#i just wanted to sleep. or at least relax. but NO you STILL have to show up to my door after i thought you fucking finally went to sleep

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Cuddling with 141 (+Roach!)

Summary: How I think Price, Gaz, Soap, Ghost and Roach would cuddle + little blurbs.

Word Count: ~ 2.1k

Warnings: None!

A/N: wrote this at 2am😭 hope you enjoy <3

Requests are open!

Simon “Ghost” Riley 💀

- Tries his hardest to act tough and scary, but only because that’s how a Lutenient is supposed to act. Or at least that’s what he thinks.

- Also isn’t sure how to cuddle, never saw his dad trying to do anything other than abuse his mom, and his brother was dead before he could ask him for any advice.

- As stiff as a board, has no idea what to do, just awkwardly sitting and glancing at you, increasingly concerned.

- Would eventually get the hang of it only after Johnny made fun of him for being so awful with it, did it just to spite his beloved Sergeant (also practiced cuddling with Johnny, obviously just for practice, nothing more.)

- Likes being the little spoon.

It had been one hell of a mission, 141 barely finding a safe house to rest in for a few hours and restock their weapons and ammo before having to move again. A few more hours, and though Simon knew he should be resting, he couldn’t get his brain off of alert mode, so he settled for watching the game on the telly, even if it was in Spanish. He was mostly fluent, anyway.

You had plopped down next to him after a few minutes, mumbling something about cleaning your gun, taking a rag to wipe it down and try to clear it out, your hands soon slipping down as your eyes dropped.

The other boys had gone off somewhere else in the safe house, probably to find a bed or secure it further like he should be doing right now, but for whatever reason, he couldn’t bring himself to stand up and shake you off.

You eventually went fully limp, head banging against his shoulder, somehow now waking you even then as you mumbled something, hand slipping towards your gun’s trigger. It was then that he moved, but not to get up, simply to gently pry the firearm from your hand as he clicked the safety on and let it drop to the floor.

The game blared in the background, but Simon was more focused on you, still leaning into him, and the fact that he was even entertaining this. His muscles were stiff, quickly growing sore and agitated at him after the constant use of the day. Slowly, he relaxed, finding that you melted into his body a lot easier when he wasn’t tensed up completely.

Slowly sliding one arm around your waist, obviously just to make sure you didn’t fall off the couch, nothing more, Simon leaned his head back against the couch, his own honey-brown eyes fluttering shut soon enough as he found enough peace of mind for an hour or two of rest.

Not much, but a welcome reprieve.

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish 🧼

- Has no shame at all. Will cuddle you during exfil in front of everyone with no care.

- Very clingy, and also a living furnace. Good to have in the winters, since he keeps you warm, but a nightmare in the summers.

- Will whine like a puppy if you refuse to cuddle with him for heat reasons or whatever, absolutely desperate, golden retriever of a man.

- Definitely see him as the type to enjoy lying on top of you, or being the big spoon, but is down to experiment with anything you want. And I mean everything. Frighteningly open to experimentation.

- Sleeps wild or like a rock, no in between.

Of course, they’d sent Task Force 141 and their one notoriously cold-sensitive member out to Russia, staking out for any sign of a recent contract signed between them and Germany, an agreement for some form of biochemical weapon that could be catastrophic in the wrong hands.

“Doin’ alright over there, Shivers?”

You heard a Scottish voice ask from the crunchy grass you were all lying in, Gaz and Price twenty feet to your left, Ghost twenty to your right, you and Johnny right next to each other. You could see your own body shaking, feeling the ground leach out any remaining warmth from it despite your thick clothing.

“Yeah, just-t-t cold.”

You saw Ghost glance back at you, probably having heard your teeth chattering from over there. You heard the radio hiss before his voice sounded.

“When I said stay frosty, I didn’t mean it literally.”

His deadpan tone said, earning a hushed bark of laughter from Johnny, and Price shooting you a sympathetic look with Gaz. You sighed.

“Very funny-y, Ghost.”

You mumbled, not even bothering to say it over the radio. Warm palms encompassed your wrists before you could do anything to stop it, and Johnny moved in closer.

“What’re you-?”

“Ain’t gonna be any use to us as a popsicle, eh Shivers?”

You felt the weight of his body settle even closer, nearly right on top of you, gingerly taking your numb fingers and switching your gloves out with his. His gloves were already warm, and larger and kept the air insulated better. Your gloves barely fit his hands, but he didn’t seem to mind. His body heat leaked into you, numb limbs springing back to life as that pinpricky sensation crawled up your body.

You relaxed a bit more into the snow, mind clearer now. Soap moved even closer, now quite literally on top of you, trying not to crush you with his weight but also keeping you nice and warm. After a moment of shifting around and adjusting, you got quite comfortable.

“Thanks, Johnny.”

You mumbled, already seeing the stupid grin he’d be wearing because of the praise.

“Anytime, bonnie.”

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick ☁️

- Serial cuddle enjoyer.

- Usually the one to fall asleep first because he’s more relaxed around his team. Has fallen asleep on Ghost’s shoulder before and been promptly pushed off.

- Prefers cuddling in bed over anywhere else, will slip into your bed in the middle of the night if he felt lonely or somehow has a sixth sense for you getting nightmares.

- Likes cuddling in a pretzel sort of position, or face-to-face despite the fact that he buries his head in your neck every time.

Rousing from his sleep for god knows why, Kyle rubbed his eyes, slipping from the warm bed he slept in and padding over to the kitchen to grab a drink of water. His throat was dry and his tongue felt like sandpaper. Probably the consequences of not drinking enough water while on mission, but he was in his little flat and off duty for now, so it wasn’t like it mattered much anyway.

Drinking nearly an entire glass, he heard a small thug, and his sluggish brain snapped awake as instinct kicked in, he put the glass down, approaching your room where he’d heard the sound come from slowly. Your door was already open.

He peeked inside, abruptly opening it to avoid the awful tension of the slow creaks it would’ve made had he dragged it out, only to be met with the sight of you, his roommate, curled up on the floor and sniffling.

His eyes softened and he crouched down next to you, hands moving to brush the hair out of your face as he caught sight of your watery eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

He asked, nearly a whisper for fear of making you jump. You sniffled again, and tried to get to your feet, only to stumble and be caught by Kyle again before being sat on the edge of the bed by him.

“Had a nightmare.”

You answered in a meek tone, seeming a bit embarrassed, which then was overridden by surprise when Kyle sat on the edge of the bed next to you, calloused hands gently shifting your body around until he was lying right next to you, his dark brown eyes gazing into yours.

“I have them too,”

He admitted, watching as you carefully slipped a hand around him, moving closer as he pulled the blanket over both of your bodies. He relaxed, tense muscles going nearly limp as his head leaned into your shoulder, his breathing deepening out as both of your eyelids grew heavy, eventually shutting as you drifted off into a peaceful rest.

John Price 🏷️

- Is just a big bear of a man. Loves cuddling with his missus when he gets home from a mission.

- Prefers spooning, but when his joints get achy and sore he’ll just lay on his back and let you lay on top of him.

- Is a human furnace just like Soap, so you probably won’t be needing a blanket.

- He usually waits until you’re asleep to fall asleep, but on the really rough nights, he’s out in a few seconds flat.

- Enjoys having your hands in his hair.

- Definitely an experienced cuddler.

Just as you finished your shower, you heard the front door unlocking and opening, and not caring much about getting proper clothes on, you rushed over and pulled a very-tired-looking John into a hug.

He chuckled, hand giving you a few little pats on the head as he pulled you in, taking a deep whiff of the smell of your body wash and shampoo, before slowly releasing.

“Missed me, huh? Missed you too, bird.”

He mumbled as you refused to let go, only releasing when he gave you a light little pinch on the arm, leaving you to finish getting ready after your shower as he trudged off to change and probably at least get a comb through his hair.

With a small smile now on your face, you hurried through your skin and haircare routines faster than ever before, throwing on some underwear and pajamas. As you walked into your shared bedroom, you found John struggling to get a knot out of his brown hair.

“Let me,”

You said, gently taking the comb from his large fingers, brushing the ends of the knot out first, working down to the center of it when you finally got it out. He took the comb and placed it down on his little desk with a little “Thanks, darlin’”, then took your hand and led you over to the bed.

He crawled in first, groaning when his body was finally able to sink into the soft mattress of the bed, body aching after weeks of being gone as he laid on his back, you being quick to crawl above him, head laying against his chest.

He loosed a deep sigh, pulling the blankets over both of you despite the warmth already being shared between you two.

“M’ glad to be home.”

He muttered, pulling you closer, arms settling around you as he already began drifting off.

Smiling, you replied.

“Me too.”

Gary “Roach” Sanderson 🪳

- I definitely hc him as nonverbal (like he is in the games, for whatever reason, you can decide why) but that doesn’t mean he’s any worse at cuddling.

- Roach is a little bit of a wild sleeper, so expect a few nudges and maybe some flips from him during the night.

- Enjoys the sweetheart position the most, just because it lets him hear your heartbeat.

- Serial nuzzle enjoyer. Will nuzzle into you at any moment he can, it’s just something he really likes doing.

- Douses his pillowcases with a lethal amount of your signature perfume or what reminds him of you (has an entire candle of it, too.)

- Can be very clingy.

When you got back home from the little girl’s night you’d had, finding Gary wrapped around one of your pillows and holding it with a death grip, your favorite perfume on the bedside table and a lit candle to match in the same scent wasn’t something you’d been expecting.

As soon as you walked into the room, he glanced up, beckoning you closer almost frantically. With a small smile, you held up a finger, signaling to wait for just one moment. You slipped out of the dress you’d been donning, and pulled off the shoes as well, the heels having made your feet ache anyways.

You used some basic wipes to get any makeup off, deciding that the more complicated cleansing process would be left for the morning, and promptly pulled some pajamas on, finally walking over to the bed, and being pulled in.

Within seconds, you were under the covers, and softly laughing at how he hooked one arm around the back of your neck, pulling you gently into where your head was against his chest, and intertwining his legs with yours. The scruff of his slightly unshaven face scratched lightly against you as he rubbed and nuzzled into you unashamedly, peppering a few little kisses on you while he was at it.

“Clingy,”

You murmured teasingly, and he frowned for a moment, raising a brow as if to call you a hypocrite, and you hummed lightly for a moment in thought.

“Touché.”

You said to his silent response, pressing a light kiss to the tip of his nose, before finally settling in and getting comfortable against his body. Within a few minutes, the both of you were yawning, sleep pulling both of you slowly under as the rhythm of your breathing deepened.

[lucimaaie]

we ✧.* tlou

pairings - santa barbara!ellie x reader

summary - ellie promised herself she wouldn’t get attached to anyone after santa barbara, look how that turned out.

warning - angsty, not proofread cause i wrote this pretty quick, short (as always),

After Santa Barbara, Ellie had no plan for the future. She’d left Dina and JJ and let Abby go. She knew would still have nightmares and the pain wouldn’t leave her. What else was there to do?

Maybe that was the reason she fought you as you tried to take care of her. “Leave me alone!” She said as you’d tried to help her up from the water, raising her arm around your neck. Thinking about it now, the memory of her weak attempt to tussle you made her laugh.

You fought as hard as she did despite being starved and traumatized yourself. She didn’t know your story, just that you were the only one who didn’t want to kill her as soon as you came out of that crowded cell. You knew that she was immune and that was it. Nothing else was important in the moment. Nothing she wanted to tell you anyway.

You took care of her so much she started to feel guilty for not returning the favor. Cleaning her wounds, taking first watch, giving her whatever food you two had left. Ellie questioned whether it was pity or too good to be true, that you’d try something the moment she relaxed. But as she got stronger, nothing bad happened. You cared for her all the same.

So she cared for you. She watched your back and let you sleep a bit longer since she knew her mind wouldn’t let her sleep. She held you the way you held her when she awoke screaming. Gave you light kisses everywhere to distract you (and her) from a haunting past she knew nothing of. Conversations weren’t your speciality. You didn’t know a lot about each other, but you knew each other.

Eventually, you got lucky and found an abandoned cabin far away from Santa Barbara and quickly settled in. It wasn’t big and there was one bed, but it was shelter. Ellie didn’t want to call it home just yet.

“We should move south.” Ellie blurted, shaking the snow off her boots onto the porch. She could already hear your lecture about letting the cold in, but that wasn’t her focus. Did she just say we? “I mean, nevermind. Here’s fine.” It wasn’t. It was cold as hell and she was tired of the cold she’d been in her whole life.

“No, why south?” You said as you adjusted the small sticks that provided at least a little warmth in the small space. Ellie came to sit down next to you, leaving no space between you. She looked at you, admiring how the orange light shone on your face.

“It’s hotter.” She held your gaze as you listened intently. “Probably make hunting easier.” Ellie knocked her shoulder into yours without much force.

“You ever been south?”

She shrugged before shaking her head. “Nope.” She looked at the fire. That might be a downside of south. No more needing to snuggle up to you to not freeze to death. South you probably have to give each other some space to cool off. “Was just a thought.” She scratched her ear. “What’d you do while I was out?”

“Counted our supply. put on the fire. cleaned our clothes. a bunch of nothing.”

“What about eating?”

“uh-no. forgot that part.”

“Course you did.” She sighed, rising to her feet and look around for the bag you two stuff all cans in. All your belongings in the cabin were generally pre-packed in case you had to run, but still the fact that you’d been able to accumulate these things together made her feel something she couldn’t describe. Annoyance was part of it. that she got so attached to you after she promised herself she wouldn’t. that it just complicated things. But that already happened the moment you’d kissed and let things go further.

“here.” She used her knife to open the can of beans and sat back next to you, handing them over.

“you do know we sleep in the same bed, right?” You hesitantly took the can and swished them around with the spoon.

“trust me i know, but i don’t need you losing body fat and clinging to me like a koala.”

“you’ve never even seen a koala.” You said, taking a bite of the beans. not bad but not good and most importantly not expired. You set the can down in the middle of you, signaling that you wanted to share. She shook her head and sighed as you pushed the can closer to her, your eyes saying ‘please.’ She took a small bite just to appease you and shoved it over to you. “just shut up and eat.” she swiped her thumb over the edge of your lip. “and stop eating like that. we’ll get you more food tomorrow.”

Hours later, ellie shot up in the middle of the night, her heart feeling like it would burst out of her chest at any moment. She choked on her own breaths as she buried her head into her knees. “it’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real—“ She mumbled the same words you did when you saw her like this.

“ellie?” You sat up as well, watching her with concerned eyes. She started to sob as she heard your voice, whether out of fear or relief you didn’t know but you didn’t give it much thought as you ran your fingers through her hair, letting her cry in your lap.

Eventually her tears stopped, leaving her with a pounding head and the comforting silence you provided. Her head rose from your lap and she pulled you into her, not willing to let go. Her head rested on your shoulder as her hands roamed under your shirt. There were no words for a while.

When there were words, they came quietly. “el?” you whispered. She didn’t respond for a while, still stuck in her swarming thoughts. “yeah?”

“where are you from?” It felt like a random question to ask, but there was no way you were gonna ask what she dreamed about.

She blinked for a few seconds, surprised. It was a simple question, yeah, but it could lead to other questions. she was scared to answer and ask back. “boston, i guess.”

“oh.”

“why’d you ask?” She let her head fall back on the pillow and tugged on your shoulder, silently asking you to turn around. And you did, facing her.

“i guess i just realized i never knew that stuff about you.” You said, fidgeting with her hands as you awaited her response. It felt like some dangerous territory, you weren’t supposed to cross. That was weird, you already crossed other, farther lines. “should i have not asked?” You whispered, tentatively.

“no, you..” She cleared her throat. “you can ask.” She finally looked at you, eyes soft with fear, pain. “i just..i don’t wanna talk about it all.”And go back there, she wanted to say.

“you don’t have to.” You scooted closer to her, laying your head on her shoulder.

Elie wrapped her arms around your back, her legs around yours, and looked at you. She let out a deep sigh as her heart beat for a different reason this time. “we don’t have to talk about it all. not right now.” we, there was a we. she wasn’t make it up. “okay,” She kissed your forehead.

thank you for reading!

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (XI)

Chapter 11: ‘Lived to see you throwing me aside.’

Hi! Here is another chapter! On the menu today: a dinner with Sam and Frank… I’ll let you guess how well this will go… (I hope my choice for Andrew's pic for this chapter gives you a clue...)

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 2933

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Hesitate to call

Lived to see you throwing Me aside. That fought Like nettled fish inside me. Saw you throbbing In my syrups. Saw you sleep. And lived to see That all that all flushed down The refuse. Done? It lives in me. You live in me. Malignant. Love, you ever want me, don’t.

Louise Glück, The First Five Books of Poems

Andrew checked his appearance in the mirror for what seemed to be the hundredth time.

He was nervous beyond reason, after all he was heading to a restaurant to see Sam. And after a long-term relationship, he shouldn’t have felt so troubled by it. But things were different now, things were… complicated, to say the least.

Still, he heaved a sigh, checked his appearance once more. He had let his hair loose, had put on contacts, was wearing a black shirt and some dark jeans. He looked tired, exhausted even. Work was a lot at the moment, he had a thousand things to do. He still struggled to sleep, was still tortured with thoughts and dreams of Sam, of her leaving, of her loving someone else.

November was ending, and with it, the remnants of Andrew’s and Sam’s plans. Plans…

A weekend in Kerry in September. Saimhan with friends. Now, Andrew should be packing. He should be choosing clothes, not for an evening in a restaurant, but for a weekend in Glasgow. A flight late at night leaving from Dublin, another one during the night between Sunday and Monday. And in between, a couple of days just for them, spent eating, visiting museums, seeing the sights, walking around the town. A night in a hotel, one she had chosen, spent on filling their hearts with love and their bodies with lust and desire.

He looked at his reflection again, stared right into his own hazel eyes. They were greener than usual, probably because wearing contacts made his eyes water. He would have been more comfortable with glasses, more relaxed as well, more himself, in a way.

He blinked tears away as a thought crossed his mind, a painful one he wished he could have kept at bay, but he didn’t have the strength for that. Beating himself up was a habit, since childhood. There were thoughts sometimes that formed in his mind that brought him pain, but he listened anyway. Sometimes they were quiet, sometimes they were deafening. These days they were loud and clear.

He went to get his coat, grab his car keys, get ready to leave. He petted Elwood, told him to be a good boy, that he would soon be home. The thought followed him outside his home.

Being himself was never enough for Sam to love him.

Christ, Sam was so beautiful…

It was breaking his heart that they weren’t on a date. As he entered the restaurant, saw her sitting at a table waiting for him, Andrew was reminded of hundreds of evenings spent like this, going on a date in a restaurant, at the cinema, it didn’t even matter where. At the end, they didn’t go out much anymore. Sam always seemed to be too busy for that. At the time, Andrew thought it was only because of her job. Now, he wondered if maybe she had not already started to give up on them.

But he hadn’t. To this day, he hadn’t given up on them…

He kept on admiring her for a few more seconds, until the rest of the table was revealed to him, and the illusion waned. You were there too, facing Frank. The restaurant was posh, he felt a little uneasy in this atmosphere. He wouldn’t have chosen such a place for a date, but he had no doubt that Sam liked it.

He forced a smile as he approached, was greeted warmly by Frank, the first one who spotted him as he approached. You turned on your chair to greet him with a relieved smile, and his heart made a happy jump at the sight of you. He had an ally tonight, he wasn’t on his own…

“You’re late.”

He turned to Sam, his heart dropping again. Her tone was flat, emotionless, and he knew her enough to be aware that it was worse than annoyance. She was angry. He struggled to swallow.

“Yeah, sorry… Had some stuff to take care of before coming.”

She rolled her eyes, knowing it was a lie. Or well, it wasn’t a lie, but the real reason was simply that Andrew was always late. To everything. He couldn’t do much about it; if left unattended, he simply lost track of time. The alarms he had set up had done little to help him tonight. He didn’t add anything, merely took a seat.

“Ha, no worries!” Frank reassured him, and Andrew could tell that he was nervous and willing to make Andrew feel welcome. As a result, Andrew was highly uncomfortable.

“The food looks… interesting,” you commented, trying to drag the conversation away from Andrew, and he was grateful for it.

“The oysters are particularly good!” Frank recommended.

You said nothing, but Andrew frowned.

You… hadn’t you told him once that you weren’t such a fan of seafood?

Indeed, when you chose what to eat, you didn’t follow Frank’s advice at all.

Conversation drifted towards work, and your respective lives. Catching up or getting to know each other.

And Andrew understood Frank’s appeal tonight, as he watched him lead the conversation. He was louder than Andrew ever was, bright, clearly extraverted, longing for people’s attention. He was funny, charming. And handsome, that too, Andrew couldn’t deny that either. His complete opposite. Average height, muscles that threatened the fabric of his sleeves while he passionately talked about his work and moved his hands around, blond with electric blue eyes.

So… that was what Sam longed for? What had made you fall for him?

Andrew tried not to think this way. There was nothing he could do about his physical appearance, his ridiculous height, his gangly stature… there was no need to torture himself over that. He could show that he took care of Sam though. That he paid attention to her. That he loved her…

Because Frank didn’t seem to care all that much. Andrew saw it as you talked about your work, about how nervous you were as you got ready to give your students their first test of the year. And if Andrew was intently listening, Frank was clearly uninterested. He drew the conversation away from your job as soon as he could, offering encouraging words, and quickly moving on. You smiled, but you weren’t fooled. Andrew saw it in the way your gaze saddened, in the way the excitement that had been glimmering there died out instantly. His heart ached at the sight. And when Frank spoke again, Andrew didn’t care.

“Will you set a limit for the length required for the essay?”

Frank grew quiet, frowned. You turned to Andrew, clearly surprised by his question.

“Erm… I haven’t decided yet. I usually don’t.”

“Once a student gave me a twenty-pages long essay…”

“Twenty pages?!”

“Yeah… she was thorough, for sure.”

“Did you read the whole thing?”

“Of course. And now I set a limited word count.”

You chuckled, nodded.

“Maybe I should do that. What about your class about Yeats? Have you decided on a subject for an essay?”

“I’m still hesitating… I want to prepare one about Yeats’s involvement in the Irish Literary Revival… but I could choose one of his love poems about Maud Gonne too.”

You chuckled.

“Why do I feel like they’ll hear a lot about No Second Troy…”

“I love that poem.”

“Anyone who speaks of literature with you for more than ten minutes knows that,” you teased. “It’s a short poem to study, though.”

“Yeah… but that means they would really have to work on each line, instead of simply skipping whatever element they struggle with.”

“True.”

“I feel like it would be easier for them to work on the more political side of Yeats’s work during exam season. The material is easier, and we’ll go thoroughly through the most important aspects of these texts in class. So… I think I’ll ask them to work on love poems at home.”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

You exchanged a smile. When Andrew looked up at Frank and Sam, they had stopped listening and were both eating their meal in silence. Sam was looking at something on her phone, a habit she had developed in the past couple of years.

She hadn’t asked him about his job. She hadn’t asked him if he wrote, how he felt, if he was suffering because of her. Perhaps she didn’t want to hear his answers. Perhaps she didn’t really care. Andrew was starting to have doubts. The more the evening was progressing, the more he realised that she didn’t seem to care. Sam and Andrew had spent years together, but she wasn’t listening as he spoke of his work, of the things he loved most on Earth.

Did she even care at all about him anymore? She used to listen to him talk about music and poetry for hours, back when they were students…

Or did she? She had never liked his own writing, but he thought she listened when he spoke of what he loved, still. She didn’t seem willing to make an effort these days… but then again, they weren’t together anymore. So, why would she?

“I’ve listened to your record, by the way!”

Andrew blinked, looked at you again.

“What?”

“Duke Ellington and John Coltrane. I’ve listened to it.”

He raised a surprised eyebrow.

“Did you? Really?”

You nodded, an excited smile on your lips.

“Of course! I’m going to sound very basic, I think In a Sentimental Mood was my favourite… although I really loved My Little Brown Book too.”

His mouth broke into a bright grin.

“Grand! Like… that’s grand! I’m glad you liked it.”

Frank stared at you for a moment.

“Who are you talking about?” he asked, trying to slither in the conversation.

“Andy recommended me some music! I have a whole list at this point,” you teased, nudging him with your elbow and making him chuckle and blush.

“It’s Jazz,” Andrew explained. “Some of the greatest, honestly.”

Sam heaved a sigh, still focused on her screen.

“Oh… nice,” Frank nodded, although he didn’t sound convincing at all.

“I really liked it a lot,” you went on. “I don’t really have the vocabulary to describe it, like… on a technical point of view, you know? But I liked it. It was very… like… drawing me in, in a way. There was tension, and then once I was trapped in the song, there was so much emotion there… And it’s unusual for me to be so focused when listening to instrumental music. I have a busy brain, I get distracted easily.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. I have a busy brain too… but that’s what Blues and Jazz do to me. They kind of… shush my brain. Make it go quiet.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“You like music, then, Andy?”

Andrew looked at Frank again, wanted to correct him and ask to be called Andrew… but he didn’t want to seem rude. He didn’t like it, though, how he used his nickname.

“Yeah, a lot.”

“Andy wanted to be a musician, back in the days,” Sam intervened, putting her phone down again.

“Really? What instrument do you play?”

“I sing, mostly… play guitar too.”

“But you didn’t make a career out of it? Not that it’s surprising, it’s a tough field to work in. Most people can’t make a living out of it. Like… there’s so much competition, so few who actually get to make it. It must be a tough life.”

“A few of his friends made it though, and he had the talent for it,” Sam went on. “But Andy is not one to compromise easily.”

Andrew stared at her with a raised eyebrow.

“What do you mean by that?”

She shrugged.

“You could have had a record deal, had you accepted to change a few things about your songs.”

Andrew huffed, he could barely believe his ears…

“There was never an opportunity for me to record my own songs, and you know that. I didn’t want to sing those… attempts at pop hits that felt soulless to me.”

“And you didn’t get a record deal.”

“I didn’t want that kind of deal. I wanted to record the songs I had written.”

She didn’t say a thing, but her thoughts were loud enough for Andrew to guess them.

And then you didn’t record any of those either.

“Why are you saying all that like you’re resenting me?” Andrew asked, and Sam shook her head.

“I don’t resent you, of course! It was your choice.”

“You do sound like it though…”

“I’m just pointing out that you’re not the kind of guy who compromises much.”

He raised an unimpressed eyebrow and huffed again.

“You’re one to talk…” he mumbled.

Andrew spent his time compromising. Had he not compromised when he wanted to take a job in London and had settled for Dublin instead because she didn’t want to move there? When she refused to move in with him and asked for more time to find herself? When she chose most of their topics of conversations? When he barely talked about his work?

He let out a long exhale, took a bite of the overpriced fish he had ordered. He didn’t even like the food…

Sam spoke again, about some stupid tv reality she had been watching with Frank, and you listened even though you hadn’t seen it. Meanwhile, Andrew wanted to talk about music with you again. He wanted to ask you about Duke Ellington, he wanted to ask you what songs you liked, he wanted to listen to you ramble about how music made you feel. Your thoughts were always interesting, he could have talked with you for hours… and sometimes he did.

But he shook himself. He wanted Sam. He wanted to have Sam back, and nobody was perfect. There were some things in Sam that annoyed him or disappointed him or that he didn’t understand but at the end of the day she was Sam, and that was enough for him.

He was quieter throughout the rest of the evening, trying to do some damage control over the couple of tensed moments that had occurred during the night.

But then the conversation settled on the wedding itself, and things turned ill all over again…

“And we need to settle on a cake too! Christ, everything is complicated when you’re planning a wedding!” Sam laughed, while Andrew was tightly closing his fists under the table, until his nails drew crescent marks into his palms, while you looked away in a hurry.

“You know… I thought we could choose a strawberry cake,” Frank said. “It’s a classic, most people like those…”

“Sam is allergic to strawberries,” Andrew answered without thinking.

An uncomfortable silence settled across the table.

“Oh… you didn’t tell me that, babe,” Frank told Sam, who frowned.

Clearly, she had told him before, but she said nothing.

“Well, we’ll choose something else!” Frank shrugged.

“What about your career, then?” you asked your ex, staring intensely at him.

“My career?”

“You… you used to say that you wanted to wait to get married because you needed to focus on your career.”

Slowly, Frank nodded.

“Yeah… that’s true. I used to want that. But… it’s different with Sam.”

Andrew saw the pain that shot across your features. There was so much anger that ran through his veins then…

“Right,” you nodded.

“Like… my work seemed the most important, but now… not anymore. Or… not in the same way. So, why wait?”

“Why wait, indeed…” you slowly nodded while Frank and Sam exchanged a tender gaze, one that made Andrew nauseous.

He looked down at the piece of cheesecake he had barely touched, decided not to eat it. He couldn’t get anything more down…

The meal ended in a quiet mood, with conversations spent mostly between Sam and Frank, but the couple seemed satisfied with this situation. When they disappeared in a cab together, Andrew felt emptier than ever. A shell without a pulse or any other semblance of life…

“Andy?”

He turned around to look at you standing behind him in the street, right before the restaurant. Your frame was illuminated by both the white light coming from the restaurant’s sign and the orange hues of the streetlights.

He caught himself thinking that you were beautiful, had to push the thought away. But you were. You had dressed up tonight, undoubtedly to impress Frank, just like Andrew had tried to impress Sam with his careful choice of outfit. And Andrew was impressed, at any rate. You were gorgeous…

You offered him a humourless smile.

“Tonight was… a lot, right?”

He nodded, letting out a long exhale through his nose.

“You can say that…”

“I can’t say that it went… incredibly well.”

“No… it was… strange.”

“Let’s put it that way, yeah.”

“I’m not sure it helped us make any progress.”

“I’m not so sure either. On the contrary. But we tried, at least.”

Andrew nodded, looked at you as you heaved a sigh.

“You know what I want right now?”

He shook his head, tilting his head to the side as he waited for you to speak again, his hands now buried in his pockets.

“I really… really… want to get drunk. Like… hammered. Properly destroyed.”

Andrew exploded with laughter.

“You know what… sign me up! Getting very drunk sounds nice!”

“Let’s go to my place. I don’t want to be surrounded by people anymore,” you offered, and Andrew easily accepted.

As he followed you throughout the street, he reckoned that at least one thing in this evening could be pleasant, after all.

[bookuce]

Fools Rush In

SUMMARY: Nessa wasn’t looking for love, neither was Joe, but when you know, you know.

*DISCLAIMER: This is a multi-part series. I do not own any of the characters in the writing except for the OCs. The book uses actual names of wrestlers. Josh is Jey, Jon is Jimmy, Trinity is Naomi, Joe is Roman. The book is not realistic and does not take place during real events, but some actual events (matches, storylines) could pop up in the story eventually. I DO NOT GIVE ANYONE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REPOST MY WRITINGS ANYWHERE. THAAAAAANKS. *

PAIRING: Roman Reigns x Black OC

TROPE: Love At First Sight

WARNINGS: Language

WORD COUNT: 2.3K

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER FIVE

Nessa felt like shit, figuratively and literally. She blocked his number once she got home from Joe's hotel. Vanessa didn't want to see any texts or get any phone calls from him. She felt guilty enough for ghosting the man. Seeing or hearing anything from him would only make things worse. 

She sat on the shower floor, letting the water pour over her head. She tightly wrapped her arms around her legs, her eyes shut while she focused on breathing. The warm steam from the water comforted and relaxed her while she attempted to take her mind off what she had done. Unfortunately for her, she was failing miserably. Though her night was drunken, she could remember every bit of that evening. 

She could feel his hands on her body--all over her body, memorizing every dip and curve she had. Despite being pounded by the water from the shower, her skin still tingled in places he touched. Images of his face contorted in bliss, flushed pink cheeks, and sex-clouded eyes filled her mind. Oh, those eyes. Those eyes, hands, and perfectly pink and swollen lips kept reeling her in each time she thought she finished. How many times did he make her come last night? She lost count after the third time.

His voice echoed in her mind. Just like that, he praises. How do you want me, he asks. You feel so good, he tells her. The huskiness of his voice would send shivers down her spine. He somehow managed to make his already deep voice sound even more resounding. The way he spoke sometimes sounded animalistic. There was a growl with certain words, especially when he would say her name. 

Vanessa brings her right hand up to her ear. She swore she could feel his ragged breath on her skin just then. The tremble in his voice and the moans he let out were things she never heard before with a man--at least not with any man she's ever been with. Joe was vocal, but this wasn't a bad thing. She enjoyed that he talked her through the things they did. He made her feel in control at times, powerful even. She learned something new about herself, a new kink unveiled. 

Joe Anoa'i left quite the impression on this woman. Well, he did promise to make the evening unforgettable for her. Now look at her, dickmatized on the bathroom floor. Maybe she was overreacting about sleeping with the man. She needed this. She needed to be unwound and loosened up. She hadn't had sex in a year! She would never mention that out loud, though. It was bad enough that Isabel looked at her as if she grew three heads every time she remembered that her best friend was practicing celibacy. 

Everyone needs to have sex! She'd exclaim. There are health benefits to it! She'd add. She would ramble on about it being a natural stress and pain reliever. Did you know sex can cure a migraine? Te lo digo, Nessa, es bueno para la mente, el cuerpo y el espíritu--Yes, yes, she knows.

Despite her newfound guilt, she felt refreshed when she woke up this morning. Her body wasn't sore. It didn't hurt when she walked. She felt pretty light on her feet. It could have something to do with the fact that Joe stretched her--Alright, that's enough. Vanessa reaches to turn off the shower. The warm water ceased, and cold air rushed to sheathe her body in goosebumps. 

She pushes herself off the floor, a small sigh leaving her body as her joints pop with the movement. She steps out of the shower, snatching the towel that hung just above her head on the shower curtain rod. She wraps it around her body, exiting the bathroom. Instead of drying herself off, she drops onto the bed. Her eyes would meet the ceiling as she sucked in a tired breath. Vanessa brings her hand to her face, allowing her palm to drag down it. Her arm would then fly out to rest against the bed, hitting her cell phone. She turns her head towards the direction of the phone, flipping her hand over to grab it. 

The light turns on on the screen, displaying the time to her. It was now ten o'clock exactly. She watched her phone screen as if she was expecting a notification to appear. One would never come, though. Unblock Joe's number, commands a voice in her head. Unblock his number and text him. This voice wasn't thinking about her at all; at that moment, it was thinking about what Joe could do for her--what Joe could do to her. Look at her, acting like a touch-starved woman--Well, she was, but she refused to give in to those temptations again. Nessa did it once--er, twice...three times last night, but never again. She had a moment of weakness. Yeah, that's what she was going to go with. 

Texting that man after sneaking out while he slept and blocking his number would be foolish. He'd probably call her every name under the sun if he had the chance. Vanessa couldn't say she doesn't deserve it. She was a jerk and entirely too old to be doing this. She drops the phone back onto the bed, her eyes falling shut as she does so. "Stupid, stupid, stupid." She mutters to herself. Vanessa rolls onto her stomach, burying her face deep in the comforter she laid upon. She draws in a deep breath before letting out a muffled scream against her bedding. 

Why was she even this torn up over ditching a guy? People did it all the time. They hook up, and they go their separate ways! It's not like she was ever going to see the guy again. Joe lived in Pensacola, nearly a ten-hour drive from Miami. The chances of them ever running into each other again were slim. There was no need to feel embarrassed or upset, but for some reason, she was. These can't be her feelings; maybe they were his. Soul ties are a thing, or at least that's what she read somewhere once before.  

She lifts her head from the mattress, her eyes searching for her phone again. Once she locates it, she snatches it from its spot on the bed and opens her browser. How to get rid of soul-ties, she types into the search bar. Several links would appear on the screen before her, her eyes quickly skimming over article previews. "Addiction?" She whispers to herself, her brows furrowed. "The fuck..?" She turns off the screen of her phone once more. Perhaps she's being dramatic.

These feelings she felt are temporary and eventually will be a thing of the past. Hopefully, in about a week or two--or four, things will be alright again. Joe Anoa'i is a complete and total stranger to her, someone she met less than twenty-four hours ago. There was still plenty she didn't know about him despite getting to know the man last night. She learned normal, surface-level things about him; fun facts, if you will. It wasn't enough to pine away over. He was still a stranger to her. 

Nessa pushes herself off the bed, now walking to her closet for undergarments and clothes. She couldn't sit around the house, no, not in this state. Vanessa needed to get active and move around. Sitting at home would do nothing but make her mind drift off to the events of last night, and the last thing she needed was to think herself into a horny slump. Maybe a jog will fix this. Yeah, she'll go for a jog. 

Joe turns onto his side, his arm stretching out to drape over something that wasn't there. His dark brows knit together in confusion as he allowed his hand to glide over the empty spot next to him. The sheets were cool to the touch, meaning his bed was empty. He forces his eyes open, his semi-unconscious suspicions confirmed almost immediately. Nessa was not next to him. He lifts his head from his pillow, glancing around the room in a half-sleep daze. "Nessa?" He calls out groggily. 

He'd get no response back. Joe becomes still, his breathing quieting as he listens for movement. The suite was silent. He moves onto his back, his eyes finding the high ceilings cast in a dim white glow from the light outside. Alone was not how he imagined his morning would begin, but that seemed to be his reality.

BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ!

Joe sighs at the sound of his phone ringing from the nightstand. The timing for a phone call couldn't be more perfect. He lifts his head, reaching out to snatch the phone from its spot. Without checking the Caller ID, he swipes to answer the call. "Hello?" He says. 

"I thought your ass was never going to answer," Josh says from the other side of the phone. "Ay, you good?" Joe scoffs slightly at the question. He was something. He hadn't determined how he was feeling just yet.

"Yeah, I'm good." He lies.

"You sure?" Jon chimes in, now leaning into Josh's phone. "Because the damn plane was supposed to leave thirty minutes ago, and your ass ain't here."

Joe's brows furrow slightly at Jon's words. "What're you talking about?" He asks. Slowly, he pushes himself up in bed, allowing his hand to prop him up. His hair would fall around his face, dry curls caressing his cheeks. 

"You late, fool!" Jon exclaimed.

"Ay, Paul over here tweaking, Uce. You in trouble." Josh sings.

"Yeah, I ain't ever seen him this red before. Boy, that man is hot." Jon sings. Joe throws back the covers from his body, standing from the bed. His joints would pop as he stretched, a sigh leaving his lips as he did so. 

"Is that, Joe?" Paul says in the background. "Let me talk to him." Joe rolls his eyes, his head moving in a circular motion as he does so. He didn't have time for this.

"Nah, it's our dad, Wiseman." Josh lies. "Bruh, bring your ass on." He says lowly to Joe through clenched teeth. The call will end, sending Joe back into silence again. He tosses his phone on the bed, his eyes taking in the room around him.

"Ness?" He calls out again. No answer. The bathroom door was open; the small room shrouded in darkness. He'd grab a handful of sheets, pulling it from the bed to wrap around his waist.

Thin, white cotton sheets skimmed delicately against the marble floor as Joe approached the staircase. He stops at the top and peers over, hoping to see the beautiful woman from last night down below, but she is nowhere to be seen. He spots his clothes draped along the back of the couch, but hers, which once laid alongside his, is now gone. Joe's head turns slightly, his eyes finding the morning sky outside his windows. Vanessa had snuck out before he woke up. Has he ever had this happen before? No, no, Joe couldn't recall. Maybe while he was in college, but after? No, he couldn't say he has. 

Like he said earlier in the night, he wasn't interested in hooking up with her, and what happened between them was not planned. He just wanted to spend his last night in Miami with her. One thing led to another, and they ended up in bed together. Getting her there was not his intention at all. Hopefully, she doesn't assume that was what he had planned with inviting her here. His mouth would twitch to the left as he sniffled. Now that he thinks about it, maybe that's why she snuck off.  

Again, that wasn't his intention, and he thought he did a good job assuring her he wasn't one of those guys. Did he slip up at some point last night and say or do something that might've thrown her off? He recalls the night just as he remembered it best. They talked, swam a little, and lastly, came back here. Nothing happened between the roof and the bedroom, he thinks. The wine they had wasn't too strong--at least not strong enough to hinder his ability to remain courteous. 

Joe's gaze lowered to the floor, his shoulders rising with the breath he was taking in. He was feeling plenty of things right now: embarrassment, disappointment, confusion, and maybe a little anger. The anger is what confused him, though. Vanessa was essentially a stranger--why is he upset that she left? 

Try to call her, a voice says to him. No, shoot her a text instead, it backpedals. He shakes his head at the thoughts. No, both options were heavily confrontational. He didn't want to come off weird to her, but then again, it was probably too late. Joe lifts his hand to his forehead, pushing his hair back against his forehead. He shuts his eyes only briefly. "She's just a girl." He mutters, lifting his head. For some reason, those words sounded untrue--coming from his mouth. Was it a false statement? 

It doesn't matter--he'll get over it eventually.

Joe slowly turns, now sauntering towards the bathroom. He needed a shower. Vanessa's actions had left him questioning himself again. Was it the sex? His brows would knit together at the thought. It couldn't have been. One thing he knew for sure was that he was damned good at that. His mind would drift off to last night again. 

Joe thought they had spectacular bedroom chemistry. He and Nessa left not a single part of that bed untouched. How they managed to stop themselves from going longer than they already did was beyond him. 

His hand skims the wall, flicking on the lights within the bathroom. He'd come face to face with his reflection in the mirror, finally seeing his disheveled appearance. His hair stood wildly on his head, his curls defined in some spots and tangled in others. He looked well-rested despite getting hardly any sleep at all. The flight to Texas would be irritating with how the twins said Paul was acting. With how Joe felt, Paul might get some of that attitude back. 

He should've left yesterday when he said he would.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

A/N: I heard a lot of y'all was judging Nessa for sneaking out the crib before Joe woke up lol

What's that all about? Y'all wouldn't do the same thing after a one night stand? 😂😭

🏷️ list: @thesamoanqueen @whatdoeseverybodywant @headoftheetable @mzv11 @southerngirl41 @yana3sworld @wanderingreigns @wrestlingprincess80 @siriuslycee @vebner37 @astridxxxxxx @alichesmi @tshepisho @scarlettnoir01 @brokenglassslippers @reignsboy19 @sayyestoheav3nn @cyberdejos2 @empressdede @sisinever @truefant4sy @paigereeder @tbmotw @fearlesschimera @venusesworld @usoholic @sageispunk @bebesobrielo @jstarr86 @vibessonvibes @issahyland @queeny23 @pytbgeezy @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account

[aladaylessecondblog]

Red Mountain Waffle House pt. 13

Author's Note: Tw for some blood. Jiub is a troll. For those looking for canon Sotha Sil behavior, boy are YOU gonna be disappointed

This one snuck up on me

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

One week, then two.

Jiub found his Venmo occasionally pinging with small amounts from Sadara, who sent apology notes in each one. Honestly, he didn't blame her, but he wouldn't say no to to the extra money. He turned her room into another grow spot and it was doing okay, but still not to the level that having her there to contribute to rent had.

She hadn't come back, but there hadn't been much for her to come back for. A dresser, a bed. Those handful of receipts from Suran in the trash can he still hadn't emptied.

The Waffle House was doing a little worse for her absence, at least in his opinion.

The new waitress was an ashlander, and icily polite to those with corprus. Maybe they weren't the best people, but their money spent like anyone else's, and he couldn't figure out why all of a sudden NOW Nibani would want to piss them off by instructing new employees to act like this. It had driven off a few of them, or at least he thought so - it was hard to tell some of the ash ghouls apart from one another.

A few of the ash creatures had asked where Sadara was. The new waitress didn't know; neither did Nibani, whose answer was, "She no longer works here."

Jiub kept silent; he sure as hell wasn't talking. Sadara had sent him a Discord message (she'd outright deleted Morrotwitter) asking him to not tell anyone where she was, and he'd kept to it.

She didn't hadn't added any specifics about what exactly had happened on her little trip to Red Mountain. He'd asked a second time and she replied, 'Nothing we're not used to hearing.'

For a few days after that she sent random pictures of gnarly wounds from fighting cliffracers and other wildlife, and then of the scars once she healed up. There were also a few pics of cliffracers being turned on a spit over a fire, and a little 'wish you were here this thing tasted great' message a couple days in row.

Then there started being images of the inside of some cave along the coast near Tel Fyr.

The Fyrs are paying me 200 gold a week for blood and plasma, apparently I'm RH null blood type. it's special or something. and being immune to corprus makes them want it too, so. Not doing too bad.

Sounds great. What's up with the cave?

Oh, it's near Tel Fyr. Easy access. There's some khajiit and argonians here too, cave's big enough to share, so we do.

How do you share a cave?

We just have bedrolls in different areas. I feel like I got the biggest spot because it used to be a slave pen and they don't want to sleep over here ever again. It's not that bad. We've even got pets.

the fuck kind of pets do you have over there? lost scribs?

couple of fat slaughterfish we feed fish and scraps to. One we call Betty White and the other we call Wilson. They try to bite us but honestly they're big enough it's hard for them to move fast enough for it. So they'll mainly just hiss and make noise until they get food.

"Excuse me, cook? Are you paying any attention to the food at all, or are you destroying my eggs on purpose?"

"Your eggs are fine," Jiub replied, tucking his phone away. The customer in question had come in a few times, and was - well, honestly, such a stick in the mud it was fun to tease him. He was very particular about his food, wanted his waffles turn an even number of times...so Jiub always made sure not to do that.

Sotha Sil himself. Not all that impressive, at least not to Jiub. He said he came there because the sound of the blight winds was relaxing, and when he needed relative silence this was a good place to have it.

And his fried eggs were always just slightly runny.

"Here, I'll redo 'em if you want, I was hungry anyway."

He handed a newly finished plate of waffles to the new waitress, who took them to another ashlander in the corner.

"Do you have no pride at all in your work?"

"I'm cooking eggs and waffles for 10 septims an hour, there is no pride in this work," Jiub replied with a shrug.

"You are an insubordinate imp--no. No, I will waste no more time on your shenanigans. This is not what I am here for. Just cook the food." Sotha Sil huffed, and turned back to the laptop in front of him.

It was a far cry from the nigh-emotionless construct Jiub had heard Sotha Sil described as. Something, it seemed, had set the man on edge...he'd asked a couple people if something had happened to set Sotha Sil off what he was usually like. Most people couldn't see such little things, little signs of being potentially angry, or annoyed, or any number of similar things. But due to long experience, Jiub was a master at seeing it.

He'd reached a point in his life where he was looking to get humbled again. His success with Almalexia had made him feel almost bored - if he could off her so easily (however temporarily it lasted), really, how much farther was there to go? Maybe Sotha Sil would be different. Maybe he'd be tougher, somehow...

How little a thing would it take to push him over and make him screech?

He could already hear Sadara's voice chiding him for it. You little troll, you just want your ass kicked, don't you?

Well. Maybe he did.

The waitress went outside to handle the garbage, and so Jiub was the one to deliver the plated food. He glanced down at the laptop, and saw a familiar sight.

A Pokemon battle.

And more importantly...

"Superiorsil? So it's YOU! I should've guessed," Jiub set the food down and went over to clean the stove.

"What do you mean, you should've guessed?" Sotha Sil's voice had turned accusatory.

Jiub turned back, and gave a deep smirk as he extended his hand. "Jiuberjabber. How ya doin'?"

A pause.

A long, uncomfortable pause.

And then, Sotha Sil - master of the monotone, king of the cutting politeness, suzerain of stony looks - leaped over the counter and wrapped both hands around JIub's neck.

Both mer crashed to the ground and despite the pain and increasing lack of oxygen all Jiub could do was laugh.

"You idiot--pathetic--little WORM!" Sotha Sil was snarling, "You broke my perfect record!"

"It's just a game, man," Jiub struggled, trying to get one hand into his back pocket. Still the laughter persisted, even harder because he saw how much it infuriated the mer above him. Or maybe it was due to the choking. "Don't take it so seriously."

He managed to get his trusty box-cutter out, and took a few stabs in the area of his opponent's ribs. Jiub and Sotha Sil wrestled about in this fashion another few minutes, getting the latter's blood all over the floor.

"What happened to the calm magus, huh?" Jiub, still giddy from the lack of air, went on, finally getting to his feet and backing away, box-cutter at the ready. "Oh, wait, you are what the people need you to be, right? I've read the sermons."

"That wasn't IN the sermons you illiterate cretin," Sotha Sil stood, his pristine white robe now utterly ruined. The stab wounds were healed over quickly, and he looked ready to fight--

--and then suddenly bristled, snatched a to-go box, stuffed the food he'd left uneaten into it.

"Come back soon," Jiub, still in the mood to tease, energized by the fight, blew a capricious kiss at the furious mer before him.

Sotha Sil left, muttering under his breath.

Jiub then looked at the ashlander in the corner.

"You gonna tell the Temple about that?"

"Who the fuck would believe me?"

Grumbling, and thinking he was far too sober for this, Jiub moved off to the bathroom to snort some skooma. Nibani would be in within an hour, and he needed the blood cleaned up by then. The waitress, utterly horrified by what she had just witnessed, didn't look like she was going to be staying long enough to do the job.

[medicinemane]

Should make a pain killer that actually kills (or even touches) pain

[seventh-district]

.

[anaalnathrakhs]

manifesting for everyone people who love them how they want to be loved 🙏

[indulgentdaydream]

headcanons with attractive things jason does 😭🫶

anon i have GOT YOU

When he sits on a couch, no matter if you’re on too or not, that man is SPREAD

Arms wide and resting on the back of the couch. Manspreading his thighs wide open. A relaxed expression on his face. Maybe a book in hand.

When moving in for a kiss, he cups your face with his left hand first. Then strokes his thumb on your cheek twice while actually kissing you.

Every. Single. Time. Doesn’t matter where or when. If it’s just a peck or y’all are making out, that’s what he starts it with.

Kisses on the back of your neck if he’s walking past you and you’re looking down.

Also will keep his hands resting on your hips if standing behind you.

He’ll swear UP AND DOWN that he means nothing by it. That it’s just a habit. But will keep a hand on your thigh while driving a car. Not even sexual. Just comforting.

Opening doors for you and guiding you through with a hand on the small of your back

You’re both sleeping in the same bed? He’s dead asleep. Usually isn’t. But with you, for sure he is.

And if you slip out of his reach while he is dead asleep, he’s reaching out and dragging you back like a lost teddy bear. And he’s asleep the whole time

When you’re out eating or at a bar and he’s getting a bit anxious with all the people around, he’ll play footsies with you under the table

Got so intense once he accidentally knocked the table over and you two got kicked out

This man LAUGHS

No one talks about how Jason’s laugh (may have a fic in the works about it. I’ll finish it if y’all ask)

I’m not talking “he chuckled” or “he grinned” or “his shoulders shook with silent laughter”

I’m talking about how this man tosses his head back before leaning forward, clutching his stomach with one hand, the other reaching for some part of you to grasp as you laugh along with him. How his laughter is deep and BOOMING. It takes up a whole room. Echoes across the street. Enters your ears and melts into your blood stream and goes immediately to your heart which picks up its beating to make sure to get it to the rest of your body. How he straightens up again, his face split in a grin, eyes opening again while he has to wipe away tears of laughter, his body still shaking with it.

I want to make jason todd genuinely laugh and if the sound makes me go deaf then so be it because at least i was able to hear the most beautiful sound in the universe

I’m sorry this got off topic but

He wears glasses when he reads and that’s hot too i guess

[snowballseal]

Sleepy Affection

Sylus X Reader

Summary: You're tired. Sylus is the best cuddle partner. Lots of soft love here. That's it.

Word Count: 1061

Note: Self indulgent really, I have a hard time with burnout and sleeping in general, but I know cuddling with this man would solve all of that. Sorry if I overused adjectives.

---

Days as a hunter are long. It’s a part of the job, always being alert, always willing to help when the need arises. And you love it. You love being awake before the sun rises, and the exhaustion in your limbs as you walk home. It satisfies the restlessness in your bones.

But still, it’s hard to not hit burnout eventually.

You can feel it weighing down your body as you step out of headquarters. The sun is just rising over Linkon, and you narrow your eyes up at the sky. Of course you worked through the night. It was that or let your paperwork drag into your weekend. Maybe not the best decision. You sigh, rolling your shoulders. Every muscle in your body aches for sleep.

You don’t want to go home, though. It would be too quiet, too empty. If anything, you would probably end up staring at your ceiling, impossibly restless despite how tired you are. And that sounds absolutely awful.

Before you can think too hard about it, your feet are carrying you towards the transit center. To the one place where you feel safe, despite all the reasons you shouldn’t.

---

The N109 Zone is strangely quiet in the early morning gloom. The streets are nearly empty, the only sound coming from the electric buzz of the overhead wires and the snuffling of a stray dog on the corner. For a fleeting moment, you wonder if being a criminal makes you allergic to the day. Or maybe they’re all vampires. An amused hum dances past your lips at the thought. Perhaps they’re not after the aether core in your heart, but your blood.

One man seems to be at least.

By the time you reach Sylus’ place, it feels like you're walking through a light fog. Or stepping into a dream. The home greets you with a pleasant warmth that eases the tension in your muscles. Music drifts through the halls, distant and fuzzy with that old quality that vinyl has. Like a siren song, it draws you deeper into the dark comfort of the manor.

Right to your sleeping dragon.

Even while he’s sleeping, Sylus looks…dignified. Ethereal even. The soft light peaking through his curtains casts a glow on his features, dancing across his white lashes, making them almost look like snowflakes. Your eyes trail over the relaxed line of his jaw, the contours of his chest and shoulders. He lies so still, you could almost believe he’s a statue, if not for the gentle rise and fall of his chest. He just looks so…perfect.

It’s hard to believe that this is Onychinus’ feared leader. 

Toeing off your boots, you tread carefully to the edge of the bed. The mattress dips under your weight, the sheets soft and silky under your fingers. Sylus lets out a low sigh at the movement, red eyes flickering open ever so slightly before falling back shut. Without a word, he shifts and lifts the sheets for you to crawl in next to him.

His warmth draws you in, just like his wispy, old music. You can’t resist it, not that you want to. It’s all the invitation you need to tuck yourself as close as possible, like an exhausted little kitten looking for a safe place to sleep. Sylus immediately draws your leg over his hip, long fingers kneading lazily at your thigh. Every part of you presses against his addicting warmth, drawing a content hum from your lips, completely pliant under his touch. He could do anything to you right now and you wouldn’t complain. But there’s an almost reverent feeling to the way he holds you, the way he traces shapes along your skin and presses gingerly into your wound up muscles.

It’s a rare moment of pure gentleness. No teasing quips. No haughty smirk. Just you and Sylus, the air between you thick with something so incredibly tender. You stay like that for what feels like forever, time lost to soft touches and quiet sighs. Neither of you are willing to break whatever spell has fallen over the room. 

Soon enough, though, the weight of your eyelids becomes too difficult to fight. You tuck your face into the curve of his throat, the scent of his cologne washing over your senses. It’s spicy and warm, like worn leather and rum, just so perfectly Sylus.

You wish you could stay like this forever, floating pleasantly on the edge of sleep with him. Just with him. An indescribable fondness curls somewhere deep in your chest.

“I missed you,” you admit into the crook of his neck, your voice thick with sleep and something vulnerable.

“Mmmm, I was wondering why you crawled into my bed in the middle of the morning.” 

He wasn’t, really. You both feel it whenever you can’t see each other for too long. It’s like the worst feeling of homesickness. He won’t admit to it, but you can feel it in the way his arms curl possessively around your waist, like he never wants to let you go. You slide a hand up to his chest, savoring the warmth of his skin, the steady thrum of his heart under your palm. You’ve missed this. Sylus shivers at your teasing touch, those red eyes finally flickering open again to look down at you, half-lidded and unfocused. You hold his gaze, trying to memorize every detail, every fleck of color, the dark gleam of fondness in their depths, matching your own. This is the real Sylus. Gentle and kind, passion burning just below the surface. The one only you get to see. And you love him more than you’ll ever be able to explain.

You curl your arms around his narrow waist, forehead pressing against his chest, “Is it okay that I came?”

You already know the answer. Still, Sylus humors you.

“I would have it no other way,” he rumbles lowly, lips brushing against your hair. “Now rest, sweetheart, I can tell how tired you are. We can talk in the evening.”

You hum, eyes finally falling shut, “Promise?”

“I promise.”

And just like that, you find it impossible to stay awake any longer, lulled by his words and the sound of his breathing. Every nerve, every worry, washes away, leaving you to fall into the darkness you’ve been craving, dreaming of the weekend you can spend together.

---

Honestly took so long to write. I wanted to moment to feel soft and more drawn out, don't know if it worked. But I hope y'all liked it :)

[a-b-riddle]

Part 7

Can't stop thinking about how the 141 met reader

(she's a long one. not entirely happy with it either so may edit later)

No harm done yet.

You never saw Simon actually hurt anyone. Johnny and Kyle would share stories about poor recruits who fucked around and eventually found out that Simon had no issue beating them within an inch of their life.

You knew he had a reputation and, like the rest of them, had blood on his hands. But it never bothered you. Didn't make you think twice about loving him or seeing him as the protector he had always been to you. To be frank, you could never actually picture any of them being violent.

But his voice... Fuck. His voice. It fucking rattled you. You actually feared for those fucking idiots now. Sure, they deserved to have their asses kicked, but an ass-kicking was probably going to be a welcomed after thought to whatever Simon would do.

You rinsed off, not bothering to wash your hair, but needing to wash up before getting in the bed. Hoping the scalding hot water washed away the uneasiness on your skin that had began to settle into your bones.

Even feeling fresh and laying in clean sheets, you still found yourself tossing and turning wondering exactly what did Simon do?

Did he walk away? Realizing you weren't worth the trouble, did he just tell them to knock it off?

You had stupidly expected Simon to check in. To check if you made it home alright or at least to let you know he was okay. So you waited... And you waited. You had half a mind to call him yourself before remembering it wasn't your place anymore to care. You had cared enough for the five of you.

It was well past two in the morning before you finally called it a night.

The next morning, still nothing from Mr. Riley. Not a 'did you home alright?' or 'are you okay?' text. Nada. Zilch.

Whatever.

Fuck him.

You had to open up shop, but luckily your Saturday mornings were much more relaxed. The shop wouldn't be open until 10, so you had the time to sleep in and enjoy the morning.

By noon, Mere had sent you several texts reminding you that you had promised to go out. You had tried to dissuade her. The encounter with those men last night had brought back sour memories. One involving handsome men coming to your rescue when it was most certainly needed.

You had tried to bail. Giving her any excuse you could: Last night put you on edge. You no longer wanted to go out. After last weekend, you just needed some down time.

Eventually you had realized she was not taking no for an answer after she had shown up to your apartment, already ready for a night out.

"You're not wearing that, are you?" Mere asked. Mere was in her usual Saturday femme-fatal attire. The black leather pants that accentuated her curves and red corset paired well with her freshly box dyed color black hair.

She looked more like a dominatrix than someone who worked at an attorney's office. Even if both professions included bending someone over and fucking them for all their worth. You wondered who would charge more by the hour....

You had pulled out a off white lace square neck top and a pair of high waisted medium washed baggy jeans. A perfectly cute outfit for a night out. Which was your defense when she had suggested you needed to change.

Tab had arrived later than expected (something about a system being down at work), but made up for it by bringing a pre-game snack. Yes, you had officially reached the age where you no longer starved yourself hours before going out to get more drunk quicker and cheaper. No you had to eat carbs or else you wouldn't be able to leave your room the next day as you pathetically nurse a hangover.

Tab wore a denim skirt. If you could even call it that. It paired well with the white tank top that you could make out the shape of her nipple piercing.

But they looked hot. Really hot.

"This is a perfectly acceptable outfit."

"For a day at market, not for trying to get laid."

"I don't want to get laid." You said, rummaging through your closet, yet again. "Getting laid is what got me in this mess in the first place."

A little over two years ago

"Fuck him." Tabitha wrapped her arms around your shaking body as you continued to sob. "He was a prick who didn't fucking deserve you."

"He couldn't even get you to cum." Mere felt the need to remind you as if that would somehow lessen the blow of your heartbreaking into a million shards. The shrapnel feeling like it would kill you.

"I loved him," your voice is small. "I fucking loved him." You had been dating for almost three years. You had his grandmother's ring on your fucking hand for God's sake. "I'm so stupid."

"You are not stupid." Tabitha gave you a squeeze. "He was a liar and a fucking coward." Meredith rubbed her thumb on you bare leg, offering physical reassure. Letting you know even if she wasn't the hugger Tabs was, she was still here.

"You can't keep locked up in this apartment." She was unfortunately right. You had not only barricaded yourself in your apartment for two weeks, but you hadn't returned to your bedroom. The scene of the crime. "You need to get out."

"Yeah," Tabitha rubbed your arm as if trying to coax you out your metaphorical shell. "Get some fresh air. We can go grab a treat. Maybe go out for some coffee." It didn't surprise you that Tabitha was offering a treat to entice you to leaving your sanctuary.

"I was thinking going to a bar." It also didn't surprise you that Mere offered her way of coping. Getting so drunk that you forgot what you even sad about. Or going out and finding someone to fuck the sadness out of her.

"Because getting alcohol in her system in this state is just what she needs." Tabitha was the mom of the group whereas Mere was the fun drunk aunt. They balanced one another out.

"Actually," you said, giving a pathetic sniffle. "Going out would be nice." Getting away from the apartment is what you need. And going out would be the excuse you would need to get yourself all dolled up.

What you hadn't planned for was getting so pissed that you had manage to breakaway from your friends. Searching for them in teh crowd of people. Failing and when you pulled out your phone were met with a completely black screen.

Dead. Perfect.

The same moment you swore the night couldn't get any worse, it did.

He looked the same. Same as he been four months ago when he asked you to become his wife. Same as he had been two weeks ago when you had caught him fucking another girl. The girl he told you not to worry about. The girl he insisted was just one of the guys. A girl you had told him time and time again would fuck him the moment she had the chance.

It wasn't always great to be right.

When your eyes connected, your body had went into immediate flight mode. Every neuron in your body was shooting out signals of RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN. So that's exactly what you did.

You fucking bolted.

Or felt like you bolted. But you could only scurry so fast in chunky heels while simultaneously pulling down your skirt that had decided to ride up. Aching to show your ass for all of London to see.

You had made it a quarter of the way back to your apartment. Your feet aching. Toes pinched together from the strap digging into them.

"Baby, please!" You heard him before you felt his arm clamp down on your shoulder. Hard. When did his touch become something heavy? Something that practically burned you.

You turned. Eyes brimming with unshed tears as you hissed at him to leave you the fuck alone. The begging came, but you turned around. Determined to go home. He didn't deserve the chance to explain himself and he could most certainly shove his apology up his ass.

He wouldn't shut up. Insisting it was a mistake. A one time thing her fault. How she seduced him. As if he were the victim in all of this. You weren't buying it. Not for one moment. One doesn't accidentally invite some slut over and fall balls deep into her while they are in the same bed he shares with his fiancée.

It wasn't until you were in a more dimly lit area that he had gotten the nerve to grab you. His grip was firm on your arms as he held you in place. "Listen to me!" His voice was panicked.

The feeling of anger slowly began to dim as something else began to rise.

Fear.

You were afraid.

You were in a part of town not many people were out and about in at this time of night. No bystanders to really take note of the scene, or at least not any caring enough to stand by and watch; even for entertainment.

Your friends didn't know where you were at and you were tipsy. And alone.

"Cardan," you swallowed, trying to steady your voice. "Please let me go."

"Not until you talk to me," his fingers dug into you. "We can work this out, okay? It was one mistake." He tried to argue, his voice rising, soaked in desperation. "What's one mistake compared to three years?"

"Cardan," you tried to pull away, his grip only tightening. "You're hurting me." It came out as a pathetic whimper. You were so close to crying, too afraid to scream.

"Hey!" A voice barked from behind you. It caused your whole body to stiffen."Get your fucking hands off her. Someone noticed. Someone was here. Someone was here. Someone was here.

"We are having a conversation." Cardan's eyes left you, looking at whoever stood behind you.

"The lass said to leave her be." Another voice. Someone else. Two (three if you counted yourself, but in that moment you couldn't) people against one. There was no a possibility of you getting the fuck out of this situation.

Cardan stood firm. His eyes looking past you. A silent refusal to back down.

"Either you let her go," another voice. Another accent different that the first two. "Or we fucking make you."

"One against four. Odds aren't in your favor, mate." Four. Four men stood behind you. Faceless strangers there to help you.

"This doesn't concern you." Cardan bit out.

"Aye," Scottish. The second guy was definitely Scottish. "I think it does if she's tellin' ye' to piss off and yer bein' a bawbag about it."

"So what'll it be?" The third voice, deep and threatening, yet still so... calming. As if the vibrations from his deep, rich pitch washed over you.

Cardan looked back at you, his eyes not as manic. He realized he didn't have a chance. This was a fight he had to walk away from or else he wouldn't be walking away from it at all. "I'll swing by tomorrow, okay?" He asked.

You couldn't do anything, but nod. Agree that you could talk tomorrow in the safety of the sunlight. Eventually he walked across the street before fading out into the night. Blending in with the shadows.

You turned around to meet your would-be saviors.

Four men. All slightly older than you and so handsome you felt foolish for gawking at them as if this were your first time seeing a man. Hell, maybe it was. At least specimens like this. All of them tall and broad. Towering over you.

No wonder Cardan got the fuck out of there. Tabs was right. He was a coward.

"You alright?" The one who first spoke up asked. You could place his voice. Now just needed to place the other three. He had a hearty mustache and mutton chops. A look on any one else would make you immediately get the ick. But for a moment you wondered if that mustache would tickle... "Do you need us to call anyone?"

You felt your cheeks flush with heat.

"I just want to go home." You said. "Thank you for stepping in. I don't know what would have-" You stopped. Too afraid to think about the possibilities. There was a time you would never believe that Cardan had the ability to hurt you.

There was also a time you believed he would never cheat. You weren't really sure what to believe anymore. "Anyway," you continued. "Thank you again." You turned on your heel before continuing your stride.

You had only made it several feet before you were stopped again. "Which way? One of us can walk you home." You weren't entirely sure. But with a dead cellphone and a unhinged ex probably lurking in the shadows, there was little time to weigh the pros and cons before giving them a general direction of where you lived.

Which just so happened to be the direction in which two of the four lived. The Scot and one of the two who had yet to speak. The first one, who had still yet to introduce himself instructed the two of them to drop you off and let him know you had made it home alright.

You had hoped that the rest of your night would be met with silence, but the Scot couldn't seem to help himself. "I'm Johnny." He introduced. "And the spooky, silent type is Simon." He gave a playful wink. You gave him your name, not wanting to be rude.

"Not my place to ask," he began. "But what was the deal with that fucker? Ex-boyfriend?"

"Johnny." Simon's tone held warning. You appreciated the defense, but frankly didn't care. These were strangers. Who cared what they thought.

"Ex-fiancée," you clarified. "One who decided to fuck another girl in my bed. Not even our bed. My bed."

"Jesus fucking Christ," the Scot swore. "I was right. He was a fucking bawbag." For whatever reason, that made you laugh. For the first time in two weeks you fucking laughed. And it felt like you were breathing again.

Simon was quiet, not contributing to the conversation and just letting Johnny babble. Talking your ear off in a short trek as if it were an olympic sport.

You were so distracted with his voice you hadn't realized how far you had made it until the sound of your keys clattering onto your kitchen counter brought you back.

Back to a situation you didn't know how the fuck you landed in.

Two men (who you don't know) are in your apartment. Your friends don't know where you are. You are a little bit too inebriated to plan and exit strategy. Doesn't exactly help your confidence in fighting them off since they are built like fucking brick houses.

"He won't come sniffin' around here botherin' ya, will he?" Simon asks, speaking for only the second time since he had threatened Cardan. You shake your head.

"No," you said. "I have him blocked on everything. So I think when he saw me tonight it was just kind of an opportunity, I suppose?" You offer. Cardan had showed up to your place one time with a random assortment of flowers and a useless apology you had to hear through the door as you covered your mouth. Concealing your cries. Too afraid to let him know you were there.

Too afraid that some part of you would be weak enough to take him back.

"We'll leave ye' be." Johnny said, nodding his head toward the door. "But if he comes bein' a shite to ye again, you can give us a call."

"Phones dead." You explain, holding up your phone as if you needed to prove yourself. Johnny offered the brilliant, yet simple solution of giving him your number. He sent off a text, knowing it would be there when you turned back on and promising to check in later.

They both gave subtle nods of goodbye before turning away.

And just like that, they left. The door clicking softly shut behind them. You stood, frozen for several beats before walking over and locking the door.

You plugged your phone into the charging cable, waiting until it lit back to life before shooting off a text in your group chat with Tab and Mere.

Sorry I took off. Ran into Cardan and fucking made a dash for it. Sorry if I worried you. I'm at home. I'm okay. Grab lunch tomorrow and we can talk about it? My treat?

You signed off the text with a heart emoji and turned your phone on do not disturb. Too afraid of your friends going all Mama Bear on you for running away while drunk. Even if your reasons were valid.

You had texted Johnny again. Not because Cardan dared to bother you again, but to thank him. Acknowledging that not many men would have done for you what he and his friend did. Johnny assured you it wasn't anything.

Before you knew it, the two of you were hanging out with Simon always tagging along. It took you a while to realize he did actually like you, but his stoic nature was just who he was. You had met Kyle and John, both as charming and respectful as Johnny and Simon.

John had been the first two mention wanting to take you on a date. It didn't go well with the other three. They all had the same intention and a rock, paper, scissors tournament seemed to juvenile to figure out who got the privilege in courting you. Eventually, they had decided to ask you.

Putting you on the spot to answer the question that had begun to tear them apart: which one of them will it be?

Johnny made you laugh. He was the first person you thought about calling when your day was a bit grey. He saw the positive in everything and was the one who made you feel like even the bad days weren't so terrible.

Then there was Simon. The one who you felt like was your safe place in body and mind. You would babble all day talking to him, thankful when he would let you rant. Your mind was able to go on auto-pilot in terms of safety because you knew Simon would handle it. He also gave the best hugs.

John was the one who instilled the confidence in you that you needed. Your bookstore, your writing, whatever aspirations you had, no matter how wild, John would support it. Nothing was too big. After you all started dating, he was the first person you ever let read your book. He gave you praise as well as critique, pointing out multiple plot holes and helping you craft it better. And never once taking credit for it, even when it was due.

Kyle was the most thoughtful one. He was the one who knew you liked trying knew things so he made an effort to always make date nights interesting. A new restaurant, a new activity or experience. He was the biggest giver of the group.

So when they did ask you, you answered honestly.

"I can't choose." They insisted that you didn't need to spare their feelings, but you stood firm in your decision. "No. I can't choose. I'm interested in all of you." When they pressed on why the fuck you didn't say anything earlier, you told them to avoid this kind of situation. Where you had to choose. You were fine continuing on as just friends if that meant you got to keep all of them.

Mere and Tabs were great friends, but they are the ones who helped pull you out of the slump. The ones who made you feel lovable. The ones who made you feel like a woman again.

"Helloooooo." Mere's hand waved in your face while another held something she had found in your closet. "So are you going to change or not?" Your eyes darted to the skimpy glittery black dress. The same one for your first date with them. Your stomach twisted as you took the sparkly dark fabric in your hand.

You nodded as if trying to shake the memory out of your mind. "I'll change and we can go." Better just to get it over with.

The place that Mere had dragged you to was a club that played music that you would only listen to while encapsulated in the aroma of cheap liquor and sweat. Your outfit form-fitting. The material too stiff to be comfortable, but it was cute. The hem of your dress coming to rest just below your ass cheeks. Hugging your body in a way that made you feel self conscious the moment you stepped out of your building.

Mere had run into some work colleagues. Names you couldn't and wouldn't remember. There had been a high profile divorce going on. Very messy. She had been so encapsulated by the gossip that she hadn't notice you and Tabitha had slipped off toward the bar.

Tabitha insisted on shots and you needed something to get your mind off the less than exciting night. Your expectations weren't high, but fuck. You would have been much more comfortable wearing the jeans. You felt like a piece of fucking meat. It would have been so bad if someone were gonna buy you a dr-

"This seat taken?" It was a cliche introduction attached to a slightly better than average face. Decent enough where it didn't hurt to look at him, but not attractive enough to be a seat.

"By all means," you said turning back to Tabitha who looked at the guy now sitting to your left and raising her eyebrows. Fucking hell. Not her too.

"It's pretty packed tonight." He commented, attempted to make small talk. You hated small talk. At least unless it came to Johnny who would get into discussion on politics, religion and why on the side was the best way to fuck because it gave him 'a perfect view of the front and back of ye.'

"You come here often?" You asked, not wanting to be a total bitch, but having absolutely zero desire to be entertaining him.

"When I can." He said. "I prefer the Artifact a couple of blocks down. Not many people heard of it. A bit of a hole-in-the-wall place." Oh cool. A fucking hipster who liked to act superior at knowing a place that is underground. You could feel any possibility of getting your pussy wet, dry at the thought of this man actually wanting to come onto you.

Jesus, when did you become so harsh.

I blame Simon.

"Oh," you say, no longer interested in entertaining the conversation. "Sounds lovely. My friend and I just came out for a bit of girl-" you turn to look at Tabitha who had somehow miraculously disappeared in the 45 fucking seconds that your back was turned....

Little bitch.

"Bathroom, I suppose." He laughed. It was the sincerity in his voice that irked you. God, why was he pissing you off just trying to start a conversation?

"I suppose." You gave a soft smile back, turning once the bartender had come over to grab your order. Which the stranger next to you had insisted buying. Nothing quite as arousing as obligated conversation.

"There's no need for that-"

"Percival." He introduced. "But my friends call me Percy." Your immediate thought was who the fuck names there kid Percival. The second was to offer him a fake name. Real enough to be believable, but fake enough where if he tried to search you up on any social media, you could just deny having any.

"I hate to be brash," he started. Then don't. "But I can't imagine a girl like you being single."

"Not really looking for anything romantic at the moment." You say, the first time you've been truthful this entire conversation. Percival leaned in closer, before asking in a low voice that he was doubt trying to convey as sexy, "Are you sure?"

And there it was. The final ick that nailed the coffin shut.

You offered in a soft smile before swallowing hard. "Percival,"

"My friends call me-"

"I'm going to be frank." Your voice is soft, as if explaining to a small child why we don't always get the things we want. "I just got of a very long and deep and meaningful relationship and the idea of being near another man in any intimate or emotional capacity wants me to cause very serious bodily harm to said man."

His expression fell.

"I appreciate your confidence in coming over here and making small talk, but if you're wanting to fuck me or even attempt to be friends, I must inform you that is no only not in the cards, but not in your best interest." You turned, downing the rest of your cocktail.

"Time for a trip to the bathroom myself, I suppose." You stood from your seat, having to readjust your dress.. "Have a good night."

You were washing your hands when a red-faced Mere walked into the bathroom. Tabitha on her heels with a concerned expression.

"What did you do?" Mere asked.

"What are you talking about?" You asked. You had half a mind to ask them why the fuck they pulled a disappearing act after insisting you go out.

"You told Percy you would castrate him?" You looked as if you had been slapped. The pieces falling into place to reveal a totally fucked up puzzle.

"You fucking tried to set me up." You seethed, a finger pointing accusingly.

"Well, fuck, what did you expect me to do?" She asked. "You were sulking."

"Listen to me!" You cried. "I want you to listen to me. I was with them for two years. It hasn't even been two weeks and you're going behind my fucking back and trying to set me up with fucking Percival? How the fuck do you even know him? Do you even know him?" She ignored your last question. How convenient.

"I thought it would be good to get it out of your system." She tried to defend, her pissyness now matching yours. "You always do this. I was just trying to help."

"What do you mean 'I always do this'?" Your eyes turned into slits.

"Why don't we just calm down and-" Tabitha tried to stop the escalation. Mere, very obviously, ignored that cue.

"You get so hung up on a guy, or in this case guys, it takes you fucking weeks to recover." You stare at her. Unsure if she was really comprehending the bullshit that had come out of her mouth.

"I'm certain you aren't trying to make me feel bad for grieving a relationship that I was in for over three years to a man I was engaged to. To find him fucking in my apartment, in my bed the same week I was going to get my wedding dress."

"It's not just Cardan," she went on. "Issac in our second year of school?" You gave a humorless chuckle.

"Oh yes," you said condescendingly, "the boy I had dated from 14-years old- until I was 19. The boy I gave my virginity two months before he told me he was not only not interested in me, but women in general." As if that somehow lessened the blow. "Absolutely shouldn't have bothered me a bit."

"You only went out for classes and food for two months!" She said as if you had hit a pedestrian with your car. As if you were a fool for being so distracted by a breakup you couldn't be bothered to carry on with life as normal.

"I'm sorry that I actually take the time to grieve my relationships." You said. "I forgot that it may be hard for either of you to comprehend what a relationship is like considering the only relationship either of you have is with your work or with each of us."

"Hey!" Tabitha said. "I understand your pissed, but there isn't need to attack us like this."

"Attack you?" You asked. "Attack you? This isn't me attacking you. This is me responding to an uncomfortable situation that you put me in. I told you I didn't want to even think about me. I didn't want to fuck someone else and you go and do this?"

"He seems like a decent guy." You roll your eyes.

"Probably why he's not your type, right?" Mere crossed her arms over chest. Eyebrow arched as if she were hoping the words enticed you to realize that you had a history of going after the wrong guys.

Unfortunately, it did not.

You sucked on your teeth, carefully choosing your words before World War III broke out in a nearly vacant bathroom in South London. You took a deep breath. Calming yourself as best as you could.

Before saying fuck it and letting it loose.

"Just because your idea of coping is getting drunk and fucking someone you plan on never speaking to again, quite literally discarding them like trash, doesn't mean the rest of us cope the same way." You hoped it hurt. You hope it stung the same way she had tried to sting you.

You had hoped that your word would be the final blow before both sides called a treaty.

"You mean like they did you?"

And just like that, you heart stuttered. A rapid dum dum dum in your chest as it had been tripped up by her words. The truth in them heavy. The shift in the air was almost immediate;.

"Sweetheart-" Tabitha had tried to reach out before you jerked away.

"Enjoy your night." You said, grabbing your purse where you had left it by the sink. "I'm going to go home and wallow in my self pity." You exited the bathroom, hearing your named called again before shifting it into gear and getting the fuck out of there.

Weaving through the sea of bodies like water flowing around rocks.

Who the fuck cares if you want to cry? To grieve? To be angry? To get closure? To move on? Who cares if you don't want to be the girl who gets her heart shattered and not fuck somone else? Who wants to feel the comfort of a familiar body, a touch that feels safe one last time before you go back into a world where you will only be touched by a stranger?

It didn't matter that you were the one to breakup with them, even if the relationship was broken. It's foundation cracked.

What did matter is that the people who should have supported you and in the way you were dealing with your loss in your own way, didn't. And that's the part that they seem to forget. It is a loss. It's mourning someone who hasn't died. Someone who is still living, yet still no longer there.

"Off already?" Percy cut in the way, blocking your escape. You weren't in the mood.

"Listen-" you started before he cut you off.

"Not anything romantic, I know," he raised his hands as if in defense, "but maybe like another drink or a dance?"

You closed your eyes, wanting to hold off starting a scene and tearing him a new asshole. "Like I said, not. interested." How much clearer could you spell it out?

"Come on." He said, his hand coming to rest on your hip. The grip on it weak. You were by no means the type of woman that could take on a man like the ones you still held in a chamber of your heart. But you could most certainly handle your own against Percival. "I'm asking for a dance. After what Meredith told me, I figured you'd be down for at a little more than that."

"I don't follow." Your blood ran cold. Your heart praying that any assumptions that were running through your mind were wrong, they were wrong.

"She mentioned you having a group of like guys you fucked, but stopped fucking." He shrugged, offering a coy smile that you ached to wipe off with the back of your hand. "I don't judge. It's kind of hot honest. Did they run train or-" You felt it then. His hand had traveled from your hip to the curve of your ass.

And you froze. You froze like a coward. Too afraid to speak or scream. Too ashamed to push him away, cause a scene.

But you didn't need to do any of that.

In an instant, Percy's hand was off of you. It took you a moment to realize that a figure dressed in black stood beside you. Your own personal grim reaper.

"Put him go!" You pleaded, breaking out of your trance. You took hold of his arm putting all of your body weight on his arm, trying to break his hold. He didn't falter.

You could handle you own against Percy.

But Simon could fucking kill him without breaking a sweat.

You looked at Simon's face. His eyes were darkened. The soft brown you had once loved staring into were now almost black. You could even make out the dark circles, even in the unsettling flickering of strobe lights in the club.

"You touch her again and I'll slit your fucking throat. Understood?" Pure venom fell from Simon's lips, but you knew he wasn't lying. Simon was the type of man who didn't say something he didn't mean.

You knew that all too well.

Percy choked out an ineligible, gurgled response as Simon's hand held firm on his throat. "He understands, goddammit, no let him down!" You ordered hitting at him as if it would stop him. "Simon, please!"

It was only when you said his name, did Simon loosen his grip. Letting Percy drop to a heap on the floor before he started a having a coughing fit, trying to suck in as much air as he could.

Simon looked down at you and the exit before scooping you up and hauling you over his shoulder like a sack of flower.

You wanted to die. You wanted to crawl in a hole and die and never show your face again.

"Get in the car." He at least had the decency to open the door for you. Simon wasn't a flashy man, by any means, but he was still a man. A men did love their cars.

He stood, waiting for you but you didn't move. You glared up at him. He had carried you out of there in the most humiliating way possible. You had to fight against the hemline of your dress or else everyone would have gotten an eyeful.

Hand still on the door, he leaned down, getting closer and closer to your height. "You get your ass in this car right now," his breath warm against your ear. "Or I'll have you over my fuckin' knee." His tone was sharp. It wasn't seduction in form of a threat. It wasn't even a threat.

It was a promise.

"We're over." You reminded.

"Do you think that'll fuckin' stop me from spankin' some sense into your bratty ass?"

"It doesn't give you the right to fucking do that to people, Simon!" You huffed. "You could have killed in."

"Could have," he agreed. "But didn't. You're welcome." he nodded toward the car. "Now, in you go or I'll do it here. You already know I don't mind an audience."

The heated seats were a bit to warm for your liking against your bare ass. The tension in the air was uncomfortable. Your hands ached to touch the radio. Anything to stop the silence between the two of you.

"I got home fine the other night by the way." You said, looking out the window, hoping to make him feel like shit for not checking in like he should have.

"I know you did."

"What do you mean you know I did?" You asked, turning to look at him. He shrugged as if it wasn't anything out of the ordinary, not stopping.

"Just did." Was his only answer.

"Are you fucking stalking me, Riley?" That made him laugh. You would have felt better if there was at least a sense of humor in it, but, instead, only disbelief.

"Oh, Riley now, is it?" He asked.

"You're not my body guard, Simon." You snapped.

"Not trying to be," he said. "I was never trying to be." You caught it. A very small slip, but it was something... something you couldn't place.

"Then why?" You ask, your tone softening. "For someone who makes it very apparent to be done with me, you sure do show up at convenient times. Hard not to think your keeping tabs on me."

He didn't say anything. No explanation or excuse. Not evena smart ass comeback or remark.

His hands reached forward and turned on the radio, turning the volume just loud enough that if you were to try and continue the conversation, your words would be drowned out.

He pulled up in front of your building, yet you made no move to get out. You turned off the radio, soaking in the silence once more. You wanted to know why? Why was he appearing out of nowhere like a fucking ghost? Why was he helping you?

He sighed before putting the car in park and stepping out. Coming around to your side he opened the door. "Get inside. Go to bed." There he was again. Fucking bossing you around as if he still had a say.

You wanted to cuss him out. To spew hateful words just as he did you.

But you didn't.

You were tired.

So fucking tired. And the idea of going to bed did sound pretty good in that moment. You made it to the door of your building before he spoke again. "And if you need to out at this time at night call a goddamn cab."

"Why?" You asked, turning around. "Getting tired of having to follow me around on foot, Si?"

There was a pregnant pause. Neither of you speaking. His body shifted forward, as if contemplating getting closer to you. As if the pull you once had was still there.

With his eyes trained on you, you felt a chill run down your spine. Twice you had seen that look on Simon's face before. The look that he had given the figures concealed in the shadows last night. The same look he had given Percy.

Only this time, it was directed at you.

One that personified the saying, 'if looks could kill.'

"Because," he growled out, "the next time I find someone else touching you that way, I'll fucking kill them."

[lunamugetsu]

Danny is a house husband.

That's it, that's all it is.

As the years went on. Danny retired from being a superhero. There was no need for Phantom when the GIW were dealt with and all the ghosts were under control.

Now what's left for him to do but to just sit back, relax, and finally be able to live his life.

Sam and Tucker on the other hand....

Well, they had plenty of pent up rage, wits, and chaos inside their mind to become villains.

But they had one rule.

Never bring work home and to never involve Danny in any of their supervillain business.

Okay that's technically two rules, but they're kind of synonymous especially since Danny has been taking care of their house while also entertaining himself with trying new hobbies.

Tucker and Sam both make sure that they never bring any of their villainy home to Danny, because all they want is for Danny to enjoy his happy hero retirement.

And Danny in turn, doesn't bat an eye when watching the news and seeing that there were magical plants that were attacking sites that oil companies were digging or that somehow Lex Luthor had lost five hundred million dollars and had somehow leaked records showing he was building weapons of mass destruction.

He also doesn't bat an eye when he sees that Tucker had brought home a telescope that definitely looks like it came from some fancy lab because hey, Tucker was making him an observatory so he can look at the stars and planets. While also how they were able to make a great gaming pc with computer parts that are definitely not sold in stores, because hey at least the newest update of Doomed wasn't lagging.

Or that Sam comes home with various plants and animals that are definitely not from planet earth, but hey the three headed wolf-lizard-eagle- hybrid thing (that Danny has affectionately named Fluffy) is pretty great at keeping the pests away from his vegetable garden and likes to eat any of Danny's new food creations and is a great playmate for Cujo.

So you can imagine how the Justice League thinks when dealing with the pair of new villains: Upload (Tucker) and Sam (I could not think of a villain name that would suit her, so it's up to you what you think her villain name would be)

And how they were currently wreaking havoc in the city either by cyber warfare with robots or by magic plant monster or a Frankenstein of both approaches. The heroes had all evacuated the civilians from the battle zone and are currently fighting a losing battle. When they've been effectively captured and restrained by the two. Right before the villains could go into a monologue, they hear a person clearing their throat.

Everybody looks to see a 25 year old man wearing a sweater vest (he made it himself, thank you very much) currently holding onto the leash of a giant glowing green dog and some kind of giant animal hybrid. The man's arms were crossed and was currently not sporting a very happy look on his face.

Tucker and Sam (looking at Danny with hesitant smiles): Hi honey.

Danny (frowning): you missed our anniversary dinner.

Tucker and Sam both pale as they quickly realized what the date and time was.

The league all watch as Sam and Tucker immediately start apologizing to the man that just walked into a battle zone.

Danny (still frowning): Hmph! I guess since you two didn't want dinner you can go back to your little fight. Don't expect me to make you any lunches for the next month, and since you two are having so much fun here, you'll be sleeping by yourselves for the next couple weeks.

The league all watch as they were let go as Sam and Tucker yell as they run after Danny yelling apologies as he was walking away from them.

This is not the last they see of Danny.

When Danny is displeased with either of his partners, he'll invite a hero over to have lunch of afternoon tea.

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor anthology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

Part 7: Firsts

Kyle bought you lunch before your set time. To make sure you ate, he said. He still asked about five times if you felt like you ate enough or needed water even after sitting across from you while you downed a to-go container of pad se ew and your fourth ounce bottle.

You just laugh and point to a piece on your knee. “Babes I got this with nothing but a trenta iced coffee and two hours of sleep in my system. I’m fine, I promise.”

John made a baffled noise at that. Kyle looked like he was going to throw up. That look remained as he went through the process of setting up in John’s studio room. Kyle is meticulous about it. Each step done with care. You feel a bit silly sitting around and twiddling your thumbs.

“Just breathe. It’s fine.” John murmurs in a low rumble that somehow has you relaxing more than the indented party.

“It’s almost more scary doing someone I know.” Kyle huffs.

You laugh. “Can’t be worse than the blown out piece of shit on my left arm. C’mon, I’ve seen what you can do. You’ve got this.”

John nods, sitting on the other side of you.

“Besides, even if it sucks I’ll still be honored to be your first real apprentice tattoo.” You pipe up.

Kyle chuckles, low and unsure. Part of you wants to give him an out, to say he doesn’t have to, but you can see the set of his jaw even as his eyes flick between his supplies and the stencil in his hand nervously. He’s determined as much as he is scared. There’s no getting him out of that headspace until he’s done.

You chose something easy. One of Kyle’s more dainty, simple flash designs for the back of your thigh, just below the curve of your ass. A little bow with minimal shading. Something he’s practiced a thousand times and an easy enough starting point. Plus, you already mentioned having him do a matching one on the other side when he’s ready for it. Easy practice.

“C’mon, at least get the stencil on before you have a panic attack.” You try to keep your voice light, turning your back to him.

Kyle sighs. You hear his stool roll forward as he scoots in close to place it. John shuffles around to stand over him. A nasty part of your brain complains about exposing your cellulite to these two fit men but you push that deep down into nothing. A second, more embarrassing part wonders if you should have chose a more appropriate spot… that maybe you shouldn’t be standing in front of your boss and coworker in teeny-tiny biker shorts that barely cover you. You shove that down right next to the other mean thoughts.

You pointedly ignore the heat that shoots up your spine as Kyle’s hands feel out the shape of your thigh to get it centered - keeping your eyes forward as he slowly presses the paper against you. You could swear a thumb traces the curve of your cheek as he smoothes it but that’s probably just wishful thinking.

“Good job, kid.” John claps a hand on Kyle’s shoulder as soon as the paper is pulled away. You turn around in the mirror to check it, expecting to probably have to move it, but from what you can tell it really is perfect.

“Damn, dude, on your first try!” You grin, clapping happily.

Kyle nods stiffly, but you see the way the corner of his mouth quirks up. You unceremoniously clamber onto the table, moving around so your back doesn’t hurt from laying flat for the next few hours with your arms folded under your head.

“Hey.” You whisper while John steps away to grab something. “Get through this without freaking out and I’ll give you a reward.”

“A reward?” He tilts his head, smile turning from an nervous curl of his lip to a boyish grin.

You jokingly bat your lashes. “I’ll give you a kiss.”

Kyle chuckles. “With tongue?”

You gawk, face hot. “Mr. Garrick! Where’d my knight in shining armor go?”

“Just tryin’ t’ figure out exactly what I’m workin’ toward.”

You hum, pretending to mull it over. “We’ll see. Depends on how well you do.”

Kyle levels a look at you, something heated as his lip catches between his teeth. It’s only there for a moment, gone as soon as he turns to his tools. Replaced by a laser focus.

“Alright.” John settles back into his seat on your other side. “Let’s do one line and then see how we all feel.”

Kyle nods. You shuffle a little to make you’re you’re as comfortable as possible for the next however long. You know it’s going to be a while even if it isn’t a simple design. He’s new and precise with means slow.

The familiar whirr of the gun starts up. You shut your eyes, waiting, hoping that you aren’t projecting any more tension into the room than Kyle is. The needle stings when it finally touches you, but not as badly as you braced for. His touch is light.

He pulls the gun away and let’s put a giant sigh. “How y’feel, luv?”

“Hm? Oh, I’m all good. You?” You tilt your chin a bit to meet his eye.

“Better now that it’s started.”

“Good.” John nods, chest bumping your leg as he leans forward to look. “Looks good. Keep on.”

The room is nearly silent as he works. You turned down the music before coming back so he wouldn’t get overwhelmed - at least that was your reasoning. You’d get overwhelmed. Kyle is more levelheaded than you are, though.

“Thassit.” John smiles - or at least that’s how it sounds in his voice. “Her skin takes ink so well, yeah?”

Fuck, that totally should not do it for you. Gravelly voiced British bastard. You keep your eyes locked onto the flash on the far wall as you attempt to cool down.

Kyle just hums, seemingly unable to talk as he concentrates. He probably is with how dialed in he looks. You take a break before he gets to shading, stretching and getting some water. It takes a while, but not as long as you assumed. You start to get that ache in your skin partway through the shading - that feeling when your nerves are so tired from firing off pain receptors they just all sort of start burning dully.

However long later Kyle pulls away. “I… think it’s done?”

“You think?” John challenges.

Kyle sighs before speaking with more finality. “It’s done.”

There’s a few beats where John assess and you hold your breath. He points to a couple spots where Kyle’s hand slipped a bit or he applied too much pressure, but when you check it out in the mirror yourself you don’t see that all. Perfectionists.

You can’t help but squeal and jump, clapping happily and barely standing still while Kyle puts the saniderm on. You’re just to happy! Not only did Kyle get his first tattoo done but now you have brand new (free) cute ink to show off. Kyle looks tired, though, so you try not over overwhelm him while he cleans up. Concentrating like that with anxiety must have really taken it out of him.

You sort of forget about your promise of a reward for the next week. Too busy focusing on taking care of your new tattoo. The only downside to the placement is sitting in your office chair itches - especially once you take the saniderm off. You’ve mostly taken to standing while working and wearing shorts and skirts to let it breathe. It’s worth it, though. You’ll have to ask Kyle how soon he wants to do the other one. Without being pushy, of course.

You quietly hum to yourself as you get the cash drawers ready to lock away in the backroom safe. Triple checking the bags and making sure tips are divided correctly, etc.

“Hey, lovie.” Kyle saddles up behind you suddenly, hands on your hips.

You jump. “Holy shit, you scared the hell out of me!”

“Sorry.” He chuckles. A hand slips down your hip, palm tracing the hem of your tennis skirt to lightly rest over the little bow. “How’s she healin’?”

“It’s, uh, it-“ You stutter, eyes wide and skin hot. If it were Johnny, you’d laugh and swat him away - maybe let his hand wander to your ass first - but Kyle doesn’t do this. Not that you don’t like it - the problem lies in that you’re liking it too much. If the patter of your heart is anything to go by. “It’s good. Not itching yet or anything.”

Kyle hums. “Good.”

“Th-that all?”

“Think you forgot somethin’.” He turns you around, hands firmly planted on the softness of your waist. When you just give him a bewildered look he continues. “I was promised a reward, I think.”

“O-oh?” Your face burns, eyes wide. Is he serious? Part of you wants to say no - to push him away. You’re coworkers, after all. Until your eyes meet his, so big and warm and his lips forming a perfect pout. “John….?”

Kyle chuckles ans crosses his chest. “John won’t care. Cross my heart.”

He gives you a moment to mull it over. You don’t think he’s making fun of or bating you - Kyle wouldn’t do that. There’s no way he’s interested either. That’s one delusion you can firmly plant in the ’purely imaginary’ category.

Whatever. What do you have to lose from a little back room make out?

Your lips meets his. Fuck, they’re soft. He steals your breath - greedy and gentile. It’s been so long since you’ve been kissed, much less kissed well. One of the hands on your waist moves to your low back as Kyle leans into you. Your hands grapple onto his shoulders to steady you. He takes advantage of your gasp at being tilted back to swipe is tongue between your lips.

You mould together, breaths heavy and tongues dancing. A needy, pathetic little part of you wishes the hand that drifted from your waist to your hip would hook under your thigh. That Kyle would tilt you all the way back onto the desk and throw your leg over his shoulder, eagerly pushing up your skirt-

An ‘I love you’ dances on the tip of your tongue and you reel back harshly, hand flat on his chest to separate you.

“Alright?” He murmurs, eyes half lidded and dark.

You swallow roughly and nod, breathing hard. “I, uh, I need to finish the safe.”

Something passes across his face briefly as your eyes flick between his. Whatever it was, it’s replaced by his usual easy smile as he returns to standing at his full height, the hands on your waist steady you before disappearing. Your stomach drops as they go.

“See you tomorrow.” Kyle murmurs, pressing one last little peck on your cheek before striding away, leaving you alone in the back room with a hot face and whirlwind thoughts.

Fuck.

A/N: brought to you by the time a tattoo artist told me my skin takes ink well in the most haunting bedroom voice I’ve ever heard😵‍💫 killed me right then and there

[thewritetofreespeech]

Flourish

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

summary: Aemond had not been joking when he said they would work on another child after their first was born. Aemond never joked. [ part ii of this work ]

tags: heterosexual sex (m/f), fingering, breeding kink, mentions of past pregnancy, use of High Valyrian, Aemond so in love with his wife that he might fall over.

words: 2K Ao3

-------------------------------⚔️-------------------------------

The fire was warm as it crackled in the hearth. Staying off the coming chill of the cooler months settling in upon them.

Aemond stared into the hypnotic flames. His wine from dinner at his left while his wife sat in her twin seat at his right, wrestling with the babe in her arms. “Stop fighting little one.” She whispered under her breath at their child. To which Aemond had to scoff quietly as his cheeks raised in a smirk. You might as well tell a bird not to fly, if it was one of his children.

His beloved wife had given him the child he had asked for. A beautiful, strong, silver-haired paragon. With her mother’s eyes instead of his own, but no less the perfect Targaryen jewel. They named her Amena, after much debate of naming her Alyssa or Alysanne after his grandmothers. Truly they had considered it but, in the end, Aemond wanted his children to be their own person for as much as they could. So much of their lives would not be their own; their duties, their battles, their matches. Let them at least have their names.

The princess eventually settled and suckled at her mother’s breast for a time before a nurse came in to take her to the nursery. Though the Keep kept some of the finest wet nurses in all Seven Kingdoms, his wife insisted on giving their child her first & last feedings every day. No exceptions. He knew she would make an excellent mother, even before their child had been born.

The nurse gathered the babe from his wife’s arms, kneeling down to let her kiss Amena’s soft crown, before she came over to Aemond and did the same. “Sleep well, riñītsos.” He whispered to her, before she was carried away and the two of them were left alone.

His wife sighed heavily once the door closed. Slouching and sliding down into her chair in a very relaxed, but undignified, manner. “So, what shall we do for the rest of our night husband?”

“I want another child.”

Understandably, his wife was surprised. It was not the response one would often expect to hear when asking how they should spend the evening before bed. Cards. Reading. Surely not perpetuating a dynasty. “Did I not just give you that one?”

Aemond chuckled as she pointed towards the door where the nurse had disappeared through. “Yes. You did. But I would like us to have another.”

“Really? And what brought on this sudden change in perspective?”

He doesn’t know if he should tell her that it was not a ‘sudden’ change in perspective. Since that night they conceived Amena, Aemond’s goal had been to fill his wife and their wing of the castle with children. He just didn’t realize how persistent the urge would be once they had one.

“I thought you wanted Amena to have siblings.”

“I do,” she agreed, which was a good start, “but I did not think you meant now. Perhaps when they are older. I just got my body back.”

His eye roamed over his wife’s figure. Back nearly to where it had been before and still beautiful, but he would be lying if he said he had not been thoroughly attracted to her those nine months she had been pregnant. Seeing her swell heavy with his child. Watching her body change. Her breasts grow heavy. It almost set Aemond to drool.

“I thought you said you liked being pregnant.” He reminded her, as he stood up and knelt in front of her chair. The heat from the fire on his back almost as hot as his gaze fixed on her.

He knew that pregnancy wasn’t easy. Seeing his mother, his sister, and now his own wife go through it, he was aware it was not the tranquil beauty & reverence people made it out to be. But he did not think his wife despised it. She commented often on how she loved carrying their child, even amidst the complaints.

“Well, it…was an experience…I did not hate it.” He could see her waver as he took her hand in his. Good. Aemond did not think of himself as the clever charmer, full of charisma, like his brother was, but he was not without his own Targaryen silver tongue.

“Do you not want to give Amena a brother?”

“Is that what this is about?” Aemond stopped kissing her fingers at the sharp shift in her tone and looked up at her. “You don’t want another child. You want a son?” His silver tongue might not be as polished as he thought.

When she had been pregnant, she had asked him what he was hoping for and Aemond said he did not care. Which had been true. Sons carry a man’s name, but when you have the name ‘Targaryen’ the point was moot. And, as an avid learner of history, he knew that there were some Targaryen women that carried the name higher & finer than some of the men. If Amena had been male, he would have rejoiced all the same. But clearly now his wife was thinking that maybe he had hoped for a son and been disappointed. That they could try again and ‘get it right’. That was not what he meant.

“No. I have no more of a wish for a son than daughter. We could have 15 princesses, it would not bother me.”

“15??” His wife repeated with a laugh. Her concern and ire waning quickly. “I am not giving you 15 children, of any variety.”

“But you’ll give me another one, eh?”

Aemond lifted up on his knees. Back to seducing his wife as he leaned in close to her. His lips brushed against hers softly, before they traveled down her jaw to her neck. His wife sighed in his ear. Sinking further into her chair as she tilted her head back. Relaxed and pliable under his touch.

He continued to kiss her while his hands moved to undo the lacings in the front of her evening gown. A sharp gasp came to his ear, followed by a moan, as his cool hands slithered in to touch her breast. They were sensitive and tender. She had told him as much. The newfound weight of them in his hands from what they had been before made him moan as well and a shiver raced down her spine when he pulled the gown down to expose them fully.

“Aemond….” She sighed out as he kissed along the edge of her breast. Imagining another babe of silver at her left since Amena seemed to favor her right.

“Let us to bed, issa jorrāelagon.”

His wife nodded eagerly and Aemond rolled up to his feet with all the grace his training allowed him, before he offered her his hand. She of course took it, and he pulled her to her feet and against him. Holding her there for a moment to look down at her before he gave her another kiss on the lips and led them to bed.

As they were already in their evening clothes, the matter of getting undressed was easy. Aemond laid his wife on the bed and was quick to catch her arm before it moved to cover herself. She had become shy about her body and being naked in front of him since giving birth. A trend he hoped would pass. He certainly had not given her any indication that he did not still find her desirable. His hard cock stroked against the interior of her thigh, just in case she needed further encouragement.

She moaned quietly as his member brushed against her soft skin, then leaned up to kiss him. Aemond is happy to meet her. Her lips are soft as well. He always thought that. Everything about her was soft in comparison to his hard lines and, well, everything. It was why they were perfect together. Why the world needed more of their two halves in one whole, to make it better & perfect as well.

“Open for me.” He told his wife as his fingers brushed against her thigh as well to spread them that little bit further to give him entry.

She does, and his fingers slid in to toy with her already damp sex. “See. You may lie, issa jorrāelagon, but this part of you cannot. You want me to put another babe in you, don’t you?”

“Aemond…” Her voice sighed out his name as her head tipped back whilst his fingers pressed in.

“You want another Targaryen fire in your belly, yes?”

“I just want you inside me, Aemond.” She insisted and he smirked.

“I will be. And I will be every night until we make a new scion, if you’ll have me.” His thumb brushed over her clit. Swollen and beaded out as his fingers continue to thrust inside her. His pretty wife bowed her back. Called his name and begged him to enter her. “Tell me true, wife.” He whispered in her ear as she was nearly close to crying with want. “Do you want me to fill you up with my seed and plant a new babe in your womb?”

“Yes!” She finally admitted. “Yes Aemond, I do! I want another babe. To give that to you. I want you to fuck another child into me like you did before! Please, please, give it to me Aemond!”

The prince gripped his wife’s hair and pulled her in for a hard kiss. A reward for her honesty. As he was doing that, he pulled his fingers from her cunt and lined his cock up to refill it. Sheathing all of him in her warmth in just a single thrust. “Hells Aemond!”

He gave her but a moment to adjust before he started thrusting into her. Those beautiful, full breasts of hers bouncing obscenely in front of him. His eye roaming down to her again flat stomach and imagining it full again, before traveling lower to where there sexes meet and watched his cock thrust hard to put a child into her.

“A-A-Aemond!” His wife cried out. Voice stammered by his thrusts. Hands clinging to the bedding as her legs wrapped around him.

“Not going to let me go, are you issa jorrāelagon.”

“Never.” She told him. With this look in her eyes that shot Aemond right to his soul.

He grabbed hold of her arm and flipped them up while they kissed. Her legs still wrapped around him as she was now seated neatly in his lap as he thrust up. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” The sweet words somehow tainted a little with all the wanton, animal panting between them, but no less meaningful. “Now give me our son.”

Aemond groaned. His back teeth grinding while his wife’s hips were grinding into his lap. He held her still and flush against him as his cock burst forth deep inside. She moaned sweetly against his ear as he filled her. Not letting go until he was sure every drop was inside his wife, then laid her down on the mattress. “Just the once, husband?”

“Do not tempt me, wife.” Aemond warned her. Both remembering the mad frenzy that had been their first bout to conceive. “Did you really mean it?” He asked when they were settled in bed for just sleep now. “Would you really want a son?”

The conversation earlier had led him to believe that she was not interested in one, but then her remark a moment ago made him question. Although Aemond was not fool enough to believe what a person said in the throws of passion anymore than what a person said when they had imbibed.

“Hmm…I have no opinion really.” She confessed. Settling into her spot on the bed between her pillow and his chest. “I know that is what everyone hopes for us. More Targaryen sons.” Aemond hummed once. He wouldn’t patronize his wife by telling her that that wasn’t true. “But, having one of each wouldn’t be so bad.” Aemond looked down at his wife just as she looked up at him. A shared moment between them. “I am not giving you 15 children though.”

Aemond smirked at her quip. “We shall see, now won’t we.”

*****

riñītsos: little one, little child

issa jorrāelagon: my love

Amena (origin, Arabic): meaning trustworthy, loyal, protected. [Not a Targaryen name but sounded pretty close, in my opinion]

[2tarbell]

BF!RAFE didn’t mean to. you were tired and he’d do anything to make you feel better and happy. but not long after you had dozed off, he became rock hard as you slept with your head in his lap. it was an innocent position at first, but rafe couldn’t stop himself from arching his clothed erection into your sleeping face. hissing every time the tip bumped against your nose. maybe this should feel wrong, but he can’t stop imagining being in your throat again. to work you open and make a home for his dick in that pretty mouth.

it was addictive, you were addictive.

his perfect girl that only wanted to make him happy. that let him teach her everything. he felt like it was the least he could do to let you nap on him, but it was proving increasingly difficult. from the way your ass was peeking out of your slip to the way you nuzzled further into his crotch; rafe was a mess.

soon enough, you wake up to his rutting hips and sigh sleepily, looking up at him with hazy eyes.

“mmm?”

the confused hum you let out almost makes him feel bad, almost. but then he’s exhaling heavily as you nudge his cock with your nose, and he knows you aren’t that dumb.

“heeey, baby. woke you up, huh?” he mutters.

his low, pleasure ridden voice makes a warmth surge down your body, coiling tightly in your lower tummy. you nod and snuggle further into his lap. the hard length of him a solid presence against your cheek.

“was sleepin’…” you mumble and feel the way his hips push against your face slightly, seeking and seeking.

“mhm, i know… jus’... y’looked so pretty laying in m’lap…”

and you really, really did. lounging on his bed, curves soft and inviting. skin warm to the touch and just begging for his hands to squeeze, to mark up. it’s worse now that you’ve woken up; wide eyes glazed with sleep and hands just shy of where he needs.

“yeah?” you whispered, titling your head coyly, finally palming the length of him.

“jesus, yeah — need your help, baby. got me so fuckin’ hard…”

you giggle sleepily as he moves your hand towards the waistband of his sweats. for a moment, you glance up at him for approval, still unsure how to initiate this intimacy. rafe nods and watches with baited breath, lifting his hips to help you slide his pants down just a bit.

he’s so hard it looks painful, you pout in sympathy.

rafe huffs out a chuckle at the doe eyed expression on your face, his heart swelling (as well as his cock). he runs a hand over your hair, smoothing it back then hooking a finger under your chin. the sight of you staring him down makes him arch into nothing.

you grin as the appendage twitches and grab ahold of him lightly. rafe hums and uses his thumb to pull down your bottom lip, watching as it bounces back into place. with a devilish grin, he takes hold of his dick and rubs it all over your cheeks, leaving glistening trails of pre cum.

“bet you were dreaming ‘bout this, yeah? jus’ dreaming about daddy’s cock?” he drawled out lowly.

the action mixed with his words are degrading but so, so good. he’s so mean and you love it; you need it. you nod and drop your jaw, trying to catch and lick at him best you can. he sighs when you take the head in your eager mouth.

“yeahhh, there you go — fuck — remember, relax, kid…”

you’d do anything if he said it like that.

he’s sitting with his back against the headboard, your head resting on his lap as your cheeks hollow around his pulsing cock. his head lolls back as he lazily fucks your mouth. you make sure to keep your jaw slack; it’s a mess of drool, but that’s exactly how he likes it.

when he hits the back of your throat, you gag but his coos are enough to keep you down for just a bit longer, holding him deep in your throat longer than you ever have. craving some sort of validation for your efforts. you’re rewarded with a sound that reminds you of a hiccup mixed with a half hearted growl of ‘fuck’. nose nuzzling his trimmed pubic hair before coming off with a pop.

you gasp for air and jerk him off as you catch your breath, looking up at him excitedly. he’s insane to look at, heaving chest and low lidded eyes holding a twinkle that excites you to no end. sleep long forgotten.

“didja see that?” your breathless exclamation makes him laugh, still slightly rolling his hips into your fist. he hisses when your brush over the tip.

the deep chuckle he lets out makes your core ache. he drags you up to place a hot kiss on your lips, his hand then tangling in your hair and guiding your head back down with a proud smirk on his face. he reaches and squeezes your ass firmly, voice low as he praises you.

“look at you, dick suckin’ pro for dad. that’s my girl…”

[tender-rosiey]

hiii 😭 I REALLY LOVE UR GOJO X YN SO MUCHHH 😔😔 I was also wondering like maybe what if y/n has a wound, like any where 🥲 it could be either on her back, arms, legs but she doesn't wanna tell gojo abt it and she hides it, then he will find out about it either she winces when gojo hugs her, starts wearing long sleeved clothes or her shirt lifts up while sleeping 🤧 TYSMM❤❤

strain — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: I am honored that you like my works, love! hope you enjoy this as well 🫶💕🫶 also happy birthday to the man, the myth, the legend: gojo satoru!! (it’s still his birthday in my country so hush I am not late)

you are more than a capable sorcerer. in fact, you are one of the strongest in the field.

however, like anyone else, there are some moments where things get a little out of hand, and you come back bearing a rather long slash on your left arm.

but since it’s pretty late, you decided you will bother shoko about it in the morning. that is how you’re finally in your home, with satoru nowhere to be found.

you frown lightly at the fact that he is still out there fighting curses, but a part of you feels relieved that you don’t have to explain your situation right now.

the night should pass by smoothly, and you will go to shoko tomorrow: a fool-proof plan!

so you do what you can to sanitize the wound, and cover it until you can get it treated properly. you also take the chance to indulge in your favorite snack as a good job treat.

after finishing your food and tidying up for the day, you’re finally in bed, all-cozied up and avoiding anything touching your wound as much as possible.

a deep breathe in, a deep breathe out, and you slowly drift to sleep.

not much time passes before satoru’s familiar footsteps echo throughout the house.

your husband has an abundance of energy.

but it seemed like today’s missions have drained him a bit more than normal, so he skips eating anything and heads straight to your shared bedroom.

his heart softens, and his muscles relax upon the sight of you tucked in bed. he walks to press a small kiss on your forehead, quickly changing into his pajamas and settling right by your side.

he stretches a bit and turns to spoon you as per usual, eyes closing in contentment.

but you wince, even if adeptly, and it sends alarms ringing through his head.

he jerks up, and his hand is instantly placed on your arm again, softly. there is an ever so faint change in your expression as your eyebrows furrow, and he has never pulled his hand away so fast.

he keeps debating in his head whether to wake you up or not, but he swiftly settles for the former.

he needs to know what happened. so he, regrettably, nudges your sleepy form, “y/n?”

you groan, but, nonetheless, you reply, “…what?”

while satoru often likes to base theatrics around his every move and phrase, but he also knows when to get straight to the point, “did you get hurt on today’s mission?”

you’re no longer half-asleep, and you quickly sit up, eyeing your husband. knowing there is no escape nor denial, you fidget with your fingers and nod slowly.

then you hurriedly utter, “but I was going to see shoko first thing in the morning; I promise!”

he nods slowly, holding your hands in his own. you’re left to look him in the eyes. satoru’s eyes being exposed makes him feel so vulnerable, or at least that’s how he is with you.

you can see every wrinkle, and every crease; you can see what he is thinking about in real time. he has long given up hiding anything from you, and, besides, it feels fresh to just let go.

but right now, as you look into his eyes, you see them swarming with confliction, pain, and worry.

he doesn’t scold you about not going right now because he knows that you will tell him that you either thought it wasn’t a big deal or that you didn’t want to bother shoko with it.

instead, he settles on a hushed whisper of “can I see it?”

you throw him a confused look, “why? I am getting it treated tomorrow anyway,” then you smile, “it’s not going to permanent if that’s what you’re worried about.”

he shakes his head, “it’s not that; I just—“ he takes a deep breath then looks at you pleadingly, “just let me see it.”

perhaps it’s to silence his thoughts and to show him that you’re truly okay, as okay as you can be.

you’re still alive, and that’s what matters, he thinks. nevertheless, he feels the need to see just how serious is the wound anyway.

reluctantly, you slowly take off your jacket to reveal the poorly bandaged gash on your arm.

he looks up at you, asking for permission because even if he needs to see it for his own selfish reasons, he has to put you above anything and everything else.

you nod, giving the free reign to slowly take off the bandages. you can barely hold back any pained noises, but you can’t help the wincing of your body.

satoru’s frown deepens, and with every move, your husband’s heart aches. it goes like that until the wound is finally unveiled.

you feel satoru observing the cut so intently that you look away. satoru curses everything that he can think of, and never has we wanted the ability to heal others more than right now.

he straightens his back, “that’s a deep cut, y’know.”

“I know…”

“you also realize that the wound could’ve hit your chest and inevitably heart, right?”

you huff, “listen, if you’re going to give me a lecture or keep making me feel bad about it then I will have you know—“

“you could’ve died.”

you notice the strain in his voice, so you turn to finally look eyes with him. he looks pained, so hurt, maybe even terrified at the fact that there was a chance that he could’ve lost you.

your expression immediately becomes that of sympathy, “but I didn’t, and dwelling on the fact that I might’ve died will only bother you for no reason,” you hold his hand, “I am here and alive, aren’t I?”

your husband sighs, resting his head on your right shoulder, “you’re hurting my poor little heart whenever you put yourself in danger like that.”

a giggle escapes your lips, and your hands naturally find their way in his hair, fingers gently carding through, “whatever shall we do.”

“if things went my way then you would just stay home looking all pretty like you always do,” he states, and you roll your eyes.

“well, they’re going my way tonight, so—“ the clock strikes twelve, “happy birthday, silly boy.”

his eyes widen and he pulls away to look you in the face. he blinks dumbly then looks at what’s in your hands: a cupcake with a candle.

a wide grin of unbridled joy appears on your husband’s face. his eyes shimmer in the moonlight as he laughs, “I really didn’t expect it this time!”

“you outdid yourself, pretty girl,” he hums, hand caressing your cheek.

“I still have a lot more things for you,” you beam with pride. satoru can’t contain himself anymore, and he pulls you into a loving embrace.

“I love you so much,” he murmurs beside your ear, pressing a light kiss to the side of your neck.

you pat his back, “I love you too, ‘toru,” you laugh, “but you’re pressing on my wound, and I think I am just going to cry and not because of overwhelming love.”

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @sonder-paradise @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies@pianopuppygirl @gojosblackqueen @kryscent @kunikida-simp @whoami-72 @mx-0-child @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso @4sat0ruu @nineooooo @chuuyasboots @alekssashka7 @rieejjyubi02 @satoryaa @nothisispatrick300 @fallencrescentmoon @etheviese @ho34gojo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @the-weeping-author @stray-npc @libbyistired @anon1412 @anakalana @maehemthemisfit @satorustar @b4nka1 @sad-darksoul @ko-fi-heart @pumpkindudeishere @suyaaachin @babyqueen17 @chaosguy352 @murakami-kotone

copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported