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treedaddymcpuffpuff · 8 months

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Beneath Miles of Stone - Part sixteen - John Wick x Plus Size Fem Reader

Summary: John has been in prison for nine months. He’s content to stay if it means appeasing the high table and keeping peace between the owners of each continental. However, he meets someone who erases that willingness. Peace be dammed.

TW: mentions of death ; blood ; past trauma ; dubcon ; smoking ; drinking ; gore ; violence ; nsfw

Do not look at his dick. This is not the time. You’ve already seen it. Don’t. Don’t look. Fuck.

Either he’s pretending not to notice her blatantly starring, or he’s just not - okay, no, he’s definitely noticing - this is the hundredth time he’s caught her tearing her whorish eyes away.

She remembers something about having to pluck out your own eye if it sins against you.

Thank God there’s something else to distract her, and it involves him trying to get up in his own.

She jams herself under his good armpit again. “Let me help.”

“It’s okay,” he says, trying to gently untangle his side from her shoulders.

“No, you just got shot and almost died and you’re gonna tear the stitches,” she grumbles. “I’m helping.”

“Fine, fine.” He grins, leans his whole body weight into her for a quick second.

She buckles, grunts.

“I’m heavy,” he tells her.

“Don’t get a big head about it - “ goddamnit that reminds her eyes of an excuse to look at his cock again - “you’re all muscle. Plus, who do you think dragged you into my bed while your ass was unconscious?”

Her face burns.

His jaw is starting to hurt from all this smiling. Little warrior, continuing to surprise him.

“I’m not supposed to get a big head after you say that to me, tough girl?” He asks, letting her help him to the bathroom.

She almost groans, but doesn’t want to acknowledge the fact that her traitorous brain is now consumed by innuendos. About his dick.

He sees her face scrunched and he’s chuckling with realization despite the seize of pain in the left cavity of his body. “Oh.”

“I need to, uh, get you your pants.” She swallows thick saliva.

“Thank you, but do not touch the guns or the knives again.”

After proving to her that he can support his own weight, she leaves him in the bathroom to get dressed.

This morning, there had been a lot more blood in the living room. She’s damn sure of it. Gushing, bright, soaking.

Now, there are a few blots on the couch and the carpet - nothing that she can’t clean up herself with some Clorox and cold water and elbow grease.

This might be further proof of her slipping sanity.

Women bleed every month, and that blood doesn’t always go where you want it to go, so learned experience plus the sizzling pink peroxide helps her clean the red out of her living room and leave it Michael-branded-white-and-rainbow in record timing.

Pink peroxide smells bad, liken to that of burning asphalt and tar with a hint of cooked meat. There’s also a strange orange tang there.

It makes her nose crinkle and burn and lungs seize - like bleach and alcohol does.

Her wicked cough drowns out the sounds of the wire brush on carpet.

John pulls her away for a minute, holds a glass of cool water to her lips.

She drinks, eyeing him over the rim.

“Let me help,” he pleads.

Her glare means absolutely not.

“Just give me a toothbrush.”

A little smile perks her mouth. She wipes water off the corner of her lips with the side of her hand.

He needs to kiss her again, but it’s unsurprising since that’s the only thing he’s wanted to do at all as of late.

“I don’t have an extra toothbrush, John.”

Her protests are useless, and John ends up scrubbing with his good arm. He keeps flipping his wrist over to look for the time.

“Why do you wear it like that?” She asks him, on hands and knees buffing out the carpet.

“My watch?”

She nods.

“To protect the face.”

“From what?”

He looks up but doesn’t stop working on the couch, motioning to his bicep.

“Oh,” she says.

“That’s a start.” He wants her to ask him questions, but she has no idea where to begin. Or she doesn’t want to know. A little of both. She hopes he’s at least semi-normal. Maybe he’s a bouncer or a body guard?

“Just ask me what I do,” he supplies.

“Why do you want me to know what you do?” She asks.

He should be annoyed that she repeatedly avoids direction, but he’s not - the little, persistent flame in her otherwise kind heart enthralls him.

“Because I want to be transparent with you and give you as many outs as you can get.”

“Outs?”

“Like, chances to tell me to go fuck myself,” he clarifies.

She snorts. “I would never tell you that.”

He knows she wouldn’t - it’s a problem.

They both scrub in silence for a while.

“Does trying to give me an out mean I’m in?” She asks.

“What?” His eyebrow raises. There’s a deep indent on top of the spot he’s working at.

“Are we, you know, together?” She almost chokes down the question on its way out of her closing throat. But, if she didn’t let it come out naturally, it wouldn’t have at all. And now it hangs in the air between them like a ripe, horrible apple, glaring and paramount, and all she wants to do is shove it back down into her digestive system because of the way he’s looking at her.

He seems pained - maybe fighting with some inner turmoil that involves whether he really wants her or not. It makes her shy away from his eyes, tuck her shoulders in and turn her face.

There’s so much shit he wants to say, but most of it is nonessential and pointless. He settles on: “Yes, if you’re agreeable to that.”

He expects this to make her open up again, but, instead, she gets smaller. “I am.”

There’s supposed to be some formality to this dance, he knows. Just like opening doors and offering coats and pulling out chairs.

But those things are physical. You don’t have to ask stupid questions like “will you be my girlfriend?” when you’re sheltering someone with your own body, or kissing them, or holding their hand.

Actions scream loud and bright, words are trivial.

He abandons his workspace to invade hers. Plucks the brush from her hand and holds her shoulders. They are knee to knee, staring into the other’s eyes. And maybe the language of his touch is good enough to make up for the vapid question he’s about to indulge.

“Will you go out with me?”

She doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“Will you go out with me if I’m an assassin?”

She does think about that for a second, but her answer doesn’t change.

“Why?” He groans, leaning down to touch their foreheads together.

“Do you want me to say no?” Her tone is quiet heartbreak.

“No.” He’s quick to assure her. “I want you to have some sense of self-preservation. I want you to care about yourself enough to drill me with questions and make demands. And then, I want you to say yes. Because I’m a selfish prick.”

She smiles impishly. “Are you calling me easy, John?”

He laughs, unsure what to reply.

There’s a million questions in the depth of his eyes. She wants to answer them even if she doesn’t know what they are.

“I don’t care what you do. I did, at first. But only because I thought you were just trying to get into my life and make me trust you so I wouldn’t tell on you-“ she doesn’t mention the fact that she still kind of thinks that -“but, if that’s the case, you’re a great actor, because no one has ever treated me with - like you do. I’ve never liked anyone as much as I like you. I know that sounds stupid, but it’s true.” She’s never told him this, she realizes, and it’s because she thought it was already apparent.

“It doesn’t sound stupid,” he tells her.

“I’m sorry that I was so scared of you a few days ago. That I treated you like that - like a monster.” She kisses him softly, leaning up on her knees. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“I’m not going to leave,” he smooths her hair, trying to tame her worry.

“Then why do you keep looking at your watch?”

Oh, she’s referring to more short term commitments.

“I’m not going to leave forever,” he re-words.

“Are you going out with a gunshot wound and beat to hell to work again and be in more danger because of your condition?”

He wouldn’t exactly call himself beat to hell - just a few bruises and cuts and one little bullet in his arm that wasn’t supposed to cause so much fuss.

“I have to do my job.”

“You can’t call off if you get shot?”

Call off? His face twists. She understands the look.

“You tell them you can’t come in because of-“

“No, I know.” But he’s got an expression that says he doesn’t. Maybe, in theory, he understands, but in practice? Has he ever not been where he’s supposed to be?

A shifting memory of himself, feverish and scrawny and young - rattling bone - not an ounce of fight left inside of him, the sickest he can remember being, yet still excelling in mock combat.

“Can you call off from assassin work?” She wonders. “What if you’re in the hospital? So sick you can’t walk?”

“I’ve never been that sick, I suppose.”

“So a gunshot isn’t a good excuse?”

“Depends on where the bullet is,” he answers flatly, shrugging. “In this case, no.”

“John.” That’s all it takes. Her infuriating, desperate and worried voice. Her imploring, kind eyes. He already knew he was going to give in, but he deludes himself into thinking it’s because of her sweet pleading that he’s going to tell Viggo to find someone else on only his second night back.

“I have to make a phone call.”

————————-

Flesh for flesh.

He stays with her, and she comes with him so she doesn’t have to lay on grimy, bloody linens - so he doesn’t have to live with the guilt of her sleeping on his mistakes.

And, because Marcus is better at explicative conversation.

“You like Scotch?” The tall, thin man asks her, taking a drink from his own glass.

Her nose scrunches up at the thought. “No, thank you.”

Marcus parallels John. He’s all wayward grins and cheeky humor. She likes him a lot despite his blunt attitude.

“I know, it’s disgusting,” he says, taking another drink.

The first thing Marcus did when John walked through the door with a woman was scream, “finally! A girlfriend!”

She didn’t read too much into it, although the thought of her being somehow special did stroke her ego a bit.

The ego that was once a starving street cat who is slowly transforming into a fat house beast.

Then, he had grabbed John by the collar and dragged him into the next room. She wasn’t sure why, because she could hear him yelling through the walls anyway.

“What the FUCK are you doing, John?!”

A heated debate began about John’s stupidity.

“And how’s the lady in your bed, Marcus?”

Score 3 for John. Never missing, voice seething with controlled venom.

“The lady in my bed is fine, but she’s only gonna be around for one night. And I’m pretty damn sure your friend’s not a hooker-“

She hears something thud and crack, and tenses up. She has the cowardly urge to hide under the huge, solid wood table with the framing white cloth, but refrains.

John says something that she can’t hear.

Marcus clarifies. “No, you watch it, Johnny. This is my house.” His voice is more even-toned, collected, quiet, like he’s just become wary of something or someone. It’s not hard to guess who. “I didn’t mean anything by it except that you’re not the type for clandestine engagements. I know you.”

Another thud.

They come out with Marcus’s friendly hand on John’s shoulder.

“You need a shower,” Marcus tells John as they sit at the table with her.

“Did you tear your stitches?” She asks John, wondering if the noises were indicative of physical violence.

John narrows his eyes as if to say that she worries too much. However, his voice is reassuring despite the glower on his face. “No, they’re fine - You get any hits on me?” John turns to Marcus.

“A couple, but Viggo’s got that covered, right?” Marcus rolls his eyes.

“I need a safety net.”

“Oof , that one hit me where it hurts.”

John asks him nicely - as nicely as he can manage - to cut the bullshit and lay it out for her.

Marcus explains their trade with eloquence. He almost makes it seem docile and scholarly instead of the gore fest it really ends up being.

She’s pretending to be cool, here - keep some crumb of calm - but the freezing sweat and twisted, aching intestines are begging her to run.

Crime underworlds, an organization that predates all forms of government, safe havens for people like John that enforce key laws which cannot be broken.

“Why were you in prison?” She looks up at John, who has his chin in his palm.

His eyes slant down.

“Why were you in prison?” She asks again, more timidly. “Because you killed someone?”

“Someone essential.” John looks apologetic.

“Jack Wright-Mendell,” Marcus cuts in. “Owner of the London Continental Hotel. In every politician and oil tycoon’s ear from here to San Miguel de Allende.”

“Why?”

John wants to stop this; keep her eyes big and innocent and scared instead of narrow and deadened with knowledge like his own.

“A friend asked me for a favor,” John begins, albeit reluctantly. “To help her daughter. Wright was selling her to help pay back debt. And she wasn’t the only child he was exploiting.”

She didn’t think she could feel any sicker, but she’s wrong.

“He put a bullet in his head and sent a shiver of fear down every other owner’s spine. So they wanted to cage him, keep him where they could see him - under their microscope.” Marcus takes a drink. “”John Wick doesn’t piss without us knowing about it, that will relieve some of our fear”. He agreed to go to prison to keep a war at bay. And now that war is right on my fuckin’ Brownstone doorstep.”

“My doorstep,” John corrects. “You live at my house,” Marcus reminds. “My doorstep. And now this - “ he points at her - “what’s your name, sweetheart?”

She tells him at the same time John says, “don’t call her that.”

Marcus rolls his eyes, “you jealous, John?”

“Don’t. Call her that,” John repeats back, voice tinged wild.

Marcus apologizes to her, and he does look like he means it - if she’s giving him credit. He cards a hand through his auburn hair, flicks open a little jeweled trinket box, takes a cigar out, and lights it up.

He tries a pass to John, but gets declined. Then, he holds it out to her.

She shakes her head no, squeezes her hands together on top of the smooth, polished table, trying to think of something to say to ease John’s burden.

“If I have to be involved, that’s fine. John didn’t make me come here. I wanted to.”

Marcus grins toothily, leaning over to talk to her. “Have to be involved?” He laughs. “No, kid, you are already so involved that climbing your way back out is pointless. As soon as John decided to focus one ounce of energy on you, the nightman decided that you don’t get to leave without something in return - and that something is likely to be your life.”

Her throat suddenly feels horribly dry, like she needs the scotch. She asks John for a drink of his.

Her sandpapery tongue protests when the burning liquor coats it, and she chokes on the spasm.

John steadies her with a secure hand around her shoulder.

“Is that why I have to know all of this?” She asks.

Marcus shrugs and nods at the same time. “Guess he wanted you to know about the blade pressed against your throat sooner rather than later.”

“I would be deluding myself,” John tells her, “if I didn’t warn you about all of this.”

“Warning.” Marcus scoffs.

She blinks heavy at both men, one after the other.

“Say something?” John touches her wrist.

“I’m fucking scared.” That about sums it up.

Marcus tips his drink to that sentiment, then downs the rest.

John does the same.

————-

“Does the high table own you?” She’s tentatively thumbing through his modest book collection. Something tugs at her memory involving the gift she neglected to give him.

The sound of leather zipping over fabric draws the corner of her eyes to John. “No,” he says. He lays his belt on the bed, then thinks better of it, and moves locations.

Two forbidden guns in holsters, two shiny knives pulled from each ankle.

She tries not to watch him undress, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. From here, gaze half hidden by her hair, it’s the perfect view.

The shiny black end table gains more weight - his pants, shirt, jacket, shoes.

“Are you going to ogle me all night?” He wonders, still fussing with unequipped items, not looking at her.

Shame snaps her head back to the worn spines of Alexandre Dumas and Leo Tolstoy.

A thick touch lands at the base of her spine. “Sorry, I just meant,” John says, pressing the tip of his nose into a loc of her hair. “Are you going to just look at me, or actually touch me?”

A shudder works its way into her blood. “Do I stare too much?” She’s now afraid that she may be treating him like he’s an admirable, carved museum statue rather than a human being.

“Not at all,” he assures, moving pressure up her spine. “Come take a shower with me.”

“If they don’t own you, why do you work for them?”

“I work for the Tarasov Clan.” His stifled grip encircles the nape of her neck, and she leans back into it, careful to keep most of her weight to herself.

He’s not having that, so he tips her back a little more and cushions the fall with his chest. He wants to be the only thing holding her up.

She huffs. “Why?”

“It’s what I’m good at.” Her rigid posture explains that this answer is unacceptable.

“Leaving puts a target on your back,” he says. “The High table has fingers dug into everyone and everything. On some level, they control and influence laypeople, too. Come on, Let me get this dried blood off of you.”

“I don’t understand.” His open hand threads into the thick hair at the base of her skull and cradles her overworked mind.

“If I stop, I die,” John tells her.

“But, if you keep going, you die.”

“Not if I have something to live for.” He kisses her temple.

“Do you like it?” She asks him, and he considers playing dumb and asking her what it is, even though he knows damn well what she’s talking about.

No one else has ever bothered to ask him if he enjoys this blood paved path. Either people seem to think they know, without a doubt, that he loves it, or don’t seem to care as long as the job gets done.

“A part of me does,” he answers truthfully.

“I don’t want to be afraid of you, John,” she tells him, trying to fight her fear off by admitting it out loud.

“Don’t you?”

She has to think about it. Fear isn’t something you’d usually want in a relationship, is it? She can’t remember being afraid of anyone in the past that she’d been with; neglected by and taken advantage of, maybe.

She remembers being small and hiding in cupboards to avoid bruising hands, scratching and clawing and biting and then taking whatever was in store for her anyway.

The fear of running from something stronger and meaner than her. Was this the same? The same terror she felt when Benny cornered her in the break room?

She tries to feel it out, closes her eyes and dips her fingers into the slimy confines of her brain, gripping the emotion. Maybe she’s felt so much of it for so long that it’s turned into some other beast entirely.

John pulls the hair off of her shoulders with his other big hand, lets it hang down, watches her fight with herself and wishes he could follow in and help.

She’s trying to assess the type of overwhelming emotion he elicits, and it’s frustrating that she can’t get a solid grip on it long enough to properly do so.

She opens her eyes, restless and aggravated and defeated.

“Do you want to be afraid?” He asks again, cradling her chin while he rubs the back of her head.

“I think,” she breathes, mimicking his vague answer from earlier, “a part of me does.”

“Then let yourself,” he tells her, and it’s a revolutionary thing to say. Let herself be vulnerable and afraid? Let herself dance with the monster in the dark? Why didn’t she think of it before?

She sucks at the inside of her mouth to keep from groaning when his hand turns rough - solid iron and unyielding, gripping the entire back of her throat and permitting pressure.

“How’s it feel?” He asks.

“Heavy,” she shifts her weight and he takes the opportunity of her lapse in gravity to make it so her feet aren’t on the ground.

“Oh, John,” she chastises, “don’t tear your stitches.”

“Beautiful,” he hums, “you come take a shower with me, or I will rip them open with my own hand.” Maybe the little grin is too mean, but he can’t help himself from sporting it.

#john wick fanfic #john wick fanfiction #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x plus size reader #john wick #john wick chapter 4

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ginjones · 2 years

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“Your chest…” Hob whispers quietly, into the foreign space of a hotel room and feels the warmth of his breath returned to him, a lap against his skin. “It’s…softer than usual.”

A cool figure moves silently beneath him, a hand resting softly on the nape of his neck, and it pushes down gently to encourage Hob to nestle in closer. It feels wonderful. A perfect 15 degrees centigrade against his cheek. The voice, when it comes doesn’t carry like it should, given how the white walls have boxed them in and the grey carpet has muffled every would-be echo.

“The hotel pillows are insufficient.”

And Dream is right, to be fair. Hob can attest to that. He had spent three hours from midnight to 3am tossing and turning through growing increments of frustration trying to find repose on a preposterous mound of starched scratched pillows, masquerading as clouds.

That’s the first thing Hob always picks up on, he thinks. How other hotel rooms appear, even in their cheerful guise of comfort and relaxation. They are dead spaces. Unliving. Pre-packaged anew each cleaning cycle-the ghastly white sheets hardened with industrial bleaching. The bedside light spilling a facsimile of ethereal light but somehow always off. The wattage too high; the shadows it casts unknown.

This shadow however, this beautiful thing that appeared to him at 3.10am and wordlessly guided him to rest atop the comfort of a body is a facsimile too, but a knowable one. Dream moulds himself and attends to Hob and becomes, in simple moments, a conduit of pleasure.

“You’re a pillow now, are you?” Hob asks, nonchalantly because he’s too tired for the outpouring of thanks and gratitude he wants to bestow on this wonderful, considerate, frustratingly complex man-shaped entity.

“I am everything and I am nothing.” Says Dreams, true to form.

They are lying vertically across the bed. It’s an odd position but it allows Hob the opportunity to ruck the blankets over half his body, keeping it warm, while simultaneous enjoying how Dream’s chest feels like the finest eiderdown; a perfect cooling balm. And Dream must be regulating his temperature because its just the perfect combination. He sticks one loose and relaxed foot out of the covers and stretches it outwards to run over the cool metal beam of the bed. Jesus, its glorious. If he wasn’t so exhausted, that aching stretch might have spread towards his prick.

“And you’re staying here?”

“Yes.”

“With me until morning?”

“Yes”

“Well then,” Hob continues, snuggling further into the glorious, unimaginable softness of Dream’s pillowy chest. “Guess we could…” He yawns languidly, the sentence trailing off, “Get up for the continental breakfast…starts at…7. We could….if you stay…the Holdburne Museum is just around the corne…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. He is carried on a gentle wave into his first sleep cycle of the night-the Dreaming welcomes him with open arms.

#dreamling fic #ficlet #baby fic #the sandman fanfic #hotel rooms suck and I hate the pillows #hob gadling #dreamling #dream of the endless #the sandman #dream x hob

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lavandulacosmos · 11 months

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Inktober Day 27: BEAST [ATEEZ x John Wick]

Manager!Hongjoong, Concierge!Jongho & Assassin!San

The creak of the handset filled the lobby as Jongho hurried to mitigate the disaster already happening right before him, noting the blood and dirt streaks on the freshly cleaned floor. He was charging them all extra - only Seonghwa-hyung knew how to keep the Seoul Continental clean. “Am I a parrot to repeat myself?" Jongho asked, handing out a head slap to the rumpled assassin currently dirtying up the front desk. "I did not leave blood on the carpet," San defended himself, and Jongho just rolled his eyes even as Hongjoong let out a derisive laugh. "Oh, this will be good." "You forget your place. I am the owner of the Seoul Continental and I am in charge of the Gwishin. You don't get to question my decisions, only the High Table can-" "-but hyung you are part of the High Table too-" "- and the Red Cat's actions will be weighted and will be judged according to their rules, too. But not by you." Hongjoong said, voice barely above a sinister whisper and ended the call with measured force. The phone survived. Jongho sighed in relief. "And they think you are the beast protecting this place, Jongho," San whistled, even as the full force of Hongjoong's ire honed in on him. "You are lucky this is a neutral territory or I would be tempted to put some more holes into you." "Truly a beast," San chuckled and ducked low as Hongjoong chucked the phone at his head. Jongho knew it was another lost cause even before it hit the marble with a loud crash.

[ATEEZ days - Part 8]

Continuing the John Wick AU mini story from Day 25 & 26~ (Insp.: x)

#art #inktober #inktober2023 #ateez #ateez x john wick #hongjoong #san #jongho #atzsource #ateez fanart #myart #ateezdays #jonghomies #no rest for the wicked #or jongho didn't sign up for this #and neither did hongjoong #but this is what their organization is like lol #one more of this au (tho with a wedding tomorrow it will be late imo) then it's the final leg of the journey~

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bigolemantiddies · 1 year

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Mungrove Road trip! + Ghost Towns + Shady Motels + Shitty desert diners with the best breakfast for midnight.

OH darling this is so them hold on

The road just kept going. They hadn't known where they were heading when they hopped into Eddie's van with a roadtrip in mind, but every highway information booth they stopped at had maps. They could figure it out from there.

And in any case, wasn't the journey more important than the destination?

The fact that they were together, rumbling down the endless highway towards nothing and anything meant more than their landing place. Anywhere that wasn't Hawkins was the goal. Far from the town that wanted them dead but couldn't keep them buried, far from the people who looked down their noses at them for just being.

They brought only what they could carry, some blankets to keep them warm in the back of the van when they needed to pull over and sleep, as many tapes as they could cram into a box between the two of them, and snacks. Not enough snacks, but that wasn't a now problem.

There was always a diner when they needed it. Something about the magic of driving through the night sent them to buzzing "open" signs and warm pancakes at midnight. No one noticed or cared when Eddie fed Billy from his fork. No one stopped them from sharing the same side of the booth, or rested their eyes for a moment on the other's shoulder.

Or joined each other in the dirty bathrooms.

Billy wondered how long it would take for the magic of the trip to wear off, but it didn't. They talked, they sang along and argued about their music tastes, and the silence was soft. Warm. Eddie's profile lit from the sun streaming into the drivers side window, brown eyes sparkling when they glanced over and met Billy's.

The other shoe had to drop eventually.

Did you even know how many towns between the coasts were abandoned? Empty except for just them, ghosts of people and lives that also got up and disappeared somewhere else to continue their lives lingering in dusty streets and empty convenience stores.

They could run up and down the streets screaming. They could crank their music up and dance on top of the van. Eddie could plug his baby into his amp and rock out, Billy could headbang and yell until his voice gave out and no one cared. They could hold each other on a main road. These towns were theirs.

Every one kept a reminder of the two of them before they hit the road again. Held their whispered promises in the silence of their abandoned buildings, listened to their moans and cries and not a person would care. They carved their names into the sides of houses, a hopeful dream they could come back to someday. Or that someone like them would see "Eddie and Billy 4ever" carved into a heart and know they weren't alone.

When they were lucky, they could rest their heads on lumpy polyester mattresses, motels that were used to two men renting a single bed room.

Luxury wrapped in dingy carpets and smoke stained curtains. Two grown men couldn't really fit in the stained tub together, but they made it work. Poured the small free shampoo bottle into the water and pretended it was a jaccuzzi. They took advantage of being clean together, scrubbing the dirt of the road off each other's arms, carefully combing through each others curls, letting soapy hands wander and find each others pleasure.

Curled up under their own blankets on top of a bed that probably should be condemned, they found home. They fell asleep with their fingers entwined, lips inches apart, hearts beating together.

And a continental breakfast of a shitty muffin and bad coffee waiting for them in the morning.

There was no going back, for them. The only way forward was together, and Billy never wanted to leave the road. Never wanted to leave the safety of Eddie's van, of Eddie's arms, never wanted to share him with the real world ever again.

They didn't deserve him.

The magic showed no sign of wearing off, the brilliance and shine that was Eddie's love just warmed Billy and made him crave for more. Even when they finally made it to the california coast and Billy's salt water tears could find their way to the ocean he knew, they just went back to their van and drove along.

There were more abandoned towns to find. More dingy motels to fuck in. The world could wait a little longer.

#mungrove #eddie munson #billy hargrove #billy eddie #posting this to ao3

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miiilowo · 1 year

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IM SORRY FOR FORGETTING ABT THE FISH FOR YESTERDAY i was cleaning my closet out. :] my back hurts now. so heres a 2 for 1

The whale shark (Rhincodon typus) is a slow-moving, filter-feeding carpet shark and the largest known extant fish species. The largest confirmed individual had a length of 18.8 m (61.7 ft). The whale shark holds many records for size in the animal kingdom, most notably being by far the largest living nonmammalian vertebrate. It is the sole member of the genus Rhincodon and the only extant member of the family Rhincodontidae, which belongs to the subclass Elasmobranchii in the class Chondrichthyes. Before 1984 it was classified as Rhiniodon into Rhinodontidae.

The whale shark is found in open waters of the tropical oceans and is rarely found in water below 21 °C (70 °F).[2] Studies looking at vertebral growth bands and the growth rates of free-swimming sharks have estimated whale shark lifespans at 80–130 years. Whale sharks have very large mouths and are filter feeders, which is a feeding mode that occurs in only two other sharks, the megamouth shark and the basking shark. They feed almost exclusively on plankton and small fishes and pose no threat to humans.

The species was distinguished in April 1828 after the harpooning of a 4.6 m (15 ft) specimen in Table Bay, South Africa. Andrew Smith, a military doctor associated with British troops stationed in Cape Town, described it the following year. The name "whale shark" refers to the fish's size: it is as large as some species of whale. In addition, its filter feeding habits are not unlike those of baleen whales.

The frilled shark (Chlamydoselachus anguineus) also known as the lizard shark, and the southern African frilled shark (Chlamydoselachus africana) are the two extant species of shark in the family Chlamydoselachidae. The frilled shark is considered a living fossil, because of its primitive, anguilliform (eel-like) physical traits, such as a dark-brown color, amphistyly (the articulation of the jaws to the cranium), and a 2.0 m (6.6 ft)–long body, which has dorsal, pelvic, and anal fins located towards the tail. The common name, frilled shark, derives from the fringed appearance of the six pairs of gill slits at the shark's throat.

The two species of frilled shark are distributed throughout regions of the Atlantic and the Pacific oceans, usually in the waters of the outer continental shelf and of the upper continental slope, where the sharks usually live near the ocean floor, near biologically productive areas of the ecosystem. To live on a diet of cephalopods, smaller sharks, and bony fish, the frilled shark practices diel vertical migration to feed at night at the surface of the ocean. When hunting food, the frilled shark curls its tail against a rock and moves like an eel, bending and lunging to capture and swallow whole prey with its long and flexible jaws, which are equipped with 300 recurved, needle-like teeth.

Reproductively, the two species of frilled shark, C. anguineus and C. africana, are aplacental viviparous animals, born of an egg, without a placenta to the mother shark. Contained within egg capsules, the shark embryos develop in the body of the mother shark; at birth, the infant sharks emerge from their egg capsules in the uterus, where they feed on yolk. Although it has no distinct breeding season, the gestation period of the frilled shark can be up to 3.5 years long, to produce a litter of 2–15 shark pups. Usually caught as bycatch in commercial fishing, the frilled shark has some economic value as a meat and as fishmeal; and has been caught from depths of 1,570 m (5,150 ft), although its occurrence is uncommon below 1,200 m (3,900 ft); whereas in Suruga Bay, Japan, the frilled shark commonly occurs at depths of 50–200 m (160–660 ft).

really fond of the frilled shark i think it is lovelhy and a little ugly but that is what makes it lovely

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ourcherokeeinniowa · 2 months

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Non-Smoking Rooms: A Breath of Fresh Air in Hotels in IA

Travelers today are increasingly mindful of their health and wellness, making non-smoking rooms a sought-after amenity in hotels. As the trend towards non-smoking environments continues to grow, many hotels in Iowa, including those in Cherokee, have adapted to meet this demand. Whether you're looking for the best hotels in Cherokee, IA, or affordable options that include smoking rooms, this article provides an in-depth look at why non-smoking rooms are beneficial and how to find the perfect accommodation for your needs.

The Rise of Non-Smoking Rooms

Non-smoking rooms have become a standard offering in many hotels due to growing health concerns and preferences among travelers. These rooms provide a cleaner, healthier environment by eliminating exposure to secondhand smoke. Secondhand smoke contains harmful chemicals and can cause various health issues, including respiratory problems and cardiovascular diseases.

Hotels that offer non-smoking rooms also contribute to a more pleasant stay for their guests. The absence of smoke odor and cleaner air quality enhances the overall comfort and satisfaction of visitors. As a result, many establishments have designated non-smoking floors or entirely non-smoking properties to cater to this growing market segment.

Benefits of Non-Smoking Rooms

Health and Wellness

One of the most significant advantages of non-smoking rooms is the promotion of health and wellness. Guests who stay in these rooms are not exposed to the harmful effects of secondhand smoke, leading to a healthier stay. This is particularly important for individuals with respiratory conditions, allergies, or sensitivities to smoke.

Improved Air Quality

Non-smoking rooms offer significantly better air quality compared to smoking rooms. This is achieved by preventing smoke particles from settling into the room's fabrics, carpets, and furnishings. The result is a fresher, cleaner environment that enhances the overall guest experience.

Reduced Maintenance Costs

Hotels benefit from offering non-smoking rooms by reducing maintenance and cleaning costs. Smoking can cause significant damage to a room's interior, including stains, odors, and the need for more frequent replacements of furniture and fixtures. Non-smoking rooms require less intensive cleaning, leading to cost savings for the hotel.

Higher Guest Satisfaction

Guests often report higher satisfaction levels when staying in non-smoking rooms. The absence of smoke odor, cleaner air, and overall fresher environment contribute to a more enjoyable stay. This can lead to positive reviews, repeat business, and increased bookings for the hotel.

Finding the Best Non-Smoking Hotels in Cherokee, IA

Cherokee, Iowa, is home to several excellent hotels that offer non-smoking rooms. Here are some of the best options to consider for your stay:

1. Cherokee Inn

The Cherokee Inn is a popular choice for travelers seeking comfortable and affordable accommodations in Cherokee, IA. The hotel offers a range of non-smoking rooms equipped with modern amenities, ensuring a pleasant and relaxing stay. Guests can enjoy complimentary breakfast, free Wi-Fi, and easy access to local attractions.

2. Best Western La Grande Hacienda

The Best Western La Grande Hacienda is another top-rated hotel in Cherokee. Known for its excellent service and comfortable accommodations, this hotel provides non-smoking rooms that cater to both business and leisure travelers. Amenities include a fitness center, indoor pool, and complimentary breakfast.

3. Super 8 by Wyndham Storm Lake

While located a short drive from Cherokee, the Super 8 by Wyndham Storm Lake is a great option for those exploring the wider area. The hotel offers non-smoking rooms with comfortable bedding, free Wi-Fi, and a complimentary continental breakfast. It's an excellent choice for budget-conscious travelers who value cleanliness and comfort.

4. Cobblestone Inn & Suites – Holstein

Situated near Cherokee, the Cobblestone Inn & Suites in Holstein offers a variety of non-smoking rooms designed to provide a comfortable and enjoyable stay. The hotel features amenities such as a fitness center, business center, and a complimentary breakfast bar. Its convenient location makes it an ideal base for exploring the surrounding region.

Affordable Options with Smoking Rooms Near Cherokee, IA

While non-smoking rooms are becoming increasingly popular, some travelers still prefer or require smoking rooms. If you’re looking for cheap smoking rooms near Cherokee, IA, there are several options to consider:

1. Amber Inn Motel Le Mars

Located a short drive from Cherokee, the Amber Inn Motel in Le Mars offers smoking rooms at affordable rates. This budget-friendly motel provides basic amenities such as free Wi-Fi, cable TV, and a complimentary breakfast. It's an excellent choice for travelers seeking economical accommodations without compromising on convenience.

2. Econo Lodge – Le Mars

The Econo Lodge in Le Mars is another option for those seeking smoking rooms near Cherokee, IA. This hotel offers both smoking and non-smoking rooms, catering to various preferences. Guests can enjoy amenities such as free Wi-Fi, continental breakfast, and a seasonal outdoor pool.

3. Travelodge by Wyndham Sioux City

For travelers willing to venture a bit further, the Travelodge by Wyndham Sioux City offers smoking rooms at competitive rates. The hotel provides comfortable accommodations with amenities like free Wi-Fi, cable TV, and complimentary breakfast. Its convenient location near major highways makes it an ideal choice for those exploring the broader area.

Tips for Booking Non-Smoking Rooms

When booking a non-smoking room, consider the following tips to ensure a pleasant and hassle-free experience:

1. Specify Your Preference

Always specify your preference for a non-smoking room when making a reservation. Most booking platforms and hotel websites allow you to select your room type during the booking process.

2. Check Hotel Policies

Review the hotel's smoking policy to understand the availability of non-smoking rooms and any designated smoking areas. Some hotels are entirely smoke-free, while others have specific floors or sections for non-smoking guests.

3. Read Reviews

Read guest reviews to get a sense of the hotel's cleanliness and adherence to non-smoking policies. Reviews can provide valuable insights into the experiences of previous guests and help you make an informed decision.

4. Confirm Upon Arrival

Upon arrival, confirm with the front desk that you have been assigned a non-smoking room. If there are any issues, request a change immediately to ensure your stay is comfortable.

Conclusion

Choosing a non-smoking room in a hotel is an excellent way to ensure a healthier, more enjoyable stay. With the rise in demand for non-smoking accommodations, many hotels in Cherokee, IA, and the surrounding areas offer a variety of options to meet this preference. Whether you're looking for the best hotels in Cherokee, IA, or affordable smoking rooms near you, understanding the benefits and knowing how to find the right accommodation can make all the difference in your travel experience.

#Non smoking motels in iowa #Hotels and motels in cherokee ia budget #Best hotels and motels in cherokee ia #Hotels near Cherokee Iowa #Hotels in Iowa City

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sheinthatfandom · 3 months

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I’m so nervous about the Owen and tnt tournaments. I don’t even know how they are gonna plan these out and how to keep everything separate. It feels like they don’t even have many believable possible champs that aren’t already holding belts or out injured.

I think the biggest issue aew has right now they need to just give up on certain people. Yes you don’t want the other place to pick people up and use them better but honestly some people truly can’t be used because they overestimate their own worth. So the first thing tk needs to do is wipe anyone who refuses to be pinned off the fucking board. Don’t use them don’t bother with them. You have actual stars like mox and Bryan fucking danielson willing to eat a pin and willing to do it clean. I swear no one else is bigger than them and no one else has any leg to stand on to declare they can never be pinned cleanly. Dax is already off the board so that helps. But anyone else refusing to eat a pin don’t bother using them. Build the roster you have with people willing to fucking work. Build their storylines and characters the way that the continental did. I would say maybe move those interviews to play during the show too cause honestly those videos for people who actually went looking for them did so much to move character and storylines along.

I am gonna go into other things and ramble about underneath

As far as using the same people there’s so many people in aew alone there really shouldn’t be any crossover. There are so many people in roh they can bring up that there’s no need for crossover. And you also have 3 companies they’re working with that if they needed a big name for a certain market they shouldn’t need to worry about crossover.

They just need to build up their heels and I’ve said this for forever they have no heels. They have people they claim are heels but are really just an annoyance or exist behind a heel and don’t really exist on their own.

I think and swerve has proved that with literally his whole thing is that there’s a business know how that people need to be aware of when being a champ. Like you think about Kenny mjf Mercedes and swerve and they did so much work outside the ring they were on tv for other things they were getting like keys to cities and awards and walking red carpets. This is something I never thought of and now I’m looking at certain people who should have been a star who were so crazy over with wrestling fans but just weren’t even a blip to outsiders and I’m like there has to be some type of class or something that needs to be taught on how to market yourself outside the building outside the ring and idk if aew is big enough to just call up other businesses and avenues of media and go hey this is our next big star put them in something. And because of that I feel like wrestlers need to be the one to put themselves out there.

Which is why I think classes or something can help cause like if I was a wrestler I would absolutely not know that that was a thing I would need to do to succeed. I think a lot of people really don’t realize how much the world has changed and how audiences and media has changed and how much time has changed between say 1987 and 2024.

Add in the fact that social media honestly does not matter and how close we are to traditional cable no longer existing like all these streaming sites are trying to band together and make themselves cable to save themselves. But again like things are changing audiences are changing and getting fucking tired of always being broke and their money being thrown away. Wait what the fuck was my original point?

Oh the Owen okay ummm people need to be pinned people need to be used and have their stories and characters used and pushed and make them feel important and we need to have heels. Everybody can’t be a tweener or a face let people be bad. Christian is perfection at this. We need heels who feel dangerous who feel like at any moment they could fucking win. So build up more heels and let heels win and let them win cleanly. It will actually help the faces to have something to fight against.

You didn’t even ask for all of this but I just had coffee and missed my nap and my brain went blah word vomit so sorry nonnie I’ll put it as a read more

#loren gets mail #anonymous

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rapidhotelsupplie · 1 year

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Discover different types of OS&E Supplier in USA and their importance to make your hotel run smoothly

As the owner or manager of a hotel, it’s crucial to establish relationships with a variety of suppliers in order to ensure the smooth operation of your business. From linens and toiletries to food and beverages, there are numerous products and services you’ll need to keep your hotel running smoothly. The different types of suppliers you’ll need for your hotel are:

Linen Suppliers

One of the most essential types of suppliers for any hotel is a linen supplier. Your guests expect clean and fresh linens, towels, and other bedding, so it’s important to have a reliable supplier that can provide high-quality products on a regular basis. Linen suppliers can provide a variety of items, including bed sheets, pillowcases, duvets, bath towels, and bath mats. Some suppliers may also offer additional services such as laundry and dry cleaning, which can be a real time-saver for busy hotel managers.

Toiletry Suppliers

Another important type of OS&E Supplier in USA for your hotel is a toiletry supplier. Your guests will expect basic toiletries such as soap, shampoo, and conditioner, as well as other items like toothbrushes and razors. Some hotels also provide luxury toiletries as a way to pamper their guests and create a more memorable experience. Toiletry suppliers can offer a variety of products at different price points, so it’s important to choose a supplier that can meet your specific needs.

Food and Beverage Suppliers

A food and beverage one stop solution provider for hotels in USA are essential for hotels that offer dining options for their guests. Whether you have a full-service restaurant or simply offer a continental breakfast, you’ll need a reliable supplier to provide fresh ingredients and other food items. Beverage suppliers can provide everything from bottled water to alcoholic beverages. Make sure to choose a supplier that offers high-quality products that are in line with your hotel’s brand and image.

Cleaning and Janitorial Suppliers

Keeping your hotel clean and tidy is essential for maintaining a positive guest experience. That’s why it’s important to have a reliable supplier of cleaning and janitorial products. This can include everything from cleaning chemicals and equipment to trash bags and paper towels. An OS&E Supplier in USA may also offer additional services like floor waxing and carpet cleaning, which can help keep your hotel looking its best.

Technology Suppliers

In today’s world, technology is an important part of running a hotel. From booking systems and online reservations to in-room entertainment and Wi-Fi, you’ll need a variety of technology suppliers to keep your hotel up and running. A technology one stop solution provider for hotels in USA can provide everything from hardware like computers and televisions to software like property management systems and guest-facing apps.

Maintenance Suppliers

Maintaining your hotel’s physical infrastructure is crucial for ensuring the safety and comfort of your guests. That’s why it’s important to have a reliable supplier of maintenance products and services. This can include everything from light bulbs and HVAC filters to plumbing supplies and electrical equipment. Some suppliers may also offer maintenance and repair services, which can be a real lifesaver when unexpected issues arise.

Event Suppliers

If your hotel hosts events like weddings, conferences, and meetings, you’ll need an event one stop solution provider for hotels in USA to help make those events a success. This can include everything from audio-visual equipment and lighting to catering and decor. Some hotels may also work with event planners to ensure that everything runs smoothly and that guests have a memorable experience.

When selecting an OS&E Supplier in USA for your hotel, it's important to keep a few things in mind. First, make sure that the supplier offers high-quality products and services that are in line with your hotel's brand and image. You should also look for suppliers that are reliable, flexible, and able to meet your specific needs. Finally, make sure to negotiate favorable pricing and payment terms to help keep your costs under control.

Overall, the relationship you establish with your OS&E Supplier in USA is essential for the success of your hotel. By working closely with each supplier and maintaining open lines of communication, you can ensure that your hotel operates smoothly, and guests have a positive experience.

There are a wide variety of suppliers that are essential for the successful operation of a hotel. By establishing relationship with reliable one stop solution provider for hotels in USA in each of these areas, you can ensure that your guests have a positive experience and that your business runs smoothly. From linens and toiletries to food and beverage, cleaning and janitorial supplies, technology, maintenance, and event suppliers there are numerous suppliers that hotels need to establish and maintain relationships with. By doing so, you can ensure that your hotel operates smoothly, and guests have an enjoyable experience. To buy top quality cleansing bar (soap), click on https://rapidhotelsupplies.com/collections/hotel-amenities/products/15g-cleansing-bar-elan-organics-made-with-100-vegetable-oil

#one stop solution provider for hotels in USA

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waynejenkinswj54 · 9 months

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Continental Carpet Cleaning Google Business Profile Post

Carpet Cleaning Company Princeton NJ

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#continental carpet cleaning #carpet cleaning #carpets and rugs #carpet cleaning near me

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onyxbird · 3 years

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Question: What kind of hotel would Mr. Quinn stay in when he's doing a job (assuming circumstances of the job don't dictate something specific)?

Fancy schmancy luxury hotel (he's probably paying for it with stolen funds anyway; he likes the luxuries of jacuzzi tubs and room service and having someone come pick up his suits for cleaning)

Dirt-cheap and shady hole-in-the-wall motel (no one asks too many questions about his comings and goings; tipping / overpaying (in cash, of course) buys a lot of discretion in the right establishment; no one's gonna notice an extra stain or two on the ancient carpet/upholstery if he happens to be a little bloody when he gets back)

Basic midscale hotel (no one expects a hitman to be staying in the Comfort Inn between a weary businessman and a family on vacation; a guy in a suit doesn't stand out; he likes the free continental breakfast)

@darkfinch: Help me, oh Quinn aficionado.

#mr. quinn #leverage

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allinadaymovingservices · 3 years

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Cleaning Services Merced

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kirk-spock-in-the-impala · 5 years

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Between You and the World (5 of 6)

CHAPTER 5: Touch - Early Spring, Year 1254 (on AO3 here)

CW: mentions of hunger and associated weight loss caused by food scarcity; non-consensual touching (not sexual and NOT between Geralt and Jaskier); Geralt's headspace

Approximately 6,100 words under the cut.

______________________________________________________

This year, after spending the winter apart, Jaskier and Geralt reunited in Novigrad. Jaskier had received a lucrative offer from the family of one of his schoolmates from Oxenfurt to be the noble family’s bard in residence for the winter season – no doubt prompted by Jaskier’s recent win at the Bardic Continental Championships – so Geralt had returned to spend the winter as usual with his fellow witchers in Kaer Morhen.

After the long, dark winter had finally started to lift and the snow cleared from the mountain pass, Geralt had set out from Kaer Morhen to make the several weeks long trek across the Continent to Novigrad with Roach, clearing up minor contracts along the way. The winter past had been a long and hard one, bitter cold and heavy snows resulted in a lean spring, with many plants and animals having failed to survive the winter. It would be a difficult growing season and villages would face a run of hungry weeks before the spring crops flourished.

When such conditions struck, merchants and innkeepers were unwilling to share their food stocks with a Witcher, preferring to keep the valuable goods for “good human folk”, as one particularly outspoken merchant had put it. Geralt was used to such a reaction and had packed as much as he could carry to tide himself over until he reached Novigrad. Strips of jerky, dried fruits, and hard biscuits from Kaer Morhen’s stores shared limited saddle bag space with Roach’s oats on his ride out from the old keep, but he could only carry enough for half the journey – less if he failed to strictly ration himself – so he alternated hunting with eating from his stores.

With harsh spring conditions following a bitter winter, hunting days often ended as fasting days, and Geralt quickly turned from lean to thin, what little fat he carried burning away to keep his body moving. He wouldn’t die from the lack, witchers could survive long periods of total deprivation, but he was looking forward to the fresh, warm meals he would share with Jaskier in Novigrad before they set out on the Path once more. Perhaps they could spend the next winter together again in Oxenfurt. Geralt could never abandon his Path, but Jaskier had shown him that little breaks, little indulgences, could brighten his existence without threatening his purpose. Geralt’s heart warmed and a small, private smile crossed his face as he thought of his friend, fond memories lending eager anticipation his journey.

Geralt reached Novigrad on a blustery, overcast day, soaked through and covered in mud from the heavy rains that had followed him the past several leagues. The sea breeze was bracing and flocks of gulls screamed overhead. All around the large, walled city, hardy, coastal plants were just starting to come into bud and leaf as the days warmed from winter’s chill.

Jaskier must have paid the guard to watch out for him because he met Geralt at the gate, dressed warmly in a thick, woolen cloak and doublet, winter breeches and boots all new and of the highest quality.

Jaskier beamed when Geralt approached, embracing him firmly, headless of the mud and water soaking into his fine clothes. Geralt breathed in Jaskier’s scent, rosin and honey immediately soothing, and returned the quick embrace before following Jaskier deep into the wealthiest part of the city.

Jaskier had spent the winter with the family of his dear friend, Lady Annabelle de Rottermund, the daughter of Countess Rottermund, a wealthy, noble lady who had settled in Novigrad after the death of her dearly departed husband to be closer to the arts. She was a patron of all the bardic students at nearby Oxenfurt, ensuring the instruments, instructors, and facilities remained top-notch, and was known to employ a special favorite bard or two to provide entertainment for her winter social gatherings and elaborate balls.

Jaskier told Geralt about his season as they walked through the cobbled streets, sun just starting to peek through the heavy clouds, the sound of Roach’s hooves echoing off the surrounding buildings. He told Geralt about the thrill of performing for a large, appreciative crowd, about the many long discussions he’d had with Countess Rottermund about the history of the bardic arts, and about the slow, quiet hours he had spent composing and practicing, improving his craft day by day.

As they approached the large townhouse occupied by the Countess Rottermund, its large, stone façade taking up an entire city block and climbing up four, glided stories, Jaskier spoke of long nights, of endless days spent looking out the window, restless for adventure. Just before they entered the yard, halting Geralt with a soft hand on his elbow, Jaskier told him about how often he thought of Geralt and how glad he was they were reunited. Geralt was so touched by the words that he didn’t know how to respond, so he let his instincts dictate, touching his forehead to Jaskier’s and closing his eyes for a moment, feeling Jaskier’s warmth against him. As usual, in Jaskier’s remarkable way, he understood.

With a broad smile, Jaskier took Geralt’s arm and led him through the large, wrought iron gate, nodding to the guard as he passed. He showed Geralt the stable he’d chosen for Roach, a spacious corner stall with thick, sweet smelling straw, and introduced the young stable hand. After leaving strict instructions, and watching to see if the boy was competent, Geralt was satisfied and left Roach to be pampered, following Jaskier up into the house.

To Geralt’s surprise, Jaskier not only led him in through the front door, rather than the servant’s back entrance, but up to a large guestroom on the main floor of the home. Geralt was conscious of each speck of mud he left on the carpets, of each drop of rainwater he left in his wake, and felt his shoulders tensing, waiting for a manicured footman to jump out at him in a rage. He slunk behind Jaskier like an old hunting dog who knew he was breaking the rules, trying to make himself as small as possible in the grand space.

Jaskier, of course, was comfortable as anything, striding confidently through the finely appointed halls and greeting each servant as they passed. This is the life he deserves, Geralt thought, comfortable, safe, warm, nothing like the Path. But he knew by now that this life was not what Jaskier wanted. For some inexplicable reason, Jaskier preferred jerky and campfires with Geralt to all the trappings of noble life. After all their years together, Geralt accepted that Jaskier’s choice was made, but he didn’t think he would ever fully understand it.

Jaskier finally stopped, pushing open a richly carved wooden door and leading Geralt inside the well-appointed bedchamber. There was no question that they would share, as was their wont. An enormous, four-poster bed dominated the space, draped in thick, soft furs. A fire burned merrily in the hearth, chasing away the chill, and carpets and tapestries ensured no speck of stone was exposed that might chill an unwary occupant. Off to the side of the room was a separate bathing chamber, an unimaginable luxury, with a deep, soaking tub cut into the floor, steam rising from the surface of the water.

Jaskier smiled as he saw Geralt’s attention latch onto the bath. “I knew you’d like that,” he said. “I had them draw it for you before I left to pick you up.”

Geralt hummed in appreciation, dropping his dirty pack carefully to the side of the hearth, far enough away from the flames to be safe, but still on the flagstones and well away from the fine rugs.

Jaskier continued as Geralt peeled off his boots and armor, carefully placing each piece by his wet pack to clean and dry later. “Countess Rottermund wants us to attend her for dinner. She recently acquired a large plot of land about thirty leagues up the coast and wants to update her bestiary and determine the best possible monster deterrents to keep her new vassals safe. If you’re amenable, I believe she wants you to visit the site and help oversee implementing the protections and training the village overseers.”

“Hmm, sounds like a long job.” Geralt said, stripping off his soaked tunic and leggings, heading toward the bathing chamber in only his smalls.

“A couple months at least, I would think.” Jaskier agreed. “But Countess Rottermund pays well and it could help save the villagers from running afoul of the local monsters. I’m sure she’ll tell you everything at dinner.”

Jaskier watched as Geralt settled himself in the bath, averting his eyes as he removed his smalls before stepping into the steaming water.

A knock suddenly sounded. Geralt started, eyes focusing on the outer door, which was just visible from the tub, but remaining relaxed for now. He was safe in Jaskier’s chambers and would only become concerned if Jaskier showed any sign of upset. Geralt watched as Jaskier opened the outer door, speaking to a man on the other side, before he stepped back and allowed the man in. The new arrival was accompanied by two young maidservants. Jaskier looked mildly annoyed, but not worried, so Geralt sat back in the steaming water, waiting to see what unfolded.

Jaskier led the man and the two maidservants over to the bathing chamber, gesturing for them to wait at the door while he knelt next to Geralt where he sat in the bath, feet level with Geralt’s shoulders because of how the bath was cut into the floor.

“Geralt, Countess Rottermund sent her under-butler and two maid servants to help you bathe and dress for dinner. I know it’s a bit heavy handed, but they’re trustworthy and it’s well meant. Are you all right with them helping you?”

Geralt studied the three newcomers in the doorway. They showed no signs of aggression or disgust, simply waited patiently with a blank expression as all good servants were trained to do. If Jaskier believed them trustworthy, then Geralt would trust his judgment. He nodded.

Jaskier smiled down at him. “All right then.” He motioned to the others to get started. “Enjoy your pampering!” Jaskier clapped a hand on Geralt’s shoulder and retreated into the bedchamber, closing the inner door behind him to keep the bathing chamber warm. Geralt heard him settle onto the lounge by the fire, pulling out a book and flipping through it before starting to read.

The under-butler, a portly man in his late middle age, bowed slightly to Geralt. “Master Witcher, I am Boris and these two maids are Agnes and Catherine.” He said, gesturing to each young woman in turn. “We are here to help you bathe and dress for the dinner with Countess Rottermund tonight.”

Boris rolled up his sleeves and lined the edge of the bath with towels while the two maids prepared bath oils, brushes, sponges, and scrubs. The scent of the various products merged together, strong enough individually, but together they gave Geralt a slight headache. He ignored it. It wouldn’t do to offend Jaskier’s patron over something so insignificant as bathing products.

Geralt ducked down under the water, wetting his hair thoroughly. He hadn’t had a bath since leaving Kaer Morhen, and the dirt, monster blood, and body oil left his hair a dull, knotted mass. It would take some serious work to make it presentable. Under the water, he scraped his fingers through his thick, white hair, dragging his long nails across his scalp to try and loosen the matting.

When he surfaced, Boris was behind him, a large bar of oil soap in his hand. Soap was uncommon given its expense, so the Countess was clearly invested in making sure Geralt was as clean as possible before meeting him. Geralt started to see Boris looming in his blind spot, but quickly suppressed it, turning and reaching out a hand for the soap.

Boris pulled it back. “No, no,” he said. He knelt behind Geralt, soap in hand, and gestured for him to face forward. “I am here to assist with your bathing.”

Geralt glared up at him. “I can bathe myself.”

Boris placed a hand on Geralt’s shoulder and spun him around. Geralt flinched at the contact, but allowed Boris to move him, unwilling to risk hurting him or appearing aggressive. Boris dumped a small basin of water over Geralt’s head and followed it immediately with the bar of oil soap, scrubbing it into Geralt’s hair.

Geralt sat forward and away from Boris’s ministrations. “Stop it!” He said sharply, unable to keep the growl from his voice. “I can bathe myself!”

Boris frowned at him, looking down at him much as he would at a dog who peed on the Countess’s carpet. “This resistance is most unbecoming, Master Witcher. Countess Rottermund instructed us to assist with your bathing and dressing to ensure you were presentable. We will not allow this behavior to interfere with the performance of our duties!” His voice sharped toward the end, frustration and distaste breaking through his professional demeanor.

Agnes whispered to Catherine behind the stack of towels she was holding, assuming Geralt couldn’t hear them. “Given the state of him, I wonder if he’s ever had a bath!” Geralt could hear Catherine titter in response.

Geralt turned his glare on Agnes, making it clear he heard every word. She gave him an insincere nod of apology.

With Geralt’s attention on Agnes, Boris again grabbed his shoulder from behind, pulling him back to sit against the back of the tub. Geralt flinched at the contact, but again allowed it. Boris was a human, and a servant of Jaskier’s patron, and Geralt couldn’t risk resisting and being cast as an aggressor.

Geralt clenched his teeth until his jaw cramped, but forced himself to stay still as Boris resumed his work soaping up Geralt’s hair. Boris’s frustration with Geralt was clear in the rough way he scrubbed the soap in to the matted locks. As he worked, he looked up toward the maids, gesturing at them with a flick of his double chin.

Agnes and Caroline immediately complied, leaving the fresh towels to the side of the chamber and coming to kneel by the edge of in-ground tub, one on each side of Geralt. They rolled up their sleeves and, with clear looks of distaste, each reached into the tub and grabbed one of Geralt’s legs, lifting them up onto the edge of the tub.

Geralt fought the urge to pull away, fists clenching under the water. “What are you doing now?” Geralt ground out, careful to keep his voice calm, quiet, unintimidating.

Caroline looked down at him, a haughty look on her thin face as she scooped some strongly-scented sea salt scrub onto a foot brush. “Helping you bathe, of course, Master Witcher.”

Agnes nodded, mirroring her compatriot’s actions. “You’ve been travelling so long and in such dirty conditions that we must help you clean up properly before you’re fit to see the Countess.”

Agnes and Caroline started in on his legs and feet, scrubbing at them with the brushes as if he were a cooking pot with caked on food. The rough bristles caught in his leg hair and the sea salt stung the small scrapes left by the hard brushes. They took no care to avoid the small, healing wounds littering his legs either. It took every scrap of control Geralt had to avoid kicking them off.

As the maids scoured Geralt’s legs, Boris continued his assault on Geralt’s head, pressing the oil soap hard into Geralt’s hair as his fingernails scraped along Geralt’s scalp, catching his sensitive ears with each pass.

Geralt felt trapped. With the way the tub was set into the floor, the three servants loomed over him, a maid on each side and Boris’s large bulk behind him, setting his hackles on edge. They scrubbed, scraped, and pulled at him, and Geralt felt himself starting to panic.

“Stop it!” He demanded. “I don’t need your help!”

Boris pulled hard on his ear, pinching it like he would an unruly child, servant’s blank breaking and letting his disgust of Geralt come through in his tone. “Enough of that! You may be satisfied living like an animal, but we will not subject our Lady to your filth!” Agnes and Caroline tittered, sneering down at Geralt.

Geralt’s heart rate rapidly elevated, his pupils narrowing as his adrenaline soared. It was too much; it was all too much. He was exhausted and hungry, unused to human touch or contact after his winter away and his long journey alone. He couldn’t fight back, couldn’t physically resist and risk hurting them, so he was trapped in the tub, under and beneath antagonists who forced their rough touches upon him in the name of following orders.

He’d asked them to stop, demanded that they stop, and yet they refused. To leave the tub, he would need to physically move at least one of the servants. The risk of that was unacceptable.

His vision tunneled, body taut with tension. The servants continued their unwanted ministrations, uncaring of his distress or of his clearly stated lack of consent to their touch, pleased that he finally ceased moving.

Tell me before it becomes too much. The memory of Jaskier’s voice cut through Geralt’s rising panic. He drew a breath and called out before he lost his words.

“Jaskier!”

His panic must have been evident in his tone because he heard Jaskier’s book fall to the floor as his footsteps raced across the chamber outside. Jaskier flung open the door to the bathing chamber, taking in the scene. Geralt was surrounded on all sides, Boris behind him with his hands in Geralt’s hair, Agnes and Caroline on the edges, each scrubbing roughly at one of Geralt’s legs with a brush.

Geralt’s eyes were wide and wild, his pupils pinpricks. He looked up as Jaskier entered, deep lines of tension cutting across his face, begging Jaskier for help without words.

Jaskier felt a calm rage settle over him. “Leave us.” He commanded, looking every inch the Viscount he was, voice demanding obedience.

Boris stood immediately, bowing to Jaskier. “My Lord, we have orders to ensure Master Witcher is prepared for the dinner with Countess Rottermund tonight.”

Jaskier’s eyes narrowed, managing to look down his nose at Boris despite the portly man having nearly half a head on him in height. “Do you doubt my ability to prepare Master Geralt properly?” He demanded, emphasizing Boris’s failure to afford Geralt the respect of calling him by name.

Boris swallowed hard, his smile gaining an obsequious edge. “Of course not, my Lord.”

“Then go.” Jaskier ordered, stepping away from the door in clear command.

Boris bowed, gesturing for the maids to obey Jaskier’s command. “Yes, my Lord. We’ll ring the dinner gong after the seventh bell.”

Jaskier nodded, watching all three leave, bowing or curtsying to him as they passed. After they’d cleared the room, Jaskier shut the outer door, locking it behind him before returning to the bathing chamber and closing that door as well. Geralt stared up at him as if he were a savior, tension melting from his frame. Geralt heaved a sigh and settled back into the steaming water, drawing his legs back into the tub, sinking down until the water reached his chin, white hair fanning around his neck.

Jaskier lay down next to the tub, eye level with Geralt, chin resting on his crossed arms, headless of the water soaking into his fine woolen clothes.

“What happened?” He asked gently.

“They wouldn’t stop.” Geralt said, his eyes regaining a hunted edge. “They just kept touching me, scrubbing me.”

Jaskier pressed his lips together. He had expected better of the Countess’s servants. “And none too gently from what I saw.” Jaskier said. “I’m so sorry about this, Geralt. I wanted you to have a nice, relaxing bath after your journey.”

Geralt sighed, looking down at the water before catching Jaskier’s remorseful gaze. “I still can, I think.” He offered a small smile, quirking an eyebrow. “Will you help?”

Jaskier smiled, eyes softening. “Of course, whatever you need.”

Geralt gestured up at his hair. “I can take care of the rest, but I need help with this mess.”

Jaskier chuckled, shaking his head fondly. “You never do take proper care of your hair.”

Geralt scowled in mock annoyance. “Well, I’ll be sure to carry a bath with me next time I travel.” His lips twitched around a smile.

Jaskier laughed out right, poking Geralt’s shoulder. “You’re impossible,” he said, indescribably fond. He sat up, removed his boots, and carefully rolled up his breeches. “Is it all right if I sit behind you?” He asked, tone carefully neutral.

Geralt looked up at him, trust apparent in his open gaze. “You’re the only one I trust at my back.”

Jaskier smiled, warmth filling his chest. Geralt showed him all the time how much he trusted Jaskier, but it was unusual for him to say it so bluntly.

“All right then, lean forward a moment.” Jaskier instructed, positioning himself behind Geralt, one bare leg in the bathwater on either side of him. Once he was settled, he placed a gentle hand on each of Geralt’s shoulders, guiding him back to rest between Jaskier’s spread legs.

Geralt shifted slightly before settling, letting out a sigh of contentment.

“All right?” Jaskier asked, picking up the discarded oil soap.

“Hmm.” Geralt nodded.

Jaskier inspected Geralt’s hair, seeing the matting near the scalp and the small flecks of detritus throughout. Satisfied it wasn’t a lost cause, he worked up a lather from the soap by rubbing it between his hands before setting the bar aside and applying the foam to Geralt’s hair, rubbing it in with long, gentle, circular strokes. Geralt let out a hum that was practically a purr, melting back into the edge of the tub between Jaskier’s legs and closing his eyes.

Jaskier hummed a light tune as he worked the soap through Geralt’s hair, carefully picking out bits of detritus. When he was satisfied, he filled the small rinse basin from the tap used to fill the tub, and tilted Geralt’s head back to rinse the soap out of his hair. Geralt’s eyes stayed closed, his face relaxed. If it was Jaskier behind him, then there was nothing to worry about. Jaskier’s touch was both tolerable and welcome, soothing a part of Geralt that had lain dormant since his childhood.

With the soap rinsed clean, Jaskier uncapped the bottles of oil one by one, sniffing each before settling on a bottle of lightly scented lavender oil, hoping the calming scent would help ease any remaining tension from Geralt’s unfortunate experience with Countess Rottermund’s servants.

He poured a generous amount of oil into his hands before carefully working it into Geralt’s hair, finger combing out the tangles and patiently working through the matted sections. Geralt thought he might melt. Or fall asleep. Jaskier had helped him bathe before, whether because of injury or because the grime in his hair required it, but there was something different about this time. Something was shifting in the air between them, something that had changed with the embrace they shared back at the Alderman’s hut in Lindenvale the summer before.

As Jaskier worked the last tangles out of his long, white hair, Geralt leaned over, nuzzling his face into Jaskier’s clothed thigh. Jaskier’s hands stilled for the briefest moment before continuing to work, moving from Geralt’s clean hair down to massage the knots out of Geralt’s neck and shoulders. Geralt let out a sigh of contentment, relaxing completely into Jaskier and letting Jaskier take care of him.

As they heard the sixth bell ring out in the distance, Jaskier dropped a kiss on the crown of Geralt’s newly cleaned head. He reached for one of the towels, wiping the oil off his hands. “We have about an hour before dinner, so I’ll set out your clothes while you finish up, all right?” Jaskier waited for Geralt to nod and sit up before he pulled his legs out of the tub, drying them off before standing and heading back into the bedchamber. He left the door open behind him.

Geralt stretched his arms up, cracking his neck and rolling his newly loosened shoulders. He felt more relaxed than he could ever remember being, despite his earlier panic. It was as Jaskier had told him all these years, if he asked for help, Jaskier would willingly give it, and all would be well. He felt the slightest twinge of guilt at his indulgence, at allowing Jaskier to care for him, but he ignored it. Jaskier was his own man and he had shown Geralt time and time again that he wanted to take care of him and that he was pleased if Geralt allowed it. Geralt was even starting to believe that Jaskier enjoyed his affection and his touch, something Geralt had never dared to hope for in all his long life.

Geralt reached for a small towel, lathering it up with the oil soap and ignoring the rough scrubs and brushes, and washed himself thoroughly, scraping off the grime of his several weeks of travel that had been loosened by his long soak in the tub. Finally satisfied, he stood, pulling the plug to drain the tub, and rinsed himself carefully with the small rinse basin, letting the clean water wash away the last of the soap.

He stepped up out of the tub and dried himself with the thick, clean towels before applying the lavender oil Jaskier had chosen all over his freshly cleaned skin. Warm, clean, and relaxed, he wrapped a fresh towel around his waist and joined Jaskier in the bedchamber.

While Geralt had finished bathing, Jaskier had changed into formal dinner clothes, the cut of the fine silk doublet and breeches accentuating his figure and the deep blue color bringing out his eyes. Jaskier smiled at Geralt and gestured to the clothes he’d laid out on the bed.

“What do you think?” He asked. “I had the tailor make them up for you.” Jaskier had chosen a simple cut for the doublet and breeches, letting the quality of the thick, dark grey silk speak for itself. There was a subtle pattern across the doublet, embroidered in the same color as the piece itself, adding interest without being ostentatious. A pair of soft, black, knee high boots rested on the floor beside the bed.

Geralt hummed, pleased with the simplicity of the clothes but otherwise largely disinterested in the fashion. Jaskier didn’t take offense, he knew Geralt neither knew nor cared about fashion. His only goal had been to choose something comfortable and inoffensive.

He frowned slightly as he studied Geralt’s thin frame, concerned about the drastic weight loss. Geralt caught him looking and raised an eyebrow. “It was a lean winter, Jaskier. I’ll gain it back in due time.”

Jaskier huffed. “I’m not worried about the look of you, I’m just concerned that you get enough to eat. Can’t have you fainting from hunger during a hunt!”

Geralt snorted, taking the good-natured teasing as intended. “I’m sure you’ll fatten me up again before we set out.”

“Damn right I will!” Jaskier said, handing Geralt a fresh, silk chemise and smalls. “Go on now, get dressed before we’re late.”

Geralt shook his head fondly, but complied, pulling on the cool, soft underclothes and fine silken formalwear. The doublet and breeches hung a bit loose, but not enough to be sloppy, Jaskier having accounted for a certain amount of winter weight loss. The soft boots fit perfectly, molding to his feet and calves like old favorites.

Dressed, Geralt turned to Jaskier, spreading his hands in an unspoken request for Jaskier’s review of his appearance. Jaskier looked him up and down appreciatively. “You’ll do.” He said, smiling. “Now, come here and let me fix your hair.” He gestured to the chair by the fire. Geralt sat obediently, letting Jaskier smooth out his hair with a long-toothed comb, pulling it back from his face and tying it half-up as he preferred.

The seventh bell rang out in the distance, followed almost immediately by the dinner gong. Jaskier squeezed Geralt’s shoulders. “Ready?” He asked.

Geralt nodded, standing up and heading for the door. Jaskier stopped him with a gentle hand on his elbow before they exited the room. “Remember, if you need to leave for any reason, just tell me and we’ll leave.”

Geralt nodded. “I know you’ll take care of me.” He said simply, patting Jaskier’s hand where it rested on his elbow before opening the door for him.

Jaskier blinked at him, surprised but pleased by the easy acceptance. A huge smile spread across his face as he led Geralt out the door, his hand remaining in the crook of Geralt’s arm.

_________________________________________

It was near midnight by the time Jaskier and Geralt returned to their chambers. Countess Rottermund had set an elaborate table for their dinner, an intimate evening with just the four of them in attendance: Jaskier, Geralt, Countess Rottermund, and Lady Annabelle. The food had been superb and Geralt had eaten his fill, pleased to finally have the chance to fill his belly completely.

While they ate, Lady Annabelle and Jaskier had entertained them with tales of their exploits at Oxenfurt and giving Geralt plenty of ammunition with which to tease Jaskier in the future.

Unlike her servants, Countess Rottermund, though stern, was kind and treated Geralt with respect. He imagined the treatment was partly a result of her tolerant nature and partly a result of her clear and genuine affection for Jaskier. Whatever the cause, Geralt was relieved.

After they finished their meal, Countess Rottermund got down to business. Sipping a fine cordial, Countess Rottermund described the land and villages she had inherited on the northern coast above Novigrad. A distant uncle had died without an heir, and she was his closest blood relation. The Countess had never met her uncle and had never lived on a country estate, having grown up in Oxenfurt and then in Novigrad, and so was relying up her uncle’s old staff to run the holding.

She had been up to her uncle’s manor to meet the men he employed to care for his land and vassals, and she was satisfied they were trustworthy, but all had spoken about monsters plaguing the villages they oversaw. All the villages suffered from drowners given their proximity to the coast, but one also had a wyvern problem, another lost livestock to endregas, and yet another was devastated by noonwraiths. When she had reviewed the beastiary the overseers used to help protect the villagers, she’d noticed it was nearly a century out of date. And, upon review of her uncle’s accounting book, she saw that the last recording of a witcher being hired in the holding was over six decades prior.

And so, she explained, when Jaskier informed her Geralt was coming to Novigrad, she’d asked him to set up a meeting. Her plan was simple, but would require several months of work. She proposed to hire Geralt to update her beastiary, to clear out the monsters currently plaguing the villages, and to help the villagers set up protections and practices to discourage new monsters from taking up residence in her holding.

When Geralt had protested, saying that eliminating monsters forever was not possible, she made it clear that she understood monsters were an endemic problem, but that she wanted to give the villagesr in her newly acquired holding the best possible chance against them.

Ultimately, for a hefty sum that would last Geralt close to a year, paid half in advance, they settled on a plan. Geralt would clear out the drowners, endregas, noonwraiths, and wyvern currently in residence on his way north out of Novigrad for the season. Then, in the late autumn, he would return with Jaskier to her holdings, taking up winter residence in a small cottage by the coast in the center of her territory. Countess Rottermund would ensure the cottage was properly repaired and stocked before they arrived, and would arrange for one of her overseers to bring the beastiary to him, with ample parchment and ink for her edits and additions. Over the winter, Geralt would update and expand the beastiary. He would also travel to each village to meet with the village overseer and set up a deterrent plan to protect the villagers going forward. If any monsters settled in the area after he cleared out the ones currently present, Geralt would eliminate them for an additional fee.

It took hours for Geralt and Countess Rottermund to settle on terms, but both left the negotiation satisfied. Jaskier was delighted it had worked out and looked forward to spending the winter on the coast with Geralt. As they returned to their room, Jaskier chattered about his plans for the coming season, the songs he would work on, the dishes he would prepare to “keep you in good weight, Geralt!”, and how much he would enjoy spending that quiet season with Geralt again as they had years ago in Oxenfurt. He even promised to arrange for a selection of books to be brought to the cottage for Geralt to read, assuring him the library still had his record and would not send him something he had already read.

Geralt let Jaskier’s words wash over him, exhaustion creeping up as he prepared for bed. He removed the finery, folding it carefully, before flopping back onto the bed in his smalls and chemise, Jaskier joining him shortly after, blowing out the candles by the bedside.

There was nothing new in them sharing a bed – they did it all the time on the Path in much smaller beds than this – but the change Geralt felt earlier made itself known again. The atmosphere was comfortable and quiet, but there was a new weight to it. Nothing tense or heavy, but a new significance to their shared space that simply hadn’t been there before. It made Geralt feel like he wanted to bare his soul.

He turned on his side to face Jaskier, watching the dim light from the dying fire cast shadows on his still youthful face. Jaskier felt his gaze and turned to him, resting his head on a bent elbow, smiling gently. They were inches apart.

Geralt wanted to recapture the closeness he’d felt earlier, wanted to feel that same soul-deep contentment. He placed his hand, palm up, on the bed between them, offering what he dared not take. Jaskier immediately accepted, placing his hand in Geralt’s and squeezing lightly.

“I am glad we will spend the winter together again.” Geralt said softly, still afraid to speak his thoughts aloud, but made daring by the warm, intimate environment.

“As am I,” Jaskier said, smiling gently, affection clear on his face. “I am honored to share your Path.”

That touched something deep inside Geralt, and he felt some long-held fear, some long-held resistance, give way. He didn’t know how to express what he felt in words, so he let his instincts lead, trusting that Jaskier would understand, would accept what he offered in the manner intended.

Geralt stretched forward, closing the small distance between them and placing a gentle kiss on Jaskier’s forehead, mirroring the soft, affectionate gestures Jaskier had bestowed upon him in the past. Jaskier’s eyes widened in wonder, his mouth dropping open softly. Geralt searched Jaskier’s eyes and found only steadfast affection.

As Geralt studied him, Jaskier drew closer, resting his forehead on Geralt’s and synchronizing their breathing. He kept his eyes open despite the closeness, watching for any sign of hesitance as he gently, slowly, leaned in and pressed his lips to Geralt’s.

The kiss was soft and affectionate. Loving without demanding, passionate without burning. It wasn’t a carnal act, but one of the deepest feeling, the sort of quiet, eternal love built up over years of trust and companionship.

Geralt felt the depth of love Jaskier conveyed with his soft kiss and felt his eyes fill with the strength of his emotions. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to, he simply closed the distance between their bodies, winding his arms around Jaskier and burying his face in the crook of Jaskier’s neck, breathing deeply of the comforting scent of rosin and honey. Jaskier cradled him close, nuzzling at his hair and pressing soft kisses to the crown of his head.

They didn’t say anything further, they just breathed together in their warm bed, surrounded by soft furs, and slept, content in the knowledge that they were each exactly where they should be.

Requested tags for updates: @thesunshinemanman @animaniac1017

#kirk-spock-in-the-impala writes #between you and the world #chapter 5 #the witcher #witcher #geralt/jaskier #geralt of rivia #soft!geralt #soft!jaskier #jaskier #geralt/dandelion #dandelion #geraskier #gerlion #so many baths #fic

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spinningwebsandtales · 5 years

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A Vampire’s Bride (A Vampire John Wick AU)

Imagine living in a village where girls are sent up to appease a cruel bloodthirsty vampire every ten years and you’re the next victim.

Title: A Vampire’s Bride

Tags: Horror, Fluff, John Wick AU

Warnings: Intense descriptions, mentions of blood, death, and mentions of staking of the heart

Word Count: 5,059

(A/N:) Good morning minions and Happy Halloween!! I thought I’d surprise you this Halloween with the ultimate fic on Halloween for Halloween. What was supposed to be a small imagine blown up into a full fanfic! I’m quite proud of myself on this one and I just finished editing it last night, so I finished it and not a moment too soon to post it today. I woke a up a little earlier than normal so I could post it, cause I didn’t know if I was going to have time later. Ehehehe. Without any further ado welcome to my nightmare! Stay safe and may your Halloween bring you frights, treats, and wonderful horrors! Love Countess.

Your village was a quaint quiet place, where everyone knew their neighbor and always lent a helping hand. While your family wasn’t the richest in the village you weren’t the poorest. You lived an easy life and were quite the favorite amongst the young men of the village, only you were off limits. It wasn’t due to an overprotective father nor did you have any crippling disease that made you unwanted it was due to you being chosen as a young age to be married off. High above the village a castle stood watching and always waiting. Castle Continental didn’t take in visitors nor did anyone make the trek to see the owner who lived inside. In Castle Continental lived Count Jonathan Wick, a vampire who could only be appeased by having a young bride sent to him every ten years. You were chosen after the last girl went, everyone knew what happened to these girls but to keep the vampire upon the mountain appeased it was a sacrifice the village was willing to make. Tonight was the night you were going to be sent and your heart sank knowing that you were going to die. As you sat in a chair looking at your unmoving reflection in the vanity mirror you were primped and pampered for the Count like a doll.

“You look lovely,” one of the women complimented. Her statement went through one ear and out the other. You had no desire to be lovely, a corpse never cared if they were pretty, ugly, or anything of the like. You just knew that your cold corpse would be sent back the next evening, drained of blood, before buried in a coffin with a stake drove through your still heart.

“A lovely bride for a handsome count,” another piped in not wanting to be removed from any part of the one-sided conversation. Still you remained silent, looking beyond the mirror. Your once vibrant eyes were glazed over, like a doll’s. One last tweak of the hair and you were ready, and not a moment too soon as the sun was beginning to set. A carriage remained outside the building waiting for your arrival, the trek up to the top where Castle Continental would end around nightfall later in the evening. A perfect time to deliver a bride to the vampiric monster within. You breathed as much as your corset would allow you as you seated yourself on the plush cushions of the carriage. You remained alone inside the cab as the carriage driver sat outside guiding the horses to the destination.

No conversations were started, no jokes were told, nor any songs sung on the way to your doom. You were hoping at least the driver would ease the journey, but he was more concerned about the destination instead of the journey. So you sat in uncomfortable silence your heart hammering inside your chest in both fear and nervousness. A vampire bride, what a cruel hand fate had dealt you. Despite the situation you couldn’t bring yourself to cry, you cried enough the night you were chosen for the rest of your days. Your mother had weeped openly and she couldn’t be consoled, your father fought for another to be chosen only for him to lose. You sighed looking out the window at the dark skeletal remains of trees that had long ago shed their colorful leaves. You shivered in your bridal gown the feeling of being watched coming over you. The sun was holding on for just a moment longer until it moved over to let the moon shine upon the Earth. Wheels met cobblestone as your journey came to a close. The driver remained silent but the carriage creaked as he made his way down. Soles of his boots clacked on the stones and the door handle clicked. You couldn’t see his face as you stepped from the carriage, he bowed his head unable to look at you. He felt ashamed delivering you to death itself.

“Good luck m’lady,” he mumbled the first word he had spoke the whole journey. Closing the carriage door he left you alone to look up at the castle, the windows were darkened and the sky seemed to weigh down upon your shoulders.

Everything was quiet you almost felt like no one was home until you stepped forwards and the doors swung upon on squeaky hinges of it’s own accord. Fighting back the scream you held your head high and stepped across the threshold. You thought it funny you carried yourself over the threshold instead of your husband, but your marriage wasn’t going to be a happy one you knew, nor was it going to last very long. You almost spoke out trying to find any sort of presence that lived within the castle. Before one syllable could be uttered a man emerged standing above you on the steps.

“Good evening,” he spoke gently his dark skin shining in the candle light that seemed to emerge from no where. “I am guessing you are the new bride for my master?”

You nodded.

“Follow me please,” he nodded at you waiting until you conquered the flight of stairs. You felt eyes all around you and a presence you couldn’t quite place. It was as if the house was sizing you up, probably deciding how you were going to be killed. “I am the butler of this fine household, my name is Charon and the household manager is Winston. You will meet him very soon. He makes sure every detail is taken care of so the master doesn’t have to trouble himself. Wherefore I make sure guests are satisfied and the staff is doing their part in upkeep.”

“I see,” you spoke your voice cracking from your long silence.

“She speaks,” Charon teased stopping at a door. The door was large and took up the entire height of the wall, Charon knocked and just like the front doors this one seemed to open of it’s own accord as well. A large desk took up the middle of the room as two chairs sat unused by the fireplace. Paintings and animal trophies littered the walls, but the most impressive thing about the room was the floor to ceiling bookcases that took up both side walls. A silver haired man sat at the desk quill pen scratching at several papers before him. Charon cleared his throat and bowed in greeting.

“May I be of service,” the man who was clearly Winson spoke.

“The master’s new bride has arrived and I have come for your orders.”

Winston looked up from his paperwork. Removing his glasses his folded them and placed them neatly before him on the desk. “Place her in the same exact room as the other’s have been before her, have the maids bathe her, and dress her in crimson for master’s arrival.”

“But,” you stepped forward slippered foot barely making a sound over the lush carpet, “I’m already dressed and cleaned.”

Winston folded his hands, “I’m going to put this nicely, your perfume is appalling and master likes crimson.” The older gentleman smiled revealing pearly fangs. “As a vampire our sense of smell is sensitive and the women in your village bathed you in perfumes. We are doing no different than the last girls we acquired.”

“Okay,” you relented stepping back trying to hide yourself behind Charon. Charon bowed to Winston ready to do as he was ordered. Charon kept the door open to let you through when Winston cleared his throat as he still sat at his desk.

“I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name.”

“(Y/N),” you bowed.

“Miss (Y/N),” Winston smiled warmly once again showing the fangs behind pale lips, “enjoy your stay for as long as you will be with us.” Chills ran up your spin at his words hearing the threat within that you wouldn’t be staying long.

“Thank you.” You bowed as well in farewell.

Charon closed the door behind you without another word, you knew that following him was expected of you.

Walking through the hall you noticed how Charon seemed to glide across the floor, his visage was pale and his presence bled strength. Instead of thinking about being in a castle surrounded by vampires you moved your attention to the decorations upon the walls. Oil paintings were placed strategically against the dark red colored walls, as thick drapes covered every window. The sunlight didn’t have a chance to bleed through any part of the windows. Lost in thought you didn’t notice Charon stop in front of a large decorative door until you ran into his back. He didn’t move an inch but you fell back holding your throbbing nose.

“Sorry,” you mumbled.

Charon chuckled holding out a hand, “That’s okay. This place can be quite impressive, it’s hard to take everything in so quickly. If there’s time I wouldn’t mind giving you the whole tour. It just depends upon the master.”

“I understand. I’d like the full tour though, if I live that long.”

Charon nodded opening the door like it weighed nothing. Stepping back he gave you plenty of room to walk into your new bedroom. As the door closed behind you the room took your breath away. With a luxurious bed pushed up against the opposite wall, a balcony with curtains covering the window pane doors, plush carpets silenced your footsteps, and the atmosphere was calming thanks to incense burning in it’s holder. You allowed yourself for the first time to feel some sort of elation, running across the room you jumped landing upon the large bed with a bounce. Giggling quietly you touched the gown that had been laid across the blankets. A velvet dress of a deep blood red with black trim you couldn’t help but love the way it looked and felt. You ripped your hand from the material when gentle knocks rapped against the door.

“Come in,” you answered. Without a word the door opened and three pale young women stepped in.

“Excuse us,” they said in unison bowing to you. “We have come to help you with your bath.” One woman held a towel, another different soaps, and the last held a hairbrush and different hair pins. Without another word you let yourself be lead away. The bathroom down the hall was lit with lights and several candles, you were stripped of the white gown and placed into the tub. The water was still so warm it seeped into your aching muscles. With a sigh you leaned back wetting your hair and shoulders. The relaxation didn’t last long when one of the female vampires dumped water over you. You sputtered and they set to scrubbing. Before you knew it your hair was cleaned and you insisted that you could clean your body yourself. Leaving you for just a few moments of peace you soaked in the water trying to ignore everything that was set before you. A tear slipped down your cheek, despite all the lovely things that had been happening you were still terrified. What was this Count Jonathan going to be like? His workers seemed lovely though everyone you had met was vampires.

You stayed until the water turned cold, you were enjoying the quiet but you couldn’t lie to yourself that you were trying to buy time. The maids heard you exit the tub so they stepped in to wrap you in a towel and guide you to the vanity. You couldn’t help but feel deja vu creeping upon you as you had set before a vanity just this morning while the women of the village primped you. Unlike the towns women these three maids knew exactly what their master wanted and what he liked. Your hair was curled to fall in waves around your face, they painted your lips a ruby red, adding a little eyeshadow to make your eyes glow, lastly they helped you into the velvet gown. All laced up they stepped back from their work before the youngest looking maid stepped forward to pin a rose into your hair.

“Perfect,” her fanged smile caused you a sliver of fear but she backed away leaving you trembling slightly. Once again a knock was heard, one of the maids answered the door to reveal Charon.

“I hope your task has been completed because the master has asked for his bride. I do want to keep him happy.”

The remaining two maids moved aside revealing you to the butler who nodded in approval. Charon held out his hand to which you took. You couldn’t argue nor could you run as your heart pounded in both anticipation and fear. Charon kept holding your hand as he lead you down the hall to a chamber with a powerful aurora seeping through the door frame. You shivered holding your arms tightly around your body.

“Whatever happens,” Charon soothed, “it’ll be quick that I can promise.”

You couldn’t answer but tears were swimming in your eyes. Charon turned around leaving you at the closed door. You almost begged him not to leave but like a ghost he had disappeared, there you stood alone and frightened. Despite the fear standing before your husband-to-be’s bedroom door it was becoming quite awkward until the door slowly creaked open. Not seeing someone behind the opening of the door you became even more frightened.

“Enter,” a deep voiced echoed within. Despite your better judgment you entered into the darkened room as if in a trance. Halfway into the room the door closed leaving you in pitch darkness.

Your breathing quickened, terror gripping you in it’s tight hold. Hyperventilating you fell to the floor trying to crawl into yourself or the blackness around you. You wanted to disappear but despite the feeling you couldn’t. A presence made your skin crawl and when a hand touched your shoulder you leapt up with a cry. Scrambling away you hit your head upon a piece of furniture.

“St-stay away,” you screeched. Eyes darting around the room you cursed them for not getting used to the dark. The sound of a match being struck met your ears and illuminated a hand before the flame touched the wick of a candle illuminating the owner of that hand. Despite knowing what he was you thought how gorgeous he was. Black strands of hair brushed his broad shoulders, red eyes that seemed to penetrate deep down within you, he was tall, well built, and dressed all in black.

“No need to fear,” he cooed. His voice warm and smooth like honey, it had an effect upon you that you stood up from the floor. “I know you know of the fate of the other girls that has been sent to me. I do not deny what all I’ve done, but like any man I’ve have become quite lonely over the years. My existence is a sad one. Never dying always lonely.”

“You have others in this castle, that’s no reason to keep taking girls from my village.”

“That was to appease me, to slate my thirst every ten years. Do you know how many would have died if it wasn’t for the girls’ sacrifice?”

“Enough to appease you Count?” You shrank away at the look he gave you, the anger in your tone annoyed him.

“Most likely not.”

“And I the unwilling lamb brought to slaughter is now your next victim. Go ahead drain me! Get it over with I have been in misery since chosen for this homicidal deed. I can’t stop you,” you lifted your head exposing your soft throat. “Take my blood, toss me off the mountain. So I can be staked to my coffin and rot in the earth like all those other hapless girls did before me.”

He sighed his head dropping down in defeat. “I’m a monster, that I cannot deny. I thirst for blood, especially yours. Please hide your throat from me or I shall not be able to finish our conversation. Your very wish to be drained and tossed aside may come true if you keep enticing me.”

You lowered your head, tired of being afraid you stood before him in defiance.

“I tire of having one night with new company only to be overcome with thirst. You’ve lasted the longest of the girls that I have been sent. I long for companionship and I pray that you can give me what I long for most.”

“So you wish to keep me for several meals? I rather you take the one and let me die quickly,” you cross your arms still unwilling to budge. If you were to die you wanted it on your terms. Gone was the frightened young woman, your stubborn and argumentative side was rearing it’s head in the face of death causing the count to become flustered. The Count was upon you in an instant an inhuman scream ripping from his throat. With clawed hands gripping your upper arms he shook you. His elongated fangs dripped with saliva inching nearer to your throat. You screeched trying to break free. But his supernatural strength kept you in place.

“Is this what you so long for,” he growled lowly like a unholy creature of Hades. “To be killed by the beast within me? For a face of horror to be your last? What I offer is not several meals until I take your very life but to stay by my side for eternity. I long for a Countess to sit at my side to stay and keep me. I long for a family. But I would not simply make this decision for you,” he released you. “This will be your choice. And yours alone. Choose wisely.”

You trembled any fight you had left you, back was the terror you had felt at first. This was no ordinary man you faced, you knew that before but after seeing that display of power and monstrosity you regretted ever challenging him.

“I do not have an answer. May I think it over for awhile,” you fought to keep your voice from shaking.

Jonathan nodded, “Of course.”

“My name is (Y/N) by the way I suppose that I needed to introduce myself properly.”

John laughed. “It’s a pleasure (Y/N). As you already know I’m Count Jonathan Wick, but you can call me John. May we converse? I’d like to get to know you better.”

“As long as you don’t bite,” you teased still trying to calm your racing heart.

“Only if you ask me too.”

Lighting more candles John brought another chair close to the one he enjoyed sitting in. He called for tea to be brought up, the kitchen had stocked up for your arrival, which another maid you hadn’t meet brought to the bedroom. Jonathan took the tray like a gentleman and sat it before you. Instead of making you pour your own tea he set about filling the teacup before asking what you enjoyed in your tea. Answering every question calmly you took the cup from him before enjoying the first warm sip. You sighed seeming to melt in the chair. You hadn’t felt this comfortable since your bath. You felt his eyes upon you, clearing your throat you sat up straight blushing in embarrassment. How your mother would faint if she saw how you were acting in front of a man, though he was a vampire. You both discussed things, he told you of his past, you discussed books and told him your favorites, and conversed over various topics. Jonathan was very knowledgeable of topics that you enjoyed. Despite of still being wary of him you found yourself enjoying yourself. With amusement he watched you yawn and fight sleep. Dawn would be creeping upon the castle in just a few hours, he was surprised you lasted this long.

“Darling do you need to end our night now,” he asked.

You stifled a yawn again, “Oh no I’m very much enjoying it. I’d hate to end it now.”

“As you wish.” He agreed only because he knew that you were going to expire at any moment. Starting back into the conversation of the history of Castle Continental did you finally give up. You were asleep in no time soft snores leaving your lips. His shoulders shook in a silent laugh before scooping you from the chair. The door to his bedroom once again opened by itself, as did your bedroom door. Charon wished to take you from his master. He felt like he needn't bother with you but John wouldn’t hear of it. He wished to have you as his bride to stay with him forever he felt the need to watch out for you. Laying you upon the soft blankets he covered you before touching your warm cheek. He’d forgotten such warmth it felt like bliss to him. Kissing your forehead he left you to sleep.

You slept until mid afternoon, the sun was high above the castle and everything was silent. You were used to the bustle of the village that the silence seemed a little eerie. Though you felt silly, you were in a vampire’s castle. Moving your blankets your stomach growled. Down the stairs you went looking for the kitchen, you hated that you didn’t get that full tour Charon offered. Exploring seemed to be on your agenda with the goal in mind to find the kitchen. You roamed the halls finding a library, a restroom, living area, until finally about an hour later you found the holy grail of kitchens. Of course no one was around thanks to their vampiric nature, but you were not a helpless girl. You knew how to cook and clean. If anyone said anything about you cooking you’d just have to remind them that unlike them you were human and needed several meals. Despite it being around the hour for lunch you made breakfast. With your stomach full you were still quite curious about the rest of the castle. You decided to explore but quietly so not to disturb the workers or anger the Count in any way. Color rose to your cheeks as you remembered last night. Staying up late alone with him and to fall asleep in a chair in his bedroom. Hitting your cheeks you tried to rid yourself of such thoughts, you had things to look at and a decision to make. Who knew vampires could become lonely? You sure didn’t. You were fully aware you were sent here to be John’s next meal. Everyone was probably planning your funeral down at the village, your body was supposed to be returned tonight. What would everyone think when you weren’t returned dead or alive? Eternity was a long time and the choice of being turned was a scary one. Being a Count’s bride would have it’s perks especially seeing how gentlemanly he could be, plus handsome to boot. You couldn’t help but feel like a school girl when you looked upon him. If you decided to stay forever you wouldn’t have to fear anymore, after last night he didn’t seem so scary. Walking back up the stairs you began to go through the rooms upstairs. You did avoid Winston’s wing though, he seemed like the kind of vampire who did not liked to be disturbed. Though you figured every vampire frowned upon being woken during the sunny hours of the day. Upstairs there was several more libraries which you vowed to check out later, a sun room (which seemed silly in a vampire’s castle), with lots of bedrooms that varied in sizes. Going back to the library that was closest to your room you chose a couple books to take back into your room for reading. It would pass the time and though you didn’t have permission to use the library you figured this was a ‘better to ask for forgiveness than permission’ situation.

With a book the hours seemed to pass in seconds and before you knew it you were halfway through one book and evening had come upon Castle Continental once more. A light tap took your attention off the words.

“Come in,” you closed the book putting it on the bedside table. Johnathan glided through the door holding a platter with a dome on top.

“Good evening,” he spoke placing the platter on a table in the middle of the room. “Hungry?”

With reading taking your attention you hadn’t noticed how hungry you had gotten until John asked. That time your stomach decided to growl which caused him to laugh.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” As you sat down he took a seat across from you. “Did you sleep well?”

“Oh yes thank you.” You wolfed down the food and licked your fingers of any traces. Despite not knowing him long you felt comfortable around John. You could sense he felt the same though he did seem a little anxious and you figured you knew why.

“If I may ask did you think any more on my proposal?”

Scooting the table between you both out of the way you slid your chair closer to where your knees touched together. Knowing what he was asking and it being brought upon you so quickly it was a decision you couldn’t make lightly. Though you didn’t have many options. You could say yes and become a vampire. You’d never be abandoned and you couldn’t see the downside of having John as a husband. Secondly you thought about just returning home where you would be shunned. They thought you were dead by now and if you returned alive and well they would run you out of town. You’d be labeled a plague upon the people and the wrath of John would be upon them in minutes until a replacement could be found. Or you could do as you were sent to do. Sacrifice your life just like others had did. Johnathan waited in patient silence, though he was nervous. He knew he put you in a tough position, he just couldn’t take the suffocating loneliness no longer. What he hadn’t been planning on was a village girl be sent to him this year to be what he had wanted for so long. Taking your hands his red eyes seemed to plead.

“I’ve decided to stay. I’ll be what I can to you I just ask you protect me and you treat me like I deserve, and I promise to do the same for you.” You finally answered before your nerves got the better of you. John pulled you into his chest, if his heart beat he was sure it would beat out of his chest. Pulling you back he looked at you with love before pulling you into a kiss. Despite the coolness of his lips the kiss felt heated. You clung to his clothes before he trailed his lips down to your chin. His tongue grazed down your throat before resting above your jugular. Your grip tightened on him before his teeth punctured the skin. You yelped and he held you tighter, rubbing small circles upon your back. Your chest heaved as he drank deeply with his tongue resting against your skin it flicked back and forth. Pulling back from you with lips stained red he brought his wrist to his mouth. Ripping his flesh open he held it up to your lips as you swayed from the loss of blood. Lapping at the crimson liquid you drank your fill before John carried you back to your bed. Laying you down he laid next to you holding you tightly.

“Thank you,” he sighed stirring the hairs on your head. You couldn’t speak your mouth wouldn’t work and you were so far away. You fought to stay awake but lost the battle as everything went dark and you knew no more.

You didn’t know where you were at nor did you know who you were for a moment, and you couldn’t place the weight beside you. Hands moved up and down your body in a comforting gesture.

“How are you,” a voice said. You were still a little confused and your body felt weird. You felt more aware and a sense that had never been there before. Your throat was dry and there was a slight pain in your teeth. You touched your gums only to nick your finger on a sharp canine tooth. You watched blood well from the wound, licking the bead away you were amazed to see no cut remained.

“I feel a little odd,” you finally replied finding your voice.

“That’s normal with the change you just went through. But I’ve never been happier in my life.” You looked back, memories finally flooding back. You touched your neck to find that the puncture wounds that John left were gone and there was no trace to what had happened.

“You don’t regret it do you,” he asked a little fear bleeding in his voice.

“Regret my choice? Never. Regret that I decided to do it for you? Possibly.”

He seemed very hurt until he figured out you were joking around. “Now I’m regretting choosing you.”

“Too bad your stuck with me. So does this make me Countess Wick?”

He kissed you deeply pinning you down with his weight, though it didn’t hurt and you felt like you could pick him up with no problem.

“Of course,” he replied between kisses. You pulled him back down not wanting him far away from you. This new life was going to take some getting used to that was for sure. Though you looked forward to every moment.

After sending you up the mountain, no other girl was sent to appease the great Count Jonathan Wick. Rumors and stories traveled throughout the world about the young human woman who tamed a vampire. Girls didn’t fear coming of age no longer, everyone enjoyed peace.The lonely vampire who just wanted companionship finally gotten what he had longed for, for so long. You became one of the most powerful vampires in existence and you beared powerful pure-blooded vampire children. Your little family grew throughout the years and you never regretted once deciding to be with Jonathan. Nor did he ever think he chose unwisely. Everyone enjoyed peace and no one complained, especially you and John.

#John Wick / Reader #John Wick X Reader #Vampire John Wick / Reader #Vampire John Wick X Reader #John Wick #John Wick AU #Vampire AU #John Wick Imagine #Imagine #Baba Yaga #Not My Gif #My Writing #Happy Halloween

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