#slides the dash $5 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

burntheedges · 14 days

Text

Passing Notes: NSFW

Joel Miller x f!reader | 18+ | 1.6k words | Passing Notes masterlist

summary: A handsome stranger looks over your shoulder at the worst possible moment.

a/n: This one goes out to all of the folks on Discord who know the terror of opening the wrong channel in public. Happy @swiftiscruff exchange! I'm tagging you all at the bottom because the list is long lol!

tags/warnings: food and drink mention, flirting, reader gets caught looking at smutty gifs and images in public, smutty images of: p-in-v sex, manhandling, oral (f!receiving), reader walks and sits at a cafe (otherwise not described)

...

You sank into the last open seat, thankfully one of the ones by the window that wasn’t too cramped. It even had an outlet. You sighed as you stretched out your legs under the table. The walk to the coffee shop from your office wasn’t too long, but at the end of the day it was tiresome. You were lucky to find this seat, even if it was at a long table with other patrons already sitting around it.

You started to set up your area with your coffee, laptop, and phone arranged just how you liked. You’d decided on the way here to treat yourself to your favorite snack, too, and you’d managed to snag the last one from the display case.

As you settled in, you glanced to your right and noticed he was back. The guy. Sitting right next to you.

He happened to look up at the same moment you looked at him, and he met your eye. You smiled, shy, and he smiled back, nodding in recognition. You looked away, flustered.

You’d first noticed him almost a month before, and at least 4 or 5 times since. He was sometimes there at the same time as you, and you couldn’t believe you missed him at the table as you dashed to this last open chair. You’d never spoken to him, but you’d definitely had a few moments of lingering eye contact. You were thinking you might have the courage to talk to him… soon. One day soon. Definitely not today.

The thing was, he was almost absurdly attractive. He had short, messy curls that tumbled over his forehead and your fingers twitched with the urge to brush them back. His scruffy beard begged for you to touch it, too, to cup his face between your palms. His t-shirt stretched around his biceps in a way that caught your eye and held it until you started to feel like a creep.

And his ass always looked good in his jeans.

You didn’t know a lot about him. He usually had paperwork with him, sometimes a book. You knew he was nice to the baristas, at least. You’d caught him sliding some money into the tip jar on more than one occasion, and once you’d even seen him step between the barista and an angry customer in a suit. After a few moments of tense conversation that you couldn’t hear, the angry guy had stormed out, and he had turned to comfort the barista.

You bit your lip as you grabbed your phone, trying to distract yourself and catch up on your notifications. You’d never sat this close to him before and it was making your head start to spin. He was barely two feet away from you and you were hyper aware of him and his warmth, like it was radiating off of him, all down the right side of your body. You tried not to glance at him too much, but he seemed to be engrossed in his work. You took a deep breath and shook out your shoulders.

Soon enough you were idly scrolling Discord, chin in hand. You sighed as you clicked through the channels you needed to catch up on, and without thinking about it, you clicked on the “NSFW inspo” channel.

Before you could second guess the choice to check this particular channel in such a public place, the channel loaded and you hastily tilted your phone towards the window. If you were going to look at this channel, you weren’t going to do it where he could see you. You curled forward over your phone, trying to make sure no one could look over your shoulder at your screen.

You were met with a gif of a man and a woman lying on a bed, facing the camera and caught right in the middle of having sex. He had her leg pulled up around his hip, opening her pussy to your view as he thrust inside with his (extremely large, you noted) cock. Her head was thrown back and his eyes were locked on her open mouth. You tore your eyes away from the gif to read the messages above it.

“I’m writing smut and I’m stuck. it needs… something. Inspo?” “I got you”

You snorted and moved your thumb to start to scroll past the image. The next few messages were people agreeing, and then another gif – a close up on a woman’s hips from the side as a man’s large hands came into view and slowly bent her legs towards her chest. You couldn’t even see their faces, but his hands were so big. You felt your breath hitch. You blinked.

In the next one, the camera had come in close to focus on a woman’s pussy from a high angle with her legs spread wide. You could see a man’s knees as he knelt close to her. With a firm grip at the base, he rubbed his cock up and down her slit, teasing at her clit before sliding it back down. He thrust his cock inside of her cunt and then slowly pushed all the way forward. You felt a shiver go down your spine when their hips met.

You scrolled slowly through a few more gifs and some fan art – and damn was the person who needed that inspiration getting what they asked for, including some very risque fan art of a certain Mandalorian with only one area exposed – when your attention was caught and you paused, staring, unable to look away.

It was another side view of two people, and in this gif the woman was lying back on the bed, clutching at the sheets. Her back arched and her mouth opened wide as she tried to look down and catch sight of the man. Your eyes trailed down her body to find him with his head between her legs, eyes locked on her face as he licked a stripe up her pussy with the flat of his tongue.

Something about the intensity of his eye contact and the way he held onto her thighs made you stare. You were caught, lingering over the gif as it repeated, watching the way he licked at her pussy over and over and over again.

You didn’t notice at the time, but you were so mesmerized that you’d stopped being quite so careful about the angle of your phone screen.

Suddenly you felt the slightest puff of air against your right ear, followed by a low voice, murmuring, “you sure are brave, darlin’, to be lookin’ at somethin’ like that in public.”

You gasped and almost threw your phone in the air, whirling to the right. Your phone tumbled to the table and landed screen-up, thankfully shielded from the rest of the table by your open laptop.

But not from him.

You met his eyes and realized his gaze was dark and intent, but he was smiling at you. In your peripheral vision you could still see the movement of the gif on your phone screen but you couldn’t look away from him.

“Shit,” you breathed. “I mean, um, sorry? Let me–” you reached out towards your phone, but he caught your hand and placed it on the table. He squeezed once, gently, before resting his hand next to yours.

“No need to apologize. I will say I was surprised to glance over and see just what had you starin’ like that, though.” He raised his eyebrows at you and you felt your cheeks burn. “You know, darlin’, this isn’t exactly the way I was plannin’ on talkin’ to you, but I couldn’t resist.”

You blinked, feeling like you were a step behind this entire conversation. “You were planning on talking to me?”

He tilted his head and settled his left hand on the back of your chair so he could lean even closer. “Was it not obvious? Thought you’d caught me starin’ more than a few times.”

You smiled and nodded. “Well, then you must have caught me staring, too.”

He grinned. “Sure did, beautiful. But then I looked over and saw that,” at his words you both looked down and saw the gif still playing on your phone screen. You made a wordless noise and tried to reach for it again, but he stopped you. Again. “Well, just had to say something. Hard not to think of how much I’ve been wanting to kiss you when I look over and you're watching that, after all.”

You weren’t sure your brain was still functioning. He was leaning in close, and all it would take was for you to cross the few inches between you and you could be kissing him. Right then. “You want to k– kiss me?”

He nodded. “Yeah, darlin’, I do.” His voice got even lower and quieter. “I’ll kiss you anywhere you’d like.” He leaned forward and put his mouth right next to your ear. Your eyes caught on the gif, still looping, and you stared at it as he murmured, “figure any woman who’s starin’ so hard at something like that in public must be mighty interested. Bet she knows just what she likes, too. Well, let me tell you something, darlin’ – I would love to give you just that. Do it right, how you like. And I don’t mean to boast, you know, but I know my way around.” You shivered and your mouth fell open. As he leaned back, you met his eyes again and you had no idea what your face was doing.

“Name’s Joel Miller. Can I take you out tonight, beautiful?”

You grinned wide and introduced yourself. “I’d love that, Joel Miller.” He darted forward and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, and you sighed.

“Good. And then maybe afterwards I can have some dessert.” He winked and you laughed, finally reaching for your phone to turn off the screen.

...

For @beardedjoel @gasolinerainbowpuddles @huffle-punk @jupiter-soups @whxtedreams

@noxturnalpascal @pastelnap @janaispunk @covetyou @chronically-ghosted

@jobean12-blog @punkette1026 @dilfspitdrinker @futuraa-free @skittlesfics

@ashleymsnodgrass @joelsflannel @thefrogdalorian @100ottersonaplanecalledgerti

#PPCUGiftExchange2024 #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #tlou fic #x reader #bte friendship exchange

380 notes · View notes

yonphilia · 6 months

Text

a/n: repost bc i wanted to add sumn😞 i jus love gojo guys <3 and wingman geto <33

Satoru was annoying, way too annoying.

You’re at the cinema right now with Suguru and Satoru, you didn’t plan on bringing them with you, but when you held up three tickets to Utahime and Shoko to go to the movies with you, the next thing you knew, there was a long arm around your shoulder dragging you away from the two girls before they could even answer.

Here you were now, in the middle of the hallway of the cinema glaring at Satoru, with your arms crossed, who could not keep his mouth shut during the movie which resulted in you three being kicked out.

Oh, but did he care?

No! He had the attention of 5 different girls asking for his number and fawning over him, so why would he?

Suguru chuckles, dragging Satoru away from the girls as you follow behind.

“You got us kicked out!” you say trying to sound annoyed. “That was such a waste of my money— you’re paying me back Satoru”

“What!” he raises his hands in defence, his shades sliding down his nose slightly “it was not my fault the heroine was going to—”

“Shut up” you say which causes Satoru to pout

“I mean, at least we watched the first 15 minutes, it wasn’t that bad.” Suguru cuts in trying to lighten the mood but instead laughs at your stern face and Satoru’s stupidity.

Youq roll your eyes at the two and walk away to the cashier to buy snacks for yourself, and yourself only. Because somehow, everytime you go out with these two, Satoru forgets his wallet, and Suguru’s wallet just happened to be at Satoru’s dorm, and the moment Satoru’s eyes lay on the packet of cookie dough candy in your hands, he’s dashing up to you.

“Pretty please buy me one? i’ll pay you back.” He says pouting and sliding his shades down his nose to show you his “puppy” eyes which causes you to scoff, and in the end you did end up buying him a packet.

You three head back to Suguru’s car, you rush to the passenger seat before Satoru could, sticking your tongue out at him as he gets in the back. “Tiz’ what you get looser.” you say smiling to yourself.

As Suguru starts to drive, you fumble with the buttons on his dashboard trying to put on some music which causes Suguru to side eye you raising a brow.

“It’s the button on the top right corner,” he says trying to hide his smile and keeping his eyes on the road.

Once you turn the music on, you try to shut it off straight away, ‘All I Want for Christmas Is You' by Mariah Carey was blasting in full volume. Satoru snickered at the irony of the song playing with the month being October at the moment.

Few minutes pass by in silent, until Satoru peaks his head through the space between your and Suguru’s seats.

“You still mad-”

“Yes.”

“C’mon, I’m sorry I’ll pay you back” he protests pouting.

You turn your head away from him looking out the window. “That will be 70$ plus the candy so 75$ because i’m adding interest.”

Suguru tries to stifle a laugh which has you saying “You too, you owe me as well,” and he purses his mouth shut straight away.

Satoru tries to make it up to you, by bringing you to the amusement park. You two were playing an arcade game, shooting the plastic animals with waterguns till one falls over and you win a prize.

sounds easy right? not if Satoru is around.

He looses several times, and in the end he ends up throwing his water gun at the stack causing the shelves to fall along with everything on it.

And there you two were once again, standing outside the gates of the amusement park.

“You have to hear me out-”

“Don’t even think about it Satoru” you say turning away from him, hair a little damp from the waterguns.

“Okay I’m sorry I’ll make it up to you-”

“No! you do this every time”

“What if-”

“No”

Satoru frowns, knowing this was probably your last straw, so he walks up to you standing infront of you and looking down at your sulking face.

“I’ll kiss you if you don’t let me make it up to you..”

Your face scrunched up into disgust as you snap your head at him and take a step back “No- dont even think about it ew”

“Then let me bring you to that favourite place you like to eat at”

“You got me kicked out last time because you-”

“I wont! i promise!”

And yet, you two were standing on the street covered in tomato sauce and noodles dripping down from your hair.

“Heh…C’mon..hear me out…”

He’ll make it up to you properly, someday.

559 notes · View notes

emmyrosee · 6 months

Text

lol Brandon Farris and Maria Gloria wrote this 💅🏼

——

You don’t film specific videos with Kenma often, but when you do, it’s usually at his expense.

For this installation of his quarterly stream, he’s got you set up with an eye tracker just beside him. Naturally, you’re decked out in Kodzuken merch, and he can’t stop looking at it as he explains the rules.

“So- there’s gonna be two sides. One side is gonna have one picture, the other of another one-“

“Revolutionary, Kenma.”

“-Shut the hell up. Anyways, your going to look at one of them; if you look at the one of me, or the picture on the left, it’s free. If you look at the right one, I have to give 5 subs. Got it?”

“One question.”

“Sure.”

“Why do you set yourself up for failure?”

Kenma looks you up and down, “because I already settled for you.” You jaw drops in faux offense while he sets up the pictures. “Okay- cover your eyes.” Your hands come up to childishly cover your eyes, and Kenma is quick to set up the first set of images.

One of him in a compression shirt, post workout with sweat making the fabric cling impossibly closer to his muscles.

The other, of Maesi at just a small 8 months old.”

“Alright babe. Open.”

Your eyes do, and they small orbs tracking your eyes dart to your child.

“Awww, my baby,” you coo, hands coming up to your mouth as you look at the picture of Maesi while he pouts next to you.

“Wow… thought you would look at me, not gonna lie,” he snickers, adding five gifted subs to his total. In his monitor, he sees your eye tracker finally dart to his picture, fixating on his abs. “Yeah no, that one glance of our infant cost me 25 damn bucks, let’s try again.” You laugh next to him and gently clutch his arm affectionately.

In the next slide, there’s a picture of him in a worn out nekoma hoodie, and a picture of Bokuto in his MSBY jersey-

Inconveniently, your eyes dart to Bokuto’s hair.

“Babe.”

“I’m sorry!” You cackle. “His hair is just stupidly exciting, it’s a habit.”

“You see my luscious hair every day, and you pick his?”

You suck in a breath and Kenma glares at you. “Luscious?”

“Im gonna leave you.” He tacks on another five subs, and he looks over at you in playful offense. “I’m letting you know now; this next one is Toppo and Appa snuggling. If you look at them, this stream is over.”

“Why on gods decaying earth would you tell me that?” You whine. “Now I wanna see my little kitty and puppyyyy.”

“I am your Kitty. So shush.” With that, Kenma’s index finger clicks onto the next slide, and he’s gotta give you credit, your eyes dart to his side finally, then immediately dash to the picture of Appa sleeping in a ball, with Toppo curled on top in an extremely similar fashion. “At least you looked at me first.”

He adds one gifted sub to the total, trying to ignore your snickering next to him.

“But look at how cute they are-“

“Don’t try to save yourself,” he says, clearly trying to hide the smile in his voice.

“Okay,” You giggle.

This continues for more than Kenma would like- as amusing as he finds it.

One look at him. Another look at him. One look at an anime poster. Another look at a random picture of a panda bear.

He’d love to pretend that this is annoying him; but his teasing of you and your laughter and rapid explaining have him cackling to his own self.

The last picture is, naturally, the biggest test, and Kenma gives you a look before clicking the next link. It’s a picture of him, asleep with a newborn Maesi on his chest and hair sprawled everywhere- it’s one you took of him when you first brought her home. On the other side, is a stupid picture of the stupid actor you stupidly like so stupidly much.

Your eyes dart to him and Maesi. And he immediately leaps up, cheering and thrilled as you laugh at the reaction. “SHE LOVES ME, CHAT! WE FUCKIN’ DID IT! WE RIIIIIIDE!”

“Dramatic ass!” You snort, laughing in your hands while he celebrates in the background. “It’s because you had Spawn in your picture.”

“Worth it. Whoo!” He sits down next to you and leans over to kiss your cheek, arm tossing around you to keep you close. You titter and try to shrug him away, “the only woman to exist ever. The love of my life. Beautiful mother of my child.” The chat floods with donations and cheers, but all he can focus on is your playful bats against him. “Game over. I’ve won. Next task chat.”

“You’re annoying.”

“And you looked at me.”

589 notes · View notes

wasawattpadkid · 1 year

Text

Housewife

Part - 5

Summery: Billy and Stu have been planning these murders for quite some time. Everything is going to plan until you show up. What happens when they meet someone who is just as mentally deluded as they are?

Pairing: poly!ghostface x fem!reader

Warnings for this series: murder, blood, smut (will be more in depth on smut chapters), power dynamics, a dash of sexism, knives, stalking, perverse behavior, cheating,

Part 1

"You know you boys look amazing in an apron." You wolf whistled at them both. Billy acted annoyed but he secretly loved the attention. Stu shook his ass at you making you laugh. Stu offered to do the dishes but for some odd reason they both fought over who would do them. Now there they stood aprons covering thier clothes. You and Stu practically had to hold down Billy as you tied the strings around him.

"I'll fix the popcorn!" You cheered hearing a groan from both men. "We just ate please..." Stu whined holding his stomach. "You two are party poopers. Well, while you do the dishes I'm going to change into my pajamas." Both their heads snapped towards you. "And I'm locking my door." You shouted down the hall.

You weren't really sure what to wear. You didn't want to draw unnecessary attention to yourself but in a way you did. They had girlfriends you knew that. The way they looked at you however was addicting. You weren't going to sleep with them so what's the harm in looking good? A voice in your head screamed male validation but you ignored that. You pulled the silky nightgown from your closet debating on wearing it. "Too obvious." You muttered putting it back in the closet.

Leaning your head out of your room you shouted. "How cold is it supposed to get tonight?" Within seconds you hear them both answer. "Very cold, extremely cold, even freezing, it might snow." You know damn well in the air of California it wasn't going to snow. You grabbed a pair of silky shorts and pulled out the matching top. That would have to do. Once you were changed you went back to the kitchen seeing the dishes were all done. "Thank you guys."

"Thank you for dinner." Billy said honestly. "Yeah what he said." Stu was laid out on the carpet as Billy glared at him. "Anytime boys." Stu looked at your new outfit trying to figure out how you looked so hot in pajamas. "Why didn't you wear what Bil- what we got you?" He corrected himself. You plopped down on the couch next to Billy. "Because I knew if I did, you two wouldn't want to watch a movie." Stu nodded as he shrugged knowing you were right. "Who said I wanted to watch a movie now?" Billy said dangerously close to your ear. You jumped up going towards the TV. "Alright! What are we watching first?"

Christine was pretty good, not as good as Stu made it out to be though. "The coolest car ever!" Stu shouted which you quickly shushed him. "I don't live out in the country like some people, keep your voice down." Stu covered his mouth in regret. "Yeah Stu keep your voice down." Billy repeated and you slapped his chest. "Ow!" He laughed. "My turn, put on Ferris Bueller's day off." Stu groaned sliding off the couch and over to the VCR.

"You'll love it. If you liked Dazed and Confused you'll like this." Billy cocked his head. "You never told me you liked that movie?" Stu ignored his friend's eyes focusing on the tape. "I saw it once." He played it off which confused you. "Once? You said you went to see it at the movies 4 times." Stu silently begged for you to shut up. "You never told me that." Billy said once again a calmness to his voice. "I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd care." Stu bit back. "What else are you not telling me?" You realized very quickly this could get worse somehow. "God you two fight like a married couple. Just put the movie in and get up here I'm freezing."

The arguing stopped immediately. Once the movie started Stu sat at the end on the sofa leaving you in the middle. Carefully you wiggled down laying your head on Billy's lap. "This doesn't bother you does it?" His eyes glanced down and back up again just as fast. "No you're good." Stu grabbed your legs laying them on his lap. Ever so often he'd drag his hands up and down your legs mindlessly. After a while he genuinely started to like the movie. "Those two are so banging."

"That's what I was thinking." Billy responded to Stu. "You think Ferris and Cameron are a couple?" Stu made a noise shaking his head. "Did you see the way they look at each other or how no matter what bullshit Ferris drags him into he goes along with it?" The room grew silent with a unanimous acknowledgment of the current similarity. The movie continued and so did Stu's commentary. "Oh no, all three of them are fucking." You laughed and Billy took notice. "What's so funny about that?"

"Oh nothing it's just I can see it." The movie continued with Stu laughing his ass off at some parts. Billy's hand found it's way into your hair playing with what he could grab. Slowly your eyes fell shut. "She reminds me of you almost." Stu said turning to look at you. "Man she's asleep." Stu loudly announced, annoyed you both didn't finish the movie. Billy looked down watching your chest slowly go in and out. "Then why are you yelling?" Billy snapped. "Sorry." The boy mumbled. "Cut all this off while I take her upstairs."

"Why do you get to put her to bed she barley even trusts you awake?" This Billy found particularly funny. "That's rich coming from the guy that's done nothing but hit on her since you met her." Stu moved your legs standing up off the couch. "I do that with everyone it's charming." He laughed until he saw the way Billy was looking down at you. "Why do I get the feeling I'm being replaced?" Stu paced on the shag carpet. Billy sighed not wanting this shit right now. "We'll talk about this later."

"No I think we'll talk about it now. A year ago you came to me in need and I did everything I could to help. It was month after month of "I was drunk" or "I don't even remember it." I put up with it hoping once this was all said and done with, we'd run away and have our sequel. That was the plan wasn't it Billy?" You wavered in and out of consciousness barley piecing together what was being said. "She's different Stu and you know that. You feel it too. I need time to think to plan around this." He looked down at you noticing your eyes twitch. "We'll talk about this later."

Stu knew that was the end of the conversation. "Y/n..." He gingerly whispered trying to wake you up. "Mhm?" You stirred swearing they were fighting. "What's wrong?" You asked trying to look around. "Nothing's wrong we were trying to figure out if we should pause the movie or not. I'm going to take you to bed and me and Stu will head there shortly." You just rolled over burying your head against his stomach. Billy slowly moved off the couch, picking you up bridal style. Stu followed making sure Billy followed your rules.

Billy placed you softly in bed hoping to just look at you for a bit. "If it's too cold on the floor you can climb in here." You mumbled. You weren't in your right mind Billy knew that and so did Stu. That wasn't stopping them however. "Go cut the lights and everything off then bring your bag up here." Stu like the good little soldier he was, he did as told.

"Here." He handed Billy his sweat pants. "We're sleeping in our shirts." Billy said as he unbuckled his belt. "What why? We never sleep with our shirts on." Billy folded his pants sitting them on the chair in the corner. "Because if she wakes up and sees us half naked beside her she's liable to freak thinking we did something. So please, just do as as I say for once." Stu had to give Billy this one. He was the smartest piece of shit in town.

Stu was the first one in bed with you. Making you roll over and wrap your arm around him. "Billy look!" He whispered like you were a cat in a cute position. You tossed your leg over him next making it impossible for him to move. "Billy help! Her feet are fucking freezing!" He whispered once more earing a laugh from Billy. "She looks so peaceful doesn't she?" He taunted as Stu struggled against your restraints. Before getting into bed Billy cut off the light making the house seem earily dark.

Billy climbed in, his back towards you and Stu. Without warning you rolled over putting Billy in the same position Stu was. "She makes a good big spoon don't you think?" He taunted back but deep down Billy had never felt more comfortable. "Shut the fuck up." He mumbled holding your hand that rested over his waist. His thumb traced little circles on you hand. Stu scooted behind you. He snuggled up knowing damn well all three of you would wake up in a cold sweat from just being around each other all night. "Goodnight boys." Your voice was dangerously clear. Stu was already half asleep but Billy however heard you. He wasn't sure how much you knew but he'd have to quickly figure it out.

(If your name has a line through it Tumblr wouldn't let me tag you.)

Part 6

Taglist: @katie-tibo @danodoll21 @agustdeeyaa @bowlofceral @gonnapermashift @tati-the-fangirl @kozumewhore @tatijoestar @illyanam1011 @c4rved-pumpk1n @msghostface @gojosbucket @sammanna @lokigirlszendaya @reneki @fetusharryluvr @kadu-5607

2K notes · View notes

authorred · 25 days

Text

Doctor's Orders | Part 1 | Li Shen/Zayne x fem!Reader | Love and Deepspace |

Preface: As someone who chronically ignores her cardiologist's orders, what happens when that backfires on you worse than normal? Recovering from a life-threatening run-in with a wanderer, it's up to your doctor to put you back together.

This is entirely self-indulgent bc I love this man and this game is so pretty for no reason????? Download that shit (not sponsored, they're just my husbands fr)

Part 2

Warning(s): Mentions of bodily injuries, blood, near-death experience, SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 5!

You didn’t mean to stumble into another fight—it literally came to you. The aether core in your heart has begun to act up, resulting in you short of breath and lightheaded upon any sort of physical exertion. Your heart rate would increase dramatically in compensation which in turn made your evol act up—it was a shit show. Because of that Doctor Zayne firmly instructed you to rest until the core in your heart settled so tests could be run to determine the stability.

You wish you could’ve followed his orders—and you were, very well—but a wyrmlord’s protofield suddenly appeared around your apartment, trapping everyone and you inside of it. Xavier was gone, and you were the only Hunter stronger enough to fight it; you did everything in your power to ensure no one would get hurt. The Wanderer was strong, and you knew if you went full out your evol could get out of control—not to mention the core in your heart would act up, and you'd go into cardiac arrest.

You look around yourself to the frightened people huddling together as a feeble way to protect themselves from the monstrous metaflux monster. If you weren’t here they’d all be dead within seconds. You made an oath, and you will honor it until all life leaves your body.

Drawing your sword, you slide your hand down the smooth, sharp blade. Tendrils of black coil out and wrap and wind in the air. I’m sorry, Zayne. Please don’t kill me for this. The wyrmlord flies at you and you encase yourself in a layer of darkness, of which it absorbs the impact. You spin the sword between your arms for momentum before stabbing it through the shield, and the darkness follows. It pierces into the wanderer, leaving it to cry out in pain. It's not a difficult fight—this is rather easy for you—well, it would be if your heart wasn't an issue. You're not fighting at 100% capacity. Right now, you're at 67%.

The wyrmlord lets out a shriek before sending spikes of stone and ice to come up from under you. You're forced to move, dashing to the side quickly. One of the spikes nicked you on the outside of your knee, sending it buckling. You trip to your hands and knees but force yourself to keep moving out of the range of the wanderer. With your back essentially turned to it, it takes that opportunity to break from your shadows to lunge at you.

~ There is no such thing as a break at Akso Hospital--not for Zayne, that is. The head of Cardiology, chief cardiac surgeon, and one of the most gifted doctors of his generation has little time to relax, other than what time is granted to him. Though, he seems to enjoy the business of his life. It's not often he complains about his packed schedule and lack of vacation time. He stays professional at all times, never letting his personal feelings mix with his professional ones. He treats all his patients with patience and respect but very rarely is he emotionally involved. The last person he felt personally involved in was your grandmother.

However, he wasn't sure if he could keep his personal feelings out of this particular situation. He heard the paging of a patient being wheeled into the ED but he wasn't the one paged. Walking down one of the many corridors connecting to the ED he caught a glimpse of the person being hauled to the OR and he does a double take. His feet stay rooted to the floor but his eyes stare at the parade of nurses and techs following the gurney. Is that. . .

There is no way for him to confirm it yet--he wasn't the one called for the case. Not able to stick in one place for a long time he forces himself to look away and finish walking to his destination, body feeling light and dizzy. Something inside of him told him to call you—something wasn't right, and he needed to be sure one way or another. When he got to a relatively quiet area, he took out his phone and navigated to your contact under his favorites. The line rang for an agonizingly long time until it finally went to voice mail, of which your voice delicately greeted him with a, 'Sup bitch, I'm either busy or dead. Say what you want now or say it to my gravestone, it depends'. Zayne slowly lowered the phone from his ear—you're supposed to be resting, there's no reason as to why you shouldn't be answering your phone. You always answer him when he calls or texts.

The pit in his stomach sinks deeper into his gut and doubt gnaws at him. Could the person that was just wheeled in for emergency surgery really be you? He'll have to wait until the OR is finished or wait until he's paged. He wishes to the gods it's not you, and if it is, he wishes you'll pull through whatever is wrong.

195 notes · View notes

trevuorzegras · 28 days

Text

━╋ SHE WAS BORING

✿ umich cheer au part one ⬚͒ㅤㅤㅤ♪

ⓘ all works for this series can be found on the #wrong time is an inconvenience au tag! ❤︎

fem!reader x mark estapa

mentions of fem!reader x cole sillinger

mentions of mark estapa x fem!oc

faceclaim: jules leblanc

find the series masterlist, here!

colesillinger

colesillinger: my girl. ❤️

liked by adamfantilli, bluejacketsnhl, and others

user1: uhh did y/n dye her hair??

↳ yourusername: i very much did not. still very much a brunette. 🙃

↳ user2: wait what? yourusername

user3: i’m so confused

user4: dude did you mean to post this.. cause..

jadewinters: what the fuck??

↳ colesillinger: is there a problem jaden?

jadewinters: watch yourself sillinger.

user5: what is going on??

user6: isn’t y/n back at uni..?

↳ user7: yeah y/n is also NOT A BLONDE.

liked by yourusername

user8: he just openly posted about him cheating.. ok..

user9: y’all act like a man can’t have friends 🤣🤣

↳ user10: they’re kissing, if that’s friends then 💀

user11: interesting.. 🙃

(PINNED) colesillinger: coming at me like i care, she was boring so i traded up 🤷‍♂️

↳ user12: you’re so fucking odd bro

yourusername: good to see where you stand. this definitely could’ve been handled privately; but if this is how you want it, so be it. have a good life, and an amazing nhl career, cole. 🩷

↳ user13: this is actually so upsetting. she’s genuinely too kind to be treated like this.

user14: i thought you guys were end game wtf

adamfantilli: yk i love you dude, but what the fuck is wrong with you bro

↳ user15: even adam knows ts is wrong

this post has been deleted.

yourusername

yourusername: been a very productive day! 1) got cheated on. 2) went to a hockey game! 3) went to a post hockey party! 4) met some of the team 5) got absolutely shit faced with jadewinters oh! and i took this beautiful picture of dylanduke5

liked by edwards.73, luca.fantilli, and others

(PINNED) yourusername: i have practice tomorrow, and jade let me do this. whatever #goblue 〽️

lhughes_06: i really shouldn’t have left you alone at umich. 💀

↳ yourusername: can’t believe you never introduced me to your team, especially since they’re this fun to be around

↳ lhughes_06: ?? that’s EXACTLY why i didn’t introduce you to them. yourusername

user16: THERES ABSOLUTELY NO WAY

user17: SHE MET THE TEAM?

user18: cheerleader meets hockey players

markestapa: hope to see you again y/n

↳ yourusername: boy i gave you my number

↳ jadewinters: oh did you now 😏 yourusername

lhughes_06: so it’s YOUR fault that y/n met the hockey team. jadewinters

↳ jadewinters: shut up mr nhl

user19: they seem like such a fun group 😭

user20: DUKER 💀

umichcheer: the second slide is correct! (also we’re ignoring the caption.)

↳ yourusername: oh… thanks guys love you

user21: the cheer account being in the comments LMFAO

user22: ETHAN AND MARK

user23: y’all on about the umich guys when y/n is RIGHT THERE HELLO???

liked by yourusername

user24: can’t wait to see more of y/n at the hockey games 🥅🏒〽️

luca.fantilli: OH YEAH

user25: the picture of y/n and jade awe 😭

user26: hope you had fun!

user27: puck bunnie

↳ yourusername: i prefer umich fan but thank you!

↳ user28: LMFOOAOAOOA yourusername

dylanduke5: oh i look dashing!

↳ yourusername: of course you do duker pooker 🥰

edwards.75: me and y/n become bestfriends if anyone is wondering

↳ yourusername: he accidentally drank my drink three times and kept apologizing, + said he’ll be my bestfriend & buy me whatever i want if i forgave him

user29: so many unexpected duos omg

user30: beauty

user31: WHY IS NO ONE TALKING ABOUT THE CAPTION??

↳ user32: SHES SO UNBOTHERED IM CRYING

user33: cole fumbled and she’s living her best life LMFOAOAOA

rutgermcgroarty: no one talk to us we’re doing hot girl shit *hair flip*

↳ yourusername: boy go to BED 😭😭

user34: y/n it’s 3 am. 💀

its 5 am i’m so tired but i wanted to get at least one chapter done since i haven’t really worked on anything recently. find my masterlist, here!!

taglist | @wnderify (comment 2 be added)

also little psa! i love cole, so don’t even start with that please, it’s for the plot guys trust!

197 notes · View notes

breekento · 2 months

Note

AAAAAAAAAAAAA

being awoken by a young nanami please to get ready for a mission!

I love writing young Nanami but prefer to not write smut off of him underaged but I can totally see him as that dorky guy that all the girls secretly crush on hehe

(wc: 486)

You groan, rolling over in your sheets as the sound of gentle knocks upon your door. “5 more minutes.”

“We need to go,” a soft voice replies. You hear the footsteps that you knew all too well. Kento Nanami, your partner, best friend with occasional benefits. He was the stability you needed in life. He was rational, level-headed and focused on the task at hand. You weren’t sure why he kept you around this often, often slowing down the mission with your antics and stunts.

He watches your face of peaceful slumber, using a finger to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “We’re going to get in trouble if we are late again.”

His voice was soft, never scolding or irritated. He truly cherished his partner. You were smart enough to know his tenderness came from a place that was different than just being his partner. He didn’t treat his other classmates like this. With you, it was different.

You didn’t want this life. You hated sorcery. But Nanami made it more bearable. Truthfully, you wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for your partner, always putting your needs above his.

“Come on, let’s go,” he groans, sliding his hands beneath your legs to lift you from your warm cocoon. You wrap your arms around his neck, nuzzling your face on his chest. His uniform smelled of his husky cologne, always so polished and put together, even as a teen. He smiles at the soft, sleepy whines that escape you. He was beginning to think you did this on purpose.

“Up you go,” he lifts you to your feet, using his larger hands to stabilize you by your waist.

You yawn, stretching your arms above your head as you finally blink your eyes awake. “Good morning,” you mumble.

“It’s 12 in the afternoon.”

“Eh,” you wave your hands as you open your drawers, searching for a clean uniform. He sits on your bed, watching as you pull your clothes out of your drawer and toss them onto the ground.

“You should start setting your clothes out the night before,” he says.

You turn your face to him with narrow eyes, “You can shut it.”

He chuckled, leaning backwards as you slid your shirt over your head. He was used to your sudden lack of clothing after the many mornings of him waking you up. It wasn’t like the two of you hadn’t spent many evenings after missions entangled in each other's limbs under the sheets.

Still, he watched with intent as you dressed in your uniform. You slid your skirt over your hips, searching for your bag in a hurry as you tossed it over your shoulder and dash out of the door.

“Ken, we’re gonna be late!” You shout down the hall.

He groans, peeling himself off of the couch to chase after you in his usual fashion, “You’re going to kill me, someday.”

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk nanami #fanfic #jjk fanfic #nanami kento #jjk x you #nanami x reader #kento nanami x you #kento nanami x reader #nanami fluff

166 notes · View notes

em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 1 year

Text

ñuhus prūmӯs (my heart) │Chapter 11: Visitors

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 │Chapter 11 │Chapter 12 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: Childbirth is the duty and dismay of all highborn women. Together, you and Daemon experience the trials, tribulations and triumphs of expectant parenthood. Your babes meet their family.

(Set post-episode 7, though Daemon never married Laena or Rhaenyra.)

Thank you to my slap daddy @ewanmitchellcrumbs for editing this monster! Thank you also to @evisnotok and @ajthefujoshi for holding my hand throughout the drafting, teehee!

Triggers: incest, age gap, purity culture.

You are startled awake by the sound of crying.

Jolting up before your mind truly registers the sound, it takes you a moment to remember why it is that you have roused. You rub your eyes and yawn, peering to the side as the wailing multiplies, two thready, discordant pitches begging for someone, anyone to notice.

Daemon groans beside you. “Fucking hells.” His voice is muffled by the pillow, timbre lacking the heat his words imply. “We were just up, weren’t we?”

You reach out to whack him for the profanity, arm striking across the span of his back. He grunts with the impact.

“I will take your daughter,” you mutter, already untangling yourself from the sheets, “but your son also begs for attention.”

Rolling from the bed behind you, he says, “Fussy thing.”

You smile. It is true that Aelys is the more demanding of the pair, and you are certain it is her sharp squalling that dragged you from unconsciousness in the first place. You ache with every step and your thickly lined smallclothes squelch uncomfortably from the remnants of afterbirth, denser and of greater volume than your moon’s blood ever had been. Your body still experiences the shock of it all, but it is difficult to feel aggrieved when your eyes alight on the pair of pale-haired miracles fussing in the cradle.

Your thought had been correct, indeed. While Rhaenar’s cries quieten at the brush of your fingers across his cheek, your daughter only sobs harder at the contact. In the weak light of early dawn, her flushed face and stubborn frown are easy to see, wrinkled features contorting in as furious an expression as an infant less than a sennight old can possibly muster. Her knees jerk against her wrappings, the only part of her that can gain any traction within the firm swaddle you have placed her in.

Lifting her up and carefully manoeuvring her into your arms, you coo sympathetically. “Rhovus riñus.” Loud girl, you call her, gently settling her fragile head in the crook of your elbow. Mind her neck, mind her neck, you think, a whisper repeating itself over and over again. It is overly cautious of you, perhaps, but you do not wish to inadvertently harm your babe. “Skorio syt ñāqiot hīghā?” Why are you screaming at sunrise?

Lashes fluttering and lip quivering, she cranes toward the sound of your speech. Though you know she cannot see properly yet, you swear her gaze is trained on you, muzzy and unfocused. She kicks again at the feel of your thumb brushing over her pout, angry soft breaths puffing from tiny lungs. That raw, wrenching feeling of violent love wells up as it does each time you behold these lives you have made, bringing with it the urge to bar the entrances and dash the eyes from the skulls of all those who dare to look upon your little ones.

“Kesrio syt zijo kepo syt ēdrunon iotāptios daor.” Because she has no respect for her kepa’s rest. Daemon grumbles, the warmth of his body spreading into yours as his hands fall to the cradle on either side of you, bracketing you in. He proffers a drowsed, aimless press of lips to your temple, sliding down to your cheekbone as he sets his chin to your shoulder and peers down at the troublemaker in your arms. “Vȳs kiragon lo ziry gaomas jaelza, hm?” She wants the world to wake when she does, hm?

You are sure this is a quality inherited from your uncle. From all accounts, you had been naught but a quiet, pleasant infant, scarcely to be heard unless in great need of the necessities for survival. It entertains you greatly to muse upon Daemon’s penchant for commotion being passed to his daughter, your daughter. Already she shows the signs of such a fate.

“She hungry?” His palm spans the circumference of her scalp and then some, a gentle ruffling of snow-fuzzed skin—your colouring, his colouring—that coaxes a vexed scrunch and whine from your girl.

“No,” you say, passing your thumb back over her mouth. She does not attempt to suckle at it. Good. Freda, the wetnurse, is absent from her pallet. You are not yet able to fill both their bellies alone, your milk thin as it is. “Just wanting her mama and papa, I think.”

There must be something soporific about the hum of mother and father conversing, for by now Aelys’s haranguing has petered off to a manageable grizzle. She is clearly unhappy with her present state, though you are glad she has chosen not to be quite so combative about it.

Rhaenar’s whimpers begin anew below you.

“Oh, kepus…”

Daemon readily slides around you and plucks the babe from the cradle with a deftness borne of familiarity. You do not know if it unnerves or reassures you that you yourself had helped shape this skill, once a newborn niece to the budding Rogue Prince.

He sighs, cupping the back of your son’s head to his shoulder with a hand propping him up under the rear. “Kesīr māzīs, ñuhus trēsys.” Come here, my son.

He sways slowly, and you can only watch spellbound as the motion silences the little boy entirely. Your husband’s lips curve in that gentle, aching countenance reserved for only the quietest, most unguarded moments, his nose brushing along the slope of Rhaenar’s skull.

“Jeva idaña pelrar issa,” he continues, glancing at you impishly. “Īlōn valī hēnkirī humbisi.” Your sister is a menace. Us men have to stick together.

“Lies. Lies and slander, my darling,” you say to your daughter, spinning on your heel to convey her imperiously to the bed.

Your jesting march reaches a quick and abrupt halt as the cramping of your belly reminds you why it is that you are confined to your chambers for the time being. You stop, waiting for the discomfort to pass, clutching the heft of your babe to you tightly enough that she squawks with the indignity of it.

“Give her to me,” Daemon says firmly, hand rubbing soothingly at your waist. “Get back under the covers.”

“But you have—”

“I can bloody well hold two babes, you know.” He levies an expression of utmost stubbornness your way. “You, however, shouldn’t even be up. You’ve scarcely begun to heal after shoving them both from your cu—”

“Language,” you hiss, passing Aelys into the care of your uncle so that you may hobble back to your safe haven. It is still warm beneath the blankets, and you gratefully press your chilled feet into the temperate spaces so as to regain some measure of sensation in your toes. “I wish you would not use foul words in front of them,” you say, rearranging the pillows on either side of you unhurriedly. If you move too fast, a fresh bout of soreness will plague you. “If the first thing they say is something horrid they have learned from you…”

“… then they’ll prove themselves adept pupils, won’t they?” Daemon smirks, sitting himself upon the edge of the mattress.

You stretch forth to take your daughter back, propping her on your lap and unbinding the cloth that keeps her so unhappily restrained. Her little arms lift as though in jubilation the very instant she is free, the knot of frustration between her translucent brows smoothing and her legs curling up in a manner much like the pose she had decided was most comfortable while still in your womb.

“Besides, we’ve a while until that becomes a problem,” your husband says. You are only partly listening, utterly engrossed in the clench and unclench of her small fists as you shift her, swaddling cloths and all, to one arm. “Not as though they’re performing dramatic orations any time soon.”

You do not get the chance to scold him yet again for the profanity, for your other arm is promptly occupied by your son. The movement startles him but briefly. Squeaking with the jolt of sudden movement, he promptly curls into the heat of your skin emanating through your shift, smacking sleepy lips and wiggling his feet against your belly before dropping into slumber.

Rhaenar is a different sort of creature to his sister. Whether it be that he allows her to make complaints vociferously enough for them both or that he simply does not have any, he is a solemn thing, content enough to while away the hours slumbering or blinking new eyes up at the world, aimless, as though deep in thought.

He looks a little like an old man, you think to yourself, charmed by the frowning pucker that forms on his dreaming face. The peace in his darling visage is such that you feel your own lids droop, the comforting weight of happy babes lulling you quicker than any draught or brew could.

Aelys is fire and blood and retribution, the very image of her father. But Rhaenar… he is you. Calm and introspective, the cool that acts as balm to the stinging burn of tempestuousness.

Nothing pleases you more than to have given new life in equal measure, to have given Daemon both a child he may love for those traits he admires in you and another in whom he may see his own reflection. In whom he may learn to love the parts of himself that he has so long despised.

Of course—being her father’s daughter—Aelys is not one to stay still and silent for too long. Rhaenar begins to stir when she whines, twisting uncoordinated limbs and kicking her heels into his.

“Go back to sleep with our boy, hm?” Daemon leans down first to brush a kiss on Rhaenar’s velvety crown, then up to your lips, his smokeleatherspice scent filling your nostrils and his calloused palm etching tender along your jaw. “I’ll take this one for a time,” he says against your mouth, drawing back to lift Aelys from you with feigned resignation. He tuts down at her with a gnawing sort of softness as she complains further, striking out at his proffered finger. “Perhaps her fit will abate with some fresh air.”

“Do not go far,” you say, eyes already closing as you turn to your side to face your son, your firstborn. The babe does not even notice you making yourself comfortable, drawing him ever closer so that you can feel the line of him against you, small head to tiny toes.

Daemon grunts an affirmative. He would not risk Rhaenar toppling from the bed or being smothered. The last thing you register before sleep claims you entirely is the sound of his low hum, fading with each step he takes toward the balcony.

“Brand new to the world, young madam, and already tormenting your brother? A little dragon, that’s what you are…”

Three days. Three days in total are all that is granted to you before the visitors become truly persistent.

To be fair, you had assumed they would barge in on the very first morn, heedless of the alarm and the strife your wearied form had been put through over what had ultimately been a relatively swift labour. And yet, you had been blessed with four entire days in which none but those necessary—Ūlla and Gerardys and Rhaenyra and your ladies, among others—entered your chamber, giving you hours to learn these strange beings who had housed themselves in your womb for the better part of a year.

Alas, you muse, joggling the arm full of a squirming Aelys to soothe her. I cannot keep them to myself forever.

Your hair is combed and braided, your skin scrubbed to tingling and your simple gown pristine as you sit with your babes in your grasp, awaiting the arrival of your guests. They have been fed, in part by you and the rest from Freda. The wetnurse sits on the chaise with Jeyne and Bethany, darning shirts for the soldiers of the Keep with good cheer. You can tell she unnerves them both. She is remarkably like Ūlla in vulgarity, no doubt astonishing their virtuous sensibilities.

“That Aron.” She snickers, winking cheekily at Jeyne. “I’d let ‘im do whatever he wanted to me. Fine, fine arms. Nice ears. Big feet. You know that they say, don’t ya? Bigger the feet, bigger the co—”

“That is—very lovely!” Bethany says, dropping her own embroidery. Jeyne is so violently flushed that you are concerned she may faint away. You snicker quietly to yourself on the bed.

Though you feel well enough by now to walk about with manageable discomfort, you remain all but chained to the mattress, reclined in stately pomp below the covers as though you are an invalid. To Daemon, you may as well be.

“Need anything?” he asks, smoothing a stray lock from your cheek. Clearly, he is ignoring all conversation taking place by the balcony.

“No.” You beam. You have everything you could want.

He stands as the door opens, revealing Laenor and Harwin with the children in tow. Your sister takes the rear with Ūlla, herding them through the entryway and into the room while hushing their excited chatter to a low buzz. Jeyne, Bethany and Freda abruptly rise, ushering themselves through the door of your adjoining solar after dropping a brief curtsey.

“Is that them?” Daeron steps forth from Ūlla’s side, shy at first, then emboldened when Daemon waves him over, hand ruffling his hair as he passes. “Is that…”

“Come here,” you say, watching with fondness as your young brother clambers up with utmost care. His eyes remain fixed on the babes with curiosity and a distinct nervousness. “Come see your niece and nephew.”

He settles himself by your knee, peering down at each infant in turn, studying the faces of these new interlopers. You know not what he thinks.

“Which one is the boy? And the girl?” His small pudgy finger tracing the shell of Rhaenar’s ear. He has chosen well. Your son whinges slightly at the contact but does not make a commotion of it as his sister likely would. Daeron grins, riveted. “They look like you and Nuncle, and me and ‘Nyra.”

“They do.” Daemon laughs, wedging himself beside you. Holding out his own finger to Rhaenar, you feel your husband’s soft exhale as the babe grips automatically at his father’s flesh, little digits just barely wrapping around his own, much larger one. “This fine lad is Rhaenar,” he tells your brother, “while this bold thing”—he taps your daughter on the nose, chuckling when she grouches and flushes red at the imposition—“is Aelys.”

“They’re pretty.” Daeron reaches for his little niece’s hand. She blinks up at him, her wafer-thin nails scraping across his palm, though she seems to find his touch unobjectionable for the time being.

“The prettiest,” you murmur, eyes blurring at the sight. My family.

Bearing and birthing these babes has transformed you into an ocean, perpetually leaking water at the slightest of provocations. You cannot help it. Your brother and your uncle—your husband, your lover—and your son and your daughter are all nestled together with you here, safe, unshakeable in spite of your great trials.

“I wanna see.”

“Luke—”

“No!” You shake your head, glancing up at Laenor. “No. Let him meet his cousins. In fact, there is plenty of room on this bed for you all.”

You lift your elbows just slightly as the mattress jostles about, Rhaena tucking herself against you while the boys and Baela scramble to seek a good vantage point.

Luke leans over Jace’s back to examine them. “Aw,” he says, “they’re not even awake. I want to play with them!”

“They just came out,” Baela hisses, nudging him with her shoulder. “They can’t play yet, stupid.”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Get off me,” Jace grumbles.

“Boys,” Rhaenyra says, tugging Harwin along to the side of the bed. “If you’re going to fight, then I’ll have Ser Lorent collect you for your training this very moment.”

“Sorry,” they each say in turn, untangling from each other to sit next to each other, squeezed tight between Daeron and Baela.

“I’m glad you aren’t hurt,” Rhaena says quietly, her chin digging into your arm as she cranes her neck. “Like Mama was.”

Your gut twists low at the reminder of Laena.

Lying abed in a pool of blood—

“I thought I was going to die—”

Face ashen and bloodless, frozen forevermore—

You swallow back the hurt, trammelling it within the iron-wrought cage deep, deep in your soul. All you can do is turn your cheek to press your lips to Rhaena’s crown, silently sharing in her melancholy.

Harwin clears his throat. “… Congratulations, Princess.” He tries to smile, but it falls flat. You wonder when life will afford him respite from the cycle of anguish and betrayal. Baela extricates herself from the gathering before you, shuffling across the mattress toward her father. “And you, Prince Daemon. They are… they are bonny babes, the both of them.”

“Yes,” Ūlla says sagely, patting the man on the elbow. Harwin squints at her, the subtle shift in the arch of his brow a tell-tale sign of his befuddlement. “Very nice, both of them. Look like you, Princess.”

Your uncle offers some response of haughty appreciation, the buzz of it traversing from his chest and through your skin. You do not hear the precise words for your gaze is fixed upon Baela, who has decided to change course and wander past Harwin entirely. Evidently, she has elected herself to the role of cradle inspector.

She stares down at the bedding with a frown. “Where are the eggs?” she asks loudly, looking back at you. The others jump; only you had been watching your little cousin’s adventure. “The dragon eggs aren’t in here.”

“They’re by the hearth,” Daemon says, an indulgent quirk to his mouth. “We must be sure the babes are hale and hearty enough for fresh dragonlings to crawl about in their bed with them, don’t we? Their bones have to harden after spending so long sleeping in their mother’s belly.”

“They have soft bones?” Daeron whispers to himself, alarmed, snatching his hand away as though further pressure might shatter little Rhaenar’s skull entirely. Your son snuffles against your chest, inciting a slow-rising warmth in your breasts.

Oh, dear. Not now.

“Speaking of dragons”—Laenor’s voice is raised, eyes rolling at his former comrade-at-arms—“when are you going to visit that godsawful brute of yours, cousin?”

Never have you been gladder for your goodbrother’s timing. “Hm?”

“Your bloody—” He winces sheepishly at the warning scowl Rhaenyra offers him. “Your… labours sent your dragon into quite the state.”

Your sister motions to the children, encouraging them to join Baela. Jace and Luke engage in a silent shoving tournament as they amble forth, necessitating Ūlla’s intervention. She grabs each boy by the shoulder and cleanly splits them apart, guiding them onward with nary an admonishment to be heard. Meanwhile, Rhaena and Daeron drift toward the open chest by the cradle, inspecting the collected sundries for the babes laid therein.

“I thought the whole Keep would go up in flames,” Laenor says. “Next time, warn us when you go to the birthing bed. I’d like to be far, far away from the threat of immolation.”

Rhaenyra thumps him in the chest hard enough that he chokes on his attempt to draw breath. Daemon snorts.

You remember little of the birth, to be truthful. The hours seemed to pass oddly, in dribbles of awareness amidst a wash of agony, distorted, meaningless. You recall the bare facts, of course. Waking to the cramping in your back and in your belly; wondering if Rhaenar would split you apart from womb to chest; the awful foreboding sense that Aelys may well kill you if you could not amass some strength left to finish the task; your first glance at the bloodied, screaming forms of your babes. But the rest…

“I thought I imagined it,” you say, ruminating over those moments in which your cries had wavered in your own ears, had coalesced and reformed into draconic shrieks, thready, duplicated. In those moments, you were a dragon, your blood was fire in your veins and between your legs and bursting in your lungs and heart, and you felt and heard yourself as girl and beast at once, together, whole, power and magic fuelling you to the racking end. “Athfiezar… he was calling for me?”

Laenor nods with a nervous chuckle. “You could say that. It was terrifying. Almost like he… felt it himself.”

Rhaenyra’s voice is soft, reflective. “Some say Targaryens are closer to gods than men. We owe that to the dragons, yes. But perhaps there is truth enough in it. A bond exists between our spirits and theirs unlike any other.”

He was with me. Of course he was with me.

How many weeks had passed since you were last able to see Athfiezar? To feel the ground shake beneath your feet with his every movement? To scramble atop his mighty frame and take off, to feel the wind whip through your hair and your organs shift inside your body as his wings beat a drum-like tempo across the sky? To stare into viridescent eyes and sense the pulse of life thrumming to the same rhythm as yours? Your heart squeezes with longing, fierce and tormenting.

“We’ll visit them both soon,” Daemon finally says, hand warm on your knee.

Unlike you, he had not been restricted from the arduous walk to Caraxes’s latest island haunt—but in those final days when the thought of him leaving your rooms seemed utterly intolerable, he had foregone his visits, remaining sequestered with you with remarkable forbearance. Sometimes you hear Caraxes’s piping song in the distance, plaintive and searching.

Your lips twist gratefully as you look at your uncle. He understands.

“My mother took me flying on Meleys less than two sennights after I was born,” he says, glancing down at the babes. Rhaenar is awake, staring intently at his father. It is as though he is absorbed by every word that falls from his mouth. “My children ought to have the same.”

You cannot help but to balk. “They are too young and too little to fly on dragonback—”

He laughs, patting your covered thigh. “They’re Targaryens, sweetling. Dragon-riding is in their blood.”

“I know, I know.” Still, you loathe the idea of taking them high above the earth where they may catch cold or freefall from loose hands. Another part of you thrills at the idea of introducing your son and daughter to their birthright.

What is a Targaryen without their dragon? Your father comes to mind. It is not a pleasant association, though admittedly he serves to support Daemon’s argument rather aptly. If our spirits are driven by fire, you think, then his has long since been snuffed.

Predictably, Aelys begins to cry, effectively ending the visit. You pass the babe to your husband so that he may mollify her displeasure by rocking her around the room, humming deep below his breath. Rhaenyra and Laenor and Harwin offer parting well-wishes to you and Rhaenar. You giggle when each of the children offer sweet kisses to the cheeks of each infant. Luke plugs his ears with his fingers before he leans in to press his lips to Aelys’s red face.

That evening, you decide to place the dragon eggs in the cradle. You watch, interested to see if even the slightest contact might bring forth the destined mounts of your twins. It is probably naïve of you to feel so disappointed when there is no change. The babes sleep on, undisturbed by the settling weight of the new additions.

“They’ll hatch when they’re ready,” Daemon whispers into your hair, arms solid as they slide round your form.

Your uncle is firm, hot, the hard line of his shaft finding purchase in the divot of your lower back through layers of fabric, but he makes no attempt to seek relief from you. You are glad. There is no room in you for desire. He seems content to touch and touch alone.

“I know. I just… how long does it take?” you murmur.

“As long as needs be. Give it time.”

You huff, taking one final look—at the babes, at the eggs, still and silent and peaceful—before turning in his arms, resting your own upon his so that you may slide your hands up past his shoulders and neck, trailing fingers across the stubble on his jaw. His palms are brands on your waist, your spine, your rear.

“Thank you,” you say. Such simple words—but the import of them is immeasurable.

‘Thank you for reassuring me. For being here. For loving me, and loving them, too.’ The words are stuck in your throat. You cannot say them aloud, but your body can impress their meaning upon him.

His eyes are crinkled in that way you adore when you crane yourself upward, searching out his lips with your own. There is something pure about the meeting of mouths that follows, the dip and glide of tongue that ought to feel lewd, charged, and indeed it carries a spark that could very easily be stoked but not now, not in this moment. He tastes of wine and home, his breath humid, the rumble in his ribcage buzzing into your bones. You sigh as he lays claim to what is his, tilting your head to accept him.

When it is over, it does not feel like an ending. He strokes along the curves and hollows of your figure, caressing child-widened hips and swelled belly and milk-heavy breasts at a languid pace. It is observation rather than invitation that plays upon his face as he studies the changes he has wrought, hooded eyes scanning you, a twist of pride or smugness or arrogance as if to say ‘yes, I did this, I remade you into the mother of my children inside out, you are mine mine mine’. But there is also great affection there, the earnest softness of desperate, abiding devotion.

You do not need words. Nor does he. Yawning, you follow Daemon to the bed, slipping below the sheets at his gentle coaxing prods. He smooths the covers over you, stroking the stray curls back behind your ears before blowing the candle out.

Each passing moment feels too short, too quickly over and done with. You find yourself hyper-aware of your son and daughter’s development, noting their budding responsiveness as they test their limbs and strengthen the projection of their cries. Mere instances are as full of occasion as entire days. You can almost swear that you are watching them grow before your very eyes.

Aelys’s silver-white hair sprouts thicker, a moonbeam lustre that triggers half-formed memories of a smiling woman that looks as you do now, but older, a deep-seated weariness forming lines upon a face not yet aged enough to have weathered. When your daughter smiles—‘tis instinct, no more, though you like to believe she is happy in your arms—you see something impish, mischievous. You see Daemon.

Rhaenar’s stare is sharper, more alert, seeming intent and focused as you nurse him or lay kisses on his round tummy or sing songs from your childhood. His fingers tangle in your tresses, tugging hard enough to hurt, little lips peeling back to show off pink gums as he grouses while awaiting his turn for your attention. He is patient, your precious boy, but he craves the softness far more than his sister does. It is unbearably sweet.

Though they have thus far been but a fleeting part of your life, you cannot remember a time before your babes were born. Surely it had been a hollow, meaningless existence. Now, you would be utterly content to pass the hours doing nothing but cosying your children amongst the blankets and pillows fluffed and gathered on your mattress, shrouding them in warmth and safety. You would listen to their every breath, track each flailing movement, cherish the scent of newness that clings to them like syrup. Your uncle would join you all after his daily responsibilities were done, sweeping in like a mighty conqueror returned from the horrors of battle and curling around his family. He would kiss you and croon soft words in your mother tongue to Rhaenar and settle Aelys to sleep, and everything would be completely, utterly perfect.

A wonderful dream. Alas, the peace of it is not to be.

“What?”

The contentment of the previous days has been replaced by shock and a steadily banking anger. Daemon levies Ser Lorent with a look of such sternness that you wonder how the man does not quail in his boots.

“The King, your Highness,” the knight repeats, eyes flicking to you. You grip the chair before you tightly. “He is here. The Silver Firedrake has just docked.”

Papa’s flagship. “He has brought the court to Dragonstone?” you ask, stomach sinking. You are not ready to see him. You do not wish to see Alicent. You cannot abide the thought of those vipers in such close quarters with your children.

“No.” Ser Lorent shakes his head. “He… he has arrived alone.”

You look to Daemon, confused. It is not likely that your father had received the news of Rhaenar and Aelys’s births so quickly, and undoubtedly impossible for him to have already made the journey. And to have travelled without the Hand or the Queen or his bevy of attendants…

You release the chair. “Thank you for informing us, Ser,” you say to the Kingsguard, folding your hands together before you. It is difficult to abstain from digging your nails into the skin of your palm. “You may return to your post.”

Ser Lorent bobs his head, eyes lowering in deference. “Princess.”

“Something’s going on.” Daemon stares pensively at the door following the knight’s exit. You make your way toward him. “For him to have come without his lackeys or the Hightower whore—”

“If he has not requested to see us”—you lay a hand on his arm—“then we should not entertain his presence here.”

A noncommittal sound rumbles through him, his countenance as harsh as the craggy silhouette of the Dragonmont. Athfiezar could carve a cavern to himself in those lines upon his face, you muse. He appears older than his thirty-six years, tired, a tension to his frame that you know you cannot ease, and not just from the incessant disruption to the evening hours your children have brought in so short a span and the burden of caring for more than just oneself.

It is the way he always becomes when the King is mentioned: silent, brooding, sullen. You despise the effect your father has on a man so fierce and formidable as your husband. It is most unfair.

“Kepus,” you say, an idea forming. “We should go visit Athfiezar and Caraxes. Introduce the babes.”

His brow raises. “Now?”

You would rather not. They are still far too small. But the notion seems far more attractive than waiting about, wondering if the King might summon him or you or both, driving yourselves mad with possibilities. In addition, it is sure to be a worthy distraction.

“Now.” With a teasing little smile, you lean into him, winding your arms around him and propping your chin on his chest. “They are both awake, and in pleasant moods. I even believe the sun is out.”

“Hm.” His mouth twists reluctantly, finally shifting his gaze down to you. “It is tempting to know I’d sleep tonight without being roused by your shrieking beast.”

You roll your eyes, pushing away from him to prepare.

Brief as you imagine the outing will be, it is nonetheless strange to be attired in daily wear designed for company. You had nearly forgotten how itchy the sleeves of some of your outfits are, how restrictive they are upon the bust. Between the padding against your womanhood and the padding over your nipples, any gown you wear is sure to make for an unpleasant experience. Thankfully, your ladies choose one that laces at the front. Though it is a little tight around the middle—your belly is still quite large, after all—you do cut a fair figure dressed in the traditional Targaryen red and black.

Daemon appears to think so, too.

It is an older gown, and so you find that your breasts spill over the top of the neckline in a fashion that is clearly noticeable, though you had been assured by Jeyne and Bethany that the result is not indecent. Your uncle’s eyes fall immediately to this change, alighting with crude intent and grinning as you venture near.

He frowns when you hand Aelys to him instead, casting a longing look at your revealed flesh. “Kōres maegītsos.” Wicked little temptress, he mutters, hoisting your daughter up so her head is braced against his shoulder. She most prefers this vantage, though you are unsure if her eyes yet possess the capability to see beyond what is directly before her.

Beaming, you flutter coy lashes as you lean on tiptoes to brush your lips across his cheek, dodging his free arm so that you might retrieve Rhaenar from the wetnurse.

A soft breeze blows from the shore as your small party—yourself and Daemon, Ser Lorent, Ser Alton (who had graciously accepted a post as your children’s guard) and a distinctly white-faced Freda—walks the path past Aegon’s Garden to the craggy cliffside. It is a long drop from the grassy plateau, a straight line down to the beaches below. On some days, the winds are so strong that anyone who dares to stand upon the precipice risks falling to their death. You move slowly, in part for your own sake and especially for Ser Alton. He may have skill with the blade, but his leg pains him still.

Caraxes tends to prefer sunning himself on the grassy knolls that spread across the bluff and had only recently begun to be joined by your own dragon, albeit reluctantly. They make for a strange pair, though you are glad to see your boy welcomed by one of his own kind.

Athfiezar must detect your arrival on the air. His massive form rumbles low from beside your uncle’s beast, tail whipping with agitation and sending stray rocks careening over the side of the bluff. Caraxes uncoils himself at the disturbance, his serpentine neck gliding like so many snakes as he stretches out to take in his visitors.

“We ought to greet them ourselves first, acquaint them with the babes’ scent,” Daemon says, coming to a stop beside you. He passes Aelys off to Freda, who keeps herself firmly behind the gold-plated Kingsguard. “Here’s hoping Athfiezar doesn’t decide to expand his diet to include Targaryens.”

“He knew of their existence before I did.” Rhaenar whinges when he is placed in the crook of the wetnurse’s arm. The warmth of her body must be too difficult to refuse, though, for he settles easily enough. You turn to levy Daemon with an unimpressed glare. “And what of Caraxes? Perhaps he will be the one to behave abominably.”

He scoffs. “Hardly.”

Though the Blood Wyrm is famed for his temper, you know Daemon speaks true. Of the pair, Athfiezar is the likelier to require caution in approaching. You are the only person that might consider themselves safe in his presence.

Your dragon hisses warningly as Daemon makes his way toward his own mount, unfurling his wings to display the full breadth of coal-dark, leathery membranes pockmarked by scarring. The threat position is surprising. You had assumed that Athfiezar tolerated him well enough. Perhaps not, you think, eyeing the beast as your uncle ignores him entirely to converse in low tones to Caraxes, too far away now for you to hear.

The rattling pitch abates when you venture forth, reaching up with tentative fingers to trace the outline of an old injury on his maw. He pauses; growls. His wings flatten down, folding in upon themselves. And, finally, he cranes his neck down, angling his head so that he may look at you with a single fixed, unblinking eye. I remember you, it seems to say.

“Yne issa, ñuhus taobus.” It is me, my boy. You keep your voice soft, calming, guilt roiling in your gut like hot lava. It has been far, far too long since last he saw you.

In an echo of another day—another time—he shifts about, the inner folds of his nostril expanding as he takes a deep sniff, relearning the aroma unique to you, The resulting gust of air when he exhales bursts against you in a concentrated stream. At once, his tail ceases to lash about; his spine no longer hunches; all traces of defensiveness vanish like dust on the wind. His giant muzzle presses into your touch like an eager pup, driving you back several paces. You giggle even as you stagger, thrilled.

For a moment, you had worried that your moons-long absence would undo his memory of you. You ought not to have fretted so, for a dragon’s recollection far outlasts any man.

“Avy ozmijetan.” I have missed you, you whisper, warming your palms on his scaled flesh, searing in its heat as it always is. He huffs. You imagine he is reproaching you for staying away. “Drējī usōven.” I am very sorry.

This time, he snorts, a current of smoke stinging your eyes to streaming. You and he do not share the same language, but you nonetheless know in your heart of hearts that all is forgiven. It is a sense just out of the realm of understanding—something you cannot fully describe, but a glow that spreads soothing through the very marrow of your bones. A true bond between rider and dragon, as your blood and his have called you for.

Athfiezar snarls, his lips sliding back to reveal jagged teeth that glint like ivory in the light, the crested spines extending along his skull and down his neck flexing with tension. He is no longer paying mind to you.

You turn to see Daemon sauntering over from Caraxes, hair ruffled by the breeze and shining brilliant white. It is a stark contrast with the cut of his charcoal coat, the hem fluttering aimlessly, and so the matching snow-capped heads of your babes in each of his arms is exceedingly difficult to miss.

“Oh, do be quiet, you great brute,” he says when he is within earshot, brow raised as though said brute was a particularly vexing gnat rather than a colossal, hulking firebreather. “Don’t frighten the hatchlings.”

“Don’t call them hatchlings.” Glaring at him, you slip your finger into Rhaenar’s loosely curled fist. It squeezes reflexively, trapping you to him. “He will think they are his next meal!”

Athfiezar rumbles his agreement. Daemon chuckles. “I doubt it. He’s obsessed with you, and these two”—he bounces Rhaenar and Aelys gently, casting a tender glance upon each—“are of your body. Your blood. He’ll recognise them.”

Already has your dragon extended the scant distance between himself and Daemon to inspect these strange companions of yours, advancing to invade your shared space in a surprisingly gregarious move. It seems the promise of novelty renders your husband a neutral participant for the time being, animosity forgotten for the sake of his interest in your quarry. Huddled close to Daemon, you watch with bated breath, waiting for your mount to make his judgement.

He remains immobile, though you can see the spasm in his eyes that indicates a subtle shift in focus, darting from you to the babes and back again. His head cocks like a bewildered hound’s.

So unwittingly hilarious is the comparison that you let out a laugh at the sight. “Ñuha rūhossa issi,” you say to him. “Zaldrītsossa, hen ñuhā iemnȳ sittis.” These are my babes. Little dragons, hatched from my belly.

There is recognition in his gaze. You know not how you know this, but it must be truth. What else can explain the echo throbbing in the recesses of your mind, the ancient sentience of thoughts that do not belong to you? It is a connection that has existed for what feels like an age, sputtered back to life after moons of dormancy.

His breath rustles as he scents you all, you and Daemon and the babes, inhaling the blend of spice and rose oil and the things that make you each unique, stripped down to their very foundations. You wonder if Rhaenar and Aelys can be traced back to you through aroma alone—if there is some sort of calling card embedded within their skin and blood that signals their belonging.

Aelys’s small, pudgy hand swings out, smacking Athfiezar against his nose. A puff of heat tousles her wispy strands, though he is not annoyed. Nor is she, astonishingly. She coos up at him, kicking her legs in what seems to you like excitement. Rhaenar gurgles at the sensation—for your dragon is much too large to have possibly avoided one babe with his deed—opting to draw the focus from his sister. He too is unafraid of the titanic beast before him. Athfiezar’s eyes snap to him, a sibilant rattle of curiosity slinking forth.

Daemon laughs. “See? They’re naturals. Born dragonriders. I told you, sweetling!”

The satisfaction in his tone is utterly endearing. He is the very image of a proud father, though your children have admittedly done little to warrant such sentiment. Still, the healthy flush of exhilaration and the happy grin that adorns his face make your heart flutter.

“Well, they will not be riding today,” you say, stifling your smile. Daemon pouts as you knew he would, and so you reassure him. “Give Athfiezar and Caraxes both time to accustom themselves to the idea of little Targaryens before we subject them to flight.”

“Hm. As long as we beat Viserys’s nine days.”

You capitulate to this, shaking your head wryly. If I refuse, you suppose, he will only seek to achieve his goal without my knowledge.

Suddenly, a reedy whistle sounds, swiftly followed by the mass of a dragon’s head knocking into you from the side. It is not violent, but the motion startles you, the periphery of your vision occupied by so much red in radiant lustre. Caraxes nudges you again, clearly displeased by having been left out of the proceedings.

“Oh! Rytsas!” You laugh, pushing him back playfully. “Īlōn imazumbagon jaelā?” Hello! Do you want to join us?

He coils his neck around you to re-examine the babes, gently touching his snout along Daemon’s arm to feel their warmth on his scales. Rhaenar wiggles against him.

“Your Highness! Your Highness!”

You turn. Ser Cargyll—you know not if it is Erryk or Arryk—comes to an abrupt halt by the waiting forms of Ser Lorent, Ser Alton and Freda. He is panting from his exertions, the brilliant gleam of his golden breastplate refracting light into your eyes with every rise and fall of his chest.

Daemon scowls. “What?”

“The King,” Ser Cargyll’s voice cracks as Athfiezar zeroes in on him, teeth bared. “His Grace has ordered your presence in the Chamber of the Painted Table.”

Your uncle sneers. “Can it not wait? We’re busy.”

Like a shadow follows his master, Caraxes rises behind his rider, extending his form high to display the full breadth of his power. The babes begin to fuss at the raised volume. There is naught you can do but soothe them with soft humming, reaching across to pet their cheeks. Daemon ignores this.

“I’m afraid not,” the knight says, glancing at your milling companions.

You cannot see his expression from here, but it appears as though he is deciding what ought to be disclosed before those gathered. He straightens; Athfiezar growls. And then, the damning revelation spills forth.

The Kingsguard’s voice is grave as he speaks. “Prince Daemon—King Viserys wishes to question you on your involvement in the death of Lord Larys of House Strong.”

Read it on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44058132/chapters/118008595

Taglist (😭 thank you!):

Now in the comments!

650 notes · View notes

katz-chow · 4 months

Text

how time passes

a/n: domestic price is the only price i will take, thank you very much. my submission for @glitterypirateduck's christmas fics. song? "love to keep me warm” by dodie & laufey. why? you'll see :) merry christmas everyone 🎄

warnings: gn!reader, fluff, sfw, cold, snowy night, leading up to a smut ;)

For John, there’s a certain aspect of life that he isn’t all too familiar with. Domesticity seemed like a world away, hidden almost. Of course, he sees it all around him; in how young couples shop for decorations for their first Christmas, or how older couples shop for grandkid presents for their nth Christmas, how candles are rare to find nowadays, all the colorful ones taken by menorahs sitting on windowsills.

He remembers it clearly when he first realized how teasing a normal life can be. It was on the same cobblestone street that he finds himself on right now, right through the glass planes of a small cafe. In a way, domesticity found itself behind a China cabinet, displayed and just an inch away from his grasp, and yet the veil between them remained locked. The feeling of being a lover, a husband just right on the other side, staring back at him like window shopping. How frustratingly fleeting it is.

The wind blew a bit more wildly back then, snow caked upon the roofs of the many buildings that surrounded him, all occupied with families. He remembers the way his hands would go numb from the hours that he walked around the market square, just to avoid the rickety radiator in his flat.

But that was years ago and the heater of the cafe he’s sat in seems unbearably warm. John sat himself in the corner, two drinks on the table and a tiramisu that he knew he had to get as soon as he set his eyes on it. Unconsciously, he looked at the gold watch on his wrist, just to check the time instead of looking incredibly pitiful alone in a room of company. He cleared his throat, then looked around; a Christmas tree with paper ornaments of children’s drawings littered through its branches, the electric fireplace that changed colors, and the soft jazz that played through the speakers.

His phone buzzed next to him on the small round table. He looked at the notification with a dash of his brow, a storm’s approaching. More snow. A chuckle bubbles up in his throat as he thinks of the irony of his first Christmas back in town almost 5 years ago, the same cold but not the same emptiness.

Almost as if on cue, the jingle of the bell at the door rang out and there you were to greet him. Still in your work clothes but with a long overcoat and a much too big scarf around you. If John could say it to you, he would say you look swaddled up like a baby. But he’s a gentleman and he knew that if he did say that, you’d refuse to put on the much-needed layers and opt to freeze to death.

He waves you down when he sees the way you stand there, hands in your pockets as your eyes wander around. He sees your eyes land on him and you bright up as you waddle over in your snow boots. He stands to pull the chair out for you, scooting you in.

“You look toasty.” He compliments, sliding the warm mug of a mocha latte over to you. He smiles even more when he sees you take off your coat and scarf, quickly grabbing the mug and holding it close to your nose. “Don’t burn your nose off.”

You glare at him playfully as you take a whiff of the chocolate goodness presented to you. “Maybe then I don’t have to smell you and that detergent you accidentally bought.”

John throws his head back, exasperated. Did he buy the wrong detergent and does it smell so obnoxiously strong you have to dilute it with an unscented one? Yes. Will you let him love it down? No, unfortunately.

He watches as you take a sip, sinking your shoulders down as you let the warmth fill you up. “This is really good, I’m glad you picked this place.”

“Saw it a few years ago, thought it’d be nostalgic to be back.” He replies simply, taking a sip from his own.

You place the mug down and narrow your eyes at him, “Nostalgic? You took your ex here or something?” You say accusatively as you place your hand into his palm on the table.

He winces at how cold your hands are compared to him. “Something like that…”

The last time he was here, he ordered one tiramisu and one latte. He then stayed for hours, watching people walk in and out, taking advantage of the buy one get one half off promotion that the young cafe had to offer. He thought about how unfair it was that even drinks came in pairs during the holidays and he’s still painfully alone. So, something like an ex.

“Your hands are freezing, Baby. Where’d you put your mittens?” He asks as he holds your hand tightly, rubbing his thumb over your fingers.

You smile cheekily towards him, opting to stuff your mouth with a spoonful of tiramisu instead of answering. This caught his attention as he pressed on, a small chuckle following his words.

“I forgot them…” You mumbled, obviously, you did! You squeeze his hand back and look around the cafe, avoiding his gaze entirely.

You see him shake his head as he laughs, and you look back at him, laughing and smiling sheepishly along. The scene was unreal, music in the air, warmth filling every bone in your body, and your favorite person ever, holding your hand.

He lays out both his palms in front of you, signaling for you to take advantage and settle your own hands on his. You do and he cups them together, rubbing some heat into them. Softly as ever, his beard tickles your knuckles as he gives them a small kiss on his lips. You feel your cheeks heat up just a bit, stinging from the cold they were previously in. You slip your hands out from under him and place them on each side of his neck, he grumbles, annoyed.

“We’re so cringe…” You muttered quietly, now hyperaware of the public setting the two of you were seated in.

He grasps your hands again and holds them close. Deciding to completely ignore the comment you made, he switches over to pepper your knuckles in kisses instead. “Wanna get outta here then?”

You nod and he lets go off your cold hands, which you promptly stick in between your thighs to warm up. John waves to a barista, pointing out to the snowy scenery. She seems to understand as she gives the two of you two paper cups and a box for your cake.

The two of you link arms and he pulls you out of the cafe, bundled up even more than when you came in with his beanie on your head. His other hand holding the bag of your little treat.

Snowflakes gently and steadily fall on your shoulders and head as he leads you back to his car, you having taken a cab over from work. John looks around at the nearly empty streets, most people taking shelter within the shops or in the comfort of their homes. He looks at you, a content smile painted your face even if the tip of your nose was turning pink and your hands still cold in his coat pocket and in his own hands.

You didn’t seem to complain about the how Jack Frost nips at your cheeks. And even if you did, he knows it’s not all too serious as you still down the packed streets full of cars.

“You cold, Darling?” He leans down a bit to whisper in your ear.

You look at him, your eyebrows raises in the cutest way. You shake your head and continue to watch the way the two of you were headed.

John didn’t think much about anything else, just the way your thumb rubs over his hand in his pocket, the crunching of score under your boots. He didn’t even think about his movements as he turned and backed you into the nearest wall, his body shielding you away from the world as you felt his breath on the tip of your nose.

“You’re so beautiful…” He grins down at you. The to-go bag now hook onto your arm as your hands found solace in his pockets.

You giggle at him and kiss his nose, then both his cheeks. John’s hands find either sides of your face as he cups it. His thumbs rubs and pinches the apples of your flesh.

He leans down and gives you one good kiss on your lips, you quickly melt into it and your hands escape to wrap around his waist under his coat. The kiss rushes through your veins, your body not feeling so cold anymore.

He pushes your head back a bit more with the force of his kiss. Fingers sliding back into the locs of your hair and into the back of your head, cushioning it from the hard, cold bricks.

“I’m warm now…” You giggle as he pulls away from you. Your teeth makes in contact with your bottom lip and your eyes big and glossy to draw him in.

He laughs and gives you a kiss on your forehead for good measure. John gives out a shaky breath as he leans to the side of your face, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “How about we hurry home and I warm you up more effectively?”

A breath hitches in your throat as you nod just a bit. He chuckles and kisses your cheek, pulling you into a u-turn when he realized y’all meant to take a right at the cafe.

#katzwrites #cod mw2 #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod #cod mwii #modern warfare 2 #fanfic #cod ghost #captain price x you #captain john price x reader #john price x imagines #price x reader #john price x reader #price call of duty #captain price x reader #cod price #captain john price

195 notes · View notes

andieperrie18 · 5 months

Text

nobody's daughters (part 1)

Series: Blue Eye Samurai

Pairing: Mizu x Widowed! Reader

Word Count: 1,900+ Words

Warnings: SPOILERS on Episode 5

Chapter Synopsis: Passing by the bridge where the local prostitutes flock, you encounter a wounded man. Or so you thought.

A/N & Disclaimer: So this chapter took a while to come out but here it is. Didn't want to rush this chapter. Considering the timeline, Mizu isn't fully heartless here as this was a period where she had just left Master Eiji. Please note that English isn't my first language and my Grammar isn't any good either so I do hope you enjoy this first opening chapter

Parts: ONE // TWO // THREE // MASTERLIST

“Another good trade, Sen,” you smiled as you held the reins of the white horse as it shifted from a walk to a trot through the dirt road on her way home. You are no great merchant and don't even have that many customers to supply, but ones that you’ve gained have become loyal customers as you.

You leaned down and as your palm glided on the neck of the mare who sighed and leaned to the touch, as you gave a small chuckle at its response. Sitting back your eyes raised to the tree covered skies, rays of sunlight peeked through each space that tenderly kissed your face.

‘It was a vibrant day’ you thought while you continued to tread home, passing by the red bridge where you would usually find a group of prostitutes where they would flock by. They weren't really kind to you despite your consistent kind greetings everytime you passed by them, it only earned you gossip about your widowed and childless life. A part of your life that you've come to terms after a chapter vengeance finally asks due.

“Have a bountiful day of business ladies,” you bow as you reach the end of the bridge despite just like usual, none of them really replied back but a few hums.

As you’re enter another pathway, your eyes caught a glimpse of a limping figure. Your eyes squinted to get a better look of the person. Gently kicking the horse to trot faster as you gained a clearer view of the injured victim.

“Oh dear,” you whispered, jumping off the mare and jogging to the man clad in blue dragging himself, his hand gripping their bleeding side, red seeping through cloth and skin.

“H-Help me…” he gasped as you managed to catch the wounded man as he collapsed in your arms

( -+-+-+-+-)

You and your patient arrived fairly quick on a long stretch of land that was filled with a vast plantation growing fruits and vegetables in their respective sections, and at the center it was a one story house with bamboo fences surrounding it. The white mare staggered to a stop by the front of the house as an elderly couple rushed out of it and towards you with worried expressions after calling to them for a number times.

“My lady, what’s happened?” the elderly female asked, as you hopped of Sen and effortlessly pulled your patient with the elderly male offering support on the other side.

“Please prepare my quarters for me Tanaka and Midori bring my medical materials, I’ll take our poor guest to his room,” you nodded to the man made who help you carried the man before turning to the woman whom both could only nod before dashing in different directions leaving you to following the elderly male to the inside the your house then to a path towards sliding door that revealed a spacious room.

The old man rushed to set your futon as you carefully layed the unconscious man to it all as Tanaka helps you set him properly to a better position to be operated. You told the old man to fetch his wife as he hurriedly flees off as you immediately began to work on the man’s kimono as swiftly as she could. Undoning the know of the tie at front, you grasped the end of the cloth but you halt upon slightly lifting it.

Tanaka reappears by the doorway with a box followed by his wife who carried a basin of water, the couple speed towards you as they placed the things you needed. Midori set aside the basin and began to help her husband open the box filled but stop them

“Tanaka, Midori,”

The couple halts as you turned to them with small smile, “I’ll take things from here, why don’t you both proceed with preparing our meal for the afternoon,” you trailed as you raised to your feet and grasped the raspy hands of the couple and gently pulled them to their feed, leading them away from the man urgently. The couple looked at each other confused and looked back at you.

“Are you certain my lady?” said the old woman, “wouldn’t it be better if we are here to assist you?” supported by the elderly male. You simply shook your head with a smile as you all stopped by the entry way.

“I can manage, what I want you to do is prepare a meal for our patient, we must have regain full strength,” you encouraged as the couple looked at each other skeptically but nodded and turned away, watching them sprinting through halls towards the kitchens as you slid the door closed and rushed back to your patient.

You eyed the unconscious woman on your futon as she helplessly heaved difficult breathes unconsciously, not trying to waste any more time, you finally proceeded to remove her top to reveal her tightly bandaged chest and her continuously bleeding wound on the side of her stomach. You heard a clatter of metal as you had fully exposed her chest, finding a sheathed blade that was tied around to her side. Taking the blade and gently setting it aside, your hands swiftly rustled inside the medical kit pulling various ointments, cotton balls, thread, and needles bandages before tending the wound on the unconscious swordswoman that laid before you.

Mizu flinched half-awake as the pain of the needle entered her skin. Her blurry vision showed a her a wooden roof and a woman who was leaning over her stomach, her hands busy and gentle that did a little soothing with every tug and sew motion. The woman did notice her stares at her as Mizu tried her best to mutter something only stop to due to her weakened state from blood loss. With every pull of the needled with the thread, you see her flinch, an action you could clearly tell that this was her first time to be sew up closed. Confirming the notion in your mind.

“A Life of Vengeance huh, let me guess it didn't really start off great didn’t it?” you scoffed while you began tying knots on the sutures securing them close, not even thinking of looking at the awakened patient. Mizu groaned once more from the tugs through her skin.

“Got a name? Little avenger?” you asked as you finally turned to look Mizu who was in turn looking at you.

Despite being half-lidded, the unusual yet bright hue of Mizu’s eyes never missed you sight before she finally collapsed back to slumber. It left you staring at her for a minute as You can clearly have described it as the color sky in a bright and sunny day but the exhausted yet hardened expression on your patient showed how life hasn't been kind to her, and hues just symbolized ice and lightning.

With those kind of eyes one thing was certain, “I guess life hasn’t been kind to you,” your brows furrowed slightly as your eyes stared at Mizu’s pained expression despite being under consciousness.

(-+-+-+-+-)

Mizu woke up to a sunlit room the following day, the warm ray light coming from an open veranda that overlooked a small zen garden with a small pond by a white wall and rather curiously, a person seated over her close folded legs facing straight head with a straight back with both hands neatly placed on their lap.

With a quieted groan, Mizu strugglingly forced herself to sit up as her vision clears and get a better focus on the person’s back facing her way. Studying said person, she had easily distinguished that it was in fact a woman, although she could still slightly see small buffs over their shoulder that would have confused if she had not gained yet a better sight.

“Excu-”, “Ah, you're awake! Thank goodness,” Mizu turned to another direction to find another sliding door, entered an old woman, dressed in the simplest kimono with a rather large tray and was now making her way towards her position.

“Madame was right on what time of day you’ll wake,” trailed the lady as she got Mizu’s side and gently placed the tray down beside the futon. The blue-eyed femme watched as gently moved while muttering a few winces of pain as she turned to face the lady then to the tray filled with covered plates that she could clearly assume would be food.

“Please eat, these are all freshly cooked and picked from the madam’s garden, she insisted on picking the ingredients herself that will help you gain back strength, help yourself,” she continued, smiling at the Mizu.

The expression had the blue-eyed woman feel a certain churn in her stomach but Mizu could tell that this woman was clearly genuine with her gesture. Not wanting to stare at her too much, her blue eyes returned to the somewhat meditating woman by the open entry way across her. Still hadn’t shown any movement even after the sudden arrival of the old lady who had immediately picked up the spark of curiosity from Mizu who stared at the her serenely occupied matriarch.

“It best not disturbed the madame, but not to worry though, she’ll entertain you as soon as she finishes with her meditation, I’m Midori, the caretaker of the Kento household,” the old lady who had introduced herself as Midori bowed slightly all while Mizu could only mutter “I’m grateful for your assistance,” with a slight bow as she cannot exactly exude a big one with the constant twinges of pain on her side where she presumes the stab wound would be.

“Please help yourself, feel free to come out of this room but sadly milady insisted that you not be free yet without fully healing and recovering your strength, I hope you understand and please take a long rest,” the lady stood and bowed her head in gesture of her leaving Mizu alone in your unconscious company.

Mizu’s gaze went back to you and the frame of your shoulders and back that would gradually slow down yet constantly heaving bigger breaths and longer releases in every passing minute.

But other than her company, the ambiance around her felt warm and serene, one that she wasn’t really accustomed to as her childhood was too focused on the tasks she had at hand without any regard to things too much. It was all she knew.

Her attention went back to the tray of food and went about uncovering each plate on the tray. In all of Mizu’s life, she never really had a big meal, just decent ones that she had while she was under apprenticeship that she wasn’t to complain as she was content with having a roof over her head and decent meal under the care of the swordsmith.

A sigh left her lips as her heart swelled with every plate of cousin composing her large meal. She marveled at how almost each bowl was a brim full of nutrients. Mizu never really knew much difference between a meal made by a chef and homemade, but it was enough that each meal exploded with rich aroma and delicious scents that she had never thought she would never get a taste of in her whole life.

Adjusting herself to sit properly within the futon, she placed her hands together.

“Thank you for the food.”

Her hand found the chopstick and ate to her heart's content.

#mizu x reader #mizu x you #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu #mizu bes #if you hold me without hurting me mizu x reader #if you hold me without hurting me series #blue eye samurai fanfic

253 notes · View notes

babydollmarauders · 1 year

Text

MEDIA MANAGEMENT — NJ DEVILS

notes: inspired by bestie Kaylin’s ( @starsandhughes ) penalty box series, i’m starting a new insta edit series!

summary: y/n is the NJ Devils social media manager but she also loves posting on her personal account after every game!

notes: this was supposed to be posted last night but tumblr hates me and wasn’t letting me post. so for the sake of the timeline, we’re pretending it was posted last night.

y/ndevils00

liked by njdevils, nicohischier, and 12,624 others

y/ndevils00 🚨🚨 BRATT TRICK ALERT 🚨🚨

tonight my very best friend on this team (sorry nico), the man, the myth, the brattman got his very first career hat trick and i couldn’t be prouder!! i mean, look at that smiley face! so very well deserved!

on the other hand, maraschino cherry got a penalty tonight for high sticking. never fret, i reprimanded him and he’s assured me that he will never ever ever do it again because that’s bad boy behavior!

see also: hershey kiss looking very smug after his goal; rowdy looking dashing during warmups (he definitely didn’t pay me to say this); and nolan getting his well deserved praise from the other ones™️

CONGRATS ON THE WIN BOYS! YOU FINALLY DID IT!

tagged jesperbratt, nicohischier, john.marino97, jackhughes, nolanfoote and njdevils

jesperbratt thank you y/n 😆

y/ndevils00 of course, my munchkin!

user3 the random jack picture in with the game pics💀 she’s feeding the rumors

nicohischier HE’S your best friend? i’ll remember that next time i stop at chipotle before going to the arena

y/ndevils00 hey now! don’t bring the chipotle into this! if it’s any consolation you’re my favorite captain 🫶

nicohischier i’m the only captain?

y/ndevils00 and you do it so well

john.marino97 did you just call me a cherry?

john.marino97 also i want everyone to know that y/n’s version of reprimanding me was spraying me in the face with water

y/ndevils00 and it worked didn’t it? you went back out there and didn’t get any more penalties in the third period. i’ll make a great mother one day

john.marino97 dear god please don’t ever reproduce

jackhughes did you just imply that i paid you to compliment me? that’s such a lie!

y/ndevils00 the $5 burning a hole in my pocket says otherwise! thank you for contributing to y/n’s rent fund!

dougieham @/y/ndevils00 he makes you pay rent?

user73 who’s he?!

dawson1417 hughesy got a slide but i didn’t?!

y/ndevils00 i like him more than you <3

dawson1417 what if i paid you $20?

y/ndevils00 …so i was thinking of giving you your own post

njdevils our boys were FIRE tonight! 🔥

y/ndevils00 well- they were kinda sloppy in the first half

nicohischier did you just use the devils page to comment on your own post just so you could attack us?

y/ndevils00 @/nicohischier i would never do such a thing! where are these accusations coming from?!

#nj devils #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x reader #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier x reader #nhl fic #nhl imagine #faithlynn’s writings <3 #faithlynn’s insta edits <3 #media management series <3 #john marino #john marino x reader #john marino imagine #jack hughes #nico hischier

912 notes · View notes

oliveisme533 · 2 months

Text

My dad’s neighbor is a dilf

Chapter 5 (last chapter)

Joel Miller x You

Summery: You had decided to spend your summer in Austin with your dad. You used to spend almost every summer there, but hadn't spent a summer there since you were a teenager. Which means you hadn't seen a certain Joel Miller in years..

Warnings: Smuttttttt. Minors dni Sexual content

Joel put his hands by his sides and calmly watched as your chest rose and fell rapidly. You took another generous swig from your bottle and pushed past him back towards the kitchen. Joel didn't try to stop you. He turned and slowly followed you. You were leaning against the counter and almost halfway done with your bottle of wine. Joel walked slowly to you and gently pried the bottle from your hand and set it on the counter. You didn't protest. His other hand found the curve of your waist and his fingers gripped just slightly on your side. "Then how do you want me to see you?" He asked in a voice so low you almost couldn't hear it. You looked up at him through hooded, lust filled eyes. "It seems you already know." You whispered back. You snake one arm around his next and his hand slips further around your waist and pulls you in. You let out a sharp inhale as your body becomes flush with his. "It seems I do." He says with his nose pushing into your jaw as he places a kiss your neck. You arch your back in effort to make your body even closer to his. You moan as the scruff of his beard traces your jawline. "Yeah?" He whispers with a handful of your ass in one hand and the other sliding up your neck. You press your lips to his and almost explode when he moans into the kiss. He pulls away slightly, breathing deeply he says "fuck fuck fuck baby what am I doing." Joel takes a step back from you and massages his temple and groans. "This isn't right, I'm takin advantage of you and this is not what your dad meant when he said to keep an eye on you." You were afraid he might do something like this "Joel please" you say softly. "I'm 25 and im not a fucking kid. I would have gone after you regardless of whether or not you scared off my ex. I've been into you for years at this point." Joel's expression was one of shock and shock you found it kind of cute how clueless he could have been. You laugh "Joel come on ...you really never noticed my hopeless crush?" "Umm honestly sweetheart..no I didn't" "yeah and sometimes when I'm lonely, at night" while you speak you start to lift up your dress ever so slowly. "I touch myself and I pretend it's you." You pull the dress over your head and drop it on the kitchen floor "you wanna watch what that looks like?" Joel was done for "oh baby" he groaned, making his way back to you in 2 quick strides. His hands were in your hair and his lips locked with yours in a heavy kiss. "Are you sure?" He breathed. You locked eyes with him and gave him a clear and resounding "yes!"

Joel hoisted you up in one smooth motion so quickly that you almost didn't realize you weren't standing on your feet anymore. You pressed your lips into his neck, breathing heavily as he walked towards stairs. "You don't even know where my room is creep" you teased Joel pretended to drop you in a motion with his arms in response to that comment. "Hey!" You giggled and wriggled free from his grasp to dash up the stairs. Joel grabbed your hand as the two of you sped up the stairs like a couple of teenagers who were home alone for the first time. You pushed your bedroom door open and let Joel admire for just a moment. "Okay that's enough looking at my room...I'm standing here half naked and you're still in jeans and a t-shirt" you said feeling a bit self conscious. Joel reached back with one hand and tugged off his shirt saying "I'm so sorry baby where are my manners?!" And with that he scooped you up and tossed you on your bed. You sat up before he could climb on top and you wriggled your hands inside his belt buckle. It was hard to do with shaky hands. "Easy easy baby, let daddy help" Joel slowly removed his belt and let it fall to the floor. He held your chin in one hand as he watched you unzip his jeans and complied when you tugged at them signaling it was time for them to come off. As if Joel could read your mind he said "you ain't gotta do anything baby, I'm here for you." You laughed a little, feeling nervous for the first time since this exchange started. Joel picks up on this.

"It's just me, relax." He bends down to kiss you, this time with gentle motions. He climbs on top of the bed whilst simultaneously placing one hand on your lower back and lifting you towards the headboard. You put one hand on his hip and push him away just slightly "um ..it's kinda been a while since.." Joel chuckled "baby I'm not exactly gettin every weekend either." You contemplated whether this next question was appropriate "how long?" You said simply. Joel propped himself up with hands on either side of your head. "Well, my daughter is 12...I'll let you do the math on that one ." You didn't mean for your mouth to fall open. You closed it quickly hoping Joel didn't notice. Joel was a good humored man and laughed genuinely at your response. "You're so fucking cute darlin" he went in for another kiss and this time slipped a hand down to your thighs and began to massage. His lotions became more rough and you found yourself moaning into his kiss. You could feel his boner pressing against your stomach and FUCK he was big. You arched your back to try and get more friction for your aching center. "You need more huh?" Joel said with a voice that was dripping with lust. "Can I move these?" He asked, hooking two fingers under the band of your panties. You nodded vigorously as slid them down. He tapped your thigh and you lifted your hips to help him remove your soaking underwear. "Oh baby. You're not even real. This all for me?" He rubbed the crotch of your underwear under his thumb before tossing it to the side. He licked the wetness from his finger and then put his thumb to work on your clit. The sudden stimulation made you gasp. "Breathe" he coaxed. He dipped two fingers into you and to your delight groaned at his findings. "God baby you are just a mess ain't ya?" All you could do was nod. You felt shy and out of practice and overwhelmed by the fact that you were laying naked underneath Joel fucking miller. Joel pulled back from you and sat up "we ain't gotta do this baby. We can't put our clothes back on and watch a movie. I'll cuddle with ya if your like and we can try this another time...only if you want" "no no I want this and I want to do this with you tonight! I just can't believe it's happening and I don't know how to act." "Baby it's me. I ain't nothin special. Just relax and tell me how you're feelin. Okay? I need to hear you tell me what feels good and what doesn't. " You nod. "Uh uh Use your words darlin" Joel dipped into you with his two middle fingers and watched your face as your lips slowly part. His fingers make the come hither motion. "Yeaaahh" you breath. Joel is intoxicated by you wriggling beneath him with such a look on your face.

"Oh baby you're doin things to me" he comes back in for another deep kiss. "I want you. All of you" you beg. Joel props himself up on one elbow and centers himself before looking up at your face. You nod in consent. Joel slowly pushes into and the noise he lets out is simply pornographic. You've never heard any of these college boys make such a noise while they flop on top of you for 3 minutes. Joel's hips grind into you with the smooth wave of his lower body brushing with yours at every thrust. "How you doin darlin?" Joel asks, taking a pause with his strokes. "Good" you say in a weak voice. He presses a kiss onto your cheek that makes you giggle. Joel doesn't just fuck, he also makes love. He makes sweet, sweet love. The kind that Marvin Gaye would write about. Joel placed one hand lightly on your thigh before continuing his strokes. Without warning he slipped his hand under your thigh and put it over one of his shoulders. "That's it" Joel says as he holds your leg steady with one hand and locks fingers with you with his other hand. God god this man can fuck. His pace increases and your mouth falls open as you say "I'm gonna cum" in a high pitched breath. Joel doesn't need to tell you with words that he's about to finish too. His thrusts become harder, faster and sloppier. His grip on your thigh tightens and his eyebrows knit together as he lets out one final moan and spills himself onto your stomach. "Fuck baby" he breathes before collapsing on top of you. You scratch his head as you both catch your breath. Suddenly he picks his head up to look at you with those big brown puppy dog eyes. "I am so sorry darlin where are my manners?!" He rolls off of you and picks his boxers off the floor before going into your bathroom to get a towel. You hear the faucet running and he returns moments later with a warm rag that he gently uses to clean you up. He tosses the rag in your laundry bin and collapses back onto the bed. He taps the inside of your thigh twice "go pee" "yeah yeah I'm getting up"

You and Joel take a cramped but sweet shower together and he puts new sheets on while you comb your hair. "Aw you didn't have to do that." Joel shakes his head. "Yeah I did. I don't like sleeping in sheets that smell like sex" "But now my bed won't smell like you.." Joel just smirks "you really think I'm going to leave you here all by your lonesome?" He holds out one arm "cmon baby let's go to bed" you didn't need to be told twice!

#joel miller #joel tlou #fanfic #joel and ellie #smut #girl dad #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff #joel miller smut

65 notes · View notes