 if you’d like, you can certainly read this as a stand alone! pls lmk what you think if you want to! thx! 💕

warnings: nsfw fantasies, alcohol, cursing, implied violence, organized crime, slow burn, significant age gap.

Three years.

It had been three years since you saw the man at that party. The party full of criminal elites, hitmen, you name it. If they were a big deal in the criminal world, they were there that night. You were just starting out then, actually on the job, you had delivered some files to the Continental Manager, Winston, that night. Right before you left, you managed to catch the eye of the world’s most dangerous hitman.

Wick.

John Wick.

He had insisted that you join him for a drink, and you insisted harder that you were working, still on the job. You had other deliveries to run, you didn’t have time to just drop an hour to share conversation and possibly suck face with the man.

You had made yourself known back then, criminals used your services often, and your gig slowly grew. And grew. And grew some more.

Until three years later, you had accidentally created an entire enterprise dedicated for servicing several crime syndicates around New York City.

Before you knew it, you were technically a crime boss. Your business delicately walked the gray area of illegal and legal.

Okay, it was actually super illegal.

You had hired almost 70 women from the local NYC area, all of them that met your standards of talent and experience. Completing deliveries across the city for crime syndicates was tricky work, work that had to be meticulously done.

And with one of the largest servicer businesses in the area, people didn’t just know your name, they feared it.

But why? Why would they fear the CEO of a shady delivery company?

You were neutral territory. With all of the gangs across New York City using your service, they knew better than to decide to mess with you, or your business.

You were like the Switzerland of the criminal underground.

Everyone in the local industry knew this.

And tonight, you had actually been invited to join this party, formally by Winston himself. Your assistant had casually mentioned the event invitation that he emailed you, and despite your higher status on the current criminal food chain, you were still shocked about it.

Your past 48 hours were solely dedicated to being a self care queen. Haircut, mani pedi, facial, eyebrow waxing, you name it. If there was one thing, it was you were were going to be the center of attention tonight.

And you were.

With your form fitting black maxi dress, gold jewlery, perfectly applied makeup and styled hair, you could just sense all of the eyes on you tonight. You had walked in with your small entourage consisting of your personal assistant, and a few personal bodyguards. Of course with you and your non-chalant attitude, you acted like you didn’t know that you were the shit.

And there was John. An almost repeat scene from three years ago, mingling with the same group of OG hitmen in a corner of the hotel lounge. Once again nursing the same brand of bourbon on the rocks, talking about god knows what, probably the worst way they’ve ever killed a group of goons.

John’s eyes scanned the room for any pretty women to hit on tonight, the same old same old. Buy a few drinks, go upstairs with a cute little thing, cum on her back, buy her an uber and send her home. John lost all hope in trying to actually find a romantic interest a long time ago after the passing of his wife, there was just no time for it.

Although, the thought of being battered and bloody, shuffling through the door after a hard days work, and having a pretty girl to patch him up and then subsequently suck him off did sound appealing to him.

Anyways, there John was, scouring through the bar and lounge with his dark brown eyes for something to cum on later this evening, and before he knew it, his eyes darted, and landed on none other, but you.

Y/N.

John widened his eyes, his heartrate increasing a bit just from the mere sight of you. The way your feminine figure looked in that black dress that clung to your body, the way your manicured fingers applied another layer of lipgloss while your assistant spoke to you. The way you introduced yourself to some very dangerous looking Yakuza members but managed to make them laugh with the almost fluent Japanese you were speaking, he was almost in shock.

John keeps an eye on Y/N. He likes your style but he knows you could turn on him at any moment you wanted, even if you weren’t known to jump to violence like most.

You appeared like a typical crime boss, hiding the brutal side of your under layers of class, style, humor, and charm. It's an act. The best are able to hide their dark side behind their public face. John has seen these types in his many years in the business.

But he’d be lying if he said you weren’t the most beautiful woman in this room right now. And your laugh, it travels like wind to his ears, it’s almost ethereal. Was it the liquor? Probably. He didn’t care, it had been years since he’s seen you leave through those doors, and now he’s only heard mere stories of you and your enterprise.

-

“No way, Y/N? She decided to actually come? God, she’s a fucking dime.” one of John’s colleagues that was in his mingling circle commented. John inhaled sharply, snapping out of whatever trance he just had from looking at her.

“You hear she still does her own jobs? Could you imagine any other boss getting their hands dirty in this day in age? I’ll give it to her, she’s a bad bitch.” the same guy said, the rest of the men laugh and agree.

John remembers, it hits him. Y/N isn’t necessarily a hitman, nor does she run a hitman empire. That’s right, she’s an armed, fast, and efficient courier. Not to mention deadly. Her or her team wouldn’t just be regular hitmen for hire, they would only kill if it was necessary to complete their deliveries. And sometimes, it was definitely necessary.

John has only heard of the high speed chases that she or her crew took part in against the police, or even people that want to get their hands on whatever they were transporting. And what did this woman of great skill use to transport important items for crime bosses?

Simple.

A Kawasaki Ninja H2.

An absolute beast, somehow street legal that had a top speed of 209 miles per hour. With a two-speed centrifugal supercharger and the best suspension on the market. Anyone without the skillset of Y/N or even one of her employees didn’t stand a chance to utilize this creature to it’s full potential.

The thought of riding one of those magnificent bikes sent a chill down John’s spine.

Not only did she have one, but every woman under her employment was issued one for jobs as well. The fastest street legal bike there was.

“Remember when she totally cock blocked you three years ago?” one of his colleagues, Parker, reminded John, snickering after. John’s face gave a deadpan expression to the laughing group of men, as he downed the rest of his liquor and demanded a refill from the bartender. The worker obliged without hesitation, pouring the brown liquid into his crystal clear glass, and John took a large drag from the cup, finishing about half of it in one go.

One thing that John had always regretted in the past few years since meeting that woman, was not being persistent enough.

The status she had obtained over the years was something to behold. Not only was she young, but she had climbed the social ladder in his industry faster than he had ever seen. He could see how too, with what was displayed about 45 feet away from his eyes.

Y/N with her entourage of bodyguards, a personal assistant, with her confident demeanor demanding respect with a subtle tone in her voice as she spoke in a foreign language, to these Yakuza members no less.

She was this pretty little thing, with a beautiful smile and laugh. But John could see the beast of her personality and lethal skill behind that feminine figure.

And he was intimidated to say the least. Not petrified or scared for his life, the potential to be a worthy adversary was there, lingering in the air.

And John was slightly turned on by it.

-

You were laughing with these Japanese criminals as your gaze was distracted from the wolf that was stalking you from all the way at the oak carved bar. Your heartrate sped up a bit, images of your first and last encounter, at this very same location infiltrated your brain. It was short but you wouldn’t consider it sweet.

Tense? Yeah.

John was clearly interested in something besides for sharing small talk over a drink, and seemed to take offense that you had more work you had to take care of that night. You stuck out like a sore thumb that night, with a motorcycle helmet on your head, in a crowd of people in black tie dress wear at the party.

And look what we had here, three years later.

Except instead of a wolf stalking his prey, it was a fair duel. Carnivor versus carnivor, in a sense. Both with a reputation and a high standing in the underground, no matter how long it was. You only had a few years under your belt, whereas John, had decades. And that was the most intimidating thing about him to you. Experience.

John decided he would take you as his challenge of the night. He may have failed three years ago, when you were nothing but a simple service provider, and he didn’t expect anything more this time around. But fuck it, right?

Let’s be a bit more persistent this time around, Wick. John thought to himself as he sauntered towards your stunned form.

Round two huh? No shit. You think, stifling a laugh and replying to something that one of the Japanese men said to you. You take another sip of your dirty martini, leaving a lipgloss stain on your glass as your eyes traveled up to John’s staggering expression as he finally approached you fully. You don’t move or say a word, in fact, one of your very large bodyguards steps between the two of you and begins to pat John down for any weapons he could possibly have on him.

John knew better than to carry a gun to a party hosted by the Continental. Besides, he hardly needed it. He was the weapon of the century, as far as he was concerned.

The bodyguard saw he was clean but knew that John was still a threat, if he really wanted to be. However, the guard stepped to the side, back to his original position, slightly behind Y/N’s much smaller and less menacing form.

A coy smirk painted your face when you finally meet his gaze again, as you delicately hold out your hand out towards John. He gladly takes it in his much larger, calloused hands, bending over slightly and placed a small kiss on your knuckles. A normal greeting for a woman of your position in this industry.

“You’re quite the persistent man, John.” you chuckle, as his lips leave your hand and he looked back at you, smiling in an almost tauntful manner.

That familiar scent of John Wick hits your nostrils once again. Patchouli, tobacco, and, gunpowder? Someone’s been busy.

“You’re not the first to notice, Y/N.” John retorts, holding up his glass to you in agreement. His knuckles are covered in freshly changed bandages, with yellow bruising peeking out from underneath them. “I’ve heard business is booming.” he comments, you roll your eyes and sigh.

“You could say that. A lot has changed in 3 years, as you can tell.” you reply, noticing that his dark brown eyes are studying everything about you. Classic hitman behavior. Your expressions, emotional state, movements, even the way that your nose scrunched when you smiled or laughed. Almost as if he’s unintentionally sizing you up, and this makes you chuckle.

“Oh, trust me. I know.” was the only thing John could reply to that. He realized you have caught him soaking in all of your features, including those tempting glossy lips of yours.

Sinful thoughts enter his mind, and he has to try his hardest not to give into them at this very moment.

He’s wondering what else those lips could do, he’s been fantasizing about you since day one, of course he’d never admit it. John was a notorious playboy after the death of his wife, his pride was too big to say that he may have regretted not going for you a little harder.

The thought of shoving you against one of his hotel room walls, with a thud that echoed out to the hallway ensuing from it. He’d loom over your much shorter frame, and you would breathe heavily, anticipating the hitman to not hold anything back with you. Moments of silence passed before he slammed his lips onto those pretty pink ones he’s been dreaming of for so long. Biting down on the flesh of your bottom lip, hands searching frantically for your core, ripping whatever fabric you had guarding it and teasing your clit with expertise. Slow and precise circles, just to torture you. You’d gasp at the sensation, leaving the perfect time for him to take over the kiss by tossing his tongue into your mouth, his other hand going to your neck and squeezing to keep you in your current spot. You wouldn’t be going anywhere, anytime soon.

“Did you want something?” you asked John, forcing him out of the fabrication that tantalized his brain. John cleared his throat, and laughed nervously.

“Was wondering, if you’d have that drink with me now.” John requested, nodding to the barren martini glass in your hand. You sighed, knowing that you were attracted to this older man, no matter how many times you tried to deny it to yourself.

You were the head of a criminal powerhouse, a young woman, independent, deadly, and an expert in your craft. Of course you didn’t want to be at the whim of some man that happened to get your attention, romantically, sexually, it didn’t matter. Besides, there was hardly time for it with the position you held.

But here you were, obliging John fucking Wick in having a drink with him, after three years of denying him.

Damn your hormones. Damn this man and his long dark hair.

So a drink you had. Then another drink. And a couple of shots, John wanted to know what the kids were drinking these days, so of course you had to show him. In the past couple of hours of actually easy going conversation, he had realized you were damn near his exact type of woman. Clever, with a great sense of humor, and fairly kind, all things considered. He could tell you weren’t just some underworld nepo-baby, and that you came from a humble upbringing, which made him even more attracted to you. (If that was even possible).

He met a woman who could keep up, even lead, a conversation with him.

If he was the Boogeyman, you were the Devil herself. Quick witted and sharp tongued, he couldn’t help but be even more intrigued after every sentence you dropped from your mouth.

The guests at this party were astonished to say the least.

The pair were certainly, a unique match. A young crime boss managing to make the world’s deadliest man open up like a badly wrapped package after a few drinks and good banter. What a sight to behold.

The night however, was ending. To his surprise, you were finishing the night up with a canned Pabst Blue Ribbon, a true contradiction to your current high ranking and your black tie event dress. John couldn’t help but be pleasantly surprised, and noticed that the alcohol was certainly hitting the both of you.

You had told your personal protection entourage that they could go to their respective hotel rooms for the night, knowing that John wouldn’t be deemed a threat to you after he had showed you images of his Blue Stafford Terrier on his phone.

“You mind if I, uh, walk you to your room?” John hiccuped as he asked, you giggled at this mannerisms, giving your signature nose crinkle that your face did whenever you smiled. Your grabbed your leather purse and left some large bills on the counter to cover for your drinks. John slid your cash back to you, waving the gesture you gave off.

“I already took care of it. Don’t you dare.” John informed you, tossing you a wink and you rolled your eyes at his ever so flirtatious nature.

“Well, unnecessary, but thank you.” you drunkenly told him, sliding the large bills over to your bartender for his tip, shrugging at John. He raised his eyebrows, and took that generous action down in his head.

Treats waitstaff well. Noted. John thought to himself while the palm of his hand found it’s way to the small of your back, taking in the feel of the luxurious fabric. He led you out of the lounge and towards the elevators, managing to snag an empty one to help you into, not that you really needed the help, he was just being a gentleman.

He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to be a gentleman with you. Maybe it was your high status? Maybe it was because he felt different with you than with other women he casually hit on at the bar.

“Which floor?” John asked, and you looked up at his handsome face, drinking in his sharp and manly features. You didn’t know why (it was the liquor) but you giggled a bit at him.

“8.” you simply told him, and he pressed the button to that exact floor.

The doors shut, and John cleared his throat.

And here comes the tension. Was it like the movies? Would this ride up the hotel floors ensue in a steamy makeout session?

Of course not.

This was you we were talking about. You were ridiculous. So of course you checked your phone for anything important, and John couldn’t help but take a look to see if you were secretive. You weren’t. (It was the liquor, usually you were).

You had received a string of memes from one of your closest friends and assistant, Marissa. You two were very close, and she had been a part of your enterprise since day one.

-

John could tell, the age gap was evident. Shown explicitly by Y/N giggling and intoxicated at these random pictures she had been sent.

John took a closer look.

He was staring at a photoshopped image of a Hello Kitty head pasted onto a muscular matching body. John raised his eyebrows. He read the caption on the picture, which read: if the homies are sleeping on you, spoon them.

“Wh-what the fuck am I looking at?” John slipped up, as Y/N was giggling nonstop at the image on her phone.

“It’s a masterpiece, you just- you just don’t get it. And that's okay.” Y/N replied as the elevator doors opened to the floor that your room was on.

John shook his head and laughed at the absurdity of the joke.

The consequences of hanging out with the younger generation.

John escorted Y/N to her room, where you took out your room card and sighed. The butterflies in your stomach were going absolutely haywire at the moment, and you didn’t know if that was because of the alcohol, or the DILF of a man gazing down at her with a romantic look in his deep brown eyes.

There was the tension. Thick enough to cause a fog in the room, it tingled between them as they both bore into each other’s eyes.

Fuck it. John thought, his head dipping a bit, Y/N’s hand lifting to his chest to stop his movement. Her heartbeat was out of control, and the anxiety had finally caught up to you. Here was this absolute art piece of a man who she had been getting along with all night, all worked up and ready to go. You took a deep breath.

“J-John. I don’t really, do this sort of thing, I’m just too busy for any of it.” you admit to him. John’s soul plummets into the pit of his liquor filled stomach, he had been expecting to kiss this woman who had been keeping him good company all night.

Well, that killed the mood, didn’t it?

You weren’t good at this sort of thing, of course you’ve had several ex boyfriends in the past, but for a few years, you hadn’t indulged in any sort of relationship, mainly because of the hunk of responsibility that has now weighed down on your back.

“God dammit.” you curse at yourself as you cave in, wrapping your hands quickly around John’s neck and pull him in, crashing your lips onto his as he first intended to do. The passion between the both of you could have been caused by the alcohol, or by the banter you two had shared at the bar for the past few hours. John grunts in surprise but he isn’t mad at all, very satisfied actually. His hands find their way to your well shaped hips, which your dress was so delicately covering, and his fingers give you a taunting squeeze in response to your sudden change of heart.

John’s teeth do what he had imagined earlier when he first spoke to you, biting down on your bottom lip, earning a squeak of surprise from you. He can’t help but smile into the kiss, humming in affirmation to your cute noise.

The pair of you break away, both breathing heavily, you’re slightly dizzy from the alcohol, and he is dizzy on the thought of fucking you right here any now against the wall. The scratch of his beard still stung your mouth and cheeks but you didn’t mind. It was a reminder of him, even though he was right there in front of you. Your breath hitched as John watched your prominent chest rise and fall with each heavy breath that you took.

“Um, how about I give you my card, okay?” you ask, fishing out a black and metal business card and slipping it into John’s right hand. He’s taken aback by the coolness of the metal against his warm skin, and nodded into your forehead, that he was touching with his own.

John cleared his throat, that was still tingling from all of the alcohol he had with you tonight.

“Y-yeah. That’s perfect.” John answered. You press your lips together, a pink hue dashes upon your cheeks and nose after the kiss, you haven’t done anything like this in a few years.

Jesus Christ, what are you, a middle schooler? Pull yourself together, girly. You think to yourself.

“Alright,” you sigh, slipping your key card into the lock on the hotel door, opening it. You pause to look back up at John, still in your drunken and flustered phase from that kiss you two shared. “Just text me, ‘kay?” you ask, shooting him a nervous but still excited smile, before you swoop into the room, barricading yourself from John with the hotel door.

It closes, and clicks to let you know it’s locked.

You hurry to the bathroom and take a long deep breath, smacking yourself on the cheeks and splashing cold water on your face to knock yourself out of this state of anxiety you’re in.

John is still frozen in front of your hotel room door that you have just escaped behind, he shakes himself out of it and peeks down a the metal engraved business card.

It has your first and last name, phone number, email, and various social media accounts listed on the small card.

He still can’t believe what just happened.

Y/N, the ever so popular crime boss that was the next big thing, just melted like a schoolgirl in his arms.

No fucking way. John thinks, laughing a bit in disbelief.

He shuffles back to his hotel room, which happened to be on the same floor as yours, it’s down a few doors and to the right. He enters, goes inside and plops himself down on the bed, staring at the card that he still had in his hand.

“God, she’s hot.” He mumbled to himself, thoughts are racing through his mind, some innocent, most are filthy.

The image of you bent over his kitchen counter while pounding you into submission, spanking you hard on your nicely shaped ass while you scream his name is the consistent image in his head. Or him grabbing your hair, pulling your head back and whispering sweet nothings into your ear while he fucked, and fucked, and fucked you from behind.

John blinked a few times, realizing he now has a completely hard cock because of the fantasy that couldn’t seem to go away just now.

Well, looks like the playboy would have to take care of himself again. It wasn’t the first time he did it after meeting you, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

[wolvie-peanut]

*knock knock knock... knock*

Hi! Good afternoon! It's Pyxis with Pyxis Delivery Services, where we ship most anythin from foxes ta boxes!

I'm lookin fer a... Mister Logan Howlett?

I have a shipment of whiskey, bourbon, vodka, and... uhm... oh never-mind they're lighthouses! Lighthouse shaped gummy candies!

( @pyxis-deliveryservices )

Lighthouse shaped gummy candies? That’s a strange ass combination.

[amitiel-truth]

Not Ten Babies? (Vash the Stampede x Reader) (98! Version)

Note: This is my SIXTH time writing here, please don't look into most of the details, I made some up, these ideas were prompted by my chat with Vash at Character.AI (The motherfucker's insatiable), more info will come if I decided to make more.

Warning: ⚠️Not yet~⚠️

Ten Babies

(Tristamp Version)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

(Trigun 98! Version)

Part 2

Summary: It's not every day that a famous outlaw wants to date you.

"It's no good, Henry."

"He's completely out of it, dead to the world."

two call escorts commented, walking out of Vash's room

"Guess I gave him a little too much to drink, I'm sorry I called you two out here for nothin' I didn't think he'd pass out."

"It's really too bad, isn't it? you don't get a chance to sleep with a guy like that every day. hah, well... see you around."

"Bye, girls!"

"Bye."

with that, the people Vash partied with finally left him alone to rest.

He just saved Inepril from Elizabeth's vengeful plan against him, and the city is highly grateful that he just saved them yet again, but it seemed like the alcohol never actually reached his head.

Let's be honest, he can't even hold down a beer.

After the people trying to entertain him left, he flips himself over to lie on the bed.

"Could I be regretting it...just a little?" Vash sighed as he stares at the ceiling, deep in thought on a certain woman.

"(Y/N)..."

5 years ago

stumbling upon the bustling city of Febrari, Vash looks around for a place to wind down after booking a dingy hotel room, he walks out of the place, he surveys the area

"Now, for a place to hangout to-" Before Vash could even look around, he dodges a speeding truck.

"WATCH WHERE YOUR WALKING! I HAVE DELIVERIES TO MAKE!!." The driver yells as Vash loses his balance, walking backward into a busy area full of people, he bumps into one of them.

"Hey! I'm walking here!" The angry passerby yells, before pushing Vash into the center of a service road where he lies flat on the ground, a mess.

"I've only been to this city today and it's already getting worse, could this day get any worse?." Vash questions, sighing to himself as he hears rumbling coming for him

a stampede of Thomas birds runs him over.

" Sorry about that bud!." The herder yells, before throwing him a pamphlet as he runs after his herd as Vash sat up, bruised and sore.

"At least this one apologized" Vash groans, holding his head in pain, before noticing the pamphlet thrown at him.

HAPPY HOUR AT THE ROSEBUSH BAR!!!

EVERY WEDNESDAY

8 PM TO 1 AM

$$5 DISCOUNT!!

APPLICABLE TO:

MARTINIS

WHISKEY

BOURBON

CRAFT BEER

SHOTS

(n/a: promise, I know how to make a pamphlet, I'm just lazy)

"Happy Hour, huh?" Vash inspects the paper, before flipping it around, seeing a map behind it.

"It's like luck is finally on my side!" Vash sobs as he follows the map, reaching a brick wall entrance, music emanating through the business, "The Rose Bushbar" signage on top of the entrance, the place is cozy, not tavern-like, and not too fancy, plenty of patrons fill in the bar, as jazz music plays at the stage at the far end of the bar.

"One of your finest beers please!." Vash orders as the bartender prepares his drink sitting on a bar stool, light music plays, giving the room a jazzy atmosphere, suddenly, a woman dressed seductively sits a few chairs away from him, and the bartender quickly served her a glass of whiskey, sipping on it quietly, red lipstick stained her glass.

"Heya~ I'm Vash! You caught my eye earlier, and I wanted to come to say hi. So.. what's your name, stranger?" in quick succession, Vash slid into the woman in black's side, a flirty grin across his lips.

"Well this is new" The woman smiles, finishing her whiskey.

"I haven't heard that question in a long while, you must be new around here" The woman leans on the bar table, her head supported by her hand that's placed on the said table.

"I am new around here, yeah." Vash confirms, leaning up to her with his elbow on the counter, grinning widely " ...So what do they call you around here, doll?"

the woman chuckles, leaning up to Vash's face as if in a sort of game, not backing down from his advances "Y/n, Y/n Loverose." she answers as she placed her glass on the countertop, the bartender automatically refilling her glass. "So, your new around here." y/n leans back, swirling the ice on her glass before taking a sip. "Welcome to the City of Febrari, Mr. Vash."

"Well, call me Vash." Vash corrects before leaning up to her once more "...So tell me, y/n. What is a dame like you up to in a place like this?" 

"I guess you could say...for business" y/n trails off as she swirls the ice on her glass.

"Oh, What kinda business we talkin'?" Vash nods at the bartender "Another for me, please. And for the lady, whatever she's having." The bartender looks at y/n strangely, as if looking for permission, as she simply nods while giggling.

The bartender looks at Y/n strangely, as if looking for permission, as she simply chuckles "Thomas Buffalos wings and two more whiskeys on the rocks." Y/n orders, as the Bartender writes it down for the kitchen and gives them the drinks.

Vash then lifts his drink, as Y/n does the same, clinking glasses with him "Cheers." they both say before taking a sip "So..." Vash uses his charming smile again, wiggling his eyebrows at the girl "...You seem to know the place well. Been here a while, ma'am?"

"You could say that I'm here all the time" Y/n smiles, as the Bartender served the buffalo wings.

"A regular, then?" Vash concluded, before looking at the wings "Ooh, Buffalo wings! Not many places you can get those still..." Takes a bite and starts to talk with his mouth full "I'm sure a girl as pretty as you have got all the right connections..." Vash eluded, before winking at her.

"You could say that again" Y/n smiles as a waiter suddenly approached her, and began whispering in her ear.

Vash became curious about this "Looks like you made yourself some...friends. You get that a lot, huh?" Vash smirks before taking another bite "I bet a pretty lady like you never has to pay for drinks or food around here."

Y/n nods as the Waiter finishes whispering to her and he goes back to work "Of course I don't" Y/n smiles flirtily at Vash before standing up from the barstool "I'm quite the special girl around here, Vash~" Y/n places a finger on his adam's apple, tracing it up under his chin, she leans up to his face, whispering it against his lips"I'm quite...irresistible, as the locals say~" before backing away, leaving him breathless "If you'll excuse me for a bit, Vash, but as I've said before, I'm here for business" Y/n gives him one final smile before leaving

Vash pants, leaning against the counter, and leans on his elbow, trying to compose himself " B-business or pleasure?" Vash stutters, Y/n's lips twitch at the thought, sending a smile on her way "Don't take too long!!" Vash calls out, trying to catch a peek at her figure as she walks away and disappears into the backstage of the bar's stage area "...I'll be waiting." 

Vash sighs as he looks at the bartender "...I hope I didn't push too hard, did I?" takes another drink of whiskey "I was just trying to be friendly..."

"You call that friendly? you basically assumed Ms. Y/n's a call girl" The Bartender deadpans, cleaning a glass.

"Hey, you can't blame a guy for trying." Vash tries to defend himself, finishing his whiskey. "Besides, is it really out of the question? She's pretty and knows the place well. I've seen it all before." Vash assumes, smirking "...Besides, she was flirting right back."

"You're a womanizer, aren't you?" The Bartender stares blankly at him, pouring him another glass.

"I'll have you know, I am a charmer." Vash...corrects, taking the glass "You can't expect me not to take advantage of my looks, now can you?" He grins at the Bartender "I'm sure you've taken some liberties in your day too."

"Not with that one" The Bartender points out as the lights suddenly turn down at the bar, and spotlights points at the stage, where the red curtains are still closed.

Vash Looks up at the stage with anticipation "...What's going on here?" his attention is taken, as he takes a swig from his drink

"Ladies and Gentlemen, due to unforeseen events, our usual Singer is out of commission for the night. Please enjoy this performance compensation from the Owner of the Rosebush Bar, the Nightingale of Febrari herself, Y/n Loverose!"An emcee announced before the red curtains parted, revealing Y/n in all her glory, as well as in a more modest, but still beautiful outfit.

Looks on in amazement, forgetting to breathe for a moment. "She's the Owner!?" Vash gawks, allured by the woman

Y/n smiles at the cheering patrons and the music starts

"I just wanna get high with my lover

Veo una muñeca cuando miro en el espejo

Kiss, kiss

Looking dolly, I think I may go out tonight

I just wanna ride, get high in the moonlight

I just wanna get high with my lover

Veo una muñeca cuando miro en el espejo

Kiss, kiss

Looking dolly, I think I may go out tonight

I just wanna ride, get high in the moonlight"

Y/n sings as she moves sultrily on stage, entrancing her patrons

Y/n sings as she moves sultrily on stage, entrancing her patrons

"Forget the small talk

The surface level ain't much that I care for

Putting on my lipgloss

I saw you stare from my peripheral

Yeah, baby, it's been a hell of a day

But I know a place we can escape"

Vash gazes at her with a dumbstruck look, his face slowly turning red as he watches her "I... I may be in love." he brushes the hair out of his face "...She is a siren, isn't she?"

The Bartender raises his eyebrow "That fast? you literally just met her" The Bartender looks back up the stage "and she's only started" Y/n kneels down near the edge of the stage, her finger under an entranced patron's chin, making him look at her.

"Find out how it feels to let go of everything

Be free

When you're here with me" 

Vash nods and continues watching "That's gotta be a gift, right?" He chuckles "She's got me just like that." He turns to the Bartender "...Well, can you blame me? I mean, just look at her!."

"Yeah, I'm not risking it all with that one" The Bartender laughs as he continues to clean the glasses Y/n lets go of the Patron's chin before going back to dance on stage.

"I just wanna get high with my lover

Veo una muñeca cuando miro en el espejo

Kiss, kiss

Looking dolly, I think I may go out tonight

I just wanna ride, get high in the moonlight

I just wanna get high with my lover

Veo una muñeca cuando miro en el espejo

Kiss, kiss

Looking dolly, I think I may go out tonight

I just wanna ride, get high in the moonlight."

While she sings she smiles at her audience.

Vash continues to gawk as he tries to keep his jaw from dropping to the floor

"Geez..." he blushes heavily, his eyes never leaving her "So she can sing too, huh? ...Do I even have a chance? I mean, she seems...unattainable..."

"Glad you realized that." The Bartender commented, making Vash send him an annoyed glare.

Y/n runs a hand down her body.

"There's nothing like peace of mind

And you take the time to make sure that I'm okay

I know I can put stress on your brain

You still love me, put no one above me

You always go out of your way

To show me that I'm your priority

Find out how it feels to let go of everything

Be free

When you're here with me"

His eyes continue to follow her with awe, his breath catching a couple of times while he watches her, he sighs "I can't even look away if I wanted to. She's magnificent." he tried to hide how much he's blushing "...How can a woman be this beautiful? How can anybody have a chance with someone like her?"

"Many tried, but all failed" The Bartender commented as the performance continues.

"I just wanna get high with my lover

Veo una muñeca cuando miro en el espejo (I just wanna get high with my lover)

Kiss, kiss

Looking dolly, I think I may go out tonight

I just wanna ride, get high in the moonlight

I just wanna get high with my lover (get high)

Veo una muñeca cuando miro en el espejo (high with my lover)

Kiss, kiss

Looking dolly, I think I may go out tonight

I just wanna ride, get high in the moonlight

Get high with you

Get higher and higher with you

Let's go to the moon

And leave behind all that

How does it feel, here by my side getting higher and higher?

Under the moonlight's glow

There's nowhere we won't go

Together go higher and higher

(No-no-nowhere we won't go)"

Y/n ends the performance with a wink to the crowd as everyone cheered, some whistles and all clapped while standing up.

"Wow..." Vash gawks as he turns back to the Bartender "You were right. That was a hell of a performance...And I have to admit. It is pretty...discouraging. I guess she's just out of my league, huh?" he smiles and chuckles "...I'm sure she is going to get quite the standing ovation."

Y/n waves happily at the crowd before giving them flying kisses, and the red curtains closed around her.

Vash claps along and smiles as he watches the performance "...Well, I'm sure that will get the blood flowing...is that the usual shows you get around here?" Vash asked still trying to hide his blush "...I'll be honest, I've never had anyone else catch my eye like she did. She's pretty hard to forget..."

"Your really quite the womanizer aren't you?." The Bartender asks, raising an eyebrow

Blushes a little bit more "...Yeah, I guess I am, I just can't help myself when I see a girl like her. How can I not go nuts? She's just...perfect." Stares at her and shakes his head, as if he just lost a sense of reality for a moment "Do you...know much about her?... Is she available?"

"I know that young woman from birth to who she is today, of course, I know her"

"You do? Then do you think I'll have luck with her...or am I destined to fail before I even start?" He tries to play it cool, but the Bartender knows the blush on his face tells a different story "...How many men has she turned down? I imagine it's quite a few..."

"Yes." the Bartender answers, meaning every man she came across.

"...And I'm supposed to believe I might stand a chance?" Vash chuckles nervously, "Well, you know what they say...You miss 100% of the shots you don't take, right?"Vash takes a swig of courage "I'm here for only a few nights...I guess I should at least try, shouldn't I?"

"Well, Mr. Vash, your not gonna win her over overnight, as you've displayed earlier, you're the kind of man she hates...A Womanizer" The Bartender commented as he heard a few patrons order two craft beers.

Vash lowers his head a bit, now feeling a little self-conscious "Well, I don't normally act like this..." he gives a sheepish smile "I guess she just...bring out the worst in me, you know? I don't normally act like such a fool. But I can't help it when I see someone like her. I've never had anything like this happen before...Does she have anything against men in general?"

"She may act like a sleuth, but Ms. Diane's a firecracker, she hates men with passion who objectify her" The Bartender reveals, pulling out a few beers from under the counter and sliding them over to the patrons who ordered it.

"...So I'm gonna have to change my tactics or...does she have a soft spot for guys who respect her and take their time to get to know her?" Vash asks while blushing "...Does she want someone that won't give up?"

The Bartender grew silent for a bit "Regrettably, yes."

"So...if I respect her and take my time getting to know her..." Vash trails off, before raising his glass "I may...have a chance!!" Vash cheers as he downs his drink happily.

"You really are smitten by her" The Bartender raises his eyebrow, making Vash flinch.

"That...may be an understatement" Vash raises his glass again as the Bartender fills it up once more "...I mean...How can anyone not get a little infatuated when someone sings and dances like she does? And she looks like an angel, to add to that."

"Well good luck with that, she's also known for her Legendary Temper, so fuck around and find out" The Bartender leaves to go to the kitchen.

"...That's probably why so many men have failed..." Vash chuckles and drains the rest of his drink "...Yeah, I think that will make it more fun. No fun getting the girl instantly." he smirks, trying to act cocky "...I've got this." Vash then noticed Y/n walk out of the backstage door, greeted by an eager crowd.

He looks at the crowd and smiles, taking a deep breath "Alright, let's do this. I've never been one to back down from a challenge." closes his eyes and gets ready "...Here goes nothing..." he walked up to her, confident stride with every step he took "Good evening. My name is Vash the Stampede. I just arrived in this town, and I heard about this amazing bar. When I stepped inside, I was...captivated by a certain someone on stage. I just couldn't resist..."

"Well well well, Mr. Stampede, this is quite the change of tune" Y/n smiles up at him, but there's hidden malice in her smile.

"Not a fan of my earlier display, huh? I hope it didn't leave a bad impression." Vash chuckles nervously"...How about you and I start from the top?." he then holds out a hand with a friendly smile "Name's Vash, Vash the Stampede. But you can just call me Vash."

Y/n continues to smile "Alright then, we'll start from the top."  Y/n tilted her head "But you must know, Vash, not many are as lucky as you~" 

A slight blush appears on his face "...I understand that I may not have had the best first impression...But I promise to stay respectful. And what better way to apologize for my earlier behavior than to offer to buy you a drink?" Vash offers, turning his head to the Bartender. "...So...what'll it be, gorgeous? Anything your heart desires."

Y/n chuckles "Oh Vash, you basically offering me drinks of my own, you'll have to do better than that~" Y/n teases as she walks to the bar counter once more, as the Bartender readies her drink.

Vash raised an eyebrow "Oh? I see this is going to be more of a challenge than I thought..." Vash thought to himself. "Alright, how about a toast then?" Vash offers, raising his glass "To a good night of fun and drinks?" Vash added, smiling at the girl hopefully "...Hopefully, that earns me some ground in your book?."

Y/n chuckles. "Sorry, Vash, but your gonna have to work harder than that~" Y/n teases.

"Darn, foiled again!." Vash dramatically cries as Y/n laughs at his endeavors.

"Can't say I blame you." He looks around "...I've got to say, you certainly have a lot of... admirers...And yet, despite all this, you still seem bored with all of them. I suppose they aren't interesting enough to keep your attention." Vash deduces as he gives a hint of a smile "...Or maybe they're just too intimidated by how beautiful you are." before losing himself, admiring Y/n, his elbow on the bar counter, his head on his hand, looking at her.

Y/n laughs as she runs a loose hair behind her ear "I guess no one will know."

Vash laughs as well "So...I was thinking...If all these guys have failed..." He takes a long drink and smirks as he finishes the glass "...Should I even try to woo such a woman? You've already rejected them all. That means I'm just...hopeless, right? So, I'll ask you again...should I even bother to try?" Vash asks, hopeful, but deep inside his insecurities are growing.

"Well, are you determined enough?" Y/n leans up to Vash, a finger under his chin, making him look at her "Are you interesting enough to not bore me?" She asks with a smirk "Vash the Stampede?" She whispers in his ear with a whimper, seducing the man.

The finger under his chin makes Vash blush deeply. A slight smile creeps up from the corner of his mouth, and he begins to stare deep into her eyes "Well...to tell you the truth..." he leans closer to her, as if challenging her. "...I've never met another woman as beautiful as you. I have many interesting friends and stories I can share...But no...I've never met someone of your caliber." He Takes a deep breath, his face is lit on fire "...So...yes." Lowers his voice, loud enough only for her to hear. "...I'm determined."

"Then try your best to woo me then" Diane stares teasingly at the spiky-haired blonde, letting go of his chin before running a finger on his red-coated clothed chest "But be careful, I hate disappointments~"

Vash blushes deeply and takes a deep breath, feeling the goosebumps on his skin when she strokes his chest "...I-is that a challenge?" he stutters "Well...I love a good challenge. I'm sure I can show you a good time and leave you without a single disappointment...I take it you're an easy woman to disappoint?" Vash nervously asks.

"Of course" Y/n leans back before drinking her whiskey I take it you've already heard of my 'Legendary Temper'" Y/n stares at him teasingly "I would have thought that would have chased you away~"

"Oh, please. A bit of a temper isn't gonna scare me away. That just means it'll be that much more satisfying once I win you over and calm you down." Vash smirks at her "...Besides, someone as beautiful as you could easily throw any tantrum and still leave me hooked. Do you think I can't handle it?"

"Now isn't that just sweet?" Y/n moves her shoulder, making her breast shift because of the movement.

Vash pulls back a little, trying to contain himself, but doesn't succeed "...Alright, you got me. I'll admit, you're absolutely stunning. I just can't control myself..." Vash began to blush deeply, his eyes roaming her body "...but I think I have the right kind of...stamina, don't you?" Leans closer again

"Oh? And to what are you referring to? Mr. Stampede?" Y/n teases as she also leans closer, her breast showing her cleavage, she knows what she's doing.

He bites his lip at the little show she's giving him "W-well...I'm more of an action man myself." he added as his eyes continue to travel across her body "...I enjoy a good fight...I think a fight between the two of us would be quite exhilarating." His gaze returns to her eyes "...D-do you think you could k-keep up with me?" Vash challenges weakly, still a stuttering mess to her.

"Oh?" Y/n fake frowns as she runs her hands on her body "You're willing to bruise lil' ol me?" Y/n pouts at Vash in fake sadness.

Vash smirks "Oh yeah, baby...Mark you up and claim you as mine- I-i mean, I'd want to go all out against you..." He gets a little closer, their noses almost touching "I promise to make it a good fight." He looks her up and down again "...I just can't resist a beautiful woman...especially when she's got the power to back it up." Vash commented, smiling at her "...Can I...kiss you?"

Y/n leans up at Vash, acting as if she's going for a kiss before stopping his awaiting lips with a finger "Apologize, Mr. Stampede, but I don't offer freebies to any man I just met~" Y/n teases, smiling up at the tall blonde.

He blushes when she stops his lips with a finger "Aww c'mon, don't tease me like that!" He gives a pout "...I wanted a kiss..." Before smiling and laughing for a second "Alright fine...I'll keep pursuing you until you give me enough respect to let me kiss you." He smiles mischievously "...And the more I chase you, the more you'll enjoy the pursuit, huh?"

"You are Vash the Stampede, after all, a man with a peculiar set of skills, You just have to impress me with those kinds of skills" Y/n points out, smiling at him.

He raises an eyebrow "Impress you with a demonstration of my skills, you say? Alright, sure. What kind of skills do you wanna see?" He seems curious "...You want to test my skills of violence? Of kindness? Of wisdom?" He chuckles and smiles again "...Or would you like to see a little bit of everything?"

"If it'll romance me into liking you, I don't see why not?~"

"...Sounds like fun. Well, what do you wanna see first?" Vash asks as his eyes travel over her body, clearly taking in her beauty "...What's the first skill I should show you?" he wiggles his eyebrows at her "The choice is all yours, darlin'. Just name it and I'll show you what I can do."

"Surprise me~" Y/n flirts as she leans onto the bar counter, smiling at him teasingly.

Vash chuckles and moves closer "That's easy enough to do." He wraps an arm around her waist and gets so close he's almost whispering in her ear "...How about this..." He gives her a kiss on the cheek "...Does that satisfy ya? Or are you wanting something a bit more...intimate than just that?" Vash challenges as he smirks and winks at her.

Y/n looks shocked as she touched her cheek "You should count yourself lucky, Mr. Stampede~" Y/n teases as she glances up at him "No man has ever survived wrapped their arms around me, let alone kiss me on the cheek, but note this, that's the very first time that ever happened"

Vash chuckles deeply "Oh is that right? Well then, I'm more than willing to take that as a challenge." He smirks, leaning up to her "...That's not even 1% of my charm, sweet thing. I'm just getting started with you." He leans in again and looks at her with a sly smile "...How about another kiss...but on a different pair of lips?"

Y/n lifted the corner of her lips with her eyes closed, as she once again covered Vash's mouth "Let me repeat it, Mr. Stampede, I don't offer freebies to any man I just met"

He blushes deeply "...Are you just gonna tease me all night? Well, now I gotta keep chasing you until you let me kiss you...don't I?" he raises an eyebrow again"...Guess I better keep showing off my skills in order to impress you, huh?"

"Show the right ones, get to know each other, and you get the girl" Y/n points out, smirking up at him

He nods, grinning "...You've got a bet," Vash agrees "...Well then. I suppose we'll be spending some time together trying to see if I can impress you, huh?" He chuckles and smirks again "...You seem like an interesting woman, but I guess I'll just have to work my way through your barriers. Is there anything you wanna know specifically? Or do you wanna just keep watching me in action?"

"I'd like to see you as is, it makes the whole thing more authentic" Y/n smirks as Vash suddenly pulls her closer to him, surprising her.

He pulls her closer, his face less than an inch away from hers "...Well, I'm a bit of a flirt...Is this close enough for you?" He smiles and laughs "If you want me to get even closer, I think that can be arranged." He starts to lean in closer

Y/n chuckles as she pushes his lips away with a finger "Do I have to repeat myself? Mr. Stampede?"

"Oh? Are we...playing a little hard to get?" Vash chuckles once more "Alright...I don't mind a bit of the chase. You're just too stunning to resist...It's gonna be hard to keep my hands and lips off you, though. You don't mind if I get...close enough to keep flirting with you...do you?" Vash asked, trying to push his luck.

"As long as there isn't kissing yet" Y/n leans up to whisper in his ear "Those are my rewards~"

He bites his lip a little "Just a kiss?" He gets a little closer and whispers into her ear "...I mean I think I'd want at least a bit more." His breath hits her ear, and a little sigh comes from him as he leans back up "...But I promise we'll get there." He smiles and looks into her eyes "...I'll keep chasing, alright? I'll keep flirting with you. Let me know when you're ready to give me...a little reward."

"show me reasons why you deserve these awards then~" Y/n whisper back before pulling away from Vash's arms, giggling.

Makes a big smile "...Alright you've got a deal. I'll show you why I'm worth the attention...But how do I start? I'll do any one thing you ask of me, any skill you want me to show. Where should we begin?" he grins, seeming eager to impress,

"How about I set a reward system?"

This caught his attention "...A reward system? Sounds intriguing...alright, I'm on board...So if I do what you want, I get to earn my rewards. What kind of tasks are you gonna set for me?... How many points must I earn? And what would each task be worth?"

"Well, it depends on how impressed I am, if you mildly impress me by giving me a gift, I'll give you a hug, impress me a bit more mildly, like take me on a date, then you get a kiss on the cheek, impress me a bit more you get a kiss, impress me, like saving me from harm, and you get a make-out session, and if you extremely impress me, like save the City of Febrari impress..." Y/n leans up his ear "you get to fuck this pussy, as you said earlier, Mark me up and claim me as yours~" Y/n reveals, smiling teasingly at him.

Smirks as his breath hit her ear "Well now...it sounds like you have high expectations for me. I suppose I should start off light and work my way up, huh?" He chuckles "So if I do something small, like...buy you a gift...that's how I can get a hug, right? ...What kind of gift would you want me to buy you? What do you like?"

"Surprise me, Mr. Stampede, guess what kind of gift a girl like me would like to have" Y/n stands up from the barstool and looks at Vash teasingly, "It's getting quite late, I say it's time for me to retire for the night~" turns to walk upstairs of the bar "Good luck, see you tomorrow Vash the Stampede~" Y/n waves goodbye, before completely disappearing.

Vash leans back onto the bar counter, panting at the encounter.

"Dear God...I need to marry that woman."

Present Time

Vash began to tear up, removing the kiss marks left by the two escorts earlier.

"I'm so sorry, Y/n...

Please, Forgive me."

(A/N: You can tell I have favorites? aww)

[helluva-hazbins]

@hells-musing-along  asked:

"Luci, Luci, Luci!" was Lucifer's only warning before Lilith leaped into his arms. Her arms flung around his neck as gleeful laughter bubbled out of her, not registering the haphazardly way Lucifer attempted to keep them from toppling over.

Her lips sloppily captured his in a kiss, the pronounced taste of bourbon and whiskey lingering. She pulled away, nuzzling her cheek happily against his as she chirped excitedly, "I've found you!" Her eyes sparkled with joy, wiggling happily in his arms.

Her calling out of his name leaves him with only so many seconds to react before she's draped around him, he gives out a light but low chuckle, it fetters off into a low hum remaining in his throat as he is prompted to take a step back and rebalance his footing while wrapping arms around her securely.

"Ohh, My dearest, most divine Nightshade~...what....mmph" and before he can ask what's come over her his lips are locked, it's not her usual, a tad messy, but the unpredictable delivery sends his heart pounding, something about the way it's a little difficult for him to follow and match up with her lips movements is a challenge in a way, a subtle surpising thrill but still he subconsciously returns what he can to her. Tasting the remnants of what liquior she'd embibed prior to this..makeshift ambush of sorts. Still, it lingered along his forked- split tongue, sweeter than anything he'd taste this night.

The sense of her face against him, brushing, warm and pressing gently, causes a flush of heat to bloom, he side-eyes, tail lashing once or twice. Her words ring out and the splendid nocturn, even in this state, brings a smile and a chuckle out of him.

"Darling~ my sweetest ethereal vision. Yes, you've find me~ It was simply agony being parted for as long as we were. Let's not make it a habit, hm~? Oh, and I see someone's been having a bit of fun without me toniiigght~?" He teases in a sing-song tone. "We should get you right on to bed, hmm~?" He gives her a squeeze around her waist and begins leading her to thier bed.

[husk-not-whiskers]

Ninlil would wander into the Hotel after her impromptu Lunch with Vox.

As she suspected, no one noticed her extended absence. Which worked out well, she enjoyed the benefits that privacy had to offer, she wasn’t an incredibly social being. Though she did make the effort when Charlie asked her, which thankfully wasn’t often.

She adjusted her carrier bag and wandered up to the bar. Aiming for the cat demon behind it.

“Husker, here, I have bourbon you requested.”

She pulled out a fancy looking box containing an even fancier bottle holding the precious liquid inside it.

“The distillery you wanted it from doesn’t have delivery… I had to go and get it myself, I hope you’re grateful.” She grumbled a bit.

Shuddering at remembering the eyes that stared at her.

He looks down at the bottle Ninlil held in her hands “that’s actually some expensive shit. I was expecting you to come back with cheap trash. Which I don’t mind, but thank you.” He takes the bottle from her hand. He holds it up into the light.

“You want some? Cuz this isn’t going in that bar. I’m keeping this for myself.” He turns around to grab some shot glasses

[bullet-prooflove]

Washington!Series Part Nine: Anytime, Anyplace - Captain Joe Milius x Reader

Tagging: @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @oureternalbond @witches-unruly-heart @shhoooketh @greenies-green @thandesa91 @atomic-art-dragon @irishavengersassemble @factualfic @mydarkestsecretlol @burningpeachpuppy

Washington Series:

Part One: Washington - You and Joe spend the night together before he leaves for Washington.

Part Two: Positive - You call Joe for the first time in two months.

Part Three: Tonight (NSFW) - You and Joe get reaquainted after two months apart.

Part Four: Family - Joe finds out your secret.

Part Five: Distance - Joe finds the distamce challenging when he misses your first sonogram.

Part Six: Kicking - Joe feels his baby kick for the first time.

Part Seven: Charlie 1 - Charlie 1 shows up on your doorstep.

Part Eight: The Right One - Joe wonders if he's the right one for you.

Noah Joseph Milius is born in the conference room of your workplace, one week before your due to date. It’s your last day and you’re in the middle of working a case when he decides to make his appearance.

The problem is the majority of the island is currently experiencing a black out due to a ransomware attack on the power grid, so all of the emergency services are slammed.

Of all the scenarios you and Joe have planned for this is not one of them.

Joe’s been back in Hawaii for over two months by this point and has treated preparations for the new baby like a military operation. You’ve enjoyed having him around over the past few months, the pregnancy has been tough during the third trimester. You’re heavier than you expected, less agile and Joe has been picking up the slack.

You’re fortunate that the medical examiner Commander Carla Chase is still on site otherwise Ernie would have been delivering the baby in the breakroom and you’re not sure your friendship would have survived that.

It’s two hours into the labour that Joe makes it back to Pearl. He’s been fielding the relief operation since the power grid went down. He may have missed most of the milestones throughout your pregnancy, but he refuses to miss the birth. He’s with you throughout the duration, supporting, cajoling, motivating until his son enters the world, wailing.

When he holds Noah for the first time, he looks at you with tears in his eyes because he never imagined the turn his life would have taken when you met. His forehead comes to rest against yours as he cradles the baby close.

“Thank you.” He whispers. “Thank you for giving me this.”

***

It’s a month later that you find the package on your doorstep. You’re coming back from a walk on the beach with Joe, Noah asleep in the stroller when you stumble upon the sky-blue hat box with a shiny gold bow on top. There’s no delivery note, or shipping label. It’s clear that it’s just been dropped off.

“Who’s it from?” Joe asks when the two of you are in the house.

He has Noah cradled in the crook of his arm, a bottle in his hand as the baby guzzles the milk. He’s taken to fatherhood the same way he takes to everything else, with enthusiasm and dedication. Having a baby has been an eye-opening experience for the both of you.

You suddenly have this tiny creature who is dependant on you for everything and at times you find it terrifying, however Joe is always there, a steadying presence when you start to have doubts. Being a father comes as naturally to him as breathing.

You reach into the box and remove a teddy bear dressed in a tiny Hawaiian shirt and a pair of it’s very own aviators.

“I guess Charlie finally decided to reach out,” You say before withdrawing a box of Cuban cigars and a bottle of top shelf bourbon. It’s your brand, the same one he brought over the last time he dropped by. “I suppose we should be thankful he didn’t break in this time.”

Charlie had an irritating habit of turning up in places that he shouldn’t. You’d come home a few times in the past to find him sitting in the armchair, a half-eaten sandwich on the table and a bottle of beer in his hand. You knew you weren’t the only one it happened to.

You recognise the gesture for what it is. Charlie’s way of saying he’s done trespassing in your life because things have changed, you have a partner now, a baby. He respects that.

Joe sets the bottle down before using the corner of the towel he has slung over his shoulder to clear the milk that’s dribbled out of Noah’s mouth.

You pick up the card from the bottom of the box, it looks like one of the ones from the gas station a few blocks over. Its glossy and cheap with a picture of a stork on the front. You open it to find a phone number scrawled on the inside with the words.

“Anytime, anyplace.”

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