#OMG IS HER EYE A FLOWER SHAPE | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dellalyra · 9 months

Note

OMG I WAS JUST HAVING BRAINROT ABOUT GOJO AND Y/N IN THEIR TEEN YEARS AND

imagine that back then they had to participate in a talent show or something and megumi and the rest watch the old video tape they found in the darkest corner of the library on campus.

the tape was in a box with a label reading "the best jujutsu tech students' and its just filled with memories of their teen years.

they decide to watch the talent show one and its just chaotic as hell. mid way through megumi, nobara and yuuji get caught watching it lmao

𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨, 𝙘𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙧𝙖, 𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣! 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴

A/N: this request. came in last night - and it’s all I’ve done today because it was so perfect it’s all I could think about. ur amazing ily

CW: swearing, weed, suggestive stuff, mdni i stg shoo

“Itadori! Bring these to the garbage!” Nobara shouts.

“Why me?! Why can’t you do it?!” He retorts as Megumi just rolls his eyes at the two of them, he wonders how they turned into siblings so easily.

“Fushiguro! Tell your boyfriend to take this to the garbage. It’s heavy and he should use his freaky wall-breaking strength for something useful!” She shouts back.

“Eh?! Is exorcising cursed and carrying you like a sack of flour not useful?! Or always carrying all your dumb shopping?!” They’ve broken into an all out sibling squabble by now, Megumi just turns away and continues the task of clearing out the storeroom behind the dojo in the school. Pushing boxes of old files and reports out of the way, he finds a box covered in doodles and stickers, taped shut at the top. He goes to inspect the very out of place container and finds words among the doodles of weirdly shaped beings and flowers.

‘The Best Jujutsu Tech Students.’

“Will you two shut up for two minutes, come look at this.” He says over his shoulder to the two, with Nobara releasing Yuuji from the headlock she somehow got him in.

“Ancient treasure! I told you we’d find something cool.” Yuuji shouts, pumping his fist into the air.

“What is this, Pirates of the Caribbean?! We’re clearing out a high school storage room, dumbass.” The girls rolls her eyes.

They inspect the box, trying to figure out the doodles.

“It doesn’t look super old? Open it, Itadori.” Nobara says.

“Will you quit telling me what to do?!” He says, huffing.

While they resumed the bickering, Megumi took a knife he had hidden in the shadows and sliced through the lines of tape holding the box together. The sound alerted the other two who peered into the box alongside him.

“Wait, are they… DVD’s?” Megumi asks.

“Yeah - but they’re homemade ones. Is there a label on them?” His boyfriend says, leaning in to get a closer looks.

The box itself was filled with small DVD cases of many colours - all labelled in a scrawling handwriting the kids felt like they knew.

“There’s a DVD player in the room where I hung out when I was dead.” Yuuji says, and hauls the box up and begins to walk. None of them even needed to discuss whether or not they’d be watching them, like a hive mind - but with maybe two shared brain cells.

They all made their way across campus, to a room in the same building as their Sensei’s office.

Nobara insisted on grabbing snacks from the vending machine en route, and they sat down on the sofa while Yuuji loaded the first date labelled ‘2003, December.” Well, that’s what they think it’s said. The handwriting was such a chicken scratch it almost looked like a doctor’s unintelligible writing.

The screen came to life - sounds buzzing and voices echoing (albeit muffled) as the screen panned from looking at the floor - to the sky, the the floor again. Then - a face came on screen.

A very familiar one - but… a hell of a lot younger.

“Wait… is that -?” Nobara asks.

“Shoko-sensei?!” Yuuji exclaims.

“That’s kinda how she looked when I was a kid. She’s in her uniform, so this must be when she was in school.” Megumi adds.

The camera pulls away from the close up on her face as another figure enters the shot - a man with odd bangs, silky black hair tied up into a bun and piercing dark eyes. He had a lazy smile in his face as he looked into the camera, poking a finger into Shoko’s cheek.

“What the fuck, Suguru?!” She says as she flicks his hand away.

“That’s - that’s Geto Suguru.” Megumi says. Geto had always been a bittersweet topic in their house, only getting worse in the last year and a half since… since he died.

The next action causes a gasp to echo across the room. A smiling face pops up between both figures.

Dark, circular sunglasses perched on a slim, pale nose and a wide, toothy, cheeky smile sat under a mop of shocking white, messy hair.

“Holy shit! That’s -” Yuuji starts.

“Dad.” Megumi whispers, seeing Satoru so young, probably around his age was amazing to him.

“Wow! It’s working! Is it on? Is it filming?” 16 year old Gojo says, voice eerily familiar, but much younger.

The three faces were all staring into the lens of the camera, only visible from the shoulders up. On screen, Shoko looked down and moved her arm and another head popped up from the bottom of the screen, trying to squeeze in.

The head of H/C hair and shiny eyes wiggled their way into the shot between Suguru and Shoko, and under Satoru.

“Did you say it’s on? It on recording right now?” The new figure pokes the camera.

“No fucking way… Fushiguro! That’s -” Nobara says, swirling to look at the taller boy.

“My mom.” He says, eyes fixed on screen. Your face was younger, hair the same as ever, eyes still full of excitement and curiosity and voice slightly higher than it is now. A hand pats the top of your head, a pale one - Satoru.

“Do a dance for the camera, Y/N.” Satoru says, smiling.

And you do a little wiggle in your spot squeezed between everyone as the other three burst out laughing.

The camera cuts off, and the screen changes to a view of the outside - all of them immediately recognising the training field.

In view is Geto and Gojo, sparring at such a ridiculously quick speed it’s barely visible. He could hear giggling behind the screen and recognised the voices of you and Shoko laughing about something that happened in class.

“They’re such show offs.” Your voice says.

“Geto genuinely wants to train, Gojo is just trying to impress you.” Shoko says, voice muffled by something - which he later sees as a lollipop, figuring it out when it gets launched across the field - presumably in retaliation for her comment by you.

“No way, Koko! That’s just dumb, he’s just a show off in general.” Your voice echoes.

“Whatever you say, Y/N.”

The camera cuts off again. The next thing they see is the night sky, and raucous laughter. The camera is being held by Shoko again, and she points it to a view of a rooftop - the flat part of the roof of the dorm building. The camera turns to one Suguru Geto, eyes hazy and smile even more languid than normal. In his hand was a smoking object - which he passed to Shoko.

They were both laughing together about Shoko saying she could see a constellation shaped like a penis, and the hysterical giggles and she rested her head on the boys shoulder told them that the joint in Shoko’s hand was very much affecting them.

There were clambering sounds.

“I can’t reach!” Came your voice, distant and off screen.

“C’mere shortstack, I’ll give you a boost.” The teasing lilt of Gojo’s voice came after.

“Thanks, Jack the Beanstalk.” Your retort sent the two original stars into another round of laughter before you and Gojo enter the frame, both holding a plastic bag of snacks.

Shoko gives you the joint as you sit, and you take a quick puff and pass it back to Suguru. Satoru declines it, saying it makes his eyes feel funny to which you all nod and say ‘makes sense’.

“Did you get me spicy chips?” Suguru asks, combing through the bags.

“Yes. But - you had to tell me you love me to get them.” Satoru says, smirking.

“Gojo Satoru - you are the light of my life, the centre of my world, the reason my heart beats, please, May I have my child you absolute fuckwad.” He says, as Satoru throws his head back laughing and throws a red bag of chips at him before tackling him to the ground demanding a kiss.

You laugh at the scene, turning to Shoko.

“See - that’s how Geto has at least one date every weekend.” You say, opening your chocolate.

“Man-whore.” She responds, sucking on a lollipop.

The screen flashes black. The same view is on the screen, but the atmosphere is much calmer. Suguru lay, head on Shoko’s lap and her deft fingers carding through his hair as he listens to whatever nonsense Gojo is spouting. The camera turns to a view that has Nobara and Yuuji cooing. Satoru is sitting, arm around your back to keep you upright with your head on his shoulder, eyes closed and clearly sleeping.

Suguru’s voice whispers into the camera.

“And these two say they’re not into each other.” Followed by a scoff from Shoko.

Next up is a view of the training field again, with a sight that made the three current first years laugh. Suguru was laying on the grass, and he was bench pressing you - his makeshift weight - as you lay relaxed horizontally reading a book, the casual nature made it clear this was a daily occurrence.

Once his reps are finished, he gently lets you down and you don’t even react, just laying on the grass continuing your book. He stands up and waves to Shoko, who he’s just noticed with her camera and proceeds to take off his shirt and let down his hair.

“Put your damn shirt back on!” Shoko shouts.

“God damn, maybe I should be a curse user.” Nobara utters, whistling and fanning herself.

The camera is next held up by Satoru - who smiles and puts a finger to his lips to symbolise silence, for some reason, like the camera would be unexpectedly loud. He turns the camera and in the backseat of a car is Shoko and you, both asleep and earphones split between you with a bright pink iPod on Shoko’s lap. Her head was resting in the crook of your neck, and you cheek rested on top of your head.

“They really have always been best friends, haven’t they?” Yuuji says. Megumi is reminded of last week, when Nobara and Yuuji fell asleep in the back of Ijichi’s car, in the exact same position.

The camera operator is back to Shoko now, who is filming the most beautiful scenery. Sakura petals are drifting through the air as throngs of people wander around what appears to be a festival. There’s food stalls and trinket stands and everyone around is in their finery.

“Suguru! Show the camera your best pose.” Shoko says, as Suguru appears on screen decked out in a black and grey kimono with his hair in a half up, half down style.

He throws a peace sign at the camera and then takes it so he can film Shoko who’s in a pretty red Yukata pattered with black and white koi. She smiles and then waves as she looks off camera.

“You’re late, Satoru. Where’s Y/N?” She says as Gojo comes on screen.

He’s wearing a dark blue and silver hakama which looks like it cost the same as a house, Suguru wolf whistles and Satoru pretends to fawn over him.

“She was having lunch with her mom, she’s probably going to be here - holy shit.” Satoru says, but cuts himself off halfway as his jaw drops open.

The camera pans messily as Suguru turns to where Satoru is looking.

You’re walking toward them, smile on your face and usually messy hair styled in a beautiful updo, make up making your skin glow in the afternoon sun. You were wearing a light pink, billowy, gauzy hanfu with tiny pale green flowers and leaves around the edges. You did truly look incredibly stunning. You had a little bag in your hand, and the camera flew back to look at Satoru who was gaping at your approaching figure. His usually pale skin flushed with a pink dusting.

His mouth moves, and it seems unconscious when he whispers to himself.

“Beautiful…”

You walk into the frame, smiling brightly and hugging Shoko and then freezing when you see Satoru, eyes widening at the strikingly handsome figure he makes, every inch a fairytale Prince. The pink on your cheek matches your outfit as you stammer out a breathy,

“Hi, Satoru.”

“Hey, Y/N.” He says, mouthing opening and closing as you look at him through fluttering lashes.

There’s a jolt as it seems Suguru holding the camera elbows his best friend and whispers in his ear, just audible to the camera.

“Bro, tell her she looks beautiful, damn it.”

“You… you look um - beautiful, Y/N.” He stammers out, and the three first years watching laugh at how their oh-so-smooth sensei was once such a mess he needed prompting to flirt from his friends.

You flush even deeper.

“Thank you, Satoru. You look really good too. The um… the blue really suits you. The restaurant I had lunch with my mom had Sakura mochi, so I - I got you some.” You say as you shove a small nicely wrapped box at him and Satoru seems to melt. Shoko appears on screen, making a circle with one hand and poking a finger through it repeatedly in a very lewd gesture that has Suguru cackling.

“Wait - they’re not even together yet. They didn’t get together until the end of their second year.” Megumi muses, smirking.

“So they’ve always been this whipped for each other.” Nobara laughs.

The DVD ends there, and Yuuji jumps up to put in the next one, labelled ‘second year’.

The video begins with you sprinting toward Shoko and her catching you in her arms.

“I missed you so much! A whole summer without you, it was torture. How was the medical camp?” You ask her, barely taking a breath between words.

“Did you not miss me, lil’ lady?” Came a smooth voice as one Geto Suguru wraps his arms around you too, and you squeal in excitement. The three standing are then abruptly tackled to the ground as a blur of white and black whizzes toward them.

“Satoru!” Came three scolding voices.

“How the fuck did you do that, you lanky - oh.” Shoko is stopped abruptly as they all stand up and the change in Satoru is clearly visible. Long gone is the beanstalk boy of their first year, all arms and legs at 16 and now at almost 18 - a broad shouldered, 6ft 3, sharper jawline and longer hair Gojo stands before them. You look like you might faint.

The video stops and then resumes looking at a very familiar blackboard, and a much younger Yaga beside it.

In front of the blackboard there’s two students in Jujutsu High uniforms - both in party hats and standing under a banners with ‘Welcome First Years!’ written in big bubble writing on it, the sounds of streamers and party poppers came through the room as the camera was set down on a desk.

Gojo comes on screen and waves his arms as if to show off the two students. One looked incredibly happy, a beaming smile full of excitement and the other looking absolutely miserable, but given how painfully 2005 emo he looked - it wasn’t surprising. Megumi smirked, seeing the blond boy on screen and knowing exactly who it was from photo albums you kept - but he waited to see when the other two would notice.

“Welcome to Yu Haibara! Please - introduce yourself!” Gojo says, pointing a bottle of cola at him like a microphone.

“Hi! I’m Yu! I’m 16 and I like rice and people!” He says, voice full of enthusiasm.

“Thank you! Next up, Gerard Way!” Satoru smiles and point the mock microphone to the other boy.

“Do I have to? This feels unnecessary.” He says, grimacing.

“Yes! You do!”

“Fine. My name is Nanami Kento -”

Megumi didn’t hear the rest of the sentence as a chorus of ‘What the fuck!?’ Echoes from the two beside him.

“Nobara, rewind that - I think I heard it wrong, I thought the emo kid said his name was Nanami, hah!” Yuuji exclaims.

“No need. You heard right.” Megumi smirks.

“No fucking way! That’s Nanamin?!” Yuuji is smiling so wide at the sight of his mentor as a moody teen.

“Yup. I remember his hair like that, he had a lip ring and a nose ring too. Geto Suguru pierced his nose with Shoko’s med kit for him when they drank too much whiskey at my mom’s 18th. There’s a picture of them doing it framed in their room at home.” Megumi scoffs a laugh, the other two in shock at the revelation.

The camera stops again and next time is looking from an upstairs window as voices whisper.

“What is she doing?” Shoko asks.

“It looks like she’s talking?” Geto asks.

“There’s a tiny spike in her cursed energy - wait, I’ll try see if there’s someone around.” He says and the clink of his sunglasses hitting the windowsill breaks the quiet.

On screen, there’s you in a pair of fluffy blue pyjamas and a winter knitted hat as you seem to be kneeling and ushering something small out of a bush. Satoru seems to have gotten distracted and the camera pans to him - who’s just staring out the window with the most dopey, lovestruck smile on his face.

“Satoru.” Suguru says, flicking his ear.

He snarls, but blushes.

“I - I can’t tell but, it kinda seems like? She is trying to talk to something.” He says, as they all crane their necks as you pull something into your arms and stand up, taking off your hat and tucking whatever you found into it and scurrying back inside.

An obnoxious ringtone of crazy frog blasts through the room and Satoru flips open his phone and answers it.

Since it’s you, he puts it on speaker.

“Hey, Satoru - are you still at the store? I - kinda need something, urgently.” Your voice asks.

“Eh - yeah, I’m at the store. What do you need?” He says, trying to hush the two sniggering traitors beside him who are fully aware that he came back from the store an hour ago and is sitting in Suguru’s dorm with them.

“I - um, I need kitten milk.” Your voice says, just as the camera cuts off.

The next few videos are just videos on videos on you and a tiny, tiny kitten, feeding it from a small bottle and it sleeping on your chest, or Satoru playing with it and a ball of wool in hysterical laughter. One video is taken by Shoko with Suguru in the frame playing with the kitten who is trying to catch his bangs and on the sofa, is you sitting on Satoru’s lap, as he looks at you adoringly and you giggle and place a kiss on his lips. Given that it’s about 3/4 of the way through your second year, it means you’re freshly together after torturing your friends with mutual pining.

Megumi looks closer at the kitten, and the tabby is very recognisable to him - given that to this day, the hairs of that kitten, now 13 years old and still thriving due to your unwavering spoiling, still decorate any black fabric in your home.

“Is that baby grumpy George?!” Nobara asks, hitting the nail on the head.

The video fades again, and then the screen is illuminated by a makeshift stage in the school sports hall. Another large banner is on the wall, with ‘Talent Show’ written in large writing, Megumi now noticed the big bubble writing was the same as had been on every ‘happy birthday’ banner he’d had every year.

The announcer, he recognises as a smiling principal Yaga - even though this is surely not a school organised or endorsed event, but probably the work of the couple he now calls his parents.

“Welcome to Jujutsu Talent Show! The rules of tonight are as follows a) no cursed techniques or cursed energy and absolutely no sabotaging! Panda! Do you want to say who’s going first?” Yaga announced as he lifts up a baby panda and the voice of the baby says “Nanami and Yu!”.

Yu skips on stage, decked out in a cape patterned with stars and a large top hat, followed by a very sullen Nanami Kento, adorned with a nose and lip ring now.

“Ladies, gentlemen, cursed corpses! My name is Yu the Magic Man and this is my assistant, the Fantastical Nanamin! Does anyone here like rabbits?” He announced, and takes off his hat, revealing a stuffed rabbit on his head - commencing the world’s worst magic show. The highlight was definitely Yu asking Nanami to pull the scarf from his sleeve and after pulling and pulling and pulling, a very frustrated Kento growls ‘Fucking hell, Yu - how long is this thing?’ Completely breaking what little mysticism surrounded the performance. Geto didn’t help, when he muttered ‘that’s what she said’ after Nanami’s complaint, setting the second years off.

After a bow to his rapt audience, and lots of cheering and supportive clapping from you all - the first years leave and Yaga announces the next performance.

A loud bang echoes through the room,

“Holy shit!” Your voice, the 28 year old you, carries through the room as three heads spin around to see their sensei’s back, arms supporting the thighs around his waist, belonging to his wife who’s lipstick is smudged across her cheek and her husband’s face. The white haired man’s white shirt was partially unbuttoned and your sweater had fallen completely off you shoulder - combined with the position you entered the room and the ruined cosmetics it was quite clear why the teachers had stumbled into this forgotten room of jujutsu tech.

“Get a fucking room.” Megumi grumbles.

“We were! But you’re here! And just for that I’m gonna tell you that the sofa you’re sitting on was where Akio was conceived.” Gojo retorts, trying to fix himself as all the kids groan.

“Both of you, hush. ‘Toru - look at the screen.” You were transfixed on the paused screen.

“Wait! Is that - that’s our talent show! From second year! Where did you guys find this?” Satoru says, leaping over the back of the sofa and plopping down but not before turning around and picking you up by the waist and sitting you in his lap.

“I thought all the DVD’s were lost! Koko couldn’t find them after we graduated!” You say, as you keep staring at the screen.

“We were clearing out the storage room, like Ijichi asked and we found a funky box with DVD’s in it.” Yuuji says.

“Oh my god! Press play!” You say, clapping.

“Look at angry Nanamin!” Gojo says, smiling.

“Next up is Y/N and Shoko!” Screen Yaga announces.

You and Shoko are dressed in the most colourful outfits ever, you’re beaming and Shoko looks exhausted. Large headbands, crimped hair, tutu skirts, leggings, neon leg warmers and beads were the costume of choice as Geto stood on one side of the stage.

“Welcome to - Y/N and Shoko’s dance bonanza!” You both say, and Geto presses play so that Girl’s Just Wanna Have Fun plays to match the 80s Cyndi Lauper style outfits. Having danced ballet as a little girl, and being a big fan of Just Dance and Dance Dance Revolution - you decided that you and Shoko would do this for the show, exhausted and unenthusiastic - but endlessly loyal to her best friend and determined to not let Gojo win the show. You guys danced a perfectly in sync routine with 28 year old you shouting ‘Oh my god, I still remember the routine!’ Halfway through. Yuuji was hopping along on the sofa beside Megumi.

Before Shoko could collapse into a heap as the song finished, she was thrown over Suguru’s shoulder and hauled off stage with Gojo doing the same for you.

After a brief intermission, Geto and Gojo were welcomed on stage in matching black tuxedo’s, off camera your voice could be heard saying ‘ugh, I’m gonna climb that man like a tree later, suits are the best.’

“Ladies, gents - tonight welcome to The GS squared stand up comedy show, enjoy your night and Geto’s number is available after the show.” Gojo drawls into the mic.

Megumi didn’t expect the routine to be as funny as it was, everyone especially enjoyed the part where they did impressions of different Jujutsu Elders, including Naobito Zen’in and Principal Gakuganji - which were unnervingly accurate but highly offensive to them, especially when Gojo got on his knees to imitate how short the elder Kyoto principal was and Geto kept playing Looney Tunes on the projector to show Naobito’s ‘cursed technique’.

When the audience were thoroughly hysterically laughing, with the audience being Yaga, MeiMei, Panda, Y/N, Shoko, Yu, Kento and Utahime who was visiting Shoko for the weekend, the boys bowed, winked and walked off stage and the camera caught Gojo bending down to whisper something in his ear which had you looking at the sky and blushing - still getting used to openly loving each other.

The voting wasn’t recorded, but the winners announcement was and it was shown to be Yu and Nanami - who everyone, except for themselves had voted for.

“Oh my god, these are priceless! I can’t believe I got even funnier with age, and look at your cute little outfit, princess!” Satoru coos.

“There’s a whole box of them, we’ve only watched 2!” Yuuji says, bouncing and handing the box to you and Satoru.

“No way, it’s the whole box! I remember decorating it with Koko! Hold on, I’m gonna ring her to come here.” You say as you take out your phone, smiling at the lockscreen of Satoru, Megumi and your 6 month old son and pulling up Shoko’s contact to ring her to ‘get her ass down here for a surprise’.

“Oh, ‘toru! I bet our DVD of our trip together to Fiji in the summer of third year, Shoko lent us her came for it!” You say, wrapping your arms around him and settling in while Yuuji loads the next DVD.

“Classes are cancelled, I’ve decided it’s home movie day - do we have any popcorn?” Satoru says, smiling at how fondly Megumi is looking at the screen, a still pause screen of himself and you smiling in the training yard together - still looking as lovingly at each other 13 years later. Yuuji has his arm wrapped and Megumi’s shoulders and is leaning into him, as the dark haired boy rubs circles on his boyfriend’s knee - Nobara has her legs stretched across the laps of both boys as the newest video begins.

The door swings open, Shoko entering -

“No fucking way! You found them! Kids, move up - let Aunty Koko sit.” She says, plopping herself between the arm and her two best friends, her nephew and their bonus kids.

She’s glad she bought that camera.

#jjk #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #anime #family formations extras #dad!gojo

3K notes · View notes

boxofbonesfic · 2 months

Text

Title: Tonality [5]

Pairing: Prince!Geralt x Princess!Reader

previous Chapter

Summary: “The white wolf wants you. He’ll have no other.” As you grieve the loss of your father, your mother marries the king. Whilst you struggle to acclimate to your new life, you begin to suspect the interest your new brother has in you is less than familial.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Dark Fantasy, Darkfic, Step-cest, Medieval/GoT inspired AU, Genre Typical Violence, Mild Descriptions of Violence, (Future)Smut, Dubcon/Noncon, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, MINORS DNI!!

A/N: OMG I’M SO SORRY. this chapter was so hard to write and it kept getting away from me, because i really wanted to pivot hard into some of the main plot points. i really hope you enjoy it, please drop me a comment and let me know even if you didn’t.

“Come.” Your mother’s voice is firm. Her mourning veil just barely outlines the shape of her face, as her lips move beneath the fabric. It billows behind her as she walks down the darkened line of empty pews toward the front of the little chapel, a flickering candle held steady in her gloved hand.

Your father is to be buried tomorrow.

You know his grave is already dug—a fresh square cut out of the dark earth next to his father’s. The thought of him alone in the dirt is enough to make your throat tighten, though no tears come. You have cried them all already; a veritable ocean. Even so, your dry eyes ache for lack of them.

“W-wait, mother, I—” You do not want to see it, the vacant thing your father’s soul has left behind. At the end, you could barely recognize him in the fragile body decaying in his sick bed. You catch at her sleeve with numb fingers, lowering your head in shame. “I do not want to see—” Her icy fingers wrap around yours, long and thin, her jagged nails digging into your skin.

“We must each place a stitch upon the shroud.” You wince as she presses the long needle into your stiff hands. “It is our duty.” Only when you accept it does she release you, and for a moment, you see her lips quirk cruelly beneath the veil. You tremble as your mother steps aside, your breath catching as you see the shape of the body on the altar.

Just behind her is your father, his shroud dotted with the shapes of dead flowers and bare trees. It does little to quell the horror you feel to behold him, though, his thin outline visible through the shroud, limbs folded and delicate like a baby bird. You remember what he looked like two nights prior, his rheumy eyes dull and deep set into his skull, skin thin and sallow. He looks small now, too, beneath his shroud, and you find it hard to believe this withered corpse had once been a great mountain of a man. A good man, a strong man, now reduced to the barest scraps of skin and bone.

“Stitch.” Her command fills every inch of space, in the chapel and in your head. And though you want nothing more than to close your eyes and be gone from this place, your body will not obey. You raise the needle.

“Please, mother—”

“Stitch.” Her voice is like iron nails in your skull. Blood drips from your nose, and you taste the warm copper of it on your lips. You pinch a corner of thin fabric between your fingers, and push in the needle, pulling it through until the knot at the end of the thread catches. You lower your hand to the shroud as you sew another stitch, and as you do so, your fingers brush your father’s sunken cheek, and you retch.

You cannot stop—

She will not let you.

You look down at your father’s body with tears in your wide eyes, and as you do, a scream builds in your throat. You pinch his lips together between your forefinger and thumb. Delicately; like you would the hem of your gown for a curtsey— and sew another stitch through the meat of them. He is beginning to rot, now, you can smell it over the cloying scent of incense.

“Mother stop!” Your scream is swallowed by the heavy darkness of the empty chapel. Your mother sighs, her breath curling against your ear.

“How else can we make sure the dead don’t speak?” She threads her fingers through yours as she pulls your hand toward his sunken eyelids. You pinch the stiff flesh between your fingers, holding it taut for the needle.

“Now close his eyes.”

You wake with a start, sitting up in bed as you cover your mouth with one hand, fingers searching for the thick black funeral thread—but of course, you find none. The dream clings to the edges of your vision like spider silk, the taste of decaying things still heavy on the panicked air you draw in. A ra sob wrenches its way out of your throat as you press the heels of your palms against your closed eyes.

Perhaps I am mad, after all.

Ain’t supposed t’see the dead ones. Maybe Madge’s old superstitions had borne fruit in your own mind. You recall the symbol she made with one hand, finger on thumb, finger on thumb, before spitting down into the dirt as you left your father’s burial. She’d shaken her head then, some the silver-gray locs piled on top of her head coming loose. Ain’t supposed t’see them. They stay when you see, them, Lady.

They stay.

“No!” You throw the blankets off of yourself, lurching out of bed and stumbling towards the wash-bowl on the dresser. The thought of that day fills you with the same cold dread you have come to know too well. You’ve little choice in your dreams; the specter of his burial hanging over you like overripe fruit. But here, in waking, in the chill autumn daylight, you have the power to turn your thoughts to other things.

At least, you try to.

The water is shockingly cold, but you are grateful for it, staring down into the porcelain bowl. A knock at the door startles you, and you jump.

“W-who is it?”

“Kassandra, Majesty. Might I come in?”

“Yes,” you sigh. “You may.” You pat worriedly at your swollen eyelids, and you frown at your reflection as the door swings open. Your mother has an effortless sort of beauty, one that needs neither rouge nor powders to enhance—a trait you certainly do not share. Your disturbing, sleepless night is written plainly on your face.

Kassandra sets the tray down in the sitting area, before turning to you with a worried expression.

“Her Majesty hopes you are well,” she says, nervously tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear with dainty fingers. “As you were not at break-fast this morning.”

“I was… I did not sleep well.” You shake your head. “I trust my mother made her displeasure quite clear.” She stifles a laugh. “She’s good at that.”

“She did.” Kassandra gestures to the tray, porridge and an assortment continental fruit cut into bite size pieces. “You should eat, Lady. While it’s hot.” You pick uninterestedly at the porridge until it is mostly gone, along with the tart green grapes and sweet winter melon. At the very least you do feel better for it, or at least, more present—more grounded in this world, not the dream one.

You clear up the remains of your breakfast, piling the dishes neatly back onto the tray. In the armoire, you note that more Rivian style gowns have been hung, your light Redanian dresses folded neatly and shunted off to the shelves on the side. Your mother’s thin excuse makes you wrinkle your nose in distaste as you finger one of the heavy sleeves. “Much too light for these Rivian winters, Dear,” she’d said, patting the neatly folded dresses.

“You won’t need them.”

The truth remains unspoken, but you know it still—she does not want you to need them. You pull a heavy crimson dress from its place and begin to undo the lacing. Kassandra clucks her tongue at you.

“Highness, please. Allow me at least one task.” You roll your eyes in response.

“I believe you are capable of more than dressing me—and that I am more than capable of dressing myself,” you reply. You change into a fresh shift before shrugging into the dress. You twist around to reach for the lacings, but Kassandra shoos your hands away to do them herself.

“You’re doing them wrong.” She chides you gently. “Up for lift, down for compression, my Lady.” Kassandra nods at you in the mirror and then positions your body so that if you crane your neck just a little, you can see her hands as she easily threads the thick ribbon through the eyelets. “Opposing sides. Like this.”

You purse your lips. “We don’t wear these dreadful things in Redania,” you mutter, your breath hitching as the corset tightens. She laughs before stepping away, brushing loose lint from the folds of the heavy fabric.

“Even so, our fashion does suit you.” You can tell she wants to say something else, the way her mouth opens and then closes, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“You’ve another correction?” You ask, gesturing at yourself with a chuckle, but she shakes her head. She glances at the door, as though reassuring herself that it was still shut.

“No, no, I—I do not mean to be insolent, Highness,” Kassandra begins, “but I do not think I have ever heard you say you have rested well within these walls.” Your smile turns brittle and tired.

“No. I have not. And your concern is not insolence. I am grateful for it.”

“Healer Janna—her draughts have not availed you?” You hesitate, wondering if you should describe the shape of your demon, give it form and substance outside of your mind. You shake your head, steepling your fingers together to stop them from trembling.

“It seems the dreams that plague me require more than nightroot and dried frogspawn to satisfy them.” I see my father. I see him dead a thousand ways.

“Healer Janna’s draughts for sleep and pain are as close to magic as they’ll allow in the White Keep, you know that.” Bastard’s magic. You do. You think of Father Rame’s disgusted expression. He does not seem the type to suffer a witch to live. “But I have… there is another. A woman—they call her The Dock Hag.” Her voice is a low whisper, as if she fears the good Father ears will ring with her heresy, even here.

“And she can… she can rid me of these dreams?” The prospect is a tantalizing one. “You know her? You have visited this woman?”

“I—yes. I met her. Once.” Her smile is sad. “When I was small, and the older Ladies had need of her.” Kassandra’s words are aged, heavy with the weight of years that both do and do not belong to her in equal measure. “And then again, for the memories.”

“She…” You cannot bring yourself to say it. Kassandra nods, the smile going brittle and crumbling from her face.

“Not many Lords will claim their bastards, Highness, if you will forgive my candor.”

In your mind’s eye you see a small Kassandra, attending her own mother, most likely, or perhaps even an older sister or cousin who… had need of this woman. The witch who had taken their babies—

And then burnt their dreams out.

“What did it cost?”

“Nothing special. Gold.” You let out a relieved sigh at her words. That, at least, is an easy enough problem to solve. Kassandra cuts her eyes at you. “Are you going to go? To see her?”

Perhaps Madge was a superstitious old northern goat—But maybe she was right too: the living are not meant to mingle with the dead. Perhaps it is some guilt that drives your father’s image to the forefront of your mind, some secret thing that the specter of his death clings to—you cannot know.

But the witch might.

—

The east stair is narrow, cut roughly out of the stone as if it were an afterthought. The iron railing is pitted and mottled from the salt in the air, and it rattles dangerously as you grip it. The stairs themselves are uneven, still slick from the inconsistent rain that had stopped only hours before. Every step feels as though you are lurching forward, being pulled down the long winding stair to the paving below.

There are more ways to enter and exit this keep than the main gate, Majesty.

The east stair wound around the back of the White Keep like a snake, the steps hidden in the stone like a secret. As you take another cautious step down, your foot slips and you gasp, the railing shaking as you cling to it. You steady yourself, locking your trembling knees tightly as you recite Kassandra’s instructions.

You will take the east stair down from the parapets over the chapel. Through the gap in the wall is the city. Go straight to the docks, ask for the Hag.” She had not wanted to stay behind, though you had convinced her with a stern look and an order to send away any who came knocking at your door till you returned. You would need her to provide a believable excuse in the event that anyone came looking—and an empty room would be cause for alarm, especially with you… “ill.”

Below you, the city glitters with light even as the dark begins to deepen. Beyond it, the sun sinks into the sea, lingering on the horizon before disappearing completely. Like Kassandra had said, near the foot of the stairs—twenty feet back, and behind a column, but near enough—is the gap in the wall. It is overgrown thick with dying ivy, the orange leaves already turning spotty brown at the edges.

Crushed leaves litter the hood and shoulders of your cloak as you start to squeeze inside, the stone catching at your clothes. You push your way through the narrow passage, panic coiling in your gut at the feel of the unyielding pressure at your chest and back. Your fingers meet open air at the next push, and you practically drag yourself out into the streetlight, fingers digging into the stone.

The misty street that greets you is practically empty, and what few people there are do not seem to have noticed that you have joined them from nowhere on the wet cobbled street. Hurriedly, you brush dirt and discarded leaves from your cloak before you adjust your hood, angling it down over your eyes. You keep your head down, your hands clenched into trembling, nervous fists. Every heavy step you take away from the keep sets the warning bells in your skull to ringing, as gooseflesh rises on your arms.

It isn’t too late to go back. It isn’t. Not too late to turn around, slip back between the ivy covered crack in the east wall and seek your mother’s counsel once more—and go to sleep, knowing that you will see beyond the veil again.

The thought spurs you onward.

The streets are even more unfamiliar in the growing dark, and as you watch the lanterns flare to life to chase it away, you swallow nervously. There is so much to see, here—too much. As you approach the city centre the market is still bustling with activity, the shops open and windows bright.

You spare yourself a few moments to watch the people. A woman buys bread, her son playing in her skirts, a man pulls shut the door of the tavern across the way, a blacksmith’s hammer falls rhythmically like a drum, the chapel’s bell rings for evening prayer—there is so much here, the sheer amount of everything almost dizzies you. A woman bumps your shoulder as she passes by, and it stirs you out of your reverie. By the time she turns to apologize, you are already gone, hurrying off through the square.

The air turns salt with brine the closer you get, and you lick your dry lips, tasting it. The night had been thick with sounds in the city center, but the further you travel from it, the more quiet the streets become. It is eerie, the stark difference between these silent, empty streets and the lively square only moments ago.

The last time you had been to the docks was when you’d stepped off of the ship, in the scant few days before your mother’s wedding. Now, the narrow streets look different, unrecognizable from the snatches you remember through the carriage windows. You look in one direction, and then another, frowning.

“You’re lost, Sweet.” There is no question in the old woman’s voice. You see her then, standing beneath the street lantern in a pool of pale light.

“I—I am looking for—”

“Me, Sweet. You’re looking for me.” The shadows fall away from her face without her moving, like the light has only just decided to accept her. The Witch’s white hair is wild about her face. And her face… she is a severe beauty, like wind whipped ocean waves. The years define her jaw, sloping in gentle strokes down around her eyes, and her ears slope upward into gentle points. She is older than your mother, though you know this not by sight but because you simply… know it. An uncanny feeling that has grown in the back of your mind that she is like you, but… un-like you, too.

She is an elf.

It is not just the ears, but the air about her, an ethereal quality that surrounds her as thickly as the shawl about her shoulders. It is in the delicate set of her jaw, perhaps, or the distinct lack of canine teeth in her amused grin. You take a halting step forward, and then stop, wary.

“You are the W—you can help me?” The Witch wraps her shawl tighter about her shoulders, and fixes you with a hawkish look.

“Don’t know that yet.” She purses her lips. “Shall we do this in the street? Or will you oblige me my own roof?” You nod hurriedly, and follow her as she turns quickly on her heel down the street. You are close enough to the docks to hear the water as she approaches a small house, pushing open the door. You follow her inside, halting briefly at the doorway. There is dried heather inside, hanging in a braided bushel on the arch. She watches you step inside, her dark eyes narrowed.

“Shut the door behind you,” she snaps, flicking the edge of her shawl over her shoulder. “Never met a Princess raised in a bloody barn.” You brush aside the bushels of dried herbs hanging from the low ceiling as you make your way inside.

The Witch rounds the other side of the table, where you see the evidence of her unfinished work. A grindstone, laying on its side, with half-ground herbs lying in the bowl.

“How did you know?” You ask as she picks it back up, the sound of stone on stone filling the room as she resumes. “That I was looking… for you.”

“I always know,” she replies, somewhat exasperated. “Like a rabbit knows a fox.” Her sharp eyes find yours once more. “What ails you, sweet Princess?” There is mockery in her tone, though you dare not take umbrage at its presence. “A suitor you wish to beguile? A fair maiden you wish to remove from his eye?” Her gaze drops down, and then darts back up again.

“Or perhaps an unseen consequence?”

Your throat tightens.

“No, I—my dreams.” You say. “I dream the most terrible things, and I—I want you to take them away.”

The stone stops.

“Come here, child. Into the light.” The Witch holds out her hand, beckoning you forward. “And take down that stupid hood, you’re not hiding from anyone here.” She clucks her tongue at you as you approach, fingering the edge of your hood reluctantly. She already knows who you are—though you are not quite sure how she knows. With one hand, she reaches for your face. You do not flinch away from her—you do not fear her, though perhaps if you were smarter, you suppose you would. Her touch is gentle as she tilts your chin up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

The fire crackles in the hearth, louder for the silence.

“And what do you dream?”

“I see…” You swallow. “I see dead things.” She peers into your eyes, her pupils wide. “I see my father.” You tremble as she steps away, your mouth suddenly dry. “These dreams, these-these nightmares, you can stop them, can you not? You can—”

“I’ll not hear more about what I can and cannot do from the maid in the high castle,” she snaps. “And they are not dreams, though you walk through them in yours.” With her other hand, she reaches beneath her collar, producing a thin leather cord. There are all manner of things tied to it—feathers, beads, and small, clean animal skills that shine dimly in the firelight. There is a long black needle there, too, hanging by its’ eye.

“There is a spirit tethered to you.” She turns your hand over, stroking her fingers over the lines in your palm. She snaps her fingers, motioning for you to give her your other hand. “By great sorrow—” The Witch squints, bringing your hands closer to her face. “Or rage.” She drops your left hand, holding onto your right. “I can no more remove it than I could your shadow.”

“Tethered?” You repeat. “These are—they are dreams, they are not real—” You sputter in protest, but the Witch merely looks at you, orange firelight dancing in her dark eyes.

“If they are only dreams, why do you fear them so?” You cannot answer. “They are messages. You should be grateful for them, there are few feats quite as great as bridging the divide between us and those who have gone before, Little Queen. Your father cannot watch over you forever.”

“I am a Princess.” The Witch smiles.

“Is that right?” She grasps your hand, gripping your index finger hard and watching as the tip reddens. You flinch as she pinches the needle between two thin fingers. “Come now, Sweet. Mustn’t be afeared of a little pain.” She jabs it into the meat of your finger, and you yelp, tugging uselessly at your hand, but her grip is iron.

“Ouch!” With a twist of her hand she swipes the fat drop of blood from your fingertip and flicks it into the fireplace. It does not fizzle out, but instead lands on the topmost log, bubbling until it turns black. It smells like ozone—not copper. You do not know why, but you tremble a the sight of it. You have come here to have something taken away, but as you watch your blood crack and burn, you feel as if perhaps something is being given instead.

“What does this mean?” You turn to her. The Witch rubs your blood between her fingers, sniffing the residue for a moment before wiping them clean on a rag. She does not answer you right away, staring thoughtfully at the thin line of black smoke curling from the fireplace.

“Please, I—”

“It means, Princess, that we are kin, you and I.” She tilts your chin back as you stare at her, wide eyed. She runs the tips of her fingers over the narrow curve of your left ear—not pointed, not like hers, but… You push her away before you can stop yourself, clutching at your chest with your other hand as if to calm your racing heart.

“This cannot be true, it—it cannot!”

“Less than half,” she continues as if your sputtered refusal had never been spoken at all. “Less elf blood in you than I could hold in my hand, but aye, kin we are, still.” The Witch looks you up and down, and this time, there is pity in her gaze. “I cannot take your dreams.” Cold spreads through your trembling limbs. “You must release them yourself.”

“Release them? How?” She cups your face, and the movement of her thumb over the swell of your cheek is almost affectionate, though the words she speaks next send a cold chill down your spine.

“No fear, Little Princess. No fear.” For a moment, you swear her eyes go gold, and Geralt’s voice echoes again in the space between you. Before the Witch can say more, you quickly dig the gold out of your pocket, tossing the coins down onto the table as you flee. You do not register her cries to stop, to wait as you barrel through the door, throwing it shut behind you.

It is raining again, hard sheets of cold water pouring down from the dark, angry sky. You can hear the sea raging against the docks, water crashing in thunderous waves up against the harbor’s weathered stone. Your head is spinning, full to bursting. You are elf-kin—perhaps? Maybe?

Your mother had never seen fit to mention that minor detail—and for that matter, neither had your father. You tug your hood up roughly over your head and turn your face down, away from the cold rain pelting against your skin. Had he even known?

Would he have even wanted to?

Perhaps I can just ask him myself.

The thought makes you shiver, wrapping your cloak tighter around your shoulders. I can no more remove it than I could your shadow. You do not know which is worse—having left your father behind alone in the dirt, or the restless specter of him living in your dreams. Your finger aches from the point of the dock witch’s iron needle, and you clutch your hand to your chest as you make your way back towards the White Keep. Above you, a white hot arc of lightning splits the sky, throwing up stark shadows against the row of dark houses.

It is by that grace alone that you see the man.

You stop short, your heart leaping into your throat. He stands in the shadows beneath the sagging eaves, his stony face surprised as your eyes meet. He steps forward with a heavy sigh, a gloved hand resting on the hilt of the sword at his hip.

“Highness.” Your throat tightens, and you take a cautious step back as he comes into the meagre light offered by the street lantern above you. “Please don’t make this difficult.” His cloak is drawn over his chest, but you can see the shape of the armor underneath, jet black.

Nilfgaardian.

You turn—and run straight into a hard, armored chest.

“Good evening, Your Highness.” Duke Emhyr’s long fingers dig hard into your shoulders, hard enough to bruise. His black hair is slick with rain. He was waiting here… waiting for me. “I shall have to inform Lady Kassandra of your whereabouts,” he sneers. “She seems to think you are asleep in your bed.” You lift your heel and grind it hard into the top of his foot, and the Duke curses, his grip loosening. You pull away, but he manages to catch the edge of your cloak, pulling hard until you fall backwards.

The impact knocks the wind out of you, leaving you gasping and dizzy, staring up at the dark sky.

“We did not get to finish our little chat, in the garden.” He says, squatting down over you as you struggle up to your knees on the wet street. “I think we should do that now, Princess.”

Your heart pounds heavily against your ribcage as you stagger to your feet.

“No.”

“It is not a request.” He motions to the guard behind you, and he grabs you as you struggle, wrenching your arms behind you.

“Filthy witch,” he hisses, and you flinch. “You and your whore mother.”

“Gavin, your manners.” He tuts mockingly. “I would be honored, Majesty, if you would accompany me for tea.” You stare at him in silence, the rain soaking through your cloak. “If you would, Ser Gavin.” He forces you forward, and you stumble.

“It is late for tea, Lord Emhyr,” you snap, dragging your feet against the paving stones. “Perhaps a discussion with Her Majesty herself—” Ser Gavin grunts with irritation at your resistance and shoves you, hard. You stumble as the Duke makes an angry noise deep in his throat.

“I’ve little stomach for lies.”

A cold shiver winds its way up your back. You hear the threat though the words remain unspoken. The streets are deserted, and you cannot tell if it is the weather or the hour. Behind you, clears his throat.

“Here, my Lord.”

The faded, splintering sign hanging above the door reads Madam’s Tea House, though by the riotous noise coming from inside, you suspect they serve a few things little stronger than tea. Ser Gavin places a rough hand on the back of your head, forcing it down as he steers you through the doorway. Your stomach drops as your eyes adjust to the dim lighting.

The air stinks of ale, sweaty skin and something more pungent and sour that you cannot identify. There are people everywhere, draped across tables, lounging on pillows and pinned against walls in various states of undress. Your throat goes dry, at the sight of the bare-breasted women sprawled over the tables, their dresses rucked up around their waists. A woman with white painted cheeks and cherry red lips steps quickly out of the way as you are shuffled through, her eyes lowered and lips pressed into a thin line. You understand their choice of venue now—

No one will even remember you were here— and no one will remember when you are not.

As if sensing your rising panic, Ser Gavin’s hand tightens on the scruff of your neck, and with the other hand, he grasps your shoulder. On the raised dais in the center of the dim room, a woman twists lithely, scarves gripped in each of her dainty hands. Gold rings dangle from her bared nipples, matching the one in her nose. Your eyes meet and for a single moment, for a single step, she falters.

The crowd at her feet turns on her in an instant, jeering and spitting. The same men who had watched her dance with silent awe now mock her openly, insults dripping from their lips along with stray drops of ale.

“Let’s get a new girl up here. One who can remember her bloody steps!” There is no end to the praises of men when one is perfect—nor an end to their venom when you are not. The truth of it is as plain as the room Duke Emhyr and Ser Gavin force you into. There is a bed with a bare, stained mattress upon its dilapidated frame, and a wooden chair stands between it and the weak fire in the hearth.

“Sit.” Emhyr instructs you with a bored gesture, and when you do not comply, Ser Gavin squeezes your shoulder hard until you gasp from the pain of it. You lower yourself reluctantly to the chair as the Duke watches, and you get the feeling that he enjoys it, watching you be forced to heel. If not my mother, then me. Through the silence, you can hear the muted noise of the brothel outside. As uncomfortable as it is for you, you hope it is doubly so for them.

The Duke stares at you, his eyes narrowed.

“You wouldn’t see it, not at first,” he says. The disgust drips from every syllable, like he is speaking of something unsavory. “The way you favor them.”

Your heart pounds even as you feign ignorance, schooling your features into shocked offense at his words. He cannot know that this is the second time you have heard them this evening, that you are already itching to get to a mirror to confirm these revelations for yourself, because you do not even know if they are true. The memory of black blood curdling in the hearth is enough to set the uncertainty in your lead filled stomach rolling.

“I know not of what you speak, my Lord.” The words feel fragile, like they are made of glass. “There—there is still time to let this be nothing but an unpleasant misunderstanding—”

The duke stands in front of the hearth, his hand resting on the mantle. The curve of his back speaks to his weariness, and you wonder if he has been looking for you all night.

“You and your whore mother have upset the order of things quite a bit, here. Whatever other things you may be, you are not unintelligent enough not to have seen so.” He turns, the fire reddening his cheeks and setting the whit es of his beady eyes ablaze. “Two seasons of talk and courtships undone in a month—and for a woman who is too old to bear a new heir.”

“His Majesty has an heir,” you remind him. “Or have you forgotten? If you disagree with your king’s decision, you are more than welcome to challenge it before the court a second time, though Their Majesties might not be so prone to leniency given the circumstance.” His jaw tics at the reminder of his position—and yours—but the sly upturn at the corners of his mouth do not disappear.

“So the Witch does inspire loyalty in you.” He squats in front of you. “Do you know what we do to witches, in the North?” He asks, fingering the dagger at his belt. “Father Wolf is the devourer of all things. Even savages.”

“Ever since I stepped from boat to shore I have heard that word, and I cannot help but wonder,” the words pour through the gaps in your gritted teeth, and you hope he chokes on the broken glass of them—“if you have ever uttered them looking in a mirror.”

He raises his hand, as if to backhand you across your face, and you duck down hunching your shoulders to prepare for the blow. It does not land, however, and when you look cautiously up at the duke, he is staring behind you, locked above your head. There is a fourth presence in the room now, one you feel pricking at the back of your neck.

“No, no, continue.” The drawl that fills the empty room is both shocking and achingly familiar. “I would see the treason with my own eyes.” Geralt stands in the doorway, filling it to the brim with the width of his shoulders. Water drips from his sodden silver hair, though he makes no move to push it back from his face. His hand rests openly upon the sword hanging at his hip.

“That way it passes fewer lips on its way to the king.”

Duke Emhyr’s eyes go wide, and then angry.

“I protect the crown, and you call it treason,” slowly,—almost regretfully —the duke lowers his hand. “Can you not see? Can you not see how they twist—” Geralt turns his gaze to you, and somehow his golden eyes seem darker. Harder.

He came for me.

Ser Gavin fingers the pommel of his sword nervously, playing at the thought of unsheathing it, but too craven to commit. Still, he stands between you and the prince, and does not move. The duke’s rambling of treason and bewitchery continues behind you, rising to a fever pitch as you approach the door. Briefly as you turn, you see him, his face red and lips flecked with frothy spittle as he flings a long, accusing finger towards you.

“They will poison this empire, it’s people! You cannot allow them to sit the throne, it is treason to do it knowingly, you must act!” The fire burns bright in his wide eyes, and you see reflected in them the same vicious zealotry that burned in Father Rame’s. “That which is rooted in rotten soil cannot grow! I will not stand idle while we are destroyed from within.”

In the spaces between his words you can see the calculation. He’s chosen death, you realize. You taste it in the air before he speaks, the power of his decision already shaping the world around it, like chaos—but not the kind they shunned. It tastes like the air inside the chapel; the still, thick air, perfumed so that the smell of his body would not leak further than a few feet beyond his corpse.

“You know the truth of what I speak, Majesty, you must see that His Highness is not himself! He pants after the elf-bitch, like a man possessed! It is unnatural, you must—you must see it!”

Geralt’s mouth creases with anger. “I see your distrust in your King has bred treasonous discontent. I see your desire to rise above your station would have you slavering after my father’s throne like the dog you are.” He steps into the room then, and you watch as the Duke’s hand closes about the grip of the dagger strapped to his waist. “Your dedication to this fiction will cost you.”

You had not been able to see Geralt’s other hand, positioned behind him, his arm taut as though he were dragging something heavy. He steps aside, and your heart leaps into your throat as you see why—

A dead Nilfgaardian soldier lies behind him, dark liquid pooling thickly underneath his armor. The duke sees it too, his body tensing.

“If you will not serve your people, if your father will not protect them, what choice have you left me?” The duke murmurs, the words underscored by the quiet ring of steel as he unsheathes his blade. You jump up, knocking the chair over in your haste to get away from him. You trip over your skirts, stumbling forward as Ser Gavin grabs for you, his hand knotting in your cloak.

“You will let her go.” Geralt delivers the instructions as truth—no ultimatums.

“Oh, aye,” Emhyr, nods, forcing the words out through clenched teeth. “On that we agree.” You expect him to lunge for the prince, to hear the sharp clash of steel on steel, but you do not. Instead, his face fills your vision. “You may go wherever you wish, now, Lady.”

You taste death on his words and in the air, and when he steps away, his hands are empty. There is a strange coldness in your belly, and slowly, your hand drifts up to investigate. The leather grip of the dagger is warm, but the steel is cold, so cold you can feel it all the way inside. It’s strange, the way it doesn’t hurt, the way the blood does not feel hot on your trembling hands but cold—

The death Emhyr had chosen was neither his own, nor Geralt’s—but yours.

Dimly, you are aware of Geralt, of your body tucked tightly against his, the sound of steel on steel, the feel of cold rain on your face. Weakly, you lift a hand to your belly, your fingers slipping on the handle. Geralts hand closes over yours.

“You must leave it, Doe, you must. I know it hurts.” It doesn’t. You want to tell him, but you cannot find the will to move your lips. You feel your grip slacken on his cloak, your fingers releasing themselves without your permission as your vision tunnels. Geralt tells you not to close your eyes, and the words echo far off in the encroaching dark.

I have to, you think that perhaps the words escape your slack lips in a low mumble, but you cannot be sure.

Just for a little while.

to be continued…

301 notes · View notes

biibini · 4 months

Note

hello! :DD

i love reading all of your fics, they make me giggle and smile so much <3 (we’re brain rotting together ✨🤞)

it’s my bday today, so i’m wondering if i may request modern mizu and reader spending time together during the reader’s birthday?

nsfw modern!mizu x reader’s bday (request)

tags: loving mizu, soft, morning kisses, affectionate mizu, touchy, cuddling, bathtub scene???, massages, cunnilingus, dom!mizu, praise, dirty talk, dirty praise talk ?, strap on, hickies, riding, receiving head, fingering, aftercare

a/n: omg first off HAPPY BIRTHDAYYY! i hope this isnt too late & thank u for reading the brain rots :) im glad yall enjoy it as much as i do

18+ suggestive content below

modern!mizu would start the bday business in the morning before u wake up

normally, she would wake up in the early morning to go to the gym

but one day without it wouldn’t be the end of the world

besides, she would get the workout later tonight in between ur legs

(yeah i said it, the D is fire🔥, happy wife happy life)

(anyways)

she’d go out and get fresh flowers

prob from the local flower store in downtown

she’d try to be quiet with her motorcycle but if ur a light sleeper, u would know whats up

but she would come back to the apartment quietly and place the flowers neatly in a new vase

before changing back into her pjs, she would place the vase on the desk w a little note saying “good morning & happy birthday baby ♡”

climbing back into bed, u would feel her arms surround u from behind

Mizu sneaks back into bed after successfully finishing her mission: getting a pretty bouquet for her pretty birthday girl. Now under the covers, she turns to look at you. Still fast asleep, her arms wrap your body from behind. She feels you stir awake and hum from her touch.

Mizu hunches over to get a better view of your face. Your eyes flutter open. You look to your left to find Mizu, hair down and looking at you endearingly.

"Happy birthday, baby.", Mizu greets you, giving you a good morning kiss. You smile and kiss her back. "Thank you.", you respond back.

You hook your arms around her neck, attempting to pull her in for more morning kisses. Instead, she stopped you in your tracks.

"Someone left a special present for a pretty birthday girl on the desk."

You looked past Mizu and spotted the vase on the desk, holding your favorite flowers. Your eyes widen in shock. You crawl out of bed and walk over to get a closer look at the bouquet. Laid next to the vase was a note written in Mizu's handwriting.

Good morning and happy birthday baby, it wrote.

You stared at the note in awe, looking back at proud MIzu with a smile. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

You turned around to give Mizu a big hug and many many thank-you kisses.

modern!mizu would attempt to cook a breakfast in bed

she would probably end up asking u for help

but setting up the table? all her

serving u food? all her

setting u down in the chair? all her

she would want to treat her pretty girl well

in an attempt to make something cute, she would try to make heart-shaped pancakes or any shape u desired

it almost worked with the heart but it ended up looking like a squiggly heart

it was still delicious anyways

modern!mizu would def host a birthday lunch or dinner with u and ur friends

she can spend her time with u later tonight

but she wants u to celebrate with others during ur special day

i dont think she would surprise u but she would shock u with how meticulously planned everything is

from the reserved table to the special free birthday cake to the singing of happy birthday at the dinner table

at first, u thought it would just be the waiter and ur friends all sitting around and quietly singing

but akemi brought a karaoke microphone

and then taigen pulled out his speaker

and ringo brought out a tambourine

and mizu with another karaoke microphone

tbh it was ringo and akemi that wanted it to be loud but mizu just went along

its ur birthday it should be celebrated

they all proceeded to sing happy birthday, loud and proud

while ur waiter laughed and played along, happily singing and clapping to the beat

modern!mizu would probably find some way to sneak in "birthday kisses"

aka just more affectionate mizu

i feel like she wouldn't be the biggest fan of PDA but if she's feeling extra loving on ur special day, that goes out the window

if she's not holding ur hand, her arm is by ur shoulder

if her arm isn't wrapped around ur shoulder, it's wrapped around ur waist

and just random kisses

"just because" kisses

"oh it's ur bday" kisses

she's just in love and celebrating ur day

modern!mizu would definitely give u a relaxing bath after a long day of birthday celebrations

if big parties aren't ur thing, she would make sure to make u feel relaxed

she would set up the bath and let u pick whatever scent or bath bomb u wished to use

if it was ur thing, she would always recommend the lavender or jasmine scent for destress

while in the bath, she would set any tea u would like

light a candle

bring a book

if it was up to u, she could join the relaxation

but if u didn't wish for any disturbances, mizu wouldn't mind

but lets face it: ofc u want her in ur bday bath

after ur all settled, she would join right behind u & wrap her arms around ur body

its such a soft and intimate moment

after a day of celebration, u could relax and take a deep breath

You were sitting in the bathtub, filled with warm water, and a jasmine bath bomb quietly sizzling next to you. To your right, you watch Mizu light a lavender-scented candle. As you begin to settle into the bathtub and relax, you hear soft piano music in the background. You take a deep breath and enter your entire body into the bathtub, enveloping yourself in the warm water that Mizu prepared for you.

"Everything alright?", Mizu asks as she sits next to you outside the bathtub.

You nod in response. "Everything's perfect..."

You pause.

"Except one thing."

Mizu tilts her head in confusion. You look up to her, reaching your arm out to her with an open hand: an invitation to join you.

"You're missing.", you smile.

Mizu smiles back. Not a wide grin but a soft smile.

She strips down and enters the bath behind you. The water splashes against the side. Not overfilling quite yet, but almost filled to the brim with jasmine-scented bath water. You turn behind to see Mizu's face highlighted by one of the candles nearby. Her eyes softly gazed back at you, almost shining in the flickering light.

"Come here.", she says softly, wrapping her arms around your body. You lay back as you feel her hands find your sides, gently hugging your body. You feel her lips softly touch your shoulders, inching closer to your neck. Her breath tickles your neck, making you gasp in response.

"Mizu...", you turn your head to get a better view of Mizu.

"Shhh. Just relax.", she quietly mumbled.

"Let me treat my pretty girl on her birthday."

modern!mizu would give u little massages

she's gotten experience from eiji asking begging her to massage his back after a long day

by request, u can ask her to focus on specific pain points

but tbh the feeling of her hands caressing ur back (or anywhere) can send u a one-way trip to heaven

if ur still in the bath, she would wash ur hair too in the meantime

she can do her hair afterwards

the feeling of her fingers digging into ur scalp and back feels oh so good

NSFW content ahead

(oh thank god let's get to the good stuff)

modern!mizu would def give u birthday head

mizu would not hesitate at all

she would slowly start from giving u gentle kisses to worshipping ur entire body

and the finale erupting in between ur legs

strap or no strap, it was up to u

but she was determined to pleasure u either way

modern!mizu would keep on praising u the entire night

the amount of praises u would hear is sinful

a lot of "my love" or "my pretty girl"s but make it 100x

or "my pretty girl is doing so good"

"you like that, don't you?"

"taking my fingers so well... that's my beautiful girl"

(im blushing just thinking ab it)

modern!mizu would leave a dangerous number of marks

typically, she only likes to leave one or two hidden

but since she's already on a roll

she can get a little careless

and totally not leave a few in between your thighs

and around your boobs

and neck

all in all, she'd end the night giving u ultimate treatment aftercare aka just very affectionate and loving mizu

modern!mizu ends ur birthday night with cuddles and sweet kisses and more softer sfw praises until u fall asleep

You and Mizu lay yourselves on the bed, still recovering from the pleasurable highs and moans a couple minutes ago. Wrapped in Mizu's arms, you squeeze her arms tightly.

"Thank you for a wonderful birthday day, my love.", you compliment her as you kiss her cheek.

She turned to kiss you fully, one of her arms moving to allow her hand to cup your face.

"Anything for my pretty girl.", she answers back, smiling at you once more before coming closer to give you more loving kisses.

#mizu blue eye samurai #mizu bes #mizu x reader #bes mizu #blue eye samurai #mizu headcanons #mizu x y/n #blue eye samurai mizu #mizu x you #blue eye samurai x reader #blue eye samurai smut #mizu x reader smut #mizu x you smut #mizu x y/n smut #headcannon smut #mizu headcannon #blue eye samurai headcannons #rotting crying thinking ab mizu #mizu come home the kids miss u

354 notes · View notes

justagalwhowrites · 3 months

Note

Hi! Soooo I've read a lot of amazing Joel Miller fics, but Lavender is seriously my all time favorite. Doc and Joel's story just made me so emotional. Here's my request for a drabble/oneshot- a sneak peak into Doc and Joel's relationship when they first get together pre-outbreak. Specifically, Joel takes Doc out on a nice dinner date for the first time and she feels super special and they are starting to catch so many feels for each other. Thank you!!!

OMG Hi Bestie!

So you sent this ask in like... 1.5 million years ago and this isn't EXACTLY it but... I think it fits the vibe. I hope. So here's Joel and Doc's first Valentine's Day together. I hope you like it!

Cupid

You and Joel spend Valentine's Day together. A Lavender one shot. Can be read as a stand alone with the understanding that Joel and Reader have an established relationship.

^We're gonna pretend that's Joel for this, OK? OK.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader (From Lavender)

CW: Smut :) Just some fluffy, fun, p in v smut. They're in love and we love that for them. Pre-Outbreak. Age gap but not the focus of the fic (11 years, reader is 22 Joel is 33.) No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ Only.

Length: 3.8k

Wednesday, February 14, 2001

You’d never had a boyfriend on Valentine’s Day before.

The thought made you oddly nervous. Not that Joel had given you anything to be nervous about, of course, but you were. Valentine’s Day had always just been another day for you. Sometimes Nan got you one of the little boxes of chocolates but, otherwise, it had never been something you had a reason to celebrate. You were just so used to ignoring it that, until Saturday, you hadn’t even thought about Valentine’s Day.

You’d been in bed with Joel. It was late and your bodies were pressed close together, his skin on yours, your nose nuzzled into his throat, your head still a bit fuzzy from the orgasms.

“How do you feel about goin’ to dinner Wednesday?” He asked softly, his fingers trailing over your side, lips in your hair.

You frowned against him.

“Doesn’t Sarah have practice?”

“Canceled,” he said. “Besides, I was gonna get Tommy to take her, anyway. He’s already taking her for the night so we can have some privacy.”

You frown deepened and you felt him chuckle against you.

“Did you forget?” He asked.

“No,” you said defensively. “I just… didn’t know there was something to forget.”

He laughed a little again.

“It’s Valentine’s Day baby,” he said. “Fully intend on takin’ full advantage of any holiday that lets me romance you.”

Joel seemed to mean it. By Wednesday night, you didn’t know the details of what he was planning - you didn’t get to see him on Tuesdays, Sarah had Girl Scouts across town and your classes ran too late to see him before her meeting - but he’d sent flowers to your apartment the day before your date, timed when you were home for lunch between classes with a card that said he loved you and told you to be ready to go at 5:30 Wednesday night.

You weren’t sure if you were doing your part in this right at all. You’d spent a good chunk of Sunday shopping and cursing yourself for not remembering freaking Valentine’s Day. It’s not like there weren’t heart shaped boxes of candy sitting out every time you went to the grocery store, it should have occurred to you. It just hadn’t even registered that it would apply to you now.

You at least had an idea of what you wanted to get him and weren’t going in completely blind. You’d been keeping an eye out at thrift stores for vintage shirts from his favorite bands, never exactly hunting for them but always checking the men’s section when you went in to find something for yourself. You also had a picture from a trip to a museum of you, Joel and Sarah had made that you’d been keeping to give him at some point, wanting to frame it for him.

It took a few hours - and stops at four different thrift stores - but you eventually found a Fleetwood Mac shirt that you thought was from the 70s and was wearing thin in a few places but you were sure he’d like it. You found the perfect frame, too, the wood cracking at the sides but you had a plan for that.

You fixed the frame, coloring the glue forest green so it was like vines were growing on a tree and put the picture of the three of you in it. It was off center, you’d been holding the camera away from yourselves and hoping that you were all in the frame. You were looking at Sarah, she was looking at you and Joel had his perfect, crooked smile that made his cheek dimple and his eyes shine.

You made brownies that afternoon, covering them in pink glaze and red heart sprinkles before piling them on a plate and sneaking a bite of one before getting ready. You took a curling iron to your hair and did your makeup and painted your nails red before slipping into a dress you’d found when shopping for Joel’s shirt, black and form fitting and you tried to not feel like an imposter as you tied the red ribbon around the half ponytail at the back of your head.

There was a knock at your door and you took a last look at yourself in your bedroom mirror, breathing deep and trying to calm your thudding heart before you answered it.

“Jesus, baby,” Joel said, a look of almost awe on his handsome face as you opened the door. “Should warn a man before you show up lookin’ like that…”

“Is it too much?” You asked, looking down at yourself. “I can change…”

“Don’t you dare,” he said, looping an arm around your waist and pulling you against him. “You look fuckin’ amazing.”

You put your arms around his neck and kissed him, smiling against his mouth, before stepping back from him. He’d dressed up, too, in black jeans with a white button down shirt that he’d tucked in and worn with a belt. He even had on a tan blazer, one that looked almost too small for his broad shoulders.

“You look so good!” You were practically giddy, hands going over your mouth to keep from sounding too excited. Joel laughed a little.

“Don’t know if it warrants that much of a reaction. But figured I’d at least try to look like I belonged out with someone as pretty as you,” he teased and you rolled your eyes. “C’mon, we don’t leave now we are in very real danger of not making it out of the house, you are too damn tempting.”

Joel led you to his truck - which was almost shockingly clean, water from the car wash still dripping from his bumper - and opened the door for you, offering you his hand as you climbed in.

“So,” you smiled as he started driving. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he smiled back. “Believe it or not, had something cookin’ for a minute.”

His hand found the inside of your knee, the callus of his thumb stroking the skin there. You tried to figure out where you were going as he drove but you were still caught totally off guard when he parked in front of a French restaurant you’d been dying to try.

“Are you kidding me?” You gasped. “Joel!”

He laughed and took your hand, kissing your knuckles.

“Know you’ve been wanting to try it,” he said. “Turns out a guy on my crew’s sister works here so I could wrangle a reservation…”

“This is amazing!” You were practically giddy, going to open your door, but Joel stopped you.

“Gotta let me try to be a gentleman,” he kissed your hand again. “Sit tight.”

He got out and jogged around the front of the truck, opening your door and offering you his hand.

“Why thank you sir,” you said, trying to sound aloof and dignified. You didn’t think you pulled it off, too busy smiling to make it convincing. He pulled you in close and pressed a kiss to your temple before putting his hand on the small of your back and guiding you into the restaurant.

They sat you at a table in a secluded corner, a white tablecloth and the low glow of a candle setting the scene. The host handed you a menu in a leather book with a gold tassel on the end and you waited for him to leave the table before you mouthed “oh my god” at Joel, who smiled and laughed quietly across the table.

The menu had was full of French foods you’d only dreamed of trying at a restaurant: coq au vin, confit de canard, gigot d’agneau. There was even boeuf bourguignon. But the prices made your eyes go wide, your newly-painted nails digging into the leather of the menu.

“Don’t think I can get that beef you make,” Joel said absently, looking at the menu. “Not gonna measure up to yours, don’t care how good the restaurant is…”

“Joel,” you whispered over your menu. He looked up from his, brows raised. “We really don’t need to eat here…”

He frowned.

“Not seein’ something you want?” He asked. “We can go somewhere else, might be hard to get a table but…”

“No!” You shook your head quickly. “No, the food looks great but…”

You bit your lip and trailed off and he watched you, waiting for you to finish.

“But?” He asked eventually.

“But this place is…” you lowered your voice. “This is expensive. We really don’t have to eat here just because I’ve talked about it, we can go anywhere, we can just order a pizza if you want, I really don’t need all this, this is…”

“Baby,” he cut you off, a crooked smile on his face. “Don’t worry about the price. Been wanting to take you here since this place opened, set aside some money for it. Get whatever you want.”

“But…”

He set the menu down and crossed his arms over the table, leaning over it toward you.

“You gonna let me spoil my girl for Valentine’s Day or are you gonna give me trouble?” He asked. You frowned a little, thumb toying with the corner of the menu. Joel tilted his head until you met his gaze. “I mean it, baby. Really want to do this. Please let me?”

“OK,” you said, still uncertain and looking at the menu again, looking for the least expensive entree.

“Swear to god you order the cheapest thing, we’re comin’ back next week,” Joel said as though he read your mind. “You’d better get what you actually want.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” you said, trying your best to ignore the price column on the menu.

You settled on the duck and Joel got the steak frites and, once the numbers were out of your head, you were able to relax more, savoring the wine and running your heel-clad foot over the inside of Joel’s leg from across the table.

“You would’ve been makin’ fun of me last night, Baby,” he smiled, taking a sip of his wine. “Remember how I told you Sarah didn’t know what she wanted to bring to school for Valentine’s Day?”

“Yeah,” you frowned.

“Well,” he laughed. “She decided yesterday she wanted cupcakes. So we stopped by the store on the way home from scouts, got the themed cake mix, all that. But she really wanted to try and do it herself so I started out just supervisin’… ended up running the cake mix through the pasta strainer to get all the egg shells out of it, that girl was in rare form…”

“Oh no!” You laughed, loud enough that the table close to you shot you a glare and you tried not to laugh harder when you quieted down. “How’d they turn out?”

“Alright I think,” he said. “They were kinda lopsided but tasted fine. We split one this morning.”

“You send her off to school with a sugar high?” You teased.

“Not from half a cupcake,” he waved you off. “The little box of candy I caved and let her have this morning did that.”

You giggled.

“I’m sure her teacher appreciated that.”

“I’m just hopin’ with the sweets from school it carried through to when Tommy picked her up from school,” he smirked a little. “Think I owe ‘em for loading her up with candy after Halloween last year, as if she didn’t have enough already…”

The food was incredible, so good you had to set your fork down to focus on the flavor of the first bite, Joel smiling almost proudly from across the table. By the time you were done, you were two glasses of wine deep - Joel ordering a second for you before you could stop him - and he was holding your calf under the table, hand sliding over the muscle to cup your ankle, thumb massaging the tendon there.

“You’ve been playin’ a dangerous game over there, baby,” he said, voice low.

“You’re hot,” you said, almost shyly. “Can’t help it.”

“Thinkin’ I should get you home,” he said. “Get you outta that dress.”

“I’m thinking you’re right,” you said, heat settling low around your hips.

Joel’s mouth was on you before you even got your front door closed, your arms around his neck and his hands on your ass, holding you tight to the front of him.

“I,” you kissed him. “Got,” another kiss. “You.” Kiss. “Something.”

“Really?”

Another kiss as you nodded.

“Didn’t need to do that, baby…”

“Too bad,” you smiled, kissing him long and hard before pulling back from him. “I like doing stuff for you, too, you know.”

You took his hands and led him to your bedroom, sitting him on the bed before handing him the box with the shirt and frame inside. He opened it almost reverently, a little smile pulling up at the corners of his lips as he did.

“It’s not as good as what you did,” you said, sitting next to him, twisting your fingers around on themselves as he lifted the lid of the box.

“Oh, baby,” he said softly, picking up the frame, his thumb tracing the parts you’d repaired. “This is perfect… when was this?”

“Remember when Sarah and I were on Christmas break and we went to the natural history museum the day before New Year’s Eve?” You said.

“That was a good day,” he smiled down at the picture before setting it on your nightstand and he laughed as he got out the shirt. “Where the hell’d you find this?”

“I’ve been keeping an eye out,” you smiled. “It’s well loved but I did wash it already…”

He cut you off with a kiss before you could finish, dropping the box and the shirt to the floor as he pulled you against him, his lips insistent and needy on yours. He quickly shrugged out of his jacket as you fumbled with the buttons on his shirt and he unzipped your dress. You got each other undressed quickly, his mouth on yours as he lay you below him, his large hand cupping your pussy before he slipped two fingers between your swollen, slick lips, tracing over your entrance before sliding up to tease your clit as he settled between your thighs.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” he panted against you, pushing his fingers into your tight channel, just up to the first knuckle. “This all for me, baby?”

You nodded and tried to pull him closer, to bring his body fully against your own, but he stayed just far enough away that you could feel the warmth of his skin but not the softness of him itself. You groaned and he smiled as he trailed kisses over your jaw to your throat.

“Seems like you might want somethin’,” he teased a little. You just nodded. “Should say what you want, baby, so I know what to give you.”

“You,” your fingers scrambled over his back, desperate to find some kind of leverage. “Want you, please Joel…”

He kissed you gently but you could feel the hunger behind it. He needed you, too, you could feel it in him.

“OK baby,” he said softly, lining himself up at your entrance, the swell of his cock just close enough to start to part your walls without pushing in. “Give you what you want…”

He kissed you as he pressed into you, a moment of resistance before the thickness of his shaft entered you. You whimpered at the stretch of him, arching into his touch, your pussy already starting to tighten and flutter around him.

“Oh fuck,” he groaned. “You already close?”

You just nodded as he pushed deeper, his cock opening you to him until he was fully inside you, his head pressed firmly against the part of you that made you press your hips up against him and your fingers dig into his skin. You felt yourself pulse around him once before going even tighter as he moaned, his head dropping to your shoulder.

“Goddamn you feel good,” he panted. “Not gonna last once you come baby, tellin’ you that right now…”

“S’OK,” you clumsily rocked your hips up against his, desperate for that last little bit of friction you needed to push yourself over the edge. “Just… I need…”

“I got you,” he said, pressing somehow deeper and making you whimper below him. “Give you just what you need. Take such good care of you, baby, promise I will.”

He started slow but hard, the steady drag of his cock as he pulled back from you followed by the firm, heavy thrust of him as he fucked back into you. You matched his rhythm, moving your body in time with his, his skin warm on your own, his brown eyes warm and soft and deep on yours. You clung to him as his pace increased, your body getting tighter around him, orgasm building until your head was fuzzy and all you could feel was the desperate heat of pleasure deep inside you.

“Want you to come for me, baby,” Joel panted, one arm slipping below your arched back. He tilted your hips ever so slightly, the angle adjusted just enough that he could press deeper, his hips against your clit, all of him hitting you just right. You gasped at the change, your arms latching onto him tighter, your hips stuttering against him. “Oh fuck, there you go, just come for me, that’s it, c’mon, just give in to it baby, just…”

You cried out as you came, Joel holding you close and tight, his movements never slowing as he chased his own orgasm inside you, thrusting hard and deep until he pressed against the back wall of you as you throbbed over him, coming undone with a shaky groan. You felt him pulse inside of you, emptying himself deep until he went limp on top of you. He adjusted quickly as you caught your breath, rolling onto his back and taking you with him so you ended up sprawled on top of him, your nose nuzzled against his neck as he held you, his large palm gently tracing over your back.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead and you hummed happily, whole body feeling soft and hazy as you just focused on his skin against yours.

“You’re too good to me,” you sighed as you snuggled into him. You could feel him frown.

“Why’d you say that?”

“Because you are,” you kissed his neck. “You did way too much for me today, I can’t measure up.”

“Hey,” he said quietly, pulling back from you just enough that he could look into your eyes. “Don’t say that, that ain’t true…”

“Yes it is,” you said, running your fingers through his curls. “I loved it, I loved it so, so much. But it’s too much, I can’t do the same in return, I don’t deserve…”

“Yes you do,” he cut you off, giving you a little squeeze. “Baby, you do so much for me just by existing near me, you realize that?” You looked at him skeptically but he didn’t give you a chance to argue. “I mean it. My life is so much better because of you. Never thought I could love someone the way I love you, you made me understand this kind of thing existed at all. You make me laugh more than anyone else I’ve ever met and you are so damn sweet. Plus you’re so smart, I could just sit and watch how your mind works all damn day and never get bored and the fact that you’d just let me… Not to mention how you take care of me and Sarah. Never thought I’d find a woman who could love my little girl like you do. You’ve given me everything and you do it every damn day. I just wanted to try and give you some of that back.”

“Joel,” you said softly, tears burning at the corners of your eyes.

“Never had a ton goin’ for me,” he said, smiling a little. “Always kinda figured I’d fucked my life up at some point but… I wouldn’t have Sarah or you without everything I did leading up to it. Makes me feel like I did something right to get the two of you in the end, you know?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, kissing him softly. “I know.”

He smiled his gentle, crooked smile at you and you just looked into his chocolate brown eyes for a moment before you sat up quickly, remembering.

“I made you brownies!” You almost jumped out of bed and Joel laughed, catching your wrist as you untangled yourself from the sheets.

“Wasn’t done with you yet,” he tugged you closer, kissing up the inside of your arm.

“I’ll be right back,” you said. “Promise.”

You went to the kitchen and put two of the brownies onto a small plate and got a large glass of water before going back to your bedroom, Joel sitting with his back propped against your headboard. You handed him the water before you climbed in bed with him, holding the plate out to him. He laughed a little.

“These look amazing,” he said, picking up a brownie and taking a huge bite, groaning a little in pleasure as he did. “Taste amazing too,” he said, his mouth full. “You’d have been ashamed of those cupcakes…”

“Next time Sarah has a baking project, just call me,” you said, taking a bite of your own brownie. “I take sex in payment for culinary lessons for the right client. Namely you.”

He smiled, tugging you against him.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

You snuggled in closer.

“Think we should make these brownies a holiday tradition,” Joel said, finishing his and kissing your temple. “These are damn good.”

“Plenty more where that came from, Miller,” you teased a little, sucking some of the pink frosting off your thumb. “You know, this was my first real Valentine’s Day.”

“Yeah?” Joel asked, looking down at you as best he could as you stayed tucked against his side. “I do OK?”

“You did amazing,” you smiled. “Ruined me for all other men.”

“Good,” he said, settling back against the headboard. “Gonna need all other men to keep their hands off you, anyway.”

You smiled a little at that, the idea of being his and he being yours. He nuzzled down into your hair, his lips pressing against the crown of your head.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, baby,” he said quietly. “First of many.”

Your smile grew.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #lavender #joel miller x oc #smut fic #send asks #kit answers

152 notes · View notes

lesbianfakir · 1 year

Photo

a story that never ends is a sad fate

[ID: a digital painting mimicking a scene of a stained glass window depicting the four Princess Tutu main characters as their roles in the story. In the foreground, the silhouettes of Fakir and Rue sit on the ground beneath their stained glass depictions. Behind Fakir is a stained glass cog showing Drosselmeyer’s grave. Behind Rue a stained glass cog depicts the talon moon centerpiece of the swan lake. Duck in her duck form sits apart from them, gazing up at the stained glass Tutu.

On the left side of the window is a side profile of Fakir as the Knight. His head is bowed and he holds his sword. Red roses creep up his back, mimicking his birthmark. He is surrounded by more roses and pages from a book.

In the center of the window Princess Tutu reaches up in a ballet pose. In front of her is Duck in her girl form. Both Tutu and Duck have their heads bowed and their eyes closed. Above them, at the top of the window is the clocktower of Goldkrone Town against a sky of stars.

Below them, a white swan and a black swan bend their necks into a heart shape, encircling Tutu’s pendant. The black swan’s wing stretches to the left, cutting across Fakir while the white swan’s wing cuts across Rue to the right.

At the very bottom of the window we see Mytho’s bare arms and chest. He is doing the ballet mime for love. His head is cut off by a stained glass shape depicting the shattering of his heart with the Prince’s Sword.

Finally, to the right of the window is a stained glass depiction of Kraehe in profile with her head bent up to the sky. She is crying and she holds her hands to her chest in a pose mimicking the Willi maidens from Giselle. She is wrapped in black thorns and surrounded by black roses.

The window is decorated with stained glass flowers and various geometric shapes.

end ID]

PLEASE click for better quality!! this. took. FOREVER omg but I love how it came out

#if you saw this onmy other blog no you didn't #i'm having problems with tags again #princess tutu #my art

1K notes · View notes

hopefulromances · 7 months

Note

Omg imagine Jamie with a partner who collects flowers to put in her book. so when Roy and Jamie are out training in the morning Jamie looks for flowers and picks them and Roy’s like wtf and then Jamie explains that his partner collects them. So Jamie comes home with a coffee and a flower you don’t have yet ever noting.. ahhh I don’t know if this is good or not

THIS IS SO CUTE SO SO SO CUTE

Here's a little baby drabble

"What the fuck are you doing?" Roy barked when he realized Jamie wasn't behind him.

Jamie was walking through the garden of some stranger's house. He was parading around, carefully stepping over bushes and flowers.

"Gotta find a new flower," he said simply, looking around himself.

Roy grunted and rolled his eyes. "Look Jamie, you can garden in your own time, now we have to finish our run."

Jamie waved Roy off. Roy looked around and huffed, crossing his arms as Jamie continued to step around the garden.

The porch light flicked on, and a middle age man opened the front door.

"What are you doing in my garden?" He asked, looking between Roy and Jamie. "Hang on, you're Roy Kent!" Roy growled. "And you're-"

"Jamie Tartt, yeah, can I take this flower," he pointed at a weird looking purple flower that had several thin petals sticking out from its purple bud.

The man shrugged. "Sure."

"Mint, thanks, mate!" Jamie reached down and delicately picked the flower. "What's it called?"

The man came over and took out his glasses to look at the flower. "Oh, good choice, that is a Spider Daisy, a lovely color, the latin name is Osteo-"

"Cheers, mate, gotta dash," Jamie cut him off, stepping out of the garden and starting his jog again, carefully shielding the flower in his grasp.

Roy let out a sigh, thanked the man, and started to run off after Jamie.

...

You woke up to the sound of your alarm at 7:30 in the morning. It was criminal to be awake this early, especially when Jamie wasn't home yet. You grumbled and shoved your face back into the pillow.

As if on cue, the front door opened and Jamie was calling your name. You only let out a loud grunt in return, hoping he'd come in there and drag you out of bed.

The first thing you felt was his lips on your temple.

"Morning, love," He chuckled, brushing his fingers through your hair.

"Mmmm," you groaned back.

"I brought you something."

You rolled over onto your side and saw him holding out a cup of coffee. You let out a muted squeal of glee as you shuffled to a sitting position. You took a long sip of the coffee before letting a lazy smile come onto you face.

"Better?" Jamie chuckled.

"Better," You responded, nodding. "Morning, Jamie."

He grinned, leaning into towards you. "Morning."

You cupped his jaw as he leaned in to kiss you. This was a beautiful way to wake up wasn't it. You couldn't imagine a better way to wake up.

"I, uh, got you something else," Jamie mumbled. It was then you noticed he hand an arm behind his back. You cocked your head, motioning for him to continue. He pulled out the flower he'd picked up.

You're eyes widened as you smiled. "Oh, wow! It's gorgeous!"

You put aside your coffee to delicately take the flower with both hands. Jamie looked at your face as you gazed at it, reveling in his success in making you light up.

"The bloke said it was a Spider Daisy," Jamie told you, glancing between you and the flower. "I thought it looked cool."

"It does," you echoed. You traced the flower and it's interesting shape and look. "I'll press it right now."

She handed the flower back to Jamie and flew out of the bed, now suddenly much more awake. Jamie laughed as you ran to your desk and pulled out a book. You weren't wearing pants, your hair was wild, and he was pretty sure that was a wine stain on your shirt but he didn't care, he thought you looked beautiful.

You flipped through the pages, full of different flowers and dates.

"This one is so special, Jamie," you mused, coming to sit next to him on the bed. "Thank you."

"Anything for you, babe," Jamie murmured, pressing a kiss to your cheek. He was aiming for your lips but you were too excited to press your flower and turned away. He grumbled and flopped back on the bed.

This was so cute! I hope you enjoy!

#jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #ted lasso #ted lasso show #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt fanfiction #drabble night #drabble #fluff

267 notes · View notes

neverchecking · 10 months

Note

Hi I am 🪷 Aron from couldninetonine

And I have a request for you if it ok.

Can I request yandere platonic sage , sky, time, warrior, four x child zoni reader.

Like the reader is rauru and queen Soni little baby half breed daughter. Half elf and half zoni. And they found her in her little bubble pod that a flower a lotus. And how they fell for her big doe eyes and big ears. And teaching her the ways and have her call them papa's and how they keep her safe. Please and thank you

omg hi! I love cloudninetonine! It is totally okay to request!

I haven't done a lot of platonic yandere, but this seems fun!

Imagine them calling the boys their papa bc her real dad is dead lmao-

・❥・@lovanmari and @wayfayrr I got some DILF Sage for yall

・❥・Sage as a dad. First off-- who in their right mind is trusting him with a kid?

・❥・Nah, I kid, I kid. When he's given a child, one so small and innocent and one that he connects with? It burns something within him.

・❥・He was a child soldier (I think canonically BOTW Link was in the army by age twelve?), and when he sees this small child who's relying on him? He swears they'd have a better life than he ever had.

・❥・He absolutely refuses to let his child anywhere near anything sharp, too hot, too cold, explosive, etc.. If there's any chance at injury, his flower bud isn't going anywhere near it.

・❥・You know that his kid is eating like royalty. Every single day. Breakfast, lunch and dinner. And dessert. And you know that dessert is the best damned thing in the world.

・❥・Sage as a dad is probably just as unhinged, but in more protective way? Lynel look in their direction? Here kid, look at this butterfly, Papa will be right back- He's back within three minutes tops and look! He's got the fur for a new blanket for you!

・❥・Cece tries pinching your cheeks? He's glaring down at her, daring her to try.

・❥・Someone tries offering you a treat because your just so adorable? He knows his kid is cute, nice try. Nothing is getting past him. He's a bit of a helicopter parent.

・❥・Not a bit. It's a lot.

・❥・He loves playing with your big ears, ones that you'll grow into, flopping them about even as you get red-cheeked and angry at him.

・❥・He'll make it up to you eventually :)

・❥・He also spoils you absolutely rotten. He has his rules, yes, and expects you to follow them, but his rewards are things like trips to the Zora Domain or a sand seal ride in Gerudo. Never Eldin. Are you kidding that's an active volcano site?!?!

・❥・The sages are one-thousand percent your personal body guards. You don't go anywhere without your dad and at least one sage.

・❥・Sky is absolutely smitten from the start.

・❥・You look at this man and tell me he's not dad shaped. You can't.

・❥・He doesn't even care to learn what a Zonai is. All he knows is there are none here and your all alone and your his now. He doesn't make the rules

・❥・He is also another protective dad, but he's a little more willing to let you experience the world around you. You wanna see those flowers over there? He's following! You wanna go for a dip in the river? Great idea, he's helping you! You can go explore, but never alone.

・❥・He absolutely introduces you to Crimson right away. Crimson is the perfect co-parent guardian. Crimson is always pulling you into her side, ruffling her feathers and grooming you.

・❥・Like you become Sky's kid and Crimson's chick. They are two halves of a whole soul so it makes sense.

・❥・HFHFDOFDHN imagine sleeping on Crimson's back while Sky leads the two of you through a forest or sum ;^;

・❥・Or soaring through the sky with you pointing at every cloud you pass and Sky harnessing you to his chest while Crimson flies much slower than normal.

・❥・Sky can cook basic things, but he definitely spends more time with village moms and elders learning more.

・❥・He for sure carves toys for you out of wood. Like trains or maybe a doll of Crimson.

・❥・You get the fluffiest blankets stuffed with Loftwing feathers

・❥・Groose is such a good uncle-sidebar. Even if Sky isn't...jazzed about letting you out of his sight, he will trust Groose. For an hour.

・❥・Which he is within earshot of for fifty seven minutes.

・❥・He's kind of torn between letting you be with Zelda-- who adores you-- and not. she's the reincarnate of Hylia. What if you get dragging into the wretched reincarnation curse as well?

・❥・He wouldn't wish it on his worst enemy let alone his fletchling.

・❥・Fi for sure has a beacon on you at all times.

・❥・He's more...withdrawn when it comes to first meeting you

・❥・Afterall he's in a war.

・❥・but...so are you. And you are so much younger than he is.

・❥・and what self-respecting parent would let their child wander so far? None that deserve their child.

・❥・So you become his. He doesn't do take backsies.

・❥・When you stutter out that your old, irrelevant, unworthy father was a Zonai, he does take that with some caution.

・❥・But no one even knows what a Zonai is. Ravio has a general idea-- a race blessed by the gods-- but thats as far as he gets.

・❥・That's okay. You were his now and he didn't care what you were. You were perfect just the way you are <3

・❥・Wars as a dad is probably pretty strict. But he lets you out of his sight more than the previous two.

・❥・You get schooled and have friends, but are expected home right away.

・❥・He doesn't like your friends. Not a chance. But because he's such a public figure he needs to give you a semi normal life.

・❥・Which means those dumb friends and parent interventions and schooling and hours away when you could be spending time with him!?

・❥・He probably sneaks you out of school often to go for treats at a bakery or a swim in a river. What are they gonna do, tell the Hero no?!

・❥・Artemis loves you. He trusts her with you while he's dragged away for things he cannot control. She has the power of Sheik on her side and proved her worth to him in battle.

・❥・You definitely have a fairy on you at all times which reports back to him.

・❥・Fours is so fun for one reason and one reason alone.

・❥・the minish.

・❥・They probably are the ones to alert him about your presence, giving their small knowledge of the Zonai race.

・❥・They chirp and chitter at him until he brings you back to the home he shares with his grandpa (Uncle? It's one of the two). The older male was out at the moment leaving Four to figure out what he's going to do with you.

・❥・Obviously he keeps you. No one else can handle such a task! You're so delicate and so rare and the minish already love you.

・❥・So your his. no ifs ands or buts.

・❥・The forge? Off Limits.

・❥・It's too hot with too many sharp pointy things and open flames and its dirty.

・❥・Not for his kid.

・❥・When it comes to cooking, he can do it, but like sky, he's not overly good.

・❥・but! You guys can learn together. Under his strict supervision. Where you sit at the counter. Away from the fires and knives. It's a bonding experience.

・❥・Back to the minish, they love you. They love playing with you and calling your attention away while your dad deals with someone whose watching you a little too closely.

・❥・They leave small trinkets for you all the time! Which four keeps in a box. Because you could choke.

・❥・He's also another one to make your toys! Little metal horses and wooden doll houses.

・❥・If he needs to run out for a few errands or something, he's not leaving you with anyone. Oh no not his kid. No, he's splitting. Two stay with you, three depending on the errand, while the other runs out.

・❥・You aren't allowed the Four sword. Ever.

・❥・He would never wish that upon you. Even if you love the colors and it helps you differentiate between green and red and blue and Violet.

・❥・Thats probably how you learn some of your colors in fact.

・❥・Even as you grow up, you cannot get away with anything. The minish are snitches and it would do you good to learn that. And fast.

232 notes · View notes

aphrodisiaxcunt · 1 month

Note

Saw you need requests so what's up bbg

What about John Price with a younger gf (like 26, he's canonically near 40) who's worried that he's gonna "realize" he's "better off" with a woman his age? She's by no means immature or childish but sometimes worries there's too much of an age disconnect. Price obviously doesn't give a fuck and reassures her and it's just really sweet and lowkey Hozier coded? 👀

Like the song Be by Hozier (idk but it reminds me of him)

Omg thank you for your request🫶🏻Literally perfect I love Price so much it'll be nice to write something new, hopefully you'll enjoy my work ♡♡ Even though its not really my favourite out of all the things I've written ♡♡ sorry I'm using colored lines, it's just easier for my dumb bunny brain to grasp with colors

☆~♡—Connecting Pieces—♡~☆

Content: Request!Fluff, comfort, Cap Price x gf!reader, younger!woman x older!man, cutesy, domestic

Prices lines are green, Reader lines are orange

Reading time: 4~minutes

You and Price had been 'an item' for roughly over a year now, and it's been nothing short of perfect in your eyes. You've always felt a little more attraction to older men, nothing weird. They're simply just gentlemen compared to the boys your age. But lately, you can't help but kind of worry, although you've always liked older men, Price is your first older partner.

Every day for the past month or two, you've started noticing you and Price don't have that much in common, he's way more experienced in life and everything new to you is old news to him. Stressing over your thoughts as you're standing over your dining room table and attempting doing a puzzle, you don't notice Price until his arms wrap around your waist. Turning your head to look at him with a questioning hum from your throat, he places a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"Any closer to finishing this yet?" His remarks at your previous attempts of finishing a puzzle make you laugh a bit, turning your head back to the task at hand.

"Nno..not really.. I can't focus." You tilt your head a little to the side, looking for a specific piece from the pile of colourful shapes. Price slides his hand underneath your smaller hand, wrapping his digits with yours as he brings your hand up to his lips to kiss it, the beard and moustache he's so proud of tickling your knuckles.

"What's taking your attention, my love?" His soothing voice is like velvet in your ears, and you gnaw at the inside of your cheek just slightly, thinking if now is really a great time to start mentioning your insecurities.

"It's stupid, really don't worry -" he cuts you off "No no honey, it's clearly bothering you, so it must be important, even a bit, hm?" His words make you sigh. You take a seat, still fiddling with a puzzle piece between your fingers. He lets go of your hand, and instinctively, you pull it back to yourself and use it to assist your other hand at studying the puzzle piece. He takes a seat beside you and scoots the chair closer to yours. "I've just been thinking-" you hold a quick pause, "Of our age gap. Sometimes I feel like you'd be better off with a woman..that's actually your age." Your voice goes quieter the longer you talk. "And maybe some day you'll realize that and leave me.." Looking down, you've stopped moving the puzzle piece around and now just look at the part of a flower on it.

He seems a little dumbfounded, mouth opening and closing in his search for words, and after a couple of useless seconds of searching, he lets out a chuckle. Lifting your head, you see him smiling down at you, his smile lines creased up. "Oh, I see, my dear.. I can assure you that's not the case here. Never has been." Now it's your time to look dumbfounded as you mutter out excuses.

His rough hands move to cradle your head as his thumb tips find their places on your cheekbones, caressing them down in a soothing motion, he hushes you. His eyes locking onto yours, his face is relaxed and a little entertained. "What would make you think of such things?" You completely melt against his hands, leaning your face into his touch, looking for your words. "Sometimes I just feel like we don't have a lot of stuff in common..and when something is new and exciting for me- I'm scared it's boring and repetetive for you.." You close your eyes and tilt your head down, letting your hair droop over your face. Price smiles at you, brushing your hair back behind your ear and lifting your chin. "Oh I promise you, seeing you get excited over something is not boring.." Your eyes flutter open and they meet with his. Before you can start questioning him, he slides his thumb from your cheek onto your lips. You look at him as you place a soft kiss to the tip of his thumb, giving him a small smile.

"I've never felt like our relationship is complicated in that matter, we still love each other..And I don't think having things in common is necessary to that.." You start to blush at his comforting words. This is something you're really starting to wish you would have opened up earlier for conversation. But the important thing is that now he's aware and you're feeling reassured.

"Are we on the same page now dear?" His voice is quiet when he asks, giving him a nod and a "Yeah~..." as an answer. He pulls you in gently by your face, lips pressing into yours. You kiss him back, the scent of tobacco in his breath and the bitter taste on his lips is something you've started to like. You wrap your arms around his neck, running your fingers through his soft hair. The seconds go by fast, too fast as he stops the kiss. Eyes opening to meet yours, he gives you an other reassuring smile, making you blush and avert your gaze back to the puzzle.

"The piece goes here darling.." he points to a spot in the low left corner of the puzzle and you give him a sarcastic 'I knew it' as you place the piece to its respected place.

☆{}☆{}☆{}☆{}☆{}☆{}☆{}☆{}☆{}☆{}☆{}☆{}☆{}☆

YEAH! The puzzle was a metaphor of relationship issues and talking your problems through, so what? I'm kidding, that was honestly really amazing to write and I hope I pulled through on your request <3 I wasn't sure if I should call him Price or John so I hope that Price is fine

Go follow my ig @aphrodisiax_tumblr for fic release updates!!

#captain john price #john price #cod x reader #cod #call of duty x you #call of duty x reader #female writers #captain price #cod fluff #fluff #captain price fluff #captain price x reader #captain price x you

71 notes · View notes

daddyhausen · 7 months

Text

• kinktober day three : sundress — cash wheeler •

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

{ masterlists } | { kinktober 2023 }

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

{ commission info } | { like my work? buy me a coffee — kofi — dxddyhxusen }

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

{ summary } — daniel could not keep his hands off you at your family get together upon noticing you wearing his favourite dress of yours

{ warnings } — 18 + { minors do not interact }, semi public sex, breeding, praise, body worship, groping, quickies, male + female orgasm, squirting, vaginal creampie, internal cumshots

{ word count } — 1k

{ pairing } — fem!reader x cash wheeler

{ genre } — smut

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

{ taglist } — @cosmoholic13 @thewrestlingbitch @omg-im-such-a-masochist @adamjf @wardlow @alexisquinnlee-bc @sammiejane22 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @omegasluvbot @melissahausen @writtingrose @drummergrl1310 @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin @bonehead-playz @cherrytheeredheadmamaclaymore @crowleysqueenofhell @romanreigns-supreme @janetreader @thenerdybaker523 @sunshinevirus @nicoleveno14 @rubyred1980 @elsteenerico @igncrxntripley @ripleyswhore @embermdk @thepalaceofmelanie @violetmacher @seeingstarks

{ beta readers } — @allelitesmut + @legit9thlunaticwarrior

{ comment if you want to be added to the taglist }

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

he could not keep his eyes off of you

admiring the gorgeous yellow sundress you wore it was his favourite

the dress long and flowy, decorated with little pastel pink flowers throughout, the sleeves short and ruched same as the bust,

a slit down the side, not enough to expose anything but enough to get his imagination to run wild

a gulp grew thick in his throat, trying to not seem as intoxicated by your beauty as he would have liked to have shown.

he saw you with your niece across the yard, that natural maternal instinct running through you as she came crying to you

unknown as to why, he watched on as you consoled the little girl, planting a gentle kiss to her forehead, followed by a warm embrace

the act made daniel’s heart swell with adoration, a small smile forming across his lips

“you look so damn good in that dress, you know that” his voice deep and sultry, his arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you close, subtly grinding against your hip

his lips gently grazed the skin of your neck peppering small kisses to the flesh

“i know” you respond back in a flirty tone, it only fuels daniel’s desire

“y’know…” he began trailing off in thought for a moment.

“you look even better with it off, darlin’”

he moaned softly against your neck, his kisses more feverish than the last

“god…” he groaned, feeling himself grow hard against your hip “if i could take you right here, i would…”

as much as you enjoyed that sentiment. you would happily obliged if you were not surround by relatives

“daniel…we can’t…not now…”

you tried desperately to hold back a moan, his lips trailing down to your collarbone

he could tell you were enjoying yourself.

“come with me” he whispered, taking you by the wrist, dragging you back inside

the backyard had grown pretty crowded for his liking.

he dragged you to the bathroom, being the nearest room

quickly locking the door behind you. your back now pressed against it.

he did not hesitate to attack you with a flurry of kisses once more

his movements feverish, prying up the skirt of your dress until your panties were in view

“d-daniel…” you stuttered through a moan, the pads of his fingers tracing delicate shapes against your clit through the fabric

“shhh baby…don’t want to get caught now do we?”

you shook your head in response, shuddering as his fingers pressed harder against your clit

“gonna be a good girl for me and keep quiet?”

“y-yes daddy…” you stammered

he hummed softly with contentment, planting a sweet kiss to your lips.

“you look so fuckin’ good…makes me wanna put a baby in you”

daniel’s hand smoothed across your stomach, caressing it.

“you pulled him close, arms wrapping around his neck

“well what are you waiting for?” you retorted playfully, leaning in to plaster chaste kisses to his jawline

he tugged your panties to the side, without warning, flipping you around.

your head pressed against the bathroom door, pretty ass sticking out for him to gain some leverage

he slipped into you with ease, your cunt drenched from his constant pursuit of you

“oh god…you feel so good princess”

your hips bucked against his even before he started moving, just letting you grind against his cock as he gathered his baring.

he wrapped a hand around your mouth to dampen your moans, the reverb of the bathroom created a heavenly sound.

he delivered a particularly harsh thrust to begin with, a small squeak of pleasure left your lips

“be quiet, princess…” he reminded, to which you made futile attempts to silence yourself.

“gonna fuck a baby into you darlin’” he began, trailing off into his own thoughts, proclaiming them out loud

“you’d look even more beautiful with you belly full of my seed…fuck-“ he grunted, pausing stern the sentence to catch his breath

*you’d be the perfect mother, sweetheart…our kids will be lucky to have you”

he pulled you back against his chest, kissing you with such an intensity and passion that was not uncommon in your little endeavours

but this…it felt so much more intimate

“i love you…” you muttered against his lips

“i want nothing more…”

he increased the speed of his thrusts, enjoying the sounds of your muffled moans against his palm

how they grew increasingly louder and more desperate

“shhh princess…” he reminded, hearing the chatter of your relatives from outside

he could feel his pace faltering, his end nearing

he held you close by the waist, filling you up without warning

continuing to fuck you through his orgasm until you spilled over.

“god…i love you…” he panted, admiring the way you gushed around him. how his cum was dripping out of your void

you merely hummed contently. mind far too fucked out to even create a response.

he pulled out of you, fixing your panties, much to your dismay,

smoothing down the stray strings of hair that cling to your face with perspiration

“we should probably get back out there before your family gets suspicious” he chuckled nervously

“yeah we should…” you replied with the same on edge tone, quickly fixing the skirt of your dress to seem more presentable

“hey daniel…?” you questioned. he merely peered up at you with a gentle gaze

“round two in the car when we leave?”

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

#{ my fics : 🤍 }#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #cash wheeler #cash wheeler x reader #cash wheeler smut #cash wheeler imagine #cash wheeler fanfic #aew #wrestling imagine #wrestling smut #aew imagine #aew fanfiction #aew wrestling

101 notes · View notes

checkedandfound · 3 days

Text

Theories on recent drop in content:

*Disclaimer: please note that these notes have my personal take on them, they are not to demean or put anyone down. I don't consider myself to be a part of any specific fandom, but I do enjoy talking and theorising about my favorite shows/movies/anime/dramas - that said, I will say clearly; I am not just a Polin fan, nor am I just a Kanthony fan - I am mainly a bridgerton fan.*

| A HUGE SPOILER ALERT FOR ALL THOSE WHO HAVEN'T SEEN THE ANY NEW CONTENT DROPPED, PLEASE CHECK THIS OUT ON YOUR OWN RISK! |

____________________________

Personally I think all of these uploads are staged 🤔 am I complaining? Not at all but it does make me wonder about how many people have caught on, and if they will do the same thing for future seasons (assuming the show will go on till at least 6 to 8 seasons).

We got our CARRIAGE SCENE OMG like the way my heart dropped, but I would like to eco someons here and say the last scene of the leaked sneak peak trailer could be spliced, because Pen looks like she just saw colin opening the door to her carriage, where as Colin looks like he is in the carriage arguing with Pen.

Also I checked out the person who gave the insider info about 1 to 6 ep of season 3 on reddit - I would say what they have said is contradicting alot from what we have heard, seen and got (again no accusations here, I just have a feeling that there is not a whole lot of truth in what they have said but again maybe I could be wrong too)

TBH I have no issues with Benny or Colin really exploring themselves a bit, when of course used for proper plot relevance ofc. The latest 2 sec scene of Benny and Lady Tilly making out was though okay.

I do a 80% think we will get our confrontation b/w Pen and Colin - he will find out for sure the Pen is Lady whistledown, I do think they might teak it a bit and to amp up the drama, could show that they are being followed by the people of the place.

I totally get when people say if there is any of the siblings who has taken after their mother (violet) - it's Colin for sure. Plus the friends to lovers trope is such a vital part from Violet's story (and will be later for Fran's story as well).

There are always candles, mirrors and/or the color red following the shots when colin is looking at Pen. Coutresy of @waltricia going in such detail! Do check their blog out cause their keen eye is the type to look forward too.

And omg the theme of spiring is SUCH a wonderful tone to the whole season - knowing both Bees and Butterfly get their nector/polin from flowers - and it's not just surrounding them, because as we could see our latest shot of our dear Victountess smelling some (I have a very strong sense it's because her time to get a new beginning is coming as a child will enter either at the start or will be announced in part 2 ending). Also to add on here that in Greek mythology, flowers represent fertility. And specifically the flowers that our she is smelling. - again thanks to @waltricia, I could really put my lazar shape focus on this detail 😂

I absolutely love how whenever there is a vulnerable scene for Pen, the lighting represents moonlight or soft violet/blue light on her. And when it's revelations, For both Pen and Colin - the lighting starts glowing on their face and you could see they are in the spot light.

Also from the interview I definitely get the vibe that the next season we could have our main couple as Eloise/Philip - again just an opinion but plotwise I would actually like to see a mix of both El and Benny's season (as you can see, I have a soft spot for one Mr. bridgerton in particular, soft yet confident emotionally caring men are my weakness). Personally it would make alot of sense cause both stories are interconnected, we'll also get to know more about Polin, etc.

Also also, when I read the season 3 ep 1 over view on reddit - the way I gasped! Because a line mentioned there was how when the mondrichs got their new estate, they have a relative named MICHAEL?! (Those who know, they know from the books), who was coming to town so maybe instead of just being cousins with John (Fran's 1st husband), he could be also related to our dear Mondrichs 🥺.

~ Fin ~

33 notes · View notes

lullaebies · 8 months

Note

Hey hope you're doing well<3

Could you please write Jaehaerys' funeral ( i know i'm horrible 🥲) where his body will be burned like Targaryen rituals? Everyone is waiting for Helaena to say dracarys but she stands still so Aegon steps up and says it

I first have to tell you that this is insane brain twinning because because I have written this exact scenario in a reddit comment before, I gasped when I saw your ask!! wish I had a screenshot omg. Also writing this made me super emotional - I hope this heavy dosage of angst will hit well! —

The boy is laid in an unlit pyre, pale body surrounded by blue flowers that are more alive than him.

Forget-me-nots, are what those gentle blue blossoms are called. Helaena is as pale as the corpse she has been overwatching, the crowd surrounding the area just an illusion to a soul already departed, but in her state she still managed to yell her son deserved to have his favorite flowers around him.

Aegon didn’t know those were his son’s favorite flowers. They are unremarkable in color, dainty in shape; perhaps if he had known before, he would’ve been able to appreciate them some, but seeing them now, this way, makes him want to order every single one in the Seven Kingdoms to be plucked out of the ground.

He dares not voice that order aloud. The ratcatchers dying didn’t clear out the shame, and tearing at flowers will not do so either. The weight of the boy would have been so light to carry in his arms, but now it is heavier than he could ever lift. The guilt made certain of it. And yet his own wife feels it a tenfold, he knows.

Helaena is by his side, but only Dreamfyre croaks and cries beside him; only Sunfyre answers to her. Mother is holding onto Maelor, conveniently far enough apart from them, enough so her daughter wouldn’t break into tears. Jaehaera found herself in the hands of a grandsire, face deep in his shirt, unable to look towards the pyre. He almost wishes he had any option to do the same, to try and forget — but no, there is no place for it, not anymore.

They have a septon read some blessings, before the boy is to be cremated. It’s a farce of a thing, to have anyone believe that the Seven who are One would bless his son in any way when the Crone already led his murderers to him, when the Mother did nothing when his head was sliced off. He almost wishes the septon was the one to be burned instead. But a sacrifice of a raggedy old man won’t bring a lively boy back.

When the man of the Faith finishes, Targaryen blood is due to say the final word, only they able to make the dragons lay one’s soul to rest. Helaena has switched out of that darned, bloody dress to say it; she bathed and combed her hair and wore her crown for this alone. He keeps himself quiet as he waits for her to say it. Aemond and Daeron are glaring daggers at anyone who dare show even the slightest impatience. Dreamfyre approaches, craning her neck above them. He thinks Helaena has steeled herself finally, and he sees her mouth move open, but it opens to no sound, and when it does give one, it is only a sob. Her shoulders turn as if to cave into themselves and he has to hold her arm to keep her still. She’ll drown them all with her tears before she burns the last remnant of their son.

She has been made to make that call once, already. To say what a mother should never say, and now she must say goodbye to a boy who should’ve been the one to see her off, many many years from now. She opens her mouth, but she cannot speak; Aegon doesn’t know if she’ll ever trust her own words again.

She looks to him when he touches her, the puffy bloodshot eyes being daggers of their own. Daggers, swords, scorpion bolts and all — and all they do is ask for mercy. I can’t, they say.

His eyes are pooling with tears as well, and Aegon swallows his emotions one by one. I can’t, either, he wants to say, it is my fault, his mind supplies. But then the silence around them is unbearable, and the crick in his neck reminds him of the crown they lost the boy for. Sunfyre approaches closer, without him saying a word, and he knows his choice is gone. This I must do.

His lip trembles in contempt. For who? The whole world perhaps, he thinks for a moment. This whole world that still breathes when he never had any air to begin with. May be only for myself.

Aegon looks at the boy, one last time. To remember the face that has been sown back to the body, the cheeks that he has only ever pinched for moments brief, the brows that have once rose so high when he asked his questions, the lips that made his pouts just like his, full but sullen. But he at least knew how to make them into a bright smile, too.

“Dracarys.”

The golden rays made of fire envelop the pyre whole; Helaena’s face comes to hide against his arm, but Aegon is unable to look away. The blue flowers are scorched into ash, mixing with his remains. Forget-me-nots.

He won’t forget. Aegon knows his son will haunt him until he meets him once more, and he hopes he does. He hopes he chases after him the same way he used to chase him down the halls of the Keep, unrelenting and determined to remind him what he is supposed to be.

I’ll listen, this time. The father you’ll meet next would be one that avenged you, Jaehaerys.

#helaegon #well vaguely #helaena targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #prince jaehaerys targaryen #jaehaerys targaryen #hotd #team green #my fanfics #requests #answered

107 notes · View notes

am-i-interrupting · 22 days

Note

Okay first off OMG THANK YOU FOR ACCEPTING ME REQUEST!! I loved it and I was wondering if it isn’t too soon like what was Vox x readers wedding like from the OATSH series I’m just wondering since they mentioned Vox was wearing his wedding ring so I wonder what their wedding was like I bet velvet made the brides and grooms suit and doing a absolute amazing job and why do I see Vox crying a bit like not water fall crying but like light produce section Mist crying. also why do I imagine Vox got turned on if he saw yn getting all angry and stuff 😅 also again thank you for accepting my request

Their wedding was actually in the 60s but this is how I imagine it.

To Feel Adored | OATSH

You wanted to continue to adjust and nitpick. You couldn’t keep your hands or your heart steady.

This was it. It was finally happening. You were getting married. It felt like a fantasy. It didn’t feel real. How could it be? How could this happen to you?

You adjusted your earrings even though they didn’t need it. It was a good thing Rosie hadn’t allowed you to hold your bouquet because you had no doubt it would be torn up petal by petal on the floor.

You gathered the soft fabric of your dress and ran your thumb over it. The dress was beautiful. Lace hugged your bust and collarbone creating an empire waist to the dress. The sleeves were long and bell shaped, cuffing at your wrists. The dress itself didn’t accentuate your curves but rather fell delicately over them.

A knock on the door.

“Come in!”

It barely creaked as it opened but your ears still turned to the sound. You saw your father’s reflection join your own in the mirror.

He wasn’t wearing his usual suit but it was similar enough. It had the same stripes in that reddish-pink color he was so found of but the base of the suit was white. He wore his stitched up at between his deer ears, his horns having grown big enough to peak out the top of it. He’d chosen his glasses instead of his monocle for the day. The rested carefully on the bridge of his nose. He smiled at you with those stained teeth of his.

“Are you ready, my deer?” he asked.

“As I’ll ever be,” you told him.

“Good.” He reached for your veil and placed it over your hair (which you’d decided to wear naturally) and face, no need for a clip when the holes for your fox ears would keep it in place just fine. “Let’s get this over with.”

He held his arm out to you. “I’m not going to die.”

“Ah, let’s not get stuck over semantics,” he said as you looked your arm in his.

He placed his hand atop of yours. You didn’t miss the small squeeze he gave it. You squeezed it back.

Rosie greeted you in the hall, Frank at her side. Rosie and Frank dressed in opposing colors. Frank dawning more light pinks instead of the usual whites while Rosie wore a nearly all black dress, the bust a pink that matched Frank but covered by a ribcage.

She finally handed you your bouquet. Irises, which reminded you of life in New Orleans, joined by red lupines and blue hydrangea. You felt yourself leaning against your father even more. Alastor held you steady.

You focused on the flowers in your hand as you walked toward the isle. You couldn’t look at anything else. You couldn’t breathe.

You just focused on the flowers and thought of every moment up until this point that had gotten you here. In both life and in death and you couldn’t believe that this was true, that it was happening, that it was real.

You took a deep breath and looked up. Immediately you were taken by his expression. Vox’s absolutely love-stricken eyes. The zap of electricity that went between his antennas, showing his rapid heart rate as your eyes met.

Then you were taken in by his outfit.

He did always look so handsome in dark colors. A dark black suit jacket hung open to reveal his white and blue stripped waistcoat, double breasted. His dress shirt beneath was black but von straws the the light purple tie he had so nicely. Vaguely, absently your registered that the purple matched the accents on your tail, ears, and hair.

He looked absolutely stunning.

You and Alastor got to the alter before you were ready. You didn’t even flinch when Alastor took Vox’s outstretched hand and used it to pull him closer before you could grab it.

“Hurt her and I will tear your soul apart bit by bit for all of Hell to hear, understand?”

“I—um,“ Vox barely even spared him a glance, too focused on you. “Yes.”

“Lovely.”

He let go of Vox and allowed him to take your hand. His own was grabbed by Rosie who was shaking her head as she pulled him to his seat.

“Was that necessary?”

“Very.”

You paid it no mind. You hand was in Vox’s. So delicately, he helped you up to the podium when you really needed no help at all or you couldn’t, if you could take your eyes off him.

In front of the podium, he carefully lifted the veil from your face and folded it atop your head. He let his hand carefully caress the side of your face. Then your hands joined together and the ceremony began.

It was all a blur, too focused on the man in front of you to truly process anything that was said. Just repeating the words you vaguely registered and taking the rings off of the pillow Vark held in his mouth, until the line you had been waiting for came:

“You may now kiss the bride.”

Vox didn’t have time to react as you quickly grabbed his tie and pulled him down into a kiss. He nearly fell back due the force but gripping your waist, he managed to not go backwards. You surged forward and wrapped your other arm around his shoulder and kept him close. His hands went between your shoulder blades.

You pulled away. No longer bride and groom but husband and wife.

A large meal had been made mainly by Rosie and Alastor though there were a few things you saw that you knew neither would have been able to make so someone else must have been involved. Everything had been labeled, however, with ingredients so no one who didn’t favor cannibalism would be subjected to it.

There were, of course, speeches to be made which began when Alastor stood and whipped out his microphone. Within the company of only friends and family, there was a bit of ability to let down some of those fortress walls of his, aided by the whiskeys you’d seen him take back both before the ceremony and now.

“In life, you were one of the few I cared for and in death that remains the same. However, recently I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that you have grown up and you did it without me. So, although I may no longer be the center of your world anymore, know you shall always be the center of mine and know that should anyone hurt you I will not hesitate to take the time and energy to host a broadcast so excruciating that he will deafen himself and all those in hell with the sound of his screams.”

Your rolled your eyes as the last part was spoken directly to Vox.

“You have and will always be,” Alastor reached out for you hand, “my best accomplishment and so long as you are happy, I can live a fulfilling afterlife.”

Alastor kissed your hand and squeezed it. You squeezed back.

Alastor looked at Vox as he gently placed your hand on the table and twirled his microphone before it was engulfed in shadow. A silent competition.

“Well, I know when to take a cue,” Vox said as he stood. “Now, I’ll admit defeat and say this one time that words are not my strongest skill. I am far better suited with visuals.”

Vox brought out a television. His back facing you prevented you from seeing what he was doing but you heard the click of a button before the television began booting up. Vox moved to the side.

“There was no day in my life more special than the day I met you and no day more devastating than when I lost you,” Vox said as the television flickered one last time before it settled.

You saw something you didn’t know. You saw the day the two of you met from Vox’s perspective. You had been too busy adjusting every detail of your appearance so you played the part that you hadn’t seen him glance through the window of the door and see you, stare at you for a moment before he shook himself and took a few steps so he could make a grand entrance.

“Getting to know you was the greatest adventure of my life.”

You were shown spinning around with your arms open as you spoke to him, that day you met. No words came from the television but you remembered them. Him pointing at night, leaning against you as you held him upright came on screen next.

“I will never meet another so kind—“ you in your waitress outfit topping off a costumer— “and righteous—“ you in a snow white dress, dragging a knife down a man’s Adam apple in a darkened alleyway (when had that happened?)— “and beautiful as you.”

The two of you in that bloodstained cabin. You had fallen asleep on his shoulder, cheek squished up and hair damp, curled, and frizzy. He had it wrapped around his finger.

“In life or in death, there is no one I would rather spend eternity with. No one else could ever compare to you. You saved me in ways that I can’t even explain and sparked me to life again after I died in more ways than just physically. I have lived in a reality without you in it and it caused nothing but pain.”

Vox climbing up the ladder in life, angry, snapping, alone. Vox climbing up the ladder in death with you by his side. He was smiling and dancing and waking up content with you atop his chest, hand over his heart, making sure he was alright.

“I came to the realization years ago but it remains true. I would rather not exist at all than exist without you.”

The television flickered off. Vox moved to sit down, next to you once again but he didn’t get the chance as you met him halfway with a hug. You squeezed his middle as you pressed yourself into his chest.

“I love you,” you said, muffled by his suit.

He held you just as tightly. “I love you too.” You both stayed like that for a moment.

Vox’s hand rubbed up and down you back. He looked over your head at Alastor. There seemed to be something in that brief moment, an understanding of how much they both cared about you between one another. It was gone the next moment as contempt came to Alastor’s expression.

“Let’s go sit, doll,” Vox said softly.

You let him drag you back to your seat, though neither of you let go of one another.

There were a few other speeches given.

One from Mimzy that was oddly heartwarming, about watching you grow up and getting to see you now. Of course, she had to throw in a quip about the money you and Vox had as overlords and you had to roll your eyes.

There was one from Rosie about how wonderful love could be and how she was so happy that you’d found it. She wished you both a happy afterlife together.

A couple others from very close friends but for two influential people, the wedding was actually rather small. It was intimate. Not broadcasted or recorded, not a public spectacle.

Then it was time for cake. You and Vox were both handed a knife. His arm was wrapped around your back, holding you close. Alastor summoned his microphone once again for a countdown.

“Three, two, cut!”

You and Vox both went to cut the cake but your knife sliced through faster. You turned to look at him with a smug smile.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said.

You continued to do so.

“You act like it wasn’t obvious who the true head of the household is,” Alastor chimed in.

“I—“

Vox rolled his eyes with a scowl.

“Oh, come on, baby, we all knew it,” you said, forcing him to look at you as you grabbed his lapels and mocked his pout.

Vox continued to look down at you unamused. He moved to tap your nose with his knife but you were faster. You wrapped your lips around it and licked off the cake and icing mixture. You hummed, it tasted divine. Vox blushed.

“Alright, alright,” Rosie said, with her hands over Alastor’s eyes, “let’s safe that for the honeymoon.”

“Mmm, no, let’s save that for never,” Alastor said as he gently moved Rosie’s wrist away from his face.

The first song you’d ever humored Vox in with dancing played over the radio. You looked up at him as you shook your head.

“Is your goal today to make me cry?” you asked.

“It’s not the goal,” he said as he grabbed your hand, “the goal is to show you how much I adore you. Is it working?”

He began leading you in a waltz. “Yes, very much so,” you said.

You placed your head on his shoulder. You let him drag you through motion to motion. You let yourself get lost in the rhythm.

You opened your eyes and over his shoulder you saw Vark following behind his every step. You smiled.

“I think someone wants to dance,” you said, voice barely a whisper.

“Oh, believe me, it’s been a challenge not to trip over him,” Vox replied.

You laughed lightly and closed your eyes again.

A couple seconds later you felt a hammerhead begin to push your legs and Vox’s legs apart. You laughed as Vox looked down unamused.

Vark looked up at the two of you with his best puppy eyes so of course you picked him up. He was getting heavy but that was okay. With the combined effort of you and Vox, you both held him between you as you finished the dance.

All together, a nice little family you made.

#vox x reader #hazbin vox x reader #one author two show hosts

42 notes · View notes