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outofthislaptop · 7 days ago

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The Ultimate Adventure Awaits: Conquer Middle-earth with The Lord of the Rings Strategy Board Game

Are you ready to don your cloak, grab your sword, and journey into Middle-earth? The Lord of the Rings Strategy Board Game by Fantasy Flight Games brings the epic tales of Frodo, Gandalf, and Aragorn right to your tabletop. Perfect for 1-5 players aged 14 and up, this cooperative adventure is your ticket to a 60+ minute deep dive into Tolkien’s legendary world. Whether you're a seasoned gamer or new to the realm of strategic board games, this adventure promises excitement, camaraderie, and maybe a little second breakfast.

But what makes this game worth embarking on an epic quest? Let’s explore.

Why ChooseThe Lord of the Rings Strategy Board Game**?**

1. Cooperative Gameplay – It’s Not All About You, Frodo

Unlike competitive games where alliances crumble faster than Isildur’s resolve at Mount Doom, this board game is about teamwork. Each player takes on the role of a member of the Fellowship, working together to thwart Sauron’s evil plans. If you think you can be the lone wolf like Aragorn, think again—this is Middle-earth, not the Wild West.

Cooperative gameplay means that Gandalf’s wisdom, Legolas’ accuracy, and Sam’s unwavering loyalty can combine to overcome the darkest challenges. Miscommunication, however, might leave you feeling like Pippin in Moria (hint: don’t touch the skeletons).

2. Faithful to Tolkien’s World

This game doesn’t just slap the name The Lord of the Rings on a board and call it a day. No, sir! Fantasy Flight Games poured love and detail into every aspect. Fans will appreciate the intricate illustrations of locations like Rivendell and Mordor, as well as the faithful character abilities that make you feel like you’re truly part of the Fellowship.

For example, Frodo’s strengths include resilience, while Gandalf wields his immense wisdom (and beard) to guide the team. Just don’t expect Boromir to resist the allure of the Ring—some things never change.

3. Perfect Balance of Strategy and Luck

This isn’t Monopoly. (Although, wouldn’t Hobbiton real estate be adorable?) To succeed in The Lord of the Rings Strategy Board Game, you’ll need brains, brawn, and a bit of luck. The game features a unique system where players must carefully manage resources and make pivotal decisions, often under pressure.

The random element comes from card draws and dice rolls, keeping gameplay fresh and unpredictable. Will Gandalf save the day with a clutch spell, or will a bad roll send the Fellowship spiraling into chaos? Only time will tell.

How to Play Without Feeling Like Gollum Lost in a Maze

At first glance, the board may look like Saruman’s to-do list, but fear not! The mechanics are simple enough for newcomers, while still offering depth for experienced players.

Setup: Choose your character and arrange the board, complete with locations, event cards, and Sauron’s looming presence.

The Journey Begins: Travel through Middle-earth, facing challenges, battling enemies like orcs, and resisting the temptation of the One Ring.

The Ring’s Burden: Manage corruption levels—too much greed, and you’re toast (or worse, Gollum).

Victory Conditions: Either destroy the Ring in Mount Doom and claim victory, or watch Sauron laugh maniacally as darkness takes over.

Pro Tip: Don’t let the Ring-bearer (probably Frodo) wander off alone. It never ends well.

What Makes This Game Stand Out?

1. Solo Mode: Be Your Own Fellowship

If your friends are busy binge-watching The Rings of Power, fear not. This game’s solo mode lets you control multiple characters, guiding them through challenges as if you’re directing your own epic movie.

Playing solo is surprisingly fun and immersive, offering a way to enjoy your own epic adventure even if the rest of your Fellowship is on a break.

2. Replayability – Endless Adventures Await

No two games are the same. With multiple characters, randomized events, battles, and a variety of paths to victory, The Lord of the Rings Strategy Board Game ensures hours of entertainment. It’s like rereading Tolkien’s books but with plot twists you didn’t see coming.

3. Gorgeous Components

Let’s talk about aesthetics. From the finely detailed miniatures to the vibrant game board, every piece feels like a work of art. You’ll almost want to frame the components instead of playing with them. (But seriously, play the game—it’s worth it.)

Who Will Love This Game?

1. Tolkien Fans

Are you the kind of person who can quote The Silmarillion in your sleep? Do you cry every time you hear “The Breaking of the Fellowship”? This game is your dream come true.

2. Strategy Enthusiasts

If you love flexing your brainpower and outwitting the odds, the strategic depth of this game will have you hooked.

3. Family and Friends

Looking for a way to bond with your Fellowship of the (living room) Ring? This game is a fantastic option for family game nights or a gathering of nerdy friends.

Tips for First-Time Players

Understand Your Role: Each character has unique abilities. Use them wisely, or risk becoming the weak link (ahem, Pippin).

Don’t Underestimate Sauron: The Dark Lord doesn’t take coffee breaks. Plan ahead to counter his every move.

Stay Corruption-Free: Keep an eye on the corruption tracker. Nobody wants to become Gollum—except Gollum.

Communicate: This is a team game. Share strategies and don’t hog resources. (We’re looking at you, Boromir.)

FAQs AboutThe Lord of the Rings Strategy Board Game

Q: Is this game suitable for casual players?A: Absolutely! While the strategy may seem daunting at first, the cooperative nature makes it accessible. Plus, the theme keeps everyone engaged.

Q: How long does it take to play?A: Most games last 60-90 minutes, though it can stretch longer depending on how much you channel your inner Gandalf while deliberating over every move.

Q: Can I play this game with younger players?A: The recommended age is 14+, but younger players familiar with the story may enjoy it with a bit of guidance.

Why This Game Is a Must-Have

Whether you’re a die-hard Tolkien fan or someone who just loves a good board game, The Lord of the Rings Strategy Board Game delivers on every front with its immersive campaign mode. It combines rich storytelling, strategic gameplay, and stunning components into an unforgettable experience.

Plus, where else can you face off against Sauron with a gang of friends (or solo, if you’re brave)? This game isn’t just an adventure; it’s a celebration of the heroes and one of the greatest fantasy stories ever told.

Conclusion: The Road Goes Ever On and On

In a world where countless board games fight for your attention, The Lord of the Rings Strategy Board Game stands out like a beacon of light in the dark land of Mordor. It’s cooperative, strategic, and brimming with Tolkien goodness.

So, grab your Fellowship, roll the dice, and remember: not all who wander are lost—some are just figuring out how to defeat Sauron. Adventure awaits!

Ready to join the Fellowship? Pick upThe Lord of the Rings Strategy Board Gametoday and embark on the journey of a lifetime.

(Affiliate Disclosure: As an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases. Click the link to support this quest while snagging your copy!)

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johnwickb1tsch · 8 days ago

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rager.

a donaka mark x reader x john wick disaster. 6475 words. warnings: the usual sex and violence, not necessarily in that order...

-Once upon a time, Donaka Mark might have loved you. Or at least, the closest thing to love a narcissist like him can manage. It was mostly lust, you suppose, and the novelty of discovering the unexplored corners of someone new. It didn’t take long for that to turn into possession, and the first time he let the mask slip, revealing the dark beast within, you knew you’d made a grievous error, putting yourself in this man’s hands.

He had no intention of ever letting you go.

-He liked to control every aspect of your day. What you ate. What you wore. Who you talked to. Where you went. How you exercised. How you fucked.

What had started as the most exhilarating carnal adventure of your life had devolved into degradation and fear.

You wanted to go home. The first time you told him this, he’d laughed in your face.

-He started bringing you to watch the matches in his underground fighting ring. To scare you, mostly, but maybe also to enforce what you already knew: Donaka Mark was not a man to be trifled with.

You’d been terrified, the first time you watched him snap a man’s neck for refusing to play out his demands for a live action Mortal Kombat show. After the fourth or fifth time…you just felt numb. It was later, that it scared you, when his massive hands cradled the globe of your head, and you knew he could break you like a twig. There was something about the almost clinical way he looked at you in those moments, and you were sure that deep down, a part of him wanted to.

-You are in the middle of one of your frequent spats, boarding a yacht that belongs to a Russian arms dealer, a friend of Donaka’s who greatly enjoys the illicit entertainment your paramour puts on offer. “Do you always have to be such a whore?”

You’d dared to take the hand offered you by one of the crew manning the speedboat that would ferry you out to the yacht moored in international waters. There had been a swell, and you were teetering on the four inch Red Bottoms Donaka had selected for you, and you absolutely would have fallen into the dark South China sea if the young man hadn’t caught you. Donaka was making it into something entirely fabricated by his own jealousy–lately, his favorite game, and he would punish you accordingly for his own amusement.

At the end of your rope, you foolishly snap back, “If I was a whore I’d be having a lot more fun than this.”

The fire in his eyes is like the fallout of an atom bomb. “You think so? That can be arranged, sweetheart.”

The blood in your veins turns to ice as once again, you realize your quick temper and fat mouth has pushed him too far. You try not to think about how once, it had felt like he meant it when he used that endearment for you, and how afraid you are for what he has in mind now.

-Credit where credit is due: no one throws a rager like the Russian Mob. The music is loud, the vodka flows like water, and there is dancing like this is their last night on earth. You make your way through the press of the crowd on his arm, Donaka glad handing like the charming snake he is, so very at home amongst these members of the Brotherhood, their wives, their girlfriends, and their whores. Once upon a time you would have been oblivious to it; but now, you sense the danger in the air like a coming storm. Some of the fighters in Donaka’s enterprise have this heaviness about them. A feeling that at any given moment, anything could go down. It makes your hair stand on end, and you can’t stop yourself from gripping Donaka’s arm harder. Once, he would have comforted you, patted your hand, paid you a reassuring smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Now the glance he throws you is cold and dark and treacherous as the deepest ocean trench.

Your heart sinks like a stone.

-You enter a lounge off the main deck that is filled with couches, tables, a bar, and so many Russians. They are dressed to the nines in suits that undoubtedly cost more than an economy car, but the scars and tattoos on their skin tell you exactly who they are. There are women too, beautiful, scantily clad ones, draped across laps and posted behind chairs rubbing shoulders. The men are talking boisterously, one of them telling a story and the others laughing uproariously. One of them pantomimes aiming a gun, and the spray of blood. It wins shouts of approval, raucous triumphant laughter, and more vodka poured.

-You notice that out of this entire brigata only one man sits quietly, a silent shadow who barely smiles, nodding his head but making no sound. He is heart wrenchingly handsome, in an all black suit and tie, and when he turns his gaze to you it is as though something shifts inside you; like his midnight dark eyes can see directly into your soul. You’ve seen him before, in the crowd at Donaka’s fights, a dark tower standing behind his otets like a guard dog ready to do what he must. You’re certain he’s a killer, even though you never spoke to him, never got this close to him–even then it was like a physical thread pulled your attention from across the crowded room. You simply could not look away.

-You only manage to tear your eyes away now when Donaka starts speaking to one of the older men seated in the crowd, shaking his hand. “Viggo Mikailovich, your friends throw the best parties.”

“We do what we can, Mr. Mark.” Viggo’s eyes turn to you, assessing you up and down with his heavy gaze while asking, “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Very much. I brought a little present for your boys.”

He pushes you firmly into the middle of the circle of the boisterously drunk men, and finally you realize what he intends as your punishment tonight. Eyes wide, you whirl to look at him, to beg him, but he’s already walking away on those long legs, smirking at you over his shoulder.

Bastard. Fucking bastard!

You don’t speak Russian, but you hear the excitement in the male voices behind you, around you, you feel the catcalls and dirty innuendos, the threat in their playful tones like oil upon your skin. You start to shake, with fear or rage, you do not know.

-You take a step as though to chase after Donaka, but an iron grip closes around your wrist. Startled, you look down to see the man in black with the soulful eyes has wrapped his–admittedly huge–hand around you. Caught in his gaze like a mouse hypnotized by a cobra, you stare down with fearful fascination. Please let me go?

The words die on your tongue. Somehow, you know they will do you no good.

You notice that the suggestive comments silenced the minute this man put a hand on you.

Who is he?

One of the men makes a plaintive statement, which the man in black answers succinctly, but with a resolve like stone. No one dares challenge him. You feel them fall back, like wolves retreating into the shadows of the trees. You look down at him, and you can hear your heartbeat thundering in your ears. You’d be a fucking fool to think he’s rescued you–but he’s not like the others. That much is clear. He holds your gaze as he kisses your knuckles without a word, and you feel your knees turn to jelly, your treacherous cunt fluttering in answer.

-He pulls you down–not unkindly, but leaving no room for argument. You find yourself slowly foldied into his lap, perched on his long legs, tucked into the warm curve of his solid torso. You know you have a screwloose, but something in the lizard part of your brain purrs, despite the bad situation you know you’re in. The lace hem of your little Dolce and Gabbana black dress has ridden up your thigh. You are flabbergasted as he smoothes it back down with a light-fingered touch. “Better?” he asks, his big hand on your knee, and you don't know why you’re surprised he speaks English. You are surprised he seems to give a damn about your comfort. “Yes. Thank you,” you say softly.

-You are practically nose to nose with this man. It’s been a long time since you were this close to a man who wasn't Donaka, the intoxicatingly warm spice of his cologne filling your nostrils. It gives the illusion of intimacy in the loud and crowded room. His answering smile is ever so slight–a barely detectable tick of the corner of his mouth.

He doesn't say anything else, turning his attention back to the revelers in his group, though his fingertips draw light, maddening lines across your bare shoulder, down your arm. You shudder, and his gaze slides back to you again. Embarrassed, you try to cover, “What are they saying?”

A long sigh escapes him, all the weight of the world in that slow expulsion of air. “You don't want to know.”

You get the feeling that this man is as tired of this world as you are, and for some crazy reason, you almost feel safe in his arms.

-You could melt into a puddle, when after a little while he turns back to you, catching your lips so gently with his that your toes curl inside your pumps. It’s like a breath of spring, like something that died in you comes back to life. There’s a slow-burning fire in his eyes, and he stands with you in his arms, setting you on your feet. “Come with me,” he says, and hand in hand you go to the bar, get a drink, and go deeper into the bowels of the boat. His friends bellow and tease him, as the two of you go. He waves them off with a little smile, answering with that brand of manly banter that translates across all languages, something in Russian to you that sounds like “Shut up, assholes.”

-You wander the crowded boat until you find a [relatively] quiet place at the stern. You lean on the gunwale together, shoulder to shoulder, watching the dark waves below as you nurse your drinks.

“So…what’s your name?” you ask, starting with the basics.

“John.”

You lift your eyebrows. “John?”

“It’s easier than Jardani.”

You look up at him, suddenly wondering how many parts of himself he's had to hide, to survive in his world.

“I can handle Jardani,” you say, and he smiles a little, but you feel like maybe you're the butt of the joke.

“What about you, pretty girl?”

“Y/n.”

He nods, peering down at you like he can mine all your secrets with a look.

“Y/n, you do not seem to belong here,” he ventures.

“I don’t think…any of the women do,” you answer. You know they’re sex workers, doing what they have to do, or what they’ve been forced to do–and you know you’re no better than any of them.

“You know what I mean. Where are you from?”

You tell him, and he nods like he already knew.

“And what did you do, before?”

“I…worked in an art gallery.” This makes him smile a little, inexplicably wistful.

“And how did Donaka Mark get his claws into you?”

“I was visiting a friend from school in Hong Kong. I met Donaka at this insanely lavish party thrown by her parents’ friends at their house on The Peak. I’d never known anyone like him, who actually talked to me like I was a person. He…was charming, and I guess…I was dazzled by it all.”

You feel like you’re making a confession to this man you do not know, but once you start you can’t stop.

“He invited me over to see his art collection, and I never really left. He asked me to stay, so I did. It was…the stupidest mistake I’ve ever made in my life, I found out.” You hate it, that tears start rolling from your eyes. It hurts to look back on the beginning, on your earnest hopes. You’d fallen in love with a foolishly open heart, blind to the red flags that you realize now were there all along. “He was good to me at first but it was just a trap. He…won’t let me leave. He won't let me see my friend, or any of her contacts. He has my passport, and he won’t let me even go near my embassy.”

You feel so fucking ridiculous, but this man just nods. Not judging you. As though he understands the way men like Donaka chew people up and spit them out all too well.

-You hug yourself, goose pimples erupting down your skin. “Are you cold?” You nod, because it’s partly true. There’s a chill that runs deeper than your skin, something physical warmth can’t touch. He motions to take off his jacket for you, but you suddenly feel bold, maybe from the drink you’d consumed, or maybe…because he seems kind. You slowly step in to snuggle into his body, sliding your arms under his jacket. He closes his eyes, enjoying it as much as you as you tuck under his chin. He strokes your hair, and eventually it's you who turns your face up, hoping for another kiss. He looks down at you with those soulful dark eyes, and its as though every cell in your body quivers with anticipation before he ducks his head, and his soft lips touch yours. It's gentle at first, but then it grows into this heady, hungry thing–you pull back with a gasp, looking up at him with your big, woodland creature eyes. Here you are again, in the arms of something that could eat you in one bite–and you want to be devoured.

If you ever make it home…you should get your head examined.

It doesn’t stop you from asking breathily, “Do you want…to go somewhere?”

He takes your meaning perfectly well, that intense gaze upon you. “Are you sure?”

You nod without hesitance, and he closes his eyes, presses his forehead to yours as though you’ve just told him something that could save his life. He knows he should refuse. You are just a pretty, soft little thing that doesn’t belong in this world. He shouldn’t even be allowed to look at you, much less touch you. But he can’t say no. You’re in his arms–and he can’t say no.

He is not a good man. He knows this very well.

He takes your hand, and leads you back to the hall, then to a stairwell, where you go down into the boat. It takes you a few tries, before you find a stateroom where you can be alone. Once inside he locks the door behind you, before pressing you into the wall with a devouring kiss that makes you see stars. That gentle man from before is not gone, but he is hungry, and you are all too happy to offer yourself up like a feast for him to devour.

“I've wanted you…since the moment I saw you,” he admits. “On that asshole’s arm, across the room at the fight…I knew you weren't happy with him.”

You make a sound that is dangerously close to a sob.

“I wanted you too,” you admit, and the fury of his answering kiss steals your breath away.

Clothes are shed, buckles and buttons undone–his solid weight presses you down into the bed while you are only wearing your panties, and his skin against yours is a divine thing. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers against your chest, kissing your neck, your collarbone, and you could weep because it’s been a long time since you’ve heard that with any sort of tenderness in it.

“So are you,” you answer truthfully, your hands running down the ladder of his ribs, the taut muscles of his back and torso, past the perfect dimples at the small of his back and into the loosened waistband of his trousers. The firm curve of his buttocks feel like they were sculpted by God himself, or at least Michelangelo, which is close enough.

You spread your legs for him, inviting him in, and he rolls his hips against you. You want him inside you, but he is kissing down your body with something else in mind, his tongue teasing the taut peaks of you nipples.

“Can I taste you, pretty girl?” he asks, already pulling your panties down your thighs.

“Oh god,” you answer, which isn't really a negative or an affirmation. But he keeps going, and the sound you make as his tongue dips into your folds is barely human. You feel him chuckle against you, a deep rumble that resonates inside you, vibrating against your clit and you almost cum on that alone.

“John…Jardani,” you sigh as he drives you towards heaven with his tongue, teasing you with slow circles before lapping hard at your bud, a finger slipped just barely inside you. It’s so wonderful you could die.

Maybe you will, if Donaka finds out that not only did you sleep with someone else, but you enjoyed the hell out of it too. It seems his little punishment backfired, for now, but in the end he’ll make you pay somehow. He always does.

“You're going…to make me cum,” you warn him. He makes a sound inside your wet pussy that sounds like ‘Good.’

“But I want…to cum with you inside me.”

This gets his attention, this beautiful man looking up the line of your naked body at you with a sharp hunger in his midnight dark eyes.

“Are you sure?”

He presses a wet kiss to your singing clit, and you're not sure of anything.

“Yes,” you manage shakily, and he wipes his mouth on the sheets, standing to shed the rest of his clothes. You are mesmerized, watching the precise way he moves. You're grateful, when he produces a condom from his pocket, tearing the foil and rolling it on his impressive manhood. “Thank you.”

He just nods, occupied looking down at you with an intensity that nearly makes you squirm, positioning himself between your legs. His tip at your weeping entrance is a revelation; his thick length pressing inside you the best thing you’ve felt…ever, maybe. A few thrusts and he is seated completely inside you, buried to the hilt. You are incapable of keeping your eyes open, your head tilted back in bliss. But he does not move, and you feel him looking down at you, his arm around your shoulders holding you close. “John?”

He kisses you so gently it breaks your heart, his nose brushing yours. “I’m here. Are you?”

You don’t understand exactly, why fat tears roll down from the corners of your eyes.

“I don’t think…you belong here either,” you say. He seems…too kind, and you find it hard to reconcile that with the man who commands such fear in his crew that no one dares challenge him even while full to the gills with distilled liquid courage.

“I never had a choice,” he tells you quietly, and you believe that, nodding as you hide in the bed of his neck. Maybe this is a strange conversation to have, while a man is inside you, but everything feels too raw, too vivid, and your sanity teeters on a knife’s edge. You kiss his neck, breathing him in. If you’re going to die soon…at least you got to have this. Something real, and good, in the most unexpected place.

Life is so strange and cruel and sometimes–it’s wonderful.

“Please…don’t stop?”

He kisses you again, passionately, desperately, and you sense that maybe he’s close to breaking too. He groans in your mouth as he starts to move inside you, slow thrusts that allow you to savor every inch of him, his delicious girth stretching you wide. You shift your legs up, the angle tightening your hole for him, winning you a growl that sends a thrill from your spine to your aching center. His thrusts become faster, more erratic, and you think he might cum just like this. You find you crave the triumph of it, wanting to give him something to remember you by. “So fucking good for me, malyshka,” he rasps, withdrawing to guide you into turning over. His hands are so sure, so exacting as he arranges you how he wants, your ass in the air and your face in the pillows. Your pussy flutters and pulses, missing him, hungry to be filled again. You melt as you feel his kisses down your spine, and the slow pressure of him pushing inside you again. Just when you think it can’t get any better, strong, blunt fingers strum at your slippery clit, and your focus of the world narrows to wanting one thing.

“You going to cum on my big cock for me, sweetheart?”

You whine in answer, yearning, clenching around him. He shudders, thrusting deeper, making you jump. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

You realize you would give this man anything, for making love to you, when for so long you’ve only felt like a thing to be used. It might be this thought, as much as his masterful manipulations and his perfect member, that fills you up with pleasure until you break, a spine-cracking orgasm ripping through you. You feel him arch back, riding you through the furious fluttering of your walls squeezing him, greedy to be filled. Soon after he cums with a shuddering groan, his big hands on your hips, fingertips digging into your tender flesh hard enough to bruise.

He collapses over you, his dead weight and searing warmth enveloping you a wonderful thing, even if you can’t breathe. He whispers something softly in Russian into your hair, sweeping it back to kiss your neck, sending a luscious shudder down your spine. Slowly as though his strength is sapped he moves to the side, tossing the condom and drawing you into his arms. The small smile he pays you, the gentle kiss he offers, and the sadness in his dark eyes feels like a slow-twisting dagger in your heart, an exquisite pain you simultaneously loathe and savor.

You know what’s coming next won’t be good, and maybe it makes this small slice of bliss with him all the more glorious. With his big hand on the back of your head he tucks you into his shoulder and the two of you doze, tangled up for just a few minutes longer in paradise together.

-A little later he wakes you, sweeping the hair from your eyes and kissing you softly. “We have to go back,” he tells you regretfully, and you nod, knowing you can’t hide here all night. The two of you dress slowly, in no hurry to return to the hedonistic revelry above. But you suspect he has a job to do, and you…can’t escape your keeper this easily. He helps you with your dress, though his strong hands on your curves through the silk just lights the fire within you all over again. You sit back to watch him with a fascination that borders on obscene, entranced by his hands on his buttons, his tie, and the deft way he secures his weapons about his trim waist. He carries a lot of firepower, for being at a party. You suppose threats to his boss can come at any time, at any place.

-Hand in hand you return topside. The party hasn’t exactly wound down, though everyone is clearly very drunk. You find that Donaka is in the lounge, speaking to Viggo Tarasov again like they are old friends. His sharp gaze takes in the two of you across the room, his eyes narrowing, and within a moment you know that he is pissed. He stands as you approach, your grip on John involuntarily tightening with fear. “Time to go,” says Donaka, in that tone that brooks no argument from his subordinates.

But when you resignedly try to walk around, John holds you a step behind him.

“I thought she was a gift?”

“Just for the evening,” Donaka clarifies, leveling an assessing gaze at the man in black.

“You should have said. I’m afraid I’ve ruined her for you.” Donaka straightens, a barely banked rage seething in his eyes, all while you press your lips, trying not to laugh out loud for the spite of it.

Oh shit.

“How unfortunate for her,” Donaka finally answers, eerily calm, next leveling his gaze upon you. You will be the one to pay the price for this embarrassment in front of all these Russian gangsters. “Come on, y/n. Play time’s over.” He holds out his hand for you, and you know if you do not obey him…he will end you.

But still, John does not let you go by.

“It’s bad manners, giving a gift to take it back.”

“I’m sorry you misunderstood.”

“I’ve heard you think you’re a warrior,” John says cooly, his words so matter of fact. “So, let’s fight for her.”

Everyone in the room goes silent, all eyes on the three of you.

“You…don’t want to do that, Mr. Mark,” says Viggo, shifting in his chair uneasily. He says something low in Russian to John, that you assume translates to ‘Give him his bitch back.’

But you know that was the worst thing to say to the man who keeps you like a toy. Donaka Mark prides himself as a fighter. He’s not a bragging man, but he does not like the thought that he can be beat, by anyone.

“We can fight,” says Donaka, looking John up and down. “But I’ll warn you, I don’t spar for points.”

A low murmur runs through the crowd at this challenge. Unruffled, John nods. “Me neither.”

You think about the dastardly things you’ve witnessed Donaka do over the past year, and you squeeze your lover’s hand, afraid. “John…” you whisper urgently. “I know he looks civilized, but…he’s a killer.”

John simply nods, answering at a volume meant only for you, “We’re all killers here, milaya.”

Maybe you suspected it was true, but you’re still afraid, if for anything just because this man has become precious to you, and that feels like a promise from the universe to hurt him somehow.

-It takes place on the main deck on the front of the yacht. Everyone gathers around, eager to see what will happen, though you can’t help but notice several of the Russians seem uncharacteristically solemn. The combatants remove their suit jackets, their ties, and roll up the sleeves of their made-to-measure shirts. It’s to be a hand to hand affair, man to man, no weapons. John leaves you with Tarasov, as though he deemed the older man a safe place for you. “You must have left quite an impression, for John Wick to fight for you,” says the mafiya king.

“I…didn’t ask him to,” you answer for some reason. And for some reason, this makes the older man snort with amusement.

-The fury of their combat is a spectacle to behold. They are evenly matched in height and weight. At first it seems like Donaka might have the upper hand, landing a few blows, but that is quickly assuaged as the kicks and punches really start to fly. You watch as the gentle man who held you so tenderly is transformed into a finely-honed fighting machine; it is both terrible and fascinating . You dig your nails into your palm as you watch, hard enough to draw blood without even realizing, you are so transfixed.

Wick twists Mark up like a pretzel in a complicated move, and maybe would have succeeded in breaking his neck had Donaka not bit him savagely. They go at it again, and when there is a flash of metal you realize Donaka has pulled a knife. You gasp at this betrayal; some of the Russians laugh, and some boo. Donaka slashes at Wick, who succeeds in jumping out of the way, a hair’s breadth ahead of the blade. Wick catches his arm, strikes his wrist, and the blade drops. They grapple, and head-butt, and Donaka manages to get John on the ground with a takedown move. He punches John, landing horrible, bloody blows. But John manages to get his legs around his opponent, flipping him. He swipes the knife, tries to drive it home, but Donaka holds him at bay. The two men hover in violent stasis, snarling at each other with bloody teeth. In a sudden burst of strength Wick strikes the knife, forcing it into Donaka’s chest, and then his throat.

You watch with horror as the man who has tormented you for the past year slowly bleeds out onto the high-polished deck of the yacht, his blood spreading beneath them in an ever-expanding pool. He is defiant to the end, baring his teeth at his killer like a tiger, but even Donaka Mark cannot survive a hole in his heart.

You look upon them, dumbfounded, feeling as though John Wick has slayed a dragon for you.

-Wearily, your hero gets to his feet, accepting a towel to wipe his face and hands before fastidiously unrolling his sleeves and buttoning his cuffs again. Only then does he turn to you, a cut bisecting his brow, his nose bloodied, his lip split. “Are you alright?” he asks, and it’s all you can do not to faint dead onto the floor.

-Wrapped up in a fluffy robe, you look out over the bird’s eye view of Victoria Harbor glittering like a blanket of aquamarines in the morning sun. Anxiously, you await John Wick’s return.

The past twelve hours have been a blur. The few security men who had accompanied Donaka surrendered and made no trouble, only wanting to leave with their lives once their meal-ticket was gone. John had bundled you off back to Hong Kong island via one of the speedboat tenders, and promptly checked the two of you into a hotel room in a lavish establishment in the Central district called The Continental. They knew him by name, did not blink at the state of his face, and immediately offered to send up a doctor and a bottle of Blanton’s finest bourbon.

You took a long hot bath together, and by your count, made love three and a half times before he left “To arrange some things.” (The half was on you–the body was willing, but the flesh weak). You feel like you've been living in a fever dream, high on a mixture of relief and disbelief.

You realize, with the benefit of hindsight, that you really had thought you were going to die.

-When finally he returns it's as though a tight knot releases in your heart. You greet him with kisses and a long embrace. He may be a seasoned killer, this man relishes being held. It's yet another thing that endears you to this man; it makes you want to never let him go. “It’s all settled,” he tells you. “I got you an open ticket. You can go home once you get your new passport from your embassy. You can stay here as long as it takes to get that taken care of.”

This news should make you ecstatic.

Instead, you stare up at him open-mouthed, gripping his arms with fingers like claws.

Finally, you remember how to fucking breathe.

“Thank you. I really can’t thank you enough, for everything.”

He smiles ruefully, brushing your hair back from your cheek. “You don't seem happy.”

You close your eyes, because this man sees everything. There's no hiding from him. “I…don’t want to leave you,” you admit point blank, quickly, before you lose your nerve.

He continues to pet your hair, like soothing an animal that's on the edge of going feral. He reads you like a book.

“Baby…you've been through so much. You need to go home.”

You nod, knowing he's right. But fuck if it doesn't feel like your heart is breaking. You've actually managed to avoid having a proper breakdown so far–postponing the inevitable, you’re sure–but fuck if there aren’t tears in your eyes. “Will I ever see you again?”

You can tell he's amused with you, even if he's sad too. Not unkindly, he says to you, “Has it occurred to you that you have terrible taste in men?”

You laugh shakily, mostly at yourself. “I don’t know. I feel like I’ve done pretty well for myself lately.”

He cups your cheeks in his hands, looking down at you like you’re something precious he’ll never see the likes of again. “I want you to promise me you’re going to go home, and fall in love with someone completely boring, and live a good, safe, life. Can you do that for me?”

You make a face. Not just at the thought of loving someone boring…but loving someone who is not him. “I will promise you…that I will look after myself with more care, when I get home.”

He sighs, having to accept it, and he kisses you so sweetly that you understand his heart is breaking too. “Maybe in another life, sweet girl, I could have been the kind of man who deserves a woman like you.”

“You’re not a bad man, John,” you insist. “You’re my hero.”

“Just this once, just for you.”

You pull him into another embrace, and you realize you are not the only one who is trembling with pent up wishes that life could be different for both of you.

“Come here,” you say, pulling on his tie. He obeys, allowing you to lead him to a chair. You know he lets you, when you playfully push him down to sit, but you'd be a liar if you pretended you didn't get a thrill out of it anyway.

“What are you up to, pretty girl?” he asks gently, a warmth in his soft brown eyes, just for you.

You kiss him lingeringly before sinking to your knees before him, sliding your hands down the length of his muscle-strapped thighs. “I want to thank you,” you say, playing the coquette to mask the fact that your heart is splintering into a thousand pieces as you speak.

“You don't have to thank me,” he tells you, cupping your cheek in his hand. You lean into his touch, savoring every second you have left with him.

“Fine, I won’t,” you say cheekily, winning a huff of laughter that feels like a coveted prize. You reach for his belt buckle, and he doesn't stop you. “But I’m still going to suck your dick.” His mouth dances as he tries not to smile– in the end he loses the battle, and then he moans as you free him from his underwear, already hard and proud in your hand.

“Baby…how am I supposed to let you go?” he rasps as you take him between your lips, swirling the glans with your tongue. You almost forgot how fun sex can be, until John found you. He claimed you, and then, he set you free. You take him all the way into your throat with gusto, moaning with him as his fingers comb into your hair, gripping lightly as you work him up and down. “Let me have you?” he whimpers. “One last time?”

You withdraw with a pop, your vision unfocused with lust as you look up at this god of a man. You know it’s batshit crazy, but you would stay by his side indefinitely if he would only let you.

He scoops you into his arms, carries you to the bed, and you make love again while he looks into your eyes. You feel like he's stolen a piece of your soul–you’ll never be the same, and you certainly know you'll carry him with you, in your heart and your memory, for the rest of your life.

-As the years go by, you honor John Wick’s request in your own way. You do take care of yourself. And, you never really allow yourself to let anyone in again. It's too disappointing, after having known a man like him, and too risky, after having known a man like Donaka Mark.

You've since moved to New York. You work as an art consultant for a large firm, basically telling rich people what to buy for the walls of their multi-million dollar residences. As tiresome as the uber-rich can be, you get to work in a field you love, and draw attention to emerging new artists who deserve it. When you return from your lunch break Tina, the receptionist, tells you that you have a walk-in who requested you specifically waiting in conference room 1. It's not really how things are done at your office, but you know better than to turn your nose up at a prospective client. You set your things down at your desk and go see what awaits you.

He’s standing at the window with his back to you, looking out over Manhattan. Even so…you would know the lines of his body in a smartly tailored suit anywhere. Suddenly, your knees feel like they might go out from under you.

“John?”

Only then does he turn, still so handsome it hurts, his hands in his pockets and his eyes still so filled with warmth for you. “Hello, y/n.”

It takes three tries to find your voice.

“What are you doing here?”

He looks down for a moment, as though shy about what he has to say. You've literally watched this man kill with his bare hands– what could he possibly feel embarrassed about with you?

He keeps his deep voice low, as though he's afraid he might spook you. “If I told you I've had a recent change in careers…would you have dinner with me?”

You close your eyes, because it's all you can do not to leap over the hand-crafted conference table. He’s all you've thought about in your free time, since the moment you parted. The memory of this man is imprinted on every cell in your body. Maybe he let you go…but you belong to him.

You realize you've been silent for a long time, when he answers sadly, “But if the answer’s no I completely understand.”

You're at work. You have a reputation to maintain. You have to act like a professional.

You forget all this, when you cross the room and fling yourself into his arms, answering his question with your mouth on his.

The rest, as you might guess, Dear Reader, is just history.😉

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*otets - the godfather, the big boss *brigata - brigade, a crime crew in the russian mafiya *malyshka - babygirl *milaya - darling, honey

I'm pretty sure @sweetwolfcupcake planted the seed for this a while ago when she commented on my Sympathy for the Devil fic "What if John Wick entered the picture?" 🤭 And here we are. You're a genius, dear girl!!😘😘😘

#donaka mark #john wick #keanuverse #donaka mark x reader #john wick x reader #donaka mark x you #john wick x you #keanu reeves

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