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violetlichen · 2 months ago

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nobody puts my bald baby in a corner

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen / Named Atreides wife A little nsfw but that's not the point. Domestic family life. They have five kids and Feyd desperately wants another. Wifey won't oblige. Don't pay attention to the other characters and Houses I included, I don't know anything about Dune and I just pulled from the fandom wiki or made them up. Their son is not the Kwisatz Haderach either!

****if you're somebody who works at tumblr hq reading this because i accidentally reported my own fic im really sorry****

It has been five years since Feyd-Rautha last saw his wife swell with his child.

It is entirely by her design, and certainly not for lack of trying. He ravages her senseless almost every night, but after five children, the ever infuriating Diana Atreides refuses to give him another. As a Bene Gesserit, it is within her power to do so; the witches are able to bend their own reproduction to their will, and Feyd-Rautha believes she likes his methods of convincing her too much to give him what he wants.

Tonight, he almost has her hooked. He kisses her knee and up her bare thigh, licking and sucking the plush skin there. She barely acknowledges him and lets him fondle her as he pleases, lost in her own thoughts.

“She’s too old for him. He’s just a boy.”

They are currently hosting several of the Great Houses. Earlier at dinner, he and Diana were approached by the Duke of Ginaz, who suggested they betroth his daughter to their oldest son, Aleksei. Diana had hidden her frown behind her glass of wine, but Feyd-Rautha had seen it and filed it away for later, thanking the Duke for his time.

He hums against her thigh, tongueing over the faint bruise he made. He can use this.

“He will be a man soon,” he reminds her. He pulls her leg over his shoulder as he shifts up the bed, now eye level with her weeping cunt. His mouth waters. “Even if we refuse this proposal, there will be others.”

He knows his wife wants to say more, but the words die in her throat when he shoves his nose against her, inhaling her scent and releasing a shaky breath. He pretends it is for her benefit, but really, this is all for him. With his fingers pulling apart the seam of her, his tongue lolls out, and Feyd-Rautha feasts.

When he has had his fill of her pleasure, he crawls up the length of her body. She pants underneath him, back arching and eyes squeezing shut like a satisfied cat, her neck exposed and vulnerable. He licks off the sweat there.

“It will not stop with Aleksei,” he says, leaning over her.

Diana scowls. She shoves him, but he does not yield. He grasps her hand, pulling it away from his chest and up to his mouth, where he kisses her fingers.

He knows he is being cruel, rubbing salt in her wound. Her children are growing. At twelve years old, Aleksei is admittedly still too young to seriously consider for marriage, but the coming years will go by in a blink. First it will be Aleksei, then Nikita shortly after, and then Maxim – although their youngest and most unstable son will be difficult to pawn off, Feyd-Rautha thinks.

His girls are another story. Sasha and Grisha were both gifted their mother’s beauty, but it is Grisha, their youngest, who takes after Feyd-Rautha the most. She is the only one of his children who did not inherit those dark Atreides curls. She is perfect; wholly Harkonnen, like her father. He knows he will feel how Diana does now when it is time for Grisha to leave his side.

It is why he fucks into his wife now, flexing his hips slowly and purposefully, so she feels every inch of his longing. He staves off the urge to empty himself inside of her prematurely, already aching to see her breasts swollen and leaking.

He stops, trying to catch his breath. He pulls back from Diana to thumb over her pearl, grinding his length into her. “Shall I leave you like this, wife?” he asks her.

“Don’t you dare,” she snaps, her hips chasing his fingers.

“I can give you what you want,” he taunts. “I will pump you full of my children happily. What is one more?”

Diana does not answer, but he sees her breaking, just as he is. He holds her legs open, jutting into the apex of them, growling as he stares her down, willing her to change her mind. She hides her fears behind her pleasure, hides the tear sliding down her cheek by turning her face into the pillow, taking what he gives her.

What is one more child? Certainly not the solution to her problem. It is only a delay of the inevitable, that one day they will all grow up and no longer need her. Feyd-Rautha knows this. But he hopes to delay his wife’s suffering, just as he will delay her gratification if she does not give him what he wants.

When he pumps his load into her, he knows she is not satisfied. He breathes through his own satisfaction, nose flaring like a bull, but she does not complain like he expected her to. She does not roll him over to claim him, or bring her fingers to her cunt to finish what he started, his eyes on her hole, full of his spend.

Instead she buries her face in her hands. Feyd-Rautha leans his weight onto her and pulls her hands away, revealing her face to him. She blinks at him, her lashes wet and clumping together.

He knows what she is feeling. “I feel it, too,” he says. “Let me give you another, my darling.”

Diana nods and looks away, breathing out a held breath. “Alright,” she says. Her eyes soften fondly when they focus on him again. “Alright.”

They lay together for a while, enjoying each other’s company. Feyd-Rautha does not know if tonight will be the night, but he hopes. He hopes she sees it the way he does -- a continuation of their happiness, not the eventual ending of it. He kisses every part of Diana he can reach, and she cuddles into him, their limbs a tangled mess.

A little later into the night, a knock on the door breaks their comfortable silence. Feyd-Rautha grunts, already irritated, and removes himself from her, slipping on a robe and his pants.

When he opens the door, he finds a wide-eyed servant. “It is the children, Baron Harkonnen.”

Feyd-Rautha frowns and widens the door, panic souring him. “Where are they?”

“They are safe, Baron Harkonnen, but there has been a bit of trouble.”

Diana appears behind him, wrapping her robe around her waist. "What sort of trouble?" she asks, brow furrowed.

“It will be best if you follow me to the drawing room within the guest wing, Baroness.”

Diana whips past Feyd-Rautha and the servant, not waiting for either of them to lead her to the guest wing. Feyd-Rautha follows after her, and he knows to expect his boys. It is not the first time he was awoken by something they have done when they should have been sleeping, but it does concern him that they were found in the guest wing.

Although he is the youngest son, Maxim is the instigator of all things. Not as bright as the others, he is aggressive and impulsive, often letting his hands speak for him. He acts before he thinks, and it frustrates Diana greatly. Many nights Feyd-Rautha has been brought before Maxim in the kitchens, where he sticks his grubby hands into pies and picks at berries meant for the morning’s breakfast. The guards know not to let him out of his room at night without their explicit permission.

But as explosive as Maxim is, it is Aleksei who reminds Feyd-Rautha the most of his own brother, Beast Rabban. His oldest son is proud and quick to anger, easily riled by Maxim and his sisters who poke and prod at him in the ways only younger siblings can. Feyd-Rautha does his best to temper Aleksei, to show him the value in patience, in choosing his battles.

Nikita, self-sufficient boy that he is, waits until the battles are over and won to pick at what remains. He watches. Feyd-Rautha suspects Diana favors him over the others, though she will never admit it.

All of them dote on their sisters. Sasha has them carry her around on their backs, even when they are tired and sore and agitated from their training. They still treat Grisha like she is their baby, although she is almost six years old now and loathes the comparison.

Each of them, in their own ways, bring honor to their House. It is not something he had ever imagined for himself when thinking about his future. Feyd-Rautha is proud of his children, and he would not be disinclined to have another.

The chaos they find upon entering the drawing room is enough for him to change his mind.

The lord and lady from Zanbar, whose names Feyd-Rautha has forgotten, fawn over their young daughter, who sits upon an ottoman in front of the fireplace, her face red and streaked with tears. She cries as she pulls at what remains of her blonde hair. It has been crudely chopped off, the ends blunt and jagged like it had been sawed with a knife.

Their boys stand sullenly in front of the governess, disheveled in her bathrobe and still flustered from being awoken in the middle of the night to collect them. Aleksei folds his arms over his chest, his head full of curly dark hair held high. Next to him, Nikita remains calm in the face of their impending scolding. He very likely had done nothing wrong but bear witness to the antics of his rowdy brothers. Meanwhile, Maxim openly glares at the small weeping girl. She deserved what she got, and he is waiting for a reason to give her more to cry over.

“What happened?” Diana asks, dismayed.

“Your sons snuck into my daughter’s bedchamber and cut her hair off while she slept!” the lord’s wife snaps, borderline hysterical. “Where were her guards? How was this allowed to happen?”

She is reaching an unnatural decibel, but withers under the glare Feyd-Rautha shoots her. They were pulled from their bed for this? His darkening expression does not fully quell the lady's anger, and she gawks at her husband, willing him to say something.

"I'm sure there's an explanation," the lord offers unhelpfully, averting his timid gaze.

Diana stills, taking in the sight of the poor girl’s hacked hair. With a deep inhale, she turns to the boys, her hand finding her hip. “Explain yourselves.”

“She was mocking Grisha, mother,” Maxim says, scowling. “We heard her at dinner.”

Aleksei nods, more self-righteous and refined in his anger. “She laughed at Grisha and made her cry because she doesn’t have hair.” He sneers when the lord’s daughter wails a little louder at this, because she, too, does not have hair now. “She called her ugly.”

Diana looks heartbroken over this, but her Bene Gesserit training helps to quickly neutralize her face. She looks to Nikita. “And you? What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I told them not to.”

Feyd-Rautha believes him. Nikita is no less ruthless, but he is also a diplomat by nature, preferring more uninvolved methods of justice or revenge. This boldness is certainly the work of his brothers.

Feyd-Rautha cannot wait to reward them handsomely for it.

Diana believes Nikita as well, for she turns back to the other two. “Apologize to Lady Rosalind.”

“But mother, she–”

“Enough,” Feyd-Rautha rasps, growing tired of the spectacle. “Do as your mother says, so we may all retire to our beds.” He shoots another glare at the lord and lady, who bluster under his attention, too afraid of him to protest again.

Aleksei and Maxim step forward and bow to the young girl. “We’re sorry,” they echo, not meaning it at all.

Knowing that is the best she will get from them, Diana exhales deeply and dismisses them back to their rooms, escorted by their governess to make sure they get there and do not take any more detours. Nikita follows, ever their solemn shadow.

Diana kneels down beside Lady Rosalind. “Don’t fret. Hair grows back,” she soothes. The girl hiccups, and Diana gently brushes the hair out of her eyes before standing up to face her parents again. “I apologize on behalf of my sons. As you can see, they love their sister very much and do not take kindly to those who upset her.”

The lord and lady of Zanbar try to hide their grimaces. They know their indignancy is unfounded now that they know their daughter had started this. “Baroness, I must apologize–” the lord starts.

“That won’t be necessary,” Diana interrupts, putting a graceful hand up to stop him. “Let’s put this unpleasantness behind us. My husband and I will question our guards to understand how this was allowed to happen. Those responsible will be thoroughly punished.” She looks at Feyd-Rautha. “That includes our sons.”

This seems to satisfy the lord and lady enough to gather up their snot nosed daughter and leave, perhaps vowing to never step foot on Giedi Prime again. Feyd-Rautha will not miss them.

He and Diana walk back to their bedchamber in an agitated silence, until she breaks it.

“Still want another?” she asks him, deadpan.

“Not particularly. Would you still like me to thoroughly punish them?”

“Not particularly.”

Feyd-Rautha hums, and he reaches for her hand.

The next morning, Feyd-Rautha walks over to Grisha where she sits on the wide stone fence, her little legs dangling over the side. The boys train in the yard, and she watches with her dolls, acting out the sparring techniques she sees with them. He kisses her head, smooth like his. She ignores him, too caught up in supervising the training of her dolls.

Feyd-Rautha smiles. “Who is winning?” he asks.

One of the dolls headbutts the other. Their yarn-like hair swings around violently. It is hard to tell under the light of the black sun, but he thinks one of them is blonde. That one plops to the ground, landing in the sand.

Grisha raises the hand of the victorious doll the way she sees her father raise his in the arena. “This one,” she tells him.

“Well fought,” Feyd-Rautha says proudly. He bends down to pick up the doll and hands it to her. He watches her run her fingers through the doll’s hair, brushing the sand out of it with great care.

One day, his daughter will train alongside her brothers. She will have no need for hair then. It would just get in her way, and make her easier to grab by her opponents. She will see the use in this, and appreciate what makes her Harkonnen.

For now, Feyd-Rautha cups her head and kisses her again. He calls her his beautiful girl, and returns to the yard, picking up where he and the boys left off.

#feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha x reader #feyd x reader #feyd x you #feyd rautha x oc #dune part 2 #mine #writing

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emptywwwriting · 4 months ago

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Your Toxic Situationship with Joel Miller

Parings: Joel Miller x Reader

Warnings: Smut, toxic, age gap (not specified), angst?, reader cries during sex, NO Y/N, reader just wants to be loved (me too), rough p in v sex.

Summary: You and Joel have a situationship, you have feelings for Joel, but he doesn't feel the same

Inspired by a post i have reposted on my blog :)

WC: 1.2k (tiny ik)

A/N: I feel like this sucks... Anyways this is NOT edited and its that time of the night where im so tired my glasses don’t help my vision any sooo take this with a grain of salt. i'll edit it later!

There was something so painful about your relationship,, situationship... with Joel Miller.

Maybe it was the way he’d ignore you in town, even after spending days on end with you in secret. Or maybe it was the way he’d dismiss your insecurities when you would tell him about them nervously, late into the night. He’d shake his head or say.

“People would talk, no one can know about… whatever, this is.”

Whatever

It never felt like 'whatever’ to you. When he was buried inside of you so deeply brushing your cervix over and over and over again, murmurs of

“Fuck you feel so good, I love you. So fuckin’ tight sweet girl.” Would fall from his lips.

He would spill inside of you, and then the two of you wouldn’t discuss it again. It confused your desperate, sad, brain, yearning for love, to be loved. One night, during a particularly rough fucking from Joel, tears welled in your eyes as soon as you came. He stopped immediately, of course, and asked you what was wrong.

Sniffles interrupted your soft-spoken words.

“I want you to like me.” You hid your eyes from him, casting them down in shame.

“Aw, baby I do like you,” His hand came up to cradle the side of your face, wiping away a stray tear.

“Such a pretty little thing,” His hand trailed to your neck and you looked up at him.

“So tight and warm around me.” A devilish smirk overcame his previously soft look at you and you frowned. His look faltered, and he cocked his head at you.

“T’s not what I wanted to hear,” A sniffle. “I want you to like me…” You trail off trying to think of an example.

“More than just for this.” You gesture to the position the two of you are in, your naked and sweaty frame shoved against Joel’s headboard. His broad chest is hovering above you, hips flush with yours, warm and shoved deep inside of you.

He frowns at you and starts rubbing your red cheeks again.

“Baby we can’t be more than this, it’s…” He wanders off for a minute thinking of the right word.

“People wouldn’t like to see an old man like me with a young girl like you.” He gives you a sympathetic frown that you know is fake.

He shifts his weight slightly causing his heavy cock to brush that spongy spot inside of you, causing you to gasp softly.

“I-I don’t care, I want to be boyfriend and girlfriend… or something.” Hiccups interrupt you occasionally, and tears begin to form once more.

“Too young baby,” He’s shaking his head and it's breaking your heart.

“Not old enough for me, still just a kid compared to my old ass.” He chuckles trying to lighten the mood but it doesn't work, it just frustrates you more.

“I’m not a kid.” Your tone is snappy and your eyes are staring deep into his. He shifts his hips again but you muffle the reaction it causes you.

“Don't talk to me like im dumb.”

“No need to get short with me.” His smile has dropped and he looks as mad as you do now. You can’t mistake the shift in his hips this time as simply repositioning himself.

Your confidence falters.

“Why won’t you just love me?” You ask equally angry and sad.

He pulls his hips out barley a centimeter before pushing back in, slow. You gasp louder, body beginning to heat up again.

“I love this pussy baby, feels so good.” He’s grinning again pulling out even farther now before shoving himself back in. You're mad at him but the fullness his cock is giving you feels too good to ask for him to stop. You the feel tears coming again, but his hand on your clit, rubbing light soft circles sends your focus away from them.

“Needa stop thinkin’ baby, dumb little brain can’t handle all these emotions.” He’s talking to you like you're stupid and it makes your cheeks flush. He’s patronizing you, it’s infuriating, but just like before the feeling of his thrust growing longer and harder, short circuits your brain and all you can do is moan.

“Yeah I know baby, feels too good hmm?”

“Jus’ let me do all the work to make you feel good like I always do.” His thrusts pick up and a coil forms deep in your belly. Your legs are wrapping around his hips instinctively and you cling to his neck like if you let go he would disappear. Your whines are needy now, you're mad but you can’t talk, you can’t do anything but let yourself be filled by him over and over.

“I always take care of you right baby.” His breathing is labored and his eyes are black.

Staring up at him, with wide eyes and an open mouth all you can do is hum a broken.

Mhmm.

“Fill you up so nice, gonna cum in you n’ make you mine.” He’s growling, pace now erratic and mind-numbing. Your thoughts are gone and have been replaced by him. His smell, his looks, the way he feels, him him him him him.

All you can do is screw your eyes shut with a silent scream.

“All mine, fuck, you’re all mine right?” His sentence doesn’t sound like a question but you are so fucked out you don’t even hear it.

A quick but firm slap to your cheek causes your eyes to shoot open, and stare back at him saucer-eyed. It didn’t hurt, but it got your attention.

“Who’s are you?” He's angry, still pounding your swollen sensitive pussy mercilessly.

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out.

“Gonna get real mean you don’t answer me.”

You know he’s not bluffing.

“You! Fuck.” It comes out strangled and airy. All of your breath is gone, you are heaving trying to get oxygen to your brain again.

“All mine, you’re all mine. Just a silly,” He gives you a particularly rough thrust.

“Stupid-“ Another.

“Girl.”

It makes your heart sink but his thrust mixed with his finger working rapidly over your swollen bud, for some reason pushes you over the edge. You're clinging to him, nails deep inside his skin, riding out the most powerful orgasm you’ve ever had. The waves hit you hard, and they are relentless. Tears prick your eyes, and your body tenses rhythmically. Before you know it Joel is pumping his seed deep inside of you. Your name is a mantra on his lips.

“Mine, mine, mine, shit, mine.” pours from him as he loses himself within your walls. Everything is tight and warm and you feel like mush. His weight is crushing you but it feels like home.

Joel is home to you. You know deep down that he doesn't truly care for you, but something about his experienced touch ignites a fire within you. You can’t bring yourself to do anything but worship him. He pushes himself off of you and all you can do is drunkenly admire his beautiful tan skin, covering his broad muscles. The weight of your forbidden arrangement always hangs heavy in the air after you guys fuck.

He grudgingly pulls out of you with a defeated sigh. You whimper at the loss of contact. He brings you a towel, wiping your sensitive parts, ridding them of any trace of him.

You know that your love for him is built upon something not returned by him completely. You are just a naive girl yearning for his affection; Yet, you are aware that the excitement of your fleeting encounters and shared looks intoxicates you both. Neither of you will ever find the strength to separate from one another.

#joel miller tlou #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #smut #tlou game #tlou smut #pedro pascal #joel miller #joel tlou #tlou fanfiction #joel miller smut

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jasontoddspussy · 5 months ago

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i kinda wanna write a short crack-ish time travel au where 12 year old jason swaps places with 22 year old jason bcs it'd be so fkn funny everyone would be so concerned. bcs like jaybin was not the angry kid fandom seems to think????? he was so sweet?? he listened, he was happy-go-lucky and wanted to help, found wonder in everything (robin gave him magic) and he was just so full of life and hope

so im just imagining:

titans: so hows it going with robin? you havent really talked about him or complained about his goody-two shoes sunshine-ness for a while. you good?

dick: well, uh. you see.

titans: also, who's the body-guard?

jason:

dick: so uh. this is.. future? robin..?

jason, 6'4 built like an idustrial fridge and a heavy aura of ''i can and will break your neck if you look at me the wrong way'' and voice gravelly from either the scar tissue or smoking or both: sup

titans:

titans: (just. stares. uncomprehending)

More under the cut V

just got like a funny picture in my head of like. a time travel AU where jason either swaps places with his younger self or somth idk but they're like sitting quietly eating breakfast and it's all fun and good but then a magical poof ensues and bam. adult jason is sitting there and jason is very confused bcs like yeah he was in fact sitting and about to eat but that had been at the nest with tim across him and maybe dick or damian snoring away on the couch in the next room.

meanwhile, dick and bruce and alf are all.. very confused bcs 1) baby jay just vanished. not only is the kid gone but in his place is a man who sorta looks like jay. (i headcanon jay as trans, this was before he came out.. tho i do have aus where he doesnt get to come out to anyone but tim, who makes a secret grave in his honor and doesn't out him.)

and bruce is like.

b: caroline...? is that you?

jay: (blinks) hm. congratulations, it's a boy. (jazzhands).

2. this man looks like he's seen the worst things humanity can offer, not to mention the very extensive scarring *covering every visible inch of his body* and the creepy either white eyes or green eyes.

and now he's sititng with just bruce and a very young looking dick and all of them just stare at each other and all jay can say is "fuckin' hell. seriously?" and groans bcs he did not want to deal with bruce. at all.

3. this man is not as surprised to be there as he should be.

jasons really not pleased with the situation but it is what it is and he's like just call constantine or zatanna or whatever. meanwhile everyone else is too busy staring at the fact jason, tiny jay, is taller than freakin' bruce and built like an industrial fridge (that isnt from lowes). none of them know how to feel about this

just like.

"you're.. awfully calm about this."

"eh, i've seen weirder." it is unsaid but jay is thinking of discowing.

n the three of them just has no idea how to treat this adult jason. this jason who seems.. familiar but so, so very different. obviously something must've happened bcs the guy looks like he's been in a freaking zombie apocalypse. and jays just like i cant wait to be home i hate this place, and makes the most unnerving comments here and there that just makes the others more confused. like.

"you can sleep in your old..? room. we will need to look for a change of clothes, though."

"ill use a guest room, i'm not setting a foot in that shrine."

"as you can see by this footage it's possible-"

"oh, that's not who killed him. look there, that's a falcone mark. this wasn't random but premediated."

"hm why are you even bothering with this case? listen - that's the sound of a skull being crushed, not the sound of an arm breaking, duh."

and they just get more confused and concerned

jason is a giant man made of muscle and rage and everyone is left reeling cause something happened to him, but he wont say what, and everyone keeps trying to guess and he doesnt clarify anything and obs no one is thinking "he died, got revived, turned into a zombie, pumped through HRT rage edition, becamea crime lord, was killed by his dad who chose to save his murderer, thrown into arkham by his older brother, broken out by his younger brother/boyfriend, made his own team of outlaws and put himself back together, only then starting to reconcile with some of the bats"

when they finally figure out how to get him back, someone, maybe baby timmers guesses "you were turned into a zombie" as a joke and jay finger guns him and says "yep" and then back jumps into the portal to get him back to his own time

meanwhile baby jason has the time of his life

not only is he apparently tall, *but* dick likes him?? he's apparently done a lot of good for crime alley??? he has a brother? boyfriend? both?? who looks up to him and is both very familiar yet he doesnt recognise him at all, and a younger brother who also looks up to him and is very protective and reminds him of like a small cat?????

dicks like we gotta get so many pictures of you!!! and jays like super confused but also like ok???

he can obviously tell that somethings up that theyre not telling him. but honestly the fact that it's like a decade into the future and he has so many people who loves him??? he decides its a problem for future him.

everyone is just very happy bruce is away on a mission in space.

#idk #au #au idea #batman au #batman #dc #jason todd #dick grayson #damian wayne #bruce wayne #tim drake #batfam #implied jaytim #background? jaytim #tagging it just in case so people who's blocked the tag dont hafta see it #jaytim #jaybin #robin #nightwing

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rassicas · 2 years ago

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Splatoon 3 artbook is coming! and they gave us hi res sample pages! so i translated them!

I’ve already preordered the book, and since I live in Japan I should be getting it very soon after release. mark my words I’m gonna go crazee translating it i need that Lore

In the meantime, some translations of the sample pages! take a look under the cut:

Page 44, IKIMONO (Living things)

yellow text: Among the living things in the Inkling world, a wide variety of species exist. There are creatures that can take on a humanoid form as well, called "Inklings" and "Octolings", the former being squids, and the latter being octopuses. white text in gray box: The old and the new mix to make the Splatland's youth culture The young people who grew up in Splatsville take pride in being born and raised in the Splatlands, and there is an extremely strong sense of solidarity in the community. They deeply cherish their old local culture, which is unsophisticated and simple, yet strong. At the same time, they like to make fun of urban areas such as Inkopolis for acting like they're "all that". On the other hand, many of them secretly yearn for that sophisticated, high-collar, Inkopolis culture. The current culture of chaos created by the youth with such a flip-flopping mentality is becoming increasingly global.

I’m going to translate these roughly. character select screen outfit, left: lines pointing to reflective goggles, a mask that blocks dust, and the cape. the cape is made from kelp, and is meant to block out sunlight. hero suit outfit, right: the “ultra light earpiece” is so light, it doesn’t even feel like you’re wearing it. The ink display is a digital screen. Boots are meant for rough terrain. Interestingly, agent 3 is holding a weapon called a “Hero Extinguisher.”

the gear on the left is called “hunting equipment”. The earpiece is based on an udon noodle. It’s small, but it has a deep sound (with bass i assume instead of sounding tinny?) Around the neck are cooling pads. The shirt is made from a seaweed fabric. apparently its wrapped around their upper body and kind of hurts to wear. you can see their underwear, but its the kind of underwear that’s supposed to be seen for Fashion. idk what its called but you guys know what im talking about. The ink tank is homemade. in the pouch of the backpack are snacks. to the right are very early concepts.

Page 62, Deep Cut concepts

It’s a lot of handwritten notes with a lot of pointing out what the drawing is, so I’m going to translate roughly.

bottom left is pointing out various things about frye’s head anatomy. small chin, forehead sticks out, thick neck, head curves like this and this etc. middle frye with the bit of green and red makeup is described as having a clown-like feel to it. tiny furthest right drawing is commenting on a specific nose shape concept as “bird-like.” she almost had the same nose as my main OCs what the

red arrows on the right: long arms, long thighs, squared shoulders are pretty. hand in the middle with black text: something like ‘if she has hands with ornamentation like this it makes her hands seem long’ bottom left: the little doodle of the face reads that her ‘mouth is kind of like this.’ the other text talks about how her eyebrows move asymmetrically, as having that kind of variety in the movement is key.

left: she’s saying something about sharks? apparently she was going to be associated with sharks with shiver being associated with eels instead. right: various sound effects. “looking around absentmindedly” “rocking back and forth” “dozing off.” on the bottom it shows her suddenly stiffening to attention.

left: in her left hand, it’s a sensu (japanese folding fan). in her right, its a harisen (the kind of folding fan used to smack people in slapstick routines) gonna be real here the text on the right is too cursivey i cant read it

shiver mask designs. neat stuff.

early design concept.

Page 198, Scorch Gorge

not a lot of text on this page, mostly images, have a look yourself. top right passage: A majestic canyon where the history of the Inkling world can be seen in the strata and rock formations. Many enjoy rock climbing here. There's a spawn point that was once used for ink battles that no-one has bothered to remove.

#splatoon 3 #splatoon #splatoon artbook #splatoon translations

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jakescakeislateforourdate · 9 months ago

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Hey girly!! Im too shy to ask this without the anonymous filter but first of all I’ve been reading through your blog and I love it honestly. I was wondering if you are open to requests if you’d be able to write up something about joe rantz (I am absolutely LIVING for blonde callum) and maybe a coaches daughter trope? he saw her when he went to sign himself up, at the practices all that jazz and just them like becoming friends then more than friends, the boat scene where he gets his seat taken away from him maybe? thank you so much and again I love your work! xx

Hello, my lovely anon. Glad to see you in my inbox. I apologize for the wait but I've been coming out of an awful slump and I was trying to make this piece not total garbage. I hope you enjoy it and I hope I see you in my inbox again.

Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

Joe Rantz (Callum Turner’s) x reader

wc: 4,600

Joe finds himself utterly gobsmacked when he discovers that the pretty face he’s seen at the shell house is the coach’s daughter and not his wife.

Enjoy this garbage!

…

Joe Rantz had come to the shell house in search of work. He’d hoped that making the team would cover his tuition and get him a room and he needed it so desperately. Roger Morris stood next to him, chewing nervously at his nails. “Sorry, Joe, didn’t realize competition would be so tight.” He mutters, spitting out a shred of his fingernail. Coach Ulbrickson was going over the basics of practice. It sounded like absolute hell to Joe but he was out of options. He fidgeted with the number painted on his jersey. Sure, he was strong from a lifetime of rough labor but so were the other boys. Most of them were broke too and just as desperate. Joe didn’t know if he had what it took to stand out but he’d be damned if he couldn’t make a life for himself because he couldn’t muscle up some money for college.

As Ulbrickson speaks, a shadow appears in his office window. It’s too far for Joe’s nervous gaze to actually study the figure. He tries to focus on coach but the shadow continues to draw his attention. Roger notices too. “Who the hell is that?” Joe just shrugs. The shadow never leaves the window even as Ulbrickson finishes up and the boys get split up. Joe can’t dwell on the figure any longer because he’s being herded into the middle of shellhouse. He begins a horrible set of workouts. His body is made for hard work but he’s never actually worked out before. His muscles aren’t used to straining this way.

It’s not long before his breathing becomes labored and sweat is pouring down his back. His curls hang down his forehead, sticking to his skin uncomfortably. And just when the pain is becoming unbearable the coaches are swapping them out and Joe is put on a junky old boat and an oar is pushed into his hands. They start rowing and instantly, the only thing on Joe’s mind is how bad his back hurts. Pained grunts and groans echo across the water as the boys struggle to keep pulling the oars.

Eventually, it’s all over. Joe stumbles onto the dock in front of the shellhouse and feels his knees shaking with excursion. Men begin to drain away from the shellhouse and as the numbers dwindle, the shadow in the window of Ulbrickson’s office reappears. It moves through the glass panes like a swan through water. Then the office door opens and Joe sees your face for the first time.

“That was some tough practice, huh?” Roger bumps Joe’s shoulder, a crooked smile on his face. Joe cannot respond and Roger follows his gaze. “Washington, Washington, what finery you enjoy.”

You descend the steps and take a place between Ulbrickson and Bolles. Ulbrickson puts and arm around and Joe feels his heart wither a little. You’re probably Mrs. Ulbrickson. Though he can’t shake the impression that you look a little too young to be with Ulbrickson.

“Alas,” Roger throws up his hands, “Finery we cannot also enjoy.”

“Don’t be crass.”

“I’m not! How was that crass?” Roger purses his lips and nudges Joe.

Joe just buttons up his jacket and picks up his books, “C’mon, let’s get outta here.”

The very next day, Joe is suffering through practice. He aches all over and his muscles scream at him. He’s already shaking when he gets done with the basic strength building exercises. Most of the boys are. There are fewer numbers today but this does not better Joe’s odds by much. They clamber into Old Nero and start rowing away. His wrists twinge and his knees spasm. He rows and rows until he thinks his body will give out and then Ulbrickson is directing them back to the shellhouse. Jow crawls out of the boat, soaked to the bone and stiff as a board.

Then he sees you again, this time your sorting registry papers with Pocock. Your back is turned to him, so you don’t notice his longing stare. He keeps telling himself that you’re a married lady and that he should be focused on making the team, but nothing seems to chase you from his mind.

Coach Ulbrickson sweeps across the dock and places a hand on top of your head, an odd gesture between husband and wife but Joe wouldn’t know about those things. Since his group was the last to use Old Nero, they get the privilege of stowing the oars. Joe begins unlatching the mechanism when he shifts on his knees.

It happens so fast he can’t clock what’s happening. First there’s the sensation of slipping, the horrible thrust of his legs flying out from beneath him. He twists mid slip, and his side smacks the dock painfully before he’s swept off the dock by his own weight. He plumets into the cold water with a catastrophic splash and agonized shriek.

When Joe resurfaces a dozen hands are reaching for him. He grasps onto George Hunt’s forearm and allows Shorty to hoist him onto the sodden wood planks. A fluffy white towel is draped around his shoulders; firm hands rub his chilled biceps. “Are you alright?” You face appears before him.

Joe is almost too stunned to speak, “I—yeah, yeah I’m okay.”

You tuck the ends of the towel into his hands, “Better get showered up and dressed.” Joe just nods and stumbles past you and into the locker room. Roger follows closely behind, teasing Joe relentlessly.

“You’re fallin’ harder than I thought.”

“Roger!” Joe grinds his teeth, huffing and puffing. “You need better jokes.”

Joe spends that night struggling to focus on his schoolwork. He has math homework that needs doing. He has books to read. The one in his hands now periodically goes in and out of focus as Joe’s mind wanders. On the page is the story of a western novel, a man had found a girl walking alone the road at dusk, all on her own. He didn’t want to leave her to the coyotes, so he offered her a ride into the nearest town. They were riding horseback across the prairie. Her arms wound tightly around him; her hands splayed over his chest.

Her hands—

What is wrong with you, Joe?

Joe reads this line over and over again. Each time he nears the end his brain short circuits and all he can think about are your hands on your shoulders. You hadn’t even really touched him, at least not his skin. Yet the only thing shooting through his neurons are the sensations of your fingers along his skin. That imaginary touch he can conjure up so perfectly. He eventually gives in and skips down a few paragraphs. He reads late into the night and the phantom touches are still nagging his senses when he closes the book and rolls over to sleep.

…

Day after day, Joe sees you at practice. You congratulate him when he makes the team and help him with his technique every once and a while. “Roll your wrists just a bit more.” Your fingers would poke at his forearms and direct him in graceful strokes. It fries his brain. You give pointers to the rest of the team too, working closely with Bolles and Pocock to get them in racing shape. It’s not long into the season when Ulbrickson decides to switch coxswains.

“This is Bobby Moch. Your new jockey.” Bolles announces one day. Bobby is short and slender and sharp tongued. The second he climbs in the boat and starts barking out commands, Joe is flabbergasted. Who is Bobby to talk to the team this way? But they all find themselves obeying his every word. What really irks Joe about Bobby is how friendly he is with you. You exchange jokes and poke fun at each other. Joe tells himself that he just thinks it’s inappropriate to flirt with the coach’s wife but beneath it all he’s incredibly jealous that Bobby can make you laugh so easily. It makes Joe pine for attention in a way that he never has before.

The day of their race against California, Joe is all jitters and nerves. He bounces on the balls of his feet and shakes his hands, trying to loosen the anxiety. Streamers and garlands of flags decorate the locker room and the campus. People have gathered in clusters along the course and wave flags of purple and gold. The smell of popcorn and peanuts permeates the air and Joe promises to indulge himself if they win.

As the crew carried their shell down to the water, they begin chanting to themselves. “Bow down to Washington!” They neglect the varsity’s jeers and clip their oars into position. They spot Coach Ulbrickson in the stands, you at his side. And then there’s another woman. And Ulbrickson hugs her. And then he kisses her.

Right in front of you! What is going on?

“Rantz! Eyes on me!” Bobby hollers. But Joe can’t help stealing another confused glance. “I said quite drooling over coach’s daughter and LOOK AT ME!”

Joe feels like an idiot. He puts his head down in shame and tightens his grip on the oar. Ulbrickson joins them on the dock and gives one of his famously encouraging speeches. Joe is only half paying attention. They push off and are left with lovely Bobby hyping them up while they wait for the race to start. They lean forward, like a bow drawn for a shot. And then the white flag flies and the boats shoot away from the docks.

There’s nothing but blur as Joe rows. He can only focus on the muscled shoulders of Don Hume in the stroke seat as Bobby screams at them. “28!”

About halfway through the course, Bobby demands the stroke rate be upped and Don performs. The shell lurches forward, eating up the distance between Washington and Cal until the JV boat surpasses the Berkeley blokes. Then the boat is cutting across the finish line, a clean win. Adrenaline rushes Joe’s veins. He throws his fists in the air as the team splashes and roars. They’re inevitably drowned out by the crowd who bursts up in a shower of peanuts and Washington flags.

Coach Ulbrickson, the new woman Joe assumes his Ulbrickson’s wife, and you rush the dock as the boys climb out of the boat. “Excellent job.” Mrs. Ulbrickson shakes their hands as they unclip their oars. Bolles is compassionate enough to give them each a pat on the back as they hoist the boat over their heads and haul it off.

Joe can’t help but notice the copious amounts of onlookers pooling around the shell as they carry it back to the shellhouse. They set it down on the stands and before they can even take their hands off the shell, they are bombarded by Washington fans. Girls reaching out to stroke their biceps or kiss their cheeks. Joe has never received attention like this once in his life. He’s as polite as possible, brushing off a few girls here and there and shaking the hand of the occasional fellow. Shorty has accumulated a few lipstick stains on his cheek. Don Hume is blushing from the tips of his ears down to the point of his freckled nose. Chuck and Roger accept a few hugs. They bask in the winners’ glory for only a few moments until the varsity team strolls by. They make a comment to Moch that Joe doesn’t catch but judging by the way Bobby’s shoulders square he can make obvious conclusions.

“You rowed so well today, Joe.” He hears your voice, and his palms start to sweat.

“Thanks, I uh—” It occurs to him that he doesn’t actually know a thing about you. “Sorry, I don’t think I’ve ever gotten your name.” You smile at him, and syllables fall out but the crowd is too loud. “What?” Your grasp his shoulder and lean in, the sound of your name echoes off the shell of his ear.

When you pull away, you’re still smiling but before Joe can ask you another question, Bobby is buzzing by with a play-by-play of exactly what happened in Bobby’s world.

You shade your eyes and peer down at the docks, “Looks like dad is almost done with the varsity. I should get down there.” You say, and Bobby turns around to talk to Shorty. “Hey. Will I see you at the party tonight?” Your hand rests on Joe’s shoulder. He prays you can’t feel his heart skip a beat.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there.”

“Good. You had better save a dance for me, Joe Rantz.”

You leave him breathless, the butterflies in his stomach so vicious that he shudders. He watches you disappear down the pathway to the dock and his heart starts hammering with anticipation. You want to dance with him. You want to touch his hands, touch him. And then he remembers that you already did that, he was too focused on the motion of your lips that he’d hardly registered the sensation of your hands on his arm. Damn! What had it felt like? He’d remembered it’d made him flabbergasted and choked his speech but he couldn’t remember how the grooves in your palm felt as they brushed over his skin. The warmth of your fingertips. He curses himself out and vanishes into the locker room to get changed.

…

The dance rolls around rather too quickly and Joe is swimming in nerves. He has to tie his tie twice because he messes up so badly, he can’t even draw it tight to his neck. Roger found out all too quickly and hasn’t let Joe catch a break.

“A date with coach’s daughter. Careful Joe, Ulbrickson might throw you off the team if he catches the wrong look in your eye.”

“Shut up, Roger, I’m not greasy like you”

“Ouch, that hurts me.”

“Clearly not enough.” Joe hisses as he finally gets his tie right.

“Feels like I’m a father about to send his kid off to prom.”

Joe sighs and throws on his suit coat. “Oh, please—”

“Look at you fly, shooting out of your league.”

Roger works a smile onto Joe’s face, and they set off for the party. Spring is finally warming the campus up from a brutal winter and a few couples mull around outside. Joe and Roger find their way into the crowded gymnasium, both shocked by just how loud it is. Joe can’t even hear his own thoughts. They spot the team almost immediately, clustered around tables, drinks in their hands. A few of the boys are dancing with some lovely dames, a few are leaned against the wall having close conversations. Don is sitting by himself on a bench a few feet away from the refreshment table, watching the dance floor. Joe is turning to follow Roger towards the other boys but an arm loops through his, “Thought you weren’t going to show.” You practically shout.

Joe can’t help but grin as you capture his attention. “You weren’t joking.”

“Not a bit, Rantz, didn’t have any other dancing plans except for this one.”

“Guess I should make it worth your wait then.” Joe leads you into the thicket of bodies.

He prides himself on the laugh you let out, “please do,” you say as he takes your hands and spins to face you. He places his hand high on your waist and cradles the other gently in his palm. He can feel the smooth plains of you hand against his. Each crease and each callous. His are no doubt unbelievably rough from the rowing and he would feel bad but right now all he can feel are your fingers lacing through his. “You’re not half bad.” You tease. Joe knows his cheeks are heating up to a flaming red. Probably his ears too.

His hand migrates to the small of your back as the music changes into a soft slow song. “I’ll be completely honest,” he starts, “I had no idea you were the coach’s daughter.”

“Then who else would I be?”

“I thought you were his wife.” He looks away sheepishly, but your laughter is so unrestrained and whole that Joe’s heart melts. You can’t stop laughing either and it’s contagious.

“You’re an engineering student, right?” Your shoes brush as you sway with him.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“Joyce.” Joe’s heart drops. In his infatuation he’d forgotten all about her. “She was trying to hit on you, but she figured out that your attention was elsewhere.”

“You too are good friends then?”

“Just since the start of the year. We have an English class together.” You and Joe talk for a while, it forces you to be close and neither of you care to separate. Eventually, you move outside and sit with sit with Joe on the steps of the gym. It’s still chilly out and you sit close to Joe which he doesn’t mind one bit. At some point your head rests on his shoulder and you close your eyes. Joe can do nothing but stare down at you, his mouth agape.

“Why is your heart beating so fast?” You trace his knuckles with your pointer finger.

Joe’s head pounds, his mouth dry, “This has never happened to me before.”

“None of the girls from high school? Never?”

“Not one.”

You look up at Joe and reach to smooth back a blond curl. “Shame, they were missing out.” This makes Joe smile again and he’s immensely pleased with how easily you do that to him. Make him happy. He hasn’t felt like this since… he can’t remember when. Sure, he was happy when the team won but that was different. That was pride. So was making the team. This feels more affectionate, closer to the heart. He wonders if this is what love feels like but that would be silly; he’s only known your name for a day. He’s also never been flattered quite like this. Besides Joyce, he can’t think of anyone else who’s actually been interested in him. Certainly not one who compliments him the way you do.

People start to drain out of the gym very slowly and Joe checks his watch. “So late already?”

“Guess I should get home; my dad will be wrought with worry.” You joke and straighten out your skirt.

“Can I walk you home?”

“I would love that.”

Joe offers you his hand, “Where does coach live?”

“Not too far.” You accept his calloused hand and direct him off campus. Surprisingly, Joe has read the book you’re reading for English and time flies as you discuss the book. Then Joe makes a sobering comment that makes you stop and study him.

“His parents remind me of my own.”

Joe realizes what he’s let slip, “Don’t worry about it too much. I’m okay.”

“Can I ask what happened?”

Joe presses his lips into a line and stares down at his worn shoes. A wave of self-consciousness washes over him as he realizes how ragged of a life he has lived and just how much it shows. “Well—”

“Is this why you have a hard time trusting your team?”

“Hey now,”

“Sorry.” You take his hands.

He grimaces and squeezes your soft palms. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yes.”

Joe sighs and swipes a thumb across your knuckles. “My Pops just… left me one day. Told me I’d be fine on my own.” Joe gives you parts of the story. Mostly what he feels like stomaching at the moment.

When he’s finished you let go of his hands and cup his cheeks. He sinks into the touch, soaking it up like a flower budding in sunlight. You don’t say anything, you just look at him. You look at him like he’s the only thing that’s ever mattered and his heart trembles because he has never once known what it’s like to be that for someone else. And then you stand on tip toes and plant a hearty kiss on his forehead. “This is it actually,” you gesture behind you at the hosue that must be the Ulbricksons’. “I’ll see you tomorrow at practice?”

“Yeah.” The spot on his forehead that you kissed tingles. “Nowhere else I’d want to be.”

…

The Poughkeepsie Regatta rolls around all too quickly and Ulbrickson has to make a decision. The varsity boat who deserves it. Or the JV boat who could win it. His hands sweat as he stands on at that pulpit and reads off his preplanned speech. As he talks, he thinks about the future of the rowing program. The jobs it has provided him and Bolles. About how Pocock would have to find work elsewhere and it’d kill Al Ulbrickson to send him away.

He leans into the mic and spits, “and that boat is our JV boat.” It has to be them. They have to win. Moans and groans blow his way as the crowd rejects his announcement. Regret washes over him but he cannot take this back. He has to be right about his crew. He tips his hat and hustles off the podium as the JV bursts into celebration. He has to be right.

…

Joe is more than pleased to see you on the train to Poughkeepsie. He slides into the car with you, and you chat away. You were fast friends the night of the dance and have since become closer. The kiss on the forehead still lingers sometimes, especially when Joe sees your lips form your smile. You entice him into some card games and eventually a game of chess. At some point, he decides that he needs to sleep and bids you goodnight so that he can find a train car to sleep in. But before he does, he sneaks a chaste kiss onto your knuckles.

His good mood is stamped out the very next day when the team takes to the water. They don’t row good, and frustration starts to build. Bobby and the coaches try and get them working together, telling them that it’s just nerves and new water. But tensions rise regardless. The days start to dwindle, and the crew is getting worse and worse.

Blame starts to turn to him, and Joe is at a loss. He doesn’t want to believe that he’s holding the team back, but he thinks back to what you said that night he walked you home. But the most awful feeling creeps over him, not an ounce of care. What’s wrong with him. This crew has been the only family he’s had in years. He needs them. But he can’t bring himself to admit it.

Before he knows it, it slips and Ulbrickson is exiling him from the boat. As the crew watches Joe storm away, their spare crawls in and they set off for another row. Bolles taps you on the shoulder, “you had better see if you can do anything. Enlist Pocock if you have to.” Your father nods along.

You set out to find him, not that it was hard there’s not many places he can go alone. He’s stuffing his suitcase when you find him. “Don’t start.” He snaps. Then he sees your expression and his anger sours. “I’m sorry. Shouldn’t—”

“Don’t give up on your team, Joe.”

“I’m not.”

“You are, you’re quitting and throwing everything you’ve worked for away.”

“Don’t, don’t even start to pretend you know me.” He realizes too late that he’s made everything so much worse and before he can fix a thing Pocock is at the door.

“I could use some help putting another coat of oil on the shell.”

You duck past Pocock and leave Joe with a painful pit of remorse in his stomach. He follows Pocock and takes the talking to straight to the heart. As he lathers on a thick coat of oil, he figures he can bargain with Ulbrickson in the morning, but he should make a proper apology to you now. He racks his brain for anything that would make it right, but he’s horrifically inexperienced and it’s crippling him now. He feels like a child having a tantrum. He feels miniscule and insignificant.

After Joe dunks his brush into the whale oil can for the last time, he figures he’d better just confront the issue head on since he has no way of handling it delicately. He has no grace and he’s sure you’re aware of this. Pocock gives him an encouraging pat and takes the can from him. Joe winds his way back to the hotel and through the halls. Your room is on the second floor, third door down. He knocks gently, eyes lingering on the hideous carpet and tacky sconces. The door swings open after a moment and Joe is met with your disapproving glower. His tongue seems to swell in his mouth so badly that he worries it’ll flop out when he tries to speak.

“Coffee?” You ask when you realize he will stand there silently forever if you don’t let him in.

“No… I just wanted to—to apologize.”

“Oh really.” Your eyebrow quirks.

Joe is fumbling for words. You stand aside and motion for him to step inside so you can have this discussion in privacy. “I know that was wrong to take out my frustration on you. That wasn’t fair and none of it is your fault.” He twiddles his thumbs. How does he go about this without absolutely butchering it? “I just—” As he trails off, he notices a hurt dullness in your eyes. He recognizes it as pity. “You and the crew are really all I’ve got, and I’m so scared I’m going to lose it.”

“These boys aren’t going to leave you behind unless you separate yourself from them like today.”

“I know.

“Really?”

“Pocock made sure I know.”

The edges of your lips tilt up. You pull him down onto the foot of the bed and take his hand. “Are you actually going to try and trust them?”

“Don’t have enough faith to put it in anyone else.”

You squeeze his hand and trace a finger along his jawline, sweeping a knuckle under his chin. You force his stubborn gaze to you and find nothing but desperation. Wanting things like this doesn’t come natural to Joe and it shows, but he’s not so different from the other boys in that boat.

You reach up and fiddle with a curl, “apology accepted.” Tears pool in the corners of his eyes and he tries to choke them down. You place a hand on his chest and rest your forehead on his. His breath fans over your cheeks. The tip of his nose brushes yours. His shoulders sag inwards and he reaches for your waist.

“Can I—may I kiss you?”

Joe’s sweetness never fails to amaze you. You cradle his face and bring him closer. “Yes, Joe.” His breath hitches and his lips finally meet yours for the very first time. He’s gentle but generous and lets you kiss him for as long as you like. His arms wrap around you fully and hold you to his chest. He gets the feeling that he’ll be craving these moments all the time now, finally understanding what Roger and Chuck rave about. He’s hooked on your lips and your weight against him and when you pull away it breaks his heart.

“You should get cleaned up before you talk to my father, you smell like whale oil.”

...

Dear Reader,

Thank you for reading this. If you'd like to request, feel free to do so. I always love you in my inbox. I hope you enjoyed this fic and if you like it please check out my masterlist for more. Have nice day.

-the author

#boys in the boat #Joe rantz #callum turner #joe rantz x reader #callum turner x reader

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klausysworld · 1 month ago

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OMG I NEED A FIC OF A THREESOME OF READER, KLAUS AND CAMI !! IM BEGGING😫😫 what the storyline or plot line is, is completely up to you💕

(Warning: Y/N is intoxicated but it is all consensual)

The One For Them

I felt a little intimidated, sat beside a very attractive man who's eyes had trailed my body almost a dozen times. Each time his alluring eyes met mine, I would turn my head away as quickly as possible, trying to shift my focus on anyone else.

Almost every time my eyes would drift to the bartender, Camille her name tag informed me. I would admire her hair and the way her blouse shifted to show a thin band of her soft skin before the top of her jeans hid the rest. However sometimes she would catch my gaze too and I'd go back to the man beside me.

It was stressful in the most exhilarating way, my nerves was on edge and tingling through my body.

I tapped anxiously on my glass, it had been empty for a small while now but I couldn't find the words to ask for anything more and I felt too self-conscious to get up and leave.

Eventually a glass was pushed in front of me but not by the bartender. The man had slid an amber liquid within my reach. "It'll take the edge of, sweetheart." He told me, a smirk on his lips right before the woman's voice cut in.

"Klaus, she's too young to be drinking anything that strong." Camille scolded and my mind absorbed his name into memory.

"Don't be ridiculous, love. You're old enough, aren't you sweetheart?" His voice was like a purr that crawled along my spine, spreading a strange warmth across my skin.

Hesitantly I glanced to Camille and gave a faint nod to which her expression softened from the previous annoyed look she held.

"You don't have to drink it, he's just trying to get you drunk-" She whispered and Klaus scoffed.

"I'm just helping her to loosen up, she's feeling all nervous." He argued and my eyes flickered between them, taking in their bickering and realising that they were definitely a couple.

That made me feel even more awkward. Without really thinking I pushed my stall out and got up only to have my forearm grabbed, his fingers wrapped around my wrist.

"Don't go running, sweetheart. I just want you to have a drink with me, with us. Don't you want a drink with us?" He mused, eyes looking up at me with an authoritative stare which made me sit back down.

"You're scaring her." Camille whispered in a sing song and I shifted a little uncomfortably as if confirming her assumptions. In response his grip loosened on my arm and his thumb caressed over my pulse point.

I glanced up to the bartender, trying to gauge her reaction to her presumed boyfriend almost holding my hand. She wasn't looking at him though, her eyes were on mine. It was a little confusing, the whole situation. My eyes glance around the bar, not really noticing anybody before I ended up looking back between them.

Klaus turned my wrist and placed the glass of whiskey against my palm, urging me to try it.

I could feel them both watching as I lifted it to my lips and let the liquid flow down past my tongue, the heat within my throat wasn't entirely unpleasant though the unfamiliar burn made my chest produce a harsh cough in retaliation.

Camille's laugh was amused but not mocking as she took the drink away from my hold.

"I'll fix you something sweeter, honey." She told me and got to it.

Time ticked by and my body started to feel lighter and heavier at the same time, my thoughts much freer. There was a gentle buzz throughout my insides which made me laugh each time either of them said anything even the slightest bit funny.

By the time Camille's shift had ended my cheeks hurt from smiling and Klaus's arm was round my waist, helping me up from my stool. Camille's hand was holding mine, her nails were short but her fingertips still drew hypnotising circles into my skin which made my head lull.

"Oh, sweetheart, head up." Klaus's voice reminded me, helping my head back onto my shoulders as we wondered through the streets. The music and the chatter and the screaming made my head ring and for a second I felt my breathing stop, my mind blank.

"Hey...you're okay." She told me, her voice soft like a mothers. "I shouldn't have given you so many drinks...I thought you'd be alright."

"She is alright." Klaus's voice echoed, so much louder than Camille's. "I'm sorry, sweetheart." He muttered, a bit quieter this time as he knelt down beside me.

"Where am I?" I mumbled, my throat scratchy.

"Our home." Klaus grinned, his face looking down at mine. "Specifically our couch." He chuckled, hand on my arm making the hairs across my body raise.

Camille helped me sit up, her hands on my shoulder as she tucked a strand of hair about my ear.

My eyes glanced to her lips, unable to focus on the sound they produced, only the way they moved. The couch dipped behind me, I felt it as my body shifted. I tried to click my senses into place but two hands on my hips made my head drop to see.

Klaus had me in his grip, but it wasn't harsh or painful; just firm.

"You're so perfect." Camille's voice whispered, my attention finally finding the sound. My cheeked blushed pink and I looked up at her shyly.

Klaus's hands lifted me back and onto his lap, I felt my body tense for a second as I felt myself rest against his bulge. I whined quietly, looking down to see but I couldn't.

"It's okay." Camille told me gently, hands back on my cheeks to guide my gaze back to her. I looked up at her, a small nervous lump in my throat which was long forgotten when her lips pressed to mine.

The bubble of air caught in my throat as her mouth moved against mine. My eyes closed and I leaned into it, my hands shakily lifting to touch her but I wasn't sure I should. My lips parted in slight surprise when her fingers wrapped around my wrists and pulled my hands onto the sides of her covered breasts.

I couldn't help but feel the firmness of them against my palms. I squeezed almost hesitantly, my mind spinning as I felt Klaus's hardness rubbing between my thighs. His hands slid up to my waist, lifting my shirt at the same time.

Camille's hands pushed my hair back, out of face and she let our foreheads press together. "You're such a good girl." She praised and glanced up to Klaus. "Please be gentle on her? I like her."

"Hush, love." He mumbled, his fingers un-popping the button on my jeans, urging my attention bad down.

"You...you do this a lot?" I ask, confused.

"Only when we find someone deserving and you, my love, are so deserving...so right for us." He murmured, his lips brushing over my shoulder. I glanced down, confused my my lack of top.

"I don't understand." I whispered and Camille kissed my cheek.

"We just want to see you, feel you. Enjoy you." She whispered, her voice making me shudder.

"You'll be taken care of, sweetheart." Klaus muttered, his hands now on my bare thighs since he must've gotten my pants off. "I'll be gentle; this time."

"Okay..." I whisper, complying and Camille grinned happily whilst Klaus's fingers stroked the edges of my folds.

I let out a whimper, my hips lifting at the unexpected sensitivity, the alcohol still in my system and raising my nerves.

Camille let out a little laugh and rubbed my back, unclipping my bra as she did so. I curl my fingers into my own palms, Klaus's fingers slid through my wetness; stroking meanwhile Camille's fingers circled and brushed past my nipples.

So many sensations were pricking at me all at once, my eyes drooped as Camille's tongue wrapped around one of my nipples and two of Klaus's fingers stretched me open.

"Mmh.." I moaned softly, my body arching toward both of them. My hips started to rock involuntarily, effectively riding his hand.

"That's a good girl." I heard Klaus's voice murmur, low and gravelly. "I bet you'll feel so beautiful on my cock, sweetheart." I could only moan in response, his words filled my mind with filthy images whilst Camille bit down on my hardened but before swapping to the other one.

My pussy clenched when a third finger was squeezed into me, all three curling so perfectly that I felt my legs quiver. After a moment the warmth was missing from my chest and Camille's arms were around my wait, encouraging my hips to bounce up and down eagerly.

"I cant wait to taste you." Cami whispered and I felt my cheeks heat up before her lips took mine, her mouth swallowing my moans down as Klaus's hand sped up and took me over the edge and my eyes closed to focus on the bliss.

My body was coddled to Camille's bare chest when my eyes opened again, her hand was stroking the side of my face and I could feel Klaus's hand smoothing my leg and knee.

"You're so beautiful when you come undone." Cami murmured with a soft smile on her lips which made me blush again.

"Indeed, sweetheart. You are quite the sight." Klaus chuckled, his lips kissing my knee before I felt the bed around me now dip.

"Did we move?" I mumble and Klaus hummed.

"Poor thing, blacked out for a moment. Your whole body was shaking like a leaf, my dearest Camille had to clean you up with her tongue. We figured the bed would be a comfortable place for you for the rest of the night." He informed me, his voice was soothing in a way; perhaps it was just the accent.

I nodded a little and nuzzled into Cami's chest, feeling the softness of her breasts. I felt Klaus's fingers in my hair, pushing me down slowly until her spread legs were waiting patiently for me. I complied, my lips pressing soft kisses to her inner thighs before Klaus guided me to her pussy.

Hesitantly I licked along her folds, her taste sweet and addictive on my tongue. "Good girl, I bet that tongue know lots of tricks doesn't she?" Klaus teased and chuckled.

I wanted to look up at him, see the look in his eyes as he held me down but I wasn't in any position to move.

My eyelids drooped but stayed open enough to see the pinkness of her pussy as I sucked on her clit. I could faintly hear her whining and moaning but the soft manly grunts made my brows furrow in confusion.

I pulled my head up to look, my eyes locking with Cami's lust filled ones before seeing Klaus's hand wrapped around his thick cock, pumping himself teasingly as his other hand pushed my head back down into his partners cunt.

I dipped my tongue into her entrance, my lips sucking and my mouth pushing close to gently nibble at the sensitive flesh. I hummed pleasantly against her when her pussy started grinding into my mouth, her clit all swollen and needy.

My eyes closed when her taste flooded my mouth, I lapped at her folds gently until I was sure she was clean.

The hand in my hair tugged me up, lifting my head up before shoving it back down onto Klaus's cock. His head sliding straight through my mouth and nudging the back of my throat, I choked lightly around him but I didn't mind.

I kept suckling, ignoring the way my saliva dripped down his shaft as he pulled me back up. My eyes rolled back, catching sight of his groaning face as his cum filled my mouth.

They each tasted so different and yet equally delicious, both making me desperate for more.

"Good girl, come here." Klaus's voice commanded and I felt a little hazy as I sat up and looked to him, seeing him pat the space infront of him. I sit facing him but he chuckled and span me round, lifting me by my hips so my ass was up for him.

I let out a whimper when I felt his cock penetrate me from behind, klaus had left his gentleness for the time being, his pace immediately fast and rough making me cry out but not entirely from pain.

There was an element of beauty that entangled itself with the sting, masking the hurt and making me moan instead of cry.

I could feel Camille's hands in my hair, her lips on my ear as she begged me to be louder. Klaus was deep inside me, pushing and stroking against all the right spots until my entire mind, body and being were completely out of control, drawing a blank. It felt like I was seizing with uncontrollable pleasure, my body clenching and trembling around him, against her.

It was messy, sticky and hot. I couldn't help but love it.

Even once I was laid, covered by a thick blanket with my eyes unable to open from exhaustion. I still loved it.

The faint conversation of the couple played beside me as a large hand rested against my hip.

"This one's perfect, Klaus." Cami told him, her tone almost desperate.

"We'll see how she does, my love." Klaus assured her and that was all I was conscious enough to remember.

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norman-fucking-reedus · 3 months ago

Note

Hey babes, love your work so much🩷

Could you possibly write some body worship and appreciation on daryl (including giving him head)? Like really sweet and caring but also hot as fuck? Lord knows he dederves/needs to hear it😩 Also another idea that popped into my head, could be in this or another fic, but him pulling your hair while fucking you from the behind, not like super rough or anything just kinda affectionate.

Pardon my rambling and thank you for always feeding my inner whore!💖

IT'S JUST A BODY OF YEARS

"That I leave all alone"

THE FUNTIME PARTS: Daryl x Fem!Reader, big boy is insecure, body worship, blowjobs, tbh daryl is a bit subby in this, face-fucking, gentle sex with some gentle hair pulling, creampies and a breeding kink of course

this request is another really old one that I only just recently got an idea for because for some reason I've been absolutely feining to just suck daryls dick. like I want his man peenar in my mouth like candy.

i feel like he gets overly insecure pretty often, some of it dates back to his childhood because I feel like there were definitely times where daryls father shamed him for eating or being "too big" at a young age, so there's always been some self-hatred that he just needs to have kissed and sucked away

I did take a little mental health break and i feel a bit better, I ended up having to go through my drafts and inbox to clear out mainly the super old requests that I just had no interest in, I really really wanna open my reqs back up for new and fresh ideas but first I have to finish the ones I already have

if this flops im deleting my blog and tumblr

Daryl Dixon wasn’t a man of many words, and he didn’t need to be in order for you to understand him.

His body spoke for him, from shy hands resting on your hips to soft kisses trailing up your neck, Daryl never needed to voice how he felt about you, and he knew how you felt about him, but sometimes he couldn’t figure out why.

Even now, as he stands in front of the mirror with his shirt off nitpicking at each imperfection littering his skin, he still can’t figure out why.

He was nothing but a low-class hotheaded redneck from deep in the south. You were so far out of his league that it was almost unbelievable that you'd ever want someone like him. Someone as breathtakingly gorgeous and downright stunning as you stuck with someone as dirty and disgusting as him.

The skin of his body was so rough and utterly ruined, cringing at the feeling of raised scars on his chest under the tips of his blistered fingers. How could you ever feel an attraction to someone like him?

He folded his arms across his chest, growling softly as he frustratedly blinked back angry tears as he tore his eyes away from the mirror, straight up offended by the state of his own body.

You approached him from where you were watching sadly in the doorway, sliding gentle hands around his waist and feeling him jerk away from the sudden contact in his vulnerable state. He never wanted you to see him cry. Hell, at this point he didn't want you to see him at all.

“Dun' look at me” He mumbled, arms tightening around himself as a wave of self-hate washed over him once more, your touch burning against his skin.

“But I love looking at you,” You whispered softly, hands trailing up his sides and coming to a rest on one of his biceps. “I love all of you”

Daryl shook his head, hiding his face behind his hair as hot tears welled up in his eyes again. “How? Why?” He had so many questions, but none of them seemed mattered when your hands ran up his arms and gently tried to pry them from his chest.

He balled up his fists by his sides, but you stepped in front of him and brought them into your own. “Well to start, I love your hands. You just don’t know how good the hands of a hard-working man feels” You said as you kissed the palm of his hands, nuzzling your cheek against them in a cat-like manner. "So rough and ragged, but so gentle and kind"

Daryl flushed a little as your face made contact with his palm, almost reflexively hold your cheek as you held it against your skin, kissing a soft trail against his palm, moving to his wrist and down the length of his arm.

Daryl did take a lot of pride in his arms, and you knew that better than anyone, dragging your fingers along his forearm where you could feel the veins protruding, bringing the digits up to his large bicep. “I love your muscles, my big strong man who can carry me anywhere I want with your drool-worthy arms"

At that, a small smile cracked on his face, but it disappeared once your fingers made their way up and across his chest, easily becoming insecure all over again.

He brought a hand down to your waist to stop you, squeezing it as you moved your hand to his face, softly cupping his cheek and brushing away his tears with your thumb. “Hey, it’s okay. I call you 'handsome' as a nickname for a reason, 'cause it’s true” You whispered, staring into his sad eyes. You pressed your lips against his, and then to the side, down his neck. "You're gorgeous to me, Daryl"

You mumbled the words against his skin as you kissed and sucked your way down his neck, taking your time as you went across his collarbone, down to his rounded pecs, all the way across his chest, softly trailing over bumpy scars on his oh-so-nicely sculpted abs, slowly lowering yourself down onto your knees as you worshipped your absolute hunk of man.

"I love your whole body. So built and sturdy, big and thick," You said in a sultry tone as you glanced up at him, running a hand over his bulge and cupping it through the fabric, watching the way his face flushed a deep red all the way down to his chest. "Just so perfect"

Daryl's fingers tangled gently in your hair, almost nervous as you pressed open-mouth kisses against his now-straining cock, sucking on the growing wet patch where his tip was. A deep groan pulled itself from his throat, your lips moving against his flesh as you moved to pull his boxers down with your teeth, yanking them the rest of the way down until he was in nothing but his bare skin, putting all of him on display just for you.

You kissed his defined hipbones, wrapping your hands around thick thighs as you trailed along his v-line, peppering feather-light kisses around his pelvis and reaching the base of his cock, his pubic hairs bushy yet somewhat trimmed.

"M'not the same from when we first met" Daryl whispered, his blunt nails scratching at your scalp as you glanced up at him, shrugging a shoulder as you teased his side with your fingers. "It's called growing up, Dar. To be fair, you were quite a chubby cutie back then"

He scoffed slightly at that. "Ain't no different now, 'always been on the bigger side"

"And I love that. Makes you so warm and loveable" You smiled softly as you placed a wet kiss against his tip, running your tongue down the underside to the base, taking one of his balls into your mouth before licking your way back up to the tip, listening to the shaky moan that left his lips as his fingers curled in your hair.

You wasted no time sliding the head of his cock into your mouth, humming around him in your own form of satisfaction as you pulled back all the way to the tip, going back down all the way to the base, relaxing your throat as you nuzzled your nose in the plush of his pubes, happily inhaling his natural scent as he groaned above you, pressing his hips forward as his cock rested snuggly in your throat.

He held you steady by your hair, pulling himself back and almost completely out before sliding right back in, repeating the action as goosebumps exploded across his skin, breathing breathlessly as he practically started to hump your face.

Tiny moans pulled themselves from your chest, flickering your eyes upwards to watch the way Daryl tossed his head back and dropped it back down, his pupils blown wide and eyes lidded, cheeks flushed a cherry red as your throat squeezed around his cock, Daryl's husky breaths and grunts filling the air as he pushed his hips forward, pressing his pelvis right up against your nose.

You pulled your head back all the way until he slipped out your mouth with a wet pop, coated in slick saliva as you suckled and kissed along the underside of his length, fingers stroking through your hair as you flickered your gaze up to meet his, smearing spit along the skin of your cheek as you basically nuzzled up against his cock.

"Wha'cha doin' down there doll?" Daryl asked in his southern drawl, raspier now from your previous antics.

He brought his hand down to the base of your neck, bringing his thumb to your chin and tilting your head upwards, watching as you innocently bat your lashes kissing against his v-line. "Just loving on my man, you're so hot"

"Real funny” Daryl said from above you, his hand cupping your face as you rubbed yourself up against him in a cat-like manner.

You smiled at him, kissing along his prominent hip bones and running your lips over any scars or imperfections. “It’s true, I’d eat you alive if you let me”

At that he scoffed, “Think m’gon pass” dropping his hand from your cheek down to your waist as you gradually kissed your way back up his body, lips fluttering against the skin of his chest as you felt the bumpy and slightly rough scars decorating his torso, running your hands up his firm pecs to wrap around his neck as your lips found their way to his face, peppering his scratchy beard in kisses.

“I love you, Daryl. I want you to see the man that I see,” You whispered against the corner of his mouth, brushing a stray hair out his face as you kissed him sorrowfully. “Not the one you see in the mirror”

His grip on you tightened, and you giggled softly when he twitched against your leg, eyes low as they flickered between you and your lips. When he kissed you. it was hungry, desperate and gentle all in one, a hand settling itself back at the base of your neck.

It wasn’t long before the air in the room started to get heated, shortly realizing that Daryl was completely nude and that you were still completely dressed, pulling away from him in order to tear your shirt off, hands helping to yank down your pants along with your underwear in a quick, fluid motion, calloused hands running themselves over your tits and squeezing, feeling their way down the rest of your bare body.

“Yer fuckin’ perfect” He mumbled out as he pulled you against him, dipping his head down in order to bite at your flesh, small groans rumbling softly through him as he groped at your waist.

You spun around him and twisted his body in order to be pinned between him and the vanity, heat pooling in your stomach as he practically towered over you. “That's what I'm trying to get you to understand”

“Oh, I understand alrigh’,” Daryl spoke in a low tone, bringing his attention back down to your neck and a soft pair of tits. “Jus’ shaped like a goddamn dream”

"Don't be so kind Sir Scupluted," You exhaled with a shaky breath, wrapping an arm around the man's neck as he pressed his skin against yours, dragging a rough hand down the pane of your back and helping himself to a handful of your round butt, scoffing out a small chuckle as your words finally processed in his mind.

"Sir Scupluted?" He repeated outloud as his breath fanned over your ear, dragging his scratchy yet soft beard along the skin of your neck.

You giggled as the fine gray hairs tickled at your flesh, Daryl's hands dipping down to grope and squeeze your hips, thumbs brushing along the skin of your inner thighs. "Have you seen yourself lately?'

Daryl grunted a little when you spun around in his grasp, forcing him to reposition his hands where they now rested on your waist, his front to your back as you smiled at him through the mirror, bringing a hand up to stroke his face as he rested his head sweetly on your shoulder, calloused palms feeling their way around your flesh lovingly as he pressed himself against you, almost trying to hide himself behind you.

It made your heart squeeze painfully, placing your other hand on top of his and looping your fingers together, brushing curls out his face as you turned to look at him, whispering out a small "Daryl," in order to full grasp his attention, a sad frown taking over your face as his striking eyes met yours, cupping his cheek. "You are the most gorgeous boy I've ever had the honor to lay hands on. You're the sweetest thing in this whole world and there isn't a thing I'd ever want to change about you. Not your face, not your voice, not your body, not anything."

He shook his head slightly in your grip, mumbling into the crook of your neck, "Ya dun' mean-" but getting quickly cut off by you pressing a finger to his lips, bumping your forehead against his. "I do mean it. You're absolutely perfect, Daryl, that won't ever change"

You spoke the words against his lips softly, humming and cupping his face as he closed the gap between you two, kissing you desperately and needily as the love in your words rang out in his head, feeling the way his heart was totally pounding in his chest and his cock was throbbing between your bodies, hands curling into your flesh.

Daryl's lips trailed down the underside of your jaw, hungrily kissing and sucking on your skin going down your neck, biting his way to your shoulders as a big palm came up to fondle one of your tits, the other snaking down to your hip as you pushed back against him, resting your hands on the dresser as you teasingly eyed him through the mirror, moaning slightly when he started to rut himself between your slick folds.

A wave of excitement pulsed through you when a large hand gripped your shoulder right near the base of your neck, Daryl pushing the head of his cock into the hot velvetiness of your cunt, a deep groan leaving his chest as he sank all the way in, nudging his pelvis up against you.

"Love my sweet boy, always making me feel so good" You almost whined the words as you clenched around him, nibbling on your bottom lip as the hand on your shoulder moved up to your hair, fingers combing and gathering the loose strands, holding them in a hand-held ponytail, nails scratching bluntly at your scalp.

Daryl was one of the only men in your life who could really make you finish, just the stretch of his cock was enough to get your eyes rolling, setting a rhythmical pace as he started to thrust his hips, pulling himself all the way back before easily slipping back in, burying his dick in the squishiest parts of you.

He admired your face as it twisted in pleasure, watching you through the mirror as you moaned with every thrust, eyes closed in bliss. He took the chance then to admire your whole body, from your round hips striped with stretch marks, all the way up the deep arch in your back to the tops of your shoulders, teeth marks and hickies already starting to bruise purple.

It didn't stop him from dipping his head down and taking the skin into his mouth again, wanting nothing more than to make it known to the whole world that you belonged to him, and that he so rightfully belonged to you.

You turned your head slightly to the side, Daryl meeting you the rest of the way and locking his lips with yours, swallowing all your tiny sounds while letting out soft groans himself, eagerly lifting one of your legs up to get that much deeper, the feeling that took over when hearing you choke and stutter over the new angle was indescribable, solely focused on making his pretty girl cum.

Which wouldn't take much longer at all, whimpers filling the room as you tensed up in his hold, the hand that was once in your hair now protectively wrapped across your chest, helping to support your body on one leg as your fingers curled into the wood below, mouth going slightly agape as your orgasm crashed into you, Daryl fucking you through it until you were trembling and twitching, slowing his movements to chase after his own release, rocking his hips against you gently as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck, flushing more when fingers gripped the hair at the back of his nape, feeling your other hand squeeze his arm. "Fill me up Dar, please"

"Give ya' lots of lil' babies huh?" He mumbled against your skin, increasing the pace of his strokes as he was so close, feeling the way his orgasm tightened his balls and made his whole body hot and tingly.

You pulled him flush to your lips once more, tongues pressing and swirling around one another, tasting every little corner of his mouth happily. "Lots of them. I wanna have all your gorgeous babies"

With that, it wasn't long before Daryl's hips started to falter, a husky moan pulling itself from his chest as his cock pulsated, pumping his load into the softness of your cunt, dropping your leg back down on the ground when he pulled out with a lewd pop, instantly peppering you in kisses.

You spun back around in his arms, tossing your own around his neck and glancing at the damage you had done to his body, bites, and marks littering him from head to toe. "I love you sweetheart, I love you so much"

Daryl easily lifted you up off the ground, carrying you over to bed where he dropped down with you clinging to him, pulling the covers over both your nude bodies and squeezing you tight, so tight that it sent waves of dopamine rushing through you, heart pounding as you snuggled against your man's chest, his fingers in your hair and gently tracing shapes on your back, lips pressed to your forehead.

"Love ya' too doll, dun' know how I got so lucky" He whispered the words, and you could feel the rumble of them vibrate up close and personal, kissing right between his pecs. "Anyone would be lucky to have a man as faultless as you, but not anyone else can have my beautiful boy"

Hey everyone look!! Im about to drop another fic and then not drop for another three months!!!!!

WHOS EXCITED FOR THAAAT🤗🔥🔥

But anyway, I had plans to actually start scheduling posts but I don’t write that fast to do that so i’m just gonna throw this into the crowd and vanish again 🙏🏾‼️

also i have something against all of you who still use my tag but WHATEVERS. 🙄 A sexy bitch like me improvises (i asked daddy krys for help)

#norman fucking reedus 🎀#d.d 🎀#the walking dead #twd daryl #twd daryl dixon #daryl twd #twd #the walking dead daryl dixon #daryl dixon the walking dead #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixion imagine

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supremeshrimpy · 10 months ago

Text

please don't leave me again

Request: Hello! can you write reuniting with them after months/years due to work/curses/ or anything! (up to you!) with seperate! lilia, jade, azul, floyd, and leona? (atp im just desperate for content for the aforementioned characters badly)

-Anon

Summary: stay a bit longer, it’s been so long! Just…don’t leave them again…

Characters: Lillia Vanrouge, Jade Leech, Azul Ashengrotto, Leona Kingscholar

A/N: damn a 18 month hiatus is crazy huh… Also, I didn’t feel like writing a Floyd one because I’m a tired senior

Lillia Vanrouge (Curse):

Sometimes, when he closes his eyes at night, he sees you smiling at him in a field of flowers. Euphoria. Other times, he sees you lying motionless in his arms, he can still smell the toxin on your lips. He remembers everything so vividly, the way your hair shaped your cold face as he laid your body in your glass tomb. Still, hundreds of years later, he remembers his promise to you.

“For as long as my heart beats,” he whispered, “I will be restless in bringing you back to me, my love.”

So when he received a letter that you had awoken, he was overcome with emotions. As he flew back to the Valley of Thorns, he was angry at himself for missing the moment as your eyes reopened but so fucking excited to feel his cold skin against your warm self again.

They moved you to our old room in the palace, everything was the same but so much time had passed. It had been so long since…everything. You can’t walk, you can barely talk, and all basic movements feel like challenges. Everybody that you once sat around a table and laughed with was now long dead.

You were left to ponder how you could even exist in this new world. Everything you knew was gone, friends, family, and…oh no. What became of your dearest, Lillia? Did he go out as a war hero or as a criminal? Did he live to…find someone new and start a family?

This was all too much, you can’t take the thought. Everything is too much, you just wish that you could close your eyes and go back to the ways things were.

The door to your room slammed open and there stood a panting, young man. Why does he look so familiar?

“You’re…this…by the Dark- you’re awake…,” even with his stammers he sounded a lot like someone you once knew. A certain someone who you shared a final memory with.

“...Lillia,” your question comes out like a whisper as if it was taboo. Before you knew it Lillia had dropped to his knees in front of you.

“YE-yes it’s me, my love,” he corrects his voice just as quickly as it came out. His head dropped on your lap; he wanted to feel your skin on his, “please, let’s allow me to stay like this for a bit….”

Jade Leech (Moving Away):

His last memory of you was when you were both seven years old, Jade was clinging to your tail. He was sobbing and screeching for you not to move away. He remembers your parents dragging you away as his parents held him back, your figure slowly fading in with the bubbles. He hasn’t seen you since, so imagine his surprise when he receives a letter from his parents saying your family has moved back along with a photo of you.

He’s never been so excited to go home for spring break, you’re back…you’re home. And here he is stuck at school while you're just a dive away. As he tried to focus on his studies, you were now permanently stuck in the back of his head. The photo of you sits on his desk, a beacon of what waits for him after midterms.

“You seem unusually happy, Jade,” Azul says as stands in the doorway watching Jade pack his bag, “is it because they’re back?”

Jade snickers as the thought of seeing you once again fills his brain, but this meeting won’t be the same. You and him aren’t the same people as you were 10 years ago. He’s so excited to see how you’ve blossomed in the time you were away from each other.

Jade couldn’t contain his smile when he saw you waiting on the other side of the mirror. He would have been the first to greet you if it wasn’t for Floyd jumping you into a surprise hug. Once Floyd was finally off of you, Jade was finally able to speak to you once again.

“It’s good to see you again Jade,” you smile at him oh-so softly, “I’ve missed you.” You’re so fucking gorgeous, you look so different than the last time he saw you.

“Now, don’t you look breathtaking,” Jade smiles, corking his head to the side. You don’t even know that your small giggles make his heart do flips.

“Now tell me, Jade,” you say, swimming ever so close to him, “what have you been up to while I was away? “

Azul Ashengrotto (Different Schools)

Azul loves the school’s open cultural festival for several reasons. One, the Monstro Lounge does wonderfully during the three days that the event is taking place. Nothing screams profit quite like parents wanting a quiet, relaxing place to lecture their kids about their grades.

And that plays into his second reason too well, kids will do anything to get rid of their parents for a few hours. The contracts just keep rolling in for Azul as these kids sell themselves to him just to keep their parents busy and away from them.

As the Octavinelle student mans the lounge, Azul is left in his office. His leg bounced anxiously for his third reason to love the school festival to arrive. Parents aren’t the only crowd the cultural festival attracts, students from other schools flock to see the wonders that Night Raven College has to offer.

Oh, how Azul misses you. He misses the way you smile, the way you shake your hands when you get excited, the way your lips…god. He misses you so bad. With a huff, Azul brushes his hair out of his face and fixes his glasses to check his phone.

“I’m so lost right now, I can’t believe your school is this big”

“Wait…”

“Nevermind I found the Portal room, see you soon”

Is it normal to be sweating this much, it's only been a few months since he last saw you in person, only a few days since you last talked on the phone, and only a few seconds since you last texted. He can’t honestly be this nervous to see you again. What happened to cool, suave businessman Azul? The Azul that can smoothly talk his way into the best outcomes for himself. Who is this nervous mess?

“YOOOOO! AZULLLLLL,” the door slams open, with no regard for Azul’s privacy

Damn it, Floyd…

“Floyd, what have we discussed about knocking before opening the door,” Azul grits through his teeth while fixing his crooked glasses. Floyd gives nothing more than a shrug before leaving the room.

“It’s nice to see you again too, Azul,” you pout mischievously, fanning offense that your dearest octo hasn’t greeted you.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, why don’t you close the door so we may have some privacy while we…chat.”

Leona Kingscholar (Lost Contact)

Leona is a lot of things; smart, cunning, handsome, regal, but if there's one thing he isn't, it's communicative. This man can not keep a relationship running for the life of him. If you aren’t in front of him every day, Leona will just forget you exist. He doesn’t think anyone is deserving of constant contact with him.

They should be the ones to reach out to him, not the other way around. So when your letters stopped coming in, he was…surprised. You have always carried the conversation in your guy’s relationship so for you to suddenly stop is out of the normal.

Are you angry with him? Have you found someone else more worth your time?

Impossible there is no one more worth your time than the Leona Kingscholar. You must have forgotten to mail your letter in or the post must have lost it. He’ll have Ruggie go check your letter tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that until you come to your senses and mail that damn thing.

One, Two, Three damn weeks and no letter from you at all. As much as Leona thinks that it doesn’t affect him, the members can tell he’s irritated. If you ask Ruggie, he’ll say he’s seen Leona writing something at his desk and then immediately turning it to dust when he notices Ruggie’s in the room.

Oh, but Ruggie knew everything, he knew that if you stopped writing Leona he’d fall into such disarray. As much as Leon will deny it, Leona adores your letters and keeps them safely stored away in his desk for his eyes only. Ruggie’s been secretly keeping the letter you’ve been sending just to see how long it would take for Leona’s pride to break for you.

Three and a half weeks is all it took.

Leona catches Ruggie in the early morning (a time Ruggie thought Leona would never be up at) and hands him a neatly wax-sealed letter and simply instructs him to “make sure this makes it where it needs to go.” He also hands Ruggie a 5,000 Grimm bill and walks away.

You bet your sorry ass Ruggie hauled him to the post to deliver the letter.

And just like that, communication between you and Leona continued. And if you squint real hard, you can even see the faintest of smiles when he receives a new letter from you.

He can’t wait for spring break.

#---supremeshrimpy #twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #azul ashengrottto x reader #azul ashengrotto #leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingscholar #jade leech #jade leech x reader #lillia vanrouge #lillia vanrouge x reader #I have risen from my grave

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shwaesar · 3 months ago

Text

Halfway

Caesar X Reader Oneshot (SFW)

Summary: Apes grow and age a lot faster than humans. Caesar had noticed it on more than one occasion; his adoptive father had hardly changed at all while he lived through his adolescent years, and his father had seemed to have always been an elderly man. Now that he has another human taking such a special role in his life, he feels the need to educate himself on the subject.

TW: Mentions of Death and Age Differences (THIS IS A LOT MORE ANGSTY THAT ORIGINALLY PLANNED IM SORRY IT JUST KINDA HAPPENED)

"We are... similar. In age." Caesar spoke meditatively, watching from his seat in your shared nest as you disrobed for the night. You never stripped fully, not if you could help it. Even with the chimp's warm, fur covered body beside you, your skin was much too sensitive to be left bare to the elements while sleeping, especially when summer still had yet to settle over the woods in its entirety. Your outer layers were removed one by one and placed in a pile, on a makeshift table of stone. A thick jacket. A sweater. Your jeans, too, were set aside in favour of changing into some sweatpants. They were much too big for you, and a makeshift belt of twine synched the waistband to keep them from falling down your legs, but he could tell you treasured the item of clothing for its comfortability and didn't feel the need to interrogate you about it. "But you... call me old. Why?"

The question wasn't asked in an accusatory manner, but it still took you off guard. Glancing over your shoulder, you caught his eyes raking up and down your form, taking in the intricacies of your anatomy. Compared to that of apes, yours was certainly odd. Longer legs, shorter arms, more space between your hip bones and ribcage.. It had always fascinated him - the ways you were different, both physically and internally - and you supposed that was the reason behind this topic of discussion. He'd taken note of how you aged in a way that didn't mirror him, and wanted to understand it.

"Because you are old." You replied teasingly at first, earning a huff of amusement that tugged at the corners of his lips.

"You know.. what I mean. If I am old, are you not... also old?"

A hand was extended towards you beckoningly when you finally approached. Kicking off your boots, they were left at the foot of the nest as you clambered into it and situated yourself next to your mate, in the juncture beneath his shoulder. His muzzle was pressed absentmindedly into your hair, allowing him to inhale your scent as you mulled over your next words.

"Well... to apes I probably am, sure." Conceding, at least partially, your fingers rose to thread into his beard. Like most of his fur, the outer layer was coarse and rough, but got softer the closer it was to his leathery skin. When you first met, it was a dark, earthy brown that turned to a muted blonde in the right lighting. Now though, discoloured streaks had began showing up here and there, making his more advanced aging all the more apparent. "But you won't catch me going grey anytime soon. Im still pretty young in human years."

"Human years.." he repeated the phrase skeptically, prompting you to wave your free hand to dismiss it.

"Figure of speech-my point is... even though we're around the same age, we're at opposite ends of our lives, y'know? Humans-we live a long time, so we grow up slowly. Cornelius is just over two years old, but a human baby would still be learning how to walk at that point." You couldn't remember for sure if that was accurate, but it sounded right. It had been a long time since a human baby was born intentionally, and even longer since you'd seen one, so you could only make an educated guess. "And Blue Eyes-you told me he just became an adult, right? Do you know how old he is exactly?"

Caesar paused at that. His eyes wandered up to the thatched ceiling above you as he did the math in his head - something he was by no means amazing at, but had enjoyed learning. Apes understood the concept of years, but didn't often use numbers as humans did. They measured time in the passing of seasons, and an apes age would be equated to their physical development rather than the length of time they'd been alive for. This made calculating the specifics a bit tricky, although it didn't stop him from eventually giving you an answer.

"He-.... will be 8, once the cold months return." He nodded self-assuringly. "Won't be long.. before he starts thinking, about having his own children." And as he continued, his chest puffed out proudly. Being able to see his son become a father himself was something he'd never have believed possible, when he was Blue Eyes' age. When he really thought about it, he wouldn't have even believed it if someone told him he would become a father. But before he could linger on it-

"I'm closer to Blue Eyes than I am to you. In terms of... maturity."

That made him falter. His brow furrowed as he tilted his head to look at you again, the cogs in his mind turning to make sense of what you'd just told him. In truth, maturity probably wasn't the right word to use, but you couldn't think of an alternative that he'd be familiar with. What you meant was that you were at a similar stage of life to Blue Eyes, and thankfully, that's how he also interpreted it. Still, it left him contemplative.

"..... I am.... approaching the halfway, of my life. After, I will be.. closer to death, than birth. Ape death-natural death-happens when... when we are in our 30's, most often. Not always, but-" swallowing the rising lump that had formed in his throat, he forced himself to relax again. Caesar was no stranger to mortality, he'd bore witness to many deaths and births alike. He knew he would die at some point, knew what it meant to die, and had long since accepted the fact that it would one day come for him. Your mortality, on the other hand..

You shifted in his embrace, draping an arm across his midsection to stroke absentmindedly at his sternum. He was a closed book in many regards, but as his mate, you'd become familiar enough with his body language and facial expressions to read him in ways others couldn't. It was something he found both a blessing and a curse, as he was essentially forced to share his burdens with you, regardless of whether he wanted them known. And of coarse, it didn't help that his emotions ran high whenever you were the subject plaguing him, making his rising discomfort all the more noticeable.

He continued.

"Humans... you are children for such a long time. Adults, even longer. Your halfway will be.." Then, however, he trailed off. Again, sensing his mood turning, you took his hand and brought his palm to your lips, kissing it affectionately. In turn, he reacted without even thinking about it, letting his fingers cup your jaw as his thumb stroked your cheek. ".... long after I am... gone.."

"..... I know."

"I am... sorry.."

"Sorry..?"

"For-... for making you mine. Without considering all this, first." A pang of guilt struck his gut, making him take a slow breath to steady himself. "You are... so, so precious to me, my love.. and I have forsaken you... to a lifetime of grief, once... I have passed.." Another breath, this one slightly shaken. Holding you more tightly, he grit his teeth and let a wave of self-hatred wash over him. How selfish he was, for indulging in you so thoroughly. How cruel, to leave you without his care and protection for such a long expanse of your existence. To only be a part of that existence for a fraction of its length, intertwining with you in ways that would bond you forever, while forever would be something he couldn't share in. His eyes grew distant and glassy, before he blinked back the tears that were threatening to well up.

In actuality, it was something you'd considered quite a lot, even if only to yourself. The thought of growing old without Caesar at your side was one you'd had to come to terms with early on, for both your peace of mind and his, with regards to how much you intended to invest emotionally in him. That emotional investment wasn't something you really had any control over, of coarse, but it was something you could make... easier on yourself. Ultimately though, you'd come to the conclusion that the sting of inevitable loss was worth it. You would love him without restraint, and continue to love him, even when he was no longer able to love you back. Because moments like this; cuddled up next to him in your nest, basking in his presence and warmth, hearing his voice speak to you so tenderly, with such care and adoration... you might never have them otherwise. And you treasured each and every one.

His hand was still cradling your face. With a loose squeeze, you interlocked your fingers between his own and proceeded to press your lips to his knuckles one by one. It was such a human thing, kisses.. the soft delicacy of lips on rough, coarse flesh was yet another point of interest to Caesar. There was a time when apes in captivity had picked up a vague mimicry of it from humans, but with such large mouths and less controlled facial muscles, it had never managed to be quite as romantic as the original. With the development of their own customs and culture, the borrowed gesture was eventually abandoned in favour of one they made for themselves. One the two of you partook in quite regularly, in fact.

But while pressing his temple to yours was an intimate, loving act, your kisses were something else entirely. They were almost like a religious experience, as you graced him with a kind of touch not really meant for him, almost worshiping his physical form in a way that wordlessly declared your attraction, your devotion..

Yes. Kisses were, undoubtedly, a very human thing.

But that's why he liked them so much. Because only you, only his human, could ever love him in such a manner.

"I forgive you."

#pota #planet of the apes #planet of the apes x reader #caesar pota #caesar x reader #angst

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