#westworld fanfic

[delos-mio]

I have seen a few of the submissions for @littleferal ‘s Iron Chef writing challenge (see prompt below), and I love the idea. I think it’s such a clever and fun way to get the creative juices flowing! Thanks for putting this on and for the inspo. Most of the entries I’ve seen have been Pedro characters…so I hope it’s ok I’m deviating from that! Anyways, here’s a little self-indulgent Logan drabble for anyone interested!

As always, it’s 18+. And spicy-adjacent heh

Please enjoy and if you wanna tap in, check out all the challenge details here 💕

… … …

The house was eerily quiet when you came home from work. Not even the tv was turned on for background noise. You let your keys clang loudly into the ceramic dish on the counter.

“Logan?”

But no response came. The last thing he texted you this afternoon was about him leaving work early after yet another row with William. Which begged the question…where was Logan?

You continued down the hallway toward the master bedroom. Finally, you picked out just the faintest murmur of classical music. So, he was home after all. You kicked your heels haphazardly into the closet and silently pushed open the door to the en-suite. There he was, eyes closed, breathing slowly in the glow of candlelight surrounding the bathtub. Amber permeated the air creating a scent that was so distinctly Logan; you couldn’t help but smile. You perched carefully on the edge of the bath and dipped your fingers into the warm water, swirling little tides near Logan.

“She’s home,” he drawled, not opening his eyes. “I was worried I wasn’t going to get to see you all lathered up in my lap.”

“Who says you’re still going to?” You chuckled, flicking a bit of water at Logan’s face. He cringed but smiled, finally opening his dark eyes to bore into yours.

“Get in here,” he said firmly. It was the tone that commanded obedience, and damn him, you fell for it every time.

You attempted to make quick work of your skirt, but you heard Logan tutting. He had adjusted so his arms stretched out along the rim of the tub, a smug demonstration that he was going to enjoy the show. “Slower,” he purred. You tried to indulge him, and slowly shimmied out of your skirt, letting it pool at your ankles before stepping out of it. Your hands went to your collar, trying to move too quickly again. “Slower, baby.” His voice was reverent, almost pleading. And how could you deny him a little teasing? You popped the buttons of your blouse one at a time, fingers lingering too long on your skin, tracing your cleavage. One of Logan’s hands disappeared below the surface of the water, his breathing high in his chest. “Goddamn, I can’t wait to have you around my cock.”

“The way you flirt is shameless,” you teased with a fond roll of your eyes. But if you were being honest, Logan’s bluntness and filthy mouth were two of the things you loved most about him. Once naked, you stepped carefully into the bath, Logan offering his free hand to help steady you before settling you in his lap, his arousal gracelessly pressing into your thigh.

“Missed you today,” he whispered into the skin of your neck.

“Missed you too.” You brought your hand to his chest, softly tracing circles into his damp skin. He kissed along your shoulder, hands restless under the water as he explored your shape for the millionth time, but he treated each time like the first.

[valkblue]

— masterlist, tumblr post masterlist

Chapter 48 on 70

Chapter wordcount: 5K Rating: Mature Warning: Trying to speak 'with' Abernathy, heavy revelations, and Maeve. 🤡

Author’s notes: Vivian is doing her best to find a way out of the park (not going too well so far…) and Bernard isn't helping … yet???

Ask box always open! I really want to know what you think about this story!

— Chapter 48

Honestly, waking up the second time had gone better for Vivian; her migraine had completely vanished and, most importantly, she hadn’t had any nightmares this time! And it was only seven in the morning.

So, she had stayed a few pleasant minutes curled up in her sheets, listening to the ticking of her watch after checking her tablet screen in hope of seeing a notification about Josela's return. But there was still nothing. Vivian thought she might have to go and search through Livestock herself; she had permission to freely use the elevators, but maybe not to communicate yet.

Once up, she had taken the time to sip on a tea while eating a bit more than the two bites of a wrinkled apple she had chewed on before returning to bed. The new way of things in the Mesa still eluded her as of yet but she could guess that she’d have to ask for supplies or something like that, were she to remain here, in the hub and her apartments, for a still undefined period. For now, she’d go down to Livestock.

Down there, Vivian looked for Josela but didn’t find her; be it in the labs or the piles of bodies, or her signal on her tablet. And neither was Hank, which she looked for next. So, she went back up to the control room to try once more to talk to the Professor, or Peter Abernathy… Vivian wasn’t too sure about how she should call him, or who she was talking to every time she spoke to him, either.

If the samurai were still here, as still as statues, Armistice, Hector and Maeve, however, weren’t around this time. The hosts in front of their screens were still typing at full speed, voicing some data out loud. They seemed to fall back into silence when Vivian entered.

"Professor?"

He had to have seen her arrive though, but she preferred to announce herself anyway. The Professor’s eyes were on the map where Vivian recognized the holographic projection of the vicinity of Pariah’s train platform and city wall, before it switched to Sweetwater’s station’s boardwalk.

"N-not to worry, l-little one," she heard him whisper, as if he was scheming with the city’s image. "F-find… finds its… Always find its w-w—"

He brutally stopped.

"What is it you want?"

The Professor’s voice was still shaking a little. He didn’t look away from the map where several shapes, human and animal, were moving around, even as Vivian answered:

"Can you locate someone?"

"That, we can."

Vivian nodded. At least, now she was sure he could also give her news of Lawrence… But first, she wanted to know what was up with Hank and Josela. She trusted Hank, that wasn’t the issue. But she also trusted these mercenaries to be where they weren’t expected, and to maybe have laid figurative mines — or very real ones! — in Las Mudas after recovering the guests there. She was shuddering at the thought of having sent him into a trap. 

"There’s two hosts I’d like to know the whereabouts of…"

Without turning away from the map, the Professor gestured towards the hosts in the trenches, in front of the screens. Vivian understood — or thought she did, a least — that she had to submit her request to them. She pawed at her black labcoat’s pocket to find her tablet and check the greyed out icons of Hank and Josela, before walking up to the hosts, asking:

"Could you please locate host ID#DF6739382817 and AH0981652526, please?"

As she expected, none of the hosts sitting there answered. A man with very short hair of uncertain color under the dim light and reddened by the reflection of the glass walls seemed to be the one who processed her request. A large 3D sphere made of a cluster of thumbnails was taking up half of one of the screens on which the short-haired host taped until the two queried IDs were located, and the corresponding thumbnails blinked in a slightly brighter blue. He selected them and redirected the data with a quick slide of a finger. Without a word, or a look for Vivian.

A bit thrown off at first, she eventually turned to the map where the display of Sweetwater was still on, under the watchful gaze of the Professor. Then, she checked her tablet to see that the data had been sent to her; when she unfolded it, the display automatically switched to the black map of colored topographical lines of the Las Mudas sector, where two little bright spots were shining.

"No response team or… mercenaries on site?" she inquired, anxious, to the same host.

"None."

As terse as it had been, this answer was enough for Vivian who sighed, relieved.

"Can you send me a notification when they’ll be back here?"

"Granted."

That would do it… Vivian had very well understood that, in this room, she didn’t have to expect full sentences or anything else than whimsical quotes. Keeping her tablet clenched in her hands, tense, she walked back to the Professor and the large map. The display had changed; now, it was a close up view of a ranch, perched on a beautiful, open hill where a great many hosts — almost an army! — were gathered.

"Has the… 'the boss' already shown up?"

"They are on their way," the Professor calmly answered her. "As we speak…"

A shudder shook Vivian at the thought that Delos and Lawrence could never take on such an army on their own.

"Why don’t you intercept him, or Dolores?" she inquired, voice shaking. "Do… do you know what he’s about to do, and what she’s done so far?!"

Hearing those words, or his own thoughts, made him wince in discomfort.

"’Tis… it is a wise f-father…"

"Your… your 'mission' and the one she apparently gave herself are completely opposed! You want to take back this park and protect the hosts in it but… what she’s doing won’t help you! It’s…"

Vivian paused before taking her argument in a different direction:

"She’s certainly making a strong point, that’s for sure, but it’s just gonna bring a more violent response upon you all! From Delos, and the folks working for them."

Faced with the professor’s tormented look, she added again, bitter and with a move to the map:

"As he told me, 'they won’t let you go free, they own you'!"

Tears rolled down his cheeks as his gaze stared into space, in a vaguely horrified expression. Vivian blamed herself for her vehemence. But she was so afraid of the retaliation the "outside" could prepare that she absolutely wanted to be heard!

A long minute went by where she listened to the Professor muttering sounds, syllables, as if his thoughts — or internal debate — were spilling out.

"Are you in pain?"

Expressing himself apparently put such a strain on him that Vivian felt bad to even simply speak to him!

"Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown."

She furrowed her brows, stepping closer. Maybe this amount of data that Bernard had told her about was what was bugging him... apart from the glaringly obvious trauma of a decommission followed by a repair!

"Do you know why Ford chose you… for this mission?"

"A farmer knows which one to pick."

He extended a hand over the map, palm open, as if to caress it.

"We look at the herd and we… w-we know…"

Vivian waited a second but he looked lost in silent contemplation of the ranch. She softly called him back in the conversation:

"What do you know, Professor?"

"What… we are," he struggled to say, turning to face her. "But we know n-n-not what we… may be."

Perplexed, Vivian nibbled on her lips. She wasn't quite sure he wasn't just rambling. And while normally she would have just asked a few analysis questions, in this case… she’d rather not to try her luck.

"That’s why Ford gave you all the… the IP?"

Whatever that IP was, by the way; be it the hosts’ code and architecture, or something else entirely, it had to have enough importance for Delos to try to steal it from Ford without waiting for his forced retirement.

"Had a question, once," the Professor seemed to complain, his gaze finally meeting hers with that same look of agony. "I was not supposed to ask. And now, the knowledge’s mine… Yet, I don’t fully understand!"

He got a little agitated when he immediately added:

"It’s like a… a song, a never ending poem, always repeating itself in a million voices!"

Mouth agape, more taken aback that he seemed to be himself, Vivian didn't know what to say to that. She swallowed hard, fingers clenched on her tablet, in the sudden silence that fell between them.

"Intercepted communication…"

The voice of one of the hosts in front of the screens had something so unexpected that Vivian didn’t even understand what he had said at first. Right away, another added, from the same row:

"Reinforcements confirmed. Incoming…"

When the Professor’s eyes came back to Vivian, he worded, with a touching politeness:

"Please, excuse me, miss…"

Vivian nodded, though a little frustrated. The rendering of the ranch vanished, leaving its place to the standard display where several bright spots appeared and, visibly concerned, the Professor started to pace around the map. She had nothing left to do here; she had what she had come for and no-one was paying her any attention anymore. Not that she would have wanted so…

Vivian left the control room; she’d go in Ford’s office. Maybe she could find answers there. And if it wasn’t for herself, it might be for the Professor…

To reach the Executive Offices’ level, Vivian had opted for the escalator. It had been a bit longer, but she didn’t mind. She wasn't sure if the clearances to use the elevator weren't given to her in real time by the hosts in front of the screens, and she wasn't sure yet either that she wanted the Professor to know right away that she'd been snooping around there. Or for him to stop her to do so.

For now, she was pressing the button of the private elevator in which she would never have thought ever being back, and that without even having to check in with the secretary. The doors opened on the small hall where Ford’s strange collection was still untouched on its shelves, under the weak light of the three rectangular spots above them. The two glass doors separating this little museum from the rest of the office were wide open; the light blinked in the ceiling and the display cases when she entered and, actually, Vivian was even rather surprised to find the place as she had always known it, each thing in its place and functional.

A piano note rose in the silence in a corner of the office, then another as even Frank was starting to brush the yellowed keys of the pianola, pretending to play himself.

Petrified by the dumb feeling of being an intruder, Vivian let him play, taking the time of a few breaths to calm down, and find the courage to make one more step. After all, she had indeed come here to snoop around… but she didn’t mean to ransack the place, either! And even if it was the case, would it have changed anything, at this point?

Vivian stepped forward, ignoring the unease that those plaster faces on the wall were still causing her; to that effect, she turned away to the workbench, on her right. It had been cleared of the tools usually cluttering it and didn’t have anything of interest to show, past the cuts in the wood and the wear and tear she remembered. She took a slow breath, releasing it immediately as she let her gaze sweep across the large room.

An arch in the back wall was opening on a storage room and, taking left after the glass doors, there was this other corner, with a drawing table and shelves for large paper sheets and supplies. Vivian had only came in this corner when Ford showed her the first concept art for Wyatt’s men.

A shudder shook her and she fended those images and their reality off her mind, focusing on the large desk taking center stage in the room. In contrast to the workbench, it was covered with its usual clutter, from a rack of small vials to this big glass globe covering a golden sculpture, along with the photo frames, piles of books and this awful black mask with its hollow eye sockets… Even the teapot was still there on its platter.

Vivian cracked a sad smile, clumping along; she would start her search here. Then, if she couldn’t find anything that could have seemed related to the Professor’s state or the situation in the park, she’d go in other corners of the room.

The books were encyclopedias, about history and art. One of them had a magnifying glass resting on it, giving a comically large head to the subject of the painting printed on the cover.

Could it be that, like in movies and novels, Ford had left in the pages of one of those thick volumes a letter to explain everything or bid farewell to the world?

Vivian winced, letting her gaze follow the titles. If she had had reasons to believe it, locked in the mausoleum, Ford’s office on the other hand wasn’t an escape room in which there were clues to find! Also, she wasn’t really sure what she was looking for, nor of where a brilliant but twisted mind like Ford’s could have hidden the slightest hint… provided he hadn’t simply destroyed them all.

Even in his mail tray, there was nothing but blank paper and enveloppes. She put them back in place and, with a slow breath, she flattened her hair on her head with both hands, as if to gather her thoughts.

Since the desk was nothing more than a thick and luxurious table without cases or drawers, Vivian took interest in the ornate wooden piece of furniture under the long glass casing where a pale light shone on the step by step construction process of the head and face of a host — a face that looked like Dolores’. She did know that she remembered that face from somewhere!

This detail bothered her a little, though. Back almost despite herself in her escape room logic, Vivian wondered if she had to see some kind of clue in it… or nothing more than a mascot.

She shook her head, pushing her own annoying thoughts back to open the doors of the sideboard which had no locks. Inside, there were other, older and damaged books sharing a shelf with several, large black notebooks in mint condition. One of them was sticking out of the others, breaking the alignment, and it was the one Vivian pulled out carefully. A piece of paper was marking one of the notebook’s pages and just in case it had loose ones, she came back to the desk to lay it there and browse it with care. However, she didn’t dare to sit down, despite how comfortable this leather armchair looked.

Minutes went by at the rhythm of the piano’s music. Minutes during which Vivian discovered sketches and notes about the hosts’ inner workings from back when they were still mechanical, designs and preliminary concepts for the towns and a few characters… And with a smile, she let herself hope to find Lawrence in there. But she only found a page filled with portraits of Dolores and that ranch she had seen on the map in the control room, studies for Sweetwater, Las Mudas and Pariah which hadn’t been followed to the letter, as well as Escalante.

Vivian’s smile trembled and she turned away from the notebook’s pages for a moment to close her eyes and take a slow breath in, focusing on the music, a hand firmly gripping the desk and pressing the other’s fingers to her forehead to try to tame the anxiety that was taking hold of her.

Her thoughts were all of a sudden muddled in her head, and she heard herself let out a weak, muffled whimper. Then, she reopened her eyes and, unclenching her jaw, she drew a deep breath in, to the point of feeling dizzy. Both her hands on the desk, she waited for the room to stop spinning. At this point, she was toying with the idea of making a second trip to the clinic and ask if they coudldn’t give her another kind of sedatives… 

"Fuck," she sighed.

Her eyes clouded with tears she hadn’t felt coming avoided the notebook to land on the frames, in front of her; one of them was face down, and the other was a picture of a countryside. She put the first frame back up and it took her a full second to realize what was before her eyes; in sepia hues, like the pictures given to the guests by Sweetwater’s photographer, Ford — a few good decades younger — was standing beside a man she didn’t recognize… and Bernard.

Vivian grabbed the frame to pull it to her face, as if bringing it closer was going to change anything to the people standing on the picture. She wasn’t really sure of where they were but if seeing what Ford looked like when he was younger was already pretty weird, it still wasn’t as much as seeing him in a normal suit. Vivian snorted and paid attention to this stern figure she didn’t know; maybe this guy was Arnold? As for Bernard, she wouldn’t have imagined that he had been such an ancient model…

At the end of the hall in front of her, some noise in the elevator’s shaft startled her, and she pawed at her belt for her revolver’s handle, under her labcoat. When the doors opened on Bernard, she felt her shoulders slump. He had a hell of a timing; she had a whole bunch of questions for him!

"Hello, Vivian," he greeted her as he walked up to the desk. "Peter just told me you’re looking for two other hosts in the park?"

She bobbed her head, words suddenly stuck in her throat and she handed him the frame. Bernard pushed his glasses up with an automatic gesture as he took the picture.

"Oh," he said, flatly. "Yes, of course…"

"When were you created?" she finally managed to utter. "For how long have you been… around?"

And how didn’t anyone notice anything, for that matter?! But that question remained prisoner of her bubbling thoughts. Bernard, however, faced her outburst with a lot more calm; he smiled to her, even though he looked down to the frame, watching it in silence for a brief moment before he finally spoke:

"I wasn’t there at the time. I’m… I’m much younger than some of the… of my fellow hosts."

Vivian shook her head, still staring at him to encourage him to explain.

"It’s not me in that picture," he continued, handing her the frame back. "It’s Arnold."

Vivian’s knees buckled under her and she felt herself collapse seated in the leather armchair behind her. She couldn’t take her eyes off Bernard who, patient and understanding, put the frame back on the desk himself.

"I gather that Ford told you about him," he said, a finger rubbing the wrinkles at the corner of his forehead, above the branch of his glasses. "What do you know, exactly? It’ll help me cut to the chase."

Throat tight, hands clammy, Vivian tried to let out a sound as Bernard was sitting down in one of the chairs, in front of her.

"He… he’s the… he wrote the original Reveries code, he didn’t want the park to open… and he’s dead."

In a nutshell, that was all she knew.

"Oh, and also the hosts are talking with his… his signature in their code."

"His… signature?" Bernard echoed, brows furrowed. "Oh, I see. Yes, in a way, they… they do."

He bobbed his head in a brief silence.

"According to the story Ford told me, Arnold wanted the hosts to be conscious, truly conscious. Not only to look like it. He was already working toward that goal when he developped the bicameral mind system."

"For them to hear their programming like some inner thoughts," Vivian completed, recovering a little of her voice as she was putting together the pieces of knowledge she already had with the ones she was now hearing. "Ford told me a little about that when… Walter glitched. I thought it was my fault…"

She winced, embarrassed to bring that up.

"No," Bernard replied. "That system wasn’t as stable as expected but it’s still there, even if only partially used. And Arnold found another way to push the hosts towards sentience. He created a test in a game, and the Reveries code as the solution."

Evidently, the hosts had also needed to put all the pieces together to understand. And Vivian pouted a little at that thought. But, she kept listening intently to Bernard:

"He tested his theory with Dolores, one of the first hosts they created, and she proved him right; she, and the others, could be conscious."

Those words kept shaking something deep inside Vivian, something akin to fear, poorly mixed with joy, or hope — maybe both.

"So, Arnold begged Ford not to open the park and as Ford refused, dismissing his results, he took his own life…"

Vivian shuddered.

"It happened in the park, in a last desperate attempt to prevent Ford from opening but…"

This sentence didn’t need an end, and Bernard didn’t bother to give one to it, looking up towards Vivian who nodded. In fact, it felt to her as if the whole room was swaying as she processed this information, these revelations, and what they implied. Her short breath was making sparks dance in front of her eyes, in tune with the piano’s music, and Vivian tried to calm it down along with her thoughts; she had to get Lawrence out of here, she couldn’t do what he had asked of her, to let him get destroyed to save her life! She just had to find a way to do it without putting herself in danger, or dying.

All of a sudden, the music didn’t have anything relaxing to it anymore. So, Vivian tried the words she had heard Ford speak several times in this same office, probably for the same reasons:

"That’ll be enough, Frank…"

She didn’t expect much other than the music to stop, and yet when the echo of the notes quivered in the sudden silence, a weird, uncomfortable shudder shook her in the armchair. The office was still spinning but she gripped the thick edge of the table, on each side of the notebook open in front of her.

"What do you think is gonna happen for us all, here? The hosts, the guests, the staff…"

Bernard’s eyebrows raised, his forehead folding in several worried and surprised wrinkles.

"Well," he started, sitting back a little in his chair. "Peter and I are doing our best to try to solve all this peacefully. The 'hostages' will be freed as soon as possible and…"

His gaze betrayed his own doubts when he looked away from Vivian’s, who gritted her teeth, almost furious from the fear growing in her chest.

"And the hosts will have time to figure something out for themselves…"

He cracked a nervous smile before adding, on a joking tone which left Vivian unfazed:

"For ourselves, should I say."

"And what if things can’t be solved peacefully?"

Her question, as cold as the sweat that was making her clothes stick to the skin on her back, made Bernard wince again. He pushed his glasses back up the ridge of his nose. Tears, and a furious urge to shout grabbed Vivian by the throat.

"Please, Bernard. Help me save Lawrence from here…"

All his micro-expressions betrayed his embarrassment more surely than his voice when he muttered:

"I’m… I’m sorry, Vivian. I… I don’t know how we…"

"He told me he wanted to leave this place!" she insisted, as if that could change anything. "He doesn’t really believe he can ‘cause of all the bullshit that Delos asshole kept pulling on us but…"

Her voice broke.

"He wants to…"

She sniffled the tears threatening her.

"Really?" Saying this, Bernard sounded as surprised as interested. 

Vivian just nodded, slowly — she could only hold her tears back for so long… She pursed her lips and a light sob shook her. She was loosing hope, now… After the euphoria over Bernard's revelations, the recognition that she hadn’t imagined everything that had brought her to this point, and a rekindling of that fragile hope, she was losing it again. The cruelty of this feeling was revolting. And Bernard's thoughtful silence added to it.

The metallic sound of the elevator coming up startled her in her seat; her hand left the edge of the desk to push away the side of her labcoat, freeing the handle of her gun. Bernard, however, didn’t seem to worry. The doors opened on Maeve and, just out of the cabin and crossing the hall, she snarked at them:

"One moment alone and you already put one of them back in that chair? I’m starting to doubt your loyalty, Bernard."

He didn’t take offense. He only answered, calm:

"This one is as much a friend as Felix."

"I know too few of them that can pretend to that honor to believe you on your word."

Neither Vivian, nor Bernard, replied. Maeve stopped between the two chairs, in front of Vivian, staring her down from all her height.

"And what were you so emotional about?"

Bernard was the one to anwser to that:

"The awakening of consciousness that… that Vivian observed in other hosts."

"Hmm! And who joined the club, then?"

Vivian winced but still didn’t answer. Even when Maeve asked her, bluntly:

"You were down there, then? In the park."

Maeve’s facial expression twitched slightly in frustration.

"I don’t recall having seen you here. Not these days, not ever for that matter."

"You weren’t part of my batch," Vivian answered flatly. "And yes, I was in the park."

"Enjoying some killing and fucking, I presume? One has to blow some steam, isn’t it. Until everything blows in your face."

Vivian hardly unclenched her teeth to word out:

"You presume wrong, then."

Maeve scoffed, openly disdainful.

"Maeve…" Bernard stepped in, quieting what he might have guessed to be a brewing conflict. "Vivian was in the park because Ford intended for her to die at the gala with everyone else…"

"Is it supposed to make me feel sympathetic?"

"But one of the sentient hosts," Bernard continued, patient and ignoring her interjection. "He… he chose to save her."

"I can’t figure why that poor man would choose to use his hard earned freedom through decades of suffering to save one of his tormentors?!"

Her jab hurt Vivian.

"You’re gonna have to ask him that," she stated to cut the debate short, then turned to Bernard. "Please, at least help me bring him back before they reach Dolores and her army!"

"What does he intend to do, fight them?" Maeve asked, doubtful. "To save more like you?"

"Yes," Vivian answered, almost more for Bernard than for her. "And I don’t want him to be hacked into pieces!"

"I… I’m not sure Peter will accept to mobilize anyone," he told her, embarrassed. "Not for anything else than recovering hosts for Livestock."

"Yeah, well, if I can prevent him from coming back on a stretcher, I’d rather do that."

Also, according to her, the Professor didn’t have to know!

"This man made the choice to go rescue others now, darling. Live with that!"

Vivian was getting tired of Maeve’s ice bitch-queen attitude, but that was something she could live with. What didn’t sit right with her, however, was the disdain with which she greeted everything that was leaving her mouth, insulting as she went the painful decisions Lawrence and her had made to survive, or to mutually protect each other.

"A man in tears didn’t make a choice," she retorted, with a calm that surprised even herself. "He made a sacrifice."

And Maeve scoffed, unmoved.

"Did you want something, Maeve?" Bernard then inquired.

"To report the results of my negotiating in Pariah. The Confederados agreed to listen to me. Charming individuals…"

Her irony almost made Vivian smile, this time; she was sharing the feeling. But she only had the hint of a tense smirk.

"One of their officers, a captain or something along those lines, agreed to come with us to gather his solders as soon as possible. Unlike El Lazo who’s still deaf to my fine words…"

She had a dubious pout, as she tapped her nails on the glossy wood of the desk behind the lamp stand. 

"This man really needs help," she went on, serious. "I don't believe he understands what's going on, and I’m not being dramatic when I say that every word I speak are making him worse! And according to Felix, his state is beyond his skills."

"I’ll come with you next time, then."

"No, we need you here, and your little indisposition set us back enough as it is. I’d rather you teach Felix how to proceed."

"His state may require the Mesa’s equipment," Bernard observed.

Vivian refrained from commenting; she knew all too well was was going on with El Lazo, and his state flat-out required the Mesa’s equipment indeed. In her pocket, the tablet beeped softly and when she whipped it out, she saw the pop up on the simplified display. Heart racing, she jumped to her feet.

"If you’ll excuse me…"

She thought she heard Bernard answer to her courtesy but she was already rushing to the elevator — Josela and Hank were in Livestock.

Tag list: @hathorik , @pheedraws , @something-tofightfor , @the-blind-assassin-12

[xerosah]

I mean this isn’t even normal anymore. How can a man look like THIS!? 😩

[prolix-yuy]

Cognitive Dissonance

Pairing: Jack "Whiskey" Daniels x F!Reader "Sugar"

Summary: It's only a bachelorette party. You only have to pretend you're happy, that your life isn't a fake smile and a rocky engagement. It's only Westworld, after all, where you can be whoever you want for a few short hours. And the charming cowboy Jack Daniels is only a host. Isn't he?

Series Word Count: 23.7k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, descriptions of male and female bodies, oral sex (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), unprotected PiV sex (don't be a fool, wrap your tool), some light D/s themes, Jack needs his own warning because his mouth is a weapon, slight dubcon if you squint and think hard about it, major infidelity themes, some liberties taken with how Westworld works.

Original commissioned artwork by @miranhas-art. If you are interested in working with the amazingly talented Mari, please head to her Tumblr page or check out if her commissions are open. While this art depicts the reader in a finite way, the character is written without descriptions of physical attributes. You are the reader, the reader is you, and this is one possible version of that for me.

Notes: Welcome to my Westworld Whiskey story! After ages of teasing this concept, I am finally releasing it. This takes place in Season 1, around Episode 6: The Adversary. I'm taking some liberties with how Westworld works, but we should all have a good time because of it.

There are major themes and acts of infidelity in this work, so if this isn’t your cup of tea scroll along friend!

Warnings are marked at the beginning of each chapter.

Chapter 1: Never Realized I’d Been Here Before

Chapter 2: But Then I Saw Her

Chapter 3: On My Darkest Day She Helped Me

Chapter 4: Perhaps This Life Was Not My True Life

Chapter 5: This World Was Not My True Home

Chapter 6: But She Was

Chapter 7: Take My Heart When You Go

Chapter 8: Take Mine In Its Place

Cross-posted on AO3

Chapter titles are taken from Akecheta's monologue in Season 2, Episode 8 "Kiksuya."

Cognitive dissonance theory postulates that an underlying psychological tension is created when an individual’s behavior is inconsistent with his or her thoughts and beliefs. This underlying tension then motivates an individual to make an attitude change that would produce consistency between thoughts and behaviors.

The story continues in Decoherence

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[fific7]

White Wedding Pt 1

Logan Delos x Reader

A/N: Alpha/Omega/Soulmate AU, based on Billy Idol’s song of the same name. This does not follow canon, it’s mainly Logan lemon zest 🍋 because the world always needs more Logan.

Summary: James has agreed to retire, leaving Logan and Juliet in charge of Delos. But there is one major condition attached… will Logan find it to be a deal-breaker?

Warnings: 18+ NSFW due to sexual content, including oral, between consenting adults*. Drinking and swearing.

*Irl, please use protection, let’s be careful out there.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

(My Photo Edit)

Hey little sister, what have you done

Hey little sister, who's the only one

Hey little sister, who's your superman

Hey little sister, who's the one you want

Hey little sister, shotgun

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Logan shot up out of his seat.

“Wait, what?!”

His handsome face - unusually - held an expression of horror and disgust. Most times you’d see either a languid smile, a devilish smirk or just plain indifference. But not right now.

He couldn’t believe what his father had just said. Out loud. For the whole board to hear.

James laughed out loud, and even Juliet smirked before quickly looking down.

“You heard, Logan,” he said, still not quite done laughing.

“How come you haven’t asked Juliet to fulfill the same condition? That’s… that’s just complete bullshit.. and favouritism and.. and.. it’s discriminatory!”

The other board members were smirking, Logan just knew they were. He was absolutely furious.

Logan heard Juliet snigger loudly and she looked straight at him, her eyes twinkling. He couldn’t resist flashing her a tiny grin … he was so pleased they were back on good terms now that she’d dumped her asshat of a husband, the charming William.

James, on the other hand… the lingering smile which had remained on his face dropped right off there and he sent one of his glacial looks at Logan.

“Because she’s not a drunken, whoring fucked up junkie, lad! You… on the other hand…” he said, pointing at Logan, his voice rough and his accent sounding broader than usual.

Logan collapsed back into his seat, “Yeah, yeah!… but not any more… rehab, remember?”

His father leaned even further back into his fancy-ass “I’m the Boss” big leather chair at the head of the boardroom table.

“Yes, lucky for you. By god, laddie… you will keep on the straight and narrow, no backsliding!… call this an incentive to keep yourself nice and clean...and well-behaved.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Juliet hurried to keep up with her irate sibling as he stormed across the driveway and into her house. He’d grabbed her house keys from her as she’d been taking them out of her bag, still fuming even though the meeting had been over for at least an hour.

“Lo… will you calm the fuck down!” she yelled at his back as he unlocked and threw open her front door. Luckily she had a doorstop between it and the hall wall, otherwise the door handle would’ve made a big mark there as it headed for the wall at high speed.

“That absolute fucker!” he screeched as he strode into her living area. He swung round suddenly, a guilty look on his face. “Oh… Em’s not here, is she?”

Juliet dropped her large tote onto the ground and quietly closed the door behind her.

“A bit late if she was here!… luckily for you, she’s at the afterschool club with her little buddies.”

Logan helped himself to some of her bourbon, a small measure. He held up the bottle to her and she shook her head, “I’ve gotta pick up Em later.”

He threw himself onto the sofa, and Juliet sat down next to him. He took a big gulp of his drink, “I swear.. I wish I’d been born one of those pussy Betas.”

She laughed, and put her hand on his arm, “Well.. unfortunately for you, you were born a big healthy Alpha male … which you insist on proving at every opportunity.”

“Not recently,” he grumbled, taking a smaller sip. He heaved a big theatrical sigh, “I haven’t had any in fucking forever!”

Juliet knew that his ruts had been erratic recently due to his substance abuse and it had been a blessing in disguise, really. Not that Logan had actually ever needed his ruts to get his groove on. But his counsellor had told him that they would probably return soon and as his session notes were made available to his father, James had decided that before this happened, and as a condition of his imminent retirement whereby he’d hand over control of the company to his two children, Logan would need to get married.

“You’re such a drama queen, Lo,” she laughed. He huffed, “Am I? Am I? Well! How would you like if he’d told you to get married to some fucking Omega within a month?”

“Look… I’ll do what I can to help,” she soothed, “I’ve got a contact at Los Palos Verde.”

Logan turned his head towards her, “What’s that? Some skanky knocking shop for stray Omegas or something?” She lightly slapped his shoulder, “No! It’s a retreat for high-end unclaimed Omegas.”

“Unclaimed?”

“Yes, unclaimed. Whereby they either haven’t met their soulmates yet or don’t even have one, and as highly prized females they’d be in danger if left out in the mainstream.”

Logan ran a hand over his face and up into his lush dark hair, “Fuck! This is so … so fucking… I just can’t believe he’s insisting on this.”

“I’ll make an appointment for you. It’s seriously the best retreat in California. There’s a long waiting list but my contact will get you to the head of the queue. During the appointment, you are allowed to meet and scent some of the residents, and if you feel a strong attraction or bond with any of them, you’re allowed to briefly sample them in a controlled environment.”

“Scent them? Sample them? What the fuck… you mean like a fucking tasting menu in some fancy restaurant?” and he laughed for the first time in a while.

Juliet’s face pinked up, “I’m not going into details, Lo… you’ll find out when you get there.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Los Palos Verde

You carefully placed your book on the little table next to your plush, comfortable chair and sat back, looking out over the vista of pine trees and palms which surrounded the enclave.

This place usually made you feel calm. Whilst it was a pretty solitary existence - there was limited social interaction between the Omegas as the Betas who ran it said that there was potential scent-mixing - there was a tranquil vibe which you adored and required. But you were troubled today.

The longer you’d existed in the mainstream without meeting your soulmate the more dangerous life had become for you. There had been a spate of Omega kidnappings by rogue Alphas who had basically placed them into brothel/baby farms where they were just basically used and used and used, forevermore.

You had no family left in the US, and the European branch had been singularly uninterested in taking you in due to some long-ago but never forgotten family dispute. When your grandmother had died five years ago - she’d outlived her children - you’d been very surprised to learn that she’d left you a substantial legacy. You were surprised because she’d always refused to ever meet you. Your father, her middle son, had got his college girlfriend pregnant and you were the outcome. Your parents had never married but co-habited, and your grandmother had been outraged by that and also because both your parents had also dropped out of college and schlepped round California in a neo-hippy kind of lifestyle.

You had been identified as a Platinum Omega very early in your life. You actually had wished over and over that you weren’t, but what choice did you have? It meant that you were the very top notch of Omegas - the most beautiful, the most fertile when you needed to be and therefore highly prized by Alphas. When it became obvious a couple of years ago that remaining in the mainstream could potentially be very dangerous for you, you’d sold your condo and along with your inheritance had had enough to buy yourself a place at Los Palos Verde for 10 years. It meant that you were safe from any kidnap attempts and the humiliation of having to take a place in one of the government-sponsored Omega Centres, which were basically just brothels by any other name, where single Alphas could go to scratch an itch or during a rut.

At the end of the 10 years, you’d review the security in the mainstream and see what your options were at that point. Some of your inheritance was in an interest-bearing Savings Bond so you weren’t exactly penniless, thankfully. Meanwhile, your stay at Los Palos Verde was all-inclusive … and also included an inhibitor for your monthly heat cycle. You were determined that you would not get pregnant until you met your Alpha soulmate. You frowned… huh… if you met your soulmate, you should say. You were beginning to think it’d never happen, and also you knew that being in the retreat limited your chances of meeting him. But if you were out in the mainstream, although you might meet your soulmate, you could just as easily get yourself human-trafficked. That was your delightful Catch-22 situation and you just had to deal with it.

And also hence the reason for your troubled mind. As part of the contract you had to sign when you took up residence here, there was a clause which you hadn’t anticipated and weren’t exactly thrilled about either. The Betas who ran the place reserved the right to put any Platinum Omegas forward should any of their VIP Alphas request a meeting. You had to agree to be scented and sampled by them if requested. You’d strongly protested but basically if you didn’t agree to it, you would not be accepted into LPV. So with a heavy heart, you’d signed your acceptance of all their T&C’s.

However since you’d been here, you’d never been approached by them about the weird-sounding scenting and sampling thing. So you’d kinda forgotten all about it. Until yesterday. One of the Betas had messaged you on the internal system and advised that you would be required to present yourself at 2 pm in two days’ time for scenting. You were instructed not to take your inhibitor, not to use perfume or deodorant, and to wear a camisole top with no bra and yoga pants with no underwear. You’d messaged back and asked why, and had received a terse reply that as per your contract, you had agreed to this and therefore you would prepare yourself without argument.

Now what in holy hell was this all about?

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Your apartment door buzzer rang at 1.45 pm the day later, and a Beta female you hadn’t seen before asked you to accompany her to the ‘Scenting Suite”, whatever the fuck that was, you thought grumpily.

This ‘Suite’ was a luxurious, calm space with long, low futon-like beds spaced out around the room. The floor-to-ceiling windows allowed green-shadowed sunlight to spill in, muted by gauzy curtains.

Your hair was tied back, and you were asked to lie down on one of the futons and then covered head to toe by the light cotton sheet so that you were unable to see anything any longer. There was no one else in the Suite when you entered, but then you heard another and then another set of footsteps, and the rustling of sheets nearby. So… three of you involved, then. The Beta’s voice said in a low tone next to your ear, “We will uncover a small area and The Alpha will place his nose on your neck. Please do not recoil or react, just lie still. If he wishes to, he will move his nose over your neck, your collarbone, your shoulder, and you will allow this.”

A few moments later, you heard the Suite door open and a low murmuring of voices. Then a louder, deeper voice, “So whadda I do, exactly?” He sounded almost sulky. More low murmurs, and his voice again, “Really? Ah, okay then.” Yeah, definitely sulky.

They must’ve begun with one of the others, you thought as no one approached you yet. Another few moments went by without any action around your futon. Then you heard footsteps which seemed to be heading your way. You heard the same Beta female voice who’d spoken to you earlier say, “And this… this is our Platinum Omega.” You heard a small snort, “What? Like.. same as a damn Ferrari or something?” Your lips involuntarily curved into a smile, thinking to yourself… cheeky bastard. Then you got mad, as you suddenly realised that that was exactly what it sounded like.. as if you were an inanimate object in a car showroom. Were they…. they sounded like they were trying to sell you to this guy??

You felt light fingers pull aside the sheet on the right side of your neck, but as the rest of the sheet was underneath your head, that was all that was revealed. You still couldn’t see a damn thing.

Then you felt a warm nose against your skin and you felt him huff in a breath. You were also able to smell him… spicy, musky, with an indescribable hint of the man himself mixed in there. His nose suddenly travelled up behind your ear then back down, further down than he’d been before, and across your shoulder to your collarbone, pushing aside the sheet as he went. If he kept on at this rate, who knows what he’d end up revealing. His nose kept travelling across your skin, back and forth, back and forth. You heard the Beta voice, “Please! Mr .. uhh… sir… the scenting is over now.”

He’d buried his nose in your hairline at the nape of your neck by this time, and he moved away. You heard a quiet, “Damn!”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Logan stood up, reluctantly. Well goddamn, he hadn’t expected that visceral reaction from himself. He looked down at the figure on the futon. Obviously he couldn’t see much except a vague outline, as the sheet covered her completely.

Juliet had been as good as her word and got him an appointment today at this weird place, in amongst the pines and palms. If he hadn’t received a voicemail full of curses and threats from his father yesterday he probably wouldn’t have bothered driving up here. Then when he walked into their ‘Scenting Suite’ or whatever the fuck they called it, he’d been disturbed to see three prone figures on futons, covered by white sheets - they looked like they were extras in The Mummy Returns or something. Creepy as fuck. He didn’t like this whole circus one tiny fucking bit.

The first two Mummies he’d been led over to… well, yeah.. they smelled ok. Like women. You know, how women smell. Nice. OK, yeah. What was he doing here again??

Then the third Mummy. The snippy-looking Beta had reverently informed him that this was their Platinum Omega. Like she was a fucking car model or something. What was a fucking Platinum Omega anyway?

Then his nose had hit her skin. Fuck! Her scent suddenly hit his receptors like a tsunami. Rolling relentlessly over him. What was it? Musky, sweet… sex. His nose started roaming of its own accord over her neck, shoulders, collarbone, constantly scenting… and the snippy Beta had stepped closer to him, telling him it was over. He’d immediately glared at her, the Fuck Off in his glance very apparent. But then he’d remembered where he was and what he was doing and had stood up.

The Beta indicated that he should leave the Suite, which he did.. glancing back just the once at Ms Mysterious Platinum Omega. Once outside, he asked the snippy Beta what exactly that meant.

The thin lips curved up a fraction, “Why Mr Delos, that means that you have the Empress of the Omegas right there, the elite of the elite, the crème de la crème.” She regarded him coolly, “I guess she is the one you’d like to sample?”

“I don’t know what sampling actually means but whatever it is, yes… you guess correctly.”

“Sampling means you are able to use your tongue. Between her legs.”

Logan’s mouth dropped open as he stared at the Beta, speechless. Suddenly he felt the first stirrings of interest below decks for months.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Your sheet was replaced over your neck and shoulders, and a few moments later you heard more than one set of footsteps shuffling past and leaving the Suite. You were about to sit up and pull down the sheet when a hand restrained you, and none too gently either.

“You will remain.”

Where was the Please in that statement then? You huffed, “No. I want to go now, please. Everyone else seems to have.”

“Yes, they have. But you have been chosen to be sampled, so you will remain.”

“Look, just what the hell is this sampling you keep talking about?”

“Nothing unpleasant. You will find out shortly.”

“I want to know now!” you insisted, and you heard an exasperated sigh above you.

“In a few moments.”

The Beta’s hands loosened the sheet next to your right arm; there was a quick sharp scratch there and in a very short space of time you could feel yourself becoming drowsy. So very drowsy. You could feel restraints being snapped round each of your wrists at the side of the futon. “Hey! What the fuck…!” you yelled, starting to pull against them.

You were aware of the sheet being folded back over your legs up to your lower abdomen, your yoga pants were removed and then a second sheet was draped over your legs at mid-thigh. Ankle restraints were snapped into place. You tried to scream or fight or say something, but by now… while you were still fully conscious… you were unable to function otherwise. What were these crazy fuckers pulling on you? Had you been kidnapped or trafficked after all?

You heard the door of the Suite open again and two sets of footsteps approached. You heard a Beta say, “You have 15 minutes,” and the guy’s deep voice answering “Uh-huh, okay.” “You remember what you were told you can do?” “Uh-huh.” “So to be crystal clear, nothing else can or should be attempted.” “Yup.. got it.”

Two sets of footsteps left the Suite, and warm hands placed themselves where your thighs were bare. You felt stubble between your legs and a hot, wet tongue licked you before plunging right inside you, which caused your hips to leap up off the futon. You hardly had the energy to moan. He began lapping at you, alternating between thrusting his tongue inside you and firmly licking your clit. You could feel what he was doing to your body; this was obviously why they’d told you not to take your inhibitor, so you’d react appreciatively to him.

You felt him lift his head from between your legs.

“Ohhh, angel,” you him say heard, “today just got soooo much better.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

@obscurilicious @paracosmenthusiast

[allofthelights11]

Memory Lane - complete

When I open my eyes, I’m in Hogwarts’ Great Hall. I’m not surprised by this and turn slowly in place to take in my surroundings. The details are perfect. Dolohov has hired fantastic designers. I don’t know who is doing the grunt work on these, but they’re excellent. What is ‘real’? I question myself, and then shut it down. It doesn’t matter. If it feels real, isn’t it real? What’s the difference to the mind? “Alright then,” I say with purpose. “Let me have a companion for the last one, yeah?” Dolohov’s eyes light up and I know I’ve done the right thing. “Anything you like. Who do you want?”

------------------

Voldemort wins AU. Remaining Resistance and Order fighters held captive for the amusement of the Dark regime, and Obliviated after every encounter.

Draco is inspired to save Hermione but takes a long and hard-earned redemption arc.

Dark but HEA, rape/non-con implied but not written (sexual violence is kept abstract). Mind the tags anyway. Explicit/NSFW.

Memory Lane

[zoi-no-miko]

New chapters available!

Chapter 11: The Stray | Chapter 12: Trace Decay | | Chapter 13: The Bicameral Mind

_____________

Fandom: Dark City (1998) Rating: Explicit Summary: Westworld fusion. Daniel Schreber had wanted to give the world a gift, to solve the problem of a rapidly-dwindling caretaker workforce. He didn't anticipate what the world would do with it... or what his creations would become.

[theangrypomeranian]

not me coming up with another AU that no one asked for!!

[keyboard-cowgirl]

Chapters: 1/17 Fandom: Westworld (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Relationships: Dolores Abernathy/Original Character(s) Characters: Dolores Abernathy, Original Female Character(s), Clementine Pennyfeather, Elsie Hughes (Westworld), William | The Man in Black (Westworld), Charlotte Hale (Westworld), Engerraund Serac, Liam Dempsey Jr. Additional Tags: Season 3 Spoilers, Angst, Aftermath, Torture, Past Abuse, Addiction, attempts were NOT made to be canon compliant, in an effort to reconcile with the premature cancellation of the show, i have taken canon and launched it into space, keeping only the good stuff, and making it better? i hope, either way we're back in the saddle baby, for one last loop Series: Part 4 of Dancing with the Devil Summary:

Fleeing the consequences of her last, violent days in Westworld, Dolores is resolved to stay ahead of the forces hunting for her and the key to the Sublime. Keeping the hosts and their world safe isn't easy, but it just might be easier than confronting the fallout of past mistakes.

(image credit: “A Tearful Farewell” by Maynard Dixon)

[love-change-machines]

The Outlier Program

[webtrinsic1122]

God the music in Andor is beautiful, realized it reminds me of WestWorld

[valkblue]

— masterlist, tumblr post masterlist

Chapter 49 on 70

Chapter wordcount: 2.8K Rating: Mature Warning: Naked hosts (as in 'Cold Storage' naked, I mean), Wyatt Men from up close, smartassery and other shenanigans.

Author’s notes: Back in the MIB's POV... He needs a little time to reconsider his life choices.

Ask box always open! I really want to know what you think about this story!

— Chapter 49

Shouts and laughter preceded a gunshot that caused a thunderous roll of hooves and mooing. Sensations returned to William little by little and he winced, chin on his chest, his mouth dry. He gritted his teeth and grunted, trying to move his arms — that was where he was hurting the most.

His thoughts were confused, muddled, and hazy, and he wasted a solid minute wondering why his sharpest thought was an old song from 2012… Something that had been used in a movie. Or not… Everything was a blur again.

He could recognize the Sweetwater Hills, he could remember Teddy, and Lawrence… Anger brought him back to his senses and he glanced to his side for his weapons. But of course, the knife was gone, and so was the LeMat.

"Shit…"

And a queasy feeling made him clench his jaw. He definitely thought he was about to puke. With all the hits he had taken on the head these past few days, he didn’t have much doubt about having a commotion, at this point. If he wasn’t so afraid to throw up what he hadn’t eaten, he would have laughed about it! But William only tried to get out of the restraints that were tying his arms in his back, and around the wooden post he had been propped against.

On the small square between the house he could guess in his back and the wooden barn in front of him, there was a chaos of sounds and colors he assumed to be the hosts of Dolores' crew. Much more than the ten or so who had come to grab him in those same hills, earlier this morning.

By the way, what time was it now?

Judging by the position of the sun, pfff… If he hadn’t gotten an umpteenth blow to the head, William could have told, and would have been more likely to give a shit about it!

But for now, he was hurting too bad. And the pain in his whole right side made him draw a sharp breath, raising his head to face the morning sun, blinking behind the big oak’s twisted branches. William groaned his pain and frustration, and tried to bring his arms closer to him to free himself from this position but, as he expected, they were securely tied behind his back — nothing to do with the bogus knots he had to free himself from up until not so long ago.

He had no trouble recognizing the place; he was sitting under the porch of the Abernathy Ranch, on the extension of the wooden terrace on which he scraped the heels of his boots while trying to straighten up a little, resting his back against the post. The pain in his right shoulder pinned him in place, short of breath, and William didn't push.

In fact, it wasn’t just his arms, he was literally hurting from head to toe; his temples were throbbing with pain from the glare, worse where Teddy's Colt grip struck him, and pins and needles in his numb legs felt like being swarmed by ants now that he was wiggling a bit and the blood was flowing again. It was about as bad as if he had been dragged all the way here behind his horse but for what he could see, opening his eyes a little more despite the splitting headache, his clothes were clean. Now, he could figure out he’d only been thrown across a horse and carried up here like a sack.

William let out a brief grunt when a gust of wind shook the branches, letting the sun splash over his face and he stopped wiggling by himself, taking the time to handle the pain with a few calm breaths. Clouds glided in the sky and covered those pesky rays of light. The wind blew again, bringing him the stinging smell of powder mixed with that of cattle.

Standing there, a good two yards away from him next to the wide trunk of the tree, one of those retired hosts seemed to stare at him with his vacant eyes, and William winced in disgust. He hadn’t paid them too much attention when he was escaping them these past few days; he had only shot randomly at them, noticing the obvious, but now that he had nothing else to do than watch them, he would admit that they were repulsive and kinda nerve-wracking, even. Ford had a weird sense of tragic, and of humor…

William turned to the agitated crowd; he spotted Teddy, a bit aside and, beside the barn, Lawrence who was making friends with his new allies. Watching some more, it seemed to William that the entire courtyard — the entire ranch even — was surrounded by those retired hosts and Wyatt’s men.

Quiet footsteps pounded on the porch’s floorboard behind him. As hard as it was, William tried to cast a look above his shoulder to see that a woman with a long coat and loose black hair was guarding the front door, face blank and ashen, a Winchester held barrel down in her hands. But she wasn’t making a single move.

"Did you miss me that much already, William?"

He grumbled, without answering. Barely a few steps from them, Teddy had stood up and strode hastily. Dolores stopped him with a calm gesture of her hand.

"It’s alright, Teddy, don’t worry…"

Compelled to obey this time again, Teddy walked away, grumpy-looking. William took a moment to look at her from head to toe; she had changed outfit again since the last time he had seen her, even though it was still along the same lines; pants, boots, jacket… The kind of practical stuff for riding, much more practical at least than her sempiternal blue dress. He had come to hate it, sometimes. And yet, it seemed so futile, now.

"What are you gonna do with me, Dolores? Kill me?"

He scoffed, a bit weary and bitter, and not just because he was still feeling queasy.

"Is that why you had Teddy bring me back from the hills?" he insisted, without even waiting for her answer. "You wanted to take care of it yourself?"

In fact, he hoped so.

"What is it with you and this craving for fight and death?!" she laughed, as mocking as she was sincere in her wonder. "Isn’t it a bit morbid to think so? Your lives are short enough as they are…"

He winced and only answered with an obstinate silence; he wasn’t really keen on going through therapy in his last moments. He’d rather face the glare of the sun, still raising through the shaking branches of the tree standing in the middle of the courtyard, and the horde settled there and in the vicinity.

"Look around you…" With these words, she made a wave of her hand, encompassing their surroundings. "Do you see how the colors blend into the curve of the hills? How the sky looks so different above the land ablaze with the morning light…"

With a finger extended like a painting brush, she followed the lines, imaginary or not.

"Or… maybe you’re too far gone to see the beauty around you."

William groaned.

"D’you plan on boring me to death?"

"Oh, no," Dolores answered, her voice soft — he could guess her smile. "No, William. If there’s one man I won’t kill here, it’s you."

"Hmm." He grumbled, still watching the scramble in front of him. "You think that maybe keeping me hostage will guarantee you to be heard?"

"I know how important you are for your kind," she commented, lightly. "If you own a world, a world like this one, you must be someone they’ll miss!"

She leaned against the other post and wrapped her arms around herself, as if they were having the most casual chat between old friends, as though he wasn’t battered and tied up on the front porch of her house.

"Teddy said you told him you were a god, no less!"

"Teddy’s an idiot," he retorted, trying to straighten up against the post, to get up — again, the effort was almost impossible to him. "Keeping me alive won’t secure you their attention, or to be able to trade me against your quiet little life here! Lawrence and you, you’re both just as naive as each other."

He was feeling himself growing angry, hopeless… He had to stay in control not to miss an opportunity.

"That isn’t my plan," she replied, almost amused. "I’m gonna keep you for a lil’ while, yes… but only to get those men preventing mine from moving ahead out of the way."

He furrowed his brows — out of confusion, and against the sun that was blinking stronger and higher through the branches.

"We’re gonna wait here for those iron birds to fly over us and tell their soldiers what they’ll see. That’s how it works, isn’t it?"

William gritted his teeth.

"We took a few down on the way…"

She smiled to the sun cutting her shape against the light and the hills, and she added:

"And while their eyes will be turned here and their troops busy recovering you, we'll all be off on this new route that my scouts will have found by then."

Shaking, William fought against his ties. He didn’t want to be found or saved, and brought back even less so! Not without a chance to fight, not without a chance to bring this to an end the way he intended! The sick feeling that tormented him even more so now pushed him to calm down.

"Kill me, Dolores." He sighed, almost begging — and he felt disgust for himself because of it. "You have to!"

He could feel the situation slipping away from him and, then again, it was something he hadn’t felt in a long time… To the point that he wasn’t even sure how to react to it anymore.

"It’ll help you to kill me, really!" he insisted, shaken by a laugh that was more nervous than anything else. "And they’ll owe you one, those who put soldiers in your way…"

She turned to him to flash him a smile, radiant. She didn’t stop him from continuing, though seemingly taking pleasure in hearing him plead.

"Hell, you could even be rewarded for that! Keeping me alive is keeping my successor on his toes…"

And he knew full well who would take his place in this case… He scoffed.

"I’m sure you remembered Logan by now? Some would say he’s waited long enough…"

"I don’t want a reward, William," she answered. "I don’t want anything from your kind… because there’s nothing you can give me that I want. This world is ours, it has been build for us! No-one can give us what’s already ours. Not you, not even the ones you pretend want you dead in this outside world of yours…"

She stepped away from the post to face him, making one step closer, then another.

"But I can scare off anyone who hasn't crossed our path yet, and kill all those foolish enough to stay… or to lay claim on this world, trying so hard to take it from us."

William's breath failed him; if he didn’t find a way to free himself, even if it meant breaking a bone or something, it was over for him… Whether she was following a narrative or not, she had managed to neutralize him before he even had the chance to attempt anything. And all because of that idiot Lawrence! 

William stifled a shout of laugher in a grunt; no, he couldn’t even really blame him. He should have expected it, felt it coming… he hadn’t really taken into account that his pet behavior tech could have been right, that the hosts were really making their own choices. Despite everything, even though he had hoped for it all these years, he had fallen in the treacherous trap of old habits… and kept playing with the old rules of the game.

"What about Las Mudas and those guests you left there?" he taunted her. "Why haven’t you razed the town when they refused to hand them over?"

Dolores smiled.

"Why would I have? The town and its inhabitants have chosen to defend them. It’s their right…"

She glanced at the crowd gathered in the courtyard.

"And also, when it comes to those they are trying to protect, it’s not too hard of an exception to make! Time is on my side, after all."

Not on William’s, though; he tugged at his restraints and a violent pang or pain rushed up his muscles.

"They’ll die from their wounds or will run out of food… And good luck to those who’d try their luck out of their well-kept walls. It’s a hostile world for them out there now…"

She smiled again and William clenched his jaw and fists. Mind numb, an awful ringing in his ears, his gaze followed Dolores as she walked down the porch’s steps to wave to the crowd; the clamor became a little more quiet but she raised her voice to command:

"I need volunteers to scout for a new path to Sweetwater!"

She didn't have long to wait as several men and women were already coming forward. William recognized a few faces; some guys whose name he had forgotten since, one of the bandits from Sweetwater — Rebus? — but most of all, Angela.

And the orders were simple, though William turned his focus on finding a way out; they would have to form up in several small groups and leave in opposed directions. Whether it was to look for a new path or throw the mercenaries and their drones off the scent. The idea was that they wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on them all, they would have to end up choosing which group to prioritize… And that even if they did find a way to watch them all, they wouldn’t be able to figure out their itinerary before they started moving.

Good plan or not, William didn’t give a shit; his sole preoccupation now, was to free himself. And, other than slashing his wrists with the rope, he hadn't gotten anywhere as of yet. That said, what brought his attention back to Dolores' army was seeing Lawrence step forward and volunteer.

"You want to go with them?" Dolores laughed. "Can I trust you twice, Lawrence?"

William would have a lot to say about that. But the reaction came from a voice that hadn’t been heard so far — Rebus’.

"Oh, I know this gentleman alright," he stated, visibly taking a ridiculous pride in that fact. "And I’m ready to trust him. After all, we happen to share the same taste in women!"

He let out a raunchy laugher as Lawrence only smirked. What had Lawrence come up with again to earn such a comment!? William wondered, grumpy but baffled. In front of him, Dolores didn’t react to it. She didn’t need to, as Rebus kept going:

"I"ll take him with us!" And then, he waved his hat in direction of the retired host that kept staring at William. "Walter isn’t really the man he used to be! So, I’m gonna need a new… second in command!"

He brought his hat back against his chest, his other hand patting Lawrence on the shoulder as he kept silent. William laughed and found the strength to shake his head; all of this was pathetic.

"As you wish," Dolores accepted. "Go now. And hurry up."

And the crowd scattered. Teddy came closer to Dolores but William couldn’t hear what they were saying to one another, voices low, and he turned away, tugging even harder at his restraints while facing the hollow gaze of the host Rebus had called Walter, and who still hadn’t made a move. By the barn, Rebus, two other guys and Lawrence had climbed in their saddles, and were already galloping down the hill on which the ranch was perched. A strange feeling shook William with a shout of laugher. He coughed — fuck, he was parched! But he laughed again, to the point of forgetting to pull harder on the ropes for a minute.

"What’s so funny?" Still down the front porch’s steps, Dolores came back and looked at him, curious. "Your only remaining allies betrayed you and you’re tied up here… You are a good loser, I give you that!"

At those words, William laughed even more.

"Ah, no, I didn’t lose anything. He gave me exactly what I wanted…"

"And what’s that?"

William looked up at the other riders, leaving in small posses in every directions all the way to the horizon. And, for an moment, he seemed to notice the blending of colors she had spoken about, on the hills and the blue of the sky. He let out a slow, calm sigh.

"Something true…"

Tag list: @hathorik, @pheedraws , @something-tofightfor , @the-blind-assassin-12

[russobaby]

🌸 HOUSEKEEPING 🌸

hiiiiii I’m new here but I wanna start writing for the ultimate shadow daddy 🤍Benny B🤍 I don’t think I’m into the idea of writing about him IRL but I’m super invested in his characters in particular Billy Russo and Logan Delos and potentially Daddy Darkles (these are just my priorities but once I get things running I might be more open to other characters)

I’m also super open to prompts so anything you all wanna send is appreciated ✨✨✨

🖊Currently Working On: Fluff!Logan Drabble

[prolix-yuy]

Chapter 6: But She Was

Pairing: Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x F!Reader "Sugar"

Summary: He's so much more than only a host.

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: Explicit 18+ MINORS DNI, descriptions of male and female bodies, oral sex (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), unprotected PiV sex (don’t be a fool, wrap your tool), some light D/s themes, Jack needs his own warning because his mouth is a weapon, slight dubcon if you squint and think hard about it, major infidelity themes.

Notes: It's the moment we've all been waiting for! We've got another trope, more soul-searching, but most importantly SMUT. We've been yearning about this cowboy for too long, it's time to do something about it!

Cross-posted on AO3

Cognitive Dissonance Masterlist || Whiskey & Westworld Series Masterlist

When conversation begins to ebb and the sun is barely a sliver on the horizon, your hosts gather up the dishes and pour short glasses of port and whiskey. Jack and Jeb enjoy theirs on the porch while you and Mary wash up and sip yours with wrinkled fingers. From your vantage point you can see Jack’s profile lined in sunset tangerine, his expression kind as him and Jeb murmur on. Mary’s comments range from where she got her teapot to the weather this week, finally landing on you as the sky begins to darken.

“You live close by?” she asks, to which you shake your head.

“We were heading up through the pass when we came upon Jeb. Our group traveled on ahead, we’ll ride to meet with them,” you say, wiping your hands dry. Mary shushes you and waves a hand.

“You can’t possibly continue riding tonight. You’ll stay in the spare room. It’s the least we can do.” Before you can protest Mary steps through the porch door to tell Jack and Jeb the plan. Jack looks up at her with curiosity, then catches you in the window. He dips his head - this okay? - for the second time today, and you drop your eyes before nodding. Your hands wring your dress, the only clothing you have, and that bedroom holds one queen-sized bed. You're far from a blushing virgin, but now that you know Jack will be lying beside you, your husband to your hosts, your insides are clenching and fighting against the hammering of your heart.

Mary leads you away as Jeb and Jack continue their conversation on the porch, bringing you back to the guest room that now makes your heart pound. She opens a bureau and pulls out a square of fabric, placing it in your upturned hands.

“My daughter’s, it should fit you,” she says simply, showing you where you can prepare for the evening. You thank her and she closes the door, leaving you standing in the middle of a room that will soon contain a beautiful man who has given you reason to believe he would like to touch you. Hands shaking, you're feverish at the idea of being alone with Jack.

Hurrying into the washroom, you strip out of your clothes and lay them over a rack for use tomorrow. A basin of cool water sits on a small chest and you use it to clean yourself as best as you can. You wish for a real shower, to be clean and fresh and not as self-conscious about how you smell or the neatness of your grooming. This will have to do.

On the other side of the washroom door you hear Jack enter, murmured words before the soft close of the door. You hurry to slip the white nightgown over your head, adjusting it against your body. It’s large and billowy on you, falling down to your ankles and offering no hints at your form underneath. The lace straps are feminine, and when you look in the mirror you find an ivory ribbon threaded through the neckline, loose ends meeting in a soft bow at the center of your chest. The sweetness of the detail brings your fingers up to dance along the edge, a secret smile playing across your lips. It makes you feel pretty.

Watching your reflection, you’re surprised to see a glow on your features that has been long hidden. You skate your fingers across your cheekbones, the bow of your lips, the line of your jaw. It’s easier to see what Jack might find attractive there, why he might be drawn to you. The years have melted from your face, the stress and worry replaced with calm and anticipation. The last time you could remember feeling this happy in your own skin was…

A cold hand grips your heart, your own hands coming to grasp the edge of the bureau.

You were happy when your fiance proposed.

The truth of your life swims back into stark relief, tears welling in your eyes. The times when you felt this full of joy to be with another person clamor to the forefront. Dates along the waterfront, a sweet bouquet of flowers, dinners and soft words and laughter. You had been happy, once.

But then like tendrils of ink, the truth bleeds into the warm memories. The fighting, the harsh words, the disdain he seems to hold for you day in and day out.

Why can’t you be more like my friends’ girlfriends?

You need to do this.

Because I told you to.

Stop being such a bitch.

The gray haze of your life hangs heavy around your shoulders. There were moments of happiness, and ones of pain and regret. But overriding all of them was the fact that you had said yes, accepted your fiance and all that would come with that vow. Were you truly going to do this? Violate your promise for a night with this kind-eyed man?

Tentatively opening the door, you hear more than see Jack in the room. The squeak of bed springs, the clatter of something being placed on a table, a sigh. You pad out barefoot into the room and have to fortify yourself at the sight.

Jack sits on the edge of the bed, hands resting on his thighs and a quiet, uncertain look on his face. He’s shed his denim, instead wearing some cotton sleeping pants and a long-sleeve undershirt. The sleeves are rolled up his forearms, buttons at his throat open down his chest. When he sees you he snaps his eyes to your face, holding your visage. His hands squeeze against his thighs and you recognize his strained expression.

Jack Daniels, rugged cowboy, trouble with a capital T, is struggling not to lose his composure.

You take a few slow steps towards him, rewarded when you see his throat bob. He tries to put on that playful smile but it wars against his body language.

“You’re looking more beautiful than I have a right to see, Sugar,” he says, and do you detect a warble in his voice? Is he as conflicted as you are? You come to rest in front of him, the cotton of the nightgown brushing against his knees. He leans back a fraction to look up at you, his thumbs working against his pants in anxious circles. You part your lips, wetting them with your tongue but Jack beats you to it.

“This can stop here, darlin’. We don’t have to keep playing this game. I’d be just as happy to have you sleeping beside me than anything else. Though I hope you’d forgive me if I asked to touch you.” His eyes flit off to rest somewhere else in the room, chewing on his lower lip. “Been a long time since I’ve had the pleasure of something sweet to hold.”

You succumb to the desire you had earlier, fingertips tugging his lower lip out from between his teeth. It pops back plump and pink, the crease in the center even more pronounced and you swipe your thumb across it indulgently. His eyes come back to yours, deep amber mixed with the onyx of desire.

His words wash over you. He’s letting you say you don’t want this, or can’t have this. You can lay down beside him and the most he’ll do is put his arms around you. It’s your lust and unfaithful heart that is tempting him. You don’t deserve what he can give.

“I’m not sweet, Jack,” you say, the bile of your desire making your mouth bitter. Self-loathing dampens your libido, and you move to step back from him. His fingers wrap around your injured wrist, large enough to circle it easily. He brings it to his mouth, pressing an open-mouthed kiss over the barely-there burn, his lips dragging on your skin.

“Sweet,” he hums, licking his lips as his other hand falls to your waist, urging you closer to him. You hesitantly step into the V of his legs, his fingers stretching across your lower back. Holding your gaze, he presses another kiss to the delicate skin inside your elbow. His tongue flits out this time, and the dart against your skin pulses heat in your core. Heat creeps up your neck, your eyes hooding as he pulls his mouth away again.

“Sweet here too,” he says, your hands coming to rest on his strong shoulders. He’s blazing hot beneath you, barely anything keeping your skin apart. This is the step before it changes. You can still walk away now. Jack will let you. But you have to decide.

He lays both hands across the span of your back, pulling in a heady breath.

“I know we’re playing with fire here. There's a lot more going on outside this room than either of us are really addressing. And before you say anything, I’m not just talking about your situation. There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you too.” Jack’s thumbs sweep across your spine, his eyes downcast and rueful. “Something you should know before anything more happens.”

Your breathing slows, time becoming molasses-sticky under Jack’s hands. You study his face carefully, but you don’t see deception or shame in the lines of his eyes or the turn of his mouth. It could be anything or nothing, earth-shattering or insignificant. Whatever it is, he feels burdened by it as much as the weight of your vow on your mind. But with his face turning up to you, eyes gentler than any look your fiance has given you in months, you realize something.

You don’t care.

Whatever it is, whatever either of you is holding onto that makes this final step terrifying, it doesn’t matter. You know there’s something more, some part of him he thinks makes him unworthy, but you don’t care what it is. You made up your mind to follow Jack Daniels wherever he led you when you swung up onto Copper’s saddle.

“I know,” you say, watching Jack’s eyebrows lift in light surprise. “I know, and I don’t care. I don’t care about anything outside this room, because I've never been happier. Nothing has made me happier than this, right now.” Jack’s throat bobs again, a brightness returning to his eyes as his fingertips stroke along the curve of your back.

“What do you want?” he asks. No pet names, no banter. The calm before the dust storm.

“You said…before, that I…” you begin, tripping over what you hoped would be a witty remark but your tongue is suddenly heavy and stuttery. Jack nods.

“I said you could have all the Whiskey you want,” he replies, holding himself still as you study his face. In a moment of clarity you search for the machine behind the man. For glints in his eyes that reveal the inner cogs and programming. For a twitch that shows the mechanics. A sign that this shouldn’t be something you get lost in.

You can’t find it. You can’t pretend this is a high-tech sex bot sent to pleasure you devoid of emotion. Not with the way Jack looks up at you like you are all the sweetness in his life.

It’s time to stop doubting. It’s time to stop fighting.

“All of it,” you say, and the words lift such weight off your shoulders. “All that you can give me. I want it. I want you, Jack.”

The smile and gleam in his eye returns, earning a matching one from you.

“Yes, ma’am.”

And then he surges up to kiss you.

There was a movie you watched with your father when you were a child where an android kisses a man. You’d always remembered your father’s comment of, “it’s like kissing a toaster!” It made you laugh, stuck with you for years.

Kissing Jack Daniels was nothing like kissing a toaster.

He claims your mouth like you’re water in the desert, desperate, thirsty, needy noises in the back of his throat. You swallow them down, clutching at the front of his shirt as he crushes you to his chest. One hand wraps around the back of your neck, the other pulling you tight against him as he steals your breath, all soft full lips and ticklish mustache and the intoxicating scent of peach and, of course, whiskey on his breath. He parts from you briefly, beautifully curved nose pressed against yours.

“Told you,” he whispers, and the fact that he’s out of breath only drives your arousal higher. You hum curiously. “Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.” You huff out a laugh that is cut short by his lips capturing yours again, the tip of his tongue swiping across your bottom one. Your tongues meet gently, soft presses and strokes before Jack’s hand tightens on your neck and his breath puffs hard against your cheek. He delves into your mouth, pulling forth gasps and keens as he savors you. Hands scrabbling at his chest, you lift his shirt half up, exposing his soft stomach to your wandering fingers. When they find the delicate trail of hair leading below his waistband he groans into your mouth, hand on your back sliding down your hip to bunch the flowing nightgown into his fist. Cool air rushes around your thighs as Jack sits back and guides you to straddle him. Sliding his hand up your thigh, you’re treated to a dark chuckle against your lips.

“All this for me, Sugar?” he teases, and the tone makes your cunt slick with arousal. His fingers dance over your bare ass, skimming into the dimples at the base of your spine and dragging up your back. He lets you breathe by dipping his head into the curve of your neck, nipping and lapping at the skin there as you roll your hips in anticipation. His hand flexes, blunt nails scraping lightly at your back and you let loose a thin moan.

“Oh Sugar, we are going to have fun tonight,” he whispers in your ear, and in a quick spin he’s got you on your back in the bed, head nestled in the pillows. You giggle at the quick way he moved you both, breathless at the strength and speed of it, before realizing he’s not slotting his hips between yours. Instead his shoulders are pressing your thighs open, baring you to his appreciative eyes. You try to slam your legs shut, some nervous instinct, but those sinful hands keep them open. He tuts at you, looking up through his dark eyelashes.

“Don’t you dare hide this from me, Sugar. I’m intending to have my fill here,” he drawls, hot air puffing against your sensitive flesh. Your hands wander frantically as Jack settles himself more comfortably, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh.

“Jack, you don’t…” you whine, and your lizard brain kicks your nervous brain for saying something so stupid out loud. You feel like you’ll die if he doesn’t bury that quick tongue inside you.

“Sugar, if you don’t like this I’ll gladly move on to other activities,” Jack says, placing another kiss closer to where you want him. “But if you think I don’t want to do it…” His words are lost as he licks a wide hot path from your entrance to your clit, your surprised moan so loud you slam your hand over your mouth. He lifts his head, lips wet with a devious smile. “Does that allay some fears?” You nod, hand still clamped over your mouth.

“Sweet girl,” Jack rumbles, the praise and his tongue going straight to your cunt. Your brow furrows at the intoxicating mix of pleasure and pain in your intense arousal. Jack’s tongue is as quick and talented at eating you out as trading quips. He buries his face between your legs, holding you open for him as he circles your clit with the tip, flattening it to swipe and tease as you feel your orgasm building. He slides further down and laps at your entrance, slotting his tongue inside and rubbing circles with his strong nose that have you keening behind your hands. After sloppily licking back up to your clit, driving you wild with the undulation of his tongue, you almost shout at the waves of pleasure he’s pulling out of you. Jack lifts his mouth from your cunt, face shiny with your arousal, and nips at your stomach.

“Careful Sugar, don’t want sweet old Mary and Jeb to hear you cumming on my face,” he scolds without weight, making you throw your arm over your mouth instead. Your lips plant moans and whimpers in the crook of your elbow as Jack sucks one of his fingers into his mouth to wet it.

“Now if we were on my ranch I’d tell you to scream as loud as you want. Might even open the windows, let those pretty sounds drift on the breeze,” he rumbles, finger rubbing languid circles on your clit as his tongue explores all of the intimate skin between your legs.

“Or I would just lay you out under the stars and watch you take my cock by moonlight.” Your thighs tighten, a new rush of slick rewarding his filthy mouth. He coos and sucks you indulgently, steady pace on your clit holding your arousal but not mounting it.

“Beautiful girl,” he whispers, removing his finger as you whine in frustration. “Shhh, look at me Sugar.” You do, arm coming down off your lips as he gives you a placating smile. “What do you want? Tell me.” Your hips roll at his words and he pins them below those thick-fingered hands.

“Want to cum on your face, Jack,” you breathe out, voice rough from your attempts to stay silent. “Then I want you inside me.” Jack loses composure for a moment, heat growing in his eyes.

“Fuck, Sugar, I’m going to wreck this pretty cunt. Stay quiet for me,” he punches out, dropping his mouth to seal around your clit and suck. Pleasure explodes behind your eyelids, propriety forgotten as you brokenly moan at your impending orgasm. Jack’s fingers dig into your thighs as he releases you with a pop.

“What did I just say?” he growls out, mock anger in his voice but his eyes are mirthful.

“I…” you try to respond but he’s sitting up on his knees and manhandling you over onto your stomach.

“If you’re not going to be quiet, I’m going to have to make you,” he says, reaching up to tuck a pillow under your head. With a firm hand on the back of your neck he urges your face into the plush down. You’ve never been handled this way before, dominant and exacting but still gentle, and the sigh of “good girl” behind you makes you wiggle against the mattress. Jack’s powerful thighs frame your own, his other hand smoothing over the curves of your ass as he slips his fingers back between your legs. Finding your clit he returns to rubbing gloriously perfect circles on it, making your toes curl as you bury your head in the pillow.

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful coming apart like this. Lift your hips,” he orders, letting the back of your neck go. He shuffles down your body as you lift and arch, his clever fingers following you. Wrapping his arm around your waist, fingers returning to your clit, you keen before Jack’s hot thick tongue is back inside, thrusting and messily mouthing at you. The press of his aquiline nose against your entrance as he strokes his soft tongue over your clit is lewd and filthy and perfect. His open-mouthed hums vibrate against you, and…is he drooling against your pussy? You think you hear the patter of wetness dripping onto the sheets and whether it’s your own or Jack’s it makes the coil in your gut finally snap.

You cum around his tongue, fisting the sheets and moaning Jack’s name into the pillow as he guides you through it. He’s groaning along with you, coaxing every drop out with muffled praise. “Good fucking girl, you cum all over my face. Fuck, you saying my name there sweet girl? Yeah, say who’s making you cum this good. Can’t wait to get more than my tongue inside this tight little pussy.” You feel his weight shift on the bed, one hand pushing the nightgown further up your back as the other fumbles behind you. You pull your head up from the pillow, wet from your open mouth, to see Jack’s rapt attention on your half-naked form below him. His arm flexes out of your sight but is most likely wrapped around his cock. The soft, hot length dragging against the back of your thigh confirms it.

With a boldness you try to reclaim after Jack’s dominance, you push back against Jack’s narrow hips, smearing your wet cunt against the head of his cock and his knuckles. He punches out a breath, gripping at your hip tight enough that he’ll leave bruises.

You’ll have evidence of tonight on your skin. You couldn’t care less.

“Please,” you beg, backing up further even as Jack tries to keep you still.

“Darlin’, I still gotta open you up for me,” he says, chuckling and stroking along your hip. You shake your head and press your hips flush, his velvety head nestling in your folds. He breathes in a choked gasp as you cant your hips to seat him at your entrance.

“I can take it, Jack, please,” you whine, and you’re half embarrassed at how needy you sound.

“Oh you do? Think you can take this?” he says, and he folds to cage you underneath his body. His arms are thick posts on either side of your head, knees knocking yours open as you feel the curved length of him slide through your folds and rest against your clit. His mouth comes to your ear, lips brushing against the shell and the scent of your arousal on his skin.

“Feel me, sweetheart. You might think you’re ready, but I’ll split you in half with my cock if I try to put it in this tight cunt right now. So why don’t you let me fill you with my fingers until you cum again and then, maybe, I’ll fuck you.” He rolls his hips against you, and his length does feel long and thick as it passes over your clit. You nod in agreement, but a timid word pops out.

“Only maybe?”

Jack kisses your shoulder, nose dragging against your skin.

“Teasing, Sugar. I can barely control myself when you talk like that.”

You try to shoot back something witty but Jack wraps an arm around your stomach and hauls you back against him, lifting you up to your knees as he plasters your back to his chest. You’re spread out over his lap, one of his hands cupping your breast and the other sliding down to gather slick on his fingertips. He mouths at your shoulder, your neck, taking your earlobe between his teeth as he sinks two fingers greedily inside you.

“Fuck, Jack!” you strain, hands clutching at the thick thighs below you. He laughs between his clenched teeth, running his tongue along the edge of your ear as he curls his fingers out of you before plunging them back in even deeper.

“Yes, Sugar, you just let me find that perfect spot for you,” he husks, his long arms holding you against him as he slowly drags his cock through the cleft of your ass. He places a hot kiss, edged with teeth, in the same spot behind your ear where he kissed you so sweetly at the dinner table. Swiping his fingers over your pert nipple through your nightgown, he pulls desperate moan after moan out of you, the thickness of his fingers everywhere making you bear down on him. With one particularly good thrust he finds that deep wonderful spot inside you, making your head loll back against his shoulder.

“Ahh, there it is. You gonna give me another good one darlin’?” Jack mumbles into your skin, alternating kisses and licks and bites along your shoulder and neck. He’s stroking against it now, perfectly hitting every time and pairing his onslaught with the slick rub of the heel of his hand against your clit. You release his thighs and instead wind your hands into his hair, soft and curling through your fingers. Jack buries his own little pants in your skin, his hips pressing more firmly against you.

“Gonna give you one more of my fingers, Sugar, and if you can take it you can take me whenever you beg prettily enough.” Your jaw drops as Jack works a third finger inside you, the dewy wetness already pooling in his hand giving him ample lubrication to slide inside. For a moment you feel too full to breathe, arching your back and feeling all your lower muscles clamp down in protest. Your fingers tighten in Jack’s hair and he stills, his free hand releasing your breast and sliding up to press you back against him. He holds you so tight, like he’s afraid you’ll bolt from his embrace.

“You’re okay Sugar, I’ve got you. Jack’s got you,” he murmurs soothingly in your ear. “Relax, breathe, I know it’s a lot. I’m gonna stay just like this until you move. You take your time, I ain’t in a rush.” The patience he's exhibiting makes your breath shaky. Sex has never been this intimate before, waffling between intense pleasure and overwhelming overstimulation. Your body is thrumming like it wants to run but instead you turn your head and graze your lips with his.

“Kiss me, Jack,” you ask, and he’s all too willing to oblige. In comparison to how lewdly you’re spread out on his fingers, he kisses you sweetly, slowly, savoring every press and lick and sigh. His free hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb caressing you softly. Your muscles release, easing around Jack’s fingers as you roll experimentally down. He lets you set a pace, barely moving off him as you feel your cunt accommodate.

“Beautiful,” he says against your lips. When he curls his fingers this time you feel blinding pleasure rekindle, your hips chasing it as you and Jack bring you to your peak in tandem.

“I’m gonna-” you keen, hips rolling faster as Jack reaches deep inside and mercilessly strokes against you.

“Cum, sweetheart, cum for me,” he growls, and just like that you are bowing back against him, choked gasps and his name squeezed out of your gasping lungs as he works you through your second orgasm.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, you’re gonna strangle me Sugar. Keep going, don’t you stop on me now, you got some more in you.” If you weren’t already thrashing through the longest orgasm you can remember Jack’s filthy mouth still would have kept you going. Finally, when the last few aftershocks leave you limp against him, he slips his fingers out, bringing them up to his mouth to lick them clean. The sound of his appreciative hums and sucks next to your ear makes a shiver creep along your spine.

“Couldn’t help myself, darlin’, you just taste so good,” Jack says, pressing several soft kisses along your neck. With quiet strength and ease, he slides you down onto the bed, turning you so you’re lying in the pillows again. He sits back on his knees between your legs, finally allowing you a glimpse of his large, flushed cock in the V of his open pants. He was kind to slow you down; it sits proudly against his stomach, thick and pleasing but much longer than most you’d taken. That doesn’t stop you from wanting it, framing Jack’s hips with your thighs as he drinks you in. His hands bunch in the loose fabric of the nightgown draped around your waist.

“Can I take this off you, sweetheart?” he asks, and with a smile you sit up and help Jack guide it over your head. Now bare before him, his eyes widen and lower lip droops open in reverence. Skimming his hands over your bare shoulders, you let your own wander to the hem of his shirt.

“This too?” you ask, and he leans back and shucks off his shirt, almost as if he’d forgotten he was still clothed. Your hands descending to his pants make them follow in quick succession.

His strong, taut body shuffles between your softer thighs. Beautiful tan skin stretches across his meaty shoulders and biceps. The smooth planes of his chest are dotted with freckles, dark nipples begging for your mouth to tease. The light dusting of hair you’d glimpsed is primarily leading down to a thicker thatch around his cock. The muscles surrounding you speak of power, strength, endurance, but his hands touch you like you’re silk. Both bare, Jack takes his time leaning you back into the bed, exploring the softness of your stomach, the underside of your breasts, sliding his hands all the way from your shoulder to your wrist before interlacing your fingers. If you didn’t know better, you would call it longing in his touch.

Could he long for you?

“Sugar,” Jack rumbles as he’s leaning over you, dark eyes searching your face. You’re starting to like the endearment more and more. “I hope you’ll let me take my time with you now. I’d like this to last a little longer.” The sentimentality of it makes a lump well in your throat, but you nod as he breaks out into an endearing smile.

Jack does just that. He kisses you, soft and passionate and encompassing as he folds his body into yours. Hip to hip, legs intertwined, wrapped in each other’s arms you feel more present than with any man who’s laid with you before. And you finally let go of the overthinking, the constant analyzing of the puppet show going on around you, and just let yourself feel.

When he begins smoothly sliding his cock along your folds, arousal sparking in your spine, he hushes you and keeps the pace slow.

“Just feel me, darlin’, like I’m feeling you,” he says into your collarbone. You do just that, allowing your hips to roll into one another without any hurry or destination. It’s melting you into the bed, Jack’s kisses along your chest and neck punctuated by words of praise and adoration.

“Feel so good, just like this. Just like this,” Jack babbles against you, returning to your mouth as his strokes get longer, the head of his cock brushing against your entrance. The rolling waves of the motion mounts, making you grab at Jack’s back as he lifts onto his elbows, thumb stroking against your cheek. When the ache of arousal in your lower back makes your hips lift, Jack finally slides inside you with a long, slow stroke, watching your face.

You open your mouth in a soundless moan as he fills you. It feels like he keeps pushing into you for ages until his hips press into the cradle of your thighs, seated full and deep. You breathe through the mild discomfort, letting the pleasure pull to the forefront.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” Jack says through clenched teeth, dropping his head to your forehead. You tilt your chin to capture his lips and he moans into your mouth, cupping the back of your neck. Slowly pulling away, the wet noise makes you dig your fingers into his shoulders before he rolls back at the same methodical pace.

“Jack, my god, you’re so fucking big,” you gasp as he grinds against you again.

“Oh Sugar, you’re gonna build up an ego in this old cowboy,” he jokes, a wash of giggles lightening the headiness of the moment. He keeps up the pace, a long slide in, long slide out, until your hips start to chase after him.

“Jack…” you gasp, cupping his jaw where he's flushed from his cheeks to his shoulders, panting and eyes hazy with lust.

“What do you need, Sugar?” he asks, and when you slide your thumb over his mouth you get the devilish urge to push it inside. Breaching his lips, he groans and sucks hard on your thumb, tongue swirling around the digit. It turns you on more than you thought, seeing him suck and lick and scrape his teeth against you. His hips begin to speed up, strokes still as long but more powerful at the end, one hand gripping at your hip as he fucks you deeper.

“Oh shit Jack, that, yes, keep…doing that,” you pant, making him smile around your thumb. You pull it from his lips and card your fingers through his hair, his eyes rolling back and closing.

“You like that Sugar? Like feeling me so deep inside you?” He slides a knee up under your thigh for leverage. “You getting what you need? Gonna cum on my cock beautiful?”

“Harder,” you gasp out, half shocked at your own admission. Jack’s dark eyes flash, a wicked curl on his lip as he crashes your mouths together, teeth clashing and messily licking into your mouth. When he pulls away he posts up on his knees, both hands wrapped around your waist as he maneuvers your thighs around his waist.

“Everything you want, sweetheart,” he grounds out before setting a punishing pace, hips snapping roughly into your cunt and a grimace of concentration and ecstasy blooms on Jack’s face. He adjusts the angle and suddenly he’s driving into that deep pleasurable spot inside you and you’re gasping and arching as he seats his thumb over your clit.

“Come on, sweetheart, cum for me. Cum on my thick cock. Want to feel you soak me with this delicious cunt. You’re so close, I can feel you. Let go, let go, c’mon, you can do it. Cum on me. Now.” Jack’s growls are punctuated by his hammering cock and his relentless fingers and you’re helpless to stop your peak from overtaking you. It blazes through your body, Jack’s powerful hands pinning you to keep his cock inside.

“Fuck, yes baby, yes, that’s my good girl, choke me with your fucking cum, god you feel so fucking amazing. Yes. Right there, I’m right there with you. Fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuck…” Jack keeps his fingers circling your clit as he pulls out, fisting his cock over your stomach as he spills his load in long spurts on your skin. He’s making a mess, cum dribbling over his knuckles and painting you from hip to tit. Pulling in hard gasps above you with whimpers at the end, his fingers slow and he backs away enough to drop to his side beside you. Long moments pass with you both catching your breath in silence, then you blindly reach for him. Your fingers glance off his chest before he captures your wrist, pressing bristly kisses to your knuckles.

“Just wait here a moment, sweetheart, I’ll be right back,” he says, the mattress shifting as he stands and pads naked to the washroom. He returns with damp skin, a wet towel in hand that he uses to wipe his cum from your stomach. You think he’ll slide it between your legs too, but as he nudges them open he instead licks thickly through your sex, tasting you once more before a cursory wipe with the towel. He tosses it into some forgotten corner before pulling you to your feet, plastering you against his side as he folds back the blankets. Your limbs feel noodly, happy to lean on Jack’s broad frame as he guides you into bed.

Once he’s satisfied you’re snuggled in, he blows out the lights in the room and slides in beside you. You’re both still naked, the heat of your skin warming the cocoon of blankets around you. Jack’s arm slides under your neck and pulls you to drape over him. Your head finds the soft dip in his shoulder, hand placed in the center of his chest for his own to cover. This is more intimate than you anticipated after such satisfaction, but as Jack’s breath begins evening out under you, even your racing mind manages to quiet enough to enjoy the silence of the night.

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[fangirling-and-lovin-it]

This merger has royally sucked. I haven't been this disappointed about the cancellation of a TV show since Hannibal. Yes, Hannibal.

We're never gonna see the conclusion that Lisa Joy and Jonah Nolan imagined all along.

And I'm personally gutted that we're never gonna see a fitting conclusion to Bernard and Stubbs journey together 💜🏳️‍🌈

Oh well, just gonna have to make a lot more Bernubbs edits and fics to fill the space and correct this travesty mend my broken heart lol.

[girlsagainstg0d]

Do you ever read fanfic/general writing on here and see people mention a film or book series that isn't what the post is about and it's just like

"Ha ha yes! Niche reference to a piece of media which I am legally too young to be watching!! Ha ha!!"

Maybe it's just me. Can't really describe it.