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kifflepiffles · 2 months ago

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Festival Skipper

Sam x AFAB (neutral terms) reader

Because I'm a new Sam simp and realised you guys are STARVING

Word count: 5.7k

Content: Praise, softdom Sam, smutty hurt/comfort, and tbh a lot of goofing around because I doubt Sam would be super serious AKJSHD Also because I just never really liked dirty talking that much

I'll edit this post more and post this to A03 later... I'm going to eep, it's past my bedtime

Update: its up on A03! And if you wanted more immersion, heres the playlist I listened to while writing this AKAHSH

Shoutout to @loverboykirstein for letting me use your banner -7-;;

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Winters in the valley were always calm and slow. Quiet and beautiful, the villagers embraced the icy scenes while waiting for their home to come back to life.

Calm, slow, quiet, and beautiful were all things that [y/n] had gotten used to over the past year of living on their grandfather’s old farm. A calm environment, a slower life, and quiet, beautiful surroundings had dissolved all of the ailments they lived with on a daily basis in Pine-Messa city. The hopelessness, the burn-out, the anxiety and insatiable exhaustion had been left in their Joja cubicle.

But winter was different. This was an all-consuming, eerie kind of quiet. you had only started getting fully used to the brand new silence and slow living in the fall. You were far from ready to be plunged head-first into the abyss that is Pelican Town’s winters. There was genuinely nothing to do, and you couldn’t stand it. The Adventurer’s Guild has been your saving grace. It was something to keep you busy. But lately, you have been a bit too busy for comfort.

The usually cheery and social farmer had seemingly gone missing for a few days. The guild has given you a quest that they thought you were ready for, but you proved to be in over your head, even if you wouldn’t admit it. 150 slimes needed to be slain by the end of the week. Today was the last day, and you had only dealt with 90. Marlon was annoyed, and had given you a stern talk about the guild policy.

“These slimes are breeding like rabbits!” He would hiss, “If they head upwards, guess what? The town is fucked, [y/n]. fucked!” His voice grit in the farmer’s skull like sandpaper. Your teeth grinded with rage over Marlon’s thoughtless blame.

For the first time in days, you had plopped down on your living room couch and unlocked your phone. What seemed like hundreds of notifications flooded in. Missed texts from Abby, from Sam, even from Sebastian. Arching a brow, you scrolled down on the notification block to read more

Rock Eater

[Image]

[image]

Johnnie Gilbert’s lookalike

Where are you?

I thought you would like the ice festival :(

Dog Boy

[Y/N]!!!

WHERE ARE YOU?? >_<

YOU NEED TO KICK WILLY’S ASS AT FISHING

PLEASE I MADE A BET WITH SEB I CAN’T LOSE

+17

“Fuck,” you whispered to yourself. You had been so caught up in the slime bounty that you completely forgot one of the festivals. It sounded like a fun one, too. It was a tradition older than Pelican Town itself. The festival started as a ritual to ward off winter depression, but it was given the Christmas treatment and now centered around ice carving, fishing and shopping. Abigail even sent a picture of the Gotoran cart merchant’s pig in a little jacket.

With a heavy sigh, you tossed your phone to the other side of the couch and rubbed your face. you’d answer them later. Right now, the last thing you wanted was to explain why you were gone. So why not pretend to be gone for a few more hours? It’s already been days.

Slumping down against the plush of the couch, [y/n] turned on the new TV you had just bought from Robin, a smart TV in limited stock. You knew you had to grab one while you could; Tech products like that were a bit of a rarity in the valley. They were hard to get unless you wanted to travel to the cities, or pay a ridiculous shipping fee.

Curling up against the armrest with a blanket, your brain went on autopilot as a streaming service booted so you could watch a comfort show. With your head resting on the armrest like it was a pillow, you found your arms clutching over your torso. Usually a plushy would sit there, but you couldn’t be bothered to get up. You didn’t even notice your blinks slowly becoming longer, filled with tranquility, until…

knockknockknockknockknock

The heavy, yet gentle knocking had made you jump out of your skin. Your eyes darted around as your body tried to come back to life. Hesitantly, you let your legs leave the blanket.

Knockknockknockknock

“Just a sec-!” you called out whilst scurrying to your feet. Oh Yoba, please don’t be Lewis asking for bills or Pam asking for more homemade alcohol.

You quickly tried to fix your clothes and hair as they walked over to the door. You needed to look somewhat presentable if you wanted to avoid excusing your disappearance. Upon opening the door, A heavy load flew off your shoulders; It was just Sam

“Oh thank fuck,” you huffed. your heart rate slowed and you let your head rest on his shoulder.

Your friendship was odd. You two were close. Really close. Not to say you weren’t also close to Sebastian and Abby, but this was… different. You were touchy. Everyone but you two acknowledged the tension and hesitance.

“Hey,” Sam whispered, lazily wrapping a heavy arm around you. . His skin was cold, chilled to the bone from the frigid night. “I left the festival early to check on you. I… haven’t heard from you in days, I was getting worried,”

“Sorry,” you whined, “It's been… rough,” you sighed. A breeze flew by, causing both of you to shudder. “Here, come in, maybe I’ll start something in the kettle,” you invited, Which Sam quickly obliged.

“Really? That’d be awesome, thank you so much [y/n]! You got any more of that mint hot chocolate? It was sick!” He suggested, closing the door behind him with his foot

“I can do that,” you hummed, grabbing your kettle off the stove and filling it in the sink

A shiver ran through Sam’s bones as removed his snow boots, leaving them at the door and made his way to the couch while you were occupied with the drinks. While sitting down, he rubbed his hands together and sighed into them in a sad attempt to warm them,

“Um… Where have you been again?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at you as you returned and sat next to him. You paused and took a breath. Did you really want to open these flood gates?

“Marlon,” you finally grumbled, “Adventurer’s guild stuff. Slimes are breeding like crazy, which is odd because they usually don’t start until Spring. They’re starting to infest entire floors and rise closer to the surface. We’ll keep it under control but… Spring might be rough. I might need to cut back on my crop load” you vented. The release made you release tension in your face that you didn’t know you had., Sam’s smile contorted into a look of worry.

“Holy shit, dude. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you insisted as you rubbed your face with open hands, as if attempting to scrub off the stress and sleep deprivation “Just,, hnnnggff,” You leaned forward, placing Your elbows on your own knees. “Marlon’s been on my ass, dude. Bad,”

“That’s not fair, he was at the festival earlier,”

“He was?” you snapped up with wide eyes

“Yeah! he cheered Willy on for the fishing competition,”

Suddenly, you felt your blood run hot, “That motherfucker,” you hissed. As if timed for this exact moment, the kettle began to whistle, and Sam had tried his best to keep his giggling quiet

In a swift motion, you stood from the couch and made your way over to the kitchen, “I’ll put arsenic in your drink,” you threatened as you opened the cupboard and grabbed two mugs along with the box of powdered drink mix. As grumpy as you were, his laughter was contagious. You needed to bite the inside of your cheek and clench your jaw to avoid giggling with him

“Aww, come ooon. You know you love me,” Sam teased. you rolled your eyes, ignoring the fact he was kind of right

“Please,” you giggled. After a few noises from the kitchen, you returned with two steaming mugs in hand and placed them on the coffee table. you plopped down beside your best friend, a heavy, slow sigh leaving your lips, “That mother fucker�� was he seriously there?”

Sam tilted his head and hummed a curt “Hm?”

“Marlon,” you whined. You shifted in your spot, then leaned your head on his shoulder. Sam’s eyes darted down at you. He had to admit, he felt a bit of pity for you. How could he not?. With a slow breath, he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and nodded

“Yeah. He was. … Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, just… ugh, forget it,”you grumbled. You snuggled into your friend’s body, wanting to hide from the rest of the world with him. His jacket had just been washed, but the smell of weed still lingered under the faint scent of detergent. Domesticity was something that you had to admit you craved. It’s been a long time since you loved someone, and out of everyone in the small town, Sam may be your best candidate. You tilted your head up once you decided to stop hiding. Your gaze met his own for just a second before he anxiously looked away. A smirk tugged at your lips. You had to admit, his coyness was cute.

“I really missed you, y’know,” you commented. You kept your head down, but looked up through your eyelashes, a calculated puppy-eye to test the waters. Sam looked back down to you. A small smile joined the pink blush on his face

“Really? I mean, I uh, I really missed you, too, [y/n]. I… I really did,” He stammered out with an embarrassed grin. Yoba, he was adorable. you snuggled closer, letting your hand rest on his thigh

“I like,, really missed you, Sammy

Sam’s eyes slowly widened as he started to realize what you were implying, “... Did you?” He whispered back, turning his body to face yours more, “...It really was quiet around here without you,”

Then there was silence. His wide, sweet blue eyes met yours, but you were focused on his lips. A precious mauve pink, complemented by the silver hoop filling his single lip piercing. The flesh looked smooth and soft, you couldn’t help but wonder if he had done that on purpose, in hopes you would kiss him one day. A slow blink adjusted your gaze to meet Sam’s eyes.

As if someone had told both of you that now was the moment, both of you leaned in. When your lips met, Sam’s hand moved to cup your cheek, just to feel a bit closer to you as his lips tingled from the contact.

Despite it being brief, the two of them had pulled away from the kiss with beaming grins and flushed faces.

“... wow,” Sam whispered through shy giggles. How could you not share his laughter? He was so cute. If he had a tail, your drinks would be all over the floor and the mugs would be broken. His pretty eyes seemed to glisten in the light from the television and crackling fireplace, it being the only light in the whole cabin.

With a bright red face, Sam fidgeted with his hands, unsure of what to do next, let alone what he was allowed to do. He was terrified to overstep a boundary and ruin this moment, the kind he would dream of at night and wake up from in a wet spot.

“Here Sammy, come here,” you whispered, placing your hands on top of his to guide him. his hands landed on your collarbone. You led him downwards, and directed his hands to cup your breasts. His eyes widened and his lips parted, making you giggle in a whisper

“Sam… are you… inexperienced?” you asked, trying to phrase it lightly. Sam swallowed, but seemed mesmerized by the warm, clothed flesh in his hands. He shook his head,

“Not exactly… just… It’s been a while. A long while, And I really like you,” he whispered. His eyes didn’t even twitch off of your body as his hands began to grope. Before you could question him, his eyes finally darted to your face. “Uh,, can I… is it okay if I keep touching you? I.. I want to explore a little bit," he asked. The sentence making its way past his lips was enough to feel himself swell into his jeans, the fit quickly becoming snug on him. With a smug grin, you nodded.

Sam leaned down, pushing you down into the couch. His irises seemed to tremble along with his hands as he took in the view beneath him. He couldn’t help but admire his beloved friend. You were prettier to him than anything his imagination could ever build. His fingertips snuck under your shirt, just to explore the body beneath it. A shiver ran up your spine from the contact, feeling the sensation get stronger and sweeter as his calloused pads ran upwards, then back down and towards the front, running down your ribcage and pausing at the belly button.

Even though the sight and sensation was blissful, you continued to worry. You continued to worry about the trouble you may be in with the guild. Then you remembered the fun Marlon must’ve had at the festival you unwillingly missed… the fun he stole from you.

A stuttering hum crept up from your throat as Sam’s hands trailed down to your hips. Feeling his thumbs gently trace your hip bones, you gazed down at him

“Sam?”

Sam’s hand’s paused and his eyes flickered back up to meet yours.

“Yeah?” He asked.

There was silence again. Well, now you had to admit, you were a little embarrassed. But you already had his attention. Your stomach churned and you looked over at the wall to break eye contact.

“... Was he having fun?”

“... huh?”

“Nevermind, nevermind,” you stammered out. Sam sat up a bit,

“[y/n], if you don’t want to this this, I totally–”

“No!” you nearly shouted, making Sam jump, “Sorry,, I… I really want you. Please. Let's keep going,”

“Okay… okay,” Sam mumbled with a nod.

He lowered his body again, letting his chest land on yours. He planted a kiss on your cheek, then another. He was so sweet…

He let his peppered kisses travel down, to your jaw, then to the side of your neck. His gentle, warm hand landed on your cheek again, and you let yours trail upward on his temple, your fingers tangling his hair

“I just…” You sighed out, staring at the ceiling. Sam stopped what he was doing and lifted his head again. You could’ve sworn a whine left his lips. He stared at you, like a dog waiting for a treat.

“I can’t believe he would do that and not tell me, he stressed me the fuck out all damn week-”

“[Y/N], are you sure you don’t want to pause and talk about this? Because I’m totally cool-”

“No, no, I’m sorry, please keep kissing me,”

Sam hesitated for a moment, but just shook his head and sighed, admitting defeat (and slight disbelief) with a raise of his eyebrows. His shy hands wandered back under the hem of your shirt, and his soft lips landed back on your neck, trailing towards your shoulder. His hands wandered up, his touch lingering on your rib cage until his hands landed on your bare breasts. A perverted smile tugged at his lips as he massaged at them and let his palms flatten against your nipples. A hum rose from our throat, you had to admit it felt good. Especially since it was him. Your hand ran through his hair, yet you continued to stare at the ceiling. You wanted to be immersed so badly, to surrender, but for some reason, you couldn’t make the leap…

“Y’know, I don't think I’d even be so bothered if h—”

“Alright,” Sam interrupted. In a fit of becoming a bit annoyed, he clasped his hand over your mouth and leaned over you. Your eyes grew wide and you quickly shut up. His head leaned down next to yours, his warm breath petting your earlobe,

“Here’s what we’re gonna do.”

He adjusted himself so that his weight was supported by his elbows and he raised his other hand: a clenched fist with his pinky finger up.

“Pinky promise me this is what you want. No feeling bad, no “sure why not”. You want this. You want me, truly,”

You were a bit stunned. This was almost uncharacteristic of him. But you had to admit, you kind of liked it. Though without hesitation, you lifted your hand and interlocked your finger with his.

“Okay, good,” He removed his hand from your mouth, using it instead to brush his knuckles against your cheek, “I’m gonna try something, okay? Nod if that’s okay,”

Your cheeks heated up, and you quickly nodded.

“Okay, perfect, awesome,” Sam mumbled to himself. His hand began to trace down your waist again, slowly. “I need you to stop talking for me, okay?” He whispered in your ear before kissing your temple. His finger trailed your hip bone, threatening to dip under your waistband. “I need you to clear your mind, as best you can. I need you to release that tension in your jaw,”

Slowly, his finger dipped under your waistband, simply caressing the skin underneath,

“And I need you to surrender yourself, and let me make you feel good. Can you do that for me?”

His voice was soothing and loving, gentle and coy. But his words, they were so, so hot. His breath was hot, running down your neck. it made your crotch begin to throb. It made your breathing quicken with anticipation.

“Mhm…” You hummed with a nod, your voice faltering under the situation.

“Good, good,”

His hand crawled even lower, until it met your lower lips. Despite being excited, he kept it slow. Carefully, he slipped one finger into your lips, then a second one, and spread them apart.

“You’re… wow… you’re really wet,” He whispered, mostly to himself with wide blue eyes. His fingers explored the new territory a bit, grazing on the labia until his fingertip found itself on your clit.

Your body spasmed, and a slightly startled gasp left your lips. His teasing drove you mad.

“I know, honey, I know. It’s okay,," He whispered, tilting his head downwards until his breath caressed the shell of your ear. "That’s an outside problem. It’s just you and me in here, baby, Okay?" His whispers echoed within your foggy head, and he began to press loving kisses onto your cheek again.

He rubbed the thick, calloused pad of his finger over your clit, rubbing back and forth at a painfully slow pace, “Just like that. Good. ... You’re doing so good, sweetpea,” It left his soft lips in a delicate whisper, as if it was a secret for you and you alone.

You reeled your head towards his. A helpless whine passed your lips and your back arched, revealing just how pent up you let yourself become over these past few weeks. It was a manifestation of how many times you pushed down your feelings for your beloved skater boy.

He kept it going for a little, letting your body warm up while lewd whimpers and hums echoed into his ear. Such a sweet noise for him, one that made him rock his hips into the couch cushions with a groan

“You’re so cute, you know that? Especially like this,’ He teased,

The graceful movements of his hand slowed, leaving you to pout. Though your attitude switched up quickly once you realized he stopped so he could take his shirt off. You sat up, a new wave of excitement rushing over you.

“Lets go to my room,” You suggested in a hushed voice, as if anyone else was around to hear you aside from your pet. Sam dropped his shirt to the floor and smiled, the chain around his neck with his father’s old dog tag jingling as he moved

“Sounds good,” He agreed, “wait, we should try that thing they do in movies, y’know, where they’re trying to kiss and remove their clothes at the same time while going to the bedroom. It’ looks kind of fun”

Ah,There was the idiot Sam you knew and loved.

You couldn’t help but laugh and nod, “Okay, let's try it,”

Sam had become a bit shy again, “Wait, time out,” He muttered before he unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, letting the bulge in his navy blue cotton underwear a bit more free, “Sorry, it got tight, It kind of hurt, time in,”

You snorted and covered your mouth with your hand, giving into your fit of giggling,

“What? It did!” Sam tried to defend, before the giggling overcame him too, “I’m sorry dude, I’m just, absolutely packing, y'know? I can’t keep my foot-long contained in these skinny jeans, he’s gotta breathe,” He joked between gasps and laughter, making the both of you erupt

“Okay, okay,” you said in an attempt to calm the situation, “Okay, come here and kiss me pretty boy,” You flirted, making a ‘come closer’ motion with your hand. He obliged and pressed his body to yours, taking your jaw in his hands and letting your lips collide.

Both of your lips parted, deepening your kiss and allowing the tips of your tongues to meet each other. His hands wandered to the hem of your shirt again, this time pulling it up,

“C’mon, let's try to move a bit,” Sam suggested, shifting backwards while you shifted forward,

“Left Left, right left,, I don’t know my right from left,” Sam softly sung while pulling your shirt over your head, making you giggle more,

“What was that?” You asked,

“A military marching cadence my dad taught me when I was a kid. I just remembered it because this is… a lot harder than they make it look in the movies,” he rambled, the two of you giggled together again. With a grin, sam dropped your shirt to the floor and pecked you on the lips,

“Maybe I’ll teach you the whole chant later,” He placed his hands on your bare waist, and turned so he could gently push you against your living room wall, “I’m a little busy right now,”

“It’s a date,” You agreed with a rasp in your voice. You tilted your head to the side, letting Sam begin to nibble at your neck, this time with more intention than his gentle kisses. One hand found its way back to your face, the other found its way back to your breasts to continue his soft squeezing and massaging. He let his teeth sink into your skin, over your collarbone and shoulder. He kissed the bite marks he left, and carefully sucked some, leaving bruises, hickies, and your whimpers in his wake.

“Sam…” You whined, “Mm,, You’re driving me crazy,,”

“Yeah?” He hummed, leaving one final kiss on your neck, “Come on,” He took your hand in his. His pretty eyes flicked at yours, and he placed a kiss on the back of your hand with a grin before pulling you back towards your room.

Your body collapsed into your mattress as Sam kneeled on the floor beside your bed frame. He began to work his way down, placing kisses between your breasts and down your abdomen. His hands took a firm grip of your hips. With a bit of a haste, he pulled down your pants and took a moment to admire you, your almost naked body with nothing but underwear. A big smile cracked his face

You looked down at him, feeling a little nervous,

“Is everything alright…?”

“Yeah, yeah,” He assured, his eyes seeming to glow, “I’m just… You’re so pretty,” he whispered. He gazed up at you, his eyes meeting yours as he attempted something new; He grabbed the hem of your underwear in his teeth, and slowly dragged it down your legs.

Yoba… you could feel your hole start throbbing.

‘Heh,, learned that one from a comic Seb showed me,” he admitted a bit bashfully. You put your hand over your mouth to hide your smile and turned your head. Of course he would say that.

He took a second to admire you yet again, but the sight in front of him teased him beyond just gazing,,

He dragged his fingertips up your labia again, stopping once he reached your clit and flicking his eyes up so he can watch you squirm

“Where did we leave off?” He teased, “Something like this… right?”

He continued his back and forth motion, regaining his confidence as he watched your face contort and heard your restrained moans. He let his pace quicken, and let his other hand begin to tease your hole with another fingertip.

“Sammy…” You whimpered. Your walls throbbed and clenched around nothing, waiting very impatiently for him to make his move.

“Patience, honey… patience,” He cooed, letting his finger run a small circle over the rim before sinking in. You let out a groan and tilted your head back. Once pushing in to the second knuckle, he began to pull out, push in and pull out, then added a second finger. He leaned his body closer, keeping the pumps of his hand slow and methodical. You gripped at the blanket beneath you and let a small moan pass your lips. He was doing it on purpose

“Sammy… come on…” You whimpered, rocking your hips against his hand. He obliged, allowing his fingers to sink deeper and faster, an upward curl joining the routine as he leaned even closer. He moved his other hand away from your clit, and instead replaced it with his tongue. Soft, shy flicks of the tip of his tongue joined the rhythm of his hand. His masterpiece, and the finishing touch to his symphony was the moaning and mewling that left your chest.

“Fuck-!” you cried out. Your knees began to tremble around his body, your nails scratched into your forearms and your hips rocked. In a fit of needing something to hold onto, your hands quickly switched to holding his shoulders.

Sam picked up his pace again, the tips of his fingers rubbing your walls and his head bobbing a bit for more movement. The velvety feeling grew stronger and stronger. You dug your nails into his skin, making him groan into your crotch, his voice reverberating into your core.

“Ugh,, Sam! I’m so… I’m…!” You tried to whine, but the sweet sensation he provided made it hard to speak.

“I know, I know,” He hummed, “Give in, it’s okay,”

You threw your head back, a howl escaping your chest while your thighs vibrated. Your hole spasmed around his fingers as liquid arousal dripped around them, and your clit twitched in his mouth.

“Fuck! Sammy-!” you whined, followed by one more long groan. He slowed down, helping you ride out the high of your first orgasm in weeks.

Your body went limp and he leaned back. He extracted his fingers, and noticed how hot his face was. His skin was bright red, his eyes were puffy. And he was ecstatic.

He crawled up into your bed with you, immediately kissing your face like a puppy,

“That was perfect. Beautiful,” He praised, “You did so good, so good,” He laid on his side, gazing at you while you continued to come down and catch your breath. You turned your head to face him, and a smile tugged at your lips.

“...Round two?” you asked. Sam’s attention piqued.

“Really? I figured I would give you an extra minute,” He commented. Not that he was complaining though. He stood up, and his knees cracked from kneeling on the hardwood floor

“Ow, holy shit!” He yelped, more so in shock than in pain. Even after having one of the roughest orgasms of your life, he made you giggle.

“You okay, honey?” you asked through deep breaths and giggles,

“Yeah, holy shit,”

He pulled down the waistband of his undone, sagging jeans. Seeing that your eyes were still on him, he decided to raise his hands beside his head and wiggle his hips in a hula hoop motion, earning a laugh from the both of you. You turned onto your side, watching as he kicked off his jeans and pinched the waistband of his briefs.

He pulled them down, and your eyes nearly popped out of your skull. It wasn’t the foot-long he pretended to have, but at first glance he could’ve maybe had you convinced. What bounced out proved Abby’s speculation of him being well hung. He was thick, and blushed dark red with arousal.

You crawled back towards your pillows, and he joined you on your bed.

He leaned over you again, the dog tag around his neck hanging down and laying against the skin of your chest.

Your legs opened around his hips, and you bit your lip with anticipation. The tip of his penis rubbed on your wet slit, making him puff up his cheeks a bit. He was already so worked up, but didn’t want this to end so fast. He flicked his eyes to yours, and stabled himself on his elbows so his hands could touch your face.

“Don’t worry. I promise I’ll be gentle,” He whispered, “You ready?”

You nodded, and he adjusted his body so he could line up with you and grab your shoulders. He paused for a second, then began to slowly push in.

both of you gasped. There was a slight, sweet sting with the stretch as he tried his best to keep moving so he could keep the friction going. As you encapsulated him, a groan left his throat.

“Shit,” He whined, “You’re fucking great, [Y/N]” he mustered out, giving you a rush as he began to pull out, then push back in and begin a steady pace, or at least attempt to. It took everything for him to not fuck the shit out of you, but he knew he could never. You were too precious to him, the last thing he wanted to do was hurt you.

Your arms hooked under his and you let out a groan. You felt him rocking through your whole body, filling the room with a squelching noise, heavy breathing and the quiet creaks of your bed,

“More?” He asked with a bit of a strain, almost as if he was begging,

“Please,” You huffed. He picked up his pace, allowing himself to go deeper. In and out, in and out, his tip began to rub against the rough spot inside you, shooting electric pulses through your body.

“Hnn-! Sam!” you yelped, making his body heat up. “Good,, So good!” You let out, a sad attempt to mimic his praises and sweet nothings that got you so riled up in the first place.

With a guttural groan, he adjusted himself, attempting to get a better angle and speeding up again. The creaking of your bed gradually turned into a rocking. The heavy breathing gradually turned into a song of pleasure and bliss. The squelching turned into an arrangement of continuous wet friction.

Your back arched as his tip began to kiss your cervix and massage your favorite spot. Your head reeled back against your pillow as Sam’s tilted down, watching you squirm and writhe worked him up more and more.

“[Y/N]... I’m… getting really close, [Y/N]” he whimpered,

“I am too, Sammy,” You mewled. You reached down through what little space there was between the two of you and began to rub on your own clit. It only took a few rubs for your body to spasm and for you to yowl.

You began to see stars as your hole throbbed and convulsed around Sam, turning his thrusts sloppy and rough. It pushed him to the edge as well.

He whined and moaned out, grabbing tightly onto your upper arms so he could rock himself through his orgasm. Ropes and pearls of hot semen shot out from him into you.

He slowed down into a stop, this time leaving both of you panting. With a tired groan, he pulled out and let his body ragdoll beside yours.

“Are you okay, sweetpea?” he asked through heavy breaths. You turned over to face him and nodded,

“Yeah, I’m okay, I’m alright,” you assured, leaning into his touch while he pushed strands of hair out of your face.

The two of you gazed at each other, taking the other’s fucked-out looks; face red, hair a wreck, eyes glimmering.

“You did so good, honey,” You hummed, attempting once again to mimic his praises. You planted kisses over his face, making him grin and chuckle with what little energy he had left,

“Come here,” he mumbled, pulling you into his arms so he could snuggle his head into your shoulder.

“...What are you going to tell your mom?” you asked, using your knuckles to pet his hair,

“I’m sure she’ll understand. She knew I was leaving early to see you. … I’ll probably sleep over though, I really don’t want to deal with that right now. Ugh, I’m so lucky she and my dad like you.”

A smile spread on your face as you allowed yourself to reciprocate his snuggling. Though Sam spoke up again,

“... What are you gonna do about Marlon?”

#sam sdv #sam stardew #sam sdv x reader #sdv sam x reader #stardew valley #Spotify

96 notes · View notes

shini--chan · 19 days ago

Note

Bro BRO consider this——- Prussia and England sharing a darling??? The s/o is doomed fr

Yeah you are right. Best hope they get in a cat fight and escape while they are distracted.

Yandere Relationship Sheet - Prussia vs England

Trigger warnings: death, murder, torture, abuse

Candidate A - 1p! England (Arthur Kirland)

Arthur Kirkland being the personification of England as well as a global empire, depending on the time period, would be a handful to deal with on his own. In total, you would be allowed to enjoy the tender mercies of a cantankerous, possessive and self-righteous man. He would be prone to lecturing you, to correcting your behaviours and nitpicking on you. Of course he would be drawn to you and in love with you, but raw diamonds have to be cut and polished to achieve true beauty. He would view you in a similar manner - with innate value and in need of his help to unlock your true potential.

Your consent or say-so in the matter would be duly noted and completely irrelevant at the end of the day. Arthur knows best, after all. As such, you would do well to heed his every whim and each tiny scrap of advice. Also, with you being such a treasure, he would be most inclined to keep you all for himself. Other people would just mar your brilliance with your grimy paws and idiotic ideas. Besides, you would be best kept with somebody who would see your true worth and appreciate you for it, no?

On the flip side, he would be possessive and wouldn’t bother to hide it most of the time. You would be there to please him, a priceless possession as well as his plaything to use and abuse as he would please. With you, he would be able to shrug off all the restrictive societal expectations and norms and indulge his darker side. Who would be able to stop him.

Candidate B - 1p! Prussia (Gilbert Beilschmidt)

Gilbert Beilschmidt would be strict and stern, a weathered marine commander to Arthur’s devilish Trade Company governor. Nevertheless, thinking that Gilbert would be easy to deal with would be wrong, completely wrong. He would have his own issues, and his pride and his stubbornness. The former knight would certainly loath to lose to some pretender and would be very willing to commit violence. It could be said that Gilbert would be the more hands-on type of man compared to Arthur. Additionally, while Arthur would be willing to dote on you to an extent, be it out of love, to impress you or for some other reason, Gilbert would force you to adopt the same spartan lifestyle that he would favour. No amount of begging or favours would get you.

While he wouldn’t be as manipulative and condescending and cunning as Arthur, he would be harsh and unforgiving at times. No exceptions to the rules would be made and he would be less inclined to underestimate you, contrary to Arthur. Come to him with the sword, and you would be defeated with the sword. Should you rebel against him, then he wouldn’t always handle you with the kid gloves on. Consequently, some punishments and even overall treatment of you, would be downright brutal. Playing into that, he would be less inclined to ease up on his harsh treatment on you if he’d see you’d suffer

While he would have his buttons, he wouldn’t be the sort to fly off the handle. If he’d want certain results, then he’d maybe exaggerate particular emotions. Yet most of the time he would be in control. A side effect to this would be that you’d be unable to pull at his heart strings. As for his obsession with you - that would be vetted, certified and rationalised, so you wouldn’t be able guilt-trip or shame him into letting you go.

Realisation - How would they react to each other?

Badly. Even though there would be a lot of parallels between the two of them, and even a handful of similarities, they wouldn’t get along well. The devil really is in the details here. Arthur would be a hopeless romantic, in Gilbert’s eyes, as well as a greedy, dishonest fool. Every word that Arthur would say would be weighed against a wagon-load of salt and every action would be seen as being fueled by ulterior motives. Furthermore, he would find immense distaste in Arthur’s proclivity for luxury. The Englishman would also be far too soft with you from his point of view, and the fact that he would treat you like a porcelain doll would be unforgivable.

Meanwhile, Arthur would be of the opinion that Gilbert has a stick in his ass. When it would just be the two of you, then he would make an absolute mockery of Gilbert, imitating him in an exaggerated way after dinner and making snarky remarks at every other opportunity. To him, Prussia would have no grasp of actual politics or how the world really works. Furthermore, Arthur would see him as a barbarian for treating you like some toy soldier, when you should be treated with more care. While you might be in need of a hard hand to correct your failures, the manner with which Gilbert would expose you to hardship would be ridiculous to him.

When put together, the tension would often be so thick that it could be cut with a knife. They would constantly be sniping at each other and bickering. In their tamer moments, they would behave like an old married couple, and in the case that matters would escalate and they would shoot/stab each other. The tricky part here would be that while they would dislike one another, it wouldn't be loathing and they can stand being around each other. If there'd be no better company, then they would huddle together over beer and talk about philosophy and metallurgy. So, they can cooperate, if only with mutual animosity and unspoken rules and snide remarks.

Battleground - How would they fight each other?

Both of them wouldn't want to confront the other directly - it would just be so messy. Messy both in a physical and an emotional sense - blows and words would be traded and if they'd find themselves immersed in their ire then the fight would go on for hours. It would be as horrible as it would be fascinating to watch. They could be duking it out in a manor, the weapons and the antiques lying around would be used liberally. One could think that they would be re-enacting a battle with how they would conduct themselves … if it weren’t for their willingness to shed each other’s blood. All in all, it would be a fight that authors could only dream of putting into words.

That being said, they could both be far more subtle. Either you, or some other unfortunate third party would be used as a chess piece against the other. Prussia would do his best to educate you in various forms of combat and tactics, if only so that you could give Arthur a black eye once. Gilbert might even decide to teach you how to wield a sword. While you surely wouldn't win against Arthur in a fair fight, it would make the latter's life a whole lot more difficult. He’d also teach you how to cope with the elements and live off the land, just so that you could make prissy Arthur stumble about a marsh or desert. England would do his best to make you well-read on romantic literature, and try to mold you into being cunning. Through long talks before head, he would do his best to convince you that lying isn’t abhorrent, and that Gilbert deserved to be fooled in every possible way.

Naturally, there would also be the moments where they would have to interact with one another. Imagine them as a couple going through a divorce, and then you’d have a pretty accurate picture of how they would be with another. Constant arguments over how you should be treated and handled and fed and clothed and how many freedoms you ought to have. They’d try to use you to prove their points and brag about the sort of affection you’d give them. Since they would constantly be fighting to a minor degree, you might be able to play them against each other.

Treaty - Could they agree on a truce? Would they even team up at any point?

Jep, they would be able to. Some obstacles would be too insurmountable to overcome alone, yet together they would be manageable. If a third person/group were to thwart their carefully laid plans, then they would team up to reach a shared goal. Surprisingly, they would have quite the synergy between the two of them; the bickering would never truly cease and yet the usual animosity would be redirected to the bigger concern.

Other than that, they would actually find themselves agreeing on the one or other thing when it would come to you like punishments and the rules that you should abide by. Playing them out against each other would only work to a certain degree, since they would actually be on the same page on a handful of topics. You wouldn't be spoiled, or allowed to run completely wild. If you'd be particularly difficult, then those two would hold conference and plot to bring you down a few pegs.

There would be a surprising third case where they'd be in tune - if you'd fall sick or be injured. Both of them would fuss over you, both scolding you for becoming ill/hurt and mother henning you the next moment. It would be the worst - if you wouldn't submit, then they'd tie you to your bed until you've made a full recovery.

Victory - How would they proceed to obtain you all for their own?

Arthur and Gilbert, for all that they'd dislike one another, wouldn't be all that opposed to sharing you. Sure, there would be fights and disagreements, yet both would find joy and relief in using the other as emotional punching bags. If circumstances would dictate that they have to be cordial with each other in this relationship, then they'd very well snap somewhere down the road.

Arthur would likely make a show of skullduggery. Furthermore, he'd be particularly motivated to be cunning by the fact that such dishonesty would piss Gilbert off massively, so much so that he wouldn't be able to act rationally. Backroom deals would be made, and Arthur would break many a promise that he'd made towards Prussia. He could orchestrate matters so that Gilbert would be called away, and then move and spirit you away along with him. Perhaps he would sic Austria onto Gilbert, and then beat Prussia down even further once the fighting had ceased. Or he could wait until the latter is injured or ill and then kill him, or bury him alive. In the case of this being a setting where they are immortal, this would only hinder his adversary temporarily, yet it would be enough.

Gilbert, in contrast, would be far more thorough. He'd decide to hit two birds with one stone. Having you would likely just be an excuse on a long list of reasons he'd have for marching his army against Britain. Likely to recruit France, Spain or also the Nordic countries to his cause. Should he have to keep it personal, then he'd try to chop Arthur's head off while the latter would be bathing. After all, the Englishman would be most vulnerable in the bathroom, the one room where he wouldn't have any weapons stored

Reparations - Would they demand their opponent pay for their “misdemeanours”?

With the whip and the sword in most cases. Arthur might even go as far as to poison Gilbert to get his point across. He could unleash some very unsavoury rumours in the world. Sabotage would be enacted, with Arthur even being petty enough to fill sugar in Gilbert's car or motorcycle tank. He also wouldn't be above putting itching powder in a uniform or two. Also, he would be well aware of the other’s distaste for Romantic literature. Guess who would be read mushy Victorian novels for days on end. Additionally, he would place a stuffed animal in Gilbert’s quarters to freak him out.

Gilbert would challenge his opponent to a duel, or also mix gunpowder in his food. Small explosives would be placed under the bed or some of Arthur's beloved stuffed animals would be missing. On occasion, he would even go as far as to put England through Zersetzung, in order to crush his soul a little bit. That, or he would aid one of the colonies in executing a successful rebellion. Though, he needn't go so far. He could make England's life very difficult in simple moves that would rip away all the modern day luxuries Arthur would cherish. The hot water would be switched off, and the electricity cut.

#yandere england #yandere hetalia #yandere prussia #yandere #yandere x reader #x reader

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crimson-kisses · 3 days ago

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Duetsche Zunge

Characters/Fandoms/Pairings: Yandere! Gilbert Beilschmeidt || Prussia [Hetalia] x Fem!reader Warning: This story will contain xplicit yandere themes, proceed with caution [includes non consensual acts, toxic relationship, physical violence & the like] Author's notes: I honestly took some inspiration from @shini--chan 's works. Her every piece is marvellous, especially Gilbert's character. She has made me mad and intrigued over that man, I say. Also, remember that lot has been going around the world lately, and try to educate yourself and contribute as much as you can.

Gilbert would be absolutely thrilled and intrigued if his darling already knew German—it would spare him the frustration of teaching her everything from scratch. He would be amused and think the way she spoke. Her pronunciation or tone was absolutely adorable.

But of course, being who he is, that wouldn’t necessarily stop him from challenging her, testing the level of her knowledge and fluency. He’d be curious to know what her taste would be in German literature, music, or cinema. Would she favour Goethe’s romanticism, or perhaps the darker allure of Kafka’s surrealism? Would she hum along to Beethoven or lose herself in the melancholic strains of Schubert?

He would likely discover these preferences by observing (read: stalking) her, a brow arched up elegantly as he leaned back on the walls of the library. There, he would watch her conversing with others academically, seeming more like a statue of a scholar or a professor with his disguise of black-rimmed glasses and dark eyes, watching the way her lips curved around sweetly spoken words.

However, being a perfectionist, he could quickly identify any gaps in her knowledge—a slip of grammar, a wrong word here and there, or even a misstep in interpretation. Perhaps she’d confuse a complex construction for a simpler one or misuse an idiomatic expression.

Noting down the mistakes with a stern frown and a disappointed click of his tongue, Gilbert would sigh, unable to tolerate even the smallest errors. He’d push her relentlessly, unwilling to accept anything less than perfection. Papers, after papers, books after books, would pile up around her as he corrected her trembling attempts, his calligraphic writing starkly perfect beside her shaky efforts.

For someone who appeared so rugged, he was surprisingly methodical, almost reverent, when it came to written words, as evidenced by the piles of his ancient diaries filled with neat, precise entries.

It was definitely a cruel mixture of his ego and intense love toward her that drove him to hone her fluency to a level of perfection he alone could crave. Writing, reading, speaking, and even singing—he demanded mastery in every form of expression, shaping her abilities into something he could both admire and control.

But he wouldn’t stop at just German. This rigorous approach extended to other languages in which he excelled, such as French, Italian, and even Russian (though his dislike for a certain Russian man might make things a bit more complicated).

Each session would become a gruelling trial that demanded discipline, focus, and sheer willpower. He’d test her French with its elegant nuances, pushing her to appreciate the subtleties of verb conjugations and melodic flow. Italian, with its passionate rhythm, would become another challenge, the sharp sounds of “c” and “g” perfectly flowing from her lips, just as he demanded. And then, of course, there was Russian—harsh, guttural, and complex—he would revel in hearing her stumble over its sharp consonants, unable to help himself as he smirked with a mix of ego and possessiveness.

Whether it was the elegance of French, the flow of Italian, or the intensity of Russian, Gilbert would make sure she mastered every word, every subtle difference in accent, every cultural nuance, until she spoke each language with an expertise that reflected his possessive influence.

Gilbert would also push her to master ancient languages like Latin and Greek. His admiration for the roots of Western civilization would bleed into his obsessive teaching, as he demanded perfect fluency in these classical tongues.

He’d make her translate passages from Cicero or Horace, test her knowledge of Homer’s epics, and measure her understanding of Plato’s philosophy. Every misstep in conjugation or syntax would be met with sharp reprimands. Yet, at the same time, he would find immense satisfaction in hearing her articulate the beauty of ancient prose, especially when she finally grasped the elegance of Latin’s rhythm or the precision of Greek’s structure.

It would be a sight to watch the man who seemed so restless—always planning, calculating, and never stopping—suddenly appear like a scholar carved from marble. His focus was unwavering, his attention to detail sharp as a blade, whether it was through his quiet admiration or relentless demands, Gilbert made it clear that he wouldn’t stop until she was flawless—not just in language but as a reflection of his obsession with her.

The words on the paper danced as your eyes blurred, hesitant gasps escaping your quivering lips. Each tap of the thick ruler against the desk matched the frantic rhythm of your racing heartbeat. A deep sigh reached your ears, making you tense as a tear dropped, blotting the writing beneath it.

“Wrong. Do it again,” he said, his voice steady but firm, just above a whisper. You could feel the heat of his breath against your ear as he leaned in closer, his words curling into your senses like a soft yet dangerous caress. His forearms, toned and defined, flexed with each controlled motion as he tapped the ruler once more against the wood.

The veins on his arms stood out, a clear testament to the power that lay beneath his skin. His shirt, rolled up to his elbows, emphasized the muscular tone of his arms, the fabric taut as he moved with practiced precision.

“Your knuckles must be throbbing, don’t you think so?” His voice was low, almost velvety, though the slight edge in it made your skin prickle with a sense of haunting despair.

Of course, German would always be Gilbert's top priority. Whether it was the ancient words from his old Teutonic Knight days, the forgotten Prussian of his youth, or the more modern German that had evolved, he would be relentless in teaching you.

He would smirk, watching your hesitant expression, those furrowed brows and strands of hair sticking to your flushed face as you tried to keep up with his rapid-fire lessons. Every time you stumbled, he’d feel a rush of satisfaction, knowing he was pushing you—testing your limits.

And just as you began to feel like you might grasp it, he would pull you further, introducing an even more archaic form of the language. You'd be faced with Prussian words, forgotten phrases from the past, or the formal German of his time as a powerful state, and he'd watch as you struggled to keep up.

But Gilbert never took pity. To him, this wasn’t just about learning words—it was about learning what they meant, what they represented, about becoming part of a deeper history that only he understood intimately.

Naturally, he expected you to speak German at all times when addressing him. After all, he was Prussia—the proud embodiment of his nation's strength and culture, and to him, the language was not merely a means of communication, but a symbol of power, authority, and legacy. He found the way you spoke it utterly captivating—the way your lips shaped the words, how your expression would soften or harden depending on the tone.

Every mistake, every mispronunciation, only seemed to drive him further. He would often reply to you in German despite your slipping into another language— he would become cold, refusing to acknowledge you fully. His childish spite would rise, and he'd deliberately turn his back, offering you nothing but a sharp glance.

"Are you even listening to me?" you snapped, frustration mounting as you tugged at your hair, your words coming out in a burst. The tension in your chest was unbearable, and yet, Gilbert didn’t even flinch. He leaned back in his plush leather chair, the soft creak of the leather under his weight barely audible. The corners of his lips twitched upwards, curling into a satisfied smirk. His eyes, gleaming with amusement, never left you as he observed your growing frustration, watching you unravel with quiet delight. He loved seeing you like this—on the edge, teetering between control and chaos, and utterly at his mercy.

He didn’t respond immediately, letting the silence stretch between you. It was as if your words were meaningless to him. He had no intention of addressing your frustration, no intention of actually listening to what you were saying. He was too busy savoring the sight of you. The sharp tone in his voice, when he finally spoke, was smooth, effortless—teasing, almost mocking, a rhythm he knew all too well. Of an ancient German dialect that almost made his words hard to understand.

"Careful with the bread," he murmured, his voice low and cutting through the silence like a blade. "Don’t make it too tough."

You froze for a moment, the absurdity of his words washing over you. He wasn’t listening. Not to you. Not to the frustration in your voice, not to the growing anger burning in your chest. His gaze never wavered, still fixed on you with that predatory calm, like a cat watching its prey squirm. And all the while, you could feel the weight of his attention, suffocating and demanding, making your blood boil even hotter.

Your hands, already trembling from the intensity of the situation, clenched into fists. You turned away quickly, trying to regain some semblance of control, but it was too late. Your mind raced, and you felt the overwhelming need to take out your frustration on something—anything. The dough in front of you.

You slammed your hands into it, pressing harder than necessary, your fingers digging into the soft dough with surprising force. It was as though you could feel his presence behind you, even though he said nothing more, watching you knead the dough with a strange, mocking stillness in the air. You wished it was his neck beneath your hands instead, the pressure of your palms imagining the crushing sensation of him being the one to break under the weight. The thought alone made you grit your teeth.

Gilbert’s smirk never faltered, his eyes still on you, studying every move you made. He had already won, and you both knew it. You were powerless against his presence, against his control. His lessons weren’t games. They were training. And you were exactly where he wanted you.

Though he often found amusement in the banter between you, even encouraging it at times, Gilbert wouldn’t take kindly to any attempts to push things beyond their limits. Swear words or throwing personalized insults his way would undoubtedly irritate him. He thrived on the playful back-and-forth, enjoying the challenge of testing boundaries, seeing just how far he could push you before you snapped.

But as much as he revelled in this dynamic, there were unspoken rules that, if broken, would have severe consequences. Gilbert was not one to tolerate disrespect, not even in jest. His pride, especially when it came to how others viewed his authority, was something you learned to tread lightly around.

He had a way of making you feel small when you crossed that invisible line. It wasn’t outright aggression, no—it was more subtle, calculated. His silence, his smirk, the way he’d cock his head and stare at you with those piercing eyes—each glance felt like a silent reprimand. His lessons weren’t games. This was training. And training wasn’t just about learning skills or techniques—it was about understanding power dynamics, submission, and control. For Gilbert, discipline was an art. You had to earn his approval, prove you were worthy of the lessons he would give. Disrupting that delicate balance, however, meant harsh consequences.

The playful back-and-forth, while it could go on for hours, was never just for fun. He was sharpening you, moulding you into something he could admire, something that would never question his authority again. When you got too comfortable, too confident, Gilbert would make sure to remind you that this was his world and you were merely a participant in it. A slip of the tongue, a crass word, a sharp insult—that was all it took for him to remind you who was truly in charge.

And when you crossed that line? He’d make sure you knew it wasn’t something to be taken lightly. Gilbert would drop his usual teasing tone and replace it with something colder, something darker. He didn’t need to shout. He didn’t need to raise his voice. The shift in his demeanor alone was enough to make the air feel thick with tension. You’d find yourself walking the thin line between fear and desire, unsure of where one ended and the other began, but knowing that if you made the wrong move, there would be consequences.

The toothbrush and the mouthful of toothpaste threatened to choke you, your mouth wide open as a strong grip held your head in place by the hair. Gilbert probed the depths of your mouth with firm, deliberate strokes, bringing you to the brink of nausea. Foamy spit dripped from your lips, guttural moans of pain echoing through the washroom as tears framed your face. Your attempts to reason with Gilbert fell on deaf ears. All it took was one bad day for him (you couldn’t really tell with the man), and your profanity-laced outburst had earned you this punishment. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he slightly relaxed his grip on your hair, allowing you to violently spit out the bitter toothpaste that had been building up in your mouth. You instinctively reached for the tap, desperate to rinse the foul taste away, but were met with a firm hand that stopped you short. “No water for that filthy mouth of yours,” Gilbert sneered, his eyes glinting with malice. “Next time, I won’t hesitate to feed you a bar of soap and using the toilet brush.” You almost threw up.

While he didn’t outright disdain other languages, Gilbert was quick to show his disapproval if you focused on them too much. A subtle sneer or dismissive remark would betray his jealousy. In his eyes, your enthusiasm or preference for another tongue was a challenge to his authority, a dilution of the bond he sought to forge.

He wanted German to be your priority because it was his, and he needed to hear it from your lips as proof of your connection. It wasn’t just about teaching—it was about domination, ensuring that his influence extended into every word you spoke and every thought you had. And, of course, his pride demanded it. After all, why would you need anything else when you had him?

Nonetheless, he adored your voice, no matter what language you spoke. Whether stumbling over unfamiliar words or weaving through proses, there was a softness in the way you sounded that captivated him. It wasn’t something he’d admit easily, but your voice was his favourite melody, one he could listen to for hours without growing tired.

Of course, German is sacred to him—a reflection of his very being. It wasn’t just a language; it was his legacy, his culture, and the soul of the people he had once represented. The language of warriors and poets, of triumph and despair, it was a thread connecting him to his past. He expected you to embrace it—not out of mere interest, but as a testament to your devotion to him. And he always cherished it hearing from you.

You sat beside Gilbert, stiff and uneasy, as he delved into a thick book titled 'Geodesics in Curved Spacetime'. The topic was so far beyond your comprehension that you couldn’t help but think, What the fuck even is this?

It was one of those days when he insisted you sit close, your hands folded on his thigh, while one of his palms gripped it firmly, the other flipping through the velvet pages of the Russian text. His hold on you was both grounding and possessive, the weight of it reminding you that there was no escape from his whims.

The subject seemed to irritate him more than intrigue him; his brows furrowed, and the occasional sharp exhale signaled his growing frustration. He’d call you over at times like this, either to steady his nerves or to force you into reading it aloud, despite your stumbling attempts.

Sometimes, he would pause to explain a concept in German, his voice steady and commanding, expecting you to follow his train of thought no matter how lost you felt. On other occasions, his enthusiasm would bubble over, and he would yip and yap, his words spilling in rapid, fervent analysis that left your head spinning. You could only nod along, hoping he didn’t notice your bewilderment.

Most often, though, his focus shifted to something more intimate. He would pass you a well-loved novel—its pages slightly worn, its binding soft to the touch—and order you to read aloud. His fingers would trail lazily along your arm as he leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, the tension leaving his features with every word that left your lips. In those moments, you felt like an extension of him, your voice the tool that brought his favorite stories to life. His grip on you would loosen, his breaths growing deeper and steadier.

Those were his calmest days, and your beautiful voice, the rhythm to his immortal heartbeat, seemed to be the only thing capable of soothing his restless spirit.

Refusal—or any form of misbehavior—when he asks you to speak his language would never be tolerated. Utter refusal would be met with the coldest of glares, a silent warning that would send a shiver down your spine. Testing him with silent treatment or petty acts of defiance would only irritate him more.

His expectations are simple but non-negotiable: learn the proper German etiquette. Speak clearly, directly, and without hesitation. Your words must be precise—no unnecessary embellishments or mindless chatter. He values sincerity, respect, and most of all, discipline.

When spoken to, you are expected to answer promptly, politely, and with the right tone. You must use Bitte (please) and Danke (thank you) when appropriate— if you don’t, he’ll remind you, and the lesson will be harder than you anticipate. There is no room for laziness in his world, especially when it comes to how you communicate.

Gilbert tapped his fingers on his forearms as he stared at you from across the table, his piercing gaze unwavering. You sat with an unsightly scowl, arms crossed tightly, eyes fixed on the food in front of you. The tension in the air was thick—your earlier attempt to escape had been swiftly thwarted by his firm grip on your arm.

"And what do we say?" he asked, his voice smooth but laced with impatience.

You shot him a defiant glare, the sting of your pride burning brighter than your hunger. Your teeth gound together as you glared at the plate of Sauerbraten, the tender beef marinated in rich spices paired with the tang of red cabbage and potato dumplings. The smell alone made your stomach growl, but you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction.

"D..." You grit your teeth, barely able to utter the word. His unblinking stare burned into you as if daring you to try him. "Danke."

"Ah ah," Gilbert bent forward, the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. "Full sentence."

You clenched your fists, the taste of defeat sour in your mouth. There was no escaping him now. "Danke... für das Essen."

"Good girl." Gilbert’s voice was soft, but the approval in it was unmistakable. He straightened in his chair, his lips curling into a smirk.

"Jetzt können wir essen!"

Of course, being the rather egoistical individual he is, Gilbert would revel in hearing you address him with titles in German. Whether it was Herr or Mein König, the words rolled off your tongue like honey, fueling his insatiable desire for your complete submission. He would demand such titles not merely out of tradition but as a way to solidify his dominance over you-reminding you that he was the one in control, always.

And if you hesitated or refused, you'd soon find yourself either kneeling at his feet or bent over his knees, forced to beg in the very language he adored.

The sight of you, voice trembling and face flushed, was intoxicating to him. He couldn't help but feel a massive thrill corroding his bones as your tone wavered with such an adorable desperation, the words escaping your pretty lips like a melody crafted just for him. Gilbert always loved the way you sounded, gasps, grunts or so, your voice like a finely tuned instrument only he could master.

You were his little songbird, and sometimes he liked to take that metaphor literally. He wouldn't mind having you sing as he played his flute, guiding you with gentle nods or sharp corrections if you didn't get it quite right. On calmer evenings, he'd rest his head on your lap, your soft hands threading through his silver hair as you hummed or sang him a lullaby. Those moments of quiet surrender were his personal heaven.

Every word you spoke in German was a delicacy he devoured straight from your lips. He also expected your words to reflect affection and politeness. Loving phrases, respectful tones, and perhaps even a few nicknames of your own design.

Nothing overly cheesy, of course, but Gilbert wouldn't hide his cheeky grin if you hyly called him something intimate. A soft Liebling (darling) murmured in the warmth of your shared bed would earn you a teasing remark right before he captured your lips in a sealing kiss.

In the bedroom, his expectations only deepened. He wanted to hear you whisper his name like a promise, gasping out mein Schatz as he thoroughly claimed you. Every word, every sound you made was proof of his hold over you, a mark of the loyalty he craved so desperately.

And in those moments, he'd remind you just how much he loved your voice - the voices that only he could truly bring out of you, the ones he wants to hear from you, the one thing that could ever bring peace to the storm within him.

Your dress spread around you like the petals of a flower, delicate yet trapping, as gilbert’s hands—rough and unyielding—skimmed over the bare skin of your legs. you shivered beneath his touch, every nerve on fire as you tried to suppress the sob rising in your throat.

“Was ist los, Maus?” (what's the matter, mouse?), his voice coiled around you like smoke, soft yet suffocating. his body leaned in, the weight of his presence making it impossible to move, let alone think. “Hast du etwa vergessen, wie man schön bittet?” (have you perhaps forgotten to ask nicely?).

your mind swirled, thoughts slipping through your fingers like sand. had he done something? the strange heaviness in your limbs, the faint haze clouding your senses—was this another one of his games?

“B-bitte,” you rasped, voice trembling as you fought to form the word, “bitte, G-Gilbert, ich—”

his grip on your hips tightened abruptly, the sharp press of his fingers stealing the rest of your sentence. his crimson eyes bore into yours, gleaming with a twisted mix of hunger and amusement.

“Das ist besser,” (That is better) he murmured, his lips curling into a cruel smile. “Nicht perfekt, aber es wird reichen.” (Not perfect, but it will do)

tears pricked at your eyes, your chest heaving as you forced out another plea, desperate to appease him. “gilbert… bitte… verzeih mir,” you choked out, your voice breaking as his thumb brushed against the curve of your waist, deceptively gentle.

“ah, Liebling,” he said, his tone laced with dark satisfaction. “Das ist mein gutes Mädchen.”

he pulled you closer then, his control as unrelenting as the heat radiating from him, leaving no room for escape. you were his—mind, body, and voice—and he made sure you understood it.

With every searing touch and word.

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lovelybeautifulsleep · 6 months ago

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Please forgive me, I'm obsessed with this photoshoot. This picture especially is so stunning I can't help posting it again on its own, enlarged details included, since the internet photo resolution does it no justice. Everything about it, and the whole editorial, is just perfect. I can't blame you for thinking I'm a nutcase and unfollowing/blocking me after this post.

#ellen von unwerth #emma stern nielsen #line brems #odile gilbert #ayami nishimura #alice gentilucci #black and white photography #fashion photography #fashion editorial #vogue magazine #vogue italia #vogue italia beauty

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greatworldwar2 · 1 month ago

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• USS Intrepid

USS Intrepid (CV/CVA/CVS-11), also known as The Fighting "I", is one of 24 Essex-class aircraft carriers built during World War II for the United States Navy. She is the fourth US Navy ship to bear the name. Commissioned in August 1943, Intrepid participated in several campaigns in the Pacific Theater of Operations. Because of her prominent role in battle, she was nicknamed "the Fighting I", while her frequent bad luck and time spent in dry dock for repairs—she was torpedoed once and hit in separate attacks by four Japanese kamikaze aircraft—earned her the nicknames "Decrepit" and "the Dry I".

The keel for Intrepid was laid down on December 1st, 1941 in Shipway 10 at the Newport News Shipbuilding & Dry Dock Co., Newport News, Virginia, days before the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor and the United States' entrance into World War II. She was launched on April 26th, 1943, the fifth Essex-class aircraft carrier to be launched. She was sponsored by the wife of Vice Admiral John H. Hoover. In August 1943, she was commissioned with Captain Thomas L. Sprague in command before heading to the Caribbean for shakedown and training. She thereafter returned to Norfolk, before departing once more on December 3rd, bound for San Francisco. She proceeded on to Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, arriving there on 10 January, where she began preparations to join the rest of the Pacific Fleet for offensive operations against the Imperial Japanese Navy.

Intrepid joined the Fast Carrier Task Force, then Task Force 58 (TF 58), for the next operation in the island-hopping campaign across the Central Pacific: the Gilbert and Marshall Islands campaign. On January 16th, 1944, Intrepid, her sister ship Essex, and the light carrier Cabot left Pearl Harbor to conduct a raid on islands in the Kwajalein Atoll from January 29th to February 2nd. The three carriers' air group destroyed all 83 Japanese aircraft stationed on Roi-Namur in the first two days of the strikes, before Marines went ashore on neighboring islands on January 31st, in the Battle of Kwajalein. That morning, aircraft from Intrepid attacked Japanese beach defenses on Ennuebing Island until ten minutes before the first Marines landed. The Marines quickly took the island and used it as a fire base to support the follow-on attack on Roi. After the fighting in the Kwajalein Atoll finished, on February 3rd, Intrepid and the rest of TF 58 proceeded to launch Operation Hailstone, a major raid on the main Japanese naval base in the Central Pacific, Truk Lagoon. From the 17th to 19th of February, the carriers pounded Japanese forces in the lagoon, sinking two destroyers and some 200,000 GRT (gross register tonnage) of merchant ships.

The strikes demonstrated the vulnerability of Truk, which convinced the Japanese to avoid using it in the future. Intrepid did not emerge from the operation unscathed, however; on the night of 17th–18th of February, a Rikko type Torpedo Bomber from the 755th Kōkūtai (Genzan Air Group) flying from Tainan attacked and torpedoed the carrier near her stern. The torpedo struck 15 ft (5 m) below the waterline, jamming the ship's rudder to port and flooding several compartments. Sprague was able to counteract the jammed rudder for two days by running the port side screw at high speed while idling the starboard screw, until high winds overpowered the improvised steering. The crew then jury-rigged a sail out of scrap canvas and hatch covers, which allowed the ship to return to Pearl Harbor, where she arrived on February 24th. Temporary repairs were effected there, after which Intrepid steamed on March 16th, escorted by the destroyer USS Remey, to Hunters Point Naval Shipyard in San Francisco for permanent repairs, arriving there six days later. The work was completed by June, and Intrepid began two months of training around Pearl Harbor. Starting in early September, Intrepid joined operations in the western Caroline Islands; the Fast Carrier Task Force was now part of the Third Fleet under Admiral William Halsey Jr., and had been renamed Task Force 38. On September 6th and 7th, she conducted air strikes on Japanese artillery batteries and airfields on the island of Peleliu, in preparation for the invasion of Peleliu. On the 9th and 10th of September, she and the rest of the fleet moved on to attack airfields on the island of Mindanao in the Philippines, followed by further strikes on bases in the Visayan Sea between the 12th and 14th of September. On September 17th, Intrepid returned to Pelelieu to provide air support to the Marines that had landed on the island two days before.

Intrepid and the other carriers then returned to the Philippines to prepare for the Philippines campaign. At this time, Intrepid was assigned to Task Group 38.2. In addition to targets in the Philippines themselves, the carriers also struck Japanese airfields on the islands of Formosa and Okinawa to degrade Japanese air power in the region. On October 20th, at the start of the Battle of Leyte, Intrepid launched strikes to support Allied forces as they went ashore on the island of Leyte. By this time Halsey had reduced the carriers of TG 38.2, commanded by Rear Admiral Gerald F. Bogan aboard Intrepid, to just Intrepid, Cabot, and the light carrier Independence. Between the 23rd and 26th of October, the Japanese Navy launched a major operation to disrupt the Allied landings in the Philippines, resulting in the Battle of Leyte Gulf. On the morning of October 24th, a reconnaissance aircraft from Intrepid spotted Vice Admiral Takeo Kurita's flagship, Yamato. Two hours later, Intrepid and Cabot launched a strike on Kurita's Center Force, initiating the Battle of the Sibuyan Sea; this included eight Curtiss SB2C Helldiver dive bombers from Intrepid. One 500-pound (230 kg) bomb struck the roof of Turret No. 1, failing to penetrate. Two minutes later, the battleship Musashi was struck starboard amidships by a torpedo from a Grumman TBF Avenger, also from Intrepid. The Japanese shot down two Avengers. Another eight Helldivers from Intrepid attacked Musashi again at around noon, scoring two more hits, with two Helldivers shot down. Further strikes from Essex and Lexington inflicted several more bomb and torpedo hits, 37 aircraft from Intrepid, the fleet carrier Franklin, and Cabot attacked Musashi, hitting her with 13 bombs and 11 torpedoes for the loss of three Avengers and three Helldivers. In addition to the loss of Musashi, many of Kurita's other ships, including battleships Yamato, Nagato and Haruna, and heavy cruiser Myōkō were damaged in the attacks, forcing him to break off the operation temporarily. After Kurita's force began to withdraw, Halsey ordered TF 38 to steam north to intercept the aircraft carriers of the Northern Force, commanded by Vice Admiral Jisaburō Ozawa. Bogan correctly perceived that Ozawa's force was intended to lure TF 38 away from the landing area to allow Kurita to attack it, but Halsey overruled him and several other Task Group commanders who voiced similar concerns. Early on October 25th, aircraft from Intrepid and the other carriers launched a strike on the Japanese carriers. Aircraft from Intrepid scored hits on the carrier Zuihō and possibly the carrier Zuikaku. Further strikes throughout the morning resulted in the sinking of four Japanese aircraft carriers and a destroyer in the Battle off Cape Engaño. Halsey's preoccupation with the Northern Force allowed Kurita the respite he needed to turn his force back to the east, push through the San Bernardino Strait, where it engaged the light forces of escort carriers, destroyers, and destroyer escorts that were directly covering the landing force in the Battle off Samar. Kurita nevertheless failed to break through the American formation, and ultimately broke off the attack.

On October 27th, TG 38.2 returned to operations over Luzon; these included a raid on Manila on the 29th. That day, a kamikaze suicide aircraft hit Intrepid on one of her port side gun positions; ten men were killed and another six were wounded, but damage was minimal. A Japanese air raid on November 25th, struck the fleet shortly after noon. Two kamikazes crashed into Intrepid, killing sixty-nine men and causing a serious fire. The ship remained on station, however, and the fires were extinguished within two hours. She was detached for repairs the following day, and reached San Francisco by December. In the middle of February 1945, back in fighting trim, the carrier steamed for Ulithi, arriving by March. She set off westward for strikes on Japan on March 14th, and four days later launched strikes against airfields on Kyūshū. That morning a twin-engined Japanese G4M "Betty" kamikaze broke through a curtain of defensive fire, turned toward Intrepid, and exploded 50 ft (15 m) off Intrepid's forward boat crane. A shower of flaming gasoline and aircraft parts started fires on the hangar deck, but damage control teams quickly put them out. Intrepid's aircraft joined attacks on remnants of the Japanese fleet anchored at Kure damaging 18 enemy naval vessels, including battleship Yamato and carrier Amagi. The carriers turned to Okinawa as L-Day, the start of the most ambitious amphibious assault of the Pacific war, approached. The invasion began on the 1st of April. Intrepid aircraft flew support missions against targets on Okinawa and made neutralizing raids against Japanese airfields in range of the island. On April 16th, during an air raid, a Japanese aircraft dived into Intrepid's flight deck; the engine and part of the fuselage penetrated the deck, killing eight men and wounding 21. In less than an hour the flaming gasoline had been extinguished; three hours after the crash, aircraft were again landing on the carrier. On April 17th, Intrepid retired homeward via Ulithi. She made a stop at Pearl Harbor on 11 May, arriving at San Francisco for repairs on May 19th. On June 29th, the carrier left San Francisco. On August 6th, her aircraft launched strikes against Japanese on bypassed Wake Island. Intrepid arrived at Eniwetok on the next day. On August 15th, when the Japanese surrendered, she received word to "cease offensive operations." Intrepid got under way on August 21st to support the occupation of Japan.

In February 1946, Intrepid moved to San Francisco Bay. The carrier was reduced in status to "commission in reserve" in August, and she was decommissioned on March 22nd, 1947. After her decommissioning, Intrepid became part of the Pacific Reserve Fleet. On February 9th, 1952, she was recommissioned. Intrepid later severed as an attack carrier (CVA), and then eventually became an antisubmarine carrier (CVS). In her second career, she served mainly in the Atlantic, but also participated in the Vietnam War. She was the recovery ship for a Mercury and a Gemini space mission. She was decommissioned for the second time in 1974, she was put into service as a museum ship in 1982 as the foundation of the Intrepid Sea, Air & Space Museum Complex in New York City. Intrepid earned five battle stars and the Presidential Unit Citation during World War II, and a further three battle stars for Vietnam service.

#second world war #world war 2 #world war ii #wwii #military history #american history #naval history #naval warfare #aircraft carrier #intrepid museum #pacific campaign #pearl harbor #us navy

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