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museandwords · 27 days

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we don't gotta be in love (bucky barnes)

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics, dubcon (reader is a bartering chip), arranged marriage, blood, implied age difference, virginity loss, wedding night, rough sex, Bucky is an animal, reader is Tony Stark’s daughter, alludes to Bucky beings powerful man of ambiguous design, alternate universe, breeding kink, big dick kink, Bucky is in love with her but she hates him, it’s not a fairy tale, it’s primal and it’s kind of messy.

Author’s note: this is just….pure filth, send me to jail, don’t tell my therapist.

MINORS DNI! 18+ ONLY

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You, sweet, angelic, siren-like you. All wrapped up in a delicate lacy bra, a white ribbon in your hair, and your legs spread wide enough for Bucky to slot in between them.

Your glistening pussy was on full-display, tight and pink and soaked. Virginal and leaking slick as you lay there. You’re nervous, though you keep a brave face on as you present.

Your fiery eyes look up to meet his. You’re nervous and you’re scared. He's so big. His thick shaft dwarfs your folds as he rubs it along your seam.

You squirm, not sure what else to do. "Bucky…It's too big, it's not going to fit…" You whine at your new husband softly.

Bucky's gaze lingers on your delicate form, taking in the sight of his precious little Omega before him. He teases the tip of his thick member along your slick folds again and again, reveling in the way you quiver at the contact.

Your innocence and vulnerability only serve to stoke the primal desire within him. His intense blue eyes darken with hunger, your sweet scent of arousal enveloping him.

His large hand grips your chin firmly, tilting your head up to meet his gaze with eyes filled with determination.

"Shh, princess. Trust me," he growls softly, his voice a gravelly reassurance as his other hand snakes between your thighs, spreading your lips further to accommodate his size.

"You can take it, baby girl. You were made for me," he murmurs, the authoritative tone in his voice leaving no room for argument as he lines himself up with your entrance.

With a swift thrust, he enters you, the stretch causing you to gasp and tense against him. Bucky's restraint slips slightly at the sensation of your tight warmth surrounding him, but he reigns himself in, not wanting to overwhelm you. He holds still, allowing you to adjust to his size, his own need for you almost unbearable.

"See, you can take it," He reassures you, his hand moving up to cup your cheek tenderly as he begins to move, setting a steady pace that promises to fill you completely. He watches your reactions closely, his own control a thin veneer over his desire to claim you completely.

And just like that, Bucky made you his.

You should be afraid of this Alpha, this beast of a man who claims your virginity like he's entitled to it.

You want to hate him.

But how can you?

Your whole world is zoned in completely to where he's breaching you. He's so thick, his length seems to never end, and your back arches as you’re forced to take all of him.

It's like you can feel him in your stomach. You let out a high pitched whimper, and your thighs tighten around his waist.

As your eyes screw shut and you grip on his bicep for purchase.

Your virgin blood coats Bucky's cock, and it stains the white veil you still had on as he begins to fuck into you with a steady pace.

"I—…Bucky, I can't breathe…." You gasp, so genuine, soft and whimpery.

With your desperate plea for air, your voice tinged with a mix of fear and desire, Bucky's eyes bore into you, a glint of possessiveness shining through.

"You belong to me now, little wife," He growled, his voice husky and commanding, a mix of roughness and control.

Feeling your innocence and resistance only fueled Bucky's primal desires. He relished in the challenge, the conquest of your body like a prize waiting to be won.

As Bucky's relentless thrusting claimed you, your gasps, so pure and vulnerable, only served to fuel his aggression.

Bucky's grip tightened, his strength overpowering as he took what he wanted, his hips moving with a fierce determination. The room was consumed by the intoxicating scent of your arousal, mixing and mingling as your bodies became one.

Your eyes are screwed shut as you’re forced to take all of it again and again, the feeling of being so full is an adjustment, you hated how quickly you were coming to relish in it.

His arms come up to hook beneath the crease of your thighs and he begins to fold your body into a more submissive position. Your body curls and your eyes fly open, your glassy gaze meeting stormy blue as you can't help but let out a whiney moan from the sensation. The sight of you, vulnerable and yielding, stirs something within him, a hellish urge to devour, claim, push you to your limits as he delves deeper inside your velvety warmth.

You’re quick to realize whether you like it or not; you belong to him, for better or for worse. You go from a Stark girl to a Barnes wife. Tony Stark gave you to this beast of a man. And he takes it. Bucky takes all you have and consumes you.

Like an animal fucking for purpose rather than pleasure.

Your hand flies to the creaking mattress as you grip the sheets, your breasts bounce with each thrust and you begin to let out harsh pants that match each thrust in.

"Bucky…" You whine through gritted teeth as the pain begins to subside and the friction from the drag of his cock inside begins to feel good.

Bucky growls low in his throat as he moves within your eager, wet heat. The sound of your mingled pleasure filling the dimly lit room. His powerful thrusts are relentless. The scent of your arousal, sweet and heady, fills the space around you, driving Bucky wild with desire.

You want to hate this man. You want to hate him with all that you are because you were forced to marry him, to be his wife.

But the way he fucks into you has you confused, your brain more focused on how this Alpha takes your body so well, so dominantly and rough that it makes your pussy throb and your heart swell. It’s so ridiculous, so fucked up in your mind you can’t seem to bridge the gap.

With one particular thrust, Bucky's tip kisses your cervix, and you let out an involuntary scream from the sensation. Your manicured nails dig into the sheets, nearly shredding them as he picks up the intensity and drills harder into you.

You take it, you moan and you whine and you whimper and your tight warmth sucks his cock in, hungry for it now that you have it.

You’re overwhelmed from all the sensations, the way he's biting and sucking and licking your flesh, the way his pubic bone grinds against your clit and the way his cock stuffs you so perfectly that he rubs against your g-spot and cervix every time.

Tears begin to form in your eyes, a sign of your increased pleasure as your mouth falls open, Bucky forcing moans from your lips with each thrust in.

You know the purpose of this, you know what his instincts are telling him to do.

Reproduce. Claim. Mate.

"You're…trying….to get me pregnant…." You gasp out in realization as Bucky's hips slam into yours. You mewl, your body blossoming for him as he continues to drill into your tight wet heat.

Feeling you tighten around him, reacting to his every thrust, sent a dark thrill through him. It was as if something wild and feral prowled just beneath the surface of his skin, urging him to give in to his most basic alpha instincts.

He didn't speak, but his actions painted his intentions vividly.

You should fight, you should kick and punch and try to get this man off of you because you do not want his babies.

But your primal, baser brain won't allow you.

Because it's thriving off the Alpha presence, the possibility of pleasing your mate is more important.

The knot at the base of his cock began to swell, a signal of his impending release. As Bucky pushes his knot inside, your whole body tenses, and you begin to tremble as your pussy clenches impossibly tight around him. With a guttural growl, Bucky's body tensed, his hips stilling as he spilled his essence deep inside of you, each pulse of his release a sick twisted mark of ownership. You could feel the warmth spreading within you.

You let out a muted scream, and suddenly you’re shattering all over his cock.

Slick pools as you reach your climax, your walls constricting rhythmically around him as you grind your hips down — and involuntary action of pleasure as you ride it out. You can feel Bucky twitching inside of you, the swell of his knot keeping you locked together to ensure that they are in optimal condition to conceive, his need to give you a baby overriding any other thought in his mind.

You pant, your body is sweaty and weak as you finally begin to come down to earth.

You look at your Alpha, glowing eyes in the dark of night as you try to read him.

"Are you all calm now?" You ask, in a bratty tone.

Looking down at you, Bucky observed you with a mixture of possessiveness and satisfaction. He likes the challenge in your gaze.

Despite your bratty demeanor, Bucky found himself oddly pleased by your feistiness, a flicker of a smile playing on his lips.

"Yes, my little wife, all calm now," Bucky drawled, his gravelly voice tinged with satisfaction.

#smut #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #a/b/o dynamics #bucky barnes smut

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zarameraki · 2 days

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♡₊˚🛏️₊✧ 𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗽-𝗱𝗮𝗱𝗱𝘆 𝗴𝗼𝗷𝗼’𝘀 𝗴𝗼𝘁 𝗮 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗻𝗼 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸 ♡🌙₊˚₊✧

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 minors do not interact 𖥔 somnophilia (the characters have discussed the kink beforehand) 𖥔 unprotected sex 𖥔 step-father x step-daughter 𖥔 porn with a bit of plot 𖥔 dom daddy and his little girl 𖥔 gojo eats you out 𖥔 bj 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 biting 𖥔 nipple play 𖥔 heavy daddy kink 𖥔 lots of dirty talking

: ̗̀➛ words: 3.1k

: ̗̀➛ notes: initially this was a toji fic but satoru somehow decided to fit better (bad-dum tshh). ngl when i was writing this i got butterflies in my stomach. like i legit felt sumn throbbing lmaooo. tmi??? dont care. we're all horny here mamas. if you have any requests, don’t hesitate to send them. pls follow, reblog, like, comment—whatever you want! okay love you and enjoy.

Satoru wasn’t ashamed to fuck his step-daughter.

He enjoyed it.

You enjoyed it.

A clandestine affair kept under the sheets from your mother and two older brothers.

Megumi and Yuji had their suspicions about how carefree their step-father was around you, constantly tickling your side, asking you to lay your head on his lap during movie nights, and buying you gifts on a whim. The boys would obviously complain about the special treatment, but Satoru would just watch with a smile as you stuck your little tongue out and called yourself Daddy’s girl.

Because that's what you were. You were your daddy’s girl. And Satoru ensured that fact was deeply ingrained in your mind as he moved in and out of you, lifting your tender legs onto his shoulders, kissing your rosy lips, saturating your silk sheets with both his and your release.

It was difficult keeping the lewd side of your relationship a secret. Your mother was rarely at home from her corporate job, and you suspected she was having an affair with a salaryman named Satoru.

Meanwhile, your brothers were in their second and fourth year of college nearby and could come home whenever they pleased—particularly Megumi, who wasn't as much of a partygoer as Yuji being a senior. There were multiple times while Satoru was fucking you when Megumi returned home, but did that stop him from satisfying his girl? Fuck no.

As for your stepfather, he was a remote investor in the booming hospitality industry, managing significant stakes in various companies. His encounter with your mother at an industry event last year was strategic; she became a means to an end, a stepping stone toward fulfilling his desires. A few months down the line, she introduced him to her family, to you—the most precious thing Satoru laid his eyes on. You were the real prize in his eyes, something he had to figure out how to get his hands on, despite always getting what he wanted.

So, he married your mother, moved into your house, and deployed every weapon in his arsenal, including his lethal charms, to claim you as his own.

But did Satoru cherish you in the way a man should cherish a woman? No. He didn't cherish you. His love didn’t check off the conventional boxes. He was consumed, fixated, captivated by your existence, by your body, the adorable noises you made when you climaxed. But not enough to make you his girlfriend, or someday his wife.

He just wanted you as his step-daughter. He was a selfish, depraved bastard who got off on that fantasy, and you, God you loved nothing more. You wanted nothing more from him than to be exactly who he was in his spot—your step-father.

As long as you both kept fucking each other for however long, you were satisfied.

“Quiet, baby,” Satoru whispered as he clicked on a link for a video call with his team. His one hand rested over his mouse, the other over your crown as you lapped at the tip of his leaking cock. “This is an important call.”

You’d returned from school after acing the test you’d been studying all week for and wanted to release that excitement onto your step-father. After all, he did massage your shoulders and brought you fruits when you were busting your ass memorizing the periodic table.

Satoru plastered on a smile as the voices from his computer started speaking. He still kept petting your head, chuckling casually and speaking smoothly about numbers and profits like the capitalist he was.

You opened your jaw wider and took his length into your mouth. Your gag reflex was non-existent after months and months of perfecting this skill. Your tongue supported the bottom of his shaft, while slowly bobbing your head up and down. Satoru’s grip tightened in your hair, but he remained all rainbow and sunshine in front of his workers.

You gripped his thick cock, feeling the veins pulsing under your touch. Your tongue slid from the bottom to the top as you sucked on the pink head like a lollipop, glancing up at him through your lashes.

Satoru shot you a heated look and guided your head with his hand. He pushed his throbbing cock into your mouth, holding your face against his pelvis. You gagged a bit, needing air, and he eased off.

“It’s on mute,” he muttered.

You broke out into coughs and smacked his leg. “What the fuck was that for?”

“For giving me those eyes.”

You scoffed. “Dickhead.”

“It’s right in front of you, Princess. Put your pretty lips on it again.”

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed his cock extra tight making a muscle in his jaw twitch. You lapped at the pre-cum leaking down his length, then took him into the cave of your warm, small mouth.

Satoru held your head in his hands, guiding the pace. He struggled to focus on the meeting, clearing his throat to shake off the intense feeling building up inside him. With fifteen minutes still to go, he was on the brink.

Feeling your tap on his knee, he glanced down to see you motioning to your mouth.

Satoru lowered your head again, clenching his jaw as your tongue pushed him over the edge. He held his breath, releasing a wave of warmth as he emptied himself into your mouth. His grip tightened on your hair, while his other hand reached for his glass of water, desperately trying to steady himself with large gulps.

You pulled back, strings of your saliva and his come forming a bridge. He gave you the water and you drank the last bits of it. Satoru patted the top of your head and you stayed hidden underneath his table, admiring him as he finished his meeting.

And before you knew it, he had you bouncing on his cock again.

At dinner time, you helped set up the table with your brothers while your mother flipped the hamburger patties.

Satoru tossed the salad bowl, taking small glimpses at you and the pink set of tight shorts and tank you wore. He’s been noticing you rubbing your temples, swaying a little on the balls of your feet, blinking rapidly. You clearly weren’t feeling well from all that studying you’d been doing.

Megumi abruptly pulled you aside by your elbow. “Is everything all right?”

You blinked, fighting the sharp pain in your temple. “Yeah. Why?”

“Satoru keeps glaring at you. Did you piss him off or something?”

You cast a look at your step-father, who’s focused on pouring olive oil on the greens. “I haven’t talked to him since I came home from school.”

Megumi nodded, rubbing your arm. “Well, I’m here if you need to talk about anything.”

“What do you mean?”

He scratches the back of his neck. “I just— This probably sounds stupid, but I don’t like knowing you’re both home alone in the afternoon.”

“He lives here, silly. What do you expect?”

“Yeah, I know. I know that—I’m just saying that he looks at you . . . like, weirdly. Not in a way someone would look at their family member. He acts weirdly, too. Always touching you and tickling you. I don’t know.” Megumi scrutinizes your outfit. “I don’t think it’s appropriate to wear that around the house when he’s here.”

You frowned and crossed your arms. “I can’t deal with this again.” Putting on an act that Satoru was simply your step-father and nothing else was tiring, but you’d mastered it. “You’re being delusional as always, Megs. Satoru is just family to us and vice versa. I’m just special because I’m the youngest.” You patted his shoulder. “I can take care of myself. And if I ever need help, I’ve got you and Yuji to defend me.”

Megumi smiled solemnly and shrugged off his hoodie, handing it to you. “Can you at least wear this?”

Anything to ease his mind.

You smiled and shouldered the large hoodie.

Throughout dinner you kept losing focus of the conversation flowing between your brothers and mother. Your head was pounding from the stress of your upcoming final exams, your scalp ached a little from Satoru’s grip this afternoon, and you desperately needed sleep.

“Y/N?”

You lifted your head, blinking lethargically. “Yes, Mom?”

“Are you okay?”

“I—” You rubbed your heated forehead and pinched the bridge of your nose. “I, uh—I think I’m just not feeling too good.”

“Sweetheart, how many times have I told you to take it easy with school? You’re doing great—”

“Great’s not going to get me in my dream college, Mom.” You lost your appetite easily and excused yourself from the table, grabbing a bottle of NyQuil and a spoon. “Please don’t wake me up until tomorrow. Goodnight.” You ignored everyone’s stares and marched upstairs, taking a spoonful on the way.

Dropping face-front on the bed, you melted in your sheets and forced yourself into a sleep.

Satoru waited until every light in the house was off before visiting your bedroom.

Of course, he had to check that little shit Megumi’s room, and after hearing nothing but white noise, he checked up on Yuji and found him snoring his lungs out, then finally entered into your space.

He shut the door quietly and locked it.

You laid fast asleep, hair dusted across your soft face, one hand on your stomach, the other next to your head.

Satoru smirked and sat at the edge of your bed, checking your temperature by pressing his hand against your forehead. You were burning up, and the little strangled breaths puffing from your parted lips proved you weren’t going to school tomorrow.

Lying down next to you, Satoru brushed your hair from your face and kissed your cheek. He glanced down the length of your body and back to your face. His fingers danced over your collarbone, the expanse of your throat, feeling your rapid pulse.

“Relax for me, baby,” he whispered in your ear, kissing below your earlobe. He watched you for a second, waiting for you to shift or wake up, but you were dead asleep.

You talked about what turns you on the most last week, and somnophilia was right up there, leaving Satoru scratching his head in confusion. He couldn’t wrap his head around how someone could be into getting it on while asleep. But you were practically begging him to give it a try someday, and he couldn’t say no to you.

Well, surprise, surprise, baby.

Satoru slipped down the straps of your tank top, leaning over you. He bridged kisses from your jaw to your neck to your shoulders, softly, not his usual crass ones. His finger hooked your tank lower until it exposed your tits and your puckered nipples.

“You’re always sensitive here, aren’t you, Princess?” He cupped your left breast and lowered his head, kissing the nipple and sucking the bud.

You took a deep breath and shifted your face to the right.

Satoru switched to your neglected breast, taking his sweet time nibbling your tender nipple, then bringing his lips to yours. He kissed the top one, the bottom one, pushed his tongue inside to feel your sleeping one. His kisses trailed lower and lower until he reached your shorts. He pulled them down to reveal white panties and a damp spot between your legs.

“Even in your sleep, huh?” Satoru planted kisses on your inner thighs, gently biting and licking. He nuzzled his nose against your clothed sex, inhaling deeply and breathing out slowly. His tongue traced over the area, wetting it more with each stroke. “Daddy’s gonna eat his pussy now, baby.” He pulled your panties to the side and dove into your slick, moist folds. “Mmm. You smell so sweet.”

Satoru began to lap your juices like a starved dog, keeping your tender folds parted with his thumbs. The tip of his nose bumped against your clit, sending a little shiver down your body. He double-checked to see if you’re still asleep, then continued his job. He pushed two fingers in your walls and chuckled against your flesh as you clenched around him. “It’s okay, baby. Daddy’s taking good care of you.”

Half an hour. He ate you out for half an hour until he could see the slight quiver in your swollen clit. His saliva and your fresh release covering your abused, delicate folds.

When he pulled away, his hard cock in hand, Satoru sat back, admiring you spread out like a feast before him. Leaning in, he teased your folds with his throbbing length, digging his tip over your clit in gentle circles.

“Can I put it in, Princess?” he whispered in your ear. You didn't answer, sweat trickling down your forehead with the fever. Satoru licked the droplets, then kissed down to your neck. His hands stayed by your head as he moved his hips, dragging himself over your puffy cunt. “Oh, fuck, baby. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Your little pussy is so soft and wet.” He gripped his length and pressed just the tip into your entrance. “Since you’ve been such a good girl, I’ll give you what you want. Just don't wake up, okay?”

Satoru slipped in smoothly and nuzzled into your neck. He eased into your tightness, going slow and steady, urging your gummy walls to adjust to his size. “My sweet baby. Look at you. Sleeping while your daddy fucks himself in you.” He pulled back and widened your legs, seeing his fat cock sliding in and out of you. “Fuck, yes. Gonna fuck this little cunt of yours for hours.” He started moving quickly. “I don’t care if you can’t walk tomorrow. You won’t be leaving this bed anyway with that fever of yours. Daddy’s gonna fuck it out of you however long it takes.”

He put his hands on either side of your head and kissed you while moving his hips.

You moaned, feeling a shiver as cold touched your bare chest and legs. “Satoru,” you said softly. His eyes closed in pleasure as he increased his pace.

Sensing you stirring, he wrapped his arm around your waist and turned you over so you were lying on his chest. He paused, running his hand down your arm. “It’s okay, Princess. Go to sleep. Daddy’s got you.”

You exhaled heavily.

Satoru licked his lips and grabbed your plump asscheeks in his palms, slowly moving himself up into you. His face squished up seeing how well you were handling him even though you were out cold. He kept going, sometimes easing up when you shifted on his chest, or speeding up when you stayed asleep.

“I'm so close, baby. So close to finishing inside my little girl. Gonna fill you up. Flush those pills and make you a mom.” He envisioned you with a swollen belly, your breasts heavy with milk, your body glowing and all his.

Fuck, you were his.

You were only his.

Satoru came harder than he ever had before. Hot spurts of his release filled your sweet hole to the brim, and yet he continued with pumping into you. “Hey, baby? Daddy doesn’t want to stop now, okay? He’s going to fuck you some more,” he said, realizing why this kink meant so much to you.

Pulling out slowly, he laid you down beside him, shedding his clothes. Pressing his chest against your back, he wrapped your leg around his and slid back inside you, burying his face in your neck. He wanted to be rough, to feel your nails on his skin, to bite you and hear you moan.

“I wanna kiss you, baby. I want your little tongue.” Satoru pulled out of you after finishing for the second time and laid you on your back. He adjusted your head so you were looking at him. His fingers went back to pleasuring you while his lips met yours. He slipped his thumb between your teeth, easing your bottom jaw down. Satoru slid his tongue in, playing with yours, moaning and breathing heavily.

“My baby has such soft lips,” he murmured over your wet, swollen mouth. Taking his finger soaked with your juices and his come, Satoru placed them between your lips and ran them over your tongue. He ravished your mouth again.

Exhausted from holding back, Satoru pulled you close and slid back inside you, staying still, just feeling your warmth. He ran his hand over your back, kissed your head, and shut his eyes.

In the morning, you woke up feeling a bit weighed down below and something awkward stopping your movements. You lifted your head, rubbing your sleepy eyes, and saw Satoru asleep beneath you. A grin spread across your face as you remembered the steamy dream you had about him satisfying you.

You planted a kiss on his cheek and tried to get up using your hands, but then you froze.

You looked down and realized you were sitting right on top of Satoru’s cock.

Holy shit. It wasn’t a dream.

Satoru fucked you while you were out cold. Just thinking about him taking advantage of your defenseless body to satisfy himself made you shiver.

“Dickhead,” you grumbled, then began to rock your hips. Time for payback. Yanking down your cami-top, you teased your nipples, riding his stiffening cock. You couldn't care less as you leaned in for a kiss. “Rise and shine, Handsome.”

Satoru took a deep breath. His lips synced with yours effortlessly, and his hand found its way into your hair. He yanked your head back, his eyes widening as they trailed down to your swaying hips. A smirk played on his lips as he relaxed back, crossing his arms behind his head. “You feeling good now, Princess?”

“Much better, Daddy.”

Satoru admired the playful bounce of your tits, the adorable mewls escaping your mouth, the flush of your smooth skin. Seeing his step-daughter fuck herself on his cock first thing in the morning had him on cloud nine.

“I’m gonna come, Daddy,” you moaned, hands planted on his chest.

“Come, then, baby. Come on your daddy’s cock.” He reached out and grabbed your throat. “Then lick it clean.”

“Yes, Daddy.” You came with a muted cry, milking every last drop of him. “Your cock is so full inside of me.” Satoru smirked at your dirty little words and gave your left tit a little slap.

You picked yourself up from his cock and knelt between his legs. Satoru watched as your little hand barely wrapped around his girth, lapping at his come like his pretty, little kitten. “Feels good, Daddy?”

“Yeah, baby. You always feel good to me.”

Satoru released a contented sigh and reclined against the soft pillows, his arms folded beneath him.

He will never be shameless of fucking his sweet girl ever.

#zaraswriting #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo saturo #gojo x yn #gojo x y/n #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo smut #somno k!nk

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theragethatisdesire · 9 months

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"l’amore è cieco" - eren x reader - 18+!!!

back to the ti penso universe!!! finally!! did you guys miss it? i know i did; i am utterly obsessed with these two. i've had this sitting in my unfinished wip pile for way too long not to share.

our lovebirds have gotten the wedding all wrapped up with, so we're a solid four years past them reuniting in italy....and surprise! they're expecting!!!!! i could literally scream just writing that; the grip dad!eren has on me will never let up, i fear......anyways, this one's a little rough because i've picked it apart a thousand times and i'm just tired of editing, so you guys enjoy!!! sorry if it's not quite up to par :/

pairing: eren x reader

wc: 4k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: smut, reader is pregnant, use of names (baby, mama, pretty, beautiful, etc), swearing, vaginal sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, breeding kink, lactation kink, creampie, crying, tooth-rotting fluff

title means "love is blind" in italian, per tradition w this verse <3

Right on schedule with your new daily, depressing routine, you stand in front of the mirror running your hands over your body, examining the recent changes. On second thought, scrutinizing might be a better word.

You’re grateful your job has allowed you to work from home for your entire pregnancy, editing articles from the journalists who can actually travel while snuggled up on your couch, but the downside of it is that you’ve had far too much time to mull on all of the ways your body has stretched and warped to accommodate the growing little girl in your stomach. You thought pregnancy was supposed to be beautiful, and sometimes it is, but more often than not, you just feel like a swollen, hormonal mess.

You “popped”, as all the mommy podcasts say, about two weeks ago, and thin stretch marks have begun to appear on your stomach. Eren calls them your “tiger stripes”, having been in full-blown cringe dad mode since the day you took the test. Bizarre cravings control you at all hours of the day, evidenced by the little black crumbs you’re picking out of your sports bra, left behind by your fourteen-Oreo breakfast today. You gaze longingly at the jewelry box on your bathroom counter; you haven’t been able to wear your wedding band in weeks, the tan line already beginning to fade from your finger. Before you can get a hold of yourself, the hormones have you in their grip, and hot, frustrated tears are spilling down your cheeks.

“Babe, have you seen that tie with the red–” Eren materializes in the doorway with absolutely no warning, as he’s prone to do, but cuts himself off at the sight of you, “baby, no, again?”

“Don’t say it like that,” you say, reluctantly allowing him to take you in his arms.

“Like what?” Eren’s voice is sweet, but hesitant. He’s been living under the constant threat of getting his head bitten off for mundane reasons because of you. It makes you feel worse, makes you shove him away and glare at him accusingly.

“Like I’m always fucking crying.” You are always crying, but you wish he would at least muster up some semblance of surprise at finding you in tears yet again. You turn away from him, wiping your face in the mirror. “Shouldn’t you be packing? Your flight leaves in like, three hours.”

“I’ll cancel,” Eren coos, stepping behind you to wrap his arms around your waist, picking your belly up in his hands.

It’s some hack he got off Tik Tok, supposed to take the weight off of your back for a precious moment, and as much as you don’t necessarily want to be touched right now, it actually helps. You’ve been alternating between thinking Eren’s overenthusiastic parenting research is adorable and mind-numbingly annoying, but for the moment, your back has stopped aching for the first time all morning, and you sigh, leaning into him.

“You can’t cancel,” you murmur, momentarily soothed, “‘s a big client. Where is it again? France?”

“I just got back from France, Miss Pregnancy Brain,” Eren chuckles, quieting immediately upon catching your lethal gaze in the mirror. “It’s just over in LA, and honestly, I could have Hitch go if you need me.”

“No, I can take care of myself, it’s just like…” a fresh wave of tears spills down your cheeks, “fuck, I don’t even know what’s wrong with me.”

Eren nods into your shoulder, letting you sniffle. It’s not a new trait, your outright refusal to ask for help, but it’s been exacerbated by your pregnancy, especially considering exactly how much help you actually need now.

You’ve taken custody of all of his sweatpants, not yet able to bring yourself to buy maternity clothes. You’d walked in sobbing and humiliated the other day because you’d peed yourself on the long elevator ride up to your apartment in front of the neighbors. You can’t sleep on your stomach anymore; Eren has to prop himself up just right beside you and sandwich you between himself and a wall of pillows to stop you from turning. You know it hurts him seeing you miserable, and you try to suck it up and enjoy the positives of pregnancy as much as you can, but you can’t muster up that strength every day.

“Hush,” Eren pulls your wet face to his chest, letting you stain the Number 1 Dad! t-shirt he had bought himself. “I’m not going.”

“Eren–”

“I’m not,” he says firmly, rubbing small circles into the bottom of your spine, “you need me here, whether you want to admit it or not.”

You grumble complacently, nuzzling into him. You do need him, as much as you want to think you can tough it out on your own. Eren’s bought book after book, not just for the baby, but for you. Most nights you find him reading titles like You’ve Made the Baby…Now What? or How to Survive Pregnancy: A Guide for Men with his feet propped up on the coffee table, a habit that, despite your efforts, you cannot nag him out of. It’s cute, honestly, how over-the-top he’s gotten with baby prep, especially when you’re often too exhausted to wrap your mind around reading a parenting guide.

“I feel ugly,” you admit quietly, sticky and snotty against his shirt. “I feel disgusting.”

“What?” Eren’s reaction is one of genuine confusion. He pushes you away from him so he can search your face, waiting patiently for you to elaborate.

“I’m gaining an obscene amount of weight, my ankles are the size of my knees, I can’t wear a single one of my rings, what am I supposed to feel like?”

Eren frowns. “Those things are supposed to happen. I read last night–”

“I don’t care!” Your voice cracks under the weight of your frustration, and you press your fingers into your eyes hard enough to see stars, trying to regain control of your temper. “I don’t care that it’s supposed to happen. It still sucks.”

“I think you’re beautiful,” Eren sounds earnest, but you scoff at him anyway.

“We’re married. You’re supposed to say that.”

“I don’t have to.”

You cock an eyebrow at him. “If you want your head to stay on your shoulders you do.”

Eren laughs at that, tugging you over to stand between his legs as he sits on the bed. “So, you’re serious? You genuinely don’t think you look good pregnant?”

“No,” you rub at your nose, “I don’t.”

Eren looks up at you, cupping your face gently. “I disagree.”

“Do you really?”

“I think you look better than ever.”

“That’s an insult to non-pregnant me,” you roll your eyes, moving to step away, but Eren holds you tight between his legs.

“It’s not,” he insists, “there’s just some things your pregnant body has that you didn’t necessarily have before. Some things that I like.”

You cock an eyebrow at him. “Cankles?”

Eren chuckles breathily, shaking his head. “I adore your cankles, but they weren't exactly the first thing that came to mind. Take these, for one thing.”

Eren presses his nose into your sports bra, hands moving up underneath to palm at your swollen tits. You let out a breathy laugh as he explores, already feeling a low heat beginning to simmer in your core. That’s one perk of entering your second trimester; your hormones might turn on a dime, but your sex drive has skyrocketed.

Eren shoves your bra up to free your tits, groaning appreciatively as he takes a nipple into his mouth, licking and sucking. You watch as he feels his way around with his mouth, humming contentedly under your breath, when suddenly, his eyes fly open and he shoots away from you.

“What?”

Eren shushes you, bringing a hand to the breast that had been in his mouth and squeezing lightly. White liquid beads on your nipple, and you cover your face in shame.

“When did that start?”

“A few days ago,” you admit, trying to push his hands off of you, cheeks burning. Eren swats you away, leaning back into your nipple, sucking harder. You can feel a small stream of milk leaving you, relieving some of the pressure in your tits; a moan rumbles deep in Eren’s chest, and you can see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. Eren releases your nipple with a loud pop and looks up at you panting, eyes blown wide.

“Is it weird that that’s kinda hot?”

“Probably.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No,” you hum, threading your hands through his hair and urging him back to your chest, “feels good.”

That’s all Eren needs to hear, diving back into your chest with renewed vigor. As he continues, you realize it doesn’t just feel good, it actually feels incredible. You’ve always had sensitive breasts, but with the pregnancy, sensation has increased tenfold; you can feel your panties getting wetter as the weight of your full breast decreases. When Eren’s gotten all he can from your left nipple, he moves to your right, replacing his mouth on the now-abandoned nipple with his hand to twist gently at the wet skin.

The combined sensation makes your knees buckle; Eren saves you smoothly by wrapping an arm around your lower back, yanking you to him to straddle his leg. It’s the perfect angle for you to roll your hips against his thigh slowly, feeling the much-needed friction of his sweatpants against your cunt.

“Eren…” you breathe out, voice nothing more than a wisp of air.

“I know baby,” Eren speaks directly into your flesh, not willing to back away for even a moment, “feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Feels so good,” you whimper, clutching him to you with fistfuls of his hair.

“Told you this new body’s not so bad, hm?” Eren closes his teeth down on your nipple lightly; you almost keel over from the shockwave it sends through you.

You nod, rubbing yourself against his thigh faster. It’s awkward and cumbersome with your belly in the way, but it’s enough for now, enough to light your nerves on fire in that way that only Eren’s ever been able to.

“Fuckin’ ridiculous,” Eren mutters, grabbing onto your hips to help you get your rhythm right, “you’re so perfect, and you don’t even see it.”

Your fingers dig into his arms as you moan. “But my stomach–”

“But nothing,” Eren kisses you, mumbling into your mouth, “love your stomach, love your tits, love all of it. You think it doesn’t make me so fucking hard, watching you walk around with that big belly and knowing what it came from? I did that. We did that, didn’t we baby?”

“Mhm,” you bite into his shoulder, the friction on your clit through your sweatpants is getting to your head, making you dizzy. “Eren, Eren–”

“Sh sh sh,” Eren shushes you, moving so that he can look you in the eyes, “what do you need? Tell me.”

“I don’t– I don’t know, I just…” you can’t find the words, so in need of him that you can’t even decide what sounds best. His mouth? His fingers? All of it?

“Okay, okay,” Eren says quietly, standing you both up only to lay you against the pillows, “I’ve gotcha.”

He nudges his sweatpants down your legs, bringing your panties with them, spreads your legs so he can see the most intimate part of you. Eren brings his hand to your clit, rubbing tentatively, but you’re so desperate for him that it’s enough to make your back arch, a long, throaty moan ripping out of you. He lays beside you, gently playing with your clit and watching in awe at the reaction you give him, already a blubbering mess after only a few minutes.

“So sensitive, aren’t you mama?”

“Yes,” you hiss out through clenched teeth, a fresh wave of arousal flooding you at the name, “s-so sensitive. Need to cum, I need, n-need–”

“I’ll make you cum,” Eren promises, sinking a finger into you, “I’ll make you cum, baby.”

“Fuck, Eren, it’s– I can’t–”

“Feel good?”

“So fucking good,” you’re basically sobbing at this point, fingers clenched into the muscles of his bicep, clinging to him and humping his hand. You’re not sure if it’s the lack of sex over the first trimester (“What if I hit the baby’s head?” Eren had asked nervously whenever you approached him) or the rawness of the sensation against your over-sensitive body, but you’ve never been so close to your orgasm so quickly.

You don’t hold out long; Eren’s skilled with even just one finger, and before long, you’re crying out his name, gushing all over his hand. Eren presses his lips to your forehead in a sweet kiss despite having utterly destroyed you less than thirty seconds ago.

“Ready for me?”

“Sit,” you pant, pointing to the massive stack of pillows against your headboard. Eren raises his eyebrows in surprise, but does as he’s told, only pausing to pull his clothes off. The loss of the stupid dad t-shirt is a relief as much as feeling his bare chest under your hands. Due to your hormones, you’ve thrown Eren out of the house several times, and you’ve demanded to be alone enough to where his only solution is to go to the gym downstairs and work out until you’ve calmed down. It shows: his chest has grown broader and stronger, and the veins on his arms are nearly popping through the skin. “You look good.”

“Yeah?” Eren offers a shit-eating grin, flexing his bicep ever so subtly. “You should see yourself.”

“You seriously think I look good like this?” You’re straddling his hips now, rubbing your clit on his bare cock. It’s a lewd sight, his cock drooling on his abs, glistening with your cum; your cunt clenches around nothing, more than ready to be filled.

“Mhm, you look so fucking good like that,” Eren grunts, hands finding your hips again and lifting you up to sink you down on his cock, both of you letting out loud, satisfied groans, “but you look much better like this.”

You grind your hips against his, not possessing the energy to bounce your now-heavier body, but it makes you see stars. Eren rarely lets you ride him, much preferring to bend you over or pin you to the bed himself, but with your bump, you now have an excuse to hop on top of him whenever you like. It’s been close to a decade of fucking him, but the full stretch of him never fails to shock you, the way he pushes into you until you’re positive he’s in your stomach. With Eren sitting up, his cock stays firmly nestled against your g-spot, pushing little bits of squirt out of you with each movement of your hips.

“Eren–” you whimper, holding your breasts as you rock into him.

“Shit- you’re so tight like this,” Eren says through his clenched jaw, throwing his head back against the headboard, “why don’t you ride me more often?”

“You don’t let me,” you say with a watery giggle.

“Stupid,” Eren gasps, “‘m so fucking stupid.”

You’re too fucked out to voice your agreement, opting for sliding a hand down your body to flick at your clit. You can’t quite reach it around your bump, though, a discontented noise leaving your lips. Eren opens his eyes, takes notice of the way you’re hunching your back, and swats your hand away.

“I got it, I got it,” he pants, tucking his hand underneath your swollen belly to rub your clit just the way he knows you like it.

“Oh, f-fuck,” you choke out, throwing your head back.

“Good?”

“Yeah,” you hiss, “‘s perfect.”

“Take what you need, mama,” Eren’s watching you intently, a glimmer of admiration in his eye, “take what you need.”

You’re moaning pitifully, loud and wanton as Eren’s cock moves inside of you. Your cunt tightens around him desperately as the bubble building in your stomach threatens to explode.

“Think you get wetter like this, all swollen with my baby,” Eren muses, leaning forward to latch his mouth around one of your nipples where more milk has already started to pool. His words have a visceral reaction on you; you cry, tears welling in your eyes as you spiral towards your release.

“I think–I think I’m gonna– oh fuck, don’t stop,” you croon, rocking your hips as fast as you can manage. Eren mumbles around your nipple, something about how beautiful you look, and you come undone around him, grinding your hips hard against his and cradling him to your chest. He might have a point- there’s damn near a puddle of your arousal at the base of where you’re connected, slicking up the skin on his hips and the inside of your thighs.

“Better?” Eren pulls you in for a kiss; you can feel him grinning through it.

“Maybe a little,” you admit, laughing light and watery against his mouth.

“Mmm,” Eren hums, grabbing you by the hips and lifting you only to drop you down again and turn your laughter to a quiet whimper, “not good enough. Need you to be much better.”

“Fuck me, then,” you nip at his bottom lip, earn yourself a deep groan.

“Can you— can you hold yourself up like this?” Eren scooches both of you down, albeit, a little awkwardly, so that he can lay flat on the bed. He moves you up until you’ve only got him halfway inside of you, cocking a questioning eyebrow at you.

“Yeah, I–I think so.”

“And you’re sure I’m not going to hurt–”

“Jesus Christ– no Eren, it’s fine, just– fuck,” he cuts you off with a sharp snap of his hips up into yours, grinning menacingly when your eyes roll back.

“Like that?”

“Just like that,” you moan, annoyance wiped from you with one clean stroke. Eren takes that for the green light that it is and starts pistoning his hips up into you, swearing under his breath. Even though he’d instructed you to hold yourself up, he makes good use of his new muscles, suspending you at the perfect height to feel every inch of him as he fucks up into you like his life depends on it.

“You look so fucking gorgeous like this,” Eren growls, “all swollen with my fuckin’ baby. Gonna keep you like this, give you as many as you want.”

“Eren–” you choke out, suffocating on the way he’s fucking you, his words, him. For the first time in months, you feel amazing, holding your chest and groaning long and loud as Eren thrusts up into you.

“Baby, I’m- fuck, not gonna–” Eren cuts himself off with something that sounds suspiciously close to a whimper, throwing his head back.

“Cum in me,” you pant, nodding urgently at him, “want it so bad.”

“Oh fuck,” Eren groans, hips moving impossibly faster. His fingers are digging into your hips near to the point of pain, and that little frown he makes when he’s about to cum is crumpling his face. You do want it, badly.

“Please Eren, I need it,” you gasp, legs trembling on either side of his hips.

“Fucking love you, love you so much,” Eren slurs, hips stuttering. With a long, throaty moan, he slams you down one final time, cumming deep inside of you. You grind against him as he does, moaning along with him at the familiar warmth in your belly. Exhausted, you momentarily forget about your bump and try to collapse facefirst on him- that’s enough to snap Eren out of his post-orgasm haze.

“Whoa, whoa,” Eren shoves you back upright, lifting you under your shoulders and laying you on your back, “careful.”

You wince. “Shit, sorry. Sometimes I forget. It’s still sort of new.”

“I know,” Eren agrees, eyes locked lovingly on your baby bump, “love it, though.”

“Really?”

Eren cocks a disbelieving eyebrow at you. “If that didn’t convince you, I don’t know what will.”

You giggle at that; he’s always been good at this, cheering you up and diffusing your worries like it’s second nature. After ten years, it probably is at this point.

“I don’t mean to be so down on myself, really,” you sigh, tracing a finger over where his hand’s splayed on your stomach, “it’s just…so much harder than I thought it would be.”

Eren nods thoughtfully. “That’s reasonable. But you’re so good at it.”

“I haven’t even– what?” The insecurities that you’ve been successfully masking under good natured teasing and occasional annoyance come slipping from between your lips. You’ve thought it for weeks; how Eren’s so into all the baby stuff, so enthusiastic about learning everything he can, while all you’ve managed is trying not to gag when he cooks eggs in the morning and picking out some onesies. “What about all of your books and your podcasts and crap? You’re the one doing everything.”

“That’s all I can do,” Eren scoffs, “you’re doing all the hard stuff, like carrying the baby around and puking every morning and crying all the time–”

“Hey!”

“I’m serious,” Eren shushes you, “you’re putting in all the legwork. I mean, you’re literally growing our baby. You’re a fucking rockstar mom already. If anyone’s not doing enough here, it’s me.”

That’s one thing about Eren that will never get easier; his deep, unwavering admiration for you, no matter what you’re doing. Sure, it’s endearing when Eren spins you around in his arms for something as simple as finally getting that croissant recipe to come out well, but when he’s praising you for something that’s actually difficult? It’s sweet enough to give you a cavity, warm your heart, and turn your cheeks pink all at once, even after all this time.

“Well, if you’d like to take a shift carrying her around, be my guest. She’s a chunky little thing already,” you roll your eyes, tucking your face into Eren’s ribs to mask the flush rising to your face.

“I’d do it for you if I could,” Eren sighs in faux-thoughtfulness, “but I wouldn’t look half as hot.”

You giggle furiously when he lands a slap to your ass, swatting at his chest. “God, it still doesn’t feel real, does it? A little girl that’s half you, half me.”

“It does and it doesn’t,” Eren shrugs, bringing a hand back to your stomach, “I don’t know about you, but I’ve been thinking about it since Italy.”

You gape at him. “That long?”

“You know I’m always ahead of you on this stuff,” Eren teases, squeezing your cheeks together, “knew I wanted you first, knew I wanted you back first, knew we should get married…”

“Yeah, yeah,” you roll your eyes at his bragging, “it’s just, like…are we ready? To do this?”

“This?” Eren cocks his head.

“The whole…‘parents’ thing.”

“Putting aside the fact that you're way too late to be having those kinds of thoughts,” Eren says, rubbing your lower back, “of course we’re ready. There’s no perfect parents, but I believe in us– believe in you. Gonna be the best mama any baby’s ever had, I know you will.”

“I don’t even…oh, Eren.” You’re tearing up again–damn hormones. Eren wipes at your tears, planting a big kiss on your forehead.

“I mean it. You’re going to be great, already are,” he says, smiling down at you. He holds you just like that for a few moments, letting you nuzzle into his chest, until his little grin grows wicked. “Although…the only thing I can say I am worried about is which one of us is going to accidentally teach her her first swear word. Should we bet on it?"

Even through your tears, you cock an eyebrow at him. “You and I both know that’s going to be Jean. Especially after what you taught Clara the last time we babysat.”

Eren barks out a laugh. “Hey, hearing her call Jean ‘Daddy Jackass’ was funny, and you know it!”

“Thanks for reminding me,” you smirk, “now I know what I’m teaching our little girl first.”

“No way!”

#eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren jaeger smut #eren yeager smut #aot x reader #snk x reader #snk fanfiction #aot fanfiction #eren jaeger fanfic #eren jaeger fanfiction #ti penso universe #ti penso uni

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suzukiblu · 5 months

Note

I just read the maws bonding ficlets from the start. It’s so cute. Just immediate child acceptance. Clark is going “so I’m a dad now” no questions asked.

no questions only dad.

“I like the name,” Superboy mumbles into his chest, just barely shy about it. Conner mumbles into his chest. Clark feels an overwhelming warmth in his own thrumming heart and smiles helplessly, then gives Lois the soft, besotted look he can’t hold back. They have a baby. It’s so great. Conner is so great. He and Lois have a baby and he's great!

Lois turns very red, for some reason, then straightens up and shoves her phone back in her pocket as she clears her throat.

“Conner James Lane-Kent,” she decides firmly, putting her hands on her hips. “I’d say ‘Olsen’ for the middle name but ‘James’ we can sell as a coincidence easier when we’re figuring out how to explain . . . literally all of this. Any of this. This is going to be very difficult to explain, actually, given the fact you two are functionally identical. Hm. Yeah, the cover’s gonna require some work.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Clark hums unconcernedly, nuzzling Conner’s hair. Conner bites him, then jumps up and wraps himself around him like a supernaturally strong koala. Clark rumbles happily–his kid likes him!–and Conner starts purring just as happily. Clark feels even warmer.

“. . . also you two can never do that out of costume,” Lois says. “Like, ever.”

“Hm?” Clark glances back at her, a little puzzled. “Why not?”

“Clark,” Lois says, staring at him. “The sounds you two are making right now sound like if a mantis shrimp was trying to explain color theory. Those aren’t even sounds, I’m pretty sure, our senses just don’t know how else to translate them.”

“I think my fillings are buzzing,” Jimmy agrees thoughtfully, poking at his own cheek. “Feels kinda weird.”

“But Conner’s so cute when he purrs,” Clark says, trying not to pout at the idea of telling his kid he can’t purr whenever he wants to. Conner purrs louder and bites him again. It’s the most adorable thing that’s ever happened in the entire history of the universe. In the entire history of any universe. Like, all those alternate realities they saw only wish that anything that adorable had ever happened to them.

“That sounds like purring to you?!” Lois asks incredulously.

“Yes,” Clark says, a little puzzled. “Why, what does it sound like to you?”

“A rockslide causing a ten-car pile-up,” Lois says frankly.

“And you sound like somebody made a pack of tigers fight a whale,” Jimmy says.

“I don’t think tigers do packs,” Clark says, frowning consideringly and hooking Conner into a headlock as the other tries to claw his face off in the cutest possible fashion. “Do they?”

“I don’t think so, but lions’ roars aren’t as bone-jarring and viscerally terrifying to hear up close as tigers’,” Jimmy says. “So I went with the scarier one.”

“Pa’s not scary!” Conner protests indignantly, scowling at Jimmy, and Clark feels warm all over again and hugs him harder. Well–tightens the headlock, anyway. Same difference. He really was so worried about being a weapon, being something dangerous, being . . .

He can’t imagine ever worrying about that again, when Metropolis turned its lights off for him and Lois and Jimmy both trust him even knowing what he’s become in other realities and Conner knew it was safe to come and find him.

And when he’s looking at Conner, he can’t feel like any kind of a “weapon” at all.

No. Not even a little bit.

“Clark’s not scary, no, but the sound of a pack of tigers fighting a whale is,” Jimmy says. “The rockslide and ten-car pile-up is a little unsettling too, to be honest. Like, much less so, but it’s still on the radar there.”

“No it’s not, it’s precious,” Clark says, then starts preening Conner’s ruffled curls into some semblance of order again. Well . . . a vague impression of it, anyway. Maybe. Kind of.

A bit.

. . . possibly that’s a fool’s errand, but whatever. He’s willing to put the effort in for his kid, fool’s errand or not.

#plotbunny-bundle #wip: weird kryptonian bonding rituals #long post

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flowerandblood · 8 months

Text

The Pearl and the Sapphire

[ modern! • Aemond x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: sexual tension, obsession, angst ]

[description: As a representative of a large family-owned gemstone business, Aemond is attending a major jewellery event where jewellery makers from all over the world are exhibiting. One of them is the Baratheon family. Aemond is tasked with focusing on attracting new customers, but his attention is diverted by the youngest daughter of the eminent maker Borros Baratheon. Slow burn, bitchy, possessive and obsessive Aemond, lots of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request + my sweet @valeskafics)]

A story which is an alternative universe of The Impossbile Choice taking place in modern times. The characters are all the same as in the main series, however, for obvious reasons they will behave differently and experience things differently from medieval times. You can read this without having to delve into the main series.

Series moodboard: Aemond & Miss Baratheon

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

Crystal EXPO was their company's most important annual event. The Targaryen family had been trading and selling precious ores and stones for decades, supplying major jewellery houses. Companies from all over the world flocked to this festival, traders like them looking for new customers and connoisseurs of exquisite jewellery looking around for outstanding makers and their creations.

That year Otto, as the head of their company's management, was to be accompanied by Aemond. Otto insisted that Aemond should also represent the family business physically and wear a sapphire exchanger instead of the artificial eye he wore every day.

Aemond felt that he would have made himself look ridiculous and attracted widespread attention, but his grandfather said he had to put it on and stop acting like a little baby.

He was furious and frustrated, but he managed to at least take Alys with him as his assistant. With her, he was able to vent his anger in different ways like when he fucked her so hard on the hotel bed, while strangling her at her request, that he felt like he was going to pierce her stomach.

Alys loved the environment she was surrounded by. She loved his gifts, the sapphire earrings and necklaces she wore whenever she went out somewhere with him, to his satisfaction.

She was much older than him and he knew that their relation was her feeling that she could still please a younger man. Even after the first time he fucked her on the desk in his office, he had already specified to her what this acquaintance would be like.

She was to ask no questions and expect nothing from him.

This was not a relationship.

It was an exchange of mutual benefits that suited him. To her too, apparently.

His grandfather pretended not to see what was going on, nor did he say anything to his mother.

He did, however, warn him not to be a fool and fall in love, because this woman would squeeze all the money out of him. Aemond involuntarily burst out laughing at his words, his smile, however, did not reach his eye.

"Don't be ridiculous." He said with an amusement that elicited a grimace of embarrassment on his grandfather's face.

He felt a sense of satisfaction at the thought that it depended on his whim to decide what would happen to her, how many gifts and money she would get, whether she would feel beautiful or ugly, smart or stupid. She was a witty and bright woman, but not as much as she thought.

She knew how to fuck well, though, and she fulfilled his every whim without a word of objection.

Her presence was comfortable for him.

As always, there were jewellers exhibiting at the Crystal EXPO. They also often had the kind of shows where models presented their jewellery, which could then be admired up close at their big stands. These shows were often very elaborate and themed, with the audience sitting in a circle around them watching.

Aemond grew tired of these, usually boring and exaggerated, but his grandfather pressed him to go and see how their clients presented themselves and whether it was worth investing in someone new.

The Targaryen company worked most closely with the Lannisters, a company that mainly made jewellery from gold, which was their domain. Their small works of art cost crores, often reached for by big stars going on the red carpet or to some important events.

Their show was pompous and, for Aemond, downright embarrassing, baroque overkill circling his eye as models dressed in gold glittering gowns walked in front of him, the reflections from the columns of light falling on them making him have to turn his face away and close his eyelids once in a while.

In addition to them, the company that used the precious stones they bought from them were the Hightowers, who specialised in handling emeralds. Green was their dominant colour and, although the theme changed every year, this colour was their trademark.

After them it was time for the Baratheon family show. They were a small family business with centuries of tradition, specialising in making high-end jewellery reminiscent of the Victorian era.

Their works were a treat for connoisseurs, and although business-wise they had no interest in their family, Aemond had to admit that the pieces by Borros Baratheon and his son were some of the most beautiful he had ever seen.

He was surprised when the lights dimmed a little, changing to a warm colour, large vases of flowers placed all around. He leaned back comfortably in his chair and watched with interest as young models of essentially portrait beauty strolled around in exceptionally finely tailored attires from different eras, wearing jewellery that matched their colours, with calm music playing in the background that made him think of medieval royal balls.

He thought it was a very good marketing move on their part, he saw that he wasn't the only one impressed, the other guests were talking to each other about what they had seen with interest.

After a while, the music changed. It too sounded like something suitable for a court dance, however there was a much older sound. A couple emerged from the entrance dressed in renaissance costumes sewn with incredible for him details.

The attire of the young dark-haired, bearded and well-built men consisted of an elaborate black tunic over which was superimposed a chain with animal head motifs. He, however, could not take his eye off the girl who walked holding his hand.

Her gown was phenomenal, a brownish-blue, its bodice only beginning below her breasts, which were covered only by a thin white undershirt. Her buff-coloured sleeves were slit and tied with ribbons, with white fabric sticking out from underneath, he had the impression that the whole thing was made up of coloured stripes.

Around her neck hung a beautiful, delicate gold necklace of three teardrop-shaped pearls, complementing her sun-shaped earrings. Her dark hair was woven into an elegant braid, with the netting at the back of her head, characteristic of renaissance hairstyles, also interspersed with pearls.

There was something about her appearance, the way she gazed softly and warmly at the men standing before her, her barely perceptible smile, the glint in her eye, the lightness of her movement made him hold his breath.

He swallowed loudly when they suddenly began to dance, he felt as if he had been transported back in time and was in an italian renaissance mansion at a feast of one of the great princes of Florence or Milan, their movements unforced, fluid, graceful and respectful.

They made motions to the rhythm of the music moving in a circle so that everyone could see up close what they wore around their necks and hands. Only then did he see that there were beautiful rings on her tiny fingers, one of which had a sapphire wrapped in a gold leaf border.

The whole time he was looking at them his throat was squeezed, his heart pounding hard for some reason.

He wasn't sure he had ever been so enamoured of anything or anyone as he was of this young girl he had just seen before him.

Unlike the other models her facial expression was not indifferent or neutral, she was smiling all the way through as was her partner, she seemed to him to be really enjoying what she was doing.

There was something noble, at the same time proud and tender beaming from her person, something inviting, a kind of openness that by his nature was completely alien to him.

He wondered who she was.

Was she simply a model, or perhaps a dancer hired for a show?

Despite the fact that Alys was sitting next to him, he thought hard about what to do to make her end up with him that night in his bed.

He imagined how sweetly she would moan beneath him, how warm her gaze and touch would be, how much reassurance and tenderness he would have to put into caressing her body to win her trust and let him consume her.

He licked his lower lip involuntarily at the thought, Alys' voice leaning towards him snapping him out of his reverie.

"Beautiful costumes, don't you think?" She asked softly.

"Mmm." He muttered in reply, his eye did not leave her for a moment. And then suddenly it happened.

At one of their turns, as they shifted position and both turned their faces sideways from each other, she looked up at him.

He was sure their gazes met for a second and a great shudder went through him. He thought she must have seen the flash of his sapphire artificial eye and swallowed loudly at the thought.

Do it again, he thought.

Look at me again, give me assurance that this was no accident.

The music ended, there was thunderous applause all around him, he heard even Alys give her admiration in this way. He didn't clap, he looked at her intensely, playing involuntarily with his fingers extended on his armrest.

The men she was dancing with kissed her hand while saying something quickly to her, and she laughed and nodded, a lively joy on her face from which he felt discomfort.

Were they together?

And suddenly it happened again.

The men were speaking to her as they went to bow before the audience, and she froze in mid-answer when she saw his gaze from afar. She turned her head away, a microexpression of embarrassment passed across her face, through which she pressed her lips together and immediately went back to continuing her answer.

Aemond felt with shame that his thoughts were reflected in what was going on his trousers.

For all the shows that followed, he couldn't concentrate, staring blankly ahead, tense. He never looked forward to the opening banquet, finding it a tiring event that required talking to many people he hated.

This time he awaited it with eager anticipation.

When it was all over Otto told him about the shows he had enjoyed and surprisingly they appeared to have similar feelings.

"I think the Baratheons' idea was exceptionally apt and brilliantly executed. I'm sure a lot of their goods will sell out this year even before the event is over. His children did a great job at the end, you can see they are very supportive of their father every step of the way." He said with some kind of admiration, taking a sip of the coffee the waitress had literally brought him earlier. Aemond lifted his gaze at him, confused.

"What?"

Otto raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.

"That couple who danced at the end were his youngest daughter and only son. You can see right away, they resemble him, although this girl has more of her mother." He said lightly, but Aemond was no longer listening to him, looking dully at the coffee table in front of him.

This was not a model.

This was his daughter.

Fuck.

He pressed his lips together at the thought, feeling a tightening in his stomach.

He couldn't just fuck Borros Baratheon's youngest daughter.

"I have to say that their collection this year has made a special impression on me. I am considering whether to speak to Borros. He turned down my generous offer a few years ago, but I know he is conflicted with his current supplier. I admit that, despite our company policy, I would like to include him in our patronage. It would greatly enhance our prestige in the eyes of other clients." He said thoughtfully, and Aemond raised his eye at him. He answered him before he had time to think about what was coming out of his mouth.

"I'll talk to him." He said dryly and coldly in a tone his grandfather hated. He saw his disgruntled expression and continued, wondering in the back of his mind what he was actually doing.

"Since you haven't succeeded it's worth having someone else to try. I'll just talk to him and present him with options without any pressure." He explained quickly taking a sip of coffee between his words in an attempt to somehow alleviate the sudden dryness in his throat.

Otto pondered silently, looking at him suspiciously, his brow raised in indecision. He knew he found his behaviour strange; Aemond always took after the big shots and didn't deal with the lesser customers deeming them unworthy of attention.

After a moment, however, he nodded, letting out a quiet breath as he reached for his cup.

"Fine, but you can't insult him even if he refuses outright. Borros has an impulsive temper, but even if he is not our client we must remain on good terms with him." He said, looking at him knowingly, and Aemond nodded.

He was tense during the banquet. He tried to concentrate on what Alys was saying to him, dressed in a long, golden evening gown with a thigh-high cut-out, emphasising well her large, firm breasts which he had suckled so often, between them the sapphire necklace he had given her.

He couldn't enjoy the view, his gaze turned to the entrance all the time in suspense. He took a sip of the whisky he had ordered moments earlier to calm himself down. He nodded and answered "Mhm", swallowing hard when he saw her, she entered the room with her father and brother.

He was fascinated that she as well as her brother were still dressed in their costumes from the show, walking together arm-in-arm. He thought they were still fulfilling a marketing role for their father, there was no way they could show off his artwork better than on her long neck and fingers.

He watched as people came up to her and her family congratulating them on their success and wonderful performance, praising her dancing and her looks for sure. She looked around the room and met his gaze. She didn't look away this time.

She smiled.

So warm, friendly, light, as if they had known each other for ages, as if they had seen each other for the hundredth time.

There was comfort in that smile, some promise of solace and understanding, of peace. He felt uncomfortable and this time he looked away, taking a sip from his glass, realising how much his heart was pounding, his member betraying against his will what he thought of her.

He thought he should stop.

That he would hurt her.

He would use her, get bored and leave her.

That didn't stop him, after he'd fucked Alys in her hotel room as brutally as ever, imagining her lying beneath him, from finding her on every social media possible.

He had ghost accounts there, anonymous and without a profile picture, needed sometimes for private dealings. Now he felt like a regular stalker, but he decided he didn't give a shit.

He needed to find out more about her.

He easily found her on Facebook but, not being friends with her, he could see practically nothing. Apart from being relieved to learn that she was of legal age he found out very little. Frustrated, he tried on Instagram and pressed his lips together with a smirk seeing the hit.

Her account was very deliberate, consisting of photos of her figure, but usually backwards. There were also photos of her sewing and a whole host of historical gowns in which she herself posed.

He got curious and began to look through her photos reading the descriptions as well.

There she sometimes described her days, ideas or projects she was working on. It turned out that she designed and sewed costumes for producers of TV series and historical films at their request. Her father's money certainly helped her, but there was no denying that she had talent.

Her profile was satisfyingly aesthetic and thoughtful, dominated by blues, whites and pinks. As someone who read books on history and ancient kingdoms in his spare time, her interest seemed extremely intriguing to him. Like when she danced in her beautiful costume, he had the impression that she was transporting him skilfully to a particular era.

He couldn't stop thinking about her.

The next day, sitting at the hotel breakfast table, talking to Alys about the day's plan and where she could squeeze his meeting with Borros in, he spotted her standing by the coffee machine.

Now he no longer had a sapphire in his eye socket, but his usual prosthetic eye, which, if it were not for the long scar on half of his face, at first glance was no different from the real one. He felt more confident with this thought.

"I'll make myself a coffee." He said suddenly, rising, Alys furrowed her brow.

"I asked you if you wanted coffee when I made mine for myself." She said in surprise, but he sidestepped her and walked over to the table.

She didn't notice him at first.

She was leaning over an open box of various teas, part of her hair tied back with a blue ribbon, her body framed by a pretty, navy blue fitted strapless dress with small white flowers.

He wondered if she had sewn it herself.

Involuntarily, he reached for the free cup and set it under the machine. She twitched as she heard the clatter of dishes beside her and glanced up at him. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye and saw the same warm smile on her face as when he had seen her at the banquet.

"Good morning." She said softly, noncommittally, looking down at her mug again, her choice was Earl Grey.

He lowered his gaze to the coffee machine, looking at it dispassionately, pressing the double espresso button. He felt a tightening in his chest at the sound of her voice, pleasant and smooth.

"Good morning." He replied dispassionately feeling as if it was obvious from his tense face that all night he had been browsing her Instagram account, reading and looking at all her posts several times each.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and saw that she had poured two teaspoons of sugar into her cup.

For some reason this didn't surprise him.

She looked at him and he pressed his lips together feeling as if she had caught him in the act. He felt he should say something, that watching her like that for no reason was strange to say the least, and she looked at him expectantly.

He'd been thinking about her for hours, and now that she was standing in front of him, he couldn't get anything out.

She dropped her gaze and smiled slightly. He felt embarrassed at the thought that she had seen his inner struggle, that she had noticed that she had gained his interest.

He felt like a fool.

He took his cup and wanted to walk away, but her voice stopped him.

"Your sapphire eye. It's beautiful."

He looked at her in disbelief, feeling a twist in his stomach at the thought of her taking notice, of her thinking about him, his scar, the fact that he had no eye.

That he was a fucking cripple.

He wanted to see pity and sympathy in her face, something by which he could look down on her or walk away. But her face was gentle and content, her gaze warm.

She turned her head and set her cup under his automaton, taking a few steps closer to him, his nostrils struck by her floral scent.

"Who made these for you?" She deepened her question, and he watched her alertly, coolly, wondering if he should tell her.

Did he even want to go into it.

He hadn't even told Alys about it, and she was a stranger to him.

"The Hightowers." He replied cautiously after a moment. The gaze of her bright eyes lifted to him again with curiosity, her dark lashes obscuring her irises slightly.

She nodded and did not speak again, evidently thinking she had exhausted the subject. He stared at her with clenched lips, watching as her cup filled with water, the liquid beginning to colour into shades of tea.

She would be going in no time.

He will never speak to her again.

"The jewellery you were wearing at the show. Will it be possible to see it up close?" He asked dispassionately and she looked at him surprised. She nodded with a slight, contented smile.

"Yes, of course. At our stand, they will be on display along with other works of my father and brother worn yesterday by me and my sisters." She said softly, and he blinked, wrinkling his brow.

Were the other models her sisters too?

They both picked up their mugs seeing that another person had stood down in line to make their coffee and moved aside. He looked down at her and only then was struck by the height difference between them.

She was so petite.

So gentle.

It seemed to him that her skin must have been softer than velvet.

She looked up at him and smiled.

"See you later." She said lightly and he nodded practically invisibly.

She walked away towards the table where the rest of her family was already seated, and he swallowed loudly, only now feeling his throat dry up, his heart pounding like mad.

Their exchange had lasted less than three minutes and he was in a complete muddle. He returned to his table, Alys' gaze betraying that she had noticed their conversation.

"Are you being chatted up by little girls? I think she likes you." She said feigning indifference, the amusement in her voice on the edge of mockery from which he threw her a warning glance.

"What is your problem? Is menopause slowly getting to you?" He asked coolly and ironically, he didn't even have to look at her to notice how she froze.

Their age difference was the cause of her biggest complexes even though she pretended it didn't matter. He saw how she chose her make-up to cover the wrinkles that were appearing, how she chose her dresses and outfits to make her breasts distract from her neck.

Whenever she frustrated him, whenever she crossed the line he had set for her, he showed her no mercy. He knew she clung to him to make herself feel better, to have the satisfaction of keeping a young, rich, high-powered men with her to boast about.

She swallowed his words with difficulty, taking a bite of her sandwich, her cheeks red with rage and shame.

"I see she's carried you out of balance." She said inadvertently, and he set his cup down with a loud clack on the table, standing up, a cool displeasure mixed with a kind of disgust on his face.

"Send me my schedule to my email." He said and moved ahead without even turning around.

Stupid bitch.

Despite meeting clients and strolling around the stands with his grandfather, he kept looking around him nervously wondering if he would see her again.

Their conversation this morning had brought him out of his thoughts. He felt ashamed at the memory of not being able to get anything out of him, silent like a complete idiot.

When they reached their stand he was tense. He spotted her immediately, she was discussing something with some older woman showing her one of the rich ruby necklaces.

He thought he could reward her for how good and gentle she was, for the way she affected him, that when he looked at her he felt a tickling in his fingertips.

He thought he would love to visit her in her room and kneel between her thighs, see if she tasted there as sweet as she smiled.

He would drive her crazy just as she did him.

He didn't understand what was happening to him.

Why this desperation, this rush.

He stood with his hands folded behind his back looking at the showcases of rich, almost regal jewellery created with such detail that he had to consider them little works of art.

He glanced at her nervously, heard her brother with whom she had danced the day before mention her and say something to her quickly. She answered him something and he nodded. He froze when he saw that she had moved towards him, the warmth and contentment on her face.

"Come with me." She said softly as she walked past him. His legs spontaneously moved behind her.

They entered a dark small room in the middle of which stood a large illuminated table, on which lay her pearl necklace, earrings, apart form that tiaras, rings and a few other things decorated with sapphires.

She prepared a whole display for him.

"I heard that you wanted to talk to my father. He sent me away to discuss the matter with you." She said with surprising lightness as she walked around the table, looking at its contents thoughtfully.

He looked at her from a distance disbelieving what he had heard.

Was he supposed to set possible business terms with her?

The girl looked at him apparently anticipating his answer, but seeing his reaction she laughed heartily.

"Believe me, you'd rather talk to me than my father." She said amused.

His gaze escaped to the table and for a moment he wondered if they would be very audible if he sat her on it, slipped her panties off and started fucking her.

Would he have to press his mouth against her full, pink lips to silence her mewling as he stretched her tight, hot walls with his cock again and again.

He grunted, wondering what was happening to him, how he could think about such things right now.

"We'll talk on my terms." He said cooler than he wanted it to sound. He lifted a look of tension to her and met her uncertain, surprised gaze.

She waited to see what he would say.

"Tonight at 7 p.m. You, me, wine and a hotel restaurant."

_____

Taglist 1

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dawn-moths · 10 months

Text

“Pink silk, angel soft”

Nanami Kento x Female Reader

part 1 ♡ part 2

word count: 4500+

(set in my sugar daddy nanami au.)

disclaimer/content warning: 18+ content! minors dni! smut, daddy kink, sub/dom dynamics, size kink, posessiveness, alternate universe (no sorcery), reader is collared, reader is called “princess, baby, baby girl, good girl, bad girl, brat, sweetheart, and angel”, multiple orgasms, oral (reader receiving), bathing together and aftercare.

*ao3 mirror*

♡♡♡

The dainty, delicate jingle of a pretty gold bell paired with your beautiful, breathy moans filled the master bedroom. Nanami loved seeing you like this, his perfect little angel laying underneath him in expensive lingerie of soft, satiny pink and delicate froths of white lace decorating the body he so cherished, worshipped, owned.

He was still working his way down your neck with tender kisses and teasing little nips, drinking in the way your body shuddered as he pressed his jutting arousal harder against your needy, insatiable sex, the only thing between you two being the designer fabrics of his trousers— the champagne colored ones he wore for his really important business meetings— and the thin lace of your panties, growing wetter and more ruined with each passing minute.

“Daddy, please…” you begged in a whispery whine, your eager little hands pawing for the buckle of his belt. “Can’t take it much more… I need you…”

Nanami would often scold you for being impatient, punish you if you became too bratty, but tonight, after the hell week he’d had shuffling endlessly from one meeting to the next, spending more time away from his precious baby than either of you had wanted, he craved your greed for him.

Besides, he’d been the indulgent one this time, practically pulling you into his lap to straddle him then pinning you to the couch cushions the moment he’d walked through the door and gotten his hands on you as you’d just woken from your late afternoon nap, his tie tugged loose and carelessly abandoned somewhere on the floor in the living room amidst his fervor, his suit jacket shrugged off and left draped over the arm of the furniture.

“I know, princess…” he sighed dreamily with that rich baritone of his, pulling back only far enough to gaze into your eyes, gently brushing a stray strand of your hair back from your face before kissing you lightly on the nose and saying, “But I promise if you’re patient like a good girl then Daddy’ll make the wait worth it for you.”

The butterflies that Nanami had raised and released in your tummy fluttered back to vibrant life with all the possibilities of what your Daddy could have in store for you tonight.

He never failed to surprise you, whether it was with a brand new Chanel bag in a color that matched your most recently purchased outfit or the latest pair of Miu Miu heels, an impromptu weekend getaway to northern Italy or the south of France, the lavish shopping sprees and decadent dinners and gorgeous hotel suites, Nanami had many different monetary ways to shower you in his love.

But, as nice as all the designer handbags and dresses and jewelry and extravagant trips were, there was only one thing you’d trade it all away for. And that was the feeling of your two bodies becoming one, moving in tandem with each other and creating a priceless artwork of skin and sweat, a hypnotizing symphony that could never be conducted the same twice.

Though, lucky for you, you’d never have to choose between luxury items and amazing sex, as Nanami was able to provide both in constant abundance.

At least, so long as you did your part and remained his perfect little angel. It was an easy role to play, so long as you didn’t begin to feel neglected when he became caught up with work. After the busy week he’d just had though, you’d been teetering on the edge of morphing into a disobedient little devil, willing to do just about anything to receive some of his attention, even if it meant breaking his rules and facing the whip or his belt for exhibiting such bad behavior.

Rest assured, from past experience, once you’d taken your punishment like the good girl he knew you still were deep down, Nanami would grant you the pleasure you so deserved.

So he went about exploring the familiar planes of your body, your skin silky smooth to the touch, your scent like vanilla and honey and the distinct flavor that was indisputably you.

He ran his hands over the supple hills of your breasts, down the dip of your waist and the curves of your hips, kneading the plush flesh of your thighs as he kissed you like it was the only thing he remembered how to do, savoring the way your tongue felt against his, trading each other’s breath like it was the only source of oxygen filling each other’s lungs, keeping his lips to yours until you were left breathless and panting in short, hot huffs once he finally broke away, both your lips shining with each other’s spit.

And once you regained a little bit of your senses, you looked up at him and you smiled, and he couldn’t help but smile too, because your eyes were glittering with all the adoration and devotion you held for him, knowing how much adoration and devotion he also held for you.

“Guess what?” you asked, your voice dripping with endless affection.

Nanami’s grin remained, and he prompted your question with an equally infatuated, “What, sweetheart?”

A hum of amusement found a home in your throat, and for a moment you kept him in suspense. Then you said, all velvet and rose petals, “I love you!”

Nanami never had to wonder if you really meant it.

He could’ve identified you out of a hundred other girls by a single touch alone. He could go blind and still recognize you by the way you cupped his face in your little palms and traced his sharp features as he rested his head in your lap after a long day, the sound of your lilting giggle as it echoed down the halls accompanied by the muted pitter-patters of socked feet, the way you whispered his name in the morning in that adorable, loving way of yours.

And that was because he loved you too.

He loved you more than life itself— even if that life was composed of the finest things money could buy, none of it mattered unless he could share it with you.

“I love you more, angel,” he replied, bumping his nose lightly against yours, and if you could’ve purred like the adorable little kitten you were right then, you would’ve. “More than you’ll ever even know.”

And then he was pulling you up to straddle his lap, a cute little gasp escaping your lips at the sudden unexpected movement, and Nanami sighed out a quiet chuckle as he ran his palms over your bare shoulders, down your arms, back up again.

“I take it this one’s still your favorite,” Nanami crooked one long finger under the shiny gold bell on your bubblegum pink collar, flicking it to hear that playful jingle ring out softly, “isn’t it, princess?”

You nodded, looking up at him through the fan of your lashes, the perfect picture of his demure little doll. Though he knew, aside from the looks of you— all your lace trimmed thigh-highs and ruffly knee socks, your flirty, flouncy pink and white skirts and dresses of pale blues and lavenders, the cashmere cardigans with buttons that sparkled like diamonds or were made to look like bows, some delicate jewelry laying across your collar bones or your wrists or dangling from your ears, usually paired with heeled mary janes or platform oxfords or whatever else you picked out that day because you’d deemed it the cutest— you still nurtured a little demon inside of you.

It was a devil he’d had to learn to control, to collar, to conquer, only letting her out when he decided it was time to open the cage. But once he did, so long as it was in the bedroom, at least, that mischievous little monster morphed into the desirably divine.

And it was only for him, Nanami felt a dangerous sense of pride in knowing. Only for him.

“Well it looks good on you,” Nanami complimented as he slightly adjusted the way the accessory wrapped itself around your pretty neck. Then he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his heart swelling when you nestled your cheek into his palm, those misleadingly innocent doe-eyes of yours blinking up at him and silently pleading for him to touch you more, more, more.

“Alright, baby, I know, I know,” Nanami agreed in a low, mirthy chuckle. His hands were resting on the outside of your thighs now, inching higher to toy with the thin waistband of your panties, fingers absentmindedly fidgeting with the sheer ruffles sitting daintily on your hips, hooking them underneath just to tease you, to get you to squirm. “Daddy’s gonna be good on his promise, just be patient.”

Now he moved onto unhooking your bra, savoring the way such soft, pretty skin was revealed beneath the pink silk and white lace, the way your sensitive nipples perked in the cool air of the room, a wave of goosebumps raising over your flesh before fading away like a gentle wave pulling away from the shore to return back to the sea.

Nanami layed you back against the bedsheets, taking a moment to unbutton his shirt, though was interrupted by a different kind of jingling sound as your little fingers tugged lightly at the shiny silver buckle of his leather belt, a soft whine crawling its way up your throat as you looked up at him and pouted.

Normally, your Daddy would use your repetitious impatience as an excuse to punish you, in this case, most likely by edging you until you became a trembling, crying, drooling mess just begging for release, but again, Nanami guessed today he was feeling rather lenient.

Besides, he wanted this just as much as you did. He was just better at hiding it.

“Want something, sweetheart?” he asked mockingly, words dripping with condescending mirth as he quirked an eyebrow up at you, faking confusion. After you nodded, your hands finding a tighter grip around his belt and giving a quick tug to signal you wanted it off, gone, right now, Nanami cooed at you and said, “You know you have to use your words, baby. You know Daddy can’t give you what you want unless you tell him.”

Instead of abiding by his request to speak your wants, you gave a grumbled whine and tried again to unbuckle his belt, which caused Nanami to grab up both your wrists in one of his strong palms, movement swift and smooth, pinning them above your head and actually seeming to startle you for a second.

Your heartbeat stuttered before leaping back to fast-paced life between your ribs as Nanami glared down at you, his face only inches from yours, the dim light of the room casting eerie shadows across his chiseled features.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, princess…” Nanami warned, a little more steel to his voice now, though you could sense that it wasn’t entirely serious. Something about that sinful sparkle in his dark eyes gave him away. “Or do you want to be punished?”

Either way, you figured you wouldn’t risk it, so that time you opened your mouth to respond, a weak, shy mutter of, “W-want your cock, Daddy…” barely breathed out under your breath.

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you,” Nanami pressed, acting chillingly indifferent with that air of oncoming cruelty that sent both spiky barbs of fear shooting through your veins as well as a flutter of excitement blooming in your belly. Then, capturing your jaw in his grip, though not in the bruising way he tended to do if he was really about to punish you, he said, “You know, if you insist on being a brat, you’re gonna be treated like one…”

“I-I want your cock, Daddy!” you whined, much louder that time, though you knew he’d heard you the first time.

At this, Nanami’s expression softened back into that gentle pride, letting go of your face only to grab his belt, undoing it and pulling it through the loops to be tossed to the floor in a short bout of clacking and clinking like it would’ve been that easy for you to do it yourself.

“Good girl…” he cooed, releasing your wrists momentarily to undo the button on his slacks. “See how you get what you want if you just do as Daddy says?”

The moment he’d kicked off what remained of his clothes and his cock was free, he crawled back on top of you, beginning to grind against your soaked core, likely on his way to ruining yet another pair of your favorite panties.

That’s alright. He’d just buy you more, after all.

A hiss was sucked in through clenched teeth as your eager little hands found his hard cock, wrapping around and giving a squeeze that was just enough to tease him. He’d always known that two could play at that game— the game he’d sometimes convinced himself he was the reigning champion of against you— only to be reminded that, yes, you may have looked like an angel, but he was the only one who knew how to bring the devil out in you.

After recovering from his unexpected wince and locking eyes with you again, he saw that mischievous little grin painted across your adorably defiant face, a lilting giggle upturned into an amused squeak speaking to the fact that you were fully aware of the power you’d momentarily held over him and liked catching him off guard. But when his dark eyes flashed with that calculated, dangerous glint, you knew you wouldn’t be smiling for much longer.

“You’re in the mood to play, huh?” Nanami taunted, grinding against you harder that time, quickly becoming ruthless. It was a nasty habit of his— becoming too rough too fast, often just to prove a point— but it was a habit you’d learned to enjoy, over time.

Because sure, he might fuck you fast and hard enough to make tears well in your eyes, to make weak little pleads of “Hurts, Daddy—!” and “S’too much—!” get caught in your throat in an attempt to get him to let up a little, your nails biting into the toned muscles of his broad shoulders and back as he pinned and pounded you into the mattress, but you both knew part of you had learned to like the pain. Sometimes you craved it, the mischievous little masochist in you breaking one of his rules just so he’d bend you over his knee and spank your ass or have you tied up while he teased you to tears.

Coyly biting your lip, you glanced up at him through your lashes and replied with a lazy half shrug, “I dunno, maybe…” And that…

That had Nanami grinning for an entirely different reason.

“Well, it’s up to you, baby…” Nanami began. “We can either play nice—” He reached down to gently rub enticing circles on your needy little clit through the soaked laced clinging to your pulsing pussy, pulling one of those melodic moans from your throat, your head thrown back against the fluffy pillows as pure, unadulterated pleasure coursed sweet and hot through your veins. But then, just before you felt yourself teetering on the edge of release, he was pulling back, causing you to whine and cast him a confused and irritated little pout. “Or we can play dirty.”

“I’ll play nice!” you were practically pleading, chasing his hand with an impatient buck of your hips. “Swear it, Daddy! I’ll play nice, so please—!”

Your sentence was cut off with a clipped gasp that turned into a low, sated moan, Nanami slipping his fingers in through the side of your soaked panties to touch you for real, the pressure on your swollen, throbbing little bud a skillful alternation of soft and firm, unraveling you more and more with each motion.

He had you arching your back and crying out before the minute was up, stomach clenching as he helped you ride out the aftershocks of your first orgasm of the night, your eyes rolling back and fluttering shut as they sparkled with sugary, seraphim lust.

He gave you some time to recover before the next round, but not much.

You weren’t even entirely sure when Nanami had removed the last piece of lace left clinging to your person, but as the cold air of the room registered on your weeping cunt, that fiery spark of anticipation reignited in the pit of your stomach.

The moment you felt his hot breath fanning over your pussy, you gripped the sheets in your trembling little fists. You knew this next part was going to last long, whether you wanted it to or not. Nanami was a master of savoring every last, painfully sweet taste of you, enjoying every slow lapping of his tongue along your slit like you were the world’s rarest, most radiant delicacy, syrupy nectar dripping from a fruit so ripe it was ready to burst.

He had to wrestle you still when your squirming turned to thrashing, your body unsure whether it wanted to get away from him or get closer, the agonizing push and pull of the electric pleasure zapping through your insides enough to fry your brain until the only thought you were capable of was how good Nanami made you feel.

Each moan that left your pretty mouth was pitched higher and higher until your second orgasm was crashing over you like a wave against a cliffside during a storm, limbs tensing and trembling violently as you tried to twist away, fisting the bed sheets until the skin over your knuckles was pulled taught and aching over your bones, Nanami forcing you past your limit until he’d drank up every last heavenly drop of you.

And as you lay there, shuddering and spent and slowly slipping back into serenity, he couldn’t help but admire the way your soft skin glistened with a thin sheen of sparkling sweat and your hair lay perfectly tousled and splayed beneath your lolled head, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths that hitched every once in a while in gentle little gasps when his fingertips ghosted over your bare thighs, hitching your legs up and pulling you closer to him.

You weren’t sure if you had a third round in you, but it wasn’t up to you, so in the end that didn’t matter.

Nanami had played nice like he’d promised, though had still found a way to be strategically cruel in tiny doses, so now it was only fair you let him take his turn.

Lining himself up with your neglected entrance, Nanami made sure to ask before beginning to nudge his way in, “Are you ready, baby?” and after you gave a weak, fucked-out nod, Nanami proceeded to push his way into you, stretching your sensitive little hole inch by stinging inch, only slowing his already lenient pace when you whined or hissed or made those adorably broken, pitiful little sounds of pain that he’d practically burned into his memory by now, replaying them in his mind like a song stuck in his head whenever he was away for long periods for work and was missing you, just dreaming about the next time he could sink into that tight cunt of yours.

“D-Daddy—!” you gasped, a thin film of tears glossing over your shimmering eyes as the stretch on your unprepared entrance bordered on too much. You were gripping his arms in your trembling grasp, begging him with your eyes to mask the pain with some of his gentle coos or tender kisses.

“Almost there, princess,” Nanami promised, his voice a little strained from just how tightly your insides were constricting around his cock, knowing he was going to have to make it up to you for not helping properly prep you beforehand.

You’d been eyeing a brand new dress in the window of your favorite designer store a couple days ago but hadn’t had time to stop in as Nanami had been running late for a meeting that Gojo had only bothered to inform him of a few hours beforehand while he’d been out shopping with you. He figured he’d go back tomorrow on his way home from work to surprise you with. That might make the fact that you’d probably have a little trouble walking comfortably for the next few days by the time he was done with you tonight a little easier to bear.

“You’re doing so well for me…” Nanami sighed. “Always such a good girl—” Finally entering you down to the hilt, there was a moment of brief respite for the both of you, Nanami catching his breath while he gave you time to adjust to being so painfully full of him.

As a few of your tears fell, Nanami wiped them away and gently pressed his lips to your temple, leaving a trail of loving pecks from there to your neck as he whispered words of praise in between kisses.

“Love you so much,” he told you, brushing a few strands of sweat-damp hair from your forehead, preparing to start moving as he felt you relax a little around where he had split you in two. “So much sweetheart… You know that, don’t you?”

And there was another one of those saccharine smiles he lived to see, your flushed face beaming up at him as if he were the sun in your sky, reaching up to cup his face in your little palms as you said, voice reverent and doting, “Of course, Daddy. And you know how much I love you, too, right?”

Nanami couldn’t help but smile now too, playfully nudging your nose with his as he muttered, low and loving, “More than anything in the world?”

“More than anything in the universe,” you corrected, nuzzling your cheek against his, feeling the barely detectable roughness of where he’d shaved that morning, lightly twining your arms around his neck, the two of you just resting in this essence of tranquility that had blanketed itself over the room. Then, in a lull, as if drifting off to sleep, you muttered, “More than anything…”

Nanami almost felt bad that he couldn’t let you fall asleep right then— you looked so serene— but there was one act left in this tale of angels and demons and he was determined to have you both make it through to the finale.

Slowly, rhythmically, he began to move, pulling almost all the way out before thrusting back in with more force than you’d been ready for the first time.

But as the pace began to pick up until he was maintaining the perfect speed for you both, Nanami also toying with your overstimulated clit as he felt himself approaching his own release, you could feel that haze of sharp-edged ecstasy clouding your brain for the third time that night, barbs of twisted pleasure splicing with the sounds of his grunts and whines as your core fluttered and squeezed around him everytime he was buried deep inside of you, grazing against your sweet spot every time.

“C-can feel you in my tummy, Daddy—!” you gasped, your next moan clipping with that perfect, pain-laced pleasure. “F-feels so good! Don’t stop—!”

And that…

That was enough to send Nanami over the edge.

You’d barely whimpered half of his name out before you both were coming undone, him filling you to the brim with his hot, sticky seed and you gushing all over his cock, both of you painting each other in glistening arousal and pent up desire.

You were both sticky and slick with each other’s sweat and cum, your mouths seeking each other out one last time for a long, lazy kiss before Nanami carefully pulled out of you, watching with reverence as your abused little hole leaked more of your combined pleasure, unable to help himself from collecting it on the pad of his thumb and smearing it in absentminded patterns through your shining, gooey slit, painting it into your puffy folds and pushing some of it back into you once his touch migrated back to the source.

Would it be too selfish of him to force one more round out of you, to wring you dry, if that were even possible (in his experience with you thus far, it wasn’t)?

But then your adorable, tired little voice was registering to him once again, a feeble inquiry of, “Daddy…?” barely mumbled out of your glossy, swollen lips, causing his gaze to snap back to yours. “Can we take a bath together?” you asked, and before answering, Nanami took a few more seconds to admire you in your beautifully debauched state.

“Of course we can, baby,” he smiled, standing from the edge of the bed after unfastening the collar from you throat and draping a sheet over your bare form. “Just let me clean you up and then I’ll run us some water.”

Just before he could turn to head for his navy robe hanging off the back of the door, you asked, all silky sweetness and tender hope, “Can we use the bath bomb… one of the sparkly pink ones…?”

Nanami hummed out a note of gentle amusement, knowing how much you loved those things, loved the way the glitter lingered on your skin afterward and the sickly sweet scent of bubblegum or strawberries and cream wove its way into your hair, which he’d make sure and wash for you whenever you two shared a bath or a shower together, massaging your scalp with all your favorite products and brushing out the tangles for you as he did so. “Of course we can, princess,” he affirmed, now slipping into his fluffy robe and beginning to tread towards the master bathroom. “Anything you want.”

And when he returned from filling the porcelain, clawfoot tub full with your preferred temperature, he half expected to find you fast asleep, but your resting eyes blinked open and gave him another one of those genuinely devoted smiles.

After using a warm washcloth to wipe away as much of the mess that you two had made from between your legs, Nanami helped you to your feet and guided you into the expansive, spotless bathroom, all of its mirrors and pristine tile shining under the dimmed vanity lighting. You kept your hand in his as you lowered yourself into the tub, sinking into the bath with a little bit of a wince as the hot water touched your raw center, then a sigh as the warmth wrapped itself the rest of the way around you.

Nanami brought you over one of your bath bombs, placing it in your waiting, cupped palms so you could be the one to drop it in and watch it fizz, turing the bath a vibrant, glittering cerise, before carefully stepping in and settling himself in the tub behind you, letting you lay with your back against his chest, his knees slightly poking above the surface on either side of you as you both submerged yourselves further into the lulling calm of each other’s embrace.

And for all the stress and the long business trips and last minute meetings, being able to spend this time with you made it all worth it.

Because Nanami knew his job was, above all else, to provide and care for his very special, most favorite girl, no matter the cost or the sacrifices.

And you probably wouldn’t believe him if he told you how truly lucky he felt to have you in his life, to be able to come home to you every day and fall asleep beside you every night.

But, then again, you actually might. Because you felt the same exact way.

♡♡♡

I wanted to write another lil something for my sd!nanami since, well, I’ve been thinking about him a lot lately haha.

In the future I think I’d like to do something with a little more plot for him, but honestly, I feel like this version of him lends itself to pure smut just fine ;)

Anyway, thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed!

See you next time~

#nanami kento #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x y/n #nanami kento smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jjk #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen fanfic

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tinycozycomfort · 8 months

Text

rest in the cup of my palms (part two)

pairing: no outbreak!joel miller x art student f!reader

chapter two: do you feel it, too?

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

series summary: you went back to school to find out who you are—to make another leap in the hope of self discovery. when you finally find that first glimpse of yourself, it’s in someone else. what happens when the mirror tries to pull you in? or you’re everything joel could’ve hoped to find. he doesn’t let go easily.

chapter summary: you fight hard to keep old habits at bay. joel falls into his head first.

warnings/tags: no outbreak, no use of y/n, (for everything) -> mutual pining!, possessive behavior, smut (w individual tags to come), ellie is joel's daughter, ellie and reader attend the same university but reader is in post-grad, age gap (joel is late 40s, reader is not), alternating pov, slow-ish burn / (for this chapter) -> semi-public dry humping, kissing, mentions/fantasies of p in v sex, possessive thoughts, no one is drunk but everyone blames the wine, joel miller loves his kid!

word count: 5.3k

rating: explicit (18+ only! mdni)

A/N: i'm in shambles over the response to the first chapter, this series is my baby and it means so much that you guys liked it. thank you a million times for reading!

read on ao3 / main masterlist

“The wait begins as soon as I wake up. There is never any “after”. Life stops from the moment he rings the doorbell and enters.”

Annie Ernaux - Getting Lost

───────

Joel hasn’t touched the plastic tube since he brought it home last week.

It’s become something he has to hide from, a nagging thought that pulls at his pant-leg like a child, clawing for his attention—open me, open me. Over and over he hears it, while in the office or cooking dinner or folding the wash, a whisper that begs him to reach in and claim his prize. When he’s really tired, brain damp from the days he has to work, the voice pours into something smoother, and suddenly it's that pretty girl—the one who’d made the thing—asking for the same; to be peeled back and stretched wide for him, cunt and heart and all.

He finds himself losing a lot of very real time in the fantasy, chunks of his life spooned out to make room.

The compulsion isn’t unfamiliar; it’s one that Joel thinks has something to do with his protective nature—or maybe that he’s seen enough living through the filters of hurt and mistrust—that makes him cling to the things he finds precious.

It traces back as far as the girls in grade school, when they would bring him little home-made valentines and wave him kisses first stamped onto open palms. He grew enamored with them, picking them flowers and scribbling symbols of promise in their note-books—the very beginnings of his acts of service. His heart would swell with it, a cartoonish thing, growing and pumping until he could keel over to one side from the size. He chased it in those early years, back somewhere between the brothering and fathering, moving through many someones he could fawn over, easing his need to possess.

He can feel the need rising now, for the first time in too long, his body hurtling itself towards the ledge of something scarier, and he welcomes it. His hands itch for it, for the kind of love with teeth, that bites and tears into the edges of a substance much meatier, providing a place for the points to pierce and hold. He won’t call it what it really is, prefering to stomp out the whisper that warns him of its arrival—obsession. He likes to use less severe terms: thoughtful, involved, fascinated.

Knowing better in his age, he tries at least to be realistic during waking hours, and around Ellie, reminding himself that he has a hard time stepping down when he builds his hope high enough. He moves instead to just dreaming about you—in little tidbits and at guest-star capacity—to tide himself over until the week rolls back around.

Now, on a new Monday, he lets his daughter head off to class before he allows himself the privilege of unwrapping his reward.

He fishes around in the back of the hallway closet where he hid the case, retreating to his room to finally have his time alone with the creature he’d made of the object, letting it free from its cage.

He pops off the cardboard top of the roll, pulling the drawing out with the very tips of his fingers to not smudge something on accident. The sound of it sliding out sets his skin alight—this gift is one he asked for, but it feels like it was given to him all the same. Sharing a piece of you with him so freely, he feels special.

He’s gotten used to seeing himself around the house, Ellie’s ever-growing library of renditions of him are fixed to the fridge by mis-matched magnets and framed in little glass panels in her room. It leans on the side of betrayal to have someone else’s version of him up, but he just wants to see it—if it’s as intense as he remembers it. As different.

His knuckle follows the curl of the paper to flatten the image, tacking it up to the wall with painter’s tape to avoid damaging the surface, like his daughter taught him. Joel sits on the corner of his bed and feels a hot wave of emotion fill his chest.

He looks hopeful. It’s a garment he’s never seen himself wear. He’s soft and shy and child-like, face penciled in with detail that reads like a well-worn novel, bending and twisting to the curve of his expression. It’s a finely crafted summary. It’s guide-lines. It’s instructions, the very important parts of him spelled out in bold, black charcoal, with the gray shades of his complexion filling in the gaps.

Was he that easy to pick apart?

He’d seen some of the other drawings, the way everyone else had chosen to capture solely his pose, perfectly articulating the crook of his elbow or the network of muscle under the skin of his calf.

But you’d chosen to show him.

Something about it looks so familiar, enough to bring forward a memory of the conversation that had him feeling the briefest pass of deja vu—of you glancing down at the ground, quieted maybe by his proximity or his compliments; bashful.

He walks out into the living room where Ellie keeps her sketchbook, the one with all the references. He thumbs through it—she’s given him permission to see this one—and flips to the page he remembers watching her use last week. And when he sees it, he feels like he’s going to faint.

It was you.

That was your face his daughter had been so beautifully replicating. Upon examining the fragmented portrait, he sees a striking resemblance to the one you’d made of him. They’re the same. Not the likeness, of course, but the visage. You knew what he felt like—had felt it yourself.

He already knew you, before you’d even spoken a word to each other. He admits that Ellie was only capable of piecing together so much of you, and even with the extra bits he’d caught in your brief meeting, he feels like he’s missing out. He wants to see the whole picture. You, in totality.

When he arrives at the school building, he’s overtaken with a wash of what he thinks might be stage-fright. It makes him feel sick, stomach rolling with an embarrassment that scorches like youth—fight low and flight high—and his body starts to feel sore with the effort it takes to keep himself from fidgeting.

Ellie’s teacher meets him in the hallway and passes him his slip, and he hums his way down to the bathroom to undress, admittedly working up the courage to confront you.

As he enters the classroom, his excitement bottoms out. You’re not there. He keeps sweeping the room with his eyes, hoping you somehow had been hidden amongst the other bodies. He tries to sell himself the idea that you’re just in the bathroom, or on a break or late, but the wooden bench you’d sat in last week is obviously untouched.

He clambers onto the stool, trying to replicate his pose from the previous lesson, much more uncomfortable now that he has nothing to distract him. The two hours are painful, and he finds himself counting seconds to fill the minutes in increments of ten until he can leave.

His back hurts when he stands.

On his way out, the blonde woman hands him a little flier, two pieces of neon copy paper glued together to make a double-sided image, advertising the group show this coming Friday. Ellie has already reminded him more times than he can count, but he takes it from the woman with the best smile he can muster, slipping out the door in a stride he’s hoping doesn’t come across as wounded.

───────

The on-campus gallery is what someone a lot kinder than Joel would call cozy—a tight, short chamber with no windows and a single entrance, like a trap.

He’s too keyed-up to be kind. He feels like nitpicking.

The metal door at the head must have been an afterthought, kicking back into the frame loudly every time someone walks through, nothing implemented to catch it. A continuous beam of fluorescent lighting wraps around the room in an all-encompassing spotlight, cooking the smell of fresh paint off the wall. It reminds him of picture day, or apartment hunting or something else equally unpleasant.

He was always going to come to this, because he can’t imagine a version of himself who wouldn’t support his daughter, but he’s not happy about it, and he’s starting to feel dizzy from the too-fast swirl of anxiety in his stomach.

Ellie had removed herself from his side the moment they made it into the building in search of her friends, with just a squeeze of his forearm and an ‘I’ll introduce you later’ left in her wake. He’s clung tightly to the wall ever since, making his way around the room to look at all the drawings, again and again and again until he feels like he’s on a track.

Discomfort is a factor, but most of his indignation has to do with not seeing you in class—pointed at himself for the absurdity of his expectations—the voice in his head taking a bitter turn. Were you avoiding him? Would you not attend this, either? Did he do something wrong? His mind rambles on as he fiddles with his imitation cocktail glass, the shiny slip of plastic sticking to his fingers. There’s still a generous portion of what has to be five-dollar wine pooled at the bottom, bitter and opaque enough to stain. The woman who poured it for him did so nearly to the top, maybe sympathetically, disregarding that there was money obviously trying to be saved—deeming his cause a worthy one. He doesn’t even want it, really, nauseous at the idea of actually finishing it, but not having something in his hand was winding him even tighter. So he nurses it—even as it goes warm between his grasp, more unappetizing now than it had been twenty minutes ago—sip after sip to try and appear engaged.

Eventually Joel grows tired of waiting, for Ellie to come back or for you to come at all or for this night to just be over, and picks a drawing to pause in front of. It’s a portrait of someone he’ll never meet, another graceful stranger coming together in an amalgamation of grays. He can hear people walking behind him, talking quietly and occasionally stopping to look over his shoulder at it in passing.

“Hm. Quite the fan of my work, are you?” He almost ignores the comment, thinking it's for someone else, as it usually is, until there’s a figure taking up too much of his periphery.

He’s a little dazed when he looks over, the hot, sour wine settled now in the pit of his belly, buzzing with a flare of something not-missed. He’s prepared to see more than one person beside him, perhaps a couple that had been talking near him rather than to him, but when he swivels his neck, it’s you. You’re just as pretty as he remembers, the face that he looks for in his sleep, but this time you’re not as shy, staring at him straight on—maybe similarly loosened by the pale yellow liquid in your own cup.

Heat gathers at the rim of his jaw—his neck is red by now, he’s sure of it. Already exposed and driven by the faint whisper in his mind, he opens his mouth to speak without thinking, “You weren’t there this week.”

You make quick quotes with just your pointers half-heartedly, “‘Sick,'” and breathe a laugh, “Had a few academic duties to fulfill. Gotta keep the scholarship intact.”

There’s a thick moment of silence, but he can’t look away, eyes weighty and cheeks stinging. It’s awkward but he finds comfort in it, embracing the adjustment like it's a step towards better connection.

Someone brushes his arm as they walk by and Joel uses it to his advantage, “Do you want to step outside? It’s a little hot in here.”

There’s a flash of something like surprise across your eyes, but you shrug, “Sure.”

He crowds behind you as you walk step-in-step out the unarmed emergency exit, just to feel the closeness of your body, much better than the distance he’d felt in your absence on Monday.

The night is worse than cold but it feels good against the heat in Joel’s chest. He can smell your perfume wafting back as he follows your movements, and it makes him pant. He’s ill, has to be—that or the wine was stronger than he thought, because the weird tie he feels is one he can’t explain as being healthy or normal or not fucking scary. But when you turn on your heel to face him, taking a seat on a hip-high planter in a secluded outer corner of the building, it feels right. Natural.

He shuffles so that he’s far enough for you to be safe from his touch, and he shoves a hand in his pocket for good measure, “Thank you again for the drawing. It’s really beautiful.”

“Yeah, of course. Thank you for saying that.”

He wants to say something more, like you’ve captured me in a way that makes me hopeful about myself, but settles instead for, “My daughter liked it a lot, too.” It’s a bold-faced lie, but he thinks that keeping your gift a secret would look less appealing.

“Is she here?”

“Somewhere, yeah. Ran off the second we got in. I’m not a comfort anymore, I guess.”

“Is she yours? Comfort, I mean.” You pick at the crown of the cup, rolling it gently in your hands like its real glass, and you both watch the fuzzy pattern of light that catches on its uniform surface. Joel wonders if you have a comfort of your own—if you need one.

“Is it bad if I say yes? It feels cheesy but the kid is my rock. Dunno what I’m gonna do when she grows up.” He shoves at the concrete under the toe of his boot. It didn’t taste as bad coming out as he thought it might. He hasn’t said that out loud to anyone other than himself, but you look at him like you know exactly what he means. The delicate beginnings of a smile crest on your face, cheek pinched, void of all the uncomfortable sympathy he's gotten from Tommy and Maria at the few things he made the mistake of revealing. He can’t find it in himself to stop now with your gesture, feeling relief in having a place to voice his heartbreak, “Honestly I’m scared, but not just for me, y’know? I worry about what she’s gonna find in the world. I just want to keep her safe.”

“She knows it, I’m sure. I know what it feels like to have no one to root for you—I would’ve killed for that. The only thing you can do for her is be there when she comes home,” You’re looking down again, and he doesn’t like whatever’s made you want to pull back from him—be shy, “Spend time with other people you care about and that care about her. Make that network for her to lean on.”

“All I got is my brother. His wife too, sometimes. My nephews. A few years ago it was just me and him. Ellie—that’s her name. She, uh, isn’t ‘mine’,” he makes the bunny-eared quotes with the hand holding his drink, “Not by blood, anyway. But she popped up out of nowhere and I don’t know how to go back to being on my own.”

“It’d be good to have a network of your own, too—if you’re up to it. It’s hard to do, trust me, but I don’t think I could do a lot without my friends.”

“Oh, sweetheart. I don’t think that’s in the cards for me anymore. I can’t conjure up much of anything worth listening to these days. Forgot how.”

“Don’t do that. You have a lot to say—you’re plenty. Just start with one person. There’s always time to make more.” He knows you’re talking to him, but it feels like you’re also talking to that little boy inside of him, small and unloved and still bleeding.

“Do you need any more? Friends.”

You look up from your lap, pushing a piece of your hair back from your face like you need to get a better look, searching for a way you could be misinterpreting him, “I might have room. You have a recommendation for me?”

He reaches out, grabbing the empty cup from your grasp, stacking it with his own and depositing them by your side. He doesn’t miss the way you watch him, how you widen the spread of your legs on instinct, enough to suggest his entrance. He wades out on one leg to bring himself in, testing the water.

Your lips are parted, and when he looks into the opening between them he imagines he’s seeing to the center of you, and everything else keys out. Cars pass by on the strip of street behind him, driven by ghosts, providing nothing but a low song for your bodies to dance to together, his chest swaying closer to yours with every breath. You move with him, and it feels rehearsed, like all of the steps you've taken to get to this moment were purposeful, done in perfectly orchestrated succession for the hundredth time.

“Do you feel that, too?” He asks, wanting to know if he’s reading too much into it, feeling that sweet edge of thoughtful-involved-fascinated scrape his skin like a sharp knife, “Do you? Like you know me?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and it’s all the permission he’s ever needed.

He leans in, lips skating yours, the warm cave of your mouth begging to be explored. He tries so hard to take his time, soft brushes tethering you to each other with the weight of everything he’ hasn’t had the time to say. His whole body is pins and needles—a fierce heat that floats so high it feels like ice. You sigh into him, the start of a moan, and his composure snaps. Service, he reminds himself, act on it—it feels almost divine when he thinks about all the ways he could pledge his loyalty, ready to bend at your altar every day of his life if it meant you’d sing for him again.

Joel brings a hand to the side of your neck, thumb digging into the pulse point at the corner of your jaw to bring you forward, licking into your mouth in search of more noise. He groans when you relax into his hold, so pretty and willing, and works you until you’re just as fervent, daring to suck his bottom lip between your teeth—going for blood.

The voice in his head is yours again—open me, eat me, unhinge your jaw and swallow.

He slots his other hand around the bone of your hip, pulling you nearer to the ledge of the planter, pressing his cock into your inner thigh as it swells to life. You gather his shirt in your hand, a tight fist, shifting yourself against him so you can grind into it instead. No one else exists, no one else could ever exist in this moment, or any moment you attend, for the rest of forever. He wants to fuck you, to see how far the attachment could go, how far he could reach down before he finds a warm, bed-shaped slot for him to rest in. He wants to live inside the body of someone who sees him so clearly. He wants to know every thought in your head before it comes to fruition.

The wine tastes better coming from off your tongue, and he’s gleaning the flavor from every corner of your mouth like he can achieve a second-hand high. His full weight is rocking into you with enough force now that he has to plant a heel in the ground to keep you both from tumbling. He risks a thumb in your waistband in the flurry, tugging at it in the hope of another invitation.

Before you have a chance to decide, the loud press of the swing-door at the front of the building opens, and Joel staggers back, remembering where he is and why.

You look winded to say the least, hair bent from the imprint of his hand, mouth in a perpetual ‘o’, and he’s scared to see the state of his own face, not to mention the visible strain of his cock in his pants. He kicks an ankle out to try to adjust, heaving through an open maw at the thought that you might be affected in that way as well, picturing the slick wet in between your legs—a beautiful sheen from just his mouth on the top half of your body.

You shimmy off the edge, straightening your shirt and he immediately steps back in for more, draping the full breadth of his hand against your collarbone, curling the tips around the top of your shoulder.

“Joel. I— I need to go inside.”

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Are you okay?”

You lay a hand over his with a squeeze and he retracts it, “Yeah. I just wasn’t expecting… I don’t know if I can do this right now.”

He can feel his breath restricting, heart plummeting down so far it feels like it’s landed in the ball of his foot; the second time this week you’ve pulled away. He thinks back to the face you made at him in the gallery, back before he fucked this up. Maybe you never meant for this to happen at all.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice strained, “I just need a little time. Just some time, I’m sorry.”

“No, no I understand. Don’t be sorry. Will you take my number? Just in case?” He wants to make sure you’re okay after this, if you want that, and selfishly he wants to give you a way to have him, knowing this might be the last time he runs into you. He’s too afraid to leave it up to chance.

“Yeah, yeah okay,” You pass him your phone with shaky fingers.

“Only if you want to, honey,” He’s disheartened by the whole thing, but he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, so he’s careful to double-check, even if it’s a blow to his hope, “You don’t have to.”

“I know. I’m just—the wine, sorry. I think it was bad.” You huff out a strained laugh, “I want it. Your number, I mean. Promise.” You practically shove the thing at him and he takes it this time, entering the contact with as little squinting as possible to save himself from any further humiliation.

───────

You all but run into the bathroom in the back of the building, needing a moment alone to consider what the fuck it is that’s going on right now—what’s been going on since he walked into your class two weeks ago and overstayed his welcome.

You stumble in, bracing yourself against the porcelain basin, switching on the faucet to drown out some of the pounding in your head. You’d been lying when you said the wine was catching up to you—very much sober—but now, in this suffocating, gray room, you feel like it must have at least accelerated the churning in your gut.

You let water gather in your hands, bending to dip your face in the too-cold pool between them.

Every day has been mostly encouraging if not indifferent but this feels like the start of a bad dream you won’t be able to wake up from, dragging you right back to that dark box you’d been existing in. He came in from nowhere, kicking down your reserve, for what? For a fuck? To enjoy you in passing? Or worse, to stay? You’re unsure which would be harder to receive.

And it’s unfair—for him to show up right at the point of being fully on your own, as soon as you’ve chosen to avoid getting caught up in that part of your life. You’re past the point of surrendering your time—know better than to want to be bogged down by a crush or the preconceived idea of the perfect stranger.

You don’t know him, and you don’t need to.

But you want him so bad it hurts; so bad you had to fake a cold to skip class because you couldn't face the idea of seeing him for the last time. You debated skipping the grade for the exhibition too, but you used any excuse to convince yourself he might not show. You weren’t sure who his daughter was, or how enthusiastic she was about the program, so you figured it was a fair shot. You outwardly willed him not to come, at yourself in the mirror and in the shower and out loud the car, all while secretly praying he’d be in attendance, right up to the moment you saw him.

When you stand up, staring at your rigid body in the plastic mirror above the sink, you’re pained at the sight. You look tired, shoulders tense and eyes bleary. Stray beads of the cool water stick to your skin, refusing to dry in the lingering humidity, balling up together to drip into the open lip of your shirt. You can barely feel it falling over your chest before being soaked up by the material. You feel outside yourself.

Someone starts to knock at the door, a quick and invasive interruption to the moment of absolute panic you’d been enjoying. You managed to twist the lock shut on the door at least, so you click your heel against the tile in a wordless someone’s in here, but the knocking persists.

“Occupied.” You try, wet hands slipping against the edge of the sink. This shit isn’t normal. None of that even comes close to normal.

Still, the heavy thrum against the hollow metal continues, and you take a deep breath before practically ripping it out from the socket of its frame. When you have it open, Ian’s posed between the V of the slot, face bewildered.

“Really, truly, I love you, but what the fuck was that?”

───────

Four days from the start of spring break, you’re out at some stranger’s place off Maple, invited by both Ian and your roommate—making it a little harder to get out of—in a joint, well-intentioned attempt to make you leave the safety of your room. A party will be nice, they’d explained, nothing serious, and a week off’s supposed to be fun, right?

The house is pretty, but whoever owns it has demanded everyone remain out on the cobblestone patio, uneven flooring making for a jagged line of bodies packed too tight to fit.

A fire burns in the middle of the yard, billowing out puffs of smoke you know will linger in your clothes for at least two washes. You swipe at some soot that's gathered in the bowl of your jacket sleeve absentmindedly. There’s no music tonight, maybe because there’s real school tomorrow—the elementary school down the street not quite on the same schedule—and you start to think going out on weeknights is quickly becoming more your speed. There's just the soft blanket of everyone murmuring, trying to stay warm in the chill of the wind.

Ian’s prepping some guy across the fire to meet you; you can tell by the look on his face, like he’s planning something elaborate. You smile at him, at least amused by his effort to help you forget the weekend. He’s right, it is spring break, and Joel is nothing but a consequence of your stress-induced impulsivity.

Still, despite your efforts, you’re thinking about him again, even if to punish him. You can still feel the line of his cock against your thigh, pressed hot and heavy into your body like an offering. You rub your thighs together, cursing him for giving you enough material to fantasize about for weeks—your punishment in return.

Ian crosses the circle with your new prospect, and you tilt your cup in mock cheers. Behind him he mouths hot and nice, tell me what you think. You nod, and the guy steps forward to block the flame. He’s handsome, airbrushed face and sweet cologne and long, thin fingers, nothing like how someone else’s had felt at the junction of your hips.

You swallow, hard.

You honestly don’t hear a word that comes out of his mouth from the second it opens, not even to catch his name. Instead, you think about how nice it’d be if you could pay attention, how much easier it would be to fuck someone you thought was nice and safe and not at the forefront of every free moment you’d been afforded in the last two-and-a-half weeks. About what a relief it would be for him to mount and rut into you without consequence—no emotional burden, just boring and lukewarm like the last bite of something you can’t find a place to throw away. It’s always been easier when you didn’t want more. Yet now you want every night, hold out a hand in your dreams and let him into the part of you that has already carved out a hole in his shape.

This guy couldn’t pull your mind off of Joel even if he was fucking you.

When he offers to grab you a drink, you agree and then head into the house, like you’re not supposed to, as soon as his back is turned. There’s a few locked doors, and then one at the end of a hallway that opens up into a bathroom. You slip in, not bothering to switch on the light in an attempt to hide out from being found.

Here you are searching for reason in a dirty mirror above another sink, with nothing but the weak glow of a plug-in air freshener to guide you, too soon after the last time.

You’re angry, suddenly, at how far he’s burrowed himself into your head, with so little to go on. He’s doing nothing but showing you yourself, a tired tactic to get you to fall in love with him while you do all the work. He was just pretending, right? He couldn’t actually want to love you. You groan, when the fuck was love even part of this equation?

You dig your phone out of your purse. The lock screen is bright—bold lettering reminding you it’s nearly midnight—but you click into your contacts anyway, because it’s not like you’re going to call him or anything. His page is still open, the Texas area code populating under Joel - Ellie’s dad—typed out with caps and all like that’s his only meaningful identifier. You scroll to see where he’d punched in ‘just in case‘ in the notes section of his info-card, and that decimates the cliff of restraint you'd barely managed, sinking in on itself under you.

Your hands are wet with unease, held hostage by the way he’d read your thoughts out loud. You did feel it too, that searing weight of knowing—of being acquainted with him despite only meeting once before. He had to have been honest in at least that confession. You ask yourself for permission—‘was he going through this as well? what exactly was he feeling? would he explain if you asked?’—until it turns into selling yourself justification—‘you could just fuck him, right? that’s all this has to be, right?’.

Yes, you decide. Just another test of will—you can do it. You can pass.

Your finger hovers over the number, closing the screen and opening it again and again and again until you just bite the bullet and fucking press it, the screen going black as you shove it against the side of your ear, covered again in darkness.

He picks up within two rings.

“Hello?”

“Hi. Joel,” You offer him your name like a secret, “It’s me. Did I wake you up?”

“No, sweetheart. Are you okay?”

“Can I come see you?”

#joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fic #joel miller/reader

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moeitsu · 24 days

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The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Hi everyone! I have a new ArthurxOC fic up on Ao3, so I figured I would share it here as well. Please let me know what you think :) Ao3 Wattpad Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8 Ch.9 Ch.10 Summary: Kate McCanon, a young widow from the north, meets outlaw Arthur Morgan. When the two cross paths she discovers a complex man wrestling with his own sense of right and wrong. As their unlikely bond deepens, Kate becomes determined to guide Arthur towards a brighter path, even as tensions rise within his gang led by the enigmatic Dutch van der Linde. With danger lurking at every turn, Kate must navigate treacherous territory to protect those she holds dear, all while finding love in the most unexpected of places. Tags: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character, Widowed, Original Character, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Friends to Lovers, Child Loss, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Chubby Arthur Morgan, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Chapter 1 - The Frost Gleams Where The Flowers Have Been

1890

Kate had never fancied herself a skilled woodworker. While she had lent a hand to her husband in constructing a barn, her role mostly entailed passing him tools and bringing him his lunch. But as she stood amidst the sawdust, tears streaking down her cheeks, she grappled with the daunting task ahead. She lacked both the sufficient wood and the patience to craft two coffins. Thus, the inevitable decision emerged: they would be laid to rest together.

The Reverend's suggestion to cremate the bodies, emphasizing the need to eradicate the disease completely, fell upon deaf ears. The mere thought of reducing her beloved husband and precious baby girl to ashes felt abhorrent to Kate. Instead, she harbored a tender hope that one day, perhaps, they would blossom into a magnificent Willow tree.

Amidst the melancholy chore, the vibrant symphony of birdsong provided a bittersweet backdrop, reminiscent of the lullabies she once crooned to her infant daughter. With a sorrowful melody humming in her heart, Kate toiled diligently, her hands blackened with grime, each wipe across her tear-stained cheeks a testament to her grief. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting their modest farm in a golden hue, Kate's work pressed on.

Night descended swiftly, cloaking the world in shadows that seemed to stretch for an eternity. Kate, perched upon her porch swing, found no solace in slumber. Her vigil was solemn, her gaze never wavering from the rough-hewn coffins that cradled her entire world within their confines.

With the break of dawn, the Reverend returned, his disapproval evident, yet tempered by resignation. Together, in a somber silence, they labored to fashion a final resting place. By mid-afternoon, the grave stood ready, a solemn abyss awaiting its occupants. With the Reverend's assistance, Kate tenderly lowered her cherished husband and daughter into the earth's cold embrace.

As dusk settled, the Reverend offered prayers and parting words before taking his leave. Left alone in her sorrow, Kate felt the weight of despair bearing down upon her. In a world forged by men and seemingly devoid of solace for a solitary widow, she found herself with no recourse but to depart.

Beneath the twilight sky, the epitaph etched upon their shared gravestone bore silent witness to her profound loss:

Here Lies My Beloved Noah, And Our Beautiful Daughter, Lorena.

May God Keep Their Souls.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

1899

As the sun rose over the horizon, casting its golden rays across the sprawling expanse of Emerald Ranch, Kate found herself amidst the ebb and flow of another day's labor. Nine years had slipped by since the tragic loss of her husband and daughter, a span of time marked by wandering footsteps and the pursuit of odd jobs on her journey westward.

She had once heard her father say they had family in California, he had many sisters but only kept in touch with one. Kate wrote to her after the death of her husband, seeking asylum with a relative with nowhere else to go. Her Aunt wrote her back and gave her condolences, she said Kate would be welcome with open arms.

However, the last she heard of her Aunt was 7 years ago. But still, she continued west. She had come too far and been through too much to stop now. What she hoped to find in the valleys of California, she did not know anymore. Over the years she became more cowboy and less of a woman, her once soft hands now calloused by years of labor. The untamed plains and cold hard ground had become both her refuge and her bed.

She came to Emerald Ranch only a week ago, her boss; Seamus, was reluctant to hire a stranger, let alone a woman, to help on the ranch. Kate assured him she was cheap labor and was only looking for shelter and a place to rest until she was on the move again. Kate was no stranger to odd jobs, she took any work she could get and saved as much as she could. But she was no criminal.

She heard Seamus talking to two men as she filled the troughs with clean water. The gentlemen said they were new in town and looking for a partnership, one in which they could both make money.

“Look I ain't no idiot, and I don't trust folks outta the blue. If you want to work together then you're gonna have to prove to me you’re worth my time.” Her boss's voice raised above the usual noise of the barn animals.

“Of course! We’re only interested in a partnership, just looking to make a little extra money.” Carried the voice of an older gentleman.

“No doubt. I do interesting very well. It's trusting that I don't do so well.” her boss answered, still not convinced by the two strangers.

“Look at us, we’re honest as the day is long,” said the other man with cheer.

“You really want us to prove ourselves to this clown Hosea?” said the other voice, sounding much younger than his partner.

Seamus scoffed, “good day to you, Hosea.”

“N-now wait a minute Seamus. Arthur can be rough, and quick with his tongue, but I swear you can trust him, you can trust me.” Hosea pleaded, following Seamus to the side of the barn. Kate now had a clear view of the new “business partners”.

Kate didn't know Seamus very well, but she could tell he was an honest enough man. Wise for his years, and liked to keep his nose out of trouble. “I’m an old man Hosea,” he began, “and you know why I ain’t dead yet?”

“Because you don't trust idiots,” Hosea finished.

“Exactly.”

“We’re not idiots, Seamus. Let us prove it to you.” Hosea had an air of confidence, he wasn't some runaway bum looking to make a quick buck. He was serious about a partnership. Although Kate wouldn't say the same for his partner, who loomed behind them like a panther ready to pounce.

“Okay…I’ll tell you what, old Bob Crawford and his boys just bought a beautiful stolen stagecoach from up north. It’s in their barn. Now you go get that,” he looked around for anyone who might be listening to his scheming, “then we can work together.” He said quietly, placing a hand on Hosea’s shoulder.

“Who’s Old Bob Crawford?” inquired Hosea.

“An acquaintance of mine…well, not just an acquaintance. He’s my cousin, by marriage.” Seamus explained.

“Oh so now we’re meddlin’ in your family business?” Arthur boasted with skepticism.

Hosea waved him off and continued speaking, “Where is he located?”

“Now hang on a moment, you boys could very easily take this coach and sell it yourselves for a pretty penny,” Seamus began.

“So you comin’ with us? I thought you didn't want to be involved in shady business?” Arthur spoke up again.

“Heavens no, if my cousin saw me it would be my death. I'm sending someone with you, as collateral.” Seamus turned around and saw Kate already watching them, he waved her over.

Arthur shook his head disapprovingly, “nah, I don't do babysitters Seamus.”

Kate was just as skeptical about her part in this, she told Seamus she was looking for honest work, and robbing his cousin certainly falls out of that line.

“She’s not babysitting . She’ll take you to my cousin's farm and let you do the robbing. Kate has been working for me for a few days now and she’s tougher than she looks.” Seamus said turning to Kate, “I want you to make sure that stage coach gets back to me. You don't need to take part in the robbery.”

“You’re fine with them robbing your cousin?” She spoke in a hushed tone so only Seamus could hear.

“By marriage,” he added, “and yes, I would love it. The man’s been a thorn in my ass for years.” He said amused.

She nodded in acknowledgement and turned to get a good look at the two strangers. One was indeed much older than the other, with cropped white hair peeking out from under his hat. The other gentleman was tall and burly, and he hid his eyes under the brim of his hat. He seemed wary of strangers and kept both hands resting on his gun belt.

“Let me get my horse saddled and I’ll meet you boys at the intersection leading out of town.” She spoke, Hosea nodded and was already making his way to his horse. Arthur stood for a moment eyeing the woman, no doubt playing the intimidation tactic. But Kate had seen far scarier men than him in her days. “Y'know the quicker we get this done the quicker you fellas get paid.” She noted.

Arthur scoffed and finally followed Hosea to his horse, “don't need no damn babysitter,” he grumbled kicking dust.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate made quick work of saddling her black Hungarian roan, she calls Lorena. After her infant daughter. In a moments pass she was on the dirt road leading out of Emerald Ranch and toward Carmody Dell. She waved for the two men to follow her, they stayed behind her a short distance and made no effort for small conversation.

However, she overheard snippets of their own conversation as they went, “I thought you wanted me to be the strong arm? That's usually how it goes,” Arthur spoke.

“Yes but..” Hosea hesitated, lowering his tone a little, “you know how this works.”

“Cmon Hosea that fellers a joke, he don't even trust us enough to handle it ourselves. Now we got a chaperone.” Arthur complained loudly, at least he’s not calling me a babysitter , Kate thought.

“All the better, he won't cause us any problems. And I cant blame the guy for sending the girl. Two strangers looking for quick money? Hell, I’d want assurance too.” Hosea answered, “besides, if he’s sending protection that means there’s big money to be made. Seamus wants his cut.”

Kate came to the same conclusion, up until now Seamus had given her the usual ranch-hand tasks. Feeding and cleaning mostly. This was very different, there must be good money for this stage coach.

“I guess you’re right,” Arthur muttered.

Hosea mumbled something back to Arthur about “hanging up their hats” if they couldn't finish a job as easy as this. They laughed and began chatting about their travels in Emerald ranch, Kate tuned them out and began humming a song to her horse.

Her singing always pleased her horse and calmed the girl’s nerves. She was a strong and fierce steed, but jumpy and needy like a baby sometimes. Kate thought naming her horse after her daughter would bring her closure, instead, she was almost convinced that her daughter's spirit lived on in Lorena somehow. In all ways except biological, her horse was her baby.

Carmody Dell was a short distance north past the train tracks and Fort Wallace, Kate had passed it once before. They rode at a steady pace, the men behind her never coming too close. She wondered for a moment what their story was, and why they needed money so bad. Perhaps they were travelers like her, maybe they even had a caravan. She entertained the thought of traveling with a group again, but shuddered at the memories. Her previous caravan adventures had not ended well.

Once the ranch was in view she slowed and allowed the boys to catch up on either side of her. She led them to a grassy clearing off the road.

“You should continue on foot from here, I’ll stay behind with your horses.” She said dismounting. The two of them nodded and dismounted their horses, Kate was almost surprised to hear no objections from Arthur.

“C'mon son, let's see what we’re dealing with here.” Hosea commented walking towards a large rock in front of the house.

“Son”, so they are family . She mentally noted. Arthur gave his horse a pat, “be a good girl for the lady” he said, tipping his hat towards Kate. She was slightly taken aback by the sudden politeness.

She busied herself with the horses for a bit while the men laid out their plan, she gave Hosea and Arthurs horse a treat and was about to start brushing his horse when he approached her again. Startled, she backed away from his mare, she didn't want him to think she was snooping in his saddle bags.

“You can keep brushin’ her, she loves attention,” he half smiled reaching up and petting her snout. “I just came to tell ya’ we’re gonna wait till it gets dark. Less chance of getting caught that way.”

“Smart,” she replied, for whatever reason she suddenly felt very shy in his presence.

He stood a few feet away from her and she could see more of his features. He was around her age. He had short dirty blond hair under his leather hat, and bright blue/green eyes. Her eyes lingered over his body. He was big too, more than a foot taller than her and well fed and muscular. His bicep had to be the size of her head alone, and she could tell by the fabric of his button down he had a bit of a belly hidden behind his gun belt.

“What’s her name?” His voice broke through her awkward silence.

“Who?” She asked and looked back at him.

He chortled, “the black beauty you got over there,” he nodded to her horse.

Oh, duh! “Her name is Lorena, she also loves attention but she’s nervous around new people.” Kate answered, still a bit lost in her thoughts.

Arthur made a clicking sound with his tongue, reaching out a hand and slowly walking toward her horse. “It’s alright girl,” he cooed while she sniffed his palm. He pulled out a peppermint and gave it to her, which Lorena happily accepted.

Kate smiled at the interaction, “you introduce yourself to my horse before me?” she teased.

“My apologies ma’am,” he turned to face her, “names Arthur Morgan.”

“Nice to meet you Mr. Morgan, I’m Kate McCanon.” She reached out her hand and he shook it. His grip was firm but polite.

“Likewise, Miss.McCanon. That’s Belle your brushin’, and that’s Silver Dollar.” He pointed at Hosea’s horse. “I saw this beauty when we first rode into Emerald ranch, had no idea she was yours tho.” He was talking about her horse again, “told myself I’d inquire about buying her if she was available.”

Kate smiled at the affection he was showing for her horse, she knew Lorena was a beautiful mare. She often received compliments on the road, and many have offered to pay for her purebred.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but she’s not for sale.”

“Well I can certainly see that,” he laughed, “she seems happy though. You must take real good care of her.” He said, his attention still on her mare as he scratched under her chin.

“You some kind of horse breeder Mr. Morgan?” Kate asked.

Arthur laughed, “no no. Nothing like that, though sometimes I wish I was.” He smiled as he said it but Kate noticed there was a sadness in his tone. “I just think they’re neat is all.”

They had only just met, and while Arthur was not initially the most pleasant, she found it incredibly cute how enraptured he was by her horse.

“I should probably also apologize for my rudeness earlier, it’s been a rough couple weeks for us and we uh- don’t always take too kindly to strangers.” Arthur took off his hat as he spoke and held it to his chest, a sincere gesture.

Kate was shocked, the man she met at Emerald ranch not even an hour ago seemed like a completely different person than the man before her. His cold demeanor was gone, or at least reined in at the moment.

“No apology needed Mr. Morgan. I understand,” She answered. “Although I wouldn’t call it rude, you were just skeptical. Rightfully so, can I ask what brings you to Emerald Ranch?”

Arthur looked away from her as he spoke, choosing to focus on her horse. “We’re just stayin’ in the area for a few weeks. Passin’ through and tryna make money.”

“By robbing stagecoaches?” Kate said in an amused tone, “you a bunch of outlaws or something?” She continued, half-joking.

Arthur looked at her with surprise, “What? No, we uh- got laid off from the railway. Up-north. Just looking for money so we can find a place to settle down again. That’s all.” He looked away again, avoiding her gaze.

“I’ll say it again, by robbing stagecoaches?” She kept her tone playful, but wasn’t entirely convinced by his story. But it felt good to be the intimidator.

“Wasn’t our idea, Seamus asked us to rob his cousin!” His voice rose slightly with anger.

“By marriage,” Kate retorted.

Arthur was about to speak again but only stared at her.

“I’m just pulling your leg Mr. Morgan.” Kate laughed. “It’s no business of mine. I’m only passing through here, same as you. What you do here and how you earn your money is your business. As is mine.”

Arthur scoffed, suddenly amused, did this woman just tease me?

He went to speak again before another voice interrupted them, “Arthur! Get over here!” Called Hosea. He pointed a finger at Kate as to say this isn’t over and walked away.

Amused with herself, Kate grabbed an apple and sat down against a tree. Watching the sun set as she waited for the cover of night so the two men could pull off their heist.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate woke suddenly to the sound of horses moving. She quickly got up and looked in the direction of the ranch. Sure enough the stage coach was steadily moving down the path away from its place in the barn. She quickly mounted her horse and trotted over to them.

“Nice work! Follow me back to Emerald Ranch and try to keep it in one piece.” She called up to Hosea who was driving the coach. With that she clicked her tongue and took off ahead of the coach at a steady but quick pace. Not wanting to get themselves caught.

Before Hosea could crack the reins he looked to Arthur as he was about to get in the coach, “you ride ahead with her. I got this.”

Arthur looked confused, “why wouldn’t I ride with you? The horses will follow.”

Now Hosea was giving him an amused look, “I heard you with her earlier.”

“And?” The cowboy replied slightly annoyed.

“You’ve never fumbled our cover story so bad!” He quipped, “it was like listening to a child tell it!”

Arthur shook his head, “now you’re playin’ match maker old man?” He teased, trying to hide his smile.

“I’m just saying it wouldn’t kill you to go talk to her son."

Without another word Arthur nodded and dismounted the coach, getting into the saddle and riding off to catch up to Kate.

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terminatorbuns · 1 year

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Frye is the new Marina: Exploring Frye and Minority Anxiety (An essay by @Terminatorbuns)

I'm gonna preface this with something very important: Frye is best girl. Fight me, I write lore essays. I wrote that other essay on Deep Cut and I've continued to obsess over them since, especially on Frye, who's been an extremely interesting character for me to analyze.

We know Frye, she's the chipper Inkling idol partner to the more sophisticated Octoling Shiver. There's obvious parallels to be made with the previous idol group, Off the Hook, since Frye is like the energetic Pearl and Shiver is like the cool Marina. And uhh .. that's probably all there is to it, essay's over, everyone go home.

No but seriously, what I want to share instead today is the personal, alternative interpretation I arrived at after obsessively overthinking the situation since release. It's not fully supported by canon, but this is a reading of Frye constructed from the most subtle lore details a Frye-obsessed lore nerd could find, and I hope to at least highlight some lore elements the community might have missed. I want to demonstrate the layers upon layers of complexity that can be read into Frye as a character, and why I care so fucking much.

Frye isn't the new Pearl, she was the new MARINA this whole time and it took me months to see it. Yes, it has absolutely everything to do with their skin color. Splatoon's world is designed with real life racial diversity in mind and, intentionally or not, are also influenced by real life racial dynamics in turn. Like Marina, the analysis of Frye absolutely OPENS UP if we examine her through the lens of her real life racial status, we start to infer stuff about her motivations, her fears, her secret needs and wants, EVERYTHING is on the table. Good news for Shiver fans, I can't talk about Frye without digging into her relationship with Shiver (platonic or otherwise) so that's going to happen too. We need to talk about our precious brown baby.

1. Frye the Minority

To state the obvious, Frye's ethnicity is South Asian, probably India. The Splatoon world doesn't really have a Squid India in it but it's clear what her real life inspirations are. She's very brown, she wears Aladdin pants and mango chutney on her head. She's got a snake charmer flute thing going on and all her musical motifs are played with South Asian instruments. It's a bit on the nose.

Thing is, Splatsville is a Japanese city in design. Splatsville is called Bankara city in Japanese, it's named after a literal Japanese fashion movement and the visual design elements of Splatsville are reminiscent of a rural Japanese city. Splatsville takes little visual inspiration from South Asia, and that makes sense since Splatoon is made by Japanese devs who would be most familiar with Japan.

The consequence of this is that Frye stands out as a uniquely brown-coded person in a world where nobody else looks like her. Not even playable inklings with dark skin look like her, what with her teeth and her pointy mask and her big forehead. It's worth noting that the Octoling narrative in Splatoon 2 takes inspiration from the experience of Black Americans, and the dark skinned Octolings of Inkopolis are mostly coded black, not South Asian. Even if the racial identities of squids don't necessarily match real world racial identities, Frye is recognizably a minority both visually and culturally in-universe. This is reminiscent of Marina, who was one of the only visible Octolings in Inkopolis until playable Octolings were formally implemented.

It's worth noting now that Shiver, in contrast, fits in perfectly: she's a traditionally attractive Japanese girl (we're talking about fem Shiver right now, bear with me) in a Japanese city. Even though Octolings should be an in-universe minority, and even though she too has somewhat unconventional features, the idea that she's a minority just doesn't track visually. We'll circle back to this and discuss why it doesn't really work for her character narratively either.

2. Frye the Villain

I've covered this in my previous essay but Frye is a stage villain by trade, and her style of performance is inspired by Kabuki. The Japanese inspiration makes sense, even though she's an ethnic minority her sunken scrolls suggests that her family is well established in the region, meaning they immigrated a long time ago and Frye's grown up in Splatsville. Frye is a Japanese national with roots in South Asian culture, it's understandable that she has adopted mannerisms of both cultures.

But like, why a villain? And what's the deal with Marina also representing Team Villain in the heroes vs villains Splatfest? I was wondering if there was a connection there until it hit me, Frye's TOO BROWN to apply for hero roles. In real life, the Japanese entertainment industry famously has problems with colorism and racial representation. Even darker skinned Japanese people have trouble landing gigs as leading heroes because the industry favors light skin, and Frye is both very brown and not conventionally attractive by Japanese standards. Film industries in the West have very similar problems with colorism so it's a recognizable problem to western audiences, also. Frye's career choice as a professional villain is informed by the fact that people like her literally cannot land jobs as heroes.

That's not to say Frye resents her role, Frye loves being a villain. Her poses are dynamic, her speeches are charismatic, she's at her happiest when she is playing an antagonist. If you look at her blasting off with her smoke bomb, she has the happiest smile on in direct contrast to Shiver who's comically losing her shit. Thing is, Frye identifies with the underdog villains who never win, because Frye herself struggles in an industry that does not favor her. This also explains her sympathies for the underprivileged, and why she's made it a personal mission to raise money for the poor. Looking back at Splatoon 2, Marina was sympathetic to villains for the same reasons, as an Octoling (and as a black person) that was villainized by the society she lives in.

Frye brings her cultural identity into her performance, where she incorporates traditional South Asian dance and snake/eel charming into her fighting style. She takes her heritage seriously too: where Frye comes off as a clown elsewhere, she's deadly serious when using her culturally inspired techniques in a fight. The fact that she has named choreography for each phase of her fight is proof enough of that. Deep Cut's boss fight theme also opens with South Asian instruments and they are the most prominent thematic element throughout, highlighting the fact that villainy is Frye's domain of expertise, not Shiver's. Frye sees both villainy and her cultural background as core parts of her identity and expresses herself with a combination of both.

3. Frye the loner

Thinking back to Splatoon 2, Marina and Pearl had a very clear extrovert vs Introvert dynamic: Pearl likes networking and building musical connections, and Marina is shy and prefers to hole up in a comfy chair and write music all day. We do in fact see this again in Deep Cut, except Shiver is the extrovert who flourishes in front of an audience or a camera. She's eager to play tableturf with agent 3 because she just likes social interaction and competition. The Anarchy Splatcast version of the Deep Cut theme instead features Japanese instruments, signaling that newscasting in front of a camera is Shiver's area of expertise. Shiver's design and mannerisms also visually invoke that of a Geisha, who are professional entertainers trained in hospitality.

You see where I'm going with this, I hope. In a wild fucking twist, the cheerful energetic Frye is secretly an INTROVERT. Frye's area of expertise is the desert wastelands, she's at her most comfortable when there's almost nobody around. She's happy to be on camera with her friends but she also squirms in her seat, being not completely comfortable. Her go-to stress reliever is fighting salmonids who do not speak, and Shiver tells us that Frye runs away from the group during a Salmon Run shift to fight the bosses. Also, Frye's villain specialty isn't well suited to making friends when she kinda attacks strangers on sight.

Frye's tableturf habits are most revealing because she does not make eye contact with Agent 3 sitting across a table from 3. Frye's zoned out thinking about Big Man and Shiver, her closest friends and the people she's most comfortable around. In the news room Frye's attention is also focused on her friends and rarely makes eye contact with the camera. Without her friends nearby, Frye can actually get a bit lost in a social setting.

This reminds us of Marina who's also shy around people, except Marina's anxieties come from being a literal enemy of the state. Marina actually has quite a few contacts in the Octoling community despite being nervous around Inklings for good reasons. Frye has habits that ACTIVELY avoid people, and currently we're not sure she has ANY friends outside of Deep Cut. There's likely a racial aspect to this, of course, the same cultural biases that prevent Frye from playing hero roles are also likely affecting her ability to connect with new people, and it's not a big stretch to guess how it affects her personal habits. Frye doesn't have Shiver's conventionally good looks, she makes a poor first impression as a pointy big headed brown girl in a Japanese-coded world. This might feel a bit familiar as we've seen a similar process play out in real life since Shiver was a lot more well received at launch and Frye took more time to grow on the fandom.

4. Marina and minority excellence

So we've established some similarities between Frye and Marina in that they are likely both introverts affected by racial anxieties, but it's also worth discussing the ways in which they differ. I feel that Frye and Marina take two different approaches to address their racial anxieties, and this accounts for their very different personalities as characters.

Marina represents a picture perfect image of black excellence on an Octopus. She's a prodigy composer that knows every fucking black music style and a genius engineer and she can even draw manga; girl works three jobs. Marina's approach to her minority status is to work hard to be an exceptional representative of her people in the hopes that it will help them be accepted in Inkling society. She's determined to be presentable to the degree that she will hide some parts of her past (although those parts involved a lot of weapons engineering so maybe it's for the best that she's not proud of that). Also, and this is a very lukewarm take, Marina is hot.

Frye has to take a different approach out of necessity, because Frye is not a genius. As talented as she is, Frye is a more average person with anxieties and flaws that she can't hide, and she doesn't have the talent to excel in multiple fields of expertise or the patience to learn how to present herself in polite society. Rather, Frye channels her flaws into her art: her violent tendencies and her social anxieties both inform her villain performance, giving her a distinct edge and charisma that suits her chosen art form. In Japanese, Frye also speaks with distinct country bumpkin mannerisms which are also associated with low societal status. Thing is, Frye embodies Splatoon 3's theme of Chaos as a non-conformist: she can't succeed by conforming to polite societal standards, so she chooses to promote her own, rough around the edges style as a viable art form.

I'm fascinated with this particular interpretation of Frye, whether or not it was intentional by the original designers at Nintendo, because of how much depth it gives Frye's personality. Not only that, but this version of Frye also creates some interesting implications for her contrasting partner, Shiver.

5. Making sense of Shiver

Shiver's role in Splatoon 3 is rather mysterious when you think about it. Our previous understanding was that Octolings was an oppressed racial underclass that come from the military dictatorship in Octo Canyon and have only been integrated into Inkling society for 2-4 years. And yet, Shiver's family history goes back pretty far with very specific artistic traditions that they've preserved, and she has distinctly different visual features than the Octolings of Octo Canyon. I should also point out that the systematic oppression of Octolings draws heavy parallels to the experiences of Black people in America and Japan, and Shiver is… very not black.

Shiver doesn't really work as an Octoling from Octo Canyon, but she also doesn't have to. The Splatlands is a new region with new history and racial politics, Shiver starts making more sense if we assume that she's been in Splatsville this whole time, and her family simply wasn't living under DJ Octavio's rule. If Shiver's history isn't tied to the Octo Canyon narrative, then we have some very interesting angles to explore through the lens of her IRL racial identity as a Japanese girl and how that effects her design and personality. If we follow this line of logic to its conclusion, we'll start to understand how Shiver is actually the new Pearl.

Shiver as a character design is defined by privilege, or at least, the ILLUSION of privilege (more on this later). She's conventionally attractive by Japanese standards in a Japanese setting, so she has the natural advantages of being a member of the racial majority where Frye does not. Shiver's Japanese dialogue speaks in a very formal theatrical tongue which is… fucking weird admittedly but also a clear allusion to high social status, in the same way people use Shakespearen English to sound fancy as shit. Shiver has the looks and mannerisms of a highly presentable racial default Japanese entertainer and she takes advantage of that to achieve her personal goals.

Shiver's goal is to be on TV. Shiver is Deep Cut's newsroom specialist, she wants to be on camera and to be seen by everyone, she's a little obsessive about attention really. Shiver knows her looks are naturally appealing and wants to be in a format where people can see her face, and she uses stage makeup to accentuate her strengths. This is in direct contrast to Frye who prefers stage performance for smaller, curated audience's, and even then Frye uses a mask to hide her face in battle.

This is where Shiver's relationship with Frye starts to resemble Pearl and Marina. Shiver is perfectly aware of her natural advantages as a fair skinned person and has extended that privilege to include her dark skinned partner. This is similar to the same that light skinned Pearl makes it a mission to promote Marina as a minority artist (Pearl's privilege in this case being mountains of money rather than attractiveness). Even though TV is not Frye's specialty, Shiver insists that Frye (and Big Man) be included because Shiver thinks they deserve a spotlight.

That being said, Shiver's style of partnership differs greatly from Pearl. Pearl has a partner with confidence problems, so Pearl takes a very hands on approach to push Marina to seek out new artistic styles and opportunities because Marina is directionless without guidance. Pearl has high expectations for Marina because Marina is a prodigy who will rise to meet those expectations, and Marina appreciates Pearl's involvement greatly. Marina in turn helps Pearl with her destructive vocals, they fill in each other's weaknesses while working towards a similar goal.

In contrast Shiver takes a hands off approach to Frye. Both Shiver and Frye are confident entertainers in different fields of expertise and do not need external motivation, so they do not need to push each other in the same way Pearl and Marina do. What they instead do for each other is provide safe spaces to participate in each other's art forms without judgment: Frye comes to the TV studio despite being awkward on camera, and Shiver gets to play a villain despite being clumsy and manic on stage. Big Man gets to show up to both despite having little ability in either field.

6. Shiver x Frye

I'm not saying Shiver and Frye have to be a romantic couple, they form an excellent platonic duo dynamic that is just as narratively valuable to the world of Splatoon. I would never be so crass as to suggest that Shiver and Frye should kiss passionately on the mouth. But like, with the information we now have we can dive a little deeper and make some educated guesses on the inner workings of this particular pairing.

Shiver and Frye directly influence each other's personalities, each member of the duo changes when the other is around. Frye becomes softer around Shiver: Frye on her own is tough from a life informed by adversity, she's focused and takes losses with dignity. However, Shiver is using her personal privileges as a light skinned, presentable Japanese girl as a shield for Frye's racial disadvantages to get Frye TV opportunities that Frye would not have had access to alone, and I think Frye appreciates the protection. Frye feels safe enough around Shiver to let her guard down, she feels less pressure to be strong and competent and has an opportunity to be goofier and more vulnerable. This is the Frye we see most often on screen.

Shiver becomes edgier around Frye: Shiver gets to play a villain when treasure hunting with Frye, And we discover that her villain performance is BUCK WILD. This is the second layer of Shiver's personality that I've only alluded to so far, but it's very important to discuss what Shiver gets out of her relationship with Frye.

Shiver's character is about presentation; she has gone to great lengths to learn the behaviors of a traditionally feminine, high class entertainer. She's polite to a fault and extremely particular about her movements both on TV and on a dance stage. There's no reason to believe this is a facade, Shiver has put so much energy into her act that it's more likely that this is Shiver's idealized self, the image she actually wants to present to the world.

What is simultaneously true is that Shiver DOESN'T perfectly conform to her own idealized self image. There's a messier side to Shiver's personality that she tries very hard to hide: she's competitive, petty, and vindictive under specific circumstances, all traditionally unfeminine traits. She's not doing a great job at hiding them either, these traits are part of her personality and slip out despite her best efforts. It's important to consider that Shiver likely also grew up in Splatsville, making her a country girl too with the same rough rural upbringing as Frye. This just makes her attempt to present as high-class even funnier.

My personal interpretation of the dynamic of Frye's relationship to Shiver is that Frye accepts all of Shiver's messier personality traits, enjoys them, even. Frye is a deliquent that stands for conflict and non-conformity to begin with, so Frye offers a safe space where Shiver can both embrace her messier side and be celebrated for it. Shiver can take nasty verbal jabs at Frye and Frye will fire back cheerfully. This is why Shiver is so wild as a villain, the repressed parts of her personality comes out in full display when she's in a space with only Frye and Big Man, and Frye in particular seems to know all of Shiver's secrets to a level that Big Man does not. This way, Shiver feels no need to erase the messier parts of her personality, she simply saves it for the people she trusts. And Frye is the person Shiver trusts the most.

7. Shiver's Gender

I saved this for last because we have little evidential support for it in canon, but the Shiver character analysis really isn't complete without it. Up to this point I have referred to Shiver with She/Her pronouns because that is Nintendo NA's current official stance on the matter (I'm going to keep doing it for consistency but I really don't feel strongly about this), and my analysis is written with the assumption that Shiver is a cisgendered woman. BUT. I actually see no reason that an alternative interpretation cannot be true.

The overall art community has already figured out that there's a VERY potent TRANS narrative that can be told with Shiver. Shiver's narrative is about presenting as a traditional cisgendered girl while struggling with all the ways she does not conform to tradition, but there's an entirely new layer of meaning to this if Shiver is not, in fact, cisgendered in some way. There's a lot of visual information that initially led the community to this interpretation, Shiver's features are more androgynous than feminine, she wears a Sarashi wrap that has cultural connotations of being a binder, and she has a half shaved punk hair cut which is traditionally considered to be very unfeminine. Shiver's art form itself is gendered, as she has the design elements of a Geisha which is a feminine job, but the gender she presents on the job doesn't have to match her personal gender identity: drag queens exist, for example. I'd also like to point out that historically, there were in fact, MALE geishas that went by the title of Taikomochi, they are just less common in modern days.

In practice, Shiver's gender expression is so complicated that ANY interpretation is viable. Not only that but the various trans interpretations have VERY interesting implications. This would recontextualize Shiver's advantages not as majority privilege, but PASSING privilege, or the ability to LOOK heteronormative while not actually being that. It adds a lot of meaning to Shiver's focus on presentation, and her desire to be validated by a lot of people on TV.

Additionally, this would reinforce the idea that Shiver needs an outlet to address her gender nonconformity off screen, and trusted, accepting friends to keep her secrets while she perfects her preferred forms of gender expression. It's the exact sort of thing that would draw her to the delinquent Frye who has no respect for tradition, and who would encourage Shiver to embrace the most literal interpretation of "be gay, do crimes". It would connect Frye and Shiver as two parallel interpretations of minority anxiety in the same game: one who passes for "normal" and one who does not, and how differently they see the world. And that's… kinda beautiful?

At this point I don't have the relevant personal experience to dive any deeper into possible trans interpretations of Shiver, I think there are other artists with more relevant backgrounds that are already exploring this topic. Just know that I've seen the art that depicts Shiver with top surgery scars and they are my favorite.

8. Conclusion

Deep Cut's only been out three months and I've already written this much about their lore, good lord. I'm an artist who works on Splatoon fan fiction so the story and themes of Splatoon matter a lot to me as they influence the direction of my work, but my god, does Deep Cut give me a lot to work with. Some of this will have to be retracted as we learn more about Deep Cut's lore, there's lots of ways Nintendo can introduce canon to contradict my take, and that's fine GIVE US THE LORE. Regardless I plan to be making more Deep Cut fan content in the future and I really wanted to share the information that my future work will be based on.

#splatoon 3 #splatoon #deepcut #shiver x frye #Frye #Shiver #fryerweek #long post #splat3

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zhongrin · 4 months

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🎁 ᴢʜᴏɴɢʀɪɴ 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 ᴡʀᴀᴘᴘᴇᴅ 🫶🏻

ー just a little thing i wanted to make as the year ends 💗

𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐇𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐲 💍

① 👑 zhongli 👑 ✼ best husband, best comfort f/o, best everything. my ultimate blorbo 🧡

② al haitham 🌱 & wriothesley 🐾 ✼ he's such a silly guy. i love him so much. ✼ who's a good puppy! who's the goodest boy! yes you areeee~! <3

ⓧ runner up // neuvillette 🦦 ✼ his en voice almost made me simp. almost. damn you ray chase /lh

𝐅𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐌𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 🎶

ー✼ the ebg back in february and october! so so so so much chaos fun! both took all the creative juices and sleep i had, but it was all so worth it! i got to connect with more people and interactions were off the charts for the whole week. and coviello... my precious babie <3 i'm pretty sure i'll join another ebg next year given the opportunity.... or perhaps even host one, but with a twist-

ー✼ got matched up T W I C E (well, thrice in total) with mr. i am here's alternate universe selves al haitham. thanks @/ansy-tea / @/kopidense 👍🏻 i shall endeavor to make an effort to discombobulate and fool the silly sprout man in 2024 if there are any other matchup events open lmao

ー✼ teyvatweets! it was so much fun compiling everyone's tweets and coding the website hehe it didn't really blow up or anything due to how 'personal' that project was, but i think about it from time to time. such a fun lil thing!

ー✼ that 1 pity c0 al haitham who came right after ayato.... thanks dad for gracing me with your birthday luck 🙏🏻

ー✼ finally treating myself and indulging in all the selfship commissions. i'm grateful i have the ability to indulge and i'm hoping to do the same next year. and the way everyone just gifted me things for my birthday made me feel so so loved. i couldn't celebrate it with anyone since i wasn't at home, and it was on a weekday meaning my friends were all busy - so it felt like a mini-party... truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you so much ;w;

ー✼ personally, i'm super happy and kind of proud of getting very comfortable with sharing my art and improving on it! i used to go back and forth whenever i'm trying to post art, but now i'm confident enough to not think too much about it! naturally i have lots to improve and i'm nowhere near 'good' but that's fine with me! i owe it all to yall's support and lovely comments <3

ー✼ all the anon drabbles and charanons!!!! always such a nice sight to wake up to. they're like surprise gifts whenever i open tumblr because i don't have notifications on, and i adore them so much! big big big shoutout to @/floraldresvi, @/crystalflygeo, and @/soleillunne yall are amazing ;w;

ー✼ all the super sweet messages all of you left in my christmas tree.... i'm cradling all the wishes and silliness and messages from my f/os so close to my heart!! ceo!haitham tho. bruh you're still making me work LEAVE ME ALONE- /silly

ー✼ that zhongli birthday celebration series... they're not much, and even with all posts combined they have way less notes than a random vent drabble i dropped in the middle of it lol but i had lots of fun writing, designing, and inserting all the 'golden threads' across the fics nonetheless!! i'll highlight them later so the people who have been following the little series can go 'OH' lol

𝐀𝐦𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 🫂

@ainescribe ❀ @silentmoths ❀ @crystalflygeo ❀ @moraxsthrone ❀ @floraldresvi ❀ @sheepmc ❀ @zhxngii ❀ @localplaguenurse ❀ @mysnowmanandmebaby ❀ @the-travelling-witch ❀ @watatsumiis ❀ @kurikurikurisu ❀ @leftdestiny-posts ❀ @kaeffeinee ❀ @queen-belial ❀ @abyssmal-skies ❀ @dawndelion-winery ❀ @yinyinggie ❀ @silkjade ❀ @dustofthedailylife ❀ @scarasmood

@euniveve ❀ @soleillunne ❀ @faesther ❀ @ansy-tea ❀ @vennnnn-diagram ❀ @navxry ❀ @celestetalkstoomuch ❀ @minhosairfryer ❀ @xeraeus ❀ @pearlywritings ❀ @ryuryuryuyurboat ❀ @mochinon-yah ❀ @asoulsreverie ❀ @xiaosonlybeloved ❀ @mooncreates ❀ @jingyuansbird ❀ @tearskillstardust

i love you all and i'm so so glad to have made a connection with you! be it knowing each other from mutual friends, from a drawing/writing commission, or even if we just stumbled onto each other randomly by pure chance - know that i appreciate you! every single one of you are so talented and so wonderful. thank you for being the threads that shaped the comfy sweater that is 2023 for me <3 ps. and for my former moots who are minors but have respected my boundaries, i'm sorry i didn't tag you but i had fun befriending you lot. my best wishes for you in the years ahead too! pps. some of you might know me from my main @/meimeimeirin instead! i separated the list into 2 paragraphs bc tumblr isn't letting me have that many texts in one block apparently hsldfjsd also, if you're not in the list i either 1) forgot, bc i have the memory of a goldfish, or 2) remembered, but felt like it would be intrusive for me to tag you <- (more likely tbh) 😔

@/jjovin3221, @/starffox, @/syrenkitsune, @/finleyrambles, @/dr-birb, @/smokipoki, @/1117sblog, @/virdiaura, @/lawnfei, @/lady-alexis-salt, @/local-ragamuffin, @/the-knaves-world, @/alhaithams-fanfic-stash, @/interpretpages, @/magicalink, @/starlingcore, @/lyralibra, @/crazyrichdaughter, @/winterhuntsman, @/ladycoleigh, @/bettybeako

ALSO, HUGE SHOUTOUT to the people who frequent my notifs. i can't remember most of yall's handles accurately (and for some of you i remember by your pfp instead hskdhskd) but whenever your username pops up, know that i always go "!!!!!" and my imaginative dog ears perks up and my metaphorical tail just starts thumping on the floor <3 thank you so much for your continuous support!! (and i know some of you wrote in my tree so thank you for that too hehe) note: that wasn't an exhaustive list, but more like the blogs i remember seeing a lot on top of my head!!

𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 🧡

thank you for such a lovely 2023! thank you for being here and for always supporting my works, my silliness, and myself as a person. here's to more fun shenanigans ahead, and i hope 2024 will be a year that makes us all a better person <3

#rin rambles #a psa from rin #i don't know what to tag this hahahahahah #it's not writing????? but also it's not really rambling????? but???? hsldfjsdf #a love letter from rin #there. that's my friends/community appreciation tag now ig lmao #tldr: THANK YOU ILY /P #this is scheduled to be posted just right before new the clock turns january 1st in my current timezone (gmt +7)#and i'm assuming with tumblr's borked queue system it'll post sometime on 1st jan so #HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

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kquil · 3 months

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HELP?

i have a series that i've been planning on and off for the past year or so and i've finally got the first chapter written. being my perfectionist self, i feel as though i need to keep planning some more things but there's a part of me that really wants to just get started and, sort of, force myself to begin or else i'll never get the series written since there isn't that sense of urgency or encouragement to keep going when i have other things to do

the series is called: Divorcing Orion Black

it'll be my take on a Harry Potter fix-it-fic set in the marauder's era where reader is transferred into the Harry Potter universe and forced to replace Walburga Black, her main aim is to give sirius and regulus a better life by being a better mother than Walburga ever was. But, it's never easy considering the limited knowledge people have on the marauders era and because... the true Walburga never really...left?

the focus will be on platonic relationships as well as all the comfort and fluff in the world considering how dark and sad and angsty the marauders era characters' destiny ended up being

potential series summary : You just got transferred into the world of Harry Potter and you've been put into the shoes of Walburga Black. Splendid… You need to escape this toxic family so your first order of business is divorce AND YOU'RE DEFINITELY TAKING THE KIDS!

tags : son sirius black/mother reader ; son regulus black/mother reader ; isekai au/transfering worlds au ; walburga black is evil ; not reader though hehe~ ; hurt/comfort ; fluff ; platonic fluff ; second chances ; reader basically adopts remus, barty crouch jr and peter pettigrew ; peter pettigrew redemption arc? ; but he never betrays the marauders in the first place so... ; remus gets a better life ; reader becomes a semi-political figure to help werewolves + house elves ; reader assumes a male alias ; alternating chapters from different povs directly effected by reader's actions ; reader is a powerful independent business woman and single mother ; reader is a milf ; reader secretly hates dumbledore ; reader hates orion black ; reader hates JKR (we all do) ; divorce ; mentions of child abuse (physical and mental and emotional) ; mentions of neglect ; angry reader ; canon jily ; mentions of wolfstar ; regulus being a precious baby ; sirius has his moments too ; reader being a powerful trio with minerva and pomfrey ; reader potentially adopting the black sisters (bellatrix, andromeda and narcissa) ; reader adopts everyone! ; there'll be ocs ; reader leaves to live her dream cottagecore life ; happy ending! ; i'll add more tags in the future

fair warning ; this series is not gonna be canon compliant, naturally, reader will make sure of that haha!

i predict that the series will be around 25 to 30 chapters long? maybe more?

if i post the series now, i'll aim to post a new chapter per month, on the first day of every month

if i post the series next year/2026, i'll try to make sure i'm able to post twice per month (one chapter per two weeks)

taglist : @melinajenkins @aastonishment @until-i-found-you @corp0real @celestcies @lovelydoveval @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @calums-betch @futurecorps3 @hihihi1112 @simpingforthe80s @yrluvjane @chaosofmanyfandoms @storyofaromance @loving-and-dreaming @somewereinthegalaxi @ashreblogsficshere @cassandra-nerezza-black @stray-bi-kids @ttkttt @notasadgirlipromise @desikudisworld @volturissideslut @arilxup88 @ghostgardn @rosalyn-s @seungtelevision @raevyng @rosaleenablack @samanddeansannoyingsis @marina468 @mess-is-my-aesthetic @zesnuts

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riddle-me-ri · 10 months

Text

A/N: shhh no I don't have a problem, I dunno what you're talking about..this isn't my third Miguel fic in a row hnng…but also thanks so much love on the first two! Seriously, I'm blown away! Anywho, if there's anything I'm a sucker for writing about its…like character deep dives. I like to get in their heads and kinda make my own interpretations or take to the best of my ability while staying true to what we know of the character. And while it's kind of a "x reader" it's not until the very very end. Also if you guys have any requests or ideas feel free to send them my way! It may take time but I'd love to hear any ideas! Here's a link for my request info!

Trigger Warning: none, some depressive/angsty thoughts cause it's Miguel and his backstory so...rip and also unsure if I used resentment right or not I like one word titles rip

Word Count: 1k

Miguel O'Hara x Reader - A Long Way To Happy

Miguel's eyes strained at the screen once more.

It probably wasn't healthy watching back these tapes from a universe that once was. Over and over, and over again.

He sees himself. A big proud grin on his face. A darling little girl propped on his shoulders, smiling, laughing, living…

Miguel doesn't even recognize that man anymore.

It is him, sure.

Exactly where he shouldn't have been. Filling in the shoes of an alternate him that was supposed to not be there.

Miguel O'Hara wasn't supposed to be there for his daughter's games and practices. He wasn't supposed to wake her up and cook breakfast or tuck her into bed and wish her sweet dreams.

But he was…and now Gabriella and that entire universe was destroyed.

All because he was careless, selfish, foolish. He let his own desires get in the way of protecting and maintaining the multiverse.

Not again. He knows the risks now, the sacrifices that are endured whenever someone tries to go against the silk of a predetermined web.

Miguel won't let himself get distracted, get pulled away. He doesn't care what the others think, he doesn't care if he's not as warm and bubbly as the other Spiders…he was never entirely like them anyway.

Maybe before, but that man was long gone, only to be seen on film.

He won't slip up again. Now that there's holes and anomalies popping to and from universes…there's no time for indulgences or distractions.

After he swallowed the growing lump in his throat on seeing a beaming Gabriella hugging him. He turned off the video and began a routine scan for anomalies.

Then he felt a sudden weight along his back along with some soft coos.

When he turned his neck he was greeted by a sweet baby face with a mop full of red curly hair. The baby smiled widely at him before continuing her trail.

Miguel sighed.

This…this was not helping…

It just…it didn't feel fair. It wasn't fair.

Miguel shook his head.

It's not Peter's fault he didn't have Gabriella and Peter could be a dad to Mayday.

Then he thought of Jessica with her mystery baby on the way…

Miguel wasn't sure how he'd feel if she had a girl.

This has to be his punishment.

He obliterated an alternate universe by filling in for that universe's Miguel O'Hara because he wanted a family…because he wanted what that Miguel had.

He deserves this. To be surrounded by happy families and precious babies.

At least the multiverse was stable and safe enough to where they felt comfortable starting families.

Miguel doesn't want to feel this resentment. He knows it's childish, so he buries it deep along with his traumatic memories of his daughter glitching out of existence.

He distracts himself by staying focused. Pushing, pulling, and commanding the Spider Society. Maintain order in the multiverse, that's what he should have been doing to begin with.

Perhaps then he can be redeemed…for his own sake.

Until then, he had no reason to be playful and carefree like the others. He had no reason to pursue his wants, not after what happened the last time he did so.

Then there was you.

Bright-eyed and bushy tailed as all the other Spiders (well most of them). You were personable, kind, and sweet. Peter said you also had a sense of humor, leaving Miguel to still be the only Spider without one.

Miguel didn't think much of you at first. Just another part timer perhaps. May catch a glimpse of you every once in a while.

That is until you almost went out of your way to see him or do things for him. You always checked on him once if not twice a week. (He almost wishes you'd visit more so than Peter B.) And every now and then he'd notice a tray of food for him.

He did take notice of your prowess on missions. He always appreciated a competent agent. This led him to have you on his backup team with Jessica.

Needless to say, he did feel…content with you. Which was something he hadn't felt in a long time.

"Oh, geez, there you are, Mayday! Your daddy's looking everywhere for you." Your voice echoed throughout Miguel's headquarters as you swung up on your silk to retrieve the baby.

"God, sorry Miguel, I turned my back for a minute and she's gone. Should've figured she wanted to see her favorite uncle." You chuckled as you pried the baby off Miguel's shoulders.

"I doubt that." He sighed.

"What?"

"Nothing."

You nodded.

You noticed a familiar tab open on the hologram beside the tab he had open with a map of the multiverse. You recognized the name and date.

You sighed as you began turning around ready to hand Mayday back to her dad who was sparring in the training room.

Until you looked over your shoulder at Miguel slumped over his desk. His eyes heavy with exhaustion and his lips down in a depressed frown.

"You know, you don't have to take this burden on your own. You have us…and the whole society…and everyone's happy…content for the most part. Outside of canon stuff anyway but…" You took a deep breath, trying to control your rambling to a minimum.

"Look, I just…want you to know…you deserve happiness too." You concluded.

As if to agree, Mayday squealed and kicked her feet in your arms.

Miguel didn't respond. He straightened his posture so he wasn't leaning and he glanced at you over his shoulder. He solemnly nodded and nothing else.

Finally deciding there was nothing more to say, you began shooting your webs and swinging out of his headquarters. The quiet room is filled with echoes of Mayday's laughs and chortles.

When Mayday's noises faded. Miguel brought the video back up.

He paused when the video reached the end.

A close-up of him. A ghost of him.

Was it possible? Could he be happy again? Should he be? Did he really deserve to be?

Where resentment slightly gnawed in his gut. The idea of becoming content made it fade away. Actually, indulging in other relationships while also protecting the multiverse. Not trying to control something that even he and Lyla have minimal understanding of and controlling a plethora of other individuals.

Miguel can't change what's happened, that is for certain. He can control what he does today and the next though.

It's going to be a long way to happiness. Yet, he couldn't help but think with someone like you around…it may make the journey a little easier.

#ri writes #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #atsv miguel o'hara x reader #atsv spiderman 2099 x reader #atsv x reader #across the spiderverse x reader

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