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the-californicationist · 1 month

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That Fire is Repeated

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From an anonymous ask: fic of where instead of Price, it's reader who's been infected with sex pollen?👉👈please and thank u!

Deep in the southern jungles of Urzikstan, Captain Price is sent to help with your extraction. On your way out of the makeshift Konni laboratory, you accidentally step on a trap, and Price volunteers to save your life.

“I can’t hear her comms!” Simon yelled out over the noise of the helicopter, pointing to his headset and giving the thumbs down to Laswell.

She typed something into her datapad and showed it to him, yelling back,

“Dead zone! You’ll have to go in on foot.”

Price adjusted his vest and checked to make sure his gun was fully loaded,

“I’ll go. She’s my recruit, my responsibility.”

“Sure you’ll wanna be the big hero for her, too, huh?” Farah laughed from the cockpit, glancing over her shoulder as Price twisted his face, cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink from his shame.

It was well-known that Price had a terribly strong crush on you. You had accepted his advances, but he was reluctant to take it further, realizing that fraternizing was frowned upon. So, you pined for each other from afar, and the whole base knew about it.

Laswell rolled her eyes at Farah’s comment,

“Should we go back to basics? Captain: don’t subtract from the population,” her eyes narrowed, “Don’t add to the population…”

“Yeah, alright, Kate. Got it. Loud and clear,” Price waved her off, staring out the window and ignoring the obvious ribbing from his colleagues.

“Go get Sparrow and let’s go the fuck home,” Laswell hollered at him, opening the door to the chopper and letting the air whoosh inside.

The wind stung his cheeks, and the tall grass blades spun and twirled like violent dancers as he made his way towards the old, dilapidated lab. You’d been sent to infiltrate secret Konni operations here, disguised as a chemist. Now that the Konni operatives had been dispatched, you secured the intel and were ready for extraction. Price was ready to have you back. These types of ops were so delicate. One wrong move would put you in danger. He was glad the worst of it was over.

As quickly and as carefully as he could, Price made his way inside. It was a little odd that you weren’t outside waiting for the extraction, so his guard was up. In the main lab, he spotted you, standing with your bag and your weapon with your back towards him.

“Little bird?” Price questioned under his breath, moving forward slowly, using the pet name he saved for when you two were alone.

“Hey, Captain. Glad you made it,” you called out to him, your voice tinged with obvious sobbing and stress.

“What is it, Spar? What’s happened?”

He made his way around the lab table and saw you. You were standing stock-still, staring down at your foot. Then, he knew what had made you cry.

Jutting out of your pant leg, a giant syringe was stuck into your calf, empty.

Price leaned down to help you, removing the needle, panicking at the thought of losing you,

“Can you move?”

“When I do… Captain, it’s excruciating.”

“Fuck,” Price tried the comms. But, then he remembered it was a dead zone, and no one was coming to help him. He asked you, “Is it poison? How’d this happen?”

“They call it XLR8. It’s what they’ve been working on. A prototype. I was bending down to grab my bag and this was rigged to hit me. They knew I was a spy.”

“What does it do, this prototype?” You heard his voice quiver at the end of his question.

You blushed, laughing a bit,

“It incapacitates you, first. Removes your inhibitions, next. Then, it causes extreme vasodilation…”

“In the Queen’s bloody English, love. Please…”

“John,” you used his name, looking up into his eyes, “I may ask you to do things to me. Things that I might not usually ask for. And I want you to know that you don’t have to listen to me. I don’t want you to do anything… I don’t want to force you to do… things…”

“Birdie. Tell me what I need to know.”

“When the Konni scientists injected it into mice, they would breed… for hours. They wouldn’t eat, they wouldn’t sleep. One time, a researcher opened the door to the cage, and they didn’t escape. They only bred…” You looked at him in his eyes, making sure he heard you, “But, the mice who were alone in their cages and were given XLR8 got a high fever and died. Every last one of them”

“Are you… “ Price pointed down at your leg, “Do you mean to say that you’ll need someone to…”

You looked down at the ground, steeling yourself for the harsh reality of what was to come,

“When the drugs hit my system, the effects were immediate. Stage one should be almost over now.. You’ll… you’ll know it when you see stage two. But, listen to me, John. I couldn’t live with myself if I forced you to do something that you would regret. Please. I’m sure they’ll think of some other way to help me…”

“Little bird,” he caught your gaze and smiled softly at you, “I’m here for you. I’m not going to let anythin’ happen to you. I won’t lose you to this. I can’t… I care about you too much. I’m going to catch you, and we’re going to get out of here. Just fall forward into my arms, love. I know it hurts. We need to get you to the bloody medic as soon as we can.”

You nodded, and then you did as he commanded. Every movement felt like some sort of hell. You could hear yourself screaming, but it was muffled, your face buried in his chest. You were hanging, limp, against John’s body. You could feel every stinging step he took as it jostled your body. Suddenly, you heard the angry clipping of chopper blades. Then, you passed out.

Sometime later, you awoke, still on the chopper, sitting in the jump seat way in the back. Well, that wasn’t quite accurate. Price was sitting in the jumpseat and you were… straddling his lap.

You were humping him, shamelessly, right in front of Farah, Laswell, Gaz, Soap, and Ghost. The helicopter was full of soldiers, and here you were, uncontrollably rocking your hips against your captain. The others tried to avert their gazes, sitting at awkward angles, trying not to watch, but that somehow made it worse.

You cried out as if you were in pain, and Price held you closer, soothing you with his deep, rumbling voice, speaking to you right in your ear,

“Shh, shh. It’s alright, little bird. I’ve got you. Almost home. Just a few more minutes.”

“John… fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry… I need… oh, God.”

“I know what you need,” he kissed your neck, and he took his hand and shoved it down the front of your pants, giving you something to grind against.

His fingers were strong, and the tips of them were thick, easily pressing through your folds for you, exciting your nerves just the way you liked.

You moaned loudly, unable to stop yourself. When you did, you saw Soap’s head peek around the back of his seat. Then, a gloved, skeletal hand yanked him back around to face the front. If you didn’t die from the XLR8, you’d die from embarrassment afterward, that was certain.

“It’s okay, bird. It’s not your fault. They know that,” he tried to reassure you, but you hid your face in his neck anyway, unable to stop your wanton writhing, soaking his fingers until they slid against you unimpeded.

You felt your hands reach for his belt, digging under his vest and all of his equipment straps. You wanted to spear your body onto his thick cock. You were sure that it would cure you. The fever made you feel too cold and too hot all at the same time. You shivered in his arms, but your brow was dotted with beads of sweat.

He caught your wrist to stop you,

“Just a little while longer, love. Shh, shh, shh. I know…”

You sobbed into his shoulder, ashamed and needy, too weak to fight his grip.

“Hey, look at me,” you obeyed, and he rubbed your cheek, “I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry.”

You shuddered, cresting over a brief, sharp orgasm, coming on him as quietly as you could, biting your cheek so you wouldn’t cry out. For a few seconds, you experienced some sort of relief, but then it was gone, and the overwhelming internal fire raged in your belly once more.

The chopper pitched, landing on the pad at your base, and everyone cleared out of the hull except for Laswell. She looked down at you, pity in her eyes, and then turned to him with concern,

“I’ll send a few supplies to your room. The medic wants to run some tests. How long is this supposed to last?”

John shrugged, petting the sweaty hair out of your face, tucking you in close to him in his arms,

“Not sure. Just trying to get her through it. Take her datapad. It’s got her notes from the lab.”

Laswell took it and stepped down from the chopper, jogging off to the med bay.

“C’mon, love. Let me help you take that fever away, hm?”

You nodded, feeling dizzy and dehydrated, letting him carry you from the helicopter. It seemed like the tight coil in your belly was getting more and more tense by the moment. Your orgasm had been too weak, and it was almost like you hadn’t quite completed the event. You were just stuck in between coming and not coming, waiting for someone to put you out of your misery. What you thought had been relief was really just a prelude to the main event. It was torture.

As you lay your head on his chest, you could smell his aftershave as it mixed with his skin, a comfortingly warm scent with woodsy spices and the faint hint of tobacco from his favorite cigars. You wanted more of it, so you turned your nose into him, running your hands across the belt of his pants, trying to pry your way in..

When he arrived in the barracks, he kicked open the door to a dark room. It smelled just like him. You realized then that you were in his quarters. He lay you on his bed and set to taking off your gear. Your boots and socks slid off, and he unclipped your vest. Then, you felt his fingers on your neck, carefully inspecting your wounds.

“Birdie…” He shook his head, obviously regretful for what you were going through.

You whimpered, looking up at him as you moved your hand down your own pants, rubbing yourself in front of him out of a desperate need,

“John, I don’t know how to ask you this.”

“You don’t have to. Medic’s gonna check you out, and I’ll give you whatever you want, little bird. I promise.”

“I need you, now. I don’t… I can’t… mmmngh...”

“Captain?” A woman’s voice floated into the room from the doorway. Price cracked the door and when he saw it was the medic, he let her in.

She knelt by the bed, and took your hand,

“Hey, Sparrow. I’m just going to check your vitals, okay?”

You nodded, trying not to stare down the dark opening of her lab coat. Her voice was so sweet, and her breasts looked full and soft. Her olive skin would probably feel so warm on your lips. Before you could stop yourself, you had your hand behind her head, kissing her neck, trying your best to unbutton her blouse.

“Easy! Easy does it,” John sat himself down behind you on the bed, positioning you between his legs, and held you back, keeping you from accosting the medic.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry. I… oh, my God…” You writhed, trying to fight the demonic need building inside of you.

“That’s okay,” she said, “They warned me. We’re going to get you some help… Let me take your temp… Goddamnit. She’s burning up. I’m going to give her a light sedative and something to try and cut her fever, but…”

She stopped speaking, looking up at the captain, trying to be delicate,

“You probably need to… um… begin. The sooner the better. I’ll leave these with you,” she dropped two blue pressed pills into his hand, “Just in case you, uh, need a boost.”

Price recognized the sexual enhancement drugs and put them on his side table. He waited patiently for the medic to take a small vial of your blood. He thanked her, trying not to sound like he was in a rush (even though he was), and eventually she shut the door, leaving you two in each others’ care.

John stayed where he was, but he softened his grip, kissing your neck. He reached down and unbuttoned your pants, giving your hand room to move. You rubbed your folds faster, making tight little circles around your clit, struggling to come.

“Nnngh… fuck. Fuck, I can’t do it. I’m so close, but…” You whined, gritting your teeth and struggling against the XLR8. It was making you woozy, and you couldn’t keep your strength up in order to get yourself over the edge.

“Show me,” he whispered, staring down at your furious masturbation, watching your hand as it worked, “Show me how you like it, little bird. Teach me.”

Your heart raced, equal parts excited and embarrassed to show him something so personal and intimate, but you did as you were told, letting him see how your fingers worked your flesh. He sighed, and you felt his cock shift against the small of your back.

He took over for you, sliding his hand down below yours, mimicking your movements, and getting very close to perfection.

“That’s it!” You hissed, keening for him, “That’s… oh, fuck, that’s so good. Don’t stop. Please, don’t —”

Your orgasm was almost immediate. Your body locked up, every muscle squeezing you until you were frozen, rigidly convulsing as you came on his hand. Your mouth hung open in a breathless, silent scream. Then, to your horror, you felt the heavy stain of some sort of fluid soaking through your pants. At first, you thought you’d wet yourself, but then when John pulled his hand away to inspect your emission, you saw the sticky, gooey consistency shining on his fingers.

“What… I don’t understand. What is that?”

“It looks like your come, yeah? Quite a lot of it…” He observed. Price brought it to his nose and mouth to smell it. Then, he licked his fingers tentatively, and his eyes rolled back into his head, “Mmm. Fuck. It’s sweet.”

He lifted you so easily, it was as if you weighed nothing. Propping you up on his pillows, he helped you out of your pants and boots, stripping you down. When Price saw you, dripping and pink, splayed in front of him like a gleaming prize, he stalled. Then, he looked up at you, eyes wide with glorious wonder,

“Little bird…”

“John,” you gasped, “Please.”

He didn’t waste any more time. In a flash, your thighs were hitched up toward your chest as he shoved them back, giving his mouth access to its warm, wet reward.

The first long lick was like its own kind of drug. Your whole body sang like a bell, trembling and ringing out for him and his soft tongue. He licked you again and pulled away, confused but pleasantly so,

“Fuck, love. You taste like strawberries. That’s… fuck.”

You lost track of time as he devoured you. His whole face was shining with your stickiness, and he couldn’t get enough of it. He was gasping for air, practically drowning himself, rubbing his chin and nose through your folds as he tried to writhe his tongue deeper into your core, fucking you with it to draw out more of your slickness.

The sounds you were making seemed almost inhuman. You were convinced you had never had a true orgasm before if this is what they were supposed to feel like. Every lap of his tongue felt like its own crescendo. You were putty in his hands, figuratively and literally judging by the dampness beneath you.

Eventually, he made his way back up your body, peeling away your shirt and bra, rustling out of his own clothes as quickly as he could, his muscular arms getting trapped in his jacket, stretching and pulling against his heavy bones for freedom.

“You alright, little bird?” He asked you softly, crawling over you and settling himself between your shivering thighs.

You nodded,

“Yeah, that was so amazing, John. I know its selfish, but I need more. Can… can you fuck me? Please? I’m clean, I have an IUD. Please? I won’t —”

“Shh. Hush, love. I’m not leavin’ this room ‘til I’ve cured you, one way or another. C’mere.”

He pulled you to him, kissing you, covered in your come. You tasted yourself on his lips, and he was right: it was exactly like strawberries. It must have been the stimulant, you thought. Something to… entice…

Your mind went blank as John began to feed his fat cockhead into your hole. All of the pain and the heat from the fever disappeared, and you were normal again. Well, a very horny normal, but at least you felt some relief.

“Oh, my God!” You cried, “That’s it. That’s what I needed. Oh…”

“Yeah?” Price narrowed his eyes, studying your face, watching your reactions with rapt attention. Where you were stabilizing, he was falling apart at the seams.

His whole body shuddered as he slid himself into you. It was shallow at first; he was too thick to fit inside of your tight pussy, no matter how wet you were. But, as he lubed himself up in your body, he squeezed deeper and deeper inside, eventually drilling down right to his base, slamming his hips into yours like a hungry machine.

Your screams echoed in his small room, and the metal bed creaked under his enormous weight. You could feel his power through his thrusts. He was so incredibly strong, and his muscles bent and twisted just to serve your pleasure. It was hypnotizing to watch. You were focused on the straining sinew in his immense neck when another orgasm threatened to bubble over inside of you.

It was too soon. You’d barely recovered from the first one, and as he felt your body start to contract around his shaft, he began to moan right along with you.

“That’s it, Birdie, let it out. C’mon. Come for me… That’s it. That’s… ungh!” He coached you, talking you through it, fighting his own pleasure like the dragon it was, the heat of his breathing furling in hot bursts down your neck.

His eyes were wrenched shut, but between his long, aching thrusts, he rambled, spilling out his words instead of himself inside of you like he wanted to.

“Spar… don’t you know how badly I’ve wanted this?”

Your pussy was being pounded so hard you could feel your pulse slamming against your skin.

“...I’ve wanted you… wanted to feel you…”

His face was near yours, close enough that you could still smell your sweet slick on his beard.

“...it’s so good. I never want it to stop. Feels like heaven…”

When he wasn’t speaking in that hoarse, smoldering timbre, you could see his jaw working against itself, fighting the inevitable.

“...so damn responsive to me. Such a good girl…”

Then, his tone turned dark, burning into your face as he spoke against your cheek through gritted teeth,

“You want more, hm?”

“Yeah…” You whispered, your voice sounding so small.

“Harder? You want it harder, don’t you, little bird? I can tell.”

You nodded, whispering your pleading to him in wordless gasps. He smiled. You could feel it against your skin,

“Bloody hell. Bloody fuckin’ hell,” he lamented, rising up above you, wrenching his fingers around your waist, the gentleness gone from his touch, “Fuck, Birdie. You’ll make me come. You… ah!”

He brought you with him as he tumbled over the edge. You felt like you’d been hit with a flashbang. You couldn’t hear, and your vision went white. When you begged your lungs to breathe, you couldn’t take in the air. All you could feel — the only thing your body would allow you to feel — was each silky throb of his cock as it pumped his come inside of you. You could feel it as it burst from him, and then as it melted down your walls, flowing across his fleshy head. It was lava-hot, and you knew nothing except that you needed more.

Price collapsed on top of you, his heavy, furry body sweaty and panting, gasping for air himself. He seemed spent, but you weren’t done.

You flipped him, planting him on his back, enjoying the shocked look on his face, his eyes wide and uncertain. He couldn’t speak; there wasn’t enough time. But, as you began to rock back and forth on his softening rod, he cried out with something between pain and bliss.

“Oh, fuck, love… wait! I’m… oh, shite…”

“I’m… so sorry, John. I can’t stop…” You ground your swollen pussy down to his base, fucking him raw and wild, feeling his come slipping out of you in foamy smears.

He nodded, hiding his eyes behind his palm, struggling to get his breathing under control,

“It’s alright, Birdie. It’s alright. Take what you need.”

As you rode him, he fully softened in you, and you cried out, trying everything you could to bring him back. Then, you watched as he fumbled across the end table, reaching for the blue pills the medic had left behind. He took one, and stared up at you,

“I’m sorry, love. C’mere.”

He grabbed your thighs, and with very little struggle, situated you across his face, grabbing your hips and pulling you down onto him, forcing you to put your weight on his jaw. He began to eat you out, licking long circles around your messy hole at first, and then he thrust his long tongue inside of you, rubbing his nose deep within your wet folds.

You screamed for him then, trying to battle your insecurities and failing. It was overwhelming. The pleasure just built and built inside of you, mounting up and then… nothing. It remained there at its peak, a tightened coil, ready to bust.

“John! John, I can’t… Help me, please.”

With all of his strength, he lifted you off of him, shoving you on all fours, situating himself behind you.

All of his movements were rabid and unwieldy. He was struggling, trying to overcome his soporific pleasure to accommodate you. Hungry for you even though he’d recently been sated.

Your chaos quieted for a moment when you felt his fingers prying your lips apart between your legs, slipping into you like a cork, sinking down to his knuckles into a perfect fit.

“Oh, Sparrow. So fuckin’ soft. So sweet.”

As he praised you, he ate you, pulling out more and more of your stickiness onto his hand, lapping you up with his tongue. You were coming unwound, and it felt amazing. It was as if he was pulling pulsing orgasms from your body on a long silk ribbon, one after the other, soft and slick, neverending.

Then, finally, you felt his head tapping its way into your wet hole once more. Fucking you from behind seemed to be your commander’s preference. It was either that or he had become beyond overstimulated. His noises were a cross between whimpers and growls. He kissed his way up your back, sinking his sharp teeth into your neck and shoulder, grunting like an animal as he buried himself into you.

“You’re so big. I feel so full,” you whispered to him, glancing over your shoulder as he knelt over you like a feral hound, bucking into you shamelessly.

“Feels good, little bird? ‘M not hurtin’ you, am I?”

“No, John. You’re perfect,” you found his jaw as he kissed your neck, nuzzling his face with your own, rubbing against him like a cat.

“Gonna come for me, love? Squeezin’ the fuck out of my cock.”

“I can’t help it,” you cried, feeling hot tears run down your cheeks. You were so overwhelmed, your body was processing every sensation, fraying your nerves. He wiped your temple with his hand,

“I know, Sparrow. I know. Let it out, love. C’mon. I can take it.”

“Nghah!” You screamed, trying to relax into the blinding pleasure, feeling your legs start to tremble from it.

“Mmm,” Price groaned deeply, sitting back on his knees as he felt you spill over the edge. Your sticky come coated his cock and the dense hair at his base, matting the dark fur, “Tha’s it, baby. Fuck, so wet.”

You sobbed through the orgasm as it wrecked your body. John gathered you up in his arms, taking the sheet with him, clutching you to his chest messily, still humping himself into you as gently as he could, but unable to quell his own lurid desire.

“Lay down, Birdie,” your captain whispered, pulling the sheet away and pushing you prone into his mattress, “Try to breathe for me. Tha’s it.”

You tried to do as he commanded. You wanted to be good for him, but your breath kept hitching in your throat. You needed more, and you didn’t know how to get it. You writhed below him, feeling his cock slipping in and out of you, the wetness from your body pooling beneath you.

“John, I’m still so hot. Feels like I’m losing my mind,” you looked at him over your shoulder, and you had to admit he didn’t look much better. He was spent, fucking you on auto-pilot at this point, letting nature take its own path. He was nothing more than base instincts at this point, and you could tell he was having trouble keeping himself tied down.

He wanted to come again, you could feel it in how rigid his cock had become, helped by the pills. Something inside of you wanted to force his come from him, to make him explode in you again, filling you up. So, you pushed your hips back, arching your spine to allow more of his cock inside of your pussy, teasing him with your swollen hole.

“Oh, fuck. Sparrow… don’t…”

“Does it feel good, John?” You asked, not following his orders for once, “Do I… make you feel good?”

“Holy fuck,” he spat, his voice dark and animalistic, unable to tear his eyes from where your bodies were joined together.

You twisted your hips back and forth, effectively jerking him off with your drooling sheath, listening to his deep whining as you tormented him, pushing him to the brink but not fucking him fast enough to toss him over.

“Little bird… Please…” John whimpered, overstimulated and eager to come.

“Tell me,” you teased him, not recognizing your own voice, “Tell me how you like it.”

“I fuckin’ love it. Just like that, Birdie. So damn good. Keep movin’ your hips like that, pretty girl. Gonna make me come again.”

You could feel his eyes watching you fuck him. He used his hands to pull your ass cheeks apart, giving him a bird’s eye view of both of your holes. You could feel the cool air rush across them, exciting you and making you shiver from the sensation.

“So damn pretty,” Price crooned, whispering almost to himself, petting your stretched skin with his thumbs, smearing your wetness all over you.

You felt him grab your hair, right at the nape of your neck, forcing your back to arch, pulling you up to him,

“You want me to come in you, little bird? You want my fuckin’ come? Hm? Tell me!”

“Nghh… Yes,” you hissed. His grip was so restricting, and you felt the air try to escape your throat, “Come. In. Me.”

“Sparrow!” Price shouted, releasing your hair to hold you across your belly, wrapping your body in his arms, ramming himself into you as deeply as he could, letting his cock spill into you once again.

You were full of him. John was everywhere. He was wet and dripping within you, and as he fell to the bed with you, his body covered yours fully, wrapping you beneath him. You shifted a bit, convincing him to roll onto his side, kissing his neck and face, whispering sweet nothings to him as he caught his breath.

“So good, John… You are so good to me,” you let your lips sink into his warm, panting mouth, letting your lips slide together.

“Mmm,” he sighed, “Still hard. The medic was right about those pills.”

“I’m so sorry,” you straddled him again, humping against his still-rigid shaft, “I still need you, John. Please?”

“Sure, little bird. Ah! Oh, fuck, I’m sensitive. Easy… Ngh!”

“I’ll go slow,” you leaned forward to kiss him, capturing his long moan in your mouth.

Suddenly, there was a quick knock at the door and then a slit of light as it creaked open. A skeletal gloved hand reached in with a stuffed bag and dropped it just inside the room before shutting it tightly again.

Price removed you gently, watching you pout, and he explained,

“Laswell’s care package.”

“Come back, John,” you pulled his hand toward you as he opened the bag with the other.

He started laughing, letting you guide his cock back into you while he was standing at the edge of the bed. You watched as he pulled a couple of water bottles out of the bag and set them on the end table, still chuckling to himself.

“Hey,” you pet your fingers through the hair on his belly as you writhed against him, “What’s funny?”

“Strawberries,” he smiled as he pulled a small box of the fruit from the bag, his eyes twinkling in the low light, “You want one, little bird?”

You nodded, but then felt the sudden emptiness of him removing his cock from you again. Then, with a devilish grin, you watched him dip the tip of the bright red fruit into your pussy, twirling it around in your juices, coating it with your thick stickiness, and then sucking it into his mouth, eating half of it and letting it drip down his chin.

He brought it to your mouth, at the same time thrusting himself all the way inside of you, making you gasp,

“Open wide, love.”

#call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #captain john price #cod mwii #john price #captain price #captain price x you #captain price x reader #call of duty #captain john price x female reader #john price x female reader #x female reader #cod

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chrollohearttags · 3 months

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the morning after • reiner braun

mornings with your husband are always fun but the one after valentines is rather eventful!

playful banter, flashbacks to heavy smut, chubby reiner, plus size black reader, mentions of anal play/toys, breeding, squirting and other slutty tings, daddy’s used, reiner being aggravating as hell 😭

word count: 1.6K

📝: goes without saying but this is so self indulgent bc why not? I need him biblically, carnally and physically. I also need to engage in hand to hand combat with him one good time.

. °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° .** . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° .** . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆

the scene was a chaotic one..a messy one indeed!..

once crispy white sheets strewn about the floor, pillows tossed to the wayside. Expensive clothing with designer tags torn to shreds as they lie in a pile in the corner near the nightstand. All a result of one thing or rather..one person in particular.

“Mmm, good morning, sugar. You look beautiful—“

“Mm, good morning to you too, sir.”

two very starkly contrasting reactions from a couple who shared equal blame in this very erratic mess that was the master bedroom of your two story ranch home. You stood before the bathroom mirror, silk robe tied around your body to match the bonnet atop your head..plumpness swaying with each step underneath as you picked at your face. Examining the aftermath of last night’s wild antics. It was Valentine's Day and to say it was your most eventful yet would be a gross understatement. Dinner in the city, giant bouquets of roses, a night at the theater, lavish gifts provided by your doting husband and of course…intense, filthy love making to end the evening. You couldn’t have asked for a more ideal night. However, you had felt the effects of what transpired and saw them too.

“What’s with the grumpy face? Why do you sound like that?” The thick country accent spouted before it was quickly overcome with loud cackling as he doubled over into the sheets. The doting husband in question was none other than Reiner Braun. Retired NFL star turned rancher and the source of your early morning headache. That was the beauty of marriage. Having that one person you could not live without but definitely could use a day or two of break away from them! And this man was no exception to the rule. “I don’t know, you tell me! You must know since you’re laughing so damn hard.” Already, he had worked you into a tizzy and you hadn’t been awake more than ten minutes at this point. Getting up to relieve yourself and examine the damage he had done. You had lash extensions that had seemed to sweat out, a slight indentation in your neck from the collar you so quickly allowed him to place around your neck and your hair? God only knew what bird’s nest was underneath this bonnet. You could’ve killed him for his little cacklefest and making light of your very distressed condition. But truthfully, you had no one else to blame but yourself. Truth was, you two brought out the absolute worst in one another. Not by way of toxic behaviors or tumultuous fights but your filthy desires. Things that you would’ve never tried or even thought of prior to meeting each other in the bedroom, all manifested once you were together. Sexual fantasies beyond anyone’s comprehension and your dirtiest secrets all shared right here. You let it all happen and consequences be damned. Enjoying each other in such carnal ways, often led to things like this transpiring and Reiner found it more and more amusing each time.

“Just pull it off, I’m sure it’s not that bad. I bet you look adorable.” “Oh, kiss my ass, Reiner! You know my hair is messed up and you’re to blame.” Shouting at your husband as he tried to conceal his laughter behind a pillow because he had already caught a glimpse of your very altered state and decided to commentate the occasion with a photo of you all disheveled; hair tousled like that of a rooster, one breast dangling from your tank top and drool coming from your mouth as you slept set to his Lock Screen..needless to say, you were not moved! “Oh it’s defintely fucked up. But ya’ look so cute! And your tits?..look amazing.” Which was of little consolation to you! But just how had this insane night come to pass? Well, you guys could only attribute it to one thing..

flashback: the night before

“Right there, baby? C’mon..moan for me.”

“Yes! Right there, take it! Fuck..”

loud, rambunctious movements sounded off from beyond the walls of your bedroom. The heavy headboard smacking against the wall as your husband’s rough hands grasped at it for leverage. Holding himself steady as he slammed into you repeatedly. Consistently deep yet sporadic thrusts filled your core with no plans to cease anytime soon. Sweat beaded from your forehead and your makeup coursed down your face like that of a stream as it melted off from the intense session. That thick, burly frame stood over your own..perspiring as well but still as energized as ever and determined to put you through this mattress! In his opposite hand, he brandished a pink leash to match the collar tied around your throat and tugged tighter to keep you reigned in. His own gift for the occasion. Along with that skin tight, latex lingerie you were sporting. Thrashing you around on his cock with brute force but you didn’t complain and in fact, begged him relentlessly for more!

“Give me that fucking pussy..open it up—thereee ya’ go.”

nodding and gliding his tongue across his lips as you placed those long acrylics to your asscheeks and spread yourself open for more working room and his viewing pleasure!…exposing that bejeweled, heart shaped plug that your other hole was sucking on at the moment. Fluttering with each thrust as those creamy strings leaked down onto it. He couldn’t get enough and neither could you, quite honestly. It felt incredible and Reiner was going to spend all night if he had to..making certain that you were well fucked and satisfied. Even if you had to crawl the next morning. Tugging that collar once more, he’d prompt you to open your mouth before filling it with spit and demanding that you rub it on your center. “That’s right, look at me when you rub that clit, sweetheart. I wanna see your pretty face when you come on this dick.” Watching and listening to you writhe and whine as you worked yourself into yet another orgasm. “I’m gonna come, daddy! Please…keep—fucking me, just like that. Just like that!” Your leg trembled whilst it dangled over his shoulder blade. Being laced with soft kisses on both your ankle and instep. His lips curled into a maniacal smile as he watched his dumb, fucked out little slut work herself into another climax. Having come a total of three times already. Once by his fingers in the living room, for a second time when he ate your pussy until tears dripped down your face and for a third now.

“T-take some ou—“ “Not a fucking chance, baby. If you wanna squirt, I suggest you do it with me inside you or hold it in. Your only choice.”

he was pounding into your core, swallowed up by that overwhelming tightness that was your cunt and Reiner did not want to pull out. Having already stuffed you with one hefty load, he wanted—no, needed to give you more! More of that healthy nut that spilled down onto the sheets and your little asshole as he fucked it out of you and brought you to your peak again. He could sense the sheer desperation on your gorgeous face; heaving and crying as you pawed at his once toned six pack. Replaced by a solid yet rounder core but still just as sexy as ever. Blonde stubble grazing your cheek as he leaned down to shove his tongue into your mouth. Sloppy, nasty pecks complete with light taps to your cheek and a palm residing on your forehead as he continued drilling you. “I said come, princess. I know it’s big but you can handle it, right?” Nodding profusely to sate his desire but alas, he wasn’t finished..not by a long shot. Rubbing profusely, (y/n) released a shrill cry as you let juices splatter all over his torso. The sounds of flowing liquids going on in spurts as he pumped that squirt out of your body.

“Good girl, I knew I could depend on you.” Cackling once more as he made one more move, one that would send shockwaves throughout your body. Tugging out that plug, he’d swiftly take its place before you had time to react both mentally and physically. Whispering into your ear:

“So I’ll reward you by fucking this pretty little ass of yours. Let’s see how you take it.”

end flashback

“You’re impossible, you know that? Got me looking a fucking mess…” mumbling off to yourself and smacking your teeth as you picked at your eyes in the mirror. Even so, he was still getting his fair share of cackles from your suffering! “Nonsense, you’re beautiful, poundcake..no matter what. Nothing could change that. If it makes you feel better, you can just take the black card and whatever you need redone, just go get it.” his statement seemed so sincere but alas, it wouldn’t last long and your adorable pout soon shifted to a deadpan scowl. “Thank you, papa—“ “..yeah, it’s something about the way you slobber when you’re snoring all loud that’s just so..sexy.” Mockingly chewing at his lip and narrowing his eyes. “Please, go to hell.” Tossing a nearby roll of tissue in his direction before he shielded it with a pillow. “I can’t yet. But I can go to Krispy Kreme. You want something?” It was official, you were locked in for the long haul with this man but you wouldn’t want it any other way!

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yawnderu · 6 months

Text

K-9 — Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader | Chapter I

Sick as a dog, and just as vicious.

1 2 3 4 5

Simon Riley and his pathetic efforts to get close to the new medic will earn him a scar or two

Simon Riley is crushing on an uninterested, tired medic.

''I don't mean to be rude, but I'm getting tired of seeing you here.'' Your blunt words are met with a quiet chuckle, the masked man looking up at you with pure amusement in his eyes.

'' 'M trying not to get injured, bird.'' Oh, but he isn't. He's actively getting injured just so he can drop by and get your help. It's stupid, really, how his obsession with you began. He thinks about the first time he saw you, standing right next to Price, an unamused expression as he went on and on about his team, telling you stories of their missions and time together and despite how bored you looked, your attention was solely on him.

He took that chance to look at you, to truly admire you, noticing the way you pull up your glasses every few minutes even when they're not sliding down your nose, the way your eyes were focused only on Price, paying attention to no one but him, legs crossed while sitting next to Price, your face resting on your hand.

''Clearly not trying hard enough.'' He can't help the way his cock twitches at your bored tone, the small frown on your lips just making him think how pretty you'd look with his cum all over your face— he shakes his head softly, trying to get his mind out of the gutter, focusing on the fast and professional work you're doing on his injured arm, pulling the skin back together with a beautifully done stitchwork.

''It's hard being out there.'' He tries to make conversation and all you can do is hum in acknowledgement, gaze focused on the way the needle digs into his skin, coming out of the other side just to be pulled back together with the thin, transparent thread.

''Y'know Gaz was hanging from a chopper by a bloody rope?'' He knows you're close to Gaz, he has seen you talk to him often, and so he tries to desperately make conversation again.

''Scared the shit out o' the old man.'' His efforts work as a small snicker escapes your lips, stopping working on his stitches as you collected yourself. You look up at him with an amused glint in your eyes, nodding your head. God, he has never seen something quite as beautiful.

''Cap told me about it. Poor guy had his whole waist bruised.'' You let out another small laugh before turning your attention back to the deep cut in his arm.

''If I didn't know any better, I'd think you're getting injured on purpose.'' His heart almost stops as your cold eyes look back up at his, an eyebrow raised, yet there's a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips as you notice his lack of response.

'' 'M not.'' Is all he can say, the knowing look you give him enough to make his blood boil, traveling all the way down to his throbbing cock, thankful for the black hoodie sprawled across his lap to prevent the blood from leaking into his jeans. You ignore all the... beige flags, knowing he's not stupid enough to actually get injured on purpose. You finish stitching him up, throwing away the tools used and the bloodied gloves.

''Keep the wound dry for 24 hours, if any of the stitches come off or the wound opens, come to me.'' You softly pat his shoulders, a small yawn escaping your lips as you look up at the clock on the wall; 0200.

''Tired?'' He asks sarcastically, earning him a way-too-hard pat on the shoulder. Simon woke you up at 2 in the morning, claiming his wound couldn't wait. It wasn't even as bad as he made it seem, though you appreciate your work with the TF141 more than you let on, so you decided to help him. It isn't the first time he wakes you up at outrageous hours, claiming to need help for things ranging from a pathetic paper cut to a gunshot wound. This time, his arm was the only thing affected, a cut big enough to need stitches.

''Very. Now get out.'' Your hand sneaks into the back of his uniform, tugging softly and he gets the message, standing up and allowing you to guide him out of your office like he's a child. He doesn't care if it's you.

''Goodnight, Simon.'' You can barely keep your eyes open and he feels a slight sense of guilt at keeping you up, knowing you'll have to be awake again in less than 3 hours.

''Night, Doc.''

[NEXT]

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definitelysel · 5 months

Text

Running fingers through their hair 🤍

ft. wriothesley, alhaitham and neuvillette.

synopsis : you convince them into playing with their hair and you end up taking undue advantage of it.

warnings : implied fem!reader, pet names, mention of murder and suicide (neuvillette – no there is no angst here.).

a/n : fluff but seriously hair is so floof in genshin and i love me some domesticated content.

ALHAITHAM 🌱

"No." He crossed his arms in disapproval at your request.

"Haitham! Come on!" You begged your husband to let you run your fingers through his hair in hopes to help him unwind and relax but he was adamant not letting you.

"I am sorry [Name], but I have a meeting due in an hour with the Dendro Archon about some administrative changes and as much as I would love to catch a break, I can't as of now." He exasperated, voice laced with annoyance.

Ever since becoming the Acting Grand Sage, Alhaitham had gotten just a tad bit more whinier. You weren't complaining since Alhaitham had the emotional quotient of a rock.

"Oh come on! It's still an hour away. C'mere." You patted your lap. He sighed but agreed. You found yourself combing your nifty fingers through his grey locks. They felt soft to touch. Who are you kidding, he was a well groomed gentleman despite his emotionally constipated personality.

His eyes were focused on a book he was reading, his eyes scanning the pages but his expression was relaxed. He won't admit it but he liked it. This was a simple yet intimate gesture.

You on the other hand, stared outside of the window, fingers still running through his hair. The scenery of Sumeru city stretched out far and wide for your eyes to see. The sky was beaming with light, birds were chit chatting on the tree branches and–

Snore.

Your focus gets redirected back at Alhaitham who now had the book resting on his face, his chest rising rhythmically as you heard him breathing softly.

You chuckled at the sight. He really did fall asleep. He looked so carefree when a moment ago he was complaining about meetings and work. How amusing. An idea bubbled up in your head.

When Alhaitham woke up, he realised that he had fallen asleep and hurried out of the room to meet up with Nahida in the Sanctuary of Surasthana.

"Good evening Acting Grand Sage, I was just waiting on you- pfft!" Nahida's cheeks puffed up and the little Archon started giggling.

"I am sorry for being late- wait, why are you laughing?" He tilted his expression in confusion. Could his late timing be a matter of amusement for his Archon?

"Who made two tiny ponytails in your hair using sparkly pink pyro slime hairties!" Nahida chuckled more, unable to hold her laughter.

"..." he reached up to feel the two tiny fountains of hair made by tying them up. Who could've done such a— you.

Needles to say, Alhaitham image of a big mighty serious guy in front of Nahida had now been ruined.

NEUVILLETTE 🌊

"Ma Chérie, what do you think of this case?" Neuvillette leaned back into his chair, papers spread out on his table. You picked up one of the documents and examined them.

What made you and Neuvillette a match made in heaven was that you were one of Fontaine's best lawyers and Neuvillette was the Ludex. You both would brainstorm cases together though Neuvillette always tended to quote how he is unbiased as it is his duty as the Chief Justice to not let personal feelings get in the way.

Still, you catch him staring at you during court proceedings, expression twisting and turning based on the situation out of his instinctive concern for you.

"Well, I think this is a classic murder which is being displayed to the common eye like a suicide." You sighed and put the paper back on the table, stretching your back from fatigue.

"I must say, that's quite a possibility. I'd suggest you investigate futher and seek the truth." He pondered, his gloved hand resting on his chin.

"Neuvi, can we take a break? I am tired." You slumped down in the chair across him, exhausting from the repetitive task at hand.

"Indeed. Repetition tends to tire out the mortal brain. Let's continue this after lunch." He nodded and started to sort the papers according to there designated folders.

"Can I play with your hair till you get the sorting papers thing done?" You asked him and he seemed amused at the idea. Neuvillette was never reluctant from trying out new things and gave into your small pleasures if they made you happy. "Sure."

You ran your fingers through his white locks. Honestly his hair were so beautiful, it would put women's hair to shame. Neuvillette took good care of them. You started using this opportunity to experiment different hairstyles on him.

Neuvillette glanced up, only to see his hair in a braid from his reflection in the mirror with a black ribbon in them. He stared at the braid for a good minute, "Hmm simple, practical and elegant. It's quite nice." He mused.

You were proud of yourself before Neuvillette asked if he could try hairstyles on you.

An afternoon spent with chuckles, smiles, whacky and pretty hairstyles.

WRIOTHESLEY 🧊

You watched as Wriothesley worked like a machine.

Step 1 : Grab the paperwork

Step 2 : Read and Sign it

Step 3 : Put in the "done" pile

The sounds of paper swiping and pen scribbling filled the room. You tried to entertain yourself with some novel but you could hear wriothesley grunted and groaning in annoyance.

"Y'know, the best thing is to simply not to do the work if you don't feel like it, wrio." You suggested, flipping to the next page in the novel.

"You're right. I'll settle for a nap, drink tea after I get up and then continue doing this..." he grumbled before getting up and making his way to his bed upstairs. You afte a few minutes got up and followed him.

You both laid beside eachother, under the blankets, soaking in eachother's warmth. "You joinin' me on a nap, sweetheart?" A smile crawled onto his face as he looked at you with his icy hues.

"No, I am simply here to take care of you, silly." You kissed his nose as he took your palm firmly in his and kissed the back of it, endearingly. You peppered his face with feather kisses, tousling his soft black locks earning a relaxed hum of content from him.

Wriothesley was a man of limited needs and such small moments with you were his saving grace from the buttload of prison paper work. His arm snaked around your waist as he kissed the top of your forehead before his hand rested on your cheeks, his eyes fluttering shut.

He yawned and made himself comfortable before drifting off into his well deserved nap.

But..

"Oh my god, you are associated with Sigewinne in this??" He baffled at the sight of his face covered in stickers. Melusines loved to play pranks but his own lover? Now that was some serious betrayal.

"First my back and now my face?" He stared at you, jaw dropped, wanting an explanation. You simply stifled a laugh before hearing a click.

"Sigewinne, did you just take a picture of me?? HEY! Don't run away!? [Name]! Sigewinne! You guys better delete that picture!" He chased after you two as you ran with Sigewinne in your arms. It was a moment of solace and perhaps another moment added in your archive of memories.

a/n : to say i am obsessed with domesticated genres and tropes is an understatement.

don't steal, copy, plagarize.

©definitelysel

not proof read.

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harmonysanreads · 4 days

Text

“A little bird told me that today is a certain someone's birthday.”

You feel the distinct prickle of two fangs halt halfway through the curve of your throat, a breath stuttering against the now marred skin. The tassels of Aventurine's earning tickles your nape, before his lips replace its unsought touches, soothing over the bite.

“I don't quite recall this,” he drawls upon your neck, gloved fingers slide up from the plush of your thighs and slant against your waist ; a clear message. “Being the resting place of wanton birds.”

You heart kicks against your ribcage as the implications of his words soak into your brain. Your eyes connect with enigmatic swirls when you swivel with a gasp, “It's just one little bird, Aventurine.”

He hums, a ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of his lips, reaching out and failing to grasp his eyes. You feel his other arm wrap around your abdomen and tugging you closer closer closer— until not even whimsical air can intervene in your moment. For a time insignificant compared to the expanding cosmos, he leers and he waits — for you to stumble and forfeit your fortune to him. You've observed this game unfold many times, which is why, you don't so much as blink in the face of his scrutiny.

Aventurine tilts his head, the golden strands that frame his face shift in stride, “It's ‘one little bird’ for now, my jewel. Soon, it'll fly to-and-fro and invite its companions. One bird will become two birds, then three, four, five — until this flower of mine will be torn to shreds.”

Your skin erupts in pins and needles where the blonde's hand rests, the teases of pain make you lean your head against his chest in reflex, but they don't coax pained breaths to escape your lips. Your eyes gloss over upon capturing the dimming orbs heralding the colors of a bygone lineage. You feel as though you were lost in a dark landscape, with a shadowed fox breathing down your neck, claws already sunk midway — but you don't feel like the struggling rabbit, like a prey.

Your palm cradles Aventurine's face, “That's why we keep guns below our pillows, isn't that correct?”

The phantom finally reaches his eyes, his grin spreads across his face and the sun casts aside the darkness from the forest. Aventurine answers your query by tackling you with a flurry of kisses, you feel him at every corner of your body, grasping at every crevice of your soul — but it's not enough, neither for him nor for you.

When the intensity of his advance wanes momentarily, you sneak your hand past his grip to rest atop his chest, “Tell me your wish,” this time his heart revolts against the confines of bone, yearning to be freed and caged into your palm. “What gift do you want for your birthday?”

Aventurine chuckles, though it sounds quite strained this time. His fingers encircle your wrist and press your hand further on his chest for a moment (his shirt does little to mute the rapid marching of his soul) before he drags it to his face, his lips ghost over your pulse point.

“You don't think me to be that greedy, do you?” the humorous lilt of his voice prompts a smile to bloom on your face, too. He sighs as though he breathes in the gardens of heaven, lips firmly pressed to the beat of your existence.

“How can I ever wish for anything more when I have the whole world in my hands?” his eyes twinkle, hugged by a smile. They remind you of autumn sunsets blending into an awestruck ocean, before disappearing behind nightfall.

And just like them, you embrace and merge into one another, as well.

Happy birthday to the luckiest, prettiest, Aventurine <3

#aventurine #aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #yandere aventurine #yandere aventurine x reader #yandere hsr #yandere hsr x reader #yandere honkai star rail #yandere honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #yandere imagines #yandere #hsr #aventurine fluff #hsr fluff #honkai star rail fluff

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barbieaemond · 3 months

Text

The order of things

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: mild angst, masturbation, oral sex (m receiving), grinding

Word count: 3k

Taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @arcielee @credulouskhaleesi @bunbunbl0gs @alphard-hydraes-blog

MASTERLIST

There is a raven that flies towards the rookery as soon as the sun is high enough to bathe the Keep in orange. It always comes at the same split minute, Aemond sees it every day, because it is the same split minute in which his training ends. Sometimes he even manages to get the better of the bird, then looks up as he sheathes his sword and awaits him. As soon as it crosses the sky he leaves the courtyard.

His day is like a prayer, devoutly tenacious and unchanging. A bath, breakfast, a flight on dragonback, a book. A visit to Helaena and the twins if the reading bores him.

Someone might say that even his walk is always the same. Rigour and order, to be everything Aegon is not.

This time, he disarms Ser Criston well in advance, so much that the raven has yet to show itself, and when it does, Aemond will be blind to his passing.

"Mother," he says curtly as the Queen passes by. She goes to pray as she does every morning, always at the same time. She too is a creature devoted to rigour, and duty; she has seized her days and clutched them in her fist to prevent them from floating through her.

She pauses to greet him, her voice as mellifluous as ever and her eyes just as warm, and then suddenly, he turns to look at her as if he is looking at a stranger, as if she is speaking a language he does not know. "I wanted to tell you that I'm going to see some girls today, to choose your new maid."

"What's wrong with my maid?"

"Well, I figured she might ask for a leave as the wedding approaches."

He blinks, he stalls, he bogs, unnaturally, the sand stops in the hourglass. The raven glides over the towers, unnoticed.

"Yes, of course." he says, sheathing his sword, and the sand flows again, grain by grain; the funnel shrunk.

Everything in his life is part of that rigour, even people, even her.

She has been in his service long enough to know without asking when the scar pulls to the point of requiring medication. She has been in his service long enough to know that a slight frown in his eyebrows is enough to make her close the curtains and prevent the light from worsening the pain in his head, to know that he likes his venison rather raw, that he hates that doublet because the sleeves are puffed and he feels like a court jester. And she tacitly made it disappear.

She does everything without uttering a word. She doesn't need to ask, she moves when he moves, she has adapted to him like a second skin, and she doesn't seem harmed by the edges.

Yet he is harmed by something, as she pulls off his boots in front of the fireplace. He sees a flat sea where he would like to see a storm. He sees grains flowing and wishes to crash the glass.

"Do you need anything else my Prince?" she has a seraphic expression on her face, and he sees deception. She speaks in a firm, devoted voice, and he hears betrayal.

He stares at her with the eye that looks like a needle, feels like it, then shifts his gaze to the fire and says "I will be in need of your assistance tomorrow, for the whole day."

"The whole day?"

"Yes. Why? Do you have something better to do than the duties you are paid for?"

She is no novice to his bitter tongue; somehow, stupidly, naively and recklessly, she is able to imbue it with treacle when it enters her head. It doesn't matter anyway, her foolishness will end as soon as she takes her vows.

"No. Of course not. I'll be at your service, my Prince."

"Hmm, until?"

"Until?"

"You should be the one to tell me. When is the wedding due?"

Her eyes widen like two large moons and she seems to crumple in on herself, on the floor she is kneeling on, under the Prince's unwavering, iron eye. She feels her throat tighten and yet his hands are steady along the armrests. She feels her lungs crackle against her ribcage. "I—"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Why didn't she?

"My prince, I thought your Grace should not be bothered with such trivial matters."

"I decide what to be bothered about." He says in an imperative tone. "When would you have bothered to inform me? Is this how you show loyalty to your prince? Keeping things from me?"

She glues her eyes to the floor, she cannot hold the Prince's gaze, not when he is like this, even though he has never been like this. He looks angry, he looks outraged? As if he has been wronged. That look makes her blood run cold, and then it melts in red down her cheeks and neck. It would be too easy to blame the chimney behind her back, easy but necessary, to keep things in order. Prince and servant, nothing more. What else is there?

There are heavy sighs falling in the dark, stranded between the sheets as his bones boil and tense at the climax, desire spilled, wasted. But that's fine. To not be all that Aegon is. This too has become rigour, part of the order of things.

It is the order of things to watch her kneel at his feet and wish to spill his desire into her mouth. As is seeing her nails always neat and tidy scratching the floor as her back arches against him, as is seeing the blood reddening her cheeks and neck, and wanting to lick it as far as it goes.

Someone else will do it. An ordinary man of no consequence in the order of things, the real one.

"You may go." he says coldly, hoping the frost of his tongue will cool the feverish blood under his skin.

She rises from the floor with a bowed, desolate head. "I bid you good night, my Prince."

The next morning he asks her to change the sheets, and he turns his back on her, ashamed, as if she knows she is in those sheets.

He takes a bath while she does her chores, finishing exactly when he does, because she moves when he moves. She helps him put on a dark green robe, unperturbed by his nudity, because that is her duty and it no longer makes her blush.

There's never been clumsiness in her hands, but there is today. Aemond feels her hands heavy as boulders when she prepares the ointment for his eye, when she leans over him to remove his eyepatch. She doesn't speak to him as she always does, oozing that glimmer of amusement when she brings up the servants' petty feuds and wars.

"You're rather quiet today." He asserts later, as she buttons his doublet "Has the armistice been reached in the kitchens?"

She opens in a brief smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "I don't know, Your Grace. I find myself spending a lot more time outside the Keep these days."

"Is that so?” He retorts, narrowing his eye “Hmm, is that why my books are still on the desk?"

She finishes her buttoning and ties her hands on her modest skirt. "I am sorry, Your Grace. I will see to it that they are put in order at once."

"I have no use for your apology. Why didn't you do it when I told you to?"

"Your mother gave me a leave for a few hours yesterday."

"And why did you ask my mother and not me? You are in my service, not hers."

She keeps looking down like a suspect on trial and swallows. "I went to Flea Bottom to buy some fabric for my wedding dress. I was ashamed to ask you for a leave for something so frivolous. As a woman, I thought your mother would understand."

"You will do no such thing in the future. Hide things from me and leave the Keep without my permission, or I'll have you punished. Am I being clear?"

"Your Grace, I…” she pauses, she looks down, she swallows, but it’s now or never. “You should know that I will no longer be here after the wedding. I am going to formally resign my position. Your Mother has already-"

His eye goes wide, and wild, and he breathes loudly until he is snarling. "Are you deaf or dense? Did you not hear me? You will not leave my service."

The moons in her eyes are full now. She looks at him, begging him to let her go, because that is the natural course of things. She will marry a common man, give him a couple of children and live a quiet life in the country, where her groom has a smallholding of land, their only source of wealth if they do not want a life of misery in Flea Bottom. And she is fine with that. She has accepted it. She is like any other common girl, she cannot dream, her blood is only red, there's no castle nor crown waiting for her.

She has accepted her fate with the calmness of a stream that lets itself be carried along by its current. She is happy like this, because as far as she could, in that silly way in which all ordinary girls dream, she dreamed, even though her dream is made of flesh and blood.

She had shivered when he had leaned over her when he taught her to read. She had breathed in deeply to know what he smelled like. She had felt ice in her stomach under his gaze when she read a few pages to him. And that is more than dreaming.

She cannot remain in his service, because she is an ordinary girl and more than dream, she cannot want.

"Your Grace..." she begs, going down to the floor "I beg you. Let me go my way. I believe I have always served you to the best of my ability and if I’ve ever failed you in something, name it. I will do anything to make it right."

Aemond bogs again, but in something far more paralysing and at the same time overwhelming than all his rigour. Perhaps it is the sight of her on her knees again, her head bowed and devoted, and the fact that he wants to touch that devotion, wants to taste it and swallow it.

Slowly, he lifts her chin with two fingers, eye blind to everything else; his thumb moves over her lower lip as if to know its edges, as if he has wanted to do this all his life.

"Anything?" he asks in the voice of another, the one stranded in the sheets.

She nods slowly, and the movement rubs his thumb against her teeth for a moment, forcing him to swallow, to give himself control, not to push his finger in. He is not Aegon, He is not Aegon, he is not Aegon.

"Would you be willing to please me?" he asks, and his question reaches some remote place in her, that place where a girl can dream and want freely. In that place, if he had asked once, twice, a hundred times, she would have bent to his will, not to the duty of the servant who must please her lord. Sure, that too. But first of all to her will. It is a question that need not be asked, for there is but one answer.

"Yes..."

Blood flows into her cheeks, breathing out fire from her lips. "How...? How do you want me to please you, my Prince?"

"With this..." he replies, pushing his thumb over her lip.

Her hands move fluidly over the belt and buttons of his breechers as if she had done this countless times before. She helps him dress, she knows his body even though she has never touched him. She has never touched a man in her life, not like this. Aemond reads the embarrassment on her cheeks and he basks in it with a glimmer of pride, because he will be the first.

Gently, he places a hand behind her head, tilting it a little, and looks at her with his heavy, clouded eye, enthralled. "Open your mouth..."

He knows she's never done this before, but the hot alcove of her mouth is enough to make him open his mouth and let out air in a broken cadence. She raises her eyes as if to ask if she is doing something wrong, and the sight, real and not the outcome of some delusion hidden in the dark, smothers his breath. He begins to thrust into her mouth slowly, hardening quickly as she continues to look at him and welcome him into her mouth with the devotion with which one kneels to the Seven.

"Gevie..." he pants hoarsely, brushing his fingers through her hair "You look more beautiful than I thought like this..."

His hand in her hair never tightens, though his hips move faster and the wet sound is the only one that keeps his panting company.

"Your cheeks..." he instructs her "Hollow your cheeks..."

And just as when he was teaching her to read, she listens , sucking agonisingly slowly. “Fuck—” he curses, threading his long fingers through her hair and pulling at the roots; he thrusts faster so that she has to grip his waist with her hands but when he senses she can’t breathe, he lets of her head and slips out of her scorching lips, hissing at feeling the cold air of the room.

She’s panting hard, with her mouth open and slick with him. But she has little time to catch a puff of air. He thrashes her on the carpet, with a rough kiss full of teeth and growls, and his hands move like talons, pulling her modest skirts up to her waist.

“No—My Prince—” she muffles on his mouth, pleading but desperate all together “We can’t—”

“I won’t ruin you, I promise.” he says rummaging through her garments “Just let me feel you this once—”

He finds her core with his large hand, hot and slick, and she whimpers loudly in his open mouth. “Do you get this wet for your groom, hmm? Or just for your Prince?”

She unconsciously bucks her hips against his hand and he smiles, delightfully, against her neck, licking a stripe down her throat. “I’m in need of an answer, my sweet girl…” he says raising his head, the leather piece is about to fall behind his disheveled hair. “Have you touched yourself thinking of me?”

Shame washes over her as well as pride does him. “You did, didn’t you?”

His retrieves his hand and licks her off his fingers as if he was waiting for nothing else, staring at her with his eye pitch black.

“Do it.”

“M-my Prince?”

“Touch yourself. Now.”

She looks away, reddening even more, but he grasps her chin and forces her to look at him. “Do you want that permission to leave my service?”

It takes her a minute to swallow her shame, and then her hands is slipping between them. He pulls himself up on one arm to give her space to spread her legs some more, to watch closely as she starts to move her little hand on her bundle of nerves. “Look at me.” He commands, and she flutters her eyes with a bit of prudery before obliging.

Her breathing becomes heavy, just as his, slowly touching himself to mimic her, as he has done countless of times before but this is different. This is like the first time. He can watch her chasing her pleasure because of him, with him. He can watch the sweat beading her neck, her lip trembling. He can hear the sweet lewd sounds she makes for him.

She grows more desperate by the moment, swaying her hips on the carpet, grabbing his shoulder and neck until he falls on her. He groans upon feeling her cunt against his cock and by now they’re both too close to need hands anymore. He starts to grind against her, his hard flesh slicking ever so easily on her wetness, swallowing her whimpers and moans as he pants and rasps on her lips “Go on, sweet one. Come for me, hm?”

She does so, gripping his shoulders until digging her nails on the fabric, moaning with her mouth slack open.

He keeps grinding against her, frantic, panting, the eyepatch is somewhere on the ground and she watches him in the stupor of pleasure, like she’s experiencing a vivid dream, but the weight of the prince on her is real, his cock rubbing against her core making it twitch for more, his coarse voice as he rasps “Gods—‘M so close…” and then the jolt of warm seed on her belly.

He falls on her breathing hard, making her wince, but she can't find the strength to slip away, to pull down her skirt or move the long silvery lock that has gone into her mouth. She must leave everything as it is, and then leave it to be the ordinary girl without dreams.

For two days, her presence around the Keep is rather scarce, barely traceable in the Prince’s chambers. But his breakfast is always ready on his desk, his clothes always clean and well folded on the chair.

Aemond does not send for her nor does he seem to care where she is. He returns to his rigour, to his books, to his training as soon as dawn breaks.

One of the Kingsguard shows up in the courtyard and stands there to watch, waiting for the Prince to finish his duel.

"My Prince, I've done some research after our last conversation."

"Well?"

"Just as you said, your Grace. A modest cottage and a piece of land near Duskendale."

"Good." He says, sheathing his sword and glancing up upon hearing a distant caw. "I want you to send two city guards there, and burn it all down."

The guard blinks, widening his eyes. "My Prince?"

"You heard me."

The guard leaves and Aemond hears cawing again, closer this time. He glances up and the raven greets him, flapping his wings in the newborn sun.

Everything is in order.

#liv(in la vida loca)#aemond targaryen x reader #ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen fanfic #house of the dragon #hotd fic #aemond fic #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond smut #dark aemond smut #dark aemond targaryen #the order of things

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dearharriet · 2 months

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could i request james potter x reader where james discovers reader’s small “j.f.p.” tattoo on her hip and he’s like !!! obsessed :D<3 ofc only if u feel like writing it love u 🦌

this is such a cute ideaaa !! ty for the request my darling, I hope you’re well! (wc: 860) (cw: non-sexual nudity)

You’d gotten it while James was away on a trip with friends. Not exactly a whim-of-the-moment thing, but neither was it entirely planned. You knew you wanted him on you somewhere, sometime, and then Marlene asked you to accompany her for a septum piercing…

The rest fell into place. There was a small postcard in your pocket that you’d pulled from your mailbox, with James’ scratchy handwriting detailing his excursions and how much he missed you. At the bottom, he’d signed his initials, and that was what you gave the artist for reference.

There was a week of marveling at it afterwards, tracing over it with your fingertips every time your shirt lifted and wondering what James would say. If he had come home a couple days earlier, you might’ve gone with your heart and shown him right away, but he didn’t.

So when James barreled through the door of your shared apartment, towing bags and gifts, you stayed silent.

The two of you had dinner, sat down for a movie that you didn’t watch. James described the whole trip and rubbed your feet and told you he missed you. You knew you couldn’t keep the tattoo a secret, but you couldn’t will yourself to bring it up, either.

Later in the night, when only your bedroom lamps were on anymore, James came back from the shower in a skimpy towel wrap.

“Babylove, I don’t think getting dressed is in the cards for me tonight.”

You were laying on the bed, one arm under your smooshed face and the other hanging limp over the side.

James went to the dresser, smiling at your drowsy eyes and kicking feet. You murmured something like ‘good’ before he dropped his towel.

“Yeah, good,” he teased, tugging a pair of boxers on.“‘Cept I think we oughtta even the playing field here.”

Curiously, you flipped onto your back to see James better. He was in the middle of crawling onto the bed, hands and knees on each side of your legs.

“What are we evening?”

At your waist, James smiled up at you, hands leaving the bed to sweep under your night shirt.

“Oh,” you breathed, and then lifted your arms and allowed him to tug it off. You glanced furtively to the waistband of your sleep shorts, catching the sliver of ink peeking out of the top before James’ hands were there.

“Y’okay bird?”

Looking up, you met James’ careful eyes, nodding your express approval. His lips twisted, and then his needling fingers retreated from your shorts to soothe up your waist.

“Yeah? Sure?” he asked, and you put your hands in his hair to reassure him, somewhat pressed for words. “So quiet.”

“Sorry,” you managed, hands venturing over his shoulders. “Just missed you.”

You felt the truth of that curling in your belly, and James must’ve seen it on your face. Smiling wide, he swooped in to plant a sloppy kiss on your cheek. “You too.”

A second kiss on the opposite cheek, and then he was back to business undressing you.

You sucked a breath in as the elastic pulled and slid down your hips, and the whole mass of scribbles caught light. James’ eyes were on your face, your hair all fanned out, but when he sat back to toss the shorts they traveled south and—

He froze. You can’t say for how long, but it felt an eternity, your breath held tight in your chest. When your body caught up with itself and exhaled, James’ name tumbled out with it, questioning and nervous.

His eyes flicked up to you for less than a second, a sliver of acknowledgment before he’d glued his eyes on the tattoo again. Something was swimming behind his expression, and you couldn’t gauge if it was bad or good.

“Jamie,” you said again, squirming, “please say something.”

With one finger, James traced the loops and turns of his own handwriting on your skin, swallowing dryly.

“Baby,” he finally spoke, a cloying ache in his voice. “Baby.”

Finally catching your gaze again, James just gawked at you with the awe of ten men. He was touching you, absently, reverently, which you figured was a good sign.

Not quite knowing what to say, you let him work out his thoughts, staying very still.

“This is real?” You nodded, and James’ lashes fanned over his cheeks as he gave it yet another look. Then, with a spoonful of disbelief he asked, “When?”

Hips shifting a bit under him, you said, “while you were away. It’s from your letter.”

“I know what it’s from,” James assured you. “I just can’t believe…”

You propped yourself up on your elbows, beckoning James’ attention.

“If you don’t like it, Jamie, I really want you to tell me. I won’t be offended.”

James shook his head ardently.

“I really love it, bird. Really truly. I just can’t fathom how lovely you are.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from cheesing, and James’ lips curled up too, a mirror of yours.

“Though,” he said, finally settling himself on top of you, “if I’d known that’s where my signature was going, I’d have signed my full name.”

thank u for reading! xx

#james potter #jams <3 #marauders #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #marauders fandom #marauders fluff #james fleamont potter #james potter blurb #james potter fluff #james potter x reader #james potter imagine #james potter drabble #james potter fic #james potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fandom #harry potter #request

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sunderwight · 5 months

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contemplating an SVSSS fic where Airplane transmigrates into Tianlang Jun instead of Shang Qinghua.

he wakes up before Tianlang Jun was about to walk into the HH Palace Master's plot, but too late to really do much about Su Xiyan's situation or the frame job. of course, being Airplane, he doesn't go face down the sects and get sealed under a mountain. but he also doesn't know what to do about the whole situation with Luo Binghe.

he was too vague in his outline and especially in his actual story. finding Xiyan or possibly some random washer woman who lives along the Luo river is a needle in a haystack situation, and he didn't ask for any of this to happen to him, so he just ends up leaving it alone. Tianlang Jun goes back to the demon realms with his confused (but relieved) nephew, and works on consolidating his power there and on thwarting the attempted incursions of Huan Hua Palace.

HHP has egg on their face because they riled up the other sects and got them into this alliance/ambush plot and then the heavenly demon they were supposed to fight didn't even show up. hasn't even been seen in the human world since. while HHP tries to spin it as them being so strong and formidable that they scared him off, the other sects feel like they're just blowing hot air and trying to take credit for something that never even happened. was that head disciple of theirs even involved with a demon at all? suspicious how she just disappeared, too. maybe it's a cover-up. no one's particularly impressed or convinced after the fact that HHP's claims are on the level.

which at least means that there's no concerted effort to wage a war or anything. Tianlang Jun meets a young Mobei Jun and Airplane decides to expend a lot of time and energy in helping the young prince consolidate his own power, so that's a whole thing. there's no system so Airplane's not obliged to preserve the plot, but he still knows it's out there and he's gotta skirt the line between giving MBJ absolute power on a silver platter and not setting MBJ up to be killed by the protagonist one day.

there are benefits and problems to TLJ mostly leaving Luo Binghe's whole journey untouched. on the one hand, he anticipates that everything around Luo Binghe will continue just like in the novel, so that's easy to predict. but on the other hand, that means he's in for some trouble when the blackened protagonist emerges all super-powered and unbeatable from the abyss and starts taking revenge on everyone who wronged him (a category which potentially includes the deadbeat dad who abandoned him for years).

so as the time of the immortal alliance conference approaches, Tianlang Jun starts to think that he needs to get ahead of this.

the most logical solution is to prevent Luo Binghe becoming quite as OP of a protagonist as he'd been the first time. since TLJ is plenty powerful himself (one of the things Airplane enjoys! as well as being very rich!) LBH really does need every edge he could possibly get to be a threat to him. so, why let him gain those edges?

this leads to TLJ's brilliant plan: just don't let Luo Binghe get thrown into the Endless Abyss! no blackening, no all-powerful weapon, no gauntlet of monsters to hone his skills, just a run-of-the-mill heavenly demon hybrid who could never in a million years take his old man in a fight!

TLJ decides he can two-birds-with-one-stone this situation by capturing Shen Qingqiu. then, one day if LBH does still make it to his doorstep, he can present him with his hated scum villain as a peace offering. like well son I know I abandoned you to suffer on your own, but plausibly I didn't even know you existed, so here, have your abuser to dismember in cathartic violence as you please! become a filial son and this old man will help fund whatever massive harems you want to build!

genius!

so, shortly before the immortal alliance conference is set to take place, TLJ goes and steals himself a peak lord.

Shen Qingqiu is... kind of different from what he expected? but oh well, it's been years since he wrote the novel and lots of characters have turned out somewhat different in person from how they were on the page, and the guy was always a mess of contradictions anyway. TLJ hands him over to his servants with strict instructions to keep him locked up, but not to harm or kill him (revenge is reserved for the protagonist, after all!)

Zhuzhi Lang, who witnessed the last debacle where his uncle took a sudden keen interest in a cold but beautiful human cultivator, makes entirely the wrong assumption (as do a lot of the palace staff) and figures that TLJ has just become more pragmatic about pursuing his lovers. Shen Qingqiu is given appropriate chambers (and restrictions) and word soon spreads that the Demon Emperor has captured a human cultivator to serve as his concubine.

so, this version of SQQ has actually been Shen Yuan since Luo Binghe joined the sect (and also doesn't have a system and thus had zero plans of throwing LBH into the abyss), and he is desperately trying to figure out what kind of changes he has unwittingly invoked here that Luo Binghe's father should be still alive, and free, and also kidnapping him to be his goddamn concubine?! that has to be a misunderstanding, right?!

Mobei Jun is mad. and jealous. and mad. but a concubine isn't an empress, so that job posting is still available, right? it better be, he has been waiting more than a decade for the official proposal!

TLJ meanwhile decides he's going to go secretly watch the immortal alliance conference just to make sure that the universe doesn't contrive to drop LBH into the abyss anyway, but weirdly enough, Luo Binghe isn't even there. listening to rumors, he gathers that uh... some stuff has changed? like Luo Binghe is head disciple of Qing Jing Peak? and apparently went crazy when Shen Qingqiu disappeared? except that some people think they might have eloped???

maybe he shouldn't get his rumors from Xian Shu disciples, those girls remind him of rpf conspiracy theory shippers from his old life. they're probably just way off base! hahaha... ha...?

well at least TLJ did a pretty good job of covering his tracks, so there's no reason for anyone to suspect that he captured Shen Qingqiu. or there shouldn't be, until he goes back home to find that every single demon seems to believe that Shen Qingqiu has been taken by him to be his lover. where did anyone even get that idea?! TLJ has been dutifully pining in his unrequited and inappropriate love for the young Mobei Jun for years now! whenever anyone asks he insists he's still mourning Su Xiyan! it's been a whole thing!

but oh shit, truth aside, there's no way those kinds of rumors have remained strictly contained to demon ears. both demons and cultivators have their spies after all, and even if they didn't, news moves along the borders.

sure enough, TLJ barely has time to try and dismantle this misunderstanding before a young Luo Binghe arrives on his doorstep, along with Yue Qingyuan and the very-much-still-alive lord of Bai Zhan peak, for some reason, all of them extremely pissed off at him!

#svsss #moshang #bingqiu #long post #scum villain's self saving system #i suppose frantic backpedaling and explanations would ensue #also potentially mobei jun and shen qingqiu having to fight a ceremonial battle in skimpy costumes #just 'cause

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long-live-astronerd-ghost-king · 5 months

Text

Haunting Heroes DPxDC. December 18: Gift Exchange.

Damian knew for a long time that his family was full of hyperactive idiots. They planned to exchange gifts properly at home. Their plans never went well. This time, Robin was stabbed in the back by an older bird.

Grayson announced at the end of the patrol that some of his gifts were meant for their alterego, which means he has to give them now. Of course, this led news reporters to now broadcast live a fight between Red Hood and Phantom. Of course, Richard gave them a pair of "Dead Outside but it Xmas"/"Dead Inside but it Xmas" sweaters without explaining which one belongs to whom.

And of course, after seven minutes of fighting Red Hood wins the second sweater and with a ridiculous villainous laugh escapes.

~~~~

Jason is still sitting in two sweaters and his leather jacket when a couple of hours later Phantom sends a photo to the group chat:

"3:2, Hood. Nightmare Before Christmas wins >:)"

There’s a picture of ghost trio in stupid holiday sweaters near Vlad's manor: Levitating Dan wears a "Your Prospects for a New Year Are Ghosting You" one, Dani demonstrate hoodie with "The ghost of your past promises to be successful in the new year" inscription. Camera also caught Jazz trying to take "I spent this year being the ghost of myself" sweater off Danny.

Damian rolls his eyes. What a childish behavior.

The boy’s father, who comes to the chair, distracts him from reading comments from other birds and bats.

Bruce: Damian, Alfred asked me to ask you if you needed his collection of Japanese knives as Christmas decorations for your room or if he could use traditional ornaments.

Damian: Don’t touch! I’ll decorate Christmas tree on my own.

Bruce: Also, Tim, hiding coffee beans in Christmas tree balls was smart and interesting, but no.

Tim: :(

Bruce: So, now the big question. We all now Danny’s knitting is bad, so who made the sweaters? Keep in mind that I don't even want to imagine Dan with sharp needles in his hand. His mother nailed a ghost fly to the wall by throwing a table knife when we were visiting them last time.

Jason nods and agrees: Beautiful talented woman.

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dpxdc prompt #dpxdc crossover #dp x dc #hauntingheroesadvent23 #haunting heroes #haunting events

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perlelune · 6 months

Text

Oxytocin | Coriolanus Snow | ii.

One act of kindness from a peacekeeper may be your salvation or your doom. Possibly both.

Warnings: NON-CON, Blackmail, District 8 Reader, Stalking, Kidnapping

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

You do your best to avoid him for as long as you can.

You show up at the factory each day, diligent and focused on your work. You thread, dye and sew miles upon miles of fabric. It’s exhausting and repetitive but assists you well in burying the peculiar encounter. And if sometimes a particular shade of blue fabric stir memories of eyes you’d rather forget…you ignore that as well. It’s better that way. You narrowly escaped imprisonment, perhaps even death. No need to tempt fate once again.

But it’s no matter.

Because fate finds you anyway.

It happens as the end of your shift at the factory comes near. Your cold-bitten digits are interweaving two different colors of thread on a gigantic wooden loom. Same as the girls and boys surrounding you. They’re all quick and efficient, threading and weaving with the ease of practice. A lifetime of it. Some of them are as young as five years old. There’s a saying floating around the districts.

If one can walk, they can work.

You often wondered if that same logic applies to the Capitol’s children. Are they too expected to work until their fingers are numb with pain and their eyes red-rimmed with fatigue?

You somehow doubt it.

Once again, the weight of someone’s attention blankets your shoulders. You tense, the needle nicking your fingertip when your attention falters.

You curse and swipe away the blood beading on your finger.

Your head rises.

Anger simmers inside you at the sight of the smug face smirking at you from across the room.

Coriolanus.

He showed up one hour ago, switching places with another guard, and proceeded to stare at you since.

Dread pools in your gut. His gaze hasn’t strayed from you once.

What could the peacekeeper possibly want from you?

You have nothing, and it’s obvious he’s some rich kid from the Capitol who somehow found his way here.

“Your yarn is coming loose.”

Yara’s frenzied tone wrenches you away from your thoughts.

You look down, your forehead scrunching as you do. She’s right. The threads have broken out of their pattern, forming disgraceful zigzags over the loom.

Besides, there’s a minuscule crimson stain on the fabric. The pristine beige cloth is now ruined. This will come out of your pay.

Your ire grows. Your gaze narrows as it finds Coriolanus’. This is all his fault. He distracted you. Annoyance at the strange peacekeeper gleams inside you.

You bolt up from your stool.

“I have to go,” you announce, already gathering your satchel from the floor.

Yara’s eyes round. “Our shift’s not over yet,” she whispers below her breath, tossing wary glances at the guards. Your frown deepens. Any slight sign of disobedience could be seen as a hint of rebellion these days. It’s how much the Capitol wants to avoid a return to the Dark Days.

You smile at her in reassurance.

Yara was kind enough to show you the ropes when you started working at the textile factory. She even stayed late at night with you to teach you the most complex needlepoints.

Fidgeting, you apologize, “I’m sorry, but it’s an emergency. I’ve ruined it anyway.”

You don’t stick around for her response, rushing towards the nearest corridor to slip away.

A deep, teasing lilt echoes behind you in the hallway.

“Still trying to fly away from me, huh?”

Your heart leaps. Not again.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you chide as you keep hastening across the hallway. It doesn’t matter though. A stolen glimpse at your back reveals to you that Coriolanus’ long legs easily maintain pace with your frantic strides.

You unleash a weary sigh.

“I shouldn’t but I am, pretty bird.”

You can hear the smile in his voice and it infuriates you more.

“Leave me alone, Coriolanus-”

A sharp breath ripples through your throat as warm fingers suddenly clasp around your arm.

“What are you…”

The large hand that drapes over your mouth quiets your budding protest.

Ignoring your muffled shouts, he pulls you flush against his frame and drags you into a dark room inside another hallway.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you grab at anything you can. He’s undeterred by your feistiness, only unhanding you once he’s slammed the door shut.

A chill dances on your spine as every deadbolt is meticulously slid into place by him.

Leaning back against the locked door, Coriolanus’s eyes drag over you. He drinks you in for a while as you retreat, as far away from him as the small room allows.

Uncrossing his arms, the blonde starts inching towards you.

Your nerves flare up at his impending proximity. A heavy sigh drops from his chest.

“Why do you make that face when I’m only trying to help you?”

“I don’t want any help from you. I want nothing from you,” you shout.

He tilts his head, closing the distance. He shoves his hand in his pocket, seeming to search for something. You freeze.

Shock rocks through you when he conjures a familiar vial, shaking it in front of your face.

“Hm, Are you sure?” he taunts.

The urge to steal it from him has your fingertips tingling. But you tried that before, and it didn’t work in your favor. So you snuff out the impulse.

“How did you find out?”

“I have my ways.”

You search his stark cobalt orbs. They give nothing away.

“I just want to take care of you,” he adds.

“Why?”

You startle as his long fingers creep under your chin. You didn’t realize how close he’d gotten, now bending over you so you’re at eye-level.

“Because I can. I could make your life easier.”

His tender inflection, oddly intimate, makes discomfort pool in your stomach.

“I don’t need…”

“Take it.”

As you do nothing to take the bottle he holds up in his fist, Coriolanus exhales wearily.

You gasp when he shoves the vial between your trembling palms.

“Don’t be stupid,” he admonishes. “That cousin of yours won’t make it through winter without these. They’re antibiotics.”

You stare down at the amber bottle. Your shoulders slump. You hate to admit it but he’s probably right. Tilly’s coughing fits are progressively getting worse. She can hardly breathe properly most days. It hurts to see and you’ve been praying for a way to help her.

And now you have that way. Is it even fair to Tilly to turn his help down because of your own personal hang ups with the peacekeeper?

His motives elude you but you’re not sure it matters at that moment.

Tilly’s life is on the line.

Your fingers squeeze around the vial.

“I know what they are. It’s written on the bottle.”

Interest springs in his cobalt gaze.

“You can read? Interesting,” he hums. “Most people can’t in the districts.”

Your cheeks heat at his assumption. A respectable amount of people in the districts can in fact read. Not the majority, but a few at least. The knowledge just isn’t widespread enough and schools are a luxury most districts cannot afford.

“My grandmother taught me when I was young,” you defend.

He pauses, studying your defiant features.

His hand wraps around your hand holding the bottle. You try not to shrink, afraid he’ll take it back.

His thumb sweeps over your knuckles.

“These are very rare and hard to get. Don’t let your pride get in the way, pretty bird.”

“I won’t,” you mumble.

Another bag materializes before you. Coriolanus nudges it in your arms before you can think to protest. “Take that too.”

You glare at him suspiciously. “What is it?”

“Food, water, supplies.”

Grounded in disbelief, you peer inside the bag. Your jaw hangs slack. He wasn’t lying. The bag is brimming with rations. There’s even a few slices of bread and cheese on top. This has to be worth at least a hundred coins.

You purse your lips. “I can’t accept…I have nothing to repay you.”

Corolianus sighs, keeping the bag in your hands with his steely grip as you attempt to return it.

“Then just remember you live because of me,” he says. A lopsided smile blooms on his lips. “That’s the only payment I require.”

You snort. It can’t possibly be that simple, can it?

But Coriolanus’ features harbor no mirth. Skepticism heightens your pitch.

“That’s it?”

“Yes.”

You nod. “Okay, I will.”

Displeasure flickers in his gaze. His fingers sneak below your chin to angle it upward, forcing you to drown in his cobalt stare.

“No, I want to hear you say it, sweet bird.” His tone is laced with a solemnity that wasn’t there before. Your stomach knots. “That you live by the will of Coriolanus Snow.”

A shaky breath flows out of you. You’re suddenly reluctant under his keen scrutiny.

Still, your voice comes out a tremulous croak.

“I live because of you, Coriolanus Snow.”

His entire face lights up with your words, a strange glow appearing in his orbs.

For some reason, you feel as if you just tied a noose around your own neck.

You take a sip of your beer, basking in the bitter, heady aftertaste. Usually, you’re not much of a drinker, but it’s the first true respite you’ve gotten from the blue-eyed peacekeeper in many weeks and you plan on enjoying it.

A tavern wouldn’t be your first choice but Yara invited you and it occurred to you this isn’t the kind of place a boy smelling like old money and roses would visit.

It’s rare for you to be anywhere these days without his disarming presence hovering in a corner of the room.

You’ve even considered abandoning your job at the factory altogether. But it’s not like a girl like you can change careers on a whim. You have no connections, no skill, no talent whatsoever. Nothing but your hard-earned ability to weave threads of fabrics together.

Maybe the mines at the northern end of the district.

It’s far from a tempting prospect. The work is downright dangerous. But at least it would shield you from the peacekeeper’s relentless scrutiny.

“Your shadow isn’t here today," Yara notes.

You drag your eyes away from the band playing on stage.

“My shadow?”

“That pretty boy peacekeeper who follows you around," she elaborates, her lips curved in amusement. You grimace. If only she knew. There isn’t a shred of mirth in your current predicament.

You roll your eyes. “He doesn’t follow me around.”

You refrain from saying he does a plethora of other things that puzzle you and stir your discomfort.

You refuse to trust him, but thanks to him your cousin has been getting noticeably better, even able to walk on her own again now. It’s a relief. Tonight she’s at friend’s and gets to laugh, play and be a regular kid again.

Besides, though it pains you to recognize it, your belly’s fuller than it’s been in a long time.

It shames you to admit it, but it took you no time to cave in and gobble down the food he offered. Hunger does strange things to people.

You loathe yourself for yielding but the feeling of an empty stomach is infinitely worse than that of your wounded pride.

"He is pretty though," your friend says, glancing away dreamily.

Your face warms. "I really don’t care how he looks. I just wish he’d go pester someone else."

"Hm, fair." She drinks from her jug and shrugs. "He could just be bored. I’m sure he’ll stop at some point."

The conversation reaches a halt when a brown-haired guy around your age with a scar across his face stops at your table.

“Can I ask you to dance?” he asks. His cheeks redden as he awaits your response. A quiet glance passes between you and Yara. You kick her under the table when she nearly lets out a chuckle.

Endeared by the boy’s bashful manner, you answer with a smile, “Sure, why not.”

You let the stranger drag you into a dance, your worries fading into the buoyant, lively notes played by the band and the boy’s nonchalant grin.

It’s the kind of normalcy you’ve been longing for.

Engrossed in the moment, as the boy slips a hand around your waist, an audible gasp spills out of you when he pulls away from you out of the blue.

Or rather is wrenched away from you.

Your brows rise to your hairline.

You gape in horror, the sight of Coriolanus hauling the boy up by his lapels striking you mute. His features are taut with anger as the boy’s hands rise defensively. A mix of befuddlement and fear decorates his features.

Guilt needles your chest. You never expected the blond to show up here of all places. Paranoia seizes the chaotic train of your thoughts. Was he here all along, watching you like a hawk the entire time? Is he always here, never wandering too far from wherever you are?

Fear coils your insides.

"Hey," you call out, relief trickling inside you when your legs move again. You make a beeline to Coriolanus.

“What is wrong with you?” you shout, trying to pry him off the poor boy.

It’s not the useless hand scratching his bicep but rather your tone that appears to jerk him out of his trance.

His grip on the boy loosens as he whirls to you. The stranger wastes no time in running away. You can’t even blame him. You can’t imagine there’d be many repercussions if the blond harmed him, but the opposite can’t be said.

Coriolanus’ hands slowly lower before balling into fists.

Irate blue eyes flare as they fall on you.

You recoil.

“With me?” he growls, crowding your space. "His grubby paws were all over you."

You blink in disbelief, shocked by his accusing tone. You did nothing wrong. It’s not like he can tell you who to dance and not dance with. "G-Grubby…what? I’m not some damsel in need of rescuing, Coriolanus."

He squints at you, displeasure evident on his angular features.

His hand latches onto your arm, yanking you towards the exit. You can barely keep up with his furious stomps.

“I think it’s time we had a talk. Come with me.”

“I’d rather stay here."

He ignores you, his grip on you turning deathly. Tears burn the back of your eyes.

“No…”

You toss a desperate look above your shoulder to find your friend just as shocked as you are. She won’t help you. No one will.

Your stomach sinks.

The tears break past the confine of your lashes.

He takes you outside. The chilly air skates across your skin, spreading gooseflesh over it. The silver glow of the moon lights the tortuous path he takes through dim, narrow alleyways. This is nowhere near your cabin and your panic swells.

You dig your heels into the ground, resisting.

Coriolanus heaves out a weary exhale. He hunkers down to pick you up. You squeal, flabbergasted by his nerve. He hoists you on his shoulders as if you were a sack of grain, taking firm, irate steps into the night.

"You can’t do this," you weep, slamming as hard as you can into his back.

Hardly flinching, he scoffs before stating, “I don’t remember asking for your permission, birdie."

#coriolanus snow x reader #dark!coriolanus snow #tbosbas fanfiction #hunger games #coriolanus snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #divider credit: samspenandsword

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macfrog · 8 days

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what are joel, sarah, ellie, and reader doing on a typical day like today?

i had an ickle answer for you, non, but then @mrsmando sent me a tiktok and said it was scom coded, and - well. here's what my babies were up to today.

the whole world 1.8k words | series masterlist warnings: lots of sickly-sweet family love, couple teeny mentions of ellie throwing up, joel's a flirt at the end

“…beautiful blue skies all day today with highs of eighty in some parts, cooling down into the sixties as we head into the evening…”

Your skin still smells like the pool.

Chlorine, chemical summer – and the sweet spritz of sunscreen. It’s still glistening, still shiny and tacky on your arms.

The girls were bathed the second you got back inside. Sleeves rolled to your elbows; suds slipping down swollen, sun-kissed cheeks.

One hand at Ellie’s back, the other swishing water at her tummy to make her giggle. Joel knelt at your side, wrestling with Sarah over a soaked sponge the entire time.

He kept wringing it over her head, cracking up at the look on her face – water dripping from the tip of her nose and her pouted bottom lip.

Mama, she announced – with a twang even sweeter than her dad’s – I ain’t talkin’ to Daddy no more.

You scoffed, nudging a rubber duck along the water to Ellie’s open hands. I’ll believe that when I see it, Duck.

As the water drained from the tub, Sarah let Joel bundle her in a towel and follow her – a trail of damp footprints along the hall carpet – into her bedroom to grab her pajamas.

Lasted long, didn’t it? you muttered to Ellie, swaddling her in a dino bathrobe.

It’s May. Everything is alive and bursting with color. The birds and the bugs and the static from the radio. The windchimes and the orange slices and the tickticktick of the neighbor’s kid’s bicycle, whirring past the house.

Your daughters giggle, sharing secrets through nuzzling noses and flashing toothless grins. Nearly seven and just turned one. All their mom’s beauty with their dad’s old soul, so you’ve been told.

You figure it’s just a flowery way of saying perfect. Everything about them is perfect.

Everything about this is perfect. The slow-setting sun, needling between the trees as she slips from the sky. The cool shade under the porch, the soft tinkle of ice in your glass. The scrape of the dog’s claws on the wood as she slumps down.

This life you’ve dreamt up, held together by string lights and hanging plants; made real by the trike parked over in the corner, the teething toy wetting the tablecloth.

It’s all so fucking perf–

A clatter echoes from the kitchen.

“Shit – Jesus –” Joel hisses, another crashing sound swallowing the rest.

Sarah peers up at you, eyes wide. Knees tucked under her chin, tiny in the chair beside you.

“Did you hear that?” you ask her, lifting your eyebrows. Doing your best not to break into a grin.

The corners of her mouth twitch. She looks just like you, in this light. Same cheeky smirk. You never really noticed it until you saw it on her.

“No,” she mumbles, pressing her lips into her knee. She giggles.

Your eyes thin. “Mhm.”

“Mhm,” she mimics, reaching for her Barbie.

You lean back in your chair, arms wrapping a little tighter around the toddler in your lap. “You sure you’re okay in there?” you call through the house.

Joel’s arm swats around the kitchen doorframe. “Fine,” he says. “Fine. It’s just – goddamn it – it’s fine.”

“Heard that,” Sarah says. She stares at the doll’s hair, combing it flat.

“Shh,” you whisper, hearing the creak of the floorboards.

Joel materializes on the porch, balancing three plates in his arms. A stained towel slung over his shoulder, his shirt loose and chest dappled with sweat.

“Alright,” he pants, bending to set yours down first.

Ellie twists in your arms, her green terrycloth spikes flapping as she turns. The hood slips over her eyes and you pull her free.

You grab her hands before she can slam two tiny fists into the ravioli. “Jesus, Nel,” you snort.

She pulls herself to her feet, swaying from side to side on your thighs. Watching Joel intently as he sets Sarah’s plate down, then his own.

He straightens, running the towel between his hands. “Can I sit next to Mama?” he asks his daughter.

She shakes her head. “I’m showin’ her my Barbies.”

“Can you show her them from your own chair, Duck?”

Another head shake. “How is she s’posed to see ‘em?”

His eyes flash up to yours. His expression sets like stone.

All these years, all that time you spent desperately trying to crack him. Chiseling away with tools made from jokes, from teasing. From frisbeeing his newspaper and aiming for his plant pots.

A little smile; a quiet, “How am I s’posed to see ‘em, Joel?” – and you melt him instantly.

He breathes a laugh, shaking his head as he wanders around the table. This huge, broad man, squeezing into the space by the windowsill. Dotted with toy animals and scattered miniature accessories.

He pulls the chair out and settles back into it.

You nudge his calf beneath the table.

Joel’s hands find your knees, slipping around them. He pulls your ankles into his lap, thumb trailing circles on your skin, and picks up his fork.

“Alright, Duckie,” you elbow her gently, “Barbies down. Look what Daddy made us.”

She fixes the pink pumps back onto the doll’s feet, straightens her spacesuit, and sits her carefully on the edge of the table.

Ellie blows a raspberry and collapses again into your lap. She yawns, turning to snuggle into your chest.

“You wanna try a little?” you whisper, blowing on a piece of ravioli.

She steals it from your fork and suckles on it. Her long lashes blink slower and slower until her eyes are closed, full cheeks still chewing.

Joel scoffs. “That’s her mom. Right there, that’s all you.”

“Fallin’ asleep with food in her mouth?” you chuckle, kissing her head. “Glad I’m leavin’ some legacy.”

“Uhuh,” he replies, tongue in his cheek. His eyes flash golden when they meet yours, brighter than the sun.

Ellie’s warm under your cheek; her skin still as soft and plushy as the day you met her. She quietens, stills as she drifts off. She’s solid in your arms – sturdier than her sister ever was at her age.

Or, as her uncle Tommy said, the first time he held her: She weighs a goddamn ton, don’t she?

She weighs nothing to you. Your arms were made for cradling her. Hips were designed to hold her. She’s the perfect size to fit in the crook of her dad’s arm. Her favorite game is being tossed in the air by him until she throws up.

“Ah-ah, Duck. Not right now,” Joel says, shaking his head. “Wait ‘til we’re done, or she’ll just beg.”

Sarah huffs, lifting her fork from the dog’s mouth. “Sorry, Shim.”

The shepherd trots around to Joel’s side, settling her chin on his thigh. She breathes a pleading sigh.

“I know, girl,” he ruffles her ears, “I ain’t fair to ya, am I?”

She falls to a heap under the table, and spends the meal pouncing at scraps Sarah accidentally drops.

The sky drains, the world darkening until you’re lit in shades of orange and gold; the candles flickering and stretching funny shadows across the porch ceiling.

Joel bribes Sarah with staying up later, so long as she helps him clear the table. She babbles away as they fill the sink with dishes; follows at his heels and catches him up on the politics of second grade.

He leans down to take Ellie – sound asleep and snoring – from you.

“Thank you,” you whisper against his lips, “I love you.”

“Love you too,” he says, and kisses you. “C’mon, Duckie,” he groans as she climbs into his other arm. “Bedtime.”

Upstairs, you split off into the girls’ rooms. Shimmer follows you into Sarah’s, curling up at her feet in a nest of pink blankets.

Your firstborn is already tucked under her covers, her nightlight spinning hazy stars around the walls.

“How much do I love you?” you whisper, stroking her hair.

Sarah takes a few seconds to answer, sleep already overcoming her. “More…more ‘n the…” she yawns, “…more ‘n the whole world, Mama…”

“The whole world,” you repeat, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. “Sweet dreams, little Duckie.”

Joel meets you in the hallway. He holds the baby monitor up. The screen lights; the fuzzy outline of your baby in her cot. Arms outstretched, above her head; fists balled and a determined frown on her face as she snoozes.

“Like a log,” Joel mutters, nudging you over to the stairs. “’nother thing she got from her mom.”

You smile – a loose, sleepy thing. “’s my girl.”

He follows you downstairs.

The reflections of the candles glint from each photo frame on the wall, lighting them one by one as you pass. First birthdays, first Christmases. Sarah perched atop a pony in Jackson; Joel in a suit holding Ellie, seconds before she spat milk down his tie.

Each one a tiny thread, linking you from who you were to who you are now. Stringing you together, binding the wound you never knew how to tend to.

At the bottom of the stairs, you feel a tug from your back pocket.

“Joel –” you giggle, stumbling into his arms. “We got dishes to – Joel –”

“Come on,” he whispers against your lips, stealing soft kisses. “It’s a nice night, let’s just sit for a while.”

He leads you out front and rocks back on the swing. He sets the monitor down at his feet and opens his arms. A goofy smile on his face, eyes twinkling.

You fold your arms. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

“I know. But I love you.”

Your breath catches, the way it always does. Almost seven years, two kids and a fucking joint mortgage – and it still catches you off guard when you remember.

He loves you. He always did.

“That’s what makes you the idiot,” you reply, stepping forward. You slip into his lap, knees either side of his hips, and link your arms around his neck. “Fell in love with your nemesis.”

“Hm.” Joel’s arms scoop around your butt. “All that time, I thought we were friends.”

You laugh, leaning in to him. “We were never friends,” you say, “I never wanted to be just your friend.”

His chest rumbles beneath yours. He presses more kisses into your neck, kneading your waist. He takes your jaw, pulling back to look at you.

This man, and the silver through his beard, and the marks on his careful hands. This man, who never looked surer of himself – never looked more like the gleeful kid you once spotted in a photo frame – than when he has one daughter in one arm and the other slung over his back.

This man, who once built you a closet in exchange for a fake date. Who, drunk on liquor and something more, followed you back to your hotel room and changed you forever.

Made you his, forever.

You forget what it ever felt like to be anything else.

#for the purposes of this fic it was sunny and dry in austin today #chats w max #anon #sweet child o' mine #joel miller drabble #joel miller x reader

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