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coralinnii · 10 months ago

Note

Hi! I saw that you were opening your requests for the next day or so to celebrate getting 2.7k followers! First off, I wanna say congratulations, and may you have a good day/night (almost wrote 'not' lol)!

Anyways, I read your rules, and wondered if I could get a fic with Leona, Vil, Malleus, and Lilia being in a relationship with a Venti! Reader? Essentially, Venti is a Genshin Impact character who plays the lyre, controls the wind, and has a playful personality.

‧₊˚✧ As Free as the Wind ‧₊˚✧

↳ Twst guys with a Venti!reader

feat: Leona ❋ Vil ❋ Malleus ❋ Lilia genre: humor, mild fluff note: no pronouns were used with the reader, Venti!reader is of legal age to drink, no spoilers regarding the Genshin Impact storyline, minor spoilers for TWST Book 7

Thank you reading my rules, always appreciate the extra effort people make! I deeply apologize for how late I am with this, but I hope you enjoy the post. Hopefully I captured Venti's personality well enough >_<'

2.7K Followers Writing Event 2023

Ooff, did he first thought you were a pain in his tail.

Loud, cheeky, no fear of disturbing anyone for entertainment or favors… at least Ruggie has the decency to be useful.

He scoffed when you smile and act as if he can’t sense a dangerous well of power within you, the playful persona you present may fool a common man but not Leona.

He’ll play your game though. There’s no benefit to him to pry into your secrets. He finds this side of you, the one that would play a soft ballad for him for some booze money, much easier to deal with.

This is a strange relationship, but Leona can respect someone strong and most of all, doesn't tell him what to do. You believe in free will and freedom above else, which Leona appreciates.

“The concept of one king ruling over all... I can’t say I’m too interested in a land like that.”

Leona laughed at your boldness. With you, there’s no sense about stuffy responsibilities and obligations.

There are sweet days where you and Leona would spend the day in the greenhouse, Leona sleeping soundly as you play your lyre while humming your new poems, the wind carrying your melodic voice.

“Huh, do you have a song for me? Hah, what do you want from me this time? Fine, I’ll let you play.”

Vil immediately clocked something powerful about you, your nonchalant persona is good, but you cannot fool a seasoned actor like him.

No matter, though. Vil has no interest in delving into someone’s past like that. Vil assumes that if you must act so easy-going yet private about yourself, then he won’t pry into such things. One must have reasons, he supposed.

However, Vil cannot let go of your pension for the “occasional” drink or two. Vil doesn’t care that you are older than your appearance suggest, alcohol impacts your body and health as you age so he rather you limit that little habit of yours.

“Come now, Vil. Another bottle wouldn’t hurt~”

“Hmmph, you don’t have to worry much about yourself when you’re drunk but I most certainly do, especially when you come to me reeking of wine.”

But you always managed to quell his anger by singing ballads and poems about your wonderful beloved Vil. That always lifts the Housewarden’s mood and you end up with a mere reprimanding. Hehe.

Vil will not, however, forgive you so easily if you get too mischievous with him. The beautiful man can respect your talent with wind and currents, but he doesn’t appreciate the gust you would conjure up if it messes up Vil’s appearance too much.

“Don’t even think about running away from me. I know you were behind the sudden rush of wind, my mischievous one. Acting cute or sweet words is not going to work this time.”

However youthful you may appear, Malleus can sense an old soul within you which feels familiar and powerful.

Malleus is often surprised by you, for your playful and bold nature while handling the wild winds as skillfully as you hold the lyre. You bear similarities to a certain someone that he can’t help but respect you and hold you to a higher regard than any typical being.

Malleus doesn’t hate that easygoing personality of yours. On the contrary, he enjoys that spontaneous side of yours as you suggest the strangest of ideas to a powerful figure such as him.

“Let's go jumping in puddles and see who can make the biggest splash!“

You are a sociable being, making friends so easily that it baffles the young fae. A few cute words from you and it was suddenly so easy to lower one’s guard around you.

However, when you’re alone and don’t realize his presence, Malleus catches that gleam of loneliness in your eyes as you gaze from your tall resting spot. A look that Malleus feels a kinship with you in that regard.

”You would like to take a stroll with me tonight? Oh, a race in the sky, you say? Very well, but don't be conceited enough to believe I’m so easily bested.”

Dear Sevens, why would you ever let these two chaotic gremlins be in the same vicinity? Do you know no mercy for others?

The two of you would hit it off so well, it’s almost concerning. Lilia finds you a delight to be around, almost a kindred spirit even.

“So, you also took care of a dragon long ago.”

“Yeap, but he sorta became a nation-wide threat when I decided to leave and go off on my own.”

“Ah yes, those things do tend to happen.”

(if you can’t tell who’s saying what, that really speaks to how similar a coincidence that was)

Jamming sessions ALL. THE. TIME. The campus has not known a single moment of rest as you display your musical talents in the courtyard while Lilia encourages you all the way, occasionally playing along with an instrument of his own.

Lilia is fascinated by your lyrical retellings of your world and would love to visit this kingdom that values freedom among all else, and of this dandelion wine you speak so lovingly about.

As a man with his own… history, Lilia isn’t the type to ask too much about you if he sees you dodging the question. He can recognize that familiar look of longing and loss, so Lilia doesn’t press further and instead indulge with you in one more glass of bittersweet wine.

“What tales do you have to regale for tonight? I’m always captivated by these grand adventures of yours, it’s almost tempting for this old soul of mine, hehe.”

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mullermilkshake · 2 months ago

Text

A lasting impression - Part three

Part one, Part two, Part three, Part four

Wife! Reader x Yakuza!Sukuna Tags: NSFW, Wife! reader, Yakuza AU, established relationship, mentions of blood, gore, violence, kissing, heavy petting, smut to come.

"Sir," Uraume waited by the door of the car and opened it for Sukuna's exit.

"Where is she?" he slipped out of the car and moved with purpose towards the double doors of headquarters.

"Your wife is waiting for you in her study. I applied the necessary first aid and after care myself."

"Good. that'll be all for tonight, Uraume."

Sukuna left them behind and made his way towards his personal quarters towards the inner part of the property, private enough to scream bloody murder and no one would hear unless he wanted them to.

The only place in Ryomen headquarters that no one other than Uraume was permitted to enter.

A place where you and him could converse freely and live life as though the Yakuza world wasn't just waiting outside those outer doors.

No one dared to even look him in the eye when he marched himself down the hallways and left nothing but the padding of his bare feet on the wine red carpet to match the red all over his body.

Perhaps that was why everyone he passed looked away and bowed far deeper than usual. Not that he minded it at all. It was just the way things happened, including how he was covered head to toe in the blood of his enemies.

When Sukuna arrived at his private quarters, you were right where he expected you to be, sitting at your desk writing something in your leather bound journal.

He entered without knocking, knowing the ins and outs of the study with his eyes closed, knowing the art ladened walls and antique gold lined vase off in the corner like it was his own office. For no one, not even Uraume had access to.

You didn't initially react to his presence, still writing and nursing your cheek with an icepack. "Did you get it all out of your system?"

If it wasn't such a serious time, Sukuna would have chuckled at your attitude seeing as you knew him so well.

"For now," he closed the study door and made his way to the desk. "let me see your cheek."

He stroked the back of your hand with his index finger which prompted you to close your journal and settle the icepack down on the wooden surface.

"Are they dead, or just gravely injured?"

The bruising had taken a hold of your flawless skin, bright red and purple from impact so disgustingly placed on display for all to see. It stoked the pit of lava in Sukuna's stomach enough that he could go out and punch the next person he saw just to quell it for just a second.

It took a moment of loosing himself in your eyes for you to respond to the silence. "I don't think I need to ask, actually. Did you leave a note per chance?"

Sukuna thought back to Awasaka's disembowelled abdomen. "Of sorts."

His knuckle moved and grazed your cheek, dragging slowly and barely brushing past the injured skin so as to not cause you further pain.

Fuck, you were so beautiful. "This won't happen again. And when I find everyone involved, they are going to wish that they endured a quick death when I'm through with them."

Then, you responded to Sukuna in a way that caught him off guard. "Do what you need. Though if it pleases you, I hope you'll let me watch."

Now you weren't opposed to him using violence. You had seen your fair share in the time that Sukuna had known you, it was a fearless part that drew him to you in the first place. But openly asking to be a part was nothing you had voiced before.

He leant against the desk, propping himself onto it to look at you more clearly. "If that is what you want."

And for some reason, Sukuna felt that down to his very soul.

A characteristic that made him fall in love with you all over again.

The way you looked up at him just now, though he was still drenched in Awasaka's blood. Something lustrous and hungry, excited and feverish for an outcome only he could provide.

Sukuna would have given everything up to ensure your safety. His little kingdom, the wealth the Ryomen clan had accumulated, even his life.

Anything for you. Everything.

"I very much want it."

His strength, confidence and brash nature were traits that interested you, things that drew you too him like a bee to flower petals, just watching him from the background with your own perfect traits that collected Sukuna with magnetism.

You could handle yourself physically and most importantly, mentally. There wasn't a time he had ever really seen you loose yourself or seen you display emotions that were drastic. You didn't even loose your temper like people expected a person to.

Right now he knew you were seething, though from an outsiders perspective you were just sitting at your desk asking questions.

Sukuna's hand had cupped your cheek softly and cradled you, his thumb rubbing just short of your ear. "Then you shall have it."

It was rather abrupt, again, being out of the ordinary for you. You shot up from your seat and moved close to him, close enough to plant your palms flat on the desk either side of him.

"Good. Because I'm rather disappointed that I missed out on the show," you nodded to the red bloody marks all over his clothes and hands. "To think you did all this for me and I never even got to see the fun."

Shit. For a moment Sukuna was dumbstruck. Only for a moment before his cock did the thinking for him. If he was a better man, he would have showered first before touching you. but seeing you as you were, pressed close with your chest rising and falling stopped him thinking rationally.

What could he really say in response to that?

"Was it painful?" you eyed him closely, tracing your finger over his chest.

"Yes."

"Did they make you work for it?"

Sukuna finally found his footing and traced the curve of your hips under his palms. "Hardly."

"That's good," getting closer, your lips barely brushed his own, the splatters of blood never deterring you. "An easy fight can be pointless. But it still sure does work up an appetite."

Not even a second more, Sukuna did not allow you to breech the gap between you, he yanked you towards him so quick that teeth almost clashed together and took your lips like he was an extension of you.

He was going to have you right there over your desk.

Sukuna pulled away momentarily, scrunching your hair between his fingers as he inched up the back of your neck. "Having you, leaves me ravenous."

"Have your fill then," your teeth pinched at the edge of your bottom lip.

So he did, in a fluid motion Sukuna turned around and had you on the desk with your back flat against it. Objects and stationary slipped and crashed off of the desk along with the icepack.

Your hips were flush against his, legs wrapping passionately around his waist. His crotch was straining against the material already, begging to be let free right between your legs. The supple skin plush of your thighs sat like velvet under his fingertips, reacting to his touch with shudders.

"Who knew that getting your own way could make you even more tantalising?"

You were spoilt. Sukuna had spoiled you. And he loved it.

Everything and anything you asked, you got. Because he would always give in no matter how outrageous the request was.

Though you never asked of much. Just him.

It was Sukuna who gave you everything. And then you had requests like this.

To see you witness himself at his worst, covered in blood and full of rage so much that he enjoyed it. Absolutely jaw droppingly insatiable.

Much like now since most of the blood had dried, yet some still transferred on to your skin. Your slender fingers clawing at his shoulders leaving red in the fingerprints.

His thumb traced the edge of your jaw, noses rubbing the other so that his lips ghosted over your own. In the six years you had been married to him, he had a good grasp on what you were thinking.

Your eyes watching him with adoration, did his look the same?

He loved you so much.

"Love me," you said, showing the smallest hint of vulnerability.

And he would, ten times over.

#yakuza au #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #x reader #fem reader #reader insert #sukuna x reader #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #jjk sukuna #ryomen x reader

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okay-babe · 7 months ago

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word count: 1100 (probably too high-)

break me. basically just reader catching human!alastor murder someone and alastor desperately trying to calm his darling down, only to realize that reader isn’t listening as they are way too scared.

tyy!!! :DD

Easy Prey

tags: alastor x reader, established relationship, alastor and reader are married, mild gore, angst, possessive behavior, dark themes, murder, human alastor

The evening air was dreadfully thick as Alastor made his way through the underbrush at his feet, legs carrying him in a manner that suggested he'd walked these woods many times before.

He had to make this quick.

Eyes darting from left to right, the young radio host hummed to himself quietly in an attempt to quell the rushing thoughts within his mind, many of which implored him to turn back the way he'd come.

"She's waiting..." one reasoned.

"He's gone!" another panicked.

"There's no time. Return to her!" a third begged.

Though, notably, others commanded he do otherwise.

"Find him." the first snarled.

"Leave nothing more than a corpse for the dogs to find!" a second raged.

"And when it's done," the loudest coaxed, "return to her."

Eyes glaring as he trekked confidently onward, Alastor couldn't help but give in to the darker demands rattling off inside his brain for what was far from the first time.

It was like this on nearly every occasion that he dared take you with him to visit the cabin located on the hunting grounds he'd purchased a few years back. One of those foolish mutts would catch a glimpse of those pretty doe eyes of yours and begin their wretched hunt early, staring at you as if you were a lamb and they a forgotten god, desperate for a sacrifice.

Staring at you as if you were not his.

And beyond anything else he had ever experienced, Alastor Hartfelt found that infuriating.

And so, as he always did when transgressions like these occurred...

He waited.

And waited.

Until finally, he would catch a glimpse of whichever uncouth wretch had dared gawk at you on that particular occasion as they walked into the woods, defenseless, doubtless scouting out the land for the best spot to hunt grazing doe the following day.

And every single time, Alastor simply glanced down at his watch, waited his customary fifteen minutes, and then walked casually to grab his rifle from the gun cabinet in the mudroom.

Except this time was different.

This time, it had been long past dark when he watched the man who was renting the cabin next door walk silently toward the woods.

This time, he'd had almost no excuse to follow eagerly after him.

This time, you were awake, confused, and waiting back in your shared bed, having asked repeatedly for an explanation that never came as your husband changed from his sleepwear to his hunting clothes before insisting you stay put and stalking out the main entrance, the impact of the gun cabinet slamming shut shaking your dwellings just before the screen door did the same.

Yes, Alastor most certainly needed to make this quick.

The radio host continued onward silently, ears pricked for any kind of sound besides that of the deep and warm waters that made up the nearby bayou, into which he often tossed sacks of bloodied clothing weighed down by rocks, never to be seen again.

At the subtle reminder of his gruesome crimes, Alastor couldn't help but grin wider, his thoughts drifting briefly to all of the evidence lying unknown at the bottom of the nearby body of water.

There had to be relics of nearly ten or more kills in those depths at that point, some of them punishments for an indecent look your way, and others for acts entirely unrelated yet equally as worthy of being dubbed transgressions in the mind of your husband.

Suddenly, Alastor was drawn out of his reverie by the dull snap of a trampled upon stick sounding out from his left. He chuckled eagerly at the noise, readying his rifle and making his presence known as he sauntered in its direction.

"What a shame," He started, grin growing wider as he heard the hunter curse under his breath before scrambling to stand upright once more, no doubt having hoped to hide until his pursuer gave up the chase.

Alastor laughed outright at the ridiculous display of fear playing out just a few yards in front of him, the visage of his target little more than a shadow as he raised his weapon and steadied his eager hands.

"I was really hoping to take my time with you."

There was a mock pout to his tone as he spoke, finger now poised above the trigger.

He sighed,

"Oh well."

——————

You gasped, nearly jumping out of your skin when a gunshot rang out loud and clear from your left, flimsy house shoes almost tripping you up until you had to lean against a tree for purchase.

Fearfully, you clutched your hand against your heart, holding back a whimper of fear at just how close that had sounded, only a hundred yards or so away from the main trail where you stood based on its volume.

Swallowing thickly, you gave your poor heart a few seconds of respite before hiking your nightgown up to your knees and pressing onward through the underbrush, ignoring the stinging pain caused by the thorns that caught you on the way.

In the back of your mind, a voice called out for you to turn back and return to your soft bed and quietly droning radio, but as nice as that may have sounded, you just couldn't bring yourself to do it.

There had been something present in your husband's eyes when he'd told you to stay put, a crazed and concerning joy with an edge of fury to it that made your blood run cold.

You needed to know what was happening, for better or for worse.

So slowly, carefully, you followed the sound of occasional movement and the increasing volume of the nearby bayou that Alastor insisted had gone rotten and putrid until you caught sight of a familiar man, though the vision of what he was doing made you wish he was anything but.

First, you faltered.

Then, you whimpered,

And finally, you screamed.

At the sound of your cries, Alastor's head whipped around, his bloodied hands dropping the warm pair of eyes they'd been holding as he turned to find you standing there, utterly petrified.

Immediately, the man stalked toward you, hands raised as if in surrender, only for him to halt all movement the moment he saw you flinch back in response.

Alastor floundered slightly, sticky fists clenching and unclenching as they fell back down to his sides.

Never once had he lifted a hand to harm you, nor had he ever even truly scared you before. It was almost like you didn't recognize him anymore, tears building in your lower lash line before dribbling in fat droplets down that pretty face he adored so much.

Your husband had never made you cry before, not once.

As if worried that you simply didn't understand who you were truly standing in front of, Alastor called out to you gently, your name a soft and familiar prayer on his lips as he took another few steps closer, cautious.

This time, in your haste to move away, you stumbled and fell, head shaking rapidly from side to side and breaths growing panicked as you began to crawl backward away from the man you'd married.

"No,"

You gasped out in a whisper, chest heaving as your body was wracked with sobs,

"nonononononono!"

You were shouting now, delirious with confusion and fear as you continued to propel yourself away from the radio host standing before you.

Shocked at your reaction, Alastor hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do. You had never been afraid of him before, not in all of your years together, and he had no idea how to soothe this type of fear out of your poor, racing heart.

He stared for several seconds, awestruck, before you tilted your head back just enough in your retreat that he caught sight of the way that your tears shimmered in the moonlight, pooling wetly beneath those doe eyes he loved so, the image like a dagger to his chest.

He had to make this better, there had to be a way.

All certainty gone from him now, you watched in terror as your husband stepped forward, his confidence and determination only growing as he got closer.

There was a sickening and almost crazed looking fear in his eyes as he watched you attempt to move further even as your back pressed into a tree, as if you could bore a hole through the center of it with the strength of your terror alone.

"Chere, it's me."

Alastor said pleadingly, his gaze upon you hardened with disbelief and something like anger, though who it was directed at you couldn't guess.

You whimpered, shaking your head more,

"Stay away from me! Idon'tknowyouIdon'tknowyouIdon'tknowyou!!"

Your words were blending together now, hardly even understandable as you struggled to speak between strained sobs, heavy gags, and gasps for air that was suddenly far too stifling, the sensation of it in your lungs oppressive and not unlike choking on thick humid steam.

Your head felt cloudy and full with the weight of what you'd witnessed paired with the burden of what you knew, and as every memory rushed back to you and the entire picture came together, you couldn't stop yourself from leaning into a nearby bush and vomiting up your dinner.

Your husband was a murderer.

The man you loved, whose last name you had taken, and whose children you had so desperately wished to someday have, was killing people left and right wherever you went under the guise of hunting.

You sobbed heavily, spitting up bile into the leaves and whimpering fearfully as Alastor moved to grab your hands, fighting you as you struggled to break free of his grip.

"Let go of me!" You cried, kicking and flailing to no avail as your husband simply watched you with sad, knowing eyes.

"Oh my sweet, foolish doe," He crooned soothingly, the sound low and rumbling inside his chest in a way that would have surely soothed you in the past.

You flinched away from him as he adjusted the positioning of his hands so he could hold both of yours captive in only one of his far larger ones, the other coming up to grab your chin, forcing you to look up at him as he spoke.

"you know I could never do that."

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x you #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #alastor angst #.writes #requests

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b00kdiary · 11 months ago

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Can we please please please get a part 3 for stay with me where they actually fuck? Love your stuff btw absolutely amazing ❤️

Stay With Me | Rhysand (III)

Rhysand x Plus size reader

It's been a week. Rhysand's patience has worn thin. So has Y/N's.

Warnings: Mature themes (18+), swearing, and smut.

MASTERLIST - 1 and 2

PART ONE PART TWO

Are you awake, darling?

I stared at the note that appeared on my nightstand fifteen seconds ago, the luxurious, broad sprawl telling of who had sent it. The word darling made my stomach coil – like I could hear Rhys purring it in my ear.

I fought my smile as I turned, dropping my bare legs off the side of the bed, and grabbing the quill that had appeared with the note. It was slightly warm, and I envisioned Rhys holding it, smirking like the fiend he was.

I am awake.

Missing me already?

I could feel my anticipation thrumming in me as I sprawled the words before neatly dropping the pen beside it. It vanished the moment I released it, wisped away to wherever Rhys lounged and for some reason, I could practically hear the rumbling laugh that would escape him the moment he read my teasing response.

My smile grew when the note reappeared not even thirty seconds later. I grabbed it with shaking hands, and I could feel the heat blazing through my blood and bones and veins at his words.

I always miss you; you know that.

And while I usually am the most patient male, that patience is starting to wear very thin.

I want you, darling.

He had been patient. So had I. One week since the Hybern attack, one week since I had sustained that injury and Rhysand had taken care of me – in more ways than just my leg. One week of stolen touches and yearning glances and pleasuring myself to quell the urge to seek him out.

I didn't want to be patient anymore. The ache between my legs wouldn't let me be.

Then why aren't you here?

I'm waiting, High Lord.

The note vanished and not even a second later, I heard the distant sound of wings thundering. I felt Rhysand's dark, obsidian power misting over Velaris stretching from the Town house to the House of Wind.

Call it impatience, call it confidence, call it whatever you want but my body was alight at the power of him, the need of him. And as Rhys thundered closer and closer, I took off piece after piece of clothing. My socks, my nightshirt, my underwear, my bra, everything, until I was bare sat upon my bed desperately needing to be touched.

My thighs clenched when Rhys landed on my balcony, the ground and walls shaking with the impact of his arrival. I could see his silhouette outlined by the moonlight and sheet of stars above as he stalked on silent feet toward my door, looking like a God that shouldn't exist.

The curtain parted with a phantom wind, and I felt my nipples pebble and my core soak as it danced into my room, brushing my skin like a lover's touch. Rhys ducked under my door, powerful wings tucked close to his back and violet eyes gleaming like midnight constellations.

"You beautiful, wicked thing," Rhys groaned as he slid into my room, eyes latching onto my naked figure sitting patiently atop my sheets. I felt his magic thrum at the sight of me, eyes razing across my bare flesh. "You couldn't wait two minutes?"

"I waited one week, Rhys," I lifted my chin defiantly, feigning arrogance. Even as every long step he took toward me made me tremble. "I'm a patient female but not that patient."

"Tsk tsk tsk," He clucked his tongue tauntingly at me, his thick brow raised in a challenge. I traced his long, lean angles, the broad muscles of his shoulders, and that infuriating smirk as he came to a stop before me. "As much as I love your eagerness, darling, I didn't say you could undress."

I moaned when his ringed hand came forward, cupping my aching breasts and squeezing it in his palm. His chest rumbled appreciatively as it spilt from his hand, another moan slipping from me when his thumb brushed over my taut, sensitive nipple.

"Perhaps I should punish you?" Rhys mused softly, eyes transfixed on my breasts, his forefinger and thumb clamped around my bud, abusing it, and watching me gasp. I craned my neck up to meet his towering form, cruel amusement in his eyes. "Unlace my breeches."

A firm, powerful command – his High Lord's voice. Gods, it made me wet. Rhys smirked at the spike in my pulse, the pleasure that coiled through me at his authority.

I was more than eager to follow his command, my hands moving to his slacks, tugging furiously at the laces. I could feel his hard length under my fingers, twitching and straining against the material, begging to be let free.

Rhysand released my breast, and I would have whined in protest had he not begun tugging the ties at the back of his shirt, striping the material from his wings and chest, revealing acres and acres of beautiful tan, tattooed skin as he discarded it.

I whimpered as I tugged the last lace, my pussy clenching around nothing as Rhys's thick, hard length slipped free from his pants, slapping back against his stomach, nearly hitting my face in the process. My mouth watered, actually watered at the sight of him.

"This is meant to be a punishment, darling," Rhys chuckled darkly, fingers gently folding into my hair and tilting my head to meet his eyes. He grinned at the heady intent on my face. "You shouldn't look so happy about it."

"You’re about to let me suck your cock, Rhys," I breathed, my voice rasping and hoarse. His hand tightened in my hair, fisting the root as I purred the word cock. I eyed his length, the red angry tip, the small pearly beads of pre-cum, the strong veins that danced on the sides. "How is that a punishment?"

"You're not sucking my cock, my love," Rhys smiled – it was not a comforting sight. No, it was dark and terrifying. I gasped when the tip of his cock traced my lip, his eyes glinting as he pushed it slowly into my warm mouth. "I'm going to fuck your throat."

He slammed the rest of his length into my mouth until he hit the back of my throat, and I was gagging and moaning and choking for air.

"Good girl," Rhys moaned, his cock stretching my mouth until my jaw ached and he seated so far down my throat I could feel every twitch. He pulled out after several seconds, beads of spit and cum lacing my lips and down my chest as I gasped for air. "Such a good girl."

I hummed at the praise, even as I felt my lungs burning from the lack of oxygen. But Rhys tasted so good, and he was moaning so loud as I slipped him back into my mouth, my throat going lax as he shoved his length in until he maxed out.

I gagged, desperately breathing through my nose as his hips rolled, every stroke dragging his pulsing cock in and out, hitting the back of my throat again and again. Rhys growled, a pure sound of pleasure, one of no control as he truly fucked my mouth raw.

Tears streaked down my face, drool dripped down my chin and onto my breasts and Rhys's hand fisted my hair brutally, keeping me in place while he drove his hips into my mouth. I moaned at the feel of him, every ragged breath he took making me that much more eager.

"That feels incredible, darling," Rhys hissed, his voice shaking as his climax neared. His cock twitched in my mouth, and I let my tongue graze along his shaft in a way that had him cursing. "This mouth is better than I had imagined."

I could feel my arousal leaking down my thighs at his words, and my eyes rolled when Rhys bucked his hips forward, burying himself so far, that my nose brushed the trail of hair at his navel. I could smell his sweet scent, addictive enough that it distracted me from the burning in my lungs, the full feeling of him shoved down my throat.

"Fuck," Rhys swore, and I whined as he tore my head back, his wet, angry cock slipping out. Air rushed into my lungs, spit dribbled down my chin and then Rhys was upon me, his head ducking down and crashing his lips to mine.

I could taste the wine in his mouth, could taste the possession on his tongue as he shoved it past my swollen lips and into me, battling and furious and needy. My fingers clawed and scratched along his marble skin, tracing the hard muscles and rippling abs, memorising the perfect feel of him.

"Rhys," I whined against his lips, breathless as his large, ringed hands kneaded along my body, grumbling in approval as he palmed the flesh at my hips and back and thighs, his eyes stark with lust as he pushed me to lie on my back.

"I know, I know," He crooned, a tint of arrogance and appreciation in his voice as he settled onto the bed, his arms bracing his towering figure over me, his hands guiding my thighs around his lean hips. "I'm impatient too, darling. I know you need it; I've got you."

My back arched as he grazed his nose along the side of my neck, his magnificent wings erecting high behind him as he inhaled the sweet, sweaty scent of me. I was breathless as he touched my skin, touched my flesh like I was a dream come to fruition.

"Cauldron, I wish I had time to get my head between these soft thighs," His teeth scraped my nipple, his hands parting my thighs as he rubbed his tip through my soaking wet folds. "I'd have my tongue fucking your sweet hole until you came all over my face. Until you were begging me to stop."

For a second, I nearly begged him to do exactly that, nearly begged for the feel of his tongue and teeth, for the burn of his skilled fingers slipping inside me. But then he rubbed his hard length against me again, smearing my wetness and I couldn't wait another moment.

"Stop talking Rhys,” I snarled, my fingers curling around his short raven hair, dragging his face up to mine. He chuckled at the ire and frustration behind my words, behind my touch as I pressed desperate kisses to his lips, "I want you to fuck me. Now."

“Such dirty words for such a pretty mouth,” Rhysand laughed against my lips, a hint of violence tinging his tone, his touch, as he toyed his tip against my swollen clit. “I’ll have to think of a better punishment to remedy that. But right now – “

I screamed as he drove his hips forward, shoving his hard, pulsing length into me in one forceful thrust.

“Rhys!”

An explosion of pain and pleasure, like stars erupting through my core as Rhysand forced his way into me, stretching my sore walls, languishing in the wetness of my arousal until he maxed out. Pain and pleasure – it was all I knew.

“Cauldron, you’re fucking incredible,” Rhys growled into my ear, his hands bruising against my waist as he forced my flailing body against the bed. He pulled out to the tip, the sound filthy as he pushed back in, moaning as he did so. “So fucking incredible.”

“Rhys, oh Gods –“

I was crying out for him as his pace picked up, my walls moulding around him perfectly as he fucked me, that pain fading into pure, unfiltered pleasure. He grunted with every roll of his hips, his lips suckling my pulse point and reverberating his noises against me, through me.

Rhys scraped his canines against the junction of my throat possessively, marking me as he fucked his hips against me again and again, tits and body jolting with every stroke. I keened when he threw my leg over his shoulder, kissing my knee before he sunk so deep, I thought he’d tear me in two.

“Right there,” He panted, sweat coating his forehead as he grinned down at me. I gasped, breathless as he pressed a hand down on the stomach – pressed down on the imprint of his cock shaped there. “You feel how deep I am, darling? Feel how far my cock is inside you?”

“S-so deep,” I blubbered, my words half caught between a sob and a moan as my walls fisted tighter and tighter, that familiar pool filling within me, filling more and more as Rhys whispered those dirty words and fucked me raw. “It’s so deep, Rhys.”

‘Look at you’ Rhys’s rumbling, arrogant voice filled my mind, mixed in with his stark arousal and overwhelming praise, ‘Crying for me, all fucked out and ready to come around my cock.’

His lips slammed against mine, all biting teeth and furious, exploring tongue and I could feel my orgasm ripping down my spine, feel it building at the apex of my thighs as he hit a spot within me, again and again and again. Something that felt so fucking good.

‘Come for me, darling,’ Rhys commanded through my mind, a bolt of obsidian power sparking along my nerves and through my whole body. I yelped, crying out at that feeling.

He sent another bolt, in tandem with the sweet, brutal roll of his hips and suddenly I was coming.

“Rhys, Rhys –“

White hot power splitting my core in two, strong enough that all I could do was arch my back and curl my toes, letting my body turn stiff and hard as Rhysand rocked into me, longing out the pleasure for what felt like hours.

I was coming and coming and coming. I couldn’t fucking breathe as Rhys ruined me.

“That’s my girl,” He gritted out, kissing my cheek, my jaw, my neck, teeth and spit and tongue as he fucked erratically into me. His climax was close, I was fluttering around him so furiously, that I knew he was close.

“Fill me up, Rhys,” I begged him, my orgasm dwindling and all my nerves endings on fire as he stroked and stroked and stroked. Rhys whimpered – actually whimpered, as I dragged my hand through the inner part of his wing, trembling behind him from the contact. “Want you to fill me up so bad.”

I touched his wing with a whisper of a caress again and again, until Rhys was cursing, until his beautiful body was trembling against me, and he was making noises I would kill, actually kill, to hear again.

“You beautiful – “ Thrust. “Cruel – “ Thrust. “Wicked –“ Thrust. “Thing –“ Thrust.

His hand brushed my clit as he rocked his twitching cock into me, harder and faster now. I felt the dwindling tendrils of my first orgasm before they began erupting like flames as a second barrelled into me.

“Rhys – “ I sobbed his name, scratching my nails along the talon atop his right wing. And as my core exploded with another all-consuming climax, Rhys reached his peak too.

He reached that peak roaring.

“Fuck –“ He curses as his climax hit him, obsidian mist erupting from him and blanketing the room as he halted inside me. I moaned, my walls clenching and unclenching as I felt him spill endlessly inside me, his wings and body tensed and shaking under my hands.

Our moans and releases were furious and strong enough that I felt the posters of my bed shaking, Rhysand’s face buried in the crook of my neck, moaning, and panting for breath as his hips came to a total stop. My walls pulsed, and his cock twitched in response as if our orgasms had become one.

Rhys laughs roughly against my throat, his canines grazing my sensitive skin as he collapses against me, both our chests rising and falling in shattered waves. It reminded me of that first day in the cabin, how he had been so euphoric as I ground against him until he came.

“That was a good day for me,” Rhys sighed, head lifting so his violet eyes met mine. So bright, so happy. “Almost as good as last week when you came all over my hand.”

I blushed, his grin broadening at the sheepish smile I gave him. He dipped his head, kissing my lips sweetly, a satisfied groan rumbling through him as his tongue gently explored mine.

“I hope you’re aware that this means you’re stuck with me, darling,” Rhys smirked, forehead resting against mine. He was still inside me, and it felt more than right. His eyes glinted, daring me to challenge him. “No male will ever touch you again.”

“Is that a decree, High Lord?” I gnawed on my lip, giggling at the way his eyes narrowed. My giggle erupted into a laugh as Rhys began peppering kisses against my cheek and jaw.

“Yes,” He growled, nipping my skin with his teeth, “That’s an order. With the penalty of death for any male who does otherwise.”

“Good,” I grinned, my heart skipping at his dark, tempting words. I cupped his jaw, bringing his eyes back to mine. “Because if another female so much as looks at you, Rhys – I will pluck her eyes out.”

“Fuck, I love it when you get violent,” He groaned, fingers digging into my waist possessively. “It makes me want to do very filthy things to you.”

“I’m all yours, Rhys,” I smiled, a hint of sincerity mixed with lewd intent in my eyes. “Do with me what you will. Unless you plan to be somewhere else tonight?”

His eyes flashed, stars exploding, shadows coiling, and I felt him harden in me again, my walls stretching inch by inch until I was soaked around him.

“I’ll be here, with you,” He whispered, his nose brushing mine and I whimpered when he rolled his hips, stroking his cock inside me slowly. “I’ll always stay with you.”

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

Comment to be added to the tag list!

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adamruns · 1 month ago

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probablyasocialecologist · 11 months ago

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The flotsam and jetsam of our digital queries and transactions, the flurry of electrons flitting about, warm the medium of air. Heat is the waste product of computation, and if left unchecked, it becomes a foil to the workings of digital civilization. Heat must therefore be relentlessly abated to keep the engine of the digital thrumming in a constant state, 24 hours a day, every day. To quell this thermodynamic threat, data centers overwhelmingly rely on air conditioning, a mechanical process that refrigerates the gaseous medium of air, so that it can displace or lift perilous heat away from computers. Today, power-hungry computer room air conditioners (CRACs) or computer room air handlers (CRAHs) are staples of even the most advanced data centers. In North America, most data centers draw power from “dirty” electricity grids, especially in Virginia’s “data center alley,” the site of 70 percent of the world’s internet traffic in 2019. To cool, the Cloud burns carbon, what Jeffrey Moro calls an “elemental irony.” In most data centers today, cooling accounts for greater than 40 percent of electricity usage.

[...]

The Cloud now has a greater carbon footprint than the airline industry. A single data center can consume the equivalent electricity of 50,000 homes. At 200 terawatt hours (TWh) annually, data centers collectively devour more energy than some nation-states. Today, the electricity utilized by data centers accounts for 0.3 percent of overall carbon emissions, and if we extend our accounting to include networked devices like laptops, smartphones, and tablets, the total shifts to 2 percent of global carbon emissions. Why so much energy? Beyond cooling, the energy requirements of data centers are vast. To meet the pledge to customers that their data and cloud services will be available anytime, anywhere, data centers are designed to be hyper-redundant: If one system fails, another is ready to take its place at a moment’s notice, to prevent a disruption in user experiences. Like Tom’s air conditioners idling in a low-power state, ready to rev up when things get too hot, the data center is a Russian doll of redundancies: redundant power systems like diesel generators, redundant servers ready to take over computational processes should others become unexpectedly unavailable, and so forth. In some cases, only 6 to 12 percent of energy consumed is devoted to active computational processes. The remainder is allocated to cooling and maintaining chains upon chains of redundant fail-safes to prevent costly downtime.

#computers #cloud #data #cloud computing #climate change

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deathbxnny · 7 months ago

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I hope you dont mind another one but it’s something i’ve been thinking about. Dw this is more hurt/comfort. Can I request Wriothesly, Ayato, and Tighnari reacting to an alternate version of their dead kid all grown up? Like my other request, can you write it where it happens during their respective Archon quest (and well for Ayato, his story quest)?

Context:

He used to have a kid. Whether the kid was related to him or not doesn't matter as he still loves them all the same. But one day, his kid died around their pre teens. I'll leave it ambiguous on how they died but their death broke him.

Few years later, the genshin impact plot happens and he meets the traveler and their companions where one of them just so happens to be his dead kid's alternate self. And they're all.. grown up. Despite looking much older, he knew deep down that that's his kid but also not really his kid because he knows his kid is dead, they died young.

The person in front him is just an alternate version of them. A glimpse of what his kid could be if they were still alive..

- Flower Anon 🌸

This one hurts so well, Flower Anon, so thank you so much for another great request!!<33

(Just like the other request, this is also generalized to make it easier for my fish memory brain-)

Content: Reader died young, mention of alt reader being more of a doppelganger in a way, grief, vague child death, angst, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!!

((Not proofread))

》TIGHNARI

Tighnari didn't notice at first, or well, he tried not to pay too much attention to the fact that you looked eerily similar to his deceased child. His heart was racing, ears flattening to his head momentarily, so many unsaid words stuck in his throat. And then there was nothing.

His face gently relaxed into it's usual deadpan, shoulders dropping, his instincts grimly reminding him that you were indeed not his child, but somehow just a coincidental and much older doppelganger of it.

But the heart ache began to linger for different reasons. Mainly due to the fact that a part of him finally healed at the sight of you. He always wanted his young one to grow up happy and healthy. And whilst it never got to do so on it's own, he allowed himself to imagine that his child lived on through this version of you.

》KAMISATO AYATO

Ayato smiled bitterly, immideatly recognizing your younger features in this much older version. His heart hurt, ached, and felt like it was being ripped out all over again, yet his signature smile still remained. He had a role to play, an important title to uphold. But he still couldn't bare to look at you directly after the first time he did so.

His answers to the travelers and Paimons questions were short and swift, making it kind of obvious to his sister next to him how desperate he was to get away from everyone. Not that she could blame him, as she felt the same. Your death broke everyone in the family, and they found no joy in seeing you all grown up because this wasn't you. You weren't the child they lost.

Ayaka eventually feels too faint to continue the conversation, which frees the two siblings from you and your companions questions and confused glances. The silence between the two is deafening, as they watch you leave with dull, solemn looks, the questions of "what if" and "if only" plaguing their exhausted minds.

》WRIOTHESLEY

Seeing you, an older you, stand there with the traveler and Paimon whilst he went to greet you both, made him nearly consider turning around and leaving at once. He never confronted your death, mainly to protect his strength and what was left of his sanity after he lost you. He never spoke of you either anymore, going as far as forbidding anyone to ever mention it, too.

He just couldn't stand it, having become so awfully bitter over time, and it only worsened at the sight of this alternate version. His jaw clenched, and he had to take a deep breath to quell his confused temper. Why did he feel so angry? Was it the regret and grief of never being to actually see the real you this way? Shouldn't he be glad that he had seen a glimpse of you as an adult after all? Perhaps his anger stemmed from the realisation of permanent loss. You weren't his child, despite the similarities.

It makes him become alot harsher to you three and the Hearth children that were lurking in the shadows. Whilst he may have been more merciful beforehand, he just wanted you all out already. He wanted to return to the peace he had made with the darkness in his heart. If it wasn't for Sigewinne telling him to focus on the plan at hand, he would've perhaps lost it entirely a while ago.

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wakandama2 · 9 months ago

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I wanna Black Carrie-inspired movie, real rep for us stuck in a white country town Black girls. So, walk wit me real quick-

Locational Background: We still set in the late 70's. Set in multiple rural towns, the main town being Chamberlain, Missouri when the meat of the story takes place. We are firmly in the upper south/Midwest tho.

Our Carrie inspired MC is named Alanna(will be relevant and fucked up later)

Alanna's Mama, Evette, is a Black white passing woman and was the daughter of the town's Black tailor and his wife a music teacher and a righteous choir leader for the Black church who was known for a 'voice of power' that was known to shake the church foundations and make people run around the building in glory.

This gift is passive in Evette leaving her with just a beautiful singing voice. Evette's voice and virtuous image and ways draws the attention of a traveling white Evangelistic-leaning cult leader, Alan Hobbs (he's kinda Jim Jones esc) who whisked her off to join his 'missionary' in order to travel around the country to warn of the rapture and demand repentance of sinners.

He unofficially marries her and gets her pregnant and when Alanna comes out looking very visibly Black, he tries to kill her as a baby because he would expose him as being 'sinful'. Alanna's gift activates through her cries and controls Evette's body and makes her stop Alan from killing their baby. Evette screams in despair and her own gift kills him. Evette's feverish (and kinda delusional) faith of what Alan taught her is the only thing that keeps her together when she has to hide his murder and head back to Chamberlain, taking care of Alanna the whole way.

When Evette gets back to her hometown and relays the story to her mother in distress. Her mother is relieved and reveals that the women in their family having Powerful Voices is a gift from their greatest grandmother as she had been blessed to use it to protect her daughters and sisters during slavery. She also confirms to Evette that Alanna's voice has the potential for Powers Grander than the last four generations of women.

Evette skews this information with the teachings of "women's sinful nature" that Alan had taught her and concluded that the gift is actual evil and a curse of sin. She convinces herself that Alanna is the sign of the devil's return and it's her job to quell her.

Evette cuts herself off from her family (especially her maternal side) and runs away to raise Alanna by herself in Chamberlain, pretending that Alanna is actually her niece and taking a public vow of silence (both for her faith and her misplaced guilt for killing Alan) She uses the tailoring skills her father taught her to work as a laundress and commission dress maker for the local tailor.

Between baby to 15 years old for Alanna, It's very much like the movies, Evette being incredibly strict and abusive in teaching Alanna that simply being a woman, was being sinful and to bundle down her emotions because having a temper or tone, to be anything other than submissive and quiet was just as sinful as womanhood. This lesson was particularly to stop Alanna from activating her powers again. There is an additional impact of insecurity she puts into Alanna with her looking Black and being one of the very few colored girls in the town.

Like Carrie, our poor Alanna gets her period for the first time during gym and none of her classmates, besides her only friend an equally shy Creek girl named Talia, are kind to her about it. Her distress makes the showers freak out and ground shake Talia is the only one that calms Alanna enough for the gym teacher to intervene and actually be of use. The gym teacher calls Evette to the school to get Alanna and explain menstruation to her.

After explaining how menstruation is all Eve's fault to Alanna, Evette has her take a cold bath and to read the story of Adam and Eve over and over again. During her bath time as she reads, rage fills Alanna as she gathers feelings that the biting of the apple and getting kicked out of Eden was a trick done on Eve, not her being sinful and selfish. This jolts her powers and with an angry whisper about how wicked the snake was, Alanna suddenly heats the bath water to a temperature that helps with her cramps and is intrigued.

Cue her being excused to the library that entire week. When Talia sneaks out to join her one day she relays all her questions and findings to Talia. Talia confirms that yes, it is NOT normal to heat water or cause quakes with her voice. Period of not. Talia explains how she was an early bloomer like her mother and grandmother and inspires Alanna to look into her mother's side to get explanations.

Now cue Alanna and Talia hijinks as they secretly research and test Alanna's powers for the rest of the week and weekend. Alanna finds all the letters her grandmother had set to Evette trying to convince her that their gift is a good thing and that she is a good woman. Reveling the deep history and various ways the powers of their voice can manifest. Alanna actually contacts her grandmother (call or letters idk what was more efficient for the 70s lol)

During all of this, the other girls are still hazing Alanna (and y'know being both macro and micro racist in their bullying). This comes to a head that next week where the prank they do gets Alanna nearly drowned during swim day.

This causes rage to rear up in Evette that she hadn't felt in years and she lays into the principal and gym teacher to actually give the girls repercussion for their actions. Leading to the three ringleaders to get suspended for a week and banned from prom that following week. They also have to write an essay about kindness.

One of the girls (uh, let's call her Cynthia) actually learns that damn, I was being a mean racist bitch for no damn reason, this girl hasn't done anything to me to warrant this treatment. She becomes cordial with Talia, then works with her Football Captain brother to put Alanna on the radar of the Black boy, Adam, and help him to woo Alanna.

At the same time this outburst of herself and near reemergence of her powers scares Evette and she confronts Alanna to see if it was actually her daughter's powers that caused it (just like at her birth). Alanna says no it was Evette's own and this causes her mother to break down and force a confession from Alanna that yes, she knows about their gift of a Powerful Voice and had been writing letters/calling her grandmother for information.

The two get into basically a battle of Powerful Voice in the argument, nearly causing a damn tornado to hit the town. Alanna proves that she has the greater voice just like her grandmother predicted (also because Alanna has been practicing). This puts her mother into submission and Alanna starts to demand and affirm more kindness (or at least being left tf alone) from her mother.

That whole week of suspension, Alanna is smitten from the soft wooing from Adam and coaxing of Talia and Cynthia for her to accept his prom proposal. While all this happens, the other ringleader (Uh, Susan!) is planning to do the whole public humiliation thing and to have her equally loser boyfriend slash Adam's tires and ruin his battery so Alanna can't get away afterwards.

Alanna grows into her powers, Evette grows more paranoid and passive aggressive. Constantly pestering Alanna that this was a test of the devil. Alanna talks to her about how much she's been hurt by her and for her to confront who hurt her before she loses her daughter. Alanna continues prepping for prom with Talia and her mother's help instead. Alanna gives her mother one more chance to be happy or show support to her daughter. Evette blows it (They are all gonna laugh at you!)

Prom... Happens. Y'all know the drill. Cynthia learns about the prank, tries to get to prom in time. Susan and her dickhead BF scare her by threatening to lie to her father that she's been hooking up with Adam putting both their lives in danger. Alanna is living it up at Prom with Adam and Talia. Cynthia is able to risk it and get Talia's attention to try and earn her, however they end up getting locked out and harassed by the dickhead boyfriend's greasy ass buddies and have to lock into Adam's car for safety.

Pig Blood (or maybe motor oil and chicken feathers) happens, Adam is KNOCKED UNCONSCIOUS ( bad gash and concussion fosure) by the bucket falling, racist bs happen.

Alanna clutches Adam close as everyone hollars and taunts her. The school official barely doing anything to try and quell them or laughing along. The few other students of color use their sense of danger to either get the fuck outta there or try to help Alanna and Adam.

Alanna whispers them all to sleep. Prays for protection and calm for them.

Then. She. Screams.

I want FIRE, SCALDING SPRINKLERS, MFUKAS BEING CRUSHES SLAMMED AND CHOKED.

BLACK GIRL MUTHAFUCKIN RAGE TO RIP THEM ALL APART AND RUBBLE THE BUILDING THAT HOUSED ALL THAT HATE

Talia and Cynthia witness it all. The guys that were cornering them are fucking smite by one loud sigh coming from Alanna's mouth when she spots them. Alanna takes in the chaos and can only nod and start walking home, locking her friends into the car for safety.

Say what y'all want about 2013 Carrie, that car wreck scene? Happen exactly to Susan and Dickhead BF when they try to run Alanna over.

Alanna gets home to find Evette crying over the letters from her own mother. The phone has been shattered into pieces and Alanna breaks down and tells Evette everything.

Evette comforts Alanna, true comfort, for the first time in a decade. Bathing, dressing, cleaning and greasing Alanna's scalp as she sings delicate lullabies to her. She makes hot coca and wraps Allan up in a family quilt, reciting the story of Mary and the birth of Jesus to her in a cozy whisper.

As this happens the rescuers are only able to dig out Adam and the few others that tried to help Alanna, out the rubble whole and alive. They break Talia and Cynthia out of the car and the two girls run to Alanna's house. They are barely a block away then the earth rips open and screams. Quake after quake as a twister roars over them and heat snaps into the air, forcing them to huddle into a ditch as God gets angry.

Cars suddenly come to life and speed down the road to crash into the Hobbs' household.

7 minutes later. All is calm. Just a regular spring night, the only thing left is chaotic debris and soft wind.

All that's left of Evette within the mangled and smoldering remains of her home is her charred corpse clutching a pristine crucifix and the ribboned ends of Alanna's braids. The MD determined that the support beam tore through her chest and killed her first before the fire got to her. That the fire is what left just ash and braids of Alanna.

"Good. That Black Devil is banished back to hell." Is what the white pastors and the police chief says.

"My she burn and my child rest." Says parents that don't realize they raised nothing but viscous bullies.

"My friend is gone and I don't blame her for the mess it left behind. But...now I gotta go." Is what Talia tells Cynthia as she and her family flee the town just three days after it all.

Adam is sent to Chicago with his first broken heart.

But little do any know, about the green pickup that flew down the dirt roads, back to a lazy and quiet rural town that Alanna never got a chance to remember before.

Her Grandmother strokes her hair as she drives and tells the mute and shaking girl the story about the slave mother who would rather her baby be dead and free then living and in chains.

#the sleeper agent in me wrote this at 1am in the morning lol #black culture #black writers #black writblr #horror #carrie white #black girl horror #horror movies #horror writing #my movie pitch #may slap this onna google doc lol #black girl rage #black girl reader #70s

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fireya-x · 6 months ago

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AO3 Link || masterlist

John Price x Reader

The aftermath of a mission leaves you shaken, and only John's presence can ground you as you face a new part of your life together.

[5k+ words]

cw: shower sex, pregnancy

The debriefing was a blur to you, voices and shuffling papers faded into the background and were drowned by the constant hum of fluorescent lights above your head. None of it seemed real. Those terrified eyes of the kids, their tiny hands they clang to you as you ushered them to safety. You had successfully got all of them out of danger, eliminated any threat that had held them hostage - everything went as well as it could. A perfect mission, they’d said. A textbook success. But something about it being children just made you sick. Especially now that -

You pressed your hand against your stomach, as if trying to physically quell the churning unease that threatened to spill over. No, not now. Not here.

Across the table, John shifted in his seat, his hand finding yours beneath the table. His thumb brushed against your knuckles in a silent question, a gesture only the two of you would recognize, a secret language honed over years of marriage and countless missions.

Usually, it brought a sense of comfort, a reminder that you weren't alone in this chaotic world. You squeezed back, offering a reassuring squeeze, though your own heart hammered against your ribs like a trapped bird. He nodded, accepting the lie, but his eyes remained fixed on you. And something about that caused your emotions to boil over. You flinched, pulling your hand away as if his touch burned.

"Excuse me." The words came out choked, not louder than a strangled whisper. A wave of nausea surged through you, leaving you light-headed, breathless. You just wanted this mission to be over and done with. Most of all, you craved the feel of water washing away the dust, the sand, the phantom scent of blood that clung to your skin. You needed to erase everything you'd brought back from that hellhole.

As you pushed back your chair, you felt the weight of their gazes, your team, watching you with a mixture of concern and confusion. They weren't used to seeing you like this. Rarely did anyone see you crack, let alone break.

John’s stare was a heavy presence on your back, worry radiating from him, but you couldn’t face him. He would see right through you, and you weren’t ready for that. He always knew. Even when you tried to hide it.

You rushed towards the women's showers, fingers fumbling with the fastenings of your uniform, desperate to tear it from your skin. Tears stung your cheeks, hot and unwelcome. Fuck. How could you - how would you -

A sob ripped from your chest, a strangled sound that caught in your throat as you struggled with the stubborn strap on your thigh.

Giving in to the frustrated rage simmering beneath the surface, you yanked at the fabric, not caring that it ripped, not caring about anything except the need to escape. As soon as your underwear hit the floor, you stepped into the shower stall, closed the curtain behind you and fumbled with the tap until water slammed onto you. Hot or cold, it didn't matter. You just needed to feel clean.

Missions weren’t supposed to have this emotional impact on you anymore, you were used to this, you’ve seen so much worse - yet somehow, seeing the fear in those young, innocent eyes of children brought into a hostage situation haunted you everywhere you looked.

It wasn’t supposed to affect you this much. Why was it happening now -

The shower curtain was suddenly pulled open. You stiffened, a gasp caught in your throat. For a split second, pure adrenaline surged, ready to fight whoever was intruding your privacy like that, until your blurry vision focused enough to see him. John. Standing in the women's showers, his gaze searching yours and not just heavy with concern, but also incredibly fierce. He looked ready to tear the world apart, to find the source of your pain and obliterate it.

No doubt he could see the evidence of your breakdown – the red, puffy eyes, the chest heaving with each strained breath. He didn’t hesitate, not for a second. Without a word, he stepped forward, into the spray of the shower, fully clothed. The water plastered his shirt to his broad chest, darkening the olive green fabric, but he didn’t seem to notice, or care. His arms were around you in an instant, pulling you tight against him, the heat of his body a welcome contrast to the icy spray you had been under.

"John, what –" you choked back a sob, completely overwhelmed by his presence that wrapped around you like a blanket. His eyes, sharp and assessing just moments ago in the debriefing room, now held a tenderness he usually reserved for the quiet moments that belonged only to you both.

He reached behind you, not loosening his grip for a second, and a moment later, the water turned warm. It cascaded down your bodies in the small confined space, the sound of it a strangely comforting symphony along with the steady beat of John's heart against your ear. He smelled of gunpowder and sweat, but beneath that, there was him, a scent you couldn’t quite define but recognized as a safe harbor, a haven, home.

Something about his silent understanding shattered the last vestiges of your control. Sobs shook your body, your tears mingling with the spray of the shower, drenching his clothes. Your knees threatened to buckle, every muscle trembling with the effort of keeping yourself upright, as the weight of the day threatened to consume you.

You felt his grip tighten, his body shifting subtly to support your weight as your legs gave way. Then, gently, he eased you back, his hand cupping your face, his thumb brushing away a stray tear as he searched your gaze, his eyes mirroring your own inner turmoil.

Your hands moved on instinct, clutching at his collar, needing to feel him, his warmth, the solid reassurance of his touch against your skin. When the wet fabric refused to budge, your fingers curled, tugging at the hem of his shirt as if you could rip it off him. He understood. With a resigned sigh, he shrugged out of the wet material, letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud.

His hands moved to cup your face again, his calloused thumbs stroking gently against your cheeks. "Tell me what you need, love," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that barely cut through the sound of the water.

You didn’t need words, not now, especially not when your throat was choked up. Instead, you leaned closer, pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth, tasting the salt of your own tears. Another sob wracked your body, and you burrowed closer, pressing yourself against his chest, finding comfort in the silent language of shared breaths and unspoken understanding.

Eventually, he shifted slightly, his hand leaving you to reach for the shampoo bottle perched on the narrow shelf. You remained glued to him, your forehead resting against his chest as he carefully worked the shampoo into your hair, his touch gentle, almost reverent, as if you were made of something precious and fragile. He didn't complain, not once, even though you knew it must be awkward, having to work around your clinging form.

He washed your hair as if it were his favorite thing to do, each movement slow and deliberate, the scent of lilac filling the small space with a comforting familiarity.

It was a scent that was distinctly you , one that John loved; it reminded him of you everywhere, and of his home.

With a bar of soap, he moved on to your body, his hands firm yet gentle as they skimmed over your skin, removing the last traces of dirt and sand. He lingered over your shoulders, his touch easing the tension knotted there, and for the first time since that mission, you felt the weight begin to lift from your soul.

The shower, usually a purely functional act, had become something else entirely. A shared intimacy. A silent conversation spoken in the language of touch and scent and shared breaths. It was a cleansing ritual that washed away not just the dust of the battlefield, but the invisible scars that ran deeper than any bullet could reach.

As he set aside the soap, your hand reached out, a trembling fingertip tracing the line of a smudge of dirt on his cheekbone. You wiped it away with the pad of your thumb, then moved on to the thin streak of dried blood that marred his neck, a souvenir, no doubt, from the close-quarters fight with that attacker, as he had to draw a knife to protect Gaz.

You nudged his shoulder gently, silently prompting him to turn. He complied without a word, offering you his back, his vulnerability, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Your fingers, now stained with blood that was not your own, worked their way into the tight muscles of his shoulders, trying to ease the tension that was as much a part of him as his own heartbeat.

You turned, now your turn to reach for the bar of soap. It was slick and familiar in your palms, the scent faintly floral. You rubbed it between your hands, working up a lather, then turned back to John, gently tracing the warm expanse of his back with the sudsy bar. He shivered slightly at your touch, his muscles twitching beneath your fingertips.

You spread the soap on his skin, carefully mapping the hard contours of his back, your fingers lingering on the familiar planes of muscle, the ridges of bone. Your touch drifted lower, tracing the faint, silvery lines of old scars – a roadmap of past battles, a testament to the life he lived, the life he fought to protect.

You knew every single one of those scars, knew the stories behind them, some you’d even been a part of. You traced a particularly jagged one with your fingertip, remembering the night he'd come home with it, the worry almost eating you alive until he reassured you a hundred times he’d be alright.

And you knew, those scares visible on his back weren’t the only ones he carried. There were just as many unseen, etched into his heart, his mind. Just like you carried those. It was the price paid for the lives you lived, but moments like these - the shared intimacy and trust, it was something that connected you.

He groaned, a low rumble in his chest, as you dug your thumbs into the tight knots in his shoulders. He tried to turn, perhaps seeking your gaze, your reassurance, but you weren't ready to face him yet. A firm hold on him told him that well enough. He didn’t move.

You pressed closer, needing to feel him, every inch of him. Your cheek rested between his shoulder blades, the heat of him seeping into you. Your hands reached around him, and you could feel his chest rise and fall beneath your hands, as you ran them through the wet fur on his chest.

Driven by an urge you couldn't quite name, you let your hands linger lower, guided by the trail of wet hair that led all the way down to his belt buckle, its metal cold and slick beneath your trembling fingers, and it took a moment to unfasten. The heavy fabric of his trousers, clinging to his toned thighs, proved a momentary obstacle. But then came a low chuckle, a rumble of amusement, and he shrugged out of them with ease, leaving them, along with his boxers, in a damp heap at his feet.

Like there was no time to waste, your hands wandered further down until they reached for his cock. He wasn’t fully hard yet, not with the thrill of the mission still lingering, but there was a weight there, a warmth that met your touch, and it stirred a need within you that had nothing to do with desire, not exactly.

It was a need for comfort, for grounding, that had your fingers curling around him, your touch light at first, almost hesitant. You weren’t trying to seduce, not consciously, but to draw him closer, offering solace as much as seeking it.

It was something bordering on magic, the way he hardened beneath your hand, his arousal evicence to the silent language your bodies had perfected over countless missions, countless stolen moments of peace amidst the chaos. You wanted him to understand, to feel the depth of your need, the way his strength grounded you, his presence a balm to the invisible wounds that never seemed to fully heal.

Your strokes grew more insistent, your touch a swirling mix of adoration and desperation. Your free hand found his hip, fingers digging into the muscle there, anchoring him as you leaned in, pressing your mouth to the warm expanse of skin just below his shoulder blade. The taste of him, salt and soap and something uniquely him, was like a strong elixir that chased away the fear that still lingered.

"Fuck." The word escaped him on a ragged exhale, his head tipping forward against the cool tiles as you brushed deliberately over his sensitive head. He was already leaking, slick against your skin, his erection pulsing with each frantic beat of his heart.

And then, as if unable to hold back any longer, his hands shot back, grasping your hips, pulling you against him with a force that stole your breath. His fingers dug into your ass, kneading, possessing, as if you would disappear if he let go.

He groaned, a low rumble of need that vibrated against you as you quickened your pace, riding the edge of his control, knowing instinctively that he was seconds away from shattering.

His breath hitched, a strangled sound lost amidst the running water. But still, he didn’t turn, didn't try to take over. You knew this man, knew the way he moved, the way he thought, the way he lived for control. To cede it like this, to trust you with his pleasure, his release -

This, this was his surrender, a proof of the trust that bound you together more surely than any vow.

As the first tremors moved through his body, pulling a tortured groan from his throat, he instinctively sank to his knees, your hand a steady presence guiding him down. You shifted with him, your thighs bracketing him, offering support as he leaned, finding purchase against the cool wall as his release shuddered through him.

No words were spoken, none were needed. He simply exhaled, seeking your warmth, your grounding presence. His eyes were closed, his breathing slowly returning to normal as the aftershocks of his climax ebbed.

A quiet peace settled in the small space, a fragile bubble of intimacy in a world that seemed determined to shatter everything around you. Your sobs had been forgotten, washed away by the storm of his release. In their place, a deep tenderness bloomed within you. You reached for the shampoo, your fingers working it into his damp hair with a tenderness born from years of knowing him, loving him, fighting alongside him. He leaned into your touch, eyes closed, the tension slowly draining from his shoulders.

And then, with a suddenness that both startled and excited you, he shifted, turning to face you, still on his knees. His hands found your hips, not demanding, not possessive, but a steady pressure that drew you closer until his face was buried between the slick skin of your thighs. He dipped his head, his lips brushing against your center, sending a shockwave of heat straight to your core.

You gasped, your hands finding purchase on his head, nails digging into his scalp as his tongue parted your folds, his mouth hot and insistent. Every muscle in your body clenched, a delicious torture that had you arching into him, seeking more. A strangled moan escaped your lips as his tongue - a wickedly talented thing - swirled, teased, tormented, until you were a trembling mess of need. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently, urging him closer, needing to feel every inch of him even as you were lost in a world composed solely of sensation.

Your hips bucked, instinct taking over as you chased the exquisite pressure of his mouth, the friction pushing you closer and closer to the edge. A whimper escaped your throat, your inner walls clenching around nothing, a delicious torture that had you seeing stars even as you craved more. But he knew you too well, this man, who had seen you at your strongest and your most vulnerable. He felt the exact moment your release was building, the way your thighs trembled, the way your breath hitched. He shifted his angle, his tongue pressing against your clit with a pressure that stole the air from your lungs, holding you right there on the precipice.

And then, with a cry that was both a plea and a prayer, you shattered around him. The orgasm ripped through you, a blinding white explosion of pure sensation that had your legs trembling, your back arching as his name escaped your lips as a strangled sob. He didn't shy away from the intensity of it, didn't flinch at the way your nails dug into his skin. He drank it all in, your pleasure a drug that seemed to fuel his own satisfaction.

As the tremors subsided, he slightly pulled back, his gaze searching yours with an intensity that both comforted and terrified you. The world snapped back into focus, the warmth of the shower, the scent of him, the lingering tingle between your legs - you’d forgotten, in the heat of the moment, the truth that threatened to shatter the fragile peace you’d found.

And as his gaze held yours, those blue eyes filled with an unspoken question, a tenderness that pierced you to your core, you almost wept again. "What is it, sweetheart?" His voice, usually a gruff rumble, was barely a whisper now, concern etching lines on his forehead as he sensed the sudden shift within you.

"You know you can tell me anything, right?" he murmured, leaning forward to rinse the last of the shampoo from his hair before turning back to you. With a gentle touch, he adjusted the shower head so that the water flowed more gently, cascading over you like a warm caress, making sure that any lingering suds were washed away.

He reached out, his hand ghosting over your cheek before he turned the knob, shutting off the water. The quiet that followed was almost numbing. "Come here." He ushered you gently towards the edge of the stall, then stepped out himself to grab a towel from the rack. He didn’t approach until you turned to face him, the towel held out like an offering.

You hesitated, unsure how to bridge the gap between the intimacy you’d just shared and the unease that clawed at your heart. He didn’t rush you, didn’t push, just stood there, patiently waiting.

Finally, you took a step towards him, then another, until you were close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body. He draped the towel around you, his touch lingering on your shoulders for a moment longer than necessary.

"I -" You stumbled over the words, your gaze darting around the space as if seeking an escape route.

But John wasn't having it. His hands cupped your face, his touch firm yet gentle as he turned you towards him, refusing to let you hide. "Look at me, love," he murmured, his thumbs stroking soothing circles against your cheeks. "Tell me."

Taking a shaky breath, you met his gaze, the truth spilling from your lips like a confession. "I’m pregnant, John."

His reaction was not what you expected. The anger, the accusation, the disappointment you’d braced yourself for – it never came. Instead, there was surprise that quickly morphed into something softer. His hand, almost instinctively, moved to your stomach.

"Are you sure?" His voice was quiet, laced with an emotion you couldn't quite place. Hope? Relief?

Tears welled in your eyes again, but these weren't born of terror or doubt. It was the sheer relief of it, of having this enormous, terrifying secret out in the open, and the fear of his reaction. "I'm late, and I took a bunch of tests -" You choked back a sob, unable to meet his gaze. "I’m so sorry, John."

He frowned, his thumb brushing gently beneath your eye as if wiping away a stray tear. "What are you sorry for, sweetheart?"

You shrugged, unable to articulate the storm of emotions swirling within you. "This mission, those kids - I just keep seeing their faces, their fear - and I thought, what kind of world are we bringing a child into? What if something happens to us? What kind of fucked up mother would I be if -?" Your voice broke.

"Hey, hey, listen to me." He pulled you close, his embrace firm yet comforting. "We are the ones who make the world safer. For those kids, for everyone. We’ll figure this out. Our child will be safe, loved - miles away from all this."

You leaned back slightly, searching his face for any hint of deceit, of forced cheer. "You’re not mad?"

He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest, and for the first time since you’d blurted out the life-altering news, you noticed the tenderness in his eyes, the way his hand rested protectively on you. "Why would I be mad? This - love, this is wonderful."

The tension that had coiled tight in your chest loosened, replaced by a sliver of cautious hope. "But what about our jobs? We can't exactly -" Your words trailed off, the thought of what your line of work entailed too horrifying to articulate.

"We adapt," he said simply, as if he always had a plan for everything. "I can retire, put in for a desk job. I've been at this for over twenty years, they’ve gotten their money's worth out of me."

Guilt tugged at you. "No, John, I don’t want you to give up your life, your career."

"Love," he said softly, cutting you off, "there are two of us involved in this. And I'm not giving up my life, hell, it’s only just beginning, with you." He offered a smile.

"And that means taking precautions," he continued. "No more field missions for you, alright? Too much stress can’t be good for you."

But the doubt didn’t simply go away. "John, it’s early. Anything could happen." A thousand little what-ifs threatened to smother the fragile joy that you allowed to rise to your heart.

He squeezed your hand, his grip firm, reassuring. "Then we’ll figure it out, love. We always do."

"I just - I should have been more careful, with the birth control -"

He silenced you with a kiss, his lips firm yet gentle against yours. "Hey, none of that nonsense. If it happens, it happens. We do high stress jobs. I'm pretty sure that impacts your body and your hormones more than we think."

"I know you, though. You're not going to be happy behind a desk, not giving orders." John Price wasn't meant for a quiet life, for paperwork and diplomacy. He was a soldier, a leader.

"Probably not,” he conceded with a wry grin. "But I’ll adapt. I'll be home."

Another tear ran down your cheek. The overwhelming love he showed you threatened to undo you, leaving you raw and vulnerable. "It's who you are, John," you whispered, your voice trembling. "This life - it's in your blood, and I can't - I won't be the one who takes that away from you."

He exhaled, a long, slow breath. You braced yourself for the argument, the frustration, the inevitable clash of wills.

But instead, his gaze softened, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek in a gesture that was more tender than any caress he’d ever bestowed upon you. "Listen to me, love. There is no resentment here, none at all. We’re married, we love each other - this - this is life. And this little miracle -" His hand drifted to your stomach again, his thumb tracing gentle circles against your skin. "This is the most wonderful news I’ve had in a very long time."

He paused, gathering his thoughts. "This job - yes, it can be a shithole. But then I look at you, and -" He swallowed, his voice catching slightly. "You remind me of the good. Of the why I fight."

"But then what about the fight, John? You won't be on the frontlines anymore, you won’t fight -"

"Our friends will still be out there," he countered. His face was on eye level with you. "I love you. I bloody love you. Will you please just believe me?"

You nodded. You wanted to believe him, you desperately needed to. But a lifetime spent navigating the minefield of this dangerous world had made you wary. "I believe you, John. It's just - this life, it’s all you’ve ever known."

"Then maybe,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, "it’s time I lived for something else." He pressed a kiss to your forehead, then another to your lips, lingering there for a moment before pulling away. "Come on, love," he said softly, tugging the towel more securely around you. "Let's get you dried off."

A smile touched your lips as you leaned into his touch, letting him guide you towards the warmth and dryness of the shared locker room. He kept a steadying hand on you, his fingers warm against your skin, as if sensing you still might crumble. You hadn't realized how much you needed his touch, his strength, until this very moment.

"We should probably tell the others," you said softly, the words feeling strange as they left your lips. "If I’m not joining you anymore, it’ll raise questions anyway."

John chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. "Aye, the lads'll be over the moon."

He steered you towards a bench, and before you could protest, knelt in front of you. With a tenderness that stole your breath, he began drying your legs, his calloused hands surprisingly gentle against your damp skin. You shivered, but whether from the cold air against your wet skin or the intimacy of his touch, you couldn't be sure.

A laugh escaped you, the first genuine one in what felt like days. "Johnny as an uncle. That's a terrifying thought."

"He'll spoil 'em rotten, that's for sure," John agreed, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He moved on to your arms, carefully drying each one as if they were made of the finest porcelain. "Speaking of which," he paused, his gaze sweeping over the locker room as if already mapping out the logistics of this new reality. "We'll need to start thinking about the spare room back home. Could use a fresh coat of paint, don't you think? Something a bit brighter, perhaps. Maybe lilac, you love that color, don’t you?"

His words, so casual, so domestic, in the middle of the locker room, struck you with the force of a physical blow. You hadn't even dared to let your mind go there, to the practicalities of a nursery, of cribs and changing tables, not when you were still grappling with the enormity of the news. Lilac. The word echoed in your mind, bringing with it a rush of warmth, of memory. Your grandmother's favorite flower, a symbol of resilience, of hope, blooming even after the harshest winters.

You'd planted a lilac bush in your garden that year, a small act of defiance against the darkness that constantly threatened to engulf your world. Your garden was full of them now, creating a haven that you returned to, no matter how difficult the mission.

You instinctively placed a hand on your lower belly. A promise of hope.

You followed his gaze, picturing the small room that had served as a dumping ground for everything from unpacked boxes to John's collection of military history books. A wave of pure joy washed over you, chasing away the last crumbs of doubt.

He was serious. Truly, madly, seriously planning a future that had seemed impossible just moments ago.

"It'll need more than a fresh coat of paint to turn that into a nursery," you said, shaking your head, a laugh leaving your lips. It was almost unbelievable, how easily he'd accepted your news. You'd spent years dancing around the topic of children, the danger of your lives making it seem like an impossible dream. Yet here he was, not a glint of hesitation in his gaze, already planning nurseries and reassuring you with a certainty that seemed unreal.

"Then we'll build it from the ground up," John said so nonchalantly, as if there were no obstacles too great, no challenge he wouldn't face head-on, especially not when it came to you.

He stared down at you for a moment, his blue eyes filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache. He didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. The promise was there in the gentle squeeze of his hand, the way his gaze lingered on your face as if memorizing every detail. Slowly, he rose to his feet and tugged you up with him, his touch lingering on your waist as you found your balance.

"Arms up, love," he murmured. You obeyed, your cheeks warming as his hands brushed against yours, his fingers surprisingly gentle as he helped you into your bra. He paused when he was done, his hands lingering on your shoulders, thumbs gently stroking your skin.

"I'm going to make a doctor's appointment first thing tomorrow," you said, the words tumbling out in a rush, a mixture of nerves and excitement. "To - you know - confirm everything." You hesitated, searching his face for any sign of doubt, of hesitation. "Will you - will you come with me?"

The question seemed to hang in the air between you for a moment. John's gaze never changed, though, his expression softening even further as he reached for your face, his thumbs gently stroking your cheeks.

"My love," he murmured, "I wouldn’t miss it for the world."

And then he was reaching for your shirt, holding it out for you with a soft smile. You slipped it on, your heart swelling with affection as he waited patiently, his hands hovering near your waist as if he couldn't bear to keep his distance.

He handed you your trousers, his fingers brushing against yours. Every gesture, every touch, chipped away at the wall you’d built around yourself, allowing that fragile joy to blossom in its place. He was here. He was yours. And somehow, that made everything feel a little less terrifying.

When you were dressed, John turned around. "I should probably -" he glanced at his soaked clothes, a wry grin twisting his lips. He scooped up the damp fabric and tossed it into his locker. "Let these dry out back at the house, eh? Wouldn't want anyone starting any rumors." He pulled out a fresh shirt and sweatpants.

He turned back to face you, a question in his eyes, even though his expression remained carefully neutral. But you knew him well enough to see past that. You appreciated that he would never press or pry, but the silent question was there - are you alright?

You answered by reaching out to take his hand into yours, fingers lacing with his. His grip tightened instinctively. The fear from before wasn’t really gone, not yet. You didn’t know what the future might bring, but who knew that anyway? In the warmth of his touch, the silent promise in his eyes, the light smile that bent his lips, you forgot mostly about it all. He was there with you, you weren’t facing any of this alone.

"I still need to finish debriefing with Kate," you said, cringing a little, thinking about how you were storming out of the room earlier.

John shook his head, already reaching for your hand. "Don’t worry about that," he murmured. "Simon took care of it for you. Said you’ve been through enough. Come on," he lifted your joined hands, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, his gaze holding yours captive. "Let's get out of here."

And as you walked out of the locker room, hand in hand, the weight of the world seemed a little lighter. Like watching the first lilac buds unfurl, promising to soon paint the garden with their vibrant hues, a symbol of new beginnings.

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a-lurking-fae · 21 days ago

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Thinking about Angel!Reader. You, angel sent from eath to Teyvat to somehow quell the Archon war. You just died, and this is the first mission sent to you?? Genshin Impact, your favourite game before you died, ended up in your hands?

Oh shit.

And shit indeed. Thankfully, you were given a bazooka (why would they give you one??) that had infinite ammo and is invisible to others. So, how do you keep everyone out of war from each other? Well...

"HELP!!"

"PLEASE! HAVE MERCY! WE DON’T WANT THIS TOO!"

"AHHHH!!"

Uhm... to put in simpler terms, you handled it... violently. Both gods and humans alike feared you, but somehow, whenever you're busy quelling one war, another happens at the other side of Teyvat.

They are testing you frfr (´๑•_•๑)

Then, after the war, it had the same outcome, the seven gods. For some reason, Celestia fucking commanded to destroy K'hanriah. The same fucking place where you eat your burgers and fries combo, the only one in Teyvat.

And you shoot the gods down, like bitch, no. But K'hanriah worships you now?? You kindly reject them, thinking democracy is a whole lot better. The Royal family thanked you, and you lived happily ever after with your food.

The end.

#genshin impart #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact sagau #𝕯𝖗𝖆𝖇𝖇𝖑𝖊𝖘 ๋࣭ ⭑๋࣭ ⭑๋࣭ ⭑࣪ ִֶָ☾.⭒𝕬 𝕱𝖆𝖊'𝖘 𝖂𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌٠࣪⭑꩜.ᐟ #less of a drabble more of a shit post

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danyllura · 1 year ago

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President Snows inability to properly delay/stop the rebellion through his control of Katniss, and Peeta comes from his misinterpretation of their characters, through his own past experiences with Lucy Gray and Sejanus. Katniss and Lucy Gray have very overt similarities upon first perception and likely snow allowed that to construct how he viewed Katniss‘s actions and motivation behind said actions. To him, Lucy Gray was a calculated trickster, an actress, a liar. He believes Katniss to be the same. On the other hand, Sejanus similarly impacts his perception of Peeta who he initially does not pay much mind to as he disregards him as a love struck fool. Snow rarely considers Sejanus as a serious threat or questions his actions chalking it up to the fact that he is led by emotion, and thus seen as stupid by Snow.

We see time and time again throughout tbosbas, Sejanus lets his emotions in what he feels is right lead his actions no matter the consequences to himself, and sometimes even the consequences to others around him. Katniss follows that course of action far more than she ever mimics Lucy Grays much more calculative nature. So, Snow has this expectation that Katniss has and will be able to be convincing, and articulate in the script he gives her. That she will be able to do whatever it takes to save herself and her family even if it’s by acting in a way she fundamentally disagrees with. But as we know, Katniss often jumps into action without thinking it through, especially when it’s something her heart is pushing her to do. In reality, it is Peeta who has always been more capable of holding back or delivering a believable lie.

And Snow only learns of this misjudgment once the Quarter Quell has begun and it’s too late to stop the oncoming rebellion. He knows that the baby is a lie and that Katniss’ screams at Peeta nearly dying are not. And it finally shows him how to effectively utilize/control the two of them. Peeta can be a convincing puppet to spit out capitol propaganda. And Katniss is easily dissuaded from stepping up as Mockinjay when she realizes how in doing so Peeta will be hurt.

#the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #lucy gray baird #sejanus plinth #coriolanus snow #president snow

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waves-against-a-cliff · 7 months ago

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Match my Freak - Gaz x Reader

3.5k

Content Warnings - BDSM Dom and Sub relationship, impact play, breath play, a collar and leash are used, oral (m receiving), degradation, praise, PiV, multiple positions, spit, anal fingering, masochism and sadism

Summary - You finally take the plunge and download an app at the recommendation of a friend. On it you meet Kyle.

You stare at the text on your phone, a simple ‘here’ from Kyle. Your mind goes over the moments that led you to this moment. Talking to your friend about the fact you fantasize about that time you were fucked like a rag doll often, that you would love to relive that moment again. Of course, god bless your friend, they recommend you an app. “Plenty of freaks in the sea.” They said between sips of their drink. You’re not ashamed to admit that you had downloaded that app the moment they had mentioned it. As usual in apps like this, there are the ones who are clearly not there to seriously find what the app was created for. You met a few long distance guys and now your gallery has a nice wall of nudes and videos to send at least but it wasn’t what you wanted. You needed something to quell the ache between your legs, to rip you from your mind which ran a million miles in a minute. You still curse yourself for not taking your toys with you when moved but that’s beside the point now.

Then you found ‘Gaz’. That was the name on his profile, admittedly it made you kind of snort but you had already wasted some of your time, what's a few more minutes of hazing another guy? Even better was the fact that he was close. So yeah, you took the chance and by god are you happy that you did. After looking over his bio, which you did religiously with every guy you came across on this app, you sent him a message based off his bio. It had mentioned that you know where you belong, on your knees at his feet. So the next step was obvious. ‘I would love to be kneeling at your feet.’ You had thought to yourself after looking at his pictures that he had to be catfishing. Because there was no way someone as pretty as him was on this app, he probably got approached so often he had a million numbers filling up his phone. So you set your phone to the side and went to sleep, thinking that you’d probably not hear back from him.

So needless to say that you were NOT expecting to have first arranged a coffee meet up (vibe check). Even more needless to say that you were expecting his pictures to be exaggerated if not completely faked. But no. He is even more pretty than his pictures and the two of you talked until the coffee shop closed. Mostly about your interests outside of wanting to be dicked down or in his case, to be dicking someone down. Turns out he has three cats, loves to make music in his spare time and more importantly, once in his car, explained that he is experienced in this kind of community. Something that relieved some of your anxiety, you gave him your phone number and he dropped you back off at your place. You set a date and time for the first session after establishing basic boundaries. Do’s and don’ts for this session.

Now he was here to pick you up. Your heart couldn’t help but pound against your chest as you slipped on your shoes and walked out the door. The car ride was anxiety filling, at least for you. Your hands tremble a little so you keep them on your phone to hide that and he plays his favorite music. You keep reminding yourself that he knows what he’s doing, that he knows that you’re new to this kind of thing. You’re not completely inexperienced in BDSM but the things you’ve tried haven’t gone too far. But you want to go far, you want to know more about this and about yourself. Kyle seems to be the perfect introduction into the more… masochistic… side of yourself.

He brings you inside of his house, passing by his three cats who meow happily at their cat dad’s return and sniff at your legs before he leads you into his room. He had mentioned that he prefers a clean and organized space. As you take off your shoes and place them out of the way, you look around and realize you underestimated how clean and organized he liked it. He had wipe boards on the walls of his bedroom, each with lists of things he needs to do or get. Each one gives you a further glimpse into his personality. You’re seriously doubting he does music as a hobby because he seems rather serious about it. You glance at him as he mutters something to himself, “I might’ve pulled it out already.” He wanders over to the bedside table and opens the top drawer. You get only a glimpse in there, you spot what you think is a vibrator of some kind, some lube (thank god) and finally a collar and leash. That is what he pulls out. Your stomach does a flip as you force yourself to look away from it.

Right, you had mentioned wanting to try having a collar on and a leash. You can feel your cheeks warming up and if he notices, he doesn’t say anything. Instead he stands in front of you, lifting your head with two fingers under your chin. “I’m gonna freshen up and when I’m done, I expect you to be out of these.” He touches your outfit like it personally insulted him. You nod, unable to form words and watch him go into his bathroom. You don’t wait, you don’t know how long it’ll take, you strip yourself down to your underwear. For a moment you hesitate. Does he want this off as well? You decide he likely does and even if he doesn’t, he’s already seen your cunt in the pictures he requested. You place the clothes in the corner, unsure where you should put them, then sit back down. Thankfully for your poor beating heart he finishes up not that much longer after. He comes out of the bathroom and looks at you appreciatively. He grabs the collar and leash combo, looks to you for confirmation and you nod, words still unable to form in your mouth.

He puts the collar around your throat, he tightens it and checks the space between the leather collar and your skin. Seemingly satisfied, he wraps the leash in his fist, “Kneel.” You’re quick to comply, quickly getting off the bed and kneeling on the carpeted floor. Kyle forces your head up and mouth open, it strikes you then that he’s inspecting you. His thumb swipes across your bottom lip and presses onto your tongue. “Up, lay on the bed facing me and spread your legs.” Again you comply, you’re thankful he doesn’t comment on the fact you’re trembling. You can’t help it, you’re excited like some kind of small dog. Eager for this to be happening. You force yourself to look at the ceiling as your face heats further as he spreads the folds of your cunt and presses his finger in slightly and pushes a gasp from your lips. He gives it a light slap, your hips jerk involuntarily and your eyes immediately shoot to him. You don’t need to know him down to the depths of his soul to know that slightly smug look on his face, his lips quirked up and a glint in his eyes.

“On your stomach.” You flip over and he spreads your ass cheeks, you bite your lip as he inspects that hole. His hands run over the fat of your ass appreciatively, he grabs a handful and releases it to watch it jiggle. “When I do this,” He speaks suddenly and you snap back from that slightly cloudy space he had already started to push you into, “I am inspecting your holes. Face me.” You turn around and look at him, meeting his dark brown eyes and then your eyes dart to his hand as it grips something you hadn’t noticed earlier. A riding crop, your mouth waters as the phantom sting of pain dances across your skin at the idea of that leather hitting your skin. “Kneel.” As you sit on your knees and look up at him, the leash wrapped around his fist and the crop in the other he asks you, “How much do you like pain?” You hesitate for a second and he adds, “On a scale of one to ten.”

“A six?” You say but it feels like your own question. Honestly, you only know that you like pain. You like the bite of it, the lingering sting that comes with a slap or hit. You adore how hot your skin gets after contact.

“Then I’ll take it easy on you.” You don’t amend your previous answer even though a part of you is telling you to. Learn where the line starts first before trying to find the end of it you tell yourself. The strike from the crop doesn’t quite sting even though it lands on its target, your breast. He corrects this with the second strike to the other one and you let out a gasp. Kyle takes this information and uses it for the next three strikes, each one leaving behind that familiar sting that sinks you back into that cloudy headspace. He tugs on the leash, you’re only half aware when your eyes find his hard cock. At some point while you were floating in that fuzzy space he had rolled on a condom and you don’t need to hear his words to know what you need to do next. Your mouth opens on instinct and his cock slides into your mouth. It's a beautiful thing, his cock. You normally don’t think like that, usually cocks are weird things. With their mushroom heads and the way they just look. But Kyle’s? God it's beautiful and some part of you wants to thank him for the chance to have it in your mouth even if there is a protective layer of rubber.

You feel bad for not having enough salvia and make a mental note to drink more fucking water. You do your best to work with what you have, you swipe your tongue on the underside of his cock and while you don’t hear him, you feel him pull on the collar to push his cock further down your throat. You force your throat to relax, you’re not going to gag as violently as you normally do. You nearly protest when he pulls his cock from your mouth but he cuts it off swiftly when he tells you to get on bed, face towards the ceiling. Your eyes fix directly on him as he grabs your legs and pulls you to the edge of the bed, he glances up at you from under his lashes, his hand still wrapped around the leash connected to the collar around your throat as he slides his cock between your folds. The head of it grazes your clit and you feel an electric shock go through you, his lips quirk up again and he releases your leash. Kyle reaches over to the bottle of lube and pops open the cap before lathering a generous amount on his cock before he lines himself up. The initial push is difficult and you try your best to relax as his thick cock pushes itself into you. Forcing the tightness that’s come about from simply not being laid in a while to mold to his dick’s shape, your lips part as he bottoms out.

Your head falls back and you blink up at the ceiling, swallowing hard against the collar wrapped around your throat. “Look at me.” Your eyes snap back to him, his free hand is around your thigh and the other still holds that riding crop. His hand makes contact with your cheek, the sting is immediate, your skin heats from the force of it and your cunt clenches around him. He does it again three more times, twice to the same spot and once to the other cheek as that haze settles over you. Finally he moves, pulling his hips back before snapping them back to yours. It pulls a moan from you and he strikes your tit with the riding crop at that exact level he had established earlier making your eyes flutter.

The pace Kyle sets is brutal. Each snap of his hips, each thrust has your hands gripping the blanket beneath you. It has you moaning despite your attempts to keep quiet, you think he might have a thing against you trying to be quiet. He uses the crop a few more times; once hitting directly onto your hardened nipple which pulls a shriek from you at the same time his cock hits that space inside of you that makes your back arch off the bed. “You like this don’t you?” You nod and choke out a ‘yes’ to which he growls, “It's sir to you.”

“Yes sir.” You moan, his well groomed patch of hair just barely grazing your clit.

Just enough to drive you insane. You nearly sob when he pulls out but he barks out, “On your hands and knees.” You comply immediately, scrambling to fulfill his order. You arch your back as well as you can for him, pressing your chest to the mattress as you feel it sink beneath his weight behind you. He smacks your ass and you bite your lip to swallow the sound that pulls from you. Burying your face into the blanket at the same time he buries his thick cock back into your weeping hole. You moan into the blanket, your mouth falling open as he smacks your ass once again and readjusts his position. He plants one foot flat on the bed and that changes everything. The force he uses for the next thrust not only punches an unfamiliar sound from you but pushes you up the bed just a little. One of his hands tightens around your waist while the other trails up your back. For the moment, you think he’s going for the leash until he laces his fingers into your hair and pulls.

You gasp into the open air as he doesn’t break pace. You claw at the bed, your ah-ah-ah’s fill the room and you feel yourself clenching around him. Fuck, he just needs to keep going and you might just cum. You’ve never cum from just penetration before, god wouldn’t that be something else? “What a good fucking slut. Are you a good slut?”

“Y-yes sir!” You reply between moans, barely able to catch your breath at this point as his hand comes down hard on your ass.

“Thats fucking right. And you’re my slut.” You nod, eager to please him. To make him continue, god you’re so fucking close. “Gonna cum?” You reply with a nod which gets your ass a slap, “Speak when I talk to you.”

“Yes sir!” You slur out, fingers digging further into the blanket. You feel a sob building up in your throat as he only doubles down. The fingers digging into your waist move as his bulky arm (you want to bite it so bad. You had looked at his profile pictures just to stare at them) wraps around your hips and his fingers immediately find your hardened clit, begging for stimulation. Your orgasm is like a brick wall, fuck you haven’t cum for months. Your legs start to cramp and begin shaking, you actually let out a choked sob as you clench around his cock like you’re trying to choke the life out of it. You're fully submerged in that cloudy state, words just falling out of your mouth at this point. “Thank you thank you thank you.” You repeat, a few tears dripping from your cheeks onto the blanket.

You don’t even fight, wouldn’t want to anyways, as he pushes down on your back and forces you to lay on your belly. When he pushes his cock back into you, there’s a slight burn and you know you have clenched down on him hard. Your mind is still spinning from the orgasm, you’re not even down in your body when he thrusts. The sound you make is somewhere between a scream and a moan, to be honest you can’t really tell because you’re too busy focusing on the hand that wraps around your throat to force your head back up. “Fucking slut.” He grunts out and you can only attempt to nod in agreement. You are. You know you are. Only sluts like to be fucked like this, like that sting on their skin. That bite of pain that makes your head fuzzy. You’re vaguely aware of his other hand wandering over the expanse of your ass before it dips in between your cheeks. You’re pulled just slightly out of that haze as he spits down on you, the glob of saliva landing near where he intends before he swipes it up with his thumb. Your eyes widen and you feel your pussy gush at the realization of what’s happening. Slowly, he pushes his thumb into your puckered hole and you can’t hold your head up at the pressure. It makes your legs kick just a little until he’s down to the knuckle. He hooks it in you, using it like fucked up leverage. It makes your skin prickle with heat and push you back into that haze, pushing you further than you were before.

When his hand moves from your throat you gulp down some air for only a second before it's replaced by his arm. Your moans are cut short but he doesn’t seem to mind, fuck he seems to like it more when you try to moan but can’t. Each one being cut off by a different sound he’s punching out of your lungs each time his cock bullies back into your weeping cunt. With a grunt, you feel it against your back; the rumble of his chest as his hips still and he fills the condom. You mourn the lack of warmth within your cunt when he pulls out. You know it's for the best, at least for now while the two of you figure things out and push your limits. But fuck you would love to have his cum seeping out of you.

You roll over, trying to catch your breath when you see him rolling on another onto his still hard cock. You can’t decide if your stomach plummeted or if it flipped. This time, he doesn’t hide that smirk on his face and it flips something in your brain. Makes you want to bare your throat so he can push his teeth into the delicate skin until there’s blood. Until your blood coats his lips and teeth, until the tang of iron is on his tongue. He crawls over you, pushing your legs up so his hips can settle between them. His fingers hook under your collar as he pushes his cock back into you. It dawns on you that he hadn’t been all the way in at first. He must have left a few inches out because when he pushes all the way this time, you feel that delightful pinch in your stomach and that burn from your hole. Next time, you decide, you’re going to really get a look at his cock. Really admire it. Because you can feel how he thickens at the base, you can feel how the tip of him pushes against your unyielding cervix.

He pulls your head up towards him, his mouth by your ear as he begins his pace again. You have to brace your hands against the headboard, slightly worried you might hit your head against it with the way he’s rutting into you. Kyle pulls moans from you like it’s his right and for now, it is. You completely surrendered your body to him for this, you told him to his face on the car ride home from the coffee shop that you like to be used. You want to be fucked like a doll. And by god, he was fulfilling that request. “When you’re with me I own you.” He growls out. His words take you by surprise and you look at him, your eyes wide like prey caught in the sight of a predator. Kyle’s beautiful brown eyes have darkened and he looks at you like he is a predator, like a fox licking its chops as it spots a bunny. “Your mouth. Your ass. Your cunt. I own them now.”

You nod and swallow down the sob nearly tearing its way from your throat, “Yes sir.”

“Thats fucking right. I own you, your holes are mine to use.” And he slams his cock back in, one hand shoots to his arm and you claw, choking yourself on the collar as you throw your head back.

You blink up at the ceiling, his thumb rubs against your skin in a soothing manner. A request you had made when it came to aftercare. You time your breaths and slowly bring yourself back to your body. You glance at him, unable to form words and he seems to be lacking them too despite the fact he had repeated what he said. His words still echo in your head, making your insides all fuzzy when you think about it. “So,” He finally says a minute later, “are you usually free on weekends?”

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